Chapter Eleven

Reverend Shackleford couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so aggrieved. Indeed, had Percy been here, he'd have expounded at length to the curate on the subject of his mistreatment. But since his oldest friend was unfortunately not in the vicinity to listen, that only left the Almighty. And since the reason he was so far from home in the first place, could be fairly and squarely laid at His door, Augustus Shackleford was of the opinion that the least He could do was listen.

With a sigh, the Reverend took one of the many paths down the garden, Flossy gambolling happily in front of him. It took a good twenty minutes to explain the whole problem, chapter and verse but once he'd done so, the clergyman had to admit to feeling slightly better. Perhaps he'd been using Percy a little too often as a confidant when in fact he would have done better to have taken his problems upstairs.

Seating himself on a bench, Reverend Shackleford found himself musing on what possible reason the Almighty could have had for putting such a deuced mumbling cove in his path. Abruptly, he remembered Dougal Galbraith's scathing comment about Sassenachs. And his own subsequent remark about Sawnys…

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." Matthew, Chapter five, Verses forty-three and forty-four. The Reverend could have quoted them in his sleep.

Augustus Shackleford looked up, just as the sun poked through the clouds bathing the arbour in which he was sitting with warmth and sunlight.

‘Tare an' hounds,' he muttered, giving a disgruntled shake of his head. ‘Alright, alright, you've made your point. I'll give the rag-mannered, pudding headed, pig-widgeon one more chance.

‘Only one more, mind…'

∞∞∞

As she climbed into bed, Jennifer found herself going over the interlude in the library with Brendon Galbraith for the hundredth time. For the life of her, she couldn't understand what had driven her to throw herself so wantonly at a man she'd only just met.

And even worse was the knowledge that if she had the time over, she'd likely do exactly the same thing again. Was there something wrong with her? No other man in her acquaintance had inspired so much as a flutter of the heart, let alone a desire to climb into his skin.

And that was it, she realised, that was exactly what she'd instinctively been trying to do. Or rather her body had. Her head hadn't appeared to have much say at all.

Groaning, Jennifer turned onto her back. Picturing the Scot in her mind, the tingling she'd felt earlier now expanded to encompass her whole body. Her nipples inexplicably hardened to points, and with a frown, she lifted the coverlet to have a look.

Was this what had driven her aunts to collectively behave so shockingly loose in the haft? Jennifer herself had never before experienced such … stirrings. Indeed she'd wondered on occasion whether she was lacking in many of the baser emotions so prevalent on her mother's side – aside from her pigheadedness which admittedly had shown itself at a very early age.

Gritting her teeth, Jennifer determinedly turned her mind to the problem of the missing children. When she'd shared the story of Edward Colman's treasure at dinner, the response had been one of excited enthusiasm - the most surprising being that of her grandfather. She had no idea what had transpired to give him such a change of heart, but the churlish, sour-faced individual who'd stomped out of the drawing room earlier in the day was notably absent at the dinner table. Oh there had been one or two chinks in the armour of his cheerfulness – particularly when it was suggested that he and Dougal Galbraith might eventually become good friends – but overall, she had to admit that the forthright grandfather she'd grown up with appeared firmly back in charge, even if his response to the suggestion he and Dougal might warm to each other was that he doubted he'd warm to Dougal Galbraith if they were cremated together.

Brendon had not been present for dinner, but then neither had Gifford. Apparently, it wasn't usual for the steward of the house to eat with the family. Since Jennifer had grown up with Malcolm - whose official role was that of her father's valet – eating often at their dinner table, she had to admit to finding it strange. And in truth, somewhat disappointing…

Gradually Jennifer's eyes began to close until at long last she finally fell asleep.

∞∞∞

The next day again dawned fair and sunny. Without examining her reasoning, Jennifer took quite a time with her toilet, settling eventually on a day dress the colour of the wild heather that grew everywhere. Jenet pinned her hair up in a simple chignon complete with purple ribbon and she finished her ensemble with a pink and purple plaid shawl which had been a parting gift from her mother in honour of her first adult visit to Scotland.

On walking into the breakfast room, she stifled her disappointment to see it empty, taking herself to task as she did so. Really, she had to put a stop to this ridiculous infatuation with a man she could not possibly have a future with.

Unfortunately, the stern telling off didn't stop her heart from doing somersaults as she caught the sound of his deep voice calling to Fergus outside the window. Seating herself at the breakfast table, she fought to get her racing pulse under control before he came through the door.

‘Guid mornin', ma lady.' His voice when it finally came was polite, but nothing more. Indeed, as she glanced up at him, she gave a small frown. His face too was closed, giving nothing away.

‘Good morning, Mr. Galbraith,' she responded taking care to keep her own voice equally noncommittal. As she spoke, she busied herself shaking out her napkin and placing it on her knee.

‘It's nae a guid mornin' when ah'm dragged oot o' bed tae spend time wi a turnip-heided God walloper.' Dougal Galbraith's mood had clearly not improved like that of her grandfather. Fighting a sudden urge to laugh, Jennifer bit her lip. Brendon was most definitely not amused if the tightness around his mouth was anything to go by.

‘Hae ye got any o' that tablet,' the old Scot went on to ask the maid.

‘Da, ye'll have what's on the sideboard and be grateful.' Dougal scowled, but didn't respond to his son's admonishment, choosing instead to help himself to a plate of ham and eggs.

The Reverend chose that moment to enter the breakfast room. He paused for a second when he saw Dougal tucking into his pile of ham, then with a small cough, offered a jovial, ‘Good morning to you, Dougal. I trust you're well.'

The old Scot paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, then looked behind to see if there happened to be another Dougal behind him. Seeing nobody else answering to the same name, he frowned and turned back. ‘Be ye talkin' tae me?' he muttered staring at the Reverend as though the clergyman had suddenly sprouted a second head.

Augustus Shackleford swallowed and offered a quick internal prayer before declaring gruffly that he believed they'd got off to an unfortunate start and suggesting they put the last two days behind them.'

By this time, Dougal was convinced his nemesis had been somehow replaced. ‘Who be ye?' he growled, narrowing his eyes as though he might see through the imposter. ‘Hae the God walloper bin taken awa by the wee folk?'

The Reverend visibly gritted his teeth, doing his best to remind himself of the sun shining down into the arbour the day before. His irritation was made worse by the fact that Flossy seemed delighted to see the old Scot, promptly jumping onto his knee and making herself comfortable. Finally managing to swallow his ire, Augustus Shackleford stomped to the sideboard and helped himself to breakfast.

‘Bring me another bit o' that bread wad ye…?'

Fortunately, before all the Reverend's good intentions disappeared into the ether, Peter, Malcolm and Felicity entered the room. ‘Would you ask Gifford to bring Finn to speak with us?' the Viscount asked the maid, seating himself next to Jennifer.

‘Would ye like me tae bring anothor pot o' tea while ah'm there, ma lord?' Peter nodded gratefully and smiled, causing the maid to colour up and smother a slight giggle.

Jennifer regarded her brother with amusement. It was hard sometimes to understand the attention Peter was given by ladies of all persuasions. She supposed he was good looking in a very ‘like their father' kind of way, but … well, to her he was simply her sibling – and a deuced irritating one at that.

A few minutes later, Finn trailed reluctantly in behind the steward. ‘How are you, Finn?' Peter asked with another warm smile. The boy gave a clumsy bow and mumbled, ‘Ah be braw, thank ye, ma lord.'

‘We'd like to ask you a few more questions,' the Viscount added. ‘Would that be acceptable to you?' Finn stared at him for second, then nodded.

‘Can ye tell us how ye escaped frae the mine, lad?' Brendon questioned, taking care not to give the impression that the boy had done anything wrong.

‘Ah felled,' Finn answered hesitantly. ‘Ah didnae keep up wi' th'others an' ah was locked oot the sleepin' room.' He paused and looked round. ‘He would hae giein me a skelpin', so ah hid an' then followed him up tae th'entrance afore it was closed up fer the night. Ah hid‘til he gaed tae sleep.' He gave a loud imitation snore followed by a grin. ‘Then ah ran.'

‘How did you manage to reach the boathouse?' Jennifer asked gently.

‘Ah dinnae ken,' Finn replied, shaking his head. ‘Ah dae ken ah walked an' walked an' then ah saw the wee hoose…' he stopped and gave another shrug.

‘Do they lock the entrance to the mine every night, Finn?' Malcolm asked. The boy shrugged, then nodded. ‘Ah think so.'

‘So after locking you and your companions in your … sleeping room, the man would then lock the main entrance on his way out of the mine?'

‘Aye.' Finn's nod was more decisive.

The question, ‘Do you know the man's name?' elicited the now familiar shrug.

‘We called him, sir.' An impish grin, ‘tae his face.'

‘Was he the only guard?'

Finn shook his head. ‘Nae, but he were the meanest. Th'owers did as he said.'

‘But he was the only one to stay overnight?'

Finn gave another shrug. ‘Ah dinnae ken. He be the only one there when ah ran.'

‘Thank you, Finn, you've been most helpful.' Gifford stood up to take the boy back to the kitchen, but the lad stood his ground.

‘Ye're nae gaun tae send me back are ye, Maister?' It was the second time the boy had asked the same question.

Peter shook his head. ‘We will not send you back, Finn. If you wish it, your home is here now, in Caerlaverock.'

‘Aye, ah dae.' Finn's response was clearly heartfelt as he finally allowed himself to be led away.

‘Those poor children,' Felicity murmured. ‘To be locked down there in the dark. It's monstrous.'

As soon as Finn had left the room, Peter became all business. ‘A perfect description, Felicity. And we will put a stop to it. The letter is now on its way to my father, but until we receive his reply, we must focus our attention on rescuing those unfortunates already in MacFarlane's clutches.'

He turned to his sister. ‘Once Gifford is back with us, could you describe what you read in the book you found to those who weren't with us at dinner last night?'

Jennifer nodded. ‘And I have some further ideas of how we can use the information,' she enthused.

As soon as the elderly steward returned, she repeated what she'd found in the book's pages. ‘It's perfect I think,' she finished. ‘There is enough information to make any approach to the MacFarlane Clan legitimate, but we can make up the rest of it ourselves. What do you think, Grandpapa?'

The Reverend hmphed, then, ‘I think you may have more Shackleford blood in you than Sinclair. What Canterbury tale would you have me spin?'

Jennifer grinned. ‘I've given it some thought. The book stated that Edward Coleman visited Loch Lomond just before his arrest. What if he was carrying the gold – mayhap in some kind of satchel – with the intention of burying it somewhere?'

‘Och, why would he bother? Ah mean, he wouldnae be havin' much use fer it, an' Edinburgh tae Lomond be no small distance.' Dougal had a point. Jennifer bit her lip and frowned.

‘Could he have written a letter divulging the whereabouts of the jewellery to a member of his family – perhaps someone still living back in Sussex? I would imagine the last people he'd want to see benefit from his gold would be those who would see him dead.'

‘Aye an' the Reverend could be a descendant of the family…'

‘…Still residing in Sussex, who somehow found the letter…'

‘…and made haste up to Loch Lomond…'

‘…Intendin' tae look fer the gold.'

‘So where did he hide it?' Jennifer's triumphant final question was met with silence.

‘It would have to be close enough to the mine for Augustus and Dougal to be able to secretly keep watch while they're searching,' Felicity mooted at length.

‘Inveruglas,' Dougal announced suddenly. At Peter, Jennifer and Felicity's blank looks, he added, ‘It be an island in the loch close tae the mine.'

‘Do they still have a stronghold there?' Malcolm asked. ‘I thought it long abandoned.'

‘Aye it is. But the MacFarlane be still boond tae it somethin' fierce.'

‘Inveruglas be the best place tae get a clear view o' the mine across the loch.' Brendon nodded slowly.

‘So, what if Colman buried his gold on th'island?' Dougal looked around the table.

‘Well since the gold has all but run out in his mine, I imagine it would certainly provoke MacFarlane's interest.'

‘Aye, they'll welcome ye wi' open arms wi'oot too many questions.' Dougal grinned showing a mouth empty of all but a few teeth. ‘The MacFarlane willnae turn awa the chance tae take the gold fer himself.'

‘Likely after putting us both to bed with a mattock and tucking us up with a deuced spade,' the Reverend declared with a snort.

‘You willnae be there long enough,' Brendon said. ‘But ye'll be able tae keep an eye on the mine wi'oot the MacFarlane gettin' suspicious.'

‘He's unlikely to leave us to our own devices,' the Reverend argued. ‘Surely, he'll leave us with a guard.'

‘Nae, they'll jus' take awa the boat. The MacFarlane willnae stir himself tae dae more. He be lither as well as crabbit.'

‘Lazy as well as bad-tempered,' Brendon supplied.

‘But if we're stranded on the deuced island...?' The Reverend trailed off, his meaning clear.

‘Ye willnae be,' Brendon interjected, his manner one of rising excitement. ‘We'll hide a wee boat on Inveruglas aforehand.'

‘Caerlaverock's scull be swelled fer the moment,' Gifford revealed. It willnae be dried oot fer a couple o' weeks or more.' At Peter's frown, he went on to quickly explain the process of swelling - briefly sinking a boat to make it once again watertight.

‘Why are we going to all this trouble?' Peter declared impatiently. ‘It seems to me that we're making this rescue far more complicated than it needs to be. Can we not just simply row over to the island, watch and wait until the coast is clear, then effect a rescue without MacFarlane knowing anything about it?'

Dougal shook his head. ‘The Reverend has the right o' it. If the MacFarlane catches us on his land, there'll be nae questions asked, just a sword tae yer belly an a bed on the bottom o' the loch. We cannae risk it.'

‘Ye can signal to us the moment the area is empty of all but the one guard,' Malcolm declared. ‘We should be able to subdue the bastard without much trouble if we have the element of surprise.'

‘What if he has a gun?' Jennifer asked anxiously.

‘He'll nae hae a gun tae look after a bunch o' bairns,' Dougal scoffed.

‘And we will not be going in unarmed,' Malcolm stated firmly.

‘It all sounds a bit deuced smoky to me,' the Reverend frowned. ‘How shall we signal you that the guards have left?'

‘Malcolm, Brendon and I will work on the finer points of the plan today,' Peter answered. ‘I suggest you and Jennifer and Felicity work on the contents of the mythical letter written by Edward Colman.'

‘An ah'll look tae be findin' us a boat,' Dougal declared with a roguish grin.

‘Nae stealin', Da,' Brendon ordered. ‘Ye'll be nae use tae us swingin' from a rope.'

‘Dinnae fash yersel,' Dougal answered with an airy wave. ‘Ah widnae dream o' breakin' the law.'

Brendon gave a disbelieving snort.

‘I'm more than happy to provide you with enough money to buy a boat,' Peter stated brusquely. ‘Gifford, forgive me, we've kept you far too long, and I know you have much to do. But before you get on with your daily tasks, would you please provide Dougal with sufficient coin to purchase a small rowing boat with oars.'

He stood up decisively. ‘Malcolm, Brendon, perhaps we can take our discussion to the study. We'll reconvene at dinner if that's agreeable to everyone.' He looked at Brendon. ‘I would be grateful if you and your father would consider joining us this evening.'

Brendon bent his head. ‘We'd be honoured, ma lord.'

‘As long as ye dinnae be servin any Froggy kickshaws,' Dougal added, climbing to his feet, much to Flossy's displeasure. Then helping himself to a couple of large pieces of shortbread, the old Scot declared, ‘This'll dae me ‘til this eenin.' Seconds later, he was gone.