In Loving Memory (5 page)

Chapter 9

By the time Fergus returned to the cottage, it was to the news that a distraught Maggie imparted to him.

“Our own beloved wee boy, our very own Scott, he’s gone meet his grandfather in Heaven. And a so-called loving God... what has he left us with? Only the bastard son of a drunken lecher. Some loving God, that would allow such a thing. Oh Fergus, I just cannot accept God’s Holy Will in any of this. It’s just too much to bear. Between that and the constant worry of wondering if the Authorities have captured you... I just cannot take any more of it.”

If Maggie had thought that in her distress, Fergus would envelop her in his arms and murmur soothing, healing, sweet nothings in her ear, then she was doomed to disappointment.

With the strangest look in his eyes, he glared at her, then rather than coming closer to comfort her, instead he backed even further away.

“Maggie, I never thought to hear you say such an evil thing... bastard son, indeed. Dear wee laddie that he is, I can honestly say I love him like my own.”

Maggie dried her tears and stormed at him. “Well, hell and damnation to that for an answer, not too much in the way of comfort for me there, now is there? Our own, our very own beloved wee Scott is gone, gone never to return and here what do you do? Just gibber on about how you love the bastard like your very own. He is not your very own, never was, never has been and never will be. Your own beloved wee boy is dead, can you still not comprehend that, big stupid Radical that ye are. Ye’re a coarse unfeeling shell of a man.”

“And ye’re a cold heartless bitch wantin to play God choosing which child should die and which should live.”

Maggie knew that from that moment on, never again would their wedded lives have the slightest measure of loving kindness, closeness or happy togetherness. It was over, that aspect, over as surely as if a court of law or ministers of the Kirk had decreed, “This sham of a marriage is over, null and void.”

That night and despite their many past rows regarding his Radical involvement, for the first time in all their years of marriage, Fergus and Maggie slept as far apart in bed as they could physically manage within the bounds of the fairly narrow wall-bed.

As she yet again cried herself to sleep that night, again and again Maggie asked God, “Why? Why God, why take to yourself the child of a loving union and yet spare that bastard child, the fruit of my sorrow, my shame, my humiliation? Why leave him, the very sight of him to taunt me for the rest of my life? So much for all my prayers. Thank you dear God, thank you for nothing, sweet damn all.”

After another blazing row a purple-faced Fergus stormed out of the house.

Maggie gave a grim smile. At least nowadays, it isn’t always the same topic we row about. Now we have a choice, the Radical movement, my on-going hatred of Ewan or as today, my coldness to Fergus and my withholding of what he now frequently refers to as his ‘marital rights’. Marital rights, indeed. Don’t I have any such rights, what about my right not always to comply with his wishes and desires? What about my right to refuse to work day and night in caring for the home, the two children, the physical needs and whims of my Lord and Master?

Who in their right mind would ever want to be a woman? We’re slaves, nothing other than slaves to men. Perhaps in some future age, women will come to their senses, have a voice , a will of their own, but I cannot see it ever happening in my lifetime.

As these thoughts raced through Maggie’s brain, she thought. Damned if I care anymore where Fergus has now gone at such high speed. Maybe he’s got a fancy woman somewhere, a woman whose husband works nightshifts and who would welcome his advances. Well, he’s welcome to her, for any given favours, for I’m damned if he’ll get any such special treatment in my bed. What was it he called me? A heartless, evil bitch, an un-natural mother, not to mention the rest of my many other attributes.

Chapter 10

August 1820

As Fergus came into the cottage on the evening of 30th August, his face was ashen, his shoulders were bent like an old man and with what looked to Maggie like a single desperate act of despair, as with the last breath in his body, he tossed aside a pamphlet the black print of which screamed out, ‘MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.’

Maggie said not a word but her raised eyebrows prompted her husband to say, “Aye, weel, might ye wonder, Maggie. Just ye take a read at that pamphlet and ye’ll wonder no more, for that’s what we were handing out this afternoon... while they were hanging by the neck and then bloody butchering poor old Weaver Wilson.”

Maggie took the printed sheet in her hands and read, “May the ghost of the butchered Wilson haunt the pillows of his relentless jurors... ‘MURDER, MURDER, MURDER’.

Maggie read and reread the words, examined the accompanying poster, thought for several moments, then turned to Fergus and said, “Fergus, from what I know of your Radical activities, and I admit there’s still plenty of which I am in the dark, but even so, what with your spreading the message, with your platform speechifying, you are already deeply involved as a Radical leader. So much so, that God help us all, had you been unlucky enough to get caught, that could as easily have been you on the gallows this day, instead of Weaver Wilson who was captured at the Radical skirmish.”

Her husband looked at her. “Tell me something Ah don’t already know, Maggie. Fine well Ah realise, Ah’d be stupid no to know, yes, it could have been me condemned to death on the scaffold.”

Maggie could feel her face turn an angry red as she yelled at Fergus, “You know that, do you? You appreciate that so far you’ve been lucky to escape with your life? And yet, here you are today at the very hanging, risking even greater chance being captured, and what are you doing? Only handing out to all and sundry seditious leaflets. My God, man are your entirely mad? Have you no thought for me and your bairns? Handing out seditious pamphlets, Uch, Fergus, I despair.”

He stared at her and was about to speak, but Maggie interrupted, “Uch, Fergus Bell, I’ve supported you all these years, borne your children, worried myself sick about you when you’re in hiding from the authorities. Well, no more, why in God’s name should I worry another moment about you? It has to end here and now.”

He nodded silently, as if by now bereft of speech.

Maggie seizing the advantage said, “Fergus, listen well, It seems to me the sooner you quit the shores of Scotland, the better.”

He looked up. “Ye speak true, Maggie, for it’s only going to get worse. The other two Radicals they captured, Hardie and Baird, they’re awaiting trial... mark my words, come the Autumn, those two brave men, they’ll be next on the gallows. And other men they’ve captured, they’ve already been transported to the Colonies. But for Hardie and Baird, it’ll be the gallows.”

Maggie put a hand to her brow. “Fergus, escape now while you still can, or if you’re not careful, it’ll be you hanging from the gallows. Surely ye can see that, man?”

Late November 1820

Maggie could feel her eyes open wide in utter amazement as she stared and went on staring at her husband.

“You’ve done what, Fergus? Good heavens above, this goes beyond all belief. Please, please do tell me that I’ve misunderstood you... that I really have grasped the wrong end of the stick.”

Giving her stare for stare, finally he allowed himself a heartfelt sigh and in the voice of one who was bone-weary, said, “Listen, woman, suppose you get off your high horse, sit down, pay attention and Ah’ll go through my master-plan yet again.”

Although obeying her husband to the point of sitting down at the table, even so, Maggie knew she was still very far removed from any state of relaxed composure. Plunking her arms on the edge of the table, she leant forward, looked up at Fergus and waited for him to start speaking.

Fixing her with an unblinking stare, he said, “This is the way of it, Maggie... as a hunted Radical, Ah need to flee the country and sooner rather than later, before my luck runs out. As ye well know, already Ah’ve had a few narrow escapes and it’s just a question of time now before the bastard law-enforcers catch up with me. And Sheena, poor widow-woman that she now is, she needs a man to be her protector on the voyage out to Canada, not forgetting that without a husband to her name she wouldnae be eligible for a grant of free land out on the Prairies. So, one way and another, my plan makes sense for all concerned. Surely ye can see that?”

Maggie could feel her lips tighten into a thin hard line.

“What I can see, since ye ask, is that you and Sheena, ye’d suit each other’s needs fine well. I’d be blind and downright stupid if I couldnae see that. But what I just cannot get my head round is this... in the long run, forged papers or not, you’re not her husband... you’re my man, so it’s my needs ye should be seeing to, instead of sailing off into the sunset with the unlovely Sheena and her brood.”

Yet again, at least having heard her out, with a weary, pain-filled expression on his face, he said, “Maggie, Maggie, fine weel Ah knew ye were aye jealous of Sheena and of what she and Ah shared thegither before Ah got merrit on tae you, but...”

Unable to contain herself a moment longer, Maggie shouted, “But nothing. Ye mean before ye saw a better offer, a weaver’s cottage and my grandfather’s loom... that’s when young love’s troth was forgotten, that’s when ye left Sheena high and dry, bereft and for all I know, weeping her heart out for her lost love.”

He frowned and pointing an admonitory forefinger, he said, “Well, since ye mention it, we both know who got the best out of that bargain. And let’s face it sure as hell wasnae Sheena... she wasnae the one tae be carryin an illegitimate bairn in her belly.”

Maggie rose unsteadily to her feet. “I don’t know how you can be so cruel bringing all that terrible past history up again. Even now I still can’t bear to think about it. Ye know, there’s an ugly word for what that drunken so-called gentleman did to me. And come to think of it, there’s maybe another equally ugly word for somebody like you who turns such a hellish disaster to their own advantage... a sleekit chancer, a penniless nobody with an eye to the main chance.” She paused for breath. “That’s what you were, a sleekit chancher and that’s why entirely for your own selfish worldly gain, ye ditched Sheena.”

Fergus too rose to his feet. “Well, have it yer own way, Ah can see that nothing Ah could do or say now would ever change yer view of things. But one thing’s for sure, Ah’ll no be abandoning Sheena this time and come early February, Ah’ll be her self-styled husband on that coffin ship.”

He turned at the door to say, “And you can like it or lump it. So much for my thinking ye’d be glad tae see me safely out of the reach of the Law and preparing a new life for us and oor bairns in Canada. No much thanks Ah get. Ye’d have been better pleased if Ah had been caught as a Radical leader and transported tae Australia. Weel, Ah’m no safely away yet, it could still happen.”

Still smarting from their recent marital row, both Maggie and Fergus kept up a decidedly frigid silence, with neither one inclined to break the deadlock. It was a day or so later with the unexpected arrival of Mrs Weir at their cottage, together with her question, “Ah’ve just heard on the local grapevine that ye folks are going to Canada... is that true?” that they were forced into instant speech.

At once Maggie, with a startled look on her face and with a spluttered exclamation started to deny the rumour, but a warning, barely perceptible shake of her husband’s head silenced her. Having done so, Fergus immediately leapt into the breach, as he said, “Going to Canada, ye say Mistress Weir? Weel, put it this way, these days it seems that the half of Scotland’s emigratin, so no surprise there. Is that no so? And anyway, what aboot yer own son young Davie, we havenae seen him aroon these parts for a while, what’s happened tae him?”

The elderly woman by now clearly desperate for news, although at the same time not wishing to divulge anything of her own family’s comings and goings, said, “But is it true, Ah mean aboot ye folks, are ye really emigratin tae Canada?”

Fergus took a step closer to her, tapped a forefinger against his nose, then as if taking her deeply into his confidence, he said in a stage-whisper, “Ye ken there’s not another soul in the whole of Glasgow to whom Ah’d say this... but Ah don’t really think ye’re a Government spy... so trusting you as Ah do and for all Ah ken, mibbe puttin all our lives at risk, but Ah’ll tell ye this...”. He leant forward and with Mistress Weir gazing up in anticipation at him, he said, “Whatever information it is that ye’ve somehow gleaned aboot oor movements, then Mistress Weir, for the love of God, for all our sakes, Ah beg ye keep such dangerous knowledge firmly under your mutch. These are dangerous times and the less ye know or even let people think ye know, then the better for all concerned. Dae ye get my meaning, Mistress Weir?”

He finished by giving the elderly woman what Maggie could only describe as a decidedly flirtatious wink, at which point their neighbour blushed like a schoolgirl, preened herself and said, “Your secret is safe with me, Mr Bell. Ye can rest assured that my lips are sealed.”

Fergus nodded, patted her on the shoulder, smiled and said, “Ah just knew Ah could trust you. But listen, forget the Mister Bell, for anybody doing me such a great service as you, it’s Fergus.” Then turning to his wife. “Maggie, Ah think we could all use a dish of tea. So pull out a chair for our friend here.”

As Euphemia Weir settled herself comfortably at the table, Maggie glared at Fergus over the top of the woman’s head. Then with a hint of asperity in her voice Maggie said, “Honestly, Fergus Bell, small wonder ye’re a gifted Radical speaker, ye could charm the birds off the trees.”

A vigorous nodding of her head indicated that Euphemia Weir agreed with that very sentiment. And though Fergus had told her nothing, Maggie knew that his secret was assuredly safe with their gossipy neighbour.

January 1820

In the bleak days of January, before the planned departure with Sheena and her children, Maggie, determined to make one last attempt to change Fergus’s mind and have him take her and their children to Canada, enticed Fergus back to the marriage bed. But, just as Maggie thought she had succeeded in her ploy, Fergus announced his plans were unchanged and, come February, he and Sheena would set sail for Canada.