CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday, 24th August, 1822
David woke to birdsong, the smell of morning chocolate…and an aching arse.
Opening his eyes, he realised he was alone in bed. The tinkle of cutlery came from the adjoining sitting room, and Murdo’s voice, a low murmur.
Another voice. Obsequious, respectful. The door opening, then closing again.
Moments later, Murdo appeared in the doorway to the bedchamber, dressed in a dark blue dressing gown that was as elegantly formal as David’s evening clothes.
He smiled at David. “You’re awake.”
David offered an embarrassed smile in return. “Only just.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
David frowned at that, considering. He’d always been an early riser, the ingrained habit of a born-and-bred farm boy, and his sense of time rarely failed him.
“Half past nine,” Murdo offered without waiting for an answer.
When David’s jaw dropped open with shock, Murdo laughed.
“You’re corrupting me,” David said, sitting up, then felt his cheeks scorch as he recalled just how much corrupting Murdo had done last night.
Murdo watched him blush, his head to one side. “Do you regret it?” he asked. His tone was careful, those dark eyes watchful.
“No!” David exclaimed, almost offended to be asked. “Not at all!”
Murdo looked perfectly relaxed, lounging in the doorway, yet David detected a minute easing of strain in those broad shoulders at David’s vehement protest.
“I wondered if you’d have second thoughts,” he admitted.
“No, I’m—” David paused. “I’m glad.”
“Good,” Murdo said. Then he cleared his throat and turned away. “Why don’t you come and have some breakfast, then.”
David watched him go before he hopped out of bed to pull on his drawers, shirt and breeches. Thus attired, he wandered into the sitting room. As before, the table was set with snowy linen and fine dishes. Fine food and—yes, his nose hadn’t tricked him—there was morning chocolate this time too. David tried the chocolate, but it was too sweet for his taste.
“We drank beer for breakfast, on the farm,” he said, setting the chocolate aside and reaching for the teapot. “My father swore by it. Still does.”
“Not whisky?” Murdo said casually as he dissected a kipper. “I thought that was your favourite tipple.”
At David’s silence, he looked up, frowning in a puzzled way. “Sorry,” he said. “I was only jesting. And you do drink a fair old lot of whisky, don’t you?”
Oddly enough, David thought, he’d been drinking less since Murdo had come back. Even at last night’s ball, he’d just sipped at some wine punch. He wasn’t sure precisely why that was. Perhaps it was because it was in the evenings when he was alone with his thoughts that he tended to indulge most freely. There had been fewer of those nights lately, and even when he was alone, he’d had other matters taking up his attention.
It was good to wake without a thick head and a thicker tongue. Good to feel clear-headed. Perhaps, when Murdo went back to London, he’d try to lessen his drinking. Except that the thought Murdo would soon be leaving, perhaps never to return, made David feel like doing nothing else so much as sinking a bottle of the hard stuff to the very last dregs.
Ah, perhaps he should regret last night after all.
“Did I offend you?” Murdo asked, still frowning. “I didn’t mean to.”
David made himself look at Murdo, at his worried face. “No, not at all,” he said, smiling weakly, and turned his attention back to his coddled eggs, but it was difficult to eat when nausea ate at him, and soon enough he put his cutlery down and placed his napkin on his plate.
“Is that all you’re having?” Murdo asked.
“I’m not especially hungry this morning,” David replied. “In fact, I should really be going.”
It wasn’t untrue. He had to go and see Chalmers about Elizabeth, and then he had to discuss arrangements with Euan. He would have to see if he could get a ticket for the Theatre Royal performance too. He had a great deal to do.
And maybe a little distance between him and Murdo would be a good thing.
Murdo sighed. “David, please don’t go, I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t offend me, truly,” David said hurriedly, rising. “But in truth, I have to go.”
Murdo rose with him. “Listen, wait a moment. When can I see you again?” He shook his head as soon as the words were out, as though annoyed at himself.
“I don’t know,” David said, adding after a pause, “And I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, to be honest.”
Murdo’s expression hardened, his lips thinning. “You said you weren’t having second thoughts about last night.”
“I’m not. I—”
“You said you were glad, Goddamn it!”
“I was. I am. It’s just that…” Was he really going to say this? “You’ll be leaving soon, Murdo. Maybe in a matter of days. And I don’t know how I—that is, I don’t want to make this any harder than it needs to be—” He broke off, his chest heaving as though he’d run a mile, to discover Murdo staring at him with a stricken look on his face.
Turning on his heel, David stalked into the bedroom and began collecting up his crumpled clothes, pulling them on in jerky movements. Behind him, he heard Murdo’s soft footfalls following him into the room, though he said nothing till David turned round, fully dressed.
“It’s true that I’ll be leaving Edinburgh,” Murdo said quietly. “I’m planning to travel up to Perthshire in a week or so, and I’ll be there for a while before I go back to London in the new year, but I could drop in on you on my way back down, and I’m usually in Scotland at some point every year—” He broke off, biting his lip before continuing. “I understand your reservations, but I don’t want this to end. At the very least, I’d like to see you again before I go to Perthshire.”
David stared at him. Murdo might talk about dropping in for brief visits here and there, but the truth was clear to David. If there was any future in this, it was a future in which they would have little more than moments together. Moments strung together with years and years of waiting. If he had any sense, he’d walk away right now and not look back. And yet…last night had been beyond his most vivid imaginings. The thought of having that again, just one more time, was damn near irresistible. There would be a reckoning, yes, but it wasn’t one he could avoid now anyway. The only question was how much of Murdo he let himself have before that reckoning came.
Before he could say anything, Murdo spoke again.
“Come to the royal performance at the Theatre Royal with me on Tuesday. I’ve got a whole box to myself, and after, we can come back here for supper. Say yes, David. Please.”
Was this fate?
David wasn’t a superstitious man, but when something like this happened, you ignored it at your peril. He could see it all now. He would go to the theatre with Murdo, slip out of the box to meet Elizabeth at the designated time, and once he’d seen her safely outside and released her into Euan’s care, he would return to Murdo. When the performance was finished, they would go to Murdo’s townhouse and have another perfect night together, just like last night. And that would be it between them. When David woke up in the morning, he would say good-bye to Murdo, and that part of his life would be over. The reckoning would come then, of course, but this time he would be ready for it.
“All right,” he said carefully. “Tuesday. I’ll look forward to it.”
David went to see Chalmers straight from Murdo’s house.
The footman showed him into Chalmers’s study as usual and asked him to wait. Eventually, after twenty minutes, the door opened and Chalmers entered, leaning on the same footman’s arm. As before, he wore a dressing gown and looked drawn. David suspected he had been in bed.
“It’s good to see you, my boy,” Chalmers said.
“You didn’t need to get up,” David chided him, rising to greet him and guide him into the chair behind his desk.
“It’s good for me to get up,” Chalmers replied. “Lying in bed all day just makes me feel worse.” He turned to the footman. “Prentice, would you fetch a tray of tea?”
The footman bowed and withdrew, leaving them alone.
“So, is this just a courtesy visit, or do you have a purpose?”
“The latter, I’m afraid.”
“You’re afraid?”
“It concerns Elizabeth.”
Chalmers paled. “Something I should know?”
David steeled himself. “I met her last night, at the Peers’ Ball. With her husband.”
“How was she?” the older man whispered.
“I’ll come to that, but I need to ask you something first,” David said. “The last time I came here, you told me you were worried about her,” he began. “And you said you were unhappy about her marriage.”
“Yes,” Chalmers said carefully. “What of it?”
“I need you to tell me, bluntly, why you were so concerned. Was it really just that she seemed more subdued to you, or was there more?”
Chalmers swallowed. “It is difficult to talk about these things, and you—you are not a family member.”
“And yet it was me you asked to look out for her,” David pointed out gently.
The older man closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Come, then. I know this is not something you would do lightly. So let us talk frankly about Elizabeth’s predicament. I think there is more to this than you first said.”
When Chalmers opened his eyes, they gleamed with a film of tears. David had never seen the man like this before. Chalmers was a cheerful man, full of bonhomie. Even when he was confined to a sickbed, he joked and laughed, making light of his troubles. But here, today, he looked torn up and ragged with worry.
“I believe he mistreats her,” Chalmers said at last, and the admission was heavy with certainty. “I’ve seen some bruises—and I worry about what I can’t see.” Chalmers dashed a hand across his wet eyes. “And she is so silent in his presence. I think he means to cut us off from her. I looked forward so much to this visit, but I have only seen her twice, once when she came here with him, and once when I forced myself out of bed to go to his house.”
David put his hand over the older man’s and squeezed, much as he’d done last night to Elizabeth. “You have seen it then,” he said, and he was relieved that he would not have to tell Chalmers the worst of it.
“He was married before, you know,” Chalmers said. “His first wife died.” He looked up, and the expression on his face was distraught.
“I heard that too,” David said.
“Tell me what you observed last night.”
“I saw that she is afraid of Kinnell,” David said quietly. “He did not want to let her out of his sight, but I managed to speak with her alone for a few minutes while we danced.” Thank you, Murdo. “I could see that a chance to speak with her alone would not come again, so I did not waste time but told her straightaway that you were worried about her and asked if she was happy.”
“And what did she say?”
David swallowed, only too aware of how much distress this would cause his mentor. “There is no easy way to say this. She confirmed your fears. She admitted that she is unhappy, and that she is afraid of him. She said that he watches her—or has her watched by servants. Keeps her away from anyone who might try to help her.”
Chalmers was chalk white by now, and his hand trembled under David’s.
“Does he hurt her?”
David paused. Everything in him wanted to spare Chalmers, but he could not lie. “She did not say much, but I think so, yes. She dreads going back to his estate with him where they will be alone.”
“God in heaven, these were my worst fears,” Chalmers said, his voice cracking. “What can I do, lad?”
“Listen to me,” David said firmly. “Now I will tell you why I am here. And I want you to hear me out, even if your first reaction is to say no.”
Chalmers settled a little in response to David’s calm manner. “Tell me.”
David took a deep breath. “I told Elizabeth I would help her run away from Kinnell, if she wants to.”
Chalmers’s eyes widened. “What? What did she say?”
“She said yes. She is desperate enough to run from him with no more than the clothes on her back.”
“And you think I would not approve?” Chalmers sounded angry.
David let out a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure. Many parents would say their daughter should stay with her husband, even if she was being mistreated.”
Chalmers was silent a moment. “My wife would probably say so,” he admitted. “It’s why I asked you to look out for Elizabeth. So that when I’m gone, there will be someone—”
“You are not going anywhere,” David interrupted roughly.
“Yes, I am,” Chalmers replied quietly. “The physician says it will be a matter of months. Half a year at most, and every day I feel weaker. I am useless to my own daughter in her hour of need. I can only thank God for sending you to us, David.”
David tried to disguise the distress that overcame him at Chalmers’s words, turning his head away for a few moments to regain his composure.
“You are not useless to her,” he said when he turned back. “Far from it. That is why I am here. Elizabeth will need money. I told her I would speak with you and see what you can do.”
“Ah, well, that I can arrange at least. A decent sum to travel with and a more permanent arrangement when she is settled. When is it to happen?”
“Tuesday.”
“So soon!”
“It cannot be later. They are due to leave for Kinnell’s estate on Thursday. She will be at the theatre for the royal performance and is going to try to slip away from him.”
“Very well, I’ll have trust papers drawn up straightaway. Ah, David lad”—he shook his head, his expression distraught—“I am her father. I should be able to protect her, but the only thing I am good for is making fine speeches in court. And what use is that? The law cannot mend some wrongs.”
“The law cannot mend this,” David agreed. “But we will mend it, I hope. Now, listen. There is one more thing I need to tell you.”
“More than this?”
“Yes. I have a friend who will be helping me. His name is Euan MacLennan. He is a journalist, a Scot who lives in London. He has already met Elizabeth—he saw immediately that she was being mistreated and made it known to me he wished to help her. I will ensure that Elizabeth gets away from Kinnell on Tuesday evening, but it will be Euan, who will take her out of Scotland. He has friends in London who will help her settle into a new life.”
“You know this man? Trust him?”
“Yes, with my life.”
Chalmers took a deep breath. “What can I say, then? The man I entrusted her to is a monster.” He paused. “Will you promise to check on her once she is settled, to ensure that she is well? I know I ask too much of you, lad, more than a man should ask of someone who is not his son, but there is no one I trust more.”
“Of course. I will do everything I can to ensure she is safe.”
“Thank you. Now, your Mr. MacLennan will have expenses to defray and Elizabeth will need coin before she can access any trust funds,” Chalmers said. He unlocked his desk drawer and reached inside to draw out a metal box from which he lifted a handful of small, leather purses. He handed them to David. “There are ten guineas in each of those. Give them to Elizabeth and your friend.”
“I will see they get them.”
Chalmers put his hand over David’s this time. “I will never be able to thank you enough if you get my girl away from that brute,” he said softly.
“Just pray we are successful,” David replied.
“I will do nothing but pray till I hear she is safe.”
David felt a momentary panic after the interview with Chalmers—would Euan have changed his mind? Had he raised Chalmers’s hopes unforgivably?
He needn’t have worried. He opened his door that evening to find Euan on the other side, his expression anxious.
“Well?”
“She was there,” David said. “Come in, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Euan’s relief was so palpable he looked about ready to collapse from it. He followed David into the parlour, refusing his offer of whisky. “What did she say?”
David recited the details of his discussion with Elizabeth. Then he told Euan about the conversation with Chalmers and passed him the purses of coin.
“I don’t want these,” Euan said, sounding almost offended. He made to toss them back, and David held up his hand.
“I won’t allow you to help unless you agree to use those coins,” David said, implacable.
“What? Why?” Euan bridled with offence.
“Firstly, because it is Chalmers’s prerogative to help his own daughter and it is the only way he can help. And secondly, because the last thing Elizabeth needs at this moment is to feel beholden to another male—or more than she needs to, anyway.”
Euan thought about that. “All right,” he said at last, nodding. “I can see the sense in what you say, and I have no wish to make anything more difficult for her than it needs to be.”
“Good. Let us discuss how we will arrange things, then. The streets around the theatre will be very congested, and it will be imperative that you get away quickly.”
Euan had thought about it already. He’d planned a route by coach that went west then south, rather than taking the more direct east-coast route to London. With Chalmers’s money he could do even better: hire a private carriage, at least for the first part of the journey, significantly reducing the risk of discovery at one of the main coaching inns.
“You could have a carriage wait for you near the theatre, not too near but perhaps on Regent Road,” David said. “We only need to separate her from Kinnell for a few minutes to get her away. The crowds on the streets will swallow you both up quick enough, and ten minutes’ walk will take you to Regent Road.”
Euan nodded. “Where shall I meet you and when? The crowds will be as much a hindrance as a help, I expect. And there will be soldiers who will want to know why I’m loitering around a building that has the King in it.”
“I had very little time to speak with Elizabeth at the ball—we had to make some sort of plan, so I said she should make her way to the front doors at half past nine. Aim to be near the front doors of the theatre a few minutes before that. Loitering round the back will be too suspicious and probably impossible to boot.” He paused. “And Euan—”
“Yes?”
“Be watchful. Take care you are not followed.”
Euan frowned. He stared at David for several long moments. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the possibility of someone following me. Why?”
David stared back, his mind in turmoil. He had not wanted to break Murdo’s confidence—and since Euan had been planning nothing untoward, it hadn’t seemed so terrible to keep the full truth from him. But now things were different. Elizabeth’s flight was at stake, and Euan would be acting suspiciously, lingering near the doors of a building the King would eventually emerge from.
He took a deep breath. “The truth is—the truth is I’ve been told you’re on a list of troublemakers being watched by Crown agents. It’s possible you are being followed, but I don’t know for sure.”
Euan’s jaw tightened, and his angry gaze was an accusation. “You knew this? And you didn’t tell me till now?”
“I’m sorry. I was told in confidence, and I thought that if you were only writing and not planning to break the law—”
“For God’s sake, Davy, if someone’s following me, it isn’t to see if I break the law! It’s to see who I meet with, who I talk to. It’s to identify other ‘troublemakers’ and watch them too!”
David stared at Euan, dismayed. Murdo had said that too, hadn’t he?
“If you’re seen with MacLennan, it might affect you. Guilt by association…”
The fact was, when Euan had turned up at David’s door, David could no more have turned him away than he could have turned away his own brother. He’d taken the risk of association willingly. But now it struck him forcibly that it wasn’t only himself that may have been affected. Anyone else that Euan had met with may have fallen under suspicion.
“Christ!” he breathed, his voice shaking. “You’re right. I should have told you.”
Euan’s angry expression softened. He sighed.
“Ah, Davy.” He put a hand on David’s arm. “You don’t need to worry about anyone but yourself, all right? I’ve seen barely anyone since I came back to Scotland.” He squeezed David’s arm briefly, then let go. “And now you’ve told me, I’ll be sure to shake them off. God knows I’ve had to do it before, and more than once.”
David sent him a watery smile. “All right, but be careful. This might be Elizabeth’s only chance.”
Euan nodded. “I know that. I know it all too well.”