‘What is it now, Kate?’
‘It’s Jessie’s lassie.’
Without hesitation Letitia shot out a hand and cuffed Regina on the head and face.
‘Steal my fine linen, would you?’
‘I didn’t! I didn’t!’ Regina sobbed.
She cuffed her again.
‘Well, where is it? And where’s your mother?’
‘I don’t know. She never came home and I don’t know what to do. I’ve no money and I was hoping you’d give me work. I’d work very hard. I promise.’
‘Your mother promised to hurry straight back with my linen. But did she? No, she did not.’
Kate punched Regina’s back, making her stagger off balance.
‘The nerve of it! Coming to oor door like that.’
Letitia said: ‘The pillory’s the place for her and her thieving mother.’
Regina’s sobs heightened to wails of terror.
‘Oh, please, please. I didn’t steal anything and I don’t know where my mammy is, but if I find out I’ll tell you. I promise. I promise!’
‘You’d better,’ said Letitia, cuffing her again. ‘If you don’t keep that promise it’s the pillory for you or the stake, like your wicked old witch of a granny. Now get out of my sight.’
The door was opened and Regina hurled outside to land on her back on the floor. She cowered there too terrified to move until the door crashed shut and there was silence. Boxes lay about the landing among mountains of dirty newspapers. Somewhere a rat rustled. Regina struggled up, rubbing at her eyes. She felt heartbroken at having to go and disappoint Gav by confessing her failure and she tried, as she made her way slowly downstairs, to think of some other solution to their problems. But everything had swelled to such terrifying proportions that her mind kept fuzzing as if it were filled with balls of wool. Then when she reached the foot of the stairs Gav was not there.
‘Gav?’
She ran outside, this way and that, round in a circle then back to the stairs. She began to sob.
‘Gav, where are you? Don’t play games. I’m frightened.’
She climbed up to the top of the stairs and ran back down and out to the back close. She flew up and down all the other stairways in the yard all the time, calling his name. Then through the narrow entry alongside the warehouse under the arch and out on to Trongate Street. Still there was neither sight nor sound of him. She ran down Candleriggs Street and back to Trongate Street and then stopped. Her heart seemed to have multiplied a thousandfold and was drumming mercilessly in every part of her. She could hardly breathe.
Unable to cope with the idea that she could be alone or that any harm had come to her brother she made up her mind that he must have felt hungry and gone to Tannery Wynd to fetch the bannocks he had spoken of.
‘I’ll box your ears for you when I catch you,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You’ll howl and bubble and greet today, all right.’
She wondered if she ought to go back to the Halyburtons’ stairway and wait for him or if she ought to walk towards the Cross and meet him halfway. She decided to start walking. In a secret chamber of her mind the thought that Gav was being held prisoner at the house grew like an ominous shadow and blurred her vision everywhere she looked. At the Cross she loitered, every now and again rubbing one bare foot against her leg, or a clenched fist into her eyes.
Rain had begun to smir across the city and the sun which had earlier dappled the buildings now retreated behind black clouds. Regina shivered and drew her cape tighter round her. She peered down Saltmarket Street and up High Street. It was like a Sabbath day. No one was walking the streets and an almost complete silence prevailed. Reluctantly she started walking again, this time past the Cross and along Gallowgate Street. She hesitated once more when she reached Tannery Wynd. Oh, she would box his ears for him like he had never had them boxed before. It was not fair of him to torment her like this. She quickened her pace along the narrow lane, flicking nervous glances in all directions in case Spider was watching in one of the doorways or behind one of the dunghills to bite her. But she reached the cottage unharmed and pushed at the door. It opened to reveal a crowd of French and Irish soldiers. There was a shout when they saw her and before she could turn and make her escape one of them grabbed her and pulled her inside.
‘Let go of me. Let go of me!’ Regina screamed and kicked and struggled as hard as she could, but the man just laughed and called out something in French.
The doors of the hole-in-the-wall bed had opened to reveal Jeannie and another soldier. Both were naked.
‘Oh, there you are, pet.’
Jeannie pushed the naked soldier aside, and slithered from the bed, pulling on her skirt.
‘I wondered where you’d gone. I worried and worried.’
‘Where’s my wee brother?’
‘He disappeared as well, pet, and that robber Quin. You don’t want anything to do with a man like that, pet. He robs a poor lassie instead of helping her with a wee bit money.’
‘I’ll have to go and look for my wee brother.’
‘Och, there’s plenty of time, pet. Tell me something. Have you got any money?’
‘No.’
‘And now that your mammy’s gone you’ll need some to buy food. Is that right, pet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, pet, this big soldier man’s got money. So if you just be nice to him and let him do what he wants he’ll give you all that you need.’
Suddenly one of the other men lurched forward.
‘It’s an Irishman she’ll be having first, not a French fop.’
Another pushed him aside.
‘Quite right, Michael—this Irishman!’
Others staggered towards Regina with drunken leering faces and loose mouths and hands outstretched. Suddenly the Frenchman who had a grip of her pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the rest.
‘Après moi!’ he snarled at them before hoisting Regina up with his other hand and tossing her into the bed. Then he climbed in and shut the wooden doors. Darkness enclosed her and she withered back against the wall, able only to squeeze out small animal noises.
8
IT was the ‘four hours’, the time when Glasgow ladies entertained their ‘cummers’ or afternoon visitors.
Annabella handed round the delicate teacups to the French officers. The dishes had come all the way from China and she was extremely proud of them. Like all the other ladies who owned teacups and saucers, she did not allow the servants to touch them but carefully washed the china herself after her guests had departed and packed them away in a chest.
‘The minister and others tell me that tea is a wicked drug,’ she said. ‘And as I do not wish to do you any harm, gentlemen, I suggest you take a little whisky in it to correct the bad effects. Will you translate for the benefit of your friends, Monsieur Lavelle?’
‘It is not necessary. They understand most of what is said although they cannot speak the language.’
The whisky bottle was passed around, then the mixture tasted with sighs of appreciation.
‘Pray continue, monsieur,’ Annabella encouraged. ‘I am prodigiously entertained by your adventures on the way to England.’
‘Merci, mademoiselle. Maintenant, where were we? Ah, yes, Edinburgh. Dragoons came to intercept us at Coltbridge. Dragoons and a few students ventured outside Edinburgh’s walls. The rest of the timid citizens had slunk into the lanes and houses. The dragoons lined up, but as soon as a few Jacobite gentlemen rode towards them and fired their pistols the horsemen took to flight and did not cease their ignoble retreat till many miles distant.’
‘Laud’s sakes!’ Annabella exclaimed. ‘Such a thing could never have happened in Glasgow.’
‘The citizens of Edinburgh, they trembled, mademoiselle, and eagerly surrendered. And next day as Prince Charles Edward came on horseback towards Holyrood Palace the crowds to see him were huge, some trying to kiss his clothes or touch his hand.’
‘The gentleman must be uncommonly
attractive.’
Lavelle nonchalantly raised his shoulders.
‘He is a slender young fellow, almost five feet ten or six feet high. He has a long face and large eyes and reddish hair. He is dignified and gracious but he has changed a lot since we marched into England. Then he was most elated and mixed freely and spoke much to the men. Even attempting words and phrases in Gaelic. But he has never recovered from the acuteness of his disappointment at not marching in and capturing the city of London. He was most set on reaching St James’s Palace. All day he argued with the chiefs, I remember, and especially with Lord George Murray. My Lord Murray kept reminding the Prince that they had barely five thousand men and although so far they had outmanoeuvred the King’s armies, nevertheless upwards of thirty thousand men were fast closing in on them. And of course the populace was hostile as well.’ Lavelle sighed. ‘But nothing would sway the Prince from his resolve. He believes his clansmen are absolutely invincible, mademoiselle. He believes too in the divine right of his cause and to boot he is a very stubborn fellow. I remember him crying out, “I would rather be twenty feet under the earth than turn back now, gentlemen”.’ Lavelle shrugged again. ‘But Lord Murray is stubborn too and he and all the chiefs outvoted the Prince. I do not know who was right but the clansmen were very angry. The Prince has great charm and the men would have followed him even into London.’
‘No doubt he used his charm to great advantage with the Edinburgh ladies,’ Annabella said.
‘Ah, Edinburgh! What a splendid ball there was at Holyrood Palace. What a scene! All the rank and fashion of the town and all the Jacobite nobility were there. But that was nothing compared to the enthusiasm of the populace when we returned after the battle of Prestonpans. That was where Sir John Cope’s men ran like rabbits.’ He laughed loudly. ‘I cannot blame them. Those Scottish pipes droning weird, wild, agonising strains are enough to make any man wish to run.’
Annabella rapped him playfully on the knee with her long fan.
‘I am tempted, sir, not to believe one single word you tell me.’
‘Ah, sincerely, mademoiselle. In a very few minutes the whole army, with horse and foot, were put to flight. And not one of us had to load our pieces again and not one bayonet was stained with blood. And when, two days later, we returned to Edinburgh the acclamations of the populace were vociferous. Even in the church the minister prayed …’ The Frenchman clasped his hands together and mimicked a supplicating tone. ‘As to this young person who has come among us seeking an earthly crown, so then in Thy mercy send him a Heavenly one.’
Annabella giggled.
‘You are a disrespectful, impertinent rascal, monsieur, but mightily entertaining. Tell me about the festivities.’
‘They cajoled the Prince. They sang to him, drank to him, danced to him. Ah, what festivities and parades and dances there were in Edinburgh. But the strange thing was, mademoiselle, that while rousing romantic sentiment and enthusiasm in others the Prince displayed little himself. “They are my beauties,” he said pointing to a huge bearded Highland sentinel, when reproached with indifference to his fair admirers.’
Annabella rolled her eyes.
‘Gracious heaven! What kind of man is this?’
‘A brave man, mademoiselle. A man with surprising physical endurance. If you had seen him at his best on the march down through England, stoutly walking the rough roads, in lashing wind and wet and cold, sharing the poor fare of the Highlanders, yet always in good humour and full of inspiring confidence, you could not but admire him. In his Highland garb he marched at the head of his column, while he put old Lord Pitsligo in his carriage. He lay down to sleep every night without undressing and by four o’clock in the morning he was up once more.’
‘I am impressed.’
‘Then when he rides into Glasgow I hope you will be out on the street fluttering your handkerchief and raising huzzas of welcome, mademoiselle.’
‘I fear I must dash your hopes, sir, because indeed I will not put one foot outside.’
‘But …’
She eyed him with provocative amusement.
‘I might notice your prince from my window. If I am not too busy doing something else.’
‘Your prince, mademoiselle! I am a Frenchman, a loyal subject of King Louis.’
‘A Popish prince cannot have the allegiance of a Glasgow Presbyterian, sir. You will soon find that Glasgow is a mightily different city from Edinburgh.’ She swooped open her fan. ‘Glasgow is a solemn, sanctimonious Presbyterian bore of a place.’
The men roared with laughter and Lavelle said:
‘Non, non! I cannot believe you. How could any place be boring, mademoiselle, when you are here?’
‘Gracious heaven, even I am weighed down at times. I ache to be far away from here. I long for exciting adventures and diversions and for the lively, interesting company of charming people who know how to enjoy life.’ She fluttered her lashes at him and added: ‘Like yourself!’
The other officers raised noisy whoops and nudged Lavelle and spoke in rapid French interspersed with ripples of laughter.
Annabella sipped her tea with dignified unconcern.
‘Believe me, gentlemen, if you had suffered a Glasgow Sunday you would not be in the least surprised at my words. Silence is like a suffocating blanket over the place. Not even a dog dare bark and the inquisitors, or bum-baillies as they’re sometimes called, poke and pry round every corner and into every house. I tell you the truth, sirs, they have you before the Kirk Sessions for combing your hair. And losh and lovandie!’ She rolled her eyes and flung up her hands. ‘For humming a merry tune they say you are kowtowing with the devil and are destined to burn for ever and ever in the pit!’
‘I think at heart you are no Presbyterian, mademoiselle.’
‘At heart, monsieur, I am just a woman.’
Lavelle tossed kisses from his fingertips. ‘A beautiful woman. An enchanting woman. A woman of spirit.’
‘Of course!’
Lavelle laughed and shook his head.
* * *
Gav had been squatting in the corner of the stairs where Regina left him when he heard a piper tune up. He wondered if this meant that more Highlanders were marching into town. Curiosity eventually overcame him and he slipped through the archway to the front of Locheid’s Land. Cautiously he peeped out. All that could be seen was a lone piper, a ragged Highlander playing a lament to himself across the road. Gav glowered at the man’s pathetic and unkempt appearance; the matted hair, the scarred and naked body covered only by a filthy plaid looped up between his legs, the bare feet swollen and misshapen with mud and dung. It was such a different picture from the Highlanders his mother had always described, he felt cheated and bitter. Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets he dug moodily at the ground with his heel. Then suddenly he was startled into awareness by a hand grabbing him by the lapels and a one-eyed lumpy face framed with hair like strands of wet wool.
‘Auld Nick was verra angry at Quin. “Quin,” says he, “Quin, you shouldn’t trust folks like that. That was verra foolish of you to go upstairs and leave them childers by themselves.” ’
‘Let go of me!’ Gav punched and kicked as hard as he could. ‘I’m not going to beg for you every day. Beg for yourself!’ With a determined wriggle he managed to free himself and race across the road and down King Street.
King Street ran parallel with and between Saltmarket and Stockwell Street but the King Street tenements were of different heights. Some were only tiny thatched hovels and most of the buildings were divided by large stretches of waste ground. Gav had no sooner entered the street when he regretted his rash choice of direction. The waste ground afforded him no cover and he was forced to continue his flight. King Street led into Briggait, but instead of going right down on to the bridge he cut off at the narrow lane called the Goose Dubs which brought him on to Stockwell Street. There he stopped for breath and dared to glance back. Much to his relief it was as he hoped, he had proved himself faster o
n his feet than Quin who was nowhere to be seen. Indeed that was the strange thing. Nobody was to be seen. Choking for breath, Gav wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He felt uneasy, as if he and Quin were the only people left in the world and now even Quin had gone.
He tugged his hat defiantly down over his springy curls and marched up Stockwell Street. Turning back at Trongate Street at last, he squinted round the corner to see if there were any signs of Regina. There was no one at Locheid’s Land. She was taking an awful long time at Mistress Halyburton’s. But, of course, she might be waiting for him at the back on the stairs where she had left him. He wondered if it was wise to risk walking along the deserted Trongate to Locheid’s Land. Yet what else could he do? He sniffed, rubbed his nose with his sleeve and marched round the corner and across the road. He was nearing Candleriggs when suddenly Quin leapt out from behind one of the pillars of the Guard House.
‘Quin’s legs are no’ as fast as yours, eh? But he’s wily.’
‘I’ve to meet my sister. She’s waiting for me in Locheid’s Land. So let go of me.’
‘Locheid’s Land, eh? No’ half a dozen steps along the road. Quin’s coming.’
He cantered along, keeping a firm grip of Gav’s ear and making the child run and stumble alongside him. In the back close he said:
‘Weel, where’s the lassie, eh?’ He gave a vicious twist at the ear, making Gav howl in pain. ‘Tell Quin.’
‘She was upstairs at Mistress Halyburton’s asking for work. She must still be there.’
‘Oh-ho, Quin knows auld Kate. Auld Tam Bogle as well. Upstairs.’
He pushed and pulled and twisted at Gav until they had reached the Halyburtons’ door. Gav’s lips were trembling and he bit at them in an effort to stop himself from bursting into tears.
The bent iron door-pin rasped round and round until the door opened and revealed an old crone with a hump on her back that twisted her forward and to one side. She had a long nose with a black wart on the end that nearly met her chin.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 10
