‘Come on then,’ Gav urged. ‘It won’t take long from here.’
Past the Tolbooth they went, scampering and skipping, Regina’s green cloak and long auburn hair swirling about. Gav kept disappearing into his man-sized jacket and hat. Quin’s shoulders jerked up and down and his coat-tails whisked from side to side. Past the Cross and along Gallowgate Street. Then Tannery Wynd at last. They stopped to get their breath for a minute and then were just about to break into a run when they heard a moaning sound coming from just inside the lane. A pale moon revealed a woman on her hands and knees crawling along beside one of the dunghills.
‘It’s the woman the hangman was whipping,’ Regina said.
‘Come on, Regina,’ Gav pleaded. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Quin’s seen a few harlots whipped,’ Quin said.
Regina bit her lip. Distress mounted inside her at the sight of the woman until she could hardly bear the pain of looking at her. Yet she could not tear her eyes away.
‘Shouldn’t we help her?’
‘She wouldn’t help us,’ Gav protested. ‘She’s never helped us.’
Quin said: ‘Never did Quin any good either.’
‘Come on, Regina.’
They broke into a run and Regina ran along with them but stopped and impulsively hurried back after only a few seconds. She bent down and caught the woman by the arm.
‘Can you walk if I help you?’ She struggled to hoist her up, at the same time trying to be as gentle as possible. ‘Here, lean on me. You’ll be all right once you get home.’
The tousled head screwed round. ‘You’re the washerwoman’s lassie.’
‘Regina Chisholm.’
‘I’m Jeannie.’
‘We won’t be long. Just keep leaning on me.’
‘Regina. My, that’s a bonny name. You’re a bonny big lassie.’
‘I’m not very big for my age.’
‘What age are you, pet?’
‘Twelve.’
‘My, oh, my.’ She winced with pain and Regina winced in sympathy.
‘Are you all right? We’re nearly there.’
She could hear Gav battering on the door and shouting: ‘Mammy! Mammy!’
When she reached the house Gav called to her broken-heartedly:
‘Regina. She’s not in again.’
Regina felt frightened and the closeness of the other woman did nothing to comfort her.
‘Quin is a dab hand at opening doors,’ Quin said. ‘What do you think of that, eh? What if Quin could open this door?’
‘Could you?’ Gav’s voice cheered a little. ‘Well, go on. Try!’
Regina said to Jeannie: ‘Do you think you could get up the stairs by yourself?’ She had no desire to go any further. Jeannie was helpless with pain but upstairs Regina knew there would be two other women both hale and hearty and perhaps a crowd of men as well.
‘Has your mammy gone away and left you, pet?’ Jeannie avoided Regina’s eyes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Never mind, come on up to me and I’ll give you a nice sup of ale.’
‘A nice sup of ale?’ Quin said. ‘Quin would enjoy that.’
Gav pulled impatiently at Quin’s sleeve. ‘Open the door before Spider comes and bites us. He’s always biting me.’
Jeannie got down on her hands and knees on the stairs and started to climb slowly and painfully.
‘You’re all welcome, I’m sure. I’m just away up and pour some ale ready.’
Quin fumbled with the lock on the door, and heaved his shoulder against it until it burst open.
‘What did Quin tell you?’
He did a triumphant little dance before following Regina and Gav inside. Regina fastened the door again. The room was in darkness except for a feeble patch of moonlight that the window allowed to filter in. Her heart began to race and stumble about. She could hardly breathe.
Quin looked like a creature from hell with the moon ghosting his torn flesh and huge bump instead of an eye.
‘Oh-ho,’ he said. ‘Now for some fun, eh?’
Jessie had been sleeping and now early-morning light sparkling through the trees like a river upside down made her stir. Her face and eyes were sticky with dried blood from the cut on her head and she rubbed at herself and looked around for her crutch. Spying it eventually among some bushes, she crawled and hauled herself towards it.
Flora had wakened too and was yawning and scratching herself.
Jessie said: ‘Where are all the Highlanders?’ She thought perhaps she had been dreaming that the woods had been packed with Highlanders the night before.
‘Away to Glasgow.’
‘All of them?’
‘All that you saw. There’s plenty others with the Prince. They’re waiting until tomorrow or the next day, I’ve heard.’
She flung back her head and enjoyed a burst of laughter.
‘It’s Christmas Day today. That’ll give these lowland traitor scum a Christmas they’ll remember. Where do you think you’re going?’ Her tone sharpened as Jessie made to limp away.
‘To the burn to splash water on myself. I must have fallen and hurt my head.’
‘All right, but remember, I can see the burn from here and I’ll be after you if you try to go any further.’
‘Why should I want to go any further?’
‘Oh, go away and don’t irritate me, madwoman.’
Dead leaves rustled and scraped as Jessie hurried along. She felt cold and stiff and her head throbbed. Reaching the burn, she twisted herself down and shivering, cupped the icy water in her hands. It stung her face and sent a dagger of pain across the cut on her forehead. She whimpered and wiped herself dry with the end of her plaid. She kept thinking of Mrs Halyburton.
‘I laid it on that field alongside here, mistress. So bonny and white it looked.’
Mrs Halyburton was thinking of her too. The Halyburton family were having breakfast at the table in the main bedroom. Letitia was in undress in a chocolate-coloured sack gown with long tight sleeves, at the wrists of each of which was a small frill of white. The neck plunged into a low ‘V’ reaching her waist, but a frill of the same white material modestly covered the cleavage of her breasts, and though the dress fitted neatly at her waist at the front, at the back it hung in loose voluminous folds from her shoulders to the ground.
On the table was fish and eggs for eating, and broth for drink, but she did not feel like touching anything. Instead she encouraged the gudeman, ‘Willie, have some more fish. You must keep up your strength.’
Her husband, looking as big and strong as an elephant, boomed:
‘What’s wrong that you’re no’ eating yourself, Letitia?’
‘Tuts, I’m that vexed. I dare swear we’ll never see that thieving washerwoman or my fine linen again.’
William Halyburton had not yet donned his wig and his shaved head was covered by a red night cap. He was wearing a dressing-gown of the same colour as his purple-veined nose.
‘Weel, weel, don’t fash yourself, wife. I’ll soon get you some more linen.’
‘Good money wasted.’ Letitia’s face hardened with regret. ‘I can’t stand good money to be wasted. Mistress Griselle and Mistress Phemy, do you hear that?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Weel, weel, Letitia, they never wasted anything.’ Turning to his daughters he beamed and asked, ‘And how is my wee bit lady and my wee lintie today?’
Griselle had her mother’s raven locks and stiff formal manner, but she had not her mother’s sallow complexion. Her skin was creamy and her cheeks a pretty pink.
‘Very well, Father,’ she replied politely.
Phemy grinned. She had a pocked face and bright mischievous eyes. Her father called her his wee lintie because she not only could sing as sweetly as any bird but also had quick bird-like movements. She was always busy doing something, sewing, spinning, cooking, cleaning, or getting ready for ‘cummers’ or for going to a dance or asse
mbly, or running upstairs to see Murn, the ailing Lady Glendinny.
‘I told Mother I’d soon find Jessie and the washing. I’d just run around and search and search until I found them and wouldn’t mind a bit. It would give me something to do. But Mother won’t let me.’
‘Quite right, too. A sensible woman, your mother. You do as she bids you.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘This is no time for young lassies to be wandering about.’
‘Why, Father?’
‘We’ve had word the rebels are closing in. I’m going to meet the magistrates and some other folk in the clerk’s chamber later this forenoon. Not that there’s much the magistrates or anybody else can do. If they’re coming, they’re coming.’
‘Tuts,’ gasped Letitia irritably. ‘These days it’s just one irritation after another!’
What Annabella Ramsay felt was much stronger than irritation. She was saying to the maid Nancy:
‘Misfortunes appear to be overwhelming me, Nancy.’
‘You mean the minister?’
Laughter fizzled up despite her despair. She put her hand over her mouth and made a desperate effort to suppress her giggles. She did not know why she laughed unless from hysterical desperation.
‘Damnation, this is no laughing matter.’ She managed to straighten her face. ‘It’s a hateful calamity.’
‘I must admit, mistress, I can’t see you settling down with the minister.’
The spoiled brat couldn’t settle down with anyone, Nancy thought.
‘You’ve got to help me, Nancy.’
‘How?’
Annabella stamped her foot. ‘I don’t know how.’
Nancy shrugged.
‘Oh, hell and damnation!’ Annabella flapped her arms as if she was going to fly away. ‘I could scream.’ She began rapidly pacing the bedroom, her peacock-blue velvet gown and her yellow hair bobbing and swishing around. In the tiny room, with its dark brown ceiling, walls and floor, she was like an exotic flower captured in a box.
Excitement brought colour to her cheeks.
‘We could run away. We could dress as young men.’
Nancy raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’
‘Yes, we!’ Annabella snapped. Then despite herself her face crumpled. ‘You wouldn’t desert me. I know I’ve been ill-humoured of late but so would you if you thought you had to marry the minister. Oh, Nancy, you cannot wish me to stay and suffer such a fate. Nor can you leave your mistress with no one to look after her. I cannot believe it.’
Nancy sighed and rolled her eyes and Annabella’s excitement fluttered back.
‘We could take some of Douglas’s clothes. And Papa’s pistols and horses.’
‘Steal.’
‘Borrow.’
‘We could get nailed to the pillory or put in the stocks and whipped through the streets.’
‘Nobody would dare lay a finger on me.’
‘What about me?’
Annabella fluttered her hands. ‘Heavens, you’re always such a dreary spoilsport. Stop worrying.’
‘Oh, aye,’ Nancy’s mouth twisted with sarcasm. ‘I’ve nothing to worry about, of course.’
‘You sound just like Papa.’
‘And where do you plan we should go?’
‘Anywhere away from this boring sanctimonious place.’
‘The master would grieve for you.’
‘Fiddlesticks and poppycock! Big John would grieve for you, but Papa’s far too busy selling Virginia tobacco.’
‘I’m not interested in Big John.’
Annabella’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
‘Oh, I know that. You have wondrous dreams of capturing a gentleman.’
Nancy stared at her. Why not? she thought. Why not?
‘You can’t stop me dreaming.’
Annabella threw up her hands. ‘Heaven forbid.’ Then she gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to do what I came in to do—wash the floor.’
She flung a cloth heavy with soapy water on to the floor, then stood on it and began to shuffle the cloth about, hands on swaying hips.
‘God dammit! How can you think of a floor at a time like this?’
‘I’m not thinking of floors, mistress.’
‘Well, if you’re dreaming of a marvellously handsome gentleman just now, I forbid it. Think of me!’
Nancy slid her a sarcastic look.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yes, damn you.’ Furiously trying to prevent herself from weeping Annabella suddenly raced across and grabbed Nancy’s hair. ‘And I’ll have none of your bloody sauce either.’
Nancy gave a half howl, half growl like an animal and made a grab at Annabella’s curls, but Annabella gave a mighty heave, swung Nancy round by the hair and clean off her feet. She landed in a pool of soapy water, but immediately scrambled up again, at the same time swooping up the filthy floorcloth and rushing at Annabella, slapping her viciously this way and that with the cloth, splattering her with filth. Annabella clawed and kicked and screamed.
‘Damn bloody, black-hearted, fornicating, fiendish, filthy fulzie.’ She managed to get a grip of the cloth, jerk it out of Nancy’s hands and swing her such a blow across the face that again the maid stumbled and fell. This time Annabella leapt on top of her, sat astride her and wildly belaboured the girl with her fists until Ramsay burst into the room and hauled her off.
‘Annabella, are ye no’ ashamed?’
He was genuinely shocked. ‘What kind of way’s this to behave? God forgive you.’ His jaw hardened and pushed forward. ‘You get your Catechism and copy it out and I’ll question you on it later. I’ve to go to an important meeting in the clerk’s chambers across the road.’ He glanced at her. ‘You’re a sorry sight, mistress. I’ll be glad when the minister’s got the worry of you.’
Annabella’s hair was tangled, her face was spotted and streaked with mud. Her dress was filthy too and hanging half off her shoulders and breasts. She stamped her foot.
‘To hell with Blackadder.’
Ramsay’s hand shot out and slapped her so hard across the face it left a scarlet weal. Her lips trembled, but she tossed her head high and refused to weep.
Nancy moved across the room swiftly and smoothly like a cat. She put an arm around Annabella’s shoulders and slid a malevoent look in Ramsay’s direction.
‘Can you no’ pick on somebody your ain size?’
‘Lord! Lord!’ Ramsay roared an angry protest heavenwards. ‘Are my sins so vile I must be punished with such thrawn and devilish women? Especially now when my enemies are at the verra gates of Glasgow.’
They managed after a long fight with the tinder-box to light a fire so that they could make some porridge. Afterwards Quin had tried to persuade them to go upstairs with him to visit Jeannie. But they had refused on the pretext of being tired. It was not really a lie because they were so exhausted they could barely stand up. All they wanted to do was crawl into the hole-in-the-wall bed and stay there until morning. Quin agreed eventually. Then as soon as they heard his feet thump up the stairs Regina ran over to the door and drew the big bolts.
‘He won’t get back in now,’ she comforted Gav. ‘Nobody will get in. They’ll all get drunk and sleep until late tomorrow anyway.’
They crawled into the hole-in-the-wall bed and shut the bed-doors.
‘Where’s Mammy?’ Gav asked in a small voice.
‘Maybe they’ve kept her at work,’ Regina said, not really believing it. Right away Gav’s voice loudened with hope.
‘That’s where she is. She’s at Maister Ramsay’s or Maister Halyburton’s house. We’ll go and see her tomorrow, won’t we, Regina?’
‘Yes, all right.’
A feeling was growing inside her that something terrible had happened to their mother and that they would never see her again.
In the total darkness of the hole-in-the-wall bed she bit her lip and rubbed her fingers against her eyes to keep her tears in check so that she would not fright
en or upset her brother.
If they were going to be alone from now on, what could they do, how would they live? Once they left the house again they would not be able to bolt the door and Quin could gain entry. Yet they could not stay bolted in the house for ever. The supply of oatmeal was nearly finished and there was no more peat or wood or coal for the fire. Perhaps staying with Quin was the only way to survive. But her fear of him had intensified since he had tried to cajole her to go with him upstairs. Her mother had always warned her about going near the place or having anything at all to do with the harlots. Already she regretted helping Jeannie. She felt apprehensive and uneasy. Despite the woman’s gentle and kindly tone of the previous night, she mistrusted her.
Every now and again the insecurity of her present situation was too much for Regina’s mind to cope with and she rejected it. It was all a nightmare. She often had nightmares. She would imagine that she was alone in the world and a prey to all sorts of hideous people and she was completely helpless not knowing what to do or how to protect herself. She would wake up shivering and shaking with terror, not even sure of where she was any more. Then after a long time lying rigid in the darkness she would pluck up enough courage to stretch out a tentative hand to touch her mother. She reached out now but there was no one there.
Suddenly panic attacked her like all the fiends in hell. She began to moan and squeal, louder and louder and quicker and quicker.
Gav woke up.
‘Regina? Regina, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m … I’m … frighten … frightened.’
‘Be quiet! They’ll hear you.’
But she could not be quiet.
‘Stop it! Stop it!’ Gav clutched at her. His hands found her mouth and squashed with all his strength on top of it.
‘Bubbling and bawling’s not going to help us. You’ll only make everything worse. You’re always the same. You’ve always been a coward and a bubbly jock.’
Gradually her hysteria dwindled away and left her sighing big shuddering sighs of sadness and exhaustion. He let go of her mouth and she managed to say, ‘I’m not a coward.’
‘You are so.’
‘I am not.’
‘You are so. You are so!’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 8
