Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  "But giving up the horse will wrongfully convict my husband."

  "I am afraid that you might well be correct there. However, we also have to think of you, and your husband instructed me quite forcefully to see to it that you are not harmed."

  "Do you believe in my husband’s innocence? Please, give me an honest answer. I know that all circumstances seem to point to his guilt."

  "Your husband strikes me as a very honest, right thinking young man. He was very open with me. I believe him. But that is of no consequence. You are correct, the circumstances make him seem guilty."

  "So the horse will just seal that!"

  He nodded.

  "In this case I won’t give it up."

  "Mrs. Campbell, let me assure you that your husband wants you to comply with the provost’s order of sequestering the horse. It is your duty to obey him."

  "I won’t."

  "It will just put you into a bad light too, and I would not be able to do anything to help you then."

  "As long as they don’t have the horse, they can’t convict him."

  "Probably not, but they can keep him in prison while they look for it, and they are bound to find it sooner or later. They will have you followed. They know that I became your husband’s solicitor on your behalf. I really must urge you strongly, in your own interest, to obey your husband and give up the horse."

  Helen cogitated on this for a while. Should she do it? She was certain that Andrew wanted her to comply. To hell with the law if it convicts an innocent man so easily while the guilty get off scot-free! There must be another way to get him out of prison.

  "What will happen to my husband if he’s convicted? Will he be hanged?" The words almost choked in her throat.

  "Oh no, my dear lady, nothing so drastic. But he is likely to be transported."

  "To where?"

  "To America. Your husband told me that is where you planned to go anyway."

  "But not that way! As free people!" protested Helen.

  John Grant chuckled embarrassed.

  "Mrs. Campbell, I urge you once more to reconsider your decision. I know I speak for your husband on this… Maybe you should visit him, so that he can tell you himself. I can easily arrange it for this afternoon. The earlier you see him, the better."

  He looked at her expectantly, while she weighed up his suggestion. She knew that Andrew would want to see her, that she too wanted to see him desperately. But this would put her right into the hands of the authorities. She was pretty certain that so far the police didn’t know what she looked like. The constable couldn’t have seen her distinctly in that dark entrance hall of The Good Shepherd. The most he could tell was that she had red hair, but so did lots of young women in Glasgow. It would also make it easier for them to have her followed.

  "No, I think under the circumstances it’s better if I don’t. But please let my husband know when you see him next, that I think of him all the time. I’ll give you a letter for him tomorrow."

  "Mrs. Campbell, I cannot express my misgivings strongly enough. You are making a grave mistake."

  "We’ll see. Good day, sir." She rose from the chair, shifted the little handbag she had bought earlier that morning to the other arm, and walked to the door. Shaking his head gravely, John Grant showed her out of the office.

  Back in Saltmarket Street, she strolled casually along, stopping occasionally at a shop and scanning the people behind her inconspicuously. She was looking for a man, not necessarily in uniform, but still official looking. But nobody seemed to follow her. After a while, she entered a close, walked swiftly some fifty feet along it, checked that she was alone, and hid in the recess of a house entrance. She remained there for five minutes. Nobody passed by. So, she continued down the alley and then by various detours returned to The White Heron. There, she found Rose in the bedroom. She gave her an account of what the solicitor had said.

  "I guess you’re keen to get rid of that horse?"

  "Yes, but it’s not just getting rid of the stallion, but replacing it with another black horse, so that I can let Sir Hugh’s stable master have a look at it. That would clear Andrew."

  "Lass, I’ve made inquiries. I can easily get rid of the horse. We just put it on a boat this very night and have it taken out to one of the islands. But it’s not so easy to find a black horse that’s for sale. You’d not want to have another one that’s been stolen!"

  "No!" Helen’s disappointment showed all too obviously.

  "Don’t give up, lass. Just give me another few days."

  Did she have another few days? Was there no other way? Rose seemed to read her thoughts. She came closer and whispered: "Lass, have you ever considered springing your young man from prison? … You know it has been done before."

  She did not wait for Helen’s response and launched into her favorite stories: "I can still remember how Jamie MacDonald escaped from the tolbooth when I was new in town. He had one of his friends bring along a lass on a visit to the prison. While the hussy occupied the turnkey, Jamie and his friend skipped jail. And you’ll like this one! Shortly after the rebellion—in can’t be more than two or three years ago—there was this Highland laird, awaiting trial for treason. His good woman visited him with her daughter. The lass was disguised as a cobbler, so-called to show the laird leather work he had ordered. The jailer heard two women scold the cobbler for sloppy work, and a short while later the cobbler left dolefully. Soon afterward the mother and daughter left also, the latter now dressed in women’s clothing. Only when they were gone did the turnkey remember that only one woman entered with the cobbler. Needless to say that the Highlander had vanished. Ha ha ha." She slapped her side with glee.

  "But I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to arrange something like this. You’re the only person I know in this town to whom I can even talk about it."

  "Maybe I can help. Mind you, it’s a risky business. Something could go wrong, or he might be recaptured and that would add to the penalty… But if it came off, it would be something to make your grandchildren proud."

  Helen looked doubtful.

  "Come lass. You could try to seduce the turnkey yourself." Seeing Helen’s reaction, she continued: "But I guess you’d not want to do this, nor might your young man ever forgive you for it… You could ask him to fake an illness and then get a doctor in to check him. You two overpower the doctor, and he leaves with you in the doctor’s clothing. But it would need to be done without the doctor being able to make a noise to raise the alarm… No, that’s too risky."

  Suddenly, a broad smile lit up her face. "I got it. Joe is going to help you for a good supply of liquor!"

  "Who is Joe?"

  "He’s one of my down-and-outs. He’s in my tavern whenever he can scrape together enough money. Most of the time he’s drunk right out of his mind."

  "But how could he help then?"

  "We might be able to convince him to visit the tolbooth with you, claiming that he’s your young man’s father. He’s quite an actor—mind you, as long as he can still stand straight. Once inside, your young man and Joe switch clothes, and you two leave, while Joe remains in the cell with a bottle of whisky. He is going to be drunk in no time and then nobody ever gets any sense out of him for a day or two. And then he is going to claim that he was too drunk to remember anything which won’t be far from the truth, ha ha ha!"

  "But he might be jailed for that. Why would he want to do this for us? He doesn’t even know us."

  "All the better. But, oh, oh, if he’s offered a few weeks of free supply of liquor at The White Heron, he’s going to jump for it, even if it means a short spell in prison. And they’d not keep him there for long. He’d be too much trouble. They know that he’s a hopeless drunk. They couldn’t put him into the workhouse. He wouldn’t last a day before he’d collapse and they’d have to nurse him back to life. You know, they can’t just let them die there anymore, and he’d take a very long time to die anyway, the old bugger. No, this is a brilliant idea. I’m very proud
. The only problem we face is to keep Joe halfway sober until he’s inside the tolbooth."

  Before Helen could answer anything, Rose rushed out of her room, leaving her in a turmoil of emotions. She knew that the whole idea was crazy. Too many things could go wrong. She doubted that Andrew would go along with it. He seemed too honest, too right-thinking, too conservative for such a crazed scheme. But hadn’t he been a smuggler twice? Didn’t he seize the first opportunity to kill the English officer? … Maybe, she was wrong. Maybe he was only so scrupulously honest with her, but not toward authority. A sudden longing for her man overwhelmed her painfully. Tears rushed into her eyes. It took her a moment to get hold of herself again. Maybe, he would jump on the idea.

  Her mind was suddenly made up. She ran after Rose, and before she knew it, she was inside the tavern. The smoke was so dense, the stink of ale and smelly, unwashed bodies so overpowering, the noise so deafening, that she was disoriented for a few seconds. Loud cheers greeted her, and several sailors staggered toward her. One had his heavy hand on her shoulder when Rose appeared out of the smoke and unceremoniously smashed a pewter jug on his head. Half its content spilled over his face. He gasped and let go of her.

  "Take your greasy paw off that girl, Harry," she yelled, and then hissed to Helen: "Out, you silly lass!" giving her at the same time a forceful shove with her hips that propelled Helen through the door into the kitchen.

  "Anybody touches my niece and I crack his head," Helen heard Rose roar on the other side of the door. She caught her breath, delayed fright sinking into her bones. Trembling, she returned to her room, trying to restore her calm.

  Half an hour later, Rose joined her quickly. "What’s got into you, lass? Didn’t I tell you not to show your pretty face in the tavern?"

  "Yes, you did Rose. I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I just ran after you, all excited, to tell you how great your idea is, and that I’m willing to risk it."

  "Oh, I never had any doubt about that. Once we’ve done it, it’ll be the talk of the town. I can hardly wait."

  "I would rather that it be kept quiet for a while, at least until we’re well and safely out of Scotland."

  "You couldn’t keep that under wraps, no more than a wild fire. Within an hour, everybody in town’ll be talking about it."

  Helen looked doubtful.

  "Don’t worry, lass. I’m going to ship you safely out of here. Without anybody being the wiser."

  "When do you think we could try it?"

  "As soon as I get hold of that rotten Joe. Not a soul has seen him the last two days. He probably lies stone-drunk somewhere. I have to get Owen looking for him. If anybody can find him, it’s Owen. He’s a clever little fellow. If he finds him today, we do it tomorrow. Best toward evening. It’s easier to hide during the night."

  "But don’t we have to plan this whole thing carefully? Don’t you think tomorrow may be a bit too rushed?"

  "Lass, I thought you wanted your young man out of prison as fast as possible."

  "Sure, but I also want to make sure that we’ve planned this to every detail, that we’ve covered all eventualities, so that if anything does go wrong we immediately know what to do."

  "Ah, the plan’s so simple, nothing can go wrong that we can prevent. No, lass, don’t you worry now. Just let me arrange it."

  But Helen had too much of a MacGregor in her. Having set her mind on something, she was not easily deterred.

  "Let’s see. How old is Joe?"

  "Why?"

  "If he has gray hair, then I’ll have to take something along to make Andrew’s hair look grey."

  "Right you are. His hair’s gray, prematurely, mind you. But we simply make him wear a peruke that hides all his hair and your young man wears it when he comes out."

  "Andrew has a beard."

  "Joe shaves, but quite often has bad stubble. So we give him a good shave, and your young man cuts his beard before he skips prison. You see, lass, everything’s simple."

  "Yes, but it pays to think of it beforehand."

  "Right you are. You sure are a smart little thing, not only pretty. So think of more things that need to be taken care of. Right now, I must find Owen and then get back to my patrons." She shuffled into the yard, moving her chubby form at a surprising speed.

  Over the next few hours, Helen made a mental list of all the things that she wanted to have cleared up: How will they leave Glasgow? By boat? To where? Rose would have to get rid of the horses. On horseback would be the fallback position. In this case the best place to go was into the Western Highlands and then catch a boat to Ireland or England from there.

  Did they have enough money for this or would she have to ask Andrew to get more cash? She emptied his purse and counted the coins. It contained fifty-two pound sterling in gold and many small coins. The amount staggered her. That was more than her father had cleared from the last annual sale of their spare cattle! And she had casually carried all this money around! Surely, that should be more than enough, even if they needed to give Joe five guineas or so.

  How would she and Andrew get from the tolbooth back to the inn? Maybe Owen might guide them via back alleys. But would it be fair to involve him? He could easily fade away if anything went wrong. So, no need to worry about that.

  Should she ask the solicitor to arrange her visit to Andrew? She wasn’t sure about this. How did one get permission to visit a prisoner anyway? She must ask Rose. What should she tell the solicitor about Joe? That he was Andrew’s father who unexpectedly arrived in town, as Rose had suggested?

  Should she tell Andrew about the whole plot? How? She would have to visit him beforehand. That would give the police an opportunity to follow her, and even if she could lose them in the mace of back alleys, it might just make them more suspicious… No. It was best not to let Andrew in on this. It might even be safer not to visit the solicitor anymore. Maybe she shouldn’t even venture outside the inn until the time of the visit. But she promised John Grant a letter for Andrew… Owen could deliver it and also ask for news.

  Finally, she searched through Andrew’s saddle bags and found paper, a quill, and a little flask of ink. Kneeling on the floor, she began her letter to Andrew, but soon got stuck, at a loss of what to tell him. She didn’t want to write about why she wasn’t following his wish to give up the horse. She couldn’t tell him the truth anyway, in case the letter was read by anybody else. So she ended up telling him little more than that she had found a good woman who was looking after her and that she missed him and hoped to be reunited with him soon.

  15

  Owen found Joe only on Tuesday shortly after noon, and it took till evening before the boozer was in a position to comprehend what they wanted of him. His eyes lit up at the prospect of several weeks supply of liquor. He wanted to know how many. Rose suggested six and he answered nine. Helen asked if he wasn’t afraid that they might keep him in prison for a while. He simply laughed, finding even that a good joke, particularly if Rose arranged for him to get his liquor already there.

  Rose made him promise solemnly to drop by at noon next day for a change of clothing, threatening that the deal was off if he didn’t show, and that they would find somebody else to do it. He almost wept and begged her to use him, that Owen would know where to find him.

  Wednesday morning, Helen sent the boy to the solicitor with another letter, requesting that he obtain a permit for visiting her husband at seven o’clock that evening. She told the boy to wait for an answer and check for any other news, reminding him to make sure that nobody followed him on his way back. He nodded and simply smiled.

  Rose procured a second-hand full peruke, a somewhat battered low-crowned cocked hat, and a castoff, straight, full-length waistcoat that was still in decent shape. Helen added one of Andrew’s white shirts and a pair of white stockings. That was what she remembered Andrew had worn.

  The arrangement was that they would arrive at the prison around six thirty. Before seven, Helen and Andrew should be out again, and Owen would then
take them by detours back to the inn. Before dawn, at high tide, they would board a boat bound for Greenock. Rose would sell both their horses and use the proceeds to pay for Joe’s liquor, a handsome sum for Owen, and the rest she would keep for her trouble.

  Noon arrived and Joe was nowhere in sight, even Owen failed to find him. Helen’s level of nervousness and anxiety rose by the minute. What could they do if he didn’t come? She had a pass from the solicitor to enter the prison for that evening. Rose comforted her not to despair, that he would surely show up soon.

  He did, just after three. He painted a sorry figure, sobbing quietly, standing in front of Helen, nervously turning his hat in his hands, eyes downcast. "Please, lady. It’s not my fault. My good wife failed to wake me. This is why I’m late," he said, big tears rolling down his dirty cheeks.

  "Joe, it’s all right. There’s still time enough," replied Helen, her relief all too obvious. Joe’s mien changed instantly. The tears stopped and he chuckled quietly.

  Rose exploded laughing: "Didn’t I tell you he’s a good actor?" and added in a low voice for Helen’s ears only: "His wife ran away more than ten years ago." Then she told Joe: "Come along now, old man, we clean you up a bit. You thought that you’d get out of that by showing up late, didn’t you? No such luck, Joe."

  He stepped back, raising both arms to his chest as if to fend off evil. "No water please. It’s not healthy!"

  "You can’t accompany a fine lady, dirty and smelly like a rancid cheese. Look, I’ve a brand-new set of garments for you… So, come with me now and no more fuss. I’ll use scented water and give you a glass of whisky afterward."

  That seemed to persuade him. An hour later he came back into the kitchen, clean-shaven, in his new outfit. He looked quite respectable, about the same height and slim build as Andrew. Grinning, he exclaimed: "I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. Thought another fellow was in the room." He made flirting eyes to Rose and said: "My oh my, Rose! You’ll have to help me fend off the ladies."