The Tobacco Lords Trilogy

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘Oh, do you indeed.’

  ‘You see, mademoiselle, you know your own worth, that is true. But so do your servants!’

  Laughter came to sparkle her gaze.

  ‘And how do I compare with an uncommon serving-wench with beautiful violet eyes, monsieur?’

  ‘Ah, mademoiselle, your beauty is beyond compare. You are perfectly delicious, enchanting and adorable.’

  ‘And did I not convey to you my true feelings last night?’

  ‘Mademoiselle!’ He threw her another kiss.

  ‘I defy you to say that I betrayed weakness in so doing.’

  ‘Non, non, ma petite,’ he said, coming over and taking her in his arms. ‘You showed only passion.’

  ‘No, you are wrong again. How mightily unperceptive you are, sir. Have you discerned nothing more than passion?’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you love me?’

  ‘You talk, sir, as if you did not express these very sentiments to me last night.’

  He did not say anything and she was disappointed he did not reassure her with a declaration of love. Instead he slipped a hand down the front of her petticoat and eased out one of her breasts. She was wearing a stiff corset from her waist up to under her arms which was designed to push her breasts high until they bulged over the top with all but the nipples showing.

  Tenderly Lavelle kissed the breast now nestling on top of the green frilled taffeta like a pink rose. Then his lips wandered over her throat as she became more and more breathless and flushed. Before many minutes were passed their mouths were open against each other and she was fumbling frantically with the buttons of his breeches. Then suddenly the tirling of the door startled them and they drew apart to listen to Big John’s heavy feet in the lobby. Then a familiar sniping voice enquired:

  ‘Your mistress is at hame, I hope?’

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ Annabella cried. ‘It’s Letitia Halyburton. Quick, hide under my hoops.’ She bunched her skirts high and Lavelle crouched close to her legs before she dropped the shimmering taffeta down again. Then, not without some harassment and difficulty, she tucked her bosom back into her stays and just in time composed a bright smile on her face, and when Letitia swept in she curtsied elegantly but carefully.

  ‘Madam.’

  Letitia gave a brief nod. ‘Mistress Annabella.’

  ‘Can I ask the servant to bring tea? Or would whisky or claret be more to your liking?’

  ‘No, I’m no’ stopping. Griselle and Phemy are waiting for me outside. I just wanted to ask in the passing if your father’s found out anything about Jessie. He said he was going to do a bit o’ spierin’.’

  ‘Nancy is away this very minute enquiring at her mother’s.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve found anybody to replace her yet?’

  ‘No, indeed I have not and it is a monstrous inconvenience.’

  ‘Aye, weel, Jessie’s lassie had the cheek to come offering her services to me but I sent her away with a flea in her ear.’

  ‘Gracious heavens, I wish you’d sent her to me, ma’am.’

  ‘You would employ her?’

  ‘Indeed I would.’

  ‘More fool you. I’m away. Tell your faither to let me know immediately he learns anything.’

  Annabella curtsied again and Mrs Halyburton swished away. Then as soon as the outside door banged shut Annabella began leaping and prancing about and screaming with laughter until Lavelle, laughing too, was on top of her.

  Her earlier moment of unease when he had not told her that he loved her was forgotten. She adored him and the uninhibited generosity of her passion tossed all caution to the winds.

  The rain returned suddenly, as if clouds had exploded at exactly the same time and poured all the rain in the world down on Glasgow. Wind came too and gathered strength from faint soughing and sighing to whining and whistling, to blustering and battering, to screeching and snatching at roofs and chimney pots and hats and wigs and whirling and skirling them up to fly about like witches in the air. Men struggled with and leaned against the gale, their cloaks like bats’ wings. Ladies flustered and panicked and lost control of their hoops and showed striped stockings and scarlet garters and were sent flurrying home like ships tossed from side to side on a stormy sea.

  It sent Quin’s hair standing on end like a crown of spikes and his coat-tails flying. He jogged along as best he could gripping a child in each hand. Gav clung on to his hat and Regina fought to keep her cape from swirling away.

  ‘Auld Nick’s angry at somebody,’ Quin puffed. ‘Quin hopes it’s no’ Quin. Right, this close’ll do, eh?’

  It was known as Fiddler’s Close and its entry was on High Street. Many of the buildings had overhanging thatched roofs and were semi-wooden erections of various shapes and sizes, all huddled together and all with crow-stepped gables and outside stairs.

  ‘There’s no shelter here,’ Regina shouted against the noise of the storm. ‘You shouldn’t have brought us.’

  ‘Further on and round. Quin knows.’

  And sure enough they came to a building taller than the rest and with a turnpike stair at the back. Thankfully they plunged into it for protection.

  Gav and Regina were violently shivering.

  ‘I didn’t know there was any place here,’ Regina said.

  ‘Weel, ye know noo!’

  ‘Do you really think it’s the devil being angry?’ Gav asked.

  ‘Maybe no’. Maybe there’s just nobody in charge o’ the dead up the road at the graveyard. Maybe Auld Nick’s just having it all his own way.’

  ‘How do you mean, in charge of the dead?’ Regina asked. ‘Do you mean the beadle?’

  ‘Thon wee bauchle? He couldn’t take charge o’ himself.’

  ‘Who then?’

  Quin cocked his head down at them and strands of wet hair hung over the bump on his face like prison bars.

  ‘The speerit o’ the last person buried.’

  ‘The spirit?’

  ‘That’s what Quin said. The speerit o’ the last person buried has to keep watch over the graves, till the speerit o’ the next one buried takes his place.’

  Gav said: ‘I don’t like graveyards.’

  ‘Is that where they buried your mother and father?’ Regina asked. ‘In the graveyard up the road?’

  Her legs and striped petticoat and cape were covered with mud and soaking wet. Her face was mud-streaked too and glistened with rain.

  Quin poked a finger in his torn ear and rubbed it. Then he scratched his head.

  ‘They buried them all on their own out past the Gallow Moor at the crossroads. Quin whiles trots out there to keep them company. Auld Nick’s pleased as punch then, eh? “Quin,” he says, “Quin,” says he, “you’re welcome to come here and have a wee blether with your mither and faither anytime. Anytime at all, lad!” ’

  The wind found its way into the stair tower and tugged their clothes about and made them shiver worse than ever.

  ‘Quin knows. A bit at a time,’ Quin said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gav asked.

  ‘Quin and the childers could make their way to Tannery Wynd. A bit at a time. Shelter in houses is better than closes.’

  ‘No.’ Panic immediately alerted Regina. ‘I’m not going back there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Gav asked indignantly. ‘It’s our house. Even if there are Highlanders there, they won’t hurt us. We’ve seen them everywhere all day and they’ve never hurt us, have they? I’m not afraid of them. Anyway, Mammy’s maybe come back.’

  ‘There’s others.’ Regina rubbed a fist hard against her eyes. ‘I hate them.’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Quin knows. The lassie means the Frenchies. Quin’s no’ keen on them either. Auld Nick can’t understand their jabber. And they’ve got pistols.’

  ‘Why should the Frenchies want to pistol us?’ Gav scoffed.

  ‘Oh-ho! Why is a wee key to a big door, eh?’

  ‘I wish I could get a gun,’
Regina said. ‘I’d pistol them. I will one day. One day I’ll pistol them.’

  ‘Oh-ho! One day you’re for Hangy Spittal.’

  He caught at his throat and mimicked being choked. Then he said cheerily:

  ‘Quin will be blethering to you as well as his mither and faither out past the Gallow Moor. Och, you’ll be rare company for them!’

  ‘Regina, they must be Jacobites the same as the Highlanders. They won’t do us any harm if we explain we’re Jacobites too.’

  ‘I’m not a Jacobite. I’m not. I hate them.’

  Gav angrily tugged at his hat.

  ‘But we are so. Grandfather Chisholm was a Highlander.’

  ‘There’s Highland regiments fighting on the other side for the Campbell, Duke of Argyll. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘But Grandfather Chisholm had a white cockade in his bonnet and was for King James. Mammy told us.’

  ‘I don’t care what Mammy told us. A lot of bloody good she is.’

  Gav’s voice stretched up an octave.

  ‘You’re wicked!’

  ‘I am not,’ she shouted brokenly, and flung herself at him, fists flying. ‘I hate her, and I hate you!’

  Quin grabbed her by the hair and jerked her roughly back, making her burst into tears of frustration and pain.

  ‘Quin’s no verra pleased at you again.’

  ‘I hate you as well.’

  ‘Gav,’ said Quin. ‘Quin thinks he should give this childer to the Frenchies.’

  Regina’s sobs careered into hysteria. She lost control of her mind. It exploded, splintered, cavorted about in terrifying insanity.

  ‘I’m not going back there. I’m never going back there!’

  Quin’s free hand clamped over her mouth and muffled her screams. He cocked his head at Gav.

  ‘Maybe no’, eh?’

  Gav sighed. ‘I suppose not. Not when she’s such a terrible coward.’

  Regina’s hysteria subsided but she was unable to gather together the wayward fears inside her head. Quin withdrew his hands. Then both he and Gav solemnly studied her. She rubbed at her eyes and spoke inwards to herself.

  ‘I hate them.’

  ‘Quin thinks,’ said Quin, ‘Auld Nick’s found a new friend.’

  11

  ‘I KNEW it!’ Ramsay paced the floor of the council chamber, hands thumping behind his back, head thrust aggressively forward. ‘I said the blackguards were out to ruin us.’

  ‘Wheest, Ramsay,’ warned Halyburton.

  John Hay of Restalrig lounged back in his chair.

  ‘Think yourself fortunate, merchant, that you still have your life. It is His Royal Highness’ pleasure that you should provide his army with twelve thousand linen shirts, six thousand pairs of shoes, six thousand pairs of hose, six thousand cloth short coats and six thousand blue bonnets. And provide them you must.’

  Provost Cochrane’s pale sensitive face turned to Cameron of Lochiel. ‘Sir, I beg of you to do your utmost to persuade your prince to reconsider. This will bankrupt us all. It will be the ruination of the city. We have not yet recovered from the five thousand pounds in cash and five hundred pounds of goods extorted from us only four months ago.’

  Lochiel shrugged his broad shoulders.

  ‘I can sympathise with your predicament, Provost, but Quartermaster Hay has fixed the Prince in his resolution of adhering to these demands and it is not possible for me to change the matter.’

  Ramsay glowered round at Hay.

  ‘I refuse. I absolutely refuse, sir.’

  ‘Now, now, Ramsay,’ Halyburton said. ‘This is not getting us anywhere.’

  ‘Except to hell,’ Hay informed him. ‘The Prince said you are rebels, merchant, and must perform all this on pain of military execution.’

  Lochiel addressed the Provost again.

  ‘I believe what has contributed to the Prince’s attitude, Lord Provost, is the stubbornness of your inhabitants. He has appeared publicly in your streets without acclamations or one huzza; no ringing of bells, or smallest respect or acknowledgement paid him by the meanest inhabitant.’

  Provost Cochrane gave a slight bow of his head in agreement.

  ‘True, sir. And it is not possible for me to change that matter.’

  Ramsay shouted: ‘And I suppose this is over and above the cost of free quarters for your whole army, foot and horse.’

  ‘I and some of the Prince’s Irish advisers have much more in mind,’ Hay said. ‘Glasgow has always been a breeding ground for rebels, sir, and deserves to be burned to the ground.’

  Lochiel looked grave.

  ‘That is a matter I will have a say in. There will be no sacking or burning done in my name or in the name of my men.’ He turned again to the Provost. ‘Provost, you say you cannot change the way the Prince is being received. I suggest you and your colleagues think again on that. It might very well be if some of you gentlemen address him there could be an abatement.’

  ‘I personally decline to do that, sir. I cannot speak for the magistrates and other principal burgesses.’

  Ramsay thumped his fist on the table.

  ‘Of course you can, Cochrane. There’s no’ a man in Glasgow going to truckle to an upstart Pretender!’

  ‘Then you all die, merchants!’

  Hay’s chair clattered backwards as he lunged towards Ramsay, but Lochiel swiftly stepped between them. He was a bigger man than either Ramsay or Hay, as well as having muscles of iron. He had an authoritative eye that could not be ignored.

  ‘No, Hay, they don’t die.’ Despite the quietness of his voice it held strength. ‘They meet the bill for free quarters and they kit out the Highland army. That is harsh enough.’

  Gradually Hay relaxed. Then he gave a burst of laughter.

  ‘Maybe you’re right, Lochiel. It occurs to me that to a Glasgow merchant, parting with his money is a fate worse than death.’ He turned to the Provost. ‘We leave you, sir, to arrange the supply of the said goods with all due speed.’

  After they’d gone the Provost said:

  ‘We’ll have to call a meeting of the inhabitants. There’s no time to lose. Hay has a mind to plunder and burn the city and he might manage it yet. Get hold of the bellman and instruct him to tell the folk to gather in the New Hall right away.’

  Ramsay banged the table again.

  ‘A bloody disgrace!’

  Halyburton heaved a sigh that stretched and lifted his huge chest.

  ‘What can we do, Ramsay? We might as well cough up. You ken fine if we don’t give what they ask, they’ll just take it and probably more.’

  ‘I don’t care if they burn my house to the ground. I don’t care what they do, Willie. They’re no getting one bawbee out of me.’

  ‘I appreciate your feelings, Ramsay,’ said the Provost. ‘But think a wee. If you don’t give your share it only means that one of the other merchants has to give more. You punish your friends, sir, not your enemies.’

  ‘Aye, well, if you put it that way, Provost,’ Ramsay growled, ‘I suppose I’ve no’ much choice. But the rest of the merchants are no’ going to like it any more than me.’

  Halyburton slapped his fleshy hands on the table and hoisted himself up. ‘I’m away for me denner. I’ll see you in the New Hall in a wee while.’

  The others nodded.

  Ramsay got up too.

  ‘I’ll get you out, Willie.’

  In silence they left the room and did not speak until after they had descended the stairs in front of the Tolbooth and were on the plainstanes, the wind and rain tugging at their cloaks.

  ‘It’s going to be some job organising all these supplies in the couple of days they seem to expect,’ Ramsay said. ‘Quite apart from the money.’

  ‘One hell of a job,’ Halyburton agreed.

  ‘If we can do this, Willie, we can do anything.’

  ‘Weel, that’s one way of looking at it.’

  Ramsay held grimly on to his three-cornered hat as the galeforce wind fought to divest him
of it.

  ‘Come across and take pot luck with me,’ he shouted against the noise of the wind.

  ‘No, I’d better go home and tell the gudewife what’s happening.’ Halyburton’s ruddy face became purple with cold, but he stolidly ignored the discomfort. ‘She’s vexed enough as it is with this business about Jessie. She tells me you’ve been spiering around.’

  ‘No’ with any luck so far. Nancy’s mother saw her last on the Green with our washing. If she was back later with yours, nobody saw her.’

  ‘Och, but she never went to the Green with ours. Letitia likes ours done out at the Woodside Burn.’

  ‘There’s your answer then. She’s lying out there somewhere. Crippled as she is, it would be easy enough for her to fall and hurt herself.’

  ‘No, Letitia sent Kate to look. She saw nothing. Letitia’s been that vexed there’s just no consoling her.’

  ‘Aye, weel, we’ve more urgent and important matters to attend to just now, Willie. But afterwards, if God spares us, I mean to get to the bottom of this. Nobody disappears into thin air. And she’s left children roaming about, it seems.’

  ‘It’s a mystery, right enough. I’ll be seeing you in the New Hall, then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Ramsay nodded and still hanging on to his hat he crossed the road towards the Saltmarket. On the way he stopped and cursed vehemently as horses ridden by French and Irish officers galloped past, spraying muddy water over his already saturated breeches and cloak.

  Moothy McMurdo’s voice and bell were fighting to be heard above the hysteria of the wind.

  ‘An urgent message from the Provost to one and all,

  Hurry at once to a meeting in The New Hall.

  It’s a matter of life and death he says,

  We’ve got to supply the rebels with claes.’

  All night the storm raged and it was no better when the Sabbath day dawned. But the people struggled to church and stood or sat in their dripping wet clothes and strained their ears to hear the minister above the racket of the elements.

  ‘O Lord, Lord!’ Blackadder bawled at the top of his voice. ‘You ken fine we’re being sore tried what with one thing and another. Have mercy on poor Glasgow folk, we petition Thee. Deliver us oot o’ the greedy graspin’ hands o’ our enemies. Thou knowest that they are not worthy even to keep a door in Thy house. Cut them down, Lord, tear them up by root and branch, cast oot the wild, rotten stump. Thresh them with the flail o’ Thy wrath and toss them down to hell.