Cat's Cradle (17 page)

I had regained enough breath to wave towards him and gasp: ‘Your choice. I don't want to be charged with insulting you again.'

He thought for a moment, biting his lip. ‘A dog in a manger,' he declared, referring to Aesop's fable where a dog sat on food it could not enjoy rather than see others eat it.

‘Very apt. So, pax then?'

‘Aye, pax. Take my paw.'

We shook hands.

He tugged at his waistcoat and stood up, staring out at the falls. ‘That still doesna mean that I like ye.'

‘No, of course not, professor. But I thank you, kind sir, for disliking me for myself rather than for my place of birth.' I rose and bobbed a curtsey.

He snorted, whether in amusement or disgust was difficult to say.

A dog barked behind us. Startled, I dodged behind my rock. Jamie spun round, then went very still, like prey that had been cornered. The two Moirs hared off into the trees. I peeked out from my refuge to find Jamie confronted by a tall man dressed in green tweeds, a hat decorated with fishing flies. His eyebrows flourished like some rust-coloured plant life on his craggy face, a long
moustache drooped over his lips. He carried a rifle which was now aimed at Jamie's belly. A black Labrador waited at his side, watching Jamie with unfriendly intent, teeth bared.

‘Give it up!' growled the man. ‘Show me what ye've poached!'

A sickly white beneath his freckles, Jamie stuttered: ‘I s-swear to ye, Mr Brown, I havena taken a thing.'

‘I ken ye too well, Jamie Kelly, to believe that. Ye are a wudscud in need of a skelping, that's what ye are.' He raised his hand in a thrashing gesture. ‘And it's a skelping ye'll get the day by my hand. Show me what ye've snecked!'

Thinking fast, I smoothed down my skirt, now thanking my lucky stars that I was wearing my London clothes rather than my mill uniform. I stepped out from behind my rock and fixed the ghillie with my best duchess glare.

‘I say, my man, why on earth are you pointing your gun at my guide?' My tone was the most arrogant aristocratic drawl I could muster. I lifted my chin, staring him down; the rifle barrel
sagged as he gaped in surprise at my appearance. I forged on.

‘I really cannot abide such loutish behaviour. This boy was showing me the falls. Is there a law against one of the master's guests walking in his grounds?' I crossed my fingers, hoping that the ghillie would not call my bluff. I didn't even know if the master of the estate was at home.

‘Mistress,' Jamie hissed.

‘Of course, I mean the mistress,' I corrected, kicking myself for forgetting that the Bonnington estate was owned by a lady.

‘Ye know the mistress?' marvelled the ghillie.

Oh dear. I suppose I did push his credibility to the limit in my mud-stained clothing, not quite the fine lady I was trying to be.

‘But of course.' I gave a gay laugh. ‘My parents are her good friends. We are here for the . . .' I gazed around for inspiration, saw the ghillie's hat, and improvised, ‘. . . for the fishing. And hunting of course. Not me, you understand, but my father. I thought I'd . . . er . . . embroider this view so I asked the boy here to show me the way.'

I have no idea what he made of my explanation, but I had confused him enough to make him feel unsure of his grounds of complaint against Jamie.

‘The lady rarely has visitors from England,' murmured the ghillie.

‘Well, today she does – unexpected ones. Our carriage broke down not far from here and she was kind enough to invite us to stay.'

Jamie shook his head a tad, a warning that I was giving too much detail.

I changed tack, choosing a direction I hoped would push the ghillie further into bewilderment. ‘You cannot deny this is a fine view. I've seen little to match it in my travels, not even in Paris. I can't wait to get out my embroidery hoop and begin. My governess was right when she said it was one of the wonders of this part of the world.'

I could see the ghillie's eyes begin to glaze over. I continued.

‘Yes, I think chain stitch for leaves. See, over there.' I pointed to the forest. ‘And satin stitch for the river.' I tapped my lip, a gesture borrowed from
Mr Sheridan. ‘If only I can find silks to do justice to the magnificence of the scene. I don't suppose you know a good supplier of embroidery threads in the district, do you, Mr Brown?'

The ghillie flinched as if I'd poked him with a needle. ‘Me?'

I frowned. ‘No, you don't look the embroidering sort. Your wife perhaps?' I added hopefully.

Jamie stifled a snort of laughter in an unconvincing sneeze.

‘I dinna have a wifie!' growled the ghillie.

I wasn't surprised, not with eyebrows that had a life of their own and grizzly bear manners.

‘What a shame. I shall have to return to the house and consult my dear mother, Lady . . . er . . . Siddons. Yes, that's what I'll have to do. Good morning to you.'

With a flounce of my skirts, I swept past him.

‘Boy, are you going to show me the way back or not?' I snapped with sublime arrogance.

My question unfroze Jamie. He tugged a fore-lock in my general direction and jogged after me.

‘This way, my lady,' he called, passing me on
the path and heading off into the trees.

Once out of sight we both broke into a run, keeping going until our lungs felt as if they would burst. We reached the point in the estate wall where we had come over and found the Moir brothers waiting for us. I collapsed, hands on my knees, chest heaving. Jamie rolled on the ground, looking as if he were in pain.

‘Are ye hurt?' Dougie asked Jamie, patting him to find his injury.

Jamie sat up, pushing Dougie away. ‘Nae, but nae thanks to ye hen-hertit laddies.' He gulped a couple of breaths and then the laughter escaped in great gusts. ‘Ye should have seen her, Dougie! She asked Ghillie Brown for embroidery tips, just like a fine lady. He was so bumbazed, he let us go.'

Ian joined in the laughter and thumped me on the back. ‘Ye saved Jamie's hide, that ye did. Lady Ross-Baillie is very fierce about trespassers. She's so proud of her grounds and cattle, she's given the ghillie orders to chase us all off – told him shoot if he has any doubt. That was well done o' ye, Catherine.'

I straightened up, my stitch beginning to ease. ‘It was fun. The ghillie was such a flat.'

Ian frowned. ‘Flat?'

‘Gullible.'

‘Ah, ye mean a daftie?'

‘I suppose I do.' I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if the soft-footed ghillie was still stalking us. We had relished our victory for longer than was wise, making no effort to be quiet. ‘But if it's all the same to you boys, I think we should get back over this wall.'

‘Let me help ye,' said Jamie, stooping by the wall and forming a cup of his hands to give me a leg-up. He saw that I was about to refuse. ‘Nay, Snippie, dinna make us lads feel so useless.'

He needed to display his gallantry now I had rescued him from the fire-breathing dragon of a gamekeeper.

‘In that case, professor, I'll accept your help.' Putting my muddied shoe into his grip, I hauled myself to the top of the wall, trying not to display my ankles in the process. Once up, I helped Jamie and the Moirs climb, then we swung down on a
well-placed branch and back to the safety of New Lanark mill.

Jamie bowed, cap clutched to his breast. ‘I hope my lady enjoyed her excursion to Corra Linn?'

‘I am much obliged to you all,' I replied, dipping into an elegant curtsey. ‘I am now going to retire to my couch and begin my tapestry. Good day, gentlemen.'

‘Dinna I get paid for my trouble?' Jamie asked, his lips twitching.

‘In your dreams, professor. In your dreams.'

I swept away, hoots of laughter ringing in my ears.

Over the next few weeks, my mission to find out more about my origins appeared to be going nowhere, like a carriage axle-deep in mud. I felt I knew no more about Mrs Moir than I had at the end of the first day. It was the punishment of Tantalus – the grapes of knowledge dangling just out of my reach.

Perhaps I failed because the working week passed in a haze of exhaustion and on the one day when I had any free time (Sunday) I had no opportunity to see her, busy as she was with the household tasks. I must admit to a grudging admiration: like the majority of women employed in the mill, she never stopped trying to eke out a respectable existence for her family from meagre resources. A fierce little competition ruled in Long Row for the cleanest doorstep, prettiest window boxes and tidiest children (though admittedly Mrs Moir was never going to win that one with Ian and
Dougie at home). As I walked past the cottage trying to find a natural excuse for my questions, she was perpetually busy, having no time for anything but a nod in my direction.

I confided my frustration to Bridgit. We were sitting on the slope by the waterwheel one dinner hour. The wheel was turning slowly, water pouring from the paddles, tumbling from the millstream back down to the Clyde. You could become mesmerized if you stared at it for too long. Bridgit, however, had her eyes fixed on my frowning face as she laid out our picnic of bread and cheese. For weeks now she had counselled me in her gentle way to be patient, told me we had made progress, warned me not to expect too much.

I didn't really want to hear such sensible words – I'd always been more inclined to rush my fences – but I knew she was right.

‘But how can I find out the truth?' I asked, wrapping a shawl more tightly round my shoulders against the nip in the air.

Bridgit smiled, her violet eyes taking on a fond
expression as she looked at me. ‘You could always knock on the door and introduce yourself – put an end to all this uncertainty.'

I groaned and rubbed my knees. ‘If I did that, then what would be the point of all this time spent working with her?'

She laughed at my indignant expression. ‘Don't tell me, Cat, that you can't do an honest day's work without complaining?'

I picked a bit of cotton off the hem of her skirt. ‘Course I can. I just find it so . . . so boring.'

‘I thought boredom was the privilege of fine lords like your Earl of Arden. The rest of us are too busy earning our living to worry about being bored.'

I laughed at myself. She was right: I sounded ridiculous and self-pitying. I was pleased I'd brought her along; her good sense had helped keep me on track on more than one occasion.

‘What about you, Bridgit? Do you regret coming with me?'

She shook her head. ‘No, not at all. My brothers were pleased to see the back of me and
I . . . to be sure, I had no reason to stay.' She couldn't hide the note of regret despite her brave words.

I touched her arm lightly. ‘I'm sure your brothers love you in their own way.'

She shook her head. ‘I think not.'

‘They do.'

‘Then they have a strange way of showing it.'

‘They're just bitter. Remember what it was like here at the beginning? I felt like thrashing Jamie for his snide words, but I didn't, and now we're friends.'

Bridgit shook her head. ‘I doubt my brothers have escaped a thrashing, not with all the trouble they were stirring up.'

‘I'm sure they are safe. Syd knows what they mean to you. He won't let justice be taken too far.' I had received a letter from Frank just the day before, telling me Syd was mending well. There had been no mention of further trouble in the market, which suggested Syd had been able to keep a lid on things.

Bridget passed me a wedge of bread topped
with cheese. ‘He sounds a fine man, your Syd.'

I chuckled. ‘Yes, he is – but he's not mine.' I took a big bite.

And then, like the turn of the waterwheel, my thoughts spun into a new pattern in my head. Syd needed a new sweetheart; Bridgit needed someone to love and look after her. And I'd always fancied myself something of a matchmaker . . .

I cast a sideways look at my friend, sitting at peace as she admired the trees on the far bank of the river, wisps of her long, dark hair waving in the breeze. Could she guess my thoughts? I hoped not, as it would only spoil my lovely idea if she suspected what I had in mind. I just knew she and Syd would suit if they gave each other a chance. And a match between them would have the added advantage that, like a marriage of state, it would be a way to reconcile the two communities, Londoners and Irish. Covent Garden could declare an end to hostilities. All I required was a little time to put my skills to work. That thought made me even more impatient to finish my task here in the north.

The bell rang, summoning us to return. I brushed down my skirt, folded the empty napkin and tucked it back in Bridgit's basket. ‘Come on, Bridgit.'

Bridgit choked on a laugh at my unaccustomed enthusiasm. ‘So eager now?'

‘Why not? I've got work to do.' I tugged her towards the mill, joining the stream of workers heading back to their looms. ‘Did I ever tell you how Syd saved me from a murderous sea captain?'