Chapter 5
Magnus used the table to stand unsteadily, waving away Beathan’s outstretched hand. “It has been an interesting evening, Captain. We only dined with Mr Turner on one occasion and I think the poor man wisnae want tae keep company.” His voice trailed away for a moment. “However, ye must join us again soon. I want tae hear more of the enterprises in Boston and how one might invest in them.”
I stood out of respect for the older man. “Thank you, Magnus, for welcoming me to your table and to the whole village. It has been a privilege. I am sure our paths will cross soon.”
Beathan and I watched Magnus disappear through the drawing room door. The clock on the mantelpiece indicated the lateness of the hour. “I should make my way home, I am sure you have early mornings down at Deoch. I heard the steam whistle this morning calling the workers.”
“Ye are correct, Captain, however I dinnae think one last tipple will do either of us any harm.” Beathan filled my glass before I thought to protest. “Besides, much time has passed since this table witnessed such animated conversation. I need tae apologise fur my sister’s rudeness earlier.”
Cringing at the mention of the scene I orchestrated. “Please, Beathan, the discord was my own doing,” the Scotch, wine and rich food worked together to calm my otherwise aggressive disposition of late. My mood much more mellow, allowing for confidences. “My wife is a sore topic and unfortunately it is one many do not understand. Perhaps I do not even comprehend it myself.”
Swirling the Scotch in his glass to create reflections on the white linen tablecloth, Beathan grimaced and finally looked up. “My sister possesses a good heart, however she is stubborn, wilful and far too confident of herself. All products of my faither’s indulgence and my late mother’s failed attempts tae turn her intae a lady. Phil made it her life’s occupation tae resist every plan my mother set fur her.” Beathan laughed lightly before taking a drink. “As a bairn, I watched with amusement as Phil got booted out of nae one but three finishing schools. After my mother’s death, none dared mention she attend another or even spoke of her having a season and finding a husband.”
Never having known a true family, my parents long dead and my uncle only condescending to participate in the barest of contacts for most of my life. I felt unable to truly appreciate the frustration Beathan spoke of concerning his sister’s non-conformity. In an effort to raise the other man’s spirits, I raised my glass. “Family is something I have wished for my whole life, rather a disobedient sister than none at all.”
The bleary-eyed expression I received from Beathan made me regret the attempt before he swallowed the rest of his Scotch. I did the same and stood. “I must be away, it would not do for me to fall asleep under the table and create a scandal as a representative of Her Majesty.”
Blood rushed to my temples as I stood. I had to close my eyes for a moment. I could see slight points of light dancing around before I caught my breath. I looked over at Beathan, who appeared to be in the same predicament. “I think it is going to be an interesting walk back to the cottage this evening.”
Leading the way out of the dining room, through the empty drawing room, Beathan chuckled. “Nae much of interest ever happens in Markinch as I’ve told ye before, Captain. However if you’re a wee bit intae yer cups I can hae a cart pulled around fur ye.”
“I assure you. I am quite capable of making my own way home,” inwardly rebelling at the thought of being too incapacitated to walk home. “I think the drink might have addled your wits. Have I changed into an old lady in the past hour?”
“Now ye hae put the thought in my head.” Beathan paused a moment for effect, scratching his chin and narrowing his eyes while giving me a thorough look over. “I think ye might hae an extremely bonnie figure in a frock, delicate ankles.”
A moment’s pause passed between the two of us as we eyed each other, before we burst into loud guffaws of laughter. I doubled up with my hands on my thighs. I felt tears streaming down my face. I could hear Beathan fighting for breath, the pair of us enjoying a joke like naughty schoolchildren. The noise alerted the silent butler who strode into the reception hall with forceful purpose, a disapproving look on his face and my oil lantern in one hand. Which he shoved in my direction once close enough, before disappearing back into the shadows.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Beathan opened the door into the night. “Safe journey home, Sassenach. Mind dinnae leave the road fur any purpose. The fens are full of bogs, faeries and wee haggis, nae are fit tae play on a drunk man’s mind.”
“Not to worry, my big Scot. I shall keep my dainty ankles to the road.” Beathan tried unsuccessfully to contain his renewed laughter. I held the oil lamp aloft and did my best to step daintily into the darkness.
It did not take long for the night’s silence to close in around me and swallow the weak lamplight. The moon was still invisible behind dark clouds. The snow had stopped earlier, with only a fine layering covering the ground. Merely enough to make a squeaking noise underfoot, the only other noise the baying of animals. The evening might have begun poorly, however the general bonhomie between Magnus, Beathan and me was something I never thought to experience after the death of Onatah. My sacking from the regiment, all ties to humankind felt broken and irreplaceable.
A light from Deoch shone ahead signalling the halfway mark in my journey home. The cold began to penetrate my frock coat. I thought of my winter clothes making their slow progress on the post cart from London. I wished I’d possessed the foresight to bring everything up at once, instead of running away from London in haste. I shrugged deeper into the inadequate folds and thought of the peat fire still smouldering away in my bedroom. There were even a couple bricks, laid out by a thoughtful Freya, which I could use to warm my toes. I began to walk a bit faster, careful not to slip.
A crack rent the peaceful pastoral evening and I crouched and turned towards the noise. Peering as hard as I could into the darkness to distinguish anything out of place. I blew out the oil lamp to cut out the light blindness and let my gaze adjust to the new dimness. I allowed several moments to pass, before deciding I could not investigate the noise in the dark. I fumbled in the front of my coat for the flint I always kept tucked into the inside pocket. A demand made by Hania, who always thought it important to practice good survival skills.
As the metal touched my fingertips, a loud explosion blew apart the night for a second time. Instead of burning out immediately as the first, the second blazed brightly in the distance, over the fens, shooting sparks into the night sky and illuminating a dark column of smoke. With quick fingers, I relit the oil lamp and walked to the edge of the road. The fens stretched out in murky darkness for miles around. I knew the dangers of venturing into them even in daylight, however in the notes Colonel Manners had provided for this post. He took great pains in warning me of illegal stills.
They only carried sixty gallons of liquid. The stills were easy to move to new locations. Thus easily avoiding the tax collector. A still combusting could have created an explosion and fire. This could be my only opportunity to catch a couple of criminals and perhaps have my sentence in Scotland reduced. I lowered the light and swept it along the ground, looking for human or animal tracks. I walked several yards in either direction before I found some hare prints. I carefully stepped over them, making sure not to veer too much from the bridle path, hoping the animals would provide a safe passage through the fens.
I paced steadily onward, towards the fire burning in the distance. Several times I needed to turn around and follow my tracks back to where other animal prints might be going in the direction of the fire. The night remained unusually silent despite the violent disruption. The residents of Markinch could not be ignorant of the blaze. Frustration with my lack of progress made me kick out at a clump of heather. It tore away from the earth and rolled several feet picking up snow as it went.
A glint from light reflecting off metal caught my eye as I looked for another bridle path. I squatted to
inspect the foreign object further and discovered the bottom of a boot, the glint from a hobnail setting a new sole into place. I built a flat place from earth and snow for the oil lamp to rest while I uncovered the rest of the boot. Brushing snow and frozen mud away from the leather slowly. I followed the boot to where it should naturally come to an end and instead encountering a knee.
Falling onto my backside in the wet snow, I cursed several times, stood and carefully tried to walk around the body to where the head should be located. A fruitless enterprise, the body half-lay in a bog, I stood over it, hands on my hips, trying to decide on the best course of action. I was lost in the fens, the only light coming from the explosion in the distance and it looked to be burning out rapidly. I could follow all my clumsy steps back to the road with only a small chance of ever finding this location again. I needed to place a marker here to act as a beacon.
To remove the corpse from the bog would take care. I leaned down and tried to get a good handle on the boot. I pulled gently at first and again with more force until finally the body began to pull slowly from the murky half-frozen bog water. I could not risk leaving the corpse overnight. The weather might become milder in the morning allowing it to sink further into the earthy depths. I dropped the boot in order to catch my breath for a moment. I walked to the edge of the bog to investigate the position of the corpse in more detail. With the lamp raised in one hand, I could make out three arms. It did not matter which way I repositioned the lamp the third arm remained present, not a mere apparition.
A second body lay in the murky depths of the fens. Shocked to find one man here, I stepped away and took a couple of deep breaths. The sleepy village of Markinch held some grisly discoveries, and maybe even practices. Who were these men? What terrible fate met them here? All manner of gruesome deliberations swept through my head. Did they murder outsiders in Markinch? Could this be a plot by a character from a fiendish gothic novel complete with witches and ghouls? I shook my head, trying to let reason guide me once again, though the Scotch warmed my more fanciful constructs.
I needed to get both bodies pulled from the bog before leaving to find help. I simply could not trust to let the matter wait until morning. The local magistrate must be called in and these men’s identities made known. I replaced the lantern on the ground and once again gripped the boot tightly and pulled with all my strength.
With some difficulty I manoeuvred the first body onto more solid ground. Stamping down my disgust. I took hold of the material on the arm of the second corpse’s frock coat and heaved with one great breath. It only budged a small bit. It took several minutes before the second man lay beside the first. I panted heavily, trying to regain my breath before picking up the lantern and moving to inspect the gruesome faces of the dead men. In the army, I worked alongside a Dr Mathews a few times, who used various instruments to find the cause of a man’s death. He remained the highest authority in such matters and I wished I were half as capable as him right now. From the decomposition, I could not even be sure when these men died.
Bracing my wits against the carnage I lifted the lamplight to reveal the twisted masks of the men’s faces. Though not too badly decomposed, one bore the remnants of an agonizing death, before what appeared to be a bullet-hole fractured his skull in several places, in all probability killing him instantly.
The second corpse required further investigation. The head remained in fairly good condition despite the decomposition and insects. After finding a single bullet-hole in the front of the man’s frock coat, I surmised he must have died from it. Whether the wound caused instant death, I could not be sure. I did believe both men died at the same time.
My military days chipped away most of my religious sentiment. Watching friends die under the direst of circumstances. Killing the enemy for survival had hardened me to the prayers of salvation. My complete break from the teachings of the Church came with Onatah’s senseless, merciless death. No God would ever have allowed her to die in such a way. A part of me felt moved looking down on these two men, who perished alone out here on the fens. Who lay undiscovered for how many weeks, maybe even months? The savagery harked back to the terrible raids I participated in against French civilians. Hoping the men’s souls might be saved, I repeated a small halting prayer from my childhood, even if mine remained damned.
Before going back to the nearest farmhouse or even back up to the castle in order to raise the alarm. I walked carefully around the bog. There might be clues to the reason for these men’s deaths, perhaps a small scrap of evidence could point towards the killer. The light snow made the earth around the bog even more slippery and dangerous. I remained determined in my search. I slowly walked all the way around until I stood beside the top of each corpse. I thrust the lantern out over the bog, the light shining over the seemingly innocent water-filled hole. Nothing remarkable stood out in the light. I turned on my heel abruptly, aggravated with the whole situation, and one of my boots slipped. I tried to gain purchase on the solid ground with the other, but it caught on the lapel of one of the corpses. As my arms went out from my sides to try and right my fall backwards into the bog, the lantern fell onto a clump of heather.
I hit the surface of the bog with a thud more than a splash, the cold temperature partially freezing the water and mud. This situation had not been covered by officer training and I lay facing the bruised sky, sinking by increments into the earthy grave of two unknown men, knowing that if I completely disappeared, I would never be found. The thought of my own death did not spur me into action. For the last few months, I had considered myself a person dead already, only going through the motions and social niceties required in order to carry on to the next day. I reaped no enjoyment, except for this evening, when the camaraderie lifted my spirits. Sinking a bit further into the bog, I needed to make a decision. Lying here until the mud covered my face would be tantamount to tying a rope over a beam, making a noose and swinging, all by my own hand. I would have to try to save my life in order to keep my promise to Hania. I would die fighting as a warrior even though I would not see his sister on the other side.
Kicking my feet and moving my arms only made the mud pull at my body harder. Now I had made the decision to try and escape, a panic set in. Breaking out would not be easy and I struggled all the harder, only making my predicament worse, until my body, legs and arms lay submerged. Only my mouth and nose remained barely above the surface, even my eyes became covered.
Conflicting thoughts hurried through my consciousness, I wanted to die. It would be similar to falling asleep and never waking. The suffocating mud snuffing out my life, yet the impulse to keep fighting, continue labouring for my broken and pitiful existence rode hard on the thoughts of giving up. Surrender did not exist in my nature. I could never be a coward and with one last gasp I tried to free an arm as my face sunk below the surface of the mud. I held my breath for as long as my burning lungs would allow, my hand finally freeing itself from the sticky earth. I felt the burning cold of the night air sting my fingers. My trembling lips indicated I had no time left. I could no longer deny the natural need to try and breathe and I opened my mouth and sucked in a breath of water and mud, choking and gagging, my head becoming dizzy.
I imagined something touching my free hand. It must be a delusion, yet I felt it again, something solid wrapping my knuckles as incessantly as a bill collector on the knocker of the door. With all my focus I tried to grab the thin solid piece of wood. Hours seemed to pass before my mouth became free of the murky water. I heaved and coughed. Throwing up the bog I had drunk along with the rest of the evening’s meal. I did not care, icy air burned down my raw throat and into my depleted lungs. Sobbing and moaning, I continued to hang onto my lifeline with one hand as I continuously worked the other free.
Despite the sting of murky water, I opened my eyes to find my saviour. Who still worked slowly, yet steadily, to free the rest of my body from the depths of the earth. My eyes found the head and shoulders of a small boy, the same lad who I
first met outside the Thistle on the previous evening.
“Hold on, Captain,” Kieran repeated over and over, “I will hae ye free in a thrice. Ye must nae struggle, try and relax.” The lad pulled with all his strength, his face contorted with the effort. “Yer nearly there, Captain.”
Throat burning with the effort to breath, I tried to nod my head in understanding, forcing my muscles to relax. I watched as Kieran struggled to free my heavy body. It could not be easy and with my second hand free, I gripped the stick more easily and my upper body glided haltingly along the surface of the mud. My boots and legs still weighted down with muck. My hands and arms finally reached the edge of the bog, it remained slippery, however with the boy’s help I managed to pull the rest of my body free. Rolling away from the dangerous edge, coughing and choking. Kieran looked over me with a fierce glint in his eye.
“Thank you, lad, you saved my life.” I tried to stand, and found my legs weak with cold and exhaustion. Kieran rushed to help support my weight. He might be small, however his wiry body was strong enough to help hold me upright. “Without your help, I would have met my maker. I owe you a blood debt.” I used the term familiar amongst the Iroquois when acknowledging someone had saved their life.
Kieran’s skinny chest puffed out, and he looked up into my face, with stern warning in his voice. “Its nae safe fur folk tae venture intae the fens at night. It’s why all the cattle get locked safe away in their beds. Even during the day, it’s a terrible place, just look at these two poor men.”
The wet and the cold made my teeth begin to chatter and my body shook. Between convulsions, I needed to ask. “Do you know who these men are, Kieran? Have you seen them in the village?” The boy appeared reluctant to look at the corpses. “One quick look, lad, before we go back to the village and get help.” I felt determined to know the identities of these men.
Scotch Rising Page 7
