Bride of the Solway

by Joanna Maitland

  Sir Angus cleared his throat, probably to scold her for her taste in reading.

  Cassie did not allow him time to say a word. 'It was like this. I crept out of Langrigg with Morag, my maid, very early this morning, and we drove to Annan so that I could cross the Solway to see you. I knew we would have to take the short route so that James would not catch up with us. You know how adamant he is that I should not be allowed to see you. Or even write to you.'

  'Aye. Your brother nurses the old feud.'

  'We happened to come across Captain Graham in Annan. He is an old friend of Colonel Anstruther's, by the bye, and very respectable. We have met often of late at the colonel's house.' Cassie put her mouth to her godfather's ear and added, in a whisper, 'The Captain can be a bit stuffy, but I don't hold it against him.' Reverting to her normal voice, she continued, 'Captain Graham said that a lady and her maid could not cross alone. He insisted on escorting us. He went on and on at me until I agreed. In fact—' she threw an arch look at Ross'—it was because of that delay that everything went wrong.'

  'Miss Elliott, that is unjust. I—'

  'No, sir. It was certainly your fault that we were delayed. If we had started earlier, as I wished, we could have driven across. It was because of you that I had to go on foot. And without Morag.'

  'That is not so,' Ross said brusquely. 'When the guide said it was too late to drive across, you could have given up the idea. Tried another day.

  Your woman was very wise to refuse to go. Just look at what happened when you did try.'

  Cassie shook her head vehemently and turned back to Sir Angus. 'I could not go back to James, Godfather,' she said, with a distinct catch in her voice. 'He would have locked me up at Langrigg. Or sent me to the asylum. I should never have been able to reach you. And you are my only hope of avoiding a.. .a mesalliance.'

  He patted her hand again. 'Yes, yes. I quite understand that. But you should not have crossed without a chaperon. Think of the damage to your reputation, my dear.'

  'Oh, but I did have a chaperon, Godfather. I had Shona, the guide. I thought she would be just as good as Morag. Better even, for Morag does not know the way across the firth and is afraid of the quicksands, besides. Only.. .only Shona would not stay with me as I had assumed she would. She insisted on going back to Annan as soon as we were close enough to the English shore. She abandoned us!' Cassie thought she had put just the right note of outrage into that. 'She should have stayed with me until I had a chance to get a message to you. Don't you agree, sir?' she added, trying to sound suitably aggrieved.

  'I think you have been remarkably foolish about this, Cassie. I had not remembered you as quite so headstrong, I must say.'

  'Oh. Oh, dear. Please do not be cross with me, Godfather. I will try to be more sensible in the future. Truly I will.'

  He softened immediately. 'Very well. But you still have not explained how you come to be in such a sorry state.'

  'Oh, that is easily done. After Shona abandoned us, we had to make our own way ashore. The tide was coming in, incredibly fast, and we were almost caught by it. Running across sand is very difficult, you know. I fell into the water more than once. And it was only by abandoning my valise that we managed to avoid being drowned.' She waved a hand in Ross's general direction. 'Captain Graham did help me ashore. I am grateful for that, of course. But it is a pity he didn't succeed in rescuing my baggage, too. I don't even have a clean gown to wear.' She scowled at Ross as if all her misfortunes could be laid at his door.

  it seems to me, Cassie, that you should be thanking the captain, rather than complaining.' Sir Angus rose and crossed to the fireplace to pull the bell, 'I take it, sir,' he said to Ross, 'that you had the dev—the deuce of a job to bring my goddaughter here in one piece?'

  'Yes, indeed, sir. And luck was against us all the way, I fear. We could not find horses to hire anywhere. We had to walk as far as Kirkbride be­fore we found a carter to bring us here. Miss Elliott is very cold and prob­ably still quite wet. Might I suggest—?'

  'No need, sir, no need. I will get my housekeeper to take care of her. Immediately. A hot bath is what she needs. And a change of clothing. You, too, I dare say?'

  'I can think of nothing better. Thank you.'

  The door opened to admit the butler. This time, his face was a picture of concern. Cassie only just managed to hide her amusement as Sir Angus gave his orders and the butler hastened to assure them all that nothing was too much trouble for the master's goddaughter.

  Presentable at last, Cassie sank gratefully on to the sofa by the fire in Sir Angus's sitting room. She could hardly believe that Sir Angus had been so welcoming—or so ready to swallow their Banbury tale. Yet it was wonderful to feel secure at last and free from fear. And to be surrounded by the warmth of Ross's regard. It did not matter that their future was un­certain. Somehow she would ensure they could make their way together. She knew that she—they—would succeed. She had enough love for both of them. Her love would conquer all obstacles, she was sure of it. Almost.

  She reached out a hand to pull Ross down beside her. He ignored her. 'Ross?' Another little flicker of doubt touched her heart. He was not even aware of her presence. He was staring at the wall alongside the fireplace.

  'Ross?' she said again, rather more forcefully. 'What is it?'

  He turned to look her full in the face. His own was ashen. Then he turned back to stare at the wall once more.

  Cassie jumped up and grabbed his hand. It was cold and a little clammy, as if he were starting a fever. He must be ill! No wonder. His clothes had been soaked. 'Ross! Please sit down. You are unwell. You—'

  The door opened to readmit Sir Angus. Cassie dropped Ross's hand as though it were a red-hot coal, praying her godfather had not seen. She could feel her face flushing hot. She dare not risk alienating Sir Angus by a vulgar display, for she truly needed his support now. If he did not continue to take her part, she could be lost, back in James's power. It would be best to pretend, for the moment at least, that she and Ross meant nothing to each other. If Sir Angus ever discovered what had happened... No, he must never learn that. Never. It was enough that James had called her 'harlot' when it was not merited. Now...

  'I hope you are well settled in to your bedchambers,' Sir Angus said genially. 'You look much more the thing, both of you, now that you are no longer in those filthy clothes.'

  His normal bluff manner seemed unchanged. Perhaps he had noticed nothing, after all? Cassie hoped her blush was subsiding. 'Thank you, Godfather. It is very warm in here, do you not think?' she added hastily, beginning to fan herself with her hand. 'Do you always have a fire at this season?'

  'Aye, when the wind is in this direction. I'm afraid this house can be very draughty. No amount of work by the men seems to be able to pre­vent it. I have discovered that the best remedy for that—and for being cold and wet—is a good fire and a good brandy. Will you join me, Captain?'

  Cassie was glad to see that Ross seemed to have recovered his wits enough to remember his manners. He bowed slightly to his host. 'Sir, you are very good, especially to unlooked—for travellers such as our­selves. I would enjoy a brandy very much.'

  'As would I, Godfather.' Cassie smiled up at Sir Angus in what she hoped was a winning way. She was determined to lighten the atmosphere. Ross's voice had sounded so strained.

  'You may have Madeira, Cassie. Or ratafia, if you wish. Brandy is not a drink for ladies.'

  'Oh.' Cassie threw a laughing sideways glance at Ross and then said, demurely, 'I should very much like a glass of Madeira, Godfather. I hope it is as efficacious as brandy for warding off the chill?'

  'You, child, are a minx.' Sir Angus smiled down at her, in spite of his words. Then he poured the glasses and handed them round. It was an easy, friendly gesture. Cassie was glad that her godfather had not summoned a servant. It suggested that he felt comfortable with Cassie. And also with Ross.

  But Ross was not comfortable. He was still standing near the tire. And every few secon
ds he would half-turn to stare again at the wall.

  'Is there something about those miniatures that interests you, sir?' Sir Angus rose from his place and came to the fire.

  Ross pointed at a miniature of a youngish lady wearing the dress of perhaps thirty years before. 'That lady in the blue striped gown, sir. She interests me greatly.' His voice was barely above a whisper.

  'She was a very handsome young woman, I will admit. And the like­ness was well taken, too. I do not wish to pry, sir, but may I ask the reason for your interest in her?'

  Ross swallowed audibly. 'That lady was my mother.'

  I suggest you take a seat, sir,' said Sir Angus once their initial stutter­ing confusion had been resolved. 'There is much to discuss, and the telling may take some time.' He raised an eyebrow at Cassie. 'Perhaps you should return to your chamber, my dear? A rest will do you good. I can send for you when the captain and I have finished with his private business.'

  Cassie hesitated. She could not insist on staying.

  'There is no need, sir,' Ross said quickly. 'Miss Elliott already knows something of my family history. We discussed it at Mrs Anstruther's. I have no objection to her hearing more.' Before Sir Angus could respond, Ross helped Cassie to her place on the sofa.

  Taking a seat close by her side, he said, 'As Miss Elliott knows, I came to Scotland partly to find out what I could about my early life. My mother died in London when I was just a boy, and there was no one else to tell me about my family. I knew only that they came from the area near Dumfries. So far, I have been unable to discover anything, apart from a mysterious ancient carving in Ruthwell church that no one can explain. But it is clear from that miniature that you have some knowl­edge that relates to me. If you could throw light on my ancestry, I should be more than grateful to you, sir.'

  'Aye, I can do that, though it's a melancholy tale.'

  Cassie frowned, wondering what was to come. It did not sound promising.

  'First of all, I must tell you, sir, that your name is not Ross Graham.'

  Cassie saw how the blood immediately drained from Ross's face.

  Sir Angus nodded slightly, it is Ross Graham Fergusson.' He paused, taking a sip of his brandy and letting that startling piece of information sink into his listeners' minds.

  Ross was the first to recover. 'Does that mean that you and I are in some way related, sir?'

  'Aye. But distantly. Distantly. However, that is how I come to know something of your history.'

  'I should be most grateful if you would tell it to me, sir.'

  'Yes, please, Godfather,' Cassie added, if the mystery is to be solved, it will be—'

  Sir Angus reached across and patted her hand. 'Wheesht, lassie. If you don't interrupt, we will make more progress in the telling of this tale.'

  Cassie sank back in her seat, biting her lip. She was reassured by Ross's solid warmth beside her, leaning ever so slightly into her. He wanted her to know that they were facing this discovery together. What­ever it might turn out to be.

  'The lady in the portrait was born Margaret Graham, the daughter of a prominent Edinburgh lawyer. She married a husband who was much older than her, a man by the name of James Ross Fergusson, a distant relative of mine.'

  'James Ross Fergusson,' breathed Cassie. 'I see.'

  Sir Angus ignored her. 'James Ross Fergusson was the youngest child—and only son—of a landed Dumfries family. And you, sir, are his only child.'

  Cassie clapped her hands together. 'So Ro—er—Captain Graham does have an inheritance after all? Why, that is wonderful!' She beamed across at Ross, trying to convey how delighted she was on his behalf. A moment later, she remembered the part she was meant to be playing. Oh, dear. They were not supposed to be intimate friends.

  Sir Angus did not seem to have noticed Cassie's slip. 'There is an in­heritance. On paper. But, in practice, there is nothing. I'm afraid your inheritance is well beyond reach. Indeed, that was why your mother went to such lengths to conceal herself and her child. She understood, as the Dumfries family did not, that it would be throwing good money after bad to seek to regain her son's inheritance. She knew she could never succeed and that she could be bankrupted in the doing. She was a canny woman, your mother, sir. London educated. And, as her father was one of the clev­erest lawyers in Edinburgh, I have no doubt she learned much at his side. You have a great deal to be grateful for, my boy.'

  Ross felt he would need to know a lot more of this strange story be­fore he accepted Sir Angus's airy judgement. And, in any case, the old man's tale was becoming more and more difficult to follow. 'Sir, exactly what did my mother do? And why did she do it? Can you tell me that?'

  'I need to tell you, first, a little about your father and your grandfa­ther. Your grandfather, also James Fergusson, was a supporter of the Pre­tender, and followed the man they now so readily call Bonnie Prince Charlie. Your grandfather fought for him. And so did your father, even though he was barely fifteen years old at the Battle of Culloden. Your grandfather died on that bleak moor. His lands were forfeited to the crown the following year. So your father was left with nothing to inherit. Perhaps just as well, for he'd have handed it all over to his prince, so be­sotted was he with that romantic and forlorn cause.'

  'He followed the prince into exile?'

  'Aye, he did. He was under attainder. He'd have been arrested and executed for treason if he had returned to Scotland. And he hated the Hanoverians. Always. The more so a few years later when his lands were annexed for good. You can't really blame him. He would have been barely into his majority at the time, and there he was, an exile, seeing his inheritance swallowed for ever in the maw of his London enemy, leaving himself for ever penniless and rootless. I believe he spent many years serving as a mercenary in various European armies.' Sir Angus took a slow and thoughtful sip of his brandy.

  Ross felt as if a lead weight had settled in his gut. He had sought his father. And found a traitor! Trying to sound as normal as possible, he said, 'But he must have returned eventually. Else how did he meet my mother?'

  'He returned about fifteen years after Culloden, I think. He called him­self James Ross Scott, then, for there was still a price on his head.'

  Cassie gasped. Then, under her skirts, she laid her hand on his. It was balm to his bleeding wounds. He had been sure she must be repelled by him now. Could she love him still, in spite of this?

  it meant little by then, my dear,' Sir Angus continued. 'The govern­ment was secure enough by that time and certainly didn't want to stir up trouble by arresting people like the captain's father. I'm sure they spied on him, to make sure he wasn't up to mischief. But apart from that, they let him alone. Like many others who had.. .er.. .chosen the wrong side, he was quietly accepted back into society. And he prospered. In trade, I'm afraid, but without his lands, nothing else was open to him. Even­tually, he was comfortable enough to re-establish himself as a gentle­man and to take a wife. He must have been well nigh fifty by then. He couldn't afford to delay any longer.'

  'How did he meet my mother?'

  'I'm afraid I don't know that. I assume he met her in Edinburgh, where he often went on business. Come to think of it, her father may have been his lawyer there. That would certainly explain it.'

  Ross nodded. He was finding it increasingly difficult to speak without betraying his emotions.

  'Her name was Margaret Graham. And you were their only child— Ross Graham Fergusson. Your family lived in a fine new house in Dumfries. And your father prospered, until the government decided to re­turn some of the forfeited lands.'

  'I don't understand. The lands were returned?'

  'Only some of them. The government returned some of the estates to their original owners. In 1784,I think it was. But your father's estate was not among them. I don't know why. Perhaps he had not spent enough time, or money, on toadying to those with the power to make such deci­sions. Whatever the reason, it was clear then that his estate was gone for ever. There was no chance of regainin
g it. Your father died that same year. I was told it was an apoplexy, as a result of his fury at the wicked wrong done to him by the government. I can well imagine that was the cause. He had a temper, most certainly.'

  That old man—shouting—must have been Ross's father. Dead for over thirty years. And Ross's only memory of him was of anger. And of his mother's fear.

  'My poor mother. What did she do, alone with a child of just three?'

  'Her father had insisted on generous marriage settlements. He was also trustee for your inheritance from your father. The widow and child would have lived comfortably enough, except.

  'Except?'

  'Your father's family—he had two older sisters, both married— wanted to go to law to make the government return the family lands. They didn't have the money to pursue the case, of course. They wanted your inheritance to pay the legal costs. Your poor mother was plagued by them, and their huge broods of children, day in, day out. She resisted strongly, and as long as she had her father's support, she succeeded. But once he died, she had no hope of continuing to resist the family pressure, for she had no one to take her side. So she did the only thing she could. She sold everything and fled with you to England, to her other trustee, a London lawyer by the name of Gent. I now believe that he sheltered your mother and helped you both to hide from your father's grasping family.'

  'And she changed her name back to Graham.'

  'She must have done so. It appears she was determined not to be found.'

  Ross nodded. There was a lump in his throat at the memory of his mother. He would not have believed such courage and devotion was possible. She had even carried her secrets to the grave, in order to protect the son she loved. If only he could see her, now that he was a man, and tell her—

  'When did she die?'

  Ross had to clear his throat to reply. 'When I was eight. I was brought up by a dear friend of my mother's, Miss Mary Rosevale. I believe they had been at school together, in London. Miss Rosevale was already bringing up her own nephew and she kindly took me in. Max and I grew up almost like brothers. Eventually, we even joined the army together.'