Read Online Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) by Julia Brannan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia Brannan
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arriving,” Graeme countered hotly. “The weather was awful. He was a brave man, and his son’s of the same blood, thank God. If another chance comes, we’ll not waste it this time.”
“We certainly won’t,” said John. “The day that King James or his son lands on British soil is the day you’ll be looking for another stable hand, Beth.” His voice was particularly vehement, and everyone looked at him in surprise. Whilst he was a confirmed Jacobite, John was also renowned for his gentleness and dislike of violence in any form.
“I thought you would be the last person to fight, John,” said Beth, puzzled. He was not insulted; she was not doubting his bravery, and he knew that.
“Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve grown up a lot recently,” he said, with a distinct tone of bitterness in his voice. The others exchanged puzzled glances, but he would not be drawn any further, and to fill the awkward silence Graeme continued to talk about the glorious days of the ’15, the drawn swords glinting in the sun, the rapturous welcome given the rebels by the Jacobite sections of the towns, the camaraderie of the soldiers.
The children, Ben and Mary, were gazing in awe at the seemingly ancient figure of the gardener, his brown hair now liberally sprinkled with grey, his joints slowly starting to succumb to rheumatism due to the long hours spent outside in all weathers. They were clearly trying to imagine him as a young man in armour brandishing his sword, and failing.
Beth intercepted their look.
“Graeme has been alive for ever, and remembers everything,” she said, winking at them. “He’ll tell you of the time he met Oliver Cromwell, if you ask nicely,” she added. The children giggled.
Graeme regarded her with mock severity, his bushy eyebrows bristling over grey eyes brimming with humour.
“Take no notice of your mistress. I’ll tell you no such thing. Old Ironsides died over thirty years before I saw the light of day, and I’ll thank you for less of your cheek, madam. You should be setting a good example to your servants by showing respect for your elders.”
Beth laughed, and opened her mouth to retort.
“I have to go,” John said suddenly, standing up. He seemed a little stiff when he moved, and Beth wondered what additional chores Richard had assigned to him to make him so.
“Whatever for?” said Beth. “The discussion’s only just started. And so has the wine!” Everyone laughed and motioned him to sit down, but he remained standing.
“The master has told me I need to polish all the harness before he comes back, and that he’ll inspect it as soon as he returns. If I’m to do it, I’ll have to start now.” John began to move towards the door.
“To hell with the master,” said Beth, reaching over for the wine bottle and filling John’s glass to the brim. “He won’t be back for hours. I’ll come and help you later.”
John hesitated.
“For God’s sake, lad, we’ll all come and help, if we need to,” Thomas said, exasperated. “Sit down. The Jacobite cause needs all the help it can get, and these two,” waving a hand at Beth and Graeme, “have no chance against us, without you to help out.”
There were good-humoured protestations at this and John gave in, and sitting down, continued the discussion by raising his brimming glass in a toast to King James. There was a rush for the wine bottle by Thomas and Jane to counter with a toast to King George, after which the debate continued until lunchtime.
Beth ended the merry meeting with a toast to free speech and an end to tyranny, which all of those assembled drank to, knowing that the tyrant she referred to was neither King George nor King James, but someone much closer to home.
The others were as good as their word, and all assisted John in polishing the harness and cleaning out the stables. Even Richard would be able to find no fault with his work. Then they all went merrily off to their own chores. Everyone was
“We certainly won’t,” said John. “The day that King James or his son lands on British soil is the day you’ll be looking for another stable hand, Beth.” His voice was particularly vehement, and everyone looked at him in surprise. Whilst he was a confirmed Jacobite, John was also renowned for his gentleness and dislike of violence in any form.
“I thought you would be the last person to fight, John,” said Beth, puzzled. He was not insulted; she was not doubting his bravery, and he knew that.
“Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve grown up a lot recently,” he said, with a distinct tone of bitterness in his voice. The others exchanged puzzled glances, but he would not be drawn any further, and to fill the awkward silence Graeme continued to talk about the glorious days of the ’15, the drawn swords glinting in the sun, the rapturous welcome given the rebels by the Jacobite sections of the towns, the camaraderie of the soldiers.
The children, Ben and Mary, were gazing in awe at the seemingly ancient figure of the gardener, his brown hair now liberally sprinkled with grey, his joints slowly starting to succumb to rheumatism due to the long hours spent outside in all weathers. They were clearly trying to imagine him as a young man in armour brandishing his sword, and failing.
Beth intercepted their look.
“Graeme has been alive for ever, and remembers everything,” she said, winking at them. “He’ll tell you of the time he met Oliver Cromwell, if you ask nicely,” she added. The children giggled.
Graeme regarded her with mock severity, his bushy eyebrows bristling over grey eyes brimming with humour.
“Take no notice of your mistress. I’ll tell you no such thing. Old Ironsides died over thirty years before I saw the light of day, and I’ll thank you for less of your cheek, madam. You should be setting a good example to your servants by showing respect for your elders.”
Beth laughed, and opened her mouth to retort.
“I have to go,” John said suddenly, standing up. He seemed a little stiff when he moved, and Beth wondered what additional chores Richard had assigned to him to make him so.
“Whatever for?” said Beth. “The discussion’s only just started. And so has the wine!” Everyone laughed and motioned him to sit down, but he remained standing.
“The master has told me I need to polish all the harness before he comes back, and that he’ll inspect it as soon as he returns. If I’m to do it, I’ll have to start now.” John began to move towards the door.
“To hell with the master,” said Beth, reaching over for the wine bottle and filling John’s glass to the brim. “He won’t be back for hours. I’ll come and help you later.”
John hesitated.
“For God’s sake, lad, we’ll all come and help, if we need to,” Thomas said, exasperated. “Sit down. The Jacobite cause needs all the help it can get, and these two,” waving a hand at Beth and Graeme, “have no chance against us, without you to help out.”
There were good-humoured protestations at this and John gave in, and sitting down, continued the discussion by raising his brimming glass in a toast to King James. There was a rush for the wine bottle by Thomas and Jane to counter with a toast to King George, after which the debate continued until lunchtime.
Beth ended the merry meeting with a toast to free speech and an end to tyranny, which all of those assembled drank to, knowing that the tyrant she referred to was neither King George nor King James, but someone much closer to home.
The others were as good as their word, and all assisted John in polishing the harness and cleaning out the stables. Even Richard would be able to find no fault with his work. Then they all went merrily off to their own chores. Everyone was
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