‘Och, be quiet and go to sleep.’
‘I was sleeping. You woke me up. You’re always waking me up. You go to sleep!’
They fell into silence and soon were both completely relaxed and breathing deeply and rhythmically as exhaustion got the better of them. In his eagerness to go and find his mother it was Gav who awoke first. He flung open the bed-doors, then gave Regina a shake before clambering out of bed.
‘It’s morning, Regina. I heard the bells. Come on, hurry. I want to go to Mammy.’
A nerve twitched at the side of one of Regina’s eyes, twitched and fluttered and wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard she knuckled them.
‘Maybe she won’t be there.’
‘Och, come on.’
‘I’m coming.’
They both used the chamber-pot then, while Gav searched for some oatcakes to eat, Regina slipped out to empty the pot on the dunghill. Back inside the house, she greedily ate one of the bannocks Gav had found and they both drank the last of their mother’s ale.
‘Where will we go first?’ Gav asked.
‘I suppose Maister Ramsay’s the nearest.’
‘Are you ready then?’
Unhappily Regina nodded.
‘If we go we’ll not get back in by ourselves.’
‘Mammy’s got the key.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Oh, come on.’
As quickly as possible they tiptoed from the house, carefully closing the door behind them. Then they sprinted towards Gallowgate Street and then along to the Cross.
‘That’s their windows up there at the corner, see! They call that the lantern storey because that bit sticking out is shaped like a lantern,’ Regina said. ‘Their other windows are on Trongate Street but their close is along here on Saltmarket Street. I remember Mammy telling me.’
They turned down Saltmarket Street and went in the close, round by the back and up the turnpike stair. On reaching the Ramsays’ door, they were startled when it flew open before they had a chance to knock. In the doorway stood a man with bushy brows and hooded eyes under a long black wig and three-cornered hat. He wore a scarlet cloak and black breeches and in his hand he held a gold-topped stick. He suddenly bawled out:
‘Who the hell are you? What do you want?’
Regina was struck dumb with fear, but Gav managed to find his voice.
‘I’m Gav Chisholm. I’m looking for my mammy.’
‘Well, she’s no’ here. She never turned up at the Halyburtons’ either. I’ve more important things to concern me just now. Get out of my way.’
He brushed them aside and thundered down the stairs. In a minute or two and in silence Regina and Gav followed him. They wandered up to the Cross and along Trongate Street, silently, listlessly, then suddenly Gav shouted:
‘Regina, look! Look!’
It was the vanguard of the Highland army.
7
HANDSOME grey stone tenements, some small, some tall, but all with imposing arches and pillars underneath, undulated into the distance as far as the eye could see. From the distance and swelling the broad dirt road between the buildings came a riot of colour.
Clopping along in front were horses carrying French, Irish and Highland officers. The men bobbed up and down, Highlanders in scarlet and green and blue tartan kilts, and trews and jackets with epaulets and large cuffs and plaids draped over one shoulder and targes over one arm. Men with round flat bonnets and white cockades and silver-buckled shoes. Frenchmen with thigh-length boots and three-cornered hats, long grey coats and blue breeches. Irishmen with jackboots, grey coats and breeches of emerald green.
There was also Lord Elcho’s Highland gentlemen on horseback looking very splendid in their blue coats and red vests and cuffs. And Lord Murray’s troop of young hussars in plaid waistcoats and large fur caps.
As the noise and clatter of the horses swelled louder and louder Regina tugged at Gav’s arm.
‘Stand in a close out of the way or we’ll get trampled.’
They sprinted down Trongate Street and into the first close they came to. Then they peeped out to view the spectacle again. The horsemen and the mass of men following behind on foot were fast approaching the Cross.
Regina pulled Gav further into the shadow of the close wall as they came nearer. She was violently trembling.
The horses clattered to a halt outside the Tolbooth and two of the officers dismounted and climbed the outside stairs of the building. One of them carried a standard. He thrust it high and roared out:
‘I, John Hay of Restalrig, in the name of our rightful sovereign, King James, do proclaim his son, Charles Edward, Regent of Scotland.’
Inside, in the council chamber the Provost Andrew Cochrane, the town clerk, the magistrates and tobacco lords waited in silence. The council chamber had a high ceiling, an antique ornamental ceiling piece and around the walls hung many portraits. The Glasgow men sat at an oval table made of polished mahogany. Hay entered first and immediately rounded on them, accusing them of being rebels and traitors.
‘An English army we can understand, sir. They are regular fighting men. They are doing their job. They are obeying orders like the men in King George’s Highland regiments are obeying orders. We can understand that. Yes, even the Campbells we understand. But you, sir, you Glasgow scum, you money-grubbing tradesmen, you took it upon yourself to form a militia for the sole purpose of destroying your fellow countrymen and your prince.’
‘Our allegiance, sir, is to King George,’ Ramsay said, ‘not to any Pretender.’
‘Wheesht, Ramsay,’ Halyburton warned. ‘Do you want to get yourself shot?’
‘It’s scum like you that the Prince is resolved to make an example of, to strike terror into other places.’
‘I fear only God, sir.’
‘Then God help you!’
The Provost held up a restraining hand. ‘Now, now, Mr Hay, let us talk in a reasonable and civilised manner. You call us tradesmen. Well, we are merchants, that is true, but surely that is no reason for us to be either ashamed or abused.’
‘You marched a battalion to Stirling to fight against the son of your rightful sovereign King James.’
‘The battalion is a matter of fact, Mr Hay, and we are not denying it. But who our rightful sovereign is, is a matter of opinion.’
Ramsay stuck out his jaw.
‘We are Whigs and Presbyterians, sir. Why should we follow a man who would prevent us worshipping in the way we want? And we are intelligent men. Why should we support a man who would ruin the business and prosperity not only of Glasgow but of the whole of Scotland?’
‘So it is as I say,’ Hay sneered. ‘You are a money-grubbing traitor, sir. You would be dependent on England. You would grovel to the English, the enemy of us all.’
‘The English are my business competitors, not my enemy. And I grovel to no man, sir. I am a better businessman by far than any English merchant and I have proved it. I do not need to prove that I am braver and fiercer in the field.’
‘You Lowland scum. You talk of bravery and fierceness in the field in the presence of Highlanders? There is no man anywhere in the world who can match a Highlander for daring and courage. We are fighters born and bred, sir.’
‘And we are intelligent men!’
Hay drew his pistol and held it close to Ramsay’s face.
‘I am tempted, merchant, to deny my prince the pleasure of dealing with you.’
His companion, a handsome man with dark lustrous eyes, stepped forward.
‘Stay your arm, man. This is not what we came for.’ He turned to the Provost. ‘I am Cameron of Lochiel. Some of our men are outside and we must see them properly housed and fed. This I hope your townspeople will do with good grace. If they do they have nothing to fear. No harm will come to them. Our men have always behaved well to the populace.’
Hay replaced his pistol.
‘Who owns the mansion house we passed as we came into town?’
‘I do
,’ said John Glassford.
‘Then, sir, you will have the honour of giving hospitality to Charles, Prince of Wales and Regent of Scotland, England, France and Ireland and the dominions thereunto belonging, and to some of his gentlemen.’
‘Oh, aye.’ Glassford was unimpressed. ‘And who’s going to pay for all this?’
Before Hay could retort, Lochiel said quietly:
‘You will not be required to pay one bawbee for a crumb that goes over the Prince’s throat, sir.’
‘Oh, aye.’
‘Another column of the army will arrive tonight. Another tomorrow. On Friday the Prince will arrive at the head of the clans.’
‘Weel, weel.’ Halyburton shook his head. ‘It beats me where you’re going to put them all.’
‘Those who cannot pack into houses will camp in the streets. But each house will have to take at least ten or twenty. And, merchants, that includes your houses.’
‘Weel, weel. If that’s what has to be. But I tremble to think what my gudewife will have to say about a crowd like that in her house.’
‘Tremble away, sir. Tremble away.’
Lochiel put a hand on Hay’s arm.
‘We’ve said our piece. The men are waiting outside.’ Then he turned to the Provost and gave a slight bow. ‘Lord Provost.’
The Provost gravely returned the compliment. ‘Sir.’
Hay called out before leaving:
‘We will be in contact again, merchants. Do not imagine we are finished with you.’
Gav and Regina saw them return outside and remount their horses. Then suddenly there was a cry of ‘Free quarters!’ and the tightly packed mob of men and the mounted officers began to disperse in all directions. Down Trongate Street they swarmed and up High Street, along Gallowgate Street and down Saltmarket Street, along wynds and in closes.
A crowd came hurrying in the close where Gav and Regina were hiding. They froze with terror, but the men pushed past them without as much as a second glance.
Some of the officers hesitated at the Cross, their horses rearing up in different directions. Then some of them cantered along Trongate Street. Others made for the Saltmarket. A crowd of them turned in the first close.
Big John was standing guard on Ramsay’s stables at the back of the building near the turnpike stair. He glowered and refused to budge when the officers appeared and ordered him to take care of their horses.
‘Rebut!’ A tall Frenchman sprang from his horse and came striding towards the servant with sword brandished out in front of him. ‘You do not know what this means, Ecossais? It means scum.’
Big John spat defiantly, missing the Frenchman by only a few inches. Immediately the officer leapt forward and held his sword against Big John’s throat and from the surrounding kitchen windows, screams of terror and protest arose.
Nancy Kinkaid left her window and went to tell Annabella what was happening. In a matter of minutes Annabella had flown down the stairs, flounced out, pink-faced and blonde curls bouncing, and shouted at the officer.
‘How dare you, sir? This man is my servant. Leave him be at once or I shall box your ears.’
The man looked round in surprise, then amusement, and appreciation glimmered in his face.
‘Ah, mademoiselle.’ He quickly replaced his sword and flung up his hands. ‘Who could resist such beauty? I capitulate gladly. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?’
Annabella was still hot and ruffled, but her usual pertness came to her rescue. She tipped up her chin and flickered him a coquettish glance.
‘Sir, I cannot think that it is any of your business who I am.’
‘Ah, but indeed it is, mademoiselle. I shall be living in your house during the whole of my stay in Glasgow.’
‘Indeed, sir. By whose authority?’
‘By the authority of His Royal Highness Prince Charles.’
‘You mean the Pretender?’
‘Mon dieu! You have courage as well as beauty. But take care.’
‘Fiddlesticks! I never take care. To be cautious is to be a bore.’
His smile came slowly, dimpling his cheeks and reflecting in his eyes. With formal exaggerated flapping and swooping of arms he made a low bow.
‘Jean-Paul Lavelle at your service, mademoiselle.’
She frisked her skirts wide as she curtsied, then gracefully undulated an arm and a hand towards him.
‘Annabella Ramsay.’
‘Enchanté, mademoiselle.’
He kissed the back of her fingers, then holding them he raised her upwards and closer as he repeated, ‘Enchanté.’
She swooped away from him and did a little pirouette around the grinning crowd of officers.
‘Gracious heavens, how can I feed and bed so many? It is a monstrous imposition. I cannot think what my papa will say.’ But she could barely contain her delighted giggles as, clutching her skirts high to protect them from the filthy ground, she dashed back towards the house.
Gav and Regina did not know what to do. The day stretched before them fraught with dangers and privations. They ventured out of the close and aimlessly crossed the road. In front of the Tolbooth they stood reading the motto on the front:
THIS HOUSE HATES
LOVES
PUNISHES
PRESERVES
HONOURS
INIQUITY
PEACE
CRIME
THE LAWS
THE UPRIGHT
Then, being careful not to put foot on the plainstanes, they wandered along, stopping for a time to gaze up at the statue of King William and his horse. Behind the statue, the Town Hall and Exchange building afforded some interest because above each archway was a grotesque carved face or mask.
Now that the soldiers had dispersed, Trongate Street was almost empty. There were no tobacco lords talking business in little groups near the stairs of the Tolbooth or standing around the piazzas under the Town Hall. There was only a man with a barrow disappearing down one side of the street and a caddie bent underneath a keg of herrings slowly advancing along the other. From the distance came the two-horse fly on its return from Greenock. And proceeding in an opposite direction was the carriage of one of the neighbouring county gentlemen with his livery servant behind.
Echoing from one of the side streets came Moothy McMurdo’s bell followed by his lusty voice:
‘All the shops are shut today
The toon has been invaded.
The Highland army’s come to stay
And before this day has faded
Another mob are due.
There’s nothing you can do
Except get fu’.’
He appeared from Candleriggs Street and stopped at the guard house which was at its corner.
‘It’s going to get worset
Until your hooses are bustet;
For there’s thousands mair coming tomorrow,
On Friday as well,
I’m sorry to tell,
Will bring us the cause of our sorrow.’
Gav said: ‘Maybe there’s crowds of them in our house.’ Regina sighed.
‘I expect so.’
‘There won’t be room for us anywhere.’ Regina rubbed at a flickering nerve at the side of her eye. ‘We’ll have to think of how we’re going to get food.’
They stood in silence for a while, gazing helplessly down Trongate Street at the disappearing figure of the bellman. Eventually Regina said:
‘I suppose the only way is to beg like we did yesterday.’
‘I don’t like begging.’
‘I don’t either, but how else can we get anything?’
‘There was still some bannocks left in the house.’
Regina shook her head. ‘I’m not going back there. I don’t like that Jeannie. Anyway there’ll be crowds of Highlanders.’
‘I’m not afraid of the Highlanders. I’ll tell them that I’m a Highlander too.’
‘I wonder …’ Regina nibbled at her lip. ‘I wonder if I could do Maister Ramsay an
d Mistress Halyburton’s washing like Mammy did.’
‘Ask.’ Gav jumped up and down with eagerness. ‘They paid Mammy money. Maybe they’d pay you too. Then we could buy lots of food.’
‘All right. Let’s try Mistress Halyburton first this time.’
Energised by this new hope, the children hurried down Trongate Street until they came to Locheid’s Land. Once at the back of the building, Regina said:
‘You wait there in case they think that having a little brother is a nuisance and don’t give me the job. Then what will we do?’
‘I’m not a nuisance,’ Gav indignantly protested.
‘I know you’re not, but Mistress Halyburton is a terrible targe. I remember Mammy saying that. She might think you’d get in the way or something.’
‘Oh, all right.’
‘I’ll try not to be long. Hide in the stairs until I come back down again.’
Unhappily Gav nodded. Then he crouched down in one of the shadowy corners and almost disappeared inside his outsize jacket. Impulsively Regina bent down and kissed his freckled face.
‘We’ll be all right.’
Then she ran quickly up the stairs. Arriving at the Halyburtons’ house, her courage suddenly deserted her. She could not bring herself to tirl the door-pin. But the thought of the terrible situation she and Gav were in brought desperation to her aid. Before she could change her mind she grabbed the iron tirling pin. It made the rasping sound that had given tirling pins the nickname of ‘craws’ or ‘crows’.
Almost immediately the door jerked open to reveal a small hunchback with bald patches in her hair and narrow slits for eyes.
‘I know you!’ she accused. ‘You’re Jessie Chisholm’s lassie. Come here!’ She grabbed Regina by the front of her dress, hauled her into the house and shut the door. ‘Mistress Letitia!’ she screeched. ‘Mistress Letitia!’
Regina gazed around trembling with fear. A door lay open into what looked like a dining-room and it was full of Highlanders.
From another room Mrs Halyburton appeared like a warship in full sail. She was rigid-backed under her high powdered wig and dangling earrings, and her yellow quilted petticoat and green hooped skirt did nothing to improve her sallow complexion. Eyes wicked with fury, lips a narrow line, her hands clutched at her waist hoisting up her bosom.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 9