Glens of Stone, Day38

Malcolm’s jaw dropped and Kirsty raised a hand to her mouth. “You!” they gasped.

The first to arrive was Lady Catherine Gray accompanied, as always, by her faithful beldam McLaurin. Ewan could hear the old woman grousing as she followed her mistress into one of the pews, and also Lady Catherine’s gentle remonstrances. His ears caught a whispered “God’s House” which served to quieten the old lady.

Their shock on learning of what had befallen Jean Forbes had been tempered by the knowledge of the girl’s treachery. Nonetheless, the news had frightened the women and only the presence of a party of six Highlanders on security patrol outside their house in West Bow had allayed their anxiety.

Within minutes the door creaked open again and Duncan McAllan, wearing a worried expression, entered, ushering Kirsty before him and, to Ewan’s relief, Ellie. The girl’s face still seemed starkly pale in the dim light but her step was steady. The excitement and physical strain of the ball had not affected her recuperation.

They took seats across the aisle from Lady Catherine, nodding to her in recognition.

Robert Marshall, loudly protesting, was next to come, propelled firmly by Sandy McCrae. Robert looked dishevelled and annoyed at the way Sandy was treating him, but once they took their seats in the chancel his muttering ceased as the sanctity of the place overwhelmed him. Footsteps

Soft footsteps heralded the approach of the Porteous family. John, his face stern, stood aside to let Agnes, Malcolm and Alison precede him into a pew near the front. Alison’s expression betrayed her bewilderment, but she relaxed as she recognised the others, giving a tentative wave to Kirsty and Ellie.

Ewan allowed a few moments to pass before rising to his feet, amused at the gasps from those seated below who had been unaware of his presence. Satisfied he had their attention, he leaned on the lectern, clasping his hands and smiling benignly.

“Thank you for coming,” he began, looking down particularly at Robert, who scowled in response. “I had little option,” the young man groused. “True,” Ewan admitted, “but as you’ll learn, it was in your interest that you attend.”

He addressed the others. “Most of you know each other well enough, but lest you do not, let me introduce you.” As he read out the names of those present they each stood briefly, highly embarrassed.

“As for myself,” Ewan went on, “most of you now know me as Ewan Ogilvie. I am a major in the Scots Royal and also an agent provocateur acting on behalf of the Jacobite cause.”

“Then you should be ashamed of yourself, sir!” Robert Marshall rose to his feet. “One day you’ll be brought to justice.”

“Hold your tongue, Captain,” Ewan said pleasantly. “We are not here for a discussion on political matters – at least, not directly.”

Duncan McAllan stood up. “Then why precisely are we here, Major? I find this clandestine gathering unwholesome and troubling.”

Kirsty grasped the old man’s hand. “Hush, Father. I’m sure he means us no harm.”

“You may be assured of that, Miss McAllan,” Ewan called down from the pulpit. “Indeed, I can say that some present here this evening will hear of things to their advantage. And now, if I may continue?”

Silence fell and the listeners waited expectantly. “Some of you have met me in other guises,” Ewan began. “Miss McAllan; Master Porteous?”

Both became more alert. “You may recall the Reverend Samuel Proudfoot who despatched a ruffian who was molesting you?”

Malcolm’s jaw dropped and Kirsty raised a hand to her mouth. “You!” They gasped almost simultaneously. “Aye, to be sure.” Disbelief

Turning to look down at Robert, Ewan raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I also paid you a call, Captain.”

Robert thought hard, and recalled being floored by the man shortly after having Ellie shut away for her insolence. “I remember,” he said tersely.

“We couldn’t have you harming the lass, could we?” Without waiting for a response, Ewan shrugged. “And, of course, you’ll recall the words of warning from the merchant William Watt at Lady Catherine’s soirée?”

“You again?” Robert sat back, his face showing disbelief. “Me again.” Nodding, Ewan smiled. “But why?” Kirsty cried, her voice agitated.

“All in good time.” Ewan cleared his throat, casting his eyes over the notes before him. “My tasks as an agent were two-fold. Firstly, the arrival here of Jacobite forces was, as you may imagine, the result of many years of planning. We did not want to fail as we had before. It was necessary to prepare well in advance, to muster our sympathisers both here and in England.

“We established groups throughout the length and breadth of the country who met together as guild members, theatre-goers, travelling people and, of course, worshippers in both churches and Mission Houses. Their task was to recruit others and raise money to support the cause.”

“Then my father was definitely one of your agents!” Malcolm called out, glowering at John Porteous who stared impassively ahead. “As I thought!” Robert cried, a triumphant look on his face.

“He was – is – one of the best operatives we have,” Ewan confirmed. “The handful of people who met at the Grassmarket and Canongate were but a small percentage of the numbers he actually recruited.”

Duncan McAllan could restrain himself no longer. “John!” he cried. “How could you use God’s houses for such activities?”

“The folk using the Missions were devout enough, Duncan,” Porteous defended himself. “Surely you had no cause to doubt their behaviour during the services?”

“No,” Duncan admitted, “but you never struck me as a political man.” He shrugged helplessly. “A Jacobite!” Progress

“It appears you did not know everything about your friend, Mr McAllan,” Ewan interceded. “For instance, were you aware that Mr Porteous lost two older brothers and an uncle at Sheriffmuir during the rebellion 30 years ago? Mr Porteous has worked hard for the cause, keeping me informed of his progress via despatches through an intermediary.”

“And who might that have been?” Ellie asked, intrigued. Ewan gazed down, seeking a nod signifying permission. “Who other than Miss McLaurin?”

Lady Catherine sat bolt upright. “McLaurin!” She turned to face her companion. “You’ve been in league with these people?” Her eyes widened as the full import of the revelation struck her. “My soirées; the dinner parties. They were –?”

“Harmless and enjoyable occasions, ma’am,” Ewan said, “but useful for the gathering of intelligence thanks to the regular presence of General Guest and young Captain Marshall here.”

“Never!” Robert would have erupted from his seat but Sandy McCrae grabbed him. “Sit down,” he ordered. Sullenly Robert obeyed, though he dropped his head into his hands in despair.

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