Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  Rose and Andrew exchanged troubled glances.

  "The screams—was it a woman screaming?" questioned Andrew anxiously.

  "No, it was a man. It must have been the one they carried down."

  "Was it one of the younger ones?"

  "Yes, the old man came back down only later on."

  Andrew could not suppress a smile. Dougal wouldn’t like being referred to as the old man. "What color was his hair?"

  "Light brown."

  "You’re sure?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Robert, went through Andrew’s mind. What happened? An empty feeling invaded his guts. Did he try to harm Helen?

  As if Owen had read Andrew’s thoughts, he added: "He was holding both hands to his groin, as if he got hurt there."

  "Ah," exclaimed Rose with a knowing expression, "he tried to get too close to your lady and she kicked his balls. He’s going to remember this for a good while."

  "I hope she’s not hurt," murmured Andrew.

  "If she is, she tried her best to keep him off her, young man."

  "I know. I wasn’t thinking of myself. I would just blame myself if she got harmed because of me."

  Rose patted his shoulders. "Don’t worry. If he came down hollering, I’m sure she’s all right… But now we better get planning. We know where they are, and we can safely assume that your lady’s locked in a room upstairs. I’m afraid, she may be bound and gagged, otherwise they couldn’t leave her alone."

  Andrew had come to the same conclusion.

  "By the way," Owen remarked suddenly, "I almost forgot. While I was in town, I heard the alarm bell ring at the tolbooth. They must have discov—"

  Rose interrupted him, yelling: "Why didn’t you tell us such important news before?"

  "Because you never gave me a chance!" he parried.

  "Master Andrew, they found Joe and discovered that you escaped. How exciting! And to think that I had a hand in all this! I wish I could tell a few people, but that has to wait for a while… There’s going to be patrols searching the town now. So, master Andrew, if you plan to go rescue your dear wife, you must be doubly careful."

  She turned back to Owen and gave him the piece of sausage left over from Andrew’s meal. "Here Owen, you deserve this for telling me. But we better find out more about those Highlanders. How many other people did you see at The Golden Eagle?"

  "I saw only another couple of men. They were dressed like Englishmen and went upstairs shortly after that incident. I think they were a bit afraid."

  "Good," answered Rose. "Did you see what the Highlanders were doing after they came down again?"

  "They continued drinking. Initially two of them forced liquor down the throat of the guy who got hurt."

  "They’re trying to relieve his pain," remarked Rose grinning.

  "And when the old man joined them, he ordered a bottle of claret."

  "How do you know it was claret?" questioned Andrew, surprised. "Mind you that sounds right. That’s what Dougal Campbell likes to drink."

  "Ah, I was just underneath the tavern window."

  "Did you hear anything else they said?"

  "I did, but that was the only thing I could understand. They spoke their Highland tongue."

  "How long did you stay there after they came back down?" Rose resumed her questioning.

  "Oh, not long, … maybe a quarter of an hour. Nothing much happened after that. They just kept drinking and laughing occasionally."

  Rose and Andrew looked at each other in silence for a while. Then Rose ventured a suggestion: "If they keep on drinking, you might be able to sneak upstairs and free your lady."

  Owen immediately contradicted her: "No, that wouldn’t work. The stairs are clearly visible from where they sit. They’d spot him."

  "But they’d not know who it is?" retorted Rose.

  "The innkeeper would know that he isn’t one of his customers… And how would master Andrew and his lady get out?" countered Owen.

  "You’re such a smart lad. Naturally, I could get a group of sailors together to keep them in check, while you free her, but that would cause a big uproar and would just bring in the law. No, that’s no good." She seemed to be thinking aloud. "If we somehow could get them stone drunk that they’d pass out—"

  "Dougal’s capacity is phenomenal. I doubt that even a whole night’s drinking would get him to that point," interjected Andrew, and then a sly smile crossed his face. "Adding a good dose of laudanum to their wine would do the trick though. But where can we get laudanum at this time of night, and how could we get it into their drink?"

  Rose’s face lit up in delight. "I’ve got a little flask in my room. I take a bit when I’ve trouble sleeping. Mind you, I only use it sparingly. Sometimes I even slip a bit into the drink of a troublesome patron."

  "That solves the first problem, but still leaves the second, how to get it into their wine?"

  Rose ignored him and took up questioning the boy again: "Owen, did you see the innkeeper bring them the wine?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he uncork the bottle in front of them or bring it already opened?"

  "There was no cork in it."

  "So he fills the bottle from a keg in the cellar and then charges them the bottle price, the cheating bugger." She laughed when she noticed Andrew’s surprised expression. "You see, this is a common trick of the trade. I’ve done it myself. That’s why I know."

  A thing to keep in mind next time I order a bottle of claret, Andrew mused. "But knowing this, how does it help us?"

  "He may fill several bottles in one go to save time and bring them up into the kitchen, particularly if he expects his guests to drink them. So it might be possible to add the laudanum when he’s not around— Owen, was he drinking with them."

  "Yes, he joined them. He knows their Highland tongue."

  "Then Dougal will definitely keep him at his table, except for getting more bottles," said Andrew, and then added with a laugh: "And the potion will put him to sleep too. So all we need is a way to slip the laudanum into the bottles."

  "I’m afraid, young man, you must think of a way yourself. At such short notice, I won’t be able to summon up any trustworthy help, except for Owen here. Boy, are you still up to help master Andrew with this?"

  "I sure am. You know that I never go to sleep much before midnight anyway."

  Rose fetched a small bottle with her supply of laudanum and gave it to Andrew.

  "You better disguise yourself again with the hairpiece and the hat. We don’t want anybody recognizing you, would we now?"

  18

  The church bell rang eleven o’clock when Andrew and Owen slipped away from the inn and headed upriver to the bridge. The city seemed deserted. There was a new moon. It was as dark as it ever gets at the beginning of the northern summer. They flitted from building to building, keeping always in the deep darkness of the walls. Whenever they crossed over an open space, Owen first carefully scanned the area and then went ahead, Andrew following him after a few seconds.

  As they got ready to cross the wide ramp of Glasgow’s only bridge over the Clyde at the bottom of Bridgegate, Owen held him back, and they ducked under the outside stairs of a house.

  "A patrol’s on the bridge," he whispered soundlessly, as if he guessed that his companion didn’t know the reason for the caution.

  After a minute two uniformed constables passed no more than twenty feet from where Owen and Andrew cowered motionless, hidden in the darkness.

  "Nothing, not a soul around," complained one of them. "I bet they aren’t in the city anymore."

  "Yea, it’s already more than four hours since they got away," remarked the other. "You know, we never identified the girl or found the horse."

  "Well, we might as well report to the station. No point searching around when they’re gone."

  "Yea, I guess the other patrols will report back too. Maybe we can get … sleep. We sure … up early … morning again."

  Their voices became gradually more
indistinct and then died away completely. Owen sneaked to the corner of the house and watched them disappear up Stockwell Street. When he judged it safe, they quickly ran across the open space in front of the bridge and went along the back of the houses on the south side of Bridgegate Street. After about three hundred yards, they entered a narrow alley that led to The Golden Eagle just beyond its stables.

  "I’ll quickly check what’s going on," whispered Owen, pressing Andrew into the recess of a house. "You wait here."

  He ran light-footed along the wall to the tavern window and raised himself carefully so that his eyes were just above the window sill, shaded under his flat black cap. He only gazed inside for a second or two and then returned.

  "All five of them are still drinking. Nobody else is there," he reported and the next moment he disappeared again in the narrow opening between the stables and the inn. Five, ten minutes passed. Andrew began to worry. But Owen had told him to wait, and he trusted the boy’s ability more than his own to cope with any unforeseen events.

  The light touch of a hand startled him and Owen whispered almost inaudibly: "I found the kitchen. Nobody inside. Two empty bottles on a bench, but no full ones. We may have to wait until the innkeeper refills some."

  "Or we put a portion of the potion into each of those," replied Andrew, "and hope he’ll take them when he refills the bottles. The liquid is almost colorless, so that he won’t notice it." He retrieved the flask from the pocket of his waistcoat and held it up so that the light from the tavern window was behind it. "But did Rose give me enough?" The little bottle was three quarters full.

  "Is it enough?" asked Owen.

  "Yes, for a dozen people or more. You now have to show me the way to the kitchen."

  "Oh no. I’ll have to do this myself. I can enter and leave almost any place without being heard or seen." He chuckled soundlessly. "Sorry, sir, but you’d just give us away."

  He snatched the bottle from Andrew’s hand and was gone before Andrew could catch his breath. This time he did not return for what seemed ages. The nearby church steeple pompously announced midnight, and then rang half past twelve. Andrew got more and more anxious. He expelled an audible sigh of relief when he again felt Owen’s small hand on his arm.

  "I did it and waited to see if the innkeeper would take the bottles. I was getting afraid that they had stopped drinking—"

  "Not until they emptied the barrel!"

  "—but then he came and refilled both, as well as the one he just brought back, and took two to them out straight away. So at least one must have the sleeping concoction in it," he concluded.

  "Yes, that’s right. You’re a smart one… But where did you hide? In the kitchen?" he asked alarmed.

  "Yes, in a corner, behind several big aprons. You see, sir, in my profession it’s a great advantage to be small."

  Andrew had the urge to hug the boy, but restrained himself. "I’m sure glad Helen hired such a competent young man."

  "So now we just have to wait for them to fall asleep. How long will it take?"

  "That depends how fast they drink the wine. A quarter hour, half-an-hour at most… Are all of them drinking wine?"

  "I’ll check. If I don’t come back right away, the answer is yes. You wait here until I give you a signal."

  He sneaked silently to a spot opposite the tavern window, hiding in the shade of a wall recess. Although Andrew saw him get there, the slim figure simply disappeared, fading into the darkness. Time passed. Andrew wondered how the boy could keep still for such a long time. After about fifteen minutes, he emerged from the shadow and dashed into the entrance of the inn. A minute later he came out and waved. As quietly as he could, he joined the boy.

  "They’re all asleep," Owen whispered and led him into the inn. Three bodies were slumped over the table, and two more sprawled on the floor.

  "We need the key to their room," whispered Andrew. He took a step toward the five. Owen held him back.

  "I’ll get it. You remain here!" It was said very sternly.

  The boy slid silently across the room and, without the slightest hesitation, went to Dougal, just as Andrew wanted to signal that the old man, as Owen had called him, was the most likely to have the key. How did he know? What a boy!

  Owen carefully felt Dougal’s coat. The latter shifted his bulk and mumbled. Andrew held his breath. Instantly, Owen froze, his hand remaining suspended in mid air, a keen, fearless expression of an experienced observer on his face. Dougal settled into a new position. The boy unerringly reached for one of the coat pockets and retrieved the key. Dougal did not stir a bit. With a proud smile, Owen tiptoed back and continued up the stairs, lifting an oil lamp off the wall. On the first floor he studied the key in the light of the lamp. It had the number four embossed on it. He quickly checked the doors on this level and then silently went up to the next floor. Andrew followed, annoyed that the stairs creaked when he stepped on them, while Owen simply seemed to float up the stairs.

  By that time the boy was already in front of the door with the brass number ‘4’. He handed the lamp to Andrew and inserted the key, turning it silently in its lock. With deliberate slowness he opened the door, holding it still the moment the faintest beginning of a squeak could be heard. Lifting the door by its handle with both hands to prevent it from squeaking further, he opened it completely without the slightest noise.

  Then he entered, followed by Andrew. In the bleak light of the lamp, they saw Helen tied to a chair, slumped forward. She raised her head. The light seemed to blind her, and her lips parted as if she was going to say something. But Owen was already at her side and put a finger on his mouth. Her eyes opened wide. For a second, Andrew was afraid that she might scream in joy, but she caught herself in time.

  They immediately removed the ties, and Andrew lifted her up. She collapsed into his embrace, her legs still numb from having been tied for so long.

  "I’ve no feeling in my legs. Please, rub them."

  Andrew set her down again and gently massaged her legs and ankles, while she rubbed her arms.

  "Where’s father? And the others?" she asked.

  "We drugged them, slipped laudanum into their wine. They’re soundly asleep downstairs, including the innkeeper."

  She giggled. "Father will be mad as hell! He promised that I won’t get away this time… Ah, my legs and arms begin to tingle."

  "Ready then?" he whispered.

  She nodded and rose gingerly, holding on to him. Owen was already waiting at the door with the oil lamp.

  "Wait, my handbag," she whispered, went back to fetch it from the table. After leaving the room, he locked the bolt again and flitted down the stairs. Helen and Andrew followed slowly, trying to limit the creaking of the wooden steps. When they reached the ground floor, the boy was waiting at the bottom. Andrew put the oil lamp back on its bracket.

  Helen surveyed the five bodies around the table with trepidation, but Dougal and his company were sound asleep. He and the innkeeper snored intermittently. It was rather disconcerting, and Helen startled each time. Owen grinned and said: "I put the key back into the old man’s coat pocket. They won’t know how their little bird flew away."

  Helen smiled. Spontaneously, she bent down and gave him a silent kiss. "You called me a little bird, you cheeky fellow," she whispered in his ear.

  He seemed embarrassed and wiped the spot on the cheek she had touched, but then returned her smile.

  They left the Golden Eagle the same way they had come. Before reaching the bridge, Owen told Andrew and Helen to wait in the shelter of a stable while he would check out whether all was clear.

  It was pitch black. Andrew had his arms around Helen, holding her close, feeling her warmth. He found her lips and they kissed with barely suppressed passion. Both were in a strange frame of mind, relieved to be together again, stimulated by their closeness, apprehensive that her folks might suddenly reappear, anxious about getting away from the Glasgow police.

  "I love you," he whispered. "I felt so
rotten when I left you in the clutches of your father."

  "I tried to signal to you."

  "That’s what I thought, but I wasn’t sure. It would have been stupid to try anything then. They would have overpowered me quickly."

  "I knew you would come and rescue me. I just didn’t expect it today. I thought it would be safer once they took me out of the city. But I forgot about Owen. He’s such a clever little fellow."

  "Yes, he did it largely alone. He found out where your folks stayed, and then Rose and I figured out a plan, and he executed it. I just tagged along and was probably in his way," whispered Andrew.

  "I’m glad you came along. They think that you’re still in prison and will be deported. Father said that our marriage wasn’t valid since you were arrested on the wedding day, … before it could be consummated."

  Her torso, pressed hard against Andrew’s, shook lightly as she chuckled. They kissed again, neither wanting to stop.

  "He said he would find a minister who would annul it and then wed Robert and me… I would have killed myself before."

  "Don’t say things like this. I want you alive… Did Robert hurt you when he came up to your room?"

  "How do you know he came?"

  "Owen saw it."

  "No, I didn’t get hurt, just frightened. He wanted to rape me, so I kneed him."

  "That’s what Rose guessed."

  "She told me how to do it." Helen chuckled again soundlessly.

  Andrew held her closer.

  "The jailers have discovered that I escaped, and patrols are combing the city. This is why we have to be so careful."

  "Are you proud of me for springing you from prison?"

  "Yes Helen. I’m very proud of you and very grateful. This will be something to tell our grandchildren!"

  "Rose said that too. Oh Andrew, I love you."

  They played with each other’s lips languorously for a while.

  "Who’s the other young fellow?" asked Andrew.

  "Fergus Drummond. Don’t you remember him."

  "Ah, yes. He was the one who showed me the stallion."

  "Robert bragged how he and Fergus had such a big laugh when they discovered that you were going to be convicted for the crime of my cousins."