The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (38 page)

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I'm glad I did it, anyway. Free your uncle, I mean. I didn't like what they did to his hands. And I didn't want to keep the old man's money. It had a taint on it, somehow."

I stood on tiptoe and reached up to kiss his cheek.

"I'll never, never, never stop thanking you for the rest of my life," I said, and I turned and ran back down the street, knowing that his eyes were on me as I ran away.

***

I lay that night in the little corner bed in the kitchen, more comfortable and safe than I had been at any time since I'd left Ladymuir. But I couldn't sleep.

These past weeks, I'd tried not to think about the future. The thought of what might become of me was too unsettling.

When Uncle Blair's free,
I'd told myself.
I'll think about it then.

I'd often imagined how grateful everyone would be to me for all that I had done, and how much they would admire my courage and cleverness. But now I realized that I would never be able explain how it had all happened. Uncle Blair had been bought with stolen money. His freedom had been arranged by an enemy soldier, whose motive was only to please me. If he had known all that, Uncle Blair would have been disgusted.

He assumed that I would return with him to Ladymuir and take up my old life as a member of the family. But now that the time had almost come, I could see with painful clarity what it would mean. Aunt Blair would be good to me at first, but she, too, could never know the truth. Her old dislike would soon take over, and I would feel it daily in a hundred little ways.

And then there was Ritchie. He liked me, I knew. He might ask me to marry him, and one day Ladymuir would be mine. It was a golden prospect for a girl who had grown up in a half-derelict cottage at Scalpsie Bay. I ought to have reached out to seize it with both hands.

Why didn't I want to? What other choice did I have?

Uncle Blair's words floated into my head.

A rover, he was, by nature.

And I was a rover too. If I stayed at Ladymuir, I would be restless and unhappy. My spirit would rise up in revolt.

I remembered the freedom of the days on the drove, when I'd walked with bare legs, unmolested, through the hills.

There was no purpose in wanting those days again.

Perhaps I should stay in Edinburgh. Find work. Be a servant. Wash clothes. I could ... I could...

Tiredness overwhelmed me, and at last I slept.

***

Perhaps because they had been too afraid to help Uncle Blair when he had been imprisoned in the Edinburgh tolbooth, our hosts overwhelmed us with their hospitality. Cousin Thomas insisted on making new suits of clothes for each of us, fussing over which of his best woolen stuffs to use. He measured us and did the cutting out himself, before setting his apprentices to do the stitching. Cousin Sarah sent for the apothecary, who shook his head over Uncle Blair's hands, though he commended me for the use of burdock. He made up a salve but predicted that the fingers would never recover their full sensitivity and agility.

"You'll be able to steer a plow and grasp a scythe," he told him. "It'll be just the fiddly things that'll give you trouble, but your good lady, I'm sure, won't mind doing up your buttons for you."

I could tell that Uncle Blair was longing with all his being to start the journey home to Ladymuir, but even he had to admit that he wasn't strong enough to walk the distance. He submitted with as good as grace as possible to a few days of Cousin Sarah's nursing, though he was sorely tried by the interminable talk of French silks and Italian velvets that flowed from Cousin Thomas. Fortunately, after a day or two, word spread of his presence in Bells Wynd, and a succession of plainly dressed kindred spirits found their way up the narrow stairs to visit him. They exchanged news eagerly of friends who were still in prison, on the run, or banished, and they spoke severely of those who had given in and taken the Test. There was much talk of the great lords of Scotland, the hangings of the covenanting leaders in the Grassmarket, and most of all of the new King James.

"A papist king!" one would start, shaking his head. "He's set up an idolatrous altar in the palace at Holyrood not a mile from here!"

"There's a picture in it, so I've heard," another would add, "of a dove that's supposed to be the Holy Ghost. If that's not blasphemy, I don't know what is."

"Monks droning out masses..."

"The Beast of Rome..."

"The sorceries of the harlot pope..."

I didn't follow it closely, but I pricked up my ears at the news that Mr. Renwick was still free, still gathering the faithful out on the hillsides, preaching, praying, and dodging the Black Cuffs, who were still in hot pursuit. The memory of him confused me. I could resurrect the flutter in my heart when I thought of his smile and something of the exaltation I had felt as he preached, but I resented, too, the trouble his presence had brought to Ladymuir.

I offered constantly to help Cousin Susan, but she wasn't used to another woman in her kitchen and drove me away.

"Run up to the Luckenbooths', dear," she said, as if I was still a child. "A young girl likes a bit of finery. Here's a penny to spend."

I refused the penny but was glad to go out into the street. There was someone I wanted to see.

The steps down to Mistress Virtue's dungeon were more heaped with refuse than ever, and to my surprise the door was shut. I knocked on it, but no strident voice shrieked out an answer. I stood, wondering what to do, when a window opened above my head.

"Gardy loo!" came a cry, and I jumped aside as a chamber pot was emptied over the spot where I'd been standing. As the hand holding it disappeared back inside, I called up, "Excuse me!"

A woman looked out.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Mistress Virtue. Her door's shut."

"She's dead," the woman said shortly. "And good riddance," and she pulled her head back in and slammed the window shut.

A pair of ragged boys had followed me down the steps, their hands held out to beg.

"No point asking me," I said. "I haven't got any money."

They scowled.

"Old Virtue, a friend of yours, eh?" said one of them. The other one chanted:

"
Virtue, Virtue,
Dirty old hag,
Penny for a rag,
Sold her soul,
Died in a hole!
"

More children appeared, and I was starting to feel uneasy. I backed up the close to the safety of the High Street.

"
A witch!A witch! Died in a ditch!
" they yelled after me.

Passersby were stopping at the noise and peering into the close.

"Old Virtue used to live down there," said one.

"Was she really a witch?" said another. "I often wondered."

"So they say. She died in a fit. There were stories of a tall man in black clothes who came to her that night. He cast a chill around him."

"Satan! Lord have mercy."

They hurried on.

I went on up the street. I was sad for Mistress Virtue. I drifted toward the windows of the Luckenbooth shops and stared unseeingly at the displays of ribbons and lace and buttons. Had Mistress Virtue been alone at the end? Had anyone been there to hold her hand at her passing, as I had held Tam's? Would there be anyone to hold mine, when my turn came?

Yes,
I told myself firmly.
I'm going to marry someone, a rover like me, who'll love me always. And we'll have children, and live...

"Why, it's Margaret Blair!"

The voice behind me made me spin round. Mr. Shillinglaw, tall and angular as ever, stood behind me. I felt a rush of fury. I'd had enough unpleasant surprises today and had no wish for another.

"Oh, it's you," I said brusquely. "The lawyer."

"You're very elusive, young lady." He was ignoring my rudeness. "I've been searching for you everywhere."

"I've been with my
uncle,
Hugh Blair. The brother of my
father.
But then, according to you, he wasn't my father, was he?"

He looked uncomfortable and swallowed. In spite of myself, I couldn't help being fascinated by the way his Adam's apple rose and fell in his long thin neck.

"I owe you an apology." He nodded solemnly, as if conferring on me a rare privilege. "I know now that you are indeed who you claim to be."

His condescension enraged me even more.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm afraid I've got to go."

I tried to move past him, but he blocked my way.

"What made me believe you first of all," he said, looking suddenly more human, "is that I remember your grandmother. To be frank, she terrified the life out of me when I was a little boy. When you lost your temper with me, you looked exactly like her. As a matter of fact, you look rather like her now."

"Oh!" I didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. I laughed.

He smiled in response and offered me his arm.

"Will you come with me to my premises, Mistress Blair? There are matters to discuss that are better spoken of in private."

No one had ever called me "Mistress" before. In spite of myself, I was charmed. No gentleman had ever offered me his arm either, and I was grateful to Cousin Thomas for my new gown and shawl. On our slow progress down the High Street, every gentleman we passed bowed to Mr. Shillinglaw, and ladies waved to him from their sedan chairs.

Mr. Shillinglaw's office was paneled in wood, and there were windows with glass panes in them, instead of wooden shutters. I tried not to look too impressed and sat on the edge of the chair that he drew forward for me with my hands clasped tightly together.

"The sum of money that Mr. Bannantyne owes you is not large," he stated. "I wouldn't want to raise your expectations. Macbean of Scalpsie Bay owed your father rather more. He was always reluctant to pay the drovers and used to hold the money over from one year to the next. It might not be easy to recover it from him."

"I couldn't, even if I wanted to," I said. "I can never go back to Bute."

"Ah. The trial. We heard all about that."

Now for it,
I thought.
Here comes trouble. All this soft talk's a trap. He's going to have me arrested again.

I looked toward the door, but Mr. Shillinglaw was sitting close to it. My heart began to thud painfully.

"The general opinion," Mr. Shillinglaw went on, his voice as dry as straw in August, "is that an injustice was performed against you. Your grandmother's case, of course, was another matter."

"Granny wasn't a witch!" I burst out. "I don't care what anyone says!"

He didn't meet my eyes.

"Be that as it may. But as far as you are concerned, there is no doubt of your innocence."

"How do you know all this?" I demanded. "What's it to do with you?"

He lifted a hand.

"There's no need to bite my head off, Maggie, every time I open my mouth. I'm trying to tell you what's in your interest."

"All right." I knew I sounded ungracious, but I didn't care. "Go on."

"Sentiment on the island changed almost immediately after your grandmother's execution. When the girl Annie disappeared and was known to have joined forces with a disreputable vagabond..."

I wanted to interrupt again, to defend Tam, but even I had to admit that Tam had been extremely disreputable, so I held my tongue.

"...Annie's evidence was called into question. Other examples of her untruthfulness and even instances of theft were brought to light." He dropped his grand manner and said simply, "Everyone on Bute is ashamed of what happened, Maggie. They know you're not a witch. They were glad that you got away. You ask me how I know. I was in Rothesay myself a couple of weeks ago, on business for Mr. Bannantyne. They still talk of you. They want to make amends. You would be welcomed back."

I didn't know what to say. My head was spinning.

"Don't you even want to know," Mr Shillinglaw was saying, "how much money is owing to you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Mr. Bannantyne owed your father three pounds sterling, and Mr. Macbean owed him four pounds, I believe."

Seven pounds! My mouth fell open. I could never have imagined that such sums of money could possibly be mine.

From far away, I heard Mr. Shillinglaw say, "A very respectable dowry. Your husband will be a lucky man. If you would like to return here tomorrow morning, I will have Mr. Bannantyne's money ready for you and will ask you to put your cross on a document in receipt."

"I can write," I told him haughtily. "I'll sign my own name properly. And I haven't got a husband, thank you very much. What's mine will be mine."

I stood up and walked to the door. Then a thought struck me.

"Annie. Do you know what's happened to her?"

"I wondered if you would ask." He had picked a quill up from his desk and was twirling it between his fingers. "The young lady won't be troubling you again. Mr. Bannantyne was greatly angered by her attempted fraud. He had her arrested. She had been living immorally with a succession of soldiers. Other matters—thefts, frauds, slanders, crimes of one kind and another—were proved against her. She's in the tolbooth at present, awaiting transportation on a slave ship to the colonies."

"She'll get away from there," I said bitterly. "She'll make up to the guards. She'll wheedle her way out of it."

"I don't think so. She has been branded, you see, on the cheeks, and her ears have been cut off. No man will look twice at her now."

My journey with the drovers from Bute to Dumbarton had been quiet and slow, dictated by the leisurely pace of the cattle. On the flight from Kilmacolm to Edinburgh, Tam and I had been fugitives, fearfully dodging Black Cuffs and stealing to survive.

My progress from Edinburgh back toward Kilmacolm with Uncle Blair was quite different. We walked in the open along the public highway, a respectable pair of travelers, Uncle Blair raising his hat courteously to passersby. We paid for our food and lodging with the pennies that Cousin Thomas had pressed upon us.

Uncle Blair was stronger in body now, but his mind was troubled. Often we walked in silence, but from time to time his thoughts would boil over in impassioned speech.