A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3)

by Helen Susan Swift

  The sudden desire to act was overpowering. Since my return to Edinburgh, I had allowed life to use me as it would, and I had been knocked back and forth like a shuttlecock. No longer. Now my decision was made I worked out the details. Should I go alone? I thought of McAra's face, Turnbull's false smile, and recalled other, older and more vicious memories. No, I would not, could not, go alone into such a den of thieves; I would bring an escort if he were willing to accompany me.

  I heard the soft thud of hooves in the dark and smelled a whiff of tobacco. Somebody was coming down the pass, and when the low rumble of voices came to me, I knew there was more than one person. Touching the butt of my pistol, I settled down beside the fire and waited. Let them come to me.

  'Halloa! Over there by the fire!' The voice floated through the dark.

  'Halloa!' I shouted back. 'The soup is heating, and you're welcome to join me.'

  Although I was quite aware of the possible threat from wandering gypsies and sorners, in my experience men who shouted out greetings in the dark were less likely to do me harm than oh-so-polite gentlemen in immaculate clothes.

  There were two of them, middle-sized, middle-aged men with hirsute faces and broad Scotch bonnets slanted low over wrinkled foreheads. At their back was a convoy of a dozen Highland garrons, each laden with six panniers. I guessed their occupation and kept the knowledge to myself.

  The men crouched at my side, touching their bonnets in greeting. 'Your face is not known to me.' The older spoke in a pleasant Highland accent.

  'I am Miss Dorothea Flockhart,' I introduced myself and waited for the response.

  The man bobbed his head. 'Thank you for the welcome, Miss Flockhart, and we won't ask what is not our business.' The cudgel in his hand looked a formidable weapon, while his companion carried an old Highland pistol thrust through his belt.

  'And I won't tell what is best not said,' I nodded to the train of Highland garrons. 'You'll be staying to eat?'

  'Your hospitality is all the more welcome for being unexpected.' The Highlander said.

  I did not hear the third man until he emerged from the slopes of Cairn Hill and into the circle of firelight. 'She's alone.' He said.

  'I am.' I agreed. 'Did you think otherwise?'

  The spokesman's smile was slow and genuine. 'It's best to make sure about these things.' He looked around beyond the circle of light from my fire. 'There is better shelter at the Hoolet's Wa's.'

  'I know of it.' The Hoolet's Wa's was a small, long abandoned cottage high up in one of the gulleys that seamed the side of the Cairn Hill. 'I am fine here at the Borestone.'

  The spokesman sipped at his soup. 'As you wish. If it is solitude you wish, Hoolet's Wa's would be quieter.'

  'Then I would have missed your company,' I said. Joe Manton rested heavily inside my cloak, easy of access.

  'Are you not afraid to be alone in these hills?' The third man was harder of face, with the same Gaelic twist to his words.

  'I am not alone,' I pointed out. 'I have three sturdy Highland men with me.'

  The men exchanged glances, and two of them laughed. 'You have that,' the spokesman said. 'You have that.' He finished the soup and handed back the empty bowl. 'Thank you and may the Lord bless your camp and all in it.'

  'May the Lord bless your journey,' I gave the expected answer and watched as the three men returned to their convoy of garrons, each with its load of illicit whisky. They could be nothing else but whisky smugglers, the peat-reekers of whom the ploughman had warned me. They had not bothered me, and I had no reason to inform anybody of their existence.

  The darkness closed around me as the hoof beats of the garrons faded into the night. I sat beside the fire, enjoying the peace and the soft whine of the wind as I formulated my plans. It was not long since Captain Rogers had offered his help; it was time to see if he was genuine or merely another man who made false promises when it suited them. I stood up, allowing the wind to caress my face. I would prefer to have his company in the expedition I had in mind, yet if he proved fickle, I would work alone. Gripping the butt of Joe Manton, I resolved that my time for running and hiding had passed. With or without Captain Rogers, I would make my stand and begin to fight back.

  Perhaps because my mind was resolved on something, or maybe through the pure hill air, I slept better that night than I had for a long time. I woke up cold but happy and wondered how to contact Captain Rogers. I need not have worried. His card was waiting for me when I returned to Thistle Street, together with a sealed letter that I opened with some anticipation.

  My dear Miss Flockhart

  I hope I do not inconvenience you by leaving you my card. If it is not offensive to you, I would be obliged if you could receive me at your address this evening at seven. I shall send my man around two hours before for your reply. I assure you that I shall not detain you for long.

  Your friend

  Captain George Rogers.

  That was convenient. Perhaps fate had finally blessed me with a smile. When a dapper corporal tapped politely on my door at five that evening, I was able to hand him a small wafer-sealed note of acceptance, and I prepared to launch the first of my counter-offensives into operation. While the generals and admirals got ready to receive the French, I was forming my plans for a more limited but to me just as important offensive.

  Should I wear formal attire to meet the captain? Or should I dress casually, as one would do to receive an old friend? I was not at all expert in matters of etiquette and doubted if Mrs Macfarlane would be any better. In the end, I decided to wear something formal to show how important I thought Captain Rogers' company, and to greet him informally, to prove my friendship.

  Not sure if I was deceiving the gallant captain, or if he was playing some devious game of his own with me, I had Mrs Macfarlane show him into the drawing room, where I sat sewing in an attempt to appear calm.

  'A gentleman to see you, Miss Flockhart,' I could tell by the tone of Mrs Macfarlane's voice that she approved. 'Captain Rogers of the Volunteers.' She lowered her voice, 'and looking very handsome too.'

  Mrs Macfarlane was correct. Captain Rogers looked exceedingly handsome in his regimentals, with his whiskers newly trimmed and that small scar on his chin gleaming white under the light. He bowed as if he had never seen me before and I gave a lower curtsey than usual, much to Mrs Macfarlane's approval.

  'Thank you, Mrs Macfarlane,' I said, and she left, although I guessed she was listening outside the door. Servants can be a bit precocious when they choose.

  'I will not keep you long,' Captain Rogers stood awkwardly with his shako under his arm. 'I merely wished to ask how you were and to apologise for any inconvenience I caused you when we met on the Earthen Mound the other day. I should not have approached you in so direct a manner.'

  'I am very well,' I said. 'Thank you for your concern, and I assure you I was not inconvenienced in the slightest.'

  Captain Rogers smiled and bowed again. 'Thank you, Miss Flockhart. If I may say so, you are a most intriguing lady. Indeed I have never met anybody quite like you before.'

  Not sure how to respond, I gave another brief curtsey. 'Would you care for a drink, Captain Rogers?' Once again, I was unsure of the current etiquette. 'I have brandy and claret, and some fine Ferintosh that Mrs Macfarlane obtained for me from sources unknown.'

  The captain smiled again. 'Whisky would be excellent, Miss Flockhart, but only if you join me.'

  I needed the liquid courage for the favour I had to ask, so poured the captain a sizeable Ferintosh and myself a glass of brandy. We toasted each other's health with the firelight catching the cut of the crystal and sending a hundred glistening sparks around the contents.

  'I know nothing about you,' Captain Rogers said.

  'Oh, sit down, do,' I said and returned to my seat by the fire. 'I am not interesting, Captain. I have never faced the French.'

  'You must be wondering how I fought the French when Volunteers never venture outside the country,' Captain Rogers settle
d himself comfortably in the chair. 'The answer is simple, Miss Flockhart. I was not a Volunteer at the time.'

  'Oh,' I said. 'That clears up that little mystery. Did you transfer?'

  'In a manner of speaking, Miss Flockhart.' Captain Rogers looked into the fire as if gathering his courage.

  'I do not mean to pry,' I said. 'There is no need for you to tell me anything that you do not wish to. Goodness knows that I never discuss my past, so I have no right to question yours.'

  'I was in the Guards in the Low Country,' Captain Rogers continued as if I had never spoken. 'I am the youngest son of four, with no prospects, so my father packed me off to the army.'

  I nodded, listening. 'I see.'

  'My oldest brother died in a hunting accident. He fell off his horse and broke his neck. Then the next in line celebrated his good fortune, caught a fever and died in bed. That left David and me, and David ran off with a maidservant and was disinherited, leaving only me.'

  'He was disinherited?' I said.

  'Yes indeed. Our family will not tolerate anything with the slightest hint of impropriety. Of course, father needs an heir, so he bought me out of the army.'

  'I see.' It was interesting how easy it was to get men to talk about themselves.

  Captain Rogers finished his whisky, and I topped up his glass.

  'Thank you,' he looked up at me, his face serious. 'I did not wish the life of a landowner,' he said. 'I did not wish the endless social gatherings and the meetings with tenants and the hunting parties. I had tasted the excitement of the Army, and I liked it; the life was hard but worthwhile, and I ran away.' He tossed back the whisky as if it had been water.

  'I see,' I said for the third time.

  'And then I came back.' Captain Rogers gave a twisted smile. 'My father died, and somebody had to look after things.' He stood up. 'And that is my story, Miss Flockhart, the story of a man who tried to run away from his duty.'

  'The story of a man who was not afraid to put his life in danger,' I countered. 'And the life of a man who returned to do his duty and still join the Volunteers.'

  Captain Rogers put his glass on the table. 'Thank you for the whisky. I am sure you no longer wish my company.'

  'On the contrary,' I poured more whisky into his glass, feeling closer to Captain Rogers than I had to any man for years. 'I cannot think of any man whose company I would prefer.' Men were strange with their notions of honour and duty; what made them think that we care about such things? We understand them, but do not treat them with equal importance.

  Captain Rogers looked genuinely grateful that I did not order him out of my house for his terrible crime of not wishing to tie himself down to the life of a landowner. 'You do not ask me which lands I own,' he said.

  'I don't care,' I said honestly. 'Lands and titles and such matters don't interest me.'

  'You don't look to marry greatly?' Captain Rogers asked. I may explain here that 'to marry greatly' meant to marry above one's social class and therefore to rise in the world. It was the ambition of many women to marry a title.

  'I don't.' I said.

  'Then you are even more of an enigma than I had thought,' Captain Rogers had found his smile again.

  'This enigma has a favour to ask,' I could not hold off any longer.

  'Anything,' Captain Rogers said. 'Any lady who accepts me despite my attempt to evade my duty, and who has no interest in lands and fortune is too intriguing to turn down.'

  I wondered how to start and then plunged in. 'I think Gibbie Elliot is in with a bad lot,' I said and explained where I had seen him. The captain listened without interrupting.

  'How can I help?' Captain Rogers asked, and I wished to kiss him there and then. I closed my eyes at the thought. Kiss him? Kiss a man? I had not thought of that for the past ten years.

  'Thank you,' I said.

  'Don't thank me until I've done something,' Captain Rogers said. 'What do you wish me to do?'

  'I want to find where Gibbie Elliot spends his time and see what he does,' I said.

  'As soon as he sees you,' Captain Rogers pointed out, 'he will leave.'

  I poured us both another drink. 'I will go in disguise.'

  'It will have to be a damned good disguise,' Captain Rogers shook his head. 'You're a brave woman to even think of doing this for a friend.'

  I remembered the howling of the hounds and the white, predatory faced through the trees. I remembered the pain and the humiliation and the later deep, terrible sorrow. I remembered the guilt that I suffered every day and every night of my life. 'I'm not as brave as you may imagine.' About to tell him that I also ran away, I thought it better to refrain. 'I have wrongs to put right.'

  Captain Rogers stroked his immaculate whiskers. 'Where do I come into this?'

  'I know nothing about Edinburgh's gambling world or the sort of places Gibbie Elliot might go. I hoped you might know more than me.' The brandy was less powerful now, its bite less potent. 'I also hoped you might accompany me.'

  Captain Rogers' smile could have charmed bees from a honeycomb. 'I hoped for nothing less,' he said, 'for I'm damned if I would allow you to go alone.'

  I do not know if I kissed him, or if he kissed me. I only know that we kissed and his lips were sweet on mine. I had not kissed a man for ten years and I nearly, very nearly, put my arms around him. But I could not. I could not and I would not.

  Chapter Seven

  While dressing down to walk around Hindustan had been relatively easy, deciding what to wear to infiltrate an Edinburgh gambling hell was well outside my experience and I was glad to take Captain Rogers' advice.

  'You must look the part,' he said. 'You must appear attractive to the type of man who frequents such a place, and you must be willing to be pleasant to him.'

  'I am grateful for your help,' I said and added curiously, 'have you ever attended such an establishment?'

  When Captain Rogers laughed, that interesting little scar elongated across his chin. 'As a younger man, I did many things of which I am not proud.'

  I nodded. Young men were often foolish and grew out of it. Respectable young women had less opportunity for waywardness. 'Do you know where these places might be?'

  'Some of my younger colleagues were helpful when I asked.' Captain Rogers said. 'Your Gibbie Elliot has been seen in Weir's Inn more than once.'

  'Should we go there?'

  'Weir's Inn is well known for harbouring gaming tables,' Captain Rogers spoke quietly.

  'Then that is where we shall go.' Part of me felt as if I was betraying Gibbie. Another stronger, part was wild to help Marie.

  I hired a chaise and parked outside some of the more notorious places in Edinburgh, watching the kind of people who entered and left. I did not see Gibbie, but I did find out that my wardrobe of clothes did not extend to the gaudy articles that seemed to be preferred by the women who frequented gambling halls.

  'The best place to purchase them will be in pawnshops,' Captain Rogers leaned back in my chair and crossed his elegant legs. He seemed quite at home in my drawing room, much to Mrs Macfarlane's satisfaction. 'Have you ever visited a pawnshop, Miss Flockhart?'

  'I have not.'

  'Would you prefer me to accompany you?'

  'I would.' I swirled the brandy in the bottom of my glass. 'I would be very grateful for your company, Captain Rogers.'

  'Is it not time we were a little less formal?' Captain Rogers smiled over the rim of his glass. 'My Christian name is George.'

  I hesitated for only a moment. 'I am Dorothea.'

  'That is a lovely name,' Captain Rogers said.

  We shook hands as if we had only just met and then George grinned. 'There now, that wasn't too hard, was it?'

  'It was not hard at all.'

  'It was not hard at all, George,' George prompted.

  'It was not hard at all, George,' I said.

  'I am on duty tomorrow,' George was smiling now. 'If you are free on Friday we can shop for your new creations.'

  'Thank
you,' I said again.

  'I haven't done anything yet,' George said.

  'Thank you for not letting me down.' This time there was no doubt who kissed whom. There was slight stubble around the scar on his chin, sufficient to be interesting on my lips.

  'I will have to watch you, Miss Flockhart,' George said.

  'Dorothea,' I reminded.

  'Dorothea,' George said.

  Passing through the streets of Edinburgh in a chaise and shopping elbow-to-elbow with the good neighbours are two vastly different experiences. In the former one is something of an observer, watching the people as they work and play. In the latter one is part of things, a participator in life's events, mixing with the shifting, noisy, emotional mass of the population who live and breathe and work in one of the most crowded and historical cities in Europe.

  I was glad that Captain Rogers was at my side when I visited half a dozen of the pawn shops, each one of which seemed to be less salubrious than its neighbour. Each shop had shifty-eyed men and women behind the counter and a selection of ragged clothing, tawdry jewellery and possessions in drawers and glass-fronted boxes. They all smelled of damp clothes and cheap tobacco, with guttering candles pooling sufficient yellow light for the proprietors to see the customers yet not enough light for the customers to accurately assess the goods.

  'We are looking for clothes for a fancy-dress show,' George lied easily and took over the buying with an aplomb that I could only admire. There was much about this man that I still had to learn.

  The pawnshop proprietors eyed Captain Rogers' uniform and the hilt of his sword, looked at my unsmiling and unfashionably sun-tanned face and decided they would best oblige us. I am sure they had as much honesty as that class of person could find. I found it comforting being so close to a man who commanded such instant respect as my gallant captain. Once or twice I looked up at him and wondered if Mother Faa could have been correct. And then my memories crowded into the front of my mind, and I knew I was destined to be alone.

  I felt grubby handling the gaudy clothing and wondered what sort of people had worn these clothes. Had they been clean? Or had they neglected to wash, and what kind of lifestyles had they? I wondered at the personalities and experiences as I chose the most outrageous clothes I could find and parted with small amounts of money for each. Twice I was about to pay the first amount the proprietors demanded, and each time George shook his head.