‘If Brent lives, Analee, can you use your powers to free him from your spell? Can you?’
‘Mary I have told you I have no extraordinary powers. I am no cohani, no witch. But, yes, if Brent lives I will do what I can. Why ... here is my lord.’
The door opened and the Falcon came slowly in, his eyes searching.
‘Ah, Analee, they told me you were here. My dear ...’ his gaze fell upon Mary and he stopped.
‘My lord, Angus, this is Mary Delamain who was so kind to me when I was snowbound.’
The Marquess walked over to Mary and bowed over her hand. ‘You are very welcome, ma’am, and thank you for your hospitality to my wife. How long will you stop here?’
Analee got up and took her lord’s arm.
‘Angus, Mary is the wife of Brent Delamain your distant cousin by marriage.’
‘Ah,’ his lordship cried, understanding dawning. ‘That will be why she is here. I understand he is on the list for trial in London and almost certain to be condemned. His is one of the names of those thought most culpable.’
‘You knew it, my lord?’
‘Aye. I heard it yesterday from Colonel Worth who stopped here on his way back to London. He knew we were very distantly related.’
‘Oh Angus, cannot you do something for your cousin!’
His lordship thumped the floor with his stick.
‘No I cannot and pray do not ask me. You know how I feel about the rebels. There is nothing I can do anyway. His Majesty is determined to punish them and stamp them out by his example. I know it.’
The Falcon shook his head and moved to the window. Analee could see from his stormy gaze that he was angry; that brooding Falcon stare that had struck terror into the hearts of so many, friend and foe. But now it was never directed at her; the only expression she ever saw on the face of her husband was one of love and tenderness. She went over to him and leaned her head against his arm stroking his sleeve. The Marquess fidgeted with his stick and tried to move away.
‘Analee, pray do not. It is no use ...’
‘My lord, Angus, did you never have anything you felt very passionately about?’
‘Only you,’ he whispered so that Mary could not hear.
‘Very well. You defied society to marry me. But only supposing it had been against the law? Would you have done it then?’
‘You know it. I would have defied everyone and everything to have you as my wife.’
‘Then think how Brent Delamain and those like him felt. They are zealots. They are not criminals.’
Reluctantly Lord Falconer, who was still tantalized by the proximity of his wife even though he knew her so well, freed his arm.
‘My dear Analee ... even if I wanted to I can do nothing. I am powerless. There!’
‘Can we not contrive to rescue Brent before he is sent,’ Analee said quietly. ‘There must be a way. Even Lord Nithsdale escaped from the Tower of London itself after the ‘15 Rebellion. It is a famous tale. Can it not be done from Edinburgh Castle?’
‘No it cannot!’ his lordship thundered. ‘You want me to lose my title? Forfeit my commission in His Majesty’s regiment? We are undone, Analee, if we so much as lift a finger to help these traitors! I will not risk my life, my inheritance, the inheritance of our child, for something in which I do not believe. You I do believe in, but the Stuarts no!’
There was a silence only broken occasionally by the sound of Mary weeping. Analee gazed stormily at her husband.
‘When you are married, my lord, do you not take on obligations owed by your spouse?’
‘You have obligations to Brent Delamain?’ his lordship said incredulously.
In Analee’s mind there flashed the thought of a moonlit scene; a handsome blond god – a beautiful baby girl. She found she was trembling, but she tried to hide her emotion. Much as she knew Angus loved her he was not ready now to hear about Morella, if he ever would be which she somehow doubted. He was too jealous, too single-minded to countenance hearing about her relationship with Brent, to know about their child. It would not make him want to help Brent; he would probably volunteer to hang him with his own hands. Her lord was much too savage for magnanimity at this stage in their relationship, which was still so dependent on physical passion. No, she would not tell her husband the truth. Even Mary did not know the whole truth.
‘I have obligations only to the family of Allonby. They were very kind to me and Nelly and offered us shelter when we needed it on two occasions. I would like to do a favour for Mary, more particularly than Brent. As you love me, sir, so does she love her husband and would have him by her side.’
‘But they would be exiles, outlaws ...’
‘No matter,’ Analee said firmly, ‘they would be alive and together. For me, my lord, won’t you help?’
For answer his lordship shook his head angrily and stumped out of the room.
Mary turned her ashen, tear-stained face to Analee who, she was surprised to see, was smiling.
‘I think he will do something,’ Lady Falconer said. ‘I know my lord.’
‘If my name is ever brought into this plan,’ his lordship said over dinner when the room was cleared of servants, ‘I and future generations of my family will curse the name of Delamain ... and Allonby,’ he added scowling fiercely. ‘I am doing this solely for my wife, whom I adore. It is much against my better judgement. It is a token of my love for her; she has asked it and I will do it. I know she will not be ungrateful and will show me so in many ways; thus, my motives are not altogether without self-interest ...’ Lord Falconer paused and looked meaningfully at his wife who bent her head and suppressed a smile, her eyes shining. ‘We shall vigorously deny any connection with the plan to free Brent Delamain and say our name was used basely because of my relationship to the family. ‘Tis all I have to say. D’ye hear?’
John Allonby was gazing with open admiration at the man he had hated; the Falcon. Not only had a committed Hanoverian and a member of the government army to boot consented to help free his cousin, but the plan was so simple it was perfect.
‘You are a born strategist, my lord,’ John said respectfully.
‘Aye,’ his lordship replied modestly. ‘I have that reputation, which is why I am today a General in His Majesty’s regiment. You see then why my name must never become associated with this, even though you are put to the rack ...’
‘Never sir. I swear,’ John got up and bowed to his host.
‘And you may be racked, Mr Allonby, or worse. You will be the one left behind in your cousin’s place. Maybe they will take your head instead of his.’
‘They are welcome to it, sir, if they so decide,’ John said slowly. ‘Do not think it has not occurred to me ...’
‘Oh no, John ...’ Mary, who had been so happy as the plan was revealed, looked aghast.
‘Yes, Mary, I have done no wrong that they know: I have not fought with the Prince; but ... I shall have contrived to help a traitor escape. However, my love, do not grieve if it is so. I shall die cheerful. I am a single man and you and Brent have all life and all the happiness in the world before you. I am half dead since Charlotte died, anyway. Furness Grange may be sequestrated and sold ... but you will be free, starting a new life, maybe overseas in the Indies or Africa.’
‘’Tis nobly spoke,’ Lord Falconer said. ‘Now to the details of the plan. For if you are to be in time you cannot delay a moment. They are despatching the criminals like hens in a farmyard I hear.’
21
The governor of Edinburgh Castle, Colonel Guest, was a stern man. He ruled his castle and its garrison with a fist of iron and gave little quarter. He shared with the Tolbooth and Canongate prisons responsibility for the large number of captured Jacobites who had supported the Prince, in battle or otherwise. He had many noblewomen in his castle, too, who had rallied to the Prince, either by raising bodies of fighting men themselves or by selling their jewels or by defying reluctant husbands.
Most of his prisoners were of the ra
nk and file and in batches they left the castle to be taken for trial at Carlisle, Chester, York or Lancaster. Once in England lots were cast among the men for those who were to be tried, one in twenty. The rest were deported or, ultimately, pardoned and freed according to the degree of guilt. Colonel Guest cared little as to what happened to any of them.
He had one or two special prisoners, like Murray of Broughton and Brent Delamain, whose offences were deemed enough to hang them. These were kept apart from the rest while a strong escort was awaited to take them to London.
An orderly stood at the door and the Governor, who had been studying papers, looked up.
‘A Mrs Delamain to see her husband, sir. She has come from Keswick and knows he is soon to be taken to England.’
‘Is there permission?’
‘From General Hawley himself, sir,’ the orderly handed the governor a note which he barely glanced at. He had no time for these sentimental gestures on the part of the authorities. In his opinion rogues like Delamain should be denied all privileges.
‘It may be the last time she sees him, sir. She is said to be unwell and her brother has accompanied her.’
‘Is he to be admitted, too?’
‘’Tis on the order, sir.’
‘Oh get it over. See ‘tis kept short. Traitors have no rights in my opinion; they all deserve the gallows. Have the prisoner Delamain brought up.’
Mary stood trembling in the small room near the entrance to the prison. Even though John was with her she was terrified. Lord Falconer’s plan had seemed so simple in the shelter of Falcon’s Keep, but here it seemed impossible. As they waited John tightly held her hand and she pressed it, unable to speak.
She hardly recognized her husband when he was brought in. He was so thin and gaunt and he dragged his leg with pain. He blinked his eyes against the light and scarcely seemed able to recognize her.
‘Brent, it is Mary.’
‘Aye, so I heard. Why did you come, Mary, to distress yourself thus? I have not been a good husband to you. Start life again ...’ John moved quickly over to Brent and seized his arm.
‘Do not waste time talking. Remove your clothes.’ Brent stared at him and held up his arms.
‘How can I remove my clothes in chains?’
Curse, they had forgotten that!
‘Then your breeches merely. My jacket will conceal the chains.’
‘You are ...’ Brent gazed at him in amazement.
‘Rescuing you. I am taking your place. We are the same colour, the same build ...’
John had not reckoned with Brent’s emaciated appearance, but it was too late now. The best laid plans always misfired so he had heard. He was prepared to brazen it out now, whatever happened.
‘Haste man. We have no time to tarry.’
‘But they will try you in my place.’
‘We think not; but it is a chance I must take.’
John had removed most of his clothes and kept glancing anxiously at the door. As if accepting the inevitability of what was happening, Brent stumped out of his breeches with Mary’s help and donned John’s clothes.
‘We will never get away with it.’
‘We might. ‘Tis dark in here. Here now, my hat, pull it well over your face which has a ghastly prison pallor. There. Good-bye sweet sister. Brent come!’
‘John I cannot ...’
John gazed at his cousin, at his sister.
‘It is all I have done for the Cause, Brent. Is it too much to ask I be allowed my contribution? Even if I die I die happy; but I think I will not. Even the Hanoverians do not kill innocent men ... at least officially. Now call the guard. It is important he does not come in first. Say Mary is too upset and I will tarry here until they come for me. Mary must create a commotion with her weeping. ‘Tis part of the plan. Quick.’
Mary began to wail loudly and Brent limped over to the door. John observed the limp and bit his lip. How they had ever hoped to get away with this ...
The door opened and the guard peered into the gloom. ‘What is it?’
‘My sister is greatly distressed and her husband would have us go.’
‘Ah ...’ the guard shrugged and opened wide the door, glancing at the prisoner slumped dejectedly by the window. He had seen it happen so often lately as all the men were being sent to England; it was a sorry business. He locked the door and shepherded the weeping woman to the gate having little regard for the man who walked slowly behind her. He knew only one woman had come in and only one woman had gone out. No one had warned them to take much notice of the men. He saw the weeping woman through the gate and returned to the darkness of the prison. He would just finish his game of dice before taking the prisoner back to the dungeons. There was no hurry.
***
Analee sat in the carriage holding tightly to Nelly’s hand. She stared anxiously at the castle gate and shared with those inside it the strong conviction that the plan would not succeed. Now that it had happened it seemed idiotic to suspect it would. Forging General Hawley’s signature had been foolhardy, though Angus had a letter from him and they tried to copy his hand. They were being a long time and she stared anxiously at Nelly.
‘It has gone wrong!’
‘Hush,’ Nelly comforted, ‘you are too impatient. They have only been gone for a few moments. There is the governor to see and all sorts of things.’
Lord Falconer had not wished his wife to accompany Mary and John; after all, what had she to do with it? And if she was discovered? He had been foolish enough as it was. But the Falcon, if he did not know it before, was becoming aware of the stubbornness of the woman he had married. She would not take ‘no’ for an answer. If she wanted a thing she would get it. The only place he found her at all submissive was in bed, and even there she also seemed subtly to exercise her own particular kind of dominance. She was remarkable. He had let her go after warning her not to expect a visit from him when she was lodged in the castle as a prisoner of His Majesty along with Lady Strathallan and Lady Ogilvy.
But Analee had felt she owed it to Mary to see that she got Brent back; and, besides, she wanted to talk to Brent. They had stayed the night on the way with Jacobite friends of the Allonbys who had so far been spared persecution by the government, and they would stop there on the way back. After that Analee would return to her husband and see Brent no more.
The gate of the castle swung back and she clasped Nelly’s hand and closed her eyes.
‘Oh, Nelly ...’
‘Aye ‘tis them. ‘Tis Mary and ... why, Analee, it is Brent. There is no doubt for he drags a leg and Mr John walked in quite firm and straight.’
Nelly tumbled out of the carriage at the same time as McNeath jumped from the box. They had thought to effect the escape in a light coach driven by McNeath so as to involve no further members of the household. Nelly ran up to Mary and put her arm about her, but, as planned, McNeath stayed by the coach. To anyone looking on, any guard or soldier, they must appear to be merely a sorrowing family, not the escort for the escape of an important Jacobite passenger.
Yes it was Brent, but how changed. So changed, so unlike John except in height that Analee wondered how they had achieved it. She leaned forward and held the door open, clasping Mary as she stumbled in. Then Brent followed and almost before they had sat down and closed the door McNeath had whipped his horses into a fast trot down the hill from Edinburgh Castle into the teeming streets of the town clustered in its shadow.
Everyone was breathing hard and now Nelly was also crying. Analee had tears in her eyes as she looked at the face of the exhausted man; his head back on his seat, his eyes closed. Analee studied his face to see whether she felt any emotion ... tired or starved or ill or whatever, he was still Brent, her one time lover, Morella’s father. Yes, there were traces of the handsome man he had been, eyes made even finer now by suffering, the curve of the mouth, the fine arch of the brow ...
Brent opened his eyes and looked straight into those of Analee. Then he quickly shut them agai
n. He reopened them cautiously as one does when expecting a shock. She smiled at him reassuringly.
‘Yes, Brent. It is I, Analee. I have contrived to help your escape.’
‘Analee ...’ Brent leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. Analee. Was it possible? But she did not look like Analee in those fine clothes, that gorgeous cloak, the elegant hat with a plume.
Analee with a hat? Brent opened his eyes and looked again. It was not Analee, could not be. Why this person undoubtedly had her eyes and resembled Analee; but ... she wore shoes, and carried a bag and her hands were gloved. No it could not be Analee, the wild gypsy he had loved.
‘It is I, Brent,’ Analee said gently knowing full well what was going on in his mind, ‘but I am married now to a man of substance, a lord ...’
‘The Marquess of Falconer,’ Nelly said firmly, ‘General The Marquess of Falconer.’
Brent opened his eyes and his lips trembled in a faint laugh.
‘The Falcon? This is a joke someone is playing on me. He is a Hanoverian soldier, a man known for his mercilessness in battle. I thought he was killed at Falkirk and we all said “good riddance”. Why should he be married to Analee? No I am dead and this is a dream.’
‘It is no dream, Brent, and we shall explain all by and by. For the moment rest and be thankful that you are alive.’
Rory Macintoch had fought with Brent in all the Scottish battles. He had escaped from Culloden and was overjoyed to see him again. They were to spend the night together in the priest’s hole in the house because they were loyal Catholics as well as Jacobites. Servants kept a twenty-four hour guard in the grounds of the house; but even during the day Rory kept out of sight.
Luckily in this remote part of Scotland few people outside the house would even be aware of the visit of Mrs Delamain and her brother, nor would it be noted as exceptional. Fiona Macintoch and Mary Allonby were old friends.
Fiona was a girl very like Mary in upbringing. She had known deprivation all her life, though it was especially bad for her family since the Act of Union. Up to that time Scotland had had its own Parliament; after that the country was ruled from London. At least Queen Anne, in whose reign the union took place, had been a Stuart; but after her death and the German Elector of Hanover usurped the English throne – according to her family’s view of things – there was no going back. The English were hated and opposed at every turn. If the Allonbys thought they had martyrs to the Cause the Macintochs had more. In the present rising alone Fiona had lost another brother, killed, and a father who was in hiding with Cluny Macpherson in his cave in the highlands.
The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Page 38