Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5)

by Julia Brannan

  “What’s that?”

  “You love Beth, and you hate Richard. That’s enough for me.” She turned to go into the bedroom, from which the wails were growing louder, then looked back at him. “I never thought I’d go to an execution,” she added. “But I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  “But –” John started.

  “Do you think I’d let my brother go through an experience like that alone?” she interrupted. “What kind of a sister would that make me? Now get dressed, will you?”

  Before he could say another word she left the room. He stared after her for a moment. And then he shook his head and smiled. He could see why Beth loved her. They had a lot in common.

  He picked up the stockings and started to put them on.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Fort Augustus, July 1746

  The three men approached Fort Augustus by way of the track that followed the river, slowing as they neared the entrance to the streets of tents in which the bulk of the British Army was housed.

  As they arrived at the first of the tents they were approached by a small boy, barefoot and dressed in rags. The man at the front reined in his horse, a bay mare, thereby causing his companions to do the same, then leaned down to the boy, who reached up earnestly to him in the classic gesture of the beggar. The man rummaged in the pocket of his brown woollen frock coat and produced a coin, which he placed into the outstretched hand. The boy smiled and released a torrent of Gaelic, presumably by way of saying thanks, although the precise meaning of the speech was clearly incomprehensible to the recipient of it.

  “You shouldn’t encourage them, sir. Before you know it you’ll have a hundred of them round you, pawing at you with their filthy hands. We’re forbidden to give them food or money now. They’ve become a real nuisance.”

  The philanthropist removed his attention from the boy and placed it on the owner of the voice, a young soldier dressed in buff breeches and a white shirt, who was sitting on a rock outside his tent, vigorously polishing a pair of black leather boots.

  “Like as not you’re right,” replied the horseman.”I’m too soft for my own good, but he looked in need of a meal, and it was only a copper I gave him.”

  The soldier put the boot down on the ground and stood.

  “Have you come for the cattle auctions, sir?” he asked.

  “I have indeed.” He swept off his hat and bowed his head. “Tobias Grundy at your service, sir.” He gestured to his two companions. “This is my assistant, George Armstrong.”

  “Your servant, sir,” said George. The soldier smiled up at him, his face briefly registering his shock at the sight of George’s mangled face before settling back into a neutral expression.

  “And this,” Tobias said, gesturing to the third man, who loosely held the reins of a fourth horse, laden with provisions for the journey, “is John.”

  John had paid no attention to this exchange of greetings, but instead was gazing out across the fields surrounding the fort, which were covered with thousands of grazing cattle.

  “You’ll excuse John’s manners, sir. He’s deaf, and cannot speak, although I daresay if he could, he’d have nowt worth saying in any case. But he’s steady and good with cattle, and that’s what matters to me.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sirs. Private Thomas at your service.” He sketched a bow. “If you’re here for the auction, you’ll need to speak with Sergeant Williams. He’s in charge of those. If you’ll care to follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

  While the young soldier was putting on his boots and jacket, Tobias and George dismounted, and John, belatedly noticing this, dragged his gaze away from the cattle and followed suit. By a series of elaborate gestures Tobias managed to communicate to John that he was to stay with the horses, and then he and George followed Private Thomas as he led them down one of the makeshift streets in the direction of the fort itself.

  “It’s a tidy operation you’ve got here, and no mistake,” Tobias commented, admiring the neat rows of tents, the front flaps of which were mainly tied back due to the warmth of the day, revealing neatly ordered interiors. Men in various states of undress were sitting about on the grass, polishing boots or equipment, smoking pipes, or playing at dice or cards. They took little notice of the visitors; clearly it was not unusual for strangers to appear amongst them seeking directions.

  “We have to, sir,” Private Thomas replied. “The duke is very particular about order and cleanliness, and runs a tight ship.”

  “The duke?” exclaimed Tobias. “Are you talking about the Duke of Cumberland, sir? There’s a man I would dearly love to –”

  Whatever Tobias would have loved to do to the Duke of Cumberland was left unsaid, as their guide stopped and pointed to a man who was walking in their direction.

  “Ah, here’s Sergeant Williams, sir.” He saluted smartly to the approaching figure, who made his way toward the group. “These men have come for the auction, Sergeant. I was bringing them to you,” he said to the tall middle-aged man, who was dressed in full uniform and sweating freely in the heat.

  Greetings were exchanged, after which Private Thomas returned to his boot-polishing and the three men made their way to the fort, where Sergeant Williams had set up a makeshift office in one of the rooms not wholly destroyed by the rebels. He asked them to take a seat and then sent for some refreshments.

  “So, you’re here to buy cattle, Mr Grundy,” Sergeant Williams said, addressing the young man sitting opposite him.

  “That I am, sir. I was at the county fair a few weeks ago, and was told that you were selling cattle at a rate worth riding up to this godforsaken place for. Begging your pardon, Sergeant,” he added belatedly.

  Sergeant Williams assessed the man; good quality but practical clothing, somewhat travel-stained; a decent sword, but the basket hilt showed signs of rust, so probably carried to deter thieves rather than because the wearer was a swordsman. Tall and well-built, and clearly used to an outdoor life. The eyes behind the brass-rimmed spectacles he wore were blue and his eyebrows black, as no doubt was his hair, currently hidden under a cheap bagwig, which he wore somewhat uncomfortably, as though unaccustomed to it. Trying to make a good impression then, and a countryman rather than from the city, as neither the clothes nor the wig were of the latest fashion.

  “No need to apologise, sir. I share your feelings. The sooner we can get the job we’re here to do done with and I can get back home, the happier I’ll be. You’re from the north of England then, Mr Grundy? Your accent, sir,” the sergeant added, noting the young man’s surprise at him knowing this.

  “Oh! You have a knowledge of accents? I can’t tell one from t’ other myself, for the most part. If they don’t speak like me, they’re foreign. That’s as far as it goes with me. Yes, I’m a Yorkshire lad, sir, born and bred and proud of it. I’ve a farm over on’t moors, near Haworth. You’ll likely have heard of it, if you’re from those parts yourself, though you don’t sound like it, I must say.”

  The sergeant smiled, realising that he’d just been designated as ‘foreign’ by the Yorkshireman, who probably had never travelled more than a few miles from his home town in his entire life. This must be an enormous adventure for him.

  “No, I’m from the midlands,” Sergeant Williams responded, “but my father’s family were from Yorkshire. Never been there myself. Now, Mr Armstrong, is it?” he said, addressing the other man.

  “Indeed sir, George Armstrong.”

  “Can I ask you, Mr Armstrong, how you came by that injury?”

  Armstrong bristled noticeably, and his face reddened.

  “I had the misfortune to be in Carlisle when the rebels came through, sir. One of the bastards took offence to something I said. I’d been drinking, and looking back, it probably wasn’t the best time to toast the health of the king. Even so…I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Are you from Carlisle, Mr Armstrong?” the sergeant persisted, ignoring the man’s request.
<
br />   Armstrong shook his head.

  “Cumbria. I was up there on business. I’d never have gone, but we’d had word that the rebels were headed for Newcastle rather than Carlisle, so I thought I was safe to go ahead. I nearly died that day sir, and I still have bad dreams about it. You’ll be accustomed to such things, no doubt, being a fighting man, but I’m a man of the soil, and have never courted any trouble.”

  At first glance he didn’t look like a man of the soil, the sergeant thought; but in retrospect that was probably because of the horrific injury, which, apart from taking the man’s eye, had disfigured him badly, making him look very ferocious. But looking beyond that, he could see the weatherbeaten lined skin of an outdoor man; and the gnarled and swollen joints of his fingers indicated rheumatics. Yes, a man of the soil who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he concluded.

  “I’m sorry to bring back bad memories for you sir, but we can’t be too careful. As I’m sure you’ve seen, we have thousands of animals here that have been brought in from the rebel lands during the pacification. Many of the rebels have now surrendered their arms, and their houses and lands are burnt, but there are still a stubborn few skulking in the mountains, determined to fight on.”

  “What, you think they might attack the fort?!” Mr Grundy said, thoroughly alarmed. Mr Armstrong’s expression was more difficult to read; no doubt the man’s nerves had been damaged by the sword cut, and the strange twisting of the mouth denoted fear rather than the anger it appeared to show. The sergeant held up his hand.

  “No, no, you mistake me. The rebels would never dare to attack the fort. We have thousands of men here. But they might attempt a raid to retrieve some of their cattle. To that end we have a strong guard around the area, day and night. And then of course there is the danger of spies being sent to assess our numbers and arms, which is why I had to question where you came by your injury, Mr Armstrong. I appreciate now that you probably despise the rebels even more than I do.”

  “You can’t imagine how I feel about the rebels,” Armstrong replied, tight-lipped.

  “Perhaps not. My apologies if I caused you any offence, sir. Anyway, let us get down to business. How many cows are you hoping to buy, Mr Grundy?”

  “Please, let us not stand on ceremony, Sergeant. I’m a plain man. Call me Toby, sir. I’m after about two thousand beasts, if the price is right, of course.”

  The sergeant’s eyes widened.

  “Two thousand?” he repeated.

  “That’s right. You’ve a good many more than that, by the looks of it. I should think you could spare them.”

  “We can. But most people are buying two hundred at best, sir.”

  “Maybe they are. But I’ve not ridden for two weeks through bogs and rain in mortal fear of being killed by savages just to make a few guineas. I’ll speak plain, for I’m a plain man, as I said. I’m here to make my fortune, sir. It’s a clever plan you’ve got, to starve the bastards so they can’t fight even if they would, and judging by the beggars we met at the gates, it looks like you’re doing a fine job of it. I’ve no doubt you’re wanting to be rid of the beasts as quick as you can sir, to make sure they’re out of reach of anyone desperate enough to try to take them anyway, in spite of the guard. I’m sure your men have got better things to do with their time than guarding cows.”

  The orderly returned with bread, butter and beer, and the sergeant sent him off again, this time for a bottle of good brandy. These guests were worth more than ale.

  “You speak the truth, Mr…er…Toby,” said the sergeant. “Do you mean to drive them back to Yorkshire?”

  “I do indeed. They can fatten up along the way. There’s plenty of grass for them at this time of year.”

  “How many men have you got with you, to drive them?”

  “Just three of us. Me, George, and John, who’s with our baggage. I did employ a couple of guides to show me the way, but I’ve sent them on their way now. I was hoping that I might be able to pay for some of your men to help us drive them.” The sergeant opened his mouth to speak, but Toby continued quickly. “Only as far as Glasgow, Sergeant. I’ve already written to some friends there, who have men willing to help us take them the rest of the way. Once we’re south of Glasgow I think we’ll be safe from attack, and we’ll have no more need of soldiers, just cattle men. I saw no point in paying for militiamen to come all the way from Yorkshire, sir, when I knew there were a lot of experienced soldiers here.”

  “The British Army is not here to escort cattle across country, Mr Grundy. We are here to fight the rebels!” the sergeant protested.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought the rebels were defeated. I’m sure that everyone in Yorkshire thinks so. Why, they were ringing the bells day and night for nearly a week in April when we heard of the Duke of Cumberland’s great victory. Right bloody racket, it were. And it were in all t’papers too. The duke’s a hero – everyone’s saying as how he’s saved us from popery and tyranny. In fact, I was only saying to Private Thomas there, that I’d love to meet the duke, if it were possible. I’d give my right arm to see him, sir, that I would. I’d no idea the war was still going on. Maybe I’ll just have a hundred cows then. It’d be a shame to come so far and go home with nowt to show for it. But I’m right disappointed, and that’s a fact. I’ve no idea what I’ll tell my friends when I get back without my cows, and tell them the war’s still going on after all.”

  The man did look completely crushed, even tearful. He took off his glasses and polished them briskly on the sleeve of his coat, clearly trying to compose himself by doing something. His companion remained silent, but seemed equally crestfallen, and was looking down at the floor, presumably trying to appear as though he hadn’t noticed his master’s embarrassing emotional state.

  The orderly reappeared with the brandy and three glasses, and while he was pouring, the sergeant thought, hard. His captain would have his balls for breakfast if he lost such a huge sale. More cattle were coming in daily, and it was a real problem finding room for them all, in spite of the twice-weekly auctions. Two thousand was a lot, and if Grundy got them back to Yorkshire safely, others would hear and hopefully head up to buy more. The sooner the cattle were sold, the sooner he could leave this place and head home, hopefully before winter. Because without food the rebels would starve, and if they were starving, they couldn’t fight. The thought of spending another winter in this shithole of a place made the sergeant’s blood run cold.

  “Let me reassure you, Mr Gru….Toby,” the sergeant said, the second the orderly had left the room. “The rebels are most certainly defeated. Most of their leaders are either dead or captured, and the Pretender’s son is within an inch of being caught.” Seeing Toby’s teary-eyed look of doubt, the sergeant hurried on. “In fact, His Highness the Duke has departed for London, so sure is he that the rebels will not rise again. He takes his responsibilities very seriously, and was determined not to leave Scotland, in spite of the calls for him to do so, until he was certain that the rebellion was entirely crushed.”

  “Ah. That’s good news, sir, although I would very much have liked to meet –”

  “I’m sure the duke would have been delighted to allow you to kiss his hand, had he been here,” the sergeant said insincerely.

  Mr Armstrong, who had been sipping his brandy, suddenly choked. Toby patted him absently on the back while he pondered the sergeant’s words.

  “I’m very glad to hear that the war is over, but you said –”

  “What I meant,” the sergeant interrupted, “was that the men are very busy pacifying the Highlands. However, you said that you have friends in Glasgow who can help you from there.” Glasgow was a loyal Whig town; there was no danger of an attack by Jacobites that far south.

  “I do, sir. Good stout men.”

  “Well, then. If you are willing to lengthen your journey a little, I have two hundred men going to Fort William in three days to join the garrison there, in preparation for… I am sure they will be happy to h
elp drive the cattle for a small consideration, say sixpence a day?”

  “Tuppence,” Toby responded automatically.

  “Threepence,” the sergeant replied.

  Toby nodded, and the sergeant cursed inwardly. He probably could have got fivepence. He had been given the task of cattle-dealing because of his administrative skills. He hated haggling.

  “And from Fort William?” Toby asked.

  “How many men will you need?”

  Toby thought for a minute.

  “I’d say thirty, if they know about cows.”

  “I’ll have a word with the captain. I’m sure we can sort something out. Now, about the auction…”

  * * *

  By the time Toby and George got back to their horses it was dusk and their companion had set up the tent they were to share, out of earshot but not out of sight of the soldiers’ tents, had unpacked their bedrolls, made a fire, and was in the process of cooking a meal. He had his back to them as they approached, and when Toby clapped him on the back by way of greeting he jumped a foot in the air, to the amusement of a group of nearby soldiers. After a short discussion, using hand signals which conveyed to John in simple terms the plan they’d discussed with the sergeant, and which confirmed to the soldiers that John was not only deaf and dumb, but something of an idiot as well, Toby wandered off towards the river, announcing that he needed a piss, and maybe more than that, and might be a few minutes.

  If anyone else had happened to be down by the river a few moments later, they would have seen that Private Thomas had been right; the young beggar boy clearly had been encouraged by Mr Grundy’s generosity earlier in the day, and had no qualms about approaching that gentleman, even when he was squatting with his breeches round his ankles. There proceeded a low-voiced discussion, after which Mr Grundy gave the boy a cuff round the ear and sent him on his way, apparently empty-handed.