An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (61 page)

“Dinner is served, my Lord,” the butler announced.

Lord Niall offered his arm to Lady Wrexham. She looked towards Iona for the first time.

“I regret we have no one to partner you, Miss Iona from France.”

“It will not be for long,” Lord Niall said quietly before Iona could reply.

Lady Wrexham looked at him and they both laughed. Iona could find no meaning either in Lord Niall’s words or in their joint merriment, but as she followed them towards the dining room, she wished that, like the Duchess, she had commanded dinner in her own bedchamber. But now it was too late.

They seated themselves at the table, Lord Niall taking the Duke’s place, Lady Wrexham on his right and Iona on his left. The big polished table seemed to stretch away endlessly and there was something ominous in its very emptiness.

Footmen hurried in with the dishes. A butler filled the crystal goblets with sparkling wine. Beatrice Wrexham’s red lips had just touched the glass when she looked across the table at Iona and raised it.

“To your secret ambitions,” she said and sipped the wine.

Iona did not know what to reply, the toast was ironical, and she knew that for her Ladyship’s eyes gleamed maliciously. There was a sudden sound of voices outside and the door opened.

“Captain Robert Moore, my Lord,” a footman announced. An officer strode into the room and two soldiers took up their positions just inside the door. The light of the candles shone on their red coats, white breeches and polished buttons. There was a sword hanging by the officer’s side and he carried his hat.

Lord Niall rose.

“Good evening, Captain Moore. Your visit is a surprise, but a pleasant one.”

“I come on duty, my lord,” Captain Moore said, his hard English voice seeming to echo round the walls.

“On duty?” Lord Niall queried. Captain Moore drew out a paper. He studied it and then said abruptly,

“I am instructed to arrest a young woman staying in this castle calling herself Iona Ward.”

14

Iona rose from the table, her face very white.

“I am Iona Ward,” she said in a low voice.

“Then I must request you, ma’am, to accompany me immediately to Fort Augustus,” the captain replied sharply. Iona looked over his shoulder at the two soldiers standing stiffly at attention but with their eyes fixed on hers. For a moment the room seemed to swim round her and she turned back towards Lord Niall.

“Can you account for – this, my Lord?” she stammered.

It was a cry of help although she would not humiliate herself to make it, but even as the words came from her lips, she saw the expression on Lord Niall’s face and the glint in his eyes and knew the answer.

Yes, indeed, he could account for it, though she had not meant her question to be answered so literally. He was responsible for her arrest, he and Lady Wrexham, who was watching her with a smile twisting her red lips.

It was they who had had her arrested, they who had been plotting against her. For a moment Iona stared at them and then her momentary faintness and hesitation were gone. She pulled herself up to her full height and there was an expression of utter contempt and disdain on her face as she said quietly,

“I understand.”

“What do you understand?” Lady Wrexham asked curiously. “Oh, poor Miss Ward, I cannot tell you how distressed we are that this unfortunate situation should have arisen. But doubtless it is only a mistake.”

“Your Ladyship does not deceive me,” Iona said, her voice cool and clear.

For a moment she faced the older woman proudly and then she swept to the ground in a curtsy.

“I will bid your Ladyship good night,’ she said. “Good night, my Lord.”

She rose to her feet.

“I am ready to accompany you, sir,” she said to the English Captain. “May I ask for a travelling cloak to put over my evening gown?”

“Most certainly,” Captain Moore replied.

He glanced towards one of the footmen, but hesitated as if wondering whether it would be correct for him to give the order.

Iona saw his hesitation and spoke first.

“Send for Cathy,” she said, “and tell her to bring me my grey cloak.”

“Very good, miss.”

The footman left the room.

“I will wait, if it pleases you, sir, in the Great Hall,” Iona said quietly to Captain Moore. “I have no desire to further disturb his Lordship’s dinner.”

Without waiting for permission she moved towards the doorway, her head held high as if it wore a crown, and passed between the two soldiers. She led the way to the Great Hall, the Captain following her, the soldiers behind him. The log fire had been lit in the big open fireplace at the far end and the candles were burning brightly in the sconces, but even so the huge place was cold and drear and the shadows in the arched roof and in the far corner by the Chair of Justice were dark and foreboding.

Iona remembered how Hector had stood in this hall, bound and threatened with an examination at Fort Augustus. He had escaped, but now it was her turn and there was no one to rescue her.

Her whole being cried out for the Duke. Then with a sudden sense of panic she wondered if he too had already been apprehended. Her anxiety for him was so intense that she felt she must make certain, but just as she was about to speak to the Captain she heard the patter of feet down the staircase and looking round she saw Cathy approaching with her cloak. The girl ran forward and there were tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

“Oh, mistress, mistress!” she exclaimed. “This canna be, it canna – ”

“Do not distress yourself, Cathy,” Iona said quietly. “There has undoubtedly been a mistake and I am sure that it will soon be explained. Has the Duke returned?”

“Nay, mistress, but canna ye wait for His Grace tae come hame? He wadna allow ane o’ his guests tae be treated in such a way, I ken weel.”

“You are certain His Grace has not yet returned?” Iona insisted.

Cathy shook her head.

“Nay, mistress, for I inquired o’ the footman who told me tae come tae ye.”

“Then wait for His Grace, Cathy, and inform him what has occurred the instant he returns.”

“Aye, I’ll dae that,” Cathy said, then she bent down suddenly and kissed Iona’s hand. “God keep ye, mistress.”

Iona put her arms round the girl’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Cathy, and be sure to tell His Grace where I have been taken.’

She looked then at the English Captain, conscious that he had been unexpectedly courteous and considerate in allowing her to talk with Cathy without interruption. For the first time she noticed that he was a very young man and that he held himself stiffly as if half afraid that he would not do the right thing. His features were well formed and there was an air of breeding about him.

“I am ready, sir,” Iona said, her eyes meeting his firmly.

It was he who looked away.

“There is a coach outside, ma’am,” he remarked, and his voice held a forced note as if he deliberately made it abrupt.

“I am indeed relieved that I will not have to walk to Fort Augustus,” Iona smiled.

She moved with an almost regal grace across the Great Hall, conscious at the same time of the military clang of the soldiers following her, their muskets on their shoulders.

Outside the door a coach was waiting. It was a large, vehicle painted black and sparsely cushioned, but nevertheless it was well sprung and Iona stepped into it with a feeling of relief. She had expected something much more austere.

Captain Moore seated himself beside her. The door was shut behind them and they heard one soldier scramble up beside the coachman and the other take his place behind where ordinarily a footman would have travelled.

There was a sudden awkward movement amongst the team of horses and then they were off.

Iona bent forward for a last glimpse of the great oak doorway of the castle, of the footmen in their claret coloured livery, of the massive grey walls and pinnacle towers dimly discernible in the twilight, and then the coach had turned and they were passing over the bridge and away from the castle.

Again she felt a wave of panic sweep over her, not of fear for where she was being taken, but a fear that she might never see Skaig again. It held everything, she thought, that meant anything to her. It was the home of the man she loved, a place, strangely enough, which in a very few days she had grown to think of as home. Now she was leaving it. When, if ever, would she return?

With a tremendous effort at self-control she forced herself to concentrate on the ordeal that lay before her. She would need all her wits, all her good sense if she were to face an examination by the Commander of the Fort and come through it unscathed. What could he have against her, she wondered? But whatever it was, she was certain that Lord Niall and Lady Wrexham had provided the evidence and that Sime had carried it to the Fort that very afternoon.

“What could they have said?” Iona asked herself. Suddenly she felt as if her heart had stopped in the sheer agony of knowing the answer. They must have found the notebook that Hector had given her for safekeeping. She remembered that last night before she had slept she had read her Bible, as was her usual custom.

The notebook had been there then. Now she guessed that during the day someone had discovered it. Perhaps it had not been a wise place to put anything so precious, but she could think of nowhere better.

She had indeed often wondered if she should give the notebook to Cathy, but she had felt that it was not fair to ask the girl to take any more risks than she had taken already. Inside the cover of her Bible was by no means a place of complete safety, yet who would search her room?

Iona knew the answer to that question. It would have been Lady Wrexham’s idea. And might she not have chosen a moment to send one of her servants to do the dirty work when she knew that Iona was out or engaged with her in conversation?

Very slowly, like the pieces of a puzzle, the whole plot fell into place. A deep sigh escaped Iona involuntarily. This was an ignominious ending to the high hopes she had entertained such a short while ago of fulfilling the Prince’s faith in her.

Now perhaps she would never see Paris again, the Prince would never know where the Duke’s allegiance lay, and the English spy watching Colonel Brett would never be discovered.

If only she were a man, she thought quickly, and could fling herself upon the Captain sitting opposite her, overpower him and make a dash across the moors. It might be easy in such circumstances to get to Inverness and set sail for France. But she was only a woman hampered by the wide hoops of her satin dress and by her heavy travelling cloak. There was nothing she could do and again she sighed.

A voice came out of the darkness.

“I regret, ma’am – ” Captain Moore began, but before he could say more, the horses were suddenly pulled up with a jerk.

“What has happened?” he exclaimed in a very different voice.

One of the soldiers scrambled down from the box and opened the door,

“There’s a body lyin’ across th’ road, sir.”

“A body?”

“Yea, an’ us reckons ’tis a woman. Shall us be after movin’ it, sir, or will yer ’ave a look at it?”

“I had best see for myself,” the Captain said.

He would have moved from the coach, but Iona put out her hand and stopped him.

“If it is a woman in trouble, may I come with you?”

The officer hesitated for a moment and as if her offer were some relief to him, he said hastily,

“Yes! Yes, you might be of service, for I cannot understand why a woman should be lying in the road.”

He descended from the coach. Iona allowed her hand to rest for an instant in his as she, too, stepped down on to the road. It was cold and very nearly dark and the wind had risen. It seemed to whistle round them bitingly.

One of the soldiers lifted one of the lanterns from off the side of the coach and, carrying it ahead, led them to where a woman lay in the roadway. The horses had stopped but a few feet from her, and Iona saw that she was sprawled out, the fingers of one hand almost touching the high bank of heather, her feet deep in the mud of a cart track.

The soldier held the lantern above her head. A black shawl covered her, but it was Iona who noticed first the curious position of her arm and of a bundle cuddled against her breast beneath the black shawl.

“There is a baby here!” she exclaimed.

She knelt down on the roadway and pulled back the shawl from the woman’s face. The eyes were closed. For a moment Iona thought that the woman had but fallen asleep, tired out, when something in the rigidity of the features and the pallor of the skin told her the truth. The woman was dead.

Very gently Iona tried to draw aside the rags that covered the bundle in her arms. Even in death the woman held it tightly and when at last the tiny head was disclosed there was not an instant’s doubt that the baby was dead too.

Iona drew it from the mother’s grasp. The rags that covered it fell away and revealed the tiny naked body of a very young child. It was little more than skin and bone, so thin and wizened that it was almost a skeleton. Quickly Iona covered it again and, still holding it in her arms, looked up at the Captain.

“This child and its mother, too, from all appearance have died of starvation,” she said coldly.

The soldier holding the lantern bent down, took a look at the woman’s face, and then straightened himself again.

“Oi can tell yer who this woman be, sir,” he said gruffly.

“Who is she?” Captain Moore asked.

“Her be one o’ the women from th’ crofts twenty mile away that us burns a week ago.”

“Do you mean the crofts near Invercannich?” the Captain asked.

“That be them, sir. I ’member th’ woman made a terrible to-do her did when us found a couple o’ swords in th’ thatch. We ’ad information, if yer ’member sir, that they was a-hidin’ weapons in that place. Us searched an’ found ‘em, shot th’ men and burnt th’ roof over th’ heads o’ th’ others.”

“You shot them?” the Captain said. “I thought men were sent for transportation if they were discovered with weapons in their possession?”