Clandara (23 page)

“I thought perhaps we might get a message to Sir Alexander,” Jean mumbled.

“What message? ‘Come and release us, leave the Prince and your commitments and come, rescue poor ugly Margaret and her little maid from the hands of Clandara'? Don't be so foolish. The Macdonalds would do nothing for us now. Now is not the time,” she said, suddenly her manner so clear and incisive that she seemed a different woman. “I shall know when to send for them, and then they'll come.”

“But when she's gone, do ye think ye'll be safe here with him?” Jean whispered. “How do we know he won't get drunk one night when he's alone and bethink himself of you again?”

“He won't,” the Countess said. “He must have promised her, his darling child … Can't you hear them, Jeannie? ‘Don't beat her to death, Father; it's unworthy of you.' ‘As you wish, Katharine, my child …' Pah, when I think I owe her anything, I'd rather I was dead!”

“If I only knew how we could escape,” the maid said. “Why won't you let me ask her, milady? She helped us before, she might do it again. Let me send a message to the Macdonalds, they must be with the Prince. How do you know he won't let you go? It affords him no pleasure to keep you here now. Let me try!”

“No,” the Countess said sharply. “I forbid you. You're a good girl, but you're a fool. He will never let either of us go. And one day he'll regret it, and so will she, that beautiful redheaded whore with her kind deeds and her eyes all wet with lust for James. Ogilvie indeed!” She laughed again. “But I suppose even a sheep is better than no ram at all. I wonder how beautiful she'd look if she were left to wither away a little. Like me … You're not withered, Jean. Come here! Come here, girl; don't be frightened!” She raised her hand and touched the round pink cheek of the girl standing awkwardly in front of her, her eyes looking at the floor.

“You're young and bonny still,” the Countess said. “And here you are, shut up with a dead woman, losing your own youth and all its promise and not a word of complaint. But don't be troubled, Jean. It won't be for ever. I'll get you out in time for some good lad to make you happy and give you what you ought to have. I'll not leave you here to grow like me. But you must be patient a little longer. Then we shall have our vengeance, don't you remember? … And after that you will be free. Now, get me that book on the table over there. I want to read awhile; the light is gone for sewing now. Though who knows what use these samplers and covers will ever be to anyone. That's the one. Thank you, my child.”

Jean gave her the book and lit the candles in the room, placing one by her mistress's elbow after she had drawn the curtains.

Tomorrow the Lady Katharine and her guest would leave for Edinburgh, and Jean, who had never left her glen until she came to Clandara with the Countess, envied them bitterly. It was easy enough for her mistress to sit in her chair and talk of patience and a revenge which was to come. But Jean was young, and her heart ached for the freedom of her own lands and the company of her own people. She was not troubled by the lack of love or the diminishing prospect of marriage. The more she listened to the sad and horrible dredgings of her mistress's mind translated into words, the less she wanted any part of such things. But she wanted her freedom, and she wanted freedom for the Countess while she had still enough sanity left to enjoy it. She busied herself preparing the Countess's supper-table and wondered whether she dared defy her orders and approach the Earl's daughter before morning.

“Jean!”

“Yes, milady?” She turned round guiltily as if her mistress had divined what was going through her mind. The Countess smiled at her.

“You are not to go near her, do you understand? Not one word!”

“No, milady.” Jean sighed and went back to her work.

“And don't sigh,” the Countess called over to her. “I've told you. I shall know when to send for our people.” She sat back and began to read her book and Jean finished the table and curtsied before going down to the kitchen to fetch the tray with supper for them both.

She saw Annie in the corridor and slipped quickly past her without a word. Early next morning she and the Countess watched Katharine and Henry Ogilvie set off on horseback with their servants for the Capital.

The Palace of Holyrood was blazing with lights; there were torches flickering along the Mile as a long line of carriages drove up and the guests alighted and went in for the Reception and Ball the Prince was giving, and the entrance was crowded with people who watched the gentry and nobility and their splendidly dressed ladies. It was an unusual spectacle for the people of Edinburgh; the Palace had been empty for many long years, garrisoned by English troops and occupied by visiting dignitaries from London who did not think fit to entertain the native families in the Palace of their ancient kings. Inside, the long dark halls and passages were full of people, all making their way towards the Audience Chamber and the State Reception Room, where the Ball was being held, and the sound of music drifted out into the night and some of the spectators formed their own reels in the roads and began to dance.

Some of the most powerful men in Scotland were present there that night, and some of the loveliest women, but when Katharine came up the staircase on Henry Ogilvie's arm, every head turned to stare at her and the whispers followed her as she walked. Mr. Dugal's yellow silk had been made into a magnificent formal ball-gown, its skirts held out by wide panniers on either side, the tight bodice cut low and ending in a point below her waist. The gold thread glittered in the lights as she moved, and in her left hand she carried a yellow silk fan with golden sticks. It had taken Annie three hours to dress her and arrange her hair high on her head, with three bright red curls falling over one shoulder, and she wore the pearl-and-diamond ornament her father had given her when she was engaged to James. Excitement had made her pale, and the faint shade of rouge on each cheek emphasized the startling colour of her eyes.

As they reached the entrance to the Audience Chamber, Henry paused for a second and whispered to her: “You are the most beautiful woman here tonight; everybody has been staring at you and asking who you are! I'm almost afraid I shall lose you …”

She smiled up at him nervously. “You won't, dear Henry.”

“Not even to the Prince?” he murmured.

“Least of all to the Prince.”

As they walked into the crowded room and took their places in the line to be received, she began searching among the scores of faces for the one she had come so far to see. There were many men as tall as James, and once she started and turned white under her rouge as a man in a scarlet-and-green tartan coat turned towards her, but she saw that, though the build was similar, it was not James. At the far end of the long room there was a crimson-and-gilt throne under a canopy; it was empty and all eyes were watching the door through which the Prince would enter. A woman on her left leant towards her and said: “Have you seen him before? We've travelled fifty miles to get here. I'm so excited I can hardly stand!”

“No,” Katharine answered. “No, this will be my first sight of him too.”

“They say he's the handsomest man in the world,” the lady sighed. “Everyone tells me he could charm the birds from the trees if he wished. My niece has been here since September and nothing would induce her to come home once he returned from Prestonpans.” She lowered her voice a little more. “They say he's fond of the ladies,” she added. “There's fierce competition among them. My poor little niece is madly enamoured of him herself, but she hasn't a chance, poor child. Such a pity – think what an honour it would be!”

“Yes indeed.” Katharine gave her a smile and half turned away. More guests were coming through the doors and her fear that she would suddenly see James among them made her feel faint.

“It might be different with you,” the woman continued. “Not many women here tonight can compare with you.” She tapped Katharine gently with her fan. “I wish you luck,” she whispered.

“Thank you.” Katharine touched Henry and he turned to her immediately.

“When will he come?” she asked.

“At any moment now. Here is a Gentleman Usher. He must be coming.”

The gentleman in a dress of blue with gold facings raised his tall cane of office with its white-and-gold ribbons and struck the floor three times.

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Pray silence for His Royal Highness Prince Charles!”

The crowd was divided into two lines, making a pathway for the Prince to walk between them and speak to those he favoured. The Usher stepped aside and through the doorway a tall young man in a coat of silk tartan and white silk small-clothes advanced into the room with the Dukes of Perth and Atholl just behind him, followed by Lord George Murray, Cameron of Lochiel and half a dozen officers. She was so busy scanning them that she hardly saw the Prince. But none of them was James.

Charles was walking slowly down the line, pausing to go from one to another of the guests; the women curtsied to the ground and the men bowed, and after he had spoken a word or two he nodded and passed on, preceded by the Usher who announced the names of those the Prince wished to meet. To Katharine's surprise he stopped before her, and, when her name was called, he held out his hand and smiled. She kissed it and curtsied very low.

“I have not seen you here before,” Charles said. “You must be a kinswoman of Lord Lovat.”

“Yes, I am, Your Highness. A distant kinswoman.” The bright brown eyes gleamed at her. His round, small-featured face was not as handsome as she had expected; it was too young and smooth.

“I bid you welcome,” he said, and the faint foreign lisp was more pronounced. “It seems there is no end to the delights of Scotland, and the beauty of her ladies is high among them. I hope you will not leave us too soon.”

She curtsied again and he passed on. She was surprised that he did not stop and speak to Henry Ogilvie. When he took his place on the throne the lines broke up and crowded round that end of the room, everyone hoping to be noticed and calling out to speak to him, and there were angry faces and jealous mutterings among those who had not been personally received.

“It's just as well we're not staying long in Edinburgh,” Henry said. “You've already made a hundred enemies among the women here because he singled you out.” On an impulse he lifted her hand and kissed it. “I'm very proud tonight,” he said. “And the day you are my wife I shall be prouder still.”

“He's very young,” she said. “He doesn't look much like a Stuart.”

“His mother was Polish,” Henry answered. “Come, my dearest; shall we go to the ballroom now, or would you like some supper? …”

“I'd like to go through the rooms and see the people,” she said quickly. “We can sup later.”

“As you wish. Follow me; the ballroom is through that doorway there.”

She did not want to dance; when he asked her she only shook her head, and abandoning all caution she began to turn and look among the dancing couples, watching for the face of James among the men, and when Henry spoke to her she answered briefly without really listening. He was not in the ballroom, and not among those who had been presented. But more were still arriving, and now the Prince himself had joined them and was dancing with Mrs. Murray of Broughton, the pretty young wife of his secretary, and one of the many ladies who were reputed to be his mistress. There was one chance, Katharine thought desperately, one place where she had not looked and where James might be. The Duke of Perth came up to her and bowed.

“My compliments, Lady Katharine. It's a long time since we met but I can only say you are more beautiful, if that is possible;” They had met once or twice in the past three years, and she had always liked him. He was a delicate man as a result of an accident in his youth, but he was gay and gallant and equally popular with men and women. He had a rare spirit of generosity that made him many friends.

“I'm glad to see you,” she said. “And glad you recognized me after all this time. I hear you're Joint Commander of the Prince's army.”

“I am,” he grinned at her. “And a strange bedfellow I make with Lord George Murray, I can promise you! But if you'll forgive me, I've spent all day bickering round the council table and I'm dying for some entertainment. Mr. Ogilvie, sir, may I claim the lady for this reel?”

“With pleasure.” Henry bowed and Perth took her hand and led her into a set.

“He looks sour as the devil,” the Duke murmured to her. “Are you engaged to him? I thought there was some talk of a marriage for you, but I forget who the fortunate man was.”

“Not Henry,” she said quickly. “But it's possible he may be. One day.”

“Then he
is
fortunate.” Perth smiled at her. “How is your brother Robert? I don't see him here.” The reel ended and she curtsied to him. She could see Henry waiting for her by the door leading to the Audience Chamber, but he was talking to an elderly couple. She turned quickly to the Duke.

“Where is the supper-room? I am dying of hunger …”

“Through this door and down the passage. Let me escort you. If Mr. Ogilvie won't call me out!”

“No, thank you.” Katharine smiled and put her finger to her lips. “I have an appointment with someone there. Just let me slip away.”

“Then there are two fortunate fellows.” Perth laughed and kissed her hand. “So be it; I am always unlucky!”

She edged her way through the crowd and passed quickly through the doorway and found herself in a long stone corridor. The supper-room was at the end and she could see that it was crowded like the ballroom. Two men were walking towards her, one was talking to the other, his head half turned. Only when they were almost face to face did he look up and then she stopped; she found herself looking into the eyes of Hugh Macdonald.