Page 74 of Highland Sword
“Hullo, Cannonball.”
“Good evening, Lille.”
They sat down.
“Have you heard the news?” Sebastian asked.
Before he could continue, shouts and cheering were heard from outside. The noise of the crowds was growing.
“What is that?” Aidan asked, looking out the window as people poured out of taverns and coffeehouses. “From the looks of things, it can’t be war. And it can’t be a protest.”
Just then, a red-faced fellow burst through the door, shouting, “The queen won! She beat them—king, lords, and all. And ’twas Brougham who done it! They say the crowds carried our lad on their shoulders through the streets o’ London!”
A cheer went up in the tavern.
Queen Caroline had returned to London to stand trial before Parliament on charges of adultery. All based on falsehoods and accusations concocted by the jealous king demanding divorce that she was not willing to grant. Henry Brougham was defending her and had apparently carried the day. And as the cheering in the street affirmed, she continued to be the queen of the people.
“Well, there’s my news,” Sebastian said dryly. “But this came for you from the very man of the hour himself.”
He pushed a letter across the table.
As the two men talked about the surprising turn of affairs in Westminster, Aidan opened the letter from Henry Brougham and perused the contents. The queen wished to see him immediately.
CHAPTER24
MORRIGAN
The mail coach ran between Edinburgh and Inverness on a daily basis now, and for the past year, its route had been extended all the way to Thurso on Scotland’s northernmost coast. The world was shrinking. From Inverness, a rider employed by Searc brought the mail every day to Dalmigavie, a convenience unheard of just a few years earlier.
Morrigan knew that since their arrival in the Highlands, Maisie regularly corresponded with the cities in the south. She exchanged letters with a woman named Ella who ran the meetings of the Female Reform Society in the absence of her and Fiona. There was also her ongoing communication with various newspapers about the publication of her articles. From midmorning on, Maisie always stationed herself by the laird’s study and waited for the courier.
On a grey morning at the beginning of December, she delivered a letter that had arrived for Morrigan, much to her surprise.
“Who would write to me here?”
“Perhaps it’s from Mr. Grant.” Maisie’s eyebrows went up and down suggestively. “I’ll leave you to moon over every word.”
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but she had no idea what Aidan’s writing looked like. There was no initial or other mark on the wax seal. Surely, the Grant seal would be recognizable. Morrigan felt somewhat apprehensive as she walked to her window and broke open the letter.
It took only a moment to scan the brief contents, and she grew sicker with every successive line.
Miss Drummond,
I am in urgent need of a small supply of money, exactly one hundred pounds. I am a friend of your uncle Robert Wemys of Perth. More than a friend. I am like his brother. It was in the confidence of our relationship that he confided in me the details of a shocking and sordid event between you two.
Based on his own words, you conducted him with a boldness unbecoming of a young lady into your own bedchamber. Some conversation ensued, he informed me, from which it was quickly apparent to him that certain consolation was welcomed.
I had every intention of relaying this account to a number of newspapers that would pay handsomely for a report about certain women who not only entertain a familial connection with the son of Scotland, but who also have undertaken to have an understanding with a barrister, Mr. Aidan Grant of Carrie House. Acting out of a sense of profound honour and decency, I wish to offer my assurance to you that such scandalous information should never see the light of day.
I am anxious to receive the slight sum mentionedabove and would be honoured to meet with you personally. At that time, we can settle the matter of my financial needs in person at the auld hunting lodge off the road between Dalmigavie Castle and this city. If you find this suitable, we can meet on the eighth of December around the hour of ten in the morning.
Until then, madam,
I remain your humble servant,
K. Baker
Her breaths were uneven, anger pushed a scream out of her chest. She had been a victim of villainy. And now this scoundrel intended to blackmail her. He would make public a secret that she’d lived with for all these years, an effort made for the sake of the peace of mind of others. She yanked open her door and charged out. This worm K. Baker was detestable enough, but it was impossible to fathom how a person could be so vile as to brag about a crime against a child? And lie about it? She read the letter again. There was no indication of a date when this occurred. Was he insinuating that she had been an adult?
