True Heart

by Arnette Lamb

  To Virginia, Sarah smiled. “Now that we have exhausted Lottie’s limited supply of civility, what would you like to do today?”

  “She’s going to sit for fittings.”

  “Since when does that preclude her from answering a question?”

  “I was just trying to be helpful.”

  Her patience gone, Sarah snapped, “Will you please let her answer for herself!”

  With a self-deprecating grin, Lottie acknowledged the truth of that statement. “Are there other things you’d like to do today?”

  “Nothing in particular, but there is some place I’d like to go on Friday night.”

  “Of course.” Lottie fluttered her fingers. “At least two of the gowns will be ready.”

  “It’s a reception.”

  “Wonderful! We’ll all go. Sarah, you wear the red gown. I’ll wear black, and Virginia will dazzle them in the pink.”

  Sarah’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Who are we going to dazzle and where?”

  “It’s a reception at the cordiner’s hall in honor of Horace Redding.”

  Sarah winced. “Oh, my.”

  Lottie gaped. “What ever will we do? Redding despises the MacKenzies, thanks to Papa.”

  “I’m so sorry, Virginia.”

  She wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’ll go alone, and I won’t stay for long. It’s very important to me to meet Redding.”

  * * *

  Agnes solved the dilemma the next day. “ ’Tis simple. Edward will escort you.”

  Lottie wasn’t convinced. “But what will your Mr. Redding say when you tell him that your father is Lachian MacKenzie?”

  As it turned out, Redding was more impressed with Edward Napier, but Virginia hadn’t had the opportunity to say more than how do you do. Later, after the men had exhausted their discussion on the merits of the Napier carriage, she planned to approach Redding again.

  “It’s an odd-shaped contraption, to be sure,” said the constable of Glasgow. “Why is that, Lord Edward?”

  Dressed in the bold black and white tartan of the Napiers, with a black velvet jacket and pure white shirt, Edward towered over the constable. “ ’Tis dynamics, Jenkins,” he said. “The principle by which objects move through the air.”

  “Nonsense.” The constable laughed. “A carriage moves at the whim of horses. Next you’ll tell us with gulls at the harnesses, the carriage will fly.”

  As polite as Agnes was bold, Edward smiled and generously said, “Rumor has it you’ve a yearling that shows promise at six furlongs.”

  As their conversation moved to sporting subjects, Virginia eased away, content to simply observe Horace Redding.

  He could have had no hair at all under his lightly powdered short wig and her opinion of him would not have changed. Slightly portly, with large blue eyes and a small, thin mouth, he stood shoulder to shoulder with the distinguished and elegant Edward Napier. Comparing them was unfair, for Redding was old enough to be Napier’s father. A native of Glasgow, Redding admitted to tracing his ancestors back to the Viking invasions. Yet he was an American. His opinions were uninhibited by traditions, save those favorable to the common and free man. But what captured her most about Redding was the tone and cadence of his voice. He had a way of capturing attention; even Napier listened avidly, although he was far from spellbound by Redding, unlike so many others in the room.

  One of those disciples of democracy, as Redding dubbed his followers, broached the subject of English expansion. Virginia visited the refreshment table, then moved to the edge of the room, where a large standing screen marked the entrance to the ladies’ necessary. A row of potted palms denoted facilities for the men.

  Her petticoats rustled as she walked, and she felt another burst of pride for Lottie’s newest creation. Others in the room noticed, too, and she committed every compliment to memory so she could pass them on to her sister. Of pink velvet, the bodice and split overskirt complimented the yards and yards of white silk that formed the underskirt. A border of embroidered green leaves trimmed the lace at her cuffs and the neckline. Down to her matching slippers, Virginia felt like a princess.

  “An’ who’s surprised those MacKenzie women dress so well?” said a harpish voice from behind the screen. “They’ve the Napier mills at their beck ’n’ call.”

  Virginia couldn’t see the woman or her companion, who chirped, “They’ve more money than the church.”

  A couple walked by, the man dapper in a black suit and white waistcoat. The woman smiled at Virginia, moved away from her companion, and disappeared behind the screen.

  “Won’t his grace of Ross toss a caber when he learns his daughter came out tonight. He hates that Redding fellow. Blackened his eye when last their paths crossed.”

  “Which daughter is she?” said the harpy. “Or is she one of those uppity bastards of his?”

  Her companion laughed. “Who’s to know where she fits in the MacKenzie litter?”

  Virginia went cold inside, and the fruity punch she’d drunk turned bitter on her tongue.

  “Someone from the Courant should find out what that new MacKenzie girl is doing in Glasgow.”

  “Why don’t you ask her instead of hovering like fat mice after dirty crumbs of cheese.”

  Twin gasps sounded.

  Without doubt, Virginia knew the plaintive voice belonged to the woman who’d smiled at her moments before.

  “Well, I never,” spat the harpy.

  “No, I don’t imagine you’ve ever had the courage to speak openly,” the good-hearted woman continued. “But then, who would be interested in anything you have to say?”

  Blustering, the harpy said, “Have we met?”

  “Fortunately for me, no.”

  Fabric rustled. A moment later, the harpy said, “Who was that woman?”

  Her friend lowered her voice. “She’s Adrienne Cholmondeley. We read about her in the paper today.”

  The bottom dropped out of Virginia’s stomach. She hadn’t expected kindness from Cameron’s mistress. Former mistress. How could she thank her? Did propriety allow it? She didn’t know, so she made her way back to Edward Napier, and when the opportunity for privacy presented itself, she asked him.

  “You could send her a note and a gift. Perhaps a silk scarf.” Grinning, he added, “I know where a few lengths of cloth can be found.”

  Virginia laughed. According to Lottie, the Napier family mill had prospered since medieval times. “I do feel like a bumpkin.”

  He pulled a funny face reminiscent of the expression his son Jamie wore when Agnes sent the lad to bed. “Bumpkin? Nay.”

  “I am out of my depth.”

  “Me too.”

  “You?”

  “Aye. Try explaining dynamics to a man who thinks the moon is purgatory because the face of it resembles his first wife’s.”

  Gaiety filled her. “Do you know what Americans say about the image on the moon?”

  “Tell me. I’m certain it’s revolutionary.”

  Completely charmed, she said, “I can see why Agnes loves you.”

  A hint of color stained his cheeks. Reverently, he said, “She is a gift I never thought to receive, but you of all people know that. Now finish what you were going to say about the moon.”

  “May I join you?” Horace Redding said.

  “Oh, please.” Virginia stepped closer to Napier. “In fact, Lord Edward and I were just comparing tales. Perhaps you’d convey to him the American opinion of whose face is on the moon.”

  “Delighted.” In his orator’s voice, he said, “Some Americans believe that the pocked face of the moon is the burial ground for the corrupt souls of English kings.”

  Jovial and serious at once, Napier said, “How nice that you’ve excluded the Stewart monarchs.”

  Seeing his blunder, Redding swallowed hard. “Well, I . . .”

  “Seem to be out of punch?” Edward glanced at Redding’s full glass.

  “Gone flat it has, as flat as the constabl
e of Glasgow’s good humor.”

  “Then allow me.” Edward also took Virginia’s glass. “I’m certain the two of you have pleasantries to exchange.”

  Virginia watched him walk away. “The father of invention.”

  “He is that and your brother-in-law too, I’m told.”

  Virginia nodded. “Yes, he married my sister Agnes. I’m staying with them.”

  “He said you spent some years in the tidewater.”

  With absolute certainty, Virginia knew that her family had not elaborated on her time in America. They were too loyal to reveal secrets. Once again, she was glad she’d kept the truth from them. “Yes, that’s where I first read Reason Enough. It’s a remarkable work and best describes the state of mind prevalent in American both before and during the war.”

  He demurred with “Some say Burke put it better than I ever could.”

  She remembered Cameron’s words, spoken what seemed like years ago in Virginia. “Burke disdains any progress beyond a snail’s pace.”

  “Well said.”

  Since learning of tonight’s event, she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say next. “I was wondering if you would accept a gift from me. It isn’t much, but I made it myself.”

  He frowned. “A gift? But we’ve only just met.”

  “I know that, but . . .” She took the rolled document from her purse. “I wanted to give you a copy of Reason Enough. I scripted it myself from the Virginia Gazette.” On a rabbit hide that she’d tanned herself and with ink she’d distilled from lampblack and her own urine, Virginia had labored over the work. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

  He took the scroll. “I’m . . . I must confess, I’m at a loss for words. A happy turn of events some would say.”

  “Your words inspired me at a time in my life when I’d given up hope.”

  “A duke’s daughter without hope? Sounds contradictory.”

  Unwilling to divulge the bad turn her life had taken, she made light of the subject. “It no longer matters, but I wanted to say thank you and wish you well.”

  He didn’t unfurl the document but tucked it into his coat. “I shall treasure it, Virginia MacKenzie.”

  “Treasure what?” said Edward. “Not Virginia, I hope. Cameron Cunningham will have something to say about that. They are betrothed.”

  To her surprise and small disappointment, Redding said nothing to Edward about the gift. In fake gruffness, he asked, “Where is this Cunningham? I hope not with the duke of Ross. That man could teach stubbornness to King George.”

  Both Edward and Virginia laughed. She said, “Cameron’s in Edinburgh, but he’ll be home on Saturday.”

  * * *

  Unfortunately Cameron’s return was overshadowed by the arrival of the Glasgow Courant. In boldface type, the newspaper reported that Horace Redding had been arrested and charged with possession of treasonous material.

  The evidence?

  A tanned rabbit hide bearing the outlawed text of Reason Enough.

  Chapter

  14

  “What will happen to him?” Virginia collapsed into a chair but couldn’t sit still. Getting to her feet, she paced the length of the spacious dining room and stopped.

  Cameron, Lottie, Sarah, and Edward sat at the table. Michael Elliot, Sarah’s husband, stood in the doorway.

  “Please sit down, Virginia.” Lottie sniffed into her napkin. “You’ll make yourself sick with fretting.”

  “Leave her be, Lottie.” Across the room, Agnes paced too, the baby, Juliet, clutched to her shoulder.

  Cameron helped himself to another oatcake. “Sarah knows what will happen to him.”

  “I’m not a barrister,” Sarah said.

  But she knew, Virginia was certain of that. Facing them, her stomach sour with worry, she repeated a familiar phrase from her childhood. “Sarah knows. Sarah knows everything.”

  She signed in resignation and pushed away her untouched meal. “That pamphlet is considered treasonous material. If he’s found guilty, he’ll be hanged or transported.”

  Virginia rolled the newspaper and whacked the back of Cameron’s chair. “Transported to where?”

  “Australia.”

  Cameron rose, took the paper from her, and held her hands. “ ’Twill be all right. Father knows people.”

  Misery weighted Virginia, misery and anger at her own ignorance. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Nay.” Cameron pulled her against him and, murmuring “shush,” rubbed her back. “Trust me.”

  She basked in his comfort, but the blame was hers. “I tell you, I’m responsible.”

  A chorus of objections filled the room.

  Virginia squeezed her eyes shut. They were her family and bound by loyalty to support her. Years ago when Mary had drawn her first satirical cartoon and sent it to the mayor of Tain, the family had rallied around her. They’d stood by her even as she apologized a week later.

  Sarah’s husband, Michael, who’d arrived earlier in the day with Cameron, poured Virginia a glass of water. “How can Horace Redding’s problems be your fault?”

  Sarah said, “Redding brought it on himself. He’s a troublemaker.”

  “Of course he is,” Agnes declared. “He knew better than to bring that essay with him.”

  Lottie blurted, “Others have gone to the gallows for possessing that essay.”

  That’s why he hadn’t unrolled the hide last night or mentioned it when Edward had rejoined them. A painful possibility popped into Virginia’s mind. “What if he thinks I did it on purpose? Because of his disagreement with Papa.”

  “You? Shush,” Cameron murmured. “What could you possibly have to do with their quarrel?”

  A chorus of “Yes, what’s” sounded, but the question hung in the air long after the room grew quiet.

  “It is my fault.” Choked by self-loathing, Virginia moved away from Cameron and faced her family.

  “You mustn’t blame yourself,” Agnes insisted. The baby burped loudly, and nervous laughter erupted.

  “It’s my fault because I’m the one who gave it to him.”

  “What?”

  The prospect of confessing her role in the tragedy should have made Virginia feel better, but it did not. She hadn’t even been home long enough to reacquaint herself with everyone in the family, and she’d already brought shame upon them.

  Gathering courage, she said, “I admired him from the first word of that essay. For ten years, I read almost every copy of the Virginia Gazette, and never once did I read that possession of the document was punishable.”

  “It wasn’t in America.” Cameron wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You couldn’t know that.”

  “I should have known.” What other rules would she break? “But life is so different over there.”

  “Tell us about it, Virginia,” Cameron urged.

  The need to unburden herself rose like a tide in Virginia. But hadn’t she done enough?

  “We are not strangers,” he said softly.

  “Not at all,” Lottie said. “Look how much you’ve remembered already.”

  Strangers, family, friends. They didn’t deserve to bear the responsibility of her mistakes.

  Patting her child’s back, Agnes said, “We’d love you, Virginia, even if you had remembered nothing more than the design on that keg.”

  Cameron squeezed Virginia. If he decided tomorrow to give his heart elsewhere, that small comfort would stay with her until God called her home.

  She looked up at him. “Can your father truly help? When will he return from Italy?”

  Like sunshine, his smile warmed her. “He’ll return soon, and yes, he’ll do everything in his power. We all will help.”

  “You’re never alone, Virginia,” Agnes declared. “You’re never alone.”

  Between fretful sniffs, Lottie said, “Don’t forget our father and David have friends at court.”

  “We’ll need a barister,” said sensible Sarah.

  Edward nodded. “But not
a Glaswegian. That fellow in Carlisle . . .” He turned to Agnes. “What’s his name?”

  “Aaron MacKale.”

  “Yes. I’ll send for him today.”

  “Thank you.” No sooner were the words out than another possibility occurred to Virginia. “Why not deport Redding to America?”

  Cameron’s smile turned bittersweet. “Because seditious material is outlawed. Our king is still tormented over the loss of his American colonies.”

  Edward rose and took the baby from Agnes. “Some say that’s what drove him mad.”

  “Hoots! The pettiness and boredom of his own court is what’s to blame.”

  Edward came over to Virginia. “Excuse me, Cunningham.” When Cameron released her, Edward said, “Virginia, kiss your niece. ’Tis time to put her down for a nap.”

  Edward handed over the baby. Cradling her, gazing into her angelic face, Virginia felt her pain ease. This sweet child was Agnes’s baby, named for Virginia’s mother, the duchess of Ross.

  So many dreams were coming true for Virginia and now this nightmare.

  “You’re a MacKenzie, lass,” said Edward. “Never forget that.”

  The MacKenzies wielded great power in Scotland. Edward Napier was considered a national treasure. Cameron’s father was a member of Parliament. Hope is not lost, a voice inside her said.

  “ ’Tis magic, no?” said Edward. “The way holding a baby can clear your mind.”

  National treasure didn’t begin to describe Agnes’s husband. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He patted her shoulder. “So what is next?”

  Possibilities flashed in her head. “We need a plan.”

  “She’s right,” Cameron said.

  Looking around the room, Virginia reconsidered the situation. Putting herself in Redding’s place was easy, for bondage was surely similar to jail. “First, for Mr. Redding,” she said to all in the room. “We must look after his needs. He should not suffer humiliation or hunger.”

  With a look, Cameron urged her on. “I’ll see to it today.”

  Lottie stood. “I’ll supervise the preparing of a basket.”

  “Don’t forget bed linens,” Virginia said, remembering the nights of luxury she spent in the main house at Poplar Knoll prior to Cameron’s arrival.