*
Tom was taking leave of his family, trying to concentrate on being positive although his heart was breaking. He hardly dared look at his mother and Kate for fear of crying, and was grateful for the presence of his father, who concentrated on practical matters.
“Bob’ll ride wi’ ye tae Dunure an’ bring back the horses,” said Sir Malcolm. “Mind ye stay by the castle and look out for the signal. The ship’ll no’ wait if ye’re late.” He glared at Mungo, still unhappy about his part in the enterprise. Tom was increasingly doubtful about taking him along; since he had come back from seeing his mother in Ayr Mungo was in a state of nervous impatience and was barely coherent in his farewells. He ignored Kate completely, much to her sorrow, and did not utter a word of thanks to Lady Margaret for her hospitality.
“Come on, Tom, we maun gang,” he said, making for the stable yard where Bob was waiting with the horses.
Tom embraced his mother and sister, gently disengaging himself when they clung to him, and exchanged long looks full of meaning with his father and David.
“Ride carefully,” said Lady Margaret. “This weather’s filthy.” Big drops of rain were falling as they mounted, and the storm wind was rustling in the trees. A flash of lightning lit up the scene for a moment and then the riders were lost from sight.
“Come awa’ inside,” said Jeanie. “I’ll make us a’ a hot toddy. Aye, you an’ a’, Kate, if yer mither agrees. One thing though, I’m no’ sorry yon Mungo’s gone. He’s a sair trial tae honest folk.”
*
Alison was making slow progress. The more she tried to hurry, the more Jinty seemed to resent it. It was tough going against the wind which whipped up mud and fallen leaves into her face and the rain which soaked through her clothes and numbed her hands so that she could scarcely grip the reins. It was dark by now and she had only the occasional light from a cottage and the flashes of lightning to see by. She had passed the last houses of the town but still had two miles to go to reach Barnessie She told herself to be patient, spoke quiet words of encouragement to Jinty, and head down against the wind, continued on her way, counting off the paces covered to herself to prevent her mind from dwelling on other thoughts.
She was almost within sight of Barnessie when she realised that Jinty was scarcely managing an amble, much less a trot. She dismounted and saw to her horror that the donkey was standing on three legs, holding the other one bent in pain. “Oh, Jinty,” she moaned, “I’ve lamed ye in my hurry. I’m so sorry.” She felt gently along the leg; she did not seem badly hurt, but riding her was out of the question. Alison sighed, almost despairing of reaching Tom in time. “Ye’ve got tae try,” she told herself. She tied the donkey’s reins to a fence by the roadside, gave her the rather wet emergency apple she kept in her pocket, and promising to come back for her as soon as she could, gathered up her sodden skirts and set off on foot towards Barnessie. In her haste she stumbled a few times, and fell to the ground once. “Keep goin’, my lassie,” she admonished herself, got up and turned her face resolutely towards the house.
*
Jeanie was tidying up in the kitchen, trying not to worry too much about the men out in the storm. Lady Margaret had finally managed to get a sorrowful Kate to go to bed, having promised to read to her for a while. Sir Malcolm lingered in the kitchen, talking to David.
“Here’s hoping they get away a’ right,” he said. “I dinnae even ken if the ship’ll sail in this storm.”
“We just have tae hope,” said David, getting to his feet. “I’ll gang and check the stables meantime.”
Just then they heard a feeble knocking at the door, barely audible above the noise of the storm. They exchanged worried glances. Was it the watch, come for Tom? David opened the door and discovered Alison Fleming, soaked, mud-stained and half-fainting on the threshold.
“What the devil . . .? Alison! Come in, come in. What brings ye here?”
Jeanie, appearing behind him, drew Alison towards the hearth. “In the name o’ the wee man, lassie, ye’re soaked through. Come tae the fire, an’ I’ll mak’ ye a hot toddy. Ye’ll catch yer death otherwise.”
Alison looked round wildly. “Where’s Tom?” she cried.
“They’re awa’ tae Dunure. They left aboot fifteen minutes since. I’m right sorry ye missed him, lassie.” Jeanie tried to press Alison into a chair by the fire.
“We’ve got tae stop them.” Alison’s voice rose in panic. “I ken what happened. It’s Mungo. Mungo killed Mr. Cunningham, an’, oh it’s terrible, he was his faither.”
There was a moment’s shocked silence, then Sir Malcolm said, “Ye’re right, lass, we maun gang efter them. I saw Mungo was in a right queer mood, mair nor usual.”
“I want tae gang wi’ ye,” said Alison.
“Ye will not,” said Sir Malcolm, “Ye’re exhausted, an’ it’s nae job for a lassie.”
“I must,” said Alison simply. For a moment they stared at each other, then Sir Malcolm sighed. “I cannae stop ye, I suppose. David, tak’ Prince. He’s fast and steady. He’ll get ye there quickest.”
David went to saddle the horse while Jeanie made Alison drink the hot whisky and sugar. “Get oot o’ these wet things,” she said. “I’ll fetch ye some o’ Bob’s duds, some breeks an’ a jacket. It’ll be better for ridin’, tae.” She bustled off, while Alison did her best to contain her impatience.
She tried to tell her story to Sir Malcolm, but he stopped her. “I trust ye, lass, an’ we can save the explanations till later. But did ye walk a’ this way frae Ayr?”
Alison explained about Jinty, and Sir Malcolm went off to rouse one of the farm hands to go and rescue the donkey. Jeanie came back with dry clothes and Alison had just finished changing when David reappeared, his face grim.
“I’ve got Prince ready in the yard,” he said, “but there’s somethin’ else. My pistol’s missing frae the stables, an’ some powder and shot. Mungo must hae ta’en it, he kens I keep it for vermin.”
Alison blanched. “Does he mean tae use it, dae ye think?”
“Wha kens what that lad thinks? But there’s nae time tae lose. Are ye sure ye want tae come?”
“Mair than ever. Thank ye for everything, Jeanie,” she added, embracing her swiftly before making for the door.
Outside, she nearly changed her mind. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still howling and dark storm clouds scudded across the moonlit sky. The stallion Prince stood ready, looking huge. Alison had rarely ridden anything bigger than a donkey, and hesitated for a moment. Still, the thought of Tom in danger drove her on. David mounted and she grasped the hand he reached down to swing her up behind him. Once up, she risked a look at the ground, which seemed a long way down, and tried to ignore that and the new sensation of riding bareback in men’s breeches. She held on round David’s waist and laid her face against his broad back.
“Hold on,” he said, and they were off.
*
Mungo rode along behind Tom and Bob, doing his best to keep up the pace in the face of the biting wind. Now that they were on their way he felt curiously calm. He had spent so much energy in the last week keeping up a pretence, fearing that the mask would slip, that he felt drained of emotion. He tested his feelings in his mind and decided that he could finally enter the locked part of his brain which held his memories of the previous Friday night.
He remembered going to the warehouse and climbing the stairs to the office, driven by his desire to know if Richard Cunningham was in league with the smugglers, if his employer knew about his and Tom’s adventures, and what his future prospects were now that Tom seemed to be the favourite. He did not know how he would broach the subject but told himself to rely on his instincts. In the inner office he was surprised to find that Mr Cunningham had company; his wife greeted him with her habitual mocking smile.
“Ah, Mungo McGillivray,” she said. “We were just talking about you. It seems you have some questions to answer.”
“Questions?” stammered Mungo.
He had no idea what she was talking about.
“We have been auditing the books, as you know, and there is a considerable amount of money missing. You are the clerk charged with banking our receipts, so it would seem that only you can provide an explanation.”
“But . . . I ken nothing aboot ony money missing.”
“Nevertheless,” said Isabelle Cunningham coldly, “the fact remains that small sums have been disappearing over a period of time. Now some larger sums have gone missing. You got careless, Mr McGillivray.”
“It’s no’ true,” Mungo cried. “I ken better than tae steal. It’s mair than my job’s worth. Tell her it’s no true, Mr Cunningham!” He turned to his employer, whose face wore an expression of helpless disappointment.
“I dinnae ken what tae think, Mungo. I trusted ye, but I cannae think how else it could hae happened.”
“It seems you cannot give us a satisfactory explanation, McGillivray,” went on his wife. “You leave us no choice. You will be dismissed and we will send for the Sheriff to arrest you for embezzlement.”
“Mr Cunningham,” said Mungo desperately, “please, ye cannae dae this.”
“I’m afraid we must, Mungo. I dinnae think we hae a choice.”
Mungo felt a buzzing in his ears and his vision was clouded with a red mist of fury. Without thinking he seized the paper knife from the desk and lashed out in a frenzy. When he came to his senses there was blood everywhere, the knife was still in his hand and his employer lay dead. Of Isabelle Cunningham there was no sign.
And he was my faither, I ken that noo.
Mungo let out a howl of anguish, which was borne away on the wind.
His inner demon, whose promptings he had given in to all too often, spoke. “No’ lang noo, Mungo, an’ ye’ll be free o’ a’ this. Ye’ve made yer plans; just keep a cool heid.” He felt in his pocket for the pistol; it was primed and ready. He was sorry about Tom, for he had come to like him, but he knew there would be no peace for him, in Ayr or anywhere else on earth, if Tom did not pay the price for the death of Richard Cunningham. He looked at the tall figure riding with easy assurance ahead of him. “Aye,” he thought, “ye were born wi’ a silver spoon in yer gab. Ye’ve nae idea what life’s like for the likes o’ me.” Stoking the flames of jealousy would make his task easier when the time came.
*
David and Alison, riding fast, breasted the hill above Dunure. The wild wind blew scudding clouds across the face of the moon, and whipped the waves of the Firth to a frenzy, so that David wondered how Tom would be able to make it to the ship, if it came. Alison, dazed from the ride, clung on grimly as they began the descent to the castle ruins, which stood stark and bare on the edge of the cliff.
David reined in under the castle walls and they dismounted. They could see the horses grouped restlessly nearby, but there was no other sign of life. Suddenly “What the devil…?” cried David, running towards a figure he had spotted, lying huddled at the castle entrance. It was Bob. He tried to sit up as they approached. “Somebody knocked me oot,” he gasped. “It must hae been Mungo. Quick, he’ll hae followed Tom inside.”
David ran for the entrance, followed closely by Alison. Inside, they stumbled up the rough steps towards the great hall, slipping more than once on the wet stairs, drawn by the sound of voices. At the top David stopped at the sight of Mungo and Tom face to face, Mungo with a drawn pistol. Quickly he pushed Alison behind him, fearing that she would rush towards Tom, and stepped forward.
He realised then that Mungo was speaking. “I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s a’ your fault. You got me into this, poking yer nose intae the smuggling an’ the company business. Could ye no’ hae left weel alane? If ye hadnae come tae work at Cunningham’s, nane o’ this would hae happened.”
“But ye already kent aboot the smuggling . . .” began Tom.
“Aye, but no’ that Mr Cunningham would be killed. We’ll never prove it was the Kennedy gang, everybody thinks it’s you so ye’ll need tae bide here an’ be punished. Can ye no’ see? I’ve got tae gang awa’, I’ve to tae get on that ship . . .”
His tone was mounting as his anger grew, and David could see his finger tightening on the trigger. It was time to intervene.
“Mungo,” he said mildly, “We ken wha killed Mr Cunningham.”
Aware now of the presence of others, Mungo swung round. “It was you, wasn’t it? We’ve found the knife.”
Mungo’s face darkened in fury. “No, no, it wasnae me,” he cried. “Ye’ve a’ got it wrang. I never meant him ony harm, I . . .” He broke off, then suddenly turned back round towards Tom and fired. Tom fell. Mungo took off at a run through the archway towards the stairs leading to the upper floors.
“See tae Tom,” yelled David, chasing hard behind Mungo. The stone steps were steep and slippery, and he stumbled more than once in his haste to get to Mungo before he had time to reload the pistol. He emerged on to the upper landing at the top of the roofless tower, where the bitter wind howled in the gaps between the stones. In the narrow space he came face to face with Mungo, who was standing by the gap where once there had been a window, trying to reload the pistol, sobbing with frustrated rage.
“Mungo,” said David gently, “we’ve got the proof. It’ll dae ye nae guid tae kill other folks. Ye’d best gi’e me the pistol noo.”
Mungo looked around wildly, then all at once the will seemed to go out of him, for he lowered the pistol and moved to take a step towards David. But his feet slipped on the worn stones and he fell backwards through the gap and disappeared from view. David rushed towards the opening and looked down. Far below, Mungo lay on his back on the rocks, his body bent and his neck twisted. The moon, sailing out from behind a cloud, showed the dark pool spreading behind his head and silvered his livid face. He was obviously dead.
*
Back down in the hall, David found Alison sitting on the ground, cradling Tom’s head and holding her jerkin to his shoulder in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. Tom’s face was ashen and he had lost consciousness.
“He’s ta’en a bullet in his arm,” she wept. “There’s a’ this blood . . .”
“Here,” said David, stripping off his jacket and shirt. “Tear strips off the shirt an’ tie it roon’ the top o’ his arm, as tight as ye can. Whaur’s Bob?”
“He’s gone tae the village for help. Mungo?”
“He fell frae the tower.” Davey grimaced. “He’s beyond help.” Alison swallowed, then nodded. “Maybe it’s better so. But his puir mither.”
*
Bob came back from Dunure village with the blacksmith and his horse and cart. They loaded Tom on to the cart and Alison sat with him, tying and retying the strips of shirt to staunch the bleeding. It was agreed that they would return for Mungo’s body the next day, when the tide had gone out and the wind had died down. The sorry little procession left Dunure and the Dublin-bound ship, which had put out in the storm and waited in vain for a signal, went on its way.
During the night the relentless waves loosened the broken body of Mungo McGillivray from the rocks and as the tide turned the currents carried it far away from Carrick shore.
EPILOGUE
SEPTEMBER 28th
The piper and the two fiddlers struck the final chord of the eightsome reel with a flourish, wiped their brows and stowed their instruments beneath the chairs before going in search of their interval refreshment. They went straight to the head of the queue for the punch bowl, ignoring the good-natured jeers of those waiting behind them.
“Weel played, lads,” said Jeanie Balfour as she ladled punch into their cups. “Ye’ve earned yer supper.”
“What’s in the punch, mistress?” asked the piper.
“It’s my man’s secret recipe,” beamed Jeanie, indicating Bob who was replenishing the bowl, “but I’ll wager ye’ll no’ be disappointed. Forbye, James Cunningham’s no’ here tae disapprove.” Appreciative laughter followed her as she went off to fetch the pies.
The first ball of
the season was in full swing at the Assembly Rooms. The hall was crowded, for it seemed that all of Ayr society was there, with the exception of the Cunningham brothers. “Puir Mr Richard,” as he was generally referred to now, was of course no more, and his brother James had disappeared from the town before his case came before the Kirk Session. This was taken as a sure sign of guilt and if all the rumours were to be believed he had forced his attentions on half the women of the town.
Tom, standing by a pillar at the side of the room, looked round fondly at the company as they strolled and chatted under the bright lights. The Misses McFadzean were seated near the door, surveying the comings and goings with avid interest. Miss Effie was dressed in pale pink satin and her sister in pale blue; both sported the high powdered hairstyles and face patches they hoped were the latest Edinburgh fashion. The overall effect remained mutton dressed as lamb, but the colours were less strident than usual. Perhaps Alison’s influence was bearing fruit.
Over near the musicians David was in earnest conversation with Rab Burns. Tom was sure that the topic would be the dreadful weather and the late harvest, judging by the seriousness of David’s expression and Rab’s monosyllabic answers as his eye was caught by a succession of comely lassies. As soon as the music started again, he would be off.
Tom himself would not be dancing. His arm had almost healed but he was not yet up to stripping the willow. He still counted himself lucky every day to be alive, free and with his family, but it was hard to come to terms with the fact that Mungo had killed Richard Cunningham and nearly killed him too. The discovery of the knife and Isabelle Cunningham’s testimony had clearly established Mungo’s guilt and secured Tom’s immediate freedom, but there were still those who muttered that Tom Boyd was fortunate to have a wealthy, privileged family to protect him.
On Carrick Shore Page 16