White Rose Rebel (42 page)

Anne frowned, puzzled.

‘Morag’s not a servant,’ she said. ‘She’s a M
^c
Intosh, one of the family, the clan.’ Her visitor still looked mystified. ‘She gives her help because she chooses. We don’t have servants, or slaves. The clan provides everything we need.’

‘How very kind,’ Helen said. ‘But don’t they need to help themselves?’

‘We’re all obliged to help each other,’ Anne explained. ‘No one goes hungry or without shelter, or care if they need it. We all do our part.’

‘I see,’ Helen said, though she clearly didn’t. ‘Well, we do too. One of my friends visits with your cousin, Francis, in Southwark jail. She’s taken quite a shine to him. A fine, handsome man, she says. I think romance blossoms.’

‘But he’s been sentenced to hang.’

‘Not if Elizabeth can help it.’

‘Elizabeth?’ A shiver had run down Anne’s back, hearing her sister’s given name.

‘Elizabeth Eyre,’ Helen confirmed. ‘She’s from a wealthy family, and a fighter. She has written to the king’s mistress pleading for your cousin’s life.’

‘Not the king?’ Anne was surprised. Weren’t Englishwomen powerless?

‘No, no, no,’ Helen smiled. ‘You’ve not been listening. Ask a man for something and he’ll refuse, just because he can. So we get round them. If the Countess of Suffolk decides your cousin should be pardoned, the king will find himself thinking it’s been his idea all along.’

‘Isn’t that deceitful?’

‘Does it matter, if it works? Look what your directness gets you.’

Later that week, Helen joined Cumberland’s evening dinner party. Her husband had been reassigned to the Duke’s staff while Lord Boyd
was absent for the executions. This dinner would be the last before the young Scottish equerry left for London.

Lord Louden was the only other Scot present. Forbes was well out of favour and would not have wanted the invitation any longer. The talk was of the Pretender Prince and his evasion of their pursuing forces. The army had searched Aberdeenshire and the Mearns, shooting rebels, pillaging and laying waste to the counties as they went. Now, their intelligence had it the Pretender and his companions fled north to the Hebrides.

‘You must hope to catch him soon,’ Helen said.

‘I’m in no hurry,’ Cumberland smiled. ‘He leads us to supporters we might never have suspected, if he but knew it.’

‘I took tea with the Lady M
^c
Intosh the other day,’ Lord Boyd said. ‘She really is a very pretty woman. It’s a pity she’s a rebel.’

‘Not for much longer,’ Hawley said. ‘She goes for trial next week.’

‘Tea?’ Cumberland frowned. ‘She’s in prison, not holding court.’

‘But she has many visitors,’ Cope intervened. ‘They queue up outside, several of our own officers among them.’

‘And their wives.’ Helen smiled and turned coyly to the Duke. ‘My Lord Cumberland,’ she said, ‘I would ask your permission to attend that trial.’

‘You can speak against her?’

‘Why no,’ Helen said, innocently, ‘but what a story she must have to tell. My friends in London are agog for news of her.’

‘Are they, indeed?’ Cumberland was not pleased.

‘She raised her own husband’s clan and fought against him. Then –’ Helen laughed merrily ‘– she kept him prisoner under his own roof. It’s most amusing.’

Cumberland glared at James Ray. Ray, himself, stared coldly at his wife.

‘There would be far fewer rebel wives,’ Ray snapped, ‘if their Hanoverian husbands kept them under better control.’

‘Do we know this man, her husband?’ Cumberland asked.

‘One of my captains, sir,’ Lord Louden replied. ‘Brave and loyal. He fought at Prestonpans, saving the small number of our troops
who escaped, and was at my side when we attempted to take the Pretender from his own home at Moy, which his wife, Colonel Anne, thwarted. He was captured in the wake of that.’

‘The Pretender placed him in his wife’s custody,’ Ray added. ‘When we arrested her, I found him locked in the cellar, where he’d been chained.’

‘There must be no love lost there then,’ Cumberland pondered. ‘I don’t recall a petition from him. Will he speak against her?’

‘He knows little of her actions, bar hearsay,’ Louden said. ‘They were apart. General Hawley has more damning evidence, of her role in his defeat at Falkirk.’

‘I hope you’ll give evidence, General,’ Lord Boyd urged Hawley. ‘No one else has come forward, though we’ve held her now for six weeks. She made fools of us all, especially the high command.’

Cumberland frowned. Hawley did not appear to relish the task. Cope filled up his glass with claret.

‘Courage, Henry,’ he said. ‘Your reputation will recover, I’m sure.’

‘There is no need for witnesses,’ Helen said. ‘She intends to confess, the whole story from start to finish. Oh, I am so looking forward to hearing it.’

‘Does she want to hang?’ Cumberland asked. ‘All the other traitors lie about their involvement. Listen to them and we fought no one, least of all those bloodthirsty, murderous savages who charged into our fire. They showed no discernible reluctance then to die for a cause they now disclaim.’

‘She doesn’t seem to mind death, sir,’ Lord Boyd said. ‘She is quite calm, as if she has found peace within herself.’

Cumberland had not forgotten that pale but pretty face, the quiet dignity.

‘Like Joan of Arc!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘Imagine –’ she gazed, awestruck, at the Duke ‘– you could make a great Scottish hero of her when she dies.’

It was the first day of June. The wide River Ness sparkled in the warm summer sun. The red field of Culloden began to turn green. There might have been peace, except there was none. No birds sang above the site of the slaughter. Wounds healed slowly in those seven weeks, keeping the injured from trial and sentencing. In towns and cities, the creak of the gibbets slowed but had not stilled. The Prince was chased north and back again. Army units trawled his wake, raiding homes, raping and murdering occupants. As the flow of warriors reduced and known sympathizers became a trickle, arrests were made for a word overheard, the wearing of white, an expression of sympathy for the condemned.

Cumberland received a letter from his father, commending him for securing the realm and his united kingdoms. ‘But we are concerned to make no martyrs,’ it read, ‘especially from the fairer sex whose influence should not be spread.’ Female rebels, however high-ranking, should be tried in Scotland then sent south for sentence, their actions considered too shocking for the citizens of England to hear. The king’s letter confirmed the course of action the Duke had decided on. Lord Louden stood waiting for the order. Hawley was not a happy man.

‘This is the paper you will serve on Aeneas, Chief of M
^c
Intosh and Clan Chattan,’ Cumberland said, dipping the quill in the ink and scrawling his signature. ‘It will turn the tables neatly.’

‘But is hardly fair punishment!’ Hawley complained.

‘Your hanging would give her glory and influence,’ Cumberland responded. ‘A death she seems to seek. This –’ he blotted the ink dry ‘– will remove her from our history.’ He handed the paper to Louden. ‘Soon, she’ll be forgotten. I doubt she will have peace now.’ As Louden left to carry out the order, Cumberland smiled. He had a fitting answer to the problem of Colonel Anne Farquharson, the
Lady M
^c
Intosh, and his cousin, the Pretender, to thank for it. Justice was done.

Bright in the sunlight, the blade of the axe flashed as it was raised. The crowd on Tower Hill gasped audibly, in an intake of breath, and held it. On his knees, Lord Kilmarnock felt the hard wood of the block press against his throat. The blade flashed down.

The minister in Anne’s cell had come to give comfort in her last days.

‘Whither thou goest I will go,’ he read. ‘And where thou lodgest, I will lodge, thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.’

Anne stared up at the cell window. Margaret’s trial had begun that morning. Soon, they would come for her. She was afraid of dying but not of death. All the pain and grief would go. In the grave, there could be no more torment. The trial would relieve her guilt. She would confess it there, make her peace. She hoped she could walk calmly to the scaffold. Others, whom she knew to be brave souls, had been unable to give life up with ease. From the jail, their screams and struggles could be heard. She’d think of Ewan, the suffering she’d been spared. Let her stay numb to life. Let her not dishonour the dead with the body’s desire to live. Let her not fail at the last.

A key was put in her cell door and turned, clattering. The minister’s voice faded away to silence. This must be the moment. She closed her eyes briefly, drew a deep breath, turned round. Lord Louden stood in the doorway.

‘
trobhad
, you are to come with me,’ he said.

Coming out of the prison, Anne was blinded by the light. How dull and dingy it had been inside. But even with her eyes shielded, she recognized the hooves, fetlocks, legs and body of the horse she was led to. It was her own Pibroch. She was helped into the saddle, to the familiar shape and warmth of the beast. She might have broken then. How cruel they were. She could have walked more easily to the court. But Louden did not lead her and her escort
there. They rode on through the town. Folk stopped to watch then talk as she passed by.

They took the road towards the port. Ships sailed south from there, taking those for trial in England to Berwick or to London. Some had said they were afraid to try her in the Highlands, afraid of public riot, others that they were afraid to let her speak at all. Those being transported also left from there, sailing to the colonies and a life enslaved. Was that the intent, to tear her from her homeland, make her live, far away and silent?

She asked the soldiers at her sides but got no answer. Lord Louden, up ahead, did not turn round. At the crossroads, they did not take the coast road, but turned south. So, there would be no trial, just sudden death. As had happened to so many, she would be taken to some quiet place and shot. At least that would be quick. Poor boys, she glanced at the escort, so young, most of them, to be made do such desperate things.

She tried not to think of what would come. Instead, eyes adjusted to the light, she took in all the shades of green, the dark heather, bright trees, the birdsong. Pibroch’s strong back was under her, his muscles worked against her legs. Up above the sky was blue, streaked with thin, white cloud. Larks sang, soaring out of sight. The warm, light wind brushed her skin, teased her hair. Out here, there was no judgement, just the earth doing what it did. The cruelty of being in it stung. This world would be hard to leave.

On Tower Hill, Lord Balmerino stopped the executioner’s apology.

‘Friend, you need not ask me forgiveness, the execution of your duty is commendable.’ He gave the man three guineas, all he had, took off his coat and waistcoat and laid them on the waiting coffin. ‘There are some who may think my behaviour bold,’ he said, ‘but I tell you, it arises from a confidence in God, and a clear conscience.’ He knelt, put his head in the block, and called the executioner to strike.

The blade of the axe flashed in the sunlight as it swung back. Aeneas was with Donald Fraser and Shameless, out on the slope
above Loch Moy. The blacksmith had healed well but must still be careful not to tear his wound open again. It was Aeneas who wielded the axe. Shameless chopped branches from the fallen trees. Fraser stacked them. They were felling wood to re-roof the burnt-out cottages. The cottars who had lost their homes would move in once the repairs were done. Stone buildings provided better shelter than the turf cotts had. Again, the blade of the axe flashed as it swung forward. The whack as it hit the wood echoed through the glen. White chips flew out of the cut. Aeneas pulled the axe out, swung again.

‘Chief,’ Fraser called over, ‘look.’ He nodded towards the road from Inverness, distant across the loch. Foot soldiers and riders could be seen, travelling in their direction.

Instantly, Aeneas turned and ran for the house. Fraser and Shameless crashed along through the trees behind him. He burst into the hall, startling the Dowager, who sat by the window, reading.

‘What on earth is happening,
ciod e?
’ she asked, as he hurried to arm himself with sword, dirk, pistol. Shameless and Fraser followed him in, doing likewise.

‘There are troops coming,’ he said, strapping on his sword.

Hearing the fuss, Jessie came in from the kitchen and picked up the axe.

‘Has there not been enough killing?’ the Dowager asked, though she lifted the poker from the hearth as the sound of horses clattered into the yard outside.

‘They’ve done all they will do here,’ Aeneas retorted, grimly turning for the door, sword in his right hand, pistol in his left, the dirk pushed in his belt, and backed by the equally armed blacksmith and M
^c
Intosh lad.

The door was knocked and opened. The three men spaced themselves in the wide hall. Lord Louden strode in.

‘Aeneas,’ he smiled. ‘Good day to you.’ He took in the guns and blades all aimed at him. ‘Are you expecting trouble?’

‘That depends if you bring any,’ Aeneas answered.

‘I have an order for you, and a prisoner,’ Louden answered. ‘You
can decide for yourself how much trouble that is.’ He called to the men outside. ‘Bring her in.’

Anne was escorted into the hall. There was a stunned silence, broken first by the sound of the Dowager’s poker falling to the hearth.

‘Anne!’ she cried out, rushing to her.

As his aunt threw her arms round his wife, and the others sheathed their weapons, Aeneas stared, frozen with disbelief that she was here. She looked pale but well. How could she look so well? Louden held the order paper out.

‘Lady M
^c
Intosh is to remain in your custody until she learns the error of her ways and is reformed,’ he paraphrased.

‘My prisoner?’ Aeneas said, belting his pistol and sheathing his sword to take the paper and read.

‘Aye, Captain,’ Louden grinned. ‘The Duke has turned the tables rather more pleasantly this time.’ He nodded to the Dowager and left, his men following him out.