“I dinna think it’d make a difference. She’s as sure that he’s alive as if he were standing next to her,” Kenneth said. “I’ll away and get my sword and dirk. When are we off tae fight, then?”
“Give me another day or two to rest my leg,” Alex said. He hated to admit that it pained him, but better that than it fail him in the middle of an ambush. “We can plan while we’re waiting. And Lachlan and Jamie are away seeing what they can find out about Stirling. There are troops stationed there who are ranging out in small groups to raid the surrounding areas. That’s far enough away from here for us no’ to be suspected if we happen to come across a few of them out after dark.” He grinned. “The laddies should be back in a couple of days. And if the redcoats think Scotland a hell on Earth now, they’ll soon have cause to be sure of it.”
While the others practised their fighting moves and Alex observed and gave sporadic advice, he mulled over what Kenneth had said about Janet. Was it possible to know whether someone was dead or not in your heart? He knew it was in those stupid novels that Charlotte and Clarissa read, and it would be a comfort to Janet to think so. But then in his heart he didn’t feel that Beth was dead either, although he knew she was because Maggie had seen her shot in the head.
Maybe he should have told her that he’d seen Simon fall, even though he hadn’t. At least then she’d have been able to grieve for him and move on.
Like he was doing? He smiled ruefully. Let her keep her illusions, poor woman. If they gave her hope, it was not such a bad thing. Not as bad as the endless sense of loss, anyway.
He ran his fingers through his hair and forced his mind back to the present. He would grieve for Beth for the rest of his life, but this was his version of moving on; and he intended to make a good job of it.
* * *
Didsbury
When the knock came on the door, Jane, who was passing through the hall on her way to the kitchen at the time, opened it. When she saw who the caller was she tried to close the door, but Richard put one booted foot in the doorway to stop her.
“Now, there’s no need to be rude,” he said jovially.
She contemplated opening the door wide then slamming it on his foot but his boot soles were thick, and she might well not only fail to shut the door, but also incite his anger.
“What do you want, Richard?” she asked loudly. Thomas had ears like a cat; if he was anywhere in the vicinity he would be alerted to the identity of the caller.
“Well now, can’t a master call on his servants when he’s passing through the town?” Richard said.
“We’re not your servants any more, thank God,” Jane replied. “And you are not welcome here. So if you will kindly remove your foot, I have work to do.”
The foot stayed in place. She was very aware that if he chose to force his way in she could not stop him. She felt a frisson of fear run through her.
“Actually, I’ve come on a private matter, and would like a word with your husband or with Elliot, if he’s at home.”
“Open the door, Jane, and then step back,” Thomas’s voice came from behind her. She glanced back, then did as he’d bid her.
Richard looked at Thomas, who was standing a few feet behind his wife, a pistol, primed and cocked, levelled at Richard’s head.
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear, Richard, so as you’ve been told you’re not welcome, please leave,” Thomas said, his green eyes cold and hard.
Richard smiled, apparently completely unperturbed by the gun pointing at him, although if Thomas chose to fire at that range he could not miss. He looked down the hall at the neat paintwork, the polished wood floors, the colourful welcoming rug on the floor.
“This is a nice place you have,” he said conversationally. “It must have cost a fair sum. I assume it was paid for out of Elizabeth’s dowry?”
“How this house was paid for is none of your business,” Thomas said.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” Richard replied. “It is very much my business if this house was paid for with money that belongs to me. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that my sister’s lover was a Jacobite spy, and that they were never actually married. So neither of them had any right to the money that this house was bought with.”
“That’s as may be,” Thomas said. “But you had no right to it either. The master gave me a copy of his will after he signed it, to keep safe. He told me exactly who he’d left his money to. And he told me why that wasn’t you. Would you like to know?”
Richard’s face darkened and his hand moved automatically to his sword.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Thomas warned him.
“You won’t shoot me,” Richard said arrogantly. “You’d hang if you did.”
“You’re wrong,” Thomas answered. “I’d love to shoot you. You just need to give me a reason, that’s all. I’ll take my chances after that.”
Reluctantly Richard let go of his sword hilt.
“Let’s be reasonable,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure you know where the money is. If you take me to it, we can come to some mutually agreeable arrangement. Let me in and we can discuss it man-to-man. Or I can always come back another time, maybe bring a few friends with me. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
A brightly coloured ball came rolling down the hall and bounced off Richard’s boot, which was still in the doorway. It was followed by a small child who ran past Thomas before he could stop her, her whole attention focussed on her toy. She dropped to her knees and picked it up, laughing and making guttural sounds of pleasure.
Richard’s eyes widened and the colour drained from his face instantly, rendering his normally swarthy complexion a sickly yellow.
Having regained custody of her ball the child now became aware of her surroundings, and slowly looked up at the man standing in front of her, who was staring down at her, his face a mask of horror. She took in the black leather boots, the cream breeches, and then the scarlet coat. And then she started screaming, a high-pitched wail of pure mindless terror, and tried to scrabble backwards, her bare feet slipping on the polished floor.
Jane, heedless of everything but her adopted daughter’s distress, ran forward and scooped her up, cradling the little girl’s face against her shoulder so she couldn’t see the soldier any more.
“Shhh Ann, sweetheart,” she crooned to the screaming child, who clung to her neck with choking strength. Jane backed away, keeping her eye on Richard until she was behind Thomas, then she turned and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. The child’s wails became muted.
Thomas and Richard looked at each other.
“She recognises you,” Thomas said to the ashen-faced soldier. “Thought you’d killed her as well as Martha, didn’t you?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richard said shakily, all his arrogance evaporated. “Who’s Martha?”
“Maybe you don’t remember Martha,” Thomas replied. “After all, it was four years ago, and I daresay you’ve killed a good many more innocent women since then. But it doesn’t matter, because Ann remembers well enough for both of you. We haven’t reported it to the authorities yet, because we didn’t want to cause the child any more distress than she’s already suffered. But we did take legal advice, and have written a deposition and lodged it with a solicitor just in case it’s ever needed. It makes really interesting reading, particularly the statement from the man who found Ann lying in the road in the middle of the night next to her dead mother. I’m sure your commanding officer would find it fascinating. Of course, it’s up to you whether he gets to read it or not. Now, if it’s all the same to you, my arm’s getting tired holding this thing, so either try to force your way in or leave.”
Richard left.
Thomas waited until he heard the horse’s hooves clattering down the road, then he closed and bolted the door before going into the kitchen. He put the pistol on the table and sank down onto the bench opposite Jane, who was still cradling
the little girl. Her screams had turned to whimpers now, and her eyes were closing.
“She’s tired herself out, poor mite,” Jane said softly. She looked at Thomas, who rubbed his hands over his face. “He really did kill Martha, didn’t he?” she said. “I know Beth told us he had, but I never truly believed it until now.”
Thomas nodded.
“I’ve never seen him look so shocked,” he said. “I told him that she remembered everything and that we’ve lodged a deposition with a solicitor, and that we’ll show it to his commanding officer if he causes us any trouble.”
Jane stared at him, shocked.
“But that’s not true!” she said. “Ann can’t even speak. And she screams at every red coat she sees!”
“I know that, and you know that, but Richard doesn’t,” Thomas replied. “And I know you don’t hold with lying, but sometimes it’s necessary. We all lied when we were questioned about Beth’s disappearance.”
Jane flushed.
“I wasn’t comfortable with it, though,” she admitted.
“No, but your loyalty to Beth came first, as it should. And I’d rather tell a lie than have to kill a man. Because if he’d returned, as I’m sure he would have done, with or without his friends, I would have had to shoot him. This was the lesser of two evils. I doubt he’ll come back.”
“What was he talking about when he said he was sure we knew where the dowry money was?” Jane asked. “Isn’t it with Mr Cox in Manchester?”
“As far as I know, yes. But we know Sir Anthony signed it over to Beth, and she certainly did withdraw some of it. Richard was right about her buying the house for us. But no matter what, he can’t claim the dowry and never could. His father made sure of that. He’s just bitter and greedy, and always was.”
“Do you really think he’ll leave us alone now?” Jane asked.
“Yes, I think so, but me and Ben can take it in turns to stay up and keep watch for the next few nights. I’ll teach him to use this, too. It’s about time he learned how to defend himself. He’s coming up for fourteen.”
Jane looked at the pistol with a mixture of trepidation and disgust. Thomas smiled.
“I know you hate violence even more than lying, but we live in violent times, and Ben needs to learn to protect himself. He’s a sensible lad, he won’t do anything stupid. And he’s brave too. Remember when that friend of Richard’s tried to rape Mary, and Ben knocked him out with his own musket?”
In spite of herself, Jane laughed.
“He’s very fond of Mary,” she said.
“He is. And she’s sweet on him too. I can see wedding bells for those two in the future, and I won’t be sorry.”
Jane smiled, clearly feeling the same way. Ann was asleep now, and Jane gently removed the child’s arms from round her neck.
“She’s getting heavy,” she remarked, settling her on her knee.
“Do you want me to take her?” Thomas asked.
Jane shook her head.
“Do you think we’ll ever find out what’s happened to Beth?” she asked in a very small voice.
“I don’t know. I hope so, and if we do I hope it’s that she’s alive and well, and that Sir Anthony fellow too. Because whoever he was, she loved him, and I think he loved her too. But we can’t do anything about them except keep them in our prayers. I can, however, do something about teaching Ben to defend himself and us.”
He stood up and stretched, picked up the gun, then impulsively he leaned across the table and kissed his wife.
“If Beth loved him half as much as I love you, we must hope that they’re together, wherever they are. For I wouldn’t want to live without you, and I’m sure she felt the same way for Sir Anthony.”
With that he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly so as not to wake Ann, and leaving Jane open-mouthed. He was not one for endearments. Their love for each other was a given, and they both knew it. The fact that he’d voiced his love told her more than anything else could have how much Richard’s visit had disturbed him, and how prepared he’d been to kill to defend his wife and child.
She adjusted the weight of the little girl on her lap, and then folded her hands and began to pray.
Scotland
The ten men huddled in the tiny bothy listening to the rain battering against the door, shivering in spite of the fact that it was August. They had tried unsuccessfully to light a fire in the middle of the muddy floor, but as the wood was wet all they’d succeeded in doing was creating a large amount of smoke, which had left them all coughing and with sore eyes, and which swirled around the room for ages before finally making its way out of the hole in the roof.
On one side of the room a low stone platform ran the length of the wall, and all the soldiers were now sitting on it, aware that if they were going to get any sleep tonight it would be sitting up, because none of them were insane enough to lie on the rain-soaked floor. One of the men had managed to light a candle, which he had fixed on the little platform. It flickered wildly in the draught coming under the door, throwing huge shadows round the room. They passed a flask of brandy from hand to hand.
“I hate this bloody country,” one man muttered. “How the hell do people manage to live in places like this? I wouldn’t keep pigs in here.”
There was a general murmur of assent to this remark.
“They don’t know any better,” one of his companions remarked. “They’ve always lived this way.”
“Not any more. Now they’re living out on the mountains, poor sods, which is the only thing I can think of worse than this. One thing about these places, the heather thatch burns well.”
As one they all looked up at the roof, wondering if they could pull part of it down and light a fire with it. A bit of warmth would make a huge difference to their conditions and would allow them to cook the rabbits they’d shot and skinned earlier, which at the moment lay in a sad pink bundle in the corner.
“If you do, the rain’ll pour in and the floor’ll be like a bog in five minutes,” another man, small and stocky with a shock of thick black hair tied back and clubbed, said.
“Yes, but if we pull some out from underneath the overhang outside, that’ll be dry, and then we might be able to get a good fire going, and if we do even the wet wood’ll burn.”
The flask went round again, and then the man who’d made the suggestion, a tall, freckle-faced soldier, stood up and pulled his knife out of his belt.
“I’ll go,” he said. “If I crouch under the overhang on the side away from the wind, I won’t get too wet.”
He opened the door and letting in a shower of raindrops, he went out, closing it behind him.
The others waited for him to return. And then they waited some more. Finally one of them shouted out, “Jack, are you all right out there?”
Silence.
“I bet the daft bugger’s gone off for a piss and got lost,” the short stocky man said.
“Wouldn’t he just piss against the wall?”
“You would, I would, but you know Jack’s an idiot. It’s pitch black out there. If you walked more than a few steps away you wouldn’t know where you were.” He stood up. “I’ll go and see what’s up with him.” He went out.
“I can’t wait to get back to barracks tomorrow,” one man said. “At least it’s dry there, and you can light a fire to cook with. I’m starving.”
More time passed. The flask was emptied and another one started. Having eaten nothing, the soldiers were getting decidedly tipsy.
“Where the hell are they?” the man currently in possession of the flask said. He shouted out to the men outside, but there was no reply. All of them began to feel uneasy.
“Do you think they’ve been ambushed?” the youngest man, a private of eighteen asked fearfully.
At that very moment, from somewhere in the vicinity there came a loud mournful howl, which was answered a moment later by another, and then a third.
“Wolves!” cried one of the men.
�
�There aren’t any wolves in Scotland, are there?” another asked the room in general. “They’re dogs, that’s all.”
“Dogs stay with people, and there are no people round here any more. We just spent a week driving them all away. And we killed most of the dogs,” the corporal pointed out.
The howling continued.
“That’s wolves, alright,” one of the more experienced soldiers said. “There were wolves in Hanover when I was there, and the countryside’s not as wild as here.”
“Do you think –”
He shut up abruptly as a man’s scream of pain rang through the night.
“Shit!” the corporal exclaimed, dropping the flask of brandy on the floor.
“Oh God, do you think they’ve got Jack and Harry?” asked the young private.
“Only one way to find out,” said the corporal. “If we stick together we’ll be safe. Wolves won’t attack a group.”
All eight men stood as one and unsheathed their swords. Their powder was wet, so the muskets were left stacked in the corner. They went to the door, opened it, and peered fearfully out. The rain battered against their faces, rendering them momentarily blind, and in that moment a huge hand reached out and grabbed the nearest soldier by the throat, crushing his windpipe and throwing him to the side as though he were a doll. He writhed on the ground for a few moments trying to drag air into his lungs, then he lay still.
Whilst Kenneth was doing that Alex and Angus had come at them from the other side, and had killed two more. The remaining five men, finally realising that there were people in the area after all, and very angry people at that, ran back into the bothy and shut the door, two of them leaning on it in an attempt to stop the attackers getting in. The other three ran for their muskets, fumbling to fix their bayonets in the pitch black.
Outside, Kenneth pushed his mass of dripping wet red hair back off his face, took a few paces backwards and then charged the door, knocking it off its hinges and driving both it and the two men behind it across the room.
The other men poured in behind him, making short work of the stunned and terrified redcoats. They hefted the bodies outside to bleed into the heather, then returned to the bothy and sat down where the soldiers had recently been. A puddle of water soon formed at the feet of each man as the rain dripped off their sodden kilts on to the floor. Iain picked the flask up, shook it, then took an experimental swig.
Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5) Page 29