My face is pale, but it looks better for a bit of Ma’s cooking and less of the gin. I wonder what happened to Mrs Rose’s rouge, for it got lost in the way of things. The rope-bruise has changed. In fact it is the most changed thing about me. It has faded, as a fire does at the end of an evening, so that it still glows, but with less heat. I touch it gently and feel no pain or tenderness at all.

I wonder what Mr Munroe thinks when he looks at me.

I am quite lost in contemplation of myself when there is a commotion and two men burst in, making the door slam open with a bang.

I spin on my heels, but before I do that, in order to face them, there is a moment – a split-second of time – when I know they have come for me. Neither of them is Dr McTavish, but I know he has sent them. One stands with a rope in his hand.

‘Mistress Dickson,’ he says, ‘now you shall come quietly with us in our carriage, or we shall hang you from the rafters of this very room. Those are our instructions from the doctor.’

I edge away from the men as much as I can. They do not move, but remain blocking my only way of escape.

‘There’s no point trying to run,’ the other observes. ‘We are paid for a job and we are doing the job.’

And that is when they grab me.

They make me sit on the floor of their carriage, with the rope around my arms and waist, trussed up like poultry. They put metal cuffs on my wrists.

I sit there, watching the world flash by at the carriage window for the whole hour into Edinburgh. The men say nothing. No small-talk or even anything to scare me. I wonder how long it will take before someone misses me. Tears prick at my eyes. When Mr Munroe comes back, when I am not home for supper, they will think I have run off once more.

Ma will think I could not face the fishwives’ questions again, and Mr Munroe will think I ran away at his invitation to lunch. They will think I preferred the anonymity of Edinburgh.

Then I think, This will be my last journey.

Dr McTavish will punish me and will enjoy it too.

Chapter Thirty-One

Edinburgh
October 1724

The men hand me over at the door and, after taking a payment from Dr McTavish, they disappear.

I am still trussed. Dr McTavish pushes me into the bedchamber and throws me onto the bed. I bite my mouth to try not to weep.