'They're coming back, Mrs Hepburn.' Jeannie stood in the doorway shading her eyes from the evening sun. 'Mr Hepburn is leading, and nobody is missing.'
'Oh, thank the Lord.' Mother's words revealed something of the anxiety she had been feeling. Rising at once, she pulled at my sleeve. 'Come, Mary. Come and welcome your father home.'
'The mess…' I glanced at the floor with its pails of water, discarded scrubbing brushes and cakes of hard soap.
'Leave it. That's why we have servants.'
Father led the riders at walking pace. The men looked weary, covered in dust and froth from the horses. In the middle of them was a horse I thought was empty until I realised there was a man tied across the middle, face down.
Ignoring him, I ran to Father. I made a point of avoiding John Aitken, who looked balder, older and fatter than ever.
'Andrew.' Mother walked sedately across the cobbles in front of our house, as if she had not been worried sick the last few hours. 'I'm glad to see you back.'
'Thank you, my dear.' Stiff after so long in the saddle, Father dismounted. His smile was tired. 'We got the man we were after. This fellow,' he gestured to the man tied across the spare horse, 'has been organising the whisky stills all across the county and beyond. We don't know what other mischief he has been up to.'
'Is he dangerous?' Mother squinted at the prisoner as if willing to hang him there and then.
'He might have been,' Father said. 'My informants were most helpful in telling me where he was located. We rounded him up.'
'You had to fire your pistol.' Observant Mother pointed to the powder stains on Father's sleeve.
'Yes.' One word. 'It will wash.' Father tugged at the reins of the spare horse. 'I'll take this fellow to Muirend lock up for the night. We'll have him in the townhouse jail in Haddington tomorrow.'
'Are you going to eat first?' Mother asked.
'I'll eat when I come back,' Father said. 'We won't be long.'
'Come on, you; time to go to the lockup.' John Aitken gave the prisoner a hearty whack with his riding whip. The man jerked his head up, and for one shocking instant, I found myself staring into the dark eyes of Captain Ferintosh.
Chapter Six
'Oh, dear Lord!'
I looked away quickly as a hundred emotions surged through my body. I do not know which was uppermost. Alarm that my captain should be on the other side of the law, fear for his future, sick dread that he might be hanged or transported, anger at my father and his friends for capturing Captain Ferintosh and treating him in such a manner, or sorrow to see him in such a plight.
'Are you all right, Mary?' Mother had noticed my reaction.
I tried to compose myself. 'Yes, Mother, thank you.' I stepped back as Father and John Aitken led their prisoner away. I had to find space by myself. I could not think with so many people present. Some of the other gentlemen were looking curiously at me.
'Don't you worry about him, Miss Hepburn,' Elliot had completely misconstrued my agitation. 'He won't be able to harm you.'
'Is that what the matter was?' Alexander Colligere leaned forward in his saddle. 'I thought Miss Hepburn was looking concerned. Don't you fret, Miss Hepburn. He's tied up safe.'
Unable to say more, I lifted my skirt, turned and walked away with as much dignity as I could muster.
Usually, I would head for the walled garden, but with night drawing on I knew Mother would follow me there and chivvy me inside. Fortunately, we had a small library set on the topmost floor. I hurried there, skipping up the stairs with my feet clicking and clacking and my skirt rustling like the sails of a ship in a fluky breeze.
Only when I entered the library and stood with my back to the door did I allow my emotions to surface. I stood there, sobbing, with my breath coming in deep gasps and my legs trembling. I did not know what to do.
Was there some mistake? Was Captain Ferintosh some black scoundrel that needed so many armed men to hunt him down? Or was he an innocent man accused by others intent on his downfall? Who would do that to my gallant captain? Who would possibly wish to harm such a handsome, elegant, amiable gentleman?
I tried to think back to what Father had said. What had put him on the track of the captain? It had been the two scoundrels Father had in custody for whisky smuggling. I took a deep breath. That might be Simmy and Peter, the two men Captain Ferintosh had rescued me from. Had they taken their revenge by falsely accusing the captain?
Unconscious of what I was doing, I began to pace the length of the library, which did not take long as it was a comparatively small room. It was also growing very dark, as I discovered when I stumbled over a small coffee-table, turned and fell over the blasted thing again. I kicked it aside in my temper, hurt my toe and said some words that no young lady should know.
If these two scoundrels were the cause of placing the captain in jail, then I was also involved, as he had crossed them by helping me. I had to reciprocate. I had to help Captain Ferintosh. I wanted to help him. The thoughts crammed into my mind, jumbling and tumbling over one another as I paced the short length of the library, alternatively tripping over the coffee table and barking my shins off its top. Honestly, one would think I would have the sense to light a candle. However, misery does not allow reason to share its space, and I wallowed in wretchedness even as I wrestled with the problem I convinced myself was entirely my fault.
If I had not been so inquisitive, I would not have come across that illicit still. If I had not come across the still, Peter and Simmy would not have caught me. If Peter and Simmy had not caught me, Captain Ferintosh would not have had to rescue me. If Captain Ferintosh had not saved me, Simmy and Peter would not have clyped on him to my father. The fault lay squarely at my door. It was up to me to restore the situation.
I stopped at the window, looking out over the autumn-dark East Lothian countryside. I loved that view, with the tiny pinpricks of light from the scattered cottages and villages across the plain, to the riding lights of the ships that sat at anchor out on the Forth. Down there, in that dim cluster of lights that marked the village of Kirkton of Muirend, my friend and companion Captain Ferintosh lay in the village lockup, awaiting transport to Haddington Jail, trial and possible exile or worse, and it was all my fault.
Taking a deep breath, I resolved to do something about it.
Adjusting my dress and tidying my hair, I gave my face a quick wash in cold water and marched to Father's study. I tapped politely on the door.
'Come in.' Father looked up. 'Halloa Mary; what do you want? Have you quite recovered from seeing that villain?'
'I am quite recovered, Father, thank you.' I stepped into the room and perched myself, straight-backed, on the only other chair. 'It is that villain that I wish to ask you about.'
Father sipped at the glass of claret on his desk, shuffled his papers and looked at me. 'Ask away, Mary, although I do think you would be better employing your mind with thoughts of John Aitken.'
'John Aitken can whistle for all I care,' I said, rudely. 'No, father, it is that poor fellow you have in Muirend lockup I wish to ask you about.'
'So you said, Mary.' Father raised his eyebrows. 'What do you wish to know?'
'Are you sure he is a guilty party?' I was never known for my subtlety.
'At present, he is accused of many things,' Father looked directly at me, pressing his fingers onto the desk. 'His trial will determine if he is innocent or guilty.'
I had formulated my questions, but now I faced my father, my carefully crafted words flew out of the window. 'He looks too handsome to be guilty.' I knew that my words were foolish even as I said them.
'I am afraid that we cannot judge a man by his looks. I have known the most handsome men to be arrant rogues, and the ugliest men to have the hearts of saints and angels.'
'Surely you cannot keep the poor fellow locked up on the word of two known scoundrels,' I tried another approach.
'Would you prefer that I allowed a noted law-breaker to wander free, jeopardising the labo
urs of innocent and hardworking people?' Father's voice was mild.
'He is not yet a noted law-breaker,' I said. 'You said the trial would determine his innocence or guilt.'
Father smiled. 'I wish that the law was open as a career to women, Mary, for by the powers, you would argue your case well. However, we have been searching for this fellow for some time.' He closed his hand into a fist. 'And now we have him, I intend to keep him fast until his trial.'
'Yes, Father.' I knew there any further argument would be pointless. That part of my plan had failed. I knew I must move onto my second stage. 'Thank you, Father. I am sure you are correct.'
I was not sure at all, of course, but I was determined to allay any suspicions Father may have about my future intentions.
I waited until midnight before making my move. In those days, we all went to bed early and arose before dawn. When I had been in Father's study, I saw a large key on his desk. That must be the key to the Muirend lockup. It could be no other. I dressed hurriedly, putting on my darkest, most close-fitting dress and sturdy boots. I envied men their freedom of movement with their breeches and trousers, but short of altering the order of the sexes, I could hardly don a male's clothing. The thought made me smile, although I did borrow one of father's old tricorne hats for this occasion.
I knew that Father kept his study locked, to ensure the security of his court documents. I also knew where he hung the key. It was the work of a moment to slide in, close the door behind me and search for the key to the lock-up. I had a moment of panic when I saw the surface of the desk was clear, and I spent some frantic seconds opening and closing Father's desk drawers until I found the key tucked under a wad of papers.
I left the study as I had found it, relocked the door, returned the door key to its hook and slipped downstairs. However well you know a place, there is always some obstacle in your path when you move in the dark. I must have stumbled over half the furniture in the house before I scraped open the bolts of our side door, wrestled with the lock and stepped into the dark. Fortunately, the night was dry and reasonably mild as I turned up the collar of my great cloak, pulled down father's tricorne hat and strode toward Muirend.
When I say strode, I should say felt my way gingerly, for the roads were un-made, rutted by cartwheels and generally treacherous. Those were the days before the transport improvements, with John Loudon McAdam still experimenting with his methods of road making in his Mauchline estate. I had brought a lantern but forbore to light it until I was well clear of the house. The last thing I wanted was for one of the servants to see a suspicious light flickering around the house. I could imagine the result, with Father and the footman coming out with pistols and cudgels, shots in the dark and me having a hundred unpleasant questions to answer.
Stumbling and falling, I left the grounds behind me, slid into the shelter of a copse of trees and scraped a spark from Father's tinderbox onto the wick of the lantern.
Shielding the light, I moved quickly toward Kirkton of Muirend. Twice I halted when I thought I heard somebody else moving around in the dark. Once it turned out to be a cow, strayed from its field. The second time I was not sure. An owl called eerily, joined by the harsh bark of a fox, which unsettled a shed full of hens that began to cackle in panic. I moved on.
Kirkton of Muirend was nothing special, a dozen cottages grouped around the ancient parish kirk, or church, with one stout building as the parish lock up. It was usually empty. When some unfortunate occupied the single cell, he or she would be there for drunkenness, poaching or affray. This time my unhappy Captain Ferintosh was inside on false charges made up by Peter and Simmy.
I halted outside the tiny window with its deeply set iron grill. There was no glass so the cold of the night could whistle inside to add to the discomfort of the occupant. 'Captain Ferintosh.' I whispered the name. There was no reply. I tried again. 'Captain Ferintosh!' Holding up the lantern, I peered inside the room but saw only shadows.
Fumbling for the key, I found the lock. It opened with surprising ease. I had thought it would be rusted.
'Captain Ferintosh?' I held the lantern high, with the light pooling inside the stark room. Stone walls above a stone-slabbed floor, with heavy wooden rafters beneath a roof of red pantiles, the cottage was no different from a thousand others in East Lothian except for the barred windows and the staples and chains on the wall.
'Who the devil is that?' Captain Ferintosh did not sound his usual cheerful self. 'Can't a man get a night's sleep without some blasted woman interrupting him?'
'It's me, Captain. It's Mary.' I held the lantern, so the light fell on my face.
'Lady Mary!' The tone of the captain's voice altered. 'What are you doing in a place like this?'
'Trying to rescue you,' I crouched at his side. 'You're chained up.'
'There's a key on that wall over there,' Captain Ferintosh nodded to the wall furthest from him.
It was the work of a moment to lift down the key and release the captain. He spent a moment rubbing his ankles and wrists, from which the manacles had rubbed the skin. 'You're an angel,' Captain Ferintosh said.
'My Father won't agree.'
'Come on, out of here,' Captain Ferintosh did not pursue that line of conversation. He limped to the door, gasping every time he put his left foot on the ground. I saw a dark stain in the middle of his thigh; blood from a wound, I guessed.
I replaced the key, relocked the door and stood outside the lockup. My plan had worked, but it had a serious flaw: I did not know what to do next. I had only thought as far as releasing the captain.
'You're free,' I said. 'I'll have to go home and put the key back, or Father will know it was me who got you out.'
There was an alternative. I could run away with the captain and share whatever adventures he had.
I contemplated that life for a moment, thinking of life on the high seas, or on the pad as we would-be-outlaws termed the bold roguery of the highwayman.
'Thank you.' Captain Ferintosh smiled, with those marvellous eyes dark and caring as he touched my face. 'Can I ask you one more favour?'
'Yes, of course.' I was genuinely pleased to help.
'Could you help me a little way from the village? I only have one working leg, you see.' Captain Ferintosh's smile was as winning as ever.
'What happened to your leg?'
'Your father shot me,' Captain Ferintosh showed no malice. Taking my hand in his, he lowered the lantern to enable me to see better. The blood-caked hole in his breeches told more than a hundred words could.
'Oh, you poor man!' I leant closer. 'We'll have to get you to a doctor.'
'I suspect that the minute I enter the premises of a sawbones, there will be a messenger running to your father.'
I could not disagree with that. Father knew all the local doctors.
'No, Miss Hepburn. If you help me to a friend of mine, he can patch me up most satisfactorily.'
'Come on then,' I loaned the captain my arm for support. 'Which way is it?'
'This way. It's a fair step, I'm afraid. A mile or two.'
I glanced at the overcast sky, wondering what time it was and if I could get home before dawn. I had no wish for Mother to discover my absence. However, as there was no help for it I buckled down, helped support the captain's weight and staggered along the rutted road. My lantern bounced its light around us, now showing the autumn-sad vegetation at the side of the path, now the bare trees above.
I cannot describe how it felt to be helping a man with whom I was in love. It was a mixture of pleasure that I was useful and trepidation that he might be seriously hurt. Add anxiety about my own situation and worry about the captain's future to the sauce and you will have some ideas about my feelings.
'Captain,' I said as we limped through the dark.
'Yes, Mary?'
'My father is convinced that you have committed some offence.' I waited for his reaction.
'I gathered that when he shot me.'
I took a deep breath. 'H
ave you committed an offence?'
Captain Ferintosh was silent for the next few yards. 'Would you have still helped me if I had?'
I thought for a moment. 'Yes, probably.'
The captain squeezed my arm. 'I thought you were game. In fact, I think you are the most game woman I have ever met.'
I am sure I glowed with pleasure.
'Leave me here.' The captain said. He had not answered my question. Perhaps he had forgotten. Maybe there was no need.
I looked around. 'There's nothing here,' I said. 'No house, not even a cottage.'
'That's all right,' the captain said. 'I know where I am.'
We were in an area of unenclosed land, with a range of miniature hills, the Garleton Hills, rising before us. Beyond that, the ground fell away to the coastal plain. My captain was limping heavily. Only the night-dark Huntlaw House, home of the eccentric Lady Emily, sat in a neuk of the hills to the north.
'I can't leave you here,' I said.
'Leave me,' Captain Ferintosh had a new edge to his voice. 'I know where I am.'
'Will you be all right?' I asked. 'When will I see you again?'
His eyes seemed to glow in the dark. 'I'll contact you. Now go.' He pushed me gently. 'Go, Mary.'
'I can't leave you like this,' I said. 'I love you.'
There. I had said it. The words were out. I had committed myself. There was no going back.
'Good God!' Captain Ferintosh stared at me. 'You know, I really think you do. Well now, my poor, sweet little girl.'
'Captain,' I held out my hands to him. 'I can't leave you here. It's not safe for you.'
'Go,' he said. 'You must go.'
'But, Captain…'
'But me no buts.' He pushed me again, gently but firmly. 'Go now, Lady Mary. You can do no more.'
I hated to leave him there all alone, wounded in the dark. I took one step and looked back over my shoulder. He had not moved. He waved me away. I took another step.
I heard movement in the dark. 'Captain Ferintosh,' I said.
He was gone. I did not see him move. One moment he was there, the next I was alone in the chilly emptiness.
The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4) Page 6