Chapter 44
Kitty Muirhead
THEY’VE MOVED ME TO A bigger room but it’s still obviously meant for a servant, and I don’t even have a view any more.
At least looking down into the city street, I could see folk.
I could watch the ladies of Edinburgh passing by, imagining the day I’ll be like them, a rich woman with money in my pocket on my way to somewhere important of my own choosing.
I’m scunnered with these four walls. They brought me fabric and thread for embroidery – like that isn’t the most boring thing in the world.
I threw it all back at them. They brought me a deck of playing cards, which I looked at for a while.
But I don’t know any games, and I have no one to play with.
They brought me books I can’t read – they’re just mocking me.
The dead-eyed servant who empties my pot and brings me broth, stewed apples and these boggin smelly teas stands over me every morning, making sure I finish every mouthful. The sweet syrup they give me is braw though – I asked for more, but the servant ignored me.
One good thing has happened since I’ve been stuck here. Yesterday, one of Dorothea Ruthven’s daughters, the one who’s friends with Lady Alvah, brought me my broth, her face a picture of pity.
‘What do you want?’ I spat at her.
She looked surprised. What did she expect? My gratitude that a fine lady like her would do me the honour of a visit?
‘Kitty, I want you to have something.’ She was holding out her hand, something shining in her palm. I craned to look.
‘It’s a fine emerald,’ she said. ‘I want you to have it. Your need is greater than mine.’
The stone was impressively large, set in a gold chain, its green depths mesmerising. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, staring at it like a fool.
‘Wear it around your neck. I’ll help you put it on.’ She reached to fasten it around my throat, and I started at her touch, then my hand flew to hold it tight.
‘Keep it inside your gown. Nobody need know.’
Before I could speak, she hurried from the room, the door closing behind her.
Now, I reach up to my throat and finger the stone, a glow filling my chest. But even the green depths of this jewel can’t keep me occupied for days at a time.
What do they expect me to do? Cooped up in here with nothing but my growing belly and my thoughts for company.
My mind takes me back to the kirkyard, to the wolf, the smell of the earth as it’s disturbed, the stench and the sacrilege of what followed.
It’s too much. I find myself lying on my side, curled into a ball, trying to stop the thoughts coming.
Enough.
Enough of being kept in this room like a chained animal. Enough of having nothing to do except stare at the wall and think rotten thoughts.
It’s time to go out into the city and find the man who owes me money – who owes me the future he promised me in Culmaily kirkyard. I need air; I need to see something outside these four walls.
I get out of bed, the wooden floor cauld on my bare feet. Summer is over and the air has chilled. This room may be less cramped than the tiny one up in the roof they put me in first, but I still don’t have a fire to warm me.
I shiver as I walk to the door and push it.
It’s locked – why am I surprised? They treat me like an animal and they lock me up like one.
I push at the door again, this time with my whole body.
It doesn’t move. I feel a great anger well up inside me – I can’t stand this any more.
They need me; they need this bairn I’m carrying. They can’t lock me away like this.
I throw my weight into the door. ‘Let me out,’ I shout.
‘Go back to bed,’ a flat voice says on the other side.
I hurl myself again at the door. It shakes in its frame. ‘Let me out,’ I shout, louder this time. My voices catches in my throat. ‘Let me out of this room.’
‘You’d better stop that,’ the voice says, less flat this time, more worried. He doesn’t want me making such a racket. That’s good.
So I walk away from the door then run at it. It shakes more this time. ‘I won’t stop,’ I shout, ‘until you let me out. I can’t stay in here for another day.’
My voice is rising and there are tears in my eyes. I blink them away – no, I will not cry. I will make them let me out, but I will not cry.
I throw my body against the door. Over and over and over again. ‘Go and tell them,’ I shout. ‘Tell them to let me out.’
My arms, where they’re crashing into the wood, are turning red. There’s a scratch on one side – I watch the blood gather and then trickle down my arm, dripping down onto the floor. I run at the door again and hit it on the same spot, the pain a welcome relief from boredom.
‘I’m so sorry, Kitty.’ Lady Alvah is swabbing the angry wound on my arm with a poultice of shiny green leaves. ‘I don’t know why you were locked in. Dorothea said one of the servants locked the door by mistake and will be reprimanded.’
Now my anger is subsiding, I feel the pain in my arm. It’s stopped bleeding – this woman knows what she’s doing with these plants – but it hurts as she gently presses the fabric to my skin.
‘How can I help you, Kitty?’ she asks gently. ‘I want to help you.’
‘I want to walk out around the city,’ I shoot back at her like a challenge.
‘You should not have been left alone for so many days. I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy. We can walk out this morning.
‘And,’ I add, ‘I must be dressed like a lady. I’m not wearing my own ragged clothes out there.’
She doesn’t laugh this time. ‘I will ask Lady Dorothea.’