Tales From The Dark Past Collection

Chapter 7

He who would keep himself busy, let him equip himself with these two; a ship and a woman. For no two things involve more business once you start to fit them out, nor are these two ever sufficiently adorned, nor is any excess of adornment enough for them.

He who would keep himself busy, let him equip himself with these two; a ship and a woman. For no two things involve more business once you start to fit them out, nor are these two ever sufficiently adorned, nor is any excess of adornment enough for them.TITUS MACCIUS PLAUTUS, 254-184 BC

I knew immediately that she was not an invited guest, both by her appearance and her attitude. She had none of the wealth-fed grace of the elite, but possessed a more fundamental aura of self-awareness than I had ever seen before. The other dancers obviously knew she was an intruder and watching the expression on their faces might have been amusing if this woman had not interrupted our wedding. Some looked incredulous, others merely disapproving, but all shared disdain.

I shook my head, "she"s not from my side of the family."

"Nor mine," poor Jennifer sounded quite bemused.

While everybody else was in evening dress, this woman might have stepped straight from a gypsy encampment, and she possibly had. She could not have been much over five feet tall, but she seemed to dominate the dance hall, while what was visible of her hair beneath a bright handkerchief was as black as her eyes as she peered at everybody in turn. The band stopped playing, the dancers stopped dancing and the noise dropped from a cheerful, bustling hum to a silence so intense it was almost intimidating.

At last she faced me and I nearly shivered at the power behind those dark eyes.

"You"ll be Iain Cosgrove," she said quietly, and I nodded, suddenly slightly uncomfortable.

"It"s you I have come for, then," she transferred her gaze to Jennifer, "and your bride."

I heard Jennifer"s sudden in draw of breath and squeezed her hand.

"Ah: Mrs Adams!" Sir Melville strode across the floor, hand outstretched in welcome. "You are as unorthodox as ever, I see."

"Father: do you know this lady?" Trust Jennifer to keep sufficient good manners to refer to this bedraggled creature as a lady when all around her the true ladies with whisking back their skirts for fear of being contaminated by her presence. I warmed once more to my wife.

"This is Mrs Adams," Sir Melville introduced. He raised his voice so all his guests could hear. "We have a tradition in our family that a new bride and groom should have their fortune told: your mother and I had ours told, as did my father and my grandfather. Mrs Adams is an expert in the art."

Jennifer looked at me and giggled as I suppressed my own smile and tried to look solemn. I had never like fairground conjuring, and to me, fortune telling was merely another obsolete superstition from a bygone age. I would play along if I had to, but I was a trained doctor, a man of science and reason.

I had not learned: yet.

"Come this way, please." Sir Melville led us from the dance hall and upstairs to the library, with its shelves of splendid books and view over the night-dark Tay to Fife. As if by right, Mrs Adams took possession of the carved chair behind the central desk. Bright electric light shone upon her, but I do not recall seeing any shadows.

"You may leave us, Sir Melville." That was an order, not a request. Sir Melville obeyed gracefully, leaving us alone with the gypsy woman.

Unsmiling, she beckoned Jennifer forward to the hard chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Come here, my dear and give me your hand; we shall see what the future holds for you."

I tried to listen but for some unaccountable reason I could not hear what was said. The two women leaned closer across the width of the desk and although the murmur of their voices was clear, the content of the conversation was not. Instead I heard the whine of wind across ice floes, the scream of a gale through rigging and a barking cry the origin of which I was uncertain but the sound of which was mournful beyond belief.

At length Jennifer stood up and withdrew, looking slightly pale. She gave me a shaky smile as I took her place at the desk.

Although I know that fortune tellers cannot see the future, and use tricks to gain the confidence of their customers, I still felt a prickle of unease as I slid onto the chair and extended my hand for the gypsy to read.

Close to, Mrs Adams did not seem intimidating in the slightest. Her face was dark through exposure to wind and sun and her clothes emanated an aroma of smoke and earth, as though she had come straight from the fields, but her eyes were unfathomable. They were deep dark pools into which I sank as she studied me.

"You are going on a long journey," she told me what I already knew, "and you are unhappy about leaving your bride."

I could not disagree with that.

"I see coldness and death; I see red flowing over white," the eyes held mine as images flitted through my mind: the vicious chill of the Arctic, blood staining the ice, men in thick furs laughing.

"I see a woman, very close to you," I imagined Jennifer running to greet me as I stepped from the ship, her eyes bright with joy.

"I see…" Mrs Adams hesitated for a long second as my images faded. "I see deception and fear, fire and terror; I see loneliness."

My patience snapped then; of course there was ice and cold, death and blood, deception and loneliness; I was travelling away from my new wife to trap and kill seals in the Arctic. "Can you tell me anything useful?"

Tightening her grip on my hand, Mrs Adams pressed a sharp- taloned finger deep into my palm, drawing a bright bead of blood. "Beware of a silent woman," she said and gave a little gasp, "God save you."

"What?" Jennifer crossed the room, her dress rustling softly, "what does that mean? What do you mean, Mrs Adams, God save you? Will Iain come home?"

"He will come home."

"Then that is all that matters," Snatching my hand away, Jennifer marched away. She stopped at the door, "are you coming, Iain?"

Of course I was coming, but my feeling of uneasiness persisted for a good half hour, until the dancing was once again in full flow and Jennifer was firm and soft in my arms.

Perhaps it was the episode with Mrs Adams, but I found myself wanting the evening to end quickly so I could claim Jennifer for myself. Inevitably the clock ticked away the minutes and the evening did draw to a close. The older guests drifted to the carriages and motor-cars that waited so patiently on the wide sweeping drive outside and the spaces on the dance floor grew larger. As the house gradually emptied Jennifer touched my arm.

"I won"t be a minute," she whispered and, lifting her skirt with her left hand, she approached the band. I watched, wondering what she was doing as she requested one final number. Of course they agreed, smiling patiently, and she returned to my side, passing through what remained of the guests.

"This one we will remember," she whispered, "you when you are up among the ice bergs and me when I wait alone in my bed, thinking of you."

The reminder that I would have to leave this woman whom I felt I was just beginning to know stabbed deeply and I pulled her close. "I wish I was not going," I told her.

"So do I," she whispered, pressing close, "but let us make the most of this night while we can."

The bandleader tapped his baton for attention, spoke a few words and the music began immediately. I recognised the song immediately, for it was one that both Jennifer and her mother sang. Annie Harrison"s In the Gloaming had been an instant success when it was first published about thirty years ago and was still sung by sentimentally minded women. My taste ran to Gilbert and Sullivan and more robust, music hall type songs, but In the Gloaming had grown on me the more often I heard Jennifer sing.

In the GloamingGloamingAs soon as the tune began, many of the remaining women looked to their husbands, hopeful of being guided to the dance floor to reawaken memories of their own youth.

"I want you to remember this evening whenever you hear this song," Jennifer ordered, and whispered the opening verse into my ear. Her breath was soft against my neck so I could feel myself responding.

"In the gloaming, oh my darling,

"In the gloaming, oh my darling,When the lights are soft and low

When the lights are soft and lowAnd the quiet shadows falling

And the quiet shadows fallingSoftly come and softly go."

Softly come and softly go.""I will," I promised, fighting the tears that threatened to un-man me and the other reactions that proved the very opposite. I knew, without any doubt, that I would never forget that song; it would be with me always, keeping me company amidst the wastes of the north. I shivered slightly, as though the Arctic wind was already biting at my face.

"Iain? Are you all right?"

"Of course I am." I held her closer, trying to disguise my oxymoronic discomfort. "Jennifer?"

"Yes?"

"No, nothing. It"s all right." I looked away; I could neither joke nor tease, and I wished oh-so-fervently that I was not sailing north the next morning. I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of her perfume as I felt the yielding firmness of her waist beneath my hand. God but I wished I was returning from the north and not just setting out. Life was cruel in thus taunting me with the delights of marriage, only to pluck at my happiness and thrust it away before I had properly experienced it. I knew I was a full man, but I wanted my wife; I wanted her body and her mind, I wanted her company and the music of her voice, I wanted to watch her moving and to breathe deeply of her perfume, I wanted to be near her, not to be separated by a waste of water and months of bitter loneliness.

Perhaps it was the song, or the memory of Mrs Adams" words, but the sudden sadness was overwhelming, tinged with that haunting, unearthly moan that I had never heard before but which I knew came from the Arctic, and I shivered again.

"You"re cold," Jennifer said, already practising her wifely skills.

"No," I denied, but I held her tighter, so she merged with my body, gasping and opening her eyes wide as she felt my reaction.

"Iain Cosgrove," she giggled. "I am shocked."

After that she moved closer still, so we became a single unit on that dance floor, lost in our own world, squeezing every fraction of time from our last evening before I sailed north.

"Oh, Iain, I wish you were not going."

"So do I," I felt the catch in my voice and looked away, gathering my strength. We would be apart for some months and I had no desire for her to remember her husband as a man who blubbered before he sailed away.

Jennifer knew every word of the four verses of In the Gloaming and when the dance floor was full, with couples reflecting on their past or dreaming about their future, she breathed the final few lines, her voice soft.

In the Gloaming"In the gloaming, oh my darling

"In the gloaming, oh my darlingWhen the lights are soft and low

When the lights are soft and lowWill you think of me and love me

Will you think of me and love meAs you did once long ago?"

As you did once long ago?""I will," I promised, drawing strength from the depth of her love.

"Good," she burrowed closer, and then broke away in one of the lightning changes of mood that was so typical of her. "But that time is not yet." Her eyes narrowed with mischief as, after a quick glance around the room, she allowed one hand to stray, rubbing my back beneath the frock coat and sliding down until a single finger touched lightly yet shockingly on my left buttock. She pressed slightly, and patted fondly.

I gasped, unable to hide my thrill of pleasure. "Jennifer!" I knew I should be scandalised by this forward behaviour from such a well brought up creature, but, rather, I was more than pleased that she could be so familiar.

"It"s all right, Iain. I am your wife," her wide eyes teased me further as she took control of the situation. "Is it not time that we retired?"

"Perhaps I had better announce that?"

"And have everybody looking?" Jennifer"s eyes widened even further. "My, Iain, do you really want to draw attention to yourself? Let"s just slip away quietly. After all, you do have an early start in the morning."

I think it was then that I realised exactly what I had married. Jennifer was no milk-and-water wife, no sit-in-the-corner woman who would be demure and submissive and wait for me to take charge. She was my equal and probably more than that, and I could have laughed out loud with pure joy.

I knew that Kate Davidson was watching but I was unprepared for Jennifer"s sudden change of direction. Leading me by the hand, she approached the insipid blonde and smiled directly into her face.

"We"re going to bed now," my wife told her triumphantly, and made for the great double doors. Save for a gasp of astonishment and a slight lift of her hand, Kate made no comment.

"That will settle her hash," Jennifer said with great satisfaction. "She will not make sheep eyes at my husband again."

I laughed; I had thought of Jennifer as my wife; now I knew I was also her husband. She would cope perfectly well when I was in the Arctic, and she would be waiting when I returned. But other, more immediate matters demanded my attention.

It was hard to rise in the morning, to look down on the form of the woman who was now my wife in body as well as in law and know I was to leave her, but I had my duty to perform. Kissing her gently, I eased from the bed. I had spent the last restless hour pondering whether it would be best to wake Jennifer or leave without ceremony, but I eventually decided that I could not bear the pain of a lingering farewell. I dressed hurriedly, pulling on the clothes that a servant had arranged for me twelve hours previously, and slipping from the bedroom, closed the door as quietly as I could.

Even at this early hour there were servants about, heavy eyed maids who crept around the long corridors with towels and coalscuttles and chamber pots and who bobbed their respect to the young mistress"s husband. I barely acknowledged them as I stumbled downstairs to share a cup of tea with the bleary-eyed butler and bite into a hunk of bread and ham. I was never a great eater in the morning, and now my nerves took control as I faced the prospect of months away from home in a hostile and utterly alien environment.

"Shall I call for the carriage, sir?" Freshly shaved and pristine as always, the butler stood at attention as he spoke.

"No," I shook my head, "thank you. The walk will help wake me up." I could imagine the fuss and bustle of alerting the coachman and taking out the horses, and cringed at the impression I would make arriving at a sealing ship by coach.

"As you wish, sir." There was no obvious emotion in the words.

After last night, I did not care what the butler thought. I was married to the best and most perfect woman in the world, and once I returned from the Arctic, my life would be full of nights such as that. Three months; four at the outside, and I would be in marital paradise.

Dundee in the dark of pre-dawn is never pretty, with streets and buildings dimly lit by flickering streetlights. The massive bulk of factories and mills dominate the town, and unseen chimneys puncture the sky while the smell of smoke is heavy amidst the lingering frost of winter. That morning was no different, but made worse by the desolation of parting; I remember that a wagon jolted over the cobblestones with fragments of raw jute floating free from its load and the carter whipping his horse in sullen bad temper.

"Get on there you lazy b***h!"

I walked quickly, listening to the echo of my footsteps against the surrounding walls. Twice I stopped, thinking that somebody was following me, and, remembering the tales I had heard of the dangers of Dundee"s dockland, I wished I had slipped my revolver into my pocket rather than having it sent on ahead with my other baggage. The footsteps pattered lightly behind me and I stopped.

"Who"s there?" my words sounded hollow, lost in the whispering night, and only the raucous screams of a seagull replied. I moved on, balling my hands into fists as I began to regret my decision to walk.

"Iain!" The voice was low and urgent. "Iain!"

"Who"s there?" I already knew the answer. "Jennifer? Is that you?"

She hurried up, breathless and dishevelled, with a coat loose over her shoulders and mud spattering the bottom of her nightdress. Her hair was wild beneath the broad bonnet. "I couldn"t let you leave without saying goodbye."

"My God!" For a moment I could only stare at her. "Jennifer; you should not be here. It"s not safe!" I reached for her, shockingly aware of her scant covering. She seemed very vulnerable amidst these predatory shadows.

"I had to come." Jennifer raised her chin in defiance, but she could not disguise the moisture in her eyes. "I had to say goodbye."

"Oh Jenny!" I shook my hand and pulled her into a close hug. I had been wrong; our single night had not been enough to fully blend us together and I felt awkward, unsure what to say or do. Less restrained or more mature, Jennifer clung to me, as if by burrowing against my body she could retain me, in soul if not in body.

"Don"t go," her voice choked on the last word. "I don"t want you to go! Please don"t go away from me."

"I must," I could feel her body warmth through the coat and closed my eyes. "It"s only for a few months."

"Please…" Her fingers hooked into me. When she looked up, tears blurred her eyes.

"I"ll come back," I told her. "And we can write to each other."

"Yes," Jennifer clung desperately to the lifeline. "Write lots of letters; write a letter a day, so I know that you are all right." She forced a smile. "And write me a journal, Iain, so that when you come back we can read it together, the journal of the only time that we will ever be apart."

"Of course I will." Aware of the passage of time, I began to gently prise myself free. "I must go, Jennifer, or the boat will leave without me and I"ll let your father down."

"Come back, oh come back to me." Jennifer was crying openly now, big round tears sliding down her cheeks in a manner that made my own eyes prickle. How do women have the ability to do that to a man? What powers do they possess?

"Of course I"ll come back," I heard the gruffness in my voice as I sought to fight unaccustomed emotion. "Come on, now." I had no handkerchief with which to dry her face, so I used my hand, which succeeded only in further smearing her tears.

"Promise me," her hands refused to release me. They were small but strong as they hooked into my back. "Please please promise that you"ll come back."

I felt the change in her. She was desperate, close to breaking down as her hands seemed to dig deep into me. Holding her at arm"s length, I looked directly into her eyes and injected as much sincerity as I could into my voice. "I promise that, whatever happens in the Arctic, I will return to you, my wife."

Jennifer nodded, her eyes liquid, searching mine, delving deep into my soul. The reminder that she was my wife had helped calm her down. "And I will leave a candle shining in the window to guide you home. I will light it every night and count every day until we are together again." Her teeth gleamed in a sudden small smile. "Now that I have your word, all I need is a kiss and you may go."

I bent down, touching my mouth to the soft lips that she offered so willingly. At that second if she had asked me to return with her I would have obeyed, and hang the consequences.

"Now go," she stepped back bravely and pushed me gently away, "go now, before you miss the tide." Jennifer stood there with her hair a halo around her head and the skirts of her coat loose around her legs. "Go!" she pointed imperiously and I turned, walking slouch shouldered as my earlier determination slipped away. I heard her singing again, the words cutting deep into what was left of my courage.

"In the gloaming, oh my darling

"In the gloaming, oh my darlingWhen the lights are soft and low

When the lights are soft and lowWill you think of me and love me

Will you think of me and love meAs you did once long ago?"

As you did once long ago?""Of course I will," I whispered. "Of course I will." The forthcoming voyage to the Arctic no longer seemed like an adventure, but an ordeal to be survived before I returned to Jennifer. When I looked back she still stood there, a lonely figure beneath the sparse streetlights, holding her coat close to her as her mouth moved with the song.