‘Of whom, my lady?’
‘The Duke of Hamilton.’
Sophia did not know how to respond. ‘He was quite kind to me.’
‘That is not what I asked, my dear. I asked for your opinion of his character.’ And then, because she saw the consternation on Sophia’s face, ‘Or do you not believe that the opinion of a woman is of value? For I tell you, I would rather have a woman’s thoughts on character than those of any man, because a woman’s thoughts are truer, and less likely to be turned by outward charm.’
‘Then I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, for I found the duke to be most charming, though we did not speak at length.’
‘What did you speak about?’
‘He asked me my relation to you.’
‘Did he?’ asked the countess in that tone of guarded interest that Sophia was beginning to associate with any conversation that involved the Duke of Hamilton. ‘What else?’
‘We spoke of Darien. He said it was a blessing I had not gone with my parents.’
‘And it was.’
‘And that was all. The interview took but a quarter of an hour, perhaps. No longer.’
‘And you thought him charming.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Well,’ the countess said, ‘I can forgive you that.’ She gave no further explanation of that statement, nor did she reveal her own opinion of the man, although Sophia reasonably guessed that, in the judgement of the countess, she had been herself deceived.
But nothing else was said about it.
Two more weeks passed, and the days began to lengthen, and the restlessness that held those in the castle in its grasp grew ever stronger.
‘I would ride today,’ the countess said, one morning after breakfast. ‘Will you come with me, Sophia?’
In surprise, Sophia said, ‘Of course.’
‘We need not trouble Mr Hall, I think. He is yet occupied.’ The countess smiled, and added, ‘I believe I have a riding habit that would well become you.’
The countess’s chamber was larger by half than Sophia’s and looked to the sea, too, although it was not as impressive a view, as one wall of the castle intruded upon it. The bed, richly carved, had silk hangings of blue, and the chairs in the room all had backs of the same blue silk, artfully reflected in the gilt-edged looking glass that caught the daylight from the narrow windows. Blue was clearly a favourite colour of the countess, because the velvet riding habit that she spread upon the clothes-press in the ante-chamber was blue as well, a lovely deep blue like a clear loch in autumn.
‘My hair was the same shade as yours once,’ the countess said, ‘and I did always believe that this habit looked well on me. My husband brought it back from France. He chose it, so he said, to match the colour of my eyes.’
‘I could not wear a thing so precious to you.’
‘Nonsense, child. I had rather that you would make use of it than it should lie in a corner, unworn. Besides,’ she added, ‘even were I not in mourning, there is no known magic that could make this fit my waist. Come, take it, wear it, that I might have a companion on my ride.’
The groom who brought the horses round to them was Rory, the same young man whom Sophia had seen rocking on his chair and watching Kirsty in the kitchen that first morning, when she’d lost her way. She’d seen him several times since then, but always he had passed her with a downturned glance, and only nodded briefly to her greeting. ‘He’s nae one for talk,’ was Kirsty’s explanation, when Sophia asked if she had somehow given him offence. ‘He told me once there were so many folk lived in his house when he was just a bairn, that now he likes a bit of peace.’
Sophia said good morning to him anyway, and Rory nodded, silent, as he helped her to the saddle. He had given her the same horse she had ridden north from Edinburgh, a quiet mare with one white stocking and a way of twitching back her ears to catch the slightest sound or word.
The mare seemed faintly agitated and impatient, as though she, too, felt the changing of the season and the warming of the wind, and wanted only to be off. Sophia had to take a firm hold on the reins, once they were on the road, to keep her to a walk. When the mare danced lightly sideways in a step that nearly knocked them into the countess and her mount, Sophia said, as an apology, ‘My horse has a mind to go faster.’
The countess smiled. ‘Mine also.’ Looking at Sophia, she said, ‘Shall we let them have their way?’
It was so glorious a feeling, that free run along the road, with the wind at her back and the sun on her face and the sense of adventure before her, that Sophia half wished it could go on forever, but at length the countess reined her horse and turned it back again, and with regret, Sophia did the same.
Her horse, though, did not wish to slow the pace, and before Sophia could guess the mare’s mind, she had bolted. There was no response to the reins, though Sophia pulled strongly, and all she could do was to hold on as best she could, watching with fear as the mare left the road, running overland straight for the sea. For the cliffs.
When it seemed she must let go the reins and the stirrups and throw herself down from the saddle to save her own life, the mare suddenly wheeled and changed course, running not at the sea but alongside it. The great walls of Slains, soaring out of the shoreline, grew nearer with each pounding volley of steps.
She must stop, thought Sophia, or else the mare might go the wrong way around those walls, into the precipice. Pulling the taut reins with all of her strength, she called out to the mare, and the brown ears twitched round, and the mare unexpectedly came to a sliding halt, flinging Sophia clear out of the saddle.
She had a vague awareness of the sky being in the wrong position before the ground came up with bruising force, and stole her breath.
A sea bird floated overhead, its eye turned, curious, toward her. She was gazing upwards at it, with a roaring in her ears, when a man’s voice asked her, ‘Are you hurt?’
She wasn’t sure. She tried her limbs and found them working, so she answered, ‘No.’
Strong hands came under her, and helped her sit. She turned to better view the man, and found he was no stranger. ‘Captain Gordon,’ she said, wondering if she perhaps had suffered greater damage to her senses than she’d realised.
But he seemed real enough, and his smile seemed pleased she’d remembered his name. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve the devil’s own habit of turning up anywhere, and it’s a good thing for you that I did.’
Running hoofbeats interrupted them as, breathlessly, the countess caught them up. ‘Sophia—’ she began. Then, ‘Thomas! How in God’s name do you come here?’
‘By His grace, my lady,’ said the captain, kneeling still beside Sophia. ‘Sent, it would appear, to keep your young charge here from being sorely injured, though I must confess I’ve done no more than set her upright.’ With a grin, he asked, ‘Do you indulge in racing now, your Ladyship? I should point out that, at your time of life, it is not wise.’
Her look of worry cleared. She said, ‘Impertinence,’ and smiled, and asked Sophia, ‘Are you truly unharmed?’
Sophia answered that she was, and stood to prove it. She was shaky on her feet, though, and glad of Captain Gordon’s firm hand holding to her elbow.
He looked to the mare, quiet now, standing several feet off. ‘She does not appear such a dangerous mount. Will you try her again, if I stand at her head?’
He did not say as much, but Sophia well knew he was urging her back on the horse for a reason. She’d only had such a great fall once before, as a child, and she yet could remember her father, in helping her back on the pony that had thrown her, saying, ‘Never waste a moment getting back into the saddle, else your confidence be lost.’
So she went bravely to the standing mare and let Captain Gordon help her up into her seat, and saw his eyes warm with approval. ‘There,’ he said, and took hold of the bridle. ‘If you will permit me, we shall set a slower pace, on our return.’
The countess rode beside them on her own well-m
annered gelding. ‘Truthfully, Thomas,’ she asked him, ‘how came you to Slains? We have had no account of your coming.’
‘I sent none. I did not know if my landing would be possible. We are on our return from the Orkneys and must keep to our patrol, but as the winds have been most favourable I find myself quite able to drop anchor here some few hours without causing us delay.’
The countess said, ‘You have not then been troubled much by privateers?’
‘I have not, my lady. It has been a voyage fraught with boredom – much to the frustration, I might add, of my young colleague, Captain Hamilton, who travels in my wake. He is most keen to fight a Frenchman, and can scarcely be contained from running out to open sea,’ he said, ‘in search of one.’
The countess smiled faintly at the joke, but she looked thoughtful. ‘I confess I did forget your Captain Hamilton.’
‘I know. But I did not.’ His sideways look held reassurance. ‘Do not worry. I have everything in hand.’
It was a function of his character, Sophia thought. He did, indeed, appear to have a flair for taking charge. Within a minute of their getting back to Slains, he had dispatched the mare to Rory to be groomed and searched for injuries, and Kirsty had been summoned to attend Sophia, much to the same purpose, while the captain and the countess waited downstairs in the drawing room.
‘I am not hurt,’ Sophia promised, watching Kirsty fuss round with the washing-bowl and linens, ‘and you do not need to wait upon me.’
‘Captain Gordon’s orders,’ Kirsty said, and cheerfully absolved herself of all responsibility. ‘Och, just look at this mud!’
‘I do fear I have ruined the countess’s beautiful habit.’
‘Well, ye’ve done it nae good. Nor yourself, either. See your back – ye’ll have great bruises. Disna that hurt?’
‘Only a little.’ Sophia winced, though, at the touch.
‘Ye’ll be stiff come the morning. I’ll ask Mrs Grant if she’ll make up a poultice to draw out the swelling. Although I would not be surprised if Captain Gordon has not ordered one for ye already.’ Kirsty paused, as though considering, which made Sophia think that, like herself, the girl felt unsure where the boundaries of their new acquaintance lay, for all she wanted to be friends. At long last Kirsty said, ‘Ye must be pleased, to have so great a man as Captain Gordon take an interest in ye.’
‘Take an interest…? Oh, no, I am certain he is only being kind,’ Sophia said. Then, to Kirsty’s glance, she added, ‘He is in his forties, and must surely have a wife.’
‘A wife does rarely keep a man like that from looking where he likes.’
Sophia felt her face begin to flush. ‘But you are wrong.’
‘If ye would so believe,’ said Kirsty, gathering the muddied clothes. But she was smiling, and her smile broadened when Sophia chose her plainest, least becoming gown to wear downstairs.
It was not that Sophia did not think the captain an attractive man, but only that she did not wish to have his admiration in that way, and it relieved her that he took but little notice of her when she joined the others in the drawing room.
He was already standing, and he said to Mr Hall, ‘Are you so sure you wish to leave? The winds are blowing fair, these days.’
‘I cannot stay. His Grace the Duke of Hamilton has sent me word that I am sorely needed back in Edinburgh.’
‘Then I shall be pleased to convey you to Leith. But we sail on the hour. Can you make yourself ready?’
‘I can, Captain.’ Turning, he said to the countess, ‘My lady Erroll, I do thank you for your kindness in allowing me to linger here. Were it not for the strong tone of His Grace’s recent message I do fear that you might never have been rid of me.’
‘Good Mr Hall, you are welcome at Slains, now and always. I wish you a safe journey home.’
He nodded his acceptance of her blessing. ‘Is there any message you would send the duke?’
‘None, except I wish him health, and recommend him to the Lord High Constable, my son, if he should wish to send me word.’
The priest gave one more nod, and to Sophia said, ‘I wish you well, my dear. I shall remember you in prayer.’ He left them then, presumably to gather to his belongings.
Captain Gordon stayed some minutes more, and sat and talked of idle things, but it was clear that he, too, wanted to be off. At length he stood, and took his leave. ‘I’m bound for Tynemouth, after Leith,’ he told the countess. ‘It will be no less than fourteen days before I once again come north, and I will be certain to send you a proper account of my coming.’
‘Thank you, Thomas. That would be most helpful.’
‘Mistress Paterson.’ He touched his smiling lips against her hand, and then he straightened, and with mild dismay Sophia realised Kirsty had been right, for there was more than friendly interest in his eyes. ‘I trust,’ he said, ‘that, in my absence, you’ll endeavour to have no more misadventures. Though I’ll warrant you may find that rather difficult, before too long.’
She murmured a polite reply, not wanting to detain him. It was not till some time afterwards, when she could no more see the Royal William’s sails upon the wide horizon, that she wished she’d asked him to explain the meaning of those final words. Because, to her ears now, they sounded rather like a warning.
Chapter Five
Jane, my agent, set the final page aside and curled her legs up underneath her in the armchair, in the front room of my cottage. ‘And you’ve written all of this in just two days? It must be thirty pages.’
‘Thirty-one,’ I told her, as I dragged a wooden chair across to the front door so I could stand on it to feed more coins into the black electric meter.
‘I don’t remember you writing this quickly, before.’
‘That’s because I haven’t. It feels great, it really does. It’s like I’m channelling. The words just come in through the top of my head and run right out my fingers, the voice is so easy. I’m glad you suggested a woman.’
‘Yes, well,’ she said drily, ‘I do have my uses.’ She ruffled the pages again, as though, like me, she hardly believed they could be there. ‘At this rate, you’ll have the book done in a month.’
‘Oh, I doubt it.’ I wobbled a little on top of the chair, and caught at the door jamb to steady myself. ‘I’m bound to slow down when I get to the middle. I usually do. And besides, this new angle is taking me straight into plot lines that I haven’t researched. I’ve spent most of my time reading up on the French side of things, and Nathaniel Hooke’s viewpoint, and what he got up to in Paris. I know some of what was going on in Edinburgh, of course, among the Jacobites, but apart from what Hooke wrote I don’t know that much about Slains, and the things that went on there. I’ll have to do some digging.’
‘I do like your Captain Gordon,’ Jane decided. ‘He’s a good complicating character. Is he real?’
‘Yes. I was lucky to remember him.’ The coins dropped one by one into the meter, and the slender needle, which had started drifting to the ‘empty’ mark, rebounded with reluctance. ‘It’s funny, the stray things that stick in your mind. Captain Gordon gets mentioned a couple of times in Nathaniel Hooke’s papers. Not in detail, and Hooke never says his first name, but I guess he made an impression, because I remembered him.’
She was looking at me, curious. ‘Why did you name him Thomas, then? I thought you had opinions on the naming of historical characters, and how they shouldn’t be guessed at.’
I did. Ordinarily, I would have left the first name blank until I’d had a chance to look it up. This time, ‘He wanted to be Thomas,’ was the only way I could explain it, ‘so I let him. I can always change it later, when I find out what his first name really was.’
His ship’s name, too, the Royal William – I had made that up as well, but I knew that would be a simple thing to fix. The British navy kept good records, it would all be written down somewhere.
Jane said, ‘You’ll have to change the name of his “young colleague” while you’re at
it. Captain Hamilton. You’ve got a Duke of Hamilton already, you can’t have another Hamilton. Your readers will be too confused.’
‘Oh. I didn’t even notice that.’ It was a bad habit of mine, playing favourites with names. In one of my first books I’d nearly had two men named Jack running round, mixing everyone up. Jane had caught that one, too, at the very last moment. ‘Thanks,’ I told her now, and started looking for my workbook, to remind myself.
My workbook was the only way that I could keep things organised. Before, I’d carried pocketfuls of notes and scribbled scraps of paper. Now, I wrote down all my thoughts on characters and plotting in the pages of a weathered three-ring binder, where I also kept the photocopied pages from the books I’d used for research, and the maps and timelines that I would refer to as my story took its shape. I’d got the inspiration for my workbook from my father’s family history binders, neatly kept and sectioned in a way that satisfied his sense of order. He had worked his whole life as an engineer, in charge of building things, and second only to his love of making every surface level, was his need to battle chaos with pure logic.
I did try. I flipped my workbook to the section labelled ‘To Be Checked’ and jotted down the names of Captain Gordon and his ship and Captain Hamilton.
‘So you think it’s all right?’ I asked.
‘I love it. It’s fantastic. But you don’t need me to tell you that,’ Jane said, and smiled at me, a parent indulging a child. ‘You writers and your insecurities. Honestly. You said yourself you felt you were creating something wonderful.’
‘I said the feeling of writing it was wonderful. That doesn’t mean the story’s any good.’
‘Come on. You know it is.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I think that it’s fantastic, too. But it’s still nice to hear it from somebody else.’