“I wanted to wash in the loch here before anyone saw me, to be clean at least, but then I saw Peigi and Janet on the track and my body just gave up and I couldna carry on.”
“Ye walked all the way frae London, in just your shirt?” Alasdair asked. “Wi’ no shoes at all?”
“Aye,” Simon said. “I wanted to get home, and I did it. It would have been easy if I’d been in my strength at the start, but we’d been starved for so long. I really believe they thought we’d die trying to get home anyway and save them the trouble of burying us. When I started walking, I tellt myself that I’d be damned if I’d die in England, and that gave me the strength to get to Scotland, then once I was there I kept saying that it wasna far now, so I might as well keep on. I’m so glad we dinna live in Aberdeen or some such northerly place.”
“I canna believe ye made it at all,” Kenneth said. “I thought I was the strongest in the clan, but Christ, man, to walk so far, an’ ye a skeleton before ye started…” He shook his head in wonder. “Ye’re a miracle, that’s what ye are.”
“That was a brave thing ye did, Simon, telling yon soldier that the Elector could fuck himself,” Allan said. “I’m no’ sure I could have done the like, in your position.”
“He’s a MacGregor,” Dougal commented. “They’ve tried to kill us all for over a hundred years, but while we’ve men like Simon, we’ve nae need to worry they’ll manage it! We’re no’ so easy to kill!”
There was a great roar of approval, and this time when Alex leaned down to ask him if he had had enough, Simon didn’t even hear him.
He was too busy looking around at the sea of admiring faces, and realising that what Alex, and, separately, his wife had told him was true. They were not just being kind. No one thought him a coward for allowing himself to be taken prisoner. No one except himself thought he was a lesser man for allowing himself to be treated like vermin for two years by the British. Quite the opposite; they thought him a hero, and the admiration on their faces was quite clearly genuine.
Alex leaned down again, and this time Simon did hear him.
“I tellt ye so,” he said softly. “Ye should believe your chieftain when he tells ye a truth. Ye’re a brave man, Simon, and I’m proud to call you my clansman. Now, are ye tired?”
“Aye,” Simon replied, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m a wee bit tired. But let’s have the party soon. I dinna need to be able to dance to enjoy it, not now I ken that…” His voice broke with the effort of holding the emotion back.
Alex gave one of his now rare smiles, and bending, lifted Simon in his arms and took him back into the cottage, thereby bringing the meeting to an end.
* * *
Manchester, England.
She stood for a short time in the lane leading to her destination, plucking up the courage to take the final steps. She was being ridiculous, she knew that; her welcome was assured. But still she dreaded the bad news that might be awaiting her there. If she loitered too long though, she might attract unwanted attention. So she pulled herself together, straightened her shoulders and walked briskly down the lane, stopping at the gate of the house she was heading for.
Last time she had been here the garden had been only partly tamed; now it was completely so, with vegetable beds neatly laid out, some showing shoots, while along the edge of the little path leading to the door daffodils were already blooming. At the right side of the house, his back to her, a young man was wielding a spade to good effect; a young man she didn’t recognise, and who most definitely was not Graeme. Her heart sank as she opened the catch on the gate and made her way up the path.
She knocked on the door, hoping that someone she knew would answer. She didn’t want to have to introduce herself to a complete stranger, not here, in a place she thought of as her second home. So when she got no answer to her knock she made her way round to the back of the house via the left side of the house. Maybe the occupants were in the back, it being a fine day.
She was in luck; in the back garden were a woman and a little girl. The woman was taking washing from a line and handing it to the child, who was putting it in a large basket on the ground. As she saw the visitor approach the woman turned, her arms full of a sheet she had just unpegged from the line.
“Hello,” she said cheerily. “How can I help you?”
The visitor responded by taking the hood of her cloak down, revealing a head of brown wavy hair and a pale face, blue eyes underscored by dark shadows of fatigue. She smiled.
“Hello Jane,” she said.
Jane froze for a moment, then dropped the sheet she was holding onto the child, covering her in washing. The child giggled, enjoying this new game.
“Beth?” Jane said hesitantly, as though unable to believe what she was seeing. “My God, is it really you?” All the colour had drained from her face and Beth moved forward, putting a hand on Jane’s arm to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to shock you. Is it safe for me to be here?”
“Safe?” Jane repeated, still stunned. “I…we thought you were dead. Sarah wrote to us and said that you were transported to the Colonies and had died.”
“Ah,” Beth said, realisation dawning. “I can explain that.” She bent down and lifted the washing off the child. “Hello, little sunflower,” she said, using John’s pet name for Ann.
The little girl beamed up at her.
“Hhhrrrr!” she said.
“You’ve done wonders for her,” Beth said, looking up at Jane. “I hardly recognise her.”
This wasn’t strictly true; the hideous scarring inflicted on the child’s face by Richard in his attempt to kill her rendered her instantly recognisable. But apart from that, this sturdy, well-nourished little girl with shiny curls was a far cry from the filthy emaciated urchin Beth had dropped off at the house almost three years before.
Beth straightened up and Jane lifted her hands, cupping her former mistress’s face and staring intently at her.
“It really is you!” she said. “I can’t believe it! Are you here to stay?”
“If you want me to, I can stay for the night.”
Jane leaned forward, kissed Beth soundly, then embraced her.
“You can stay as long as you want. You can live here, if you like. I can’t believe it. I have to tell Thomas. He’s in the kitchen. Come on,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. Leaving the remaining washing on the line and the basket on the floor, Jane led the way and Beth followed her into the kitchen, which was, as always, warm and welcoming, and smelt of freshly baked bread.
Thomas was sitting at the table polishing a pair of shoes, but looked up as the two women entered, and, like Jane before him, froze at the sight of Beth.
“Look who’s come back to us,” Jane said, her voice shaking with tears and excitement. “She’s not dead at all!”
Very carefully Thomas put down the shoe and the brush, and stood up. Then he reached out and pulled Beth into an embrace so crushing that she could hardly breathe.
“Beth,” he said into her hair. “Oh, this is wonderful.” He stepped back, holding her at arm’s length, taking her in. “Your hair…” he said.
Beth reached a hand up.
“I dyed it,” she said. “My hair is my most recognisable feature. I know everyone thinks I’m dead, but even so, if someone recognises me…if I’m arrested, I’ll be executed.”
“Sit down,” Jane said. “Are you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer she bustled about, putting together a meal.
“Why would Sarah tell us you were dead?” Thomas asked. “She wrote to us last year, said one of her clients found out you’d been transported and died. We’ve all been in mourning for you.”
Once the food was on the table they all sat down, and Beth told them briefly what had happened, about Captain Marsal attacking the transport ship and taking them all to Martinique, about the governor setting all the prisoners free, and about her asking him to add her to the list of dead.
“I made a very powerful enemy when I was in prison, because I wouldn’t reveal Sir Anthony’s identity,” Beth explained, “an enemy rich enough to send assassins out to Martinique to kill me, so I thought I’d be safer if it was believed that I’d died. I wasn’t planning to return to England then, but even if there are notices out for the other prisoners who were freed, there won’t be about me, which is good. I’m sorry. I couldn’t take the risk of writing to tell anyone I was alive, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands.”
“No, of course you couldn’t. But I’m so glad you decided to come back!” Jane said. “I’ll light a fire in the drawing room. You can sleep there tonight and then tomorrow we’ll work out something more permanent. You are staying?”
Part of her wanted to say yes, desperately. She had been so lonely for so long, and now she was with people who cared for her, the thought of setting out alone again on a dangerous journey with, most probably, terrible news at the end, made her feel sick. A wave of sadness washed over her and she knew that she would have to leave soon, or her courage might fail her.
“I can stay tonight, maybe for a couple of days,” Beth said. “But I have to go then. I have something to do.”
“What do you have to do?” Thomas asked. “Is it something we can help with?”
“No, it isn’t,” Beth replied. “I have to find out what happened to…someone. That’s why I came back.”
“Beth, you look tired and you’re very thin,” Jane commented. “At least stay until there’s some flesh on your bones. This someone, whoever it is, can wait until you’re properly rested.”
“It’s Sir Anthony or whatever his name was, isn’t it?” Thomas said, his voice hard. “It’s him you’re looking for.”
“Yes,” Beth admitted. “I have to know if he’s alive or dead.”
“Why? He abandoned you, didn’t he, when you weren’t of any more use to him? I know you loved him, but he’s never tried to find you, has he? Why are you risking your life to look for someone who left you to rot in prison?”
“He didn’t abandon me…he wouldn’t,” Beth said. “He promised me he’d come for me, and he wouldn’t have broken that promise unless something had happened to stop him.”
To say Thomas looked sceptical would be a vast understatement.
“Well, if that’s the case, then he must be dead. And if he’s alive, he’s not worthy to kiss your feet. So why waste your time? You can stay here, with people who really love you. We’ll keep you safe.”
Beth’s eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t, Thomas. I want to, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous for you, for one thing. And I know you hate Anthony, and I understand that, but you don’t know the whole story. I can’t tell you, either. I’m sorry. But I have to find out whether he survived Cul…whether he’s alive or not. It’s burning me up, and I can’t go on with my life until I know.”
“He was alive this time last year, at any rate. I can take you to him, if you want,” a voice came from behind her. Beth turned to see the familiar, if somewhat facially altered figure of her former gardener standing in the doorway.
“Graeme?” she said, standing up. “He’s alive?”
Graeme smiled.
“As far as I know he is. Christ, lass, but it’s good to see you,” he said.
She burst into tears and he moved forward, catching her as she fainted dead away.
She was sitting on Graeme’s lap, supported by his arm, her cheek pressed against the worn leather of his waistcoat. She inhaled the familiar scent of leather and green growing things, and was transported back to when she was a child and had sat on his knee after a long day of playing in the fields, listening to the conversation of the adults going on over her head as she drifted off to sleep. Then she remembered the last time she had sat like this, after Richard had hit her and driven John away. And then she became aware of what had happened just before she fainted, and opened her eyes, to see the young man who had been digging in the garden and a young woman sitting at the other side of the table, looking at her with concerned but elated faces.
“She’s coming round,” the young man said in a strong Manchester accent.
Graeme looked down and shifted position slightly, allowing Beth to sit upright while still retaining the support of his arm.
“I know I’m ugly now,” he said conversationally, “But I’m not used to women swooning on me. Hurt my feelings, it has.”
Beth smiled
“I’m not used to swooning myself,” she said, her voice sounding distant to her ears as she attempted to shake off the disorientation of the faint. “I must have become a delicate young miss after all.”
Graeme snorted disbelievingly.
“Here,” he said, holding a glass of brandy under her nose. “Drink that. We’ll have you climbing trees and falling in the pond again in no time.”
She took the glass and drank, then leaned back into him, revelling in the familiarity and comfort of the man who knew her better than anyone. Anyone, that was except…
“You said he’s alive?” she said. “Where…?” His hand tightened warningly on her shoulder, bringing her to full consciousness and reminding her that there was a room full of people who, although they loved her and were trustworthy, did not know, and should not know anything more about her husband than they already did.
She looked across the table.
“Ben?” she said, “and Mary? You’ve grown up! Last time I saw you you were children!”
The couple blushed in unison.
“We have, miss,” Mary said. “And Ben and me’s going to be married, as soon as we’re old enough!”
“Not for a good few years yet,” Thomas said with mock sternness.
“When I arrived here I saw you digging and I didn’t know who you were. I thought you’d replaced…I thought you were dead,” Beth said, looking up at Graeme.
“Hmm, well, it was a close thing,” Graeme said. “The redcoat bastard tried his best to do the job, but made a mess of it. Sorry, Jane.”
Beth laughed out loud. Until she’d arrived here, it had seemed to her that the whole world had changed, profoundly and irrevocably. But here in this tiny corner of England, Graeme was still swearing and Jane was still shocked by it. And she was still Beth Cunningham, the master’s daughter, and their friend.
“Oh God, I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “I’ve missed you all so much. I thought I’d never see you again! It’s so good to be home!”
Then she burst into tears and was joined by Jane and Mary, while the men all tut-tutted and made comments about the foolishness of women and suchlike. But when Beth, still ensconced on Graeme’s lap, looked up at him, his one remaining eye was moist.
The following day, after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, Graeme announced that he was going to show Beth the garden, as though he owned a vast estate that would take a day to ride around rather than a vegetable patch, a herb bed, and a henhouse. Nevertheless the others took the hint and kept out of the way while Beth accompanied Graeme to the end of the yard, where the ramshackle shed had been replaced with a neat painted henhouse. Outside it were several chickens pecking about in the grass. The log was still there, where she’d sat a lifetime ago, listening to Sir Anthony telling her he was afraid while Graeme and Thomas had watched from the kitchen window. Automatically, she looked down the yard at the house.
“I knew then, when I saw him grab you up off that log, that he was the only one for you, and that there was a lot more to him than met the eye,” Graeme said, reading her mind. “Sit down. We’ve a lot to talk about.”
They sat down. The previous evening they’d spoken of the things that they could talk about with the others; that Richard was dead, but not who had killed him; that John had escaped from Newgate Prison, as told to them by Sarah, but not where he was now, because no one knew that. Beth had told them about her time in the Tower, in Newgate, what Richard had done to her, how her friends in London had saved her life, a
nd of her, pointless as she now knew, attempt to discredit Richard which had led to her transportation. She told them about Martinique, and Paul and Elizabeth, about Pierre, Antoinette, Raymond and Rosalie. It had been a very long evening and she had been emotionally exhausted at the end of it, but it had felt good to be able to talk about anything she wanted to.
Almost anything she wanted to.
Now she sat on the log with the man who had been a second father to her, while he told her about Duncan’s death and held her as she cried brokenly, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort until she was able to pull herself together. And then he told her about Alex’s injury, how they’d feared for his life after Angus had told him Maggie’s dying words, and how he’d slowly come back to life, fuelled by the wish for revenge.
He made her laugh with his account of the cattle raid and the exploits of Tobias Grundy, George Armstrong and the idiot John, who’d pissed in the soldier’s mouth. He told her how Richard had died, and what he’d told Alex before he died, and at that she’d cried again, not for Richard but for Alex, because, even before Graeme told her, she knew that he’d believed her alive, only to find out she was dead again. Because he must have come looking for her.
“He came for me, didn’t he?” she said.
“He did. I came with him as far as here,” Graeme explained. “I’ve never seen a man so determined in my life. We all thought that Richard might be lying just to hurt him, but he never doubted for a minute that you were alive. Angus tried to stop him and Kenneth pulled them apart, and then I threatened to shoot Alex to bring him to his senses. I wouldn’t really have shot him,” he added hurriedly, seeing Beth’s look of alarm. “Anyway, we got here, and he took some of your money and then carried on to London. I came here and read the letter you’d sent telling us you were alive, but it was too late to go after him to tell him.
Tides of Fortune (Jacobite Chronicles Book 6) Page 41