The Highwayman's Curse (19 page)

“Y
ou have forgotten something,” said Bess to her, gently, going over and taking the old woman's hands, crouching down beside her at the spinning-wheel. “Iona did what my mother and father did – she fell in love with someone forbidden by her father. She acted as my parents did, through love and not hate. I am sorry for what happened to you. But hatred is not the way. I know that now.” And she looked quickly at me, before leaving Old Maggie and sitting down once more beside me. The locket shone in the firelight and she put her fingers up to ensure that it lay properly.

And still Old Maggie muttered beneath her breath.

Let her mutter. She was a poor old woman who meant nothing to me now. Not now that Bess was no longer under her spell.

If it had not been for the horrible knowledge that Iona lay dead in this room, I think I could have felt some kind of peace then.

The night was not yet over. Exhausted as I was, I was the first to hear Billy's shouting in the yard, and then hoofbeats.

Almost at the same time, the others had heard it too. We stood up. As quickly as I could, though in pain, I pulled on the clean clothes that Bess had brought earlier, wincing as the cloth tugged at my raw wounds. We grabbed such weapons as were near by and slipped out of the door, leaving Jeannie and Old Maggie, as well as Jock and Tam, who still slept. Jeannie looked as though she cared little for what might happen now. As I left her, I saw her cover Iona's face with the blanket.

In the yard, with Thomas carrying a lantern, we ran to the gateway. The clear, full moon lit the landscape and we could see in all directions. In the distance, I thought I saw tiny flickering lights, as though of flaming torches. But, much closer, a single rider approached, galloping on a fast horse. No hill pony this, I could tell immediately.

He carried no visible weapon, though perhaps he had pistols in his belt. No sword hung by his side. We were in no danger, outnumbering him as we did.

But who was he?

“Who goes there?” shouted Thomas.

The rider hauled his horse to a halt some five or ten paces from us and it stood, its flanks heaving, breathing mist into the night air. The man was cloaked, his head covered. I could tell little of his frame or age, except that he sat tall and straight on his horse and rode well.

“Who are ye?” demanded Red.

The rider paused before answering, with a strong voice. “I am Douglas Murdoch's son.”

“Bastard! Murdering bastard!” roared Red, leaping forward, a thick wooden club in his hand. The horse reared in fright and Robert Murdoch pulled it skilfully round, turning a fast circle, keeping out of Red's reach. “Is she safe?” he shouted above the angry noises of the men.

“Iona is dead, drowned by your murdering father!” shouted Thomas. “We have her body safe.”

With a cry of horror, the boy leapt from his horse, not heeding the danger he was in, caring nothing for the fury on their faces or the weapons in their hands. He tried to run towards the closed door of the dwelling.

He had no chance. They caught him and brought him to the ground, where he lay face down in the dirt. Red twisted his arms behind his back but he did not cry out.

“String him up!”

“Take 'im down the cave!”

“Drown the murdering bastard!”

“Slit his throat and send him back to his father!”

I could see the boy struggling to turn his face, but a foot pressed his head down. Red and Mouldy between them hoisted him now to his feet. He gasped for breath and then began to try to speak. But Mouldy hit him across the cheek and within moments blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

I knew then that this boy had as little chance as Iona had had. Did he hate his father too, for what he had done?

“Let him speak, Red,” I urged now. “He had no wish for Iona to die. And remember, his father imprisoned him. Mad Jamie said so.”

“He led my daughter to her death!” said Thomas.

“He did not! Douglas Murdoch is the only one to blame for that!”

And in the small pause that followed, Robert spoke, blood oozing from his mouth. “If Iona is dead, I will kill my father myself. But there is something ye know not.”

All looked to him. He struggled to control his emotion.

“Even now, other men wish him dead. Mad Jamie has sent word to many people o' what my father has done and they are making their way to our home. If ye wish to join them, ye should make haste.”

“Is this true?” Thomas asked, with a growl.

“Aye, 'tis true. Armed wi' weapons and fire they are.” He sounded weary, overwhelmed. Lost.

“One thing,” I said. “Mad Jamie said you were imprisoned by your father. How did you escape?” Perhaps his presence here was a trick – who could tell?

“Two o' my father's men helped me. Some o' them are sickened at my father's ways,” said Robert. “They say he has gone too far.”

By now, the other men had decided to believe Robert. The idea that they might miss such action must have been too much for them to bear. Mouldy and Billy were bringing out the ponies, throwing saddles on them, deftly fitting their bridles. Soon, they were all mounted, Calum too. They rode off into the night, brandishing two blazing torches, heedless as to who followed them.

Bess, Robert and I were left in the yard, the moonlight leaving everything colourless and ghostly. “I wish to see her,” said Robert, looking towards the dwelling, as though in truth he feared to go inside. A little light came from beneath the door, and from the slits around the window shutters.

I was about to lead him into the cottage, when Bess held me back. “What about Old Maggie?” she asked. I knew what she meant: if Old Maggie saw Robert, she would judge him to be the cause of all this. I did not wish to hear one more word of her ranting.

“Take her back to her own bed. We shall stay out of sight.” And I led Robert round the side of the dwelling. I had no fear of him, nor he of me. I felt pity for him, and some admiration that he had dared come here. The fact that we both had fathers of whom we were ashamed gave me a kind of kinship with him, too. He licked the blood on his lip.

As we waited, silent at first, a question came to me and I asked it now. “Did you know of the snake? The snake in the box, among the smuggled goods?”

“Aye, but too late. My father's men laughed about it. They boasted o' how clever they were, timing the tide just so. Placing the snake in the box and then disappearing by boat afore ye came.”

“Why did he do it? It should have been Tam who found the snake. And instead it was Bess. What harm had either of them done?”

“It would have made no difference if he had known it. He wanted to frighten ye all, to warn o' what he could do. Everyone knows o' the old woman's curse, the story she told to all she met. He laughed at how afeard ye all would be to read those words. He is a cruel man. And I am ashamed to be his son.” He clenched his fingers, open and shut. But his face showed little emotion. I think he held it all inside.

“And did your father mean then to carry out his threat? Or was it only to make us afraid?”

“No, I think he did no'. 'Twas no more than threatening talk. But then, he learnt about me and Iona, and he was furious. I couldna tell Iona that he knew it – she would have been too afeard. But she had already told me her idea o' running away – at first, I tried to change her mind, but when I saw that my father knew about us I said we should go without delay. But … 'twas no use.”

Robert seemed to wish to tell everything now. I wondered if he had been able to confide in anyone else. I supposed not. “We'd no' gone far when they caught us, and took us back to him. He locked me up and took Iona away. But I was able to send word to Mad Jamie. One o' my father's servants helped me.”

I had one more question. It was an idle question; I could not realize that the answer would mean so much. “How did your father learn about you and Iona?”

A noise escaped from Robert's mouth, an explosive burst of disgust before he spoke. “Now there's a man I would see dead!”

“Who? Who told him?”

“John Blakelock!”

“Who is John Blakelock?”

“The minister. A man o' God, no less!”

And then I understood the truth. “The blind minister?”

“Aye. The same.”

“But why?”

“Who knows? He came to our home. My father almost barred the door – this was a man who preached agin our religion, who hated us Episcopalians, and who would do anything to see us pay for earlier wrongs. But he said he had information my father would want. And he did. The same servant told me o' it. Another who hated my father.”

What treachery! Why would the minister do such a thing?

At that moment, I heard Bess call. We went round the side of the dwelling again and walked towards the doorway, which now stood open, warm light spilling out.

“I told Jeannie you wished to see Iona,” said Bess softly. Robert did not move for some moments.

“I am sorry,” I said to him, touching his arm. “I wish we could have saved her.”

He said nothing. I think he could not.

Bess and I watched him walk into the doorway but we stayed outside, not wishing to see any further.

R
obert stayed inside for some while. Bess and I said little as we waited, shivering in the night air. We watched the distant hills, where I could see torches dotting one part of the landscape. Were these the men bent on revenge and punishment of Douglas Murdoch? I felt no pity for the man. He deserved whatever might befall him, but I wished not to be part of it and I feared for what would happen next. Would it end? Could it?

How eerie a full moon is. Strange events occur when the moon is whole, they say, when a certain magic holds creatures in its sway. It is as though every night leads towards this perfect circle, when nocturnal powers strengthen, and anything can happen, for good or for ill.

Now that I had time to think, my wounds began to sting more strongly than before. My skin and joints were stiffening in the chill air and my head throbbed with tiredness. And yet I did not think the night's action was over.

Jeannie and Robert came to the doorway. I think that he had been weeping. He pulled the hood of his cloak up again and went towards his horse.

Now, his strength seemed to return and he leapt into the saddle.

“My father will pay for this!” he shouted. And with that, he kicked his horse hard and galloped away, clattering through the yard entrance and along the track towards the road.

Bess and I looked at each other.

“Shall we go with him?” said Bess.

“No. It is not our battle.”

“But I fear for him.”

“It is not our battle,” I repeated.

“Will is right,” said Jeannie. “There is nothing can be done. And I need ye here, Bess. Nor do I like to see ye ride out wi' the men. There is better work here.”

Jeannie took Bess's arm and I followed them into the cottage.

“There's the fire to be stoked,” continued Jeannie. “And I must prepare Iona's body. It must be washed and made ready. And all manner o' things to be doing.” She bustled around, busying herself with anything that would take her mind from what had come to pass that night. And what might yet happen.

But nothing could have prepared her for what did indeed happen next.

She screamed. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes saucer-wide in the glow of lantern and fire. Bess, too, gasped. I did not at first see what frightened them so.

And then I too saw it.

It was as much as I could do not to scream myself.

I
ona's whole body was shivering beneath the sheet. While Jeannie stood too shocked to move, I ran to the fire and pulled the edge of the cloth down. Her eyes were open – she was alive!

I knew not how this could be. Yet she was no ghost. I had heard stories of people being in a deep sleep and waking when all hope was gone but I had never believed such a thing to be possible. Her body had been so cold, so motionless, that we had assumed her dead. Her sleep had been so deep that we had detected no breath, but she must have been breathing very shallowly all the time. And now the warmth of the fire was rousing her from her strange sleep – for sleep was all it had been. Still her skin felt chilled, but there was a softness to it now. There was life in her.

And the hole in her skull? Surely she could not have survived such a thing, though I had heard of people in times gone by being trepanned to release a bad spirit, and I suppose they sometimes did not die.

Jeannie ran to her and gathered her up in her arms, where she lay, still limp, still silent, but with her eyes open, and breathing more strongly. Now, too, Tam was waking, smiling at his sister, never having known that there was anything to fear.

“Hello, Iona!” he said, as though it was morning, any morning, after any night.

Now Jeannie laughed, as she kissed Iona's face and smiled at Tam. Bess and I grinned at each other too, more pleased than I can describe. All that pain, that fear – it had not been for nothing!

Iona's hand went to her head, and Jeannie pushed back her hair to reveal the hole. But when we looked, we saw that the hole had only pierced the flesh covering her skull, and had gone no further. Her skull was unbroken. Murdoch and his men had not trepanned her after all – it was nothing more than a mark from some other injury.

And Old Maggie had indeed been wrong, wrong in every way. Douglas Murdoch still deserved all that might happen to him, but how glad Robert would be that the worst had not happened.

Robert! He was riding towards his father with vengeance in his heart. Although I had no desire to protect Douglas Murdoch, I did not wish Robert to do something he might regret. And if he thought Iona dead, who knew what lengths his grief might lead him to?

Besides, I wished him to know, and to have something to be glad for. There had been enough of the other.

Bess ran to our cottage and changed quickly into man's attire once more, and we saddled our horses again, somewhat against Jeannie's wishes. But Jeannie was so intent on looking after Iona – as well as Jock, who lay now with eyes open but glazed, his lips slack – that she did little to stop us. Tam wished to help her, running about on his bare feet, fetching wood with his one good arm, and stoking the fire expertly.

The moonlight still gave the air a steely gleam, though some clouds were drifting over the sky now, and in the distance we could see the moving pinpoints of torches near Murdoch's tower.

In that direction we rode, fast. My wounds stung but I did not care about that. In some strange way, the pain reminded me that I was alive, and that it was good to be so.

Could this whole ugly feud be stopped now? The power of Old Maggie and her foolish curse was over. Surely, once Thomas knew that his daughter was alive, and once Red and the others saw how nearly they had lost her, and with Douglas Murdoch stripped of his power and his friends, with everyone rising against him – surely now it would be the end of the back and forth battling about who had done what to whom? Surely they could be at peace, and continue with their lives?

This I hoped with all my heart as Bess and I galloped into the night, the rhythm of our horses' hoofs familiar now, my stride perfectly matching Bess's. The fresh wind on my face filled me with new strength. It was with excitement, and hope, that I rode.

Would I leave after all this, as I had planned? Yes, I would, with even more certainty now. Would Bess come with me?

Perhaps foolishly, I dared to hope so.