The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)

by Julia Brannan

  They had arrived in London two days before on the second of November, three days after the bonfires and obligatory public demonstrations of loyalty to the Hanoverian king.

  “In that case,” suggested Beth, “let’s forget the Elector and my stupid cousins for now. Loosen my stays a bit before I faint, and let’s visit Edwin and Caroline first. At least we want to see them.”

  The drawing room was a study in familial bliss. Mother and father sat on opposite sides of the hearth, intent on their son, who was making his wobbly-legged way from one parent to the other, heavily supported by Caroline’s arm. His small face was a picture of determination.

  Edwin, arms held out to catch his son, looked round as the visitors entered.

  “Where the hell have you two been?” he asked.

  “Not quite the customary greeting, dear boy, but I suppose it shows you’ve missed us,” Sir Anthony said, appropriating his customary place on the sofa. “Good God, he’s changed, hasn’t he? Or have you swapped Freddie for another child?”

  The infant, who had indeed changed considerably, looked at the apparition placed before him in wonder, his eyes, which were now definitely hazel, opening wide, and his grip on Caroline’s arm loosening. He took another faltering step unsupported, then toppled backward, landing on his bottom on the rug. His face wavered and Caroline scooped him up quickly before he could decide in favour of tears.

  “Children do change over a three month period at this age, Anthony,” Caroline said pointedly, kissing the child’s fuzz of brown hair before commencing to bounce him gently up and down on her knee.

  “Really, you two, it’s not good enough,” said Edwin sternly. “You could have told us you were going away for months. Caroline’s been beside herself.”

  Caroline looked at him, lips pursed.

  “Well, I’ve been a bit concerned as well,” he admitted. “We knew you were going to a wedding in Manchester, but we had no idea you were going to stay away for so long. We thought you’d had an accident or been murdered or something, particularly when we had no word from you. Caroline finally wrote to you in Didsbury. I assume you haven’t received her letter.”

  Beth and Sir Anthony looked at each other guiltily. It hadn’t occurred to them that anyone would be worried about them.

  “No, we haven’t. I’m sorry,” said Beth. “Lots of people go off to the country for a few months at a time. We thought you’d realise that was what we’d done.”

  “We did think that was what you’d done at first,” said Caroline. “But when people go off to the country they usually correspond with their acquaintance in the city, regularly. Whereas you haven’t written to anyone, have you? I even called on your cousins to see whether they’d heard from you, and had to endure Edward pontificating on for an hour about how to rear children, not to spoil the rod, cold baths twice a day, all that rot. It was appalling.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Beth again.

  “It was even worse when he started citing you as an example of what happens when a child is overindulged by its parents and becomes a headstrong, selfish adult with no consideration for others. I almost hit him, until I realised that the reason I was enduring his drivel at all was because he was right. Not about your upbringing, but about your lack of consideration. You two are our best friends. Why didn’t you write?”

  Beth looked at her husband helplessly. Maybe they would have been better going to Edward’s first, after all. What could they say? We’re sorry, but we were charging half-naked around the Highlands of Scotland, making love in the heather, throwing each other in the loch and behaving like little children, and it was wonderful and we forgot all about you.

  “We’ve been in Scotland,” said Sir Anthony, to Beth’s utter astonishment.

  “Scotland?” said Edwin incredulously. “Don’t tell the king that, when you call on him. Or Cumberland. They’re convinced the place is a hotbed of Jacobitism. All the prominent people there are being watched.”

  “Oh, that’s the Highlanders,” said Sir Anthony dismissively. “And only a small number of them, if rumour is to be believed. We were in Edinburgh. After we’d spent some time in Manchester, of course. Beth’s ex-servants have bought a house together, and we stayed there. They really are excellent people. Of course we should have written. It was quite inexcusable. But it never occurred to us you’d be worried. We didn’t forget you, of course; we’ve brought presents.”

  He fished in his pocket and brought out a ball made of four pieces of brightly-coloured leather sewn together and stuffed with cloth. He stood and presented it formally to the child, who was already reaching for it, attracted by the bright colours. It jingled softly as Freddie’s hands closed around it, automatically transferring it to his mouth. Caroline reached to take it off him.

  “It’s quite all right,” said the baronet. “I thought of that. It’s sturdy enough for him to chew on without damaging it or himself, and too big for him to swallow. It’s got some bells sewn inside it, too.” He smiled, and Caroline softened before his eyes. “We’ve brought presents for you two as well,” he continued. “They’re in the coach. A bottle of excellent brandy, Edwin, which I was hoping you’d invite me to share with you, although I’ll forgive you if you don’t, in your present mood. And a length of silk, Caroline, which matches the colour of your eyes perfectly. And now you’ve got to forgive us, for we are really most contrite, and if we ever go away again we promise to write to you twice a day at least.”

  He adopted an expression of such utter distress that even Edwin, who had been determined to give his friend a hard time, gave in.

  “How was Edinburgh?” he asked Beth.

  “Interesting,” she said uncertainly, wondering why Alex had revealed that they had been there at all. “Er…the castle is very impressive. And Anthony bought me the most delightful bracelet.”

  “Beth met Lord Daniel there,” supplied Anthony. “It was the first time you’d seen him since our wedding eve, was it not, my dear?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed neutrally.

  “He was travelling with his father, who is looking in superlative health,” said Anthony, as though they had all enjoyed a pleasant chat together.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Edwin. “Highbury is an excellent fellow. Such a shame his only son is turning out to be a wastrel. You had a fortunate escape there, Beth.”

  “I certainly did,” she said, shuddering.

  Freddie dropped the ball on the rug, and Caroline popped him down beside it and reached for the servants’ bell.

  “How many calls have you made today?” she asked. “Have you had tea at Isabella’s?”

  “No, you’re our first port of call,” said Beth. “We couldn’t bear to face my cousins first thing. We thought to ease our way back into London society gently.”

  “Then you haven’t heard the news?” said Edwin. “I thought it was strange that you hadn’t mentioned it, but then we have been making you eat humble pie for the last ten minutes.”

  “What news?” said Beth and Anthony together.

  “Lord Redburn is dead,” said Edwin. “He died three weeks ago. That’s why Caroline wrote to you in Manchester, hoping you’d be there.”

  There was a shocked silence. Caroline rang the bell.

  “Shall I call for something stronger than tea?” she asked.

  “Aye,” said Sir Anthony.

  Caroline waited. Beth tried to catch his eye but he was looking away from her, distracted by the news.

  “You what, Anthony?” she prompted gently. He looked at her, puzzled. “You said ‘I…’ and then stopped. What were you going to say?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, only the slight widening of his eyes showing that he had realised his slip and was appalled by it. “I can’t believe it, was what I was thinking. I hadn’t realised I’d spoken aloud. Yes, Caroline, some wine would be excellent, if you don’t mind. God, what a shock. He seemed to be recovering his health under Anne’s care.”

  �
��That’s what everyone is saying,” said Edwin. “I hated to admit it, but you two were right to coerce them into marriage. They were perfect for each other. He doted on Anne. She really blossomed, became a lot more confident. And she even managed to get him on to that milk diet you were so anxious to stop her talking about. He was losing weight, going for regular walks. We all thought he was getting better.”

  “How did he die?” asked Beth.

  “The carriage had dropped them off at Birdcage Walk and they were strolling along together, when all of a sudden, according to Anne, he clutched at his chest, said something about not feeling quite the thing, and fell down on the path.”

  “The poor woman,” said Anthony. “She must have been hysterical.”

  “Not a bit of it,” put in Caroline. “She behaved admirably. She tried to revive him herself for a few minutes, and then she ordered some men who were passing to carry him to the carriage. After that she drove like the devil to Warwick Lane and demanded the attention of the most senior physician at the College. And got it. But there was nothing anyone could do. Lord Redburn was already dead.”

  “The funeral wasn’t held until last Thursday, because she insisted on having an enormous send-off for him,” said Edwin. “It cost a fortune. She gave out nearly two hundred mourning rings alone. There were four coaches, all covered in black, and a huge tea afterwards. I don’t want to rub it in, but she was very upset that you couldn’t be there.”

  Sir Anthony lifted his arm, stopping himself from rubbing his hand through his hair just in time. Instead he reached across to pick up his glass of wine from the tray which the servant had placed on the table.

  “We will have to visit her, of course. We will go directly after we leave here,” he said.

  “I would go home and get changed first, if I were you,” said Caroline, eyeing her friend’s clothing with a critical eye. “I don’t think Anne will appreciate you turning up dressed like a daffodil, Anthony, delightful as you look. After the funeral she went to pieces, and Charlotte has been her almost constant companion ever since. Need I say more?”

  Beth and Anthony both groaned in unison.

  “I’m sure she’ll come round in time, though,” said Edwin. “After all, Charlotte was left with only memories of her poor dear Frederick. Redburn has left Anne stinking rich, as you pointed out when you were matchmaking, Beth. Once she realises that she’s no longer dependent on anyone, I’m sure she’ll regain the confidence she developed while she was married.”

  “Stinking rich is not all Stanley Redburn left her, though,” Caroline said. “He also left her three months pregnant.”

  Beth was uncharacteristically silent on the way home.

  “You’re not that distressed about Lord Redburn, are you?” her husband asked. “It’s not as though you knew him well, after all.”

  “No,” said Beth. “I feel sorry for Anne, though. I never envisaged him dying so quickly. I was hoping she’d get the time to develop a little, away from the influence of the Winters.”

  “It sounds as though she did, from what Caroline and Edwin said.”

  Silence.

  “Are you worried because of my slip?” he said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to speak only in English for the next two days, just to make sure.”

  “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said. “I couldn’t understand at first why you told them about Edinburgh though, but of course if Daniel or his father talks about seeing us there, it would look strange if we hadn’t mentioned it.”

  “Exactly. But I didn’t think there was any need to mention the unpleasantness. William won’t say anything and his son definitely won’t be keen to chat about his humiliation.”

  Silence.

  “I know what it is that’s bothering you,” said Alex as the coach pulled up outside the house. “You’re regretting your choice of husband. You’re thinking that if you’d known Lord Redburn was going to die this quickly, you’d have married him instead of me and have been a rich widow now, instead of being saddled with an impoverished fraudster who could live for another fifty years.”

  That made her smile, at least. He jumped down from the coach and she took his hand. They walked up the steps and into the house together.

  “I’ll go and change,” said Beth, making for the stairs. Alex retained his grip on her hand and put his other hand under her chin, tilting her head up to his.

  “Beth,” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  To his astonishment tears sprang instantly to her eyes.

  “It’s not fair. Everyone’s pregnant!” she cried. “Everyone except me!”

  “It’s true,” she sniffed a few minutes later, sitting on his knee in the library. “First Caroline, and then Janet – she’s only just had one, and she’s already pregnant again, and then Maggie, and now even Anne Maynard! Redburn,” she amended. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Beth,” said Alex.

  “There must be!” she said. “We’ve been married for over a year, and it’s hardly as though we haven’t been trying.”

  “Caroline and Edwin were married for five years before they had Freddie,” Alex pointed out. “And Maggie and Iain have been trying at least as much as us for the last three years.”

  “Anne must have fallen pregnant almost immediately,” countered Beth, “and Janet was pregnant before she even got married! Are you very disappointed?” she asked. “I know you haven’t said anything, but you must be.” She had thought of little else since Maggie’s expected announcement three days ago. The baby was due in April.

  Alex’s painted face creased in consternation.

  “This is the first time I’ve thought about it, and that’s the truth. I’m no’ disappointed, not a bit of it,” he said, forgetting his intention to speak only English. “We’re young and healthy, and if God intends us to have bairns, he’ll send us some.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” she whispered.

  “If he doesna, then I’ll still thank him every day for giving me you,” said Alex firmly.

  “But what about the clan?” she said. “Won’t they expect you to have a son to take over the chieftainship?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “They’ll accept sons of Duncan or Angus just as easily, if they’re worthy. Aye, I ken Duncan isna likely to marry again, but I’m sure there are already one or two wee Anguses toddling around France and Italy and even London.” He knew it was unlikely even as he said it, hoping to reassure her. Prostitutes were extremely knowledgeable in the art of terminating unwanted pregnancies, and Angus, reckless as he could be, normally took precautions to avoid getting the French pox. “Him and Morag will have a dozen, I’m certain of it,” he finished, wiping a tear from her cheek with his finger.

  “But you really like children,” Beth persisted. She seemed determined not to be consoled. “You must want some of your own.”

  He shifted her on his knee a little to relieve the pressure of the cane hoop of her underskirt, which was digging painfully into his ribs. It had been quite a feat to get her on his knee at all, in this ridiculous dress.

  “Beth,” he said firmly. “I like children, aye. I would like some of my own, I’ll no’ deny that. You wouldna believe me if I did. But I’ll have them with you, or with no one. Dinna forget, it takes two to make a baby. If we canna have them, and I say ‘if’ because we havena given it anywhere near enough time to be sure yet, then the fault is as likely to lie with me as with you. Now if ye want to go off and try wi’ another man, that’s up to you, but you’d better make sure I dinna catch you at it. Myself, I’ll choose to stay wi’ you, bairns or no’. If that’s all right wi’ yourself.”

  “Yes,” she said, convinced at last. “That’s all right with me.”

  She hugged him and clambered off his knee.

  “Five years, you said. Are you sure?” Beth asked, as she reached the door.

  “I’m sure. And they were trying. Ask Caroline yourself if you don’t believe me.�
�

  “I believe you,” she said, cheered. “I just didn’t know it could take so long, that’s all.”

  He knew it could. He also knew that most women became pregnant in their first year of marriage. He had meant every word he said to her. Nevertheless, he sent up a silent prayer that he would be allowed to have Beth and the joy of his own children too. It was greedy, he knew that, but there could be no harm in asking.

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the time Beth had washed away all traces of her distress and they had both changed into mourning dress it was after the accepted hour to make calls, but they were admitted by the Redburns’ footman anyway and shown into the salon.

  At first Beth thought she had gone blind, so great was the contrast between the afternoon sunlight outside and the darkness of the room into which they were shown. Then her eyes started to adjust, and she saw a figure rise and move to turn up the lamp. A thin yellow light dimly illuminated the three people inhabiting the room.

  “Oh, how delightful to see you both, Sir Anthony, Lady Elizabeth!” gushed Lady Winter. “You have been away for such a long time.” Her voice managed to hold reproach, curiosity and even a hint of genuine welcome, all at the same time.

  Sir Anthony bowed, nodded his head to Lord Winter, who had also risen, and took two steps into the room.

  “We have been travelling around this delightful isle, taking in its remarkable and diverse beauties, Lady Wilhelmina,” he said politely before turning to Anne, who to Beth’s alarm had not even stood to greet them, but remained slumped in her chair.

  “My dear Anne, there are no words…” he began.

  “We were just about to take our leave,” announced Lord Winter, clearly intending to make a run for it whilst he could. He could not in good conscience leave his grief-stricken great-niece alone, much as he desired to. The Winters had called for ten minutes over an hour ago, expecting Charlotte to be present, and had been appalled to find Anne alone, and themselves trapped by politeness and familial obligation into indefinite attendance on the grieving widow. He saw the Peters’ unexpected visit as a God-given opportunity to escape.