‘Why do the English want to buy our whisky? Haven’t they any of their own down there?’ she asked as she watched the neat little barrels being heaved on to the backs of the horses.
‘Oh aye, Aylie, they’ve whisky all right but they pay duty on it. It’s half as cheap for them to buy it from us, whisky’s a real money maker. We’ll take part of our money in brandy and sell it at another profit when we get back,’ said Charlie, who was rolling the barrels around as if they were acorn shells.
‘I’m worried about you both. I won’t sleep a wink till you get back,’ she told him and he laughed his deep laugh.
‘Don’t you worry about us, we’ll be fine. My grandfather’s folk were reivers and it runs in my blood to go out raiding at night.’
She looked across the stable to where her husband was tieing a load on to another horse’s back. His anticipation and energy almost made him shine in the shadows. It also ran in his blood, she knew, to relish dangerous trips under the light of the moon, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Even Nelson seemed to be infected with the excitement of the occasion and to know what was required of him, for he sat grinning in the doorway waiting for the cavalcade to leave.
‘Take care,’ she whispered as she kissed Hugh just before the mounted men clattered out of the yard. She felt as if time had been turned back. Women in the Borders had been sending their men off at night on dangerous raids like this for centuries. ‘I wish I could come with you.’
He leaned down from the saddle to tell her, ‘I wish you were too. Perhaps next time.’
They were away for two days and on the morning of the third day, she heard sounds in the yard at about three o’clock. Still in her night clothes, clutching a blanket over her shoulders, she ran out, heedless of the chill air, to see a jubilant Hugh leaping from the back of his tired horse and running towards her with his arms in the air.
He was more exhilarated than she had ever seen him and he swung her off her feet, whirling her round in the air as he cried out, ‘We did it Aylie, we did it! We sold everything at a good price and brought back lots of brandy. My, that Frenchman Fleury’s a real lad!’
The profit they made from the trip was the equivalent of six months’ wages for labouring in the fields. As Hugh counted it all out on their kitchen table she realized that her husband’s way of life was now to be that of a full-time smuggler. The days of hiring himself out with farming gangs was finished.
‘If you go on doing this long enough, you’re almost sure to be caught,’ she protested.
‘I won’t get caught. Besides, lots of people are doing it, far more than folk ever know. There’s a minister at Coldstream who goes back and forward into England with a sheep’s bladder full of whisky in his lum hat!’ he laughed.
‘A bladder full of whisky’s not so bad as eight ankers of the stuff,’ she pointed out. ‘If they catch him, they’ll probably let him off with a fine. If they catch you and Charlie, they’ll send you to prison.’
Her mind went back to Phemie in the prison in Edinburgh. Being shut up like that would kill Hugh. The thought chilled her blood and anxiously she took his hand. ‘Oh Hugh, we don’t need so much money. We’ve been so happy living up here and we’ve everything we want. You get plenty of work and dealing in the horses brings in a bit. Don’t go riding out again.’
His face darkened. ‘You don’t understand, Aylie, it’s not just the money… it’s more than that. It’s the danger and the fact that you’re cocking a snook at the bastards. Besides how else would we get so much money as we’ve earned by two nights on the trail? Next time, we’re going to take more. Next time we’ll do even better.’
They quarrelled for the first time and she flounced off on one of the ponies to visit her mother and allow both of their tempers time to cool down.
* * *
Jane’s cell was always damp in the winter and even the charcoal brazier burning alongside her little fireplace failed to take the chill out of it.
‘Oh, Mam, you shouldn’t be living here in this weather. Come back and stay with me till spring comes,’ said Aylie, saddened by the evidence of her mother’s growing stiffness.
‘Of course not,’ was the robust reply. ‘I wouldn’t live a week away from here. Besides, how would the people who need my medicines find me up there in the Bowmont Water? They get sick more in the bad weather than they do in good, you know.’
Her voice was sad, however, and her daughter could see that there was something else on her mind.
‘What’s wrong. Are you ill, Mam?’ she asked.
‘I’m no worse than I was. No, I’m not ill.’
‘What’s wrong then? I know there’s something. I can read you like a book.’
‘Well, I’ve been wondering how to tell you this but I was up at the Hepburns’ last week and that old tailor was there… you know, Phemie’s father.’
Aylie shuddered. ‘Oh him, I can’t bear to think of him.’
Jane nodded in sympathy. ‘I know. Anyway he was speaking about Phemie to Flora Hepburn. She’s in the Calton jail in Edinburgh and he was saying that she’s gone very strange… raving and breaking things in her cell. Sometimes she’s so bad that they’ve got to tie her up to keep her quiet.’
Aylie sank her face in her hands, she could hardly bear to think of her friend’s suffering in prison. Phemie had been such a strange girl, it was difficult to be friendly with her, but her misery and terrible plight moved Aylie’s heart unbearably. To be shut away from the sky, the trees, the birds and the lovely rolling hills… how terrible!
When she reached home again, she sought out Hugh in the stables and threw her arms round him. ‘I’m sorry we fought. I know you’re quite capable of looking after yourself – but I can’t help worrying…’
He held her close and kissed her gently. ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so short with you. You’re looking very sad, what happened at Charterhall? Is your mam sick?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. She was telling me about Phemie – you remember, the girl who killed her bairn. She’s in the Calton jail in Edinburgh and she’s gone a bit funny in the head.’
Hugh was sombre. ‘I don’t blame the lassie. The Calton jail’s a terrible dungeon, I’ve heard.’
‘Oh, I wish I could go to see her,’ Aylie said sadly, and her husband stood back in sudden decision.
‘Right, you can! I’ve never been to Edinburgh and they say it’s a grand place. What do you say we take a trip there before my next trip down to Boulmer? We’ve got the money.’
She gasped in genuine amazement. ‘Us go to Edinburgh?’ It seemed as remote as America. ‘Oh, we couldn’t do that. How would we get there? It’s too far to ride in one day.’
‘Nonsense, we don’t need to ride it. No, what we’ll do, you and I, is take the mail coach. We’ll catch it in Jeddart and ride all the way to Edinburgh like gentry.’
* * *
It was just after dawn when the olive green mail coach drew up in front of Jedburgh’s Spread Eagle Hotel. Embarking passengers gathered at its door, saying farewell to the friends who had come to see them off, and new arrivals wandered into the hotel, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.
Shouting ostlers were hoisting bags and boxes up on to the railed-in section of the roof and other men from the hotel stables were unharnessing the sweating, tired horses and putting six fresh ones in their place.
Aylie and Hugh bought outside tickets – for one shilling and sixpence each – which entitled them to a seat on the roof among the baggage. In bad weather it would have been a miserable ride but the day promised to be clear and dry, and Hugh said they would have a better view of the countryside than the people cooped up close together inside.
Then off they went, the six strong horses galloping flat out and the post boy sounding his horn in gay abandon as they flew along. Aylie had not had such a thrill since she went hunting with Colonel Scroggie.
They followed the old Roman road from Jedburgh to St Bosw
ells. It was deeply rutted and in places the stone slabs laid down by the Roman builders could still be seen, deeply engraved with the ruts made by their wheels.
The mail stopped first at Earlston, in the yard of the Red Lion Hotel, where the horses were swiftly changed, and once more they were off. From now on it was country that Aylie did not know and she leaned forward, clinging tightly to the rail, taking in every detail of the landscape.
As it flashed past her in an unending panorama, she was struck by its tranquil beauty, by the majesty of the hills, the mysterious depths of the woods and the twisting Leader river, high with water now, cutting its way between banks of blood-red earth. This magic fairyland was her native country, and seeing it spread before her, she could fully understand her mother’s passion for it.
The next change of horses was, in the huge stableyard of the Carfraemill Inn where the passengers were able to alight and refresh themselves in the taproom. Spirits were rising now that they were getting near Edinburgh and even the post boy’s horn sounded gay and cheeky as they sped up the steep road that led to Soutra, the summit of the bastion of hills that guarded the Borderland from the north. The wheels of the coach were throwing up sharp stones and lurching into deep ruts in its headlong pace but Hugh and Aylie, alone on the roof, clung to each other and yelled like banshees in delight.
Their cries abruptly ceased when they reached the crown of the hill and saw, spread in front of them, the awe-inspiring panorama of the Lothians. The coach stopped to give the horses a breather and they sat in silence staring around them, totally transfixed by the view. It was a bright, clear day and they could see for miles… To the north was the jagged silhouette of Arthur’s Seat and the misty spires of Edinburgh’s churches, all guarded by the castle perched high on its outcrop of rock. Beyond that was the silver sheen of the Forth estuary and the hills of Fife. Towards the east spread the blue waters of the North Sea, dotted here and there with fishing boats, and westwards spread the towering line of the Pentland Hills. Aylie gulped in astonishment at the sight and felt that the whole world lay before her, spread out in its majesty.
Even Hugh was impressed as he gazed around and with a sharp intake of breath, he whispered, ‘My word, isn’t that grand!’ Then putting out his arm, he gathered his silent wife to him.
It was afternoon when they disembarked from their rooftop seats, stiff legged and chilled but eager to see as much as they could of this bustling city where the people on the streets paid no attention to them. They were accustomed to being greeted as they walked along, to knowing every face, and now they felt as if they had landed in another world. The crowds pushing past wore different clothes to the people at home and they even spoke a different language. Aylie could not imagine how their daily lives were led.
The coach had put them down outside a large theatre that faced across to the elegant façade of an imposing building. Roads seemed to lead off in every direction. To their left and their right were streets lined with tall tenement houses. From almost every window women were leaning, screeching over the windowsills, high above the heads of passers-by. On all four corners of the square were alehouses that sent the malty smell of beer out into the streets.
They were lost so Hugh stopped a passer-by to ask, ‘Where’s the Calton jail?’
The stranger grinned knowingly. ‘Oh, you’re after the prison? It’s over there to your right, go alang the bridge and when you look up you’ll see it. You canna miss it.’
He was right. The massive bulk of the jail looked like a fortress, standing grimly on the top of a steep rockface. From the barred windows they could see tattered bits of cloth fluttering in the breeze and sometimes a white face staring out between the iron struts.
Aylie shuddered at the sight. ‘Oh, what a terrible place. Imagine being shut up in there for five years.’
Hugh’s face too was solemn. ‘You might as well be dead,’ he said feelingly.
Both of them were children of the open air, they needed space to live and were already beginning to realize that city life would not suit them.
A man in a snuff-stained uniform stood in the gatehouse and he was very abrupt. ‘You can’t come in here. No visitors are allowed.’ He glared at the two country bumpkins who had the effrontery to ask to speak to a prisoner.
Aylie put on her most winsome face and pleaded, ‘But we’ve come all the way from Jedburgh. We want to see my friend Phemie Anderson.’
Winsomeness did not work with him. ‘This isn’t Jedburgh. This is Edinburgh and we do things different here. We don’t let folk go wandering around our prison. Your friend’ll be in the women’s prison anyway, and it’s over there.’ He pointed to the left where they could see another block of buildings and yet another gate.
‘But you’ll not get to see her, not unless you’ve got a letter or you’re official visitors.’ His tone indicated that he was perfectly well aware they were very unofficial.
The gatekeeper on the women’s prison was just as rude.
When he saw the disappointment on his wife’s face, Hugh knew what was needed. Like a conjurer, he produced a handful of silver and pressed it into the man’s hand. ‘See what can be done,’ he asked.
The jailer’s attitude changed as soon as he got the money, which he slipped quickly into his pocket. ‘Wait here. I’ll speak to the chief wardress.’
In a short time he was back. ‘What was the name of the prisoner you wanted to see again?’
‘Phemie Anderson.’
‘What’s she in for?’
‘She cut the throat of her baby,’ said Hugh.
‘Oh, then she’s a long-termer. That’s going to be hard. Most of them are kept in solitary confinement. Is she doing hard labour?’
Aylie well remembered the judge’s voice sentencing Phemie to hard labour and she nodded. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘In that case you’re in luck. They’re just ending their work for the day,’ said the jailer. ‘They’ll be coming out of the treadmill shed over there any minute. If you stand here, you’ll see her, but don’t try to speak to her. She’s not allowed to talk and if she does she gets extra punishment.’
The young people looked at each other aghast but stood where they were told until a straggling line of women came slowly out of the shed door and walked one after the other across the courtyard. They were all dressed in dark gowns with broad yellow arrows painted on the material. Their heads were covered with tightly tied white caps and round their waists they wore long white aprons. Each woman walked with her head down and her hands folded in front of her apron, but as they passed, Aylie saw their eyes sliding towards the watchers at the gate. Some eyes were watchful, some hopeful, some resentful or completely mad. Phemie was almost past before Aylie recognized her, for she had grown as thin as a skeleton and her face was drawn and parchment white like the face of an old woman.
She looked directly at Aylie and a flash of recognition lit in her eyes, but only for a split second. Immediately it was replaced by blank indifference.
Aylie took a step forward but Hugh put a warning hand on her arm, whispering, ‘Stand still, you’ll get her into trouble.’
She did as she was told but the tears were running down her face as the column of prisoners disappeared through a heavily barred door.
The jailer saw her distress. ‘Don’t cry, the woman jailer says your friend’s getting better. She’s not so violent now, just a bit distracted in her mind, if you see what I mean. She’s very religious, always praying. They think she’s repented for what she did.’
‘What do they make her work at every day? She’s not a very strong girl,’ Aylie asked, fearful for Phemie.
‘The women work at the treadmill, they pedal it for eight hours a day. That’s their punishment,’ she was told.
‘What do you mean, pedal it? What does it make?’ asked Aylie.
The jailer shrugged as if they were a pair of ignorant rustics. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t make anything. They just sit and pedal it. That’s their hard labour
. It keeps them out of trouble.’
Both of them were sombrely silent as they walked off into the city in search of lodgings for the night.
Edinburgh now seemed hostile and alien, no longer the place of enchantment it had seemed when viewed from the top of Soutra hill. Though they were well accustomed to muddy farmyards and cow byres, the filth and smell of its streets repelled them. They recoiled from the reeling drunkenness of men on the pavements and drew back from the importuning beggars. Aylie stared around and wondered how men and women could live in a place where there were no trees and no flowers. City life was definitely not for her.
They spent a sad night in a shabby lodging house on the High Street and she was still sunk in depression when they mounted the mail coach to go home again next morning. From her seat on the coach roof, she never even turned round to get a last sight of the city as they headed back to the Borderland.
* * *
Smuggling was a winter trade. It needed darkness for its cover; it needed bitter nights when no prying eyes were likely to be abroad; it needed the secrecy of empty moors and lonely roads. The Boomer men only rode out between late October and early March, so when spring came Captain Midnight’s cutter was no longer to be seen sailing past Seahouses and Hugh put his packhorses out to grass. Nelson lay sleeping in a sunny corner of the yard, and Hugh and Aylie went out to spend their money. Hugh had made five trips that winter and for the last three he recruited his cousin Abel, a shy youth of about seventeen, to join him and Charlie in the Boomer runs. The money had come rolling in and now, dressed in their best, Hugh and Aylie visited all the fairs and festivities of the Borders. They never went back to Yetholm to see Hugh’s mother but they paid calls on Gilbert Kennedy in his immaculately kept stableyard and, most often, on Jane.
When she went to see her mother Aylie delighted in taking along unexpected presents – toffee in a twist of paper bought from a peddler met on the way; a bunch of flowers plucked from the hedgerow; a fairing figure made out of thick earthenware. Jane was pleased to see the obvious happiness and prosperity of her daughter and when Aylie confided that the only shadow in her life was her failure to conceive a child, she set herself to the task of preparing an elixir that would solve the problem.
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