By Freda McDonnell

n January 4 the Stuart family set off for their home in Edinburgh. A subdued Isobel went with them. En route they stopped off at Isobel’s old home to pick up Betsy, the tweeny, and dismiss the other servants. Isobel was sent to pack her toys and clothes with Betsy while Alie went into the late John and Margaret’s room, where she rifled through Margaret’s jewellery.

With greedy fingers, she stashed every item of value in her handbag.

It would be years before Isobel was old enough to wear it. In the meantime, she could have the pleasure of the pieces adorning her own fingers, wrists and throat.

Her brother had been far too generous, lavishing presents on that insipid wife of his. Margaret’s fair skin had not done justice to emeralds and diamonds. They would look far better against her own golden skin and dark hair.

It wasn’t that Hamish was mean with presents — not actually mean but he was very money-conscious. He thought jewellery an unnecessary extravagance.

“Jewellery is the last thing you need, Alie. You are beautiful just as you are, my darling.’’ What rubbish! Jewellery spoke of wealth. She would wear Margaret’s emerald and diamond necklace with the pear-shaped drop resting on her bosom, drawing attention to it, especially Colin’s attention.

Colin Campbell was a colleague of Hamish’s, the son of the senior partner. She’d noticed him looking at her.

At the next dinner party she gave she must arrange for him to sit opposite her at the table, where he could see her newly-acquired diamonds flash fire in the lamplight. “Alie?’’ Alie jumped, dragging herself back to the present when Hamish spoke to her. “Where is Isobel?’’ “Mooning about in the drawing-room.’’ Hamish clicked his tongue in sympathy. “She’s finding it hard to come to terms with her loss.’’

Alie’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s not the only one. John was my brother, remember.’’ Hamish winced. “How could I ever forget, Alie.’’ “I just cannot believe I’ll never see him again.’’ “What about Margaret?’’ “What about her?’’ Alie dashed her tears away almost angrily.

They sat in the train going back to Edinburgh. Noone spoke. A wedge of misery rested on Alie’s chest when she thought of her dead brother.

At the same time she tried to analyse her feelings for Isobel.

The desire to punish the child was so strong, she found herself clenching her fists.

Was it because she looked so much like Margaret? The child would be a constant reminder of her own jealousy of John’s wife, because Alie knew she would never love anyone as much as she’d loved her brother.

The Stuart family lived in Edinburgh in a tall terraced house on Randolph Crescent.

From the front, the house, all five storeys, looked imposing, of generous proportions, with wide, high, sash windows.

However, because it was built on a cliff overlooking the Waters of Leith, the back of the house had still more storeys stretching down to the garden, where the Waters occasionally seeped through the old wall and flooded the lawn.

Isobel thought it a spooky house. She was given the front bedroom on the fourth floor.

The window was level with the treetops in the private, railed-off garden opposite. The gate was permanently locked, to keep out undesirables, whoever they might be.

The top floor where Isobel slept made her feel isolated, unwanted, pushed out of sight.

Above Isobel’s room were the servants’ quarters. This fifth floor was linked to the fourth floor by an enclosed narrow staircase with a creaky door at the bottom. If not closed properly, it banged all night in the draught.

It was the draughtiest, coldest, spookiest house Isobel had ever known.

She nostalgically thought of her previous home in Newport-on-Tay, with its detached simplicity on two floors, warm rooms and loving parents. No one loved her here.

The next night at dinner, Isobel noticed Aunt Alie was wearing her mother’s sapphire and diamond ring.

“You are wearing Mama’s ring,’’ she dared to accuse.

Hamish’s eyes flew to Alie’s hands. She hid them under the table. “Is this true, Alie?’’ “Yes, well . . . why not?’’ She glowered at Isobel. “Did you take all the jewellery from the house?’’ “I saw no reason . . .” Alie began, only to be interrupted. “They were part of the estate!’’ “Surely not the jewellery, Hamish. I thought that would be saved for Isobel when she grows up.’’ “But not worn by you in the meantime.’’ “Why not?’’ “It might get lost, damaged or stolen.’’ “Hamish, they’re insured.’’ “That’s not the point, Alie. They are of sentimental value to Isobel.’’ Alie stuck out her chin. “They are to me too.’’ “I never realised you had a scrap of feeling for Margaret.’’ His tone was cold.

“John. They were bought by John. Chosen by John. They are his taste.’’

“Don’t go on. I’ve heard enough.’’ Hamish rose and left the table.

Alie glared at Isobel. “You!!’’ she spat at her. Only one word but it told all. Aunt Alie hated her. This was the moment the plan to run away formed in Isobel’s mind. She would take Mama’s jewellery from Aunt Alie’s room and sell it. It would not be stealing. They were hers already – Uncle Hamish had said so and Mama would not mind if she knew how unhappy she was. She would keep one piece to remember Mama by. She would take Betsy with her too. They could look after each other. Run away together from this cold unfriendly house. Well away from Aunt Alie.

(More tomorrow.)