The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,99
go, he's not bad. Not bad at all. Mind you, he doesn't live in Bute most of the time. He's in Edinburgh, so I believe."
He slapped his greasy hands together as an idea occurred to him.
"A good thing you put me in mind of the gentleman, Maidie. Mr. Bannantyne would be just the kind of fellow to help your uncle. He's a laird, even if Keames is only a wee place on a far island. He'll be in with all the bigwigs. Wears a big wig himself, when he's in the city, I'll bet. But he's a Bute man before everything. If he refuses to help one of his own, he's a disgrace to his name."
The prospect of Edinburgh had cast me down so low that I would have seized anything to lift me up, and the idea of a great man taking me under his wing and helping me to free my uncle was so attractive that for a long moment I said nothing and allowed myself to daydream. Then reality struck me down again.
"You're forgetting, Tam, no one from Bute will want to help me. I'm a witch, remember? I've been sentenced to hang and burn. Mr. Bannantyne's more likely to have me arrested and sent back."
Tam waved a careless hand.
"That's all past and gone, darling. All that fuss and panic is over. They'll be ashamed of themselves by now—the better half of them, anyway. Plenty of questions were asked after your trial, I can tell you, about how hasty they were to carry out the sentence and whether it was legal at all. Even those who were sure about Elspeth had their doubts about you, and there was a lot of murmuring against the court and that raving minister from Inverkip. Annie scampering off the way she did will have made them wonder even more. I know how these things are."
He did too. If ever there was an expert in judging when it was best to lie low and when it was safe to return to the scene of old troubles, it was Tam.
"Well," I said doubtfully. "Maybe."
"You can't run and hide forever, Maidie."
By the time the sky had darkened, Tam had more or less convinced me that seeking out the Laird of Keames was the best way forward. One skinny hare doesn't make a whole day's eating for two hungry people, and I was famished and longing for some supper. I would have risked anything for a bowl of steaming porridge or an oatcake or two with a hunk of good cheese.
"Time to get going," Tam said suddenly, cocking his ear to listen. Even a mile away from the city, we had been able to hear the clamor of sounds that rose from it. Barking dogs, hammerings on metal, shouting voices, and the bellowing of cattle had made such a racket that I couldn't imagine how noisy it would be inside the forbidding walls. But now, above it all, came the jangling of bells.
"They'll be shutting the gates soon." Tam was already hurrying down the hill. "If we're not quick, Maidie, there'll be another night out in the heather and no supper."
Even now, I can barely believe Tam got us past the soldiers who stood, with their halberds and steel helmets, guarding the southern gate of the city. I followed him down a long lane flanked with houses and thickly spattered with fresh cow dung. It hadn't been easy to keep up with him. Tam had the gift of darting through a crowd with the speed of a fish through murky water, and the crowd was a big one. Some people were coming out—leaving the city, I supposed, to go to their homes outside—and others were hurrying in before the gates closed. I could see, as we came to the bottom of the hill, that there was a great holdup at the narrow gap in the high stone wall. The soldiers were checking everyone in turn, examining the papers waved impatiently under their noses.
"Tam!" I hissed, grabbing at his sleeve. "What'll we do? We haven't got any papers!"
"Never mind that." He was as taut as a fiddle string, and his eyes were dancing. "Stick close to me, darling. Be my little shadow."
And then, all of a sudden, the peaceful crowd was in turmoil, and Tam was everywhere, pointing, accusing, nudging, whispering, and calling out indignantly, "A thief ! A thief !"
And people were shouting, "Where? Who's been robbed?"