CHAPTER 9
DUNDEE, MAY 1827
Mother and I attended St Mary’s, right in the heart of the city and only a five-minute walk from Milne’s Close. It was a church full of comforting memories, for Mother had married here, and all her children, including me, had been christened at the font. That morning, Mother was rather quiet. She sang the psalms in a small voice and closed her eyes tightly during prayers, as if trying to prove her religious fervour by the firmness of her eyelids, rather like young children trying to convince their parents they were sleeping in bed.
I watched her, worrying about the state of her nerves, and guided her to the church door when the minister gave his final blessing.
“How are you, Mrs Easson?” The Reverend Grieve always said farewell to his congregation as they cam
