God's Highlander

by Thompson, E. V.

  John Garrett swung his horse away and rode on to the tolbooth. He had to tether his horse some way from the entrance to the tolbooth building, and both men entered together, neither speaking to the other.

  In answer to the clerk on duty inside the tolbooth office, John Garrett declared loudly that he had come to make enquiries about his daughter. Wyatt explained he was there on behalf of Alasdair Burns.

  Both men were asked to remain in the office while the clerk went off to report their presence to his superior.

  They waited in silence for perhaps ten minutes before the clerk returned, preceded by a rotund bald-headed little man whose forehead glistened with small beads of perspiration. He addressed himself immediately to the factor.

  ‘Mr Garrett! I am Jeremiah Buchanan, sheriff’s clerk. A delight to meet you, sir. I trust our little, ah … error hasn’t caused you to make a special journey here.’

  The sheriff’s clerk faltered, and his expression became that of a desperately worried man. ‘I can assure you, sir, I had your daughter released from custody the moment I learned she was here. I have also protested in the strongest possible terms to the commanding officer of the Irish regiment. I have demanded that the man who ordered the arrests be severely punished and an apology tendered to your good self. I don’t doubt—’

  ‘Where’s my daughter now?’ John Garrett’s brusque question brought to an end the protestations of the perspiring sheriff’s clerk.

  ‘At the inn. She and Mr Burns went there after … a short while ago.’

  ‘Burns? You had that rogue in prison and released him?’

  The beads of perspiration joined together and found twin paths on either side of the bald temples to the clerk’s plump cheeks.

  ‘I had no alternative, Mr Garrett. Not after Mr Graham came in and ordered the sheriff-substitute to call in the clearance orders.’

  ‘Mr Graham … the Kilmalie estate administrator? He … called in the clearance orders? He has no authority to interfere with my orders. What was he doing here? Where is he now?’ John Garrett was beside himself with rage.

  ‘Staying at the coaching inn, a few hundred paces along the road. Your daughter and Mr Burns are there, too.’

  ‘We’ll soon see about that! It’s time I put a stop to that girl’s nonsense once and for all. I should never have allowed her to teach at that damned school.’

  Scowling deeply, John Garrett headed for the door. He had reached the doorway when the sheriff’s clerk called to him, with desperation in his voice: ‘Your daughter and Mr Burns … they’re married, sir.’

  John Garrett spun around, and his expression caused the sheriff’s clerk to back away, speaking rapidly in a bid to impart his news as hastily as possible. ‘They were married by declaration, with the magistrate and Mr Graham as witnesses—’

  ‘Married by declaration?’ The veins stood out on the temples of the factor’s blood-diffused face. ‘That’s a form of marriage used by cottars … peasants! It can’t be legal for the daughter of a gentleman. I’ll see the magistrate and have it annulled.’

  ‘Your daughter was very determined, Mr Garrett. She insisted….’

  ‘If what the clerk has said is true, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do, Garrett. The marriage is as legal as if she’d been married by me – or by your archbishop in his cathedral of Canterbury. That’s why so many English couples cross the border to be married. I believe the village of Gretna is becoming quite renowned for its “marriages by declaration”.’

  Wyatt was only marginally less surprised than the factor, although he was well aware of the way Alasdair and Evangeline felt about each other. But to get married in such a manner…. He tried hard not to take delight in the factor’s discomfiture.

  ‘We’ll see about this! I’ll not have my only daughter married to a political agitator … a gaolbird. I’ve some strong words to say to Charles Graham. Very strong words.’

  John Garrett stamped from the office, and Jeremiah Buchanan sought a chair and dropped into it gratefully.

  Wyatt hurried from the tolbooth to the inn and was close on John Garrett’s heels when he came face to face with the Kilmalie estate administrator just inside the inn entrance.

  Charles Graham was taken by surprise, but he recovered quickly, although there was no pleasure in his greeting. He extended his hand towards the factor. ‘I was on my way to find a carriage and pay you a visit—’

  ‘What’s the meaning of putting yourself forward as a witness to this so-called marriage? And having the sheriff-substitute call in my clearance orders? You’re the administrator of the Kilmalie estates, but I’m the factor in Eskaig. In sole control. I give the orders.’

  A number of passers-by had stopped, attracted by the loud voice of the factor. Charles Graham said: ‘I suggest we go inside and discuss this privately. Or would you prefer to see your daughter and her new husband first?’

  ‘I’ll deal with her later. Let’s get this business straightened out first.’

  John Garrett pushed past the Edinburgh-based administrator and entered the inn. Charles Graham saw Wyatt for the first time. ‘You’d better come in, too, Minister Jamieson. What I have to say affects you and your people.’

  The inn door was open, and John Garrett heard the lawyer’s words. Turning, he pointed a quivering finger at Wyatt. ‘The business of the Kilmalie estate doesn’t concern him. If you have something to say about Kilmalie lands, you can tell me in private. Jamieson doesn’t even have a church in Eskaig now.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he is the man chosen by the parishioners to be their pastor. I want him to hear what I have to tell you.’ Charles Graham waved Wyatt inside the inn. ‘After you, Minister Jamieson.’

  Charles Graham paused to have a brief conversation with the innkeeper, which led to the three men being shown to a small private room.

  ‘Please take a seat, gentlemen. I have ordered refreshments.’ Charles Graham waved the others to seats as he placed his pince-nez on his nose. Unfastening an oilskin-wrapped bundle, he extracted a number of papers and proceeded to arrange them neatly on the table in front of him.

  John Garrett’s impatience would not allow him to sit still in the chair he occupied. He changed position frequently, his scowl deepening with the passing of time.

  ‘Come on, man. You don’t need a whole bundle of papers to explain why you countermanded my orders. Get on with it.’

  ‘True, John. I don’t need any papers to explain why I countermanded your instructions. However, I will probably require them in order to prove I have the authority to do so.’

  When the papers were arranged to Charles Graham’s satisfaction, the landlord appeared, holding open the door for a serving-girl carrying a laden tray to enter. John Garrett fumed impotently as the Edinburgh administrator fussed about, ensuring that food and drink were placed within reach of his two guests.

  Almost as though he was enjoying the irascibility of the Eskaig factor, Charles Graham maintained his silence on the subject of the meeting until the door had closed behind the innkeeper and his servant.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, you are no doubt anxious to know what it is I have to say to you….’ Only the slightest pause acknowledged John Garrett’s sarcastic derision. ‘I can assure you it has an important bearing not only on the lives of each of us here, but also on very many more people connected with Kilmalie lands here and elsewhere.’

  Charles Graham took a sip from a large brandy-glass and looked over the rim of his pince-nez at each of the two men in turn.

  ‘You will recall that the three of us last met together in Eskaig when I came to inform you of the death of the late Lord Kilmalie … Lord Cloudesley Kilmalie.’

  ‘Of course we remember. That’s when I showed you the new Lord Kilmalie’s letter giving me full authority to run the Eskaig estate in whatever manner I thought best. Without interference was what that meant.’

  ‘You showed me a letter purporting to invest you with a great deal of authority, certainly.’
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br />   ‘Purporting? Purporting?’ John Garrett was on his feet in an instant. Fists resting on the table, he glared menacingly at Charles Graham. ‘Are you suggesting I forged that letter? By God, sir. I’ll take you to the courts for such infamous slander.’

  ‘Slander, John? Dear me, I’ve said nothing slanderous, surely? No, no. I accept that you presented the letter to me in all good faith. You believed implicitly in the authority contained therein – as indeed I did, at the time. Unfortunately, I fear the letter is absolutely worthless. You may as well use it as a taper to light your pipe.’

  John Garrett was rarely lost for words, but for some moments he was speechless. When his voice finally returned he poured scorn on the Edinburgh administrator’s statement.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me Major Jock is an impostor? I don’t believe you. This is a trick thought up by you and Jamieson to prevent me clearing the Highlanders from Eskaig.’

  ‘It’s no trick, John, and Major Jock was no imposter – at least, he was the genuine heir to the Kilmalie lands.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles, man. If he’s the genuine heir, then the authority in the letter in my possession is genuine, too.’

  ‘Unfortunately not. You see, Major Jock never inherited the titles and estates of Lord Kilmalie. The ship in which he was returning to Australia foundered off the South African coast three days before the late Lord Kilmalie died.’

  John Garrett stared at Charles Graham as the implication of his words sank in. ‘You’re lying. All right, Major Jock may be dead, but how do you know it happened before Lord Kilmalie died, eh? How can you prove that?’

  Charles Graham sighed. ‘I said I would need to supply you with proof of what I had to say. I have here statements from two of the ship’s officers who survived the disaster. I also have statements from three surviving passengers. All witnessed the sad death of Major Jock. Needless to say, it has taken me some time to obtain these statements.’

  John Garrett was shaken to the core, but he tried to pull himself together and exert the authority he believed he still possessed. ‘If what you say is true, my letter may be worthless, but I am still factor of the Kilmalie Eskaig estate. I can still run it in the manner I think is best.’

  ‘Not quite, John. Yes, you are the factor, although no doubt my recommendations to the new Lord Kilmalie will be considered very carefully – especially after I complete my investigations into the whereabouts of large sums of money paid by owners of sheep to obtain sheep-walks on Kilmalie land. Money that has failed to reach my office. In the mean time, as executor for the late Lord Kilmalie I, too, possess wide powers. I have exercised those powers today, by having your remaining clearance orders called in. Will you kindly ensure that any still in your possession and not yet executed is returned to the sheriff’s office at the earliest opportunity?’

  Charles Graham leaned back in his chair, the palms of his hands flat on the table before him. ‘I would like you to continue as factor for the Eskaig estate – at least, for the time being. I expect you to do so with the good of the estate at heart. Are there any questions you wish to put to me, John?’

  John Garrett stood up abruptly, the muscles of his face twitching. ‘Go to hell, Graham – and don’t gloat, Minister Jamieson. I’m not done yet. Not by a long way.’

  The factor stalked from the room, very nearly knocking over the serving-girl as she returned to the room.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Charles Graham looked at Wyatt in mock surprise. ‘I seem to have upset John – and I never told him of his daughter’s marriage to Alasdair Burns!’

  ‘He knows.’ Wyatt stood up and shook the hand of the Edinburgh man warmly. ‘Coming as it does on top of your news, he won’t want to face his new son-in-law just yet. Returning to your news, who is the new Lord Kilmalie?’

  ‘Ah! Now, there’s something that’s kept a great many people busy. Major Jock was Lord Kilmalie’s only close relative, and it’s been necessary to make extensive enquiries to find an heir to the Kilmalie estates. It has been settled, at last, although there is still doubt about the inheritance of the title. Fortunately, the title has very little significance for the man who now possesses the Kilmalie lands. He already has a somewhat superior peerage of his own. Indeed, it must be one of the oldest titles in the land.’

  ‘Who is the man with this ancient title?’ Wyatt prompted.

  ‘I’m sorry, didn’t I say? It’s the Earl of Glenadon – the sixteenth Earl. Isn’t he some relation to the minister you brought to one of my parties in Edinburgh?’

  Wyatt nodded, his thoughts ranging too far ahead for speech. This could prove to be the best news Eskaig would ever have. The Kilmalie estates had been inherited by the brother of Minister Coll Kennedy!

  That evening was spent in a strange mixture of celebration and sadness for Wyatt. Celebration because Alasdair and Evangeline were wed and the tenants of the Kilmalie Eskaig estate were to enjoy at least a temporary reprieve from the clearances. Sadness as he remembered the death of Lachlan Munro and the fact that the Eskaig Highlanders might have only a temporary reprieve. It would certainly not affect the extensive clearances being carried out elsewhere. Wyatt accepted he was witnessing the passing of a way of life. One that had been doomed since the Highland forces of the young Prince Charles Stuart suffered a crushing defeat on the battlefield of Culloden, almost a hundred years before. Yet, after Culloden, the surviving clan chiefs and their followers had shared a fierce pride in retaining their joint heritage. Now it was the successors of Scotland’s hereditary chiefs, the ‘lairds’, the landowners, who were clearing the Highlands to make way for sheep.

  Wyatt had taken a room at the inn, it proving impossible to return to Eskaig that evening. There was no moon that night to guide him along the indifferent roads. Besides, in the morning he intended travelling north to Letterfinlay, to speak to Coll Kennedy.

  Wyatt had warned Evangeline and Alasdair to expect John Garrett to interrupt their celebrations, but the evening passed without incident. Either Garrett had verified the legality of the Scots form of marriage and decided against confronting his daughter and newly acquired son-in-law, or he was still trying to come to terms with the shattering news he had received from Charles Graham.

  Forty-eight

  IT WAS UNDOUBTEDLY Wyatt’s feeling of well-being that prompted him to take the shorter and easier route to the cave at Glenfintaig. It took him closer to the home of General Lindsay, the Letterfinlay landowner, but today Wyatt was willing to chance a meeting with the Free Church-hating landowner. He wanted to discuss the new turn of events with Coll Kennedy, and return to Fort William before the emigrant-ship sailed for Canada. By then he hoped to be able to persuade the Highlanders to return to their old homes.

  He had asked Alasdair Burns to arrange the funeral of Lachlan Munro for his return, and to despatch someone from Eskaig to inform Eneas Ross of what was happening. By doing this Wyatt hoped to forestall any trouble from the Ross family and their friends.

  Wyatt was less than two miles from his destination when he was stopped by a gamekeeper. The man carried a sporting gun and stood among broken rocks to await the arrival of the Eskaig preacher. Wyatt had seen the man when he was still far back along the trail. He had contemplated leaving the trail and scrambling down the slope to the river-fed glen a thousand feet below, but decided against such a move. It would serve no useful purpose. The gamekeeper could do the same and still confront Wyatt if this was what he intended to do.

  It was. Stepping on to the path in front of Wyatt, the gamekeeper held his sporting gun pointed at the Eskaig minister as he asked: ‘Well, now, what do we have here? And what might a preacher be doing on General Lindsay’s land?’

  ‘Good day to you, Keeper. I’m passing through, on my way to see a friend.’

  ‘The general wouldn’t be at all pleased with me if he heard I’d allowed a man of the cloth to “pass through” his lands. You see, if you’re a minister of the established church, he’ll likely offer you refreshment and se
nd you on your way with a donation towards your stipend. If you’re not … well, I’d rather not talk of unhappy things on such a fine day. If you’ll just go back the way you’ve come, you’ll see a path leading down towards the bridge. General Lindsay’s house is the large one among the trees. I’ll be walking right behind you every step of the way.’

  They walked without talking all the way to the house, although the gamekeeper occasionally whistled a snatch of a tune.

  The house by the bridge was surrounded by a high garden wall, and Wyatt paused at the large wooden gate.

  ‘Go on through. We’ll no doubt find the general up at the house. I hope for your sake he’s in one of his rare good moods.’

  General Alexander Lindsay was not in the house, and he was not in one of his rare good moods. He was in the garden berating a gardener for some minor indiscretion. The gardener was on his knees beside a flowerbed, and the red-faced landowner frequently belaboured his employee about the shoulders with a walking-stick to emphasise a particular criticism.

  The footsteps of Wyatt and the gamekeeper crunching on the river-gravel of the path caused the irate landowner to turn to meet the new arrivals. The gardener threw a relieved glance in Wyatt’s direction before crouching to his task once more. Then General Lindsay confronted Wyatt.

  ‘I caught a preacher trespassing along the glen towards Upper Glenfintaig, General. I thought you’d want to speak to him.’

  ‘Trespassing, eh? And a minister, my gamekeeper says. Are you a minister, or are you one of those turncoats who want to change everything and move another step closer to anarchy – like that scoundrel Kennedy?’

  Wyatt’s heart sank at the general’s disparaging reference to the ejected Letterfinlay minister, but he did not allow it to show.

  ‘I’m a minister of God, General. Accepted by the people of my parish to serve them. But, yes, I am looking for Minister Kennedy – that’s if it’s the same Kennedy you’re talking about. Minister Coll Kennedy? Brother of the Earl of Glenadon?’