Читать книгу Bride of the Solway - Joanna Maitland - Страница 9

S tooping, Cassandra muttered darkly under her breath. There was light coming through the keyhole. James had clearly taken the precaution of removing the key. Perhaps he suspected that Morag had helped her to escape?

She crossed to the single chair and dropped heavily into it. She must protect Morag from James. The maid would be prepared to take risks for Cassandra—out of love and devotion—but she must not be permitted to do so. For James was a cruel and vindictive man. He would take pleasure in dismissing Morag and in doing everything in his power to ensure she starved.

There must be another way.

Ross Graham was in Dumfries gaol. He was to be brought to trial. That meant an appearance before the provost, perhaps even before the Sheriff himself. The provost would believe Jamie’s accusations of abduction. He would authorise a trial. He had no reason to doubt the Elliott laird’s word.

Unless the Elliott daughter herself disputed it.

She had to find a way of persuading the provost to call her as a witness. She had to tell him what had really happened. Perhaps Morag…? No. Too dangerous. Not Morag. Besides, the maid would have no plausible reason for going to Dumfries, and no means of travelling there, either.

Cassandra leant her elbows on the table, picked up her pen and began to chew the end of the quill. She must do it herself. Somehow.

She could write a letter, of course, but there was no one to whom she dared entrust it. Morag was the only one who would take her part. And using Morag for such a hazardous task was out of the question.

She raised her hand to wipe her damp brow. She must have caught a chill from being out in that thunderstorm. She felt a little hot. But what did that matter? It was but a minor indisposition when a man’s life was at stake. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief.

Her fingers found, not fine linen, but a tiny scrap of paper.

Alasdair! The fifteen-year-old youth from the nearby estate who fancied himself in love with Cassandra. The lad who wrote her bad poetry in which he swore to serve her unto death. Would he dare to serve her now, in spite of the risk of crossing her fearsome half-brother?

She must try. If Alasdair were caught, James would give him a thrashing, but nothing more. Even James would not dare to do real harm to a gentleman’s son, especially when they were such near neighbours. James could not afford to make even more enemies in Galloway.

Cassandra swallowed hard. If only she could escape! She had absolutely no wish to put Alasdair in danger, but what choice did she have? None. She was about to wager a beating for Alasdair against a hanging for Ross Graham. She could not allow her rescuer to die.

She rose and began to pace, planning what she must do. She must write a careful note to the provost. But not now. Not yet. There was always the chance that James would have her chamber searched, or walk in on her, as he had done when he found her with Alasdair’s poems. No. The note must be written just before it was despatched.

But how to despatch it? She could drop it out of the window, perhaps, but only if Alasdair were already there. And the lad knew better than to be found on Elliott land. What if—?

A tiny knock on the door interrupted her ravelled thoughts.

‘Miss Cassie!’ The strident whisper could be clearly heard. Morag must be at the keyhole.

Cassandra ran to the door. ‘Morag!’ she whispered urgently. ‘Be careful! If my brother hears you—’

‘Dinna fret, Miss Cassie. The master’s at his meat. And Tam is waiting on him. I’ve told Tam that ye need feeding too, but—’

‘Never mind that, Morag. Listen. I need you to get a message to Alasdair. Tell him to come here as soon as it’s dark. I’ll drop him a note. He’s to take it to Provost Scobie. Tell him it’s urgent. Can you do that? Please, Morag? I know that—’

‘Wheesht, lassie. Of course I can do it. I’ll tell Tam I’m away to see the cook at Alasdair’s house, that I need to borrow—’

Even through the barrier of the heavy bedroom door, Cassandra heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Oh, God! Morag would be caught! And it was Cassandra’s fault. She held her breath, waiting for an outburst from Tam, or from her brother.

None came. Instead, she heard weary footsteps toiling to the top of the stairs and then plodding along the corridor to her door. It could only be Tam. Her brother was younger, and much lighter on his feet. Slightly relieved that Morag seemed to have escaped detection, Cassandra moved quietly back to her chair and sat down, resting her head on her hand and breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves. She must not let Tam see how frightened she had been that Morag might be caught. She must appear to be totally downhearted at the turn of events, and at her brother’s victory over her. She must appear to be cowed.

Tam did not knock. He simply unlocked the door and walked in.

That changed Cassandra’s mind completely, for she knew better than to permit such behaviour from her brother’s servant. She rose from her place and glared at the man. ‘You did not knock,’ she said coldly.

‘I thought I heard somethin’. I had to see that ye—’

‘Nothing of the kind. I’ll warrant you marched into my chamber in hopes of finding me in a state of undress. Do you know what happens to such men, Tam? Peeping Tom was struck blind, remember?’

Tam began to bluster.

‘Enough of your lies! I shall tell the laird of your unseemly behaviour as soon as I see him. He will not believe your excuses, either. He knows full well there is no escape from this room, now that the windows have been barred.’

Tam’s colour had fled at the mention of the laird. ‘There’s no need to say anything t’ the laird, mistress. He— I was coming up to see ye anyway, to find out what ye was wanting for yer dinner. There’s fresh-baked bannocks. And Morag’s made a great kettle o’ venison stew, if ye’d like. And—’

‘That will do me very well, Tam, for I have not eaten today. Perhaps tomorrow you will be more mindful of your duties towards me. It falls to you, after all, to ensure that I am well enough fed that I have no grounds for complaining to my brother.’ She stared him out until he looked away.

‘I’ll fetch yer food right away, mistress,’ he said, slinking out of the room.

Cassandra listened. Tam was not so intimidated that he failed to lock the door. A pity. But at least he would not dare to walk in again unannounced. She could write her letter to the provost, knowing that she would have time to hide it if he came upstairs again.

She sat down at the table and picked up the chewed quill. She dipped the pen in the standish and began to compose one of the most important missives of her life.

‘I’ve brought yer coat, sir.’

Ross pushed himself to his feet and strode forward to take the coat from the gaoler. Under his shirt, the comforting wad of banknotes moved against his skin. He would keep it there from now on.

‘My missus did her best, sir, but it’s no’ what it was. It’s dry enough, and she brushed it, but—’

‘No matter,’ Ross said, beginning to shrug his arms into the sleeves. It struck him, absurdly in the circumstances, that it was as well that he had never indulged in the form-fitting coats made by Weston, for this one had shrunk a fraction. It felt distinctly tight across the shoulders. A Weston coat would have split.

‘The provost wants to see ye, sir. I’m to bring ye to his house.’

‘Excellent,’ said Ross. ‘I take it that the provost has the power to get me out of this pestilential hole?’

‘Aye…that is…I don’t rightly know if… Thing is, sir, I have to take ye through the streets an’…an’ye’ll have to be in shackles.’

‘What?’ Ross barked.

‘It’s more than my place is worth, sir, to take ye wi’out. If ye was to escape—’

‘I have no intention of trying to escape, gaoler. Where would I go? I have no horse, no clothes… I am a gentleman. I will give you my word that I shall not try to escape on the way to or from the provost’s house. Will that content you?’

‘If ’twere only me, sir, I’d take yer word like a shot, but it’s the provost, ye see, sir, and—’

Ross calmly fastened the buttons on his coat. ‘You have received a certain degree of…er…compensation from me in the matter of the letter you delivered to the provost, gaoler. It is possible that you may be able to render me similar services in the future. But only if you are prepared to treat me as a gentleman.’

‘Weel…’

‘And then, of course, there would be no need for me to mention our…understandings to the provost.’

‘Aye. Ye’re right, sir. There’ll be no need for they shackles if I have yer word on it.’

Ross nodded solemnly.

‘And anyways, I’ll still have my pistol. If ye was to run, I’d have to shoot ye.’ He grinned slyly, raising the huge old-fashioned pistol that had been hidden by the skirts of his coat.

Ross raised his eyebrows. ‘I was rather hoping it was my hat you had there.’ He ran the fingers of both hands through his unkempt hair. ‘I am in no fit state to meet the provost, or any other gentleman. I don’t suppose your wife has saved my hat as well as my coat?’

‘Ye didn’t have no hat when ye arrived, sir. Nor gloves, neither. Jist the coat, and what ye stood up in.’

Ross shrugged his shoulders. His hat was probably somewhere out by the Solway, half trampled into the mud. He ran his fingers through his hair one last time. ‘Very well. That is the best I can do. Will you lead the way, gaoler?’

With a grin, the turnkey shook his head and stood aside to allow Ross to pass out of the tiny cell. ‘We’ll jist walk along thegither, sir.’ He lifted his pistol a fraction. ‘Jist so as I can see ye.’

Ross grinned back and walked out towards the daylight that he had not seen for more than two whole days.

‘Why is the prisoner not shackled?’ Provost Scobie was a small round man, but he had drawn himself up to his full height to berate the gaoler.

‘I have given my parole that I will not attempt to escape, sir,’ said Ross calmly, before the gaoler could say a word.

The provost looked Ross up and down. His lip curled a fraction.

Ross took a deep breath. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, sir. I am Captain Ross Graham, late of his Majesty’s Fifty-second Regiment. A holder of the King’s commission does not break his word.’

The provost recoiled half a step in the face of Ross’s implacable stare. ‘Ah, indeed, sir. Indeed. As you say. But the charges against ye, they are serious, very serious. I have read yer letter but…well, I can’t see my way to… With James Elliott a witness against ye, there’s nothing to be done until you come to trial.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Well, that’s difficult to say. It depends on the witnesses and—’

‘This is a civilised country, Provost. You cannot just throw a man into gaol and leave him to rot. Habeas corpus demands that you bring me to trial or set me free.’

The provost cocked his head on one side and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, now, sir, that’s just where ye are wrong. Habeas corpus is English law. The writ does not run on this side of the border. Even a fine gentleman like yerself may have to stay in the gaol until it should be convenient to bring him to trial.’ He looked straight at the turnkey, who shuffled his feet a little, but said nothing. ‘And on such a serious charge, the sheriff himself would need to preside…and he’s not due to be in Dumfries for quite a wee while.’ He stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

Provost Scobie was going out of his way to be unhelpful. Probably in Elliott’s pocket. So Ross would have to find a way of helping himself.

‘On such a serious charge, as you put it, Provost, a gentleman must be allowed to call on the services of his friends.’ Ross glanced round the small bookroom and lighted on a kneehole desk piled high with files and papers. The provost was not a tidy worker, it seemed. ‘You will permit me to write a letter, I take it?’ Without giving the man time to reply, Ross sat down at the desk, pushed the papers into a precarious heap, and began to write on a sheet of the provost’s expensive paper.

‘I…well, I… Sir, you have no—’ The provost paused to collect himself.

Ignoring him, Ross continued to write swiftly.

‘Sir, prisoners are not permitted private correspondence. This is most irregular. I—’

‘You are welcome to read my letter before I seal it, sir,’ Ross said equably, without lifting his head. He needed to send only a very short note. His friend, Max, as a member of the House of Lords, was bound to be acquainted with some of Scotland’s nobility. Provost Scobie was the kind of man who would take heed of an earl or a duke before any mere laird.

Ross sanded and folded his letter but did not seal it. Then he addressed it to Max’s London home. He would still be there. Probably.

Provost Scobie came to stand by Ross’s chair. ‘The letter, if you please.’ He held out his hand.

Ross calmly unfolded the sheet and gave it to him. The provost read it through quickly, glanced suspiciously at Ross, and then read the letter again. He frowned. And he was beginning to look a little worried, too. Good.

‘It is a very straightforward letter, as you see, sir. I have asked my friend to find some persons of standing—Scotsmen—who may intercede on my behalf. You cannot object to that, I dare say?’

‘Er…no. No, I suppose not. But who is to say that your friend, er—’ he looked again at the letter ‘—your friend, Max, can persuade a Scottish gentleman of standing to perform such a service for you?’ He was looking down his nose at Ross as he spoke.

Ross twitched the sheet out of the provost’s hand and rose to his feet so that the little man had to look up at him instead. ‘I can rely on my friend,’ he said with a smile, turning the sheet over and putting it almost under the provost’s nose. There, in Ross’s firm hand, was the address: The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Penrose.

The provost goggled and began to stammer something unintelligible.

‘Provost Scobie.’ The door had opened at the provost’s back to admit an ancient manservant. ‘The colonel has arrived, sir. Shall I show him into the parlour, or—?’

The provost turned to the door with obvious relief. ‘No, indeed. I’ll come myself this minute.’ Without sparing even a glance for Ross, the provost scuttled out into the hallway. The servant closed the door behind him.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the gaoler with a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘Looks like I’ll be taking ye back.’

Ross swallowed an oath. He was not beaten yet. The provost had clearly thought his prisoner was a nobody. Now that he’d discovered Ross had high-ranking connections, the little man would be racking his brains for a way of placating both Ross and the Elliott laird. He was playing for time. But he would not be given it.

Ross strode across to the door and flung it open.

The provost was bowing to a tall, dignified man who was just on the point of handing his hat and cane to the servant. Grimly, Ross clenched his jaw and waited for the right moment to intervene. The visitor was clearly a gentleman.

‘My apologies, Colonel, for keeping you waiting.’ The provost bowed again to his visitor. ‘Legal business, you understand, with this…er…this prisoner.’ He indicated Ross with a vague hand gesture. The look that accompanied it held more than a hint of uncertainty. ‘If you would like to come into the parlour, I have a very fine Madeira that I should—’

‘A moment, Provost,’ said the colonel sharply. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to explain what the devil is going on here? This is Captain Graham, is it not? I must ask you to explain why you have this gentleman in custody.’

Ross frowned in surprise. This colonel knew him. But how? Ross scrutinised the unknown officer carefully, but could not place him. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but that was all. And yet—

Seeing Ross’s uncertainty, the colonel stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘You won’t remember me, Captain Graham. I’m Colonel Anstruther. I was invalided home after Badajoz. We did not run across each other much in the Peninsula. But I remember you well enough. General Picton spoke very highly of you.’

The two men shook hands, totally ignoring the provost and the hovering gaoler. ‘Thank you, sir,’ Ross said. ‘It was an honour to serve with him. You know, I suppose, that he fell at Waterloo?’

‘Aye. I heard. A sad loss.’ He shook his head regretfully.

The silence was broken by the provost. ‘Colonel,’ he began, stepping forward, ‘if you—’

‘You have not told me why this officer is being held, Provost.’

‘I…er…’ The provost had turned very red. ‘Well, Colonel, he is facing a very serious charge. Abduction. Brought by James Elliott, the victim’s brother. I would not have confined the captain, you understand, but Elliott insisted. Said he was bound to try to escape. And that he was dangerous, too. Much as I’d be minded to—’ he smiled weakly at Ross ‘—I cannot just release him.’

Ross ignored the provost completely. ‘Colonel,’ he said warmly, ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have someone to speak on my behalf. In a country with no habeas corpus, it seems I can simply be left to rot and—’

‘Nonsense. Who told you that?’

‘I—’

‘I told the Captain we have no habeas corpus, Colonel,’ interrupted the provost. ‘And it’s true enough, as you know. I was just about to tell him about the Scots law equivalent when you arrived, so he may have misunderstood the situation. Scotland is a civilised country, Captain. Prisoners are not left to rot here, any more than in England.’

‘And now that I am prepared to vouch for Captain Graham, there need be no delay about releasing him, Provost. The Captain will give you his parole and you will release him into my custody.’

The provost hesitated. He was shuffling his feet nervously. ‘James Elliott insisted—’

‘James Elliott may be assured that Captain Graham will make no attempt to escape. Unless you doubt my word in this, Provost?’

The provost almost cowered before the colonel’s ferocious frown. Rubbing his hands together in his agitation, the little man looked from the colonel to Ross and back again. There was no hint of weakness in either of them. ‘I must know where the prisoner is to be found, sir,’ he said lamely.

‘I shall be in residence here in Dumfries for some weeks now. Captain Graham will be my guest. You may rest assured that I shall not take him out of your jurisdiction.’ The colonel turned to Ross and smiled. ‘If you are ready, sir, I will take you to my house now. My business with the provost can wait. It was not really important.’ He ignored the provost’s sharp intake of breath and turned for the door.

‘A moment, Colonel, if you please,’ Ross said quickly. ‘While I will certainly give my parole to the provost, I cannot possibly accept your generous offer of hospitality when I am in such a dreadful state. I am not fit to enter a gentleman’s house. And I do not even have a change of clothes.’ He looked down at his filthy breeches and boots, and his shrunken coat. He had not been able to wash for the best part of three days and he had been lying on rotting straw in a stinking gaol. He must smell like something dredged from the quicksands of the Solway. ‘Provost, what has become of my mare and my travelling baggage?’

The provost would not meet Ross’s eye. ‘Your horse is stabled at the George. There’ll be livery to pay. There was no baggage as I’m aware of. Just a horse and a greatcoat. And ye’ve found that, I see,’ he added sarcastically.

The colonel paid no heed at all. He himself opened the street door, without waiting for the servant. ‘Don’t worry, Graham. Your baggage will turn up, I’m sure. And in the meantime, I imagine you would welcome a hot bath and a good meal.’

‘Well, yes, sir, but—’

‘Good. Then come along. It’s but a step to my house. My wife will be delighted to meet you.’

Ross grimaced at the embarrassing prospect, but stepped forward to join the colonel on the threshold.

‘On second thoughts,’ said the colonel with a small, wry smile, ‘I might delay the introductions until after you’ve had a chance to make yourself a little more…er…presentable.’

In the circumstances, Ross found himself grinning at the older man’s gentle jibe. The poor colonel had obviously just had a lungful of gaol odours.

‘I’ll send a man to see Elliott, to find out what happened to your baggage,’ the colonel went on, as soon as they reached the street. ‘I imagine there must have been a mistake of some kind.’

Ross nodded automatically, as politeness demanded. But he knew very well that there had been no mistake. The Elliott laird had meant him to be left to rot.

Colonel Anstruther looked his guest slowly up and down. ‘It’s something of an improvement, Graham,’ he said at last, ‘though the fit of that coat is…er…’

Ross grinned at his host. ‘Your coat may not fit me very well, sir, but since my own is filthy, I make no complaint. Believe me, it is a blessing to be clean again. I owe you a debt for rescuing me from that stinking gaol.’

‘Nonsense, nonsense. Any gentleman would have done the same. And if we can’t find your own baggage, I’m sure we’ll be able to find some better-fitting clothes in Dumfries. We can do that tomorrow morning. It’s too late to do anything today, I fear.’

Ross nodded. At least he would not be beholden to the colonel for new clothes. He had money enough to buy his own.

‘One thing I…I must say to you, Graham, before I introduce you to my wife.’ The colonel pursed his lips and put his hand to his chin. ‘I must tell you that she is not in good health. She has a…a wasting disease. When you meet her, you will see. I must warn you that she will not speak of it, not to anyone. I ask you to treat her as if she were a normal healthy woman, and to ignore the fact that she can no longer walk.’

Ross took a step forward and reached out a hand, helplessly. ‘Sir, I should not be here. You—’

The colonel smiled rather tightly. ‘My wife would not have it otherwise, Captain. She is very much looking forward to making your acquaintance. No doubt she will quiz you about our adventures in the Peninsula.’

‘I shall be of little help to Mrs Anstruther, I fear,’ Ross admitted. ‘To be frank, sir, I barely remember meeting you there. As for adventures…there is very little fit for a lady’s ears.’

‘Very true,’ smiled the colonel. ‘I would not have my wife learn of some of the things we had to do. On the other hand, while I would not encourage you to make things up, Graham, you might—’

‘I shall do my best to keep Mrs Anstruther entertained, sir. It is the least I can do.’

‘Thank you.’ The colonel was silent for a moment, as if considering. Then he said quietly, ‘When I left for the Peninsula, there was no sign that anything was amiss. Her disease began while I was away, and she never said a word in any of her letters. Even when I had recovered from my wounds and was back at Horse Guards, she managed to conceal it from me. When I finally came home for good last year, I could barely recognise her. The bonnie lass I’d married was almost a wraith. Then, she could still walk. Since the spring, she cannot. She must keep her chair and be carried everywhere. You will see that she weighs no more than a feather now. Each night, when I carry her upstairs, I can feel that she is wasting away before my eyes.’

Ross could find no words to convey his sympathy.

The colonel shook his head, as if trying to shake off his moment of melancholy. ‘I tell you this so that you will not be shocked when you meet my wife, Graham. That is all. But she is all good humour. She never complains. You will soon discover that she is fully absorbed in her latest project, to finish our new house and garden in the country. And if you don’t take care, she will no doubt be enlisting your help for some part of her plans. It can be difficult to deny her, I warn you.’

‘If I can repay your kindness by serving Mrs Anstruther, I should be delighted to do it. Pray tell her that I am quite at her service.’

‘Now that,’ said a female voice behind Ross, ‘is a very rash promise for a gentleman to make. Just think what I might require you to do!’

The colonel laughed down at his wife in her wheeled chair. ‘Allow me to present Captain Graham, my dear. I did try to warn him of the risks he was running,’ he added, ‘but he would have none of it. So it appears you have acquired another willing cavalier.’

Ross stepped forward and bowed over Mrs Anstruther’s outstretched hand, feeling how tiny it was, and how thin. The colonel’s wife must have been very beautiful once. Now she was indeed like a wraith. A shadow of what she had been.

The following morning, James Elliott presented himself at Colonel Anstruther’s door. Carrying Ross’s bags.

Standing black-browed in the library doorway, Elliott bowed in the colonel’s direction and said, ‘I have come to return Captain Graham’s baggage and pistols, and to apologise for bringing the charge against him. It has been withdrawn, as the provost will confirm. I jumped to an unwarranted conclusion, I admit, but if you had known the circumstances, and my sister’s— Well, no point in going into that.’ He bowed slightly to Ross. ‘My sister has explained what took place, Captain Graham, and I have come to beg your pardon. My sister also begs to send you her thanks for rescuing her. She hopes that you have suffered no lasting hurt from your ordeal in…in Dumfries.’

Clever, Ross thought. By introducing his sister, he seeks to divert my righteous anger. And, as a gentleman, I have no choice but to acquiesce, especially here in Colonel Anstruther’s home. ‘Pray thank Miss Elliott for her kind enquiry. You may assure her that I am quite well, thanks to the Colonel’s intervention. I see you have managed to discover my missing bags. How remarkably fortunate. The provost assured me that there was no trace of them.’

‘A misunderstanding, I assure you, sir. Your luggage was conveyed to the stable, along with your mare. Both were well taken care of. And of course there is no livery to pay. I have seen to that.’

‘You are all generosity, Elliott,’ the colonel said, with some asperity.

‘Sir, I hope it will be possible to forget this unfortunate episode. My sister joins her prayers to mine. She wishes me to invite you both—and Mrs Anstruther, too, of course—to visit us so that she may offer her apologies in person.’

Clearly the Elliott sister was not to be permitted to visit them in Dumfries. It seemed that, if Ross wanted to see the girl again, and to unravel the mystery surrounding her, he would have to go to her. But it was the height of ill manners to expect the invalid Mrs Anstruther to wait on a mere child. Ross waited to see how the colonel would respond.

‘We are grateful for Miss Elliott’s invitation. Of course.’ The colonel’s pause before those last words held a wealth of meaning. Ross fancied that Elliott was beginning to look a trifle embarrassed. However good his birth, Elliott was no gentleman, but even he must realise that it was for him, and his sister, to wait on the Anstruthers. The Elliotts, after all, were the ones who needed to apologise.

‘You will understand, Elliott, that my wife is not able to travel easily. And my recollection is that the roads around your manor are remarkably bad. Is that not so?’ The colonel waited for Elliott’s reluctant nod before continuing. ‘However, you and Miss Elliott would be more than welcome to call on us here in Dumfries. Miss Elliott would be able to make her apologies then, would she not?’