Glens of Stone, Day 36

I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I really am.” Then he pulled the trigger.

Enraged and frustrated, Thomas McLean sought the stairway. Another second and the old crone would have felt his dagger between her ribs. Curse that fellow, whoever he was!

He kept looking over his shoulder in case he was being followed, but there was no sign of anyone. Jean Forbes’s face appeared suddenly in front of him. “I have more news for you, sir.” “What is it? Be quick, girl, for I must be going.” “They have been given a message, sir – her ladyship and the old woman. Perhaps some of the others, too. It was a man dressed as a monk, McCrae by name, who told them.” “Told them what?” “To be at the old kirk at Duddingston on Monday night, at seven o’clock. Is that of interest, sir?”

“Possibly.” McLean nodded thoughtfully. “In any event you’ll certainly be rewarded.”

“I hope the reward’s a fair one. After all, that’s two more things I’ve told you in the last 15 minutes!”

“Don’t worry,” McLean said absentmindedly, “you’ll be paid.” He was about to go when the import of her last words struck him. “What do you mean, two things?”

Jean looked puzzled. “Well, this, and about the young captain held prisoner in her ladyship’s house.”

McLean was filled with rage and dread. Who had the stupid wench told, if it wasn’t him? The answer was obvious – the other Roundhead. As to how much she’d said...

Old wound

Suddenly he clapped a hand to his side, grimacing. “What ails you?” the girl asked. “It’s an old wound that troubles me at times. Could you help me downstairs? I must return to my lodgings to rest.”

Once outside, the pair tottered into the quiet street. “Will you be all right now?” Jean asked anxiously. The man seemed very unwell. “Aye, lass.” He gasped. “Perhaps a few steps further, then you can leave me.”

They neared the mouth of a dark close, then McLean paused. “This’ll do fine – the pain’s easing.”

“If you’re sure I can’t be of any further use, sir?” Jean still looked concerned for him and McLean stifled a brief stab of pity. “No, my dear, you are of no further use.”

He grabbed her, one hand gagging her mouth, and pulled her into the dark close. The terrified girl struggled fiercely, but McLean was able to reach his pistol. “I’m sorry, Miss Forbes,” he whispered. “I really am.” Then he pulled the trigger.

“You let him escape!” Miss McLaurin accused Ewan later, as they sat in Lady Catherine’s drawingroom.

“Aye. Sandy and I searched all the floors, but the fellow had gone for sure,” Ewan admitted. As they spoke, Lady Catherine joined them.

“You’re looking much better, McLaurin,” she commented. “You’ve got your colour back. Who was this man who threatened you?” McLaurin had finally told her a version of the truth.

“A man from my past,” the old woman said, adding silently, “and yours, too, if you but knew it.”

She shrugged. “’Twas nothing, really: he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing.”

Lady Catherine frowned. “Should we not inform the City Guard and have them look for him?”

“With respect, ma’am, the man was in costume and will have shed it by now,” Ewan said. “Rest assured I’ll inform the appropriate people.”

He looked meaningfully at McLaurin who nodded almost imperceptibly. “And what of your maidservant, Miss Forbes?” Ewan asked.

Grateful

“No. Goodness knows where the wretched girl has disappeared to.” Lady Catherine’s face was lined with worry. “It’s not like her.”

“Don’t let her actions spoil a good night,” McLaurin urged. “The ball will be remembered for years to come. Rest assured, all present enjoyed themselves.”

Mollified, Lady Catherine looked at Ewan. “When you return to your Jacobite masters, Mr Ogilvie, perhaps you will tell them how Edinburgh’s gentry don’t give a fig for their presence here.”

“That I will, your ladyship, yet I fear you fail to appreciate the Prince’s wish that the citizens go about their business as usual.”

“Miss Chalmers has returned to the Mission, I understand?” McLaurin asked him.

“Aye. My friend McCrae and Mr Porteous escorted the ladies back to the Canongate. Ellie – Miss Chalmers – is very grateful to her ladyship for her hospitality during her indisposition.”

“I had little say in admitting the girl to my home, did I, McLaurin?”

“It was a good Christian act, my lady,” Ewan put in, “and one I’m sure will stand you in good stead.” “With whom, pray?” “All in good time.”

Lady Catherine looked puzzled. “I take it this has something to do with the summons we have received to the old kirk at Duddingston on Monday?”

“Perhaps.” Ewan was non-committal. Lady Catherine made for the door.

“It is time I retired,” she announced. “Goodnight to you, Mr Ogilvie. I may or may not see you on Monday night. Much depends on whether I wish to attend.”

“You’ll be there, ma’am,” Ewan retorted. “If need be, I will cart you there myself, bound and gagged.”

Outraged, Lady Catherine made to give a stinging retort. Something in Ewan’s eyes, however, made her hesitate. There was a coldness there.

“I don’t like the company you keep, McLaurin,” she said, and swept from the room. “Don’t worry, lad, she’ll be there,” McLaurin assured him. “I’ll see to it.”

Comfortable

Ewan took his leave after ensuring that Robert Marshall was still comfortable. Robert was eager to know what his captor intended for him, but Ewan would give him only a sparse assurance. “You’ll be freed soon and may then do as you wish.” As he stepped into the street he almost cannoned into a uniformed sergeant of the City Guard about to seek admittance. “You’ll be one of the household, sir?” the man asked.

“No. A visitor.” Ewan’s gaze turned to where two other guards stood further down the street. “What’s amiss?”

“We’ve found a young girl, sir, in yonder close.” The man pointed to where his two men stood. “One of the Assembly Rooms’ servants recognised her, and thought she came from here.”

“Lead me to her, man,” Ewan commanded. As they neared the close the two guards moved aside to let them pass. In the gloom Ewan found it hard to see.

“Give me a light,” he demanded and one of the guards passed him a lantern. In its glow Ewan made out a girl’s form lying on the ground, and he knelt down beside her.

She lay white-faced, her eyes closed. He placed two fingers on her neck where it met the jaw, feeling for a pulse.

More tomorrow.

Glens of Stone was previously a serial in The People’s Friend. There’s more great fiction in The People’s Friend every week, £1.30 from newsagents and supermarkets.

Artwork: Mandy Dixon