The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 21

Seven men riding seven horses may not sound like a great crowd, but when we all spilled out of the house and saw them filling the yard, it seemed as if a whole regiment had come upon us. Their coats were as scarlet as spilled blood, their cuffs as black as beetles, and the eyes under their broad-brimmed hats were hostile and intent, like cats on the hunt. They didn't try to rein in their horses, but let them mill about nervously, and the clatter of hooves and the jingle of bit and bridle was as threatening as drums of war.

"Where's the man Blair?" said one. He looked grander than the others, with a silk sheen on his sash and silver brocade trimming his hat. I guessed he was an officer.

"I'm Hugh Blair," said Uncle Blair, gently detaching Nanny, who had been clinging to his knee. "And by what name may I call you?"

"Dundas, lieutenant of His Majesty's dragoons, though that's no business of yours."

The man was handsome, I suppose, in a cold way, with his long, high-bridged nose and piercing eyes. I had never seen such magnificence of dress before, such rows of polished buttons or such richness of lace edging on the cravat that foamed in a white cascade from his neck.

"He's come for the fine, Hugh, for non-attendance at the kirk," I heard Aunt Blair whisper. "Just give him the money."

The lieutenant hadn't heard her. He was nodding at two of his men. They leaped down from their horses and drew their swords. As the blades hissed from the scabbards, my stomach clenched with fright, and I found I was clutching at Grizel's arm for support. But the men went into the barn opposite the house, and a minute later we flinched at the bang as they kicked open the door of the storeroom.

"What are they doing in there? What do they want?" Aunt Blair cried out, thrusting Andrew into my arms and starting forward. Uncle Blair held her back.

"Keep calm, Isobel. Trust in the Lord, who is our strength and shield."

"Spew forth Scripture as much as you like, Covenanter," Lieutenant Dundas said with a sneer. "But listen to me." He put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. "I have a warning for you—and for everyone here. If you don't heed it, you will be sorry. As sorry as it is possible to be." He paused, looking around to check that all eyes were on him. "It concerns the traitor, the rebel, the bringer of terror, the so-called preacher James Renwick."

A grunt of anger came from Mr. Barbour, and I saw that his face was reddening. The lieutenant noticed it too.

"Who's this? Another damned covenanting Presbyterian, I suppose."

"Stephen Barbour of Barnaigh," Mr. Barbour said stiffly. "What do you want with James Renwick?"

"I shall be delighted to tell you." The lieutenant held up the paper, but I was watching, rigid with horror, as the two men who had gone into my aunt's storeroom appeared again, kicking in front of them one of her precious cheeses. They aimed for the stinking dung heap in the corner of the yard and crowed with triumph as the cheese sank into the filth.

The other troopers were guffawing in approval.

"...the vagabond Renwick," Lieutenant Dundas was reading. "A pretended preacher ... cast off obedience ... the most damnable rascal..."

Aunt Blair was holding her hand to her mouth, stifling whimpers of distress, as the men approached the well. They were unbuttoning themselves, winking back over the shoulders at their whooping comrades. Lieutenant Dundas smiled with satisfaction when he heard the faint splash of his men's urine hitting the pure water of our well and waited until they had buttoned their breeks. Then he raised a hand to silence his soldiers and began to read again.

"The words of our gracious sovereign Charles, king of Scotland: We command and charge all of our subjects that none of them presume to provide the said Mr. James Renwick, rebel, with meat, drink, house, or anything useful to him; or to communicate with him by word or letter or message in any way whatsoever, under pain of being guilty of the same crimes, and being pursued to the terror of themselves and others."

"Crimes! What crimes?" burst out Mr. Barbour. "How dare you sit there, man, on your high horse, and cast judgment on a true servant of the Lord, who—"

"Arrest that man," Lieutenant Dundas said shortly.

"What is this persecution! Sir, let him go!" said Uncle Blair, stepping forward and putting a hand out to fend off the soldiers, who had leaped eagerly on Mr. Barbour and were tying his arms behind him with stout cords.

Everything happened so quickly that I hardly knew where to look. The lieutenant ripped out his sword and slashed it across my uncle's face. Ritchie yelled in rage and ran at him but was pulled up short as the point of the sword quivered against his chest.

"Hugh! What have they done to you? Hugh!" my aunt was crying, kneeling on the muddy ground beside my fallen uncle.

"You've been warned, Blair," Lieutenant Dundas said, as his dragoons flung Mr. Barbour onto the back of a horse, behind one of the mounted men. He bent down and snapped his fingers in my uncle's bleeding face. "I wouldn't give that for your life if you're found consorting with the man Renwick. The same goes for this rude puppy of yours."

He put his heels to his horse, turning its head to ride out of the yard, but the horse, excited by the noise and confusion, trampled backwards and reared. In the few moments that it took to bring it under control, I caught sight of Annie. She was standing apart from the rest of us and was gazing at the lieutenant with sickening admiration in her eyes. He seemed to notice her for the first time, and I saw the long look he gave her. She showed him her dimples in a flirtatious smile, then quickly turned her head away, afraid of being noticed.

A moment later the dragoons had ridden out of the Ladymuir yard, with poor Mr. Barbour lying helplessly over the horse's rear as if he had been no more than a sack of oatmeal.

Shocked into silence, we stood motionless. Ritchie broke the spell.

"I spit on them. I spit on them!" he shouted. "Father, are you badly hurt!"

Uncle Blair was already on his feet, fending off Aunt Blair, who was clinging to him and crying.

"It's just a scratch." He was trying to sound calm, but I could see that he was shaking. He let Aunt Blair have her way at last, and she led him into the house.

"I'll take the horse," Ritchie called in through the doorway after them. "I'll ride to Barnaigh. Mistress Barbour needs to know."

He didn't wait for an answer but ran to the stable, and a minute later he was clattering out of the yard on the farm's stocky little horse.

I was still holding Andrew, who had begun to grizzle, and it took all my efforts at rocking and crooning to calm him again. When I looked up, I saw that Annie was still staring at the distant scarlet riders.

"Don't even think of it," I hissed at her. "If you betray this family, I'll ... I'll..."

She raised her eyebrows mockingly.

"You'll do what exactly, Maggie? Do tell me. I long to know."

"I really ... think ... I ... would ... kill ... you," I said slowly, and was instantly frightened at the realization that I meant it.

She shrugged, a little impressed by my anger, in spite of herself.

"What makes you think I plan to betray anyone?"

I opened my mouth to list her many past lies and treacheries, but she said hastily, "Oh, save yourself the trouble," and went into the house.

Half an hour later Ritchie returned, leading the horse that Mistress Barbour was riding. Her plain face was puffy with crying, but her mouth was set in a determined line. She let Ritchie help her dismount, then marched forcefully into the kitchen, pushing the door open with a shove of her strong arm. I followed her. Andrew was crying properly now and needed his mother.

I could see at a glance that Uncle Blair's wound, though it stretched from his temple to his chin and was bleeding freely, wasn't very deep. When he saw Mistress Barbour, he took the cloth that Aunt Blair had been dabbing over his cheek and held it to the wound, then jumped up to greet her.

"Dorcas, I wouldn't have had this happen to your good man for anything."

"This is no more than we've been expecting, Mr. Blair. It's the Lord's will. He works in a mysterious way, but his saints will receive a crown of victory at the last."

She spoke the biblical phrases in an ordinary voice, as if she was talking of a rain shower or a day at the market.

There was nothing heroic in the appearance of Dorcas Barbour. She was short, stout, red-faced and plain, straightforward, and rocklike in her conviction. I felt a pang of envy. She knew with complete certainty that the cause of the Covenanters was right. She had no doubt that the king's desire to make himself the head of the church in Scotland, and rule it through his bishops, was worth resisting with everything she had. She was ready to give her husband to the struggle. I felt sure, looking at her standing there, with her work-reddened hands clasped at her thick waist, that she was ready to die for it herself.

I was used to my uncle's passionate Presbyterianism, but I sensed that his enthusiasm was made less harsh by the sweetness of his temper and the softness of his love for his family. There was nothing soft about Mistress Barbour.

I don't feel like she does about anything, I thought. I wish I did. I don't care enough about anything to die for it.

"Where have they taken Stephen, did they say?" Mistress Barbour demanded.

"Oh, Dorcas, my dear, you must be so desperately worried!" Aunt Blair clutched Andrew to her shoulder, rubbing his back as if in solidarity. Uncle Blair frowned.

"They didn't say. But it will be to Paisley first. The tolbooth in Glasgow tomorrow, I suppose."

"Did they talk of a penalty? A fine? A trial? Or were they—wouldi tbe a—asum maryex ecution?"

In spite of her strength, her voice wavered.

"I can tell you nothing more. I wish I could. But they have nothing on him, you know. He wasn't caught attending a meeting of worship in the hills. He wasn't in the company of a wanted preacher. All he did was protest against the persecution of Mr. Renwick and try to defend the man's good name."

Mistress Barbour had recovered herself and nodded briskly.

"Thank you, Mr. Blair. That's a comfort. Now I've a favor to ask."

"Oh, anything!" cried Aunt Blair. "We'll have the children over, cook their food, take care of the cattle—"

"Lend me your horse," interrupted Mistress Barbour. "My old pony's gone lame. I'll ride to Paisley and see the officer. Lieutenant Dundas was his name, Ritchie said. Isn't that so? I have money put by in case of such a day. The king's servants are crooks to a man. They'll sell him back to me for a price."

"Let me go instead!" said Ritchie, his face flushing with eagerness. I could see that he was still filled with rage at his helplessness in the face of the dragoons and was desperate for action.

"I wouldn't hear of it." Mistress Barbour shook her head, forestalling Aunt Blair's anxious objection. "If the case needed a young man, I'd send my own David, but he's a hothead, too, and would only get into worse trouble than his father. Anyway, you're forgetting the wicked new law forbidding travel without a pass. A young man is sure to attract attention, but no one will notice an old woman on a nag. And if I'm stopped and questioned, I'll remind them of my midwife's skills and state that I'm summoned to assist a poor soul in trouble, which will be no lie at all, for Stephen's in worse trouble than he's ever been. In spite of your kind words, Mr. Blair, I really fear that they may have already shot him without a trial. He wouldn't be the first to be murdered in such a way."

"Not your Stephen! Oh, Dorcas, no!" said Aunt Blair with a shudder. Mistress Barbour frowned, not liking this display of feeling, and without another word Uncle Blair and Ritchie went out to the yard and brought the horse up to the door.

"That's a brave woman," Uncle Blair said, coming back to the kitchen, as the clop of the old horse's hooves died away. "If anyone can face down the enemy, it's Dorcas Barbour."

"Hugh! Sit down. Your wound's still bleeding," commanded Aunt Blair, looking a little put out.

Ritchie went to the fire and gave the burning peat a savage kick, sending sparks flying.

"Is she right, Father? Do you think Mr. Barbour's been executed already?"

Uncle Blair let out a groan.

"It's possible. Look what happened to William Lyle and Patrick Holm. Taken up at an open-air meeting, drummed out by a couple of soldiers into their own fields, and shot. You saw the arrogance, the cruelty of that man—that officer."

"Fouling our well! And ruining our cheese!" cried Aunt Blair.

"It's worse than that, Mother," said Ritchie. "They've slit every meal sack with their daggers. The storeroom's awash with oats."

Aunt Blair started up with a cry of horror, planted Andrew in the nearest pair of arms, which happened to be Annie's, and rushed outside.

"Father, we must do something! We can't just let Mr. Barbour go like that! We must go into Paisley, whatever the risk, speak to—"

"That's foolishness, Ritchie. What good would it do to be arrested ourselves? There's only one thing we can do, and it's the most important thing of all."

"What's that?"

"We must pray. Without ceasing."

I saw the effort that it cost Ritchie to say, "Yes, Father, of course." But then he brightened. "And the more people that pray, the better. I'll run over to Newton and tell the John Lairds."

He dashed off, and my own feet itched as I watched him go. I was still shaken with anger at the soldiers' contempt for us and fear at the threats of Lieutenant Dundas.

I wish I was a boy. At least there's something he can do, I thought enviously.

"Grizel, take two buckets to the burn and fill them with water," came Aunt Blair's voice from the door. "The well will be unusable for weeks. Annie, put that child in his cradle. Martha, rock him to sleep. Maggie, fetch out the needles and yarn. You and Annie can get down all the bowls from the shelf and come to the barn to salvage the meal."

I had never heard such a hard edge to her voice. Though I didn't realize it until later, Lieutenant Dundas had achieved what all Uncle Blair's preaching had been unable quite to do. He had roused a passion for the cause in Aunt Blair. She had become a rebel in her heart.

***

The winter days slipped past, and Mr. Renwick didn't come. Uncle Blair, who had expected his arrival hourly, stopped looking up eagerly every time a knock came at the door.

I was relieved. I liked the quiet rhythm of life at Ladymuir and had no wish for more turmoil and danger. I set myself to learn all that I could, and by the time the buds were swelling on the ash tree by the entrance to the yard, I could read the Bible quite well, except for the long difficult names, and I could write a little too. I could spin a decent thread, churn butter, make a posset, and sew a straight seam.

Annie had the sense to keep clear of me most of the time. Bit by bit, she had wormed her way into the heart of the family. For my aunt, she could do no wrong, and Nanny followed her around like a devoted lamb. Martha and Grizel staunchly refused to be charmed by her, and Ritchie, on whom she never ceased to work her wiles, ignored her and spoke curtly to her whenever he had to speak at all. I was grateful to him for that.

Mr. Renwick arrived one ordinary afternoon, when a clammy, cold mist hung over the hills. He slipped into the house as quietly as a whisper, following Dandy Fleming, who had brought him by lonely mountain paths across the hills from Whinnerston. I was alone in the kitchen, minding Andrew and turning the oatcakes on the griddle over the fire, while Aunt Blair, Grizel, and Annie were busy in the storeroom.

I knew Dandy by sight. He had been one of the young men who had stood with Ritchie by the kirk door, hindering Mr. Alexander's escape.

"Are you Maggie?" he asked me. "Is your uncle at home?"

"He'll be out with the sheep," I said. I had barely noticed the other young man, standing quietly by the door, and I turned back to my oatcakes. "He'll be in soon with the men for their dinner, if you care to wait."

Dandy came up close to me.

"I've brought Mr. Renwick," he said in my ear. "Is there anyone here who shouldn't be told?"

I whipped around and peered forward to see the face of the man standing in the shadow by the door. Then he stepped into the middle of the room, and I saw how slim he was, how short, and how very young.

"Are you really Mr. Renwick?" I said disbelievingly.

He laughed.

"I am indeed. 'The boy Renwick,' my enemies call me, 'that the nation is so troubled with.' Or, if you prefer, 'the seditious vagabond.'"

His voice was surprisingly deep and musical, and I felt a little shock at the sound of it, as if I'd touched something hot.

"But you're so young," I blurted out, then blushed scarlet with embarrassment.

He smiled and moved farther into the room, so that he was now staring down into the cradle at Andrew, who was peacefully asleep.

"There are none too small, too young, or insignificant to become true servants of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose service is perfect freedom. Are you the Lord's servant, young woman?"

There was something irresistible in his face and voice, something so confident and thrilling that I felt a trembling inside me.

"I—I don't know," I stammered. "I'm Maggie."

And then, as I stood, staring foolishly, Aunt Blair burst into the kitchen, and I could turn my burning face back to the fire, where the oatcakes had begun to smoke and singe on the griddle.