Cat's Cradle (28 page)

‘All right, Cat?' Syd asked loudly, his eyes
sweeping the room for further threats.

I'm not ashamed to admit I had tears in my eyes when I answered. ‘Yes, Syd. We're all right.'

‘That your brother?' He cocked an eyebrow at Rabbie.

‘Yes.'

‘Don't look much like you.'

‘I know, but he's mine.'

Syd gave a nod. ‘All right, we'll spring 'im too.'

I choked. ‘What?'

Syd grinned. ‘All legal like – don't want to get in trouble with no Scottish law.'

‘Of course not,' I chuckled. Not that that would stop him. Knowing Syd, he'd try legal, then try something else.

‘This is descending into a farce!' barked Sir Charles. ‘Who are you, young man?'

‘I'm character witness for Cat Royal. Known her since a baby, I 'ave. No one knows 'er better than me.'

It was evident to all present that Sir Charles was beginning to wish he hadn't got up that morning. ‘In that case, you must wait your turn
with the others.' He pointed to the seats at the back of the courtroom. ‘And stop intimidating my men!'

‘What? Me?' asked Syd innocently, clenching his fists and baring his teeth in a mirthless smile. ‘I'm 'armless – mostly.'

Nick and Joe gave me two identical grins and retreated with Syd to their seats. It might have been just a trick of the light, but I could swear that the official who'd stood nearest Joe was now short of a watch chain and accompanying ticker.

Sir Charles thought it time to remind his rebellious audience of the solemnity of the occasion and of his own importance.

‘I will not allow the proceedings to be interrupted again – not for anything or anyone,' he lectured us. ‘I will severely punish the next person who –'

But he was destined not to finish. A crow-attendant fluttered to his side and whispered in his ear urgently. Sir Charles's eyes widened.

‘What? Here?' he stuttered.

Oh, I was just loving this! It was better than a
first night and a full house. I had a delicious sense of anticipation. Poking Rabbie in the ribs, I whispered.

‘We've had Friar Tuck,' I nodded to Mr Dale, ‘Little John,' I gestured to Syd, ‘now, if I'm not mistaken, it's the turn of King Richard.'

He looked at me blankly.

‘Haven't you ever heard the tales of Robin Hood?'

He shook his head.

‘Just hold on to your hat: it's about to get exciting.'

Sir Charles was checking the arrangement of his cravat nervously. ‘Let them in then,' he muttered to the official. ‘Quickly!'

The door opened for a final time. Sir Charles shot to his feet again, producing the ripple effect around the courtroom as everyone else rose. I had an inappropriate desire to giggle.

‘Your grace, this is an unexpected honour! And your lordship, so kind of you to come.'

Walking down the aisle came the statesmanlike figure of the Duke of Avon, his midnight blue coat
the last word in elegance, his cane tapping at every pace. At his shoulder, and striding in time with ease, was his son, the Earl of Arden, neatly turned out (for Frank, that is) in a claret jacket and gold silk waistcoat. Frank sought me out and gave a smile – he was enjoying this as much as me. A tall, scholarly looking man followed, carrying a pile of papers.

‘Sir Charles,' replied the duke in his quiet but firm voice. The hubbub in the public gallery died down as we strained to hear every word. ‘So kind of you to make time for us. I have brought my advocate from Edinburgh, Mr Walter Scott, to advise our family friend Miss Royal. I trust that meets with your approval.'

Sir Charles gave a nod. Dazed, he looked like one of the subjects of Mesmer's experiments. ‘So she didn't lie,' he said, half to himself.

Lady Ross-Baillie gave a whimper of distress. She had not for one moment believed my claim to know a duke – but she could be forgiven her scepticism. Not many Covent Garden waifs gather such friends in their career.

‘Miss Royal, lie?' laughed Frank. ‘Of course
not. She's the soul of honesty and ladylike deportment.'

With his back to Sir Charles, I hoped I was the only one who noticed that Frank had his fingers crossed.

‘It seems to me that this unfortunate matter need not go to trial,' continued the duke. ‘I've consulted Mr Scott here and he thinks the process has been most irregular. He pointed out that the defendants were not given access to legal counsel and no jury was summoned to deliberate the more serious charges. It is almost as if the guilty verdict has been decided in advance on the strength of reputation alone, but I'm sure that cannot be the case.'

Sir Charles flushed, the picture of a culpable man. The duke took out his watch, giving the impression that this had taken up enough of his valuable time already and it would be better for the future of all concerned if they did exactly as he said. ‘May I suggest that we adjourn today's hearing and retire to discuss the matter as gentlemen? I can vouch for Miss Royal and am
willing to extend the same protection to her brother. My family owes her a great debt and we would be most grateful to you for giving us the chance to repay it.'

Oh, well done the duke! I cheered him on silently. Reading between the lines of his polite speech, he was telling Sir Charles that his court was a shambles and that if he didn't let us go he'd earn the undying displeasure of one of the Britain's most illustrious houses.

Sir Charles tugged on his cravat and glanced up at the public gallery. It appeared the people's desire to hang a Bruce had been completely distracted by the fascinating spectacle on the courtroom floor. It wasn't every day that the little town of Lanark saw their sheriff out-bigwigged.

‘I suppose . . . I suppose . . .' began Sir Charles.

‘But what about my cows?' protested Lady Ross-Baillie, annoyed that her concerns were about to be so easily brushed aside.

The duke turned to bestow a brilliant smile on her. ‘Why, Lady Ross-Baillie! It has been a while since I last had the pleasure of seeing you. You are
looking as beautiful as ever.' He gallantly moved to kiss her hand. ‘May I present my son to you?'

Frank gave an accomplished bow. Lady Ross-Baillie fluttered and blushed under the combined flattery of the House of Avon.

‘I will make sure you are recompensed for your loss,' murmured the duke. ‘I would never leave a lady in distress.'

‘Of course you would not,' she beamed at him.

The duke straightened up from their private conference. ‘What is it to be, Sir Charles?' he asked in a brisker tone.

Sir Charles glanced to Mr Dale, the local celebrity, then to the London troublemakers ready to enforce our freedom, and finally to the duke with his formidable legal counsel. He knew that he was beaten.

‘The case is adjourned, pending further investigation,' he announced. ‘I release Catherine Royal and Rabbie Bruce into the custody of the Duke of Avon. That is if you are willing, your grace, to stand as guarantor for them?'

The duke gave me a warm smile. ‘I am.'

Sir Charles knocked a gavel on a board. ‘Court is suspended.'

As he swept out, I could swear I heard him mutter, ‘Thank God.'

I was ready to jump over the edge of the dock to hug my friends, but instead we were hustled back to the cheerless room. Rabbie's irons were struck off while we waited for the papers to be signed, confirming our release.

‘I'm impressed,' admitted Rabbie, giving me a delighted grin. ‘I had my doubts, but deep down, I believed that ye could do it.'

‘I did nothing. It was all the work of my friends – and family.' I added the last with a catch in my throat. I couldn't wait to see the Moirs.

‘Ye are free to go,' announced the guard unhappily, opening the door on to the back yard.

And there they were – all of them, even the duke.

Frank was the first to reach me. ‘You idiot, Cat! I let you go to Scotland and you take up cattle thieving just to make my hair go grey before I'm twenty.'

‘Mind my arm,' I squawked as he hugged me.

Frank realized for the first time that I had a sling under my shawl. ‘Sorry. Are you all right? That was stupid of me.'

Syd altered his usual crushing embrace to a gentle squeeze. ‘'Ow did that 'appen?' He gave Rabbie an assessing look, wondering if he were to blame.

‘I fell off a horse – my fault entirely,' I said quickly, not wanting to sour my brother's relationship with my best friends from the outset. ‘Frank, Syd – may I introduce Rabbie, my brother?'

‘Humph!' said Syd. ‘Bridgit told us all about you, you mangy rascal – kidnappin' Cat and gettin' 'er into your trouble.'

Before Rabbie could open his mouth to retaliate, I stepped on his foot.

‘All things for which he is sincerely sorry, I'm sure,' I said quickly. ‘But you're missing the point, Syd. He's my
brother
. Isn't that wonderful!'

‘Yeah, Kitten, I know. Congratulations.' He sized Rabbie up again. ‘Big lad. I s'pose we could make somethink of 'im when we get 'im 'ome.'

Rabbie was not warming to my friends as I had hoped, but then they didn't exactly like him either. A familiar state of affairs. ‘I willna be going away wi' ye,' he sneered.

Bad move to sneer at Syd. Rabbie found himself dangling from his shirtfront and lifted to Syd's eyes. ‘Tough luck, mate. You should've thought of that before you got yourself in gaol.'

‘What do you mean?' I asked. Syd seemed convinced Rabbie was going back to London with me.

Frank gave me a half-smile. ‘Conditions of your release, Cat. My father's agreed to take you both back with us and to ensure that your brother stays out of trouble.'

‘Nae!' protested Rabbie. ‘Put me back in there. I'll talk to the man!'

‘Too late. You had a choice between swinging for a thief or becoming the ward of a duke. We took the liberty of choosing the latter for you. Welcome to the family, Rabbie.' Frank goosed him in the ribs to deflate his outraged stance then ruffled his hair.

Rabbie turned to appeal to me. ‘Cat, tell them I canna leave here.'

I bit my lip. I could guess how this must seem to him – something like an avalanche in the Highlands sweeping away all his familiar landmarks. ‘I'm afraid I don't think you have much choice, Rabbie – not for now at least. And I'll be with you, don't forget that.'

Rabbie scowled but had the good sense to recognize he was up against a brick wall. He gave a curt nod. ‘As long as ye promise ye'll no leave me,' he muttered.

‘I promise.'

Syd and Frank moved aside so that I could curtsey to the duke and thank him for his assistance.

‘Not at all, Miss Royal,' he said pleasantly. ‘Considering our past history, it was the least I could do to settle the great debt our family owes you. And I'm delighted you've found your brother so unexpectedly.'

‘Thank you, your grace. He's very grateful to you too.' I nudged Rabbie who murmured something which I hoped the duke construed
as thanks. It sounded a little too much like curses to me.

Bridgit and Jamie came up next. I half-strangled Bridgit with my enthusiastic greeting.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!' I exclaimed.

She laughed. ‘To be sure, it was nothing: just a letter and a word in the right ear. You made lots of friends in New Lanark, Cat.'

‘That ye have, Snippie,' grinned Jamie.

‘I hadn't realized until today. Thanks, professor.' I felt someone nudge my hand. ‘Jeannie!'

‘Hello, Cousin Catherine,' the little girl giggled. ‘I'm very glad ye're one o' us.'

Ian and Dougie joined her and both gave me a kiss on the cheek.

‘Time to come home, cousin, and tell the family what ye've been up to for the last fourteen years or so,' said Dougie.

‘Jamie says we'll no believe ye when we hear the full tale,' added Ian, picking Jeannie up to give her a lift on his shoulders. ‘So we are primed to be amazed.'

‘I'll do my best,' I promised, following his lead as he guided us out of the yard to the waiting carriages. ‘I wouldn't want to disappoint my audience.'

My friends and family (is it not a miracle that I can write that?) spent Christmas together at Kinlochrie, one of the duke's Scottish estates near Stirling. The duke himself returned to London, leaving Frank in charge of his extensive and unconventional guest list of mill workers and London market boys, but he managed admirably. We played games, burned a massive yule log in the parlour hearth, and ate and drank to our hearts' content. My friend Professor Jamie discovered the library and only rarely came up for air. He struck up a friendship with the steward over something he called ‘steam engineering' – whatever that is – so we left them to their
discussion of gaskets and pistons. On a less learned note, Syd identified both Dougie and Rabbie as promising boxers and spent the day after Christmas taking them through their paces on the back lawn, providing us all with much entertainment and only one bloody nose.