People mobbed the street and crowded in from either side. There were workmen in blue bonnets, hodden grey jackets and breeches. There were young serving maids in striped dresses, white frilly caps and bare legs and feet. There were old servants in linen skirts and mutch and plaids draped over their heads and hanging down to cover their knees. There were tradesmen in brown shortcoats and bonnets and breeches and buckled shoes. There were gentlemen of fashion in embroidered coats, wired at the hem to stick out. Coats with huge buttons and with cuffs to their elbows, and frilly neckcloths and three-cornered hats and breeches with small buckles and shoes with buckles so enormous that nothing of their feet was visible. There were ladies in ‘high dress’ with wigs ornamented with beads and brooches and ribbons and miniature ships; and ladies in long waisted dresses with side panniers and black silk and velvet cloaks called capuchins, or with a silk plaid draped over their heads and shoulders. There were children dressed like exact miniatures of their wealthy parents. There were the ragged children of the poor. There were the licensed beggars or gaberlunzies in their long blue coats and there were the other vagrants and destitutes like Quin. There were the maimed, the misshapen, the grotesque and the crippled. There were dogs barking and jumping with eagerness to see what was going on.
The crowd ran before the pipes and drums. They squashed into the sides of the buildings to let the galloping horses and marching army pass, not making a murmur as they were pushed and crushed and jostled.
The Prince, straight-backed with head held high, rode a proud grey charger that was resplendent with gold braid and many gold and silver and blue tassels. The Prince led the army along Trongate Street and then veered right and cantered down the Saltmarket.
Everywhere mobs of people were forced to separate and squeeze to each side or run on in front, but nowhere did there issue any sound from them. Although there was an excitement fevering the air stirred by the pipes and drums and the colourful spectacle, it was a silent excitement. No one gave vent to it in any cheering whatsoever. Indeed, it was only the quick action and prudence of a bystander that prevented a man who happened to be standing next to him from pistolling the Prince.
From Saltmarket Street Charles Edward Stuart entered the Low Green, then the High Green and then the part of the Green called Flesher’s Haugh. There he dismounted and stood under a thorn tree to review his troops.
Gav and Regina were so close to him they could have reached out and touched him with their hands.
‘He looks awful sad,’ Gav said.
Quin shrugged.
‘He hasn’t lost a battle but he knows he’s beat.’
‘What do you mean?’
But before Quin could attempt a reply, Regina cut in:
‘I don’t think he’s bonny. He’s got a long face and long nose and a bitter wee mouth.’
‘Och,’ said Gav. ‘You just hate everybody.’
‘I didn’t say I hated him. I just described how he looked.’
‘He looks like a prince.’
‘What’s a prince supposed to look like?’ Regina asked irritably. ‘Is he supposed to have a long stupid face?’
‘You’re terrible!’ Gav gasped. ‘If he hears you he’ll have you shot.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Regina.
‘Well, Quin cares about being shot. Quin didn’t like having his lug cut off and he wouldn’t like being shot either.’
‘He must be brave,’ Gav said. ‘He looks brave.’
Regina’s mouth twisted.
‘Och, you’d believe anything. How do you mean he must be brave? Easy enough to be brave with a sword and pistols in your belt and a whole army to defend you.’
‘Weel, now.’ Quin cocked his head and rubbed his ear. ‘He does have a brave and princely look about him, even although he has a downcast eye. Yet he’s no’ all that bonny, Quin admits. No’ unless you’re partial to long faces and bitter wee mooths. But then, Quin knows a lassie who’s getting a right bitter wee mooth herself. And it’s no verra bonny either.’
‘What a difference in the men,’ Gav said, ‘since they’ve got all cleaned up and dressed in new clothes.’
The parade had begun and each regiment, with pipes playing and drums drumming and colours held aloft and billowing in the wind, passed where the Prince was standing.
There were the dragoons, the infantrymen, the Irish picquets, the Hussars, the Life Guards, and the many clans under their lords and chiefs, and all carried themselves proudly like a triumphant army.
‘I think I’ll join them,’ said Gav.
‘No, you’ll no’,’ said Quin.
‘Why not?’
‘Quin knows they haven’t got a kilt that’s wee enough for a childer like you.’
‘Some are wearing the trews and the Frenchies and the Irish wear breeches.’
‘If you joined the Frenchies I’d never speak to you ever again,’ Regina said. ‘I’d hate you and I’d hope you’d be killed.’
‘Quin’s no’ verra pleased at you.’
‘She’s wicked, isn’t she, Quin? You wouldn’t want to see me killed, would you?’
Quin violently shook his head, making his hair spike out. ‘Quin doesn’t like being on his own. Quin’s partial to a bit o’ live company.’
‘You’re too wee anyway,’ Regina said. ‘They wouldn’t want you.’
‘Oh-ho! Good gear goes into wee book, eh? Eh, Gav?’
Gav tugged his hat down over his curls. ‘I’m a good fighter. I used to fight everybody at school.’
Quin laughed and cocked his head this way and that and danced from one foot to the other with his fists flaying the air until Gav and Regina had to laugh too. Especially when the people crushing around for a better view of the parade and of the Prince nearly knocked Quin off his feet. As he staggered and was squashed and jostled about, the children detected his long fingers picking pockets as quick as lightning. They put their hands to their mouths in fear and horror, yet they could not stop giggling. Quin dusted himself down and said:
‘Quin’s no’ verra pleased. It’s a terrible crowd here. Verra rough and common, eh?’
The cavalry were clattering past and the children’s attention was drawn back to the magnificent panorama. Eventually the Prince mounted his charger and led the army away, still without one murmur of acclaim from the thousands of spectators. Back up the Saltmarket, round to the left at the Cross and along Trongate Street swept the colourful procession, with people shrinking and separating to make a path for it, then surging close together in its wake.
Annabella was flushed with animation, all eagerness to rush after the parade with everyone else so that she might get another glimpse of Lavelle, but her companions, Griselle and Phemy, dissuaded her. Griselle cried out:
‘For pity’s sake, Annabella. I feel quite faint with all this crushing and rushing. Would you leave me in my distress?’
Phemy vigorously flapped her fan in front of Griselle’s face to give her air and then took benefit of it herself.
‘Such excitement! I hope the servants are all right.’
‘Oh, they’ll be having a good time, never fear!’ Annabella laughed.
Griselle’s lips tightened like her mother’s. ‘If I thought they had purposely disappeared, I’d have a thing or two to say to them.’
Annabella’s eyes strayed impatiently around.
‘I’ve no doubt, Grizzie, you’ll spend a prodigious time spiering when you do get your tongue on them.’
‘And why not?’
‘Why not indeed! Oh, do come, move, do something, the pair of you. You imprison me in a fever of restlessness.’
Griselle rolled her eyes.
‘Annabella, you’ve seen everything there is to see and it’s not ladylike that you shouldn’t at least have a headache after being crushed in such a rough mob and being prey to such excitement.’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks! I feel …’
‘Would you look over there!’ Griselle interrupted.
‘Where
?’
‘With that horrid rascal Quin.’
‘Those two little red-headed tramps?’
‘They’re Jessie Chisholm’s children, aren’t they?’ Phemy said. ‘I remember thinking how funny the little boy looked in that big jacket and hat. But underneath all that dirt the girl’s very pretty.’
‘Oh, nonsense, sister. She has horrid red hair.’
‘I don’t think it’s horrid. Not if it were washed and brushed and her eyes are like little emeralds and, oh, what a lovely skin.’
‘Just because it’s not pocked like your own? Do be quiet, Phemy. Your silly chatter doesn’t help my headache.’
‘I want to employ her,’ Annabella said.
‘You must be mad,’ Griselle gasped. ‘Her mother’s a thief and so is that ruffian Quin.’
‘I don’t want to employ him. Just the girl.’
‘I refuse to go near that dreadful creature. He’s liable to kidnap us or steal our purses. Phemy, I knew we shouldn’t have come with Annabella. She always flutters us.’
‘Gracious heaven, stay here and I’ll go and speak to her myself.’
As she swept away Griselle called after her: ‘If you give her any of your linen, that’s the last you’ll see of it!’
Quin had dawdled behind the crowd to examine what he had picked from various pockets and he was so disconcerted to see a fine lady suddenly bearing down on him flapping her fan in what seemed an angry manner that he dropped several articles.
‘Mind,’ he said to the children. ‘Quin’s yer father.’
Annabella rustled to a halt in front of him.
‘Quin, I have heard that you are a monstrous rascal and a thief and that it will be the gallows for you soon.’
Quin rubbed at his ear and hopped from one foot to the other in extreme agitation.
‘No’ me, mistress. Auld Nick wouldn’t let Quin choke on the gallows. Quin’s too good a freend for that.’
‘Yes, it’ll be the gallows for you, all right,’ Annabella said. ‘You’ve kidnapped these children.’
Gav glowered at her.
‘He has not. It’s Egyptian sorners who kidnap children.’
Quin nodded enthusiastically.
Annabella swung on Regina. ‘You, girl! Do you know who I am?’
Regina rubbed a fist against her eye, then her mouth.
‘Are you … Are you …?’
‘Speak up!’ Annabella rapped the child’s fist with her fan. ‘And stop rubbing at your face in that ridiculous manner. I asked you a question. Look me straight in the eye and answer it.’
‘Mistress Ramsay?’
‘I am indeed. And I am monstrously inconvenienced by the want of a washerwoman. That is why I wish to employ you. But you must do the job well or I shall box your ears. Do you hear what I say?’
Regina’s fist crept up to her face again.
‘Yes.’
‘Address me as “mistress”.’
Another rap from the fan shrivelled Regina’s hand down.
‘Yes, mistress.’
‘I will pay you a fair price for your labours but only after you have proved to me that you have laboured well. Come to my house tomorrow to collect the washing.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
Annabella switched her attention back to Quin.
‘And if she doesn’t come, I’ll know what rogue and vagabond to blame and I won’t rest in peace until I’ve his other ear cut off and him dangling from the scaffold.’
And with that she swished off again with her head in the air.
Quin said: ‘Quin’s no’ verra keen on her.’
He cocked his head at Regina. ‘It’ll serve her right if you steal her washing.’
‘I’m not a thief and you’re not going to make me.’
‘Oh-ho, no need to be like that with Quin. Auld Nick says to Quin, “Quin,” says he, “I think Jessie Chisholm stole some washing.” ’
‘She did not. Something must have happened to her. These horrible Frenchies have done something to Mammy. Maybe they’ve killed her.’
‘Don’t say that about Mammy.’ Gav’s voice trembled. ‘Mammy’s not dead.’
‘Well, why hasn’t she come back?’
‘I don’t know. But Quin’s going to find her. He promised. Didn’t you, Quin?’
Quin waggled his finger. ‘Oh-ho! Quin’s the clever one, eh?’
The crowds had disappeared from the Green and only a few ladies and gentlemen remained to enjoy a leisurely stroll. Towards the east, along the brow of the Flesher’s Haugh, there were belts and clumps of trees among which were fine specimens of elm, and beech, and saugh and ash. In summer this part of the Green was particularly beautiful, with the various shades of the trees and the spreading lawns and gently sloping banks spangled with daisies and dandelion and buttercup. But even now, with the wintry sun silvering the grass and sparkling the river, it was a very pleasant place.
Annabella stepped out briskly, showing flashes of yellow and black striped stockings as she went. Her hood slipped back and her cloak fluttered open to reveal her yellow panniered gown. She wore black lace mittens and a muff and she sang gaily to herself, completely ignoring Griselle and Phemy hurrying and protesting on either side of her until Griselle said:
‘And I think your liaison with Monsieur Lavelle both disgusting and disloyal.’
‘Jean-Paul is marvellously handsome and he makes love like an angel and you are frightfully jealous. Come now, admit it.’
‘Jealous of you?’
‘You needn’t be, Grizzie.’ Annabella laughed. ‘There’s plenty of French officers to go round. Come home with me now and I’ll introduce you to some and even give you the use of my bed.’
‘It’s disgusting.’
‘On the contrary, it’s perfectly delicious and delightful. But you cannot have Monsieur Lavelle. He is for me and me alone and, oh, how I adore him.’
‘Annabella,’ Phemy said, ‘you really should try to restrain your feelings.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Because you’re going to get hurt if you’re not careful. I don’t want to see you hurt and unhappy.’
‘Dear little Phemy, why should I get hurt? How could I be unhappy? I refuse to be unhappy.’
‘Monsieur Lavelle will not be here for ever. I hear, in fact, that the army will be leaving almost immediately.’
‘Nonsense, that cannot be.’
‘But, Annabella, they only wanted rested and re-clothed. Why should Monsieur Lavelle stay here?’
‘Because I am here, of course!’
Griselle laughed. ‘You are the limit, Annabella. Monsieur Lavelle cannot take his orders from you. Would you have him shot as a deserter?’
‘Losh sakes, the Highlanders are always deserting and they don’t get shot.’
‘But, Annabella, Highlanders are different. Monsieur Lavelle is not a Highlander. He is an officer and a gentleman of King Louis’ army.’
‘Well, Phemy, I can tell you here and now that neither Prince Charles Edward Stuart nor King Louis are going to separate me from my adorable, fascinating, passionate, gentle Jean-Paul.’
Griselle shook her head. ‘Tuts, Annabella, saying things and wanting things doesn’t make them happen.’
‘You’re right, sister, I fear poor Annabella is going to be hurt and distressed.’
Annabella tossed her head. ‘Poor Annabella, indeed! I’ll have you know that when I say things and want things, they do happen!’
‘But, Annabella …’
‘If Jean-Paul must go, then I must go too, for I tell you I absolutely refuse to be separated from him.’
‘Annabella!’ Both Phemy and Griselle were genuinely shocked and distressed. Phemy cried out:
‘You cannot mean you would leave the safety and comfort of your home and the protection of your papa and expose yourself to the dangers of travelling with the rebel army.’
‘Danger is the spice of life! To be comfortable can be prodigiously boring
.’
‘Tuts, Annabella,’ said Griselle. ‘It is one thing to have a discreet liaison but quite another to be a common camp-follower.’
‘If we were not now in the middle of Saltmarket Street, Griselle, I would knock you down and give your face an uncommonly good punching.’
‘Annabella!’
‘Do come discreetly home with me. Do not deny me such enormous pleasure.’
‘You are quite incorrigible,’ Griselle said.
Phemy’s small pocked face creased with concern. ‘Think, oh, do stop and think, Annabella.’
‘No, to feel is so much more exciting, Phemy, and to put one’s feelings into action is a bewitching adventure.’
They had reached Annabella’s close in the Saltmarket and she repeated her invitation.
‘Come upstairs and have tea with me. I have made some delicious sweetmeats.’
Griselle shook her head. ‘No, you have us so fluttered, Annabella, we just want to go home and lie down until we recover.’
‘And what will the minister say?’ Phemy cried. ‘Och, poor Mr Blackadder!’
‘To hell and damnation with Mr Blackadder!’
‘Annabella!’
‘And I warn both of you. If you tell your mama and your mama tells my papa and my papa tries to prevent me doing as I wish in this matter, I will pistol all of you before I’ll be thwarted.’
‘Annabella!’ the sisters wailed. ‘How can you be so wicked?’
‘With prodigious ease,’ said Annabella. ‘And don’t you forget it.’
And with that she swished into the close, her curls bouncing and tossing.
Across the other side of the street, Quin and Regina and Gav watched her disappear and then Griselle and Phemy fan themselves and roll their eyes and clutch their bosoms in obvious distress before hurrying towards the Cross and then round on to Trongate Street.
‘Oh-ho!’ said Quin. ‘There’s another one for Auld Nick.’
‘Wasn’t it a relation of hers that got our granny killed?’ Gav said.
‘Our granny,’ Regina explained, ‘was burned because Prissie Ramsay said she was a witch.’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 16
