Just Beyond Tomorrow (13 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Just Beyond Tomorrow
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“Thank you, my lady,” Biddy said, still looking somewhat doubtful rather than reassured.
Freddie, however, had regained his voice. He looked up at Angus and asked him, “How tall are you?”
“Seven feet high, laddie,” came the reply.
“What is it like to be so big?” Freddie persisted.
Reaching down, Angus lifted the little boy up into his arms. “Like this, laddie. What do ye think?”
Freddie laughed. “I like it!” he shouted, laughing.
“Take me up, too,” Sabrina cried, and shrieked gleefully as Angus complied with her command.
“Follow me, Mistress Biddy,” Angus said. “We're off to find a good supper in the kitchens.” And he marched out with his two new young friends, Biddy hurrying to keep up with him, Willie in her arms.
The Duke of Lundy turned to Flanna. “How can I thank you, madame? I can see my children will be happy and safe in your care.”
“There is little to keeping bairns happy, my lord,” Flanna told him. “Now, I must go and make certain the maidservants hae the children's apartment properly prepared.” She curtsied and left them.
“Come, and sit down, Charlie,” Patrick said. “I want all the news. Ye dinna come up to Scotland just for yer bairns, I'm certain.”
The two men sat facing each other by one of the two large fireplaces in the Great Hall. Glenkirk refilled their goblets.
“How is Mother?” he asked. “When did ye see her last, and why did ye nae leave yer bairns at Cadby with Henry and his family?”
“Mama grieves deeply for Papa,” Charlie answered his brother. Like all his mother's offspring by their various fathers, Charles Frederick Stuart, the not-so-royal Stuart who had never known his deceased sire, had called the late Jemmie Leslie Father, for in truth his mother's third husband was the only father he could remember. “She has taken Autumn to France along with her faithful quartet of servants, including your Glenkirk man, the one married to Toramalli. I do not think he misses this Highland lair of yours at all.”
“Is there any danger of Cromwell's soldiers attacking Cadby as they did Queen's Malvern?” Patrick queried his elder sibling.
“Nay, I doubt it. That was why I brought my children to you, Patrick. Henry has been very careful in avoiding the appearance of favoring any faction at all. If I had brought my chicks to him, he could have become a target for the fanatics. Like all of us, Henry was disgusted at the old king's execution, but he saw the bigger picture. One day all the horror will be over, and the young king restored to his rightful place. If the Lindleys of Westleigh are to survive until that time, they must remain impartial. That is Henry's way, and I, too, espoused it despite my close ties to the royal family. I, however, was always suspect because of those blood ties. When Bessie was slaughtered, I knew I could not stand idly by any longer. I had to choose sides, and so I declared for the king. My children could make me vulnerable, Patrick. Here at Glenkirk they are safe, for there are few in England who know my extended family. You, brother Patrick, in your splendid isolation, will keep my children secure and unharmed. Mama knows where her Stuart grandchildren are and will not worry now.”
Patrick nodded, sipping his wine slowly; then he spoke. “And ye will be doing what, Charlie, while I watch over yer young offspring? What rashness are ye planning? The Scots parliament keeps a tight rein on young Charles Rex. Did I nae hear ye tell yer daughter that the king would be in Aberdeen in two weeks? Why is he coming to Aberdeen?”
“We need to recruit an army, Patrick,” Charlie replied. “If England is to be retaken from the rebels, we must have an army.”
“Ye're mad! Did nae Father's death teach ye anything, Charlie?” the Duke of Glenkirk angrily shouted at his brother.
“The Scots would have never lost the battle of Dunbar if General Leslie hadn't, in his overwhelming pride, brought his troops down from the hills where he held the advantage and camped them directly in front of the English lines. Did it not occur to that pompous old trout that the English, being desperate, might attack first? England is in the grip of a monster. People have had enough. A strong army to retake it, and the king will be welcome home once again!”
“A Scots army, ye bloody fool!”
Patrick said angrily. “Do ye really believe that an invading Scots army will rally the English to Charles Stuart's side? Two Stuart kings hae nae eased English fears of an invading Scots army! When they see all those men in their plaids, banners flying, bagpipes skirling, coming at them, the English will rise up to drive the Scots back, nae run out to greet them wi' hymns of joy and welcome. For two generations the Stuarts hae been thought of as foreigners by the English.”
“That was because King James and the first Charles were born in Scotland. This Charles was born in St. James's Palace. He is English-born, and the people loved him when he was their prince. They have not changed, Patrick. They love him yet. They have had enough of Cromwell, his brutal soldiery, and the psalm singers who would purge our church of its liturgy, its bishops, and its worshipful joy,” Charlie finished passionately.
“I dinna disagree wi' ye, Charlie,” Patrick said, “but ye canna restore the young king to his English throne wi' a Scots army. The English will nae hae it. Ye may even hurt the king's cause.”
“He wants to go home,” Charlie said softly. “Bessie was killed in late September. I came north in mid-November. We have been with the court, if you can call it a court, ever since. The Scots parliament has virtually cut the king off from his true friends, banishing them from his court. Their clerics preach at him day and night. Do you know what they told him after Dunbar? That the Scots' loss was the fault of the royal Stuarts because they had not accepted the National Covenant sooner. Because they persisted in clinging to their Anglican church ways instead of leading the nation into the path of Presbyterianism! The only reason they brought him to Scotland and will go down into England with him is that they hope to bring their religion with them and enforce it on all the English.”
Patrick shook his head wearily; then he said, “Do ye recall the stories Mama used to tell us of our grandfather, the Grande Mughal, Akbar? That he invited all faiths to his court and allowed them to speak freely. Catholics, Anglicans, Orthodox Greeks, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddists, Jains, Zoroastrians. Any and all religions he encountered, he brought to his court at Fatehpur Sikri. For years he listened as they fought and argued wi' one another over whose faith was best, was the true faith. And in the end he founded his own religion which he practiced, having taken what was best from all the others. And he forced no one to accept his faith, nor did he forbid any their particular form of worship. When I see what is going on about us, Charlie, I can easily understand our grandfather's reasoning.”
“So can I,” Charlie agreed, “but I also know that the Grande Mughal would have never allowed a rebellion like this one, or let its rebels go unpunished. Queen Henriette lives in poverty and exile in her native France with her baby daughter, the Princess Henrietta-Anne. Prince James is with her now, although he moves back and forth between France, England, and Scotland. Prince Henry is held by Cromwell's people. The young Princess Elizabeth suffered greatly over her father's death. He brought her his prayer book before they executed him. It was the last time she saw him. She died several months ago in her prison, not yet fifteen. They said she would not be parted from that prayer book, Patrick. She was buried with it. The king holds his power
not
from the people,
but from God.
I believe that. I always will believe it. By murdering my Uncle Charles, Cromwell and his parliament rogues have attempted to thwart God's will. We must right this wrong and restore my uncle's son to his proper place upon the throne of Great Britain!”
“Cromwell believes God is on his side, too,” Patrick Leslie said in reply to his brother's impassioned speech. “He and his adherents quote the Bible extensively wi' passages that would appear to prove their point. Those who use God as an excuse for their behavior are the most dangerous creatures on God's earth, Charlie. Belief in such a God allows them to murder, torture, and steal wi'out any qualms, because the deity is on
their
side alone. I dinna see how there can be a compromise in any of this, and particularly as long as the English hold Edinburgh and most of the Lowland south.”
“Which is why the king is coming to Aberdeen from Scone to recruit his army from the men of the north,” Charlie explained. “Patrick, you must raise a troop of Glenkirk men and ride with us. It is your duty as a loyal Scotsman, brother!”
“Nay,” the Duke of Glenkirk told his sibling firmly. “My first loyalty is to my clansmen and to my immediate family. I will shelter and guard yer bairns, Charlie, but I will nae join wi' ye. The royal Stuarts are verra bad for the Leslies of Glenkirk. Our history hae proven that.”
“Enough politics, my lords,” Flanna said as she reentered the hall. “ 'Tis time for dinner. The bairns are in the kitchens having their supper. When, Charles Frederick Stuart, did ye last feed those poor mites? I hae never seen such prodigious appetites!”
“Food was scarce in England these past months,” the Duke of Lundy said apologetically, “and what has been fed them here in Scotland has not been greatly to their liking, I fear. It has been peasants' fare for the most part. Brown bread, oat stirabout, boiled cabbage, salted fish. They have seen little meat, or vegetables, or sweets.”
“Or a decent hot meal,” the Duchess of Glenkirk said. “Cook put down barley and carrot soup made from the lamb bone of yesterday's roast, along wi' some fresh-baked slices of cottage loaf, well-buttered, and wi' a slice of good cheese each. Yer poor bairns fell on their food like young wolves. And their Biddy nae far behind them, although she tried to show more manners, poor woman. I've told Cook to gie them stewed pears, but I fear to gie them much more lest they sicken. Those poor bairns were starving!” she finished indignantly.
Charles Frederick Stuart rose up, and taking his sister-in-law's two hands in his, he raised them to his lips and kissed them. “Madame, whatever happens, I know my children will be well mothered by you. I can never repay you for such kindness.”
Flanna pulled her hands away from his grasp, flushing at the compliment. “Come, sir, and sit again,” she said, settling herself into her husband's lap. “Tell me about this king of yers,” she said.
“He is your king, too, Flanna Leslie,” came the reply. Then the Duke of Lundy said, “Well, his mother always said he was the ugliest child ever born, but the truth is he favors his Italian grandmother, Maria d'Medici, with his darkish skin, hair, and eyes. Those eyes sparkle wonderfully, though. Some call him the black boy for his coloring. His features are a mixture of both sides of the family. He had, after all, a French grandfather, an Italian grandmother, a Scots grandfather, and a Danish grandmother. He is tall, with a long face and a very sensuous mouth, or so the ladies say. He is learned, but not bookish as his grandfather and father were. He is a good soldier, if sometimes a bit reckless; but above all he has charm.
Great, great charm.”
The Duke of Lundy turned to his half brother. “You worry he cannot win over his Scots subjects, but he already has, Patrick. He already has!”
“He may hae won over the people,” the Duke of Glenkirk said wisely, “but the people dinna control those men who now control the king, Charlie. He is nae an absolute ruler, and unless he can become one, there is nae hope of him regaining his English throne.”
Flanna ignored the brothers' quarrel, and asked, “What is the court like?”
Charles Frederick Stuart laughed, almost bitterly. “There has been no true court in years, madame,” he said. “Not that I was one for court, for I wasn't; but sometimes my uncle, the king, would invite me to join them. 'Twas usually on family occasions such as the time just before Christmas until just after Twelfth Night, for hunting in the late summer and autumn, at Eastertide, or my cousin Charles's birthday. In those days, as in the days of my grandfather, there were masques, and dancing, hunts and banquets. The women dressed in beautiful clothing and jewels, and the men were equally resplendent; not like today, with everyone in somber black, relieved only by starched white collars. It was a grand time, Flanna Leslie. Not like today.” He grew silent for several long moments, and his handsome Stuart face was sad. Then the Duke of Lundy sighed deeply. “We must restore our rightful king,” he said. “Great Britain and our people were not meant to live this joyless existence where even the celebration of Christmas is banned. Simple folk can no longer dance about their Maypoles on a warm spring night or bowl a game upon their village greens on an autumn day. Mother met Henry, India and Fortune's father, on May Day, you know. They say he fell in love at first sight. Do you remember how extraordinarily beautiful Mother was in her youth, Patrick?”
His younger brother nodded. “No one was ever as beautiful as our Mother, except perhaps Madame Skye,” Patrick replied.
“Who was she?” Flanna asked.
“Our great-grandmother,” Charlie answered. “There has never been anyone quite like her, nor, I expect, will there ever be again.”

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