Page 28 of Highland Jewel
Caroline went back to the window. “I know I shan’tdie without pain, Mr. Brougham, but I’m determined that I’ll die without regret. My son means everything to me. I gave him up to protect him. But Iwillsee him again before I die.”
Unto His Majesty the King
From the hand of The Right Honorable, The Viscount Sidmouth
Sir,
The recent turn of affairs forces me to address a most distressing topic. Although the public is as yet unaware of this development, the former Princess of Wales has, under cover of darkness, slipped away from her household and traveled incognito. In spite of our clear instructions that she is to remain on the continent until negotiations regarding the settlement of divorce proceedings are concluded, she has entered Scotland.
Our sources of information tell us that Mr. Henry Brougham, M.P., currently serving as her Attorney General, arranged for her clandestine arrival. Her whereabouts are currently unknown. Furthermore, Mr. Brougham is actively involved with arranging the sought-after meeting between Her Highness and the gentleman known as the “son of Scotland.”
As you have instructed, we are allowing Mr. Brougham to continue to operate freely, but neither his seat in Parliament nor his position representing the legal affairs of the Princess of Wales preclude us from arresting him for violating the articles of the Six Acts.
Sir Rupert Burney is pursuing all avenues of information. I shall keep you apprised of these events as they unfold.
I remain, Sir,
Your Most Obedient Servant
CHAPTER10
The two women were jolted slightly as the hackney cab clattered and rolled across the city’s cobblestones toward Leith Street. Maisie gazed out at the wide avenues of New Town. She was always glad to be invited to Fiona’s house for supper after a meeting. Her friend’s two girls were sweet and funny, and Fiona’s mother-in-law made her feel as if she were part of the family whenever she came.
Maisie had an added reason for her enthusiasm tonight, however. Niall was also expected to join them for supper. Since theirtête-à-têtein the tea shop the morning she was nearly arrested, they’d run into each other twice. The first time, he was waiting at the door of the Guild Hall after their Wednesday meeting and walked her home. She ran into him again on Friday when she needed to go back to the print shop on Bristo Street. Though she’d been very careful to make sure no one followed her, she emerged to find him on the street. Walking toward Nicolson Square, they’d gone into the same tea shop, sat at the same table, and talked.
He always asked questions about her—what she liked to do on her free evenings, what was her favorite food or book, did she have a best friend in Wurzburg, did she like to dance. He wanted to learn everything he could abouther,about the Maisie that no one else really cared to know. And he’d also brought a journal containing some of his poems for her to read.
How vulnerable he seemed at that moment, though he tried to hide it with a look of quiet detachment. She knew he was exposing a part of himself that no one else saw and few knew existed. Niall was talented, eloquent, and the words on the pages were heartfelt. She told him so.
The way he looked at her, Maisie knew that she was falling for him, hard and fast. The touch of their hands, the brush of their knees. Everything was magnified.
Sitting there talking with the fire warm against her back and his handsome face across the table, Maisie realized that something special was happening, in spite of the terrible things going on in the world. During the celebration of Hogmanay at the New Year, the Scots sang together a song aboutauld lang syne. She wondered if—sometime in the future—she and Niall would look back on these as the “good old days.”
And later, as she tried to fall asleep at night, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Twenty years old, and she was enamored for the first time. And with a man her family objected to.
The days she wasn’t with him, Maisie was aware of the wet and icy Edinburgh winter marching relentlessly on. Because of the new laws passed in Westminster, more arrests were taking place all across England and Scotland. Ordinary people were growing increasingly fearful. Maisie found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. Overhearing the voices of the men meeting in her brother-in-law’s study, she knew there was a very real fearof spies and informers amongst the radical reformers. In the larger towns especially, citizens were being dragged off the streets and interrogated. At least, now she understood Archibald’s fears were real. Not that he should have a fear of Niall, but he had every right to be cautious about outsiders and strangers.
Reports of the brutality of the authorities circulated on a daily basis. Maisie didn’t need to hear secondhand stories about it. On several occasions in the past fortnight—once in the middle of the night—she’d witnessed newly released activists being carried into the clinic. They all bore marks of torture.
With all this going on, she saw how futile it would be trying to explain to her family that Niall’s past military service didn’t make him a collaborator in this new reign of government terror. For now, she had to let their relationship remain as it was. Perhaps the future would provide her with a better chance.
Arriving in front of Fiona’s house, the two women stepped out of the cab, but they hadn’t even reached the front door when the sound of screeching stopped them.
Fiona grinned. “Niall must already be here.”
Her announcement roused Maisie from her dark thoughts, and she followed her friend into the house. The joyous shrieking of the girls was coming from the drawing room.
“They’re playing Waterloo again,” Fiona said as they shed their coats and hats. “My brother has no idea of how to calm the children before their bedtime.”
The girls’ shouts and giggles were contagious, though, and both women were smiling broadly when they looked in from the hallway.
Niall lay on the floor with his eyes closed. Dead, Maisie presumed. Catriona and Briana stood over him, wooden sticks raised like a victorious army. Mrs. Johnston, herneedlework lying in her lap, sat comfortably in a chair nearby, watching the battle with great amusement.
“We’ve done him, General.”
“Poke him. Make sure.”
