Scotch Rising (7 page)
Philomena gently laid her spoon to rest on the table, frowning at Beathan before she spoke directly to me, “Captain, before my brither and I ruin this pleasant evening baiting each other with auld grievances. Let us turn a new page. We hae heard of yer recently being in Boston, please tell us of yer adventures.”
Three faces peered over the supper table eager to hear of the adventures of a soldier in the New World, to delight in learning of the hardships faced away from civilization, gasp over the brutality to be found and be warmed over the vast richness of the land I had left behind. My heart still beat across the ocean. “I am afraid I am not much of a storyteller and you will find me incredibly dull.”
Magnus selected a portion of roast lamb from the attendant and waved his hand in my direction. “Nonsense, Captain, we are only the three of us, except when Beathan or Philomena’s friends come fur a stay in the country fur distraction. Though I secretly ponder what distractions Markinch could possibly hold over the likes of Auld Reikie or London, we are in want of honest company.”
“Indeed, Captain, ye will be doing me a favour by speaking on the subject.” Philomena leaned forward in her seat. “Books on the New World are exceedingly hard tae come by all the way up here and I am currently waiting fur my copy of Dr Preston’s newly published experiences of his adventures in the Americas. My friends are reading it now.”
“Dinnae encourage her, Captain, she is a bluestocking of the worst order. Faither and I despair she will ever find a husband now she is well and truly on the shelf.” Beathan gave his younger sister a condescending glance and turned his gaze to me. “I apologise fur my sister’s lack of decorum.”
“Captain, let me make an apology tae ye fur my children’s behaviour. Ye might hae lived among the wild men of the America’s however our own lack of genteel company has adversely affected the manners at my table.” Magnus gave Beathan and Philomena a hard stare. “Perhaps ye could tell us why ye chose tae enter the military ranks.”
There would be no escape this evening from topics I tended to avoid in all company. Markinch was no place to keep secrets and why should I be resolved to hold old wounds to my chest, my tenancy already at less than a year. “In fact I joined the regiment on a whim to escape my uncle’s plans for a planned marriage.” I felt strangely disappointed by the lack of response from any of my dinner companions, Beathan continued to dish roast capon into his mouth, Philomena’s eyes glazed over and Magnus nodded sagely. As if he possessed a great understanding of the young and their foibles.
“As my uncle’s only heir, he felt prompted to arrange a good marriage for me in order to continue our line infinitely into the future.” I pushed my plate away. I forced my mind to recall Lady Strathmore. All the small details of the late afternoon from the chiming of the clock on the mantelpiece to her delicately rouged lips. She was the débutante of the season. She possessed every social grace of young woman of quality. She sang, played an instrument, spoke several languages well. She was rich and, not unlike other women of her station, she was cruel to those she believed undeserving of her attention. I had witnessed her pitiless behaviour first hand.
“I knew from the first we could never suit. I pleaded with my uncle to end the engagement. He would not and I joined the regiment to escape.” I thought of the look on Mr Wick’s caring face as I pounded on the knocker at his townhouse, demanding entrance. “With some help from an old friend, I enrolled in my late father’s platoon and was soon away to Boston.”
“It is fashionable fur a man tae hae at least one broken engagement these days.” Philomena remarked sourly, not meeting my eye, instead watching the serving staff clear away the plates. “Young men need a hint of scandal in order tae get intae the best drawing rooms. Where the incomparables are hidden away from the rest of society.”
Magnus cleared his throat at the end of the table. “The papers speak of the immense riches of the New World, tobacco and cotton plantations spring intae life with nary a problem. Huge shipbuilding yards produce vessels with the latest inventions. It is a land of opportunity where with a little capital, a man might make much fur himself.”
“The papers have the right of it, most of the time. It’s a hard life for settlers away from the protection of towns or militia. Especially as the French are wont to make skirmishes into our territory in order to expand their influence with their ungodly ways.” I shrugged my shoulders. I was no longer an active soldier. I was a cog in a wheel of bureaucracy.
With the mention of the French, Beathan lifted his head from the next course and leaned towards me. “All the French be damned.” Magnus raised his wineglass with a quiet. “Hear, hear,” while Philomena rolled her eyes. Beathan continued. “Did ye fight the dastardly fellows yerself, Captain? We only receive the barest of news when it comes tae fighting in the Americas.”
I studied Philomena’s profile across the table. She had studiously ignored my gaze since I mentioned jilting Lady Strathmore. She clearly believed an alliance with her own sex much more important than civil conversation to aid in digestion. Not unlike other high-strung females of my acquaintance. Finally, she turned her green eyes to meet mine. “I assure ye, Captain, any mention of atrocities in which ye participated in the New World will nae make me think any less of ye.”
The challenge hit the table. Magnus and Beathan watched the pair of us warily. “There are no real battles to be had with the French, nothing to give a complete victory to either side, mostly because of the frugality of each country’s government. The policy is to harvest the Americas with as little inconvenience as possible. The summer months mean the regiment and the Boston Militia are often away for long stretches. Raiding enemy territory, harassing French towns and villages.” I did not avert my eyes from Philomena’s face. “The intent to terrorise the population into leaving with pain and murder.”
Immediately I regretted being goaded into discussing the burn and pillage policy of the English Army. It was the same as the French side, but as a boy, I had imagined armies in a line, fighting with valour and honour. Not the gut-clenching savagery of raiding a family farm, putting the inhabitants to death and stealing their food to feed ourselves before planning the next campaign of terror.
“The ladies of Boston must all be aflutter with tales of yer extraordinary deeds done in the name of England.” Philomena watched as a server placed a portion of blancmange on her dessert plate. “Tell us something nae connected with yerself, describe the savages who live in wilds. Ye must hae surely met some while destroying the livelihood of innocent French folk.”
“Magnus, you are harbouring a French sympathiser at your table.” Philomena opened her mouth to argue however I continued swiftly. “The French are the natural enemy to England, you cannot be ignorant of this fact as it is splashed across the pages of history in both our nations in blood. In fact, it is the people of the Americas who suffer the most during the conflict.”
“Captain, I dinnae think anyone at this table would believe the French hae been anything but instigators of conflict when it comes tae English happiness.” Magnus once again cleared his throat loudly. “They hae even condescended tae ally themselves with us Scots on occasion. If only tae tweak the noses of the English.”
This dinner would soon end in a farce if I did not regain control of my temper. I have never before allowed a woman to provoke me into behaving poorly. “The land as you mentioned before, Magnus, is full of promise. It takes hard work and determination to beat back the wilderness and force it into proper production. Women and men must make huge sacrifices to gain returns. There is no one singular tribe amongst the Indians of the Americas. There are hundreds of different bands, speaking multiple different languages. All with their own customs and, depending on their territory, with different modes of survival. Some live from hunting buffalo over the Great Plains. Others fish from the sea part of the year and hunt during others: it is all incredibly complicated.”
“It sounds as if ye hae put some study intae such matters.” Beathan smiled at Philomena. “Here is yer first hand account of the lives of folk in the Americas. If only ye could be patient with the Captain instead of haranguing him like an angry fishwife. Is it any wonder men cower in yer presence? Even with yer large dowry?”
Philomena ignored her brother’s jibe and focused her attention on me. “I hae read several articles depicting the Indians as total savages with nae remorse and nae regard fur human life. In fact I believe the English Army even removed one tribe, the Pequot, tae another location in order tae stop their barbarity against another group.”
“It’s true each tribe is fiercely protective of their hunting grounds and on occasion there are fights.” I twirled the stem of my wineglass for a moment. “Not unlike the English going to war with France, or France with Spain, it is not always easy to rub along with one’s neighbours. My own wife’s tribe, for example, was the Mohawk, though they made alliances with four other nations for protection and are known collectively as the Iroquois, within the larger group, smaller nations are protected.”
“Yer wife, Captain?” The look of shock on Philomena’s face was worth every jibe I might receive from the more prudish residents of Markinch when they learned of my dead wife. “Never say ye are married tae a savage, it is unconscionable!”
“I was married to a member of the Mohawk tribe. She was not a savage.” A memory of her sitting near the fire, chin resting on her knees. A smile playing on her lips as she listened to her brother, Hania, and I speak of our day’s hunt rose before my eyes. I cleared my throat to erase it. “She was caring, generous and in every way the equal and better of most of the women who call themselves ladies in the ballrooms of London.”
Philomena lowered her eyes to her plate in surrender. I only needed to expose myself to all manners of torment to cease her disapproval of my person. The hole in my chest where Onatah lived before her death ached in loneliness. I wished to be away from this table at once. I needed solace.
The silence lengthened and I feared that in my haste to see Philomena in her place, I had completely ruined the evening. Magnus spoke in a low voice. “Is it common practice fur officers tae marry Indian girls? We dinnae hear of such things in the papers.”
Laughing harshly. “You would not hear of a marriage between an English soldier and a native anywhere in the English realms, Magnus. The practice is common enough even among the French. Women are a rare commodity. I would have stayed with my wife for the rest of my days.” I swallowed before continuing. “Most men leave women and return to England, creating dishonour for them.”
“It appears ye are nae much better, Captain.” Philomena stared across the table, with hard green eyes. “I have nae heard of a native woman living with ye in the cottage, ye hae left her behind with a bevy of bastards in tow. I should think.”
I stood towering over the table. I felt Beathan tense beside me, however he did not rise. I spoke the next words slowly, enunciating each one. “My wife is dead.” The harshness of the words tore through the gilt dining room. “She was pregnant with our first child. They are both gone now. Please heap more agony onto my conscience if you think you could reach the top of the pile.”
Philomena sat back in her chair, shock registering on her face. She was speechless, a state not often experienced by the young lady if judged by the look in her eye. Beathan whispered. “Perhaps ye should retire tae the drawing room with the tea cart, Phil, and leave us tae the Scotch.”
The footman pulled her chair out from the table and Philomena rose a trifle unsteadily to her feet. She paused for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. I was sure she might say something. Instead she gave a short curtsey and swept from the room, shoulders square, chin up.
I closed my eyes, and turned to Beathan and Magnus who watched Philomena’s progress from the dining room with surprise. “I apologise to you both, especially to you, Magnus.” My expression hopefully conveyed my embarrassment. “You must think you invited a brute to come and dine with you this evening.” I retook my seat and allowed the server to pour a Scotch.
“On the contrary, Captain. I think I hae invited a real man tae sit at the table,” Magnus dismissed the serving staff with a wave. “My daughter is far too accustomed tae having her own way and she easily manipulates the dandies who come calling on her. I do believe she might be in shock.” He raised his glass in salute and drank.
I raised my own and drank deeply, neither Beathan nor Magnus appeared exceptionally worried over my unsociable behaviour. All was forgotten of the ugly scene and the rest of the evening passed in amicable conversation, my thoughts drifting to the woman who challenged me so fiercely only once or twice.
Chapter 5
Magnus used the table to stand unsteadily, waving away Beathan’s outstretched hand. “It has been an interesting evening, Captain. We only dined with Mr Turner on one occasion and I think the poor man wisnae want tae keep company.” His voice trailed away for a moment. “However, ye must join us again soon. I want tae hear more of the enterprises in Boston and how one might invest in them.”
I stood out of respect for the older man. “Thank you, Magnus, for welcoming me to your table and to the whole village. It has been a privilege. I am sure our paths will cross soon.”
Beathan and I watched Magnus disappear through the drawing room door. The clock on the mantelpiece indicated the lateness of the hour. “I should make my way home, I am sure you have early mornings down at Deoch. I heard the steam whistle this morning calling the workers.”
“Ye are correct, Captain, however I dinnae think one last tipple will do either of us any harm.” Beathan filled my glass before I thought to protest. “Besides, much time has passed since this table witnessed such animated conversation. I need tae apologise fur my sister’s rudeness earlier.”
Cringing at the mention of the scene I orchestrated. “Please, Beathan, the discord was my own doing,” the Scotch, wine and rich food worked together to calm my otherwise aggressive disposition of late. My mood much more mellow, allowing for confidences. “My wife is a sore topic and unfortunately it is one many do not understand. Perhaps I do not even comprehend it myself.”
Swirling the Scotch in his glass to create reflections on the white linen tablecloth, Beathan grimaced and finally looked up. “My sister possesses a good heart, however she is stubborn, wilful and far too confident of herself. All products of my faither’s indulgence and my late mother’s failed attempts tae turn her intae a lady. Phil made it her life’s occupation tae resist every plan my mother set fur her.” Beathan laughed lightly before taking a drink. “As a bairn, I watched with amusement as Phil got booted out of nae one but three finishing schools. After my mother’s death, none dared mention she attend another or even spoke of her having a season and finding a husband.”
Never having known a true family, my parents long dead and my uncle only condescending to participate in the barest of contacts for most of my life. I felt unable to truly appreciate the frustration Beathan spoke of concerning his sister’s non-conformity. In an effort to raise the other man’s spirits, I raised my glass. “Family is something I have wished for my whole life, rather a disobedient sister than none at all.”
The bleary-eyed expression I received from Beathan made me regret the attempt before he swallowed the rest of his Scotch. I did the same and stood. “I must be away, it would not do for me to fall asleep under the table and create a scandal as a representative of Her Majesty.”
Blood rushed to my temples as I stood. I had to close my eyes for a moment. I could see slight points of light dancing around before I caught my breath. I looked over at Beathan, who appeared to be in the same predicament. “I think it is going to be an interesting walk back to the cottage this evening.”
Leading the way out of the dining room, through the empty drawing room, Beathan chuckled. “Nae much of interest ever happens in Markinch as I’ve told ye before, Captain. However if you’re a wee bit intae yer cups I can hae a cart pulled around fur ye.”
“I assure you. I am quite capable of making my own way home,” inwardly rebelling at the thought of being too incapacitated to walk home. “I think the drink might have addled your wits. Have I changed into an old lady in the past hour?”
“Now ye hae put the thought in my head.” Beathan paused a moment for effect, scratching his chin and narrowing his eyes while giving me a thorough look over. “I think ye might hae an extremely bonnie figure in a frock, delicate ankles.”
A moment’s pause passed between the two of us as we eyed each other, before we burst into loud guffaws of laughter. I doubled up with my hands on my thighs. I felt tears streaming down my face. I could hear Beathan fighting for breath, the pair of us enjoying a joke like naughty schoolchildren. The noise alerted the silent butler who strode into the reception hall with forceful purpose, a disapproving look on his face and my oil lantern in one hand. Which he shoved in my direction once close enough, before disappearing back into the shadows.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Beathan opened the door into the night. “Safe journey home, Sassenach. Mind dinnae leave the road fur any purpose. The fens are full of bogs, faeries and wee haggis, nae are fit tae play on a drunk man’s mind.”
“Not to worry, my big Scot. I shall keep my dainty ankles to the road.” Beathan tried unsuccessfully to contain his renewed laughter. I held the oil lamp aloft and did my best to step daintily into the darkness.
It did not take long for the night’s silence to close in around me and swallow the weak lamplight. The moon was still invisible behind dark clouds. The snow had stopped earlier, with only a fine layering covering the ground. Merely enough to make a squeaking noise underfoot, the only other noise the baying of animals. The evening might have begun poorly, however the general bonhomie between Magnus, Beathan and me was something I never thought to experience after the death of Onatah. My sacking from the regiment, all ties to humankind felt broken and irreplaceable.
A light from Deoch shone ahead signalling the halfway mark in my journey home. The cold began to penetrate my frock coat. I thought of my winter clothes making their slow progress on the post cart from London. I wished I’d possessed the foresight to bring everything up at once, instead of running away from London in haste. I shrugged deeper into the inadequate folds and thought of the peat fire still smouldering away in my bedroom. There were even a couple bricks, laid out by a thoughtful Freya, which I could use to warm my toes. I began to walk a bit faster, careful not to slip.
A crack rent the peaceful pastoral evening and I crouched and turned towards the noise. Peering as hard as I could into the darkness to distinguish anything out of place. I blew out the oil lamp to cut out the light blindness and let my gaze adjust to the new dimness. I allowed several moments to pass, before deciding I could not investigate the noise in the dark. I fumbled in the front of my coat for the flint I always kept tucked into the inside pocket. A demand made by Hania, who always thought it important to practice good survival skills.
As the metal touched my fingertips, a loud explosion blew apart the night for a second time. Instead of burning out immediately as the first, the second blazed brightly in the distance, over the fens, shooting sparks into the night sky and illuminating a dark column of smoke. With quick fingers, I relit the oil lamp and walked to the edge of the road. The fens stretched out in murky darkness for miles around. I knew the dangers of venturing into them even in daylight, however in the notes Colonel Manners had provided for this post. He took great pains in warning me of illegal stills.
They only carried sixty gallons of liquid. The stills were easy to move to new locations. Thus easily avoiding the tax collector. A still combusting could have created an explosion and fire. This could be my only opportunity to catch a couple of criminals and perhaps have my sentence in Scotland reduced. I lowered the light and swept it along the ground, looking for human or animal tracks. I walked several yards in either direction before I found some hare prints. I carefully stepped over them, making sure not to veer too much from the bridle path, hoping the animals would provide a safe passage through the fens.
I paced steadily onward, towards the fire burning in the distance. Several times I needed to turn around and follow my tracks back to where other animal prints might be going in the direction of the fire. The night remained unusually silent despite the violent disruption. The residents of Markinch could not be ignorant of the blaze. Frustration with my lack of progress made me kick out at a clump of heather. It tore away from the earth and rolled several feet picking up snow as it went.
A glint from light reflecting off metal caught my eye as I looked for another bridle path. I squatted to inspect the foreign object further and discovered the bottom of a boot, the glint from a hobnail setting a new sole into place. I built a flat place from earth and snow for the oil lamp to rest while I uncovered the rest of the boot. Brushing snow and frozen mud away from the leather slowly. I followed the boot to where it should naturally come to an end and instead encountering a knee.
Falling onto my backside in the wet snow, I cursed several times, stood and carefully tried to walk around the body to where the head should be located. A fruitless enterprise, the body half-lay in a bog, I stood over it, hands on my hips, trying to decide on the best course of action. I was lost in the fens, the only light coming from the explosion in the distance and it looked to be burning out rapidly. I could follow all my clumsy steps back to the road with only a small chance of ever finding this location again. I needed to place a marker here to act as a beacon.
To remove the corpse from the bog would take care. I leaned down and tried to get a good handle on the boot. I pulled gently at first and again with more force until finally the body began to pull slowly from the murky half-frozen bog water. I could not risk leaving the corpse overnight. The weather might become milder in the morning allowing it to sink further into the earthy depths. I dropped the boot in order to catch my breath for a moment. I walked to the edge of the bog to investigate the position of the corpse in more detail. With the lamp raised in one hand, I could make out three arms. It did not matter which way I repositioned the lamp the third arm remained present, not a mere apparition.
A second body lay in the murky depths of the fens. Shocked to find one man here, I stepped away and took a couple of deep breaths. The sleepy village of Markinch held some grisly discoveries, and maybe even practices. Who were these men? What terrible fate met them here? All manner of gruesome deliberations swept through my head. Did they murder outsiders in Markinch? Could this be a plot by a character from a fiendish gothic novel complete with witches and ghouls? I shook my head, trying to let reason guide me once again, though the Scotch warmed my more fanciful constructs.
I needed to get both bodies pulled from the bog before leaving to find help. I simply could not trust to let the matter wait until morning. The local magistrate must be called in and these men’s identities made known. I replaced the lantern on the ground and once again gripped the boot tightly and pulled with all my strength.
With some difficulty I manoeuvred the first body onto more solid ground. Stamping down my disgust. I took hold of the material on the arm of the second corpse’s frock coat and heaved with one great breath. It only budged a small bit. It took several minutes before the second man lay beside the first. I panted heavily, trying to regain my breath before picking up the lantern and moving to inspect the gruesome faces of the dead men. In the army, I worked alongside a Dr Mathews a few times, who used various instruments to find the cause of a man’s death. He remained the highest authority in such matters and I wished I were half as capable as him right now. From the decomposition, I could not even be sure when these men died.
Bracing my wits against the carnage I lifted the lamplight to reveal the twisted masks of the men’s faces. Though not too badly decomposed, one bore the remnants of an agonizing death, before what appeared to be a bullet-hole fractured his skull in several places, in all probability killing him instantly.
The second corpse required further investigation. The head remained in fairly good condition despite the decomposition and insects. After finding a single bullet-hole in the front of the man’s frock coat, I surmised he must have died from it. Whether the wound caused instant death, I could not be sure. I did believe both men died at the same time.
My military days chipped away most of my religious sentiment. Watching friends die under the direst of circumstances. Killing the enemy for survival had hardened me to the prayers of salvation. My complete break from the teachings of the Church came with Onatah’s senseless, merciless death. No God would ever have allowed her to die in such a way. A part of me felt moved looking down on these two men, who perished alone out here on the fens. Who lay undiscovered for how many weeks, maybe even months? The savagery harked back to the terrible raids I participated in against French civilians. Hoping the men’s souls might be saved, I repeated a small halting prayer from my childhood, even if mine remained damned.
Before going back to the nearest farmhouse or even back up to the castle in order to raise the alarm. I walked carefully around the bog. There might be clues to the reason for these men’s deaths, perhaps a small scrap of evidence could point towards the killer. The light snow made the earth around the bog even more slippery and dangerous. I remained determined in my search. I slowly walked all the way around until I stood beside the top of each corpse. I thrust the lantern out over the bog, the light shining over the seemingly innocent water-filled hole. Nothing remarkable stood out in the light. I turned on my heel abruptly, aggravated with the whole situation, and one of my boots slipped. I tried to gain purchase on the solid ground with the other, but it caught on the lapel of one of the corpses. As my arms went out from my sides to try and right my fall backwards into the bog, the lantern fell onto a clump of heather.
I hit the surface of the bog with a thud more than a splash, the cold temperature partially freezing the water and mud. This situation had not been covered by officer training and I lay facing the bruised sky, sinking by increments into the earthy grave of two unknown men, knowing that if I completely disappeared, I would never be found. The thought of my own death did not spur me into action. For the last few months, I had considered myself a person dead already, only going through the motions and social niceties required in order to carry on to the next day. I reaped no enjoyment, except for this evening, when the camaraderie lifted my spirits. Sinking a bit further into the bog, I needed to make a decision. Lying here until the mud covered my face would be tantamount to tying a rope over a beam, making a noose and swinging, all by my own hand. I would have to try to save my life in order to keep my promise to Hania. I would die fighting as a warrior even though I would not see his sister on the other side.
