by R. W. Hughes
The Sutherlands! And the unease George had felt during their meeting, was to prove correct.
The information that Magnus Duncan had obtained from the document, even though it was not complete, when placed in the right hands was enticing. The payment obtained would allow him to return to Edinburgh with enough gold to solve all his present financial problems and possibly more besides.
As soon as George was out of sight, Magnus Duncan quickly packed a few belongings in a small travel bag; he then spent half an hour searching his lodgings for anything that would raise some cash at the pawnbrokers. He had a long and dangerous journey in front of him; he would be travelling across lands controlled by clans that supported Prince Charles, before he could reach the safety of his distant relation, the Earl of Sutherland!
As George returned to where he and Douglas had made camp, he could think of nothing, only of a statement made by Kean. He had referred to meeting Doctor Russell his wife and their beautiful daughter with her maid. Kean in the past had only dealt with Fiona’s maid servant in collecting and delivering the mail between Fiona and George. He had been instructed by his employer to obtain rented accommodation for the doctor and his family, who had travelled by ship from Inverness; the doctor feeling it would be safer in the capital in these present uncertain times. Kean had met them at the quay as their ship docked and escorted them to the property they were to rent.
George was so deep in his own thoughts he only just managed to avoid a patrol of English Dragoons by throwing himself into a roadside ditch half-filled with water until they passed by. If he had been apprehended, he might well have been mistaken for a Jacobite spy or a deserter from the Prince’s army. Either would have caused a delay he could ill afford. It was a bedraggled, mud-covered figure who made his way to where he and Douglas had made camp that previous night away from curious eyes of the main road below them, but in a position where they could still observe and have a clear view of the surrounding area. He could see the relief on Douglas’s face as his friend recognised him, replacing his pistol on his belt as he approached. He decided not to share his fears with Douglas about the translator; they may well prove to be unfounded, possibly only his overly suspicious mind working overtime.
But he did share the news about the doctor and his family, unable to hide the excitement in his voice at the mention of the doctor’s daughter, Fiona. ‘All have moved to the city of Edinburgh, Doctor Russell, his wife, Fiona and even their maid, Hannah Snell.’ He quickly went on, ‘You would not believe what the second part of the manuscript disclosed. Our fellow passenger was indeed an agent for the French Government; the special delivery will be gold! To be landed on the shores of Scotland by a ship of the French Navy to help finance the Prince’s Army and his claim to the English throne. But from what we have seen on our recent travels Douglas, the Prince’s army is a lost cause. They seem disorganised and disheartened, in fact, they seem ready to desert at a moment’s notice.’
‘I hear what you say, George,’ he replied, as his friend stripped off his sodden clothes. ‘But have you not noticed that they still struggle manfully to pull and retain their cannon and shot, none have been abandoned, and now that they are in their own country, as you know, they could well rally again to the Pretender’s cause, especially if the promise of French gold is on offer! So what do you propose we do, George? Do you have a plan for us to follow?’ queried Douglas.
‘I think,’ replied George, ‘we need to move back to Tongue House as quickly as possible. We need to see what has developed while we have been away, and in view of this recent information, I need to talk too and listen to the advice of my uncle. But the delivery of gold to the Prince’s supporters will need to be in an isolated spot, and I want to ensure that there will be several of the MacKay clan there to meet them. In the meantime, the MacKays and our Whig allies will be under increasing pressure now the Prince’s army has returned.’
‘Well the horses are rested and ready to go George, within a few days if all goes well we can be sharing a dram with your uncle in Tongue House.’
‘I admire your optimism, Douglas, but we still have a long and dangerous journey to travel before we can drop our guard and relax. It may be prudent to consider a slower but much safer route to Tongue House.’
He outlined his idea of travelling by sea to his friend, who reluctantly agreed that it was by far the safest, all be it, a much more time-consuming route. Meanwhile, he was already beginning to formulate a plan in his mind now that he knew when and what the special delivery from the French would be. But he had also decided during this long journey on another decision for the life he could see in front of him, and he was not prepared to spend it without his beloved Fiona.
He had already made arrangements with his friend, Kean, to travel to Edinburgh the following day and collect a Bill of Sale for the horses and papers for a passage from the docks at Edinburgh as far up the coast as was possible at such short notice. For payment of the rest of their journey, he had persuaded his friend to accept one of the horses as security, and for it to be sold at the earliest convenience and any surplus funds to be forwarded on to the MacKay agent. He would also receive a letter from Kean’s employers that he could produce, if apprehended, by the Royalist forces while in the city. He would also call at the doctor’s residence and ask Fiona’s parent for their daughter’s hand in marriage. He expected them to resist his request and it could be refused, but he still intended to try. After his conversation with Kean, he needed to stop this terrible aching he felt. The country like his heart was in turmoil; he had decided on the path he wished to follow, and now had nothing to lose but to go in that direction.
Eleven
When he divulged to Douglas his intentions of approaching Fiona’s parents, his companion shook his head in disbelief.
‘I can’a see the doctor and his wife giving permission for you to marry his daughter, not in times as troubled as we are living at the moment. Their beloved daughter may well end up a widow within a short space of time after she has only just celebrated her wedding. The MacKays have earned no favours with the Pretender’s supporters.’
He cut Douglas short in mid-sentence.
‘Aye, Douglas! But in their favour the MacKays or their Whig supporters in the Northern Highlands have not taken the field against him. Unless they themselves are attacked or provoked they, in the present circumstances, are unlikely to do so.’
Douglas pondered for a few moments before replying.
‘I don’a think the good doctor and his wife will see the situation quite the same as you do.’ Then as an afterthought and a cynical weak joke he added, ‘You may be as well kidnap the girl, or better still abscond to the Highlands with her agreement and then have your uncle marry the pair of you!’ Douglas finished his statement on his view of a solution to the problem with a deep belly laugh.
But to George what his friend had said, even though it had been intended as a joke, and in his opinion quite absurd, had in his present state of mind, distinct possibilities. But he would keep these thoughts and ideas to himself for the moment, until at least he had discussed the situation and the depth of his feelings with Fiona.
It had started to rain a fine drizzle that continued through what would be a cold long wet night. They could not risk lighting a fire to have a warm meal as there were too many patrols from both camps in the area.
As dawn broke both men were glad to leave the shelter of their wet cloaks and, in an attempt to create some warmth through their stiff limbs, they vigorously exercised by swinging their arms around side to side and round and around, until they felt some feeling returning to their chilled bodies.
While Douglas was left to rub down and feed the horses and do the various chores around the camp, George set off on foot to make his way back into the city, keeping to the tracks and avoiding the roads to avoid the mounted patrols. When in the city he followed Kean’s directions keeping to the back stre
ets until it brought him in sight of the Doctors rented house, it was with a great feeling of apprehension that after pacing up and down the street several times he finely approached the building. The noise of the large iron doorknocker he could hear reverberating through the heavy oak door and around the house. He waited for what seemed like an eternity and was about to use the knocker again when he heard movement on the other side. It was opened by Fiona’s aunt who on many occasions in the past had acted as a chaperone to the courting couple. He was surprised as he’d expected Hannah their maid to answer the door, as she had done in Inverness, but she must have been occupied elsewhere.
‘We’ve not enough food for ourselves and none to share for you beggars! You’re the third today.’
The sharp retort took him by surprise, but he still managed to place his foot in the gap as the old lady attempted to slam the door.
‘It is I Ma-me!’ he replied quickly recovering his composure. The old lady obviously thought he was one of the many beggars and down and outs he had seen on his way through the city. It was understandable as he and Douglas had been living rough for the last few weeks having not had the facilities for a proper wash or shave since leaving the inn near Manchester, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
All Fiona’s aunt saw at the front door was a dishevelled man, with grubby and ripped clothes, unkempt hair, and over a week’s growth of stubble covering his face.
‘It is I, George!’ he shouted at the narrow gap; the door opened a few inches wider and he was given a long quizzical look from a very suspicious old lady.
‘Is there a problem, Auntie?’
His heart increased in tempo as he recognised the voice of Fiona.
‘There’s a tramp here who says he is George MacKay.’
It was obvious that he had not managed to convince Fiona’s auntie about his identity. Fiona’s face appeared above her auntie’s in the small gap of the door.
‘Oh Auntie, it is George! It really is George.’
The door was flung open and Fiona flung her arms around George kissing him full on the lips, much to the annoyance of her watching aunt, who stood there tutt-tutting at the scene of such raw emotion taking place in front of her.
Eventually the scolding of her auntie had the desired effect and Fiona relaxed her hold on George, instead leading him by the hand down the corridor into a small sitting room. In the past when in Inverness, he had been many times in a similar room with Fiona; but always in the presence of her auntie. Nothing seems to have changed he thought as the auntie placed herself on the chair opposite the chaise-lounge where both he and Fiona sat holding hands, to the obvious disapproval of the old lady sitting opposite them.
‘Auntie! Will our guest think us most rude if we do not offer him at least a drink of tea while he waits to see my father?’
Fiona had no knowledge that he wanted to see her father; she was just using it as a ploy to persuade her auntie to leave the room, so she and George could have several minutes alone. Fiona’s auntie was torn between two thoughts. Was she to stay and chaperone her niece, or alternatively to be considered rude by this shabby Highlander sitting in her sitting room. Her pride won in the end, and she would make the tea, she would only be out of the room a few minutes. Her niece was a sensible young woman, nothing could develop in that short length of time.
As soon as the old lady had left the room he was down on one knee in front of Fiona taking hold of one of her soft pearly white small hands in both his own grubby and weathered with dirt engrained finger nails.
So different he thought from when he had used to visit when working for the solicitors. His hands then had been clean and pale with finely manicured nails. So much had happened in his life since those happy and ordered days.
His quick movement had startled Fiona and she attempted to withdraw her hands, but he retained his hold gently but firmly.
‘I wish to marry you Fiona!’ he blurted out. The scene was not at all how he had practised while walking up and down the street outside the house. ‘I have come to ask your father to allow me to take you back with me to Tongue house.’
‘I see!’ she replied. ‘And when would you think of asking me?’
‘Why! Now of course,’ he answered, utterly confused. This was not working out as he had planned. The conversation was cut short by the appearance of the Doctor followed close behind by his wife entering the room, while he was still on one knee holding Fiona’s hands. He sprang to his feet, feeling acutely uncomfortable at the situation he now found himself in. But more so because he was now facing a large mirror which was behind the doctor. He had difficulty recognising the image of this dishevelled dirty unshaven character with ripped and crumpled muddy clothes that was being reflected to him. He looked down in embarrassment, noticing that his large toe which had been threatening to burst through the worn thin leather top of his shoe for several days, it had eventually done so when it came in contact with the front door being closed upon him by Fiona’s auntie. He knew by the look on the doctor’s face that his cause was already lost, even before he started to ask for Fiona’s hand in marriage; being cut short in mid-stream before he even reached the delicate request for Fiona to accompany him back to the Highlands, to be married by his uncle in the chapel that stood alongside Tongue House.
‘The time is not right, George!’ interrupted Fiona’s father. ‘The country being in a state of civil war as it is. My duty as a father is to protect my daughter, for her to attempt to travel such a great distance, even under your capable protection would be a foolhardy venture which I could not allow. When the situation stabilizes, my wife and I will reconsider your proposal.’
The Doctor and his wife had never been happy with the relationship that had developed between their daughter and this lowly paid solicitor’s clerk. They had tried to discourage Fiona from continuing to see him, but without any success. That is when they had told him that they had high aspirations for their only child, a distant cousin of Fiona’s mother had shown interest in their daughter when he had visited them from his estates in England several years previous. They had the intention of rekindling that interest and had been relieved when they heard George had left for the Americas. The prospects for their daughter’s future and well-being would be more secure with this English gentleman than isolated in a damp, draughty house in the centre of the wild Highland moors.
He realised that the statement from the doctor was a definite ‘Nay!’ He had also upset Fiona by assuming and taking for granted that she was of the same mind as him. The state of his appearance in the mirror had also badly unnerved him, he certainly looked a most unsavoury character to be asking Fiona’s parents to allow their only daughter to travel unchaperoned across some of the wildest country in Scotland. And not to be there to give his daughter away, while she would be married to a clan chieftain who could well have his estates confiscated, with a distinct possibility that he would end up a pauper, all depending on how the sovereignty of the country evolved.
The situation was all too much for Fiona, who bursting into tears, rushed from the room closely followed by her distraught mother. There was an embarrassing silence in the room, He felt decidedly uncomfortable, first looking at the floor and then at his reflection in the large mirror, then pulling the lapels of his coat together in an attempt to hide the butt of his pistol that he could see was projecting from his belt.
‘I apologise for the intrusion, sir, and for upsetting the ladies,’ he said, in a firm voice regaining his composure. ‘I will take your leave, and join my companion we have a long and arduous journey in front of us.’
Before the Doctor could reply there was a knock on the closed sitting room door, which the doctor opened allowing the maid who had obviously been sent by Fiona’s aunt, to enter with a tray containing fine china cups and saucers a small matching jug of milk a sugar bowl and a small steaming tea pot with a plate of small fancy cakes balanced precariously
on the end of the tray.
‘What route will you and your friend take back to your lands, George?’ The doctor asked breaking the strained silence, as the maid placed the tray onto a small table. He wondered if Fiona’s father was really interested in his future, or just making light conversation to break the silence.
‘I will be leaving from the port on the early tide in the morning; a friend from my student days has booked us passage on a ship sailing up the coast. I believe you have already met Kean; he sourced this property for you on the instructions from his employers.’ He did not enlighten the doctor of the excellent horses they had at their disposal, as it may have been embarrassing to explain how they came across such wonderful animals. Even though the tea that the maid was pouring looked very inviting, he felt he had overstayed his welcome. With a curt bow to the doctor and a, ‘Thank you for your hospitality, sir,’ he left the room and let himself out of the front entrance and onto the street. The maid quickly scurried after him down the corridor closing the door behind him, and he heard the heavy bolts being pushed into place as he walked along the street.
It did not take him long to find the shipping agent’s office and make arrangements with Kean for the transport of Douglas himself and their animals to the port of Wick. At such short notice, this was the only ship available leaving port that would take them farther up the coast. It was now late afternoon and going dark as he left his friend Kean and the shipping agent’s office, and made his way along the narrow now deserted streets of the town. He had cause to look behind him on several occasions with a feeling he was being followed, but he convinced himself he was being over cautious and there was no one following him—it was just his suspicious brain playing tricks on him. He had just left the outskirts of the city when he heard running feet swiftly coming in his direction. He had not been mistaken; he really was being pursued. Whoever the group of figures that were now fast approaching him were, he sensed their intentions were not friendly.