The guards looked at each other in slight confusion before the younger one nodded. 'You aren't hiding a false key are you?'
I guessed that was a joke and gave a laugh as false as the non-existent key.
'What's your name?' The old man's eyes were bayonet-sharp.
'Miss Dorothea Flockhart,' I nearly said too much.
'Why do you want to see Elliot?' The veteran was very direct with his questions.
'I am a friend of his wife,' I told the truth. 'She is worried about him.'
'Well, Miss Dorothea Flockhart, you take care in there and don't take heed of anything you see or hear.'
I gave a little curtsey. 'Thank you, Colonel.'
'It's Sergeant Bain,' the old man said.
I entered the Heart of Midlothian through the arched door and stopped to catch my breath. Guttering lanterns that hung on walls dark with age only slightly alleviated the stench of damp and despair. I could taste the misery in the air.
The interior was a maze of tiny stone cells, each with a quota of inhabitants, some sunk in depression, others entertained by gaudy women, or swearing over cards. Heavy chains around wrists and ankles secured all the prisoners to the weeping walls. Inside the front door, the turnkey sat on a massive chair nursing a staff and watching everybody who entered or left.
I gave my most polite curtsey. 'Excuse me, sir, I am looking for Gilbert Elliot.'
The turnkey looked me up and down, no-doubt wondering what a gentlewoman was doing in such an establishment. 'What do you want with him?'
'I'm a friend of his wife.'
'Are you carrying a weapon or anything to help him escape?' The turnkey's pouchy eyes scanned me. I shivered, wondering what he was thinking.
'No, sir,' I decided that politeness was best with petty officialdom.
'End door,' the turnkey said. 'Along the corridor.'
I took a deep breath and looked deeper into that terrible place. Honestly, the things we do for men, even for men we don't like or trust very much. According to the wisdom of my peers, I should have been sitting in comfort at home or parading along George Street trying to catch the eye of one of the handsome militia officers. But things were what they were. I reminded myself that I was visiting the Tolbooth for Marie's sake and not for Gibbie.
I bobbed in another little curtsey to the turnkey. 'Could you accompany me, sir?' I had no desire to walk alone into this den of blackguards although I doubted they were any worse than the gentlemen who sat at cards and claret in many of the elegant houses of the New Town.
Grunting, the turnkey rose from his chair and shambled in front of me along the stone corridor from which each cell door opened. Men and women moved aside as he passed.
'Here we are.' The turnkey unlocked a heavy door and pushed it open.
'Miss Flockhart!' Gibbie looked weary and streaked with grime as he looked up from the bench he shared with two ragged men. 'You should not have come.' He rattled as he stood and I saw the rusty chains that held him secure. 'Is Maria with you? Could Maria not come to see me?'
'You are shackled, sir,' I said.
'Miss Flockhart, Dorothea,' Gibbie sounded desperate. 'I am accused of duelling and attempted murder.'
'So I believe,' I said.
'I am guilty,' Gibbie said.
'You are,' I was in no mood to alleviate Gibbie's misery. 'Although I do not care about these crimes. I am more upset that you tried to gamble away Marie.'
Gibbie shook his head in instant denial. 'That is not true!'
'It is true, sir,' I said. 'I heard from a very reliable source.'
'I had no choice,' Gibbie said.
I said nothing. To leave Gibbie in durance vile and allow him to face a trial would be to risk his imprisonment, transportation or even the gallows. Worse, it would mean that Marie was alone in the world without even such a weak protector as this man. Once again I wondered if Marie would be better without him, and I decided that I could not make such a decision for her.
'Would Marie have gambled you in similar circumstances?' I forced Gibbie to think about what he had done. The other two prisoners in the cell sat in listless silence. No doubt they were more concerned with their impending fate rather than this over-dressed dandy.
'You must leave me here,' Gibbie did not give a direct answer. 'I am not worthy of Marie.'
'That is true,' I said. 'You are not.' I wondered if he was genuinely contrite. 'Perhaps the King's Messenger will relent and allow you to walk free. After all, you only gave Captain Rogers a minor flesh wound, and he is not making any complaint.'
The turnkey, who had been an interested observer to our meeting, laughed. 'That won't do at all,' he said. 'If the King's Messenger has got his man, that's all there is to it.' He pushed a soiled boot against Gibbie's chains. 'This young fellow is here until his trial, whenever that will be. Your witness has seen to that.'
'Is the witness so important?' I asked.
'Without a witness,' the turnkey said, 'the case would collapse. With a witness, your friend here is certain to be condemned. It's Van Diemen's land for him or the sideways look over his shoulder as the noose tightens.' He mimicked the facial expressions of a man being hanged and laughed as if the whole situation was highly amusing.
'Your friend Mr Turnbull put you here, Gibbie.' I looked around at the dismal, weeping stone walls. The atmosphere was choking, a mixture of all that was foul and all that was unpleasant.
'I trusted him,' Gibbie forced what might have been a smile. 'Perhaps the jury will take pity on a gentleman.'
The turnkey laughed again. 'You took part in a duel and shot at a holder of the king's commission in wartime. You have no excuse for doing Boney's job for him.'
'Gibbie,' I said. 'I would have much more sympathy for you if you had not tried to gamble away Marie, but she is upset.' I forced away my anger and tried to concentrate on what was best for Marie. 'She misses you.' I could say no more. In attempting to help Marie, I had spied on Gibbie in a gambling den and caused a duel between him and George. Now Gibbie sat in a filthy cell awaiting trial, and the fault was entirely mine.
'Excuse me,' I fled the Heart of Midlothian without another word. It seemed that whatever I did made things worse. I wished I had never returned to Scotland. I wished I had remained in India.
I do not know where I wandered that day. I remember a succession of dirty streets and tumbledown houses, narrow closes and filthy wynds where ragged women smoked long clay pipes and watched me through predatory eyes. Most of the denizens ignored me while others called out or shouted obscene insults. I turned a Nelsonian eye and walked on with my mind a tangle of guilt and anger, with old memories fighting new worries and bitter tears waiting to fall from my eyes. I do not know how long I walked through the morass of the Old Town or how many ancient, crazy closes I stumbled through. I only remember what happened when the sun was casting its final shadows, and a scattering of candles gleamed behind broken windows.
'Come in here, dearie; you look cold. A glass of fine Ferintosh will soon warm you up!'
'That's a grand cloak she has; it will fetch a pretty price at the pawn shop.'
I looked up, suddenly aware that I had blundered into some wynd off the West Bow, where three men stood at the entrance to a close, discussing me.
'She's lost, I reckon,' one man said.
'Isn't that a shame now?' There was no sympathy in the second man's voice.
'Where are you going, my dear?' The third man slipped clear of the close mouth and stepped behind me, blocking my retreat.
I increased my pace, hoping that the wynd led to the High Street. All I could see ahead was darkness and tall buildings.
'She thinks she's too good for the likes of us,' the first man stepped in front of me. 'Isn't that so?'
I ducked my head and said nothing, hoping they would go away. I felt the second man's hand grip my cloak. 'Ten shillings worth here, I'd say.'
'She'll have more than that on her.' The first man said.
'Leave
me alone!' I did not know that I could scream so loudly. I had not brought my Joseph Manton with me as I had not intended wandering through these foul streets.
Somebody's hand closed around my mouth, and I was dragged backwards with my feet kicking and sliding on the greasy ground. I lashed out desperately, only to have somebody grab hold of my arm. The man holding me was powerful and stunk of cheap tobacco.
'Bring her in here, lads!' That was a female voice. I glanced up to see the most beautiful woman smiling at me. 'You can have your fun with her inside.'
I tried to scream again but that filthy hand prevented any sound except a stifled moan, and then I was being pulled through the entrance to the close and the woman stepped aside to allow the men to drag me into whatever horror awaited. There was darkness all around and the foulest stench imaginable.
'Halloa!' The voice was deep and welcome. 'What's going on there?'
'Who the devil's that?' the second man said. 'It's a blasted redcoat.'
'I'll take his head off his shoulders,' the third man pulled a life-preserver from his sleeve.
'No,' the woman placed a hand on his arm. 'Let me handle this.' She raised her voice. 'It's just my sister. She's drunk as a lord. We're taking her home.'
'Let me see.' The voice sounded a second time, and I heard limping steps echo from the tall buildings on either side of the wynd. Captain Rogers had never been more welcome than at that minute.
'Knock her out,' the woman said. 'Stop her mouth.'
I saw the third man raise his life-preserver and then, mercifully, George limped in. 'You drop that cudgel my man, or I'll spit you clean.' He drew his sword with a thrill of steel. 'That woman is no more your sister than I am! Release her, sir. Release her, this instant!'
The third man said a word that I had seldom heard before and swung at Captain Rogers with his life-preserver.
'You devil!' The captain blocked the swing with his blade and stepped back. For a terrible moment I thought he was going to leave me alone, but instead, he twisted his sword and disarmed the life-preserver man. Then his strong hands were on me as my attackers fled.
'Are you all right Dorothea?'
'Thank you.' I took a deep breath as George helped me to my feet. ''You saved my life.'
'I doubt it.' George held me tight. 'They would have robbed you and left you.' He smiled. 'You should not be wandering around in this part of the city, you know.'
'I know that now.' I brushed myself down. It was strange how this wynd seemed so much safer when I stood beside George Rogers. 'Thank you for saving me,' I said again, as thundering feet signalled the arrival of two more redcoats.
'Are you all right, sir?' The privates had bayonets but no muskets.
'A group of men were attacking this lady,' George said. More soldiers arrived with a broad-chested sergeant at their head. 'Form them up, Sergeant.'
'Sir!' The sergeant threw an impressive salute and began shouting so loudly that he must have wakened every inhabitant of this wynd and any others in a hundred-yard circumference.
'You are a treasure, sir,' I said as George released me. I brushed down my clothes, 'a real treasure.'
'My pleasure,' George touched a hand to the brim of his shako and then grinned. 'I'd rather save you than perform guard duty or scour the streets for my men.'
'Do you have men missing?' I was beginning to recover.
'There are public houses a-plenty in this part of the city,' Captain Rogers said, 'and the duties of my men are not arduous or particularly time-consuming. They change guard and are on sentinel duty, plus two or three hours of drill a day. That's all, so they have plenty of time to visit the publics.'
'I see,' I said.
'Yes, soldiers and publics don't always mix well. My men tend to overstay their time, and I take out a picket to round them up before they get into trouble.'
'Would they get into trouble?'
Captain Rogers nodded. 'If they return drunk, or decide not to return at all, they could be court-martialled and end up at the flogging triangle. I don't wish that for my men.'
I shivered. 'You are a good man, Captain.' And you are a compassionate man. I had heard about military and naval commanders who enjoyed nothing better than having some poor devil flogged senseless. I was glad that George was not of that ilk. Indeed, if he had been, I would have turned on my heel and walked away. I can thole many things, but cruelty is not one of them.
'It makes sense,' George said. 'After two hundred lashes a man is useless for days. After five hundred he will never be the same soldier again, and the morale of the unit is shaken by having to witness such a scene.' He shook his head, 'Why, while I was in India…'
'I did not know you were in India,' I prompted. I looked again at the scar on his chin and thought of Serangipatam.
'I thought I had told you,' George said. 'When I left the Guards I went out East.' He grinned. 'We may have been close to each other without knowing it.' He looked up as his picket filled the wynd, with the sergeant glowering at them. 'I have to return to my duty now, Dorothea, but I don't wish to leave you in this part of the town, it's not safe.'
I nodded. 'I came here by mistake.' I wondered how much to admit and decided to tell him everything. It seemed that I had finally found a decent man, and one I could trust. 'I was in the Tolbooth visiting Gibbie Elliot.'
George pretended to wince and pressed a hand to his hip. 'The man who shot me? You should be ashamed of yourself.'
More soldiers were lining up along the close with a second, long-faced sergeant shouting at them. One or two looked a little worse for wear, and I guessed they had been sampling the hospitality of the local pubs.
'Sergeant!' George's sudden bark made me jump.
'Sir!' The sergeant could have been roaring at somebody on the opposite side of the city rather than speaking to an officer three paces away.
'Detail two reliable men to escort Miss Flockhart home.'
'Sir!' The shout was louder than ever. 'King and Mackie! You heard the officer! Take this lady safely home and return to barracks!' He lowered his voice to a bellow. 'And no stopping for refreshment you pair of damned blackguards!'
'Thank you,' I said, 'but I don't need an escort.'
'You clearly do,' George said. 'Or you would not be here. I'll be in touch.'
The two privates grinned shyly at me and touched their shakoes in simple salute. They were both in their late teens or early twenties, handsome enough young men in ill-fitting uniforms with the thin wrists of clerks. I could not see either of them giving Bonaparte's veterans much trouble.
'We'll see you safely home, Miss Flockhart', the taller man said.
'I feel much better with you two men as escort,' I agreed. 'Thank you.'
The young Volunteers proved to be entertaining companions, once they recovered from their shyness at being in the company of a lady. When I decided to find out more about their captain, they were more than willing to oblige.
'Is Captain Rogers a brave man?' I asked.
'As brave as they come, Miss,' the taller King said. He had slightly protruding teeth and the deepest of blue eyes that must have won him favour with a string of sweethearts. 'Why, when he was in India he practically won battles all by himself.'
'I heard he was in India,' I said. 'Was he not at Serangipatam?'
'Him and General Baird both miss,' the slightly smaller Mackie said. 'They were like blood brothers the two of them, both Edinburgh men marching to defeat Tippoo Sahib after what he did last time.'
I allowed the privates to heap praise on Captain Rogers 'Yet he is a Volunteer officer,' I said. 'And the Volunteers don't serve overseas.'
'He's a Volunteer officer now, miss,' King said. 'He was in the Guards first though and then joined John Company. That's what they call the Honourable East India Company, you see,' he was anxious to make sure I understood.
'I see.' That was something to tuck away for future reference. George had been in the Guards and then in India. He had not lied to me. I was s
lightly ashamed that I had doubted him, but when one's past contains little more than deceit and horror, one does not trust many people.
I was quite sorry when the privates left me at the door of my house and thanked them profusely. Unsure how much to give them, I parted with a shilling apiece, and they were seemingly well pleased with the bargain. I only hoped they did not stop by in some pub or other and land themselves in trouble. I closed the door, leaned my back against it and took a deep breath. I did not know what to do now.
I had got Gibbie in jail, and I could not think how to get him out. My interfering had made things worse. On the other hand, I now knew that George was an honest, brave man. I only wished that I could tell him the truth about me, but if I did, he would turn his back. He could do nothing else.
Chapter Twelve
'That man was back,' Mrs Macfarlane had heard my return.
I immediately knew who she meant. 'Mr Turnbull?'
'Yes.' Mrs Macfarlane glared at me. 'And you know what I think about him.'
'I do,' I said. At that moment everything was getting on top of me. With the blackmail threat and now Gibbie Elliot in jail, I could not cope with any more. Once more I contemplated escaping back to India.
I closed my eyes. No. I would not allow them to win.
'Mrs Macfarlane,' I said, and before I realised what I was doing, I was telling her about my troubles, or at least part of them. I told her about the blackmail without giving her the reason behind it, and I told her about Gibbie in the Tolbooth on the word of Turnbull. Mrs Macfarlane listened, nodding at all the right places.
'All right, Miss Flockhart,' Mrs Macfarlane said. 'You're in a bit of a pickle and that man Turnbull is at the centre of it all.'
'He's the horned beast,' I said.
'If you say so,' Mrs Macfarlane could not be expected to understand what I meant.
'I don't know what to do,' I admitted. 'Everything I try makes the situation worse.'
'You need Highland help,' Mrs Macfarlane said.
I must have stared at her with my mouth open.
'You are thinking of things the Lowland way if you don't mind me saying,' Mrs Macfarlane sat down without a by-your-leave. 'Now up by Loch Lomond side, the Macfarlanes have our own way of dealing with troublesome men, or troublesome women for that matter.'
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3) Page 14
