The Jacobite's Wife

by Morag Edwards

  ‘I don’t know, William. It didn’t happen. I’m so tired. We were all so frightened. Please leave it alone, just for tonight.’

  I listened to his breathing, fast and hard, but still he didn’t lift his head to look at me. ‘What do you want from me, Winifred? How can I make this right? I mean with you. You were so brave and I’m proud of you. But it should have been me.’

  ‘Just stay with me and hold me. Help us rid this house of the taint, so that it’s our home again. Play with your son tomorrow. It’s Christmas.’

  I lost our second child the following day. Rest made no difference and the contractions grew deeper and more frequent until I passed a bloody mess into some rags that we burnt on the kitchen fire. We couldn’t speak about our pain. William’s face smiled whenever he was spoken to but when we fell silent he chewed his lip and twisted his hands. Lucy made us eat and she and Grace whispered around us and took our son out for long walks.

  William stayed with us until Hogmanay, but his eyes looked inward. I returned to my duties, to the care of my boy and the work of the estate. But in my mind I saw only the missing child, a little girl I had already named but who would never be spoken of again.

  Chapter 14

  William indeed found some purpose within the Scottish parliament as a respected member of the Jacobite party and I felt relieved that debate was his battlefield, fighting with arguments rather than swords to prevent a parliamentary union with England. William of Orange had died and Anne, the new queen of England, Scotland and Ireland, was equally determined to create that union, along with many Scottish noblemen who should have known better.

  I understood these things after listening to William. I felt proud of him, watching his eyes alight with passion as he described the web of political intrigue in Edinburgh. I accepted his absence because there was nothing in Terregles except a quiet estate, run by his mother and his wife and a small village full of people with narrow horizons. William had not been raised to be a farmer. Unlike our brother-in-law Charles, he found no satisfaction in discussions about crops and yields. Besides, Charles had his growing family to keep him at home while we had failed to fill our empty house with children. I was now thirty-three and there had been no more pregnancies. I was not my mother’s daughter after all.

  While the years of famine were behind us, making a living from farming became more difficult as the English continued to tax our exports and forbade trade between Scotland and the colonies. William had a small allowance to support his life in Edinburgh and I had to trust that he borrowed no more.

  But if William wouldn’t stay with us, I was determined to go to him in Edinburgh whenever Lucy could spare me. At last, it was a fair spring day and warm air drifted through the open window of the carriage, carrying the stink of effluent from the streets. We were on our way to visit my widowed sister Frances in Cowgate but the crowds on the street were dense, even for the over-populated Edinburgh, and the carriage slowed to walking pace. I closed the window, for without movement, the stench became unbearable. The high tenements closed in around us and it was as dark as a winter’s afternoon. As a distraction we talked in a desultory way of our son’s education, rehearsing old arguments.

  ‘There’s nothing suitable for Will in Dumfries,’ William repeated. ‘He needs to be with other children. We should send him to Paris, where he could be with other Catholic boys, perhaps to the Scots College?’

  William knew that I wouldn’t consider it. I didn’t want to send my only child away and besides, we couldn’t pay for it. ‘We’ll have to engage a priest, there is no other choice,’ I replied.

  The carriage stopped moving and I asked our agile son to lean out and see what was happening. However, before I could stop him, he had climbed out of the window and onto the roof of the carriage. Next, we saw his red face and fair curls hanging upside down in the frame of the window.

  ‘The driver says it’s an execution. I want to stay up here and watch.’

  I reached across to snatch him but he was too quick. ‘Will, come down at once!’

  ‘Do you see what I mean Win, he’ll soon be beyond your control. It’s not good for him to be at Terregles with three women.’

  Despite my intentions, critical words spilled from my mouth. ‘If you were home more, he’d have a man to discipline him and teach him.’ I wanted to apologise but the crowd started to chant. The sounds of ‘Darien, Darien’ became audible, repeated again and again.

  ‘Ah, I know what this is,’ William looked out of the carriage window. ‘It’s the execution of those English traitors, the crew of a ship – I think it was called the Worcester. They’ve been found guilty of piracy against one of the ships in the Darien scheme. They had to find someone to blame for the failure of our investment and these men just happened to get in the way.’

  ‘Bring Will down,’ I pleaded, ‘he shouldn’t see this.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think I’ll climb up and join him. It’ll do him no harm to learn that the English are selfish bastards, out to screw the people of this country.’

  ‘But these men are innocent! You said yourself that the Darien scheme failed because of incompetence.’

  ‘We must keep the civil unrest going. The English have to think we’re ungovernable and then they’ll send in troops. If they do that no Scot will accept the union of parliament, no matter how well their own pockets might be lined. Then we’ll have a chance of restoring a Stuart king.’

  The crowd roared and the chant became a song. I could imagine what was happening on the platform, in full view of my young son. ‘He’s only five, bring him down!’

  William pushed the carriage door into the backs of the crowd and pulled himself onto the carriage roof, using the open window as a foothold. I heard him moving above me. There was another roar from the crowd then a cheer and the singing started again. I closed the door and windows and waited in the unbearable heat. Gradually, the crowd thinned and individual voices, discussing everyday affairs, filtered up to me as the crowd went home. I heard movement above and watched William climb down from the roof and reach up for his son.

  ‘Mother,’ Will scrambled up the step, ‘they were like this.’ He pulled a face, his head lolling to one side, his tongue protruding. His father glanced at me, like a guilty child.

  ‘Father, why were they like that? Will they stay like that?’ The child looked between us, excited but fearful.

  ‘William,’ I said, ‘tell him what happened to those men.’

  ‘They’re dead, Will. The rope around their neck killed them. People thought they had done a very bad thing and this was their punishment.’

  ‘And will they be with our Lord in heaven?’ His grandmother had taught him well. I saw William hesitate and interrupted.

  ‘Of course they will,’ I stared at my husband, ‘but their wives and children will be very sad and will miss them.’

  Will put his hand on his father’s knee. ‘What was the bad thing they did?’

  William sighed and pushed his brows together with his fingers. At last, our carriage began to move and we tried to continue our journey, jolting and shaking as our driver followed the crowd.

  ‘What was the bad thing, Father?’ Will whined.

  ‘We all saved up a lot of money to send some ships far away. We wanted to explore and find new things to grow and make the people here very rich. At first the English promised money but then they didn’t give us any. And when our brave men and women fell ill and had to fight with the men who already lived in the faraway place, the English didn’t come and help. Those bad men stole things from one of our ships, even though we’re very poor. They said they didn’t do it but our courts found them guilty. So they had to die. That’s the law.’

  Will was silent and his thumb crept into his mouth. His father pulled it out. ‘Only babies suck on their thumbs.’

  I watched Will struggle to think of a way to make things right with his father, to show him that he wasn’t a baby.

  ‘Father,’ h
e pulled at William’s sleeve, ‘I don’t like the English either.’

  He was not alone. Once we had returned to Terregles, a draft proposal in favour of union was presented to both the English and Scottish parliaments and rumours of growing civil unrest made the people of Dumfries fearful of an invasion of English forces from across the water in Ireland.

  William began to spend more time with us but my hope of involving him with the estate was futile. I tried to interest him in his son’s education and his mother’s failing health. Instead, men called at the kitchen door, furtive and in shadow and he would talk to them, often late into the night.

  I became more afraid. I was Catholic and English and I stopped travelling alone to Edinburgh and Traquair. I felt uncomfortable even in the town of Dumfries, where men gathered in groups and stopped talking when I passed, spitting on the ground where I had just stepped. Lucy went with Alice and the kitchen girl we had now named Isobel to buy our provisions, as our English accents made Grace and I feel unsafe outside the high walls of the estate. I spent my time in the garden and it became my escape, as it had been for my mother. I grew enough vegetables and fruit to feed the household through the year but I no longer tried to make potions and cures. I was fearful of our neighbours. I was watched and only barely tolerated and didn’t want the charge of witchcraft to be added to the reasons I was not to be trusted. Isobel had grown into a sturdy girl, with a round, pale face and fair eyelashes that were invisible except in sunlight. She was a presence, who listened and watched but rarely spoke. She was afraid of men and having William at home unsettled her. I tried to interest her in the garden, training her in any simple skill that might offer her a future but William had insisted on getting dogs for the house and Isobel hated them. Our pack followed me everywhere, barking at every sound and raising rather than quietening my anxiety.

  It was still mild in the middle of the day and I encouraged Isobel to leave the warmth of the kitchen to help me clear the last of the root vegetables for the animals. I worked fast, enjoying bending and stretching and the smell of the earth. I noticed that Isobel stopped working whenever I did and stared at me with her pale eyes. Her lips moved as if she had something to say. I waited, eyebrows raised, expectant and encouraging, but eventually I had to ask. After several false starts, Isobel leaned towards me and whispered something I hadn’t wanted to hear. I left Isobel in the garden and went to find William. He was in the smithy, waiting for his horse to be shoed.

  ‘William, I’ve heard that you’re holding meetings with the Presbyterians.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I know, it’s that girl, the one who’s always listening in corners. So, Winifred, you believe the gossip of a kitchen girl. And one who’s not too bright. And you wonder why I prefer not to spend time at home?’

  ‘Promise me you’re not, William. Those people attacked us. They raped Isobel. They hate us.’

  He stared into the blacksmith’s fire. ‘Sometimes our enemies must become our friends. The Kirk hates the idea of union as much as we do. They’re afraid that England will impose Anglican practices upon them. I’m surprised you don’t understand this or find it exciting. I’m afraid you’ve become dull, stuck out here with my mother.’

  ‘And you’ve become stupid through not spending enough time with me or your mother. If you lie in the same bed as the Kirk, what will happen if you succeed in preventing the union and then you try to impose a Catholic king?’

  ‘There will be a war?’

  ‘Yes, a civil war that will cause terrible destruction to this country and will likely destroy our family.’

  William smiled, as if we were playing a game and he held the winning card. ‘The French will invade and impose James Edward Stuart by force. We won’t lose.’

  ‘So Isobel is right. You are consorting with the people who subjected us to that terrifying night, who took weapons from this smithy and might have killed us.’

  ‘I’m not saying I’m colluding with them. I’m simply saying that it’s a sensible idea. It may have to happen. It’s politics. And get rid of that girl, I can’t risk her hanging around and listening at keyholes. The next time, she might not tell you – it might be anyone who offers her a bit of food or money.’

  The next day, Isobel was gone and so was William. I tried to do my normal tasks but my palms were slippery with anxiety. I dropped a jug of milk on the kitchen floor and when I tried to sew, the needle slipped from my fingers. I played with Will but he grew tired of me as I forgot my turn and spoiled the game. I smiled as I spoke to Lucy and Grace but my lips felt tight. My fears grew as daylight faded. We ate our supper at the long oak table in the kitchen but I couldn’t swallow.

  ‘Where do you think our Isobel has taken herself off to?’ Grace asked.

  Lucy poked at the food on her pewter dish. Her eyesight was failing. ‘I expect she’s gone to try her luck in Dumfries. We couldn’t expect to keep her here for ever. We made her work too hard. She might even think she can find her family but if she doesn’t, she’ll support herself in the way girls her age always do.’

  I pushed back my chair. ‘I’m going to look for her. I’ll take two of the stable boys with me.’

  Grace stood up too, tipping her chair backwards onto the stone floor and held my arm. ‘What’s the matter, Win? You look terrified.’

  ‘I have to go. I’m afraid something’s happened to her.’

  ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

  I couldn’t allow this, not if my worst fears were true. ‘Grace, please stay here with Will and Lucy. They can’t be left alone. I’ll be fine. Please, Grace.’

  I had to act. I had to search for them. Waiting wasn’t possible. I ran from my startled family to the stables and harangued the boys, who had thought themselves settled for the night, to saddle three horses, for two of them would accompany me.

  There was a clear sky and every star was visible. My breath caught in my throat as I inhaled the frosty air with every panting breath. We galloped across the heath and down into the town, dismounting as we approached the first houses. Candles flickered behind dark cottage windows as the sound of our horses echoed on the cobbles. I instructed one of the lads to find an inn where the horses could be stabled. I covered myself with my cloak and took the other stable boy with me. I had no idea where to begin to look for William but sent the lad into each alehouse we passed to scan the drinkers inside.

  The servant, to his credit, asked no questions and carried out his task.

  ‘No-one in there my lady. To be honest they’ve all been almost empty so far but this landlord,’ he nodded towards the inn he had just left, ‘said there’s something happening in the town, a rally against the articles of union.’

  ‘Let’s go. Your master may be there.’

  He hesitated. ‘It may be dangerous, my lady. He would be angry with me if I led you into trouble. Perhaps we should go home.’

  I wanted to go home too but we would continue until my search proved fruitless. ‘Take me to the gathering now.’

  We could smell burning and hear the roar of the crowd well before we reached the fire. The sky was lit as if it was day and ash drifted like snow. The people massed in an angry crowd, much fuelled by ale. Someone was haranguing the mob, waving a document above his head that flashed white as it caught the light from the flames. The crowd jeered, their upturned faces reddened by the heat. Men and women jostled for better positions and I could see sporadic fighting erupt like a wave, rippling through the packed bodies. Children ran around the edge, darting between legs, screaming with excitement.

  We watched from the dark, fearful of going forward. I pulled on my manservant’s arm and pushed into the crowd. I felt bodies press around me and smelt sweat from their clothes and sour ale from their breath. I gripped the boy’s arm with one hand and kept my hood tight around my head with the other, scanning the crowd for William. If he was here, he would be near the front. The crowd began to chant, ‘Burn! Burn! Burn!’ A wave of bod
ies heaved backwards and my feet were crushed by the heels of those in front. I staggered and lost my grip. In seconds I was parted from my companion. The crowd moved as one and I was carried with them. I held on to strangers to stay upright. It became hard to breathe. My lungs filled with smoke.

  A man caught me by the waist and pulled me back through the crowd, brutally pushing past anyone in his path. As he dragged me across the grass and into an alley, my feet barely touched the earth.

  He pushed me against a wall and tore back my hood. ‘For Christ sake, Win, what the hell are you doing?’

  I couldn’t speak. I rested my forehead on his chest and cried. William lifted my chin and kissed me, gently at first but then more urgently. ‘I’m going to take you home,’ his voice was hoarse. ‘We’ll talk there. Where is your horse? I’ll sack whoever it was brought you here and if you came alone, I’ll sack Grace.’

  ‘Please. It’s my fault. Don’t blame anyone else.’

  I had no idea where to find my horse. William’s was stabled close by and I was lifted up by strong arms to sit in front of him. He wrapped his cloak around me and we made the journey home together, allowing the horse to pick his way through the boulders and gorse so that he was not too burdened by the extra weight. I leaned back against my husband and we talked in low voices, the horse’s ears strained back to catch our words. I was glad of the dark and to be facing the shadows of the heath. It was easier. I didn’t tell the whole truth. William bent over my ear, kissing the lobe as I confessed that I thought he had run away with Isobel for sex. I had feared for our love. I was afraid of the chasm between us. I’d been replaced in his heart by political ambition.

  William whispered that he desired only me but too often I seemed disapproving. I made him feel like a schoolboy. He was fighting for the independence of our country and if I would only try to understand, I would be proud of him. He was no longer the dilettante from St Germain, he whispered, but a hardened politician on the cusp of great things.