The Low Road (9 page)

‘And what about pollution of the body?'

Again, he was speechless. I pressed home my advantage.

‘Last night I watched you. I was outside your window and I watched you.'

‘You watched me.'

‘I did.'

‘I see.'

Now he would hang his head, admit he was a fraud, pack his bags and leave Gordon Hall for good. I was magnificent.

‘Well, Charles, you have seen things that... I suppose it is unfit for you to see.'

‘I should say so.
Au revoir
, Monsieur Lebecque.'

‘No. You must understand certain things.'

His hand was beating a tattoo against his thigh. It was impossible for me to look at him now without a vision of his hands milking a quantity of sperm across his hairy stomach. And he knew it.

‘There are things that happen in a man's life, Charles...'

‘As I know. Remember? I had a friend once.'

‘Yes, of course, poor Alexander. Most regrettable.'

‘You destroyed his family.'

‘Ah, no, Charles. I saved him and his family. And you for that matter.'

‘You... what?'

‘I would like to address you as a man.'

‘Go ahead.'

‘As a man of understanding, I hope.'

‘What little understanding I have, sir, you taught me.'

‘Charles, for one moment come down off your high horse and listen to reason. I have tried to tell you that there is danger for you and your family. I stand between you and that danger. If not as tutor, then as comrade.'

‘You are not worthy to live under the same roof as my mother.'

‘Why? Because, as you so nicely put it, I pollute myself? Come, Charles, I am flesh and blood, as you saw.'

Yes indeed, that I had seen very clearly. I knew what was beneath the robe. I could picture it now.

‘I cannot be a saint, not in this life. I would be happier if you would accept that. We are... equals in this house.'

‘No, sir. We are not.'

‘Charles...' There was a look of imprecation in his eyes. I thought for a moment he was going to cry. With his left hand he took me by the arm. Again I saw the picture from last night, felt the heat of his grasp burning right through me. ‘I want you to know -'

A loud smash from the lower part of the house interrupted him. Ethel's voice raised in a scream. I heard my mother crying ‘Lebecque! Lebecque!' and loud male voices coming from the hall.

Lebecque grasped me tightly for a second, looked me in the eyes and ran from the room.

He reached the bottom of the stairs a few seconds before me. The hall was full of people: my mother, Ethel, MacFarlane and half a dozen English redcoats - those devils of my childhood imagination. They were a dirty, ill-disciplined crew, leaning against the banisters, plastering their filthy hands over the walls. The leader was a little smarter than the others-a sneering, arrogant young man who stood smiling and motionless while Ethel battered on his chest with her fists.

‘Get out, English devils!' she cried. ‘There is nothing for you here. Nothing!'

Lebecque took command of the situation at once. He put a gentle arm round Ethel's shoulders and steered her out of harm's way, interposed himself between the soldiers and my mother.

‘Gentlemen,' he said, ‘what is your business?'

‘Search and confiscate,' drawled the sergeant. ‘Stand aside.'

Lebecque stood his ground. ‘Which regiment?'

‘You're French.' It was not a question; it was an accusation.

‘Yes.'

‘Stand aside.' The sergeant squared up to Lebecque; in a fight, they would be evenly matched. The soldier was shorter but looked strong and pugnacious, clearly used to fighting; on the side of his face, from one curly brown sideburn down to his jaw, there was a fresh scar. His eyes betrayed the bully beneath the uniform.
Lebecque, however, was no puny cleric. I knew well enough the strength in the limbs beneath his robes. But instead of pushing the sergeant back and clearing the insolent soldiers out of the house, he meekly stepped aside.

‘What are you doing, Lebecque?' I hissed. ‘Let's throw them out!'

‘For God's sake, Charles, keep a cool head.'

The sergeant seemed to notice me for the first time, and looked me up and down with a wolfish grin. ‘This is the child of the house, I presume?'

He knew exactly how to anger me; he was not many years my senior, and only a little taller than me, but his uniform gave him authority.

‘Be careful who you are addressing, sir,' I said, trying to look haughty. ‘This is the home of a Scottish family. You are not welcome.'

‘Charles, please go upstairs,' said Lebecque. The soldiers were laughing openly. ‘Let me deal with this.'

‘You? Why you? I am the man of the house!' The sergeant guffawed.

‘Charles, I beg you—'

‘Go on, boy,‘ said the sergeant, ‘let Mummy tuck you up in bed. There's nothing for you to play with here.'

‘I will not be told—'

‘Charlie...' It was my mother this time, white-faced, wringing her hands. I stood my ground.

The sergeant relished my discomfiture. ‘Snot-nosed kids should obey their mothers. Even the child of a Jacobite whore.'

Silence fell with a thud. Lebecque clenched his fists. The sergeant stood there, insolently chewing. His soldiers sniggered and wiped their noses. All eyes were on me.

‘Nobody insults my mother in front of me, sir!'

‘Go to the playroom, Scottish brat.'

‘Charles...'

‘Nobody! Get out of my house!' I jumped down the stairs and launched myself on the sergeant, grabbing for his throat. He was too quick for me, stepped backwards and left me sprawling at his feet. He stuck the muddy boot of his toe in my face and rubbed it around my mouth.

‘You don't want us to take you as well, do you, pretty boy? You know what happens to babes like you in the army, don't you?'

‘Don't touch him.' Lebecque's voice sounded commanding. The sergeant stiffened, as if in the presence of a commanding officer.

‘Take what you want and leave.'

‘Well, that's very kind of you,' drawled the sergeant, relaxing again. ‘Gibson. Bright. Arrest him.'

Two of the brutish soldiers stepped forward. My mother screamed in fright, but they didn't touch me; they went straight for Lebecque and held him by the arms. A third soldier bound his hands with a rope. Lebecque offered no resistance.

‘There,' said the sergeant with mock kindness, ‘we needn't go through the motions of searching the house now. Prisoner gave himself up, didn't he? We'll trouble you no further, sir.' This last with grating sarcasm to me. ‘Good day. Men! Fall in! About turn! Quick march!'

The soldiers ambled out of the house, talking and laughing. Lebecque, bound at a rope's end, was pulled after them. My mother and I were rooted to the spot.

The last thing I saw was Lebecque's head turned to face us one last time, an imploring look in his eyes.

The soldiers pulled him through the door and were gone.

Three weeks passed and we heard nothing. We lived in daily dread of a return visit from the redcoats, but Gordon Hall remained silent. I begged my mother to tell me all she knew about Monsieur Lebecque, but she dismissed me, took to her bed and refused to see anyone except Ethel. I sought Girolle in the village but he, said the landlord at the inn, had disappeared, leaving a purse of silver to cover his lodging. Lebecque had passed out of our lives as suddenly, as mysteriously, as he had arrived.

Well, I had achieved my ends. The threat to our family was gone. Lebecque's humiliation was complete. I could not have planned it better myself. So why was I nagged by a sense of guilty and misery? For all that I tried to gloat, I felt that I had betrayed a man, that my arrogance and stupidity had endangered a life. Lebecque may have been a bad priest, a hypocrite - but I could not forget the look in his eyes as he was dragged out of Gordon Hall to face God only knew what tortures at the hands of his captors. And just before, he had tried to tell me something. He had paved the way to an understanding between us and I, in my pride and ignorance, had rebuffed him.

Finally one day the mail coach brought an envelope addressed to my mother in an unknown hand. Within was a brief, scrawled note from Lebecque.

Most honoured Madame Gordon

 

Fate has been kind to me, and I am comfortable enough in captivity Do not attempt to find me. Further communication is impossible. I beg you to forgive the imposition on your family and the danger and discomfort in which I placed you. I would wish Master Charles to keep up his studies, and enclose directions to that end.

 

Your servant

Benoit Lebecque

 

Wrapped in the note was a thick, sealed package bearing the inscription ‘CEG' — my initials in Greek characters. Poor, honest Lebecque had found the time to worry about my education. I had misjudged him.

How far I had misjudged him I was about to find out. Dawdling up to the library, I anticipated nothing more than a series of dry grammatical exercises, a translation from Aristotle, perhaps. I sat down, carefully broke the seal and unwrapped the package. Inside were four sheets of thin, dirty paper, closely hatched with Greek script. I sighed and prepared to start work. Within two minutes my eyes were starting out of my head.

 

φɩλoσ Xαρoλoσ

 

This salutation, in perfect Attic Greek, was followed by Lebecque's confession. Sweating and impatient with my own imperfect powers of translation, I worked my way through the letter. By the end I was in tears. ‘Dearest Charles,' it began.

 

I pray that this letter, written at great danger to myself, finds you and your mother safe and well. I know you will wish, both of you, never to see
me again, and if God is just you never will. I must ask you to perform one final task for me, and then forget me. But first, to understand the importance of this favour that I ask you, you must know who and what I am. Charles, you always wished to understand. I tried to protect you, but now you have your wish.

I am not a priest but an ordinary sinner; an extraordinary sinner, perhaps I should say. You will judge for yourself, I am sure. Remember, though, that all I did was in service of my King and to protect you, your family and many, many others like you.

My name is truly Benoit Lebecque, and I am by vocation a scholar and theologian. I might have made a good priest, but God chose a different course for me. Perhaps, as you told me, my carnal appetites would have made a hypocrite of me had I worn the habits of a man of God while polluting myself within. But that is a charge of which I exonerate myself.

I was forced from my studies by the demands of the Stuart cause. My family has ancient links with yours; our fathers were sworn supporters of Prince Charles, who now lives in exile near my home in Argiers. In the aftermath of our defeat at Culloden, and the shameful murder of your father, I swore to serve those few powerful and prominent Jacobites still living in Scotland, who wished to escape the dangers of General Wade's avenging army and join their Lord in France. To that end I was despatched north to live with you in the guise of a humble priest and tutor. In fact I directed a small army of spies through Girolle and others, who made contact with our targets and, when the time was right, put them to ship from the west coast, to temporary havens in Ireland and finally on the long voyage to safety in France.

All went well, and we rescued perhaps a dozen from certain death. Then, alas, we were betrayed. By whom? I am not sure. I only know that information given to the soldiers led them directly to Gordon Hall, where
they were under orders to force me into open resistance and then arrest me on whatever pretext they could. To spare you and your mother the pain of further violence I allowed them to take me, suspecting rightly that I was their only target.

Your mother resisted my presence in the house from the start, but was loyal to the memory of her husband and sacrificed her own peace of mind for the good of our glorious cause. Please, Charles, comfort her now and reassure her. I wish I could give better news, but I fear her trials are not over. Your family will never be free from suspicion. I will say nothing to incriminate you, even on pain of death. But while you remain at Gordon Hall, you are in danger.

Now, Charles, to my final commission. In my trunk, among my few humble possessions, there is an encrypted list of all the families to whom I was to bring assistance. It is concealed under a false panel at the bottom of the chest. You must find it and destroy it immediately. Girolle held all the day-to-day papers, and has returned with them to France. Only this document remains and must be destroyed. Please, Charles, obey me in this. As long as the list survives, the danger to you and your family is acute.

Finally, to me. I am held in solitary confinement in a castle near Fort William. My journey here was arduous but I avoided any real brutality. The soldiers, as all redcoats, were a degenerate rabble and taunted me endlessly with their vileness, but laid not a finger on me, perhaps out of respect for the cloth. They know nothing of the truth, only that I am a spy. They believe me to be a priest.

Although Fort William is not far from Gordon Hall, it took us three days to reach it. We stopped at every inn and every house along the way. The drunken soldiers, when they could not find a woman willing to entertain them, had their own amusements which I was forced to witness. I shall not describe them to you, Charles. You know I have no grounds for
moralising. I know much of the world, and have experienced much. I know about the love that exists between men. What I have witnessed among this rabble is a grotesque travesty of that love.