Lowland Romance Collection - Books 1-3

Chapter 2-1

You may be used to the Highlands being lauded and Highlanders being treated with respect equal to people in any other part of this kingdom, but you must remember that this was 1811, before Queen Victoria chose to bless Caledonia with her presence. There were still memories of the rising of 1745, and in my time, Highlanders were reckoned as of no more account than Irishmen or Africans. They called us Donalds, among other less savoury things, and told tall tales of our backwardness and savagery, despite the many thousands of Highlandmen who were even then fighting their wars for them. For Lady Catriona to remark on my Highland blood was tantamount to a terrible insult, and one to which I could not reply, for it was only the truth. I had been born and raised among the mountains of Badenoch and was as Highland as peat.

There was no reprieve from such a pronouncement of rejection. In my youth, you see, we did not question the wisdom of our elders and betters. Indeed, we dared not, for the consequences could be… well, I will leave that to your imaginations but.

It was unpleasant to be banished in disgrace, but to be honest I had experienced quite enough of Lady Catriona"s ball. My anticipation had been disappointed, my hopes dashed, and my lips assaulted. In truth, I was not unhappy to climb inside the padded and very ornate sedan chair and have the stalwart Highland chairmen lift me. I would have preferred to travel by coach, but I do not believe Lady Catriona would have countenanced such luxury for somebody she obviously considered a blackguard and an out-and-out rogue. I also knew I was in disgrace and wondered what Lady Elspeth would say about the situation when I arrived back in her house. However much I reasoned that such things were probably not uncommon in such a cosmopolitan city as Edinburgh, and if I were home first, I would have the first opportunity to state my side of the argument. I knew it was natural for Aunt Elspeth to take her daughter"s side against me.

Such thoughts occupied me as the chairmen ported me up the wynd and into the bustle of the High Street. Tears were not far from my eyes as I considered Lady Elspeth"s reaction, for I knew Louise would put all the blame on my shoulders, and I would be doubly disgraced. I had no ideas what penalties her ladyship would inflict, but I suspected they might be grievous. She may even send me back to Badenoch, where my chances of finding a suitable husband were limited in the extreme.

However, events in the High Street soon chased the tears away and gave me much more serious matters to worry about than the displeasure of an eccentric old crone such as Lady Catriona and my stern, but probably fair, aunt.

I heard the roar before I saw anything untoward, for a sedan chair does not have the best of visibility and I was engaged in a monumental sulk, combined with great self-pity both for my present position and the niggling pain of what I was sure was a blister developing on the large toe of my left foot. So when the front chairman let his poles go with a thump, I only complained a little before I opened the door and peered out.

The High Street was in such a state of consternation that I thought the French had landed and was attempting to assault Edinburgh Castle. There were people everywhere, mostly youngsters in their teens and early twenties, shouting and gesticulating, using the most commonplace language I had ever heard, throwing rocks and bottles at the houses and at the poor Watchmen who attempted to restore peace, fighting with fists and feet and generally behaving as if there was no God and Lucifer had descended to claim the kingdom.

“Whatever is the commotion?” I enquired, but nobody seemed to take heed of me, even though I stamped my foot quite forcibly on the ground.

I could hear the chairmen talking, their Gaelic easily comprehensible to me, for Lady Catriona was correct in that at least. Being a native of the Highlands, I understood the speech quite as well as I understood English.

“We can"t get through that lot,” one chairman said, pointing to the crowd.

“We"ll have to, or Her Ladyship will have our jobs,” the second reminded. “Lady Catriona is not the sort of person to give an order and not have it carried out.” He added a few more comments about Lady Catriona which, although I agreed with, I think it best not to commit to paper at this time. They were certainly not fit for tender young ears, and I would have blushed if I was not perfectly pleased to hear the old harridan so insulted.

“Down the closes then,” the first man said, and only then did he notice I was standing outside the chair and listening to his conversation.

Switching to English, for he was naturally unaware I spoke Gaelic, he gave the shortest and quite the most disrespectful bow I have ever seen. “We not going that way,” he told me, jerking a stubby thumb at the mob, “we"ll have to go through the closes and around the loch. It will take longer.”

There was no by-your-leave, you"ll notice, and no “my lady” or any other term of respect. Highlanders are like that; you have to earn their respect and if you give them an inch, they"ll take three yards, and anything else they can lay their hands on.

“You"ll do as I tell you,” I bristled, for I was young and full of fire and foolish spirit.

“Aye, right,” the spokesman replied, with no thought at all for my dignity. “Just get in, sit tight, and hold your tongue. God knows what these blackguards will do if they see Her Ladyship"s sedan in the streets.”

Nearly pushing me inside the chair, the Highlanders lifted it and ran to the nearest close—that"s a narrow alleyway, dears, nearly unseating me in the process. I do not know the name of the dark ravine into which we plunged, but the smells were abominable and the darkness stygian. We could well have been in the Pit or any of the famous stews of London, but for all their caution, we had been seen.

Once again, I heard the roar of the crowd, and something hard and heavy smashed from the side panel of the chair. I remember thinking Her Ladyship would not be pleased with this disrespect even as I stifled a small scream.

“That"s enough of that, you scoundrel!” The porter had returned to his native tongue, and he continued to berate the thrower in language that was quite choice and far too colourful for you ladies to know. We might not have been quite as ladylike in our youth as we pretended, for we did know the meanings of some of these horrid words. You, of course, should not.

Anyway, another missile clattered from the coachwork and the porter yelled again. “I know you, Hughie McIntosh, and I"ll attend to you tonight when I"m not working.”

The reply was confused as if the said Hugh McIntosh was drunk, but there was no mistaking the thunder of boots down the close and against the side of the sedan, rocking it dreadfully and quite upsetting my temper. Somebody yanked the door open and I peered out, to see a whole bunch of rogues staring in.

“Get you gone, you drunken blaggards!” the second coachman shouted, still holding the poles and trying to walk forward. “This lady is under our protection and she"s done you no harm at all!”

Until that second, I had been annoyed and intrigued, but now I began to feel fear. There must have been twenty people in that mob, and all appeared to come from the very dregs of society. Malice oozed from every predatory face, and I cannot repeat one word of what they said. Some spoke in Gaelic, some in Edinburgh Scots, but they seemed to be united in the common purpose of causing as much mischief as possible.

“Tip her out!”

A dozen grimy hands descended on the sedan, until my coachmen, Highland heroes both, placed it ungently on the ground and pushed them back with great shouts and violent action.

“Run, Miss Alison,” the front chairman said. “We can"t hold them for long and there"s no knowing what they might do. Run!”

I hesitated of course, between the devil of that crowd and the deep blue sea of the dark closes of old Edinburgh, and, I am loath to admit, somewhere within me there was the genuine desire to stay and help my impolite porters.

“Run, woman!” the second chairman ordered and gave me a push in the back to help me on my way.

For the second time that evening I stumbled, but fear helped me recover and I lifted my skirts and ran down that close as fast as my legs and my oh-so-fashionable high-heeled shoes would allow.

Now, you girls nowadays live in a very civilised world, with gas lighting in the streets and piped water in nearly every house. In my time, Old Edinburgh did not have such conveniences, so the close I ran down was dark, foul, and dangerous. I had only a vague knowledge of where I was going, but I knew I had to leave the Old Town, cross the Earthen Mound and reach the graceful squares of the New Town where my Aunt Elspeth would be waiting to greet me with cakes and tea, or more likely a verbal assault that would blister my ears. Either was preferable to the deep darkness of that terrible lane or the horror of the mob at my heels.

You will notice I had no thought of returning to the Forres Residence. Lady Catriona had sent me away, so away I must go, and quickly, my dears. Disobedience was not so much frowned upon as quickly and effectively squashed.

That close descended steeply, to open on to a winding street whose name I quite forget, but which was crammed with more raucous youths celebrating the advent of a new year by riot and dissipation. Conspicuous in my bright dress and fashionable cloak, I tried to hide, but somebody caught sight of me, and I was soon running again, with my heels sliding on the cobbled ground and my ankles screaming their protest at this ill treatment.

The noise behind me diminished in direct proportion to the darkness of my surroundings and I realised my feet were sinking into something deeper than the normal noxious surface of Edinburgh"s ground. I hesitated, unsure whether to continue, but a glance over my shoulder revealed an orange light over the city, and I feared the whole of Edinburgh was aflame with the mob in charge like some hydra-headed republican monster.

I might have sobbed then, but I cannot recall exactly, but I do know I looked outward for the lights and security of the New Town. They were there, plain and serene as a summer"s morning, but despite all my efforts, I seemed to be no closer. I plunged on, holding up the trailing skirt of my gown that descended beneath my cloak, and felt something sucking at my shoes.

“Mud,” I said gloomily, and plunged on, hoping I could reach the Earthen Mound and cross the physical and metaphysical chasm that divided Edinburgh"s two worlds.

Unfortunately, my dears, my sense of direction has never been good. I thrust myself into that mud with my feet sinking deeper and my heart pumping in a most unladylike manner, but although I did not realise it, I was moving ever further from my goal. The Earthen Mound and my road to Aunt Elspeth"s lay to the east, but I was heading west.