Cat's Cradle (26 page)

Seeing his weakness, I approached again. ‘It's only a little water!'

‘It's cold!' he squawked as I got him full in the face and rubbed hard.

The commotion attracted the footmen's attention. The door flew open and our guards rushed in, expecting to break up a fight. Rabbie and I froze in surprise, water dripping from my shawl on to the back of my brother's neck until he thought to push it away.

‘No scrapping!' warned the larger of the two footmen, yanking Rabbie back by the collar. ‘We know what you Bruces are like.'

‘We were washing, not scrapping,' I said primly, holding my improvised washcloth up as proof, ‘and for your information, I am not a Bruce.'

The footman shrugged as if nothing I could say would possibly persuade him against his fixed opinion of us. ‘We've waited for you long enough. Come along.'

Squeezing out my shawl, I spread it over
the stool to dry as if I had all the time in the world. When you are a prisoner, you have to make the most of your small gestures of independence.

‘Hurry up, miss,' huffed the footman.

‘I'm coming, I'm coming,' I said breezily. ‘Keep your wig on.'

Rabbie snorted and ducked the clip round the ear that the footman aimed at him.

The house was a lot warmer on the lower floors, thanks to the fires in the family apartments. Through open doors I could see a pleasant parlour, a dining room and a music room – this house, though nowhere near as fine as Frank's Boxton – was luxury on a grand scale.

‘Tell me about the lady,' I muttered to Rabbie as we approached a pair of double doors.

‘Widow, tough old bird nae matter how she pretends she's not, very rich,' he replied in a rapid whisper. ‘Fiercely protective of her property, land and cattle.

The footmen opened the doors and stood back to let us pass.

‘The prisoners, my lady,' Hook-nose announced.

We entered a book-lined room with large windows facing out on to a snow-covered lawn. Stubs of rose bushes in a border below the window hinted at last summer's splendour now buried in ice. Frost feathered the corners of the window like Brussels lace. I dragged my attention from the superb view to the two people waiting by the fire.

Seated in a winged armchair was an elderly lady with fluffy white hair, somewhat like the raw cotton Bridgit had fed to the carding machine. Her arthritic hands were clenched on the bone handle of a walking stick. Dressed at the height of fashionable mourning – a purple satin gown with black edging – she gave not a flicker of emotion as we came in.

Our old friend Sir Charles Laud, the Sheriff of Lanark, stood opposite her, hand leaning against the mantelpiece as he kicked a log that threatened to tumble off the grate. He looked as well turned out as he had in his riding gear: this time dressed in a navy blue coat, yellow silk
waistcoat and unwrinkled breeches. His valet should be commended.

‘Your arm?' Sir Charles asked without introduction.

‘I believe it is my collarbone, sir,' I replied, ‘as I told you when I begged for your assistance.'

‘Has it been looked at by a doctor?'

‘No, sir.'

Sir Charles frowned and shot a glance at the lady. ‘Godmother?'

She held up a shaky hand. ‘I'll see to it, Charles dear. I did not think we should disturb Dr Gordon last night as it was clearly no emergency.'

He turned back to me. ‘Are you in pain?'

‘It is tolerable, sir,' I replied sourly.

He gave a nod, dismissing the matter for the moment. ‘To business then. Lady Ross-Baillie wishes to know what you have done with her prize cattle. Twenty head, wasn't it?' He turned to the lady for verification.

She nodded and dabbed a lace-edged hand kerchief to the corner of one eye.

‘We tracked them to your tower house,'
continued the sheriff, ‘then lost them on the moss, so there is no good denying that you had them.'

I glanced at Rabbie, but he was examining his boots.

‘I don't know what makes you think that my brother or I would have a clue about the lady's cows. I'm a London girl born and bred and wouldn't know the front end from the back of one – except to stand well clear of both just in case, if you follow me. What would I want with Lady Ross-Baillie's cattle?'

Sir Charles bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘I have no idea – that's for you to tell me. You are a surprise, I admit that, but your so-called brother is less of a mystery. He's well known in these parts for his reiving – his cousins have been sentenced in absentia many a time.'

That wasn't good. I was hoping to do this by casting the cloak of my innocence over my guilty brother, but if he was already condemned that would not work.

‘I ken naething about the lady's cows,' muttered Rabbie. ‘I'm sorry she's lost them.'

‘Sorry!' The lady gave a tinkling laugh that reminded me of a chandelier jingling in the wind. ‘That is very kind of you, young man.' She opened an ivory fan that hung by a silver chain from her belt and waved it before her wrinkled neck. ‘But I would prefer to have my property returned to me rather than hear your regrets. I've been in a flutter ever since my headman told me that brigands had raided the home farm. Palpitations. My nerves in shreds. I will not be able to rest until my sweet girls are returned to me.'

Sweet girls? Those red shaggy monsters from the barn could only be termed so by a very disturbed individual. I narrowed my gaze at the lady, wondering what her game was.

She turned in wet-eyed appeal to the sheriff. ‘It is not just the theft of my poor creatures – it is the attack on my peace of mind. I have barely slept since dear Sir John left for a better place. This, I fear, will deprive me even of the little rest I have.'

Oh she was a fine actress, this one. I could sniff out a fellow thespian playing tragic heroine, no problem. The tears were about as genuine
as Chatterton's poems. While I had no time for thieves like the Bruces, I had even less time for rich widows determined to see my brother and me hanged.

I held up my right hand, ‘Lady Ross-Baillie, Sir Charles, I really must stop you there. This has gone far enough. My friend the Earl of Arden will be amused to hear that you mistook me for a cattle thief, but I fear he may think the joke has been prolonged beyond the bounds of good taste if you do not release my brother and me immediately.'

‘Earl of Arden!' Sir Charles said disdainfully. ‘The ghillie warned you had a talent for invention.' He kicked the log again, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. ‘He says you are a mill worker – fooled him once but not again.'

‘Not invention, sir. I am as I claim – a family friend of the Earl of Arden and his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Avon. I am also a protégée of the famous Mr Sheridan. If you wish to check these claims, you only need write to any one of them for confirmation. Better still, talk to Mr Dale at the mill. He knows something of the reasons for
my presence in the area. That way there need be no delay.'

Swayed by this list of impressive character witnesses, Sir Charles creased his brow in doubt, questioning his initial impression of me. This did not suit Lady Ross-Baillie: she wanted her cows back and all commoners kept in their place, dangling at the end of a noose.

‘I cannot abide the girl's litany of lies, Charles.' She flapped at me with her handkerchief. ‘I know the duke from my days in London – he's a fine man. It is beyond the bounds of credulity to think this ragamuffin has anything to do with him, despite her refined talk.

‘I've no doubt she was some servant in their household and learned to ape her betters. Yes, yes, that explains it. No young lady would behave or dress as she does.' She dabbed her eyes delicately. ‘But none of this is taking us a step nearer to getting my cows back and punishing the offenders.' What a performance. Lady Ross-Baillie would make Judge Jeffreys look merciful, but it was all tied up in a bows-and-bonnet package so
people didn't see her ruthless streak.

Thus reminded of his first loyalty, Sir Charles's brow cleared and he gave his godmother a little bow. ‘Quite true, your ladyship. I am beginning to suspect the girl is somewhat addle-pated. But we know enough about the boy to proceed to court. I understand we can already charge the girl with trespass, if not cattle thieving. But I have a favour to beg: might I leave them in your charge until the next sitting of the sheriff court?'

Lady Ross-Baillie did not look overjoyed at this prospect. ‘But Charles, I am not sure I would feel entirely safe with two thieves under my roof. Why not keep them in gaol?'

Sir Charles gave a gruff laugh. ‘The kindest thing that can be said of the town prison is only those that feel inclined to stay do so. I have told the provost that we need to build a new one as the old is like a Swiss cheese. No, I want at least one Bruce to face justice; I can't risk the boy absconding. His cousins may be in the area already and would have no trouble breaking him out of the gaol.'

Lady Ross-Baillie pursed her lips. ‘Very well.
I'll make arrangements to secure them here.'

‘And the doctor?'

She waved the handkerchief. ‘Yes, yes, that too.'

‘Thank you, my lady. As ever, you are generosity itself.' He bent over to kiss her hand.

I was dismayed by how easily she had swayed him from giving me a hearing. ‘You mean you are not going to ask Mr Dale to verify my story for me?'

‘Why waste his time and mine?' Sir Charles checked his pocket watch, tutting over the hour.

‘Because I'm telling the truth. At least let me write to my friends to prove it to you!'

‘Oh, very clever. I see your mind: you mean to tell the Bruces to come and save you. Not on my watch, young woman. The Bruces will remain ignorant of your presence here to save Lady Ross-Baillie any trouble. Now, I've had quite enough of your talk. I'm a busy man. You should be grateful I have provided for your comfort. After next week, you will look back on this as paradise.'

Lady Ross-Baillie gave a smug little smile and thumped her walking stick on the floor. The
footmen returned on her summons.

‘Take the young persons back to their room and make sure they do not leave for any reason,' she said sharply.

With a bow, the footmen marched us back upstairs.

Behind locked doors again, I kicked the stool over and let out a frustrated growl.

‘Have you heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?' I asked.

Rabbie nodded miserably.

‘Well, that's me. The one time I tell the truth about my noble friends no one believes me!'

‘So, ye were no spinnin' a tale?'

‘No, I was not!' I hit the wall with my good hand, sending a jolt of pain up my left side.

Rabbie tugged on my skirt. ‘Sit down, Cat, before ye hurt yerself.'

I slumped on to the bed. ‘We've got to get word out of here one way or another. That man has made up his mind about us. He won't give us a fair trial.'

‘Did ye really trespass?'

‘I might've done.'

‘Well, I canna say the sheriff isna fair. I ken what I did.' Rabbie scrubbed his hands through his hair, making it stick up in brown spikes. ‘But I dinna want to hang.'

I patted the bed beside me, inviting him to sit. Once in hugging range, I ventured to put my good arm around his shoulders. ‘You won't. I promise you.'

‘At least the most he can do to ye is give ye a fine for trespass.'

‘Yes, and if I'm out of here first I'll come back for you. Sir Charles the dandy won't know what's hit him when I bring in my reinforcements.' I squeezed his arm. ‘Who knows, I might even get the duchess involved – then he'll really be sorry.'

‘Why would a duchess be interested in the likes of me?'

‘Because you're my brother.'

He gave a slight nod. ‘That I am. I didn't want to be, but now I'm glad.'

I shoved him in the ribs to prevent a dip into
maudlin sentiment which would suit neither of us. ‘Just because I've got powerful friends?'

He chuckled. ‘Nae, because ye're a bagrel lass for me to tease.'

‘Bagrel?'

‘A bit on the wee side o' tall.'

‘Lout.'

‘Skinnymalink.'

‘Clumsy oaf.'

‘Midget.'

I laughed. ‘That's the exchange of pleasantries over. Now all we need is a plan to get us out of here.'

True to her word, Lady Ross-Baillie allowed the doctor to visit mid-morning. I had not realized when she mentioned his name that I had met him before – it was the same doctor who had signed the death certificate for my poor aunt during the influenza outbreak. A stout party with bushy sideburns, little hair on top and a bulbous nose, he made a reassuring visitor in the sickroom. He was so vividly present with his large frame and
booming voice, I felt that any illness would not dare stay when he came in.

‘Well, lass, let's take a look at yer arm,' he announced with the genteel tones of an Edinburgh-trained man, his accent less broad to my ears than that of the locals. ‘How did ye do that to yerself?'

‘Riding accident,' I explained.

His eyes lit up with recognition when he heard my voice. ‘The London lass, is it? I remember ye looked after that poor family in Long Row. What in mercy's name are ye doing locked up for cattle stealing?'

I was relieved he remembered – that saved me a lot of trouble. ‘It's all a terrible mistake, sir,' I explained. ‘But Sir Charles won't let me appeal to my friends for help. He caught me riding with the Bruces and assumed the worse.'

Dr Gordon's eyes flicked to Rabbie.

‘Yes, that's why. Believe it or not, you are looking at my long-lost brother. Our family reunion went a touch off course when we both got arrested.' Not to mention the kidnapping and
general hostility from the first meeting.

‘I'm sorry to hear it.' His large hands felt warm on my skin as he gently felt the breakage. ‘This appears to be as well as can be expected. I'll leave ye some laudanum for the pain. Keep it strapped up and in a few weeks it will be as good as new. It isna a serious break.' He tipped his head to Rabbie. ‘Yer brother, ye say?'