Gillespie and I (30 page)

At Stanley Street, the main door to number 11 had been propped open, and a few women and children had gathered just inside, to shelter from the rain. In those days—as now—congregating at the mouth of the close was frowned upon as ‘common', and so it was plain that word must have spread about Rose, otherwise these respectable matrons would not have lingered there, lest they might be mistaken for Jezebels! They were talking amongst themselves, in low voices, as I approached. I recognised one of the ladies as the Gillespies' downstairs neighbour.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Calthrop,' I said, ‘has little Rose been found yet?'

Calthrop shook her head, dourly. ‘But half the street's out looking for her.'

I questioned her further. Apparently, my landlady was still upstairs, in the Gillespies' parlour, keeping vigil. Annie had returned, briefly, but when told that there was still no sign of Rose, she had rushed out again, into the rain, to continue her search. Ned had not yet come home. There was no definite news of Rose, but various rumours had begun to come to light. At half past two o'clock, one of the neighbours had been crossing West Princes Street, and had seen, in the distance, two little girls walking, hand in hand, westwards, in the direction of the River Kelvin. A while later, a small, fair-haired lass was seen passing the old flint mill, alone. Someone else claimed to have been in a grocer's shop on Great Western Road, at about a quarter past three o'clock, when a girl of Sibyl's age and appearance entered and stood in the queue, waiting to be served. And, apparently, young Lily Alexander had spoken to a maidservant who worked on the Queen's Terrace section of West Princes Street. This maid—a girl named Martha—had been returning from an errand, some time after three o'clock, when she noticed a man hurrying along with a bundle in his arms. She had realised that the bundle was human only when it began to cry; it was a little girl, she was almost certain. The man had tried to hush the child, and when that failed, he simply hurried away.

‘But you know what skivvies are like,' said Calthrop. ‘She's probably made it up, to get attention. More likely it was the man's own wee bairn.'

‘No doubt, that's the case,' I said, reluctant as I was to consider any alternative. I had intended to go upstairs and speak to my landlady, but it occurred to me that Calthrop had already told me all that I needed to hear. Therefore, with no desire to stand around gossiping, I hurried back outside, in order to do what seemed to be the most useful thing, under the circumstances, and that was to carry on searching for Rose, while there was still light in the sky.

First of all, I stopped off at my lodgings, where I changed my frock, which was dripping wet. Then I put on a mackintosh and went back outside, armed with my umbrella. Troubled by what Calthrop had said about two girls who had been seen going towards the Kelvin, I decided to head in that direction. Annie and I had often taken the children along the river, on our walks, and it was quite possible that they might have wandered down there. For all I knew, Sibyl might not have been telling the truth, and I was worried about what might have become of Rose: the paths alongside the water could be lonely; the route often veered close to steep areas of riverbank; the Kelvin was deep in places, powerful and fast-flowing in its lower reaches, and could rise quickly under rainy conditions, such as we were experiencing that day. It was possible that there had been some kind of accident, and that Sibyl was too frightened of the consequences to tell us what had happened.

At intervals, along West Princes Street, tenements were under construction and I peered into the building sites as I went along, but saw no sign of any children. Reaching the river, I headed northwards, keeping close to the water's edge whenever I was able. For the next few hours, I searched the river valley and the strips of woodland along the way. Thankfully, the rain soon stopped. I went as far as the paper works, after which it was too dark to see any more. En route, I was menaced, once, by a dog, and accosted, twice, by solitary men, who may, in the half-light, have mistaken me for something that I was not, but they soon realised their error when I saw them off with sharp words and my raised umbrella. Of Ned's and Annie's missing child, I found not a trace.

It was with blistered feet and aching legs that I returned to Stanley Street, at about half past nine o'clock. Glancing up at number 11, I saw a dim light burning in the Gillespies' parlour, and thought that I perceived someone at the window—possibly Annie, although it was hard to tell. The shadowy figure shrank out of sight behind the curtains as I began to climb the front steps. Now that darkness had fallen, the little group of women and children at the close mouth had dispersed. However, the main door, which was usually locked, had been propped ajar with a large stone. (I later learned that this was at Ned's insistence, in case Rose should return, in the night.) Reluctant to intrude at such a time, uninvited, I rang the bell, rather than going straight up to the apartment, which would have been presumptuous, under the circumstances. After an interval, I heard heavy male footsteps on the stairs, and then on the flagstones of the close. The thwack of leather sole was accompanied by a strange crunching, grinding sound that I could not identify. Presently, the door opened to reveal a tall, thin police constable, a Highlander. I recognised him, from his ginger moustache, as Constable Black, one of the older men who walked the beat around the Claremont and Woodside areas. He brought with him an overpowering scent of peppermint humbugs, which explained the sounds of crunching that I had heard.

‘Aye,' he said, leaning down to peer at me, with a blast of cold, mint breath that almost made my eyes water. ‘What is it?'

‘I'm here to see the Gillespies. Has Rose been found?'

‘No yet, missus. But dinna fash yersel', she'll turn up.'

‘Oh, I do hope you're right.'

I hesitated, wondering whether he might lead me into the building, but then he said: ‘Who are ye, yourself? Likely they'll want tae know who called.'

‘Harriet, Miss Baxter. I was here, earlier, with Annie. I've been looking for Rose, these past few hours. I'm a good friend of the family. Do they need any help? I'd be happy to make hot drinks, or anything else that might be required.'

‘Naw—nae need. Mr Gillespie's mother's in charge of the kettle.'

‘Elspeth? Elspeth Gillespie? Are you sure?'

‘Aye, it's Mrs Gillespie, sure as sure. She's making the doctor some tea.'

‘A doctor? What's the matter? Is someone ill?'

‘Thon wee—Sibyl, is it?—flew up in the snuff and took a wee fit tae herself. She's fine now, but this place has been going like a fair. They need peace and quiet. You'd do better tae come back tomorrow.'

‘Oh yes—yes, of course.'

He stepped behind the door, and let it close, gently, against the prop-stone. Then I heard him retrace his footsteps, back up the passageway.

Suddenly exhausted, I returned to Queen's Crescent. The little park lay at the centre, still and quiet, under cover of darkness. I stood on the steps of my lodgings, for a moment. The gardens were desolate and empty. Where was little Rose? And was she safe from harm?

Mrs Alexander had not yet retired to bed, and from her I learned a few more snippets of information. Apparently, she had remained in the Gillespies' parlour until quite late, and had been there, just after six o'clock, when Ned had arrived home, distraught, having been told by the women downstairs that his youngest daughter had been missing for three hours. He asked my landlady if she would mind remaining where she was, in case anyone returned, while he went to the Western Police Office, at Cranston Street. Then he dashed off again, extremely vexed.

Soon afterwards, Sibyl had come leaping upstairs, followed, at a more sedate pace, by Ned's mother, who had just returned from a prison visit and heard the news about Rose from her maid. Elspeth was in a state of near-hysteria and, apparently, it was all that Mrs Alexander could do to calm the woman, fearing (probably rightly) that her raving demeanour might have an ill effect upon Sibyl.

In due course, it seems, Ned reappeared, having been instructed, at the police office, to go home and there await the arrival of a detective who would want to question his wife, in particular. And so, the Alexander girls were sent to find Annie but, as they were on their way out, they met her coming in, accompanied by Detective Sub-Inspector Stirling and the ginger policeman, whom she had encountered in the street. A troupe of neighbours and nosy urchins straggled upstairs in their wake, and Constable Black was obliged to close the landing door, in order to keep them out and maintain some order. In the end, Calthrop and Mrs Alexander were the only neighbours who were permitted to remain.

‘Did Ned's mother stay?' I asked and when my landlady nodded, I remarked: ‘I dread to think what happened when Annie saw her.'

Mrs Alexander shook her head, sadly.

‘I doubt Annie noticed anybody, she was in such a state, poor thing.'

Evidently, the police conducted their interviews in the dining room, and Annie was the first to be questioned. After several minutes, she emerged, and then Sibyl was summoned into the room, alone. Without the inhibiting presence of her family, and under some clever interrogation from Detective Stirling, the child eventually admitted that she had, indeed, left her sister unsupervised in the gardens that afternoon, but only for a few minutes.

She and Rose had been playing in separate areas of the little park: Sibyl had been inspecting a dead bird that she found lying on the grass, while her sister dug around with a stick beneath the trees. Apparently, at one point, Sibyl glanced up and noticed a woman standing outside the railings, on the West Princes Street side, looking into the gardens. The child was fairly sure that she had never seen this person before. According to her description, the woman wore a shiny blue dress, and a black hat, with a short veil that covered her face to the end of her nose. By the time that Sibyl next looked up, the woman had vanished from her original position, but then she reappeared, soon afterwards, on Queen's Crescent, at the entrance to the gardens. When she caught Sibyl's gaze, she smiled, and beckoned with her finger. Leaving Rose at play, the older girl approached the gate. The woman explained that she had just moved into a house nearby, and needed somebody to run to Dobie's to buy sugar, because she was awaiting the carriers and was unable to go herself. Dobie the grocer's was just around the corner, on Great Western Road, about a minute's walk from the gardens. Sibyl was familiar with the shop, having been there many times with Annie and various others. The woman indicated Rose, who was still playing, a little distance away, beneath the trees.

‘Is that your wee sister?' she asked. When Sibyl nodded, the woman took out two pennies. ‘Keep one of these,' she said. ‘And go and buy me a pennyworth of sugar with the other. I'll look after your sister until you get back.'

Not imagining that there could be any harm in leaving Rose for a few minutes, under these circumstances, Sibyl ran down Melrose Street and around the corner. She bought the sugar at Dobie's, as requested, and—no doubt—felt quite pleased with herself, having never before gone to a shop to make a purchase unaccompanied. However, upon her return to Queen's Crescent, she was vaguely alarmed to find the little park empty, with no sign of Rose or the lady stranger, anywhere. There were few nooks and crannies in the gardens, but Sibyl looked in them all, and then she walked around the Crescent, calling her sister's name. Eventually, when it seemed evident that neither Rose nor the veiled woman were going to reappear, she left the bag of sugar on a wall (where Annie and I saw it, later) and returned to Stanley Street, assuming that Rose had got bored without her and gone home. In the event, realising that this was not the case, and faced with her mother's concern, the child had been unable to admit the truth, fearing that, yet again, she would be scolded or punished for wrongdoing.

As Mrs Alexander explained to me, when the detective conveyed this story to the Gillespie family, and showed them the penny that the woman had given to the child, Sibyl had looked shamefaced. Meanwhile, Elspeth became very agitated. She darted scandalised glances at her granddaughter, but said nothing, for the time being, until Ned and the policemen went out to look at Queen's Crescent, leaving the women alone.

‘That was when Elspeth confronted Sibyl,' explained my landlady. ‘Saying it was all her fault, as usual, accusing her of wickedness and greed.' Evidently, the child became upset and began to whimper, but the widow persisted, complaining that Sibyl had abandoned Rose. Despite Annie's pleas that she should desist, Elspeth kept ranting on and on until, of a sudden, Sibyl fell to the floor, screaming, and twisting her little body, this way and that, until she seemed to go into convulsions.

‘Annie turned quite pale with fright,' said Mrs Alexander. ‘She lay down beside Sibyl, and held her, to pacify her.' One of the local lads was sent hurrying to fetch a physician from Woodside Place (a nearby residential street populated, almost entirely, by gentlemanly M.D.s.) By the time that young Dr Williams had arrived, Sibyl had calmed down somewhat, but the appearance on the scene of a medical man seemed to upset her, once again, and the doctor was obliged to give the child a little sedation.

He and Annie put Sibyl to bed and, presently, Ned and the policemen returned, having inspected Queen's Crescent gardens, and found no trace of Rose (by that stage, even the bag of sugar had disappeared). In order to discount the possibility that the child was hiding somewhere, the policemen took lamps downstairs and, with Ned as their guide, they inspected all the back courts, along the lane, and then peered into the basement coal stores of number 11. Thereafter, they announced their intention to search the apartment. Any person who was not a family member was asked to leave and so, along with Calthrop, Mrs Alexander excused herself and came home.