Dawn on a Distant Shore (71 page)

"Have ye heard
tell aboot the Rising of '15, and the troubles that came after for the Jacobites?"

"A little,"
Hannah said, trying to remember the stories her Granny Cora had told. "Did
the Duke of Argyll defeat the Stewarts?"

Jennet bristled.
"Campbell defeat the Jacobites? Och, and wha's been tellin' ye such
falsehoods? Oor troops walloped the usurper's men soundly at Dunblane!"
Then her face fell. "But it was aa for naucht. Bobbin' John lost his
nerve, ye see, and he fled tae France and betrayed muny guid men tae the Crown.
And in the years that followed those wha were loyal tae the Auld Pretender paid
dearly, for the Hanoverians werena wont tae be forgivin'. And that's why the
third earl built Forbes Tower."

She gave Hannah a very
close look. "Have ye took note o' how thick the walls are inside the
kitchen?"

Hannah had not,
really, and she admitted this.

"Six feet thick,
can ye imagine? Ye see, in those days the earl needed a safe place. A
hidey-hole and a way oot o' the castle, should the usurper's men ever take it
intae their heids tae come askin' questions. And sae he built a stair intae the
kitchen wall that goes doon tae the tunnels."

And without further
explanation Jennet pushed aside the bushes to reveal a dark opening.

They walked with hands
stretched out, trailing fingers along the walls as they went through the dark. There
was the rustle of dry leaves underfoot and the scent of trodden pine needles
and mouse droppings. They walked for a good while, and Jennet stopped. Hannah
could not see her, but she could feel her warmth, and when she spoke her breath
touched Hannah's face.

"Here's the
door," she said. "We're under the castle."

The door swung open
with a creak. On the other side there was a narrow hall with a low ceiling, lit
by a single hanging lantern. To the left was a small stone stair. MacQuiddy's
voice drifted down to them.

"Arguin' wi'
Cook," said Jennet with a sigh. "We'll wait until he's awa'."

"Where does this
corridor go?" Hannah asked, peering into the shadows.

"Doon tae
Campbell Tower."

"The pit?"
Hannah stepped in that direction.

"The hidey-hole
under the pit." Jennet sat herself on the stone step and started rummaging
in her apron for food, coming up with an apple which she broke in half.

"There's naebodie
there the noo," she said, biting into her half and offering Hannah the
other.

"Nobody at
all," said a man's voice from the shadows, and both girls leaped to their feet
just as Mac Stoker came forward, limping under the weight of a sack over his
shoulder.

"The
pirate," breathed Jennet.

There was a sheen of
sweat on his brow, but his color was much better. Hannah realized that it was many
days since she had last seen him or asked the Hakim about his condition--a
vague guilt washed over her at that thought--but it was clear that he was much better.

"Ladies. Sneakin'
in through the kitchen, is it?"

"Where are you
going?" Hannah asked.

"Sure, and have
you forgot your manners?" He shifted his sack and there was the muffled
clank of metal on metal. "Lucky for youse I've no time to be giving you
any lessons. I'm away, to find me ship and me crew and the sweet Giselle, o'
course. To settle accounts." There was nothing cheerful about his smile.

"Does the laird
ken ye're goin'?" asked Jennet. She had stepped back a bit, just behind Hannah.

"Sure, and why
should he care? He has no further need of me. So I'll thank youse to step out
o' me way."

"We'll need
passage home," Hannah said. "Soon."

He laughed, putting
back his head to show the scar around his neck.

"Ah, you're your
father's daughter, I'll say that for you. Give him this message from Mac Stoker:
next time he wants to put a foot on a ship of mine, he'll pay me first. In gold."

"Now look at
this." Curiosity stood at the open door with her arms crossed. "A
house so big you got to write a letter to send word from one end to the other.
That from the earl?"

The footman extended
the note on a small silver platter. "Aye, mem."

"Ain't for me,
I'm sure."

"No, mem. For Mr.
Bonner."

Nathaniel had been
walking back and forth to exercise his leg, and he came to the door to take the
letter. But Curiosity was not yet done with the footman.

"MacAdam, is that
right?"

"Aye, mem."

"Mr. MacAdam,
tell me now, what was all the fuss in the courtyard earlier?"

He blinked.
"Visitors for the earl, mem."

"Is that so.
Anybody interesting?"

MacAdam's face
crumpled in surprise, and then straightened. Nathaniel wondered if Curiosity
would keep him there until she made the man laugh out loud.

"Monsieur
Contrecoeur, mem, an associate o' the earl's. And two French ladies wi'
him."

"That's what I
wanted to know. Thank you kindly, Mr. MacAdam."

He bowed from the
waist. "Is there a reply, Mr. Bonner?"

"Not right
yet," Nathaniel said.

Curiosity said,
"Before you go, tell me--have you seen our Hannah anywhere?"

He stopped.
"She's in the kitchens, mem, suppin' on bread and new milk wi'
Jennet."

"Is she, now?
Thank you kindly."

She closed the door behind
him and came over to Nathaniel where he was unfolding the note in the light of
the window.

"You've made a
conquest of that footman, Curiosity. I expect he'd tell you anything you care
to ask."

"All it takes is
some common courtesy," she said. "Now, what the earl got to say that
he cain't tell you to your face?"

"We are summoned
to dine."

Curiosity took it from
him and held the heavy paper away, squinting at it. "You and your lady. Elizabeth
won't like it."

"Elizabeth won't
like what?"

She stood at the door
to the dressing room, fixing the buttons on her bodice. She was wearing her
gray linen again, and she seemed much more at ease. Nathaniel held out an arm,
and she came to him.

"The little ones
sleeping?"

"They are,
finally. Now, what is it I won't like?"

"The earl wants
to see the two of you at his dinner table," said Curiosity. "I
suppose he wants to show you off to his friends from France."

"We don't need to
go, Boots."

There was a line
between her brows as she thought it through, and then she surprised him.
"I think we should accept," she said. "Perhaps there is
something to be learned from them."

Elizabeth had no
interest in the earl's dinner guests, but she did hope that Monsieur Dupuis
would be there, to lay her hazy fears to rest. She had asked about him today in
the expectation that she could bring him and Nathaniel face-to-face, but thus
far there had been no response.

She went to dress for
dinner in a poor mood, made worse by the sad state of her best gown.

"No' the gray,
mem," Mally said, unable to hide her horror at the idea. "No' wi' the
ladies frae France at the table, and them sae fine."

"I do not care a
fig what they think of my gown," Elizabeth said, trying very hard to mean what
she said. "They will talk to me nonetheless, I am sure."

"Gin ye'll pardon
me, mem--" Mally broke off and then started again, very earnestly.
"If ye take yer place at the table lookin' like a puir governess, it
willna matter what ye ha' tae say. They canna see beyond the claes. It's the
way o' rich folk."

Elizabeth did not
doubt Mally's sincerity and goodwill, nor could she deny the simple truth of what
she said. Rich French merchants and their wives would dismiss her out of hand
if she went to the earl's table in a much mended Quaker-gray dress. The
question was, did she really care if they took no note of her? Why had she
agreed to this dinner at all?

A voice kept
whispering that these French had something to do with Dupuis, and more--that
Dupuis held the key to the mystery that had brought them here in the first place.
Perhaps she was being silly and superstitious; perhaps tonight's dinner would
give them a way to getting home.

"Very well,
Mally. But nothing too pretentious. Did Miss Somerville have no simple
gowns?"

Mally considered.
"There's this lovely silk gauze. See the silver shells sae delicate on the
hem. Or the silk drugget, wi' the fine embroidery."

They were beautiful,
and Elizabeth resented them greatly even while she admired their artistry: silk
pongee, sequins of gold and silver paper appliquéd with invisible stitches, chenille
embroidery, tiny pleats.

"A thousand hours
o' work," said Mally, reading her mind. "Yer Miss Somerville had a verra
guid seamstress, mem, and ye dinna mind me sayin'. She should be richt proud o'
this fine stitchery."

"Yes," Elizabeth
said, taking some satisfaction in this idea of the seamstress, whose work deserved
to be admired. "So she must. The silk drugget, I think, Mally. Subtlety is
the thing."

"Lord
above," said Curiosity, breaking out into a great smile. "Is that you,
Elizabeth?"

"I don't feel
much like myself, I must admit." Elizabeth drew in a long breath and let
it go again. "But it is only for one evening and tomorrow I will be back
in my own clothes. Aren't you going to say anything, Nathaniel?"

He grinned at her.
"I like you better in deerskin, Boots, but I can't deny how pretty you
look."

It was a great
irritation to her that she could not accept a simple compliment from her
husband without flushing, but he was kind enough to take no note. Elizabeth
gathered her shawl around her. The bodice of the gown was very low, indeed, and
motherhood had made sure that she filled it just short of overflowing.

Nathaniel had had an
easier time dressing. She made a turn around him. The cut of the dark blue coat
was out of fashion, but the materials and workmanship were impeccable. The
breeches and stockings were severe in line but very elegant, and the cloak that
lay over a chair was lined with silk the same color as the coat. Understated,
and effective.

"The earl was no
macaroni as a younger man."

Curiosity laughed out
loud. "A
macaroni?
What is that?"

"A man who spends
too much of his income on his wardrobe, and too much time before the looking glass,"
said Elizabeth.

"Not our
Nathaniel," said Curiosity with a certain satisfaction. "He sent back
the flowered waistcoat. Posies just don' suit the man."

And it was true: no
clothes could do him justice. Suddenly Elizabeth was glad that she had worn
Giselle's fine gown. She knew he really would prefer her in doeskin or gray linen,
but tonight at least she would not be a moth to his butterfly.

She smiled at him, and
he took her arm.

"Let's get this
over with, Boots. Then you and me can take a walk in the garden I've heard so much
about."

In the hall they ran
into Hannah, who drew up short at the sight of them, her mouth falling open.

"Is it such a
shock to see us well groomed?" Elizabeth asked, putting a finger under her
jaw to close it gently.

"Yes. No."
She shook herself. "Are you going to eat with the earl?"

"We are."

Hannah clenched her
hands together before herself. "But I wanted to talk to you about the
village--"

Nathaniel frowned down
at her, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Squirrel?
Trouble?"

"No." She
swallowed. "No trouble. Just a story I heard in the village--"

"You wait up for
us," said Nathaniel. "We'll want to hear it as soon as we get back."

The Frenchwomen were
not wives at all. Madame Marie Vigée was a widow and distant cousin to Monsieur
Contrecoeur, a wine merchant who had taken up residence in London. She was
chaperoning her niece, Mademoiselle Julie LeBrun, on her first tour of England
and Scotland. They presented the whole undertaking as a lark, a journey for her
amusement alone, but Elizabeth knew without being told that these ladies had
escaped the Terror in France, although not in any huge rush--they had brought
their finery with them, including the mass of purple feathers that trembled
above Madame Vigée's elaborately piled hair. The question was, why were they
abroad in Scotland when sentiments against the French were so much in evidence?
There was a story here, one that might be worth hearing.

But neither of the
Frenchwomen were the type to tell such stories, or any stories at all. Julie
LeBrun was very young, and the company either bored or intimidated her, for she
kept her eyes on her plate, ate almost nothing, never spoke unless addressed,
and then in a hesitant and diffident tone. Madame Vigée seemed more interested
in her wine glass than in conversation, although she turned a generous smile
toward the earl at every opportunity.