“The cleric drove his fist into Robert’s stomach. Robert collapsed to his knees, bent double

Jean Forbes flicked a rag across the gleaming surface of the chiffonier, unaware that old McLaurin was watching her from an open doorway. Jean was daydreaming about the handsome drover she’d met in the tavern the night before. He’d asked to see her again. Her thoughts were interrupted by a rasping voice. “Are you dusting that thing or tickling it?” “Why, dusting it, ma’am,” the girl protested. The old woman advanced across the room.

“Ye’ve yer mind on other things. A man, most likely. I hope he’s rich, so’s he can keep ye when ye lose this job and have nae money.”

“Lose my job?” Jean recoiled in shock. “Aye,” Mrs McLaurin said. “Seldom have I seen such an idle, worthless besom as you. A wee word with her ladyship is called for, I’m thinking. ‘Tis time we had a new maid, one who’ll work hard. Someone like that friend of yours, her that’s working up at the castle. What’s her name – Chalmers?”

“Her ladyship will not want her when she hears how Ellie was locked up for insolence.”

“Locked up, you say?” McLaurin glared at the girl. “Yes, ma’am. She accused one of the captain’s men of stealing so he shut her up in a vault tae teach her a lesson.” “Silly besom. And how is she?”

“Och, Ellie’s made of strong stuff. She took her punishment well.”

Accusation

“Hmm. A girl of spirit. That’s good.” McLaurin nodded. “And it was Captain Marshall who dealt with her?”

“Aye, though he’s a fair man; Ellie had no right to say what she did.”

“Unless her accusation was just,” McLaurin cautioned. “But who would take her word against a soldier’s? Anyway, she says she’s going to leave the castle kitchens if she can.”

“Is she now?” Jean caught the interest in the old woman’s tone. “But she says she’s not interested in going into service,” she blurted hastily.

“Pity. She’d make a fine replacement for a lazy wretch like you,” McLaurin grumbled. “Now get on – and take this as a final warning, missy.”

Back in her room McLaurin sat deep in thought, various possibilities crossing her mind. At last her wizened features became resolute and she shook her handbell furiously.

“Come on,” she muttered impatiently. “Where the devil’s that stupid girl now?”

Late that same night Robert Marshall sat in his office and shuffled the paperwork littering his desk into one neat pile. His head ached, the inevitable result of hours spent checking the garrison’s accounts and compiling rosters. A loud knock came at the door.

“Come,” he called. A young dragoon sidled into the room. “You’ve a visitor, sir,” he said.

“A visitor at this hour? I’m tired and for bed. Tell him to come back in the...” He broke off as the soldier was pushed out of the way by a sturdy figure in clerical garb. Robert rose to his feet.

“Explain yourself, sir!” he demanded. The newcomer smiled and raised his brimmed hat.

“Reverend Proudfoot at your service. My apologies for interrupting ye at this late hour, Captain, but needs must.”

“Could these needs not wait until the morning, Reverend?”

“Alas, no.” The cleric glanced at the gawping dragoon. “Perhaps we could speak alone?” he suggested. Exasperated, Robert dismissed the soldier.

“Well, get on with it, man. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

Important

The cleric gave a throaty chuckle. “I have an important message for you, my dear sir. Forbye it comes in two parts.”

With rising impatience Robert stepped nearer. “So? What, then, is the first part of the message?”

“This!” The cleric drove his fist into Robert’s stomach. Robert collapsed to his knees, bent double and gasping for breath. He raised his head to protest but received two jaw-rattling slaps in quick succession. Head reeling, Robert slumped to the floor.

“In God’s name,” he croaked, “what have I . . .?” “Wheesht, laddie,” the Reverend said softly. “That was a wee punishment for the way you treated Miss Chalmers. Now, pray listen carefully to the second part of my message.”

As Robert lay there, he felt both anger and fear. Anger at having been felled by a civilian and fear as he saw the merciless glint in the man’s eyes. As he listened, he was tempted to protest, but a sixth sense warned him to hold his tongue.

“Now, you’re quite clear as to what is required?” the Reverend finished. Robert shook his head to try to clear it. Fortunately the action wasn’t misinterpreted by his visitor. “Good,” Proudfoot said.

He reached down to pull Robert to his feet and helped him to the seat at the desk.

“Well, sir, it’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Perhaps when we meet again – and we will, I assure ye – it will be more pleasurable for us both.”

Satisfied, Proudfoot opened the door and disappeared into the corridor.

As Robert sat, trying to regain his composure, his thoughts kept turning to Ellie Chalmers. What possible interest could a man of the cloth have in a humble kitchen skivvy?

But he had the feeling that to inquire further would not be wise. Eventually the pain in his stomach eased and he summoned one of the guards.

“Fetch me the girl Chalmers,” he ordered. “You’ll find her in the kitchens.”

“It’s not exactly full,” Duncan McAllan said in disappointment as he peeped through the door of the Mission House meeting room.

“Patience, my friend.” John Porteous was at his side. “All the Lord asks of his followers is faith and humility. Punctuality is low on his list of priorities.”

“Of course, John, you’re right as usual. It’s just that...”

“You’d hoped for more, I know,” Porteous interrupted. “Man, you should rejoice! There are 30 souls for saving in there. Take heart.”

Cheered

Duncan was visibly cheered. “You’re a great comfort to me, John. And I’m grateful for the help you and your family have given to this venture.”

“You’d do the same for me, I’m sure. Now, then, let’s see how the womenfolk are doing in the kitchen. There’s a rare smell of vegetable broth on the air.”

“But wasn’t it strange how we acquired our first new helper?” Duncan said as the two men proceeded along the passage. “That same lassie we met on the stairs that night we supped with you.”

“Ellie Chalmers.” Porteous nodded. “A fine young woman, if a bit outspoken.”

“We can’t pay her much,” Duncan said, a worried frown on his face.

“She can get bed, food and warmth here – that’ll suffice, I’m sure,” John replied affably. “It’s true we found her useful, but our loss is your gain. And forbye I’ll exact some form of recompense, don’t you fear.”

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