Authors: Gian Bordin
"I guess you’re keen to get rid of that horse?"
"Yes, but it’s not just getting rid of the stallion, but replacing it with
another black horse, so that I can let Sir Hugh’s stable master have a look
at it. That would clear Andrew."
"Lass, I’ve made inquiries. I can easily get rid of the horse. We just put
it on a boat this very night and have it taken out to one of the islands. But
it’s not so easy to find a black horse that’s for sale. You’d not want to
have another one that’s been stolen!"
"No!" Helen’s disappointment showed all too obviously.
"Don’t give up, lass. Just give me another few days."
Did she have another few days? Was there no other way? Rose seemed
to read her thoughts. She came closer and whispered: "Lass, have you
ever considered springing your young man from prison? … You know it
has been done before."
She did not wait for Helen’s response and launched into her favorite
stories: "I can still remember how Jamie MacDonald escaped from the
tolbooth when I was new in town. He had one of his friends bring along
a lass on a visit to the prison. While the hussy occupied the turnkey,
Jamie and his friend skipped jail. And you’ll like this one! Shortly after
the rebellion—in can’t be more than two or three years ago—there was
this Highland laird, awaiting trial for treason. His good woman visited
him with her daughter. The lass was disguised as a cobbler, so-called to
show the laird leather work he had ordered. The jailer heard two women
scold the cobbler for sloppy work, and a short while later the cobbler left
dolefully. Soon afterward the mother and daughter left also, the latter
now dressed in women’s clothing. Only when they were gone did the
turnkey remember that only one woman entered with the cobbler.
Needless to say that the Highlander had vanished. Ha ha ha." She slapped
her side with glee.
"But I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to arrange something
like this. You’re the only person I know in this town to whom I can even
talk about it."
"Maybe I can help. Mind you, it’s a risky business. Something could
go wrong, or he might be recaptured and that would add to the penalty…
But if it came off, it would be something to make your grandchildren
proud."
Helen looked doubtful.
"Come lass. You could try to seduce the turnkey yourself." Seeing
Helen’s reaction, she continued: "But I guess you’d not want to do this,
nor might your young man ever forgive you for it… You could ask him
to fake an illness and then get a doctor in to check him. You two
overpower the doctor, and he leaves with you in the doctor’s clothing.
But it would need to be done without the doctor being able to make a
noise to raise the alarm… No, that’s too risky."
Suddenly, a broad smile lit up her face. "I got it. Joe is going to help
you for a good supply of liquor!"
"Who is Joe?"
"He’s one of my down-and-outs. He’s in my tavern whenever he can
scrape together enough money. Most of the time he’s drunk right out of
his mind."
"But how could he help then?"
"We might be able to convince him to visit the tolbooth with you,
claiming that he’s your young man’s father. He’s quite an actor—mind
you, as long as he can still stand straight. Once inside, your young man
and Joe switch clothes, and you two leave, while Joe remains in the cell
with a bottle of whisky. He is going to be drunk in no time and then
nobody ever gets any sense out of him for a day or two. And then he is
going to claim that he was too drunk to remember anything which won’t
be far from the truth, ha ha ha!"
"But he might be jailed for that. Why would he want to do this for us?
He doesn’t even know us."
"All the better. But, oh, oh, if he’s offered a few weeks of free supply
of liquor at The White Heron, he’s going to jump for it, even if it means
a short spell in prison. And they’d not keep him there for long. He’d be
too much trouble. They know that he’s a hopeless drunk. They couldn’t
put him into the workhouse. He wouldn’t last a day before he’d collapse
and they’d have to nurse him back to life. You know, they can’t just let
them die there anymore, and he’d take a very long time to die anyway,
the old bugger. No, this is a brilliant idea. I’m very proud. The only
problem we face is to keep Joe halfway sober until he’s inside the
tolbooth."
Before Helen could answer anything, Rose rushed out of her room,
leaving her in a turmoil of emotions. She knew that the whole idea was
crazy. Too many things could go wrong. She doubted that Andrew would
go along with it. He seemed too honest, too right-thinking, too conservative for such a crazed scheme. But hadn’t he been a smuggler twice?
Didn’t he seize the first opportunity to kill the English officer? …
Maybe, she was wrong. Maybe he was only so scrupulously honest with
her, but not toward authority. A sudden longing for her man overwhelmed her painfully. Tears rushed into her eyes. It took her a moment
to get hold of herself again. Maybe, he would jump on the idea.
Her mind was suddenly made up. She ran after Rose, and before she
knew it, she was inside the tavern. The smoke was so dense, the stink of
ale and smelly, unwashed bodies so overpowering, the noise so deafening, that she was disoriented for a few seconds. Loud cheers greeted her,
and several sailors staggered toward her. One had his heavy hand on her
shoulder when Rose appeared out of the smoke and unceremoniously
smashed a pewter jug on his head. Half its content spilled over his face.
He gasped and let go of her.
"Take your greasy paw off that girl, Harry," she yelled, and then hissed
to Helen: "Out, you silly lass!" giving her at the same time a forceful
shove with her hips that propelled Helen through the door into the
kitchen.
"Anybody touches my niece and I crack his head," Helen heard Rose
roar on the other side of the door. She caught her breath, delayed fright
sinking into her bones. Trembling, she returned to her room, trying to
restore her calm.
Half an hour later, Rose joined her quickly. "What’s got into you, lass?
Didn’t I tell you not to show your pretty face in the tavern?"
"Yes, you did Rose. I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I just ran after you,
all excited, to tell you how great your idea is, and that I’m willing to risk
it."
"Oh, I never had any doubt about that. Once we’ve done it, it’ll be the
talk of the town. I can hardly wait."
"I would rather that it be kept quiet for a while, at least until we’re
well and safely out of Scotland."
"You couldn’t keep that under wraps, no more than a wild fire. Within
an hour, everybody in town’ll be talking about it."
Helen looked doubtful.
"Don’t worry, lass. I’m going to ship you safely out of here. Without
anybody being the wiser."
"When do you think we could try it?"
"As soon as I get hold of that rotten Joe. Not a soul has seen him the
last two days. He probably lies stone-drunk somewhere. I have to get
Owen looking for him. If anybody can find him, it’s Owen. He’s a clever
little fellow. If he finds him today, we do it tomorrow. Best toward
evening. It’s easier to hide during the night."
"But don’t we have to plan this whole thing carefully? Don’t you think
tomorrow may be a bit too rushed?"
"Lass, I thought you wanted your young man out of prison as fast as
possible."
"Sure, but I also want to make sure that we’ve planned this to every
detail, that we’ve covered all eventualities, so that if anything does go
wrong we immediately know what to do."
"Ah, the plan’s so simple, nothing can go wrong that we can prevent.
No, lass, don’t you worry now. Just let me arrange it."
But Helen had too much of a MacGregor in her. Having set her mind
on something, she was not easily deterred.
"Let’s see. How old is Joe?"
"Why?"
"If he has gray hair, then I’ll have to take something along to make
Andrew’s hair look grey."
"Right you are. His hair’s gray, prematurely, mind you. But we simply
make him wear a peruke that hides all his hair and your young man wears
it when he comes out."
"Andrew has a beard."
"Joe shaves, but quite often has bad stubble. So we give him a good
shave, and your young man cuts his beard before he skips prison. You
see, lass, everything’s simple."
"Yes, but it pays to think of it beforehand."
"Right you are. You sure are a smart little thing, not only pretty. So
think of more things that need to be taken care of. Right now, I must find
Owen and then get back to my patrons." She shuffled into the yard,
moving her chubby form at a surprising speed.
Over the next few hours, Helen made a mental list of all the things that
she wanted to have cleared up: How will they leave Glasgow? By boat?
To where? Rose would have to get rid of the horses. On horseback would
be the fallback position. In this case the best place to go was into the
Western Highlands and then catch a boat to Ireland or England from
there.
Did they have enough money for this or would she have to ask Andrew
to get more cash? She emptied his purse and counted the coins. It
contained fifty-two pound sterling in gold and many small coins. The
amount staggered her. That was more than her father had cleared from
the last annual sale of their spare cattle! And she had casually carried all
this money around! Surely, that should be more than enough, even if they
needed to give Joe five guineas or so.
How would she and Andrew get from the tolbooth back to the inn?
Maybe Owen might guide them via back alleys. But would it be fair to
involve him? He could easily fade away if anything went wrong. So, no
need to worry about that.
Should she ask the solicitor to arrange her visit to Andrew? She wasn’t
sure about this. How did one get permission to visit a prisoner anyway?
She must ask Rose. What should she tell the solicitor about Joe? That he
was Andrew’s father who unexpectedly arrived in town, as Rose had
suggested?
Should she tell Andrew about the whole plot? How? She would have
to visit him beforehand. That would give the police an opportunity to
follow her, and even if she could lose them in the mace of back alleys, it
might just make them more suspicious… No. It was best not to let
Andrew in on this. It might even be safer not to visit the solicitor
anymore. Maybe she shouldn’t even venture outside the inn until the time
of the visit. But she promised John Grant a letter for Andrew… Owen
could deliver it and also ask for news.
Finally, she searched through Andrew’s saddle bags and found paper,
a quill, and a little flask of ink. Kneeling on the floor, she began her letter
to Andrew, but soon got stuck, at a loss of what to tell him. She didn’t
want to write about why she wasn’t following his wish to give up the
horse. She couldn’t tell him the truth anyway, in case the letter was read
by anybody else. So she ended up telling him little more than that she had
found a good woman who was looking after her and that she missed him
and hoped to be reunited with him soon.
15
Owen found Joe only on Tuesday shortly after noon, and it took till
evening before the boozer was in a position to comprehend what they
wanted of him. His eyes lit up at the prospect of several weeks supply of
liquor. He wanted to know how many. Rose suggested six and he
answered nine. Helen asked if he wasn’t afraid that they might keep him
in prison for a while. He simply laughed, finding even that a good joke,
particularly if Rose arranged for him to get his liquor already there.
Rose made him promise solemnly to drop by at noon next day for a
change of clothing, threatening that the deal was off if he didn’t show,
and that they would find somebody else to do it. He almost wept and
begged her to use him, that Owen would know where to find him.