The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 31

They were waiting for us as we stepped off the boats on the cold gray stones of Leith harbor. No time was wasted. The Covenanters were herded at once inside the courtroom.

"Prisoners only," a soldier said, barring my way as I tried to go in with Uncle Blair.

I had no choice but to join the crowd of anxious relatives waiting by the door. It was a hot day, and a haze hung over the spires of Edinburgh on the hill a mile or two away. A few fishing smacks were tied up at the quayside, their catches already unloaded, and the fishermen were peacefully working on their nets, mending the rips in them. Smirking boys strutted mockingly behind a grand gentleman, and some little girls squatted in a doorway, playing with a kitten.

Don't they know what's going on in there? I thought, my heart pounding with anxiety. Don't they care?

I saw that some of the relatives were huddling beneath a high open window, trying to hear what was going on inside. They made room for me, and we stood with our faces turned up, straining to hear.

"Let George Muir stand forward!" called out an official-sounding voice.

There was a clank of manacles inside as the prisoners shuffled about. The judge began to read out the Test. Fragments only floated out to us.

"George Muir, do you swear ... the true Protestant religion ... educate your children ... affirm the King's Majesty ... the only supreme Governor ... Do you judge it unlawful to enter into any covenants ... to take arms against the King ... Is this your solemn oath?"

I couldn't make out the confused murmur from within, but the man nearest the window jumped up onto a barrel to see into the courtroom.

"He refused. He's refused it. On pain of banishment," he reported down to us.

A woman standing by me cried out, "Well done, George my man! The Lord is with you!"

Then she fell sobbing into the arms of another.

I listened with every nerve straining to hear my uncle's name.

"William McMillan. Peter Russell. Robert Young..."

The crowd by the window was shifting. Those whose relatives had refused the Test and been sentenced to banishment had already drifted away. They stood by the edge of the quay, talking quietly.

"Was that Hugh Blair? Did they call out Hugh Blair?" I called up to the man at the window.

He waved a hand to silence me.

"Shhh. I can't hear. No, it's John Blackburn. He's broken! He's taken the Test!"

A man emerged from the courtroom a few moments later, rubbing his wrists from which the manacles had been struck off.

"Bessie!" he called out. "Are you there? Bessie! I can't—I couldn't—Oh,G od helpm e!"

A woman ran up to him. As she passed the others, they turned their backs on her.

"You should be ashamed," a man called out. "You have betrayed your Savior!"

The woman called Bessie turned on him fiercely.

"Hold your tongue, Simon Ballingall! Hasn't the man suffered enough? Come away, John. The children are waiting for you."

Hostile muttering broke out as she led him away. He was weeping uncontrollably, like a child.

I twisted my hands together. Which was the worse fate? Banishment and slavery, or shame? I couldn't bear the thought of either for Uncle Blair.

The long afternoon wore on. Several more distraught men and a few women slunk out of the courtroom and hurried away to freedom. One or two, with rich friends behind them, paid for a bond and were freed with honor, but it was clear that most of the prisoners were refusing the Test and accepting their fate with defiance.

They must have called him, I thought. I must have missed hearing his name.

In spite of myself, I felt a surge of pride. Only those who had taken the Test had been let go. He must be one of the brave ones.

There were only a few of us now, under the window. The man on the barrel had gone. I scrambled up in his place and could at last see inside the courtroom.

The judge, under his heavy robes with a great wig on his head, was red-faced and sweating in the heat of the close-packed, stuffy room. He was taking frequent gulps from the wineglass by his elbow and was clearly tired and impatient with the slow proceedings. Below me, the prisoners who had already refused the Test were standing under close guard, but their backs were turned to me and I couldn't see their faces, or tell if Uncle Blair was among them. The ones still to be tried were out of sight.

In front of the judge's great chair was a row of clerks sitting at a table. Some were scratching away with their quills, but the one at the far end was holding what looked like a list. And leaning over him, stabbing at a name on the list with his forefinger, was Musketeer Sharpus. The clerk was shaking his head. Musketeer Sharpus whispered in his ear. The clerk hesitated, then picked up his quill and drew a line through one of the names. Musketeer Sharpus stepped back, and as he did so he glanced up at the window and saw me. A tight smile creased his pitted cheeks, which he quickly suppressed, but then he gave me an unmistakable wink.

I didn't dare to interpret what I'd seen, but a flower of hope burst open in my chest.

"What's happening in there? Have they called Janet Holm yet?" a man below me asked.

"Look for yourself if you like," I said, hopping off the barrel.

A quarter of an hour later, my uncle suddenly appeared at the courtroom door, chafing his wrists as the others had done.

He broke. He said it, I thought, my heart illogically dropping with disappointment.

Then I saw that Musketeer Sharpus was pushing him forward.

"I keep telling you, man. Your name's not on the list. You're free to go," he was saying.

Uncle Blair was shaking his head, bewildered.

"But the Test! I haven't been called yet. How can I be free?"

Musketeer Sharpus prodded him sharply.

"That's enough. You're wasting the court's time. Get out of here."

Musketeer Sharpus beckoned me over.

"Take this man away, for Heaven's sake," he said loudly. "He's making a nuisance of himself." Then he leaned over and said quietly in my ear, "Will you be in Edinburgh tomorrow?"

I hadn't dared to think so far ahead.

"I suppose so. Is he really free to go?"

"Yes! But take him away quickly! Meet me at six in the evening, at the door of the High Kirk. I'd like to tell you ... I need to ask you..."

He looked down, unable to meet my eyes.

Another guard was coming to the door.

"Come on, Uncle," I said, tugging at Uncle Blair's arm. "It's over. It really is over! Quick, let's go before they change their minds and call you back inside."

***

It was the strangest thing, to be walking freely beside my uncle out of the town of Leith and up the hill to Edinburgh. The hot August sun was tempered by a cool wind from the sea, which sparkled in the distance. Larks rose from the stubble in the harvested fields. Ahead, a golden mist was forming around the crown of Arthur's Seat, which rose on the far side of the city. I had the oddest feeling that I had left Hell behind me and was walking up to Heaven.

"Isn't this wonderful?" I burst out, facing my uncle again. "You can go home, Uncle! You're free! And there's no shame to you. They never asked you. You didn't betray anyone."

I saw with dismay that he didn't share my joy. He had stopped to lean against a wall.

"I must sit for a minute." He sank down on the bank. "How did this happen, Maggie? Why did they let me go? I didn't offer money for a bond. I couldn't have afforded it."

I longed to tell him what I suspected, that Musketeer Sharpus had persuaded the clerk to take his name off the list, but I held my tongue. I didn't understand myself why he would have done such a thing, and, anyway, I thought it would be dangerous to let Uncle Blair probe too closely. His tender conscience might oblige him to return to Leith and give himself back into custody. I said nothing and waited to see which way his mind would turn.

"This is the Lord's doing," he said at last, to my relief. "But why have I been singled out for this great blessing? Why has he chosen me for freedom and sent my poor brethren far away into foreign lands?"

I saw that I didn't need to answer. He was lost in his own thoughts.

"I'll never know!" he cried out. "I can never be sure!"

"What do you mean, Uncle? What won't you know?"

He sighed.

"As I stood there in that awful place, waiting for my name to be called, I was in such an agony of spirit, Maggie. I heard the voice of my Savior urging me to be faithful even unto death, but at the same time I could see the face of my dear wife, calling me home. My courage was weakening. I saw several fail and submit, and in my heart I despised them. But would I have been one of them? If I had stood before that proud and sinful judge, the instrument of our cruel king, would I have had the courage to stand firm?"

"Well," I said briskly, jumped to my feet and putting a hand under his elbow to help him rise. "If God had wished you to be put to the Test, he would have let it happen. But he has freed you, and you should be glad and rejoice."

He gave me a wavering smile.

"Oh, my dear, how wise you are! How easy it is to forget to offer praise and thanks to our Heavenly Father for the blessings he showers upon us!"

"And, anyway," I went on. "We'd better keep going, because we have to find somewhere to lodge tonight."

I didn't tell him that I'd spent the last of my Dunnottar earnings and had handed the rest of Tam's money in payment to Musketeer Sharpus for the food he'd helped me procure along the way. I knew what I had to do. After all this time, when I'd held on to it through thick and thin, the moment had come to sell my father's buckle.

But Uncle Blair surprised me by saying tranquilly, "We'll have no difficulty over lodging. I have a cousin who lives in Bells Wynd. He'll be pleased to take us in."

I was startled. A cousin of my uncle's must be a cousin of mine. My family was unexpectedly expanding once again.

I was so intrigued by the idea of these new relations that I gave no thought to the problem of how we were to get in through the city gates until we were almost at them. But I need not have worried. No papers were being asked for, now that the invasion panic was over.

Uncle Blair surprised me by walking straight up the High Street of Edinburgh and turning into a narrow close without hesitation.

"You've been here before?" I asked.

"Aye, in my youth. When my father—that was your grandfather—died, I had to come here to sort out the title to Ladymuir. It's a fine city, no doubt, but awfully stinky."

We had to flatten ourselves against the wall of the narrow canyon-like close to let a couple of laden packhorses squeeze past.

My grandfather! I thought. Another relative!

"And your mother," I said. "What was she like?"

I'd never thought of my other grandmother. Granny had been more than enough for me.

He seemed to find the question difficult.

"She was a good woman," he said at last. "She loved the Scriptures. She spared not the rod on her children." He smiled suddenly. "Your father, Danny, he was a rascal. She never managed to beat the spirit out of him. A rover, he was, by nature. Full of mischief. I miss him to this day."

The horses had passed by now. We went on down the close, trying to avoid the worst of the putrefying slime under our feet. Uncle Blair turned in through a low entrance, and I followed him, hardly noticing the narrow stone stairway we were climbing.

Uncle Blair knocked on a door. It swung open. A short, red-faced woman stood gaping at him, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Hugh!" she said at last. "What brings you here? We heard you'd been taken prisoner."

She was looking anxiously past him as if she feared to see a cohort of Black Cuffs at his heels. Her eyes came to rest on me.

"Praise the Lord, Sarah," said Uncle Blair cheerfully. "I'm a free man. He has delivered me from the pit and the miry clay. And this your wee cousin Maggie. Danny's daughter."

"Danny!" Sarah's face lit up. "I heard he had a daughter. I can't believe she's grown up already. Come away in, dear, and let me see you. There's a look of your father, maybe, around the eyes." She turned to call over her shoulder. "Thomas! You'll never guess who's here!"

***

They were kind people, Cousin Thomas and Cousin Susan, but they made little impression on me. They were more concerned with their tailoring business than with matters of religion. They were alarmed at first to be harboring one of the notorious covenanting prisoners of Dunnottar, but when Uncle Blair explained that he'd been freed and that no more charges stood against him, they were reassured. They listened, horrified, to his account of the prison vault, tutted over his hands, deplored the state of his clothing, then moved the subject on as if to dwell on such things was somehow indecent.

"You're not the first I've heard of, to slip out of their clutches," Cousin Thomas said with a nod. "There's quite a few who have passed money into the right hands and have been let go. There's a price for everything, if you know how to go about it. How much did the Laidlaws pay to free their brother, Sarah?"

They began to discuss the price of freedom as if it was a length of woolen cloth. Uncle Blair sat by in polite silence, but I could see that the conversation troubled him as the puzzle of his release weighed on him again.

I didn't know how late it was, but through the narrow window I could see that the shadows were lengthening toward sunset. Cousin Sarah was busy at the table, rolling out the oatcakes for our supper. I tugged at Uncle Blair's sleeve.

"There's a person who helped me that I promised to call on when I came back to Edinburgh. May I go out, Uncle? I won't be long."

Uncle Blair nodded, but Cousin Sarah raised her eyebrows. Before she could say anything, I had fled down the stairway and was running up the close.

Musketeer Sharpus was waiting for me. He stepped out of the High Kirk's great doorway so suddenly that I was startled. I'd been trying to frame my gratitude into suitable words, but at the sight of him I found I couldn't say anything. He was ill at ease, and under my gaze his face was turning an uncomfortable shade of red.

"I don't know how to thank—" I began.

"I did it for—" he said at the same time.

We both stopped and there was an awkward silence.

"Listen," I said, seeing that he was tongue-tied. "I saw through the window that you were talking to the clerk. It was you, wasn't it, who got my uncle's name taken from the list?"

"Yes." Beads of sweat were breaking out under the wisps of greasy fair hair that fell over his forehead, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "It was for you. I did it for you. You got under my skin. I never knew anyone like you. Any girl. I gave the clerk all the rest of the old man's money. Thirty silver shillings! He struck a hard bargain."

"You're a good man," I said lamely.

He grabbed my hand and held it. His hand was trembling and clammy with sweat.

"Maggie," he said. "Maggie."

I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. I wanted to pull my hand away, but I was fearful of appearing ungrateful.

"I'm a soldier," he said. "I haven't got much, just a bit put by. But I'd leave the army. My father's a stonemason. I'd work with him. Get a little place of our own."

He stopped. Gently, I pulled my hand away.

"Will you?" he said desperately. "Will you?"

"I can't. I'm sorry." I was scarlet myself now with embarrassment. "But I'll never forget you, Musketeer Sharpus."

"Neil. Call me Neil."

"All right, then. Neil. I'll be thankful to you forever, for what you did. I'll pray for you."

He crossed his arms over his chest as if to draw his feelings back into himself.

"I knew it wouldn't be any good. I knew I didn't have a chance with a girl like you."

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I'm glad I did it, anyway. Free your uncle, I mean. I didn't like what they did to his hands. And I didn't want to keep the old man's money. It had a taint on it, somehow."

I stood on tiptoe and reached up to kiss his cheek.

"I'll never, never, never stop thanking you for the rest of my life," I said, and I turned and ran back down the street, knowing that his eyes were on me as I ran away.

***

I lay that night in the little corner bed in the kitchen, more comfortable and safe than I had been at any time since I'd left Ladymuir. But I couldn't sleep.

These past weeks, I'd tried not to think about the future. The thought of what might become of me was too unsettling.

When Uncle Blair's free, I'd told myself. I'll think about it then.

I'd often imagined how grateful everyone would be to me for all that I had done, and how much they would admire my courage and cleverness. But now I realized that I would never be able explain how it had all happened. Uncle Blair had been bought with stolen money. His freedom had been arranged by an enemy soldier, whose motive was only to please me. If he had known all that, Uncle Blair would have been disgusted.

He assumed that I would return with him to Ladymuir and take up my old life as a member of the family. But now that the time had almost come, I could see with painful clarity what it would mean. Aunt Blair would be good to me at first, but she, too, could never know the truth. Her old dislike would soon take over, and I would feel it daily in a hundred little ways.

And then there was Ritchie. He liked me, I knew. He might ask me to marry him, and one day Ladymuir would be mine. It was a golden prospect for a girl who had grown up in a half-derelict cottage at Scalpsie Bay. I ought to have reached out to seize it with both hands.

Why didn't I want to? What other choice did I have?

Uncle Blair's words floated into my head.

A rover, he was, by nature.

And I was a rover too. If I stayed at Ladymuir, I would be restless and unhappy. My spirit would rise up in revolt.

I remembered the freedom of the days on the drove, when I'd walked with bare legs, unmolested, through the hills.

There was no purpose in wanting those days again.

Perhaps I should stay in Edinburgh. Find work. Be a servant. Wash clothes. I could ... I could...

Tiredness overwhelmed me, and at last I slept.

***

Perhaps because they had been too afraid to help Uncle Blair when he had been imprisoned in the Edinburgh tolbooth, our hosts overwhelmed us with their hospitality. Cousin Thomas insisted on making new suits of clothes for each of us, fussing over which of his best woolen stuffs to use. He measured us and did the cutting out himself, before setting his apprentices to do the stitching. Cousin Sarah sent for the apothecary, who shook his head over Uncle Blair's hands, though he commended me for the use of burdock. He made up a salve but predicted that the fingers would never recover their full sensitivity and agility.

"You'll be able to steer a plow and grasp a scythe," he told him. "It'll be just the fiddly things that'll give you trouble, but your good lady, I'm sure, won't mind doing up your buttons for you."

I could tell that Uncle Blair was longing with all his being to start the journey home to Ladymuir, but even he had to admit that he wasn't strong enough to walk the distance. He submitted with as good as grace as possible to a few days of Cousin Sarah's nursing, though he was sorely tried by the interminable talk of French silks and Italian velvets that flowed from Cousin Thomas. Fortunately, after a day or two, word spread of his presence in Bells Wynd, and a succession of plainly dressed kindred spirits found their way up the narrow stairs to visit him. They exchanged news eagerly of friends who were still in prison, on the run, or banished, and they spoke severely of those who had given in and taken the Test. There was much talk of the great lords of Scotland, the hangings of the covenanting leaders in the Grassmarket, and most of all of the new King James.

"A papist king!" one would start, shaking his head. "He's set up an idolatrous altar in the palace at Holyrood not a mile from here!"

"There's a picture in it, so I've heard," another would add, "of a dove that's supposed to be the Holy Ghost. If that's not blasphemy, I don't know what is."

"Monks droning out masses..."

"The Beast of Rome..."

"The sorceries of the harlot pope..."

I didn't follow it closely, but I pricked up my ears at the news that Mr. Renwick was still free, still gathering the faithful out on the hillsides, preaching, praying, and dodging the Black Cuffs, who were still in hot pursuit. The memory of him confused me. I could resurrect the flutter in my heart when I thought of his smile and something of the exaltation I had felt as he preached, but I resented, too, the trouble his presence had brought to Ladymuir.

I offered constantly to help Cousin Susan, but she wasn't used to another woman in her kitchen and drove me away.

"Run up to the Luckenbooths', dear," she said, as if I was still a child. "A young girl likes a bit of finery. Here's a penny to spend."

I refused the penny but was glad to go out into the street. There was someone I wanted to see.

The steps down to Mistress Virtue's dungeon were more heaped with refuse than ever, and to my surprise the door was shut. I knocked on it, but no strident voice shrieked out an answer. I stood, wondering what to do, when a window opened above my head.

"Gardy loo!" came a cry, and I jumped aside as a chamber pot was emptied over the spot where I'd been standing. As the hand holding it disappeared back inside, I called up, "Excuse me!"

A woman looked out.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Mistress Virtue. Her door's shut."

"She's dead," the woman said shortly. "And good riddance," and she pulled her head back in and slammed the window shut.

A pair of ragged boys had followed me down the steps, their hands held out to beg.

"No point asking me," I said. "I haven't got any money."

They scowled.

"Old Virtue, a friend of yours, eh?" said one of them. The other one chanted:

"Virtue, Virtue,

Dirty old hag,

Penny for a rag,

Sold her soul,

Died in a hole!"





More children appeared, and I was starting to feel uneasy. I backed up the close to the safety of the High Street.

"A witch!A witch! Died in a ditch! " they yelled after me.

Passersby were stopping at the noise and peering into the close.

"Old Virtue used to live down there," said one.

"Was she really a witch?" said another. "I often wondered."

"So they say. She died in a fit. There were stories of a tall man in black clothes who came to her that night. He cast a chill around him."

"Satan! Lord have mercy."

They hurried on.

I went on up the street. I was sad for Mistress Virtue. I drifted toward the windows of the Luckenbooth shops and stared unseeingly at the displays of ribbons and lace and buttons. Had Mistress Virtue been alone at the end? Had anyone been there to hold her hand at her passing, as I had held Tam's? Would there be anyone to hold mine, when my turn came?

Yes, I told myself firmly. I'm going to marry someone, a rover like me, who'll love me always. And we'll have children, and live...

"Why, it's Margaret Blair!"

The voice behind me made me spin round. Mr. Shillinglaw, tall and angular as ever, stood behind me. I felt a rush of fury. I'd had enough unpleasant surprises today and had no wish for another.

"Oh, it's you," I said brusquely. "The lawyer."

"You're very elusive, young lady." He was ignoring my rudeness. "I've been searching for you everywhere."

"I've been with my uncle, Hugh Blair. The brother of my father. But then, according to you, he wasn't my father, was he?"

He looked uncomfortable and swallowed. In spite of myself, I couldn't help being fascinated by the way his Adam's apple rose and fell in his long thin neck.

"I owe you an apology." He nodded solemnly, as if conferring on me a rare privilege. "I know now that you are indeed who you claim to be."

His condescension enraged me even more.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm afraid I've got to go."

I tried to move past him, but he blocked my way.

"What made me believe you first of all," he said, looking suddenly more human, "is that I remember your grandmother. To be frank, she terrified the life out of me when I was a little boy. When you lost your temper with me, you looked exactly like her. As a matter of fact, you look rather like her now."

"Oh!" I didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. I laughed.

He smiled in response and offered me his arm.

"Will you come with me to my premises, Mistress Blair? There are matters to discuss that are better spoken of in private."

No one had ever called me "Mistress" before. In spite of myself, I was charmed. No gentleman had ever offered me his arm either, and I was grateful to Cousin Thomas for my new gown and shawl. On our slow progress down the High Street, every gentleman we passed bowed to Mr. Shillinglaw, and ladies waved to him from their sedan chairs.

Mr. Shillinglaw's office was paneled in wood, and there were windows with glass panes in them, instead of wooden shutters. I tried not to look too impressed and sat on the edge of the chair that he drew forward for me with my hands clasped tightly together.

"The sum of money that Mr. Bannantyne owes you is not large," he stated. "I wouldn't want to raise your expectations. Macbean of Scalpsie Bay owed your father rather more. He was always reluctant to pay the drovers and used to hold the money over from one year to the next. It might not be easy to recover it from him."

"I couldn't, even if I wanted to," I said. "I can never go back to Bute."

"Ah. The trial. We heard all about that."

Now for it, I thought. Here comes trouble. All this soft talk's a trap. He's going to have me arrested again.

I looked toward the door, but Mr. Shillinglaw was sitting close to it. My heart began to thud painfully.

"The general opinion," Mr. Shillinglaw went on, his voice as dry as straw in August, "is that an injustice was performed against you. Your grandmother's case, of course, was another matter."

"Granny wasn't a witch!" I burst out. "I don't care what anyone says!"

He didn't meet my eyes.

"Be that as it may. But as far as you are concerned, there is no doubt of your innocence."

"How do you know all this?" I demanded. "What's it to do with you?"

He lifted a hand.

"There's no need to bite my head off, Maggie, every time I open my mouth. I'm trying to tell you what's in your interest."

"All right." I knew I sounded ungracious, but I didn't care. "Go on."

"Sentiment on the island changed almost immediately after your grandmother's execution. When the girl Annie disappeared and was known to have joined forces with a disreputable vagabond..."

I wanted to interrupt again, to defend Tam, but even I had to admit that Tam had been extremely disreputable, so I held my tongue.

"...Annie's evidence was called into question. Other examples of her untruthfulness and even instances of theft were brought to light." He dropped his grand manner and said simply, "Everyone on Bute is ashamed of what happened, Maggie. They know you're not a witch. They were glad that you got away. You ask me how I know. I was in Rothesay myself a couple of weeks ago, on business for Mr. Bannantyne. They still talk of you. They want to make amends. You would be welcomed back."

I didn't know what to say. My head was spinning.

"Don't you even want to know," Mr Shillinglaw was saying, "how much money is owing to you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Mr. Bannantyne owed your father three pounds sterling, and Mr. Macbean owed him four pounds, I believe."

Seven pounds! My mouth fell open. I could never have imagined that such sums of money could possibly be mine.

From far away, I heard Mr. Shillinglaw say, "A very respectable dowry. Your husband will be a lucky man. If you would like to return here tomorrow morning, I will have Mr. Bannantyne's money ready for you and will ask you to put your cross on a document in receipt."

"I can write," I told him haughtily. "I'll sign my own name properly. And I haven't got a husband, thank you very much. What's mine will be mine."

I stood up and walked to the door. Then a thought struck me.

"Annie. Do you know what's happened to her?"

"I wondered if you would ask." He had picked a quill up from his desk and was twirling it between his fingers. "The young lady won't be troubling you again. Mr. Bannantyne was greatly angered by her attempted fraud. He had her arrested. She had been living immorally with a succession of soldiers. Other matters—thefts, frauds, slanders, crimes of one kind and another—were proved against her. She's in the tolbooth at present, awaiting transportation on a slave ship to the colonies."

"She'll get away from there," I said bitterly. "She'll make up to the guards. She'll wheedle her way out of it."

"I don't think so. She has been branded, you see, on the cheeks, and her ears have been cut off. No man will look twice at her now."