oh how I hate daylight saving! there's no need for it any more, I wish they would ban it.
Chapter 5 A Fishy Tale part II
I kept my climbing clothes in a hat-box, in a secret compartment at the base, and the hat-box also locked. The hair I left on the lock was intact, so nobody had picked it... probably. It depended how professional the laird’s men were.
My clothes were folded and still contained the dried flower petals I had concealed within. Nobody knew.
My clothes were those of a circus acrobat, in black; the body had the semblance of a waistcoat in stitchery which would pass muster at all but the closest scrutiny, and the white top to simulate a shirt covered with what was essentially a black fichu which pinned. It was double-sided and was white lace on the other side. A folding top hat, jacket, and trousers as well as a skirt went in a bag to be thrown down to the ground and picked up. Also a canteen of water and flint and steel, candle end, knives, and lock-picking tools. Also a woollen cloak with a hood, for warmth, before I assumed my disguise; anyone wandering about outside at night needs protection from the elements, and only good wool keeps out both wind and rain. The bag, which I could strap around my waist, went out of the window, before I followed it, climbing the rough stone wall with the ease of long practise. I took myself to the ground at an easy pace, not hurrying. Such is safest. The moon was almost full, a curse to anyone who does covert night work, but useful for someone who did not know the lie of the land very well.
A dog barked.
I hoped that the hotel did not employ dogs loose on the grounds; but if they did, I did have glass vials of aniseed to confuse them, in a padded pouch. I buckled on the bag, assumed my cloak, and set off, climbing down the crag on which the hotel was set rather than trying to go down the steep road which led to it.
The village was about a mile away, but I did not think it wise to head for it. It was likely to be stiff with those in the pay of the laird. I had studied maps of the region, and followed the stream out of the fishing lake downstream, bypassing the village, to hope to find the whistlestop halt which constituted its railway line.
I had not, however, left the grounds of the hotel when my hair stood on end; I sensed, rather than hearing, the approach of a dog.
I do not like harming dumb animals, since many of them are smarter than many humans, but guard dogs well enough trained to hunt without giving tongue are too dangerous. And the laird had much at stake.
Another part of my kit was a cap and ball revolver, rather than the modern centrefire cartridges we have these days. They were better at resisting the weather than flint locks. Especially if you cover the cylinder with wax when loaded. The ‘ball’ in the chamber next to fire was a ball of pepper in wax, which would break up in flight, covering the animal in pepper. This is why I preferred cap and ball to pin-fire cartridges which were more delicate mechanisms at the time, and a trifle capricious.
I fired my pepper ball, which disintegrated, acting like a shotgun, and I was glad to do so as the damned dog’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight almost close enough to leap on me. I think a good amount went in the poor creature’s mouth; but I was not feeling enough of the English animal lover to care that much. As it howled in anguish, I heard men’s voices, and felt as much as heard the vibration of running feet, coming to the sound of the shot.
I have heard stories where people hide underwater from dogs, breathing through the hollow stems of reeds; but in a Scottish April, that was not a viable solution. I did not want to get treed, but leaping across the stream and up into an overhanging willow seemed the best solution. I threw a vial of aniseed, which should keep them occupied for some time, noting that the willow pressed close to the side of the narrow valley in which the stream ran.
I was fairly certain that most people would deem the side of the valley impossible to climb. It was composed of the same rock as that on which the hotel was built, which rose above the rest of the valley, and merged back into the hillside on the other side. It was actually steeper and higher here, and I cautiously transferred to the rock face from a sturdy branch. My cloak was a patch of shadow over me, and served the purpose too of breaking up my outline. It was actually dark brown, not black, but it did well enough. The men were looking at the dog, trying to find out what was wrong, and one lit a lantern. Good; let them spoil their night sight. I and my shadow oozed slowly up the cliff face, whilst they were occupied elsewhere, and whilst the other two dogs yipped and wagged their tails at the aniseed.
They spoke freely enough, cursing whoever had thrown pepper in the face of the dog known as ‘Centurion’ or shooting him or both.
“The bastard can’t get far,” said one.
“D’ ye think he wis gang in or oot?” asked another.
“Gang oot. They sent someone tae nose aroond the fish packing hoose, but naebody had gang awa’ ben, he’s leaving wi’oot having found onything the noo. But the laird wants tae ken syne they have ony ideas, so we need tae catch yon mannie and puit him tae the question.”
My blood ran cold; they were quite matter of fact about it. At last I achieved the lip of the crag, and rolled over onto short turf, keeping flat. The road ran along the crag, and I crawled over it, to be against the higher ground beyond. I stayed low until I was far enough to judge I might run along the road; but then I heard hoofs galloping. I threw myself behind one of the erratic outcrops of rock as someone thundered down the road.
He stopped not a hundred yards from me, dismounted, and went towards the cliff.
“Hola! I heard a shot. Wha’s toward?” it was the laird.
“Someone shot Centurion, laird, they came frae the lake, but there’s nae sign o’ ony entry tae the packing-hoose. There’s aniseed, we’re aye tryin’ tae find a trail. It seems oor man micht be up a tree.”
“Well, then, he will still be there in the morning, syne ye keep the dogs at the base, and glad enough nae doot tae talk,” said the laird. “I’ll be awa’ intae the village and spread the word, in case there’s more than ane o’ them.”
He remounted, and thundered off down the road.
I decided to make best time behind him before leaving the road, and striking off towards the railway line, which took a different route. I went at a jog trot until I could see the gleam of the tracks in the moonlight, as the road and railway converged at the point the village was built, and I clambered down the much lower cliff, and used the rough stone of the bridge over the stream, which was wider here, to cross without having to get wet, and then it was just a scramble into a cutting to reach the line.
I had hoped to find one of those useful carts which line-menders use to move up and down the line, by the expedient of a manual reciprocal motion translating into the circular motion of the wheels by a kind of pumping motion; but I was out of luck. At least the railway track was on a good, even bed, and I allowed myself to jog fifty paces and walk fifty paces in following it. It was almost nine o’clock by the time I left, and I judged two hours had passed, messing about avoiding dogs. The small town was about four miles from the village, and I could reach it in an hour if nothing undue happened. There should be no trains up or down until the milk train at four thirty; which would get me back well before dawn around six thirty. I utilised a tunnel just outside the town to get my breathing under control, put on trousers and jacket and hat, fold my cloak over my arm like a greatcoat, strolled onto the platform, and went in search of a telegraph office.
It was closed for the night.
I suppose in small, rural areas, either people are not allowed to have emergencies overnight, or they were supposed to know who the telegraph operator was, and wake him up.
I took the third expedient. I broke into the office and sent the message myself. I am quite familiar with Morse’s code; you never know when it might be needed. I sent it to Papa Geoffrey as a personal message, and two words; ‘Under Labels.’ He would understand that.
I was tired. I wrapped my cloak around myself, used my bag as a pillow, and dozed on a bench in the waiting room until sounds of activity awakened me, and I bought a ticket on the milk train back up the line. It was a few minutes to go the distance that had taken me an hour to walk and jog. I got out as milk was unloaded for the village, and sauntered back down the line to a good place to leave the railway.
I crossed the line again well out of sight of any signalman, and headed up the stream on the road side, having crossed at the bridge in the same way but going the other way as you might say. I strolled up the road until the upper roofs of the hotel were in sight; I did not put it past the laird to have watchers in the turrets that are a conceit of Scottish manorial buildings, and I was not about to be seen coming up the road. I went further into the foothills, and took my time about moving up the valley, pausing to put a skirt on over my trousers, and manhandling my folding topper into its other shape, that of a plain bonnet. Ties in a pocket inside it fastened under my chin, and with a lace fichu over my black bodice and plain jacket over it, I was, especially with a cloak, every inch a lady. I emerged from the hills and onto the terrace, where I encountered the laird, who jumped.
“Mrs. Rawlins; I didnae ken ye were oot and aboot,” he said.
“Isn’t it a glorious morning?” I said. “I could not stay in bed, I slept most of my megrim off, and thought the fresh air in a short walk would do me the world of good.”
“I hope it has done so,” he said.
“It has indeed,” I said.
I sauntered back inside and up to our room, where poor Tony was pacing, restlessly.
I fell into his arms, and we went back to bed for an hour until Clara was up and about.
And that, as they say, was that.
Papa Geoffrey sent a telegraph to come quickly as Great Aunt Agatha was dying again, and we left without further ado. The laird could scarcely hold us when other members of his guests were no more than guests for local colour, and not part of his treason.
I had no desire to see it to the end, though I would have liked to have seen the baffled fury on the faces of his dog handlers when the morning revealed that the bird had flown from the tree they guarded.
It was a small pleasure to have missed, however, and Geoffrey later described how they could not understand how the trick had been pulled, and went off in the belief that the government employed balloons for getting in and out of places.
I have never been in a balloon, but it is not an idea to be discarded for future adventures.
