by Diana Lloyd
“Oh, dear.” With Charlie back at the boat and Angus walking a healthy distance behind her and the maid, Elsinore thought of a ruse to distract Peg. It wouldn’t work for long, but if she had time alone with Muireal to discover even one useful fact, it would be worth it. “I thought of something else I need now that we’re here, Peg.” She turned to address the maid. “I believe I forgot to pack my hairpins and combs. Run along and pick some up. A tin of fine pins and a dozen combs should do it; you’ve seen the sort I like.”
“Milady, I…” Peg began to protest.
“We don’t have time for this, Peg.” Elsinore pressed a coin into the maid’s hand. “I’ll just pop into the dress shop to pick up my gloves, and you can meet me back out here on the street when you’re finished.” She breathed a sigh of relief when the maid scurried off in another direction.
The little brass bell rang out as she stepped through the doorway of the dress shop. I hope they’re not here, she thought, remembering the two women who spoiled her last visit. They were magpies but would be no use to her. Muireal would have most likely heard something directly from Sorcha.
“Greetings, Lady Graham.” Muireal smiled and opened her arms wide in greeting. “I’m so pleased to see you back. You left in such a hurry last time I was afraid you’d taken ill.”
“Yes, exactly.” Elsinore smiled. “I had a sudden urgency, and since you had other customers I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“Oh, I was hoping it was good news. I can spot it a mile away, you know. Must come from all those years of measuring for confinement gowns.”
“Confinement?” Elsinore shook her head in confusion.
“No worries, I won’t tell a soul your happy news.”
“I…I have no news. Happy or otherwise. I came for my gloves, gray kid. I believe I left them here.”
“Of course. My apologies for assuming. Patrons leave all manner of things here. I gather them up at the end of each day and put them in a basket.” Muireal retrieved a large willow reed basket from under a table and began sorting through the items. “Gloves, gloves, gloves,” she sang as she searched.
“No apology necessary.” Elsinore looked down to where the skirt of her gown lay perfectly flat against her frame. What was it Muireal thought she was seeing? “You might do me a favor, though, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m English and new here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Everyone has.” Muireal looked up and smiled with a shrug. “It’s not every day the local lord brings home a new lady.”
“To be perfectly honest, I feel a bit as if my arrival poked a hornet’s nest. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions that might help me…find my way clear.”
“Called you names, have they?” Muireal pulled out one gray kid glove. “Found one. Are you sure you lost the pair?”
“Yes.” She took the single offered glove. “About my problem…”
“You’ll find that the Scots have a verra long memory, especially for slights. Too many of them lost clan and land. There were other estates just a bit north of here, old ones, big as Lochwode and grander, too, but they’re all gone now. Gents and ladies put out in the dirt with naught but the clothes on their backs. They’re dying off now, of course. But their children, their grandchildren, they’re born with mouths ready to taste revenge.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” She was making a hash of this and time was running out. She needed to get to the point. “Did the first Lady Graham, Sorcha, have her gowns made here?”
“Och.” Muireal made the Scottish noise Elsinore was quickly becoming familiar with and held up a red glove. “Now there was one who could tell you the history of Scotland. Every family deported, every square of land seized to make way for sheep, ’twas nearly all she ever talked about. That was all her father talking, if you ask me. The battle never ended for the MacMartins. But, oh, look at me speaking ill of the dead.” Muireal pulled a hand from the basket and crossed herself. “May God have mercy on her soul.”
“Yes.” Elsinore swallowed uncomfortably. “Did she ever mention that anyone might blame Lord Graham for any local…unpleasantness?”
“Found it.” Muireal held up the second gray glove with a smile. “I expect you’ve heard the local scandal broth about his lordship. No one with their head on straight believes it.” She handed the glove to Elsinore. “You’ll learn soon enough which families are still ready to draw a sword.”
“Still?” Elsinore clutched the gloves to her chest.
“There’s angry whisperings in every pub in every town about a new plan to take back what was lost. Last uprising I recall was in ’94. They called that one the Pike Plot. They never did hang them all. I dinna mean to frighten you, Lady Graham.” Muireal waved her hand dismissively. “You’ll be just fine here in the borderlands, but I’d arm my coachman should you ever venture into the Highlands. That’s just the way of it.”
“I’ll take that advice and thank you for finding my gloves.” Their business was done, but she had so many more questions. “I do not fear for myself, but the gossip surrounding Lord Graham is most distressing to me. Have you any idea why anyone would want to spread such vile lies?”
“He’s a Graham.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The English marched their soldiers through Graham lands and up to Aberdeen without so much as a shot fired in Scotland’s defense. Cumberland would have found his way to Culloden without Graham’s help, but there are some who still don’t see it that way.”
“Long memory for slights.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you for your time and honesty, Muireal. I wish I could say that you’ve eased my mind, but it seems I now have more to think about.”
“Don’t you worry about that little one.” Muireal patted her arm. “I do have something else for you.” Muireal reached back into the basket and pulled out a pea-green silk reticule. “I suppose this rightly belongs to you now.”
“I’ve never seen that before.”
“It was left here by Lady Graham. The first one, that is. You see,” she explained as she handed Elsinore the bag, “I never throw anything away. You never know when something will come to be useful.”
“Yes, you never know.” Elsinore could tell by the weight of it that the bag wasn’t completely empty. She slipped it inside her own bag along with her gray gloves before turning to the door. “I have to go now.”
“Not feeling ill again, are you?” Muireal walked with her to the door. “Do come back when you have time to be measured. You’ll be surprised at how quickly you’ll need wider skirts.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She had to find a way to search that bag without the chance of Angus or Peg recognizing it. Stepping out into the street in front of the shop she was surprised to find neither one of them waiting there for her. Peg might still be on her fool’s errand, but Angus wouldn’t have gone far. Taking advantage of the privacy, Elsinore stepped just around the corner into a narrow walkway between buildings and opened Sorcha’s bag.
The only thing inside was a bent iron nail and a scrap of paper folded into a neat square. Hands trembling, she looked around again before opening the paper. Meet me in the garden at the foxgloves was all it said. She turned the paper over and held it up to the sun looking for any other mark or symbol. There was nothing more than a small hole in the scrap where the nail might have pierced it. Still, if Sorcha kept it, it had to be important.
Elsinore read the note again and again, looking around each time for Angus or Peg. Something about that note was familiar. Think, Elsinore, think. She pulled out her own note, the one stuffed into her basket on her last trip to town, and held it up next to the new one. It was written in the same bold print. And, there, the “M” in meet and murder was the same. Exactly the same, right down to the smudge of ink that started the letter, as if the writer had dashed it off in a hurry without first blotting the quill. Both notes were written by the same person.
&nbs
p; “Lady Graham.” Peg’s voice echoed in the alleyway behind her. “Angus said I should fetch ye.”
“Where is Angus?” Elsinore shoved everything back into her bag and looked to the street once again, but there was no sign of the man. She needed time to figure out what this clue might mean. “Where did he go?”
“Poor fellow had to take a piss.” From the back of the alleyway, Peg closed the distance between them. “Did they have your gloves, my lady?”
“Yes.” Elsinore patted her bag and attempted a smile. “Perhaps we should wait here for Angus to return.”
“No need, madam. I told him I would escort you back to the dock. He’s afraid his lordship will be displeased with him for taking the time to come to town. He’ll be rowing against the wind on the way back, you see.” Peg smiled brightly and took a few steps back down into the alleyway, motioning for Elsinore to follow.
Swallowing down her unease, Elsinore joined Peg and followed her through a maze of back alleys toward the docks. It was broad daylight, she reassured herself. Angus was nearby and Charlie, too. She was being a ninny to worry about them. She had bigger problems in her life. She’d have time to think about the clue as they rowed back to Lochwode. The minute she arrived in Stirling she’d bring the evidence to Quin’s man of investigations.
“Is something wrong?” Peg, who’d been at her elbow only moments before, had fallen several paces behind. Elsinore turned to offer her assistance. She was not expecting the maid’s curt reply.
“Best not to fight if you have a care for that pretty face.”
The daylight she’d found so reassuring disappeared as someone pulled a cloth over her head. Disregarding the maid’s advice, she elbowed her assailant. She kicked out with her boot, connecting with someone’s shin, but the flash of satisfaction was cut short by a punch to the side of her head. Woozy, Elsinore twisted away and grabbed at the cloth winding around her face. The next blow stunned her and she dropped to her knees. It was only then that she thought to scream. Her cry, muffled by the cloth, earned her a kick to the back that stole her remaining breath.
“I told ye to gag her first, eejit.” The sound of Peg’s voice, so cold and calculating, was like another kick to her gut. She’d been right not to trust Quin’s servants. Elsinore only hoped that it wasn’t too late to save him. She had to fight, she had to escape.
The head covering was raised only long enough for someone to stuff a rag into her mouth, but it was long enough for her to catch a glimpse of her attacker’s face. She didn’t know him, but she recalled seeing him before. It was the man staring up from the edge of the garden the first time she ventured into the baroness’s bedchamber. His bright ginger hair had stood out like a beacon. It was the same man, she was sure of it.
“Quickly, get her to the wagon.” Peg was whispering now.
“Not taking a chance on moving her until sundown,” her attacker replied. “Everyone else is waiting on the road to Stirling; she was supposed to have taken the bloody wagon.”
“Hardly my fault,” Peg protested. “She lost her damned gloves.”
“Well,” her attacker drawled as he pulled Elsinore to her feet. “I doubt they’ll be much good to her where she’s going. Help me get her inside.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Peg sounded scared. “Bhreac was supposed to pick me up and take me back to Inverness.” Her question earned her a sharp slap that Elsinore heard through the burlap hood.
“Shut up, ye stupid whure.”
“I’m oot of this. Oot, I say. I did my part and I’m going no farther. I’ll have the boy carry a note back to Granny and tell her it’s gone sideways.”
Elsinore was hoisted over the ginger’s shoulder, and he took a few steps before speaking again. “Get that brat awa’ from here none the wiser or I’ll make you regret yer own birth.”
“I’ll not go back to Lochwode. His lordship is growing more canny by the day. She’s pushed him too hard.”
“That’s the bloody point. It’s supposed to look like self-murder.” Elsinore bounced against his shoulder as he took a few more steps, not daring to reveal her shock at their plan. “Himself is still here, he doesn’t dare move around by daylight, someone might recognize him. He’ll know what to do. This is naught but a bump in the road.” He reached up and patted her backside as he spoke, and Elsinore flinched from his touch, trying to free her arm from his grasp. “Feisty as a fine trout, this one.”
“What am I to do about Angus?” Peg whined.
“Taken a shine to him, have ye? The big ox has been dealt with; he’ll not trouble you.” Oh, Angus, my only protection. What have they done to him? She had to get free, had to find a way to get help. The next time the ginger-man shifted her weight on his shoulder, Elsinore snaked one arm loose. Rather than beating at him, which she knew would only earn her more pain, she used the short freedom to leave a clue behind.
Waiting until she heard no more from Peg, Elsinore pushed her hand under the burlap and snatched her necklace. She’d put on the engagement gift this morning in order to send Quin a message. It was supposed to have been a message of hope for their marriage, but now it would be a clue in her disappearance. Wrenching it from her neck she pretended to faint. As she let her arm fall uselessly away, she opened her fingers and the necklace dropped to the ground.
No one called out an alarm, neither did the ginger-man stoop to pick it up. Well done, she congratulated herself, one more small victory. And just in time, too, as she sensed they were entering a building. Darkness now, they were no longer outside. The air smelled of stale fish and damp. She strained her ears and, sure enough, the sound of gulls and osprey carried on the air. They’d taken her back to the water’s edge, but why?
A voice spoke out in a harsh whisper. Not Peg and not the ginger-man, either, someone new. Lying limp, she strained her ears for any sound. She needed another small victory in this war.
“Put her with him. And tie her up.”
“He’s still here?”
“Could hardly push him into the lake in broad daylight. But he’ll not be giving you any trouble.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t claim to have known Angus well, but the thought that he’d come to harm because of her was disheartening. Without Angus, who was left to stand with Quin? She must get away; she had to warn him. Whatever Peg and the other servants were planning, it was up to her to put a stop to it.
After climbing a flight of stairs and being bumped down a narrow hallway, she was dropped to the floor like a sack of grain, and she bit down hard on the rag in her mouth to keep from crying out. Her hands were gathered up and tied behind her back and her feet quickly bound together. The prickly burlap sack was still over her head when footsteps faded away and a door creaked shut.
Gathering her strength, she rested on the floor trying to get her ragged breaths under control. Finally convinced her attacker had left, Elsinore began working at freeing herself from the burlap so she could see her surroundings. Crawling like a worm, rubbing her head against the gritty wooden floor, inch by inch she released herself from the hood.
Spitting out the rag, her mouth as dry as sawdust, she licked her lips and worked her tongue against her teeth before gulping in a deep breath of relief. The light was poor and it took her a few moments of blinking to get a look at the small room. The lone window, high up on the wall, was boarded over but afternoon sun stole through the cracks. They would wait until night to move her, which left her a few hours to figure out what she was going to do about it.
Being able to see made everything instantly a little better, but she’d get nowhere unless she managed to untie her bonds. Bending her knees and twisting herself into a pretzel she could just reach the knot securing her feet. Glad she’d removed her gloves when comparing the notes, she pried at the rope with her fingernails. The nail! Her reticule was still fastened to her elbow—they’d neglected to take it.
The bent nail could help her fray the ropes. It took a bit more wiggling to maneuver th
e reticule to where she could open it, so much that she feared she’d attract the attention of anyone below. Once she had her prize in hand, she picked at the strands, shredding them, loosening them until she was finally free.
Remembering Muireal’s words about never throwing anything away, she gathered up the longest piece and, winding it into a coil, stuffed it in her bag. There was no latch on her side of the door, no way to leave unless someone opened it from the other side. Squinting into the darkness, Elsinore took inventory of what else she might employ in her escape. There were two empty wooden crates, an old fishing net crusted with dried algae, and, in the corner, a pile of rags atop a wooden buoy.
Her hand flew to her mouth to keep from shrieking out when one of the rags moved. It should not have surprised her that such a place harbored rats, but the thought made her tremble. Dirty, horrid things. And then the buoy moaned.
“Angus?” She dropped to her knees and placed her hand on his shoulder. Drawing her hand back, she held it under the shaft of light to see the red stain on her fingertips. Blood. “Angus,” she whispered. “Can you hear me? It’s Elsinore. I’m here to help. How are you hurt?”
“Sorry,” he said, the effort of that lone word taxing his energy. Working at the blood-soaked ropes holding him, Elsinore knew she had to stop his bleeding soon or he would die. There was a goose egg on the back of his head, and blood oozed from his nose. Wiping away what she could with the hem of her dress, his hand reached out to stop her. “Stabbed,” he managed. “In the gut.”
“Oh!” The little sound of alarm escaped her lips before she could swallow it down. In the darkness she hadn’t seen the extent of his wounds. His belly was wet with fresh blood, and his arms both held slashes as if he’d raised them in his defense. She didn’t know what to do. Except she did, at least Oglethorpe did. Dogs got injured on the hunt all the time and bleeding, as she recalled, needing cleaning and a pressure bandage. She had nothing to clean the wound, but she could bandage it to help stop the bleeding.
Biting back tears as she pulled at the tapes, Elsinore stepped out of her walking dress. Wearing nothing but her chemise, she knelt by his side and used the nail to help tear her once fine dress into wide strips to use as bandages. That done, she used the bits of rope to help secure them in place.
