The dark mile, p.1
The Dark Mile, page 1
part #3 of The Jacobite Trilogy Series
This edition is published by PICKLE PARTNERS PUBLISHING—www.pp-publishing.com
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Text originally published in 1929 under the same title.
© Pickle Partners Publishing 2016, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Publisher’s Note
Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.
We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.
THE JACOBITE TRILOGY:
THE FLIGHT OF THE HERON
THE GLEAM IN THE NORTH
THE DARK MILE
BY
D. K. BROSTER
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3
AUTHOR’S NOTE 5
PROLOGUE—THE THIRTEENTH CHIEF 6
CHAPTER 1—WHAT THE MOON SAW 13
CHAPTER 2—ON HIS VERY HEARTHSTONE 17
CHAPTER 3—BRANDED 23
CHAPTER 4—THE LADY FROM THE LOCH 29
CHAPTER 5—WOULD SHE WERE GONE! 37
CHAPTER 6—THE FIELD OF DAISIES 47
CHAPTER 7—AN EXPLANATION AT THE GOATS’ WHEY 53
CHAPTER 8—THE ONLY SAFETY 61
CHAPTER 9—OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE AFFAIRS 69
CHAPTER 10—FATHER AND SON 74
CHAPTER 11—IAN STEWART LISTENS TO THE DEVIL 81
CHAPTER 12—‘OUT, SWORD, AND TO A SORE PURPOSE!’ 88
CHAPTER 13—CASTLE DANGEROUS 94
CHAPTER 14—‘WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?’ 102
CHAPTER 15—ON THE VERGE 112
CHAPTER 16—ANOTHER IN THE TOILS 117
CHAPTER 17—DELIVERANCE 123
CHAPTER 18—IAN DOES SOME HARD THINGS 130
CHAPTER 19—FINLAY’S TOOL...? 137
CHAPTER 20—IN A GREEN RIDING HABIT 143
CHAPTER 21—TORMENT 147
CHAPTER 22—THE COUNTER THRUST 155
CHAPTER 23—THE STREAM IN SPATE 164
CHAPTER 24—‘ASK MR. MAITLAND...’ 174
CHAPTER 25—‘HE FORGAVE...’ 182
CHAPTER 26—A LIFE FOR A LIFE 188
CHAPTER 27—LIGHT IN THE DARK MILE 194
CHAPTER 28—THE KING OF LOCHLANN’S DAUGHTER 201
REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 207
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Several of the chief characters in this book appear also in its predecessor, The Flight of the Heron and The Gleam in the North, also published in this series.
David Maitland is not an historical character, though the role assigned to him before the story opens was actually played by some man whose identity and motives have never been established.
PROLOGUE—THE THIRTEENTH CHIEF
1
Its own peculiarly vehement and gusty wind was curvetting about Edinburgh this October afternoon of 1754, forerunner and abettor of the brief but whole-hearted squalls of rain which now and then were let loose upon the defenceless city, and sent every pedestrian running to the nearest doorway. Yet between these cloudbursts it was fine enough, and during one of these sunny intervals a young man in black, holding on to his hat, walked quickly up the slope of the Canongate. His long stride accorded well with his fine height and build, and though his mourning was new and very deep, there was no trace of recent bereavement in his air. Indeed—despite the difficulty with his hat—he held his head with a sort of natural arrogance, and his glance at his surroundings in general was something that of a newly-crowned monarch surveying his territory and subjects. For only six weeks had elapsed since the earth had been shovelled down upon his old father’s coffin in the roofless chapel of Holyrood, and the son who bore him no particular affection was come at twenty-nine into his inheritance as thirteenth Chief of Glenshian...into possession of a ruined castle, an empty treasury, and immense prestige in the Western Highlands. But he already possessed some very singular assets of his own.
Just where the High Street, having succeeded the Canongate, gave way in its turn to the Lawnmarket, this Highland gentleman came to an abrupt and apparently unpremeditated halt in front of a small shop-window. It was rather a dingy window with bulging panes, evidently, from its contents, the property of a vendor of almanacs and broad-sheets; but the new Chiefs attention was pretty plainly engaged by a roughly-executed wood engraving which was propped, unframed, against a pile of books in the very centre of the window. There was nothing about this to distinguish it from any other equally bad print of the time; one could only say that it was a stock representation of a man of early middle age. But the inscription ran, ‘A True Effigies of Doctor Archibald Cameron, who lately suffered Death at Tyburn for High Treason.’
At this ‘effigies’ the young man in black stood looking with a frown, and a deepening frown. Regret, no doubt, was heavy upon him (since he too was a partisan of the White Rose) and a natural if vain, desire for vengeance upon the English Government which, only a year and four months before, had sent his fellow-Jacobite and compatriot to the scaffold.
It would have required a more than human insight to discover what was really causing that scowl; more insight, certainly, than was possessed by the middle-aged, down-at-heels and partially drunken Edinburgh chairman who was lounging at the entrance of the close by the shop, and looking at the tall, stationary figure with a gaze half sodden and half cunning. Once, indeed, he detached himself from the dark and greasy wall of the entry as though to accost it; then, muttering something inaudible, relapsed once more against his support.
Yet, for all that, he was to speak to the gentleman in black; the Fates would have it so, desiring no doubt to show that they at least could read the mind of Finlay MacPhair of Glenshian. Nevertheless it would not have come about but for this day’s inclement weather. For while the young Chief, his hand at his chin, yet stood looking at the dead Jacobite’s portrait, the heavens without warning opened afresh, and there descended such an unmitigated flood of water that no one, save an amphibian, would willingly have endured it. Mr. MacPhair in his new blacks uttered an exclamation, took hold of the handle of the shop door, discovered that it was fastened, cursed strongly, and turning, hurled himself into the mouth of the adjacent close, almost colliding with the lounger already there.
‘A bit o’ a shooer!’ observed the latter in a wheezy voice. He looked as if neither internally nor externally was he over familiar with the fluid of which the cataract was composed.
Mr. MacPhair gave him a contemptuous glance and said nothing. The rain flashed in sheets past the entry and drummed and bounced upon the cobbles.
‘Sae ye were keekin’ at the puir Doctor’s picter in the windy,’ commented the chairman, who, unlike most of his kind, was plainly a Lowlander. ‘Dod, yon was a fearfu’ end, a fearfu’ end! Mony’s the time Ah hae regretted it—mony’s the time Ah hae been near greeting’ ower it.’
‘You must be uncommon tender-hearted,’ observed Finlay MacPhair indifferently, and, looking out, cursed the downpour with precision.
‘Nae mair than anither!’ returned his companion in an injured tone. ‘Nae mair than yerself, sir! Hendry Shand is no’ gi’en ta greetin’. But Ah’d hae ye ken that there’s whiles sic a thing as remorrse—aye, remorrse.’ He sighed windily. ‘The worrm, the Guid Buik tells o’...Ye’ll be ower young, Ah’m thinkin’, tae ken it yersel’.’
‘I may run the risk of knowing it very soon,’ returned Glenshian meaningly. ‘If I have to throttle you to stop your havers, for instance. Damn this rain!’
‘Ma havers!’ exclaimed the chairman with deep indignation. ‘Havers!—me that’s been stane-dumb a’ this while, and never tellt a soul aboot the letter—’
‘Continue your reticence, then,’ said the Highlander, very much bored. ‘I have no wish to hear your reminiscences.’
This word, with which he immediately grappled, seemed to offend the toper still more deeply. ‘Remis—remishenshes...They’re nathing o’ the sort! What for suld the Lord Justice-Clerk hae gi’en me a gowden guinea when Ah brocht him yon letter, gin it had been a matter o’remyshish—’
But the tall gentleman in black was no longer bored, no longer even on the other side of the alley. He was beside the speaker, gripping his shoulder. ‘What’s that you said about the Lord Justice-Clerk? For what letter, pray, did he give you a guinea?’
The other tried to shuffle off the hand. ‘But that wad be tellin’,’ he murmured, with a sly glance. ‘Forbye, sir, ye said ye werena wishfu’ for tae hear aboot ma remorrse. And indeed Ah hae nane the noo, for Ah’ve refleckit that Ah was but a puir body that was ready tae oblige the gentleman and earn a piece of siller.’ He wriggled anew. ‘Ye’ll please tae let me gang, sir!’
For all answer his captor laid hold of his other shoulder, and thus held Hendry Shand’s unsavoury person pinned against the wall. The rain, winged by a momentary guest, blew in upon them both unheeded. ‘Since you have chattered of your remorse and of Doctor Cameron’s death, you’ll tell me before you leave this place of what letter you w ere speaking, and why Lord Tinwald gave you a guinea for it. And you shall thereby earn two...if you tell the truth...and it’s worth it,’ added the young Chief in a couple of afterthoughts.
In the semi-darkness Hendry Shand’s eyes glistened. Finlay MacPhair saw the phenomenon, released him, pulled out a purse and, extracting two gold coins, held them up. Mr. Shand moistened his lips at that fair sight. But, half-drunk as he was, he had not mislaid his native caution as completely as had at first appeared.
‘And wha’s tae judge if it’s warth it?’ he enquired. ‘And why sud ye be sae wishfu’—’ He broke off. ‘Are ye for Geordie or Jamie? Ah’d like fine tae ken that first.’
‘You cannot know who I am that you ask that,’ replied the young man with hauteur. ‘I am MacPhair of Glenshian.’
‘Gude hae maircy on us!’ ejaculated Hendry. ‘Ye’ll be the new Chief, then! The auld yin was for Jamie, they say, although he never stirred for him himsel’. Aiblins then ye were a frien’ o’ puir Doctor Cameron’s?’
Finlay MacPhair bent his head. ‘I knew him well. And I am aware that he was informed against, and so captured. If the letter you took to Lord Tinwald had to do with that matter’—his voice sank until it was almost drowned by the rain ‘—and it had, had it not?—and if you will tell me who gave it to you, you shall know what it means to be for the rest of your days in the good graces of the Chief of Glenshian.’
There was a pause, filled by the drip of the now slackening rain from overfilled gutters. Hendry passed his hand once or twice over his mouth, his eyes fixed on him who made this promise. ‘Aye,’ he said slowly,’ and what guid will that dae me when Ah hae ma craig yerked by the next Whig, or he shiverin’ i’ the Tolbooth? What for did Ah no’ haud ma tongue a wee while langer!’
The coins jingled in Glenshian’s impatient hand, and when the chairman spoke again his voice betrayed weakening.
‘Forbye Ah canna tell ye, the name, for Ah never lairnt it.’
‘Nonsense!’ said the young man roughly. ‘You are playing with me. I warn you ’tis no good holding out for more than I have offered.’
‘Gin ye were tae dress me in jewels,’ replied Mr. Shand earnestly and inappropriately, ‘Ah cudna tell ye what Ah dinna ken masel’. But Ah can tell ye what like the man was,’ he added.
There was another pause. ‘I doubt ’twill not be worth the two guineas, then,’ said Glenshian, in a tone which showed his disappointment. ‘But I’ll give you one.’
‘For ae guinea Ah’ll tell ye naething,’ responded Hendry with firmness. He seemed a good deal less drunk than he had been. ‘But—hear ye noo!—for twa Ah’ll tell ye what was intill the letter, for Ah ken that. And aiblins when Ah describe the gentleman tae ye, ye’ll find that ye ken him yersel’.’
‘It was a gentleman, then?’
‘For sure it was a gentleman like yersel’.’
‘Very good then,’ said the new Chief, ‘the two guineas are yours. But’—he glanced round—‘this is not a very suitable spot for you to earn them in. Is there not a more private place near?’
‘Aye, there’s ma ain wee bit hoose up the close—though ’tis hardly fit for the likes o’ yersel’, Chief of Glenshian. But you an’me wad be oor lane there.’
‘Take me to it,’ said Finlay MacPhair without hesitation.
2
Although it necessitated a change of scene to an environment even less pleasing than the unclean and draughty alleyway, Hendry Shand’s was not a long story. Late one evening in the March of the previous year he had, it seemed, been accosted by a gentleman—whom he described—and offered a crown if he would take a letter to the house of Lord Tinwald, the Lord Justice-Clerk. At first Hendry had thought that the gentleman was ill, for he was as pale as a corpse and his hand shook, but afterwards came to the conclusion that he was merely agitated. On Hendry’s asking if he should say whom the letter was from, and suggesting that the name, however, was probably inside it, the gentleman shook his head, and replied that the name was of no moment, though the letter was, and urged him to make haste.
‘Aweel,’ continued Hendry now, as he sat upon his frowsty bed in the one tiny dark room which constituted his ‘hoose’ and gave himself to the pleasures of narration, ‘aweel, Ah set ma best fit foremost and gaed doun the street. Syne Ah thocht Ah heard ma gentleman cry efter me, ‘Come back, come back!’, but Ah’d nae mind tae lose the croun he’d gi’en me, sae Ah took tae me heels. A’ the way Ah was wonderin’ what micht be i’the letter—for ye maun mind Ah hadna the least notion—an’ it may be that as Ah rinned Ah held the letter a wee bit ower tight in ma hand, for a’ on a sudden. Ah heard the seal gie a crack. Syne Ah stoppit, and losh, the letter was open!’
‘In short, you opened it,’ observed the listener.
‘Na, na,’ denied Hendry; but an eyelid fluttered for a second. ‘Never say that, Chief o’ Glenshian! But, seein’ the bit letter was open, hadna Ah the richt tae laim what for Ah was earnin’ a siller croun?...Aweel, ye can jalouse what was intill the letter—it sent the Doctor ootbye i’ the windy tae the gallows.’
Mr. MacPhair drew a long breath. ‘You remember the wording?’
‘Ay, certes. “If ye wish tae tak Doctor Cameron, send wi’oot delay tae the hoose o’ Duncan Stewart o’ Glenbuckie in Balquhidder, where the writer saw him no’ ten days syne.”
‘That was all? And there was no name of any kind—not even initials?’
‘No’ a letter! Ye may be sure Ah keekit inside an’ oot. There wasna a scratch...Aweel, Ah cam tae Lord Tinwald’s hoose, an’ Ah thocht tae masel’, Gin this letter is sae important, the Lord Justice-Clerk may gie me anither croun tae he beside ma gentleman’s. Sae Ah tellt his man there wad aiblins be an answer, “though Ah dinna ken for sure”, Ah says, “for though the bit seal is broken, Ar canna read ae ward o’ write”. (Yon was a guid lee, but it was better tae say that.) Syne the auld judge sent for me, and Ah cud see he was far uplifted; and he speired what like was the man who gied me the letter. Ah tellt him, a douce sort o’ man, yin that Ahd’d never seen afore in ma life. Then he gied me na croun, but a hale gowden guinea...And when Ah heard that Doctor Cameron was ta’en by the redcoats i’ Glenbuckie, and a’ the Whigs in Enbra was sae cock-a-hoop, Ah had a mind tae gang tae Lord Tinwald and speir if the bit letter wasna worth mair, but Ah thocht better o’ it, for Ah micht hae fand masel’ i’ the Tolbooth for meddlin’ wi’ affairs o’ State...And unless ye keep a shut mouth, Chief o’ Glenshian, Ah micht find masel’ there yet!’
And he looked anxiously at the listener in the dirty wooden chair.
‘It’s for you to keep that,’ said the young man, leaning forward. This is to be kept a secret betwixt you and me, Mr. Shand; and you shall not find yourself the worse of that, I promise you. You have not condescended much to me upon the particulars of your gentleman’s appearance, but I suppose that you would know him again if you saw him?’
‘Ma certie Ah wad that.’
‘And you could write a letter?’
‘Aye...mebbe Ah cud.’
‘If it were made worth your while, I presume? What I propose, then, is that if you see this gentleman again you shall use every endeavour to find out who he is and where he lives. You will then communicate these facts to me, by word of mouth if I be still in Edinburgh, by writing if I have taken my departure for the Highlands, as I am about to do. Do you understand?’
‘Aye.’
‘You undertake to do that then? I will pay you well for it.’ The guineas jingled.
‘Ah’d like fine tae ken first what ye intend tae dae wi’the gentleman gin Ah find him for ye?’
‘I shall do him no harm. I merely wish to have a conversation with him, by which he will not suffer; on the contrary. ’Tis not vengeance that I am after, man! What’s done is done, and Doctor Cameron cannot be brought to life again. Is it a bargain?’
‘There’s aye two sides tae a bargain,’ observed Mr. Shand, wriggling on the bed. ‘What wad Ah get, noo, for a’ this wark an’ the fash of sendin’ a letter tae ye in the Hielands?’
‘You shall have three guineas for it,’ responded his visitor. ‘That’s paying you well—overpaying you, in fact.’
