Part 20 (1/2)

”Andrew, I don't know how to find a solicitor!”

”Go to the House of Jarvis and Sons, you know, the agents of my London bankers. They'll help you.”

”Andrew, I'm afraid.” She held on to him with trembling hands.

He took them into his and whispered: ”Helen, remember, you're a MacGregor!”

A nervous chuckle escaped her.

”I love you.” He squeezed her right hand and then turned abruptly away, nodding to the constable. The latter opened the door for him and then led the way. After two hundred feet, Andrew quickly looked back. Helen stood at the entrance of the inn, watching them.

While walking down High Street, he attempted to milk the constable about the robbery at Sir Hugh Stafford's estate, but without success. The taciturn constable was not forthcoming with any details, simply repeating that the magistrate would instruct the gentleman of all the necessary details. This only increased his apprehension. Being accused of stealing a horse, and possibly even more, was not a trifling matter. If convicted, he was liable to be transported to the colonies. This wasn't the way he wanted to go to America. He cursed himself again for having been so gullible to buy the beautiful stallion. Why had he been so blinded by his beauty? He knew the reputation of the MacGregors of Balquhidder, he should have suspected that the horse had been stolen. At the least, he should have insisted on getting a receipt. This would have gone a long way toward proving his innocence. He racked his brain to discover another way of proving that he wasn't the thief, but only another of his victims. If he could find out when the robbery had occurred, he should be able to establish his innocence by showing that he had been nowhere near the scene of the crime. But to find witnesses who would remember him and willing to provide sworn statements or even get them into Glasgow could easily take two or three weeks. What would happen to him and to Helen in the meantime? Her father might be able to track them down by then. And how did the authorities find out about the horse being back in town? Who denounced them? The innkeeper? His ruminations were cut short when they reached the tolbooth.

The constable briefly conversed with the clerk in the entrance hall. The latter ushered them into a sizable office and instructed them to wait for the provost, the chief magistrate of the burgh. An impressive oak desk, intimidating by its very size, stared at Andrew, the blinding light of the windows reflected on its polished surface. The constable stood on guard to his left.

The wait became interminable. The provost himself would see him! That didn't augur well. It did nothing to sooth his anxiety.

Finally, a tall, gaunt man, a yellowing peruke carelessly thrown on his head and a magistrate's cloak covering his shoulders, entered the room through a door at its back, followed by a younger man of medium height. With the light of the two windows behind the provost, his features were difficult to discern. He could have been anywhere from fifty to seventy. Only his slight forward stoop hinted that he might be closer to seventy. Without acknowledging Andrew or the constable, he seated himself behind the desk. The clerk placed an open, leather-bound book in front of him and then sat at a small table next to the desk, opening another book and looking expectantly to the magistrate, quill in hand. The latter scanned the open page for several minutes and then raised his gaze, fixing two piercing eyes on Andrew for a few seconds, as if to read his mind directly without the need for questioning.

”What is your name, young man?” His voice was dry and brittle. A small cough accompanied his question.

”My name is Andrew Matthew Campbell, your Honor.”

In comparison to Andrew's impeccable English accent, the provost's broad manner of speech sounded uncouth. The clerk began to write busily.

A slight raising of his eyebrows was the old man's only sign of acknowledgment, his eyes boring even more intensely into Andrew. ”And where do you live?”

”I have no fixed abode currently, as my wife and I are on our way to England, your Honor.”

”Where did you then live before?”

”I have traveled greatly these last four years in England and studied on the continent, your Honor.” Without waiting for the obvious next question, he continued: ”I grew up in Argyle, your Honor, and studied four years at the university in Edinburgh.” He hoped that this last fact would duly impress the magistrate, but the latter's expression betrayed nothing.

”Since you claim to be a Campbell, are you not from Balquhidder?”

”No, your Honor, I never lived there, nor are the Campbells of the MacGregor clan of Balquhidder any relations of mine. I am a Campbell from Argyle, Inveraray, to be precise.” He did not add that he was the son of the Duke of Argyle. But that fact reminded him of his rights. ”Your Honor, before I answer any further questions, I humbly beg to know what I am accused of and by whom.”

The magistrate scrutinized him intensely for several seconds. ”You stand here accused to be in possession of a horse that was stolen from the estate of Sir Hugh Stafford at Balmore. You were seen riding the horse in question through Balmore yesterday by the stable master of Sir Hugh who had you followed to The Good Shepherd... How did you come into possession of this horse, Mr. Campbell?” He put a sneering emphasis on the name.

Andrew vaguely remembered noticing another rider a few hundred feet behind them as they had ridden toward Glasgow. Trying to remain composed and calm, he answered: ”Your Honor, I purchased this beautiful horse from James Drummond of Balquhidder just three days ago, so that my wife and I could travel faster. I paid twenty guineas for it.”

And then came the question Andrew was afraid of. ”Do you have any proof of this? Did you get a receipt for the purchase?”

”No, your Honor. As is the custom in the Highlands, the deal was sealed with a handshake.”

”So you have no proof?” It was more an observation than a question. The magistrate conversed with his clerk in a low voice, nodding, and then continued: ”There is thus only your word that you purchased it. Under these circ.u.mstances, I have no choice but to detain you in the tolbooth until your guilt or innocence can be declared.”

He doesn't believe me, went through Andrew's mind. ”Forgive me, your Honor, but it should not be difficult to establish that I purchased the horse from James Drummond,” he interjected, realizing immediately that if Drummond had stolen the horse, which he now thought was a certainty, he would also deny selling it to him. Getting close to panic, he tried to think of other ways to prove his innocence. ”I traveled through Scotland these last seven weeks and people I stayed with can testify that I was nowhere near Balmore at the time the theft was perpetrated, your Honor.”

”Then tell the clerk the places and people you stayed with, so that they may be contacted.”

Andrew began to recount the dates and places he had visited, but was promptly interrupted by the magistrate.

”You say that five weeks ago you left Edinburgh on your way to Perth, Mr. Campbell?” Again the disparaging emphasis of his name.

”Yes, your Honor.”

”So you could easily have made a small detour through Balmore and that would place you exactly at the scene of the crime when it was perpetrated. Young man, this does not look good. Statements from the people you visited will not be of any help to you, except to confirm that you were in the area at the time of the theft.”

Ignoring the magistrates raised hand to silence him, Andrew exclaimed: ”But your Honor, if I had stolen the horse, I would hardly be so foolish as to bring it back into these parts and ride it past the estates of Sir Hugh.”

The color of the provost's face turned dark at this bold impertinence to speak out of turns. Again, he bored his eyes into him and retorted scornfully: ”We know all about the arrogant brazenness of the Campbells of Balquhidder...”

Andrew wanted to protest, but the magistrate raised his voice. ”Mr. Campbell, I will order to have the horse in question sequestered until the stable master of Sir Hugh has had the opportunity to verify whether it belongs to his lords.h.i.+p. In the meantime, you will remain in custody. Constable, convey the prisoner to the tolbooth to have him locked up securely!”

”But your Honor, I am innocent. I did not steal that horse.”

The magistrate rose, ignoring his plea, and slowly retreated from the room by the same door he had entered. The clerk closed the book in which he had been writing during the interrogation, collected the other one from the magistrate's desk, and followed him from the room. Andrew remained standing in front of the desk, dumbfounded at the turn of events. Everything seemed to be stacked against him. At every step, the interrogation had dragged him deeper into trouble. And the provost clearly didn't believe him. In fact, Andrew had the distinct impression that the man had made up his mind about his guilt the moment he had heard the name Campbell. What irony to be accused of belonging to the notorious MacGregors of Balquhidder, when he and Helen had just been running away from their cousins! The constable's hand on his arm and firm order to follow him pressed home the precariousness of his situation.

14.

Helen watched Andrew leave the entrance hall with the constable. Every cell in her body cried out to rush after him. With difficulties she restrained herself and went slowly outside to see him disappear where High Street turned slightly to the right. She was alone! Knew n.o.body in this town. What was she going to do now? Rising panic gripped her. What if they throw Andrew in jail? What if her father tracks her down while he's kept there? What if he never comes out again? Don't they hang horse thieves? It took all her willpower not to run after him. Dismayed she looked at the bouquet of white flowers in her left hand and tears blurred her vision. Then she heard again his voice: ”Helen, remember, you're a MacGregor!” She took a deep breath. Her man had reminded her of the pride of her clan! She must not panic now. She owed it to him. Resolutely, she pushed her chin forward and reentered the inn.

She was hardly through the door, when the innkeeper rushed to her and exclaimed: ”My dear lady, your continued presence will harm the reputation of this G.o.d-fearing establishment. You must leave right away.”

Helen's first reaction was to tell him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to do anything of the sort, that her husband would be cleared promptly of any wrongdoing. But she also instantly realized that in all likelihood the horse had been stolen by the MacGregors of Balquhidder, and therefore Andrew would be kept in jail as the prime suspect, unless he could prove his innocence. And her cousins would deny selling it to him. The curse of the MacGregors catching up with her!

Her thoughts turned to what she must do now. Wouldn't it be better to find a less conspicuous inn where she could more easily hide with the horses? The innkeeper would have to attest that he ordered her to leave. And, without the evidence, wouldn't they have to let Andrew go, and then they could flee? Maybe she should even try to get rid of the stallion. If she could replace it with another black horse, Andrew would be in the clear. Scheming like this, she changed her mind and meekly acquiesced to the innkeeper's demand, asking him how much they owed and settling the account.

Less than half an hour later she rode the brown mare out of the inn's yard, the black stallion in tow. At first she was at a loss of where to go. Almost without thinking she guided the horse down High Street where Andrew had gone with the constable. But soon her scheming resumed. She must find a place, somewhere out of the way.

A quarter mile down the road, she entered Bun's Wynd. What if Andrew isn't imprisoned and comes back and she's gone? How were they going to find each other again? On impulse, she turned around, retracing her steps. Maybe she should secretly watch the inn until evening. But where could she leave the horses? Then she remembered pa.s.sing a cobbler at the beginning of Bun's Wynd. She could ask him to repair the mare's saddle while she waited. Then it wouldn't be suspicious if she stuck around. In the meantime she could keep an eye on the inn. Suddenly, she was glad of Andrew's foresight to give her most of his cash. It made things easier not to also have to worry about money.

She begged, and the cobbler relented, promising to have the saddle fixed by six o'clock. He agreed to keep both horses in his backyard, while she went shopping down High Street.

Wrapping herself in Andrew's riding coat, with a big kerchief hiding her hair and much of her face, she walked up and down High Street, keeping an eye on the inn. Time seemed to crawl. Occasionally, a bout of panic threatened to take hold of her again, but she fought it bravely. From the little bit she had seen of the city earlier that day, she recalled boats plying up and down the River Clyde to the south of Saltmarket Street. So somewhere there must be a river port with inns for sailors where she could hide if Andrew didn't return by six o'clock.

The bell of the nearby church steeple struck five times. She had just started going up High Street again, when she briefly looked over her shoulder and saw the constable, accompanied by two other policemen briskly march up the street. Sudden fright almost paralyzed her, but she tried to rea.s.sure herself that he would hardly recognize her. She ducked into a narrow alley between two houses, waited for them to pa.s.s, and then followed at a distance.

The constable entered the inn and came out again after a few minutes, the innkeeper closely behind him. The latter pointed down High Street. For an instant, Helen feared that he was pointing her out to the constable. The two talked for a short while, upon which the constable saluted stiffly and left hurriedly. They had come to fetch the stallion. So Andrew had been locked up in the tolbooth, was her devastating conclusion. Although she had expected this, now that it was a certainty, she felt suddenly weak and weepy. They will now also be on the lookout for her and the horse. With that her resolve hardened again.

She quickly returned to the cobbler, whose apprentice was just saddling the mare. After thanking and paying him, she skirted the city's periphery by various detours until she got to the Clyde. About a quarter mile upriver she saw a number of small vessels berthed along the river and a row of large, stark, and almost windowless buildings about fifty to a hundred feet back from the water. These must be warehouses. So this was the port.

Near the primitive wharf, she asked a little boy where she could find an inn and accepted his offer to guide her. Pointing to a two-storey building behind the warehouses, the boy said: ”Lady, that's her down there.”