The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2)

by Julia Brannan

  “We were in Monaco by then,” Angus said, pausing to take a bannock from the plate Duncan had thoughtfully brought up from the kitchen. He took an enormous bite. “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I cross the sea again, I can tell ye that. It doesna get easier with practice,” he said indistinctly. He swallowed. “Anyway,” he continued in a clearer voice, “when we arrived in Antibes it got really interesting, because the English had sent a pinnace tae intercept us, and it was so close tae us when we were in port that it nearly scraped the stern.” He laughed delightedly, and his two brothers, relieved beyond measure that he was home safe, laughed with him, and entered for a time into his exhilaration, putting to one side all the issues that might arise from the prince’s unwise journey.

  The heat from the fire started to penetrate the room, casting a rosy glow over the animated features of the three brothers as the youngest continued his tale.

  “The governor had been told to expel any vessel that landed from Monaco or Italy, because of the plague, but Charlie sent a message to say that a great secret’d be revealed tae him, if he’d only be rid of the English boat. So the governor, being of a curious disposition, said both boats had tae go, but the English one first, and as soon as it was out of port, the prince went and revealed himself to the man, Villeneuve, his name is.”

  “I bet that pleased him,” Duncan said dryly.

  “I dinna ken, but he took our side, and that’s what matters,” Angus continued. “He had us transferred to another ship, which was just as well, as Matthews, that’s the admiral of the British fleet, ye ken, sent in a wee boat on the pretext of obtaining supplies, but really just tae take a look round. Villeneuve was brilliant. He gave the captain of the felucca that brought us in a real dressing down, and tellt him tae leave immediately, which he did, closely followed by the British ship. But of course we werena on the felucca, but in Antibes, enjoying the hospitality of the governor. And very hospitable he was. There are some awfu’ bonny lassies in Antibes, as well,” he said happily.

  “Christ, man, ye’ll be dead of the pox before you’re twenty,” Alex said disgustedly.

  “No, I willna. I’ve got they sheepskin condom thingies ye can buy. They’re no’ so bad when ye get used to them. I’ll come to my wife pure as a virgin.”

  Alex and Duncan snorted in unison, but Angus only half heard them, he was so fired up, reliving the events of the last days.

  “We were stuck there for six days, wi’ Charles climbing the walls, but he had to wait until he heard from Villeneuve’s superior, some Marquis of something.”

  “Mirepoix,” suggested Alex.

  “That’s the laddie. Anyway, the message came in that we had to be kept in quarantine for eight days and then we could go, but the governor had sent another courier to the Foreign Minister in Paris wi’ a bit more information. I think he knew there was something important going on, and that when Louis knew about it he might want to stop Charles going on to Paris. Charles kent that an’ all, and as soon as the first message came in from Mirepoix, saying we could leave, Charles acted on it, persuaded Villeneuve to let us leave, and we all rode out the next morning, without waiting for the reply from Paris.”

  “What date was that?” Alex asked, considering. He had spoken to Edwin yesterday, and it still wasn’t known exactly where the prince was, although the duke of Newcastle had received a coded letter from someone in Paris, which was in the process of being decoded, and which the duke was apparently very excited about. The contents were not yet known. Sir Anthony had shown only a mild interest in what they might prove to be. Alex was somewhat worried. Had he known the letter to be from Francois de Bussy, French diplomat and King Louis’ trusted representative in London, he would have been very worried. Had he known that de Bussy was also known as ‘Agent 101’, had been recruited by Walpole a few years earlier, and was now, after all this time, about to prove his worth to the British government, he would have been desperate. But of course he did not know that. Edwin, his main informant at the moment, did not know that. King George, who would tell him a great deal more later, also did not know that.

  Angus was thinking. “Oh, hell, I dinna ken the date, wait, it was a Wednesday, I think, and we got to Avignon three days later, on the first. The twenty-ninth, then? Aye. We were dead on our feet. And the roads were dreadful, as bad as any I’ve seen. But we didna stop there, we set off again the next morning. That’s what I was saying when ye came in, Alex. I’ve never seen anything like him. He rode like the devil all the way to Paris, eating in the saddle, not changing his clothes, none o’ that fancy palaver ye’d expect from a prince of the blood. And cheerful! He was laughing and jesting all the way. He means to take the throne, and it’ll take a better man than that German shite George to stop him!” Angus’s eyes shone with fervour and adulation. Charles at his best had that effect on people. Alex had seen him work the same magic on Beth. He said nothing. He didn’t want to burst his younger brother’s bubble now, but he knew that however worthy Charles Stuart was, he could not take the throne alone, and his sudden appearance in Paris was not likely to endear him to the French king..

  “How did Louis take it?” Alex asked the question uppermost in his mind. A thin grey light was starting to seep through the closed curtains. In an hour or so Maggie and Iain would get up, and then Angus would have the pleasure of telling his story again. If he wasn’t fast asleep by then.

  Angus sat back and stretched his legs out. The strain he had put his body through in the last weeks was starting to make itself felt; his muscles were stiffening. He rotated his shoulders and flexed his arms. The whisky bottle had also been liberally passed around between the three men, and he could feel its effects, a little. But he was not sleepy yet.

  “I dinna ken,” he replied. “I didna think it wise to go there, with everything that had happened before. I didna think ye’d be wanting Sir Anthony’s manservant to be seen to be openly associating wi’ the Stuarts. I parted company wi’ Charles at the gates, then made some enquiries, found out ye’d been released days before and figured ye’d come home, so I followed ye. Did I do wrong?” he said, looking at his brother, whose forehead was creased with worry.

  “No,” Alex reassured the youth, leaning over in his chair and squeezing his shoulder. “Ye did right. Ye couldna have found out much, anyway, and it could have caused problems here, for all of us. What’s done is done. We just have to pray Louis doesna take exception to it, and call off his invasion.”

  “Ye should get yourself off to bed, man,” Duncan suggested, thinking to do the same thing. “Ye look dead on your feet.”

  Angus looked at the window, at the strengthening light, and made a reasonably accurate estimate of the time.

  “No,” he said, “I’ll wait a wee while, till Beth gets up. I dinna want you telling her my adventures while I’m sleeping, and I canna trust ye not to.” He smiled, then the smile faded as he looked at Duncan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s no’ here,” Alex supplied before Duncan could speak. “She’s in Manchester, visiting wi’ friends.”

  “Ah,” said Angus, clearly disappointed. “But ye’ve sorted out what’s between ye, right? She’ll be back in a day or so?”

  There was a taut silence. Seeing that Alex was not about to reply, Duncan did it for him.

  “She left before Alex got home. He didna get back until the end of January.”

  The atmosphere in the room changed subtly. Duncan shot a warning look at his younger brother, who ignored it.

  “Ye mean to tell me you’ve been home for nigh on two weeks, and ye ken where she is, and ye havena been to see her…”

  “Leave it, Angus,” Alex growled.

  “…to beg her forgiveness for the way ye treated her?” Angus continued as though his brother had not spoken. “She loves ye, d’ye ken that, even though you dinna deserve her. D’ye no’ care at all for her?”

  “Angus,” Duncan began.

  “Have you met her, Duncan? She’s wonderful.
Christ, if she was my wife, I’d no’ be treating her like shi…”

  Duncan watched with weary resignation as Alex’s fist ploughed into his brother’s face, sending him tumbling sideways out of his chair into the hearth. The last time Alex had hit Angus with intention to hurt had also been in this room. Then the circumstances had been quite different, and Angus had not retaliated. He had no such restrictions on him now, and he leapt up from the hearth, shook his head once to clear it, then launched himself at his brother who had just started to rise from his seat, the force sending the chair and its occupants tumbling over backwards in a flurry of limbs. The two men landed in a heap on the floor, Angus, initially at least, on top.

  Duncan continued to observe with some interest as his brothers proceeded to attempt to do each other serious harm, with considerable success on both sides. Angus had filled out a little since he had last seen him, Duncan noticed. He was still slender compared to his eldest brother, but was starting to lose his coltishness. He had put on muscle, on his shoulders and back especially, as was clearly visible through the rent in his shirt, which left his right shoulder and upper arm exposed. As he watched, Angus, who had achieved a little respite from the battle, having just run his brother’s head into the door, tore at the flapping material, stripping the remnants of the travel-stained garment off, dropping it to the floor and then joining it as Alex, recovering, took him by the knees. The battle continued.

  Yes, give him another year or so, and they would probably be equals in strength, although the older man would still have experience on his side. Alex for instance would not have wasted his advantage by taking the time to remove his shirt while his brother was stunned, as Angus had, but would have followed through immediately and brought the fight to an abrupt end. Duncan picked up the whisky bottle and slowly drained the last inch of its contents. Then he yawned, stretched, stood and left the room, carefully stepping over the small puddle of blood by the door. He was not sure whose it was; both his brothers were bleeding freely from the nose.

  By the pump in the yard stood two buckets that Iain had filled the evening before, then having been distracted by something, had forgotten to bring in. Duncan rolled up his sleeve, smashed his elbow through the ice that had formed on top of the water, then picked the buckets up and carried them into the house. He smiled at Maggie, who was making her sleepy way down the stairs, woken no doubt by the muffled noises from below.

  “Madainn mhath, a Mhairead,” he greeted her amiably. “Angus is home,” he continued, as though that explained everything, before continuing into the dining room, a pail in each hand. There was a crash as the door opened, as of breaking pottery, and Maggie winced. She took a couple more steps down, then stopped. Duncan did not seem particularly bothered. She sat down on the stairs, yawning, to await the outcome. There would no doubt be a mess, which she would have to clean up.

  When Duncan entered the room he paused for a moment to survey the damage. The table had been overturned, breaking the plate, although the empty bottle had rolled harmlessly into the corner. This confrontation had clearly been brewing for some considerable time, which was why Duncan had allowed it to continue for a while. If he had intervened immediately he would have only succeeded, at best, in postponing the conflict for an hour or two. Hopefully they would now have released enough of their anger to be able to talk it through later without coming to blows again. It had gone on long enough, though. Both men were still conscious, just, and on the floor, Alex straddling Angus, who had his hands round the older man’s throat, and was doing his best to strangle him. As Duncan lifted the first bucket, Alex gripped his brother by the ears and lifting his head, smashed it back into the floor with enough force to render a lesser foe unconscious. Angus’s grip relaxed slightly, before tightening again. They were oblivious to Duncan’s presence, to anything except killing each other. Alex lifted his brother’s head again. His face was scarlet.

  Duncan threw the freezing contents of the first bucket over his two siblings, followed closely by the second, then went and sat back down. The grunts and dull thuds of the previous minutes were transformed into splutters and Gaelic oaths. A few moments later, the two brothers stood, and approached the chair where Duncan was sitting. Four dark blue eyes, or more correctly three, the fourth being swollen shut, regarded him balefully. Duncan returned their look calmly. Water dripped from the tangled ends of Alex’s hair. Angus’s face was smeared with watery gore.

  “It seems to me,” Duncan said conversationally, undisturbed by their apparent hostility towards him. He knew his brothers, and they knew him, “that we all agree Beth is a fine woman. And it’s also clear that ye still love her, Alex. So, it strikes me that ye’ve the two options. Either ye trust her, in which case you really should go and talk tae her and sort out the misunderstanding between you, because she thinks ye dinna. That’s why she’s left, to go to those who trust her, and who she trusts. She tellt me to tell ye that, if you asked. Ye havena asked, but I think it’s time ye knew it anyway. She said ye’d ken what she meant.”

  Angus sneezed and moved closer to the fire, shivering. His face was almost unrecognisable as that of the handsome young man who had entered the room a few hours earlier. Alex did not move, but his hands slowly relaxed by his sides. His face had not suffered as badly, but his nose was bleeding, the skin over his ribs was darkening, and there were distinct finger marks on his neck.

  “What’s the second option?” he said, his voice rasping painfully.

  “That ye dinna trust her, in which case she poses a danger to all of us,” Duncan said, eyeing his brother carefully. The hands remained relaxed. The violence was over. Hopefully. “Now, ye both ken her well, better than I do, having spent a lot more time wi’ her, and are obviously very taken wi’ her, in your different ways. So, if the second option is what it’s to be, I’ll volunteer to go up to Manchester and kill her for ye. I’m no’ so close to her as you both seem tae be.”

  “What?” Angus gasped from his position by the fire. Alex’s eyes darkened. Duncan held his gaze, his grey eyes calm, measuring, his body tensed in readiness.

  “If ye dinna trust her, Alex, then she canna be allowed to live, with what she knows. Ye ken that well, man. Ye canna have one rule for yourself, and another for the rest of the clan. If any MacGregor proves themselves to be untrustworthy, they must be got rid of.”

  “She’s no’ proved herself untrustworthy,” Alex said, reluctantly.

  “Has she no’?” He held his brother’s eyes, saw the hostility, the wish to avoid the issue, to avoid the pain. To avoid the pain, at all costs. By sheer force of will he refused to let Alex look away, pushed through the reluctance, willing him to face it, to recognise that he had to deal with it one way or another, because he could not continue like this. Angus, aware of what was happening, remained wisely silent.

  “No,” Alex murmured, after thirty interminable, exhausting seconds. “She hasna proved herself untrustworthy.”

  Duncan relaxed and passed his hand over his eyes, breaking his hold on Alex.

  “Then for Christ’s sake, man, stop torturing yourself, and her, and go and tell her ye trust her, and bring her back,” he said wearily.

  “I’m no’ sure that she’ll come back, if I do,” Alex whispered. His eyes were very dark. Duncan hadn’t realised until then just how much he loved her, how afraid he was.

  “She’ll definitely no’ come back, an’ ye dinna,” he pointed out gently. “But she wants to, I can tell ye that much. An’ ye leave it too long, she’ll likely change her mind, though. It’s up to you.” He stood, feeling exhausted. What his brothers must feel like, he had no idea. “I’m away to my bed,” he said. “I’d suggest ye do the same.”

  They did. Duncan slept for five hours, Angus for fourteen. When he surfaced, swollen, stiff and sore, and limped downstairs to eat everything in the house and tell Maggie and Iain of his exciting adventures in Europe, his eldest brother was gone. How long he had slept, no one knew. The household settled down to
wait, again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The letter from Duncan advising Beth that Alex was all right and was on his way home arrived in Didsbury the day after she did. It was brief and to the point, but annoyingly devoid of any detail. She assumed from it that her husband had not sent any personal message to her, as Duncan would surely have sent it on if he had, and she decided to try to forget about him. That was not too difficult in the first few days, as she had plenty to occupy her mind.

  First of all there was the long and very difficult interview with her solicitor, financial adviser and friend Edward Cox, regarding the remaining amount of her dowry, which Sir Anthony had signed over to her, and which was considerable. She had written to Mr Cox to advise him of what she wanted to do, but did not expect him to accept it without a fight. She was right; he did, very courteously, but also lengthily and firmly try to dissuade her from the course of action she was set on, which he finally said in exasperation, his courtesy sliding, was insane.

  He was right, it was insane, if you were not in possession of all the facts. As much as Beth liked him, she could not apprise him of them. Finally she had no choice but to override his protests by advising him that it was her money and she could do whatever she wanted with it, and this was what she was set on doing.

  Secondly there was the reunion with her friends, which was far more pleasant than the interview with Edward Cox, but not without its own emotional trauma. They had known she was coming. The second letter she had written from London had been to ask them if she could. She had sent it to her old house, and Jane had replied with their new address and a standing invitation.

  The house was larger than she had expected and was painted white, with small-paned sash windows and a tiled roof. It boasted three bedrooms, two reception rooms, a decent-sized but overgrown garden which Graeme had already made some headway in taming, and a warm and cosy kitchen, to which Beth was taken by an excited and considerably taller Mary. Graeme was sitting at the table in solitary splendour. He had not changed at all, Beth was gratified to see. He still wore the same homespun breeches and leather waistcoat, and his face was still tanned and seamed from years of work in the open air. Maybe there was a little more grey in his hair, that was all.