A Turn of Cards E-Book

Helen Susan Swift

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Edinburgh, 1804.

Dorothea Flockhart is hiding her past. A woman alone, she avoids men; even the personable Captain Rogers fails to stir her heart despite all his efforts.

While Napoleon's armies threaten invasion, Scotland's capital still hosts balls, although the atmosphere is hectic and men don uniform to meet the impending turmoil.

Carrying many secrets, Dorothea wends her way through the wynds of Edinburgh. But when a personification of the past returns to recreate the nightmares that have haunted her for a decade, which will triumph: love or fear?

Leseprobe

A Turn of Cards

Lowland Romance Book 3

Helen Susan Swift

Copyright (C) 2018 Helen Susan Swift

Layout Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Prelude

Even now I remember that evening. If I close my eyes I can hear the soft snick of cards on the polished walnut table and the sonorous ticking of the long-case clock. I can feel the gentle heat of the fire that crackled in the grate at my back and see the shifting shadow of the chandelier that swung slowly from the ceiling. It is a layered memory, for it is set in the middle of my life story, with the past behind it and my then-future in front, a hinge-day from which much sprung, yet also a day that reminded me of the steps that had brought me to such a pass.

There were eight of us present that October night in 1803. Emily Napier and her silent husband James, Elizabeth Campbell and the amiable Colin Campbell, young Marie Elliot and Gilbert, her intended, Mrs Bessie Faa, famous as Mother Faa and me, Dorothea Flockhart, Miss Dorothea Flockhart. You will notice that alone of the company, I had neither husband nor sweetheart. I was alone in this world of turmoil and tribulation and determined to remain in that state of solitude for I neither sought nor wished for anything to do with the sterner sex.

You may wonder at my disdain for men when much of our female world revolved around matrimony and much of the conversation of the unmarried centred on beaux and sweethearts and marrying greatly. Not only women discussed the opposite sex for in the male world, where business or the military or the running of an estate took up so much time, matrimony also figured in large part. A man needed an heir, and only a good wife could adequately provide such a thing. Why was I out of step with the tune that society played? I had my reasons and excellent reasons they were.

'Now pay attention.' Although Mother Faa spoke quietly, everybody in the room heard her. She shuffled the pack and spread the cards like a fan across the table. 'You all know what night it is.'

We nodded, one by one, some serious, most amused.

'It's the 31st October,' Emily said.

'It's Halloween,' Marie watched Mother Faa's multiple-ringed hands pass over the cards.

'It's Halloween,' Mother Faa lowered her voice, so I had to strain to hear her, 'the night of the year when witches and warlocks come out. The night of the year when the door to our world opens and the creatures of the supernatural enter.'

I would have snorted disbelief until I saw the expression on Mother Faa's face and the attention that Emily and Marie were paying. Colin and James exchanged amused glances while Gibbie Elliot poured himself another drink.

'We are five minutes short of midnight,' Mothers Faa continued, 'when the power is at its height.' She flicked the cards together again and lifted one finger. 'I will tell one fortune at that time. One only.' She looked at each of us in turn, her dark eyes unsettling.

We all exchanged glances. James smiled and squeezed Emily's arm. The Campbells looked serious, and Marie put a hand over her mouth, shaking her head.

'Whose?' Gibbie Elliot tapped a finger on the table. He was smiling, as if eager to be chosen.

'Whoever needs it most,' Mother Faa shuffled the pack. 'You must decide.' She smelled of wood-smoke and earth and the wild places of the world although I knew the rings that weighed down her ears were of pure gold. She did not belong in that urbane company, but there again, neither did I.

I kept my counsel as the others began to chatter. I could see Marie watching Gilbert. Her left hand stole across the table and touched his arm. I said nothing. It was none of my affair.

'No,' Gilbert said. 'You decide, Mother Faa.' He leaned back with a devil-damn-you smile on his face.

'Yes, do, Mother Faa,' Emily followed his lead. 'You must decide.'

I listened to the soft whirr and tick of the clock as Mother Faa ruffled the pack again. There is something quite ominous about the sound of a clock. From the instant that we are born, we have a limited time in this world, and every tick of the clock marks one second less in which to exist. I counted the seconds towards my own end and wondered what life was all about. The minute hand flicked forward and vibrated slightly; it was one minute short of midnight.

I did not care.

'Is that what you all wish?' Mother Faa asked.

'Yes, yes, get on with it,' Colin said at once, and the others nodded. I followed suit as Mother Faa fixed me with a stare. Her eyes were dark, bottomless pits in a face seamed by wrinkles. Yet despite her advanced years, they were bright with life while mine had long since lost their lustre.

Mother Faa gripped my hand. 'Touch the cards,' she said.

I started. I had not expected to be singled out. Then I shrugged; it did not matter.

'Touch the cards,' Mother Faa repeated.

When I did so, they were slightly warm with a sticky residue. Mother Faa pressed my fingers hard onto the pack. 'Say your name.'

'Dorothea Flockhart,' I tried to ease away from Mother Faa's eyes, but they held me fast. I could see nothing but her dark dilated pupils, sucking me inside her mind. I did not wish to travel there, to a place unknown.

'Now think about yourself.' Mother Faa's voice bored into my head. I did as she commanded, thinking about my life, past and present. It did not take long for I had no desire to linger in the dark rooms.

'Good,' Mother Faa released my fingers although her gaze did not relax. I was within her eyes, lost in her darkness that was so different from my own. 'Shuffle the pack.'

The cards stuck together as I shuffled. I handed them back. 'There you are.'

Mother Faa's fingers brushed the back of my hand as she recovered the pack. Her gaze remained fixed on me. I knew there were others in the room yet I could not see them. Nothing existed outside the duo of Mother Faa and me. 'Now cut seven times and place the chosen cards on the table.'

I did so, and Mothers Faa removed the top card of the seven little piles and placed it in front of her. I could not watch. I could not ease away from her eyes. I could only exist as the clock ticked again, mercifully shortening my life by another second.

'I have selected one card for the past, one for the present and the rest for your future.' Mother Faa looked down, and I felt the physical release as the power of her gaze ended. The clock continued to tick away my life. There was no other sound in that room.

'You have had a troubled past,' Mother Faa said. 'I see great distress there.'

I nodded. I knew my past and had no desire to return there. It waited to ambush me if I thought of it.

'You are not as happy as you could be in your present,' Mother Faa did not look up from her cards. 'You are lonely.'

'I am not lonely,' I denied. Mother Faa snorted.

Emily tapped me with her fan and whispered something. I did not hear the words. I had forgotten that she was there.

For the first time, I glanced down at the cards. Only two were face up, presumably the ones that signified my past and present. Mother Faa turned over the others, one by one.

The cards meant nothing to me. Two number cards and three face cards, a knave, a king and a queen. Mother Faa pored over them.

'What secrets are you hiding, Dorothea Flockhart?'

I shook my head. 'I have none that I wish to share.'

'That will not do, Dorothea Flockhart, the cards don't lie!' There was venom in Mother Faa's words. 'You are more secretive than open, and you hide more of you than you reveal.'

I said nothing, acutely aware that everyone was watching me. Marie started to comment but closed her mouth as Mother Faa continued.

'There is a man in your future.'

'That's good,' Marie was of too amiable a nature not to comment. 'Isn't that good, Dorothea?'

I said nothing. I did not need a man. They were unnecessary, insidious complications and I liked things to be clean and straightforward. I had done with men and their lies and deceits and … Other things. I shook away the memories, knowing they would return later.

'Of course, it's good,' Gilbert gave his approval. 'Every woman needs a man and every man needs a woman.' He exchanged smiles with Marie.

'He will wear a uniform,' Mrs Faa said.

'Oh, that's even better,' Marie enthused. 'He'll be an officer, Dorothea, a Colonel maybe, or a brave Captain of cavalry.'

I thought of the officers that swaggered around Edinburgh with their scarlet uniforms, side whiskers and gold braid. I did not wish to have anything to do with them. 'I don't wish a man to control my life.'

'Oh, they're not that bad,' Emily glanced at James. 'We know you're not on the catch and some men are trustworthy.'

James gave a little smile. 'Some.'

'Not many,' I knew that I was insulting three of my companions and withdrew the statement. 'I do not mean anybody at this table.'

'We all know that, Dorothea.' Marie was always first to spread oil over troubled waters. She was a treasure, that girl, and I hoped that Gibbie Elliot valued her as such.

'I see trouble around you,' Mother Faa had waited for the comments to subside. 'I see trouble and the draining of wealth.' When she looked up, I saw concern deep in her shadowed eyes. 'Take care, Dorothea Flockhart, and be careful of the horned beast that will bring death or happiness.'

'The horned beast?' I said. 'What does that mean?'

Mother Faa skiffed the cards together. 'I do not interpret what the cards tell me. I only tell you what I see.'

'How on earth can you see a horned beast?' I asked. 'There was nothing like that in the cards, only faces and figures.'

Mother Faa put her cards together. 'Your life is set to change.' Standing up, she walked out of the room, leaving me to my thoughts and the remorseless ticking of the clock. Talk of a possible future had awakened nightmares from my past.

'A man in a uniform,' Elizabeth Campbell said. 'How wonderful, Dorothea. You never know, we may have you married off before we pass another twelve-month.'

'Unless the horned beast comes for me,' I tried to make a jest of it. I did not feel like jesting. It was five minutes after midnight, and I wished I had never come that night.

Chapter One

I gasped as the coach jolted over a rut. 'I wish somebody would do something about these roads.'

Emily nodded. She peered out of the window. 'We're nearly there now.' She smiled. 'It's not like you to go to this sort of expedition, Dorothea. You must have taken Mother Faa's words to heart.'

'You mean I should search for a man with a uniform?' I shook my head. 'No, Emily, I only wish a distraction. I am not interested in finding a man.' No man would want to know me, once he discovered my past.

Emily frowned. 'Why not, Dorothea? You can't live alone all your life. Don't you wish a husband to look after you?'

'I don't need a man to look after me, thank you. I can look after myself very well.'

I must have sounded testy for Emily gave me a sideways look, softened with a small smile. 'There are other benefits of marriage.'

'You mean money?' I decided to be deliberately obtuse. 'I have sufficient for my needs.'

'I did not only mean money.' Emily said. 'I meant something quite different.' She lowered her voice, no doubt in case she shocked the driver or frightened the horses. 'I mean the physical side of things.'

'Oh, that.' I said. I knew too much about the physical side of things.

'Yes, that.' Emily touched my arm. 'It's comforting to have a man who loves you. It is quieting to have a man hold you at night.'

I nodded. 'I'm sure it is.' I closed that subject.

Emily peered at me across the width of the coach. 'Am I making you uncomfortable?'

I shook my head. 'No, Emily. I am quite all right.'

'Mother Faa was correct,' Emily said. 'You do have secrets. You never talk about yourself.' The carriage jolted again, throwing her against me. We disentangled ourselves, with Emily laughing. 'I declare that I will be one large bruise by the time we reach Portobello.'

'Travelling does have its discomforts,' I agreed and relapsed into my accustomed silence as we followed the road.

'Look!' Emily tapped her finger on the window. 'We're here.'

I looked outside where the long cold waves splintered into froth along the sand. A flotilla of seagulls paraded above, searching for prey under the grey clouds. Compared to the brilliant colours and heat of Bengal, this east coast of Scotland was a dismal place in early winter.

'This is where they will land.' Emily held onto my arm. 'Right here.' She indicated the long sweep of Portobello beach. 'Look!' A troop of cavalry practised their swordsmanship on a row of turnips set on stakes.

They look the part,' I said. The cavalry wore splendid scarlet coats with blue collar and cuffs, silver breeches, black boots and helmets complete with leopard skin crest and white hackles. 'If ornamental uniforms could win wars Boney would take one look and surrender.'

Emily smiled. 'They are doing their best.'

One cavalryman made a galloping run and slashed at the nearest turnip. 'Cut them down, the villains, cut them down!' His sabre missed the vegetable by a wide margin.

'If that is an example of our defenders, Boney has little to concern himself with,' I said.

'That gentleman is the Quartermaster of the Royal Edinburgh Volunteer Light Dragoons,' Emily said after a moment's scrutiny. 'Walter Scott. He's an Edinburgh solicitor and a bit of a quiz.'

'I see,' I said, watching as the legal warrior dismounted and limped along the beach. 'I hope that our regular soldiers are more skilled than the Volunteers.'

Emily nodded. 'I don't believe you will be setting your cap at Mr Scott, then.'

'I don't believe I will,' I nearly rebuked Emily for using such a commonplace expression but forbore. It was not her fault that I was in a foul mood.

'The army will be waiting if the Frenchies come.' Emily was always forgiving. It was one reason I liked her.

I imagined the scene with the barges full of blue-coated soldiers approaching the bay, their bow-guns flaring orange as they fired at the defenders, the tricolour displayed at the stern and the hammer of artillery drowning the sound of the surf. 'Yes.' It was an inadequate response.

'It could be next month, or next week,' Emily gripped tighter. 'It could be tomorrow.' She looked out to sea as if the French fleet might rise from beneath the waves.

That might be so.' I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders against the smirr of rain. 'Let's hope Nelson can keep them at bay. When does this thing start, Emily?'

'Soon. Look!' Emily pointed. 'Here are the ships!'

I saw them, ten single-masted gunboats creeping under sweeps across the chopped water of the Firth of Forth. Each had a white spume of spray at her bow and wore the Union Flag on her stern; presumably, in case we thought the French had indeed come to infest the Forth.

'Nelson would be proud,' I said.

'Or Admiral Duncan,' Emily waved her handkerchief to the gunboats.

'The army will be here soon, then,' I looked around. A crowd was beginning to gather along the beach, men and women and families come to watch the fun. A couple of collie dogs gambolled, furiously barking as they ran from person to person. A group of children ran to the waves and paddled while their mothers endeavoured to take them to drier ground. A less warlike scene would be hard to imagine.

Emily grabbed my arm. 'Listen!'

I heard the sweet trilling of fifes and the rhythmic tap of the drum. It is strange that the military makes such evocative melodies, pretty sounds to encourage men to march to their slaughter. The music accompanied the gaudy uniforms, both hiding the reality of warfare. I despised the senseless mass-murder as one group of rulers decided they wanted to control another group and all the people in that segment of land should expose themselves to agony and death on behalf of a coloured flag. All the same, I felt my toe tapping on the soft sand.

'Here they come.' I allowed Emily to show me a small group of mounted officers riding erect and proud above the crowd, closely followed by the Colours bouncing in military splendour. Behind them came a black column of shakoes, each resplendent with a blue plume, side by side with the barrels of muskets and the broad blades of pikes.

'That's the Third Battalion Midlothian Volunteers,' a knowledgeable man in a tall hat told his wife. 'They're to defend the beach against the Navy.'

'Oh, I see.' The wife looked bored. She pulled a child close to her and wiped its perfectly clean nose.

'Make way, there!' A tall red-faced major shouted and a host of sergeants reinforced his words, pushing at us with hard words and horizontal halberds until we backed away from the beach.

'I hope that's not your uniformed officer.' Emily said. 'He looks out of temper with the world.'

I smiled. 'I have no intention of finding an officer, whatever Mother Faa might say.' I watched the major hectoring a trio of junior officers with language that he should hesitate to use in front of ladies. I had no wish to ever meet such a man, let alone have him in my life.

'I have never heard so many oaths,' Emily said. 'That major is quite a card. He should be on stage.'

I nodded. 'He would draw a crowd for his language alone.'

Within a remarkably short period, the Volunteers had cleared us off the beach so they could practise fighting the French.

These sort of military Field Days were fairly common when we waited in daily expectation of Boney's Frenchmen invading. As well as giving the militia and the Volunteers the opportunity of improving their military skills, it provided free entertainment for crowds of people, a chance for some recruiting and plenty of purses for the busy pick-pockets to snatch.

The gunboats formed in line abreast half a mile off Portobello. Despite my dislike of wars, I could not help but watch. The boats were three cables-lengths apart and with a cluster of men around the six-pounder cannon in the bows. I saw the puff of smoke around each gun a second before I heard the crack of the shots.

'Oh, they're firing! How exciting!' Emily clapped her hands together, the white calfskin gloves making little sound against the rising clamour of the crowd.

The foul-mouthed major shouted more orders, and the Volunteers spread out to form two long red lines, the line in front carrying muskets and the one in the rear with the long pikes.

'Why don't they all carry muskets?' Emily asked. 'They could kill more Frenchmen then.'

'Oh, you bloodthirsty thing!' I rebuked her. 'I don't think they possess any more muskets. That's why they have pikes.'

'It's very mediaeval,' Emily said. I did not argue. It seemed strange that a nation as rich as Britain should arm its men with weapons similar to those used by Spartan hoplites or Wallace's freedom-fighters.

The gunboats were closer now so I could make out the faces of the crews, who cheered and shouted like madmen and waved cutlasses and muskets in the air. The cannons fired again, causing Emily to start.

'Oh, my goodness. I do hope nobody gets hurt.'

'They're only firing powder,' I reassured her. 'Not solid ball.'

'Do you think so?'

'I hope so,' I said. 'We've few enough men to defend the country without killing them off in Field Days.'

With white powder smoke adding to the rain, vision was unclear, so we only saw the left flank of the Volunteers, with the double scarlet line becoming more obscure as it stretched toward Joppa in the east. The gunboats were now a couple of hundred yards from the shore with the crews still bunching in the bows. The cannons roared again, echoed by the major's hectoring voice.

The front rank of Volunteers stepped smartly forward until they stood at the line of surf. The major strode along the line, while half a dozen other officers stood at regular distances.

'What about him?' Emily indicated a tall captain. 'He's handsome enough, surely.' She gave a sly smile. 'If I were not married to James I would give him a second look, and a third.'

'I'm not looking for an officer,' I said, 'whatever Mother Faa said.' I wished I had not gone to Emily's house that evening.

'He's a very handsome captain,' Emily insisted, turning her head to one side for a better look.

'You can have him, then,' I nudged her forward.

'I'm married!' Emily tried to look shocked.

'Then neither of us is interested.' I said.

The Volunteers stood at rigid attention until the major shouted again. The long brown muskets came up, the men aimed and then fired a rolling volley that sounded like hell's thunder.

'My! What a noise!' Emily clutched my arm in delight.

At the major's orders, the second line of Volunteers formed into four columns.

The volley of blanks failed to stop the gunboats, which ground onto the sand about fifty yards further out. The crews immediately jumped into the shallow water with a loud splashing and yelling and waving of cutlasses andboarding pikes.

'They're active enough but not quite Boney's Invincibles.' Emily crushed her handkerchief in both hands, her eyes bright. 'Isn't this exciting?'

The major gave an incomprehensible order, and the first Volunteer line fired another volley of blanks and then formed four great gaps through which the columns of pikemen charged. One unfortunate fellow slipped, jammed the point of his pike into the ground and came down in a tangle of scarlet jacket and white trousers. The others advanced at the run and jabbed at the seamen with their long pikes. For a moment the line of surf and gunboats became a mock-battlefield, although not all the strokes were in jest as warriors of the land and the sea threw more than a few shrewd blows in earnest.

Within a few moments, and possibly in a pre-determined outcome, the seamen turned around and pushed their boats back into deeper water. The sweeps frantically flailed as they withdrew.

'Well, that's Boney defeated again,' Emily sounded satisfied.

'I wish it were that easy.' I watched the Volunteers congratulate each other as the major passed around a silver flask to the officers. The handsome captain was smiling, his teeth white against a tanned face. I looked away without having to remind myself that I had no interest.

A civilian in a low-crowned hat as battered as his face, and old-fashioned knee breeches that had seen better days hurried through the Volunteers to help the fallen pikeman.

'There's another noble fellow there,' Emily nodded to a be-whiskered lieutenant who presented his profile to us. His chin was nearly as prominent as his nose.

'I don't believe I should like him.' I said. 'Come, Emily, the rain is getting heavy now.' I watched the battered civilian help the pikeman to his feet. His gentleness contrasted with the seeming indifference of the soldiers. The two men limped away together, with the civilian balancing the long pike on his left shoulder. Eventually, the tall captain strolled across and took the pike. I watched the other officers drinking and laughing together, and my opinion of them dropped even further. At least the captain had tried to help, I thought, grudgingly, albeit a little late.

With our parasols giving little protection from the increasingly heavy rain, we hurried to the carriage. Emily squealed as she stepped into a deep puddle, and we hunched our shoulders and tried to push through the crowd. When we first arrived the road had been comparatively quiet, but now our carriage stood in the middle of a whole row of chariots, carriages and country carts. The horses drooped under the rain, while the drivers sought what shelter they could and exchanged desultory conversation as they smoked their pipes. There were farmers in their best blue coats and broad-brimmed hats, with smart knee-breeches and shining brass buckles on their shoes; there were a scattering of hillmen with black-and-white collie dogs and a few ploughmen with clay on their boots and gay gaiters. Mainly though, there were city folk and townsfolk out to see the soldiers, white-faced clerks and their simpering wives, brewers and distillers, shop assistants, sharp-faced lawyers and solemn men from the university.

One mulberry coloured coach stood apart from the rest, with a handsome coachman sitting in front with his fancy hammercloth cape resplendent with lace and his tricorn hat dripping with water. On either side of the door, a liveried footman paraded his yellow uniform with a short jacket and breeches so tight I feared for the wearer should they ever have to bend.

The carriage door was open, and an elderly lady sat inside with her white well-coiled hair dry and her hands sparkling with rings.

'Good afternoon, your Ladyship' Emily gave a deep curtsey.

'Good evening Mrs Napier.'

'May I present my friend Miss Dorothea Flockhart?' Emily touched my arm.

'Good evening,' I gave a curtsey, wondering who this quiz may be.

'This is Lady Pluscarden.' Emily made the introduction.

'Most people just call me Pluscarden.' Her Ladyship's smile was warmer than I had expected as she leaned closer to me. 'You will see that I don't venture out of my chariot on wet days. Why should I, when I can sit here and admire two handsome men?' Her laugh could have come from a youth of seventeen rather than a woman who had probably passed her allotted three score years and ten. 'Take your pleasures where you find them, ladies, and don't stint.' She lowered her voice. 'Find a man with a broad chest and a shapely rump, and you are never short of entertainment.'

We curtsied again, but I could not help but liking Lady Pluscarden.

'Lady Pluscarden has her fancies,' Emily whispered with a twinkle in her eye. 'That's why the footmen have such tight breeches,'

'Mrs Napier,' I pretended to be scandalised. 'You are shocking.'

'I know,' Emily stopped, tipped her parasol to one side and peered around it at Lady Pluscarden's servants. 'I do appreciate her point, though. I prefer the man on the right. He has a delightful shape down there.'

'Emily!' I shook my head in mock despair. 'Poor James! Does he know what he has married?'

'That's one reason he married me,' Emily's smile was as smug as anything I had ever seen.

'Miss Flockhart,' Lady Pluscarden waved me back. 'Where have we met before?' Her eyes were shrewd as she lifted a glass to her lips.

My heart began to race. 'I don't believe we have, your Ladyship.'

Lady Pluscarden's eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps I know your mother?'

'My mother is dead, your Ladyship.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Lady Pluscarden said. 'Nevertheless, I am sure we have met.' She sipped at her drink. 'No matter, I'm sure it will come to me. Have a pleasant drive back.'

'Thank you, your Ladyship,' I gave another curtsey and hurriedly withdrew.

'That was strange,' Emily said. 'I said you were a mystery. Now, which carriage is ours? They all look the same to me.'

I was still shaking from Lady Pluscarden's question. 'You'd better not let James hear you say that, either. He is proud of his carriage.'

'Oh, one chariot looks much the same as another to me,' Emily tried to shake the mud and water off her left leg. 'Oh, there it is, it's the blue one with the gold trim. Now, where's Peter? Can you see our coachman, Dorothea?'

By that time an easterly wind had driven in the rain from the sea, and it fairly pelted down. We were sodden from bonnet to boots and would have been quite miserable had we not met Lady Pluscarden with her peculiarities and tight-breeched footmen. Emily opened the coach door, and we piled in, glad of the shelter.

'Is that you back then, Ma'am?' Peter, the coachman, appeared from somewhere, tucking his pipe inside his cloak. 'Are we set to go to Flotterstone?'

'Yes, please Peter,' Emily removed her bonnet and shook it to get rid of the worst of the wet. 'Take Miss Flockhart home first. We can't have her walking in this.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' Peter was a middle-aged man with quiet eyes. 'Will that be Thistle Street, Ma'am?'

'Yes, please, Peter,' I said. At that minute the prospect of being safely home was most desirable. I could not think why I had adventured so far out of town at all. Yet the memory of Lady Pluscarden's bright eyes was worth remembering, and I wished that I could be as lively and interested at her age.

'It might take some time for all this to clear, Ma'am.' Peter indicated the queues of carriages and carts.

'Oh, just get us home, Peter!' Emily was beginning to get a little testy.

'Yes, Ma'am.' Peter touched a hand to his hat and climbed onto the driver's seat.

Driving through congested traffic is never easy. Driving through congested traffic in what was now a torrential downpour must have been a nightmare for poor Peter. To judge by the snarls and outbursts of colourful language, the other drivers thought the same. We jolted away from Portobello in a confusion of horses and grinding wheels, with the occasional bump as one coachman jostled past another, although fortunately, Peter was efficiently skilled or sufficiently fortunate, to avoid scraping James's prize coach.

'Will we never get out of this?' Emily said, and then, 'Oh, here we are now,' as Peter eased us past the worst of the crowd and cracked his whip. The horses responded with a will, stretching their legs to pull us along at a much more suitable pace.

As you may know, the road from Portobello to Edinburgh passes through some bleak and unpopulated countryside before it reaches Jock's Lodge and the cavalry barracks at Piershill. At one time this area had been the haunt of footpads and sorners and such like undesirables so when Peter began to slow down we were naturally perturbed.

'Peter!' Emily rapped on the ceiling of the carriage. 'What are you doing now? Why are we slowing?'

'Sorry, Ma'am. There is a problem with the wheel.'

'Oh, dear God! Will you get us home today, Peter?'

'I can try, Ma'am.' Peter sounded doubtful.

'Get as far as you can.' Emily said. 'We might be able to hire a post-chaise from a stable somewhere.' She looked out of the window at the drear countryside and said quietly, 'if they have such a thing in this forlorn place.'

However, it was only five minutes later that the coach gave a tremendous lurch to the side. Emily screamed and grabbed me for support as we slewed to a grinding halt. We ended up pressed against the door in a clutching tangle of cloaks and bonnets and dresses. I heard the horses neighing and Peter swearing as he quietened them down.

'Are you all right?' I took hold of Emily.

'Yes, thank you.' She looked up, straightening her clothes, 'what's happened?'

I looked out of the window. 'We've lost a wheel,' I said. 'We won't be going any further until it's fixed.'

'How are the horses? How is Peter? Is anybody hurt?' That was Emily at her best, and I warmed to her anew.

Peter had left his perch to tend to the horses. 'No,' I said. 'Everybody's fine.'

I raised my voice. 'Peter! Is there a stable nearby?'

'There's one at Jock's Lodge,' Peter said at once. 'About two miles ahead. Shall I go and find a wheelwright?'

'Yes, Peter. You do that.' Emily sighed. 'And be as quick as you can, mind.'

'Yes, Ma'am.' Peter looked in on us for a moment. 'You ladies sit tight here, and I'll be back soon.'

I saw Peter tramp head down into the driving rain. 'We can do nothing but wait,' I said to Emily, 'so we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible.'

I looked around. Dusk was already falling and together with the rain made the countryside even more dismal and lonely. I sighed; this was not how I had expected the day would go.

'I hope there are no footpads around,' Emily nearly voiced my thoughts. 'It's getting dark.'

Putting my hand within my travelling cloak, I touched the smooth walnut butt of the pistol. I knew it would not let me down, for Joseph Manton, the best gunsmith of the age, had made it for me. I was not scared of footpads, although I carried the pistol for quite another man. A man I hoped never to meet again. I closed my eyes, imagining the bark and kick of the piece under my hand, the orange spurt of flame and the cloud of acrid white smoke. His unhealthy white face haunted my thoughts.

'It will be all right, Emily,' I said.

'It's very dark.'

'It will be all right. I promise you.' I gripped the butt of my Joseph Manton again. Part of me desperately hoped that some footpad would come so I could shoot him. I pushed that thought away. I would not descend to that level; I could not for I might never crawl back up again.

We were in a dip of the road with a couple of wind-tortured hawthorn trees sagging under the rain and potholes rapidly filling with water. What I could see of the surroundings appeared monotonous, a dreary wasteland with scattered sad bushes.

Emily cleared a circle of condensation from the window and peered outside. 'How horrid,' she said. 'There could even be dragons out there.' She forced a smile. 'Marie would keep as amused if she were here. She has such a sweet peculiarity of manner.'

'She's getting married next week,' I reminded. 'Distract yourself by thinking of that.'

'It feels as if we will never get away from here.' Emily smeared the condensation from another section of the window. 'I swear that rain is getting heavier. Maybe James will come looking for us.'

'We have his chariot,' I reminded. 'He will find it hard to come this distance on foot.'

'He's got Jessica, his horse.'

I nodded, and we relapsed into silence, listening to the drum-beat of the rain on the carriage roof and the whine of wind through the coarse grass. I do not know how much time passed before I heard the soft clop of hooves in the mud. I curled my hand around the pistol butt as my heart-beat increased.

'Halloa!' The voice echoed hollowly in the dark.

I looked at Emily. 'That's not Peter.' I placed my thumb on the hammer of the pistol.

'Halloa! In the coach there!'

Keeping my hand on the pistol, I opened the door and peered outside. A lone horseman was negotiating the slope to the carriage. Surely a highwayman would not announce himself?

'Halloa yourself,' I called. 'Who are you?'

'George Rogers' the reply was quick and clear. 'Do you need help?'

'Yes,' Emily replied for me as she thrust her head out of the open door. 'Yes, we do.'

The horseman reined up beside us. He sat tall in the saddle, with a dark cloak covering him from neck to heels yet there was no disguising his military bearing.

George Rogers dismounted and nodded to the broken wheel. 'Has your driver gone for help?'

'He's gone to Jock's Lodge to find a stable.' I confirmed.

'How long ago?' George Rogers was pleasingly direct.

'He's been about two hours as far as I can judge.' I resolved to buy a watch as soon as I could.

Rogers nodded. 'He'll have arrived long ago. He should be back within an hour unless you wish me to ride ahead and hurry him up?'

'Oh, no, please stay with us,' Emily spoke quickly. 'There may be footpads around.'

Rogers examined the wheel and grunted. 'There may be,' he said, 'and a stranded coach with a broken wheel and two wet lady passengers would be a tempting target indeed.' He glanced at us. 'Two very wet lady passengers.' Unfastening his cloak, he revealed the splendid uniform of a captain in the Volunteers. 'You are both shivering, but I only have one cloak.'

'Mrs Napier feels the cold more acutely than I do.' I said.

'Then Mrs Napier shall have my cloak,' Captain Rogers said.

I acknowledged the chivalry with a brief curtsey. 'I know you,' I said. 'You were at the Field Day.'

'I was indeed.' Captain George Rogers said. 'I saw you watching us.'

He was the tall and handsome captain who had carried the injured soldier's pike.

Emily wrapped Rogers' cloak around her. 'Thank you.'

'I hope you are not too cold,' Captain Rogers said to me.

I thanked him for his concern and turned away. I had no desire for anything more than a casual acquaintanceship, even if the captain was handsome, or perhaps especially if the captain was handsome.

Emily had no such inhibitions. 'Where are your men, Captain Rogers?'

'The major is marching them back to the Castle' Rogers said, 'and I have you two to myself.'

I was not sure if Captain Rogers' presence made things easier or harder. Emily undoubtedly felt safer with a tall soldier in our company, while the cloak helped keep her warmer. I, however, was uncomfortable in his presence, as I was uneasy in the presence of any single man, and most married men. I moved slightly further away from him and stared into the dark.

'Hurry up, Peter,' I muttered, too loudly, for Rogers heard me.

'He'll be here in good time,' the captain said.

'I'm sure you're right.' I watched the rain teeming down and listened as one of the horses whinnied.

'I'll be back directly,' Rogers said and stepped out of the coach and spoke to each horse in turn.

'The captain is good with the horses,' Emily said.

'Many men prefer horses to women,' I watched the captain stand in the driving rain for quite some time before he returned to the shelter of the coach. 'And some men think that both women and horses are merely beasts for the convenience of themselves.'

'Somebody is coming,' Captain Rogers called out. 'You ladies remain here until I investigate.' He launched himself onto his horse, touched a hand to the hilt of his sabre, kicked in his heels and rode off in a shower of spray and mud.

'How gallant,' Emily said. 'Don't you agree, Dorothea?'

I watched Emily's gallant captain mount the slope and disappear into the dark. 'He makes a fine show,' I said.

There was the sound of rough voices, a low laugh and then Peter was with us together with a group of half-shaved men and a barouche that had seen better days. 'This is the best I could get,' Peter patted the body of the barouche as if it was a living creature rather than an elderly carriage. 'It will get us back home, and these lads say they'll fix our wheel and return the coach first thing in the morning.'

'Oh, Peter, you are a saint,' Emily shouted. 'You are the rock on which we all depend.'

'I hope you were all right out here in the wilds,' Peter said. 'I took longer than I expected.'

'We were fine,' I said. 'You did well, Peter.'

'We had a white knight,' Emily said. A gallant captain of cavalry was here to protect us from sorners, blackguards, Frenchmen, footpads, Highwaymen and dragons.'

'Fortunately, not one member of that formidable list appeared,' our white knight said. 'If I was able to set your minds at rest, ladies, then I am glad of it. Now I must get back to the regiment in case they list me as a deserter.' Lifting his hand in farewell, he kicked in his spurs and set off at an impressive trot, and that was the end of that damp little adventure. I neither expected nor desired to see the captain again, gallant though he may have been.

Chapter Two

I must have attended fifty weddings in my life, and most merge into my memory as a confusion of swirling gowns and long speeches, handsome men gradually succumbing to an excess of alcohol and weary-eyed women reminiscing quietly of their youth. The marriage of Marie to Gilbert Elliot was not quite of that ilk.

It was 15th November 1803, dull and dismal but thankfully not wet. I had to hire a post-chaise and driver, for Marie and Gibbie had chosen to marry at the church at Crichton, about fourteen miles south of Edinburgh. Perhaps you know Edinburgh, but if not, then pray forgive me while I explain something of the geography of my native city as it was back then.