Upstairs we tore at each other’s smoke-stained clothes before we fell onto our bed. I could taste the ash on William’s face and neck and the charcoal from his hands left black smears across my breasts. Our love came fast, fired by fear and rage as well as passion. I prayed for another child, even as my desire rose and I became lost to all but the waves of pleasure that broke across my body.
William’s breathing quickly became even, woven through with the gentle sounds of sleep. I lay awake, curled against him, smelling the fire in his hair. I listened to the sounds of the house waking and heard the horses returning from town, enjoying the comforting rhythm of daytime routine and my release from fear. The night seemed far away and I was safe. I could never tell him the truth. Last night, I had believed that my beloved husband had taken Isobel away and killed her.
Chapter 15
The dog was the first to stir. Bea had an unfortunate mix of parents, with her short legs and a long tail on a body that would have been better suited to a larger dog. She lifted her head and sniffed the air, then gave a low growl, which woke the other two long-legged hunting dogs who stretched and yawned. Bea began a peal of barking that drove the other two into a frenzy. I was hoeing rows of newly sprouted vegetables, working hard and fast to warm myself against a March wind that made mockery of the spring sunshine. I’d loosened my stays, like the women who work in the fields, and was keen that no one should see me in such disarray.
The noise of horses was unmistakeable and I raised my hand so that I could see who approached the gates. I recognised the coach from Traquair and felt alarm clutch at my belly. Something terrible must have happened. Lucy and Grace were already at the entrance, wiping their hands on aprons and smoothing their hair. The coach halted, spraying tiny pebbles and earth from beneath the wheels as the horses slowed their pace. The footman climbed down, bowed, and opened the carriage door. My son ran from the house and took my hand.
One small girl after another climbed out of the coach and stood solemn and wary.
‘It’s my cousins!’ Will cried. ‘But where are the boys?’ He turned to me in disappointment as Mary’s two eldest sons failed to appear. At last, Mary’s head appeared at the carriage door and she was helped down the steps, heavily pregnant and from her size I guessed it was twins. I’d lost another baby, one who had lived only a few days, and there had been no more.
Mary kissed me and I felt her swollen belly press into mine. Will capered around his small cousins and a game of tag erupted, making the dogs bark again. I asked Alice to take all the children to the garden and they trooped in a line after her, followed by the dogs. We supported Mary into the house and settled her by the fire in the drawing room. A servant was sent to fetch warm ale and we watched Mary swallow each mouthful, leaning forward in case we missed a word of her news.
‘Dearest Win,’ she turned her reddened eyes to me. ‘Your husband and mine are in prison. They’re being held in Edinburgh Castle. I didn’t know what else to do. The babies are soon to be born.’
Lucy looked at me, her face drained of colour. I felt my hands start to tremble and gripped the arms of my chair. I couldn’t speak. Prison.
Lucy took her daughter’s hand. ‘Hush now, you did the right thing to come here.’
‘They’re accused of betrayal, of plotting with the French to restore James Stuart to the throne. I don’t know anything else. Men came for my husband and took him away.’
Mary’s lips twisted as she fought to hold back more tears.
‘I must see William,’ I spoke at last. ‘I’ll have to go to Edinburgh and find out what’s happened. Mary, you and the children are welcome to stay here with your mother.’
‘It’s best I return to Traquair,’ Mary interrupted. ‘The little ones will be better off at home and the two older boys shouldn’t be alone without their father. It’s not safe. What if more men come and the house is searched? I should have sent a message but I panicked.’
‘Then I’ll come with you and stay until the babies are born,’ Lucy nodded, looking around her for agreement.
Grace folded her arms, chewing her lip as she always did when she made plans. ‘We’ll all go to Traquair. Will can stay there to play with his cousins and we’ll take the carriage on to Edinburgh and find a lawyer.’
I clapped my hands. ‘And we leave as soon as we’ve packed up some food.’
Edinburgh felt quite different. The Scottish parliament had closed its doors following the act of union and the wealthy had hurried south. The streets seemed narrow and empty, the shops mean and the bustle of clerks and servants diminished. As the high tenements loomed above the carriage, the sense of desolation made my fears grow. Had William and Charles been tortured? Were they being held in a damp cell, their legs and feet clamped in irons?
I struggled up the long, steep climb to the castle and stopped to catch my breath and stretch my aching calves. Grace paused too and scraped her foot against the stones on the path, making patterns in the dirt. She wandered close to the edge and waited, her hands pressed into her back. I followed and we stood side by side, looking down on the city and its clustered rooftops and chimneys. The North Loch lay beneath us, dark and stagnant.
I was glad that Grace was here. Only she would understand how frightened I was of visiting another prison where my family were captive. I could see lines around Grace’s eyes and in the unexpected sunshine above the city haze, I noticed a heavy down on her upper lip. I realised that I had no idea what Grace had wanted from life. I had never asked and she had never said.
The guards were reluctant to let us through the gates but Grace was at her most authoritative, insisting that her mistress was in poor health and had travelled for many days to see her husband and brother-in-law. I did not need to act a part. The climb had left me breathless and sweat prickled through my hair and down my neck. I knew I looked pale, with an unhealthy sheen that would convince them of my perilous condition.
Thankfully, William and Charles were not held in a dungeon but in comfortable rooms, well furnished and with high windows that looked across at the hills behind the castle. Charles looked the worse, thin and grey, with new deep lines that ran from his nose to his lower lip. My husband led me to a chair, my brother-in-law brought me wine, and we sat together and spoke of the children and our families. Charles asked so many questions about Mary that my eyes pleaded with William to intervene. Finally, I became impatient.
‘For goodness’ sake, why have you both been arrested? What have you done?’
William put a finger to his lips and cupped his ears. Of course, our conversation wasn’t private.
‘I believe that the French fleet attempted to land near here with James Edward Stuart on board,’ William said in an unnatural voice. ‘They were intercepted by the English and ran back to France. Charles and I were arrested on the assumption that we were in some way complicit.’
‘Which I was not,’ Charles growled.
‘There was an invasion … almost.’ I gasped.
‘I wouldn’t say invasion,’ William continued in his schoolmasterly tone, ‘I understand it was a pretty half-baked affair. I know very little about it.’
Charles interrupted. ‘Win, you must go and speak to my lawyer and try to get us released. I have to get home to Mary. This is an absolute travesty. And another thing … we have each been asked to pay several thousand pounds as a bond. Tell the lawyer to find the money.’ He looked at William with contempt. ‘I’m afraid I can’t pay yours.’
I knew immediately that William was guilty and Charles was almost certainly innocent. I rose and pulled William over to the window.
‘Could you find nothing better to do than play war games?’ I hissed. ‘We’re one country now, whether you like it or not. There’s nothing to be gained. We’ll never be able to find this money.’
William shook his head. ‘It’s worse. Fear of the invasion led to a run on the banks. All my debts have been called in. There’s nothing left – I think we might be bankrupt.’
I
sat down on the window seat. ‘Debts,’ I hissed. ‘Bankrupt! How could you do this to us, how could you, William?’
‘This was our moment. I’m fighting for Scotland, for what’s been lost. The people are with us, whatever their faith. It’s not about restoring a Stuart king any more but about regaining our country. If it had worked, my debts would have meant nothing. It should have worked.’ He leaned his palm on the shutter and wiped his cheek against his shoulder. I had never seen him look so tired. He raised his eyes, red and veined with exhaustion and whispered to me. ‘We missed the moment. We missed it, Win, and I don’t know why.’
He aimed a slow punch against the shutter with his free hand and pressed his forehead against the wood. From behind, I put my arms around his waist and lay across his back, speaking softly into his ear. ‘I’ll get you out of here,’ I whispered, ‘but the cause is over William. It’s finished.’
From shopkeepers and landlords Grace and I learned more of the botched landing of the Stuart king. The people of Edinburgh were cynical and resigned. Young James had run from battle like his father, they said. What more could you expect from a boy brought up in St Germain by a widowed mother? I remembered the isolated little boy I had cared for, a child who had always been given his own way. It seemed that in the intervening years, he had learned nothing.
My sister Frances told us more about the beautiful plan, foiled by circumstance. James had been too ill to travel because he caught measles and, before a single vessel set sail, the English had all the time they needed to arrest all known Jacobite supporters. Many scores had been settled, Frances said. Anyone of significance who had failed to vote for the union had been imprisoned or threatened with the payment of punishing bonds to stay free.
The following day, Grace and I trudged back up to the castle but were met with news that all the prisoners’ cells were empty. We were not the first that day to demand the warden’s time and an explanation and while his manners were without fault, he could not hide his impatience.
‘They’ve been moved to London, Lady Nithsdale, all apart from Charles Stewart. It happened through the night. The decision was not mine, I can assure you.’
I felt a pang of jealousy. ‘Why was my brother-in-law released and not the others?’
‘He’d paid his bond … and I’m still the warden of this prison, whatever our so-called leaders in England might believe. I knew he was needed at home.’
‘They’re all needed at home,’ I argued. ‘What on earth can be gained by this, except to give their families more trouble and expense.’
‘London believes that there isn’t a viable judiciary left in Edinburgh or Scotland.’
‘But that’s because everyone is either a prisoner or under suspicion.’
The warden nodded. ‘Or has taken their wealth and business south.’
‘So this is how our new country works – humiliation and bullying masquerading as security?’
‘Yes, my lady, my own humiliation is nothing compared to that of the prisoners and theirs is nothing compared to our former country. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to complete the prisoners’ documents today.’
Unable to secure a loan to pay my husband’s bond in Edinburgh, I decided to follow him to London and leave Grace at Traquair. I would take Will with me to London, hoping that my charming eight-year-old, so confident and engaging, would encourage my estranged family to lend me money. Before we left, I realised that my struggle with the walk up to Edinburgh Castle was not the result of months bent over the estate accounts but that I had been feeling unwell for several months. Grace encouraged me to try to contact our physician, Dr Pitcairn, and request an urgent appointment.
We were asked to wait for the doctor in his study but I couldn’t sit down. Instead, I paced the room, pretending to read the titles of the leather-bound volumes that lined the walls.
‘Ah, Lady Nithsdale, my pleasure indeed, do take a seat.’ Dr Pitcairn gestured to a chair next to Grace. ‘And how is your mother-in-law, Lady Lucy?’
‘She’s well, doctor, very well, but I’m afraid for my own health. I can’t be ill – not with my husband in prison.’
‘A terrible business,’ Dr Pitcairn lowered his dense eyebrows and shook his head. ‘I too was questioned by the authorities. But what is troubling you?’
In a rush of detail, I explained about the pains in my belly, feelings of dizziness in the morning, my lack of energy and Grace confirmed how exhausting I found any physical activity. Dr Pitcairn asked me to lie on a couch behind a screen and throughout the discomfort of the examination, Grace held my gaze and pressed firmly on my shoulder.
The doctor waited on the other side of the screen for me to dress and as we found our seats, I thought I saw a smile flicker across his lips. He studied me before speaking, his eyes alight with good humour. ‘Lady Nithsdale, I am pleased to give you the news that you are with child.’
I gasped, ‘But I can’t be, I’m still having my monthly bleeds.’
‘It can happen, particularly with women who don’t easily retain the unborn child. I understand that you have to travel to London but after that you must go home and rest.’
Grace looked at me, her face creased by a smile of relief. ‘I’ll make sure she does.’
Dr Pitcairn stood to shake my hand. ‘Now, away ye go and have another baby, and tell Lady Lucy that I’ll see her again within the month.’
We stayed with our old friends Mr and Mrs Mills, who were still resolute in their belief that the Stuarts were the true heirs to the thrones of both England and Scotland and that this would be achieved with the support of the French king. I tried to explain how unlikely this was, given that the French fleet had turned tail at the sight of English men of war in the Firth of Forth. I told them what I knew about Scotland; how much the people continued to suffer under English rule, with unfair taxes and restrictions on trade and that most lowland Scots had little patience for the romantic fantasy of the Stuart cause. What we needed were jobs, decent agriculture and the chance to trade freely with the colonies and that anyone who could deliver this would be supported. They listened politely but I was not heard and I learned to curb my opinions for fear of alienating such dear friends. I said nothing about the expected child, either to my friends or to William, fearing that if spoken of, my hidden and determined child might be lost.
When I visited the Tower, I left my son with my brother at his home. I did not wish upon my own child the horror of an imprisoned parent. Returning to that evil place, I felt as if I had no past; no St Germain, no Terregles, no husband or child, just a never-ending journey of imprisonment, fear of execution and grinding demands for money.
Money was the one thing I didn’t have. Mrs Mills was patient about payment for the rooms but I knew her hospitality would have to end. My sisters and brother were sympathetic but they had nothing to lend. Didn’t I know that our scheming with the French had brought suspicion on all Catholic families and my sisters’ husbands had no hope of advancement in George of Hanover’s court? Didn’t I care that my brother had suffered another spell inside a prison, Newgate Prison in fact, a facility quite unlike the rooms enjoyed by some in the Tower of London? Wasn’t I aware that our estates and titles were still not ours? Everyone except me knew that young James had recently visited his old governess, our sister Lucy, at her convent, surely evidence of another act of betrayal. Our family were believed to be nothing but spies and conspirators. Didn’t I know these things?
My friends recommended many different lawyers but the rush of impoverished Scots lairds to the south meant that Jacobite funds were scarce. At last, my brother made contact with a sympathetic lawyer who specialised in debt and estate management.
A week after my first appointment, I was immediately shown into Mr Blackstone’s study. The document was in Latin but I had retained enough reading knowledge to understand the main points, without having to ask for a translation. I tossed the parchment across the lawyer’s polished desk. ‘He will never accept thi
s. He’s already humiliated. He’s lost everything. You can’t do this to him.’
Mr Blackstone frowned and steepled his fingers, brushing the tips over his lips. ‘Lady Nithsdale, there is no other way. If there was, I would have explained it to you.’
‘He’s lost his role in government. He’s lost the chance to end the union of parliaments. He’s lost the chance to restore a Stuart monarch to the Scottish people. You can’t ask me to tell him that he’ll now lose his estate to his son.’
The lawyer pinched the top of his nose and closed his eyes. ‘He’ll lose the estate anyway. You’re facing bankruptcy. If he can’t pay his bond, he won’t be released. In time, they’ll get tired of feeding and watering him in the Tower of London and they’ll seize your estate and kick him out. My lady, it is far better that the estate remains secure in your son’s name, rather than held in government hands.’ Mr Blackstone tipped his head slightly, in deference to me, but I could see he was becoming impatient. He was treading a well-worn path at the end of which was always the client’s defeat and acceptance.
‘But what price self-respect? Is there no way we can avoid this further shame? Explain it to me again.’
The lawyer rubbed his eyes. No doubt he was thinking of his dinner, already in preparation, if only he could get rid of me. ‘We set up a trust in your son’s name. I recommend that your brother-in-law Charles, Earl of Traquair, be one of the trustees. He’s a reliable sort.’ His eyes looked into the far distance and misted slightly. ‘The others are your choice. The trustees will pay your husband’s bond and service the debts using income from the estate. The Earl of Nithsdale will receive a small yearly allowance on which you must all survive. When the debts are paid, all income will go to your son and his father will continue to receive an allowance. When your son comes of age, he will inherit the estate.’
‘So a father must crawl cap in hand to his son? Beg for money?’
‘My lady, this is your only hope of borrowing money to secure your husband’s release. As regards your debts, banks will lend to the trustees but not to your husband. He’s not a good risk. And may I remind you that the interest on your debt mounts daily.’
The Jacobite's Wife Page 14
