Cat's Cradle

by Julia Golding

  Her words penetrated my gloom. Perhaps my mother had intended to reclaim me once established in her new life here – it was a comforting thought. My mind whirled, imagining how different my upbringing would have been. My goodness, I would’ve been Scottish! Can you imagine that, Reader? And I would have had blood relations, a rough-and-tumble family all of my own. A family of bandits admittedly.

  Well, no one’s perfect.

  Rabbie didn’t know how lucky he was. He may have grown up in a clan whose way of life seemed like something out of one of Bishop Percy’s collection of ballads rather than our modern age, but at least he’d known where he belonged.

  Rabbie chose that moment to stump into the kitchen with his arms full of logs. With one look at me, he dropped them by the fireplace and turned on his heel.

  ‘Nae, ye dinna treat yer sister like that, Rabbie Bruce!’ scolded Nan. ‘I was just getting acquainted with the lass and I think ye should take the trouble to do so too.’

  ‘I dinna want to be fashed wi’ her,’ he grumbled, tugging at the frayed end of his scarf.

  ‘Well, hard luck, my wee man. Malcolm left orders that ye stick to her side like her shadow so she canna escape. My daft husband thinks she’s hiding gold from him. He willna be pleased if she disappears before he can settle it one way or another.’

  Nan was evidently not a person to disobey. Rabbie sat down at the table but did not offer to help. I could feel his eyes examining me surreptitiously as I chopped up the carrots. This was progress – at least he seemed a little curious.

  ‘Ye’ve asked me before what yer mither looked like, Rabbie,’ continued Nan cheerfully. ‘Well, take a keek at the lass and ye’ll see.’

  Rabbie snorted in disgust and toyed with a discarded carrot top, winding the feathery leaves around his index finger.

  ‘Dinna ye have a hankering to ken where yer sister has spent all these years?’ asked Nan.

  ‘Nae, I canna say I give a fart.’

  If I hadn’t been convinced that we were kin, his bad language would have given it away.

  Nan sighed. ‘Like that, is it, lad? As thrawn as yer faither, ye are. It’s nae fault of Catherine that she was born. Take the lass and shew her around the place. Ye can do that, can ye no?’ She took the knife from my hand – perhaps to stop me using it on my grumpy brother – and ushered us out of the room.

  ‘I’ll shew ye the cows,’ Rabbie muttered grudgingly.

  He pushed open the outside door and jumped down the wooden stairs. I followed more slowly, not caring for the patches of ice on the treads.

  ‘I suppose ye fine London ladies have never seen a cow before?’ he sneered.

  ‘Once or twice perhaps,’ I replied dryly. ‘And I’m hardly a fine lady.’ I felt tempted to shake him; he wasn’t giving me a chance.

  Crossing the clearing that surrounded the tower, he led me to a barn set back in the trees. I could smell the cattle from many paces – a stench that caught the back of the throat, reminding me of Smithfield market. Rabbie pushed the door open and beckoned me inside. I stepped in, to be immediately confronted by an enormous shaggy red head topped with curved horns. I couldn’t stop myself – I gave a shriek of alarm and backed off.

  ‘Scared of a wee cow?’ mocked Rabbie, skirting the beast and climbing on a cart stationed by the door. I quickly scrambled up beside him.

  ‘That is not a wee cow; that is a monster.’

  ‘Aye, our Highland cows are nae built small and dowie like the soothland cattle. They have to survive our winter.’

  ‘For your information, I’ve yet to see a cow that could be called small, even down south. I was just taken by surprise, is all,’ I replied defensively. ‘You could have warned me they were loose in here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Because it would have been the kind thing to do, that’s why.’

  ‘I dinna have to be kind to ye.’

  I rolled my eyes in exasperation. ‘Obviously. But, Rabbie, doesn’t it mean anything to you that I’m your half-sister?’ I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. ‘Why are you so angry with me? All I’ve done is come and find you.’

  He frowned and threw a pebble at the barn door. It ricocheted and disappeared under the cows’ hooves. ‘Ye should’ve left me alone – no come stirring up stories about my mither.’

  ‘About our mother. She was mine too . . . or was for a while.’ It was useless. He didn’t need or want me – he had made himself perfectly clear on that point. He was only annoying me and I suppose I was irritating him. Time to change the subject.

  I waved to the twenty head of cattle wandering in the straw-strewn barn. ‘So, do these cows all belong to your cousin Malcolm?’

  Rabbie sniggered. ‘Ye can say that.’

  Which meant ‘no’.

  ‘So they’re stolen – like my money.’

  ‘We’re reivers – that’s what we do.’ He crossed his arms, defying me to criticize – which is exactly what I did next, of course.

  ‘Reivers is just a fancy name for thieves. Where I come from, it’s nothing to be proud of and will likely lead to the gallows.’

  Rabbie jumped down from the cart. ‘That’s one reason I dinna want a sister – clashing on wi’ yer everlasting clack. I need none of yer preaching.’

  ‘And I thought I was being sensible.’

  ‘If ye had any sense, ye’d never have come here.’ He made for the door.

  I held up my hand, determined to get this said before he scurried off again. ‘No, just stop a minute, Rabbie! Listen for once. How could I have known not to come? I wasn’t even aware of your existence until a few days ago. I hoped then that you would be as eager to see me as I was you.’

  His back was to me but he hadn’t left the barn. Braving the cows, I slipped from my perch and approached him.

  ‘Unlike you, I’ve never had a single person in this world who was mine. Do you understand what I mean? Of course you don’t: you’ve had cousins and aunts and uncles around you even after you lost your parents. I came because I just wanted to see – to touch someone who belonged to me.’ Tentatively I reached out, daring to do what I had longed from the first moment I saw him. I touched the back of his head, feeling the softness of his brown hair.

  My brother.

  He stood very still, neither encouraging nor rejecting my light caress. I dropped my hand. ‘I’m not planning to stay around and spoil things for you but I would be grateful if you could find a little bit of brotherly feeling for me while I’m here.’

  Rabbie let the silence stretch between us almost unbearably.

  ‘Dinner will be ready,’ he announced abruptly, choosing to ignore my plea. ‘Let’s go back.’

  He pulled the door open and trudged away, taking the path of crushed snow to the tower.

  * For that pungent moment I refer you to Black Heart of Jamaica.

  SCENE 3 – REIVERS

  That evening I was invited by Nan to remain in the main chamber with the family to enjoy the fire.

  ‘It’s too cold to put ye up in the attic. Ye’ll freeze yer wee toes off,’ she explained.

  I was grateful for her kindness. I curled up in the window niche, half listening to the Bruce boys as they celebrated their most recent acquisition of cattle from an estate to the south of their land.

  ‘I say we take them to the Highlands the morn,’ proposed Willy, sitting in Malcolm’s chair during his absence and clearly enjoying his elevation in rank. ‘Their markings are too clear to risk round here.’

  Accustomed to the thieves of London, I found the discussion of their fencing arrangements for stolen goods very familiar. It might be cows rather than silk wipes but the principle was the same: shift it before someone could trace the theft.

  ‘Aye, the MacDonalds might give us a good price,’ agreed another. ‘They’re fine beasts – the best the lady breeds.’

  My attention was drawn to an owl hooting outside. The window was shuttered so I could not see the bird, but the call was insistent a
nd repeated rapidly. I was just beginning to wonder if it were a signal of some kind when one of the younger Bruces burst into the room.

  ‘Sheriff’s men!’ he shouted.

  The response was immediate and showed all the marks of a well-rehearsed drill. Willy began firing off orders.

  ‘Neil, Gordon – take two men and drive those cows out of the barn. Head north when ye’ve lost the sheriff. Nan, ye take the women and weans to the top room and dinna come out until ye get the signal. Nae lights.’

  The women started to evacuate the room, picking up sleepy children, hushing those who made any sound. I started to follow.

  ‘Nae, ye stay here, Sassenach. I have nae doubt it were yer friends set these men after us. As Malcolm said, the trouble falls on yer head first. Guard her!’ He pushed me towards Rabbie who took my arm in a firm grasp. ‘We’re away!’

  With barely time to grab a shawl to protect me from the cold, I was forced along with the Bruce boys as they rushed out into the night. Last to depart, Willy closed the door. I heard the bolt being drawn on the inside as Nan secured the tower. I wished I could be with her, as I did not trust Willy or his cohorts to care much what happened to me in this mad flight. The women had the better part as they were unlikely to be disturbed tonight. With fire dampened and all lights extinguished, the tower looked empty.

  Willy cursed softly as he spotted the tracks the boys made in the telltale snow.

  ‘We’ll have to split up and meet at the way-stone,’ he muttered to Rabbie. Blowing softly between his fingers, Willy let up three short owl calls, signalling the news to the rest of his kin. ‘I’ll fetch yer pack, Rabbie. Ye get the lass out o’ here before the sheriff arrives.’

  Down in the valley, I could now see a line of flaming torches coming closer. If I could give Rabbie the slip, I’d be able to seek sanctuary among the sheriff’s men.

  ‘If ye lose her, or let her go, I’ll skin ye both alive,’ Willy warned, giving me a sharp look.

  ‘I willna lose her,’ promised Rabbie, tugging me away from the lights.

  But I had no intention of being dragged off into the unknown with my unloving brother and a bunch of bandits. I took a breath to scream for help; Willy thrust a palm over my mouth, mashing the inside of my lips against my teeth with the pressure of his hand.

  ‘Nae, ye dinna want to do that,’ he hissed. ‘One squeak from ye and I’ll slit yer throat, Rabbie’s sister or no. Understood?’

  I nodded because I believed him. His eyes had that cold glint that I’d seen in Billy and his gang in London. He was out to protect his own neck and that of his brothers; he would not think twice of disposing of an inconvenient girl.

  ‘Get on wi’ ye!’

  With a shove, he pushed us towards the trees. Half-stumbling, half-running, I followed Rabbie past the barn. The doors stood open, cattle gone, but the lingering stench and cowpats steaming on the snow bore witness to recent occupation. We plunged into the trees, brambles snatching and snagging at my skirts.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I panted.

  ‘Hold yer tongue!’ Rabbie snapped. ‘Willy doesna make idle threats. Do ye really want us to be caught?’

  To be frank, yes, I did. But I didn’t want my brother to hang for cattle-rustling. I kept quiet, trusting he knew where we were headed and could see better than I could in the darkness. I spent the time hoping for a more favourable turn of events that would allow me to get free. The desperate plunge through the woods was making me miserable, my hands scratched, my ankles and feet soaked in snow-melt, my ears and nose blue with cold. I flipped the back of the shawl over my head, trying to stop the leeching away of all body warmth. And to think I’d believed the woods so pretty with their snow covering!

  After what felt like an eternity since our flight from the tower but was probably only an hour, Rabbie slowed.

  ‘We’re nearly at the way-stone,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The others will bring the horses so it’ll get better from here.’

  That was the closest he had come to a caring comment.

  ‘G-good,’ I stuttered through chattering teeth.

  ‘Ye’re cold?’

  I gave a bark of laughter. ‘You could say that. I’ve just come from the Caribbean – they don’t make weather like this there.’

  ‘I canna see ye well in this light but ye no going to faint on me, are ye?’ He sounded very unsure of himself. I had to remind myself that he was only twelve. His bravado, learnt no doubt from relatives like Malcolm, was not fixed and signs of a younger, more vulnerable boy occasionally peeped through – like now, when he thought I was going to keel over and leave him the problem of what to do with an unconscious girl in the middle of snowy nowhere.

  ‘I’ll endeavour not to make a complete cake of myself, little brother, but I can’t help being frozen.’

  ‘Little! I’m bigger than ye.’

  I felt smug to have finally provoked a normal brotherly response from Rabbie. This was more like it. He couldn’t help himself: he was beginning to think of me as his sister, even feel a grudging responsibility towards keeping me safe. It was a moment I wanted to treasure – and would have done if my extremities weren’t in danger of freezing into icicles.

  I blew on my fingers. ‘Let’s keep going while I still can.’

  We reached the waymarker, a granite pillar by the side of the track. Willy and three other men were already there, mounted and leading a string of horses. Without needing to say a word, Rabbie picked up his pack from Willy and untied a small grey horse from the line. It was the last one with any tack – the rest had only a rope bridle each.

  ‘The lass can ride wi’ me,’ said Willy, scanning the road behind for sign of pursuit. ‘We had nae saddle for her and nae time to find one. But we must be gleg; thanks to the snow, the men can follow our trail as easily as a fly to the midden.’

  ‘I’ll take her up wi’ me,’ countered Rabbie. ‘She’ll only slow ye down.’

  ‘No need, gentlemen,’ I announced. ‘I can ride quite well without a saddle, thank you for asking.’

  I had no desire to spend the rest of the night jogging behind someone else, not when I was perfectly capable of riding without the parapher nalia of tack. Choosing a sable mare from among the remaining horses, I swung myself on to her back.

  ‘Ye’ll fall!’ warned Rabbie.

  ‘Don’t worry, squirt – I learned to ride bareback with Indians. This is child’s play.’ I gathered the reins in my frozen fingers and patted my mount’s neck.

  It was far from child’s play, of course: the horse was not used to having a rider with no saddle and took a few minutes to settle down. She jigged on the track like a nervous girl dancing her first cotillion. When I had her under control, I found that the Bruces were all staring at me as if I’d just fallen from heaven in front of their very eyes. I felt inordinately pleased with myself.

  ‘Ye’ve surprised me, lass, I’ll give ye that,’ said Willy. With a click of his tongue, he gave the order to ride out. Unfortunately, the late hour had not dulled his wits any and he wedged my mare between his horse and Rabbie’s, in position to stop me making a run for it.

  There went one grand plan.

  ‘Where are the rest of your cousins?’ I asked, noticing that we were short of a face or three.

  ‘Driving the cows across the moss,’ Willy explained curtly. ‘We are the decoy to keep the sheriff’s men distracted, so I hope ye can ride fast at need.’

  ‘Like the wind,’ I declared, aware that I was trying to impress my brother of my horsemanship at the expense of the truth. I might well end up arsy-varsy on the ground if we tried a canter.

  ‘Is it true? Did ye really learn to ride from an Indian?’ Rabbie asked, the first time he’d shown any interest in me.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  Willy snorted. ‘Course it isna true, ye fond laddie! How could a wee lass go to America and do all that?’

  How indeed. But I had. Blowing on my fingers, I decided it was not worth arguing, n
ot when we were riding through a snowy landscape with the law on our tail and I needed all my concentration to remember the skills taught me by my Creek Indian friends.

  We spent a few daylight hours camped out in an old cottage well known to the Bruces.

  ‘Do this often, do you – up sticks in the middle of the night and flee?’ I muttered to Rabbie as we stretched out blankets on the beaten earth floor to grab a few hours of sleep.

  ‘Aye, from time to time. We go into the Highlands to shake off the sheriff and come back when his attention turns to some other poor man. It’s the way for us reivers.’ He sounded proud of the admission.

  ‘I suppose it’s a bit like my friends in London – they disappear into the Rookeries if they get in trouble,’ I said thoughtfully as I finger-combed my tangled hair.

  ‘Rookeries?’ Rabbie lay back and yawned.

  ‘Lawless places full of desperate types – too dangerous for decent folk to venture in, even the Bow Street Runners.’

  He snorted. ‘The Highlands are unchancie for some, but no for us Bruces. We’ve friends there who’ll hide us as long as we have need.’ He yawned again. ‘Maybe we never should have struck on Lady Ross-Baillie’s cows; it’s well known the sheriff’s a family friend of the lady. We’ve never hit on her land before because o’ that.’

  Rather too late to mention that now. If I was not mistaken, my brother had stolen from the lady who guarded her lands with Ghillie Brown and his gun. If she minded a few bent blades of grass from the feet of mill trespassers, I imagine she would not let theft of her livestock go without revenge. I hoped we would not find out how far she would take it.

  I lay down on my side on the dirt floor of the cottage and watched Rabbie’s profile relax into sleep. My brother was at home in this country just as I was in Covent Garden, managing the twists and turns of fate with confidence. Perhaps this part of our character was something we’d both inherited from our mother. As Nan had told me, Jesse had had people dancing to her tune – that suggested she was by no one’s estimation a shy, retiring violet. As I fell asleep, I wondered what she would have thought of her two children sharing a floor together for the first time.