The Rector's Daughter

by Jean Fullerton

  ‘Are you for marrying?’ he asked, as he took their crossing fee.

  ‘We are,’ said Josiah.

  An ebullient smile spread across the old man’s deeply etched face.

  ‘Then I can save you and your young lady the trouble of going any further as I have a marriage room and two witnesses all ready,’

  ‘I’m obliged for the offer but we’re heading for Gretna Hall,’ shouted Josiah as they walked past him towards the glowing lights of the awakening village.

  There was a young couple already knocking on the blacksmith’s door when they reached the corner and as they turned up Gretna Loaning, towards the hall, a landau galloped past them with an excited-looking couple in the back.

  Within a few moments they were standing outside the gates of the large, whitewashed, double-fronted Gretna Hall, which had half a dozen wide steps leading up to the front door with a crest above it.

  Feeling the tension and fear of the last few days start to lift from his shoulders, and the morning air tingling on his face, Josiah drew in a deep breath. Turning to Charlotte, he drew her to him.

  She smiled up at him with tired but happy eyes and he kissed her.

  ‘Let’s go and get married.’

  Behind the door a solitary church bell rang and it squeaked open.

  Charlotte’s nodded, then her attention shifted to something behind him for a moment, then back to his face.

  ‘Yes, let’s but...’

  ***

  ‘There they are!’ bellowed Laurence, pointing at a couple carrying a lamp hurrying through the tollbooth at the other end of the stone bridge across the River Sark.

  It was almost an hour since he’d jumped back in the saddle and galloped out of Carlisle Although it was seven-thirty in the morning the inhabitants of the first village on the Scottish side of the border were already about their business.

  ‘It is them?’ asked Clive as he came alongside.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Laurence replied. ‘You saw the stranded dog cart, didn’t you? Now, come on!’

  Laurence dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks. It leapt forward, and he let it have its head. With the horse’s hooves echoing between the medieval walls of the bridge, the party galloped ahead.

  The toll-keeper appeared to collect his due and Laurence pulled his horse to a stop.

  ‘Have a well-dressed brown-haired young woman and a man with black hair and beard passed through here?’

  ‘They have,’ called the toll man. ‘Not ten minutes since. Heading for Gretna Hall, they were. You’ll not miss it if you look to your right as you past the village smithy.’

  Laurence threw him a couple of coins and galloped past, with Clive and the three soldiers just a pace behind.

  Hunched over his horse’s withers, Laurence pelted up Main Street scattering fowl and setting dogs barking. Galloping past the blacksmith’s shop he turned up and headed for the white building at the other end of the road. Charging through the gates he pulled on his horse’s reins and brought it to a halt by the steps. Swinging his leg over, he jumped down as it pranced about.

  As the men with him brought their nags to a halt and dismounted, Laurence took his pistol from his belt and cocked it.

  ‘Follow me!’ he shouted, taking the steps two at a time and pointing the loaded gun towards the double doors.

  Without pausing, he shouldered the front doors and dashed in to what was in essence the hall of a two-hundred-year-old provincial manor house with a heavy oak desk and a wooden staircase leading to the upper floor with crudely executed carved foliage on the banister struts.

  An old man in a dusty suit that was in fashion several decades previously and a stout woman, wearing an apron and a mop cap, jumped back as Laurence and his party burst in.

  Realising he and Clive weren’t a couple eager to be wed, the old man stood up and stepped out from behind the desk.

  ‘Now, sir,’ he said, shuffling toward them. ‘Can I be of some assistan—’

  Without breaking his stride, Laurence pushed him aside. He paused in front of the closed door for a moment to take out his pistol and then, cocking it, raised his foot and kicked the lock. The door sprung open immediately and he charged through with his men at his shoulder.

  Laurence’s eyes narrowed as they fixed on the group of people gathered at the far end of the room. There was an individual dressed like a butler standing behind a desk. He was flanked by a roughly dressed man and woman, but it was the couple standing hand in hand in front of the charlatan priest that set the pulse in Laurence’s temple throbbing; Charlotte and that bastard Martyn.

  ‘Stop!’ bellowed Laurence.

  He pulled the trigger and fired the gun at the ceiling.

  The bride screamed, the groom threw his arms around her and the witnesses and man behind the desk froze as lime-wash and dirt showered down on them.

  ‘Stop, I say,’ Laurence yelled again, striding across the small space. ‘And you, sir, stand away from my—’

  The bride and groom turned and Laurence’s jaw dropped as he found himself staring into the faces of two absolute strangers.

  ***

  ‘And, Mrs Martyn, if you would just sign there,’ said Rev McMurphy, indicating the line under Josiah’s signature in the parish’s marriage register. ‘And I’ll be happy to give you your marriage certificate.’

  Gripping the pen firmly, she wrote Charlotte Mary Hatton for the last time then handed the pen to Gretna Green’s Church of Scotland minister.

  She looked up at her new husband and smiled.

  ‘Well, Mr Martyn, we’re finally married,’ she said, as love, happiness and relief burst in her heart.

  Josiah smiled the buoyant smile she hadn’t seen since they’d left Northampton. ‘Yes, Mrs Martyn.’

  They were standing in Gretna’s ancient parish church, which was directly opposite Gretna Hall. Rev McMurphy, the jolly middle-aged minister of the village church, had just finished saying morning prayers when they’d arrived at Gretna Hall, and when she’d asked Josiah if they could be married by a presbyter of the parish church rather than one of the self-styled priests of the town, he’d happily agreed.

  A muscle in Charlotte’s side pulled and she winced.

  Concern flashed across Josiah’s face and his arm went around her in an instant.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, it’s just a little bit of cramp, that’s all.’ She forced a smile as another spasm flicked across her middle. ‘It happens all the time. Honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure, because you look very pale,’ he said, his weary eyes full of anxiety.

  ‘I’m just tired, that’s all,’ she said.

  He held her to him and ran his hand up her arm. ‘I know you are, my love, and I promise as soon as we’re finished here, I’ll get us a room in the hotel and you can rest.’

  ‘We both can rest,’ said Charlotte. ‘You look exhausted, too.’

  ‘I am.’ He smiled, and placed his hand on her stomach. ‘But I’m not carrying a baby.’

  Their eyes met for a moment and happiness swelled Charlotte’s heart again.

  Rev McMurphy cleared his throat.

  Josiah pressed his lips onto her forehead briefly then they turned their attention to the minister.

  ‘Here you are, Mrs Martyn, all signed and sealed,’ he said, offering her the marriage certificate.’

  Charlotte took it from him.

  ‘Thank you, reverend,’ said Josiah, offering his hand.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ said the minister as he took it. ‘And I’m pleased you decided to make your vows in God’s house rather than the blacksmith’s workshop.’

  ‘And please send our apologies to your wife for keeping you for so long,’ said Charlotte.

  The minister’s rosy face lifted in a cheerful smile.

  ‘Oh, she’ll not be too put out when I tell her what kept me,’ the rev assured them. ‘My good lady wife is a romantic soul, you see.’

 
He gave Charlotte a conspiratorial wink and she laughed.

  ‘Now, let me give you a final blessing and you can away to your bed and I can do the same to my breakfast.’

  Holding each other’s hands tight, Charlotte and Josiah bowed their heads.

  Rev McMurphy raised his right hand. ‘Dear Lord, on this joyful day I ask you to look with favour on—’

  ‘Stop!’ bellowed a voice behind them.

  Charlotte turned to see Laurence, pistols in hand, striding up the aisle of the church towards them.

  The ground tilted under Charlotte’s feet but she forced the dizziness away and squared her shoulders to face her brother.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ asked Rev McMurphy, striding down the middle of the church, his black gown billowing out behind him. ‘How dare you come into God’s house brandishing wea—’

  Without breaking his stride, Charlotte’s brother shoved him aside and stopped at the chancery steps a few feet from them.

  He glared hatefully at Josiah, who returned the same look.

  ‘You’re too late, Laurence,’ Charlotte told him. ‘We’re already married. See.’ She waved her marriage certificate at him.

  Laurence’s loathsome gaze slid from Josiah onto Charlotte.

  ‘I’d hardly call some peasant mumbling a couple of words a marriage, would you?’ Laurence sneered. ‘And I know at least a dozen lawyers in London who could rip a Gretna marriage certificate to shred.’

  ‘That is not true, Laurence, and you know it,’ said Charlotte. She looped her arm through Josiah’s. ‘But even if it were, our marriage has been recorded in the parish records and witnessed by two church elders.’ She nodded at the church warden and the verger who were stood frozen, mid-task, on the chancery. She gave him a triumphant look. ‘And there’s not a thing you or Father can do about it.’

  A purple flush crept up and the raised vein on her brother’s left temple started to pulsate.

  ‘Can’t I?’ He levelled his gun at Josiah.

  ‘No!’ screamed Charlotte as black spots popped at the corner of her vision.

  With her heart pounding in her chest and the baby shifting around, Charlotte went to step in front of Josiah, but he pushed her behind him.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Hatton,’ Josiah said, looking Laurence in the eye as the muzzle pointed straight at his forehead.

  ‘You may well be married to this bastard at the moment, Charlotte,’ Laurence replied, his furious eyes fixed on Josiah. ‘But one bullet will rectify that.’

  Something black moved at the corner of Charlotte’s vison, and events took on a slow, dreamlike quality.

  Josiah sprang forward.

  There was a flash of blinding light and a shriek echoed around the church.

  Reaching out blindly, Charlotte tried to catch Josiah who was tumbling down the chancery steps. Charlotte’s world turned to black.

  Chapter thirty-three

  Scooping up the last spoonful of porridge, Josiah popped it in his mouth watched by the three solemn-faced children sitting across the kitchen table from him.

  ‘Can I fetch you another bowl, Mr Martyn?’ asked their mother.

  Josiah forced a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs McMurphy, but I’m full.’

  He was sitting in the kitchen of the manse next door to the church and he’d been there for the past half hour. Opposite him were the McMurphy’s three youngest children: two boys of eight and seven respectively, and their sister of just five. The older children of the family, two boys, were tending to the family livestock in the smallholding behind the house, wrapped from ears to ankles in scarfs, thick coats and gloves while their father was still talking to the two parish constables in the church.

  Reverend McMurphy’s kindly wife, who was sitting at the end of the table feeding the youngest member of the family who was tied into a highchair, didn’t look convinced.

  ‘What about an oatie,’ she persisted, indicating the plate of oatcakes sitting in the middle of the table.’

  ‘No, but thank you,’ Josiah replied, pushing his bowl away.

  Footsteps walked across the floor above and Josiah looked up anxiously.

  ‘Tell me, how far gone is your wife?’ Mrs McMurphy asked, as she popped another spoonful into her year-old daughter’s mouth.

  ‘Almost five months,’ Josiah replied.

  ‘Ah well, she’s past the testing first few months, so that’s one blessing,’ said the mother of six robust, bright-eyed children. ‘And she looks like a well-fed, strong lass so I’m sure she’ll be fine and Doctor Johnson will be down any minute now to tell you the same.’

  Josiah prayed she was right. Although Charlotte had come round within minutes of collapsing, she had been as white as a sheet when he’d carried her up and laid her on the bed in the McMurphy’s guest room.

  The door opened and the reverend walked in bringing a blast of chilly air with him. Leaving the baby to play with the spoon, his wife stood up and took his hat and coat from him.

  Breathing on his hands and rubbing them together, he sat down next to Josiah.

  ‘Old Johnson still up there?’ he asked.

  Josiah nodded.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ said Rev McMurphy.

  ‘That’s what your wife said,’ Josiah replied.

  The older man grinned. ‘Well, my Annie’s carried and birthed six without a trouble so she should know.’

  ‘How’s the churchwarden?’ asked Josiah, as Mrs McMurphy put a hot cup of tea in front of her husband.

  ‘A very lucky man,’ said the minister. ‘I feared the worst when I saw all that blood over his face but although the shot took his right ear clean off, it only grazed the side of his head, so he should make a full recovery. It was lucky for Major Hatton too, or he’d be up on a murder charge.’

  ‘What’s happened to him?’ asked Josiah.

  ‘He’s in the village lock-up awaiting the provosts to arrive from Glasgow,’ Rev McMurphy replied, taking a sip of tea. ‘The men with him have headed south though, which was wise of them as the village folk don’t take kindly to people firing guns in their church.’

  ‘I imagine the major is banking on the army brushing the whole thing under the carpet,’ said Josiah.

  ‘He is,’ the reverend replied. ‘And he more or less said as much, but he’s got a nasty shock coming. The circuit judge for this area is a McDonald who lost both grandfathers and several great uncles at Culloden so he won’t be letting the powers-that-be in Horseguards off the hook.’ A wry smile spread across the minister’s face. ‘Major Hatton didn’t look so sure of himself, I can tell you, when I gave him that piece of news. I also told him I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from the Glasgow Herald didn’t arrive by the end of the day as news in these parts travels fast, so his attempt to murder his sister’s husband in the sanctity of a church will be front-page news through the country before too long.’

  ‘Well, it would have been actual murder without your swift action,’ said Josiah. ‘Truth is, I owe you my life. How can I ever repay you?’

  ‘Ah, well, I did what I had to. After all, I couldn’t have that poor wee lass of yours become a widow before the ink was even dry on her wedding lines, could I now?’ A sentimental look crept into the minister’s eyes. ‘And as to repaying me,’ he slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and hugged her, ‘just promise me you’ll always love your wife as much as I love mine.’

  The older couple exchanged an affectionate look.

  Josiah smiled. ‘That, sir, is a promise I’m happy to make and keep.’

  The door opened and Dr Johnson, a wiry man with kindly eyes, and head of wayward white hair walked in.

  Josiah sprang to his feet. ‘How is my wife?’

  ‘Exhausted,’ said the doctor. ‘But nothing that a day or two in bed and three square meals a day won’t cure.’

  Relief swept over him. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said the minister and his wife in unison.

  ‘And the
baby?’

  ‘Tucked up safe and sound and set to make you a father sometime around Easter, by my reckoning,’ the doctor replied.

  ‘Can I go and see her?’ asked Josiah.

  ‘Of course,’ said Dr Johnson. ‘But they both need rest before you set off home.’

  ‘And they will,’ said Josiah. ‘I intend on taking a room in one of the town’s inns for a few days.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ cut in Mrs McMurphy. ‘You shall spend a few days here with us, isn’t that right, John?’

  ‘Indeed you shall,’ said her husband, his eyes twinkling.

  ***

  Although her eyelids felt like lead, Charlotte opened them as the bedroom door squeaked open and Josiah walked in.

  His clothes were creased and stained, his boots encrusted with mud, his beard untrimmed and wild. His face, still showing the aftermath of tunnel sickness, was gaunt and there were dark circles under his eyes, but to Charlotte he’d never looked better.

  She smiled.

  His dark eyes ran over her as she lay tucked up in bed in her nightdress, and then he was at her side. Gathering her in his arms he lowered his lips on hers in the tenderest of kisses.

  Slipping her arms around him Charlotte clung to him, the man she’d loved from almost the first time she laid eyes on him. She could hardly believe that he was now, in truth as well as in her heart, her husband.

  ‘Oh, Josiah,’ she said breathlessly, as he released her mouth and kissed along her right cheekbone. ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you.’ His hand shifted down, under the bedcovers, and rested on her swelling stomach. ‘Both of you.’

  Joyful tears filled Charlotte’s eyes, but she blinked them away and, unable to say what was in her heart, kissed him again.

  ‘And thank God you’re all right,’ he said, finally releasing her lips from his pulse-racing kiss.

  ‘Thank God you are, Josiah,’ she replied, running her hand over his much-loved face, enjoying the feel of his morning bristles under her fingertips. ‘When Laurence discharged his pistol, I thought you were dead.’

  ‘So did I, and I would have been if it hadn’t been for Rev McMurphy’s swift actions...’ He told her about the church warden and how they had disarmed Laurence and that her brother was now being held in the town lock-up.