Anxiety grafted over Gav’s face. ‘Do you think our granny was a witch?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They hanged Quin’s mither and faither.’
‘Was that because of Prissie Ramsay too?’ Gav asked.
‘Quin’s wondering. Quin’s wondering.’
‘I don’t like Prissie Ramsay.’
‘Och, she’s dead long ago,’ Regina said. ‘Mammy said the devil took her away.’
‘Weel, it looks to Quin as if Auld Nick’s left another Mistress Ramsay in her place. She’s worth a watching that one. Quin knows a wee childer who’d better take care.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t go tomorrow, Regina. Maybe it was her that made our mammy disappear. Maybe she’ll make you disappear too. Don’t go, Regina.’
Worriedly Regina screwed her fist into her cheek.
‘But we need the money I could earn. And you heard what she said she’d do to Quin. We don’t want Quin cut to bits and choked to death, do we?’
Both Gav and Quin shook their heads.
14
THE doors of the hole-in-the-wall bed lay open. The candelabra burned low. The flames of the candles, like yellow pendants, softened into amber against the darkness. Flickering light from the fire added to the warmth and spilled out shadows like port wine. The air was thick with the scent of musk, liberally sprinkled to counteract the stink of fulzie from outside. Mixed with the musk, close to Annabella’s nostrils, was the smell of sweat from Jean-Paul. She lay half on top of him, her lips moving over his moist skin. He had one arm around her naked body and his eyes were closed. He said,
‘Ma petite, you will never persuade me. I cannot allow you to risk your life in such a venture. You are far too precious.’
‘Then I will come without your permission.’
‘Annabella, I will not be able to look to your safety and wellbeing. I am an officer in charge of a company of men. I have my duty to them. I have also to obey the orders of the Prince. Women have to fend for themselves on such expeditions and it is not easy.’
‘Do you know so little of me, Jean-Paul? Do you think I am some feeble milksop ready to swoon away at the first sign of difficulty? I am a woman of spirit and daring, sir.’
‘And a damned determined one too. You do not understand the difficulties. You cannot comprehend the hardships.’
‘I would willingly suffer every difficulty and hardship in the world for you. You cannot stop me, for I insist.’
Lavelle sighed.
‘Annabella, how can I make you see? How can I dissuade you?’
‘You cannot.’
‘But your life will be in danger.’
‘I am not afraid of danger but I will go suitably protected with Papa’s pistols and I will take servants too.’
She grinned mischievously at him. ‘You will be glad of me many times, I dare say. Think of the comfort I can bring you.’
‘This is no laughing matter. It is impossible I tell you.’ There was an edge to his voice but she softened it with kisses.
‘Damn you,’ he said eventually. ‘You beautiful, impossible, Presbyterian witch. Do you not even care that I am a Catholic?’
‘Ah, yes, it is very foolish indeed for a Scottish Presbyterian Whig to risk her life for a French Catholic Jacobite.’
‘Well?’
‘Well, love makes fools of us all. But I still say it’s worth it. Make love to me again and then try and tell me it’s not worth it.’
He groaned and shook his head but his other arm went round her neck and drew her face close. And while they kissed and made love and then slept soundly in Annabella’s warm muskscented bed, outside Quin and Gav and Regina and many other homeless people and orphans huddled together in the clay-cold stair. Regina was exhausted beyond tears but so benumbed with cold she could not close her eyes. Under her eyelids were sheets of ice. Ice spiked through her veins, threatening to crack her spine and pierce her heart. She believed only one thing kept her from freezing to death. Bitterness had settled over her like a black cloud but it had a fire of hatred at its centre.
In her house, in her bed in Tannery Wynd, Frenchies were sleeping in warmth and comfort. She hated them. She thought of them. She imagined them. She remembered them. She churned herself with a head-thumping, chest-tightening madness. Sleep calmed her down, but the hating and the terror never stopped. She kept jerking, scrambling awake in a confusion of moans and squeals. Only when she heard Quin’s or Gav’s voice could she be sure it was not the Frenchies lying beside her in the dark.
Hatred writhed out from its octopus centre to grab at everyone and everything connected with it. She despised the Jacobite cause. Why had the Pretender Prince come from across the water to stir up so much trouble and cause the deaths and suffering of so many people? Everyone had been all right before he arrived. Now everything was all mixed up. There was a terrible civil war. Scotsmen were against Scotsmen. She hated the Irish, who were the same as the Frenchies in their French uniforms. Why could they not just stay in their own country? Why had they to fight for France and then for Prince Charlie? Why were they in her house?
She was still hammering herself with bitter questions when morning came and people began to creak and crack their frozen bones all around her.
‘Oh-ho,’ said Quin, rubbing his hands as best he could. ‘Quin and his childers are lucky to be alive this morning, eh?’
Gav whimpered from deep inside his jacket.
‘I’m awful cold.’
‘Give Quin your paws.’
With difficulty Gav pushed out his hands and Quin smacked them between his and rubbed them briskly.
‘If I go early to Mistress Ramsay’s, maybe I’ll get something to eat,’ Regina said.
‘Ye’ll no’ forget to put a wee share in your pocket for Quin and Gav, eh?’
‘If I can.’ She went into a spasm of shivering. ‘Maybe they’ll let me have a heat at their fire.’
Gav said: ‘You’re lucky. I wish I could do washing and get a heat at a fire.’
‘When all the Frenchies go away we’ll get our house back and I’ll make lots of money and we’ll have a warm fire.’
Gav brightened.
‘And porridge?’
‘And ale?’ said Quin, nodding enthusiastically in anticipation.
‘And milk. We’ll never be cold and hungry again. I promise.’ She struggled stiffly to her feet. ‘I’ll see you both on the Green later. If I’m not at the Green, I’ll be here.’
To get up the stairs she had to squash past and climb over the top of a tightly packed mob and by the time she arrived at the Ramsays’ door she was beginning to feel apprehensive. This would be the first time she had done washing. She had seen serving-maids and washerwomen in the Green and noticed that they tackled the job in a completely different way from her mother but that was as far as her experience went. Her mother had set great store by education and so Gav and she had spent most of their time at school learning to read and write. Gav had also been learning Latin because at the college the lectures were all given in that language. Their mother had nursed a grand dream of Gav going to college and he might have gone quite soon because he was very clever at his lessons. But the Pretender and his Frenchies had come and spoiled that too. It was they, she felt sure, who were responsible for her mother’s disappearance. They had ruined all their lives. They had ruined the whole country.
Inside the house darkness faded and left the low-ceilinged rooms shrouded in a veil of grey. Annabella was already up and Lavelle had slipped from her room through to the kitchen. Some of his colleagues who had been sleeping on the lobby floor were stretching and stirring. Others were appearing from Ramsay’s bedroom. Nancy, who slept in the kitchen on the floor in front of the fire, had been ordered by Ramsay to move into Annabella’s room. Annabella, however, had told her later that she was to do no such thing. So, unknown to Ramsay, Nancy continued to sleep in the kitchen with Big John curled up like a dog in the hall guarding the door. Now she wa
s preparing breakfast. It was later than usual because, since the rebels had entered the town, business had come to a standstill and everybody’s routines were disorganised. The fire crackled and smoke and flames curled round the black cauldron like red claws. Clouds of steam floated up from the porridge. Its nutty smell thickened the air and mixed with the pungent odour of herrings, the yeasty aroma of ale and the stench of fulzie. She did not look round as the French officers came crushing into the kitchen to sit on stools and table and floor. After attending to the cauldron hanging over the fire on its chain, she turned to haughtily push aside the men who were taking up space on the table. They laughed and eyed her appreciatively, taking in her black mane of hair, her sulky violet eyes and provocatively swaying figure. They talked rapid French and guffawed again, but still she paid them not the slightest attention. Yet when the outside door tirled and she went to answer it there was a studied grace about her movements.
On the doorstep stood an anxious-looking girl with a mud-caked face, matted hair and filthy legs and feet.
‘Mistress Ramsay told me to come for the washing,’ she mumbled, lowering her eyes, then stealthily rubbing them.
Nancy opened the door wide to allow Regina to enter. Then she was just about to lead the girl through to the kitchen when Annabella radiated from the bedroom in a blue dress flowered all over with pink rosebuds.
‘Gracious heaven, Nancy, she cannot be allowed to touch our washing until she’s washed herself. Is there any water left in the kitchen?’
‘Enough.’
‘What is your name?’ Annabella asked.
‘Regina.’
‘Very well, Regina, go with Nancy and try to rid yourself of that noisome filth.’
But before she reached the kitchen the door opened, revealing the crowd of soldiers. Lavelle emerged first and immediately Regina screamed. She whirled round, clawing at the air in a panic to escape. Both Nancy and Annabella caught hold of her and shouted at her to be quiet and that no harm would come to her. Lavelle also attempted to pacify her without success and Douglas fluttered out, holding his head and begging for the clamour to cease. But it was not until Ramsay strode from his room and slapped her soundly on the face that the screaming abruptly stopped. Her head shrank down and her fists screwed hard against her eyes.
‘Now tell me, pray,’ Ramsay commanded Regina, ‘what all this commotion is about?’
‘I’m afraid of the Frenchies.’
‘You’ve no need. No Frenchman would dare to lay a finger on you in my house. That I promise you. You’re Regina, Jessie’s lassie. Am I right?’
‘Yes, maister.’
‘No word of your mother, yet?’
She shook her head, still without raising it.
‘Aye, weel, I’m still spierin’ around. Something will maybe turn up.’ Switching his attention to Annabella, he sharpened his voice. ‘Is my breakfast no’ ready yet, mistress?’
‘Yes, Papa. On you go through. I was just going to tell Nancy to bring it.’ Then after her father had gone through to her bedroom, where all the meals were served, Annabella swung on Regina. ‘You wretched girl, do you not know that Monsieur Lavelle is an officer and a gentleman? Why should he wish to soil his fingers by touching you? How dare you stir up such a provoking hullabaloo!’
Lavelle favoured Regina with one of his twisted smiles.
‘Ma petite, I’m sorry if I frightened you. But you are quite safe, I do assure you.’ He turned, spoke to his men in French, and then continued in English to Regina. ‘There, I have commanded the others. You have no need to worry.’
Annabella tossed her hair.
‘You are far too kind, sir.’ She gave Regina’s shoulder a push. ‘Do as you’re told, and not another moment’s delay.’ She flapped a hand. ‘Nancy, see to her, and for pity’s sake hurry with Papa’s breakfast.’
Nancy prodded Regina into the kitchen and left Lavelle and Annabella gazing into one another’s eyes in the shadowy lobby. He murmured softly so that her father or brother could not hear.
‘Ma belle Annabella.’ His fingers lightly caressed her arm.
She sighed. ‘I wish you could make love to me.’
‘But I am making love to you.’
‘Annabella!’ Ramsay roared from the bedroom. ‘What kind of house is this that a gudeman has to ask twice for his breakfast?’
‘Coming, Papa!’ she called, stealing a quick kiss from Lavelle as she passed into the kitchen.
‘Nancy, have you fallen asleep? Do you not hear Papa calling? What is the meaning of this ridiculous delay and where is Big John?’
‘He’s down seeing to the horses. And the delay’s caused by French sodgers but not by me entertaining them. I leave that to you, mistress.’
But Annabella was too happy to be provoked.
‘I know you’re uncommonly jealous and I don’t care a fig.’
Nancy raised an eyebrow.
‘Of foreigners? No, it’s a man of my own country I want.’
‘A gentleman, of course.’
Nancy shrugged and looked away, afraid that Annabella would see the need and the longing in her face. More than anything else in the world she wanted to capture the love of a real gentleman. Someone who could free her from bondage and give her the life she felt she deserved.
‘Oh, Nancy, Nancy,’ Annabella laughed. ‘Give me the porridge bowls. I’ll take them through. You bring the herring.’
After Annabella had skimmed away, Nancy gave Regina a bowl of water and a cloth.
‘Clean your face and hands. You can wash your feet and legs when you’re down at the Green.’
Regina was glad to hide her face in the cloth, but as soon as she detected Nancy leaving the kitchen she hastened to follow close behind, much to Nancy’s annoyance.
‘I’ve more than enough to bother me with crowds of Frenchmen under my feet without having you as well.’
‘I’m afraid.’
‘Did you not hear what the maister told you?’
Miserably Regina nodded. ‘I can’t help it.’
Nancy rolled her eyes and continued into Annabella’s bedroom with the dish of herring she was carrying. Regina still stuck to her heels.
‘Gracious heaven, Nancy,’ Annabella said, ‘why are you bringing the little tramp in here? She has a monstrous stink.’
‘I didn’t bring her. She’s following me around like a dog.’
Annabella fluttered her hand in Regina’s direction.
‘You are not a dog. Hold up your head. Do not skulk about in this preposterous manner.’
Nancy plumped the dish on the table, then grabbed Regina by the ear.
‘Come on.’
Through in the kitchen she presented the child with a big wooden tub packed with linen. She flung a lump of soap in it.
‘Right, down to the Green with you.’
The tub was bigger than Regina and it was with considerable difficulty that she managed to stagger outside with it. As soon as Nancy banged the door shut behind her, she dropped the tub, dragged it across the landing, them bumped it down the spiral stairs. She hoped that Quin and Gav were still on the stairs so that they could help her along, but they, with the other vagrants, had disappeared in search of something to eat. As a result, she was forced to fight with the tub all the way along the bumpy, rutted roads to the Green. After much determined effort she managed it.
The Green was crackling with fires, steaming with tubs of hot water and thronged with hundreds of maidservants and washerwomen. Rosy fingers were busy rubbing and rinsing linen in the river or at the fountains. Pink feet were energetically trampling it in foaming tubs. Petticoats were hitched up, knees bounced high, voices were raised in chatter, in laughter and in singing and shouting. And all around the edges of the Green men strolled past watching. Some travellers and foreigners who had never witnessed such a scene in their own country, were amazed, delighted and not a little shocked at the immodest show of legs and thighs. But their appreciative gasps only caused the women
to kick and prance and hitch their petticoats even higher.
Regina felt harassed and overwhelmed by it all and did not know how to start, but one buxom, scarlet-faced woman, on spying her wretched hesitation, came bounding over as if she were going to whisk her into a dance.
‘Come on, wee lass. I’ll help you get water.’
Up flew Regina’s tub with Regina hanging on and running alongside it. Down cascaded the water. Up frothed the soap. In splashed the linen. Then before Regina could struggle or cry out in protest the woman sprang her up and plunged her down into the tub. Within seconds, Regina had stumbled and slithered and fallen on her back and was screaming in panic and gulping in hot soapy water, while all around her laughter screeched to a crescendo.
‘Move over, wee lass.’ The woman leapt into the tub beside her and heaved Regina up. ‘Now grab me round the waist with one arm and I’ll hold an arm round your shoulders. When we trample in pairs we hold each other round the shoulders but you’re too wee to hold mine. So round the waist it is.’
Regina was still coughing and spluttering but she did as she was told.
‘Now,’ said the woman. ‘Bunch up your petticoats with your free hand, raise your chin and start high-stepping. One-two-three!’
She gave a sudden screech as she began wildly prancing and splashing, big thighs and full breasts bouncing. Regina could not help laughing at the same time as choking and stumbling. Eventually she managed to fit into the woman’s rhythm. Round and round they went, the woman lustily singing and Regina laughing. Forwards and backwards, backwards and forwards like heathens in some primitive tribal dance. All around them women were trampling in their tubs with the same merry abandon, and steam was forming a cloud canopy in the icy air. Then, the trampling finished, Regina’s companion skipped on to the grass, taking Regina with her.
‘Now out with the linen,’ she ordered cheerfully. ‘And into the river with the water and then to the rinsing.’
The River Clyde at this part of the Green was frothing like the tubs, yet the water was cold and sparkling underneath and the washing was dipped and squeezed and came out fresh and clean. The woman grabbed each piece of cloth and twisted the water from it, strong arms bulging with the effort. Regina tried to do the same, but was such a puny failure that the woman had to keep snatching the linen from her and wringing it again.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 17
