“I would not worry too much about it,” Charles added nonchalantly. “It is flattering, I think. My own life is set at thirty thousand, and worth every penny. I think the Elector rates your husband too cheaply, myself. His information has been invaluable to me.” He looked ruefully towards the door of the great dining room, from behind which could be heard the muted drone of a great many people conversing. “I must return to the reception, I am afraid. I will leave you to enjoy your solitude.”
He dipped his head and turned away, a man in the full flush of youth, tall, slender and handsome. And, it seemed to Beth, unbearably lonely, although he probably did not recognise that himself, accustomed as he was to be set apart from others by birth and circumstances.
“Your Highness,” she said on impulse. He turned back. “There is a question I have been wanting to ask you, ever since the evening in Rome when you met my brother-in-law Angus for the first time.”
“Ah, yes.” He smiled. “The young man with the ice cream, I remember it well. And what is your question? I hope I can answer it, as you have waited so long.”
“Angus uttered an…er…an unfortunate word on seeing you, Your Highness, and you said that when you first met Alex, he was covered in something more pungent than ice cream. I have wanted to ask you about the circumstances of your first meeting with my husband ever since.”
“Ah,” said the prince, his brown eyes sparkling. “Have you not asked your husband to divulge this information?”
“He seems somewhat reluctant to talk to me of the matter,” she confessed. “It is only idle curiosity that prompts me, nothing more.”
“But unsatisfied curiosity, idle or not, can be distressing to the senses. And I could not leave a lady in distress, when I have the remedy at my disposal,” said the prince gallantly. “If you would care to step into the salon for a moment? There is too much likelihood of us being disturbed here.”
He took her hand and tucked it familiarly under his arm, which, had they been observed, would have earned Beth the undying hatred of every woman in the city. Happily they were not, and no one, including Alex, was any the wiser when she returned to the ball a few minutes later, confessing herself much refreshed by the breath of air and certainly ready to dance again.
Of her conversation with the prince she said not a word, either then or later.
* * *
“Preston’s threatened to do what?” cried the prince, aghast.
“To reduce the city to rubble, Your Highness, if we dinna lift the blockade,” said Lochiel.
“He’s bluffing,” said Charles. “He would never do it.”
“He has the means,” Lochiel pointed out.
“Well, yes, I know that. But surely he would not risk the lives of the citizenry, when he knows that if he surrenders, both himself and his garrison would be fairly dealt with? He must know that the Elector would never countenance the murder of innocent people in his name. Why, it goes against all the accepted rules of war. No, write and tell him that he has six weeks’ provisions in the castle, and as he will receive no more, he has that long to decide to surrender. Add that any damage to the city will be met with the severest reprisals once I am restored to power.”
The letter was written, and sent. The Camerons continued to blockade the castle while they waited for the general’s reply.
They did not have to wait long. On the first of October General Preston ordered his men to open fire on the town, blowing away the sides of houses in the main street, and killing several people. In a rage, Charles threatened to confiscate the estates of all the officers in the castle if the bombardment did not stop.
The bombardment did not stop. On the third, a party of men climbed down from the castle on ropes and conducted a raid in which a Highlander was killed, and the next day more civilians were killed by the continuing cannonade, and Lochiel himself was hurt by some falling stones.
“The man’s insane!” raged Charles, pacing the anteroom of the tower where he conducted all his business. “He’s killing tradesmen and milkmaids, for God’s sake! Where’s the honour in that? I cannot allow this to continue. We will have to lift the blockade.”
The Cameron chief massaged his badly bruised shoulder with one hand while he pondered a tactful way to tell the prince that not everyone was as soft-hearted as him, and that the fiery eighty-five-year-old commander of Edinburgh Castle couldn’t care less about honour, or who was injured by his gesture of defiance.
“We are at war, Your Highness,” interposed Lord George Murray. “Your chivalric notions are commendable but misguided. If you give in to Preston’s demands now, you will earn his contempt.”
Lochiel closed his eyes. As much as he respected, and even agreed with Lord George, his lack of tact was excruciating at times. He opened his eyes again, to see the prince favouring Lord George with a glare that would have reduced a lesser man to jelly, but which bounced off the lord unregarded.
“You think, then, my lord, that the deaths of an unlimited number of my father’s innocent subjects can be justified, as long as General Preston thinks well of me? What manner of man are you?”
“A practical one, Your Highness,” replied Lord George. “In situations…”
“Lord George is thinking like the enemy, Your Highness,” interrupted Lochiel hastily. “It is sometimes necessary to do so, in order to anticipate what they will do next and plan accordingly.”
“I know full well what the enemy will do next!” cried Charles. “He will continue to bombard the town, creating havoc and disorder, and if I allow it to continue, the people will blame me and turn against me. I cannot have that! Nor will I have innocent blood on my hands!”
Lochiel could almost read Lord George’s next words as they formed in his brain. If you cannot bear innocent blood to be shed at times, you should not be making this attempt on the throne. He spoke quickly before the other man could.
“Your Highness, if you lift the blockade you will lose face with the military, and the people will applaud your chivalry. If you allow it to continue, then your reputation as a fierce and determined commander will be enhanced.”
“And the population will hate me,” said Charles. “I must think like the enemy, you say. Alex, you know the Elector and his son Cumberland well. What would they do in such a situation?”
Alex, who was not a member of the council, although he had been present when Lord George and Lochiel had entered with their report, had retired to a corner and had taken no part in the proceedings up to now.
“They would keep the siege in place and allow the bombardment to continue, Your Highness,” he said. “And when the garrison was finally starved out, they would hang every man in there from the castle walls.”
Charles looked at him with incredulity.
“Are you serious?” he said. “Is that what you think I should do?”
“No, Your Highness. I am telling you only what the Elector would do.”
“Well, if that is the nature of the man who dares to call himself king of my father’s realm, then the sooner I oust him the better,” said Charles. “Tell Preston that I will lift the blockade if he stops the bombardment. I will not allow this to continue. I will conduct this campaign with chivalry, not barbarity. I would have my subjects know that their rightful king and his heir will be just and fair rulers.”
He turned abruptly and left the room. As soon as he had gone, Lord George sank down into a chair.
“Christ Almighty!” he said through gritted teeth. “How the hell will he ever get a chance to prove what a magnanimous ruler he’ll be if he capitulates at every threat to the people? Ye canna be so soft in war.”
“He’s thinking like a prince who cares for his subjects, not like a battle commander,” observed Alex. “It takes a particular kind of courage to back down.”
“I’m sure it does, but it’s no’ the kind we need right now. I wish he’d leave the command to those fit for it, and when we’ve won his throne for him, he can trot round being as merci
ful and lenient as he wants,” growled Lord George. “I love the man dearly, but he’s awfu’ difficult to get along with.”
“Nevertheless, we have to try,” said Lochiel, hoping Lord George would take the hint. “We’ll no’ win him round by challenging him head on all the time. He isna used to taking orders. He needs placating, humouring at times.”
“I’m a general, no’ a bloody nursemaid,” said Lord George scathingly. “If he wants flattery he must seek it elsewhere. And as he hasna the experience of battle to ken his arse from his elbow, he’ll have to learn to take orders, if he wants to get any further than he is now.”
Lochiel sighed. He had not anticipated, when he’d brought his clan marching down the slopes of Glenfinnan, that he would end up acting as the buffer between two impossibly stubborn, high-handed men. He looked at his friend. Alex was much better suited to this sort of delicate manipulation. But being only a chieftain, he could not be on the council. Or could he? He was a friend of Charles, after all.
He put the question to Alex later, in the coffeehouse.
“I’m no’ sure, Donald,” he answered. “It could cause resentment among the other chieftains if I was raised to the council and they werena. Only the chiefs of regiments are entitled to take part.”
“Aye, but you’re hardly the average chieftain, are ye? For four years you were the most successful spy the cause has had. Ye’re used to pussy-footing around royalty.”
“I might be used to it, but I’m awfu’ glad no’ to be doing it any more,” Alex said. “I’m no’ sure it’d do any good anyway. Neither Murray nor Charles will take notice of me unless they’ve a mind to. And before ye get me on the council, Donald, remember, although I’ve said I’ll fight under your command in the field, I dinna agree wi’ ye on a number of matters, particularly as regards the invasion of England.”
“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Lochiel. “It canna do any harm.”
“If ye can do it,” said Alex.
He could do it. Within two weeks Alex was admitted as a junior member of the council, on the grounds of his in-depth knowledge of the mind of the enemy.
* * *
The two men and one woman sat companionably around the kitchen table, as was their custom of an evening when the work of the day was done. Today, however, no work had been done, not of the normal kind, at any rate. And yet they were all completely exhausted.
The younger of the two men reached over to the pitcher of ale in the middle of the table and filled three tankards. They drank in silence for a few minutes.
“Ben and Mary were wonderful today,” said Thomas eventually. “I was thinking to give them a shilling each.”
“They’d like that,” replied Jane. “It was the right thing to do, to claim that they’d stayed below stairs most of the time. The fewer lies they had to tell the better, although they did well to stick to their story even so. It was a frightening experience for them. For all of us.”
“True, but I wasn’t thinking of that,” said Thomas. “I was thinking of Mary telling them that she didn’t like to go upstairs as the only time she had done she’d been attacked by Richard’s friend. That was a stroke of genius. She said they didn’t ask her any more questions after that.”
“It helps that she’s so tiny. They probably thought she was a lot younger even than she is, and felt sorry for her,” said Jane. “I’m glad it’s over though. And I’m very glad that Sarah wrote to warn us. She’s turned out well in the end, after all.”
Graeme emptied his tankard and refilled it.
“You’re not saying much,” Thomas observed. “Was your interview very hard?”
“Of course it was,” said Graeme. “Apparently that worthless lump of shi…Richard told them that I was particularly close to Beth, and had been here since Methuselah was a lad. They assumed I’d remember every word Beth had uttered since she was born, and that I’d know all sorts of private stuff about Sir Anthony too. I just mumbled a lot and acted stupid, like I thought they’d expect an old man to be whose closest relationship is with the vegetables he grows. I was so rural I thought I’d start sprouting bloody leaves.”
Thomas laughed.
“I assume it worked, then.”
“Yes,” said Graeme. He took another mouthful of ale.
“You do, though, don’t you?” said Thomas cryptically.
“I do what?” asked Graeme.
“Know things about Sir Anthony, or whoever he is.”
Graeme bestowed upon Thomas one of his dourest glares. Thomas stared levelly back.
“Is it that obvious?” said Graeme after a few moments of this.
“No, of course it’s not obvious. But I’ve known you since I was a boy. And I know you love Beth like a daughter. You don’t seem a bit bothered that she could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Which makes me think that you know more about the purple popinjay than you’re telling, if you’re so sure he hasn’t done away with her.”
“I’m worried about Beth. I thought she’d have written to us herself, if she was all right,” said Jane.
Graeme put his tankard down and looked at the couple opposite, who were eyeing him expectantly.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I don’t know whether Beth’s alive or not, but I do know she won’t have been murdered by her husband, because they love each other, and she knew what he was. I think he’s probably stopped her writing to anyone in case the authorities intercept the letter.” He hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain whether or not to reveal any more. “I also know his name, his first name, at any rate,” he continued, “because she let it slip when she got drunk at Mary and Joseph’s wedding. I thought the fewer people knew, the better.”
“What is his name, then?” asked Jane.
“I still think the fewer people that know that, the better.”
Jane looked affronted.
“It’s not a matter of trust, Jane. I just don’t think the authorities have finished with us yet. If you don’t know his name you can’t tell it, no matter what. There’s something else, though, something you do have to know, although I wasn’t going to tell you yet.”
“What’s that?”
“One of the reasons I’m sure Beth’s not been forced into anything by her husband is because she knew exactly what he was doing, and that they might be discovered one day. So she took nearly all her dowry money out of her account and asked me to bury it in the woods for her.”
There was a short period of stunned silence.
“And you never told us?” said Thomas.
“She made me promise not to,” replied Graeme simply. “I said I wouldn’t do it at first, because I knew she was in some sort of trouble, although she wouldn’t tell me what it was. But now I can see she was right. Now Richard can’t get at the money, and it’s there for her when she needs it. I was going to tell you about it before I left, because no one else knows where it is. Even Beth doesn’t know exactly. One day she’ll come for it, or Anthony will, and you’ll need to lead them to it.”
“Before you left?” said Jane. “Where are you going?”
“The minute I hear that Prince Charles has crossed the border into England, I’m going to join him.”
“What! For God’s sake, Graeme, you’re nearly sixty!” cried Thomas.
“I know that, and I’ll never get another chance to fight for what I believe in. If this rising fails, the Cause is lost. I’ve waited thirty years for this. If I was eighty I’d go. Nothing will stop me. I’ll show you where the money is in a few days, when I’m sure we’re not being watched.”
“Do you really think that if this Anthony man turns up without Beth we should just take him to the money?” said Thomas.
“No. I think you should ask him where she is first. And then you should take him to it. Whatever you think of him and his politics, Thomas, he made her happier than I’ve ever seen her before. I honestly believe he loves her. And he got her out of Richard’s clutches. We owe him a lot for that.”
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“We do,” said Thomas, “if you’re right.”
“I’m right,” replied Graeme. “I’d wager my life on it. And I’d wager something else, too.”
“What’s that?” asked Jane.
“When Richard gets back from Flanders, he’ll come for his money. And when he finds out it’s gone, he won’t be pleased, even though he doesn’t need it any more since he’s married that rich widow woman. I hope we’ll see Beth again, some day. But I’m damn sure we’re going to see Richard.”
* * *
Beth eyed the gathering of mostly gloomy MacGregor clansmen around the fire.
“Just think,” she said with false cheerfulness. “Tomorrow you’ll all be sleeping in proper beds, indoors.”
As the weather was now growing cold, it being mid-October, the camp at Duddingston was being abandoned in favour of billets in the surrounding villages. The idea of waking without finding a layer of frost on your blanket and any exposed bits of your body presumably did not hold the same appeal for the men as it did for Beth, who in spite of enjoying spending every night in the arms of her husband, sometimes regretted having given up her warm room at the inn to do so. No one answered.
“And at least your wives and children are all well,” she added, looking at Alasdair, Simon and the others who had returned from home that day, and were the source of the sad atmosphere.
“Aye,” replied Simon. “And God alone kens how long it’ll be afore we see them again.”
“Or if we ever will,” added Alasdair. There was a chorus of agreement. Even Angus looked depressed. He had told Beth that Morag had had to be physically restrained by her father from riding after him when he left, and only the promise that he’d be back to marry her before his next birthday had appeased her, along with the fact that he’d been as upset as she was by their parting. He stared into the fire, a frown etched deep on his handsome face as he no doubt relived their goodbyes.
Cursing the dour and melancholy side of the fiery Celtic nature, Beth sighed and tried to think of another way to cheer them. News of an imminent battle would do it, but there would be none of those while they were stuck in Edinburgh; another source of gloom. The Highlander’s nature did not react well to procrastination. In the absence of the chieftain, she felt responsible as his wife for lifting the spirits of his clansmen. She looked around. No sign of Alex. He could be at the meeting for hours yet.
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 11