Alex looked at him, and smiled sadly.
“I shall follow my prince,” he said simply.
The men had automatically assumed that Alex would go home with them. There was a stunned pause, followed by a cacophony of dissent.
“Ye canna tell us to go home, and no’ come yourself!” Kenneth’s booming voice rose above the others.
“Aye, I can,” Alex said as the noise died. “Ye followed me because I believed in the Stuart cause. If I hadna called ye, ye wouldna be here of your own accord.”
“I would,” said Dougal quietly.
“So would I,” Angus agreed.
“No!” Alex interposed, before everyone else could agree with them. “Let me ask ye now. If when Charles had landed, I’d tellt ye his cause was foolish, which it was at that time, and I’d tellt ye to stay at home, how many of ye would have defied me and come here without me? How many of ye?”
No one answered for a long minute. A few snowflakes drifted lightly down, sticking to the frosty ground. It was bitterly cold.
“None of us,” said Duncan. “We’d have obeyed ye and stayed at home, aye.”
“Well, then…” began Alex.
“But we’d have wanted to come, and we’d have thought ye less of a man for keeping us from coming,” Duncan interrupted, his voice quiet but commanding enough to silence his brother. “If Charles had been in favour of retreat then I’d go home, if you came too. But ye tell us he isna. He wants to go on, and it isna his fault the council has gone against him. He hasna deserted us, and I for one willna desert him. And I willna desert you either, Alex.”
“Duncan,” said Alex in frustration, “I’m telling ye, all of ye as your chieftain, to go home.”
“Aye,” Duncan answered. “And I’m telling ye, as your brother, that ye’re wrong to do so.”
The men were almost as shocked by this statement as they had been by the news of the retreat. Whatever Duncan thought in private, he never publicly challenged his brother’s authority. Even Angus, hot-headed and impetuous as he was, would not do that. Alex stood, white-faced, and the two men faced each other. Beth, standing by Alex’s side, drew in her breath sharply. Alex was terribly distressed, far more so than he was allowing his men to see. She had no idea how he would react to this challenge.
“Ye didna command us to join the rebellion, ye asked us,” Duncan continued in the same level, almost conversational tone. “Those who came, came of their own free will. And by the same token, Alex, ye can ask us to go home, but ye canna command us. It isna fair to do so. I speak only for myself, but I’ll stay wi’ Charlie, with or without your approval. I’m sorry,” he finished gently, his soft grey eyes pleading for understanding. He bowed formally to his brother, then turned and walked quietly away.
Beth let out her breath. There would be no violence.
Alex watched Duncan go, then looked around at the sea of faces turned to him, waiting for him, as the council had. He had given the council honesty and he would give his men the same.
“Duncan is right,” he said. “I was wrong to command ye. I would ask ye, though, to go home once we cross into Scotland, especially those of ye with wives and bairns. But no man can command another’s conscience, I can see that now. I’ll follow mine, and ye must do the same, all of ye. I’ll no’ judge ye, whatever ye decide.”
Then he turned, as his brother had done, and left the men to make their own decisions. The MacGregors stayed in the field, although there was no fire to relieve the biting cold, and started to discuss the momentous news, not in their normal boisterous way, but in quiet, reasoned tones, subdued by what had just happened. Beth made to follow Alex but was arrested by Graeme’s hand on her arm.
“What will you do?” he asked her.
“I’ll stay with Alex,” she said. “There’s nothing else I can do.”
“And if the cause is lost, as he believes?”
“Then I’ll follow a lost cause, for as long as he does. I never thought anything would mean as much to me as the Stuart restoration, but I was wrong. I love him, Graeme. I love him so much it frightens me sometimes. I’d rather die with him than live without him. I can’t live, without him. You think I’m stupid,” she said.
Graeme shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Until tonight I might have thought so. But it takes a brave man to admit he’s wrong in front of all those who look to him for leadership. I always suspected there was a lot more to Sir Anthony than there first seemed to be, but I had no idea just how much more there was.” He took her by the shoulders and smiled down at her, his face pale and deeply lined in the cold moonlight. “I never thought you’d find a man I believed worthy of you, Beth. But you have. He’s worth following, though few men are.” He turned her round gently to face the way her husband had just gone. “Go to him. He needs you tonight, I think.”
She went. Early the next morning the Jacobites started the retreat. All of Alex’s men and two women, of their own will followed him and would continue to follow him, to whatever fate awaited both them and the cause of their Stuart prince.
In London the panic, which had been intense and had caused a run on the Bank of England on the very day the rebels were marching out of Derby, calmed once it became obvious the rebels were really, inexplicably, retreating. King George, who had been planning to join his army at Finchley in a last-ditch defence, breathed a sigh of relief.
In Boulogne, the Duc de Richelieu, who had just arrived to take command of the French forces when the news of the Jacobite retreat reached him, shook his head in disbelief. Although he did not immediately abandon his invasion plans, he knew it would now be difficult, if not impossible, to get King Louis to agree to commit ten thousand troops to aid a retreating army.
The Duke of Cumberland, his forces badly weakened by several forced marches combined with inadequate food and shelter, took a breath, and allowed his men a badly needed day’s rest before starting his pursuit of the rebels.
And all over the country the Whigs, who had panicked and fled in droves from the advancing Jacobites, now suddenly found new courage. A young Manchester Jacobite resting by the roadside ahead of the main column had his throat cut. Another straggler was delivered up to Cumberland by some Staffordshire villagers and was hung without even a pretext of legal formality. Three more Highlanders captured by Cumberland’s men were tied to the horses’ tails, which were then made to run at a full trot for the amusement of the troops.
The contrast between Cumberland’s treatment of prisoners and Charles’s could not have been greater, although the majority of the population, choosing to forget the mainly impeccable behaviour of the Jacobites as they marched through the towns, preferred to believe instead the Hanoverian propaganda of Highland atrocities and cannibalism, with the result that in retreat the rebels received a hostile reception even from towns and villages that had welcomed them as they advanced. As Alex had said, the mob was fickle.
Prince Charles Edward Stuart no longer marched cheerfully at the head of his troops, urging them on to a faster pace, but instead rode disconsolately at the rear of his dispirited army.
Riding with them, ‘Captain’ Dudley Bradstreet, alias Oliver Williams, confidence trickster and, temporarily, government spy, eyed the unhappy prince with secret pleasure, and flattered himself erroneously that he and he alone had halted the advance of the Jacobite army, and saved the country from a terrible fate.
It was small consolation to the rebels that Captain Bradstreet would never receive his promised payment from the Hanoverian authorities.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Jacobite army made its way back northwards, sprawling out across the countryside as it did, which served the dual purpose of procuring much-needed supplies and of confusing Cumberland and Wade as to the new direction the rebels were taking. That they were retreating from their attempt on London was clear to the Hanoverian commanders; that they intended to return to Scotland was not, at this point.
As they neared the farming and
weaving community of Sale on the way back to Manchester, Beth was still with the MacGregors, intending to once again separate from them when they got closer to the town. Although John Betts should, strictly speaking, have been marching with the Manchester Regiment, he had broken away from them to take the opportunity to chat with Beth. Discipline was lax in the first days of retreat and he knew there would be no consequences.
“Will you stay in Manchester when we get there, John?” asked Beth.
He looked at her as though she had taken leave of her senses.
“No, of course not,” he said. “I’ve joined the rebellion for the duration, and as long as there’s a Manchester Regiment, I’ll be fighting with it. So will Graeme.”
“What if the others all desert? They might when they’re within sight of their homes. They must be terribly disappointed, giving up everything only to find themselves retreating within a couple of days.” That was putting it mildly, judging by the expressions on the faces of the disconsolate men.
“They won’t desert,” said John firmly. “Well, some of them might, but enough will stay to make a regiment. And if they don’t, I’ll ask your husband if I can join the MacGregors, if he’ll have me. I can hardly claim to have fought for the cause if all I’ve done is stroll to Derby and back.” He smiled.
“Jane and Thomas would welcome you back, you know,” Beth said.
“I know they would. But they’re loyal to the Elector, and I made no secret of my allegiance when I joined the rebels. I couldn’t go to them without them suffering the penalty for harbouring a criminal.”
“Do you think there will be penalties?”
“Think about it, Beth,” said John. “Manchester’s the only town in England that was loyal enough to raise a whole regiment. George is bound to punish the town to set an example. He’d be mad not to.”
Beth shuddered.
“I never thought of that,” she said.
“Neither did I, until Derby. But then we all thought we were marching straight on to London, and that the Elector’d have a lot more to think about than hanging Mancunians. That’s all changed now.” John’s voice was bitter.
They walked along in companionable silence for a while, wondering who would suffer for this retreat. The Reverend Clayton, most likely. The outspoken non-juring bishop, Dr Deacon, three of whose sons had enlisted in the Manchester Regiment…it did not bear thinking about.
They tried, therefore, not to think about it. They were walking along the road, through the flat expanse of Sale Moor. After Sale they would reach the village of Stretford and then Beth would have to leave the MacGregors for a day or two. She looked round for Alex and found him a short way behind her, chatting to Duncan. He blew her a flamboyant kiss worthy of Sir Anthony, which made Beth smile and John laugh. The two friends stopped to wait for the brothers to catch up, leaning on the ramshackle fence of a small cottage by the side of the road.
The wooden fence, like the cottage and overgrown garden it enclosed, had once been painted a smart white, but the paint was flaking badly and the wood rotted to mush in places. The thatch on the roof was badly in need of replacing, and some of the larger holes had been inexpertly patched with bits of wood. A thin wisp of smoke drifted lazily from the chimney. In the neglected garden a small child was playing, crouched down in the grass with her back to them. She was barefoot and clad only in a flimsy cotton shift in spite of the season, although she seemed unconcerned by the icy chill, and was humming quietly to herself as she played. Her light brown hair lay tangled and filthy on her thin shoulders.
“Poor thing,” said Beth, eyeing the urchin with sympathy. “She must be freezing.”
“Hungry too, by the look of her,” said John, rummaging in his pocket and producing a hunk of bread. He bent to unhook the gate and the child turned, giving them a view of her profile.
John froze in the act of opening the gate, then looked at Beth, who had uttered a cry of shock. They exchanged a brief glance, which told them they were of the same mind, then Beth took a step through the gateway.
“Ann?” she said softly, holding her hand out to the little girl, who seemed at first to be unaware of her presence. Her small brow furrowed, as if suddenly registering that someone had spoken to her, and then she turned to face Beth fully.
“Holy Mother of God!” cried Beth, crossing herself instinctively and recoiling backwards into Alex, who had now caught up with her and John and who steadied her with his arm to stop her from falling. She hardly noticed, was staring at the child. When she moved forward again, he let her go.
She squatted down, looking intently at the little girl, who was surveying the woman unblinkingly with grey eyes so pale as to be almost colourless. The left side of the child’s face was bisected by a thick red scar stretching from the corner of her mouth across her cheek to the mangled remains of her ear, before disappearing in the mass of tangled hair. Beth looked up questioningly at John, who nodded.
“Ann,” she said again, more loudly. The little girl smiled suddenly, making a gurgling noise in her throat, and getting unsteadily to her feet she tottered towards Beth’s outstretched arms with the uncertain balance of a two-year-old, although she must have been three times that age.
Beth wrapped her arms around the child and stood, lifting her, as John moved forward to offer the bread.
“Hello, little sunflower,” he said, smiling. A tear trickled slowly down his cheek.
The little girl laughed suddenly, joyously, and lunged forward towards him, taking Beth by surprise. John caught the child, who wrapped her thin arms around his neck.
“Jjjerr!” she cried happily into his shoulder.
Alex and Duncan, watching the scene in silence, exchanged a bemused glance. Alex opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but just then the door of the cottage flew open and a middle-aged woman appeared. She took a few steps out of the house then stopped, paralysed by the sight of the two enormous heavily armed Highlanders. Her eyes widened, and she looked from them to the girl in John’s arms in horror. It was clear she had heard the propaganda about the Highlanders’ partiality for roast children, and believed every word.
“Please…” she whispered.
Alex raised his hand reassuringly.
“We’ll not harm the child, mistress,” he said, softening his Scottish accent so much that it was hardly noticeable. “Nor yourself neither. We’ll wait for you by the milestone,” he said to Beth.
He and Duncan retreated to the milestone, which was far enough away for the woman to relax a little, although she still shot nervous glances at the two Scots every few seconds.
“I’m sorry if she’s bothered you,” she said, coming forward towards Beth and John. “She’s not right, you know, in her head, but she’s no harm in her.”
“Her name’s Ann,” Beth said.
“Yes,” replied the woman, surprised. “Did she tell you that? She’s usually shy of strangers.”
“We’re not strangers,” said John. “We know her. She’s…”
“Where’s her mother?” interrupted Beth before John could reveal too much. Maybe she was being over-cautious, but this woman had seen her with Alex, and she did not want John to give any information that could reveal her identity.
“Did you know her mother?” the woman asked, suddenly cautious. She was almost as filthy as the child, and was also without shoes, her bare feet blue with cold, her hands calloused and reddened from years of manual labour.
“Yes, though we lost contact a long time ago,” Beth replied. She looked at the child, who was now happily cradled in John’s arms chewing on the bread, the ravaged side of her face with its disfiguring scar turned to the two women. “I thought she’d moved away from the area, but she would never have gone without her daughter. What happened to her?”
“Dead, poor thing,” said the woman. “Murdered.”
Beth paled and swayed, gripping John’s shoulder for support as the woman’s words hit her like a blow. I should have guessed, she berated
herself. Martha would never have left her beloved daughter to the care of anyone else, not unless she had had no choice. She saw Alex move in the distance, and lifted her hand to indicate that she was all right.
“Were you and your husband close to the lady, missus?” asked the woman.
“Yes,” answered Beth quickly. All the better if the woman thought John was her husband, rather than one of the Scots. It was a natural assumption. Both Beth and John spoke with local accents, and no local woman in her right mind would marry a savage cannibal. “Martha was my cousin,” she lied.
“Martha,” the woman said. “We never knew her name, and Ann can’t speak, really. Just her name, a few other words, and a lot of grunting sounds.”
“How have you come to be looking after Ann?” said John, although from the state of the child nestling against him, she was hardly being looked after, in any sense of the word. She was thin to the point of emaciation, and alive with vermin. She also smelt appalling.
“She’s been with us…with me for nigh on three years, now,” said the woman, thinking hard. “Me and my husband, he’s dead this past year, we had a little bit of land, and I used to grow vegetables and suchlike and knit stockings in the winter. Anyway, we’d borrowed old Tom’s cart, and took the stuff to Manchester to sell. We did better than we thought, so we stopped off for a glass or two in the Bull’s Head and it was dark when we came back. Just lying in the road she was, poor mite. We’d have run over her if she hadn’t been wearing a white dress.”
“When was this?” asked Beth.
“When? Three year ago, like I said.”
“No, I mean what time of year? Was it the summer? Spring?”
“No, no, it was winter vegetables I sold. Parsnips, late carrots. November time it was. Anyway, we stopped the cart and Frank – that was my husband – he picked her up. Bleeding all over the place, she was. He gave her to me and then he had a bit of a look round, but he couldn’t see anything. It was dark you see, and the littl’un there, well, she was in such a state, we thought it best to get her home. I did what I could, but you can see from her now what she was like. Half her ear was missing, and she’d been cut right through into her head. Once we could see how bad she was, Frank took the cart again and went straight off for the doctor. Spent all our day’s earnings, he did.” These last words were said somewhat bitterly, and told Beth who had been the compassionate one of the couple. The woman seemed to realise it, and gave Beth a worried look.
The Storm Breaks (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 4) Page 19