The Master Of Strathburn

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Good.

  ‘Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way, Simon. It’s entirely up to you,’ Robert continued smoothly. He turned to Drummond. ‘What do you think we should start with as motivation?’

  Drummond narrowed his dark eyes on Simon and scratched his beard, playing along. ‘I personally think a nice hot branding iron applied to the nether regions works verra well. But you canna really go past a good flaying. Shall I send Mr Kennedy, the bosun’s mate here, to fetch his cat o’nine tails, milord? It’s been a long time since he’s had the chance to administer a decent flogging.’

  Robert considered his brother’s pasty face. He was already looking decidedly green around the gills again. It wouldn’t be long until he gave in. ‘Hmm, tempting. But I was thinking of something more immediate and if you’ll pardon the pun, ready to hand. Do you still have that set of thumbscrews?’

  Drummond grinned. ‘A verra good idea, milord,’ he said reaching for one of his desk drawers. ‘I have them right here—’

  Simon lifted his chin in a last ditch attempt at bravado. ‘You wouldn’t dare—’

  Robert gripped his brother’s shoulder and said in a voice imbued with soft, barely controlled menace, ‘Oh yes, I would. You can’t even imagine what I’d do to hold you to account for what you did last night. Do you really want to push me to find out?’

  Simon leaned back in his chair. ‘All right,’ he croaked. He was pale and sweating. ‘I’ll write the bloody letter.’

  ‘Excellent. I knew you’d see it my way.’ Robert smiled and pushed the writing implements toward Simon. ‘You can release his hands from the irons, Mr Kennedy.’

  With shaking fingers, Simon reached out and picked up the quill. He was about to dip the nib into the ink when he paused, the quill suspended over the pot. His pale grey eyes lifted to Robert. ‘Exactly just how long will my penance last?’ he asked in an uncharacteristically subdued tone.

  Robert’s lips thinned. ‘That entirely depends upon you, Simon, and how well you fulfil your duties aboard this ship. I shall leave Drummond to attend to the details of your day-to-day duties on board. But suffice it to say, all going well—including a demonstration of sufficient contrition—I envisage your tenure will end after a year and day—much as my probation will.’

  Simon’s face was the colour of whey, but he nodded and bent to his task.

  Robert rubbed his chin. ‘Now, how shall you begin? Dearest Mother …’

  * * *

  Dearest Mother,

  After much soul-searching I realise that because of my transgressions against my family, and in particular Miss Munroe, I am not fit to remain within the sphere of polite society. I have brought untold dishonour to our family’s name, and for that I am sincerely sorry. Please convey my heartfelt apologies to all I have wronged, especially Miss Munroe.

  However, as it is clear to me that I will never be able to adequately atone for my misdeeds, I believe that the only reasonable course of action for me to take is to remove myself from the family fold. I have decided to look upon this as an opportunity to explore new horizons and look for new purpose in life.

  Robert has been very supportive and is assisting me with my quest for self-improvement. Never fear, I shall write to you periodically about my adventures,

  Your devoted son,

  Simon

  Lady Strathburn threw the letter down in front of her husband as he finished his tea and scones. ‘What utter rubbish, William. You know as well as I that Robert has forced him into this. Simon would never leave of his own accord.’

  The letter that had been addressed to her had been delivered only a little after ten o’clock by a young street urchin.

  Lord Strathburn sighed and picked up the paper. He perused it briefly. ‘Caroline, I think it would be best for all concerned if you let this drop. I think it is about time our son got to experience more of life than this sheltered corner of the world has to offer. And if Robert is prepared to support him in that endeavour, who am I to interfere?’

  Lady Strathburn glared at her husband. ‘What rot. Our son has been kidnapped, I’m certain of it, and yet you won’t lift a finger to help him. Unless …’ her eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You know exactly where Simon is right now don’t you? I’d wager my soul that you and Robert have planned his abduction together.’

  Lord Strathburn stood and coolly met her gaze. ‘All you need to know is that Simon is learning a life lesson. One that is long overdue.’

  ‘Aaargh.’ Lady Strathburn snatched the letter back. ‘I’ll find out where he’s gone and get him back. And then there’ll be hell to pay, mark my words.’

  She stormed over to the bell-pull and rang for Gordon, who responded almost immediately. She suspected that he’d probably been listening outside the door but she couldn’t afford the time to berate him. ‘Tell my maid to fetch my cloak and have my sedan chair brought round. And make sure you hire some decent chairmen. I’m in a hurry,’ she ordered.

  The butler bowed. ‘Yes, milady. But I think I should warn you tha’ it is still raining.’

  Lord Strathburn frowned. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you used the carriage, Caroline.’

  ‘I don’t have time to wait for it,’ she retorted as she snatched a cloak of black bombazine from her maid, who had been hovering in the vestibule. She threw it over her day gown of rich purple silk and shot her husband another furious look. ‘If anything has happened to Simon, I’ll hold not only Robert, but you to account as well.’

  The sedan chair arrived promptly and within a short space of time Lady Strathburn was hammering on the door to Simon’s room at the White Horse Inn.

  Baird, his valet, cracked the door open, but on seeing whom it was, swept it wide and bowed. ‘Milady?’

  She pushed past him into the stale, empty room. ‘Where is your master?’ she demanded.

  Baird, a tall, sallow skinned man of middle age, stared at the floor. ‘I’m verra sorry, milady. I dinna ken … I havena seen him since early this morning …’

  Quelling a wave of rising panic, Lady Strathburn glanced about the room. As far as she could see there were no signs of foul play here. ‘Tell me what happened. Did he prepare for the duel? And where is his second?’

  Baird swallowed and looked up at her, as if lost for words. She noticed for the first time that the valet was looking decidedly worse for wear himself. In fact, he looked like he’d been dragged through a filthy puddle.

  ‘Don’t stand there gaping, you fool,’ she snapped. ‘Out with it.’

  Baird shook his head, his lank brown hair hanging in his eyes. ‘Tha’s the problem, milady. I dinna ken exactly what happened. I woke Mr Grant an’ helped him to ready for the duel at ha’-past six as planned. His second—Mr Ramsay—was asleep, but Mr Grant didna want me to wake him. He thought he wouldna be needed on account of the fact I had seen the Scots Guard enter the Park. It was raining verra heavily so the master asked me to hire a carriage for him. I ken the inn keeps one in the mews. But when I went down to ask for it … weel, I think I was struck on the head from behind.’ He gingerly prodded the back of his skull and winced.

  ‘And?’ Lady Strathburn demanded, gesturing impatiently. ‘I do not want to hear about your incompetence, you dolt. What happened to your master? Where is Mr Ramsay?’

  Baird grimaced. ‘Weel, the thing is, milady, I was clean knocked out and didna come to for a wee while. An’ when I came back here … Mr Grant was gone. Mr Ramsay was still here, but he didna ken anything aboot wha’ had happened. He only left aboot an hour ago himself. I think he was headed back to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket if ye wish to speak wi’ him.’

  Lady Strathburn flicked her hand in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Enough, you idiot. You are supposed to look out for your master. And with a skull as thick as your obviously is, I can’t believe you were laid out by some common footpad. Unless …’ her eyes narrowed. ‘You say you didn’t see who it was who struck you?’

  ‘No, milady. It was verra dar
k in the mews, an’ pouring with rain. I’m sorry, milady—’

  ‘Oh, shut your mouth, Baird. I need to think on this.’

  She went to the room’s only window and looked down onto the cobbled courtyard below where her sedan chair and hired chairmen waited. One or more of Robert’s lackeys had obviously knocked out Baird and had then taken Simon. But two could play at this kidnapping game. She smiled slowly. She glanced over her shoulder at the valet.

  ‘Did Simon leave his duelling pistols anywhere about?’

  * * *

  Although the morning was still dismal with rain, Jessie was light of spirit when she decided to venture forth from Robert’s rooms and seek the company of Lord Strathburn. After the interview in the library, Robert had departed for Leith Docks to farewell The Phoenix before it embarked on its return journey to Jamaica.

  And to farewell his brother.

  Robert had shared his ingenious plan of recruiting Simon as a crew member of his ship with her. She did not doubt that after a year of such employment, Simon would be a reformed man. And to her abiding relief, it meant that she wouldn’t have to see him for some time.

  Traversing the hall that led to the stairs, Jessie smiled softly as she also recalled how Robert had kissed her thoroughly before he’d left Strathburn House. She touched her fingers to her still slightly swollen lips and let her mind wander to thoughts of how she and her hand-fasted husband would spend the afternoon when he returned. He’d sworn that he’d be back as soon as he was able …

  The click of a door unlatching and the rustling of silk directly behind her caught her attention.

  ‘Don’t make a sound or I’ll pull the trigger.’ Jessie started at the sound of Lady Strathburn’s voice close to her ear. Then she felt something hard being pushed between her shoulder blades. The muzzle of a pistol.

  Oh God. Jessie froze. Her lungs seized and ice-cold terror gripped her heart. The countess was obviously launching a counter offensive because Robert had taken her son. But what, in heaven’s name, did she have planned? Revenge of some sort was clearly her agenda, but how exactly was she intending to exact it?

  Dragging in a breath, Jessie attempted to turn around. ‘This willna help, milady. What could you possibly hope to—’

  ‘I told you to shut it, you little bitch.’ Lady Strathburn reached out and grabbed Jessie by the arm then pulled her roughly back so that she was pressed up against the countess’s body. The pistol was now pushed into her lower back. Jessie stilled instantly. She knew that a shot discharged into her kidney would be fatal.

  ‘Now, here’s what we are going to do,’ Lady Strathburn continued. ‘You and I are going to walk quietly downstairs and climb into my sedan chair. If you attempt to warn anyone or try to get away from me, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Do I make myself clear?’

  Jessie nodded, attempting to tamp down her fear. The woman must be mad. But she daren’t risk escape, not now with a pistol cocked ready to kill her.

  ‘Move.’

  Jessie did as the countess demanded, praying that someone would appear and notice that she was being coerced into leaving. Surely Robert would be back soon. But the stairwell and vestibule were completely deserted as they made their descent. Even Gordon was nowhere to be seen.

  The rather luxurious looking sedan chair and its two stoic bearers stood in the square directly outside Strathburn House. Sheets of rain teamed down upon Jessie as she emerged from the covered portico—she struggled not to slip on the wet stairs leading to the cobblestoned pavement. Within moments she was soaked. Her hair hung in her eyes and her silk skirts clung to her legs making it hard for her to climb into the cramped enclosure of the sedan. She hoped that Lady Strathburn might lose her footing, but not once did the pistol’s muzzle lose contact with her body.

  Once inside, Lady Strathburn slammed the door and took a seat beside Jessie, the pistol now pushed directly into her side. Even though the countess’s sedan was much more commodious than the hired one Jessie had taken a ride in the day before, she found herself pushed uncomfortably sideways against the Moroccan leather panel and curtain covered window on one side whilst Lady Strathburn’s hip and leg were pressed hard against her on the other.

  ‘I’ve heard gut shots are a particularly slow and painful way to die so I wouldn’t be planning anything if I were you,’ threatened the countess. With her other hand, she then knocked on the ceiling of the sedan and despite the rain and the added weight of an additional person, the chairmen took off at a steady jog.

  A small amount of light filtered into the cabin through a narrow crack in the curtains covering the door opposite them. In the dim interior, Jessie could just discern the unflinching hardness in the countess’s eyes. Her heart plummeted like a stone. It would be difficult to reason with the woman but she must try.

  She took a shallow breath, her throat tight with fear. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  An unnerving smile slowly spread across Lady Strathburn’s face. ‘I think you know why. But in case you haven’t worked it out, your fiancé took Simon, so now I’m taking you. Simple.’

  Jessie raised her chin, sudden anger giving her strength. ‘You willna succeed.’

  ‘Of course I will. Why should Robert be the only one who is allowed to get away with breaking the rules? Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. When I have my son back, Robert can have you.’

  But will I be returned to Robert dead or alive? Terror twisted Jessie’s belly into tight knots. The cold, uncompromising expression in Lady Strathburn’s eyes belied the notion that she was going to escape from this situation unscathed.

  She looked away from the countess toward the window. Where were they going? With the velvet curtains drawn, it was impossible to see anything other than passing shadows. Icy spurts of fear prickled beneath her skin. She was shivering. Dare she ask what the countess intended? Perhaps if she knew more, she could think ahead and formulate a plan of some sort. Although there was little she could do at the moment, she would not give up on the idea of escape. She had too much to live for—she had found love. She would take any chance she could to make her way back to Robert.

  The sedan chair suddenly slowed. Jessie glanced out of the crack in the curtains, but could see little more than the back of the chairman and a splinter of dark grey sky. The chair veered slightly as if negotiating an obstacle in the road, and then between the crowded rooftops, she caught a brief glimpse of the turrets of Holyrood Palace and its gate-house.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Jessie’s voice cracked with despair. Robert would never find her so far afield from Strathburn House. They could easily disappear down any one of the maze-like wynds or closes. Or worse still, venture into one of the more disreputable and desolate areas of Holyrood Park; the former royal hunting ground, complete with towering cliffs, gorse covered commons and boggy marshes covered a huge area of over six hundred acres. The area to the east around the Salisbury Crags would be largely deserted, especially on a day like today.

  Lady Strathburn sighed. ‘Never you mind,’ she said with bored disdain. ‘Knowledge of your immediate destination will not help you in any way if that’s what you are thinking.’

  It suddenly occurred to Jessie that they could not be going too much farther in the sedan chair. Lady Strathburn must have some other conveyance waiting close by. Jessie knew she would have to act soon to free herself if that was the case. Her mind worked furiously. There must be someone else involved in the countess’s scheme.

  Somehow, Jessie found her voice again. ‘Who have you enlisted to help you? You canna think to carry out my kidnapping all on yer own.’

  Lady Strathburn smirked. ‘Baird. You remember him, don’t you? He was more than willing to help, especially when I offered him free use of you during your confinement. He’s quite used to taking care of Simon’s leavings.’

  Oh God, no. Bile rose to Jessie’s throat and spots danced before her eyes. Horror like nothing she’d ever felt before threatened to overwhelm her. She dug
her fingernails into her palms and willed herself not to pass out. If she did, there was no chance of escape.

  She sucked in a breath and forced herself to look the countess directly in the eye. Was there any chance she could appeal to the woman’s better self? ‘How can a high-born woman such as you, behave so unscrupulously an’ condone such depravity?’ she demanded, her voice shaking with both fear and outrage. ‘Do you no’ have any sense of moral decency, Lady Strathburn? Please, I beg you to reconsider—’

  The countess suddenly thrust the pistol against Jessie’s temple and leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. Her breath was sickly sweet against Jessie’s mouth. ‘Now listen here, you conniving little slut—’

  At that moment, the sedan chair lurched wildly to the side and hit the road with bone-jarring force. Jessie screamed and clutched frantically at the leather hand-strap by her head to stop herself from falling off the seat. Lady Strathburn tumbled into her and Jessie felt the pistol’s cold, hard muzzle push sharply into her temple. Oh God, please don’t let it go off. One slip of the countess’s finger and she’d be dead.

  Through the haze of her fear, Jessie became aware of the great cacophony of noise outside—a horse’s startled whickering followed by the crack of splintering wood and the sound of something crashing onto the cobbles, voices shouting and swearing.

  Within seconds, the sedan’s front door was thrown wide open and one of the chairmen looked in. ‘Are ye all right, milady. Mistress? I’m verra sorry, but there’s been an accident. My partner slipped and has done himself a wee bit o’ mischief. An’ another cart has overturned.’

  ‘Yes, of course we’re all right. Out of my way, you stupid man.’ The countess shifted, gripping Jessie tightly around the shoulders with one hand as she hissed in her ear. ‘Climb out. Don’t say a word, or I swear I will kill you.’

  Jessie nodded weakly, too paralysed by fear to speak. Why didn’t the chairman notice that the countess had a gun pressed to her head? But perhaps the muzzle was obscured by the sodden, tangled mass of her hair. She whimpered but the man had already disappeared from view. With no recourse other than to obey, Jessie somehow made her shaking limbs work and clambered out of the sedan chair. The countess continued to grip her shoulder as they both emerged; the pistol was now pushed into her back. They were at the bottom of the Mile, in the very middle of the road where the Canongate, Water Gate and the Abbey Strand intersected. The gate-house to Holyrood Park stood right in front of them. And somewhere nearby, Baird must be waiting with a carriage. No.