A Forbidden Liaison with Miss Grant Read online

  ‘Oh, poor Pearl, I shouldn’t have told you that. You mustn’t think of her as an old crone, you know. I fear I’ve painted a false picture of her.’

  ‘Then paint me a truer one,’ Grayson said, handing his untouched dish of lemon ice over to her.

  ‘Thank you, but why?’

  ‘I don’t really like ices.’

  ‘No, I mean why do you want to know more about Pearl?’

  ‘I want to know more about you.’

  ‘You already know a great deal more than most.’ Constance decided that she could, just manage to eat Grayson’s portion of ice as well as her own, and picked up her spoon again. ‘Pearl was my mother’s friend, when they were growing up. She married a lawyer not long after my parents eloped, and came to live in Edinburgh. He did very well for himself, I think a combination of excellent connections and a flair for speaking, and was appointed to the bench quite young. He died about ten years ago, so I never met him, and that’s when Angus came into Pearl’s life.’

  ‘There’s no offspring, I take it?’

  ‘No. She sent me gifts on my birthday every year when I was wee, and she visited us in Clachan Bridge a couple of times, but it was a long journey to make. She and my mother kept in touch though, writing to each other every month, and when we lost my mother, I took over responsibility for corresponding with her.’

  ‘So she knew about the improving laird?’

  ‘She offered both my father and myself a home, when it became obvious that we’d have to leave imminently. We planned to come to Edinburgh together, to look around for another school, maybe. I don’t know. Obviously that didn’t happen.’

  ‘So Pearl took you in, and there you’ve been, the two of you and Angus, ever since. Has she given up her social life then, since her husband died? In my experience,’ Grayson said, in answer to her surprised expression, ‘a man does not make a success of the law without also being a success in society. Your Mrs Winston must have done a fair bit of entertaining when her husband was alive.’

  ‘And she still does. She has her ladies of the law, as she calls them, for tea once a week. She doesn’t like to dine out very often, and I wouldn’t say Coates Crescent is a social whirl, but she’s never short of company if she wants it. I can’t imagine why you thought her a recluse.’

  ‘Something you said, that first day. When we were walking back from Newhaven, I remember talking about whether we were likely to bump into anyone you knew, and you said that you had few acquaintances here. But you’ve lived with Mrs Winston for six years.’

  ‘Oh, I see. No, Pearl isn’t ashamed of me, and she doesn’t keep me confined to the attic or the kitchens, when her friends call, it’s just that I prefer not to—I’m the one that’s not very sociable.’ Constance pushed her unfinished second ice aside. ‘That was absolutely delicious, but I couldn’t eat another thing.’

  Grayson drew her a look that made it clear he knew she was prevaricating, but to her relief, he chose not to push her. ‘Do you want coffee?’

  ‘No. It’s getting late, and I’ve been away all day, I should be getting back to Coates Crescent. Angus will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Then I’ll walk you back.’

  Grayson handed over a bundle of notes to the head waiter without asking for the bill, earning himself what passed for a smile. As they emerged into the foyer, Mr Urquhart abandoned another couple to wave them off, implying that he would not sleep a wink until Mr Maddox returned with his family next month.

  ‘How will you explain the fact that you’ve left me back in Glasgow?’ Constance asked as the descended the front steps of the hotel, back into Charlotte Square. ‘Perhaps I’ll be nursing a sick relative somewhere.’

  He tucked her hand into his arm. ‘It’s turned into a lovely evening. Let’s enjoy it. Will we take a walk around the square?’

  ‘It’s still busy, considering it’s after six.’

  ‘People like to make the most of the sun when it shines. It’s the same back in Glasgow. The parks will be full of people taking the air, bairns screeching about, playing in the fountains.’

  ‘No!’

  Grayson grinned. ‘Well, they can hardly jump in the Clyde, not in the city, it’s filthy.’

  ‘But didn’t you say that they went—what was the phrase, down the water, on the River Clyde?’

  ‘Doon the watter. I did. The Clyde estuary is almost the sea by the time you get past Greenock, so it’s much cleaner.’

  ‘And when you sail doon the watter, do you ever take a dip?’

  ‘I dipped a toe in it once, and that was enough. The Mediterranean now, that’s a whole different matter. The water there is like stepping into a warm bath.’

  ‘You’ve travelled abroad! Oh, where—and when?’

  ‘Before I was married, I spent quite a bit of time in the shipyards of France, Greece, Spain. I wanted to see how they built their ships, just to make sure that I could build mine better.’

  Constance laughed. ‘How wonderful. How lucky you are. Which country did you like best? What was the food like? And the people? Oh, goodness, and the language, how did you get by? I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you. Look, here is a vacant bench, let’s sit down, and you can tell me all.’

  ‘All? I take it you don’t mean the nuts and bolts of shipbuilding?’

  ‘If we had time, I’d be delighted to know that too, but for now just tell me—oh, describe each country to me.’

  Smiling, shaking his head at her enthusiasm, he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the narrow bench. He painted a vivid picture, of the colours and the scents and the sounds, of the dust and the heat, the strangeness of it all for a young man who had never been further than Lowland Scotland. He was not afraid to poke fun at his younger self either. ‘The language might have been different, but shipyards the world over are similar, with any number of rites of passage,’ he said. ‘I remember the first time I went to visit my father at work, one of the other clerks sent me to the warehouse to get a long stand. After about half an hour of patient waiting the penny finally dropped. “Ach, don’t worry son,” my father said when I returned looking sheepish, “brighter folk than you have fallen for that one. Including me!”’

  His arm was lying on the back of the bench as they talked. Constance edged closer to him, and his hand moved to her shoulder. Through her skirts, she could feel his leg pressed against her, reminding her of Newhaven, and the bench outside the inn, yet this was different. The charge between them, the acute awareness of each other was still intense, but there was a longing between them that hadn’t been there before, a yearning to know, to be part of the other that wasn’t physical. Was she being nonsensical? Yet as their eyes met and held, and silence hung between them, she could have sworn they were still talking.

  He reached for her hand, remembering—which she had not—that they were sitting on a bench in the middle of Charlotte Square. ‘Come on, you need to get back.’

  She slipped her hand back into the crook of his arm, and snuggled as close as she decently could. ‘If we cross here, we can walk along Melville Street, which will bring us out at the back of Coates. It’s quieter.’ Their thighs brushed with each step. ‘How did you set about setting up your own yard? I’d imagine it is an expensive undertaking?’

  ‘I worked for someone else at first. Then my parents left me a bit of money after they died in a cholera epidemic which swept through Glasgow.’

  ‘You lost them both at once! Oh, Grayson, how awful.’

  ‘It was quick, and they went together. It was a long time ago.’ Though his voice told her that he was not indifferent.

  She pressed his arm. ‘All the same, it must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘I threw myself into my work. I made the most of my parents’ legacy, bought a small yard, and—ah, what can I say, Constance, I was a great success.
I’m just brilliant at what I do!’

  She laughed because he wanted her to, though the thought crossed her mind that work had consistently been both a panacea and a welcome distraction for him. They had reached the little gardens that formed the halfway point of Melville Street and she came to a halt. ‘Coates is just a step away down there.’

  Grayson put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Look up. There are some stars peeking out.’

  ‘When I first came to Edinburgh, I thought there were no stars. It took me ages to realise that they were there, but because of the lights it was too bright for me to see them.’

  ‘When you’re at sea, in the middle of the ocean, the stars are so bright you can read a book by their light.’

  ‘I used to love to go outside in the winter on a clear night, and look at them. My father had a star map, and he could pick out all the constellations. Is it true you can steer a ship by the stars?’

  ‘Trained navigators can, but I can’t. There is a limit to my skills, I’m sorry to say.’ Somehow, she had turned to face him. He put his arms around her, pulling her close. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all day. Just this.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in the warmth of his skin, feeling the rough wool of his jacket against her cheek, placing her hand on his chest over his heart. ‘I didn’t realise I was lonely.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  ‘You’ll be heading back to Glasgow soon, now that you’ve done what you came here for.’

  ‘Shush. I’m here now.’

  Constance looked up, and as their eyes met in the dusk, it was no longer enough, just to be held. ‘You’re here now,’ she said softly, ‘and that’s all that matters.’

  Their kiss began tenderly, as their earlier kisses had, but soon their lips became urgent, their kisses heated. He tasted of wine. His cheek was rough with nascent stubble. They were in the shadow of the statue at the centre of the little garden, but anyone looking out of a window would see them, anyone passing by would notice. She knew this, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for their kisses to go on and on and on. His tongue touched hers. She pressed herself closer to him, wanting to feel him hard against her, shocked by the blatancy of what she was doing, and at the same time excited. When he would have stopped, a word of caution on his lips, she pulled him back, kissing him again, relishing the way her kisses knocked the breath out of him. His hand cupped her breast through her gown, under her shawl, and her nipples hardened, making them both moan.

  But then he broke away, his breath fast, catching her hands when she would have pulled him back. ‘If you kiss me again, I swear I’ll pick you up and carry you back to Oman’s Hotel, and tell Mr Urquhart that we have urgent need of the Caledonian Suite.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, can you imagine?’

  He smoothed his hair down with the flat of his hand. ‘I’d rather not. Come here, let me help you with those ribbons on your bonnet, they’ve managed to get into a right fankle. If anyone sees you like this, they’ll think you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘It’s very bad, in a just-been-kissed-and-impossible-to-resist-kissing-again kind of way,’ Grayson said, touching his lips to her forehead. ‘Hussy!’

  Constance giggled. ‘You pay the most delightful compliments. Oh, dear, I really must get back, it’s almost dark. Don’t come any further, Coates is just there.’

  ‘You’re still free tomorrow, aren’t you?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you outside the Custom House down in Leith at about nine, you’ll need to walk Angus early.’

  ‘Why on earth...?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. Will you be there?’

  ‘I promise but I probably won’t sleep a wink now.’ Which was true, for she’d have to work into the night as it was. Constance stood on her tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Goodnight. Thank you again for a lovely day and a delicious meal.’ Turning away, she walked quickly down Walker Street, refusing to allow herself to look back.

  Chapter Seven

  Anyone passing the Castle Esplanade yesterday would have been treated to an entertaining, if unedifying spectacle. Fifty burly clansmen marching ‘up an doon and roon an roon’ under the command of our own Grand Old Duke of York, MacDonnell of Glengarry. In Flora’s humble opinion, the gentleman might have been better served trying to herd the sheep he prefers to populate his estates with, having packed his clansmen off to Canada and the four winds. Astonishingly, in the eyes of the law he has committed no crime, unless one counts being a bigger horse’s arse than that belonging to your steed, as someone of Flora’s acquaintance put it pithily.

  One might come to the conclusion that grown men playing soldiers in their best dressing up clothes would be more suited to the schoolyard than the Castle Esplanade. One might very well be right. If this is an example of the tartan ‘pageantry’ we can expect to endure during the King’s visit, the least their noble chieftain could do is order his men to place their tongues firmly in their cheek. What next? Highland coos dancing a reel? It would be amusing if it were not such a perfect example of the contrast between the whimsical, self-indulgent myth being portrayed in our Capital City, and the stomach-churning reality of life in the Highlands.

  Flora MacDonald, New Jacobite Journal

  Friday, 12th July 1822

  When Constance arrived in Leith just before nine, the sun was already out, so she stood in the shade of the Custom House, watching a procession of clerks, masters and merchants make their way briskly up the shallow flight of steps and in through the massive doorway which was flanked with double columns on either side. What was the nature of their business in there? Grayson would know.

  Where was he? Resisting the urge to check the clock again, she checked the buttons on her gloves instead and adjusted her shawl. It was new, made from sky-blue silk embroidered with snowdrops. It had been an early birthday present from Pearl, given before she departed for the Borders. It perfectly complemented her new blue gown, which she wished now, she had saved to wear for the first time. Mind you, if she’d been wearing one of her old gowns when they dined at Oman’s Hotel, she’d have been mortified. Honestly! She had more things to worry about than a frivolous dress. But still, she couldn’t help wishing her wardrobe contained more variety. Something more summery, with short sleeves. White muslin, or was she too old for that? Pale green would be nice, but it wouldn’t go with her new shawl. And short sleeves weren’t exactly practical. How many days in a year did they get like this?

  Where was he? She felt as though she’d been waiting here an age. Perhaps he had changed his mind and wasn’t coming. Checking the clock once more, Constance saw that it was only just nine, and before it began to chime, she heard her name being called, and her heart leapt, and she turned around to find Grayson smiling at her.

  ‘I was looking the wrong way,’ she said, unsettled by the wave of sheer joy that enveloped her. ‘I thought you’d come from Leith Walk direction.’

  ‘I had a bit of final business to attend to at the docks.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, though she didn’t. His coat was dark blue today, his waistcoat the same sky blue as her shawl. ‘Our clothes match.’

  ‘You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve seen that shawl before. Would you call that sky blue or azure? Or maybe it’s cerulean?’

  ‘Cerulean! Hark at the rough Glaswegian shipbuilder,’ Constance said, laughing.

  ‘The rough Glaswegian shipbuilder has a sixteen-year-old daughter who never has her nose out of those fashion-plate things. I like those wee flowers on your shawl. Are they snowdrops?’

  ‘I have no idea, are they? It’s a present from Pearl which I shouldn’t have opened until my birthday. I’m worried I’ll be too hot though, it looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.’

  ‘As it turns out, you’ll need a shawl, wh
ere we’re going.’

  ‘Which is where? Is it Newhaven? I thought it might be since that’s where we first met and...’

  ‘It’s not Newhaven. The point of a surprise, Constance, is that you don’t know what it’s going to be. Stop asking questions.’

  ‘I can’t help it. No one ever surprises me—not in a good way, I mean.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m pretty certain this will be a nice surprise.’ Grayson took her hand, tucking it into his arm. ‘If we cut through here by the side of Custom House we’ll be at the Shore.’

  ‘They’re putting up scaffolding here. It will be the prime spot for watching the King land.’

  ‘Hoisted flapping out of his barge like a monster cod,’ Grayson said. ‘I remember thinking that as I stood near here, just before I bumped into you.’

  ‘Not even a week ago, can you believe it?’

  ‘I have to keep reminding myself.’

  They had reached the Shore, and came to a stop at the water’s edge near a set of slimy stairs which disappeared into the water. The cries of stevedores and sailors carried over from the busy Queen’s Dock, but here it was peaceful. The sun sparkled on the still waters reflecting the barges and the lighters. A gull landed on a mooring bollard and fixed them with a beady eye. A small wooden dinghy was being rowed under the bridge, making its way towards them.

  ‘The current royal yacht the Royal George is a three-master,’ Grayson said. ‘Five years old, and in my humble opinion, well out of date.’

  ‘Because she is not a steamship, I assume?’

  ‘Naturally. She’s a lovely ship of her kind, by all accounts, but she’ll need assistance from a steam pilot boat to get her in and out of Greenwich. When she finally arrives here, she’ll have to anchor in the Firth of Forth, out there, since she isn’t manoeuvrable enough to come alongside at the docks yonder. Are you ready?’

  ‘For what?’ Constance asked, looking around her.

  ‘To test your sea legs.’ Grayson hailed the man rowing the dinghy, deftly catching the rope thrown from the little boat, dislodging the startled gull from the bollard to tie it up.