Clandara (28 page)

“Only because I wondered if you knew,” she answered. “And now all I can offer you instead of her is a Scots whore, and a black-haired one at that!”

She faced him boldly, and began to smile. He felt suddenly as if she were as potent as whisky or opium; however he twisted in the effort to escape her, however cruelly he abused her kindness and scorned her generosity, she managed to survive and find him yet again, and always at a time when he was low and tempted to take advantage of her.

“I will never love you!” He said it deliberately as a challenge, and it pleased him to see her face flush.

“I know that,” she said. “There is no need to say it.”

“There is need,” he insisted. “You must know it and accept it. I can never love you, Janet, no matter what you do for me, simply because I love someone else, and nothing that has happened in the past or will happen in the future can change that. I admit this to you, because I must if I am going to let you stay tonight or any other night. But speak of it outside this room and I will kill you. Is that understood?”

“It is, James. I don't expect you to love me; I know that you can't and I am content to have what is left of you.”

“So be it then.” He rose and held out his hand to her. “Come to bed.”

When he slept at last, she rose and snuffed the candles and closed the window, for the room was growing very cold. Whatever their quarrels or the circumstances of their meeting, the cravings of their natures found perfect satisfaction, made all the keener by the contrast of her sexual submission to her normal independence. The same fierce fusion, the same cataclysm, had been reached, but it had left his heart untouched as always and hers ever deeper in its subjection to him. She was back with him again, but nothing had changed since the night they first met. She dressed and slipped quietly out of the house, returning to her own coach, where the coachman had taken refuge from the cold inside it and was fast asleep. In the early hours she reached her own house three miles outside the city and went to bed.

When the Scots army marched out of Carlisle en route for Manchester, Janet was among the crowd of wives and daughters and women of the streets who followed in the van of it.

6

From Carlisle the Prince's army marched by Penrith and Lancaster to Preston, and walked unopposed into Manchester. No blood had been spilt and it seemed to the superstitious Scots that they were advancing through a sleeping enemy. People in the larger towns gave them a welcome, but it became more obvious with every mile of their advance that the expected rising of the English Jacobites was only a figment in the mind of their Prince and the more fanatical of his advisers.

The English Catholics stayed mute; only a few meagre hundreds joined them, and three hundred of these were raised in Manchester itself. Reports from Wales encouraged Charles, where a powerful landowner, Sir Watkyn Williams-Winn, sent word that he was gathering an army and would soon be on his way to meet them. But against these hopes the pessimists balanced the number of desertions which had depleted the Prince's original force down to less than five thousand men. The clansmen were many hundreds of miles from home; they were bored and uneasy, and day by day they lagged behind and slipped away.

At Macclesfield, on December 1st, the Prince and his council received word that the main English army numbering ten thousand men was at Lichfield under the command of the Duke of Cumberland, the son of the King of England and a veteran of the Flanders war. It was a bitterly cold night, and Charles sat at the head of the table in his greatcoat, and some of his commanders were wrapped in their thick plaids for warmth. The line of faces on either side of him had grown wretchedly familiar in the last few weeks; he could tell by the expressions of mingled gloom, suspicion and truculence that the pattern of quarrelsome disagreement was about to be repeated at this most vital meeting.

Lord George rose and, with a bow to Charles, opened the proceedings.

“Your Royal Highness, lords and gentlemen. It is already known that the main force of the enemy is at Lichfield, and their purpose there is clear; we are to be stopped and engaged before marching farther on London. We are gathered here to decide whether to accept that challenge or to by-pass it and proceed southwards leaving Cumberland at our rear. Desertions have brought us down to half the strength of the enemy. Our men are in no condition to face the veterans of Fontenoy with a commander like Cumberland at their head; we have no cavalry, and theirs is exactly seventeen miles distant at Newcastle-under-Lyme! If we stand now we'll lose, and there'll be no reprieve from the consequences of that defeat.”

“And if we avoid them, supposing we can, what then?” Charles said.

“We can continue our march on London,” Lord George said. “You have refused to go to Wales and raise the Standard there in person.
You
wish to take London, but unless you accept my advice and escape Cumberland, you will not do it. He will annihilate us. And if no conclusion is reached soon,” he added, “and by this I mean some sign of support from the English Jacobites, of news of Williams-Winn and the Welsh, then I must doubt the wisdom of proceeding any farther.”

Charles turned round and his pleasant young face was crimson with anger. He glared at Lord George. “Gentlemen, for the love of God!” He struck the table with his fist. “I tell you the English
will
rise! So will the Welsh! All I ask of you is a little patience. A few desertions which you haven't the discipline to control, and you talk of throwing victory away and going back to Scotland. Where is your spirit, gentlemen? Where is the spirit that brought you to me when I came among you with only seven men?”

“We are far from home,” Gordon of Glenbucket said slowly. “We are here in the midst of the enemy, and they
are
the enemy, Highness, for none but those few poor fellows at Manchester have joined us, and there's no sign of more. My people are losing heart; I see it and I hear it every day. There's been no battle to test them, I only wish to God there had! If we avoid the English, how can we go to London without some support?”

“The Welsh will rise,” Charles insisted. “I am only waiting for word … the Duke of Beaufort here in England got a message through that he would help us!”

“Wales may rise for you,” Lord George said coolly. “And an English duke may support a Scottish prince, but all we have so far is promises. May I suggest my plan?”

“Proceed,” Charles said. He had twisted so far in his chair that he had almost turned his back on him.

“I propose to divide our forces in two,” Lord George said. “And I shall take the smaller towards Congleton; it is my belief that Cumberland will think it the whole army on its way to Wales and try to intercept you. The road to London will be open, Highness, and that is where you and the rest of the force shall proceed once I have drawn them off. We will then turn about and rejoin you at Derby.”

No one on the Council disagreed and the Prince consented to it in despair.

That evening Lord George selected his regiments. The Macdonalds of Dundrenan were among those who remained with Charles.

Janet had taken lodgings in the town. She had been waiting nearly three hours for this return from yet another council meeting; the supper prepared was ruined and she had given orders to the sullen English servants to provide some cold meats and a fowl, and then dismissed them. It was long past midnight, and as she sat before the fire she almost fell asleep. They had marched into the city and received a cautious welcome and a minor demonstration of sympathy, but the general apathy was turning into coldness, and there were rumours of unrest among the Highlanders. There had been no battle and Lord George had carried out a brilliant manoeuvre which drew the Duke of Cumberland and his army towards Wales, allowing the Prince to reach Derby unhindered, where Lord George had quickly joined him. Now the same question was on every tongue, from the poor bewildered clansmen to the highest ranks of the chiefs. What now? Advance farther into the unknown, without support from the English people, with Cumberland's army at their backs and yet another army waiting before London, or admit that they had failed and turn for home? The sound of the door and men's loud, angry voices roused Janet and she sprang up to meet James.

“We're going back!” James said. “Janet, for God's sake give my father a dram of whisky. He's talked and argued until he's hoarse, and so have we all.”

“There is no whisky,” she said. “I could get nothing but wine and I fear it's not the best. I'll pour some now. Sit down, Sir Alexander. You must be exhausted.”

The old man sank into the chair she had left; he looked grey and drawn and the despair in his face was reflected on the faces of his sons as they moved round him and warmed themselves before the fire.

“Retreat,” he said at last. “All this way and then we turn our backs on them! Great God above, what madness has prevailed tonight!”

“The madness of that faint-hearted Murray,” James said. “He has infected them all with his cowardice. Ogilvy, Kilmarnock, Clanranald, Glenbucket, Nairne … every damned one of them refused to go another mile! Only the Prince and Perth and Lochiel wanted to go on, and they were overruled.”

“There's been no word from Wales?” she asked.

“None,” Hugh answered her. “The Prince almost went on his knees to beg for one more day's delay, but there wasn't a chief who would agree to it. Wales may not rise for us and England won't. That is the judgment, and the army won't go any farther. We've lost, my dear Janet. And we've lost without a battle!”

“We will still fight.” James turned on him. “We'll fight in Scotland, where at least we know the country! The Prince may retreat over the border but he isn't done yet.”

“My son,” Sir Alexander looked up at him. “You talk like a fool. When an army like ours loses heart and turns its back, it is a beaten army. The Cause is lost, and it has been lost here at Derby by the council of fools and faint hearts. The Rising is over; all the English have to do now is catch up with us, and when they do they'll win. I know it. Mrs. Douglas, be good enough to fill my glass again. It's foul stuff but better than nothing.”

“When does the retreat begin?”

“Early this morning; just after dawn. I advise you to gather your belongings and be ready.”

“We should have stayed in Scotland,” David Macdonald muttered. “We should have tempted Cumberland to come there and fight instead of wasting time by marching into this cursed country.”

“Don't dare to criticize the Prince,” his father snapped at him. “We've heard enough of that tonight! If the English had supported us we'd be in London before the end of the month and the Prince would have been in Whitehall. Even now, we could go on. And if we did we'd have a chance of winning still. Wales will rise with us, it's only a question of giving them a little time.”

“You said that of the English, Father,” Hugh pointed out. “Personally, I never agreed with you and nor did James. But we should march on and try for London. If they won't fight for us, they haven't fought against us either. How do we know London wouldn't capitulate at the sight of the Prince? … How do we know anything unless we try?”

“We have tried,” his father said. “And our own people are to blame for what has happened. They lack the courage to go on. That has been proved tonight. Come, I have had enough of it; Mrs. Douglas, may we partake of your supper and then we must go? I must gather our people and make ready to march out in a few hours.”

They sat at the table and she served them; she was silent then and so were they. James did not look at her. He seemed unaware of her existence, and she was wise enough not to intrude herself upon him. They were lost, and at that moment, as they ate hurriedly and began discussing the plans for evacuation, Janet watched them from the fireside and shivered as if she were cold. Death was the penalty for failure; she had heard stories from her brother of the reprisals taken by England after the unsuccessful rising in '15. Executions and forfeiture of estates, savage fines and lifelong exile for those fortunate enough to escape capture.

When they rose to go, the old man came up and paid her an unusual compliment; he had always been courteous, but now he took her hand and kissed it, as if she were of equal rank.

“My thanks,” he said. “I have long admired your fortitude and the kindness you have shown my son James; I hope he's made you some return for it. Now I feel we may not meet again. The Prince has ordered all women who came with the army to go on alone and get back as best they can; we can't lag behind for anyone. We will leave you and James to say farewell. If God is merciful we may yet meet again in Scotland, but for the moment I advise you to return to Perth and forget that you have ever known us. It may be safer in the end.”

“That I shall never do,” she said quietly. “I shall go back, sir, but I shall wait until James needs me. In the meantime, will you say to the Prince that one humble subject will put what resources she can at his disposal as soon as he's returned to Scotland?”

David and Hugh came up to her; each kissed her hand and Hugh held it for a moment longer. The light, cruel eyes were full of mockery but there was admiration in them too.

“Farewell, my dear Janet. Take the swift road home and don't get caught by the soldiers of King George. Though I believe you'd best them if you did. Until we meet again!”

“Farewell,” she said, and then more softly so that James could not hear, “Take care of him for me, I beg of you.”

“I shall. You'll have him back safe, I promise you.”

When they were alone they both stood in silence, looking at each other. He saw that her eyes were wet with tears, and the sense of finality moved him to kindness. He came across and taking both her hands in his, he kissed them. It was more of a salutation than a caress, and like his father's unwonted courtesy, Janet understood and appreciated its significance.