The Patriot (12 page)

Andrew turned to pace the floor, fists clenched.

"John says that you can only flee, to where this Privy Council's writ does not run - across the Border," Margaret declared. "At first. And then probably overseas - for no doubt they will be able to take you in England, also, in time. But meantime England. Have you anyone to whom you can go? Secretly?"

"Burnet!" Henry said. "Gilbert Burnet. In London. He would help, Andrew. Master Burnet was parish minister here, our tutor," he told Margaret. "An excellent man. Author of books. He now lives in London . . ."

"I cannot just bolt like a whipped cur!"

"What choice have you? They were going to hang Argyll. Think you they will be any kinder with you? You have
got
to go, Dand - to save your life."

"And at once," the young woman insisted. "Tomorrow may be too late. That is why I rode here tonight. When you do not appear at Holyrood, they will be after you. Do not be foolish, Andrew. Heed us - who are fond of you!"

He looked at her, at that face, searchingly, almost hungrily -and she met his gaze frankly. He nodded. "I . . . thank you. Yes, then - I shall go. Pray God, not for long. But I shall go."

"Tonight?" "Yes."

"God be praised! And my . . .
our
prayers go with you. Oh, I am sorry, sorry! To be the bearer of such tidings. I, I . . ." She shook her head determinedly. "Enough! I must go. Return, before I am missed."

"You will stay here tonight, surely?"

"No. If it was learned that I was here. . . when you are fled . . . there could be much trouble. My father might suffer. My groom I can trust. But I must be back to Edinburgh tonight."

"Then I will escort you. First, before I . . . bolt."

"Do not be foolish, Andrew . . . !"

"It is
my
privilege," Henry declared. "You have other things to do, Dand. And ride in quite the other direction . . ."

So, presently, they made their farewells, a difficult, trying business, with so much to be said and no way of saying it. The normally eloquent and vehement Andrew Fletcher was for once all but wordless, his brother gabbling rather, Margaret strained, in a conflict of emotions. As Andrew helped her up on to her horse, there in the windy dark, they clung to each other for a moment - that was all. They did not even say goodbye, indeed, neither trusting their voices.

Henry gripped his brother's shoulder, and mounted also.

Later by a couple of hours, Andrew did ride in the opposite direction, alone, with full saddlebags, as much money as he could find about the house, sword by his side - and with a sore heart. He did not look back at his great house, but trotted eastwards through the darkened countryside he knew so well, with a thin rain off the sea in his face. At least, on such a night, he was unlikely to be observed.

He went by Beil, where he knocked up a surprised Johnnie Belhaven and his wife, to say goodbye. Johnnie, now recovered from his concussion, agreed that Andrew had no option but to flee the country. He added that, strangely, only the day before, Baillie of Jerviswood had called, and on the same business, flight, warned that he was to be arrested and executed. He was having hastily to borrow moneys, as he went, for he had been so savagely fined for his non-conformity — £6,000, the entire annual value of his estates - that he was all but

p
enniless. He was a distant connection of the Hamiltons. He
h
ad gone on, en route for the Border, intending to call on his friend Sir Patrick Home of Polwarth, who would help him -
having himself been incarcerated in Stirling Casde by the Privy Council some time before, for four years; Home had then gone to England but was now returned. Probably Baillie would still be at Polwarth, only a few miles from the Border. Perhaps if Andrew called in there, the two fugitives mi
ght go on together? Two men Scotl
and could ill afford to lose. They would be back, Andrew assured.

Part Two

5

Gilbert Burnet was a strange man, an extraordinary mixture, extraordinary indeed by any standards. Talented, cultured, handsome, amiable, broad-minded, he was yet strong-willed to a degree, all but obstinate, unafraid of giving offence in the highest places yet the gentlest of men in his personal relationships, utterly careless of his own advantage yet forever attracting offers of lofty position. Cadet of the ancient Deeside house of Burnet of Leys, son of a Lord of Session, he had been a Master of Arts of Aberdeen University before he was fourteen years, studied law, changed to divinity, licensed to preach at eighteen, a member of the Royal Society at twenty-one and Professor of Divinity at Glasgow at twenty-seven. Offered his choice of four Scots bishoprics at twenty-nine, he refused them all but chose to become a mere parish minister of Saltoun at thirty. There he stayed for five years, preaching twice of a Sunday, visiting the sick, tutoring the Fletcher brothers and writing his books, particularly his
History of the Reformation,
of both kingdoms. He was offered the first archbishopric vacant but again refused; and, hating the oppressions in Scotland under Lauderdale, removed to London in 1678. He was promptly offered a large city church, but, followed by Lauderdale's spleen, King Charles himself wrote to the congregation ordering them not to engage so dangerous a character. But the Master of the Rolls, no less, despite the royal displeasure, gave him charge of his private chapel, and gained him the Lectureship of St. Clements, with a house. There at St. Clements he remained, writing - and strangely, became the most sought-after preacher in London. And when his first volume of the
History of the Reformation
was published, received the thanks of both English Houses of Parliament.

This was the man, still aged only thirty-nine, who received with joy Andrew Fletcher and Robert Baillie at his St.
Clements house that March day of 1683, to insist that they stayed there as his guests. Oddly enough, Baillie of Jerviswood was a connection by marriage, Baillie's wife being a niece of Burnet's mother. The fugitives, of course, emphasised that their presence must remain secret, if possible - and by the same token must therefore pose some risk to their host, if discovered. But Burnet would not hear of them going elsewhere. He owed his kinsmen shelter, he asserted; and he had always been particularly fond of his old pupil - on whom, of course, he had had an enormous influence. He approved most strongly of their present attitudes and must in consequence aid them in every way possible.

So they settled in at St. Clement's Lane, amongst the narrow, smelly London Thames-side streets. Andrew was able to write a letter to Henry, informing him that all was well, that there had been no sign of pursuit, that the journey down through England had been prolonged, uncomfortable but uneventful, and would he send him some money as soon as possible, for he was woefully short of clothing suitable for the kind of company Gilbert Burnet frequented. He also wrote three or four versions of a letter to Margaret Carnegie, but tore them all up and ended by merely asking Henry to convey his admiration and thanks and devotion to that young woman.

Burnet had an excellent source of information as to what went on in Scotland through none other than the Duke of Hamilton, who made a point of being kept up-to-date. The author's first book had been the Memoirs of the Duchess Anne; and he was now working on a companion-volume for the Duke. So he saw a lot of the Hamiltons and was able to keep his visitors apprised of much that transpired in that country. It seemed that the oppressions of the government grew ever more dire. The Duke of York, who had started out, not exactly by seeking popularity but by acting with seeming moderation and largely leaving political action and persecutions to the officers of state, even becoming a golf enthusiast on Leith Links like his grandfather, was now showing his true colours. There were more and more arrests and executions; edicts and orders flowed from Holyroodhouse, Catholics were promoted to high places, fervent Protestants brought low and the Test rigorously applied. No fewer than eighty Episcopalian ministers, mainly of Lauderdale's appointment, refused the Test and were ousted. The subsequent uprisings of the people were put down with a savagery hitherto unequalled - with Colonel Graham of Claverhouse the name which was apt to crop up most frequently as the greatest scourge, and in high favour with James Stewart. Indeed he was said to have been promised a seat on the Privy Council. Mackenzie, the Advocate, for his part, had been rewarded with the royal barony of Bute. And so on.

Scotland seemed a good place to be out of - but the exiles' anxieties for their kin and friends grew the more.

Not that conditions in England were so greatly better. With ever poorer health, the King's hidden Catholicism became ever more evident, and the English House of Commons, staunchly Protestant, grew ever the more restive. The House of Lords, with many more Catholics, was less so; but the Protestant lords were the more concerned in consequence; and in fact took the lead in agitation and protest. Plots and scares and secret groupings proliferated and talk was all of unconstitutional action, revolt and worse. The house of Stewart, which had survived for over three centuries, appeared to be lurching towards a fall.

Burnet, who had always been a King's man, however frequently he found himself in disagreement with the monarch, was pulled two ways in all this. He was a firm Protestant, but loth to turn against Charles Stewart. He was an upholder of freedom and hater of tyranny, but disapproved of violence and unconstitutional behaviour. When Charles had found it expedient to offer him the bishopric of Chichester, he had refused, but sent the King a specially-composed poem, expounding in notable verse the duties of kingship in a Protestant realm. He sought to remain friendly with men of all views and to avoid implication in politics - or so he declared. Nevertheless those close to him had no doubts as to where his heart lay. And Andrew Fletcher, whose own views had been so greatly moulded by the older man, who had had the rearing of him for five most formative years, knew better than most.

For all that, Andrew was surprised when, a week or so after their arrival, and with time already beginning to hang heavily, Gilbert Burnet asked his guests if they would like to accompany him to a meeting that evening? They need not worry, it would not be a public meeting; indeed a very private one. Those attending would be exceedingly discreet and trustworthy, and no risk to the fugitives be involved; but they might well find the occasion instructive and might in turn have the opportunity of instructing the others on conditions in Scotland, which might have some relevance to the proceedings.

Intrigued, they were glad to accede. Lying low was a dull business.

They had not far to walk, only two streets further west along Lombard Street, to Abchurch Lane, something of a backwater, where at a wine-merchant's establishment, by the name of Shepherd, they were led through a back-yard, amongst casks and barrels, and up a stair to the merchant's house. Climbing, Burnet asked them if they had heard of the Council of Six. It would have been strange if they had not. All England had heard of the Council of Six, reputedly the most lofty, influential and secret of the political groups and leagues which the present unhappy dynastic and governmental situation had thrown up. Just who the six were was a mystery - but they were highly-placed Protestants, inevitably. Scarcely able to believe their ears, that the allegedly inoffensive, non-political Dr. Burnet should be in a position to introduce them to such company, his charges marvelled.

Mr. Shepherd, a rubicund, bustling and very unplotterlike little man, ushered them into a large chamber, apparently part-office, part wine-tasting room, by the aroma and the many pails and flagons, where, beside a well-doing coal-fire, four men sat at ease, glasses in hand. They were all of middle years, richly-dressed and assured of manner. They rose to greet the newcomers.

"Ah, Gilbert," one said, "here is a pleasure. We are always delighted when you will take wine with us."

"The privilege is all mine, my lords. May I present to you my friends from Scotland, of whom I informed you? Both lairds of substance and some renown, forced into exile."

"But not for long, I hope. Of both Mr. Baillie and Mr.
Fletcher we have heard, of course. And quite recently - from my lord of Argyll, no less."

"I fear that you will have heard but little to my credit from the Campbell, sir!" Baillie said grimly. "I am Jerviswood. Argyll helped to fine me £6,000 none so long ago - for nonconformity!"

"You say so? A grievous imposition. But Argyll it seems has seen the light, if belatedly, and changed his tune. We have sent him on to Holland." The spokesman held out his hand. "I am Essex. And these are my lords Howard, Russell and Grey."

Impressed indeed, the visitors bowed. The Earl of Essex was one of the foremost noblemen of England, until recently indeed Viceroy of Ireland, and now Lauderdale's successor as First Lord of the Treasury. Lord William Russell, son of the Earl of Bedford, was one of the most famous parliamentarians of the day, leader of a large faction in the House of Commons. And Lords Howard and Grey were well-known peers, influential in the Upper House. If these were four of the Council, then its illustrious nature had not been exaggerated.