I fixed the clerk with as evil a look as I could to encourage him to leave. Mr Pryde took the hint and waved him away before breaking the wafer.
'I have of course kept in touch with your investments,' Mr Pryde placed half a dozen documents in front of him. 'You have shares in these ships,' he read out the names and continued. 'They are two whaling ships, two Baltic traders, one East Indiaman and one West Indiaman.'
'I have been watching their progress in the shipping columns,' I said.
Mr Pryde looked up. 'You have been fortunate that all have made good voyages, given the current state of hostilities with France.'
'Perhaps less good fortune than good masters in the ships,' I said.
'Shall we agree on a mixture of both?' Mr Pryde passed a sheet of paper over to me. 'Here are this year's figures, Miss Flockhart.'
I nodded as I scrutinised the columns and the final figures. 'The war certainly raises the profit margins for the vessels that get through.'
'Unfortunately, it also raises insurance premiums,' Mr Pryde said.
'Have the insurance premiums been taken from these figures?'
'Yes, Miss Flockhart. The figures are net.' Mr Pryde pointed out the entry with his thin finger and waited until I had absorbed the totals. 'As you see, the profits are quite substantial. And your other assets,' he lifted another buff folder, 'are all in here.' He handed it over in its entirety.
I hesitated before I opened the file. As always, the name at the top made me shiver. 'I'm glad to see you're putting it to good use,' I said. 'Although I don't know if I intend to retain this particular asset.'
Mr Pryde grunted. 'It is a regular source of income,' he advised, 'whatever your personal feelings may be.'
'There are occasions that I just want to be rid of the whole thing.'
'I do understand that Miss Flockhart,' Mr Pryde said. 'It was a horrible episode in your life, yet practicalities are practicalities, and everyone needs an income.'
'I have the shipping shares,' I reminded.
'If even one of the ships sinks or the French capture it, your income from that source diminishes. Take the whaling ship, for instance, every year about one in every twenty whaling ships sinks in the ice, so that year by year, the chances of your vessels safe return reduces. And this new French war has just started. The last one lasted eight years; God only knows how long this war will continue.'
I nodded. Mr Pryde's facts were unpalatable but undeniable. 'I understand, Mr Pryde. You advise that I keep hold of that asset at present rather than exchanging it for its present cash value.'
'Exactly so, Miss Flockhart. A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush and anything that generates wealth in these uncertain times is worth retaining. When this present emergency subsides, and the world settles down, then you may wish to reconsider your position. At present I would advise you to hold tight and bite down your memories, however bitter.'
I nodded. It was not pleasant to hear, but there was little point in employing a solicitor if I did not take heed of his advice. I tried to push away the faces and memories that hovered at the fringes of my mind.
'One last thing,' I said. 'I will need an extra cash withdrawal. An unexpected expense has occurred.'
'Such things happen,' Mr Pryde agreed. 'How much?'
'One hundred pounds.'
'In gold or a bank draft?' Mr Pryde did not turn a hair at the figure.
'In gold, please, and could you make that a hundred and ten?' I had a sudden desire for some luxuries for myself, or perhaps a small contribution to Doctor Hetherington's practice. He had seemed a dedicated man and had undoubtedly helped me in my time of need.
'My clerk will do the needful.' Mr Pryde said.
Winter dusk was already upon us when I left the office, and I was thankful to clamber into the waiting post-chaise. 'Back to Thistle Street,' I ordered Alexander, my driver. I was glad that my trip to Mr Pryde was complete for another year. He was a pleasant enough fellow and adequately kept my affairs in order, but I preferred to keep solicitors and such like people at arms' length. I glanced at the barracks of Queensberry House across the street, wondered if Captain Rogers had ever been in there and shook my head. I should not think such things. My future would and could not contain a husband, and I would never countenance any other form of male relationship.
Alexander whipped up, and we moved away, with the wheels rolling and grinding over the granite setts and the tall tenements sliding past on either side. I always thought that driving through Edinburgh's Old Town was like passing between two walls of a canyon with the cliff-like buildings pierced with a thousand small windows from which watchful eyes peered.
'There's trouble ahead, Ma'am,' Alexander shouted back to me and pulled the coach to a halt.
'What's happening?' I tried to peer out of the coach window, saw nothing, opened the door and stepped outside. A horse had fallen, spilling a cartload of coal to block the Canongait. Traffic was already beginning to build up, with tradesmen's carts predominant and much commonplace language. 'Can you get us out of here, Alexander?'
'We can go by the Cowgait,' the driver said at once. 'Best keep the blinds down on the windows.'
Many years ago the Cowgait had been a prosperous area but now was rapidly filling up with immigrant Irish labourers. Once grand houses were now divided and sub-divided into smaller homes, and whole families lived in single rooms.
'I've seen worse,' I said, although I knew that the more deprived areas of Edinburgh could be odious at best and horrendous at worst.
'Hold on then, Ma'am,' the driver said.
It could not have been easy to turn the chaise in that narrow street, but Alexander was a man of skill. Ignoring the curses and waving fists of the other drivers, he had us trotting back down the slope of the Canongait within a few moments. We passed the old Palace of Holyroodhouse and headed into the dark depths of the Cowgait. Here, the road was even narrower than the Canongait, and only the intermittent flicker of tallow candles glimmered from broken-paned windows on the crowding tenements.
Despite Alexander's advice, I kept the blinds up and looked with some curiosity at this notorious quarter of the city. Crowds filled the streets, dissolute and wretched labourers with broad faces and heavy boots together with slatternly looking women. Hordes of filthy, bare-foot children erupted from every crevice and dirty close to stare at this coach passing by. It was hard to believe that we were in the Modern Athens, home to the Scottish Enlightenment and the most civilised and educated city in the world.
'Move aside there!' I heard Alexander's shout and craned my neck to look ahead. A mob of people had congregated in the road ahead, staring insolently at the chaise. Somebody threw a stone that rattled from the bodywork, and then the driver lashed out with his whip, cracking it above their heads. 'Get out of the way!'
I saw the crowd part slightly, and the driver slashed his whip sideways. 'Move away there, you blackguards!' He aimed at the legs of the most stubborn, forcing them to jump aside, creating a slight gap. Alexander drove straight forward, and the mob parted like the Red Sea under Moses's staff. I had a momentary glimpse of predatory faces with open mouths, and then we were past. 'Thank you, driver,' I shouted, determined that I would give this man far more than the statutory fare the minute he got me safely home.
We slowed again as a drunk woman reeled from one of the many hole-in-the-wall public houses in which the denizens of these sordid closes spent their time and money. Positioned at the bottom of a wynd that thrust upward into a dark morass of interlocking closes and alleyways, the pub door was closed, no doubt concealing all manners of horror and unrecognised sin. As we passed, a group of people burst out of the pub, men and women arm-in-arm and all were shouting or singing loudly.
Central to the group was an elderly man with a long nose and a sharp chin. I recognised him with a cold shiver: Old Q, the Duke of Queensberry, one of the most notorious rakes and gamblers in the country. He had a semi-dressed woman on his right, with her dress
cut so low that her breasts were exposed nearly to the nipples. On his left was a tall, gangly man in gaudy clothes that looked out of place in this dismal place. His flame-red hair was instantly recognisable. That was Hector McAra, who had been so vocal at Marie's wedding. He had wrapped his arm around the waist of a gaudily-dressed woman, who had her hand thrust into the waistband of his breeches. I would have expected nothing more from McAra. The third man, with a woman on both arms, was Gilbert Elliot.
I leaned back quickly in case Gilbert would catch a glimpse of me, and then we were passed, and the driver was making good time along the gloomy cavern of the Cowgait.
Oh dear God, not again, I thought, not again. With Old Q involved, Gibbie Elliot would be dragged along the path of the rake, and poor Marie would suffer. Whatever Gibbie wanted to happen, he would be taken deeper into the world of gamblers and rakes, deeper and darker into the lair of prostitutes and cynical, dissolute men. I could not allow it.
But how could I prevent it?
The memories were never far away, and now they returned in a confused jumble of emotions and images. I no longer saw the tall tenements of the Cowgait but relived my past. I recalled the momentary surge of happiness and hope as we entered the romantic ruins of Crichton Castle and the sickening disbelief as I faced reality and then the horror of the later events. I remembered the panic of that run through the grounds, the bite and sting of thorns and nettles, the fear as the hounds bayed behind me and the high-pitched laughter of the huntsmen echoing through the trees. I jerked my eyes open, trying to escape, unable to face what happened next.
Perspiration dampened me as I tried to fight free of these events of a decade ago. I shook my head. I may be mistaken; perhaps McAra had inveigled Gibbie into going out? And then I remembered Gibbie's comment at the wedding. What had he said? 'We can visit one of the low pubs in Whisky Row and mix with the lower orders.' No, it was no mistake. Gibbie knew what he was doing. Oh, God, I could not allow Marie to go through such things. But how could I help her? I was only a lone woman with sufficient troubles of my own.
I closed my eyes and wept.
Chapter Five
'Halloa there!' I heard the rich voice as I stood at the head of the Earthen Mound, looking down on the gracious streets and squares of the New Town. It was a view of which I never tired, this spreading beauty of our capital city with the classic grace that spoke of order, culture and the laws of architecture. It was Edinburgh that had called me back from India; I had missed the city. There were other reasons; legal matters, the call of a blackbird, the desire for a Scottish spring, the feel of cool rain, but Edinburgh's grace had been paramount.
'Halloa there, Miss Flockhart,' the voice sounded again.
Not used to being accosted in public, I did not turn and continued to enjoy the view.
'Miss Flockhart!'
I looked around slowly and felt a surge of relief that was nearly pleasure. 'Why Captain Rogers,' I said. 'I did not expect to see you here. I thought you would be fighting the French, or at least exercising your troops.'
'My troops have seen enough of me for one morning,' Captain Rogers said. 'And the French appear to be content to remain on the Continent rather than chancing the sea, Admiral Nelson and the Edinburgh Volunteers.'
'I cannot fault them for that,' I said. 'In my experience, the sea is a very boisterous element while Admiral Nelson has a reputation for destroying French hopes and French ships.' I shook my head, 'and the whole world knows the quality of the Edinburgh Volunteers.'
Captain Rogers raised immaculate eyebrows as he fixed onto the first part of my conversation. 'I was unaware you were a seafarer.'
I cursed my wayward tongue. 'I have been on a voyage or two.' I admitted.
'You intrigue me.' Captain Rogers stepped to my side and bowed. 'To where did you sail?'
'Bengal,' I told the bald truth. 'And then back again.'
'Were you accompanied?'
'I was alone,' I said, rather sharply and forestalled his next thought, if not his next question. 'And I was not part of the fishing fleet.'
'I could not see you as one of these women who venture all the way to India to try and catch an eligible bachelor.' Captain Rogers smiled, as though the very idea amused him. Perhaps he was hinting that no eligible bachelor would be interested in me and if so he was correct. 'You will have had your reasons, no doubt.'
'I had my reasons,' I agreed.
Captain Rogers laughed openly. 'You give very little away, Miss Flockhart.'
I tried to change the subject. 'It is a bracing day.'
'And here you are, walking abroad quite alone,' Captain Rogers said.
'I was visiting the poor, as any charitable Christian ought to do.' I thought the man deserved some explanation. He had never shown anything but kindness to me and here I was, spurning his innocent questions as if he were a leper. I took another look at the captain, trying to see past the bold uniform to the man beneath.
In truth, he would be reckoned a handsome enough fellow by those who took an interest in such shallow measurements of man's accomplishments. He was indeed tall and dark, with groomed whiskers and a long Scottish nose that jutted most imperiously from a face of regular features without blemish or fault. Or rather, he did have one flaw, a small scar that marred the smooth perfection of his chin, on the left side. Was that imperfection a flaw? Or did it merely highlight the handsomeness of his other attributes?
For a moment I wondered how he came by that scar, picturing the captain in the cut-and-thrust of the Battle of Alexandria where brave General Abercrombie defeated the French, and the bayonets of the Royal Highlanders destroyed Bonaparte's Invincibles. Perhaps it had been at Serangipatam when General Baird had taken Tippoo Sahib's mighty fortress. I remembered the captain's storytelling at Marie's wedding; maybe he had not been pulling the longbow but had told the truth.
'Helping the poor is a very laudable object,' Captain Rogers' words brought me back to the present, 'Although I would advise you to hire a carriage next time, or even a sedan. There are some unpleasant fellows among the lower orders who would not appreciate your help as much as they would your purse.'
I curtseyed to acknowledge his advice. I did not tell him that in Hindustan I had ventured alone among far more desperate fellows than the poor in Edinburgh's Old Town. Or, remembering the mob who had tried to stop my post-chaise in the Cowgait, perhaps they were only equally desperate.
'I do not like to think of a gentlewoman putting herself in danger with such people.' Captain Rogers continued as I grabbed my bonnet before a gust of wind flicked it away. I had visions of my hat flying across to the castle ramparts or playing helter-skelter among the promenading couples of Princes Street.
'I was in no danger,' I said.
'You are a very intriguing woman,' Captain Rogers repeated. 'Now I am afraid I must leave you. Duty requires me.' He lifted his shako and hesitated. 'I would like to call on you, Miss Flockhart, if you do not find my company offensive.'
I was not sure what to say. I remembered Mother Faa's words about a man with a uniform, yet I was not seeking a man at all. Not even this amiable gallant.
Captain Rogers raised his eyebrows and smiled, waiting for an answer.
'I do not find your company offensive, Captain,' I had already told him that.
'That is an excellent start,' Captain Rogers said. 'I will not rush you. I will be in touch.' He bowed again. 'If you ever need a military escort, Miss Flockhart, send for me.'
I thanked him. 'I shall remember that,' I could think of no situation where I would require such a thing.
Once more bowing, Captain Rogers marched away. I watched him for a few moments with my eyes straying with conscious thought to his long shapely legs. I jerked my gaze away quickly, in case … in case of what? In case I began to enjoy the captain's company? I remembered Lady Pluscarden's liking for handsome young men and frowned. There was no need to remind myself why I could not become too companionable with a man, any man.
&n
bsp; Chapter Six
I lined up my shot and chipped for the hole. The ball rose high, floated for a moment above the green and fell to the ground. It bounced once, twice, three times and rolled past the hole and on for another three yards. I watched it with some pleasure.
'Good effort,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'Let's see if I can beat it.' He chose a niblick from his tattered golf bag, took a practice swing and hit the ball sweet as a nut.
The ball barely rose above ground level as it soared toward the green. It landed a foot from the hole, bounced over the top and came to rest an inch from my own.
'Not as good as I had hoped,' Doctor Hetherington admitted.
'Most men would not care to play golf against a woman.' I eyed the distance between my ball and the hole and selected my putter. 'In case the woman wins and disgraces them.'
Bruntsfield Links was quiet at this time in the morning, with the winter sun sending long shadows over the undulating course and the lights of the surrounding buildings mere candle-flicks of hope. Women and men had played golf here for centuries, I knew, although it was more usual for each sex to keep to their own. I took a deep breath of the chill air and looked around. With the click of club on ball and groups of players and observers scattered around the Links, this was a place of peace.
'Most men would not care to play with me anyway,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'My game can be erratic.'
I tapped the ball home and heard the satisfying rattle as it sunk into the hole.
'Good shot,' Doctor Hetherington said. He followed suit, with his ball rolling sweet and true. 'Did you know that Mary, Queen of Scots used to play golf?'
'I knew that,' I said. 'And the fishwives of Musselburgh are famous golfers.'
We walked a few yards and dropped our balls on the springy grass. We both selected a play club, and I prepared to strike for the next hole.
'You did not merely come here for a round of golf,' Doctor Hetherington was smiling.
'No.' I lined up my shot and let drive. There is nothing quite as gratifying as the sound of a well-hit golf ball followed by the sight of the white orb soaring across the ancient links. I savoured the moment.
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3) Page 7