Cat's Cradle

by Julia Golding

  ‘Much better, thank ye.’

  I gave her a hug: at least there was one of the family back from the brink.

  Bridgit stroked my shoulder. ‘What’s the matter, Cat?’

  I stood up and put my back to the little girl. ‘You can tell?’ I gave Bridgit a rueful smile.

  ‘Yes. You look upset.’

  I lowered my voice. ‘I feel I’ve been through the wringer today. Mrs Moir told me what I came to find out.’

  Bridgit’s eyes widened. ‘And?’

  ‘She’s my aunt – can you believe it? According to her, my mother was a lightskirt who left me in London to marry a Scotsman. I have no father – or at least no one who knows he’s my father – but I do have a brother.’

  Bridgit’s frown turned into a radiant smile. ‘A brother? How wonderful!’

  ‘But he’s gone bad and joined a band of thieves.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So I’m from excellent stock, you see. So good that Mrs Moir has banned me from making any claims on her or my cousins. I’m not even to announce my presence.’

  Bridgit looked indignant on my behalf. ‘She’s a narrow woman. How can she treat you that way?’

  ‘Quite easily. She’s tried with my brother, you see, but he ran away. She probably thinks I’d bring some similar scandal down on them all.’

  Bridgit pulled me into her arms and gave me a much-needed hug.

  ‘If she persists in thinking that, then she’s a foolish woman. So now you know, what now? Home?’

  I shook my head. ‘I thought I’d go brother-hunting.’

  The quiet of the house was broken by the clatter of boots on the stairs. We both turned as Dougie staggered into the kitchen. One look at his face and I knew something was badly wrong.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, holding out a hand to him.

  He took it blindly. ‘It’s Mither. She’s dead.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Bridgit, dashing from the room.

  I couldn’t move – I’d killed her with my questions. But no, that was a stupid thought – she’d been ill. It wasn’t my fault.

  ‘I sat with her for a moment,’ Dougie continued. ‘She knew I was there because she squeezed my hand. Then her breathing got quieter and quieter – and then it stopped. I tried to wake her but I . . . I couldna.’

  ‘Oh, Dougie!’ I hugged him. I could hear Bridgit’s light footsteps overhead as she checked the front bedroom.

  ‘Mither?’ whispered Jeannie.

  Dougie burst into stormy, gasping tears. I gathered Jeannie into our hug so the three of us stood together, rocking the pain away.

  ACT IV

  SCENE 1 – BROTHER-HUNTING

  My aunt’s funeral took place three days later in the dreary graveyard of the parish church. Leafless trees edged the plot, a permanent guard of forked-limbed mourners presiding over us mortals doomed to be buried at their roots. The rest of the Moirs had recovered enough to attend but from the look on their faces it was clear that the emotional blow had taken all strength from them. They were sinking like a tent with the centre pole removed. They clung together at the graveside, finding what comfort they could in each other. Katrine had a stoic expression as she watched her mother’s coffin being lowered into the damp soil; she seemed to be silently assuming the burden of caring for the family, steeling herself for stepping into Mrs Moir’s shoes. Mr Moir, still weak, leaned on Dougie’s broad shoulder, his face grey. Ian cuddled Jeannie in his arms while the little girl sobbed.

  As for me, I felt I had no right to stand with them. Held by a promise to a dead woman, I could not now make myself known to my cousins without dishonouring her memory. So I stood outside the family group, just another neighbour come to pay her respects. Awash with confusion, grief and hurt, I tried to feel as I should for my cousins but struggled with selfish regrets.

  ‘Cat, if we are going to leave the mill, I think we should go soon,’ said Bridgit in a low voice at my side. ‘This place is doing you no good. It’s written all over your face. And I promised your friends I’d look after you.’

  She was right: I was suffering the torment of seeing within my grasp what I’d always wanted but had promised not to seize. It would be so easy just to cross the muddy ground and announce, ‘Hello, I’m your Aunt Jesse’s mistake, Cat Royal.’ I was secretly hoping that the truth would out without me having to break my word, but thus far none of the Moirs had displayed any leaps of intuition as to my true identity. My soulful, meaningful stares were doubtless just taken as sympathy; little did they know I was mourning not only my aunt but the biggest missed opportunity of my life.

  I turned from the funeral party as the Moirs and their neighbours filed back to the house. With a sigh I took a final glance around the churchyard, at the gravediggers spading the soil on top of the coffin. I felt as if they were burying my past along with my poor aunt.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I said. ‘We should go. There’s nothing more I can achieve here.’

  ‘Leaving so soon, Snippie? Just when I’ve decided ye’re no so bad.’ Jamie Kelly emerged out of the crowd to hook me by the elbow and offered his free arm to Bridgit.

  He wasn’t used to seeing me in anything but a combative mood so I snapped into it, despite my depressed spirits. ‘Playing the gentleman now, professor?’

  ‘Aye. I want to hear about yer daft plans. I thought ye had more gumption than to give up now. Too soft after all, are ye?’

  His ploy to goad me into staying was transparent. Sweet really.

  ‘Yes, Jamie, I’m so weak and feeble I’ve decided to slink off down south, tail between my legs, awed by the superior staying power of you braw Scots.’

  He shook his head. ‘I dinna believe it! I ken you now: ye wouldna run away!’

  I gave him a smile. ‘I believe, Mr Kelly, that was a compliment. You’ll have all the girls swooning at your feet if you carry on this way.’

  He flushed and glanced sideways at Bridgit. I already suspected that he nurtured tender feelings for my companion despite her being several years his senior. But he would have to cure himself of his admiration for Bridgit: I had other plans for her, God – or should I say, Syd – willing.

  Jamie adjusted the woollen scarf dangling around his neck. ‘Perhaps it was a wee bit o’ reese – but it’s the truth,’ he said defensively.

  I turned my head to hide my amusement. Buttery-lippit – that’s what they called a flatterer round these parts, but Jamie would never find the role easy as he was as sharp-tongued as me in his own way and a touch clumsy with his compliments.

  ‘Jamie, do you remember a little boy called Rabbie Bruce, kin to the Moirs?’ Bridgit asked, deftly changing the subject.

  Jamie searched the crowd at the graveside. ‘Aye, Ian and Dougie’s cousin. Did he come then? That was brave o’ him.’

  Bridgit shook her head, tugging him further away from any listeners. ‘No, we don’t think he was here. But we need to find him.’

  Jamie frowned. ‘Why do you want him? He’s gone wild – a briganer skulking out at the tower house with a pack o’ Bruces. He’s set to be one o’ the worst when he’s full-grown. I’d say ye best stay away from the likes o’ Rabbie Bruce.’

  We had reached the same spot where the three of us had looked down on the mill on that first day. The funeral party unfurled down the path like a spool of black ribbon, heading for the cottage where a wake was to be held. I’d promised Jeannie I would be there but I could not face it just at the moment. I let go of Jamie’s arm and leaned on the top bar of a fence, rubbing away a headache. It would not be breaking my word to confide in someone outside the family, I decided.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t leave Rabbie Bruce alone, Jamie,’ I said. ‘Mrs Moir told me just before she died that he’s my brother.’

  To my surprise, Jamie’s reaction to my earth-shattering revelation was to chuckle. ‘Nae, lass. That canna be true. Ye’re a Sassenach; Rabbie’s a Scot.’

  I sighed. ‘All the same, we had the same mother.�
��

  Jamie took his glasses out of his pocket and pinched them to the end of his nose to get a clear view of my face. He looked the earnest scholar in this pose. ‘Is this a jest?’

  ‘No. I have a brother.’ I then proceeded to tell him the reason for my journey north, my last conversation with Mrs Moir and my promise.

  ‘That isna fair,’ Jamie announced when I’d finished. ‘I have nae wish to speak ill of the dead, but she had a heart as hard as three-inch ice in the well bucket.’

  ‘But still, I gave my word.’

  Jamie was thinking fast. ‘Aye, but the Moirs ken that Rabbie is their kin. If ye bring him back and he says ye are his sister then all will be out and ye’ll nae have to break yer promise.’

  I’d been thinking this myself but couldn’t help wondering if it was breaking the spirit, if not the letter, of my oath to Mrs Moir.

  ‘Nae, Catherine, dinna look at me like that: Ian and Dougie will be glad to find out that ye are kin, wee Jeannie too. They wouldna forgive me if I kept it from them and let ye slink off back to London.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. Was it possible that, if they ever found out, my cousins would feel cheated if I left without telling them? Would they want to know me as much as I wanted to know them?

  Decision made, I tapped the fence like an auctioneer closing the bidding. ‘Whatever I do about the Moirs, I think my next step is clear. I must find my brother.’

  ‘Aye, ye must, but it willna be so easy,’ Jamie replied sagely – an annoying stance seeing how he had just been encouraging me to make myself known to Rabbie. ‘Ye canna go to the tower house and demand to see him. They dinna take to strange folk. And think what yer brother will make o’ ye, a Sassenach lass claiming to be his long-lost sister. If I remember one thing about Rabbie, it’s his ill temper. I doubt he’ll take kindly to the news.’

  I took a deep, steadying breath, determined not to be put off. ‘So I have a crosspatch of a brother locked in a tower with a bunch of bandits? That sounds like the sort of quest to appeal to a brave-hearted sister. I’ll just pack my bag and you can point me in the right direction.’

  ‘Wheest, lass, ye are nae listening! Ye canna do that and think to come back in one piece.’ He took my shoulder and actually gave me a shake. ‘The Bruce clan are raucle, ill-likit and kittle –’

  I held up a hand. ‘Stop! Translation, please.’

  Jamie scrubbed his hand through his hair in frustration.

  ‘I think he means they are ill-mannered ruffians who would as soon slit your throat as speak to you,’ offered Bridgit mildly.

  Jamie nodded his thanks. ‘Aye, that’s it. Ye would be daft to seek them out by yerself.’

  He clearly hadn’t heard the bit about me being determined to go. He had no idea what a brother meant to someone without family – it was everything to me.

  I crossed my arms stubbornly. ‘I’ve proved I’m not hen-hertit once and I’ll show you again.’

  ‘But, Catherine, this isna a walk to the Linn we’re talking about – ye take yer life in yer hands when ye tangle wi’ the Bruces.’

  ‘Strangely enough, Jamie, I think I understood that,’ I said sarcastically. ‘But that changes nothing.’

  He groaned. ‘Aye, it does.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It means I have to go wi’ ye and keep the pair o’ ye alive.’

  With no reason to delay, we left the next morning. Being a Sunday, we were the first up and about so very few people saw us head out of the valley. My goodbyes had already been said. Martha rejoiced to have her bed back; Annie wished me well. I’d already told the Moirs at the wake that Bridgit and I were off to find work in Glasgow. Jeannie had cried in my arms, distressed that she was losing a friend so soon after the death of her mother, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to promise her that I’d be back when I wasn’t certain of it. And I hoped I could soon reveal myself to her as something rather better than a mere friend. I did give her a very unneighbourly hug – a real squeeze – hoping that she could sense more than I could say.

  Dougie, Katrine and Ian were still too stunned by grief to pay much attention to our departure, though Ian did tease Jamie a little for agreeing to set us on our way. None of them thought it strange that we were to walk to Glasgow as it was a well-travelled road. With all the cotton wagons passing to and fro from the port, there would be plenty of opportunities to beg a ride.

  But, Reader, we had no intention of going that far; our destination was nowhere so civilized. We were heading into bandit country.

  On Jamie’s advice we carried only a small bundle each, strapped to our backs to leave our arms free for the rough terrain. Following his lead, we did not stay on the Glasgow road but struck off north-east up a track that was little more than a muddy trail. We climbed a steep wooded slope, pulling ourselves up by root and limb, until we emerged on to moorland. I stood still to regain my breath, marvelling at the view spread out before me. An icy wind cut through my thick shawl and pelisse and I tucked my hands under my arms to keep them warm. In the distance, I could see the faint outline of dark blue hills capped with white – the beginning of the true highlands, according to Jamie, many miles away. Here in the lowlands the countryside looked much kinder – a network of rivers hidden in wooded valleys, open hilltops where sheep grazed, villages and farms. It was amazing to think that the largest manufactory in the country, if not the world, was just a few miles behind us. Step away from the Clyde valley and it was as if New Lanark did not exist and the old country life carried on undisturbed. I was already missing the clatter of the looms that had become a comforting noise to me, like the rumble of traffic in London. I’d never been entirely at ease in the quiet of the countryside.

  A sheep bleated on our left, setting off the whole herd as they ran for no apparent reason across our path, little hooves thudding on the ground. Not that quiet really, I thought with a smile.

  ‘How far is the Bruce place, Jamie?’ I asked as we strode along the track, weaving our way between clumps of dead bracken that were the colour of cinnamon. A sugar-coating of light snow lay in drifts on the higher ground, making a stunning contrast to the iron-grey satin of the sky. The hint of sweetness was misleading: this was a poor man’s landscape, a treacherous place where the bones of the earth showed through the thin skin of grass.

  ‘The tower house is some ten miles from Lanark, in a wee valley, very hard to approach wi’out the Bruce lads being aware o’ ye.’

  I hopped over an ice-crusted puddle. ‘But we don’t want to creep up on them, surely? I want to meet my brother, not kidnap him.’

  Jamie stopped to take a stone out of his boot. ‘Ye didna listen to a word I said, did ye, Catherine?’

  Bridgit sat down on a rock and folded her hands patiently in her lap, anticipating another of our spats.

  ‘I did too,’ I protested.

  About to begin his lecture, Jamie waved to the north. ‘The Bruce clan are hard-handed reivers – or thieves as ye would say.’ He gestured to me. ‘Catherine, a soft-headed Sassenach. Put the two together and what do ye get? Trouble and an empty purse. They’ll take every last thing ye have on ye. Ye’ll be lucky to get away wi’ yer life. Is that clear enough for ye?’

  I folded my arms, standing apart from my two companions on the far side of the puddle. ‘Yes, yes, I heard all that when you told me yesterday. I didn’t ask you to come with me, remember.’

  ‘And what about her?’ Jamie nodded at Bridgit.

  ‘She doesn’t have to come either. It’s my brother, my risk.’

  Bridgit shook her head. ‘I can’t believe the Bruces would be worse than my brothers, Cat, and you faced them all for my sake.’

  Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘No another soft-headed lass! I was counting on ye to make yer friend see sense before it’s too late. These are reivers – I canna believe yer brothers are anything like them.’

  Bridgit gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘So why did you come with us if you only wanted to turn me ba
ck?’ I asked.

  Jamie scuffed his boot in the dirt. ‘Rabbie willna take so badly to me. He’ll remember me from his time in New Lanark. I thought I could go and get him for ye.’

  Words failed me for a moment. Jamie Kelly was planning on playing hero.

  ‘I can’t allow you to do that, Jamie,’ I said finally. ‘If anyone goes in alone, it will be me.’

  Bridgit stood up and brushed down the seat of her skirt. ‘No one is doing anything on their own. We’ll go together or not at all.’ Her authoritative tone announced that she was the eldest there and had decided to assume command. As I looked around our little circle, it was apparent that we had three officers and no foot soldiers. The thought made me laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ snapped Jamie, still on edge.

  ‘I was just thinking that in our army we need some more followers.’

  Bridgit smiled, but she showed no signs of backing down. ‘Cat, Jamie, why don’t we just go forward and see what happens? We don’t need to decide now.’

  ‘We canna put it off much longer. We’ll be entering Bruce land soon,’ grumbled Jamie.

  ‘Then let us think of a plan while we walk.’ Bridgit looked to the north. ‘This way, is it?’

  ‘Aye.’ Jamie surveyed the looming clouds ahead. ‘And from that dreich sky, I can tell ye that snow is on its merry way.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘I must be daft to be out here wi’ ye.’

  ‘If you can tell us where we need to go, you can still head back and be home in time for dinner and before the storm hits,’ I called over my shoulder.

  ‘Ye canna get rid of me so easily, Snippie!’ he shouted back, leaping the puddle.

  Even from our distant vantage point, I could see that the Bruce tower house was every bit as difficult to approach as Jamie said. It was getting dark but there was just enough light to see the old building crouched midway down the valley on a flat-topped hillock by the river. At least five storeys tall, the house looked like a little grey castle keep, with walls that promised to be several feet thick. The pitched roof was protected by square-cut battlements like a fancy brim on a pointy hat. From the number of missing slates it appeared that the tower itself was in poor repair, but someone had been tending the land around. There were signs of a vegetable garden dug into the flat ground in front of the main door, and the trees had been cleared to give the inhabitants an unobstructed view in all directions. I felt very disheartened by the prospect. They just do not build them like that any more – at least not where I come from. This was the kind of home meant to deter Viking invaders or provide protection from wolves, not something that belonged to our modern age.