* * *
Garnet fisted his hands, seething with anger. He and Murtagh stood in the doorway of the parlor, having declined Beatris’ invitation to join his wife on the sofa. “I canna credit they’ve carted those lasses off to the almshouse.”
Beatris sat beside Jewel. “Mrs. Cameron went a wee bit berserk. She left her bairns alone every day to march up to the castle and protest her husband’s incarceration. We were still at Vermeer’s house, so I didna hear until later that she was finally arrested.”
“Just for protesting?”
Beatris looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “She started tearing off her clothes and shrieking loudly, consigning the king and every Catholic, Episcopalian or non-believer to eternal damnation. The dragoons couldna reason with her. They didna ken what else to do. She was covered in filth, her hair matted. They took her off to the asylum in the Trinity Kirk hospital.”
Garnet raked his fingers through his hair. “But Faith is old enough to take care of the others.”
“The Beadle doesna care about that,” Murtagh said gruffly. “The trustees want fresh grist for the mill.”
Jewel frowned.
“This is exactly the kind of thing yer brother is trying to combat,” Garnet said. “Many employers buy bairns from the almshouses, often to consign them to the most dangerous jobs. They dinna have to pay full wages.”
“Or anything at all,” Murtagh added.
Jewel nodded. “Luke, one of the boys Munro fostered, slept in the stable of the inn where he was employed and seemed to work every hour God sent.”
The knot in Garnet’s gut tightened. He couldn’t bear the thought of wee Maggie and her sisters being used as slave labor. “We’ll have to do something about this.”
“’Tis getting late,” Beatris said. “Quinn will be home soon. We’ll dine, then have a discussion. Er…I suppose yer men will set up camp in the meadows. I’m afraid we dinna have as much room in this part of the house.”
Jewel clasped her cousin’s hand. “In all the excitement, I forgot to tell ye. Garnet and I got married. I can sleep with him in the camp.”
A Good Deal
Jewel snuggled into her husband’s warm body. She’d removed all her clothing, confident his heat and the furs would keep her cozy in the tent she’d formerly shared with her brother.
She wanted him, but sensed his preoccupation with the plight of the Cameron lasses. “Perhaps by the morrow we’ll come up with a plan of action,” she suggested.
He cupped her breast. “Sorry, I’m nay much good to ye this night as a lover. I have to do something about Maggie. How would ye feel about fostering her?”
“Weel, I have no experience as a mother, but I can learn.”
“Ye’ve the makings of a fine mother,” he replied, stroking her stomach. “But a newly-wed woman wants bairns of her own. I canna wait to see you round with my babe.”
She meshed her fingers with his. “’Tis true I didna expect to start our family this way, but I understand. I’m only a wee bit jealous ye’re thinking of another lass while ye’re in bed with me.”
“Aye,” he sighed, raising her hand to his lips.
Clearly, he hadn’t seen the humor. She hesitated before pointing out the difficulties. “The problem is, ye canna just rescue Maggie. She’ll nay be content to leave her sisters in the almshouse, and neither will ye.”
“Ye’re right and we dinna have a place for ourselves, let alone four bairns. We canna live in a tent.”
“Quinn agreed to help with finding a house,” she reminded him. “He’ll mention yer name and qualifications if he hears of a position with the Privy Council. Beatris’ father owns several properties, too.”
“First things first, however. I dinna want to walk around Edinburgh with the emeralds in my possession. On the morrow, Quinn’s taking me to a reputable jeweler who might be interested in buying them. All save one.”
* * *
Jewel loved the color and sparkle of the stones, but she had never once asked Garnet what he thought they were worth, nor made suggestions about how they would use the money. He appreciated her trust in him to make the right decisions for their future.
He invited Murtagh and Gray to join him at Quinn’s house after everyone had broken their fast the next morning. Beatris and Jewel took the lasses outside with Aristotle. Before he opened the pouch, he told them the true history of the gems, then spilled the trove onto the kitchen table.
“Crivens,” Gray exclaimed. “Are they valuable?”
“Aye, lad,” Murtagh confirmed. “Very.”
Garnet explained the plan to visit a jeweler in order to sell the stones. “I’ll need ye to come with me and Quinn. Safer that way.”
Both agreed.
He gathered the emeralds and put them back in the pouch—all except one that he held out in his palm. “This is for my mother,” he told Murtagh. “Whatever we get for it today is for ye to use to build yer cottage, if ye agree.”
The blacksmith frowned. “’Tis generous of ye, laddie, but I can provide for yer mother. I’ve had naught to spend my wages on for many a year.”
Garnet had expected the proud Highlander to balk. “I want to do this for her. It can be our secret.”
Murtagh stroked his beard and shifted his feet several times before finally agreeing with a gruff, “’Twill be so.”
They set off on foot, the pouch safely stowed inside his doublet. From the moment the precious gems entered his possession, he’d been wary. Now, on the verge of selling them, he was more nervous than ever, even with three men ready to defend his treasure. He startled at loud noises and narrowed his eyes at every man they passed. He breathed more easily when they arrived at the jeweler’s shop after a ten minute walk.
They discovered the door was locked. He supposed that was to be expected, but his nervousness resurfaced. It seemed to take an eternity for a wizened auld man to appear at the small glass pane in answer to their knock.
“I’m Quinn Guthrie, Mr. Herriot. I spoke to ye yesterday.”
The jeweler scratched his bald head, seemingly not understanding.
“Emeralds, ye recall,” Quinn added.
Herriot peered at each of them in turn, apparently trying to decide if he should unlock the door and allow four strangers to enter. Eventually, the hinges squealed and they were beckoned inside. Garnet took a step over the threshold but hesitated when a huge Rottweiler growled and bared its teeth at him.
“Sit, Lucy,” Herriot said softly, patting the dog’s head. “Sit.”
Licking the slobber off its jowls, the dog ceased growling and obeyed.
Sidestepping the animal, Garnet fervently hoped none of his companions would be foolish enough to remark on the fierce bitch’s incongruous name. “I suppose ye need a guard dog in yer business.”
“Aye,” Herriot replied, locking the door behind them. “Canna be too careful. She’s good company, too. Now, ye have emeralds?”
* * *
When Garnet and the others returned from their errand, Jewel could tell he was happy with the way things had gone. He put his arms around her waist and twirled her around like a doll. The Guthrie lasses clapped their hands and jumped up and down with glee. Aristotle barked, all the while trying to snag Jewel’s toes as they whirled by.
“Ye’ll make me dizzy,” she complained between giggles.
He set her down and gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips, to the cheers of the bairns.
She waited, not wanting to appear anxious about the outcome of negotiations.
“It went well?” Beatris asked, plainly having no such anxiety.
“Aye,” Garnet replied, producing the pouch from his doublet. “Just Maggie’s wee stone left.”
“Let’s go inside,” Quinn suggested, “and we’ll tell ye the tale.”
“I’ll stay outside with the girls,” Beatris replied. “My husband can tell me later.”
“I’ll keep ye company, if ye like,” Gray offered.
> “Time I was getting back to camp,” Murtagh added. “Send a message if ye need my help fetching the bairns.”
Jewel sat next to Garnet on the sofa, delighted when he put his arm around her shoulders.
“We did very well. Mr. Herriot recognized the quality of the stones and paid a fair price. ’Tis a goodly sum, even after deducting Murtagh’s share. The coin will tide us over while we look for a house, and a source of income.”
She put her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him. “’Tis only what ye deserve after the torment inflicted on ye in Amsterdam.”
“And on ye,” he replied.
“Do ye have a safe place in the castle to keep the coin?” she asked Quinn.
“No need,” Garnet explained. “Herriot will safeguard the money and let us have installments whenever we need funds.”
“But how can we trust him if he has the emeralds and the money?”
“Ye’re nay from Edinburgh,” Quinn replied, “so ye dinna ken George Herriot bears the name of his grandfather, one of our most famous philanthropists. Herriot was Royal Jeweler to King James the Sixth and his wife Queen Anne of Denmark. When the crowns united, Herriot followed the king and queen to Westminster, but his heart was in Edinburgh, where he owned a great deal of property. He left the bulk of his estate for the establishment of a hospital in our town for the free education of fatherless bairns.”
“Aye,” Garnet affirmed. “Quinn pointed out Herriot Hospital near Greyfriars Kirk. The mon’s known as a trustworthy banker and he upped his offer when I told him about Maggie and the small emerald.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a tearful Katie. “My knee,” she wailed.
“She scuffed it,” Jane explained as she entered the parlor.
Quinn beckoned his wailing daughter, but she crawled onto Jewel’s lap and cuddled into her. It felt good to have earned a bairn’s trust.
Quinn leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “Ye ken,” he said to Garnet, “the repairs are nigh on done next door. Ye and yer wife could move in here when we move out. My father-by-marriage can be persuaded to go easy on the rent. ’Twould be one more weapon to use against the inevitable objections of the Beadle. Ye’d be offering to take care of the Cameron lasses in their own home.”
Katie brightened. “Please say aye, then Maggie and me can play together.”
Jane climbed onto Garnet’s knee. “Aye,” she cajoled.
Jewel thought the proposal a good one. The Cameron house was dark and unwelcoming, but such drawbacks could be remedied. Nevertheless, she would leave the final decision to her husband, hoping her smile would convey her feelings.
“The idea has merit,” Garnet agreed after glancing at her.
Orphanage
Beatris and Quinn accompanied them on their mission the next morning. They passed ’neath the Netherbow yet again, then turned left onto Leith Wynd. Their escort consisted of four dragoons enlisted by Quinn.
They decided to ride, given that the route took them through the warren of ten and twelve story buildings. The foul smelling wynd teemed with ragged urchins floating sticks in murky puddles.
“’Twas good of ye to lend me a riding habit,” Jewel told Beatris. “But I feel a wee bit overdressed.”
“’Tisna far now,” Quinn assured them. “Ye can see Trinity Kirk yonder, just beyond the walls of the hospital. Mrs. Cameron will be confined there, but the lasses are likely in the Orphans’ Home, further on past the Physic Garden.”
Garnet couldn’t see the Physic Garden when he dismounted outside the hospital’s stark, grey walls, but the fragrant herbal aromas provided a smidgen of hope that the place wasn’t as bleak as it seemed.
He put his hands on his wife’s waist and helped her down. “Do ye smell that?” he asked.
She inhaled. “Lavender, and rosemary, I think.”
“Perhaps another day we should visit the garden,” Beatris suggested. “There’s many a couple wed at Trinity Kirk who wander through the herbs. ’Tis said to bring good luck.”
“My parents were wed in Edinburgh, but at St. Giles,” Jewel replied.
Garnet detected a wistfulness in her voice, and she averted her gaze quickly. They often sensed what the other was feeling, and he wondered if she perhaps hankered for a church wedding. A hand-fasting was just as binding as far as he was concerned, but women were different. “We can go to St. Giles’ cathedral another day,” he offered.
Her eyes brightened. “I’d like that.”
Beatris grinned from ear to ear and linked arms with her cousin. “Just think, if ye have a proper wedding at St. Giles, I could be yer maid of honor.”
They walked to the door of the hospital like two bairns sharing a secret.
Quinn shrugged. “What is it with women and weddings?” he asked Garnet.
* * *
Jewel wished Beatris hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a proper wedding. The hand-fasting at Kinneff had been conducted by a minister and was as sacred to her as she knew it was to Garnet.
However, deep in her heart she harbored a wish to be wed in the kirk where her parents had tied the knot. She supposed the notion had always been there. She’d never been to the cathedral, but her mother had described it often enough. “I dinna want my husband to think I’m nay content with a hand-fasting,” she whispered to Beatris.
Her cousin touched a finger to her lips as their husbands joined them at the entry.
A snotty-nosed lad of about fifteen years opened the door a crack. “If ye’re thinking to visit, ye canna come in.”
“We’re nay visitors,” Quinn replied. “My name is Guthrie. I’m from the Privy Council and I wish to speak to the Matron. Kindly fetch her.”
Fear flickered in the boy’s eyes. “She doesna like to be disturbed.”
“And I dinna like to be kept waiting,” Quinn countered.
They waited after the youth slammed the door and disappeared.
“If that doesna do the trick,” Quinn confessed, “I’m nay sure what to try next.”
Arms folded across his chest, Garnet tapped his foot.
Jewel startled, taking a step back when the door was thrust open and a stern-faced woman of undetermined age strode over the threshold. The light breeze was no match for the stiffened, pleated linen bonnet she wore, a mob cap affair held atop her head by a grey ribbon. Not a wisp of hair escaped the bonnet’s confines. The high-necked, long-sleeved frock likely rendered it impossible to lower her chin as she squinted down her nose at her obviously unwelcome visitors. “What does the Privy Council want with me?” she hissed.
“May we come in?” Quinn asked. “’Tis a matter of some urgency regarding the Cameron family.”
“I willna release Mrs. Cameron,” Matron replied nasally, preparing to close the door. “She’s lost her wits. Completely mad.”
Garnet put a foot on the threshold. “’Tis the bairns we’ve come for.”
The crone glared at his foot. “They’re gone—in service to good homes, I can assure ye. Now…”
“Ye sold them?” Garnet insisted. “Already?”
Matron’s pale skin turned as grey as her frock. “If patrons wish to make a donation to the hospital for a…”
Quinn held up a hand to silence her protests. “’Tis imperative we find them, Matron.”
“Weel, ye can start with the youngest,” she spat. “Right wee imp she is. Carried on so loudly no one would take her. She’s in the orphanage yonder. Deserves a good beating, that one.”
Jewel linked arms with her husband when he fisted his hands. “Be calm,” she whispered. “Ye canna win with such a person.”
The matron led the way across the Physic Garden to a smaller, equally bleak-looking edifice.
Jewel hoped the fragrant aromas would soothe Garnet’s anger but his jaw remained clenched as they entered the orphanage.
* * *
Garnet peered into the gloomy interior. The walls and low beams were made of a dark wood. A single
ray of sunshine from an open skylight tried valiantly to penetrate the shadows. Dust motes danced in its meager light.
More than a hundred bairns sat at long trestle tables, yet the only sound was the thump, thump of the Beadle’s staff as he patrolled the narrow aisles between tables.
The gold-braided blue uniform, tricorn hat, and ribbons emblazoned across the portly man’s chest hinted at an illustrious naval career, but the scowl on his heavily whiskered face bespoke a man unhappy with his lot. He paused when he saw the visitors.
Spoons poised in mid-air, the round-shouldered bairns eyed him.
“Mr. Bryer,” Matron began nervously, “these people wish to see the Cameron lass.”
He grunted. “Who are they, Mrs. Bryer?”
Jewel clung to Garnet’s arm. “If they’re man and wife,” she whispered, “why is she so afraid?”
He patted her hand, but this wasn’t the moment to fall to his knees in thanksgiving for the blessing of a happy marriage.
“From the Privy Council,” Matron squeaked, scanning the multitude at the tables. “Can ye tell me where she is?”
Mr. Bryer cocked his head towards the stairwell. “Yonder.”
Garnet’s fury threatened to boil over. “Ye’ve locked her in a cupboard?” he shouted.
There was an audible intake of breath from the assembly as he strode to yank open the door of a cubbyhole beneath the wooden steps. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he saw the red curls of the urchin curled up asleep on the floor. “Maggie,” he whispered hoarsely.
Apparently recovered from the unexpected threat to his command, the Beadle brandished his staff. “Lookee here, laddie.”
Ignoring him, Garnet scooped Maggie up as she opened her eyes. “Mr. Barclay,” she said, clinging to his neck. “I prayed ye’d come. Ye promised.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he hugged her tightly. “Aye. Ye’re safe now.”
Highland Jewel Page 20
