The Secrets of Thistle Cottage

The Secrets of Thistle Cottage

KERRY BARRETT

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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

Copyright © Kerry Barrett 2021

Kerry Barrett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2021 ISBN: 9780008389758

Version: 2021-04-27

Table of Contents

Cover

Readers Love Kerry Barrett

About the Author

Also by Kerry Barrett

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Edinburgh Daily News

Prologue: Honor

Chapter 1: Tess

Chapter 2: Jem

Chapter 3: Tess

Chapter 4: Honor

Chapter 5: Alice

Chapter 6: Tess

Chapter 7: Honor

Chapter 8: Alice

Chapter 9: Tess

Chapter 10: Jem

Chapter 11: Tess

Chapter 12: Tess

Chapter 13: Honor

Chapter 14: Alice

Chapter 15: Tess

Chapter 16: Jem

Chapter 17: Jem

Chapter 18: Tess

Chapter 19: Alice

Chapter 20: Honor

Chapter 21: Tess

Chapter 22: Tess

Chapter 23: Jem

Chapter 24: Tess

Chapter 25: Honor

Chapter 26: Tess

Chapter 27: Alice

Chapter 28: Jem

Chapter 29: Tess

Chapter 30: Alice

Chapter 31: Jem

Chapter 32: Honor

Chapter 33: Tess

Chapter 34: Honor

Chapter 35: Tess

Chapter 36: Jem

Chapter 37: Honor

Chapter 38: Jem

Chapter 39: Alice

Chapter 40: Jem

Chapter 41: Honor

Chapter 42: Tess

Chapter 43: Jem

Chapter 44: Alice

Chapter 45: Honor

Chapter 46: Tess

Chapter 47: Jem

Epilogue: Jem

Extract

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Bob

Edinburgh Daily News

Friday, April 3

Breakfast television presenter Alistair Robertson has pleaded guilty to two charges of sexual assault and one of attempted rape.

The star appeared at the High Court in Edinburgh yesterday, April 2, and was warned that he would face a custodial sentence.

Adjourning the case for a week, Judge Lady Morpeth said: ‘You were in a position of trust and you used that power to assault women who looked up to you.’

Robertson presented Good Morning Scotland for ten years and was voted the nation’s favourite TV star three years in a row. He was a runner-up on Celebrity Masterchef and was tipped to be in the line-up for next year’s Strictly Come Dancing.

He shares his million-pound house in Edinburgh’s swanky Marchmont area with his wife, Tess – a top lawyer – and their teenage daughter.

Outspoken Tess (pictured leaving court), has been under fire since she tweeted that ‘silly girls should think about their actions before ruining people’s lives’. The tweet has since been deleted.

Comments:

Hanny said: Disgusting pig. They should throw away the key.

Scottydog said: I hope his victims get some closure now they know he’s locked up.

Alphamale said: Me too has gone too far. Soon you won’t be able to compliment a girl without her crying rape.

LittleJohn said: Earn £200 a day from home. Click here for more information.

Royalfan23 said: These women knew what they were doing. Bet they were out for revenge because he turned them down.

Rugbylad09 said: Look at her, the sour-faced bitch. Can’t blame him for looking elsewhere.

Muffinman said: Face like a slapped arse.

Survivorandlovingit said: Victim blaming is the lowest of the low. She needs to get in the bin.

Proudmum said: She should be ashamed of herself. What kind of woman looks the other way when her husband is up to all sorts.

Sayit said: Agreed. She’s a disgrace. Like a Poundshop Hillary Clinton. Imagine putting their daughter at risk like that. I heard the victims were in their teens.

Stayalert said: Paedo scum.

Mumstaxi said: This comment has been removed for legal reasons.

Prologue

Honor

Summer, 1661

I did not like the new laird and he could tell.

I remembered him as a sour-faced boy and surly young man, who was cruel to his wee brother and bullied the local children, but I’d hoped his time away from North Berwick would have softened him. He’d got married, I’d heard, and I thought losing his father might have made him realize that riches meant nothing – that family was the most important thing.

But it seemed Gregor Kincaid as an adult was just as unpleasant as he’d been as a child.

He stood at the front of the meeting hall, chest puffed out, and I felt a prickling on the back of my neck that warned me not to trust him.

Gregor had only been the laird for a few weeks but he had big plans for the town. Plans he was outlining to the meeting.

‘The returns are impressive,’ he was saying.

‘Aye, for you,’ said Mackenzie White, tipping the brim of his hat back so he could look Gregor in the eye. ‘No for the town.’

‘That’s not true. Bringing larger ships into the harbour will put North Berwick on the map.’ Gregor threw his arms out wide, his enthusiasm obvious. ‘Making us a trading port with direct connections to the colonies will increase opportunities for everyone.’

‘We’d have to dredge the harbour,’ Mackenzie said. ‘Make it deeper.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And what about the fishermen?’

I sat up straighter. My husband John had been a fisherman. He’d run a fleet of boats from the harbour and when he’d died he’d bequeathed each boat to the men who’d worked for him. They had a trade and an income for life thanks to my John – as long as our town remained a fishing port.

‘Fishing could continue,’ Gregor said.

The prickling on my neck got stronger and I spoke. ‘You can’t run clippers and fishing boats from the same harbour,’ I said. ‘The fish won’t bite. The men would have to go north to Fife or even further.’

Gregor’s eyes fell on me, in my usual seat at the back of the room, and he raised an eyebrow in recognition.

‘Widow Seton,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I believe the fishing would not be affected.’

‘You are wrong. Bringing tall ships into this harbour would change the town forever.’

‘She is right,’ Mackenzie said. ‘It’s one or the other. And fishing was here first. It gives us a good living and we would be fools to change it.’

There was a swell of murmuring in the room and Gregor cleared his throat for silence, giving me a small, mocking smile.

‘Why are you here at this meeting? It is for burgesses only, not women.’

I lifted my chin. ‘I am a burgess.’

Gregor laughed but his brother, Davey, touched his arm and nodded. I didn’t know Davey well either. I’d not seen much of either of them since they were boys. Like Gregor, Davey too had grown and left, but he’d returned before his father died, with his small son and tales of a wife who’d died tragically. The town gossips told me he had a fondness for playing card games and, penniless, had been forced to come home to North Berwick with his tail between his legs. I had no idea if it was true, but despite the stories, I thought Davey more worthy of respect than his boorish brother because I remembered him as quite a sweet-natured lad back when we were all young. His brother had always been a bully.

‘Widow Seton was left her position as burgess by her late husband,’ Davey explained now. ‘She has the same voting rights as the men.’

Gregor’s face went red. He turned to Mackenzie, who’d lowered his hat again. ‘You went along with this?’

Mackenzie just shrugged and I hid my smile. I knew the men would never question John bequeathing me my position in his will – that would mean questioning their own inheritance.

‘We should vote,’ Davey said. I suddenly had another memory of him as a child, forced to soothe the ill temper of his older brother. Poor Davey, having to make room in his life for this coarse, bad-mannered man. I caught his eye, hoping he knew I was behind him, and he smiled at me, showing me he appreciated my support.

‘All those in favour of dredging the harbour to accommodate large clippers and other ships,’ Gregor said.

A few hands were raised.

‘All those against?’

This time, there were many more hands raised – including my own.

Gregor snorted. ‘You will believe the insane ramblings of a woman over my own plans?’

There was silence.

‘Very well,’ Gregor said. His voice was light and casual but I felt a darkness descend over the room like a shadow and I shivered in the sudden chill. ‘I trust you all know the teachings of good John Knox about women holding positions of authority?’

The men all stared at him blankly. We all knew of John Knox’s beliefs, of course. He may have been dead and gone these last one hundred years, but his teachings lived on in the changes to our churches and our lives. And no more so than in the mistrust of women who rose above their station. I fixed my eyes on Gregor and he looked back.

‘Beware,’ he said. Was he talking to me personally? It felt that way. But then he looked around the room. ‘Be careful who you trust and who you follow. For witches come in many disguises.’

There was a gasp from the other council members and my heart lurched in fear. This didn’t sound like a warning. This sounded like a threat.

Chapter 1

Tess

Autumn, Present day

I pulled the final book from the box and put it onto the shelf with a flourish. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘The last box has been unpacked. We have officially moved in.’

My daughter Jemima threw herself on the sofa. ‘It’s taken long enough. We’ve been here well over a month already.’

‘Don’t get comfy, Jem. These boxes all need to go out for recycling.’

Jem gave a huge, over-exaggerated sigh and dragged herself to her feet. ‘Can we order pizza?’

I shook my head. ‘But there are two in the freezer that I can put in the oven.’

Jem looked like she was going to argue but then she changed her mind and I was glad. Money was tight and little luxuries like takeaway pizza weren’t something I could just buy without thinking – not anymore. But Jem had been through a lot and I hated to remind her how much her life had changed. Fortunately, though, she just grinned. ‘Actual pizza or your fancy ones with goat’s cheese and spinach?’

‘Actual pizza.’

She nodded approvingly and started flattening a box to put it in the recycling. I looked round the tiny cottage which was finally starting to look like our home. Thistle Cottage. I’d fallen in love with the name before I’d even seen the house. It sounded like something from the Enid Blyton books I’d loved as a little girl. It had a thistle carved in the stone above the door, and a huge clump of them growing in the tiny front garden. It was very small but it was the perfect size for Jem and me. The front door opened onto the hall and the stairs up to the bedrooms. To the right was the large-ish living room with its pretty bay window and at the back of the house was the little kitchen. None of the furniture from our old house would have fitted in this quirky home, so I’d sold most of it and bought a second-hand sofa, then Jem and I had done an Ikea run to buy bookcases and a coffee table, and a desk for her bedroom. It wasn’t top quality but it was good enough. And the best thing about it was how close we were to the sea. Our house faced the beach, though it was set back enough – separated by the road, a narrow car park, and huts that had once belonged to fishermen and were now craft workshops or fish and chip shops and artisan bakeries – to be protected from the worst of the winds and the waves.

Jem took the cardboard outside and I heard her laughing. I initially assumed she was on her phone, but it was there on the shiny new coffee table. I stiffened, listening for another voice. Was she talking to someone? Who was it? We didn’t know anyone here really. Not yet. And I liked it that way. It had been six months since Alistair’s trial but it still felt raw and I didn’t want to face any questions from well-meaning strangers.

Just as I was about to go and see what she was doing, Jem bounced into the room. ‘I met our next-door neighbour,’ she said. ‘She’s really sweet. I asked her to come round and say hello.’

I closed my eyes briefly. This was exactly what I hadn’t wanted. I’d been pleased so far that there had been no sign of whoever lived next door. Our neighbour on the other side was a church and its residents – buried under the ancient wonky gravestones in the churchyard – were unlikely to cause us any trouble.

‘She’s been away,’ Jem said as the doorbell rang. ‘She’s called Eva Greenbaum. You’ll like her.’

She skipped off to answer the door and I took a deep breath, readying myself for questions from a stranger. I ran my fingers through my newly short hair, which still took me by surprise sometimes, and pasted a smile onto my face.

‘Mum …’ Jem came into the room, followed by a small woman with steel-grey hair in a sharp bob. ‘This is Mrs Greenbaum. This is my mum, Tess.’

‘Call me Eva,’ said the woman, holding her hand out for me to shake. I took her hand, impressed by her firm grip. ‘I brought some biscuits.’

She shoved a cardboard cake box at me and I took it, getting a waft of delicious sugary smells that made my mouth water.

‘Gosh, these smell amazing,’ I said.

She gave me a beaming smile. ‘My son-in-law bakes,’ she said, and I noticed for the first time that she had the hint of an accent. German, I thought. ‘He used to bake Austrian pastries for me when he first met my son, but now he no longer tries to impress me and he bakes whatever he likes.’

Ah, so not German, Austrian. I thought that she looked rather impressed anyway, no matter what she said, which made me warm to her in spite of my early misgivings about meeting neighbours. ‘Thank you. Will you stay for a cup of tea?’

Eva nodded. ‘That would be nice. I’d been wondering if you would move in while I was away.’

With a little prod from me, Jem took the box of biscuits, then she went off to the kitchen and I heard her filling the kettle and opening cupboard doors. I hoped we had enough milk. Eva and I sat down on the sofa and she looked round at the room with a little nod.

‘You’ve settled in well.’

‘We’ve actually only just this minute finished unpacking.’ I gave a little laugh. I felt a bit awkward and uncomfortable; I was out of practice when it came to small talk. ‘But we’re happy with it.’

‘It’s just the two of you?’ Eva looked straight at me and I resisted the urge to duck my head away from her glance.

‘Just us,’ I said.

Jem came back into the room, holding a tray with the drinks on it. I noticed she’d put the milk in a little jug, which was sweet. And she’d arranged the – amazing – biscuits on a plate for us to share.

‘Are you new to town?’ Eva asked.

‘I used to come here for holidays when I was little,’ I said. It was those happy memories that had made me choose this place when we were finding somewhere new. Far enough from Edinburgh that I wouldn’t bump into old ‘friends’ everywhere I went, but close enough for it not to feel too much of a wrench to leave.

‘Mum’s still working in Edinburgh,’ said Jem, taking a bite from a biscuit. ‘Oh my god, this is delicious.’

‘What is it you do?’

I shifted on my seat. I knew Eva was just being neighbourly but I didn’t like being under all this scrutiny. I’d not only chosen North Berwick because of its happy memories, but also because it was big enough that we could simply blend in among the holidaymakers and residents. We’d had enough of being in the spotlight during Alistair’s trial and afterwards. All I wanted was for us to be invisible and for Jem to go back to being a normal teenager. So being asked all these questions was making me worried that Eva had some sort of ulterior motive – but I was being silly, she was just an elderly neighbour taking an interest.

‘I’m a solicitor,’ I said. ‘Terribly dull stuff. Wills and property and that sort of thing for dusty old Edinburgh families.’

I’d had a corporate job before my husband had gone to jail. But when Alistair had been charged, my boss had taken me to one side and gently suggested that I should leave quietly with a not-nearly-generous-enough pay-out, or – he hinted – my working life would become very difficult. I’d be side-lined for big projects because no one would trust a lawyer with a husband in prison. I’d thought about fighting it, but in the end I had taken the money and thank goodness I had because Alistair, not content with breaking my heart, had somehow managed to spirit away the contents of our joint account and all of our savings long before my divorce lawyer – aka my friend Lu – had managed to get near it. That money had let me get a mortgage on this tiny cottage and I’d got a new job at Langdown & Son, a family firm in Edinburgh’s New Town, with wood-panelled offices and a sweet receptionist called Judy. It wasn’t as exciting as my old job, nor nearly as well paid, but the father and son who ran the firm left me to my own devices most of the time and either they hadn’t put two and two together – which was unlikely – or they knew exactly who I was and they didn’t care. Young Mr Langdown was only in his early thirties but he was already a tweed-jacket-wearing, whisky-drinking carbon copy of his father. They were both very posh, very polite, very old-fashioned and very kind and I was so grateful that Lu had put me in touch with them when my world had fallen apart. Another favour I owed her if I ever got things back on track.

Eva raised an eyebrow as I described my work, but she didn’t comment further. I felt oddly like I’d disappointed her. Jem jumped in again. ‘Mum’s working here, too. At some women’s centre.’

‘The Haven?’ This time Eva sounded like she approved.

I nodded. ‘An old friend put me in touch.’ It was only a white lie – that old friend had actually been the family liaison officer the police had assigned to Jem and me when Alistair was first arrested. She had been sternly supportive and I’d liked her no-nonsense attitude. ‘They needed a legal adviser. It’s just voluntary.’

‘The Haven is a good place,’ Eva said. ‘You’re doing a good thing.’

I felt that prickle of discomfort again. I didn’t deserve Eva’s praise. I wasn’t working at the Haven because I was a good person. Instead I was trying to make up for all the mistakes I’d made. I spent two days a week there, advising hollow-eyed women on their rights when it came to divorce, or child custody, or maintenance payments. Or helping them prepare to face their rapists in court. It was hard work. Some of the women were scared. Some of them were angry. The stakes were always high. But it was rewarding and I felt like I was helping. Making a difference. Making amends.