The Betrayal of Maggie Blair (22 page)

"You're a thief!" I said hoarsely, my throat thick with fury. "A hypocrite! A lying, sneaky snake!"

She was standing with her hands on her hips, mocking me, and her insolence angered me so much that rage clotted up my words. I could say no more but only stammer and choke on my tears.

"Well," she said at last, as I spluttered to silence. "I can see that I've made you cross, Maggie, but—"

"Cross?
Cross?
"

"But," she went on smoothly, "what else could I do? Where else could I go? I didn't know anyone, and I need a new home as much as you do. You must admit, it's very nice here, in spite of all the praying and preachifying. Your aunt's a good housewife, I could see that at once. Linen, dishes, everything of the best. You ought to be grateful to me. Did you really want to live in that hovel in Scalpsie Bay with that old witch for the rest of your life?"

The urge to batter the smile from her face was so strong that I turned and pummeled the trunk of the rowan tree that stood at the corner of the kail yard.

"I'm not going away, you know, just because of you," her hateful voice went on. "They like me, I can tell. I'll stay as long as I want to. And if you try to turn them against me, I'll do the same to you, and I'll win, you know I will."

Suddenly, I was more frightened than angry. She was right. She could turn my uncle and aunt against me easily. She had already begun.

"Why do you hate me so much, Annie? What have I ever done to you?"

She opened her eyes in genuine surprise.

"I don't hate you. Why should I? I don't hate anyone, except for old man Macbean. But you've got what I want, and I want to have it too."

"I haven't got anything. What do you mean?"

"You have, Maggie. You've got a family, food every day, and a decent gown to wear. And there's all that money waiting for you when you go back to Bute."

It was my turn to stare in surprise at her.

"What money? What are you talking about?"

She laughed.

"Don't tell me you don't know! The money Mr. Macbean and the Laird of Keames owed your father. For the drove. I saw the letter."

"Letter?"

"In Macbean's strongbox. It said..." She stopped. "You really don't know, do you?" Her calculating mind was casting around now for an advantage. I could see that she regretted telling me so much.

"You can't stop there." I was too eager in my curiosity, I knew, but I couldn't hold back. "What did the letter say?"

"Oh, I don't remember. Some old thing. It meant nothing to me." She had the upper hand again, and she knew it. "I might tell you, if I think of it. But you'd better watch out, Maggie. You'll be sorry if you try to turn your uncle and aunt against me. I'll make you really, really sorry."

I shivered at the cool menace in her voice. But as she followed me back up the path to the barn, I realized that Annie was using Granny's weapon, trying to exercise power through fear. In the end it hadn't worked for Granny. I took comfort from the hope that it wouldn't work for Annie either.

When we went back into the house with a few eggs held in our aprons, I was surprised to see that Mr. Barbour was still there, and my uncle and Ritchie had not yet gone out to their work. My aunt looked pale and agitated, and Martha and Nanny, sensing the tension in the room, were staring round-eyed from one adult to another. Only Ritchie showed no sign of anxiety. He was sitting with his father's sword across his knee, carefully polishing the shining blade. His mouth was set in a determined line, but excitement danced in his eyes.

"Is this all your household, Hugh?" said Mr. Barbour, looking around at us all.

"There are the two serving men. They're sound. True servants of the Lord and his Covenant."

"You know what a word of betrayal will cost us and the price that is set on James Renwick's head?"

Uncle Blair nodded impatiently.

"Aye, man, of course I do. But what choice do we have?
'Be thou faithful unto death,'
saith the Lord,
'and I will give thee a crown of life.'
"

"Amen," said Mr. Barbour and Ritchie together.

Uncle Blair glanced up and saw the puzzlement on our three faces.

"Look at you innocents," he said with the gleam of a smile. "There's no help for it now. The truth must be revealed to you of what is to come to this house. And you will delight in it, as I do, for a great servant of the Lord is trusting us with his precious presence. James Renwick himself, a saint touched by the Holy Spirit, has promised to preach on our own moss, and when he comes he will stay with us in this very house. Oh!" He slapped himself on the chest, stood up, and walked around, so deep was his excitement. "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes!" He stopped walking, and his voice dropped to a deep, thrilling tone, as if he was delivering a sermon. "Our poor Scotland has been overrun by wicked men, worldly men and the bishops who are their tools. And it is up to us, the faithful few, the godly remnant, to struggle for the pure and holy way, for..." He stopped and looked up. "What's that? Horses outside in the yard? Ritchie, see who it is."

Ritchie dropped the sword with a clatter and sprang to the door.

"Black Cuffs, Father!" he called over his shoulder. "All mounted! Seven or eight of them. With an officer at their head!"

Seven men riding seven horses may not sound like a great crowd, but when we all spilled out of the house and saw them filling the yard, it seemed as if a whole regiment had come upon us. Their coats were as scarlet as spilled blood, their cuffs as black as beetles, and the eyes under their broad-brimmed hats were hostile and intent, like cats on the hunt. They didn't try to rein in their horses, but let them mill about nervously, and the clatter of hooves and the jingle of bit and bridle was as threatening as drums of war.

"Where's the man Blair?" said one. He looked grander than the others, with a silk sheen on his sash and silver brocade trimming his hat. I guessed he was an officer.

"I'm Hugh Blair," said Uncle Blair, gently detaching Nanny, who had been clinging to his knee. "And by what name may I call you?"

"Dundas, lieutenant of His Majesty's dragoons, though that's no business of yours."

The man was handsome, I suppose, in a cold way, with his long, high-bridged nose and piercing eyes. I had never seen such magnificence of dress before, such rows of polished buttons or such richness of lace edging on the cravat that foamed in a white cascade from his neck.

"He's come for the fine, Hugh, for non-attendance at the kirk," I heard Aunt Blair whisper. "Just give him the money."

The lieutenant hadn't heard her. He was nodding at two of his men. They leaped down from their horses and drew their swords. As the blades hissed from the scabbards, my stomach clenched with fright, and I found I was clutching at Grizel's arm for support. But the men went into the barn opposite the house, and a minute later we flinched at the bang as they kicked open the door of the storeroom.

"What are they doing in there? What do they want?" Aunt Blair cried out, thrusting Andrew into my arms and starting forward. Uncle Blair held her back.

"Keep calm, Isobel. Trust in the Lord, who is our strength and shield."

"Spew forth Scripture as much as you like, Covenanter," Lieutenant Dundas said with a sneer. "But listen to me." He put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. "I have a warning for you—and for everyone here. If you don't heed it, you will be sorry. As sorry as it is possible to be." He paused, looking around to check that all eyes were on him. "It concerns the traitor, the rebel, the bringer of terror, the so-called preacher James Renwick."

A grunt of anger came from Mr. Barbour, and I saw that his face was reddening. The lieutenant noticed it too.

"Who's this? Another damned covenanting Presbyterian, I suppose."

"Stephen Barbour of Barnaigh," Mr. Barbour said stiffly. "What do you want with James Renwick?"

"I shall be delighted to tell you." The lieutenant held up the paper, but I was watching, rigid with horror, as the two men who had gone into my aunt's storeroom appeared again, kicking in front of them one of her precious cheeses. They aimed for the stinking dung heap in the corner of the yard and crowed with triumph as the cheese sank into the filth.

The other troopers were guffawing in approval.

"...the vagabond Renwick," Lieutenant Dundas was reading. "A pretended preacher ... cast off obedience ... the most damnable rascal..."

Aunt Blair was holding her hand to her mouth, stifling whimpers of distress, as the men approached the well. They were unbuttoning themselves, winking back over the shoulders at their whooping comrades. Lieutenant Dundas smiled with satisfaction when he heard the faint splash of his men's urine hitting the pure water of our well and waited until they had buttoned their breeks. Then he raised a hand to silence his soldiers and began to read again.

"The words of our gracious sovereign Charles, king of Scotland: We command and charge all of our subjects that none of them presume to provide the said Mr. James Renwick, rebel, with meat, drink, house, or anything useful to him; or to communicate with him by word or letter or message in any way whatsoever, under pain of being guilty of the same crimes, and being pursued to the terror of themselves and others."

"Crimes! What crimes?" burst out Mr. Barbour. "How dare you sit there, man, on your high horse, and cast judgment on a true servant of the Lord, who—"

"Arrest that man," Lieutenant Dundas said shortly.

"What is this persecution! Sir, let him go!" said Uncle Blair, stepping forward and putting a hand out to fend off the soldiers, who had leaped eagerly on Mr. Barbour and were tying his arms behind him with stout cords.

Everything happened so quickly that I hardly knew where to look. The lieutenant ripped out his sword and slashed it across my uncle's face. Ritchie yelled in rage and ran at him but was pulled up short as the point of the sword quivered against his chest.

"Hugh! What have they done to you? Hugh!" my aunt was crying, kneeling on the muddy ground beside my fallen uncle.

"You've been warned, Blair," Lieutenant Dundas said, as his dragoons flung Mr. Barbour onto the back of a horse, behind one of the mounted men. He bent down and snapped his fingers in my uncle's bleeding face. "I wouldn't give
that
for your life if you're found consorting with the man Renwick. The same goes for this rude puppy of yours."

He put his heels to his horse, turning its head to ride out of the yard, but the horse, excited by the noise and confusion, trampled backwards and reared. In the few moments that it took to bring it under control, I caught sight of Annie. She was standing apart from the rest of us and was gazing at the lieutenant with sickening admiration in her eyes. He seemed to notice her for the first time, and I saw the long look he gave her. She showed him her dimples in a flirtatious smile, then quickly turned her head away, afraid of being noticed.

A moment later the dragoons had ridden out of the Ladymuir yard, with poor Mr. Barbour lying helplessly over the horse's rear as if he had been no more than a sack of oatmeal.

Shocked into silence, we stood motionless. Ritchie broke the spell.

"I spit on them. I
spit
on them!" he shouted. "Father, are you badly hurt!"

Uncle Blair was already on his feet, fending off Aunt Blair, who was clinging to him and crying.

"It's just a scratch." He was trying to sound calm, but I could see that he was shaking. He let Aunt Blair have her way at last, and she led him into the house.

"I'll take the horse," Ritchie called in through the doorway after them. "I'll ride to Barnaigh. Mistress Barbour needs to know."

He didn't wait for an answer but ran to the stable, and a minute later he was clattering out of the yard on the farm's stocky little horse.

I was still holding Andrew, who had begun to grizzle, and it took all my efforts at rocking and crooning to calm him again. When I looked up, I saw that Annie was still staring at the distant scarlet riders.

"Don't even
think
of it," I hissed at her. "If you betray this family, I'll ... I'll..."

She raised her eyebrows mockingly.

"You'll do what exactly, Maggie? Do tell me. I long to know."

"I really ... think ... I ... would ... kill ... you," I said slowly, and was instantly frightened at the realization that I meant it.

She shrugged, a little impressed by my anger, in spite of herself.

"What makes you think I plan to betray anyone?"

I opened my mouth to list her many past lies and treacheries, but she said hastily, "Oh, save yourself the trouble," and went into the house.

Half an hour later Ritchie returned, leading the horse that Mistress Barbour was riding. Her plain face was puffy with crying, but her mouth was set in a determined line. She let Ritchie help her dismount, then marched forcefully into the kitchen, pushing the door open with a shove of her strong arm. I followed her. Andrew was crying properly now and needed his mother.

I could see at a glance that Uncle Blair's wound, though it stretched from his temple to his chin and was bleeding freely, wasn't very deep. When he saw Mistress Barbour, he took the cloth that Aunt Blair had been dabbing over his cheek and held it to the wound, then jumped up to greet her.

"Dorcas, I wouldn't have had this happen to your good man for anything."

"This is no more than we've been expecting, Mr. Blair. It's the Lord's will. He works in a mysterious way, but his saints will receive a crown of victory at the last."

She spoke the biblical phrases in an ordinary voice, as if she was talking of a rain shower or a day at the market.

There was nothing heroic in the appearance of Dorcas Barbour. She was short, stout, red-faced and plain, straightforward, and rocklike in her conviction. I felt a pang of envy. She knew with complete certainty that the cause of the Covenanters was right. She had no doubt that the king's desire to make himself the head of the church in Scotland, and rule it through his bishops, was worth resisting with everything she had. She was ready to give her husband to the struggle. I felt sure, looking at her standing there, with her work-reddened hands clasped at her thick waist, that she was ready to die for it herself.