Chapter XX: An Unwilling Accomplice

It was at the corner of Church Street on the week following the engagement at Glenmoriston, that Miss Macpherson, busied about a few purchases, stopped very sharply opposite the tavern of Major James Fraser (commonly known as Castleleathers) and peered with signs of agitation at a printed paper hung in the window. A casual onlooker would never have known Miss Macpherson was even faintly moved by what she read, but a close observer would have seen her mouth close tightly, her brows droop over her keen eyes, her hands clutch the parcels in her arms spasmodically. It was enough to startle any woman. Indeed, most people would have lost their heads, and done something foolish.

For the contents of the paper were principally devoted to a personal description of one "Rob Fraser, a rebel at large, dressed in a kilt of the Fraser tartan with a dark coat--sixteen years and over--of strong build and dark-haired, who was in arms against the Government at Culloden and has since broken prison from Fort Augustus, skulked with desperate rebels and recently killed, in company with one called Muckle John, a notorious Jacobite, a number of his Majesty's forces in the country of Glenmoriston. Whoever shall lay the said Rob Fraser by the heels shall receive the sum of fifty pounds," and so on.

There was much more, but Miss Macpherson, sick at heart, walked slowly away. It would not do for her to be seen reading the thing. Her mind was stunned for a moment. She did not notice where she went, or the passers-by. It was only when she knocked against a great man standing at the corner of the street that she started and looked up.

It was Castleleathers.

She knew him slightly as a distant cousin of Rob's father, but would have gone on her way had he not greeted her.

"A fine day, Miss Macpherson," he said loudly, as a couple of soldiers tramped past them along the road, and then in a low tone, "have you news of Rob?"

"No," she replied, "and no news is like to be good news in these times. What set him meddling with such things--the feckless loon?"

He jerked his head towards his house.

"Come away in," he whispered, "we must see what can be done."

Together they entered the place and going upstairs came to an upper room.

He was a very heavy, red-faced, helpless kind of man. His massive incompetence under stress of emergency irritated her to tartness.

"It was here Rob met that soft-spoken gomeril, Muckle John," she snapped.

"Aye, that it was," he replied, nodding moodily.

"And I suspect the man who gave him my address that evening, Major Fraser."

"Dear me, Miss Macpherson, ye say so?"

"That I do, my man, and what's more he's in this very room."

With a pathetic simulation of surprise Castleleathers made as though to look over his shoulder.

"It's yersel'," said Miss Macpherson coldly.

He tried to meet her stony stare, but failed.

"When ye mention it," he began like a man struggling to recall a distant event, "when ye mention it, maybe I did say I was second cousin to Rob who lived with his aunt near by--I'm no denying anything mind ye, I merely say maybe I did in the course of conversation, a pleasantry madam, a bit of gossip..."

"It's like to be a dear bit of gossip for Rob," she retorted, "and that no so far away."

"Tuts! you take too serious a view. It will all blow over--all blow over. There has been trouble before, I mind the '15, it was just the same, and before a few months had passed all the folk were going about their ways just the same and keeping their claymores oiled for the next time. Rob is a lad of spirit, Miss Macpherson, and they will not take him."

But she was not listening to him. She was revolving in the depths of her mind some kind of plan, any sort of crazy plan that would save Rob. The day when he could have surrendered and escaped with a few months' imprisonment was past; he was now a notorious rebel still in arms, and associated with desperate leaders amongst the rebel army. There was no hope of shielding him until better days. It must be escape across the sea--or a pardon. But the idea of a pardon was, of course, absurd.

"What can we do?" she said in a kind of restrained despair.

Castleleathers blinked.

"We?" he repeated vaguely. "I fear that I..."

But she froze him with a single look.

"I am in no mind for argument," she said, "and our business is to get Rob free. I have at the back of my head a plan of a kind, but it will need sleeping on."

"But I cannot risk my neck even to assist you, Miss Macpherson."

"My man," she replied grimly, "you will risk your neck if you don't. Who shielded Muckle John, that desperate rogue, in Inverness under Lord London's verra nose but just yersel'?"

"How did ye know?" he whispered, much taken aback.

"I didna," she replied comfortably, "but I suspected as much."

"He was an old friend."

"That would tickle the ears of the Duke, he has a sair grudge against Muckle John, he told me so himsel'. He said he'd willingly hang any one who gave him shelter."

Castleleathers shrank back.

"He said that did he?" he murmured aghast.

She nodded her head.

"He's no sae sure of you as it is," she added.

He appeared considerably dejected at this, and said again and again that he did not know what could be done at all.

"We must compel him to sign a pardon," said Miss Macpherson, "we must put the fear of death upon him, Castleleathers. You are a very large, powerful man, as great in the chest as Muckle John himsel"--she paused, eyeing him keenly--"my certes," she cried, "but there's a notion for you ... could ye no let on you were Muckle John?"

"I ... Muckle John? _My dear lady_..."

"You are fatter than he and without his spirit of course, but how can the Duke tell that? I have a friend inside the Fort, a Macpherson, third cousin to my mother's step-daughter and a douce quiet man. He would do what he can though he has a sound respect for his neck."

"I am with him there," sighed Castleleathers. "I hope, madam, that you propose nothing rash."

"My man," she said stoutly, "when my blood's up I stick at nothing, be it Duke or gibbet."

After that there fell a most melancholy silence. The major, who had hoped to spend a peaceful old age, and who had stepped like a cat among puddles during the last disturbance, wished Muckle John far enough and Miss Macpherson much farther.

The whole heart of the warm fire (and it was a chill day) seemed to have fallen into thin ashes. He shivered dismally and took a dreary relish in praying that he might catch his death of cold.

Once he screwed his eye slowly about and let it rest moodily upon Miss Macpherson. But she was absorbed in her scheming, and that is a game that comes painfully to untutored persons.

"I see nothing for it," she said at last, "but just to shoot him."

"The Duke?" gasped Castleleathers.

"Who else--he'd be no loss. There's little of the William Wallace in you, my man."

"I am not wanting in personal courage," groaned Castleleathers, "indeed, I have seen service abroad, but this is beneath me, madam--quite beneath me."

Miss Macpherson leaped at a grim jest to bring him to his senses.

"There'll be nothing beneath ye if you don't," she said swiftly.

He recoiled from such a pleasantry. He had always deplored the brutality of utter frankness.

"Who knows," he said thoughtfully, "but a little playful threatening might not win our purpose, just a pistol waving carelessly in the hand, and a claymore at the side, the iron hand under the velvet glove, madam--ye take me?"

"I'll take ye right enough," said Miss Macpherson, "if Rob's life depends on us two, there'll be no shirking."

"If only my heart were in the work," sighed the major pensively, "I would not care a bawbee for the Duke or ony body. Could you not get in touch with Muckle John, the Duke is feared of him belike..."

"My man," broke in Miss Macpherson, "you are slow in the uptake, _you_ are to be Muckle John."

He raised his head at that in a speechless tragedy of silence.

"_Me?_" he whispered. "_Me Muckle John_--oh, what is this nonsense you propose?"

"I have not decided upon it at random," she replied, "and it seems practicable. I have some knowledge of the Duke's habits, and let us but once get him alone and we will force him to sign a pardon for Rob. He goes south soon, so we must act at once. You, Castleleathers, must wrap yersel' up in a plaid to your nose and when we find him by himsel' you shall threaten his life."

"But you--where will you be?"

"I shall be watching ye--never fear--meet me to-morrow and we'll journey south. The final plans I'll devise, and dinna fail me or I'll tell the Duke how ye knew Lovat himsel', and they'll take ye to London as a witness."

"No, no," cried the major in a panic of fright, "I will be there never fear, but it's like I'll see London in a very different capacity."