Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

“Yes,” she said. “I was very lucky, I know that.”

“I spent months trying to pluck up the courage to ask her to teach me to throw a knife,” John admitted.

“Why didn’t you?” Beth said. “She probably would have said yes. Although she’d have made you wait until you were older,” she added thoughtfully. Beth had been ten when her mother had deemed her old enough to start learning to defend herself. John would have only been six or seven then.

“I wanted to, but I asked Jane how to go about it, and she forbade me to even mention it. I was too frightened of her to disobey her. I thought she might fire me. Jane never approved of your mother teaching you ‘manly skills’, as she put it.”

Beth laughed.

“I know,” she said. Jane had worshipped Ann Macdonald, but had not approved of either her Jacobite convictions or her thoughts on the necessary skills a young lady should learn. “But my mother was brought up very differently to Jane. Her family suffered very badly for supporting King James in the ’15. A lot of the clansmen either died in battle or were captured. Her father died of typhus in prison and she had to help her mother to bring up her six brothers and sisters on the edge of starvation. She told me that the clanswomen had to learn to fight, because they never knew when they would have to. If the men were away fighting another clan, it was up to the women to hunt for food, and to defend themselves if necessary against any other clans that sought to take advantage of the fact that their menfolk were away to raid the village. She had a very hard life, John, and if it hadn’t been for her skills with a knife, she’d not have survived to move down to England and meet my father. Some of the stories she told me would make your blood curdle.”

John waited for a moment, hoping that Beth would regale him with one of these blood-curdling tales, but after a short silence she shook her head, as though to drive away some unpleasant thought.

“Anyway,” she continued. “She was of the opinion that every woman should be able to defend herself against attack, especially as women are not as strong as men. It would be nice to think that most men are too courteous to hurt a member of the weaker sex, but it’s not true, unfortunately. She held the view that you never knew when your circumstances might change. Even the most privileged might be brought down by a stroke of fate, and it was as well to know how to survive, just in case. So she taught me how to throw knives, and how to kill too, if necessary. And I’m very glad she did, although I hope I’ll never have to do it.”

“You must miss her a lot,” John said.

Beth looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I think of her, and of Father every day,” she said, smiling sadly. Then she swiped at her eyes impatiently with her hand and jumped down off the barrel, handing the knife back to John. “But if we carry on talking, Richard will be home before you’ve had a chance to throw the knife at all. Come on, let’s get on. Remember what I told you, and try again.”

He moved into position, and took aim carefully. This time the knife hit the door, although it didn’t penetrate the wood.

“That was better. Your wrist was straight. But you’re twisting your body. You must stand square on to the target. The only part of your body that moves is your arm.”

She came up behind him as he aimed the knife for another throw and gripped his shoulders, intending to hold him in position as he threw. To her surprise he cried out in pain and leapt away from her, the knife landing on the floor at his feet.

“What on earth’s the matter, John?” Beth asked. His face had drained of all colour, and as she made to move towards him, he put his hand up to ward her off.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I fell and bruised myself, that’s all. I’ll be fine in a day or so.”

He was not a good liar. Beth did not try to approach him further, but her face was determined.

“You’re lying, John, and you never lie to me. What’s really happened?”

“Please, Beth, it’s none of your concern.” The colour was returning to his face now, but he still looked sick. A nasty suspicion crossed her mind.

“It’s Richard, isn’t it? What has he done to you?” she asked.

“Nothing!” he retorted, too quickly.

She stooped, and picked the knife up off the floor, sliding it into its sheath and putting it in her pocket.

“Very well,” she said. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Richard myself as soon as he comes home. If he has hurt you, it is my concern, John, whatever you may think.” She made to turn away, but John’s anguished cry stopped her.

“Don’t, please, you’ll only make things worse,” he pleaded.

“Take off your shirt,” she replied. “I want to see what’s wrong.”

He shrank away from her, moving backward into the barn, and her heart contracted. They had been friends since they were children, had argued and fought like brother and sister. Never in his life had he shrank from her. And never in her life had she used her superior status against him, as she now did. She followed him and stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“If you don’t do as I ask, I will go and ask Richard. I will not have my friends and employees abused by him behind my back. Take off your shirt.”

He did, reluctantly, and stood facing her, shivering slightly for a moment before turning round so she could see his back. She gasped in horror, her face paling to almost the same shade as his.

“My God, John,” she breathed. “What has he done to you?”

The young man’s back was a mass of red welts, which spanned from his shoulders to his waist. Some of the stripes were partially healed, others were still fresh. Where she had gripped his shoulders she had scraped some of the scabs off, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his back.

“I...he...he was not pleased with my work,” John said, lamely.

“What did he beat you with? His riding crop?”

“No, he had a switch. He...”

Now the initial shock of seeing his injuries was over, Beth had moved into the barn, closer to him, and was examining the wounds in more detail. They were not the result of one beating, but at least two, maybe more. This had been going on for some time.

“I will not tolerate this,” Beth said, very quietly. “Why did you not tell me?”

John turned to face her, but did not answer. She made a decision, and swirled away.

“What are you going to do?” John cried.

“Firstly I’m going to destroy that switch of his. Then I’m going to wait for him to come home. I cannot let this go, John. I’m sorry.”

In desperation John stepped forward and grabbed her arm to stop her leaving. He swung her round to face him.

“No! He said that if I told you, he would kill me. I believe him, Beth,” John said, his voice desperate.

The sunlight coming through the open door suddenly diminished.

“And so you should, boy,” a cold voice came from behind Beth. John let go of her arm as though it had burnt him and backed off into the shadows. Beth spun round to see her brother in the doorway of the barn, leaning nonchalantly on the doorpost.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I disturb your little tryst by my early return? Although it’s as well I did. After all, you would be no use to me if you were ruined. I presume even you will now agree to the boy’s dismissal, after he has tried to seduce you.”

Beth’s hand went instinctively to the knife concealed in her pocket and stayed there.

“He has done no such thing, and well you know it. Why are you victimising him, Richard? Or are all my staff wearing a uniform of stripes?” Beth fought to control her temper, to remain rational.

Richard moved away from the post and took a step into the barn.

“May I remind you that they are
my
staff now,” he said acidly. “Many of them deserve chastisement, yes, for their lack of respect. But they show signs of coming round without it. This,” he waved his hand in the direction of John, who was cowering in the shadows, “persists in his impertinence. I see now that he will not learn his place, no matter what I do.”

“You can stop this ridiculous pretence now, Richard,” Beth said, her voice shaking with rage. “You tried to dismiss him once, and I stopped you. You have decided to drive him away with violence instead. I know what this is about. You are trying to get rid of him because he saw you make a fool of yourself the day you arrived. That is the real reason, is it not?” She saw his mouth twist, and knew she had hit on the truth.

“I will not discuss this here. John, you are dismissed.” Richard turned to leave, with a contemptuous gesture.

The knife thudded into the doorpost no more than an inch from his head, and stuck there, quivering. Richard leapt instinctively to one side, then whirled to face his sister, who was standing rigidly before him, her fists clenched at her side. He looked from her to the knife in disbelief.

“I have not finished yet,” she shouted. “You are very free with your whip with those who cannot fight back, you coward!”

Richard’s face reddened, and he took a step toward her.

“No one calls me coward, sister, not even my family,” he growled.

“Family!” Beth cried. “You call yourself my family! My staff are far more family to me than you will ever be! I am ashamed to own you as my brother. You make me sick!”

He saw red. Lunging forward, he swung his fist, catching her squarely on the side of the head before she could move and sending her sprawling into the hay, where she lay as though dead. Richard bent over her, his fist still clenched

“No!” John cried. He moved forward out of the shadows, brandishing a pitchfork threateningly. Richard straightened slowly, and turned on the balls of his feet to face his attacker, drawing his sword smoothly from the scabbard at the same time. He quickly gauged the situation. The boy facing him was white and his eyes had widened at the sight of the sword, but he did not back off. Concern for his mistress overrode his fear, and Richard felt a momentary flicker of admiration for the boy’s courage, before his anger at the insult to him overrode any finer emotions.

“Stand away from Beth,” John commanded, his voice trembling.

That was good. He was terrified, and more likely to make a mistake. Richard was not overly worried. He was an expert swordsman, and contrary to what his sister believed, for all his faults, he was no coward. However, the boy was young and strong, and very competent with a pitchfork. Richard’s instinct was to make a fight of it, and kill the boy, but if he did, there would be sure to be an enquiry, at which his sister would no doubt speak against him. Richard knew he would not be convicted, but he could do without the inconvenience at a time when he was hoping for promotion.

“Well, boy,” he said quietly. “It seems we have a situation. Why don’t you put down that ridiculous thing and we can talk about it?”

“I said stand away from Beth,” the boy repeated. Richard moved away, two steps, then another. “You will not hurt her any more. She was trying to help me,” John said.

“I had no intention of hurting her. I was trying to see if she was all right,” Richard replied truthfully. He had hit her harder than he intended and was a little worried by her stillness. But at the moment he was more concerned for his own safety. The pitchfork shook in the stable boy’s hands, and Richard smiled.

“Come, see sense,” he said reasonably. “You are brave, but I am a soldier, trained in arms. You cannot beat me. You must know that. Put the pitchfork down. I promise not to hurt your mistress, you have my word as a gentleman.”

John still hesitated, and Richard fought to quell the rage that rose in him. How dare this puppy doubt his word as a gentleman!

“Put down the pitchfork,” he said, “And you may leave.”

John wavered for an instant, and Richard pounced. With one sweep of his sword he sent the pitchfork flying from John’s grasp, then drove his fist into the boy’s stomach. He doubled up with a strangled gasp, winded, and Richard seized him by the hair, pushing him back into the wall. He writhed in the older man’s grasp, fighting for breath, until Richard placed the sword across his neck.

John froze, although his throat still worked convulsively as he managed to draw a trickle of air into his lungs. Richard pressed slightly, and a thread of red appeared along the line of the blade.

“You have five minutes to pack your things and be gone,” he said coldly. “In six minutes I will come looking for you. If I find you, I will kill you. Is that clear?” John’s eyes flickered over his assailant’s shoulder, but there was nothing more he could do for Beth. He nodded. Blood trickled down the blade of the sword.

Richard released John so quickly he staggered. Then regaining his balance, he ran out of the barn.

The soldier went to where the youth’s shirt still lay discarded on the floor. Picking it up he wiped his sword carefully before replacing it in the scabbard. Then he moved to where Beth still lay immobile in the hay. He placed two fingers at her throat, and felt the pulse, strong and steady. He slapped her cheek lightly, and she sighed softly, then was still again.

Satisfied that she was not in any danger of expiring, he left the barn. He would not go looking for John in six minutes. The boy would be gone. He had dealt with enough subordinates to know when he had broken a man, and it always gave him a thrill of satisfaction to do it. He whistled softly as he ran lightly up the steps and into the house to change for dinner.

* * *

When Graeme found her she was on the point of recovering consciousness, and moaned slightly as he carefully gathered her up in his arms. Jane had first expressed concern as to the whereabouts of the mistress after she had failed to arrive in the dining room. Richard had told her to go ahead with the meal, saying that it was his sister’s own fault if she could not tell the time. Jane had duly served the first course of mutton broth, but something in his voice worried her, and she had voiced her concerns to Graeme, who had been the first of the senior servants to appear in the kitchen. Having discovered from Grace that Beth was not in her room, Graeme had gone across the yard to the stables, where she had last been seen, expecting to find John at least, who would no doubt be able to tell him where she was. But the stables were empty, and what was more alarming, Richard’s horse was in its stall, but untended. There was clearly something wrong.