The Highwayman's Curse (10 page)

O
f a sudden, I had a need to go outside, to breathe fresh air. Telling them that I would take my turn watching, I left the dwelling. Mouldy stood there, puffing on a pipe, and I bade him to go inside.

A half-moon dropped its milky light across the landscape. The vast sky, dizzying above me, was flecked by stars on this clear night. Not a breath of wind ruffled the air and the sweet smell of tobacco lingered, hanging there.

I went to check the horses, to make sure they had food and water. As always, my heart lightened with their warm, musty breathing, their tangy smell, their trust.

As I walked back again some moments later, Bess was coming out of the dwelling. She said she would join me, so we both went towards our own cottage and I waited outside while she fetched her cloak. Then we walked together, watching for any men or horses approaching along the track. But the night was empty and quiet.

“I have wanted to talk to you,” I began.

“I too,” said Bess, turning to me. “I wanted to say thank you, for bringing us here. You were right, to help Tam, and to take the risk. These are decent people, with honour and loyalty. They suffer, like all the poor, yet they have made us welcome…”

“How can you say that?” I demanded. Anger flared in me, from so many hours of wishing to say what I felt, of hiding my frustration at this place, these people. “How can you say that these are decent people? These are smugglers, good for nothing. Fighting each other and their enemies. They almost killed us!”

“They do what they can, what they must. Who will help them if they do not help themselves?”

“But what kind of life is it? You would not wish to stay with them, surely? They live from day to day in fear. What are we doing even now? Watching for marauders who wish to steal a young girl! What kind of a life is that?”

“It is not what you are used to, of course,” retorted Bess. “But it is a life! It is not without honour and reason. I would gladly stay, at least for a while. Besides, they need me – to go through that passageway. They need us both, to protect Iona. You would wish to do that, would you not?”

Would I? Of course, I did not wish Iona to be taken or to suffer. But would I lay down my life for her?

Bess continued. “We could make a good living, Will. Think on it! They will give us our share and, who knows, we could still ride out of a night and rob the rich carriages as they pass. We need not stay for ever, not if we do not wish to. But we have a place to stay now and we are welcome. For now, I wish to stay.”

“And Calum?” I asked, trying to keep a bitter edge from my voice.

“What of Calum?” I was not looking at her so I did not see her expression but in her voice I thought there was amusement. A slight hesitation before the name, perhaps even a rolling of it on her tongue.

But I could not ask her further. I did not know how to say it. Or perhaps I knew how to say it but did not wish to hear the answer.

A scuttling in the grasses by the corner of the chicken shed made us look in that direction. We walked towards it, each with a pistol before us. But we saw the shadow of a small creature darting off – a rat perhaps, nothing worse.

No wind ruffled the grasses. No owls called. No persons were passing by, no carts at this time of night. Only in the distance the soft shushing of waves on shingle and the occasional faraway curlew crying.

I needed to say something to break the silence. I wanted to say we should not stay, to persuade her to come away with me, but I was afraid that she would not.

“You seem to like Old Maggie,” I said instead, my voice level.

“She is so filled with anger. Such ancient anger.”

Bess was shaking her head as she said this and I thought I understood her meaning. And so I replied, “Yes, and she should forget her anger. It has poisoned her, made her mad, I think.”

“She should not forget her anger! How should she forget? You know what the soldiers did to her and her mother. To forget would be to betray them.”

“But she has carried her hatred for near eighty years! What good has it done her? Sent her mad and brought her only bitterness.”

“Jeannie said Old Maggie cannot remember what she had to eat yesterday but she can remember every breath of that awful day. Such is the power of her anger! That such evil deeds should never be forgotten. It is only seven years since the redcoats murdered my parents and I wish never to forget. Because that would betray them. And that I will never do.”

And now, at last, I realized what had brought back Bess's spark, her old passion for life – it was hatred and anger. That was what she breathed. And it was Old Maggie who had rekindled it. Old Maggie, whose ugly venom seemed to me distasteful, repellent, and yet to Bess like something else entirely, something she might call honour, justice.

I knew not what to say. I had thought I understood her hatred, respected it even. After all, I was no stranger to anger of my own.

But now I had begun to think that revenge is not the way. Holding onto anger is like keeping a thorn inside oneself – it will turn to poison.

Perhaps I was fortunate because I had settled the score with my father and brother. But Bess, too, had surely settled her score? She had killed a redcoat in cold blood. She had finished Henry Parish's work for him, by taking money to his bereaved mother and by ensuring that his death was remembered in song. But then the redcoats had burnt down her cottage, destroyed all her possessions. Did she now need revenge for that? And what then? When would it end?

That too was a reason not to hold onto anger. Did not Shakespeare say, “blood will have blood”? It would never end, it seemed to me – the circle of revenge and anger and hatred would spin for ever. Almost beyond living memory, Old Maggie's mother had been killed for her religion. And still Old Maggie and her family hated Catholics because they answered to the Pope, and Episcopalians because they answered to bishops, and even any Protestants who believed God spoke through an earthly king. But did we not all have the same God? What would He say about such anger?

I did not understand, only that I had no will to be part of it.

“Be careful your anger does not turn you mad. Like that wizened old woman, muttering about curses.” There was spite in my voice.

Now her anger blazed out. “Do not tell me how I should live! You've not had to suffer as I have, rich boy that you are! And how dare you speak of Old Maggie like that? She is strong. Her anger and her hatred make her strong. I should not be ashamed to be like her!”

She turned away from me now. To quarrel with her was not what I wanted. I did not wish to lose her friendship.

And so I told her I was sorry. I
was
sorry – for many things, for the obstacles fortune had placed in her path. But I do not think I was wrong.

She looked at me, her face milk-white in the moonlight. “Do not condemn Old Maggie,” she said more softly now. “I wish to be her friend. I understand her.”

Oh, I could understand Old Maggie. But that did not mean I thought her right.

Later, as Bess and I prepared to go to bed, I think there was some slight chill between us, though we tried to hide it with conversation. Old Maggie was already asleep in her box-bed, and Jeannie had closed the curtain round her for warmth. I was glad not to be able to see her, though I could hear her rough breathing.

As I lay wrapped in a blanket, on a lumpy pallet that was too thin, I stared into the softly hissing embers, and tried to sleep. I did my best to settle my thoughts. I tried to tell myself that I would stay for a while, and that Bess would soon tire of the company of these people. Then she and I could leave together, move west, or north, or anywhere we chose. Even America! Many people did so, I knew. We could start a new life there. But I would not say anything to Bess now, would not try to persuade her. I knew her to be stubborn – she would not wish to feel that she was being pushed.

I would be patient. I would pretend to be content with these people, joining their smuggling activities, doing what was necessary. And when the time was right, Bess and I would leave. Together.

First, however, ill luck played its part. For that night, in the darkest hours, when sleep is deepest and when dreams and demons play with our fears, we were woken to terrible news.

Iona was gone.

I
do not recall what sound woke me first. Was it Jeannie's screams? The shouting of men? Was it the crashing against our door? “Open up!” Thomas's voice was raw and full of agitation. Bess and I scrambled to our feet, pulling on such clothes as we could find in the dark.

I felt sick with panic, as I struggled to grasp what it was we should fear. Bess hurried to light two candles from a glowing ember, and handed one to me. As I unbarred the door, it flew open.

“'Tis Iona! They have taken her!” Thomas's face was rigid. This was his daughter. This his worst fear.

“Get your boots on. We are riding after them,” he shouted, turning and running towards the stable. Setting my candle on the table, I rushed to pull my boots on, fumbling with my stockings, and then my coat, fastening the buttons as best I could.

A sound came from behind the curtains of the bed where Old Maggie lay. I parted them slightly, thinking to look in and reassure her, but I saw even by the dim candlelight that she slept peacefully and only murmured in some dream. She was better not knowing. And I was better not hearing her talk of curses. Snuffing out the candle once more, I left her sleeping, closed the curtains behind me and rushed out with Bess, leaving Maggie in darkness.

In the dimly moonlit yard, by the door to the other cottage, was only more confusion as the men argued about what to do. Thomas and Calum wished to ride after them, knowing that they would be heading towards their lair. But how long since Iona had been gone? They could be safe in Douglas Murdoch's tower by now.

Red also wished to ride after them. He struggled to tie his belt round his waist, to hold his trousers up. Billy stood twisting his hands in distress, knowing not what to say, waiting only for instructions. Mouldy, carrying two burning torches, tried to argue for waiting till daylight, but his voice was barely heard.

Jeannie, her eyes wide and hollowed in the light of the torch she also carried, looked to Jock. “What will we do, Jock? Surely ye'll go after them? Ye canna leave wee Iona, no' even for a night. Who kens what could happen to her? If I could get my hands round that man's neck, I would kill him!”

“Hurry, for God's sake!” shouted Calum now, his voice tight with fear for his sister. He was already on his pony. Thomas had one foot in the stirrup and now swung into the saddle. Red was fumbling to saddle his pony.

“No!” said Jock now.

“Aye!” urged Thomas. “We canna wait!”

“'Tis foolish,” said Jock. “Think on it carefully. No harm will come to her this night.” I was not so sure of this, but I kept my silence. Some things are better not spoken aloud. But Jock was still speaking. “We go in the morning, when 'tis light. We take money and we offer a ransom.”

“A ransom?” shouted Thomas now. I had not seen him so angry before. “A ransom? We should kill them all for this!”

“Aye, that we should!” Red was in rare agreement with his brother. “And the moon is clear enough – we need no' wait for morning, when it might be too late.” He picked up his club and slapped it hard into the palm of his hand, with a loud thwack, and began to mount.

It was at that moment that I saw a shadow move, out of the corner of my eye. Over by the door of our dwelling. I narrowed my eyes to see more clearly. There was nothing. But did I not also hear a small noise, as of something moving? I thought I did. Yet it was impossible to be sure.

Bess saw me look. I shook my head. “It was nothing,” I muttered.

Besides, I had begun to be properly awake. Questions clamoured to be answered. How had intruders come into our midst so silently? Was no one guarding? How could they have entered the dwelling, without waking someone? I suppose they must have waited till Iona went outside, perhaps to go to the latrine. But they must have waited for a long time. How had no one seen or heard?

It did not seem possible.

And so I asked, “How did they enter? How did no one notice?”

“What are ye saying, lad?” Red snarled.

“Only that they must have been very quiet,” I said, levelly.

“Are ye saying that I was no' watching? Is that what ye're saying?”

Jock moved between us. To me he said, “Red was guarding. He went behind the cottage once because he thought he heard a noise. And when he finished his turn and came to get Mouldy, he saw Iona was no' here.” It seemed reasonable.

“Are ye coming or no'?” shouted Thomas.

And that was when I heard something else. The sound of a horse's hoofs, galloping. As one, we turned, all hearing it at the same time.

Spread on a hillside not far away, was a small wood. Out of its darkness, a horse was moving. A single horse, with a rider, clear even in the light of the half-moon on this near cloudless night. “Follow me!” cried Thomas, glad now to be able to act. And he and Calum rode apace from the farmyard, followed closely by Red, and the clatter and clash of their hoofs rang around us as they rode away.

“Stay,” said Jock to the rest of us. “There's no more to be done till morning. They'll no' catch him.” His voice sounded very tired now and he pressed his forehead with his fingers.

I knew he was right, but they had disobeyed him. He walked back to the dwelling as though broken, not thinking even to comfort his own wife. Jeannie, meanwhile, clasped her hands in silent prayer for some moments. Then she put her shoulders back, straightened herself, drew her cloak round her and went after her husband. The rest of us followed, to wait with them until the others should come back, but Jeannie turned and spoke to me and Bess.

“Ye should rest and wait for morning. There's nothing to be gained wi' all o' us waiting up. Go and see that Old Maggie needs nothing.”

So Bess and I returned to our cottage, saying little. What could we say? This was a cruel world we had found ourselves in. To think on what might happen to Iona was not easy, and so I tried to put it from my mind.

And I could not say who was right – Jock, or Thomas, Red and Calum.

After finding our way back to our sleeping places in the dark, we lay down. But we did not sleep. We had no chance. For almost as soon as I wrapped the blanket round me once more, a piercing noise tore through the night.

Old Maggie was screaming.