The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 17

I felt as fresh as a posy of daisies in the clothes my aunt gave me to wear, though they had been put away, she told me, as too old and worn for her to use. The petticoat was linen of a good strong weave, with no more than two or three rips in it. The sleeves of the gown were frayed and it was much too big for me, but the woolen cloth it had been cut from was the finest and softest I had ever touched.

"Th-thank you, Aunt," I stammered, as I stood dressed in front of her.

She looked at me with sudden interest, as if seeing me for the first time. I could tell that she was pleased with her generosity.

"We'll get you a new cap," she said, retying the strings of my old one under my chin. "This old thing's stained and torn past using. Your uncle disapproves of vanity, so we don't talk of such things when he's around, but you're a pretty girl, I must say. When we get you a new gown from the weaver, we'll make sure it's blue to match your eyes."

"Are my eyes blue?" I was surprised. "I'd always thought they were brown, like Granny's."

Aunt Blair laughed.

"Poor child! You've never seen a mirror, I suppose? Grizel, fetch the glass down from the shelf."

She watched with pleasure as I took my first real look at myself, twisting and turning my head to see as much of my face as I could. I'd caught glimpses of myself from time to time in the still waters of the loch at Scalpsie, but it was brown and peaty, and my reflection was always dim. Something had always disturbed the water, shattering even that faint image into fragments.

I am pretty, I thought, trying out a smile.

"That's enough, dear," said Aunt Blair, hearing a step outside. She took the glass quickly from my hand. "Grizel, put this away."

Uncle Blair came in.

"The girls are just away to the burn to wash the clothes," Aunt Blair said, going a little pink.

"That's good. Very good," said Uncle Blair, not listening.

He sat down heavily at the table.

"What is it, Hugh?" Aunt Blair said, touching his hand.

He glanced up at her, and I was pierced by the sweetness of the look they exchanged. I wasn't used to seeing love. It made me feel oddly happy and lonely at the same time.

"It's that man Irving. He's after me for a fine. A heavy one. He'll ruin me if he can."

"The new minister?"

"Minister?" Anger sparked in my uncle's face. "He's no true minister. An ignorant false prophet, put in our kirk to preach over us and lead us astray in the path of worldliness. He's no man of God. A jumped-up servant of Charles Stuart, who calls himself the king. And if..."

Aunt Blair shook her head at him, as if in warning.

"Oh, aye, girls, off you go," Uncle Blair said.

Grizel had picked up a pile of linen and was making for the door. I bundled together my own dirty clothes and my father's shirt and plaid and followed her outside. She crossed to the other side of the courtyard and dropped her armful of clothes into a tub that was lying inside the storeroom. She picked up one handle and nodded at me, in the curt way that seemed natural to her, to take the other.

"Who's Mr. Irving?" I asked, as we staggered together over the few hundred yards to the little stream that ran past the back of the farm.

She looked sideways at me, and I could tell that she hadn't decided if she liked me or not.

"He's the new minister, put into the kirk in Kilmacolm," she said unwillingly, "after the old one was chased off by the king's men. Turned out of his manse, he was."

"Oh. Is that why my uncle doesn't like Mr. Irving?"

"Yes. Master holds to the Covenant." She saw a question in my face and hurried on. "Mr. Alexander was a good minister, and everyone hereabouts liked him. The people had chosen him themselves. They won't have anything to do with Mr. Irving."

"What happened to Mr. Alexander?"

"I don't know. Look, this is the best place for washing. It's muddy up there."

She does know, but she won't say, I thought. There are secrets here.

I didn't have time to wonder anymore, because Grizel was already working on the clothes, sloshing water from the burn into the tub with the pitcher she had carried in her spare hand. When the clothes were well covered, she knelt by the tub and began to rub at them with the soap.

I watched, fascinated. We'd never had soap at Scalpsie Bay. In fact, we'd never gone in for much washing of linen at all.

I took my place on the other side of the tub, lifted a shift, groped for the soap, and tried to copy her, but the slippery cake dropped out of my hands into the water.

"Watch out," she said, fishing the soap out. "Mistress will scold if much of it's melted off."

I bit my lip. I hadn't known that soap melted in water. She was looking at me curiously.

"You haven't lived on a big farm like this, then? Over there, in Bute, don't they have soap and that?"

"Not that I've seen," I said shortly.

She had stood up and was hitching her skirts high, exposing her pale legs. She tucked the folds of cloth into her girdle, and, to my amazement, she stepped right into the tub and began to trample the washing with her feet, humming as she went. Her little triumph over the soap seemed to have cheered her, and she grinned at me.

"Come on in and give us a hand—or a foot."

I had to smile back.

"I will if you like."

I hoisted up my own skirts and clambered into the tub. The cold water came up over my ankles. There wasn't much room for the two of us, so we had to stand close with our hands on each other's shoulders, making our legs go at the same time. Grizel suddenly threw her head back and began to sing.

"The gypsies came to Lord Cassilisgate..." and before she'd finished the first line, I burst out laughing and joined in:

"And sang in the garden shady,"





Together we chorused:

"They sang so sweet and so complete

That well they pleased the lady."





"How does it go on?" she asked, breaking off. "Do you know any more? All the story of it?"

In answer, I rollicked through the long list of verses, which Tam had sung to me hundreds of times, and as we splashed and pranced in that tub of washing, my spirits rose with the cheerfulness of it, and her face shone with friendliness.

"If they're not clean now, they never will be," she said at last, staring down into the murky water. "We'd best get on with the rinsing."

I didn't mind, now, admitting how useless I was with the washing. I was happy to let Grizel showed me how to do it. I felt that we'd made friends.

I was still humming the tune of Lord Cassilis's song as we spread the linen on the gorse bushes to dry.

"Better not sing that while master's around," she warned me. "It's worldly. He'd give us a frown for that."

Grizel's words puzzled me. What was wrong with the old song? But I didn't have time to wonder for long. As soon as we were back at the house, there was water to fetch and floors to sweep and butter to churn.

"Maggie," Aunt Blair said. "Help Martha with her reading, will you, dear? She can't manage the long words."

And I had to answer, "I'm sorry, Aunt. I can't read."

"Oh! Then fetch down the spare distaff and spin. You can look over Martha's shoulder and learn while you work."

"I've never spun either, Aunt," I mumbled with a burning face.

She gave up expecting me to know anything useful at all in the end, and though I was desperate to learn, she didn't seem able to teach me. I watched helplessly while she sorted feathers for stuffing a pillow, skimmed the cream off the milk and set to work at the butter churn, or cut down an old linen sheet to make a dress for the new baby, gently sighing and saying as she worked, "Now, Maggie, there must be something you can do. The Devil has work for idle hands, you know."

It was Grizel who came to my rescue.

"Here, Maggie, you turn the grindstone, and I'll pour in the oats," she said, and I sat eagerly at the quern, turning the heavy handle till my arms ached. Grizel taught me how to shake out the springy heather and smooth the sheets back over it in the box beds every morning. She showed me where the hens were likely to lay their eggs in the barn and how to spin a decent thread without making lumps or breaking it. When I tried to thank her, she would smack my shoulder playfully with her beefy hand.

"It's the help I'm glad of. There's more work on this farm than's right for only one maid. And mistress is so particular! Clean shirts and shifts for the whole lot of them every month! And the fuss she makes with the cooking! Go on, tell me again about how you had to swim across that raging torrent with the horse trying to kick your brains out."

Grizel had never been more than ten miles away from Kilmacolm in her life, and she could never hear enough of my adventures, which, I must admit, I colored up a little for her. I think she looked on me as a rare creature, like a bird with strange bright feathers, that's flown in from far away.

***

For the first few months at Ladymuir, I watched and learned and worked without a moment's rest, and I'd drop into bed at night dead with exhaustion, my arms aching and my hands red and sore with work. I was hardly able to keep my eyes open during Uncle Blair's long evening prayers around the kitchen table.

There was one thing that puzzled me, though. For all my uncle and aunt's deep religious faith, their constant Bible readings and psalm singing, they never walked the few miles into Kilmacolm on Sundays to go to church. The Sabbath day was strictly kept. We did no work at all, beyond what was absolutely necessary, such as milking the cows or feeding the hens. Family worship lasted for up to four hours, with Uncle Blair reading to us from the Bible and praying, and all of us singing psalms.

One blustery October Saturday, when rowan leaves were drifting down from the trees like golden rain, the routine suddenly changed. There was a great fuss of preparation in the kitchen. Aunt Blair scraped at Uncle's chin with her scissors to get off his week's beard. The men's coats and our women's gowns were brushed down and the stains worked at with dabs of soap. Aunt produced shoes from her chest and held a pair against my foot.

"These will do," she said. "Try them on, Maggie."

I'd never worn a pair of shoes before, and they felt stiff and cramping around my toes, but I was proud, too, and stammered out my thanks. Aunt Blair, even though she tried to be a good plain Puritan, always softened when it came to matters of dress.

"Don't mind if they pinch a little, dearie. You'll carry them till we're nearly there and put them on before we arrive."

"How far is the church?" I asked.

"Well..."

She shot a look at my uncle. He had been sitting at the table filing a metal link for his plow, but he put it down and patted the bench beside him, inviting me to sit.

"You can forget about that haunt of evil men that calls itself a church," he said gravely. "While you're under my roof, you'll have nothing to do with that dunghill of royal wickedness, and neither will any of my household. Now listen, while I tell you what's happening here in Kilmacolm."

"Hugh..." began Aunt Blair, but he silenced her with a nod.

"No, Isobel. Maggie's one of us now. She's a good girl. We've all seen how hard she's tried to do her best in this family these last months. She's my brother Danny's daughter. She'd not betray us, not even for silver or gold, I know it."

I was warmed through by his words and felt a rush of love for him.

"I'd never betray you, Uncle. But how could I, anyway?"

"Very easily." Aunt Blair had picked up her sewing again. "One word to the minister..."

Uncle Blair ignored her.

"Maggie, you'll have heard of the Covenant?" he said. "Do you know what it means?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Then it's time you did." He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "King Charles Stuart, of evil fame, and his wicked father James before him, puffed themselves up with pride and arrogance. They took it into their heads that it is the right of the king, and not the right of the Lord our God, to be rulers over our Presbyterian church in Scotland."

I was frowning, trying to understand. I could imagine the king, all puffed up with pride so that he was monstrously fat, and I supposed he'd be wearing a silver coat and have a golden crown on his head, like the fairy king in one of Tam's stories. And his wicked eyes would be red like glowing embers.

I nearly missed the next part of Uncle's explanation.

"We are a chosen few," he was saying earnestly. "A sacred remnant. The Lord has called us to stand firm for the difficult right against the easy wrong. If we give way, Maggie, and bow our necks humbly to this king, the bishops he wishes to set over us will force us to obey them. They'll tell us how to pray and what to preach. They'll try to make us think that what the king wants, God wants. They'll take away our freedom and make us servants while they loll fatly in their luxury and gluttony."

His words rolled richly around and over themselves, as if he was preaching a sermon himself.

"But if we're not going to the kirk tomorrow, Uncle," I dared to ask at last, "why have we been brushing our clothes and fetching out the shoes?"

"Ah, Maggie!" He smiled, with a look that was almost mischievous, like a boy planning to raid a neighbor's apple tree. "That's the nub of the matter. Mr. Irving, the king's chosen minister, will preach to an empty kirk tomorrow morning, as he has done to his own rage and fury these many weeks past. But we'll be up early and away across the moss into the hills with all of the true Presbyterian brothers. Our good old minister, Mr. Alexander, who was thrown out of his kirk and his manse by the king's men, will lead us in our prayers and preach to us from the Good Book."

"But it's a great secret, Maggie," Aunt Blair said, holding up her forefinger. "To meet for prayer in the open is against the law—"

"Against the king's law, not against God's," interrupted Uncle Blair.

"Yes, Hugh, but let me tell her. Maggie, if we're caught by the troops or if someone betrays us, they will put us in prison. They'll take everything from us in fines. They could even hang us from the gallows! Hugh..." Her voice had risen with anxiety, and she stopped, looking pleadingly at her husband.

"Now, my dear," Uncle Blair said, "you know fine that the Lord is the rock of our strength."

"I know, Hugh, but the children..."

"If we're to be cast out like criminals or outlaws, or even slain, it will be in the Lord's holy name. We'll be martyrs, Isobel, don't forget. The Lord will take each one of us by the hand, and lead us into glory, and say to us, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant.'"

I could hardly bear to look at my poor aunt, who had put down her sewing and was twisting her apron in her hands. Martha and Nanny, feeling the tension, had crept close to her and were folding her skirts around themselves. Grizel, who had been stirring the stew for tomorrow's dinner in the cauldron over the fire, was standing with the spoon in midair, as if mesmerized by Uncle Blair's words. I hadn't noticed Ritchie come in through the door behind me, but now he broke in eagerly, "Will we go armed into the hills, Father? If you take the musket, can I carry the sword?"

Uncle Blair tried to frown at him, but I could see that he shared Ritchie's excitement.

"Aye, son. We've no choice. If the forces of evil—"

"You mean the king's Black Cuffs! Armed to the teeth and with fast horses," Aunt Blair interrupted, her usual mild fretfulness giving way to bitterness.

"Yes, my dear. Charles Stuart's cavalry. If they come after us, we'll have no choice but to defend ourselves in the Lord's name. You'd best look at the powder horn, Ritchie, and see if it's dry. I'll check the musket balls. I've sharpened the sword. It'll do for the Lord's purposes."

Aunt Blair threw up her hands as if she despaired of both of them.

"I'm away to my bed," she said. "We'll be up before dawn. Ritchie, get off now to the barn. Grizel, cover the fire. Stop pulling Nanny's hair, Martha, and get into your night shift."

A few minutes later, Grizel, the little girls, and I were enclosed within our stuffy cupboard bed, but tired as I was, it was a long time before I could sleep. I had thought I had left danger behind when I'd fled from the Isle of Bute, but I seemed to have leaped from the cauldron into the fire. In Rothesay they'd wanted to string me up for being in league with the Devil, but here in Kilmacolm you could be hanged for trying to be too close to God. My stomach churned with terror at the thought of fleeing once again, pursued by a cruel enemy.

Why can't I just be ordinary? I wanted to cry out loud. Why does all this happen to me?

I was afraid that the thought was sinful, and I tried to pray, but the words of my prayer seemed to rise no further than the roof of the box bed. Nanny rolled over, muttering in her sleep. I put my arms around her and held her close, taking comfort from her childish peacefulness.

***

We got up and dressed by candlelight, and Aunt was just buttering some oatcakes for a hasty breakfast when a loud rapping came at the door.

"Lord have mercy!" she cried out, dropping the oatcake she'd been holding, which fell, butter-side down, on the table. "It's the soldiers! Hugh! Hide yourself!"

But Uncle Blair was calmly opening the door. He stepped outside, and we heard men's voices raised first in greeting, then in discussion. He came back in a few minutes later, shaking his head.

"Isobel, you'll not be coming today after all. The troops are out. They were seen last night riding from Paisley, and now they're fanning out, scouring the hills."

A smile of pure relief lit my aunt's face.

"It's the Lord's will, Hugh. We must accept it. We'll have a quiet Sabbath here at home."

"Aye, you will, my dear. You and the girls. Ritchie and I—"

"You'll not go out there, Hugh! Please! What if—"

She had caught his arm, but he gently took her hand away and held it in both of his own.

"Isobel, don't tempt me away from the path of righteousness! If Mr. Alexander has the courage to preach up there in the hills, who am I to let him down? There'll be others—all our good neighbors. Barbour from Barnaigh is here just now. He's going with all his sons. And Laird of Newton. The Flemings from Whinnerstone. Do you want Blair of Ladymuir to be the only one to skulk at home in cowardice?"

"No." She was biting her lip. "But, Hugh..."

"Aye, aye, we'll take care. We'll set a watch around the meeting place. This is our country. We know every stone and hollow. We can melt away like snow in April if they come upon us, while they blunder about on their English horses, getting mired in our bogs."

He was trying to make her smile, but she shook her head at him.

"Look after your son, Hugh."

He was at the door already, but he turned back.

"Give me your blessing, Isobel. I won't go without that."

"Well, yes, you have it, you know you have."

She held her hand out and he pressed it, and then he was gone. I looked out the door and saw Ritchie, his face ablaze with excitement, with his father's long sword dangling from his belt. Two other farmers, solid men, nodded at Uncle Blair as he joined them. The little group of them set out at a brisk walk along the track that led up into the hills behind the farm, two with muskets over their shoulders and all with their Sunday hats neatly brushed on their heads. The dogs, who had been lying by the barn door, got up and followed them, silent black shadows hugging the ground.

I had been looking forward to that long, quiet Sunday, when all work was forbidden, and my tired arms and legs could rest. I would have time, I thought, to look at the autumn colors around the farm and play with the little girls. I would have enjoyed it, too, if it hadn't been for my aunt's dreadful anxiety, which was as catching as a bad cold. Since she couldn't work without sin, she couldn't even occupy her hands with her needle or her distaff. The oatmeal had all been ground the day before, the stew prepared, and the oatcakes baked. She had nothing to do but sit at the table, or walk backwards and forwards to the door, looking up the track in the hope of seeing the menfolk come back.

While her back was turned, Martha climbed up onto a stool.

"What are you doing, silly child?" said Aunt, noticing her at last.

Martha was unused to hearing such a sharp note in her mother's voice. Her chin wobbled, and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm going to preach a sermon, Mammy," she whispered, "to tell Nanny to be good."

Grizel and I couldn't help laughing, and even Aunt Blair smiled.

"Out of the mouths of babes." She sighed. "You're right, darling. We must hold a service of our own. Fetch down the Bible, Grizel. Martha, since you're learning to read so well, you'll be the one to read to us."

Martha, pink with pride, went to stand by her mother, following Aunt Blair's finger as it ran along the line of words. I marveled at Martha's confident high voice, reading out all but the hardest words.

"'There be three things which are too wonderful for me,'" she intoned. " Yea, four which I know not. The way of an eagle in the air...'"

"What's a 'neagle'?" Nanny interrupted.

"A big bird, dear," said Aunt Blair. "Go on, Martha."

"'The way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.'" She looked up, puzzled. "What does that mean, Mammy, 'the way of a man with a maid' ?"

Grizel sniggered, and I couldn't help giggling myself. Aunt Blair snapped the Bible shut.

"You'll know soon enough. There, I knew I wouldn't get it right. Your father would have chosen a better chapter. What's that you're saying, Nanny?"

Nanny had been muttering in the secret language she shared with Martha. Now she wriggled and hid her head under her apron.

"She means, I to the hills will lift mine eyes,'" translated Martha. "It's the psalm, Mammy."

"I know it's the psalm," Aunt Blair said, unable to hide her exasperation. "Well, then, we'd better sing it," and in a quavering voice she began:

"I to the hills will lift mine eyes,

From whence doth come mine aid.

My safety cometh from the Lord,

Who Heaven and earth hath made."





As I sang I, too, looked out through the door, longing for the sight of the brown coats and tall hats coming down to us from above.

They appeared at last, long after the sun was beginning to sink. Grizel saw them first.

"It's them, mistress," she called out, "but it looks like the master's lost his hat."

Aunt Blair was off the bench where she'd been sitting and was running up the track, her shawl blowing out behind her, before the rest of us had moved. I saw her stumble, Uncle Blair catch hold of her, and Ritchie take her other arm. They almost carried her between them back to the house. I didn't know which to look at first, my aunt's deathly pale face or the blood pouring down my uncle's forehead.

"It's nothing! Nothing!" he said irritably, as the little girls set up a wail, and Grizel and I stood gaping at him. "A tiny nick in the skin, that's all. The real damage is to my hat, which the musket ball blew clean away. A good hat it was too."

"We shook them off, Mother, just as Father said we would," Ritchie burst out exultantly. "Seven troopers, mounted, and a captain, but they were floundering around in the bog and they couldn't come near us! The others got Mr. Alexander away. He's hiding at Whinnerstone."

"It was a grand sermon he preached, Ritchie, that's the main thing," his father said with a frown.

A gasp from Aunt Blair made him turn around.

"What is it, Isobel? Oh, my dear, you're not—it's not..."

"It is," she said, panting. "The pains have come. Help me inside, Hugh. Ritchie, get away to Barnaigh. Fetch Mistress Barbour to come and help me. Ah! Hurry, now!"