'Good Lord in heaven!' Maggie said. 'Whatever is that?'
'It's a bell,' I said. 'Somebody is ringing a church bell.'
'But it's Thursday.' Rising from the table, Mother stepped to the window. 'There's no service on a Thursday and certainly no wedding at this time in the morning.' I thought she might take the opportunity to comment about my intended marriage, but she spared me that torture. 'It's not the king's birthday is it?'
Father burst into the room, looking as equally out of temper as I was. He was bare-necked, with his shirt incorrectly buttoned. 'What the devil is all that noise? Can't a man get any peace in his own house? Good God! Have the French landed? We're not in another blasted war, are we? It's only a few years since the last one! They might at least let a fellow know!'
'No,' Mother sounded a little dazed. 'I doubt it's the French this time.' She continued to look out the window. 'Mary, be a pet and go to the library. You have a better view from there. See who is ringing the bell.' She touched my arm. 'Look to Huntlaw; ten guineas to a pinch of salt that it's the great bell of Huntlaw.'
'Huntlaw!' The memories of last night flooded back. I was on my feet in an instant, knocking my chair over in my haste to run upstairs.
'Watch my furniture!' Mother called after me. 'I wish you were that eager to obey all my requests.' She lowered her voice. 'Honestly, that girl! I never know what to make of her.'
I did not care what Mother made of me. Raising my skirt, I scampered up the stairs to the library and dashed to the window. I could vaguely see the lights of Huntlaw glowing between the hills, but I could not see the bell tower with any clarity.
'Move aside, Mary.' Father adopted his most magisterial tone. I moved aside.
Opening his spyglass by the simple expedient of flicking his wrist, Father took up nearly all the space. 'Open the window for me, Mary.'
I did so as Father balanced the end of the spyglass on the lower half of the window. Mother bustled behind him, with Maggie at the rear.
'Is it Huntlaw's bell?' There was excitement in Mother's voice.
'Is it Lady Emily, Mr Hepburn? Maggie thrust forward.
'Give me space!' Father snarled. 'Agnes, please move aside a little. The rest of you, get out of my damned way!'
We moved out of Father's way. He very rarely raised his voice or swore, so we knew he must be agitated.
'It is the great bell of Huntlaw.' Father confirmed.
'Oh, dear God in his heaven.' Maggie put a hand to her young breast. 'It can't be.'
'It is,' Father handed the spyglass to Mother, who held it in both hands.
'You're right, Andrew. I can see it swaying back and forward. It's the great bell of Huntlaw.' Mother handed the spyglass to Maggie. You will notice where I was in the pecking order of Cauldneb that morning.
'I never thought I'd see the day,' Maggie said. 'My ma ayeways says to listen for the clamour of the great bell of Huntlaw.'
You will gather that I was fairly jumping up and down with frustrated excitement. 'What does it all mean?'
'Long before you were born, Mary,' Father explained, 'the Honourable Gospatrick Hume, Lady Emily's only son, vanished.'
'I know that,' I burst in.
'Very well. Lady Emily became a virtual recluse, refusing to leave her home in case she was away when her son returned home. She said that the great bell of Huntlaw, the bell that has rung to celebrate the Sabbath and warn of invasions for centuries, would be silent until the heir returned.'
'Gospatrick has come into his own,' Mother said.
Suddenly I knew what had happened. For the first time in my life, I swore. I felt the colour drain from my face.
'It's all right, Mary,' Mother ignored my language as she put her arm around my shoulders. 'Lady Emily will be pleased.'
'Who the devil is this now?' Father interrupted us. 'As if having a damned bell ring-ring-ringing all day long was not bad enough, now I have some strange horseman riding up to the door.'
I already guessed who banged at the knocker as if trying to summon the devil himself.
'Now there's an impatient fellow,' Father said as the knocker sounded again. 'Excuse me, Agnes, and you ladies. That fellow will not be bringing good news, I'll be bound. He looks too official for that.'
Leaving Mother and Maggie to study Huntlaw with the spyglass, I followed Father downstairs. My heart was pounding like the drumbeat of a marching regiment of Foot while I felt nausea rising within me. I had not recovered from the previous evening and wondered what misadventures this day would bring. Simultaneously, I wished to see my mysterious rescuer by daylight.
I waited at the curve of the stairs as the footman answered the door.
'Is your master at home?' the newcomer did not waste time in flowery speech.
'Yes, I am here,' Father advanced to meet the visitor. 'Andrew Hepburn, sir. Who are you?' Father was equally direct.
'Robert Cochrane, Messenger at Arms.' The visitor introduced himself. 'Here on the King's business.'
I looked at this vigorous man. Divested of the blackening and neckerchief, Mr Cochrane's face was strong featured, with a powerful jaw and intense grey eyes. I remembered these steady eyes from our first encounter.
'Come to my study, Mr Cochrane,' Father said. 'My man will look after your horse.' He smiled. 'You will have to forgive the uproar in the house I am afraid. We have just heard some good news about a neighbour or ours.'
Mr Cochrane nodded to me as I stepped aside to allow them passage on the stairs. 'Good morning, Miss Hepburn.'
I curtseyed. 'Good morning, Mr Cochrane.'
'I am afraid Lady Emily's news may not be as good as she hopes,' Mr Cochrane said.
Father frowned. 'Do you know what has happened?'
'I believe so,' Mr Cochrane said. 'I would like Miss Hepburn to join us.'
'Mary?' Father sounded incredulous, as well he might.
'With your permission, sir.'
'If you wish,' Father said, 'although I don't see what my daughter has to do with such matters.' He looked at me. 'Could you join us, Mary?'
'Yes, Father,' I said. So my mysterious rescuer was a Messenger at Arms. I watched his athletic form as Father opened the door of his study. Both gentlemen stepped aside to allow me to enter first. I did so, feeling like Daniel stepping into the lion's den, yet without his faith or God's grace to guide me. Sinners such as me cannot expect favour from on high.
'Take a seat, Mr Cochrane,' Father settled into his own seat behind the desk. 'Mary, you will have to stand, I'm afraid.'
'I won't hear of it,' Mr Cochrane said. 'I will not sit while a lady stands.'
'Easily remedied,' Father left the room, returning a moment later with a chair from his bedroom. 'Now we can all sit in comfort while you tell us the purpose of your visit and why my daughter should listen.'
'Miss Hepburn has her part to play,' Mr Cochrane said.
I could feel Father's gaze on me as I settled onto my chair. I said nothing.
'You will be aware what a Messenger at Arms is, Mr Hepburn,' Mr Cochrane said, 'but to make things clear for Miss Hepburn I will say, briefly, that I am an officer of the Court of Session in Edinburgh. I am responsible for serving legal documents throughout Scotland and for enforcing court orders.'
Mr Cochrane looked very efficient indeed in his grey travelling cloak and smart dark suit. 'In short, Miss Hepburn, that means I am empowered to enforce the law right across the country.'
He was older than I had at first thought, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties. Some of my interest in Mr Cochrane dwindled.
'What can I do for you, Mr Cochrane?' Father asked.
'I am aware that you had Edmund Charleton, alias Galloping Bob, alias Roaring Rab, alias Captain Ferintosh in your custody for a while,' Mr Cochrane said.
I squirmed in embarrassment while still managing to retain my silence.
'That is correct,' Father said. 'We had the fellow in Kirkton of Muirend local lockup. I had him securely chained until some bl
ackguard picked the lock the very same night.'
'Good,' Mr Cochrane surprised us both by saying.
'Good?' Father raised his eyebrows.
'We have been chasing Charleton for months. We suspect he is guilty of many things, from highway robbery under his alias of Galloping Bob, to fraudulent theft from rich widows under the guise of Captain Ferintosh, to mere whisky smuggling as Roaring Rab.'
I listened, wondering.
'I knew he was in this area,' Mr Cochrane said, 'yet I had no proof. He is as slippery as a bucketful of eels, so we have never had sufficient to convict him.'
'Do you have sufficient now?' Father asked.
Mr Cochrane would not be rushed. 'If you had taken him to court, Mr Hepburn, I do not think you could have been successful in achieving a conviction. Besides that, I do not just want him. I also wish to apprehend his followers, including Black Jack, wanted for…' Mr Cochrane glanced at me, 'various unpleasant deeds with ladies, and Charleton's so-called wife, Isabel Snodgrass, wanted for child-stripping, child abduction, assault and other things.'
I felt my heart flutter with the memory.
Mr Cochrane continued. 'Now, I believe we may have the whole dark company. We may catch him in the midst of the most audacious crime he has yet conceived.'
'What is that, pray?' Father asked.
'Can you still hear the bell?' Mr Cochrane asked.
'I can.' Father nodded.
'That is Lady Emily celebrating that her long-lost son, Gospatrick Hume, has returned home.'
'That is what we believe,' Father said cautiously.
'It is twenty-five years since Lady Emily last saw her son. He was sixteen years old at the time. He will now be forty-one. Time will have wrought many changes on a man during that length of time.'
'That is so,' Father agreed.
'Even Lady Emily will be hard pressed to recognise him after twenty-five years.' Mr Cochrane pressed his point.
'That could be the case,' Father nodded.
'Our mutual friend, Edmund Charleton, is even as we speak, pretending to be Gospatrick Hume. He rolled up there this morning in a coach stolen from Eskbank, with Isabel Snodgrass posing as his wife and three of his followers acting as his servants.'
Father was scribbling notes as Mr Cochrane spoke. 'Are you sure of all this?'
'As sure as I can be. I have been watching this group of scoundrels for some time.'
I remained quiet.
'Can you prove that Edmund Charleton is not Gospatrick Hume?'
'I have documentary proof including signed and witnessed declarations, under oath, of the description of the man Charleton. I have prison officers' descriptions of the man Charleton including knowledge of a birthmark that I would be astonished if Gospatrick Hume shares.'
Father continued to write notes. 'I am still not sure where my daughter fits into all this.'
'I might need her as a witness,' Mr Cochrane said. 'Miss Hepburn inadvertently saw some members of the gang, possibly while she and a gentleman were exploring Wallace's Cave.'
That was delicately put, you must admit.
'A gentleman?' Father's gaze fixed on me. I could tell that he had forgotten about Captain Ferintosh in his concern for my reputation.
'Yes, father. He was one of the men who helped you round up Captain Ferintosh the other day. Alexander Colligere. You may remember that he and Mr John Aitken collided in the withdrawing room.'
'Alexander Colligere?' Father's face puckered into a frown and then nearly immediately cleared. I swear that he smiled: Alexander had that effect of people. 'Ah,' he said. 'I know the very fellow. You would be safe with him, Mary, but even so, I would be obliged if you let me know before you go gallivanting with any other gentleman, harmless or not.'
'I was not gallivanting, Father. I happened to meet him when I was perambulating around the Garleton Hills. You know how I like to go for long walks on my own.'
'I do,' Father said. 'And all that sort of thing will stop right now until I am sure that there are no more creatures like Edmund Charleton on the loose.'
'Yes, Father.' I did not argue. I could see the wisdom of Father's words and besides, the previous night had scared me more than I would ever admit. Even now I still shudder at the thought of Isabel's eyes and words.
Father nodded to me. 'We will speak more of Alexander Colligere, as you call him, Mary.'
I thought we might. 'Yes, Father.' I had escape easier than I had at first thought. That was three times Mr Cochrane had rescued me.
'In the meantime, Mr Cochrane, shall we round up these rogues?'
'We shall, Mr Hepburn.'
Father was nearly smiling as he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and produced his pistol. 'I shall send out the fiery cross.'
Sir Walter Scott's novels have made the fiery cross better known now, but back in my youth, not many people were aware of the concept. In the days of the Highland clans, if the chief wanted to raise his men, he would form a cross, dip one end in blood and set the other aflame. A runner, or a series of runners, would run around the clan territory carrying this fiery cross, which was a message for every man to gather at the clan's rendezvous spot ready for war or cattle-raid.
Now, I knew that Father did not literally mean send out a cross. He did mean to gather the local manhood to capture Captain Ferintosh for the second time.
'I'll give you a list of addresses, Cochrane.' Father said. 'I'll take the eastern half of the county if you take the western half.' He looked at me, smiling. 'It's at times like this that I wish I had a son as well as a daughter.'
'Why is that, Father?'
'To help me gather the men, Mary.'
'I can ride, Father. I know where the farms and houses are.' I lifted my chin, aware that Father was calculating how safe it would be for me. Concern, nothing else, had motivated his words to me.
'All right. Call on Elliot, Ormiston and Aitken. You've known the first two all your life. and from what I hear, you are becoming friendly with the Aitkens.'
It seemed that my parents had been discussing me. but Aitkens plural? Was one not sufficient, or was I expected to marry a whole brood of them? 'I'll take Coffee' I was not happy about riding to John Aitken's house.
'As long as you take care.' Father's eyes were troubled as I left the room, eager to prove myself the match for any non-existent son.
I was unsure of my feelings how I felt when I rode away from Cauldneb. It was interesting to find out that my mysterious rescuer was a court official. It had been more interesting to find out at least part of Captain Ferintosh's plan. At least I felt a little less guilty about releasing the captain from jail. And now father knew I had spoken to Alexander.
Why was that important? As I relished the feel of the wind in my face, I found myself smiling. Alexander did make me smile. I was very comfortable with him. I did not have the same feeling of excitement that Captain Ferintosh had brought. Alexander was not exciting; I could not see him riding through the night on a daring escapade. Yet, there was something about him that made me smile.
Now I was being silly. Alexander was an eccentric, a man about whom I knew next-to-nothing. Was I grasping at straws? Yes, I was. I was merely desperate to escape my mother's choice of a suitable husband. Alexander Colligere was not the answer. I must seek another solution. I had to persuade Mother to change her mind.
As I thought, I rode, with Coffee covering the distance at a steady pace. Mr Elliot lived furthest away, just outside Eskbank. I would call on him first, then Mr Ormiston who was inland from Prestonpans and finally with great reluctance, old Mr Aitken.
Mr Elliot was supervising his ploughmen out in the fields. He listened to my account, showed some surprise when I mentioned the Messenger at Arms and trotted back to his house. 'Pray tell your father I will be there directly,' he said as he selected a variety of weapons from his extensive armoury. Honestly, I wonder that any game birds survived with Mr Elliot on the loose. That man had more guns than Edinburgh Castle.
&nb
sp; 'Thank you, Mr Elliot.' Wheeling Coffee, I headed for Mr Ormiston's house. I must admit to feeling quite important as I pushed Coffee through the autumn-stark countryside. I was gathering men to right a wrong for which I was in part responsible. I was aiding my father. I was helping to catch a seemingly notorious rogue. And yet, within me, I retained a vestige of affection for Captain Ferintosh. Oh, I knew that he had lied to me, he had played me for the naïve fool that I had been. I was well aware of that. Yet still, I remembered his charm and poise, his elegance and those marvellously soft eyes.
Was I so shallow as to fall for appearances and smooth words rather than the solid decency of a man like, say, Mr Cochrane? Or even John Aitken?
I turned from that thought with quick alarm. John Aitken was far too old. But Mr Cochrane now, a man of proven resource, a man of position who had shown himself a gentleman of the first order; could I consider him?
'Halloa!' The voice challenged me. I had been riding automatically as my mind raced along different lines. 'Where are you off to, young lady?'
'Mr Ormiston's house of Garvalton,' I replied, reining up.
'Garvalton is just over the rise there.' A group of farm servants were having a break from ploughing the rich red earth, chewing mightily on hunks of salmon. 'He's at home, I believe.'
'Thank you.' I knew the way already. Lifting a hand in acknowledgement, I turned Coffee off the road and onto the drive to Mr Ormiston's house.
Mr Ormiston was on all fours in his front room, with two little girls riding on his back. He looked up with a broad smile. 'Miss Hepburn! You have caught me at somewhat of a disadvantage, I fear.'
'I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Ormiston,' I removed Father's hat that I had quite taken to wearing. I told Mr Ormiston the story as his wife came close to listen.
'Does Mr Hepburn desperately require my husband?' Mrs Ormiston was a plump, matronly woman with rough red cheeks, and a small child balanced on her hip.
'I must do my duty, my dear.' Mr Ormiston stood, holding a child in each arm. 'Miss Hepburn, pray tell your father I will be there at once.'
'Thank you, Mr Ormiston.' Leaving the domestic bliss of Garvalton, I was back on Coffee in minutes, kicking in my heels as I headed for John Aitken's house.
The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4) Page 13
