‘It’s bad news?’ she asked.
‘We’re to leave in three days’ time. I have to go.’
She gently put out one hand to grasp his. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’
The pain of parting burned in him like an unquenched fire. He hugged her to him and said urgently, ‘I love you too. I love you so much that I can’t bear to leave. I’ve been sitting here thinking about it and I’ve decided to run away. If I hide out for a time they’ll give up looking for me. When peace comes, who cares about a runaway Frenchman?’
She shook her head. ‘They’ve ordered you to go. They’ve said that anyone who tries to escape will be treated as a runaway. Everyone round here knows you now and if you were seen, you’d be reported.’
‘Damn it, at least I’d have a few more days with you. I’ve had enough of obeying orders.’
That night he defied the curfew and stayed with her in the abbey house. They lay together in Alice’s bed and whispered words of love. Neither of them slept.
When the first light of morning came through the little window, she said, ‘It’s five o’clock. I’ve got to get up. We’ve got to be in the hayfield by six.’
He groaned and put his hands to his face. ‘Stay here with me, don’t go.’
‘I must go. I’m bonded to go. My father would suffer if I didn’t go.’
Silently she slipped round the room, dressed in her working clothes and cut bread for her father, who had slept that night in the hay shed so that Blaize and Jane could be undisturbed.
‘I’ll stay hidden here. I’m not going back,’ Blaize told her as she went out into the chill of the early morning.
He was reading some of Alice’s old herbal recipes when there were steps on the stone stairway outside the door. It opened and Jacques stood there. He had lost weight since Christian died and looked sad and thin, but today some of his old energy had returned to him.
‘Get your coat on. When you didn’t come back last night we knew what you’re trying to do. But you’ve got to come with me. The colonel sent me to get you.’
‘I’m staying here,’ said Blaize.
‘Don’t be a fool. If you stay and let this family hide you, they’ll suffer as much as you when you’re found. They’ll be prosecuted for sheltering a fugitive. You know you’ve got to return to France. Be sensible, once you’ve sorted out your affairs you can come back for her. But you’ve got to go now.’
He’d known it all along, really. Together the two men went to the hayfield and Blaize walked across to Jane in the middle of the group of women and took her in his arms, uncaring of the scandalized faces of the others. Any open show of emotion outraged their Scottish souls.
She kissed him and clung to him, weeping. There was no need to explain what had happened for she too had known that their parting must come.
He left her with the words, ‘I’ll come back. I promise you I’ll come back. Never doubt me, no matter what happens. I love you. Trust me.’
* * *
‘I’ll speak to the steward and get you a day off,’ said Adam, but Jane could not bring herself to go to Melrose to watch Blaize march away. He was walking to Berwick in the company of Jacques and a handful of other men who had been left behind from the first batch of prisoners. The colonel, who was growing old and frail, was given a horse to ride by a tradesman friend in the town, for the walk to Berwick, a good thirty-five miles, would have been too much for the old man.
Mounted on this grey horse, he saluted the small crowd that came to see him leave and took a last look at Melrose. Each of the ancient thatched houses that led up the high street to the square had a small knot of people in its doorway, waving the colonel off. He had been a popular man. He made a short speech thanking the ‘canny’ people of Melrose for their kindness to the French. It was a good time to use some of his collection of local words… ‘I’ll aye mind you guid folk…’ he told them before pulling on the reins of his horse and riding off through the narrow vennel that led to the east.
In Charterhall that morning, Jane was inconsolable. Every now and again she stared up at the sun, trying to calculate the time and wondering where Blaize would be. It was a fine day and not too warm, so his journey would not be too arduous.
When she thought of him, tears rose to her eyes and her throat tightened in pain. By dinner time, when the work halted for a couple of hours, she was shaking and unable to stop the tears flowing unchecked. Her father regarded her with concern.
‘Oh lassie, you should have gone to see him off. The steward said you could and nobody would have missed you.’
‘I couldn’t, I thought I’d die if I had to watch him going away. But oh, how much I want to have a last look at him now,’ she sobbed.
Without another word Adam Cannon walked off across the field and spoke to another labourer who was leaning on his fork in the shade.
When he came back, he told Jane, ‘Go home and get on your best dress. Jake’s brother Benny has a cart and he’ll take you to Berwick. Just go, I’ll be responsible for letting you off work.’
‘But father,’ she gasped, ‘Berwick’s so far away. Will I get there in time?’
‘If you go now, you will,’ he told her.
She’d never been farther than five or six miles from Charterhall in her entire life. To travel over thirty miles seemed as hazardous and daring as going to Africa. Like the other people working on the land around her, she had little idea of distance and thought that America was about the same number of miles away as Glasgow, so hazy was her idea of travel.
Her father was more matter of fact, however, and he said, ‘Remember, he’s walking, you’ll be riding and Benny’s got a fast wee pony. You’ll get there in time if you go now.’
Benny, a slow-spoken, lethargic giant of a man, was difficult to infuse with her sense of urgency. He pottered around harnessing up his pony and it was nearly three o’clock when they finally trotted out of the yard. She knew that Blaize’s party had left Melrose at about eight o’clock that morning but she had no idea when the boat would sail from Berwick. She did not even know for sure if it would sail that day. Her father had told her that, allowing for rests, a walking man would probably reach Berwick by late afternoon, however, and she was determined not to miss him.
‘Oh hurry, Benny, hurry, I’ve got to see him before he goes,’ she gasped, clinging on to the bar of the cart as they spanked along the road.
‘I’m hurrying,’ said Benny, shifting his chewing tobacco from one cheek to the other. ‘The pony’s going as fast as it can and it canna’ go any faster.’
‘When do you think we’ll get to Berwick?’ she asked.
Benny shrugged. ‘That depends. We might lose a wheel or the pony might cast a shoe – that’d hold us up. The road can be bad in bits but it’s been dry for the past week so there won’t be any flooding – perhaps in three hours?’
‘Do try to hurry,’ she told him, ‘I’m terribly worried in case we miss him.’
‘You’re in a state right enough,’ agreed Benny. ‘You’re in a bigger state than China.’
She was not too sure what he meant by that but sensed that she would be well advised to say no more about making good time. Though it was the first time she had ever been on the turnpike road to the east, she had no eyes for the sights they passed on the way. They were following the river Tweed on its course to the sea and as they spanked along, they went through a succession of pretty little villages, but these held little interest for her. Every time they came to a village that was a bit bigger than the others, she hopefully asked Benny, ‘Is this Berwick?’ and he’d laugh.
‘Don’t be daft, lassie. Berwick’s a big place.’
It was almost evening when they came down the sloping hill from the Berwickshire plain and saw the blue expanse of the North Sea spread out before them. The sight of it made her gasp in astonishment. Then she saw the spires and houses of the grey town stretching along the point at the mouth of th
e river and the little round-arched bridge that took the road over to it.
It looked enormous to her and she gasped in amazement at the sight. ‘It’s as big as London,’ she said, her eyes round.
‘Oh aye, it is that,’ agreed Benny, who had never seen London, who had in fact never even been to Edinburgh, but who was not prepared to admit that. His idea of a metropolis was Berwick-on-Tweed – nothing could be bigger or more bustling than the prosperous port that served the south-eastern corner of Scotland.
She leaned forward in the jolting cart and gazed down at the crowded harbour and at the lines of tall-masted ships drawn up in the wide estuary. Was Blaize already on one of those? Had she missed him after all?
Fortunately Benny knew his way to the harbour side and his pony trotted surefooted down the steep cobbled street to the quays where everything was a confusion of shouting and hustle, with men running around among crates, boxes and bundles while sailors with tarred pigtails, lounging on corners, eyed tousle-haired Jane with appreciation as she climbed down from Benny’s cart.
‘Going some place, Missus?’ asked one bold-faced man.
‘I’m looking for the ship that’s taking the French prisoners away.’
‘Oh, the Frenchies? They’re going out on one of their own ships. It’s moored over there.’
He pointed with a dirty, tattooed hand to the end of the quay where a tall schooner was tied up.
She thanked him and ran along the stone-slabbed jetty towards it. When she reached its high wooden sides, she shouted up to a man leaning on the deck rail.
‘Is this the ship that’s taking the Frenchmen to Boulogne?’
He threw out his hands in a gesture of incomprehension.
She remembered a little of the French that Blaize had tried to teach her… ‘À Boulogne? Les prisonniers?’
The man nodded vigorously in agreement… ‘Oui, à Boulogne,’ he shouted back.
‘Blaize Chardenel, find Blaize Chardenel,’ she called up to him, ‘A soldier – un soldat – of the Hussars.’
The man on the deck consulted another who came curiously over. ‘Chardenel? Hussar?’ They called down to her and she nodded eagerly. ‘Un moment,’ said one, and disappeared.
It did not take long before he was back with Blaize, who looked over the rail suspiciously.
When he saw Jane his face lit up and he threw out his arms. ‘Jane, wait, wait, I’m coming down,’ he called.
They hugged each other on the quay while the watching sailors shouted encouragement and words of bawdy advice.
‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked. ‘I’ll get you aboard. The captain’s an old friend of Jacques. He was his captain on the privateer in the war, he’d take you with no questions asked.’
‘No, no,’ she shook her head. ‘You know I can’t go. I’ve just come to say goodbye to you. I couldn’t let you go without seeing you again.’
His face showed his disappointment but she kissed him again and said, ‘I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you, Blaize…’
He clutched her to him and muttered, ‘Thank God you did. I was sick with longing for you too. Oh Jane, come with me. You’ve come so far, don’t go back now.’
‘I can’t, you know I can’t. There’s my father – and my home. I can’t just go away to France without a word.’
‘Sometimes I think Charterhall means more to you than I do,’ he said bitterly. ‘You’re wedded to your abbey. You’re enchanted, Jane. If you’re ever going to live your own life, you must break free.’
But again she shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that. I’ll wait for you there and one day you’ll come back for me. When the baby’s born, I’ll go with you then. But first you’ve got to tell your wife and make up your mind that you really want me. If you still do, then I’ll go with you.’
It had never occurred to him that she was so afraid of what would happen when he got back to France, so sure was he about how he felt himself.
He held her to him and whispered, ‘Of course I really want you. Haven’t I told you often enough? I’ve never wanted anything or anyone in my life as much as I want you. Can’t you believe that?’
‘But what about your wife? What if when you go home you fall in love with her again?’
‘I won’t!’ He was angry now. ‘I’ve told you. I know my own mind. I’m not a foolish boy. You must believe me. If you asked me to kill myself now, here on this quay, I’d do it for you.’
She put her arms round him and kissed him tenderly. ‘Oh, I believe you. I’ll never doubt you. I’m sure you love me. Goodbye, my darling.’
There was a noise of shouting and clattering from the deck above and someone shouted down to Blaize to get aboard, they were preparing to leave. She could see the conflict on his face, she could see that he wanted to stay with her but she gently pushed him towards the rope ladder that swung down from the ship’s side, and stood back as he climbed swiftly up it. But he had only gone up three or four rungs before he leaped down again and stripped off his Hussar’s jacket.
He handed it to her with the words, ‘This will keep you warm on the journey home and it will always remind you of me. I’ve kept it carefully all these years, I’ve been so proud of it but now I’m giving it to you as an earnest that I’ll come back.’
The Borderers believe that it is unlucky to watch a loved one out of sight because that means you will never see them again. She was keenly aware of this superstition but deliberately thrust it aside as a primitive fear, for she knew how Blaize would laugh at her if he knew about it. She stood alone on the quay, waving at his departing ship and clutching to her breast his uniform jacket, now and again pressing the fading cloth to her face and breathing in the smell of him from its folds. The stately ship swung round in the tide and headed for the open sea, with the wind filling its magnificent range of sails. She heard the strange creak of the canvas and the groan of the ropes as it sailed away from her and she was almost blinded with tears. The figure of Blaize stood in the stern, waving his arms at her as it sailed off into the distance. The last sight she had of him was the white blur of his shirt and his long arms waving above his head.
With his jacket slung over her shoulders and the tears running down her cheeks, she went back to the alehouse where Benny was refreshing himself for the return trip and, without speaking, they set off on the long journey home.
* * *
‘Is it no’ awful shaming to be having a baby and no man?’ Maggie Maxton, who was to marry one of her many suitors in three weeks’ time, stood in the hay shed and looked critically at Jane’s bulky body coming in from the farmyard. She had always disliked Jane, who was too stuck up for her own good. Thought herself something, did Jane Cannon, and now she’d got her comeuppance.
Jane did not care whether Maggie liked her or not, for it was raining and they had been called back out of the fields. They’d only be paid for a half day’s work – that concerned her a good deal more, for she needed every penny she could get now that the baby was so near. Yet she was mildly surprised at Maggie’s question. Illegitimacy was not uncommon among bondagers and Maggie had been lucky not to have conceived already herself.
‘I don’t think so. We’d have been married if we could have,’ she replied.
Maggie dimpled. ‘A love bairn! He’s back to his wife now, is he, your bonny Frenchman? I can’t say I blame you, he was a grand man, like a big stallion.’ She giggled at her own effrontery but she enjoyed getting in a dig at Jane.
‘The last I heard he was in Paris and was going down to Arles – that was in July,’ Jane said, determined not to rise to Maggie’s taunts.
A note from Blaize, enclosed in a letter which Colonel Berton sent to his friend the Melrose lawyer, had found its way to Jane. She cherished every word and carried it around with her until the paper almost wore away.
‘July? That was over four months ago. Haven’t you heard since?’ quizzed Maggie cruelly.
Jane shook her head. It did worry her that there had been
no news, but she was sure he’d write when he was able. She did not want to write to him though she had his address in Arles. She did not want to do anything that would cause him trouble while he was breaking the news to his wife.
Maggie was a mean little minx though, she rubbed salt in the wound. ‘Well, that’s the last you’ll see of him. Aren’t you going to marry poor Jock Hepburn now and give your bairn a name?’
A feeling of shock swept over Jane and she flushed scarlet. Maggie was a loose-moraled girl who had been with many men before she captured the innocent Bob. Yet here she was, in the near safety of marriage, adopting an attitude of outrage because another woman, a virgin when she slept with Blaize, was having an illegitimate baby. Jane reacted vehemently.
‘I think it would be a lot more immoral to marry a man and foist someone else’s bairn on him than not to marry and bring it up on your own,’ she said stiffly.
‘Immoral is it? Well, we’ll see what the minister says about immoral, won’t we, when you take your bairn to the kirk to be christened.’ Maggie was enjoying herself.
Her belly and back were aching dully when she got back to the abbey that night and she sat down on her mother’s favourite chair, spreading her legs wide. Her father was on the other side of the fireplace, patiently polishing her boots for the next day.
‘I wish my mother was alive to help me have this bairn,’ she suddenly said, and he looked up at her with a worried frown which showed her that the same thought had occurred to him.
‘Who’s going to act as howdie for me?’ she asked.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking about that. Big Agnes has delivered a lot of babies in the fields and I’ll go for her if you need help. But you’ve seen your mother do it, haven’t you? You’ve some idea of what to do?’ he replied soothingly.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve seen it done. We have to boil water and you’ll have to cut the cord for me when the baby’s out. Like you do for lambs, Father.’ Seeing her mother help other women through their labour was not the same as being faced with labour herself, she thought privately.
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