Glens of Stone, Day Five

An awkward silence fell on the group as Alison departed. “I don’t know what gets into my sister at times,” Malcolm muttered

Such was his prowess, Ewan Ogilvie had been invited to accept a commission in the Scots Royals and soon reached the high ranks. His patron and friend in the regiment was Colonel Alastair Crawford, and it was he who had given him the task now nearing completion. In France plans were at last being formulated to send the exiled Prince, Charles Edward Stuart, to rally the Scottish Jacobites to his cause.

Ewan’s first task had been to raise funds to buy arms and food for the rebels as well as mustering as many sympathisers as possible to take up arms.

Colonel Crawford’s second task had been much more intriguing. In essence, Ewan’s mission had been to seek out, and protect with his life, certain individuals of interest to the colonel.

He had discovered they were not all socially prominent or indeed Jacobite supporters, but he did not question his superior’s orders.

A few loose ends remained but, all things considered, Ewan was content. Shoulders hunched against the wind, he trudged further up the hillside towards Duddingston where he had quarters in the Sheep Heid Inn.

Transformation

“It’s such a transformation!” Kirsty walked from room to room, Malcolm Porteous by her side. “In only three days.”

A truly remarkable change had taken place in the old building off the Canongate. The rubble and dust had been swept away and the walls and windows washed until they gleamed. “It’s the furnishings that give it life,” Malcolm said.

Malcolm and Alison had somehow managed to lay their hands on extra chairs, cupboards, tables, kitchenware and linen. When Kirsty had asked Alison how this had been achieved the girl had simply laughed. “Father has connections.”

Kirsty’s thoughts were broken by Malcolm. “Come and see this,” he urged.

She followed him along the passageway to the meeting hall where she clapped a hand to her mouth in wonder.

A squad of men was positioning a wing-shaped spinet at the far end of the room. Kirsty found it hard to speak.

“It’s lovely, Malcolm. But who will play it? I can’t.” “Alison plays,” he replied, “and she’s agreed to teach you if you wish.

“It’s the perfect accompaniment for psalms.” Kirsty gently fingered the keys. “You’ve a nice touch.”

Alison had appeared at her side. “That will help when you start your lessons.” She picked out a short melody with one hand. “Handel. I have lots of music.”

Duncan bustled into the room and joined them. “Marvellous,” he said, “absolutely marvellous. I can hardly wait until we open on Saturday night.

“They’ll surely think the Lord has sent angels to this old building.”

“We’ve heard you’ve a lovely singing voice, Kirsty,” Malcolm said with enthusiasm.

“Haven’t we just,” Alison said coldly. “Excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

An awkward silence fell on the group as Alison departed. “I don’t know what gets into my sister at times,” Malcolm muttered. Kirsty forced a smile.

“She’s probably just tired,” she said quickly. “Saturday’s but two days hence, with lots still to be done. How would it be if I went to the printers to collect the handbills?”

“I’d nearly forgotten them,” her father admitted. “They have to be distributed among the local folk, advising them of the mission house’s opening.” His eyes closed and he yawned.

“I’m fair tired myself, and I’m sure you’re both exhausted, too. Leave the leaflets until the morning. Let’s away and have a wee sit-down.”

Gratefully, Kirsty and Malcolm followed him upstairs, where one of the four rooms had been refurbished as a sitting-room. On the way they passed Alison, but the girl studiously avoided their gaze.

“A strange lass at times,” Duncan murmured, frowning. “Aye, a strange one for sure.”

Protested

Robert Marshall dipped the ladle into the steaming liquid, raised it to his lips and took a tentative sip. “Lord save us!” he gasped, grimacing. “What the devil is this meant to be?”

A stout woman, arms folded across her bosom, volunteered. “It’s soup. Doo soup, sir.”

“Away with you, woman,” Robert protested. “There’s never been doves nor pigeons used in the making of this!” He licked his lips, his face sour. “A rat or mouse, from the taste of it!”

Someone tittered and Robert glowered. “You think this amusing? Then let’s see you laugh as you clean it up.” With a kick he toppled the steaming vat from the tabletop.

The onlookers scattered as the brown sludgy mess cascaded on to the flagstones at their feet. Robert drew his sword and brought the broad blade down on the table with a thwack.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re paid good money to feed the King’s soldiers. Instead, you serve up swill like this and other foul-tasting provender that even cattle would spurn.”

His eyes swept the group and alighted on Ellie Chalmers. “You, miss! Would you agree?”

The girl returned his gaze.

“I’d say we do our best with the ingredients we’re given,” she said. “It’s your own army quartermaster who provides the produce.”

Her workmates gasped at her temerity. “He provides the best meat and vegetables the army can afford to buy from the market-stalls,” Robert protested.

“That’s what he tells you, perhaps,” the girl retorted, hands on hips. “’Tis well known he buys the poorest stuff and pockets the money saved.”

Spiteful

The women watched the young captain’s eyes grow icy. Sword in hand, he advanced towards Ellie and raised the point to inches from her neck.

“You’ve a loose tongue in your head,” he whispered, “and a spiteful one at that.”

He moved the blade nearer but the girl did not flinch. Impressed by her bravery, Robert decided to give her another chance.

“You malign the good name of one of my men,” he said. “An apology will rectify matters.”

Ellie stared back at him. “I’m sure it would, sir, but you’ll get no apology from me when it’s the truth I’ve spoken.”

Robert was regretting the confrontation. He had always secretly admired Ellie for her spirited personality, yet now she had defied him in front of the other kitchen staff.

He strode to the open door. “Corporal!”

An elderly dragoon appeared.

Robert grabbed Ellie by the wrist.

“This ill-mannered girl needs reminding that while she receives army pay she is subject to army discipline.” He pushed Ellie towards the soldier. “Take her to the guardhouse.”

More on Monday.

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