The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) (38 page)

“What excuse did ye give them?” he asked.

“I tellt them a whole lot of nonsense about being superstitious. I said I’d been godfather tae three bairns before, who’d all died young. Caroline was awfu’ hurt at first, but I managed to persuade her that I was truly terrified the baby would die. I couldna let her name the laddie Anthony. If I’m ever discovered, the poor thing would have to carry the stigma of being named after a traitor for the rest of his life.”

“Ye did the right thing, Alex,” Duncan said. “Although if the invasion succeeds, he’d be named after one of the greatest heroes of the Stuart restoration.”

Alex smiled grimly. “Aye. Though I doubt Edwin and Caroline would see it that way. But it doesna make me feel any better that I lied to them. To both of them. And used Edwin too. I feel guilty, that’s all. It’ll pass.” Alex stood suddenly.

“I’m no’ in the mood for drinking tonight,” he said. “I’m away to my bed.”

He knows,
thought Duncan, as the door closed behind Alex.
He knows that I was about to ask him whether the Harlows had broached the subject of Beth, and what he was going to do about her.
He sighed, and drained his glass before turning down the lamp and making his own way to bed.

The situation would not get better with time. But there was no point in pressing him to talk about his feelings, Duncan knew that. When Alex was ready, he would talk, or act. Until then, there was nothing any of the MacGregors could do, except be there for him.

 * * *

On the thirteenth of February, at the inconvenient hour of four a.m., the third and final instalment of the MacGregor family returned, at last, from Europe. Alex, who had only been asleep for an hour before being roused by Duncan with the news, stumbled downstairs into the dining room, dressed only in hastily-donned breeches, bare-chested and barefoot. Duncan, looking equally sleepy, was coaxing the embers into a blaze, while Angus, who should have been tired after the events he had just experienced, was instead bursting with energy and brimming with wakefulness.

“…….so hard in my life,” he was saying as Alex came in. “God, he’s amazing. Hello, Alex, I’m back. D’ye ken, he rode from Rome to Genoa in five days?
Five days!
He had almost no sleep, hadna changed his clothes and lived on nothing but eggs, so he tellt me, and I’ve nae cause to disbelieve him. He couldna get anyone tae take him in a boat frae there, so he carried on to Savona. That’s where I caught up wi’ him. I was still recovering from the trip in.” He grimaced, remembering the state he’d been in when he’d staggered off the felucca at Savona, sick and faint, only to discover within a day not only that his ordeal had been in vain, but that he was about to have to make the return trip through even rougher seas, if the prince got his way.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Angus said from his chair near the fire, looking at his brother, who had taken a seat adjacent to him. Duncan, having stoked the fire to the best of his ability, sat down opposite. “I said what ye tellt me to, and I really tried to persuade him to turn back, but no one short of God himself could ha’ stopped him then. I thought the best thing was tae head back to France wi’ him, to protect him.”

“Aye, I ken that, man. Ye did the right thing,” Alex said. “It’s known, though, that he’s on his way. He did well, all the same. The British didna suspect a thing until the twenty-first.”

“We were in Monaco by then,” Angus said, pausing to take a bannock from the plate Duncan had thoughtfully brought up from the kitchen. He took an enormous bite. “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I cross the sea again, I can tell ye that. It doesna get easier with practice,” he said indistinctly. He swallowed. “Anyway,” he continued in a clearer voice, “when we arrived in Antibes it got really interesting, because the English had sent a pinnace tae intercept us, and it was so close tae us when we were in port that it nearly scraped the stern.” He laughed delightedly, and his two brothers, relieved beyond measure that he was home safe, laughed with him, and entered for a time into his exhilaration, putting to one side all the issues that might arise from the prince’s unwise journey.

The heat from the fire started to penetrate the room, casting a rosy glow over the animated features of the three brothers as the youngest continued his tale.

“The governor had been told to expel any vessel that landed from Monaco or Italy, because of the plague, but Charlie sent a message to say that a great secret’d be revealed tae him, if he’d only be rid of the English boat. So the governor, being of a curious disposition, said both boats had tae go, but the English one first, and as soon as it was out of port, the prince went and revealed himself to the man, Villeneuve, his name is.”

“I bet that pleased him,” Duncan said dryly.

“I dinna ken, but he took our side, and that’s what matters,” Angus continued. “He had us transferred to another ship, which was just as well, as Matthews, that’s the admiral of the British fleet, ye ken, sent in a wee boat on the pretext of obtaining supplies, but really just tae take a look round. Villeneuve was brilliant. He gave the captain of the felucca that brought us in a real dressing down, and tellt him tae leave immediately, which he did, closely followed by the British ship. But of course we werena on the felucca, but in Antibes, enjoying the hospitality of the governor. And very hospitable he was. There are some awfu’ bonny lassies in Antibes, as well,” he said happily.

“Christ, man, ye’ll be dead of the pox before you’re twenty,” Alex said disgustedly.

“No, I willna. I’ve got they sheepskin condom thingies ye can buy. They’re no’ so bad when ye get used to them. I’ll come to my wife pure as a virgin.”

Alex and Duncan snorted in unison, but Angus only half heard them, he was so fired up, reliving the events of the last days.

“We were stuck there for six days, wi’ Charles climbing the walls, but he had to wait until he heard from Villeneuve’s superior, some Marquis of something.”

“Mirepoix,” suggested Alex.

“That’s the laddie. Anyway, the message came in that we had to be kept in quarantine for eight days and then we could go, but the governor had sent another courier to the Foreign Minister in Paris wi’ a bit more information. I think he knew there was something important going on, and that when Louis knew about it he might want to stop Charles going on to Paris. Charles kent that an’ all, and as soon as the first message came in from Mirepoix, saying we could leave, Charles acted on it, persuaded Villeneuve to let us leave, and we all rode out the next morning, without waiting for the reply from Paris.”

“What date was that?” Alex asked, considering. He had spoken to Edwin yesterday, and it still wasn’t known exactly where the prince was, although the duke of Newcastle had received a coded letter from someone in Paris, which was in the process of being decoded, and which the duke was apparently very excited about. The contents were not yet known. Sir Anthony had shown only a mild interest in what they might prove to be. Alex was somewhat worried. Had he known the letter to be from Francois de Bussy, French diplomat and King Louis’ trusted representative in London, he would have been very worried. Had he known that de Bussy was also known as ‘Agent 101’, had been recruited by Walpole a few years earlier, and was now, after all this time, about to prove his worth to the British government, he would have been desperate. But of course he did not know that. Edwin, his main informant at the moment, did not know that. King George, who would tell him a great deal more later, also did not know that.

Angus was thinking. “Oh, hell, I dinna ken the date, wait, it was a Wednesday, I think, and we got to Avignon three days later, on the first. The twenty-ninth, then? Aye. We were dead on our feet. And the roads were dreadful, as bad as any I’ve seen. But we didna stop there, we set off again the next morning. That’s what I was saying when ye came in, Alex. I’ve never seen anything like him. He rode like the devil all the way to Paris, eating in the saddle, not changing his clothes, none o’ that fancy palaver ye’d expect from a prince of the blood. And cheerful! He was laughing and jesting all the way. He means to take the throne, and it’ll take a better man than that German shite George to stop him!” Angus’s eyes shone with fervour and adulation. Charles at his best had that effect on people. Alex had seen him work the same magic on Beth. He said nothing. He didn’t want to burst his younger brother’s bubble now, but he knew that however worthy Charles Stuart was, he could not take the throne alone, and his sudden appearance in Paris was not likely to endear him to the French king..

“How did Louis take it?” Alex asked the question uppermost in his mind. A thin grey light was starting to seep through the closed curtains. In an hour or so Maggie and Iain would get up, and then Angus would have the pleasure of telling his story again. If he wasn’t fast asleep by then.

Angus sat back and stretched his legs out. The strain he had put his body through in the last weeks was starting to make itself felt; his muscles were stiffening. He rotated his shoulders and flexed his arms. The whisky bottle had also been liberally passed around between the three men, and he could feel its effects, a little. But he was not sleepy yet.

“I dinna ken,” he replied. “I didna think it wise to go there, with everything that had happened before. I didna think ye’d be wanting Sir Anthony’s manservant to be seen to be openly associating wi’ the Stuarts. I parted company wi’ Charles at the gates, then made some enquiries, found out ye’d been released days before and figured ye’d come home, so I followed ye. Did I do wrong?” he said, looking at his brother, whose forehead was creased with worry.

“No,” Alex reassured the youth, leaning over in his chair and squeezing his shoulder. “Ye did right. Ye couldna have found out much, anyway, and it could have caused problems here, for all of us. What’s done is done. We just have to pray Louis doesna take exception to it, and call off his invasion.”

“Ye should get yourself off to bed, man,” Duncan suggested, thinking to do the same thing. “Ye look dead on your feet.”

Angus looked at the window, at the strengthening light, and made a reasonably accurate estimate of the time.

“No,” he said, “I’ll wait a wee while, till Beth gets up. I dinna want you telling her my adventures while I’m sleeping, and I canna trust ye not to.” He smiled, then the smile faded as he looked at Duncan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s no’ here,” Alex supplied before Duncan could speak. “She’s in Manchester, visiting wi’ friends.”

“Ah,” said Angus, clearly disappointed. “But ye’ve sorted out what’s between ye, right? She’ll be back in a day or so?”

There was a taut silence. Seeing that Alex was not about to reply, Duncan did it for him.

“She left before Alex got home. He didna get back until the end of January.”

The atmosphere in the room changed subtly. Duncan shot a warning look at his younger brother, who ignored it.

“Ye mean to tell me you’ve been home for nigh on two weeks, and ye ken where she is, and ye havena been to see her…”

“Leave it, Angus,” Alex growled.

“…to beg her forgiveness for the way ye treated her?” Angus continued as though his brother had not spoken. “She loves ye, d’ye ken that, even though you dinna deserve her. D’ye no’ care at all for her?”

“Angus,” Duncan began.

“Have you met her, Duncan? She’s wonderful. Christ, if she was my wife, I’d no’ be treating her like shi…”

Duncan watched with weary resignation as Alex’s fist ploughed into his brother’s face, sending him tumbling sideways out of his chair into the hearth. The last time Alex had hit Angus with intention to hurt had also been in this room. Then the circumstances had been quite different, and Angus had not retaliated. He had no such restrictions on him now, and he leapt up from the hearth, shook his head once to clear it, then launched himself at his brother who had just started to rise from his seat, the force sending the chair and its occupants tumbling over backwards in a flurry of limbs. The two men landed in a heap on the floor, Angus, initially at least, on top.

Duncan continued to observe with some interest as his brothers proceeded to attempt to do each other serious harm, with considerable success on both sides. Angus had filled out a little since he had last seen him, Duncan noticed. He was still slender compared to his eldest brother, but was starting to lose his coltishness. He had put on muscle, on his shoulders and back especially, as was clearly visible through the rent in his shirt, which left his right shoulder and upper arm exposed. As he watched, Angus, who had achieved a little respite from the battle, having just run his brother’s head into the door, tore at the flapping material, stripping the remnants of the travel-stained garment off, dropping it to the floor and then joining it as Alex, recovering, took him by the knees. The battle continued.

Yes, give him another year or so, and they would probably be equals in strength, although the older man would still have experience on his side. Alex for instance would not have wasted his advantage by taking the time to remove his shirt while his brother was stunned, as Angus had, but would have followed through immediately and brought the fight to an abrupt end. Duncan picked up the whisky bottle and slowly drained the last inch of its contents. Then he yawned, stretched, stood and left the room, carefully stepping over the small puddle of blood by the door. He was not sure whose it was; both his brothers were bleeding freely from the nose.

By the pump in the yard stood two buckets that Iain had filled the evening before, then having been distracted by something, had forgotten to bring in. Duncan rolled up his sleeve, smashed his elbow through the ice that had formed on top of the water, then picked the buckets up and carried them into the house. He smiled at Maggie, who was making her sleepy way down the stairs, woken no doubt by the muffled noises from below.

“
Madainn mhath, a Mhairead,
” he greeted her amiably. “Angus is home,” he continued, as though that explained everything, before continuing into the dining room, a pail in each hand. There was a crash as the door opened, as of breaking pottery, and Maggie winced. She took a couple more steps down, then stopped. Duncan did not seem particularly bothered. She sat down on the stairs, yawning, to await the outcome. There would no doubt be a mess, which she would have to clean up.