by John Booth
Saunders went over to the reception desk to book their rooms. As he wrote his name in the register, he noticed the names Arnold had written in the book for the previous night. Though he had used the name Smith, their Christian names were enough to assure Saunders that this was where his targets had been.
“Ah, I see my good friends the Smith’s were here last night. I was hoping to catch up with them before they left the hotel.”
The man behind the desk gave him a hostile look.
“That’s a mite peculiar if you don’t mind me saying it, sir. They said they were taking two wee orphan boys to their aunt and they had not expected to spend a night in the hotel or indeed the city.”
“Quite so, quite so,” Saunders extemporized. “Their family is always performing charitable acts and I knew they were taking the boys up to Scotland. My decision to come to Edinburgh was quite sudden, so they would not have known I would be arriving today. It was only on seeing their names in the register that I realized they must have sheltered here.”
The man looked mollified by his answer, but still sounded a little suspicious.
“Be that as it may, sir, they checked out this morning. So you will have to catch up with them another time. Will you three gentlemen be sharing a single room?”
It was Saunders turn to look hostile.
“No, I will certainly not. These men are my servants and they will share a room. I, however, will take one of your best single rooms.”
“That will be two shilling and sixpence for your room, sir, and a shilling for your servants, assuming they will be staying in the cheapest room?”
Saunders nodded and handed over the money. The receptionist counted it carefully as if still convinced Saunders was a crook. Once the money was safely locked in the desk, he reluctantly handed Saunders a key. He leant over the desk to give Joe the key to their room.
“Tell me, were you on reception this morning when my friends departed the hotel?” Saunders asked innocently.
“No sir, that would have been Fiona, Fiona McDonald. She handles the reception in the morning and she would have booked your friends out.
“Thank you,” Saunders said as he turned to walk up the stairs to his room. “You have been most helpful, most helpful indeed.”
By the time Cam and her team arrived in Perth, it was well past midnight and they were shivering from the cold. They had spent long hours waiting for connecting trains at almost deserted stations inside inadequately heated waiting rooms. If it had not been for the kindness of the porters, they would have been in a much worse state. Railway-men would turn up with hot soup in tin mugs for them, just when they needed it most.
They walked out of the station and saw the hotel on the other side of the street. This was not a particularly unusual thing in any part of the British Isles, as the last thing most travelers wanted to do when leaving a train was to travel further in search of a hotel.
Cam resigned herself to letting Arnold book their rooms. Without exception, everyone they met on their journey since reaching Scotland assumed that the women in the party were only there to look pretty. They expected to negotiate with the man in the group, and became flustered when Cam tried to do business with them. Cam made a point of giving Arnold only enough money to pay for tickets or rooms. Despite the chauvinism of the Scottish, she intended to keep as much control as she could.
They dining room in the hotel was surprisingly elegant and despite the late hour, the hotel was happy to wake their chef to cook them a meal. This was not a temperance hotel and they saw men occupying the bar in the corner of the room, dourly drinking scotch. The drinkers did not look up as Cam and her party entered, being only concerned with nursing their drinks.
The dining room was lit by several large crystal chandeliers hanging from the high intricately plastered ceiling. Only a few of the lamps were currently lit, and the smell of chewing tobacco and booze in the room was almost overwhelming. Ebb and Tricky were just grateful to be warm and fell asleep as soon as they sat in their chairs.
“I am beginning to hate Scotland,” Cam told her friends in a very low voice. It was hardly the sort of comment she wanted to the locals to overhear.
“I quite like it here, myself,” Arnold countered and grinned at her. “The railway-men were much more helpful and courteous than the sort we get down south, even though you could not cut their accents with a knife. Scotland seems to be an old-fashioned place and I am finding it most agreeable.”
“But only because everyone here expects you to be in charge,” Daisy said and she laughed. She gave Arnold a gentle thump on the arm. “Don’t get too used to it, my lad, because you are the junior member in this particular team.”
“Not that this team is doing particularly well,” Cam grumbled. “We have travelled from one end of Britain to the other and haven’t managed a single glimpse of Tom and Laura.”
“You are being unreasonably negative, Camilla,” Daisy replied in mock horror. “We have discovered that Trelawney’s right hand man is a traitor, found the name of the man who sold our friends into slavery and we know the name of the man they were sold to. Not to mention, we have tracked Tom and Laura to what seems like the end of the Earth. Who else could have done all that, but us?”
“Put like that, I suppose we have done quite well,” Cam admitted reluctantly. “And we saved Ebb and Tricky from certain death, not to mention that silly maid from Smee’s house. However, I keep feeling that Tom and Laura would have expected us to have done more for them by now. Who knows what tortures they are enduring at this very moment?”
“No one is going to torture Laura, especially after they paid all that money for her,” Arnold pointed out. “It’s poor Tom that I feel sorry for. They could be doing anything to him.”
At that moment, Tom was indeed being tortured, if only by his own indecision. He had stripped down to his underwear and was eying up the only bed in the room. Laura was preparing herself for the night in the bathroom and he wasn’t sure whether he should get into the bed or prepare to sleep on the floor. Sleeping on the floor would mean taking a blanket from the bed and that might not be the gentlemanly thing to do, as it was getting cold.
Lord McBride appeared not to have installed sufficient radiators to keep this room warm against the icy winds that rattled the windows. Either that or he preferred his castle cold at night. Tom reminded himself that McBride was a Scotsman, and they were renowned at insisting on proving how tough they were. Why else would they wear skirts instead of trousers?
“Are you going to stand there like an idiot or are you going to get into bed?” Laura asked. Tom jumped at her voice as she had somehow managed to creep up beside him. She was sensibly wearing her underwear as well.
“If you prefer, I shall sleep on the floor. There is your honor to consider,” Tom replied stiffly.
“Tom, we have been kidnapped, sold into slavery and bundled off to a castle in the Highlands of Scotland by a traitor to the Crown. By now, even my own mother would believe my honor had been hopelessly compromised. Now get into bed this instant before I smack you.”
Tom knew an order when he heard one and leapt for the bed, covering himself with the thick sheets and shivering with cold as his body warmed them up.
“Good,” Laura said with considerable satisfaction. “When I have finished brushing my hair I am sure that you will have warmed that side of the bed sufficiently for me. I shall expect you to move over to the other side when I get in.”
“I suspect that your father gave insufficient discipline to you as a child,” Tom said between shivers. “That would explain why you act so unladylike at times.”
Laura turned around to face Tom with a look of astonishment on her face. “Are you admonishing me, Thomas?”
“You can sometimes be a real b…, I cannot bring myself to say the word,” Tom admitted.
Laura turned away so she could grin without Tom seeing her. She answered as sternly as she could manage.
“My parents flogg
ed me frequently, and I’m sure that you remember what Snood did to me back at Hobsgate. It is just that beatings have always made me more likely to transgress again, not less. In that way, among others, I can act a little perverse.”
Laura turned and smiled sadly at Tom. “And should I not act a little selfishly today? After all, it is my birthday and you quite forgot about it. In point of fact, it was yesterday; as I am sure it is now well past midnight.”
Tom felt flustered and outmaneuvered. How could he have forgotten Laura’s birthday? He felt as if he was the lowest person on the face of the Earth.
Laura broke into laughter at the sight of his face.
“You must also remember that I am a very manipulative person,” Laura told him. “Since I am now seventeen, it is not unreasonable that we should share a bed together. I am well past the age of consent. However, all I seek from you tonight is your body warmth.”
She gave Tom a measured look before she continued.
“They have thrust us together like this so that we shall have opportunity to become intimate. Presumably, this is so I will be even more willing to follow their commands when they threaten to harm you. I suspect this room is so cold for exactly that reason.”
Laura patted Tom on the cheek.
“I will not be intimate with you in this place, Tom, because it is what they want of us, and I will not give them the satisfaction.”
“The arch manipulator refuses to be manipulated?” Tom queried with a wan smile.
Laura smiled back at him. “You are such an understanding young man. Now move your backside to the other side of the bed so I can bask in the sheets you have already warmed.”
Tom did as he was told and immediately began to shiver again. He turned on his side, rolling away from Laura as she dimmed the oil lamp and got into the bed beside him. He felt her hand on his shoulder, which sent a shiver down his entire body, an effect that owed nothing to the cold.
“I do care for you, dear Thomas, and I am scared for what they might do to you should I fail to carry out their commands. There are things they might ask of me that I will not do, even if they torture you. I hope you can understand that.”
Tom stilled a quiver of his lip with his teeth and when he answered, his voice sounded almost normal.
“It will be my pleasure to die for you, Laura. If that is what it is needed, then that is what I will do.” Tom realized as he spoke that he meant every word. Laura would not kill an innocent to save his life. He understood that.
“Forgive me, Thomas Merlin Carter, for the things I may have to do,” Laura said softly.
The two fell asleep with Laura’s hand resting on Tom’s shoulder.
26. Scottish Hospitality
Tom woke to the sound of a knock on the door. Laura was snoring lightly behind him, still fast asleep. When the knock came again he thought he’d better say something.
“Enter,” he said, feeling rather foolish. It was hardly the sort of thing a prisoner should be expected to say.
There was the sound of bolts being drawn and the door opened. A pretty little redheaded girl in a maid’s uniform entered the room carrying a stack of neatly folded clothes in her arms.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir and madam,” she said in a thick Scottish accent. “I’ll be away once I’ve put down these clothes for ye and taken yer dirty ones awa’. The Laird told me to tell ye that breakfast will be at nine o’clock and yer attendance is required.”
“You can tell the Laird that I will think about it,” Laura said sleepily from behind Tom’s back. “What time is it now?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, madam. I wouldna be so foolish as to risk baiting the Laird. He gives a sharp stroke with a tawse and no mistake.”
Tom noticed for the first time that there was a grandfather clock over on the other side of the room. He wondered how he had missed it the night before considering how loud its ticking seemed to him now.
“According to the clock it is just gone eight o’clock. We have plenty of time to get ready.”
“The Laird takes breakfast with his guests, Mister Kemp and Mister Grant will be there as well as the Laird’s good lady wife. It is a great honor to be invited.”
“I suppose so, does he extend that honor to all he has kidnapped and bought into slavery?” Laura asked dryly.
“You do haiver on, madam,” the maid said as she smiled at them, clearly thinking that Laura was joking.
“Madam here is called Laura, and I am Tom,” Tom told the girl as he clambered out of the bed in his underwear. “And what might we call you?”
“Rhona Freer, sir,” the maid said, giving him a small and somewhat discourteous curtsy. “If you would take off those dirty clothes you’re wearing, I’ll be sure to have them washed and pressed, if they can be saved at all.”
“Go on, do it Thomas,” Laura suggested. “I dare say taking off your clothes in front of her will not upset this one in the slightest.”
Rhona blushed and turned her face away. “I was not suggesting that the gentleman should disrobe in front of me,” she said meekly as she stared at the wall.
Laura pulled the sheets away and swung out of the bed. She pulled off the underwear she wore without any concern, giving Tom an excellent view of her body. Laura walked over to the clothes and put on a clean under-slip while Tom turned to face the opposite wall and tried to pretend the bulge in his underwear had never happened.
“Come on, Tom,” Laura said irritably, throwing clothes at Tom’s back. “Get that underwear off and these on, or the girl will be here all day.”
Tom hastily stripped and pulled on the clean clothes, all the while keeping his back to the women. Rhona turned her head to look at him and giggled at the sight of his taut behind.
“We really have been kidnapped and sold to Lord McBride, Rhona,” Laura said as she finished putting on the highland dress she had been given. “Your Laird is an evil man.”
“Away with yer,” Rhona scoffed. “The Laird is one of the most generous men in the whole of Scotland and wouldna steel a brass farthing, let alone kidnap a bonnie wee lass like you.”
“But handy with the use of a tawse on the servants?” Tom reminded her.
“Only on them that truly deserves it,” Rhona conceded. “For example, a wicked Sassenach who would slander a good Scotsman’s name.”
“How will we get down to breakfast when you have left and locked us in?” Laura asked innocently.
“Your door must have been bolted by mistake, madam. The Laird would never lock in his guests. The dining room is at the bottom of the stairs to the right, yer canna miss it. It’s fair to freezing in this room though. I shall tell Mister Dougal about it and he will have the heating fixed.”
“And who pray, is Mister Dougal?” Laura asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Who is Mister Dougal?” Rhona asked in astonishment. “Why Dougal Campbell is only the best butler in the whole of Scotland. He runs the castle for the Laird.”
“And these guests you mentioned for breakfast, who are they?” Tom asked.
Rhona started picking up their dirty clothes rapidly as if worried that she had been talking to them for far too long.
“Blane Grant is the Laird’s secretary and no a man ye should play yer silly games with. He can be nasty when he’s riled. He’s a wee man with spectacles that stick to his nose. Gordon Kemp is the gentleman in charge of the Laird’s special projects. His works are beyond me, mind, and seem dangerously close to witchcraft. Mr. Kemp is a handsome man if a little old. Distinguished looking he is and no mistake.”
Rhona finished picking up their clothes and headed for the door. Just before she closed it on them, she turned back.
“Now donna be late down for breakfast, as it will be me that takes the blame ifen ye are.”
Tom and Laura noted that she did not bolt the door after she closed it.
“You are looking very pretty for a slave girl,” Tom remarked as he took in Laura’s clothes for the first time. She looked
stunning in her highland dress.
“You are looking smart yourself,” Laura replied. Tom’s clothes were particularly fetching, if not in a style she was in any way familiar. His clothes were made from Scottish tweed, except for his white shirt and black cravat, which were of finest silk.
“I have been thinking on our escape,” Tom said lightly as he sat back on the bed.
“And I trust you have come up with a truly masterful plan,” Laura said as she sat beside him, placing her hands demurely in her lap.
“Not really,” Tom admitted. “I believe that if we are to escape this place, we must discover the train schedules and secrete ourselves aboard a train as it is about to leave. The trick will be to escape the castle minutes before the train departs so there is less time for McBride’s people to spread the alarm and find us.”
“I expect that they will not be so stupid as to leave us unguarded,” Laura mused.
“Which is why we must obtain the tools of your trade. Good enough for you to produce a lasting bind.”
“There may be another way,” Laura said quietly. “Be sure that you do not mention my ability to create binds through drawings. Very few other Spellbinders can do that, and it is not a skill most Spellbinders would have heard about.”
“They are hardly likely to give you access to canvas and paints, Laura,” Tom protested.
“You never know,” Laura said quietly as a plan began to form in her head, “You never know.”
“Welcome, my young guests,” Lord McBride said when they walked into the dining room. He stood up, as did the other men at the table. Blane Grant was easy to identify from Rhona’s description. He was a small man with a long nose and a pinched sour face. A red mark across the top of his nose indicated he often wore glasses, though he was not wearing them at this time.
By a process of elimination, they deduced that the other man must be Gordon Kemp. A distinguished looking man in his fifties, he had the appearance of a teacher. He smiled at Laura.
