Lady Magdalen

by Robin Jenkins

  Captain McLay, Montrose’s aide, came in. ‘There’s a fellow saying he’s a kinsman of yours, my lord. He was found wandering about. He’s armed. The men thought he might be a madman sent to assassinate you, my lord, though I have to say he doesn’t much look like an assassin. More like a farmer.’

  ‘Which is what he is, Angus. He is a kinsman of mine, distantly. We’re all Grahams in that part of the world. But what the devil does he want?’

  Montrose, though, could easily guess why Braco had made such a long perilous journey. He had come to enquire about his nephews. Good God, if the relatives of all the men killed or wounded visited the camp to make enquiries, they would amount to an army themselves.

  ‘Shall I have him sent away, my lord?’

  ‘No. I might as well hear what he has to say.’

  The captain went out, shaking his head. He had never seen the general so much on edge. It was, of course, little wonder. A few days ago, another man had come to the camp, to tell Montrose that his wife, Lady Magdalen, was dead.

  There had been no mourning. After all, Montrose had remarked in that resolute way he had, every man in the army must have a sweetheart or wife or sister or mother sick and maybe dying.

  McLay came in, followed by George Graham, who was limping.

  Montrose rose and held out his hand. ‘Well, George, this is a surprise. Please sit down. What’s the matter with your foot?’

  More than a sore foot ailed Braco. He had a big bruise on his face and he could scarcely move his right arm. His clothes were wet and dirty. He certainly looked more like a farmer than a gentleman.

  He spoke resentfully. ‘I took a tumble crossing a burn. I’m sorry to bother you, James, especially as it seems you already know what I have come to tell you: that Lady Magdalen is dead.’

  ‘Yes, George, I know. Sad news. I hope your own wife, Jean, is well.’

  ‘She was when I left. Lady Magdalen died in her sleep, peacefully.’

  ‘Thank God for that small mercy. She had more than her share of pain.’

  ‘Nobody ever heard her complain.’

  ‘That was never her way.’

  ‘She hoped she would see Lord James before she died.’

  Lord James, now Montrose’s heir, was still a prisoner of the Estates. It was rumoured that they had persuaded him to go over to them.

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Braco. ‘When my sister, Meg, heard I was coming here, she asked me to find out what had happened to her sons, Tom and Gavin.’

  ‘I thought she had been informed, George.’

  ‘That Tom had been killed at Philiphaugh, yes, she had been told that, and that Gavin had been wounded.’

  ‘I am sorry to have to tell you, George, that Gavin died four days ago. He is buried in Bellie graveyard, beside my own son, Lord John. That was his wish. I am terribly sorry, George. I have written a letter to Meg. I would be obliged if you would deliver it to her.’

  For a few seconds, Braco was minded to ask angrily if Montrose thought that a letter written by the great general, the King’s Lieutenant, was compensation for the loss of two sons but it occurred to him in time that poor Meg might indeed find it some consolation, especially if Montrose was triumphant in the end.

  Braco got to his feet unsteadily. Captain McLay stepped forward to help him.

  ‘I’ll waste no more of your time, James,’ said Braco. ‘I would be obliged if I could have a guide as far as Blair Atholl.’

  ‘Certainly, George. All the way to Perth if you like. Captain McLay, would you please see that George is supplied with refreshments before he leaves?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Braco dourly. ‘I’ve still got some of Jean’s bannocks left.’

  With shoulders back, Braco limped out of the room.

  ‘George used to be a soldier,’ murmured Montrose, ‘before he decided that he would rather be a farmer. It seems he’s a very successful one. His black cattle are the envy of his neighbours.’

  ‘He has forgotten the letter, my lord.’

  ‘No. He’s just reluctant to deliver it. Would you give it to him, Angus?’

  Montrose took the letter out of a drawer. There were other letters to other parents in it.

  McLay hurried out with it.

  With a sigh, Montrose sat down and finished the letter to the King.