While her home remained occupied by Cumberland, she had decided to go to Moy. A young McIntosh girl waited outside the cell, carrying a jug and basin. The Dowager called her in.
‘Morag says she’ll come every day and see to your needs,’ she explained. ‘She’ll dress your hair, bring clean clothes and help with your toilet. It’s shameful that they keep people like this. Animals are better treated.’ She tried again to rouse Anne from her grief. ‘They’re alive,’ she insisted. ‘While there’s life, there is hope.’
‘Hope of what?’ Anne asked. The trials had begun.
In the cold stone dungeon of Carlisle Castle, the prisoners were processed in small groups, the English Jacobites first. Each day, lots were drawn. Whoever drew the short straw went for trial. The others were transported to the colonies to be sold as indentured slaves. Then they started on the Scots.
‘My faither cannae draw lots,’ Clementina objected. ‘He’s no weel!’
The prisoner who had the job of making the draw held out the straws.
‘We all have to do it,’ he said.
Clementina drew first, then her father, then the others of their group, men and women.
‘I’ve got the short wan,’ the girl shouted.
‘You broke it,’ her father said. All the others agreed, she had broken hers on purpose. Her father held the short straw. Somehow it was always a man who went to trial, never a woman or a child.
‘Tell them ye were made tae fight,’ she cried, holding on to him. ‘Tell them ye were forced. That’s what awbody else is saying.’
Most prisoners denied raising arms against king and country. Expecting to be understood, some said their wives had sent them out, others that their chief had. To the English judges, from a nation where women had no power and the obligation of the clan system was a mystery, their excuses meant nothing. Many said whatever might spare them. That they were forced to fight on pain of death, by threats to their families, of their homes being burnt. Few pleaded guilty. Guilt meant being hanged, taken down half dead, castrated, their intestines drawn out and burnt before their eyes. Hearts were ripped out, sometimes still beating, to be held up to the crowd. Heads were picketed outside town gates, warning of the fate that awaited traitors. In the northern towns of England where most trials were held, newly erected gallows worked daily, three at a time. Rarely was a prisoner judged innocent. Clemency, when given, meant not being castrated, drawn and quartered, just hanged by the neck till dead.
When Clementina’s father kissed her goodbye, it was final. He went to the gallows, she to the boats. In the ship’s crowded hold, she wished she could go up on deck, under the creaking sail, just to see the shores they left behind. They were going to a foreign land from which they’d never return. A Highland woman, her husband hanged, sat rocking to the rhythm of the swell and sang softly, as if she sang herself a lullaby.
When I’m lonely, dear white heart;
Black the night and wild the sea;
By love’s light, my foot finds;
The old pathway to thee.
THIRTY-EIGHT
When Morag brought Anne a pillow, she slept with MacGillivray’s note under it. In the mornings, washed and changed into clean clothes, she tucked the note back into the top of her dress, where it nestled against her breast. She would go to her grave with it. Knowing her life would end soon was all that kept her sane.
Cells emptied and refilled. Hundreds were sent to England for trial, Anne’s brother and cousin among them. Others were tried and executed where they were caught. Thousands were transported. In the West Indies, they would be sold to the highest bidder, to labour till the end of their days. Even those with shorter sentences would never obtain the means to return home. The banishment to slavery was permanent.
Margaret’s brother and sister arrived in Inverness to provide care for her. Anne’s visitors increased. The situation was not without its ironies. Young Morag fetched a tray of morning tea, complete with china cups, so incongruous in that grim place.
‘You’ll want to take tea with your visitors,’ the girl said. It seemed there were many who wanted to see her.
The first day with tea, her earliest visitor was James, Lord Boyd, the young man despondent but still capable of blushing when his eyes met hers.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ Anne said. ‘How is your mother?’
‘Distressed for my father,’ he answered, seating himself. Lord Kilmarnock was to be executed, with Lords Lovat and Balmerino, on Tower Hill.
‘No clemency then?’
‘Only that it will be quick.’ Scotland’s Jacobite lords would be beheaded, an easier death than the hanging meted out to those without title.
‘I can’t sympathize with Lovat,’ Anne said. ‘Nor will many.’ Fifty years earlier, he’d fled a death sentence passed by the Scottish courts for the rape of his brother’s widow, the Marquess of Atholl’s daughter. ‘His end is long overdue. But I’m pained for your father. He is a kind, gentle man.’ She poured tea, barely able to recall a time when con versation was of life and love, births and farming matters.
‘I leave next week to attend,’ Lord Boyd said, ‘but I wanted to see you first.’
‘There is something I can do?’
‘No, but I thought you’d like to hear about a friend of yours, Robert Nairn?’
‘You know Robert?’ Anne was jolted. Memories of their weeks in Edinburgh flooded back, weeks when they were so full of life. ‘Is he well?’
‘Severely injured. I found him two days after the battle and brought him in.’
‘That was k ind of you. From what I hear, others would have finished him off.’
‘I didn’t know then he could expect to hang.’ Lord Boyd struggled with his place on the side of such brutality. ‘He’s being nursed by someone you also know, a woman from Skye, name of Nan MacKay.’
‘Yes, I do know her. She held my horse for me once, in her kitchen. Her husband came over to fight. Is he safe?’
‘There has been no word since the battle. She hopes. Today they began digging long pits at Culloden for the burials. I think she hopes in vain.’
Anne stirred her tea. MacGillivray would go in those great pits, dumped like a rotted carcass, he and so many others, nameless in a mass grave. Nothing became easier as each day passed.
‘But Robert is here, in Inverness, and still alive?’
‘For now.’ Lord Boyd leant forward, earnestly. ‘You have many friends, Lady Anne. They are doing what they can.’
The activities of those friends caused the Duke of Cumberland some annoyance. Petitions for release piled on his desk. Now it was Forbes of Culloden, Lord President of the Court of Session, rankled that his family seat had been chosen to name the battle, angry that the law was usurped.
‘The Act of Union states Scots should be tried in Scottish courts, not in England.’
‘So you can set them loose again?’ Cumberland snapped.
‘She’s a slip of a girl,’ the old judge protested.
‘A dangerous one. Look at this.’ The Duke scattered the pile. ‘We’re pursuing warriors. Must we chase every pen as well?’
General Cope, seated beside General Hawley, put down his glass of port. ‘They only want to honour a woman they see as a hero,’ he said calmly.
‘Damn the bitch,’ Hawley snarled, getting to his feet and pacing. ‘I’ll honour her, with mahogany gallows and a silken cord!’
‘She has to be tried first,’ Cope said. ‘If she had bested me I would be less eager for the world to know.’
Cumberland considered him. Colonel Anne would certainly attract attention.
‘We do ourselves no favour by pursuing people quite so hard,’ Forbes said. ‘Our troops are brutal. They murder men, rape women, slaughter them and their children. The old are dragged from their beds, their homes burnt to the ground.’
‘To prevent the rebels re-forming,’ Cumberland explained.
‘And breed more hatred?’ Forbes asked. ‘What have we b
ecome?’
‘Without women and brats, they can’t breed,’ Cumberland said. ‘They’re a vicious race of savages who’ll rise again if they’re not wiped out.’
‘You can’t mean to achieve that.’ The elderly judge’s face paled.
‘Don’t talk like a whining old woman, Forbes.’
‘Rather that than the butcher of a people.’ Forbes was shaken. ‘I’ll write to the king and to parliament about this.’
‘Write,’ Cumberland said, grabbing a handful of the petitions about Anne and waving them in Forbes’s face. ‘You’ll not be the only one. But don’t expect sympathy. I’m charged to destroy these Scots, to ensure this cause can never be revived!’
∗
A few days after Lord Boyd’s visit, Anne received a more unexpected visitor, Lieutenant James Ray’s wife.
‘Anne.’ Helen took hold of both her hands. ‘My dear, I am so sorry. To think my husband had anything to do with this.’
‘He was doing his duty,’ Anne said.
‘Relishing it,’ Helen said. ‘Of that, I’m certain. It’s so awful. I could weep. They say you’ll hang.’
‘Don’t be upset. I’m content. Others have suffered so much worse.’
‘You, content?’ Helen was taken aback. ‘We can’t have that. My dear, you’ve been an inspiration. I’ve written to all my friends. You’ve been mentioned at court.’
‘I’m sure they celebrate our defeat, and mine, as their enemy.’
‘Pish tush, enemy nothing. Don’t believe everything you hear. The papers like a good stir-up, that’s all. Oh, there were fireworks and all that hoo-ha after Culloden, but not now. Do you know, after just three days of watching strong young men die so painfully on the gallows, the people of Carlisle turned their backs and walked away.’
‘They don’t have the stomach for what they do?’
‘Not for atrocities.’ Helen sat down on Anne’s narrow bunk and spread her skirts. ‘The English people are more kind-hearted than you think. We’re not all like Butcher Cumberland.’
‘Helen, be careful.’ Anne glanced around to see if any guard would overhear.
‘It’s all right,’ Helen reassured her. ‘They’re at the gate, and I know when to hold my tongue. Something you could learn.’
‘I doubt it,’ Anne smiled. It was the first smile for many weeks. ‘Mine will be silenced for me.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. There is no need. The Union is saved.’ She paused, looking pleased. ‘I have to say I’m glad of that. Why, you Scottish women have titles of your own, position, property, homes and land. And you can divorce your husbands! England has a lot to learn from you. I have, since I’ve been here. But –’ she patted Anne’s hand, conspiratorially ‘– I must teach you how to handle Englishmen. They like to be humoured. It allows them to feel strong and smart if women are docile and weak. Once you learn how, you can twist them round your little finger.’ She looked round as Morag brought a tray of tea in. ‘I’m glad they’re civilized enough to allow you a servant.’
Anne frowned, puzzled.
‘Morag’s not a servant,’ she said. ‘She’s a McIntosh, one of the family, the clan.’ Her visitor still looked mystified. ‘She gives her help because she chooses. We don’t have servants, or slaves. The clan provides everything we need.’
‘How very kind,’ Helen said. ‘But don’t they need to help themselves?’
‘We’re all obliged to help each other,’ Anne explained. ‘No one goes hungry or without shelter, or care if they need it. We all do our part.’
‘I see,’ Helen said, though she clearly didn’t. ‘Well, we do too. One of my friends visits with your cousin, Francis, in Southwark jail. She’s taken quite a shine to him. A fine, handsome man, she says. I think romance blossoms.’
‘But he’s been sentenced to hang.’
‘Not if Elizabeth can help it.’
‘Elizabeth?’ A shiver had run down Anne’s back, hearing her sister’s given name.
‘Elizabeth Eyre,’ Helen confirmed. ‘She’s from a wealthy family, and a fighter. She has written to the king’s mistress pleading for your cousin’s life.’
‘Not the king?’ Anne was surprised. Weren’t Englishwomen powerless?
‘No, no, no,’ Helen smiled. ‘You’ve not been listening. Ask a man for something and he’ll refuse, just because he can. So we get round them. If the Countess of Suffolk decides your cousin should be pardoned, the king will find himself thinking it’s been his idea all along.’
‘Isn’t that deceitful?’
‘Does it matter, if it works? Look what your directness gets you.’
Later that week, Helen joined Cumberland’s evening dinner party. Her husband had been reassigned to the Duke’s staff while Lord Boyd was absent for the executions. This dinner would be the last before the young Scottish equerry left for London.
Lord Louden was the only other Scot present. Forbes was well out of favour and would not have wanted the invitation any longer. The talk was of the Pretender Prince and his evasion of their pursuing forces. The army had searched Aberdeenshire and the Mearns, shooting rebels, pillaging and laying waste to the counties as they went. Now, their intelligence had it the Pretender and his companions fled north to the Hebrides.
‘You must hope to catch him soon,’ Helen said.
‘I’m in no hurry,’ Cumberland smiled. ‘He leads us to supporters we might never have suspected, if he but knew it.’
‘I took tea with the Lady McIntosh the other day,’ Lord Boyd said. ‘She really is a very pretty woman. It’s a pity she’s a rebel.’
‘Not for much longer,’ Hawley said. ‘She goes for trial next week.’
‘Tea?’ Cumberland frowned. ‘She’s in prison, not holding court.’
‘But she has many visitors,’ Cope intervened. ‘They queue up outside, several of our own officers among them.’
‘And their wives.’ Helen smiled and turned coyly to the Duke. ‘My Lord Cumberland,’ she said, ‘I would ask your permission to attend that trial.’
‘You can speak against her?’
‘Why no,’ Helen said, innocently, ‘but what a story she must have to tell. My friends in London are agog for news of her.’
‘Are they, indeed?’ Cumberland was not pleased.
‘She raised her own husband’s clan and fought against him. Then –’ Helen laughed merrily ‘– she kept him prisoner under his own roof. It’s most amusing.’
Cumberland glared at James Ray. Ray, himself, stared coldly at his wife.
‘There would be far fewer rebel wives,’ Ray snapped, ‘if their Hanoverian husbands kept them under better control.’
‘Do we know this man, her husband?’ Cumberland asked.
‘One of my captains, sir,’ Lord Louden replied. ‘Brave and loyal. He fought at Prestonpans, saving the small number of our troops who escaped, and was at my side when we attempted to take the Pretender from his own home at Moy, which his wife, Colonel Anne, thwarted. He was captured in the wake of that.’
‘The Pretender placed him in his wife’s custody,’ Ray added. ‘When we arrested her, I found him locked in the cellar, where he’d been chained.’
‘There must be no love lost there then,’ Cumberland pondered. ‘I don’t recall a petition from him. Will he speak against her?’
‘He knows little of her actions, bar hearsay,’ Louden said. ‘They were apart. General Hawley has more damning evidence, of her role in his defeat at Falkirk.’
‘I hope you’ll give evidence, General,’ Lord Boyd urged Hawley. ‘No one else has come forward, though we’ve held her now for six weeks. She made fools of us all, especially the high command.’
Cumberland frowned. Hawley did not appear to relish the task. Cope filled up his glass with claret.
‘Courage, Henry,’ he said. ‘Your reputation will recover, I’m sure.’
‘There is no need for witnesses,’ Helen said. ‘She intends to confess, the whole story from start to finish. Oh, I am so
looking forward to hearing it.’
‘Does she want to hang?’ Cumberland asked. ‘All the other traitors lie about their involvement. Listen to them and we fought no one, least of all those bloodthirsty, murderous savages who charged into our fire. They showed no discernible reluctance then to die for a cause they now disclaim.’
‘She doesn’t seem to mind death, sir,’ Lord Boyd said. ‘She is quite calm, as if she has found peace within herself.’
Cumberland had not forgotten that pale but pretty face, the quiet dignity.
‘Like Joan of Arc!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘Imagine –’ she gazed, awestruck, at the Duke ‘– you could make a great Scottish hero of her when she dies.’
THIRTY-NINE
It was the first day of June. The wide River Ness sparkled in the warm summer sun. The red field of Culloden began to turn green. There might have been peace, except there was none. No birds sang above the site of the slaughter. Wounds healed slowly in those seven weeks, keeping the injured from trial and sentencing. In towns and cities, the creak of the gibbets slowed but had not stilled. The Prince was chased north and back again. Army units trawled his wake, raiding homes, raping and murdering occupants. As the flow of warriors reduced and known sympathizers became a trickle, arrests were made for a word overheard, the wearing of white, an expression of sympathy for the condemned.
Cumberland received a letter from his father, commending him for securing the realm and his united kingdoms. ‘But we are concerned to make no martyrs,’ it read, ‘especially from the fairer sex whose influence should not be spread.’ Female rebels, however high-ranking, should be tried in Scotland then sent south for sentence, their actions considered too shocking for the citizens of England to hear. The king’s letter confirmed the course of action the Duke had decided on. Lord Louden stood waiting for the order. Hawley was not a happy man.
‘This is the paper you will serve on Aeneas, Chief of McIntosh and Clan Chattan,’ Cumberland said, dipping the quill in the ink and scrawling his signature. ‘It will turn the tables neatly.’
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