And what of the muskets? He would like to know whether the boxes were still in the barn at the Pleasaunces’ Scottish property or if they had been removed or destroyed by the English. If they were still there, they might yet fall into the rebels’ hands. But he would very much like not to encounter Captain Sloane, or indeed, any English officer or soldier to whom Gordon’s or Stowe’s name might have been mentioned.
He had come to Scotland to make sure delivery of the muskets was thwarted. If they fell into the rebels’ hands, it would be a material aid to the Young Pretender. Now that Alex had seen the situation here, the article in The Gentleman’s Magazine dismissing the risk of invasion of England seemed a little optimistic. While many of the Highlanders and the Young Pretender’s other adherents were said to be badly armed and equipped, they had swept down to Perth with little or no opposition. Who knew what they might be capable of, better armed?
The fishing boat landed them a little north of St. Andrews. Rupert Stowe complained. He wanted to bypass St. Andrews entirely.
“We will,” Alex assured him. “We will find another boat south of the town to take us down the coast.” After we’ve gone by way of the Pleasaunce property, to see if the muskets are still there.
Gordon had a fair idea of how to find the place again, having taken careful note of his route from St. Andrews. The thought of encountering Captain Sloane again made his blood run cold, but the possibility of the muskets falling into the hands of the Young Pretender’s army made it necessary to chance it. He grinned, remembering Jane’s acerbic “What would be a necessary chance?” His father would say that he should leave that business to the British army, which had no doubt already taken care of it. He hoped they had. What would Jane say? Most young ladies, if they were fond of one, would probably urge a strategic retreat. Was Jane fond of him? There was Rupert as an offsetting factor, too. She might feel greater concern about Rupert, even if she had seemed rather exasperated with him at whiles.
“We’re walking inland,” Rupert objected. “How will that take us south?”
“We’re circling around St. Andrews on the landward side. We can’t stroll through the town. Do you want to meet Captain Sloane again?”
“By Jove, no,” Jane’s brother breathed. “Once was quite enough.”
They kept to whatever cover was near, which added to the distance. They also skirted a field containing a bull. However, Alex’s rough calculations, made with a stick in a patch of dirt, were not far wrong and brought them only a little way north of their goal. His tutor had been correct: geometry could be useful in real life.
He saw the house before Rupert did.
“That’s the house Charles—” Stowe left the rest of the sentence unspoken. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“I’m not fond of the idea, myself, but I want to see what’s become of your cargo.”
“Why?” Stowe inquired, warily.
“We both know it wasn’t French furniture and gewgaws. I want to know if Sloane has taken them away or if they’re still there. He may have thought he’d round up whoever came to collect them, if word didn’t get out that the shipment had been discovered. Given what we heard and saw on our way out of Dundee, it seems at most a small detachment captured the town, or else merely local supporters of the Pretender managed it. The army itself was probably some distance away, as we saw no sign of it. It may still have been at Perth, or marching south from that town.”
“The fellow who let us out of the cell I was in said the army was some way to the west,” Rupert admitted. “I wasn’t paying much attention. My chief interest was in getting out of that pigsty.”
“I have it on good authority the cells aren’t bad, as cells go.”
“Ha!”
“If they keep marching south, on their way to either Glasgow or Edinburgh, they could send a company of men to fetch the muskets. They’d need freight wagons, but they could appropriate them, as they seem to have done with the horses.” It was not at all apparent that the Young Pretender’s army would meet with any opposition. He recalled hearing two regiments under the command of General Cope at Edinburgh were said to have gone north to engage the Highland force. How could the Young Pretender’s rabble of an army have reached Perth in the face of well-trained British troops? It did not affect his own plans. The Jacobite army was on the move. It seemed unlikely that General Cope, or anyone else, would make sure those muskets were not used against His Majesty’s troops or loyal subjects.
Stowe was not attending. He slumped to the ground with his back to a tree. “How did you find out? Did Charles send you?”
“If he had, I wouldn’t have needed to drag you along with me, would I?”
“But you were just cataloguing books for m’ half sister…” Rupert’s voice trailed off.
“Well…more or less. But your plan came to the attention of certain men in London who take an interest in such things. Captain O’Brien is watched, you know.” Let the young fool suppose that was how the scheme was discovered, rather than by Jane’s acute observations.
“I feel sick.”
As well he might. “If you had confessed the whole to me, as I gave you every opportunity to do, you would have informed the nearest garrison and would have been forgiven your earlier part in the matter. Now…” Alex made a casting-away gesture. “Mayhap your testimony against your accomplices will be enough to win you leniency.”
At the sight of Stowe’s face, Alex almost felt sorry for him, until he remembered Jane. “Was it you who tried to make it appear that Mistress Jane poisoned her uncle?”
Rupert gaped at him in evident surprise. “No! Of course not. Disgrace our family? Are you mad?”
“Someone knew your sister’s name and that Markham was her uncle. And someone arranged for poisoned potted shrimps to be delivered to him in her name.”
“So that’s why they suspected Jane? I thought it was only a rumor. Or that maybe she had sent them. You never know what an old maid will do anyway, and the prospect of being an heiress might have been tempting.”
“Who knew she was Markham’s niece and his heiress, Stowe?”
“My friend, Charles P…Charles, would know.”
“Charles Pleasaunce, yes. Who else besides?”
“I think I mentioned it to Captain O’Brien’s son. He’s first mate on the Sea Mew.”
“So you told Pleasaunce and young O’Brien.”
“I didn’t tell Charles. Our families are friendly. We thought it would be a good thing if he married her, though Jane’s not to his taste, since she would inherit from her uncle. Jane behaved ridiculously and turned him down flat. We thought she’d change her mind when she was more desperate for a husband.”
“What about O’Brien?”
“I told him because Markham sent me a letter, asking me to explain what I was doing on the Sea Mew. He claimed it was a smuggler’s ship.” Rupert smiled ruefully, revealing what must be considerable charm when he wasn’t being petulant. “Well, she is, but how inconvenient that Markham guessed it. I thought O’Brien should be warned. It was no business of Markham’s if I visited a ship, the meddling old fool,” Rupert added sulkily. “Gabriel told me not to concern myself about it. He’s an excellent fellow, good company and very understanding.”
“Does he have fair hair and very blue eyes and an open, friendly manner?”
Stowe stared at him as if he had grown wings and flown. “How did you know?”
“He delivered the shrimps.”
Neither of them had much more to say after that, although Stowe protested when Alex announced he was going to approach the house.
“I don’t ask you to come with me,” Gordon said. Rupert would be an encumbrance. “Stay here if you prefer.” He might, of course, run off instead, but Gordon thought not. Stowe had no money. He would only abandon Alex if Gordon were taken.
Alex sheltered behind the same wall that had concealed the redcoats when he had last approached the house. The barn was some thirty yards fa
rther on, and he could not see the great double doors which faced the house. But a small door on the side facing him was equipped with a fine new padlock.
It would have been better to wait until twilight, but Alex feared Rupert’s nerve would break. Too, accomplishing his errand in daylight might conceal it longer, giving them more time to get away. He fished in his pocket and found the threads he’d snipped to make a little concealed pocket before leaving London.
Picking the lock was easy. It was new and well-greased, with no rust at all. He took the padlock from its staple—the thought of someone coming along and relocking it, with him inside, was not one he liked to contemplate—and pulled the door shut behind him. There was enough light from two or three windows high in the wall to make a lantern unnecessary.
The big crates were at one side, lying open, packing straw scattered around. Three, somewhat smaller, apparently were still sealed. The muskets’ original packing cases had been removed and laid out in several rows, in layers two deep. Their lids had been replaced but were not nailed down. He peered into a randomly chosen half a dozen. The soldiers who had inventoried the contents had opened each but not removed the guns. Circling the rows of muskets and the debris, he paused to look at the unopened boxes. It was strange they had not been opened.
Then he noticed that on one side, two or three of the nails had been hammered in askew, and there were empty nail holes as well. The box had been opened and inexpertly closed up again. Looking with greater attention, he saw the other two had also been reassembled, though with greater care. He returned to the first and wished he had a tool of some sort. He could not take time to search for one. He pulled irritably at the edge of the crate’s side. The lower part gave a little. He squatted and studied it, wishing for more light.
None of the nail holes in the bottom half of the crate’s side contained nails. With a fierce grin, he stood again and tugged the edge hard, hoping to make a gap big enough to see what was inside. When the panel pulled entirely free, he almost fell over. Alex shoved it aside and stared into the crate.
Dear God. It was a cannon.
Even in the dimness, he could see what it was. A smallish one: a French eight-pounder, he supposed. But a cannon. The other two crates looked identical. He would not take time to open them. Alex thought he would not lose his money if he wagered they also held artillery.
He turned to continue his circuit of the boxes and crates. The panel he had pried off had fallen against a pile of hay and was propped against it at an angle, the hay having compressed not at all.
What unusually solid hay.
He brushed away swathes of it until his fingers felt something hard and wooden. Stacked casks of gunpowder.
Better still.
There was a deal more hay—bundled—up in the loft, and it was the work of minutes to toss it down onto the crates. Then he descended and listened at the door by which he’d entered. No sound. A candle lantern stood on a small shelf by the door, and a tinderbox with flint and steel. Convenient! His own tinderbox had been taken from him when Sloane’s soldiers searched him. He struck sparks until the shreds of hemp ignited, took the candle from the lantern, and lit it.
Starting on the far side of the barn, he touched the flame to piles of hay at intervals, moving quickly toward the door. When he reached it, he tossed the candle toward the crates he had not set alight and then threw the smoldering contents of the tinder box, too, before slipping out the door. He paused only to replace the padlock before sprinting back the way he’d come. He wished he could be sure the fire would actually catch, but he would have to trust to luck. Staying to make sure would be to risk capture.
Alex leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Rupert was sitting where Alex had left him, idly scratching patterns in the litter of decayed leaves.
“What’s happened?” Rupert demanded, white-faced.
“Oh…nothing much. But we should leave now.” He was still breathing heavily. He’d been at university the last time he’d run like that. Perhaps he should make a regular effort to do so, to increase his stamina. Or take up some sport as a regular pastime.
“But why did you insist on coming here? And come running back as if the Devil were on your tail?”
Alex hauled him up. “Come on. We won’t wish to be here when they notice the barn’s afire.” He wondered whether the gunpowder would burn or explode when—
“Good God!” Rupert’s cry needed no explanation. The blast answered Alex’s half-formed question. The casks had exploded. Flame gouted from the barn’s shattered windows, and part of the roof fell in.
“This way! Before they think to send out search parties, Stowe!”
Stowe needed no further urging.
Alex hoped the blast and fire would be assumed to have been caused by spontaneous combustion, but they could not count on it. Rupert kept glancing back until the barn was out of sight but matched Alex’s pace. Even Stowe was not foolish enough to want to be found in proximity to the conflagration.
“Where are we going?” Rupert asked. He was breathing heavily. Not a sportsman, clearly.
“South. After we’re past St. Andrews, we’ll turn east and find a fishing village where we can hire someone to take us down the coast. Or we may be able to find a farmer taking a wagonload south who will take us up for a few miles, or buy horses. Then we’ll find a boat to take us across the Firth of Forth. Did you hear anything to suggest whether the Pretender’s army will march to Glasgow or to Edinburgh?”
“No. I don’t believe the locals at Dundee knew, Gordon. Or if they did, I didn’t hear them talk of it.”
“It’s too bad. It would be helpful to know.” If Stowe did know, he might keep silent, anyway. “But even if their goal is Edinburgh, I think they will keep well inland so they need not move their forces across the Forth.”
“Can we afford to purchase horses? And we’ll need food and lodging. And to pay for passage on a boat. It’s a long way to England.”
“I have some money, fortunately. And we won’t be staying at inns or eating in public houses. We can buy bread and cheese at some farm or village, and we’ll sleep out.”
“Sleep out? In the open? It will be damned cold. And what if it rains?”
“I expect we’ll find a byre to shelter in.” If they were fortunate. There was no point in discouraging Rupert.
“Stay a moment. I’ve a stitch in my side.”
Alex had pushed Rupert hard across the open fields until they were again in a grove of trees, the ground littered with brush and branches fallen in some recent wind. It seemed safe enough to rest for a few minutes. Rupert bent over, hands on his knees, panting. He raised his head and asked, “What’s that over there? Behind you?”
Alex turned to look.
Chapter 20
Jane paid a visit to her house. Had anyone asked, she would have said it was because she wished to see how the cleaning was progressing, but no one did. In fact, she was curious to see the Crown and Castle. It was easy to enlist Molly, whose work was far lighter with no one living in the house but the servants, and get a hackney from the nearest hackney stand. To be sure, Mrs. Harrow wanted to know her errand.
“I’ve heard there is a merchant with a shipment of Turkish rugs. The one in my uncle’s study is sadly worn. Even I cannot be sentimental about it. If I can find one of the same size and general appearance, I will replace it.”
That satisfied Mrs. Harrow, who graciously ceded Molly to Jane for the morning.
Her uncle had once mentioned an importer of carpets, and Jane recalled the name. It was perhaps a little odd to request that the coachman take them to the Turkish Emporium by way of Lower Thames Street, but it was not far out of the way. Having inquired of Betty with some particularity for landmarks near the Crown and Castle, she was able to sight it without difficulty. She leaned close to the window to peer at it, wondering what could have taken her brother there. As they passed, the coach came abreast of a gentleman waiting to cross the street. Jane’s eyes wi
dened. In the moment that he recognized her, his ordinarily impassive face took on an arrested expression. And then the coach was past, and Jane sank back on the seat, half glad and half alarmed.
Dear Mr. Lattimer,
I passed the Crown and Castle near the corner of Lower Thames Street and Pudding Lane today in a hackney, on my way to shop for a carpet. You may imagine my surprise to see Mr. Charles Pleasaunce near the public house. I suspect you will find the fact of interest. I am sorry to say he saw me, as I chanced to be looking out the window as he was waiting to cross. I hope I may not have frightened him away.
****
Papa having been irritable since Rupert’s flight to Scotland, Jane had composed a series of menus which included his favorite dishes and told Mrs. Merry to begin preparing scarlet beef, as that would take several days.
However, Wilson sought her out in the housekeeper’s office and cleared his throat before murmuring, “Mistress Jane? The master has returned early from his club and requests that you attend him in his bookroom.”
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