Pursuit of Princes (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 5)

by Julia Brannan

  “I wanted to,” John said. “It was nice to be active, after being stuck so long in a cell. I used to walk round and round it, just to keep my legs strong. I hope you don’t mind,” he added, gesturing to the fire, “I put some carrots and potatoes to boil, I thought you might appreciate not having to cook.”

  Sarah picked the baby up, who was now awake. Her little face puckered up as she prepared to howl at the double discomfort of a dirty bottom and an empty stomach.

  “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day,” she joked. “I’ll go and change her clout and feed her,” she continued. “I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

  When she came back, minus the baby, John was busy putting the food out on plates. Sarah sat down at the table with obvious relief.

  “There,” she said. “She’s all clean and fed and should sleep for a couple of hours now.”

  “What are you feeding her?” John asked unexpectedly.

  Sarah instantly blushed scarlet, to his surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…I wondered if you had a wet nurse for her, that’s all.”

  “No,” Sarah replied. “I feed her myself. Cow’s milk, or goat’s when I can get it,” she added hurriedly. She focussed all her attention on cutting up a potato. “These are perfect.”

  It was clear from her tone that she was very surprised he was capable of the simple act of cooking a potato.

  “The Highlanders aren’t like us,” he explained. “The men don’t think cooking is woman’s work. In fact it’s really common for the men to cook. I learnt from them, and it seems natural now. After all, the women work really hard, doing all the cleaning and washing and so forth, and when there are no battles to be fought, there’s often not a lot for the men to do, so they cook.”

  “Did you learn your interesting way with a blanket from the Highlanders too?” she asked indistinctly, her mouth full of potato.

  Now it was John’s turn to blush as he looked down and realised how scantily covered he was, by English standards.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  Sarah waved a hand in the air to indicate that she was intrigued rather than offended by his attire. She chewed briskly and swallowed.

  “It’s very clever,” she said.

  “The Highlanders have more material in theirs. They call it the féileadh mhór. They wear it a bit like this,” he indicated the knee-length skirt he’d fashioned, “but they gather it at the back, so it allows them to move freely, and then the part that hangs over the belt,” he pointed to his bit of rope, “can be worn like a cloak, or over one shoulder…all kinds of ways. They use it as a blanket too, or even a tent, sometimes. Sorry, am I boring you?”

  He had to admit she didn’t look bored. If anything she looked entranced. She had been still, her forkful of pie poised halfway to her mouth the whole time he’d been speaking.

  “No,” she confirmed. “It’s really interesting. I only know what the newspapers say, since I learned to read; that the Highlanders are all savage barbarians who kill each other at the drop of a hat, are dirty and ragged, speak with grunts, and rape and murder at will. But I met Murdo and Jim, and Sir Anthony, of course, and I’d love to know more about what the Highlanders are really like, because the newspapers are full of lies. Beth told me that the king is dull and boring, and Cumberland spoke only to her breasts, and that most of her friends don’t like King George, even the ones who support him. And that’s nothing like what the Gazette says. But let’s eat first, and you need to be careful about what you tell me, because I really don’t want to know their proper names, or where they come from, or anything that could help them be arrested.”

  “Is the Duke of Newcastle that frightening, that you think you’d give information away to him?” John asked.

  “No. But what I don’t know I can’t tell, whatever happens,” Sarah pointed out logically.

  So they ate, and he thought, and then he told her that he’d believed the same as her until he’d met Highlanders in the flesh, when he’d found those he’d met to be, in the main, highly civilised people. Even on campaign they tried to keep as clean as possible; they respected women and cared for children, and he hadn’t seen one instance of rape in the whole time he’d been with the Jacobite army. Although he couldn’t understand their language, far from being a series of grunts, it had a musical lilting tone to it that was beautiful.

  “Did you learn any?” Sarah asked.

  “Tha gràdh agam ort, mo chridhe,” he said.

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. What does it mean?”

  John grinned.

  “Jim told me it meant, ‘a good morning to you’, but after I’d said it to half a dozen burly men who gave me very strange looks, Ke…one of Sir Anthony’s friends, when I said it to him, started laughing, and knew straight away that Jim had taught me. Believe me, this man was not someone you’d want to say tha gràdh agam ort to, not if you were a man, anyway, and wanted to live long.”

  “What does it mean, then?”

  “I love you, my heart. I told Jim I’d skin him alive if he taught me any more things like that. I could have died of embarrassment.”

  Sarah tried not to laugh for all of five seconds, then gave in. She laughed until the tears ran down her face, and then she gave a great sobbing sigh, and John realised that somewhere along the way the mirth had given way to sadness. Instinctively he stood and moved to comfort her, but she waved him away, so instead he hovered uncertainly near her, not knowing what to do.

  “I miss them,” she said finally, when she’d got her emotions under control a little.

  “I’m sure Beth’s all right,” John assured her, not sure who she meant by ‘them’. “I’m sure she made up her argument with –”

  “Not just Beth,” Sarah interrupted. She hesitated for a moment, as though about to reveal something, then changed her mind. “I miss Sir Anthony too. He was different.”

  “I know, Graeme told me. He called him the Purple Popinjay.”

  “No, not that. Yes, everyone thought he was an incompetent flowery fool, that all he thought about was fashion, gossip and himself. But there was more to him, I knew that the first time I met him. Of course I didn’t know what it was.” She blew her nose, sniffed, and gave John a watery smile. “But he always treated women with respect, even servants and beggars. And when I saw his reaction when I ran into Lord Edward’s card party and told him Lord Daniel had abducted Beth, I knew then that he loved her, even if she didn’t. You could see it in his eyes. His voice was different too. It was as though he forgot to be Sir Anthony for a moment, forgot everything except that Beth was in danger.”

  “He loves her,” John agreed. “And she loves him. I never saw anything like it. At first I thought I’d love to find someone I could care that much for, but later I changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t imagine either of them being able to live without the other one. They might go on breathing and walking about and suchlike, but I think if one of them died, the other would never recover.”

  “I hope they’re both alive, then, and together,” Sarah said.

  “So do I. Or if not, that they died together, and quickly.”

  They sat and thought about this for a minute, then Sarah stood suddenly.

  “Right,” she said briskly in an obvious attempt to dispel the melancholy mood that had overtaken them both. “Let me show you the clothes I bought for you. As fetching as you look dressed in your faila….in that,” she pointed to his blanket, “I think you’ll be noticed if you go out in it.” She picked up the package and started to unfold the clothes. There was a pair of grey woollen breeches with a buckle at the knee, two pairs of black cotton stockings, a woollen waistcoat, three white shirts, a grey wool tabby frockcoat, a jaunty red and white neckerchief, a hat and some slightly scuffed black leather shoes decorated with silver-plated buckles.

  “They’re not new. I thought you’d stand out more if you had a whole suit o
f new clothes, and you don’t want that, but they’re in good condition and they’ve all been washed, and I think they’ll fit you,” she said. “But if not, I should be able to alter them so they’ll pass. I was pleased with the shirts and coat,” she added. “The shirts are linen, and the coat was a bargain. It’s hardly been worn at all, and the cuffs are really long, so they should hide your wrists. Once we’ve got you shaved and dressed, you’ll look like a respectable tradesman. You’re very pale, but you can tell anyone who mentions that that you’ve got the consumption and you’re going to stay with some friends in the country for a few days to get some clean air. That should keep people away from you too. You’ll just have to be very careful not to let anyone see your wrists.” She looked at his hands. “And your fingers. I didn’t think about them. I should have got you some gloves as well. Damn!” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  John looked at her in amazement.

  “You’re sorry?” he said incredulously. “You’ve saved my life, fed me, let me sleep here overnight, spent your hard-earned money on buying me clothes when you hardly know me, and you’re sorry?”

  “Now,” she continued, blushing slightly at his praise, and brushing it off, “there are no posters or anything of that sort out about anyone escaping from the New Gaol, and the Gazette hasn’t published an extraordinary about it. I assume that’s because they don’t want everyone to know it’s possible to escape from prison, and that there are murderous rebels on the loose. But at the market I was told that the watch are knocking on doors and asking in the streets if people have heard or seen any dangerous-looking strangers, and to report to them if they do.

  “I also heard that the Duke of Cumberland’s due to arrive back in London tomorrow. They’re already building bonfires and people are out cleaning the streets and putting candles in their windows. There’ll be thousands of drunks on the streets tomorrow night, and it’ll be chaos. It’ll be a perfect time for you to slip away, while everybody’s out cheering for the hero of Culloden. So I think you should stay here tonight. I’ll keep the shop closed again tomorrow, and everyone will think it’s because I’m overcome with excitement about the duke. I can get you some gloves in the morning, and then you can leave in the afternoon. I’ll give you the money for the coach. Do you know how much it costs to get to Didsbury?”

  She looked across at him. He was running his hand over the wool of the coat, deep in thought. He mumbled something, too low for her to hear.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  “I can’t go tomorrow,” he said more loudly. “I-I have to do something.”

  “What do you have to do?” she asked, puzzled. Her tone clearly indicated that she couldn’t think of anything worth missing this golden opportunity for. “If you want to say goodbye to somebody, you can write a letter and I’ll deliver it for you. Or if you can’t write, I can do it for you. I learnt how to write, I can do it quite well now,” she finished, with pride in her voice.

  “No, it’s not that. But…can you lend me a few shillings to find a room, just for a week, that’s all? Then I can leave. I’ll send you the money back, I promise, once I find work in Didsbury.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “You can’t stay in London another week, John. The people already know there’s something amiss. News travels like wildfire on the streets. Within a couple of days someone in the watch or one of the prison guards will let something slip and everyone will know exactly what happened and probably what you look like too. You have to get away now, while you can.”

  He looked down at the clothes again. A full minute passed in silence.

  “John, talk to me. You’ve trusted me this far. What do you have to do that’s worth risking being captured for?”

  “You’ll think I’m an idiot,” he said, still looking at the frockcoat.

  “No, I won’t. Tell me.”

  “The men that were convicted with me, Colonel Towneley, George Fletcher, Tom Chadwick, John Berwick, Tom Syddall, Jemmy Dawson…” his voice trailed off, and he swallowed, hard. “And others,” he continued after a minute. “Tom Deacon, Andrew Blood, Dai Morgan. They’re all going to die next Thursday. I should have been with them on the scaffold. But I’m going to be there to watch them die, and if any of them see me, to let them know I’m there for them. I’ll pray for their souls every day for the rest of my life. And if Maddox has been released yet and I see his smug face in the crowd, I’ll break his neck, and gladly hang for it.”

  Her expression told him that she did indeed think he was an idiot. She sat down and ran a hand over her face.

  “John,” she said, “you can’t do this. There will be soldiers everywhere, and guards from the prison, who know what you look like. There’ll be thousands of people watching. Your friends won’t see you, they won’t even know you’re there. You can pray for them all the way to Didsbury in the coach if you want. I don’t know who this Maddox is that you hate so much, but surely he’s not worth dying a traitor’s death for?”

  John finally looked up from the coat, and at her. His brown eyes were full of tears, but his mouth twisted in a cruel parody of a smile.

  “Yes, Maddox is worth dying for,” John said. “I don’t think they’ll release him yet though. But I have to do this, Sarah. This is the least I can do for them. If I just turn my back and run, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t explain it, but I have to.”

  Sarah bit her lip and thought.

  “All right,” she said. “I think you’re wrong, but if you have to do this, you have to.”

  John let out a great sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure why, but it really mattered to him that he had her support, if not her blessing.

  “But I’m not giving you money for lodgings,” she added. “You can stay here. It’ll be safer.”

  “I can’t stay here for a week!” he protested. “What will people say?”

  “They won’t say anything,” she replied. “There’s nothing wrong with a brother who’s been in the militia and has only just heard of his sister’s death coming to visit his other sister, and his baby niece. That’s what I told people at the market today. Well, not the militia bit, but as you’ve actually been in the militia, if anyone asks you, you’ll be able to talk about it. My customers are unlikely to ask. Emily would but she’s worked very hard this last year, so I’ll give her a week to go home and see her family. The only other person who might call round and show an interest is Anne, but I’m sure we’ll be able to convince her. Anne’s the poor cow who married Richard,” Sarah elaborated. “She’s lonely, and she’s become a sort of friend, even though she’s a lady, and was very rich until she married that bastard and let him take control of her fortune. Strange how Richard, who hates women so much, manages to bring them together. Beth, me, Anne, even Caroline, in a way.”

  “Who’s Emily? And Caroline?” John asked, thoroughly perplexed by this torrent of words about people he’d never heard of.

  “I’ll tell you later. Put your clothes on, then we can go into the details, get our story straight. You’re going to have to pretend to like babies, I’m afraid. But Mary is very placid, at least.”

  “I love babies, placid or not,” John said. “I haven’t asked to hold her because I wasn’t sure you’d want me to, a stranger and all.”

  Sarah smiled and turned to leave the room and let him dress, but he put his hand on her arm to stop her, felt her flinch instinctively, and remembered what Beth had told him about Sarah’s past. He let her go, but she turned back to him.

  “I know you’re making light of it,” he said, “but you’re taking a big risk, sheltering me, pretending I’m your brother. Why are you doing it?”

  Instead of answering his question, Sarah asked one of her own. “Did you know there was a big reward out for information leading to the capture of Sir Anthony?”

  “No,” said John. “But I’m not surprised. Graeme told me a bit about him, about the fact that after he married Beth they went to Rome and spent time with Prince Charles, and ove
r here he was part of the cou….never mind, you don’t want to know. But yes, Graeme told me you’d written to warn them you’d been questioned by the Duke of Newcastle, so they could get their stories ready. Graeme really likes you, you know. He told me he couldn’t have been more wrong about you. So yes, I know that the authorities really want to find Sir Anthony.”

  “And did you realise that if you’d told them that you knew who he was, and what he looked like, you’d probably have been offered a full pardon?”

  He stared at her, aghast.

  “Maddox,” he said cryptically. “You said you don’t know who Maddox is. Sam Maddox. He was an ensign, like me. And he turned evidence. He hates Colonel Towneley; a lot of us didn’t like him, to be honest. He’s brave and loyal to the Stuarts, but he’s got no sense of humour, and thinks himself above his men. I don’t know what he did to make Maddox hate him so much, but whatever it was, it’s not worth turning traitor for. I’d kill him for that alone. But he gave evidence against a lot of other men too, just out of spite and cowardice. I can’t think of anyone I despise more, except perhaps Richard.

  “I didn’t know about a reward, but yes, I suppose I should have realised that if I offered information about Sir Anthony I’d probably get a pardon, although I never thought about it until right now, when you mentioned it. And I’ll tell you this; they could torture me for the next ten years and I wouldn’t tell them anything about Sir Anthony. I love Beth like a sister, and Sir Anthony was good to me in the time I knew him. I have enormous respect for him, and for his…friends. I wouldn’t betray any one of them, for all the pardons or gold in the world. How could you even think I would?” His voice had risen in anger, and his face was flushed. From the bedroom came a wail. The baby had woken from her nap.

  To his surprise Sarah laughed, and then to his astonishment she enfolded him in her arms in a quick hug, before letting him go and stepping back.

  “I don’t,” she said simply. “I don’t think for one minute that the John Beth told me about would betray Sir Anthony, or anyone else, no matter what. And there’s your answer too. How could you think I’d let such a man as you go out and risk being recaptured, when I can do something to stop it? And anyway, we have something in common that makes you as dear to me as if you were my brother.”