The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 19

I was so shocked at the sight of Annie and Tam that I thought they were evil spirits come to drag me back to Bute and the gallows. I even looked past and behind them, half expecting to see Mr. Macbean and Donnie Brown and even Granny herself. But then Tam said, "You're surprised, Maidie, and I don't wonder, for I'm amazed to be here myself," and Annie rushed forward and put her arms out as if she was my long-lost best friend and wanted to hug me.

I stepped back, out of her way. The thought of being touched by her made my flesh crawl.

"Who are your friends, Maggie?" Uncle Blair said pleasantly. "They must be in dire need if they have been forced to travel and break the Sabbath day."

Before I could say a word, Annie broke in, "Oh, yes, please, sir, we would never have committed such a sin, only..."

She faltered, looking at Tam. I knew she was casting about for a reason that would please my famously Puritan uncle. I could see that already she was trying to worm herself into his good graces, and my heart sank even further when I saw that he was smiling at her.

"Well, well," he said. "No doubt your reasons are good." And he waited, his eyebrows raised, expecting her to speak. When she didn't, he looked inquiringly at me.

"That's Tam," I said unwillingly. "The piper from Bute. Andshe 'sA nnie, who—who—"

Uncle Blair's brows had snapped together, while Aunt Blair drew in a shocked breath and pulled Martha and Nanny close.

"You are the young woman who gave false witness at my niece's trial?" Uncle Blair said sternly. "Who tried to send her to the scaffold? Who lay with a man in adultery?"

Annie burst into tears.

"Oh, sir, oh, please, it was all a dreadful misunderstanding. I never meant—I honestly believed..."

Aunt Blair stepped forward.

"Where's the child?" she demanded. "The baby you bore in sin? What's happened to the baby?"

Annie looked from her to my uncle, her face a perfect study of innocent bewilderment.

"What child? I don't have a child! How could I, when I'm not yet married, and I'm—I'm a virgin?" She turned to me, shaking her head sorrowfully. "Oh, Maggie, what have you been telling them? I knew you didn't like me, but I would never have thought you'd tell such lies."

I could hardly believe my ears.

"Tam!" I burst out. "Tell them! How can you stand there and listen to this? Tam!"

But Tam was shuffling uneasily from one foot to another.

"Well, now, Maidie, I wouldn't want to—girls' quarrels, you know. Is there any chance, mistress, that you might give us a little water to drink and just a crumb to eat? It's been an awful long road to walk."

I don't believe that anyone, not even the greatest rascal in Scotland, could appeal to my uncle's kindness and hospitality and be turned away. Though he looked grave, he invited Tam and Annie into the house and made Grizel set extra places for them at the table. I was speechless, struck dumb by Annie's impudence.

Tam could hardly wait until the long grace had been said but fell on the cheese and oatcakes with such ravenous hunger that I thought he would choke, and though I could tell he was disappointed that the jug held water and not whiskey, his smile to my uncle was one of simple gratitude.

"I knew little Maidie's good folks would not turn away a starving man," he said, "for starving I am, and so's this girl here, or we would have been, but for your kindness."

No one answered. Tam became aware of the disapproving silence at last and seemed to shrivel into himself. Annie, who had eaten with modest delicacy, shooting glances around the table as she assessed one person after another, heaved a great sigh, and, laying down her spoon, said, "Now I know that what everyone says hereabouts is true. You are godly people, full of Christian charity for the hungry and homeless. Anyone else would have thrown a wretched sinner like me out to starve up there on the moss. Oh, sir, mistress"—she clasped her hands and looked beseechingly, first at my uncle, then at my aunt—"if you only knew how sorry I am for the wrong I did to Maggie! How deeply I repent! I've struggled with the evil in my heart, and I've undertaken this long journey, full of perils, only so that I could cast myself on the floor and beg her to forgive me."

She was acting her part so well, with brimming eyes and little catches in her voice, that even I might have believed her if she hadn't lied so blatantly about her baby. Her words made me feel as if I'd been smeared with dirt. I put my hand into the pocket of my apron to feel my father's buckle, afraid that she might somehow have stolen it again already. The touch of it brought back the terrible memory of the trial, Granny's defiance, and the desperate nights in the tolbooth.

"Uncle," I protested. "Don't listen to her. Please!"

But it was too late. I could see that he was touched by the sight of a beautiful sinner repenting, a straying lamb returning to the fold.

"Maggie," he said with his usual gentleness, "this child has done you a terrible wrong, but if her repentance is real, the Lord has already forgiven her, and you must find it in your heart to forgive her too."

I thought I would choke.

"Aunt, please, you don't know her! She's..."

But my aunt was impressed, I could see, by Annie's prettiness, by the curls escaping from her cap, and the dimples in her soft pink cheeks. Annie had now turned her swimming blue eyes on me.

"You must believe me, Maggie! I know now that what I said was—well, not quite true. But I honestly believed it. I really did think Mistress Elspeth had evil powers and had consorted with the Devil. When I remember how she swung the baby around the hearth and cursed him before he died..." She shuddered artistically and stole a look at Aunt Blair. I could see that this shaft had found its mark. "And what I saw, that night at Ambrisbeg—"

"Where you had gone to meet your lover!" I interrupted furiously.

The smile she turned on me was full of understanding sorrow.

"I don't blame you, Maggie, for making up such lies. But it's not true. You know that. I admit that I was—have been a creature of sin. It wasn't earthly lusts that drove me to that place that night. It was the Devil himself, luring me, calling me to the witches' Sabbath. I was even—I admit it freely!—tempted to offer myself to the service of the Evil One! I was willing to let myself be seduced by him!"

"There was no witches' Sabbath," I said hotly. "Granny wasn't a witch. You know that. Be careful what lies you tell."

My anger had been growing like a surging wave, gathering to break in violent spray on rock. I could feel wildness in me. I wanted to make Annie fear me. I wanted to threaten her with Granny's haunting from beyond the grave, to terrify her with incantations and hints of enchantments, but I pulled myself up. I'd seen where the use of that kind of power had led. It was no way out for me.

"How can you know that there was no witches' Sabbath," Annie was asking me in a tone of deadly innocence, "unless you were there yourself?"

"Because I was there! I told you that before. I didn't take part. I watched. I'd woken up and Granny wasn't there. I was angry at always being left alone and I went out to find her. All I saw were some poor old people, the lonely ones of the isle, who had lit a fire to warm themselves and were drinking a drop too much, and dancing and singing for comfort and friendship. Ask Tam! He was there! You tell them, Tam. Did the Devil come to you all that night?"

All eyes turned to Tam, who was caught in the act of putting his hand out to take the last morsel of cheese from the platter. He withdrew it hurriedly.

"No, no, of course not. The evil gentleman himself ? I never saw. But then, the whiskey, you know. How can I remember who was there and who was not?"

He subsided with a cough.

I saw that Annie was satisfied. She'd planted seeds of doubt in the family's minds. They had believed my story entirely and had been sure that both Granny and I had been victims. Now they were not so certain. Annie cleverly pushed her advantage. She clasped her hands and looked at me pleadingly.

"The Lord has shown me that I was too sure in the evidence I gave about that night. The light was bad, it was cloudy, and the Devil was in my heart. I thought I saw—but I should have said at the trial that I couldn't be certain! I didn't understand, Maggie. I didn't know what they were planning to do to Mistress Elspeth and you. If I had, I'd have lied. I'd have perjured myself to save you!"

She saw at once that she'd made a mistake as Uncle Blair, who had been leaning forward, drew back and frowned. Annie bit her lip, aware that the spell she had so artfully woven had been broken.

Uncle Blair said doubtfully, "And so you left the Isle of Bute and the protection of your master's house, and undertook this long and dangerous journey for the sole purpose of asking Maggie to forgive you?"

I couldn't tell from his voice whether he approved or not. Neither could Annie.

"It was Tam," she said at last. "'You'll never rest easy, Annie,' he told me, 'and the Lord will never accept your repentance, if you don't go in person and throw yourself on the mercy of the girl you have wronged.' Isn't that so, Tam?"

Tam jerked in his seat, and I was sure she'd kicked him under the table.

"Eh? Oh, aye. Yes. That's right." He was nodding, but licking his lips nervously at the same time. I saw then that she had acquired some kind of hold on him and that he was terrified of her.

All eyes now turned to me. Uncle Blair leaned across the table and picked up my hand.

"My dear, the Lord said, 'If thy brother repent, thou shalt forgive him.' Annie has repented, Maggie. Will you forgive her?"

It was too much. My heart was pounding. I was panting as if I'd run up a mountain. I leaped to my feet, knocking over a stool.

"Can't you see, all of you? Don't you understand? She's a liar! A cheat! A thief ! She ran away from Bute because she was afraid of being punished for adultery. She must have got rid of the baby she was carrying. She's come here because she's desperate and she knows you're good and kind, and you'll take her in and look after her, but she'll destroy you, like she destroyed my granny and tried to destroy me. Don't listen to her! I'm begging you! Don't!"

It was no good. Uncle Blair was shaking his head sadly at me, and Aunt Blair had leaned down over Andrew's cradle, turning her back on me. Blinded by my tears, I stumbled to the door and ran outside into the driving rain.

***

It was Ritchie who found me much later. I had thrown myself down against a bale of hay in the barn and had gone from storming tears, through fist-clenching rages and wild schemes of revenge, to the quiet misery of despair. Since I'd come to Ladymuir, I'd found a healing calm, and though I hadn't been truly happy, I'd been accepted by a kindly family. Now I felt as if a malignant hand was reaching out to drag me back to the terrors and violence of the past.

I couldn't speak to Ritchie, who was standing diffidently in front of me, embarrassed by my distress.

"Are you all right, Maggie?" he said at last.

"No. Of course I'm not all right. I don't know what to do."

He squatted down beside me. He had been so shy with me up till now that I hardly knew how to speak to him.

"She's a one, that Annie," he said.

I picked up a wisp of straw and knotted it around my fingers.

"She's the best liar I've ever met, anyway," he went on.

My eyes flew up to meet his. A sprout of hope took root.

"You mean she didn't fool you?"

"I saw her kick the old man. To make him back up her story. She scares him. Why would he be afraid of her if she was a good person? That kick was vicious. What's she got on him, do you think?"

I threw the straw aside and sat up.

"It could be lots of things. Tam—he's kind and I love him, but he's weak and easily scared. He's always in trouble. She'd only have to threaten him with the law over a debt or something, and he'd not be able to stand up to her."

He cleared his throat.

"It wasn't just the kick. When you told us your story, it came out different. It was hard for you to tell. I thought you were brave, the way you decided not to hide things from us. That girl was all smooth and clever. Everything about her felt wrong to me."

I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, but if I had, he'd have bolted out of the barn and up onto the moor like a startled deer.

"Ritchie, you've no idea! Just to know that you believe me!"

"I do, Maggie, and I always will."

There was a quiet steadiness in his voice that warmed me through. I looked at my shy cousin, with his square Blair features and direct blue eyes, as if I was seeing him for the first time.

"But she's convinced my father," he went on. He saw the distress in my face and said quickly, "No, not that. It's not that he doubts you. But he believes in the girl's repentance. You know what he's like, Maggie. He's thrilled to see a sinner return to the Lord and seek forgiveness in such a dramatic way, like a story in the Bible."

"He'll never make me say I forgive her!" I said fiercely. "How can I, when she's not a bit sorry for anything she's done and hasn't confessed to the half of it? She tried to murder us, Ritchie, Granny and me. And what's she done with her baby?"

"There'll be time enough to find out," Ritchie said, standing up and turning to look out of the barn toward the house. "My father's said she may stay with us while he finds her work on a farm near here."

"He'll be sorry," I said, and snorted. "He might as well take in a poisonous snake."

Across the courtyard, the door of the house opened.

"Ritchie, are you there?" called Martha. "Mam says you're to come in for the evening worship. Where's Maggie?"

Ritchie put out his work-hardened hand to pull me to my feet.

"We'd best go inside. Put a brave face on it, Maggie. You know my father. Once he has an idea in his head, there's no use trying to shift him. If he's decided to trust that girl, he won't be swayed."

I tried, in the short distance from the barn to the house, to pick the wisps of hay off my gown and smooth back my hair, knowing how much my aunt disliked untidiness. But when I saw the family, sitting around the cleared table with the Bible already open in front of my uncle, I knew I'd wasted my efforts. Annie had used the time well. She was sitting in the privileged position beside Aunt Blair, rocking Andrew in her arms, while Nanny leaned against her side, sucking her thumb contentedly. Tam had retreated to a stool by the fire and looked up at me with his eyes full of misery and apology. Grizel stood beside him, frowning, her arms crossed on her chest. She gave me a grim little nod, as if to tell me that she, for one, hadn't fallen under Annie's spell. Martha still hovered by the door.

Uncle Blair looked at me gravely as I slipped into my usual place on the bench, with my back to the wall.

"Come here, you dear little thing," Annie cooed to Martha, "and sit by me."

But Martha scrambled onto the bench beside me, cramming herself against me and flinching from Annie's outstretched hand. Uncle Blair frowned, not liking a display of feeling at prayer time.

"From the Gospel according to Luke," he said, and began to read. "'What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.'"

He looked across at Annie, who with Andrew's rosy face nestled in her arms and Nanny, now twisting one of Annie's curls around her finger, made a picture of sweet goodness that curdled the blood in my veins.

"The angels in Heaven tonight are rejoicing over your repentance, Annie," Uncle Blair said with a happy smile, "as we, too, rejoice. And we will pray for our dear Maggie, that the Lord will work in her heart and bring her to forgive the wrongs that you have done her."

When the long, long prayers were over at last, it was time for bed.

"Grizel, you will sleep in the other room," Aunt Blair said. "Annie will share the box bed with Maggie."

I said nothing, but I pulled Grizel back as she went into the other room.

"Go back to our bed," I whispered to her. "I'd rather share a ditch with a mad dog than sleep in the same bed as her."

Grizel grinned at me.

"Don't blame you either."

"Where are you going, Maggie?" Aunt Blair called out as I opened the door to the next room.

I managed to smile meekly.

"Annie will sleep better without me beside her," I said. "I'm an awful one for wriggling in bed."

She gave me a sharp look but said only, "Well, dear, take a blanket from the press and a pillow too."

I didn't even try to sleep. I lay on my back, looking into the rafters with unseeing eyes, my mind seething with anger and anxiety.

Tam stole into the room so quietly that I didn't know he was there until he laid his hand on my arm, making me start up in fright.

"Shhh, Maidie, it's only me," he whispered. "I've come to say goodbye."

"What do you mean, goodbye?" I hissed back at him. "Tam, why have you done this to me? Why did you bring her here?"

The pale light of a full moon seeped into the room around the ill-fitting shutter, and in its dim glow I could see him look back anxiously toward the door.

"Be careful. She'll hear." His fingers were trembling. "I'd swear she can hear through walls of stone. Oh, Maidie, she made me bring her here! I didn't want to—not at all! After you'd escaped, I knew I had to get off the island too. I wanted to go to Glasgow, where a piper can always pick up a groat or two. But she latched on to me. She forced me to bring her along."

"Forced you!" I said sarcastically. "How could a girl force a grown man like you?"

"You don't know what she's like." He was shuddering all over now. "She was a sweet wee thing at first, all soft and kind. She took me in. And it was true, she couldn't travel alone without a man to help her. I was sorry for her, with the baby coming and all. But when we got to Glasgow, she ... she..."

"She got rid of it, didn't she, Tam?"

"Yes! There was an old woman who used some herbs and did what she was paid to do—you'd not want to know more, Maggie. And after that, Annie turned on me and said if I didn't do what she asked, she'd say I'd caused her to abort her child with witchcraft. She'd got your Granny hanged, and she'd do the same to me."

"But why did she want to come here? What does she want with me?"

"She didn't have anywhere else to go. You're the only person she knows on the mainland. She knew that your uncle was a well-set-up man. Respected. What can a girl do, alone in the world? She reckons she can worm her way in here and make them like her, so they'll speak for her to a respectable family. She wants a good position as a servant, and then she'll try to catch herself a husband. She'll be after that cousin of yours, I can tell you." He covered his face with his hands. "I wish I was a better man, my darling! I wish I was a braver one! I wish I hadn't brought this trouble on you!"

I could never stay angry with Tam for long. I put out my arms and hugged his poor, thin, trembling old body.

"Where will you go, Tam?"

"Eh? I don't know. Anywhere. Everywhere. Edinburgh, maybe."

"But where are your pipes? Have you lost them?"

I saw the shine of his solitary front tooth as he grinned.

"I hid them in a haystack down by the lane. Your uncle's not the man to appreciate my music, so I thought."

"God bless you, then, Tam," I whispered. "I'll never forget how you saved me from the gallows."

But I was speaking to an empty room. He had already slipped away.