Chapter Eight

Marianne

Edinburgh— Sunday 5th August 1877

T he view from Dean Bridge was the closest I had been to the industrial village which lay beneath, the mills and leather works which clung precariously to the banks of the Water of Leith. The works were Sabbath-silent today, but the peculiar odour which hung over the place like a miasma was still strong enough to make my nose itch.

‘Can you smell it?' His voice made me jump as I hadn't seen him approach. ‘Sulphur and lime,' Mr Sutherland said, ‘it's what they use to cure the hides. Sheep fleeces, mostly. Sorry, did I startle you?'

‘You did.' My heart was fluttering, though it wasn't so much with fright. He was standing close, but not too close, dressed in the same sombre clothes that were obviously a kind of uniform for him, his shirt very white, the collar very stiffly starched. In the unusually bright sunlight, his skin had a healthy glow. His eyelashes were very long, for a man. He had a most appealing smile. I returned it.

‘We choose the strangest places to meet, Mr Sutherland,' I said, though the choice had been his. He had been waiting for me yesterday morning when I set out for work, drinking coffee in the tavern where Flora breakfasted each day. He had not pretended it was a chance encounter, nor had he wasted his time on niceties. I had been not a whit disconcerted to find him waiting for me, something that didn't strike me as strange until much later.

He wanted to see me again, he had said, because he wanted to continue our conversation, and he wondered if I would take the air with him on Sunday, assuming it was my day off. Which was why I found myself on Dean Bridge, dressed in my one summer gown, of pale green, with a matching bow in my straw hat, and a shawl. I had dressed for the weather, certainly not for the man, though he looked both relieved and pleased to see me.

‘I wasn't sure you would turn up,' he admitted. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind.'

I hadn't even considered it, though I knew I should have. For as long as I felt safe with him, I had decided to indulge my compulsion for his company. Today's arrangement had given me something to look forward to. Something pleasant. That was unusual in itself. ‘I had no way of letting you know if I had,' I said to him. ‘I wouldn't have known where to send a note.'

‘I'm here. You're here. And the sun has joined us. We should make the most of it.'

‘Having the sun on my face is something I never take for granted, Mr Sutherland,' I said, lifting my face to the warmth and closing my eyes for a moment. It was a mistake, for in that moment a memory pushed its way in, of an open window, myself leaning out, craning my face to the sunshine, drinking in the smell of new-mown grass far below, before I was yanked inside, the window slammed shut, one of the attendants swearing at me. All I had wanted was some fresh air!

I opened my eyes to find myself being scrutinised by Mr Sutherland. ‘Are you all right?' he asked me.

‘Fine. I'm fine,' I told him, without meeting his eyes. ‘Shall we walk?'

He looked unconvinced, but he nodded. ‘I thought we'd go down through the village,' he said, ‘then we can follow the river for a bit, if you like. It's far from scenic, I'll grant you, but we'll also be far from the crowds in the parks taking the air, or walking in their Sunday best from church, and I thought—maybe I'm wrong, but I thought you'd like to see a different aspect of Edinburgh.'

‘What made you think that?'

‘You see a very different side of the city from the rooms you have in the Grassmarket—compared to the New Town where you work, I mean. I know from what you've told me that you could afford better, so that means it's a choice. Of course it could be that you want to keep yourself to yourself, neighbour-wise, and in the Grassmarket, nobody looks too closely into each other's business. But I reckon you like the buzz of it too, you like to watch and to speculate. You're curious about how other people live. Am I right?'

‘You make a great deal of deductions about me, Detective Sutherland. You have a way of making a question of a statement.'

He laughed. ‘And you have a way of not answering either. I'll assume I'm right.'

‘About your choice of location for a walk, I'll give you that,' I conceded, unable to hide my smile.

We took the steep path down, walking side by side, our paces well matched. The chemical smell grew stronger, and then I ceased noticing it as we picked our way past looming mills, and a huddle of buildings and courts that proclaimed themselves to be Robert Legget and Sons, Tanners. The village was eerily quiet, though there was washing hanging on the lines outside a few of the tenements, and a dog barked as we passed. A narrow bridge spanned the Water of Leith, tumbling brown and foul beneath, yet upstream I was horrified to see a gaggle of ragged children leaping about in the poisonous shallows.

‘Poor bairns, they'll be bound to catch something from that water,' Mr Sutherland said, ‘and I don't mean a fish for their tea.'

We crossed the bridge to the other side where there were more poorly maintained tenements, what looked like a corner shop on the ground floor of one of them, more warehouses, another works of some sort. Though we saw no one, I was conscious of the presence of the workers and their families silently watching us. I began to feel uncomfortable. We did not belong here. We were intruders, sightseers, like the visitors to the institution from which I had escaped, who wandered through the gardens created by the inmates. Did the workers in this village feel trapped as I had, in a life defined by a never-ending routine? It was not the same, not at all the same, yet there were similarities.

‘Aye,' Mr Sutherland said, picking up on some of my thoughts, keeping his voice low, ‘it's not much of a life, is it? Mind, they wouldn't thank me for saying so.'

‘Is there a school here for the little ones?'

‘There is, though whether they attend or not, that's another question. The tenement in Glasgow I was raised in was a few rungs up the ladder from a place like this, but there were still a good few families who didn't think it worth sending their weans to school. My da, he knew it was important, thank the stars, but here—you'd think they'd be asking themselves, what's the point, wouldn't you? Let those wee terrors we saw enjoy themselves while they can before they're put to work, you know?'

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. ‘I shouldn't make assumptions, but you can't help feeling the good people of Edinburgh are happy to have their industrial lungs and the people who work and live there hidden well away from view. Happy to let them police themselves too. They don't send the law in here, you know.'

‘Is that why you chose this location?'

He stopped abruptly. ‘Do you think I'm running scared from a few policemen on the beat? The chances are, they wouldn't have a clue who I am or more importantly who I was, but I don't want to take that chance. I'm persona non grata in this city, but it was once my city. I'm known here, which is why I'm careful about where I go, and why I'm constantly looking over my shoulder...' Mr Sutherland took a ragged breath. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘No, I'm sorry.' The temptation to comfort, to place my hand on his arm, was too much to resist. ‘I am truly sorry. I do know what it is like to be constantly looking over your shoulder.'

His hand covered mine. Glove on glove, but I felt the heat of his skin. His expression softened. Inside, I felt a fluttering, anxious, sensation, a yearning to offer more, but more of what? He turned to face me. I wanted him to close the gap between us, though at the same time I dreaded it. He made no move, though I felt—oh, I have no idea if it was my own longing or his or both of us I felt, or indeed how long we stood there, our eyes locked, his hand covering mine, saying nothing but both of us aware—I am sure we were both aware—of the longing for more—more closeness. Warmth. Touch. Simple things, but they were far from simple.

He sighed, a long exhale, and the spell broke, enough for the longing to dispel, but not enough for either of us to release ourselves. His hand remained on mine. ‘Look,' he said softly, ‘the truth is, I wanted you to myself for a while, that's all. I lived and worked in this city for more than ten years. There's a lot of folks I'd rather not bump into, for my own peace of mind as well as theirs. We've all moved on, Mrs Crawford, and I'd like to keep it that way. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Was it so simple? A moment ago, there had been such anger in his voice. Yet what he said now made a great deal of sense. He had not moved on, not as far as he wished, but who was I to dig up other people's skeletons, when I had enough trouble keeping my own in their cupboard.

Besides.

The truth is, I wanted you to myself.

Wasn't that what I wanted too, only I was not brave enough to say so? ‘I understand,' I said. ‘Let us enjoy the sunshine and forget the world for a time.'

He heaved a sigh, his frown easing. ‘Let's try, any road.'