Dawn on a Distant Shore (79 page)

"She will have
her way no matter what I say, but she need not suffer." She pressed a
bottle into Elizabeth's hand. "Laudanum. It would be better if she slept
during the journey."

"I will do what I
can for her." Elizabeth wanted to offer the girl some words of comfort,
but it would be no use at all: she knew what was ahead, and she could not be
consoled.

"Send her back as
soon as she has seen Monsieur Dupuis," said Flora. "Will you promise
me that?"

"I promise you to
try," said Elizabeth, turning again to go.

Flora came running
after her again, just as she was about to turn the corner.

"Mrs.
Bonner!"

There was an
expression on the girl's face that Elizabeth recognized as uncertainty and willfulness
all at once.

"What is it,
Countess?"

"The earl sent
Walter to Edinburgh to arrange for your passage to New-York." The words
came tumbling out. "You are to sail as quickly as can be arranged."

Elizabeth tried to
speak, but Flora cut her off and came very close.

"Pretend that you
are in agreement," she whispered, taking Elizabeth's free hand to press a
bulging purse into it. "Let everyone believe that you have boarded
whatever ship Walter has arranged for you. But
find other passage in secret.
Do you take my meaning?"

Stunned, Elizabeth
nodded.

"A hundred
pounds," said Flora. "It is all I have to hand, but it should be
enough." Her eyes were bright with tears.

Elizabeth put her arms
around the girl and she felt her trembling, as she herself trembled. "Thank
you," she said softly.

Flora pulled away, and
wiped her face. "Take care of Isabel," she said. "She's all I
have." And she ran off, her heels kicking up the hem of her skirt.

Nathaniel paced the
room while she talked, asking questions now and then but mostly listening. When
Elizabeth had recounted her last remarkable conversation with the young
Countess of Loudoun, he stopped in his tracks.

"Walter
Campbell's not a complete idiot," he said grudgingly. "It would be
easier to get rid of all of us at once if he got us on that ship."

"I am so glad you
approve of his methods," said Elizabeth dryly.

He grunted as he
slipped the pistol back into its holster. Elizabeth lifted Daniel, still napping,
into the cradle of her arms. He stretched and turned toward her, nuzzling
sleepily. The weight of him was an anchor that brought her back to herself; she
was still shaking a little, and she could not get Isabel's face out of her
mind.

There was the sound of
a carriage pulling up at the door, and Elizabeth was overcome with dread. She
said, "The last time I had this feeling was when I set off by myself to
fetch Robbie and I didn't know if I'd find you alive when I came back."

"That took a good
end, and so will this," said Nathaniel, meeting her gaze. He was perfectly
calm, and that did her more good than any promises.

"This time we're
together, Boots. That makes all the difference."

The coach was pulled
by a double team of eight horses. It had been outfitted for an invalid, with
one seat as broad as a bed and deeply upholstered for comfort. Lady Isabel sat
partially upright, her back supported by cushions and her body wedged carefully
in place with pillows. She held her hat with its veils in her lap, perhaps
because she felt she had nothing more to hide from Elizabeth; perhaps because
she wanted Nathaniel to see her for what she was.

He showed no surprise
at the sight of her ruined face, but Isabel hadn't anticipated Daniel. She
looked from the baby to Nathaniel and back again.

"It's nae wunder
that ma faither doesna want tae let ye leave," she said. "For sae
many years he's wanted a son, and got none. And there ye sit, the answer tae aa
his woes."

"It ain't that
easy," said Nathaniel.

"Oh, but it
is," said Isabel, closing her eyes briefly. "Let me explain it tae ye,
for I'm sure Moncrieff nivver did."

Nathaniel might have
stopped her, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. Isabel saw this, and she
dropped her gaze to study her gloves as she spoke.

"What ye must
understan' is this: I go tae my grave childless, and that will leave my faither
wi' nae legal issue. If Daniel Bonner will no' come forward as the son o' Jamie
Scott and claim Carryck, the peerage title will be extinguished and the lands
will go tae the Campbells of Breadalbane anyway, according tae the entail o' 1541."

"Carryck could
claim Jennet as his own," said Nathaniel.

Something slid across
Isabel's face-- jealousy or perhaps simple disbelief--before she banished it.
"He could try tae claim her. But Breadalbane will prevail in the courts,
that's a certainty."

Elizabeth said,
"And if he married again, and had a son?"

"It's that verra
thing that Breadalbane fears above aa else," Isabel conceded. "But I dinna
think my faither can bring himsel' tae leave Jean, and it's been ten years
since she brought a livin' child intae the world."

Nathaniel had been
watching Isabel with a blank expression, but now he leaned forward suddenly and
said, "Why is it you want to see Dupuis?"

Isabel lifted her head
to look hard at him, her eyes intelligent and calculating, so strangely human
and familiar in a face stippled bronze and black. For a long moment she was
silent, but then she pushed out a sigh and answered him with a question of her
own.

"Why should I
care if ye think the worst o' me? I'll soon be deid."

"You didn't
answer my question," said Nathaniel.

"But I
will," said Isabel with a weary smile. "If ye'll listen tae the whole
story. And if I live through the tellin' o' it."

"I met Walter
Campbell at the Lammas Fair five years syne," began Isabel. "I was
twenty-five years old, and nae man called me his sweetheart. Pridefu', they
said o' me. Bonnie Isabel, the laird's massie dauchter. It's true, I was proud
o' my beauty--but it was my faither wha sent the suitors awa'. "A dauchter
o' Carryck canna marry where she chooses," he said that tae me oft and
oft. "Ye owe Carryck fealty." And I--" She smiled bitterly.
"I believed him.

"But I was young,
and it wasna easy. David Chisholm--perhaps ye've seen him in the village. He's
marrit these six years. David wanted me, and I wad ha' taken him. But he didna
suit my faither, and sae I did as I was tolt, and turned my face awa' fra him.
And there were others." She looked up at Elizabeth. "Ye wadna believe
it tae see me now, but the lads liked tae see me weel enouch.

"But it was aa
for naucht. My faither let it be kennt that nane o' them wad do. They aa
thoucht he wanted a title for me, or a rich man, anither fortune tae add tae
his own. They didna ken the truth o' it, that he wad see me married tae a
Catholic, or no' at aa. Wi' time I tired o' waitin' and said that I wanted tae
be wed, but he wad tell me tae bide a while longer. "Soon ye'll ken him, yer
guidman." He said it sae oft, and I trusted him. Fool that I was.

"And then came
Lammas Fair. I went doon tae the village wi' Simon, for he luved naethin'
better than a fair in summer. I begged Jean tae come, too, but she couldna get
awa'. She gave aa the servants leave tae go, but she must stay behind wi' wee Jennet,
for the bairn was puirly.

"And a fine
evenin' it was, warm and bright and the smell o' fresh hay sae heavy in the
air, and there was music. Mick Lun played the fiddle and there was a
pennywhistle and a bodhrân, too. That was when the auld minister was still in
Carryckton, and he didna mind a bit o' dancin'. That's how I met Walter, ye
see. He fetched me tae the dance."

She paused, her breath
coming a little faster now. Elizabeth leaned forward, but she held up a hand.
"Let me rest for a moment," she said. "And then I must tell the
rest."

For a while Elizabeth
watched the cloud shadows chase each other across the rippling barley, waiting
for Isabel to find the strength to tell them this story she did not really want
to hear. She felt the need to reach out and touch Nathaniel, but she held back
for fear of making Isabel feel all the more isolated.

"Perhaps ye
willna believe me, but he didna tell me his whole name, and I didna ask,"
she continued after a while. "It was naethin' tae me but a flirtation. The
others were afraid o' my faither, but this stranger wi' a clever tongue and a
quick foot didna seem tae care that I was the laird's dauchter, and that
pleased me.

"When it was time
tae be awa' hame, he tolt me he wad spend the nicht in the hayrigs were I tae
promise tae come the next evening and dance wi' him agin. And I gave him that
promise, but naethin' else. No' even a kiss.

"Simon and I, we
walked up the brae singin' and laughin'. It had come tae rain, but we were in
high spirits and didna mind. Do ye ken where the road turns sudden like and
dips around a great outcroppin' o' stone?"

Nathaniel nodded.

"Aye, weel. He
was there, waitin' for us."

"Walter?"
Elizabeth asked.

"Moncrieff,"
said Isabel. "Angus Moncrieff, stinkin' o' whisky. I can see him still by
the light o' his lantern, though I've tried my best these five years tae
forget. And he stops us, Simon and me, and he says "The whore and the
whoreson, what a lovely pair.""

Isabel had been
watching the countryside pass by the window as she spoke, but she turned now to
look at Elizabeth, her patchwork face drawn tight in remembered anger. "He
called me a whore, untouched as I was."

Nathaniel's look of
skepticism had been replaced by one of unease. "You don't have to tell the
rest of this if you don't want to."

"But I do,"
said Isabel dully. "If Faither Dupuis is already gone, then ye must be my
confessors." Her voice was very weak, but she smiled. "Why are ye
surprised? Did ye think that marrying a Campbell makes me less o' a Catholic? I
thoucht at first I could leave the church behind, but then I fell ill and ever since
I've had a yearnin'-- Ye wadna understand." She stopped herself.

Daniel squirmed and
fussed on Elizabeth's lap, and she was glad of the distraction. Isabel did not
know about Contrecoeur, but should they tell her? She cast a glance at
Nathaniel and he shook his head very slightly.

Isabel took no note,
wound up again in her story.

"Angus Moncrieff
called me a whore tae my face. But I was innocent, and that gave me the
strength tae stand up and call him a liar. It was a mistake, drunk as he was.
His face went aa still and white, and he stepped closer tae us baith. I
remember that Simon was shakin' and sae was I, I suppose. And Moncrieff says in
a voice sae soft and fine: "I saw ye wi' Breadalbane's bastard, pressin'
yersel' against him, lettin' him put his hands on ye. Did ye spread yer legs
for him under the corn rigs, or did he cover yer back like the bitch in heat ye
are?"'"

Elizabeth rocked
Daniel closer to her and made herself listen.

"He was fu'
drunk, but I wasna afraid --foolish lass that I was. I wad ha' laughed in his
face at the idea o' a Breadalbane come tae the Lammas Fair in Carryckton, if he
hadna called me a whore. I raised my hand tae him, and he struck me doon, and
Simon too when he came tae help me. And I shouted at him: "Wha gives ye
the richt tae raise yer hand tae me, Angus Moncrieff? Wha are ye but my
faither's factor, and perhaps no' much longer that?"'

"He smiled at me
then and in perfect calm he said, "I'll marry ye yet, and then I'll teach
ye richt and proper wha yer faither canna be bothered tae teach ye." He
looked at Simon then, cowerin' on the road, and he said "Ask the
whoreson's mither what a guid teacher the laird is when he's got a willin' lass
as pupil.""

Isabel's hands had
begun to twitch in her lap, and her voice seemed to fail her completely. She
closed her eyes.

"Is that how you
learned about your father's attachment to Jean Hope?" Elizabeth asked.

Isabel nodded.
"But I dinna believe him. I couldna believe him." She had begun to
perspire very heavily.

Nathaniel glanced
uneasily at Elizabeth, and she leaned forward. "Flora gave me
laudanum," she said. "To make you more comfortable."

"Comfort is for
the grave," said Isabel shortly. "I will finish this tale, and should
it be the end o' me. Unless yer afeart tae hear it?" She looked at
Nathaniel as she said this, and there was a flash there of the young woman who
had challenged Angus Moncrieff on the mountain road.

"Go on,"
said Nathaniel. "We're listening."

"Ye'll think me
aye donnert tae hear me admit it, but I nivver thoucht o' Jean wi' my faither.
When Jennet came intae the world I believed-- Ach, what does it matter now? I thoucht
Jean was layin' wi' one o' the earl's men but that she wadna marry for my sake.
What an eijit I was."

The anger was still
there, in the way she raised her head as she talked, in the set of her jaw
while she gathered her thoughts. Elizabeth remembered Hannah's story of her:
a
headstrong young woman who did not see what she did not care to see.
It was
hard to believe this was the same lady.