At this comment, Lady Strathburn threw a withering glare her husband’s way. ‘Really, William. As if Simon would trouble himself with her.’
Lord Strathburn scowled back at his wife. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know how entrenched Simon’s proclivities are. And I suggest you pay more respect to Miss Munroe. Need I remind you that she will soon be your daughter-in-law?’
‘Yes. So you keep telling me.’ Lady Strathburn glared at Jessie; her green eyes were glacial with hostility before she turned away again to contemplate the scenery outside her carriage window.
Jessie sighed heavily. It was going to be a very long and uncomfortable journey.
The earl, ever perceptive, caught Jessie’s eye and winked at her. ‘You must be exhausted, my dear child, and we have a long way to travel yet. But we will stop in Port-na-Craig shortly to have dinner and change horses so we can continue throughout the night. The sooner we reach Edinburgh, the better.’
Jessie smiled back at him, grateful for his unfailing kindness. She couldn’t have agreed more.
* * *
Strathburn House, The Canongate, Edinburgh
Night had well descended when the Strathburn carriage reached the earl’s house in Edinburgh two days later. At the outskirts of the city, MacGowan had been sent on ahead to ensure the staff had made the house ready for their arrival. The brown stone, three-storied residence—rather grander than many of the other closely cramped buildings along the Royal Mile—was located at the end of Auldgate Square, a small cobble-stoned street just off the Canongate and only a short distance from Holyrood Palace. In fact, from what Jessie could recall from a previous trip to the capital to visit her cousin, the Tolbooth Prison was also within walking distance of Strathburn House—scarcely a half mile up the hill past the High Street in the Lawnmarket District.
When Jessie stepped from the carriage, she was sorely tempted to turn away from the wide-open doorway no matter how inviting the candlelit vestibule beyond looked; the pull to make her way up the Royal Mile toward the prison was so much stronger. However, her ankle was definitely not up to the task and there was no guarantee Robert was even in Edinburgh yet. She would just have to be patient and wait for tomorrow to find out exactly where he was.
She had just started to carefully ascend the few steps to the door with Lord Strathburn, when another silhouette appeared in the doorway beside Strathburn House’s butler. ‘Good evening, dearest Father, Miss Munroe,’ drawled a familiar voice.
Jessie froze, icy dread spearing through her. Simon stood before them on the threshold, leaning negligently against the doorframe, a grin that was almost a sneer stretched across his face. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that Simon would be staying here as well? She bit her lip, trying to tamp down a burst of breath stealing panic and frustration. Would she never be free of this man’s unwanted attentions?
Again she had the impulse to turn and flee up the Mile. Perhaps she could ask for a horse to be brought round and she could make her way to her cousin Maggie’s house in the Grassmarket. It wasn’t far from here. Lord Strathburn would surely understand.
Simon seemed visibly amused by his disconcerting effect on them both. His grin grew wider as he raised a glass of liquor, possibly brandy, in a mock toast. ‘Welcome to Edinburgh.’ He pushed away from the door and affected a clumsy bow; he was clearly more than a little drunk. Jessie felt Lord Strathburn’s arm stiffen beneath her hand.
‘What on earth do you think you are doing here under my roof, Simon?’ demanded the earl, his voice shaking with anger. ‘What makes you think that I would permit you to stay here after what you have done to Robert and Miss Munroe? Your audacity astounds me.’
‘But dear Father, I am not the fugitive on the run, the traitor to the king, the disobedient son. Are you disowning me for simply upholding the law?’
Lord Strathburn straightened and pointed his walking stick at Simon. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he ground out. ‘Get out and do not return until I permit you to do so.’
Simon shrugged a shoulder. ‘No matter. I’m sure the White Horse Inn has a suite of rooms.’ He passed his glass to the hovering butler. ‘Fetch my coat, Gordon. I think I fancy a stroll down the Canongate. Oh, and send my man Baird on with my things will you?’
Coat in hand, Simon deliberately brushed past Jessie as he descended the stairs. His breath was hot and fetid in her ear. ‘I’ll be sure to blow a kiss up the hill to where your beloved resides, sweet Jezebel. Sleep well, sister-to-be.’
Jessie closed her eyes and shuddered. But as the sound of Simon’s footsteps grew more distant, she smiled to herself. At least she knew that Robert was definitely here.
She would be able to see him tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite her anxiety about Robert’s fate and how he had fared at the hands of the dragoons over the past few days, Jessie quickly descended into an exhausted and uninterrupted sleep that night. Lord Strathburn had seen to it that she was accommodated in one of the townhouse’s well-appointed guest rooms with a young maid named Janet to attend to her needs. As an added precaution against any attempted nocturnal visits by Simon—who undoubtedly still had his own set of keys to the townhouse—the earl had also ordered that the maid spend the night on a pallet bed in her room. It was a gesture that was much appreciated by Jessie.
Jessie was not certain if Janet or any of the other household staff had been told of her betrothal to Robert, or of his capture and imprisonment. On arrival, she had simply been introduced as Miss Munroe without further explanation, although she suspected that Simon would have crowed about his brother’s dramatic fall from grace to all and sundry.
When Jessie rose early next morning, she had been delighted to discover that a small travelling trunk containing some of her things—undergarments and several gowns—had been delivered to her room. According to Janet’s intelligence via MacGowan, Lord Strathburn had arranged for one of Lochrose’s maids to pack the trunk prior to their departure. There was also the added pleasant surprise of an additional new gown in the trunk. It appeared that Mrs Beattie, Lady Strathburn’s seamstress, had indeed been busy. Tears welled in Jessie’s eyes as she held the dress against herself. She would never be able to thank Lord Strathburn enough for his thoughtfulness and for all the trouble he’d gone to, but she would certainly try.
But first, she had other things to attend to; her priority was to do anything she could to aid Robert. And that would require a walk up the Mile to the Tolbooth.
Fortunately, her ankle was much improved. The gash on her upper arm was also continuing to heal well beneath Robert’s stitches. Janet’s eyes had widened in surprise when she’d seen the wound; however she did not remark on it, much to Jessie’s relief. Instead the maid quietly fetched a pitcher of warm water and after gently bathing the wound, applied some lavender oil and a fresh strip of linen that she had procured from somewhere.
Once Jessie’s arm was re-bandaged, Janet had then assisted her to wash and dress in her new gown—a well cut dress of royal blue wool, trimmed with black velvet at the neckline, cuffs and skirt. Janet also seemed to have a remarkable talent for styling hair, as the young girl quickly and effortlessly arranged Jessie’s unruly curls into a becoming upswept style with a few curling tendrils artfully escaping about her neck. Aside from the slight smudges of fatigue under her worried eyes, Jessie thought the young woman staring back at her from the mirror looked decidedly civilised for once—a far cry from the travel-stained, careworn character she had become over the past few days. Not that her appearance really mattered to her that much, other than she wanted to make sure she appeared presentable when she next encountered the earl.
And of course when she went to visit Robert.
Robert. Her heart clenched with both trepidation and joy every time she thought of him. The need to see him, to hold him, to make sure he was all right was a constant ache.
But the anxiety she suffered would be nothing compared to what Robert must be enduring. Aside fro
m having to deal with the horror of being incarcerated, he would no doubt be tormented with worry about her fate as well. She was certain Simon would have taunted him with lies about what had happened to her. But if she could see Robert today, she could at least put his mind to rest on that score.
As Janet put the finishing touches to her hair, Jessie couldn’t help but smile to herself at the memory of her last few hours alone with Robert. She did not regret a single moment. Never before had she felt so wanted and—she hardly dared to think the word—loved. She suddenly realised that she wanted more than anything for Robert to be pardoned. Even though Lord Strathburn had bound her and Robert together due to some misguided sense of propriety, she knew in her heart that she would hold to her vows of hand-fasting, come what may.
She just prayed that Robert felt the same way. At any rate, she would soon find out if her plan for the morning worked out.
‘Ye look lovely, miss,’ offered Janet shyly when she had finished fastening a black velvet ribbon in Jessie’s hair. ‘If ye dinna mind me saying, I think yer intended will think so too. Are ye going to see him today?’
Jessie found herself blushing. ‘How did you know about my engagement to Lord Lochrose?’
Deep colour stained Janet’s already rosy cheeks and she began fiddling with the tendrils around Jessie’s neck. The girl was clearly embarrassed as well. ‘Ah … Mrs Duncan, our cook, has been speaking with Lord Strathburn’s man, MacGowan. I’m sorry, miss, if I’ve offended ye with my prattle. Lady Strathburn doesna like the staff to gossip.’
‘It’s all right, Janet.’ Jessie was quick to reassure her. She did not want the girl to get in trouble with the countess on her account. ‘But perhaps I could ask you to help me this morning …’
Janet’s reflection nodded.
‘We will need to be discreet,’ Jessie cautioned.
‘Of course, Miss Munroe. I willna breathe a word.’
The hall clock on the landing of the stairs was striking eight when Janet led Jessie to the kitchens below.
‘Are ye sure ye only want a cup o’ tea and an oatcake?’ queried the middle-aged, rotund cook, Mrs Duncan. She seemed more than a little bemused to find the earl’s guest visiting her kitchen, but when Jessie explained her business, the good woman was more than happy to fulfil her requests. Jessie was also delighted to discover that the cook was in fact the younger sister of Mrs MacMillan—it certainly explained the similarity in facial features and figure. Jessie also rather hoped that the woman was just as good a cook as Mrs MacMillan.
A short time later, a small basket laden with food on her arm, and her purse tucked into the pocket attached to her petticoats—guineas could be very well needed to gain entry into the Tolbooth—Jessie quietly left Strathburn House with Janet accompanying her.
The morning was chill and grey as they made their way out of Auldgate Square and onto the busy Royal Mile. At the bottom of the hill, Jessie could see the elegant spires of Holyrood Palace, the former headquarters of the foolish Bonnie Prince Charlie, and beyond to the south-east towered the sheer cliffs of Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat. Jessie turned and faced uphill toward the brooding bulk of Edinburgh Castle at the very top of the Royal Mile and sighed. Robert was up there in the Tolbooth. He was so close yet all of a sudden he seemed so very far away.
She pulled her black cloak tightly around her to ward off the biting wind that whipped down the hill and threatened to dislodge the pins and ribbons from her hair. It had rained overnight. The cobblestones were slippery—they had been washed clean of some of the mud and filth that usually filled the gutters but she would need to take care that she did not reinjure her ankle now that it seemed to be improving. Their progress up the Mile would not be as swift as she would have liked.
‘Miss, per’aps we could hire a pair of sedan chairs to take us up the hill,’ suggested Janet, obviously noticing her new mistress’s apprehension at commencing the walk. ‘Lady Strathburn has a verra good sedan but I dinna think she would be inclined to let you use it. But with yer sore ankle an’ all … the chairs are not verra expensive an’ it willna take more than a wee moment to find one for you, miss.’
‘A sedan chair. What an excellent idea,’ Jessie agreed, giving Janet a smile. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it herself. The closes and wynds were often so narrow and winding in this part of the capital that it was impossible for a hackney cab to negotiate them. But sedan chairs could go practically anywhere. She’d never taken one before, but if it saved her from having to negotiate the hill with a sprained ankle, she was more than happy to hire one.
As Janet predicted, it did not take long for two burly chairmen to trot by with an empty sedan chair suspended between them on sturdy wooden poles. The men stopped at Janet’s call, a fee to their destination was agreed upon, and then Jessie climbed through the door at the front into the small space. Once she’d taken her seat, the men took off at a cracking pace up the hill, weaving their way through the bustling crowd of pedestrians, other sedan chairs, and open carts also travelling up and down the street.
The towering spire of St Giles Cathedral was sounding the nine o’clock bell when her sedan stopped at the gates of the Tolbooth Prison. Jessie climbed out, settled the fee with the chairmen, and then turned to stare up at the imposing grey brick edifice whilst she waited for Janet to arrive in her hired sedan. Somewhere, locked inside these cold and miserable stone walls, was Robert.
She clutched her cloak around her and bit her lip, suddenly beset by a wave of despair and stomach churning nervousness. What could she possibly say to the guards that would make them admit her to see Robert? She didn’t even know if there were visiting hours. She should have waited for Lord Strathburn.
‘Are ye all right, miss?’ Janet was at her shoulder. Jessie hadn’t even noticed the maid arrive.
‘I … I’m no’ sure if the guards will permit me to visit Lord Lochrose.’ Her heart sinking, Jessie turned away from the iron gates and looked back down the street toward the Canongate. ‘I have acted too hastily. Perhaps we should go.’
Janet stepped closer to Jessie and lowered her voice. ‘Now dinna fash yerself, miss.’ She suddenly smiled somewhat conspiratorially. ‘I should ha’ mentioned it before. My Uncle Angus is one o’ the head wardens here. He’ll let us in, dinna ye worry. Just let me do the askin’. Ye’ll see.’
Janet was as good as her word. She spoke with the sentry on duty and within a few minutes, Angus McDonald, Jessie’s uncle, was ushering them through the gates and into the dark and fetid interior of the gaol.
Jessie held her cloak to her nose to try and dissipate the rank stench around them as she followed Janet’s uncle down dim corridors and up a narrow, twisting stairwell. She shivered, unsure if it was the frigid, foul air that caused her to do so or the pitiful moans and desperate calls that came every now and again from behind the bolted cell doors that they passed on their way. Her heart ached at the thought of Robert being locked up in these inhuman, squalid conditions. She silently prayed that he would be soon free from this hellish place.
After a seemingly interminable length of time, they emerged onto a fourth storey floor where the stone corridor was quite well lit and there seemed to be fewer locked doorways. The air was remarkably cleaner as well. Surprisingly, there was only one guard on duty on this level—he stood by the iron barred door where they had entered and after a quick cursory search of Jessie’s food basket, he escorted them down the corridor.
As Jessie passed a barred window, she could see down below to the bleak cobblestones of Parliament Square where the convicted were executed at the Mercat Cross. Her cousin had once told her that in the case of beheadings, the victim’s heads were displayed on spikes along the north wall of the square. There were no such obscene displays today at least. She shivered and hurried on.
‘Here we are then, miss,’ Angus said almost jovially to Jessie when they stopped before one of the doors, but then he frowned when he observed her face. ‘Ye are verra pa
le, miss.’ He turned to his niece. ‘Ye ken, I’m surprised that ye didna think to bring summat sweet smellin’ with ye, Janet. Ye should ken better than that. Yer mistress ’ere looks as if she’s aboot to faint dead away.’
‘I’m quite fine,’ said Jessie quickly, afraid that Janet’s uncle would suddenly curtail her visit if he thought she couldn’t cope. ‘How long can I visit with Lord Lochrose?’
‘A quarter of an hour ’tis all tha’s permitted I’m afraid, lass,’ he replied. ‘Mr Cameron, the door if ye please.’
Mr Cameron, the guard, unlocked the cell door. ‘Lochrose, rise n’ shine. Ye ha’ company,’ he announced unceremoniously into the gloom beyond. ‘I hope ye are decent. They’re ladies.’
Jessie peered into the dim interior as she was ushered across the threshold. Although the cell was larger than she expected, its only source of light was a high, narrow barred window that let in a thin strip of weak grey light. In the far left corner, obscured by shadow, she discerned movement. Robert.
He was seated on a narrow bunk, rubbing his hands down his face as if he had just woken. ‘Jessie?’ His voice was husky with sleep.
She wanted to go to him, throw her arms around him, but she stayed hovering in the doorway, suddenly unsure of herself, and of him. In the dimness and shadows she couldn’t see his face.
‘Yes, Robert, ’tis I,’ she murmured, her voice cracking. She took a tentative step forward into the cell at the same time Robert got to his feet. She could see his face now and her heart clenched for him—he looked drawn; his jaw was covered in dark stubble and his unbound hair tumbled across his forehead and onto his shoulders. Despite his dishevelment, or perhaps because of it, he was both darkly handsome and forbidding all at once.
She took another step but his next words halted her, taking her completely aback. ‘Christ, Jessie. I can’t believe you’re here.’ He pushed his hair away from his face with a shaking hand and ran his gaze over her. He was frowning, clearly shocked. ‘You shouldn’t have come.’
The Master Of Strathburn Page 22