I had always peeked at Joan’s scrapbook; it was natural to me. Sisters cannot help but pry into each other’s secrets. So I looked again, bracing myself for more sketches of men’s bulging breeches, or worse. The pocket at the back was fastened, so I quickly popped the button open and had a look inside. This time there was something new, which I hadn’t seen before. A small folded paper. I pulled it out and gasped at the familiar white packet, although this one was quite empty. The enigmatic smiling woman. Physic powder. Spencer’s Women’s Tonic.

Chapter Nine

Joan came to bed as the town clock struck midnight and the wind finally died down. She slipped under the sheets, smelling of rum. I lay like a rock, breathing deep, pretending to be asleep, for I was so bewildered and furious that I did not trust myself to open my mouth.

Had she taken the powder from my supplies? That was my first thought, but no, my supplies were hidden away and there were no packets ever left lying around. I hadn’t even taken it, these past days. It was risky to have such a substance in the house. If I was ever discovered trying to prevent a pregnancy there would be trouble. Imagine what Ma would say. So had Joan got the powders from an apothecary? No, for I had never seen such a packet in Musselburgh. Not at the market and not in any of the shops, not even at the grocer’s store at the Mussel Inn. Besides, I dare say if she was at the capers with a man, she would have told me, the blabbermouth that she is. Except if that man was Spencer.

Besides, the writing on the packet was the same. The same strange words written in a foreign language.

‘Are you awake?’ Joan whispered, turning to me. I could hear her getting comfy on Spencer’s pillow. Was she trying to get close to him again? Was she missing him?

‘Not really,’ I mumbled. Where had they done it? In this bed? How had they ever had the opportunity? My mind raced. They were never alone together, apart from the times Spencer would walk her home from here. They would hardly have been at the capers together in the middle of a winter storm.

Then I knew: the nights I went to sit with Ma whilst Joan had choir practice. Twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I bet she’d skipped it and had come here instead.