I needed a friend. I needed somebody on who I could rely, somebody who I could talk to and who would listen to me. 'I would like you to be a friend,' I wondered if I was merely looking for an anchor after George Rogers had left me. I did not think so. I hoped not. 'I would like you to be a friend,' I repeated.
The doctor held my gaze for a long second, smiled and looked away and yet in that time I saw an inexpressible yearning in his eyes, something I had never seen before. I did not know what it was.
'When shall we visit the Hall?' I asked.
'As soon as you are fit,' Doctor Hetherington said.
'Now,' I decided. I could not resist the impulse to touch the doctor's arm. 'Thank you, Doctor,' I said.
'That's what friends are for.'
I think we understood each other. I hoped Doctor Hetherington did not mind that I had eaten most of the bread in his house.
We stood looking at the wreckage of the Royal Union Bridge for five minutes before deciding that the river was impassable at that spot. The Tyne frothed through the gorge in a chaos of creamy brown water and surging foam, leaping over rocks and roaring over the tops of fallen trees. I remembered the gig plunging down the embankment that night and my fear in the water. I had wanted to drown. I had wanted to follow my daughter into the water.
'You saved my life,' I said.
The doctor pointed to the remains of the bridge. 'The Royal Union is broken,' he said.
He was correct. The old coat of arms had split in two under pressure of the water, so the unicorn pranced alone with its horn thrusting toward the gap. 'Oh, dear God,' I said, as I remembered the words of Mother Faa: 'Take care, Dorothea Flockhart, and be careful of the horned beast.'
I had thought that Turnbull was the horned beast. Perhaps Mother Faa had meant the unicorn and the bridge that collapsed. What else had she said? 'The horned beast that will bring death or happiness.' I had cheated death, thanks to Doctor Hetherington. Would happiness come through my admissions? I did not know.
A hundred yards downstream, the wreckage of the gig had been washed up and lay in a ragged line of splintered wood and torn leather. I was lucky to have escaped with only a soaking and a few minor scrapes and bumps.
'My poor horse,' I said.
'Your poor horse is at this minute grazing in the field of Jock Moffat, at my expense,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'He was out of the river before you were.'
'Thank you, Doctor. I am in your debt.'
'There are no debts between friends.' Doctor Hetherington's battered face suited this ancient, wild area. 'There is a footbridge quarter of a mile downstream if the river has not washed it away.'
After the torrential weather of my arrival, this day was crisp and calm, with the trees clutching at the sky and a few birds chattering among the branches. Underfoot, the first of the snowdrops were fighting through the mud, with a scattering of daffodil shoots showing yellow-tinged green. Spring was easing in, pushing aside winter's rearguard action and bringing the promise of new life.
'Come on, Doctor,' I lengthened my stride. 'I'm worried about Marie.'
The footbridge was of wood, three planks wide with a straightforward handrail of untrimmed logs. It shook as we walked across and within a few moments, we were in the policies of Tynebridge Hall, where once-well-cared-for gravel walks were now neglected, and the wind had ravaged avenues of tall trees.
'This place needs looking after,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'I don't know who the owner is now, but he is neglecting his duties.'
'They won't welcome us,' I felt my heart-beat increase as it always did when I came to this place. I was glad of the doctor's company although for one moment I wished that George was here with his confident stride and his military experience. Feeling guilty at my lack of trust, I glanced sideways at Doctor Hetherington's battered, pugnacious, understanding face and reached out to him.
'I'm glad you're here, doctor.'
There were lights on in the Hall, and the sound of rough male laughter coming from the open windows. With my heart now pounding, I knew that if I hesitated, I would not be able to continue, so stalked to the front door and hammered the door knocker as if I were demanding entrance at the Pearly Gates.
I did not know the manservant who answered. 'We wish to speak to Marie Elliot,' I said at once. 'My name is Dorothea Flockhart, and this is Doctor Mungo Hetherington.'
The servant eyed me up and down as if I were not good enough to stand at his front door. 'Wait here,' he commanded.
'We'll wait inside,' I decided for him, pushing past.
The outer hall was a shambles, with furniture out of place and a picture hanging lop-sided on the wall. There were empty bottles in one corner, and the floorboards were dirty and scuffed.
'The servants need a good roasting,' Doctor Hetherington murmured. I agreed, silently, and stiffened as the inner door opened and Duncan McAra pushed through. In his shirt sleeves and the tight breeches that all men seemed to wear that season, he looked very casual.
'Good morning Miss Flockhart.' McAra sneered at me. 'How nice of you to visit.' His bow was low and, I thought, mocking.
'Good morning Mr McAra,' I responded with a curtsey. 'Doctor Hetherington and I are looking for Marie Elliot.'
'Alas, you have had a wasted journey, I fear,' McAra said. 'The fair Marie is no longer here.'
'Yet this is her home,' I was not prepared to let go as easily as that. 'Her husband leases it.'
'And I look after it for him,' McAra was as smooth as a silk sheet, 'until he returns from his present predicament. You do remember that he is in durance vile for duelling with your old paramour?' He shook his head. 'They were such naughty boys.'
I stiffened at the term paramour and tried to remain polite. 'Could you tell me where Marie is?'
'I believe she has returned to one of her friend's houses,' McAra said with a shrug. 'Elizabeth Campbell perhaps, or Emily Napier. I don't recall which.'
Other men were arriving in the inner hall, tall, leering men who reeked of wealth and vice. One stood in the shadows like a sinister statue. I fought the shake in my legs. 'Oh, I know she is not with Elizabeth Campbell,' I said.
'Mrs Napier then. Try there.' McAra said. 'Now if that is all, I must bid you farewell. We have things to do.'
'We have things to do,' one of the grinning mountebanks repeated and laughed.
'When did Mrs Elliot leave?' Doctor Hetherington asked.
'How the devil should I know, Doctor?' McAra shook his head. 'I am a gentleman, not a country saw-bones. I have better things to do than look after every stray woman that visits my house. Now go and mix some potions or whatever you do.'
'This is not your house,' I tried to control my temper. 'Gibbie Elliot leases this house.'
'Did you not hear about him?' McAra nearly laughed in my face. 'I won everything he has over the card table. Everything, all his money, all his possessions, his chariot and even his wife. I have taken over the lease of this house and all in it.'
'All in it!' the fools at the back repeated.
'And as for you, Doctor, your house is leased from the estate,' McAra said. 'I hold Elliot's lease now so I'd thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head or you'll find yourself evicted, bag and baggage, without notice.'
'Without notice!' the words were repeated. 'Go on, Hector, evict the saw-bones!'
'Come on, Miss Flockhart,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'We're getting nowhere here.'
'Yes, come on, Miss Flockhart,' McAra said. 'You're getting nowhere here.'
'I feel so frustrated,' I said as the front door banged shut and mocking laughter erupted from within, 'and now I've dragged you into this affair.'
'I dragged myself,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'I'm not sure if he can evict me. Elliot is the leaseholder at present, and I don't think that even he has that power.'
'Gibbie Elliot has a six-month lease,' I earned a curious look from the doctor for that piece of intelligence. 'The lease-holder has no power to evict without the permission of
the property owner.'
'Whoever that is,' Doctor Hetherington said.
'Whoever that is,' I agreed.
We stood outside the Hall for a few moments while the sound of laughter inside increased.
'Let's look around,' I said. 'I'm not convinced that Marie left.'
Doctor Hetherington frowned. 'What do you mean? Hector McAra told us she had.'
'I know,' I said, 'and he is a gentleman isn't he?' I did not need to inject bitterness into my voice. It arrived without any conscious volition on my part. 'I know enough about gentlemen not to trust anything they say or do.'
Doctor Hetherington nodded. 'I understand,' he said.
As we walked around the house, I stared at the windows, wondering what was going on inside. 'If I had my way,' I said. 'I would burn the place down, so not a single stone, not one charred stick remained.'
'The owner may not approve,' Doctor Hetherington said.
'Would you do the same?' It was not a test. I genuinely wondered how the doctor thought.
Doctor Hetherington considered for a moment. 'Perhaps,' he said cautiously, 'if I could replace it with something better.'
We had reached the back of the building, where the windows of the guest bedrooms overlooked the policies. 'Look up there,' I said.
Doctor Hetherington followed my unladylike pointing finger. 'What am I looking for?'
'At this time of the day all the guest windows should be in darkness,' I said. 'But that one, at the very top, has a light burning. A candle perhaps.'
'Maybe a servant left a candle on.' Doctor Hetherington said.
'Did you see any servants?' I asked, 'save for that useless butler who answered the door? The place is a mess.'
'Trust a woman to notice that,' Doctor Hetherington said. 'I see I shall have to keep my house tidier in future.'
'I think that's Marie up there.' I appreciated the attempt at humour. 'I think she's locked in that room.'
'Why would McAra do that?' Doctor Hetherington asked. 'Or… Oh, good God in his heaven.'
I shivered. 'I think we can both guess.' I narrowed my eyes and stared up at the window, trying to peer through the small panes. 'I'm not leaving her here.'
Doctor Hetherington looked away. 'I rather thought that. What would you have me do?'
'I don't wish to involve you, Doctor,' I said. 'These are dangerous men.'
'What would you have me do?' The doctor repeated. He was obviously a stubborn man.
The idea came to me fully formed. 'First I need to borrow your dog cart,' I said. 'I have a couple of men I need to recruit.'
The doctor glanced at the sky. 'It will be dark in an hour.' He did not seem surprised at my sudden enthusiasm.
'We'll leave before dawn tomorrow,' I said, already relying on the doctor being a man of his word. 'First, I wish to look through the remains of my gig. There is something I would like to retrieve.'
The wreckage littered a quarter of a mile of the river bank, shattered pieces of wood and strips of leather and metal lying in forlorn memory of a once-useful vehicle.
'What are we looking for?' Doctor Hetherington asked.
'A long rectangular box,' I said. 'It's made of rosewood if that is any use.'
'No use at all,' the doctor said.
Concentrating on the rim of flotsam that marked the high flood mark, we searched by the dying light of the January day, lifting every piece of broken wood and looking under leaves and bushes. When the light faded, the good doctor brought a couple of lanterns and the yellow light pooled over the tangled undergrowth and reflected from the rippling brown water.
I saw the robin first, standing upright on a smooth surface, and immediately I know that it marked my box. 'Thank you,' I said as I lifted the box. The robin flew away, complaining that I had disturbed his perch.
'What is it?' Doctor Hetherington watched as I flicked open the catch.
'Two Joseph Manton pistols.' I showed him the pair in their nest of green. Both were sodden despite the box, but once I dried them off and cleaned them up, they would be functional. 'Do you have any gunpowder?'
'I have,' the doctor glanced at the pistols without interest. 'I own a fowling piece.'
'Good. My powder is damp.'
'That's not surprising. Why do you have the guns?' Doctor Hetherington showed no interest in my prize.
'After what happened, do you have to ask?' Lifting one pistol, I sighted along the barrel, seeing McAra's lean face. I cocked the piece and pressed the trigger, hearing the click as the hammer fell. In my mind's eye, I saw the lead ball fly from the barrel to strike McAra right in the centre of his forehead. And then it was not Hector McAra but Duncan, his father. That face metamorphosed into Lord Findhorn's and I shuddered and looked away.
'Miss Flockhart?' The doctor sounded concerned.
'I'm all right,' I lowered the pistol. 'And Doctor, please call me Dorothea.'
A slow smile spread across the doctor's face. 'I am Mungo.'
I curtsied, and the doctor bowed. We looked at each other and, to the pits of hell with propriety, I held out my hand. 'You're a good man, Doctor.'
His grip was firm and his smile genuine. We held each other's hand for longer than was necessary and I did not wish to let go.
We left an hour before dawn, moving without lights until we were clear of Crichton and then whipping up the horse and heading north toward Edinburgh. The road was dry, and lights glimmered in the farm-steadings that we passed. I could smell the freshness of spring in the air. In other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the day, but instead, I thought of Marie.
'Where are we headed?' Doctor Hetherington had not objected when I took the reins.
'Canonmills Bridge,' I said. 'There are a couple of sedan-chair carriers I know there.'
'Sedan-chair carriers? What are you planning?' Doctor Hetherington asked.
'I'm planning to rescue Marie,' I said.
'With a sedan chair?' Doctor Hetherington asked.
'Just with the carriers.' I did not explain further. I had already participated in an abduction; now I had further crimes in mind. I could be transported or hanged, and I did not give a damn. I only wished that Doctor Hetherington was not involved, but with a man as stubborn as he was proving to be, I knew that was not possible. On an impulse, I reached out and touched his shoulder. He was still there, solid as the rock on which Edinburgh Castle stood and about as ugly.
Chapter Seventeen
The last time I had disguised myself I had worn a red wig and clothes bought from a pawn shop. This time I altered some of the doctor's old clothes, or rather some of his older clothes for I doubted that he had added to his wardrobe for some years. I took in the waist and shortened the legs of a pair of grey breeches and adjusted the arms of a dark shirt and jacket. Although they were still far too large, they would do, and the extra space allowed me freedom of movement.
'Do you have a pier glass?' I asked the doctor.
'Oh, yes,' he gave a vague answer and brought me the small one he used for shaving.
'Do you have anything larger? I wish to see how I look in your clothes.'
Doctor Hetherington frowned. 'I'm sure I have somewhere,' he scratched his head. 'I don't have much use for such a thing.'
'I don't suppose you have,' I said. The doctor was as far removed from a dandy as it was possible to get.
It took Doctor Hetherington a good half hour to locate the larger mirror he had stored in the attic with other furniture he had probably never used. Dusting it with his sleeve, he brought it to me with a smile of triumph. 'Found it,' he said.
Thanking him, I propped the three-foot long mirror against the wall and turned this way and that to see how I looked. My top half was swamped and shapeless while below the waist, well, I could not help from being amused. Smoothing my hands down my flanks and over my hips, I revelled in the doctor's breeches. The freedom was tremendous after the restrictions of a skirt.
'Miss Flockhart,' Doctor Hetherington looked at my lower hal
f and looked away again quickly. 'I am not sure it is decent.'
'Why doctor,' I could not hide my amusement. 'You have seen me naked.'
'When you were nak… in a state of undress,' the doctor said, 'you were my patient. When I see you in these breeches, I see you as a woman.'
I could not help my gasp of surprise as I looked away to hide my smile. It was many years since a man had last paid me such a compliment. It was many years since I had properly smiled. 'You're a tonic, doctor.' I wriggled my hips in deliberate provocation.
'And you are a tease, woman,' Doctor Hetherington growled.
'You are right, Mungo' I said. 'I do apologise. That was unforgivable.' I knew that he would forgive me.
When I looked at the doctor, he was even more thoughtful than usual.
'Your friends will be here soon,' Mungo changed the subject. 'I hope they know what you have planned for them.'
'So do I,' I said as I heard the doctor's gate creak, 'for here they are now.' Macfarlane and MacGregor walked up the path as silently as two ghosts.
'It's St Bride's night.' Macfarlane added a further coat of brick dust to his face to prevent any reflection from moonlight or candlelight. 'A good night to set to work. Now if you tell me where we are going, we'll be on our way.' We stood in Mungo's cramped hall, with the light from a single lantern casting long shadows.
'I'm coming with you,' I told him.
'You'd better not,' MacGregor said. 'We're used to being on the wrong side of the law while you're a lady.'
'It's my friend that we are rescuing,' I reminded. 'You are putting yourself in danger for me.'
'We've no love for the McAras of this world,' Macfarlane said.
'Give me ten minutes,' I looked at my two Highlanders. Rogues and vagabonds they may be, and criminals in the eyes of the law, but they were better and more honest men than the self-styled gentlemen who ruled the land. 'Somebody has to show you the way.'
The gun case was in the bedroom. I removed both pistols, loaded them and thrust them in my waistband, under the shirt. They were uncomfortable there, but having Joe Manton with me was reassuring.
When I returned, Mungo was hauling on a dark jacket. His face was as black as the Highlanders. 'I'll come along too.'
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3) Page 19