"Well, then," burst out Angus after ten seconds, when he could stand the endless contemplation no more. "Are we going to celebrate, or is it a nice wee cup of chocolate and an early night?"
As nobody felt partial to chocolate, but everyone felt the need, one way or another, for alternative liquid refreshment, it turned out to be a very late night indeed.
* * *
In the end it was a few days before Duncan, Angus and Alasdair left, because once they realised that it wouldn't be possible to raise the clan and get to Glenfinnan in time for the unfurling of the standard on the nineteenth, the need for haste diminished somewhat.
Alex, driven to distraction by Angus's boundless optimism, coupled with continual reassurances that his brother was no more than a Job's comforter and reflections on what it would be like to march triumphantly into London a few weeks hence, finally dispatched the unquenchable bundle of energy off to the coast to arrange shipment of the arms to Leith, and advise the smuggler Gabriel Foley of what was transpiring, if he didn't already know. Once Angus was gone, everyone could get down to packing, and discussing the situation in a more practical relaxed manner. Certainly Alex and Duncan were more relaxed, the former because the temptation to strangle his brother was at least temporarily removed, and the latter because holding yourself continually in a state of readiness to throw yourself between your siblings to prevent fratricide was somewhat wearing after a while.
Over the next day or so the plan took shape, on the assumption that the rising would not be another abortive one. It had been decided that the men would leave quietly by night, in the hopes that their absence would not be noted. The elevated circles in which Sir Anthony moved hardly registered servants at all, and wouldn't notice if his coachman suddenly changed. Or his footman. Or his whole household, for that matter. In the meantime, to cover up the sudden lack of staff, Sir Anthony would declare that he had just received his tailor's bill and had decided to retrench and give no entertainments for a while in an attempt to save money. His friends would see it as one of his little moods, soon to pass, Beth could moan in public about how frugal he had become about ridiculous things, whilst not economising at all on his wardrobe, and everyone would laugh at Sir Anthony's little foibles. In the meantime, as letters from Scotland to London would certainly be viewed with suspicion by the authorities, any coded missives from Duncan would be routed to Gabriel Foley via John Holker, a respectable and trustworthy Manchester cloth merchant who Beth had met briefly once in an alleyway room over two years ago. At a convenient time, when there was no more useful information to be gleaned in London, the Peters would pack their bags, announce their intention to go for a short trip abroad, and disappear. Then the MacGregor chieftain would rejoin his men, hopefully in plenty of time to engage in some interesting fighting before the triumphal entry into London which Angus was so enamoured of. And once Charles was safely installed as Regent for King James in London, Alex would send for his wife, who would of course be waiting safely and patiently with the other women at Loch Lomond for his summons.
Beth had her own views regarding her prospective role in this plan, but recognised that now was not the best time to discuss them, with Alex in a state of heightened tension. He was already worried about committing his clansmen to a rising he was unsure of, concerned for the safety of his over-enthusiastic youngest brother, and frustrated that he could not abandon Sir Anthony immediately and charge off to battle as he wanted. It was unlikely that he would receive with equanimity the news that his wife had no intention of meekly sitting in a Highland hut for months awaiting his summons to join him. Time for that later. Right now there was something more pressing to attend to.
"Duncan," Beth said, having finally succeeded in catching him on his own in his room. "I need to speak with you alone."
He looked up in surprise as she closed the door behind her. On his bed was a small pile of favourite books, from which he was trying to select one to take with him.
"Aye, what is it?" he said, obviously expecting her to ask him to look after Angus, or something of the sort.
"What are you going to do about Sarah?" she asked.
The emotion only revealed itself on his face for a fraction of a second, but she was observing him closely, and saw it. He looked away.
"Nothing," he said. "We're friends, that's all."
She snorted derisively, and he looked back at her, saw there was no point in continuing this line.
"Aye, well," he said. "What can I do? I can hardly go and tell her I'm away off tae fight for Prince Charlie, can I now?"
"She'll be terribly hurt if you leave without saying goodbye, Duncan," Beth said softly. "She really likes you."
He ran his hand through his hair in the way of his brother.
"Better that than she suspect something and go to the authorities," he said.
"She won't do that," Beth said. "And you know it. She already knows Maggie's a Jacobite, and that I'm a Catholic at the very least."
"And that's more than she should ken," he said. He held a hand up as Beth made to speak again. "Ye dinna need to defend Sarah to me, Beth," he continued. "I was being unfair. She willna go to the authorities. But they may well come to her at some point, if you and Alex disappear. And the less she kens the better. If they believe she has no information, they'll no' harm her. If they find out she kens a little, they'll want more. I wouldna have her hurt."
"What will I tell her? She'll notice you've gone. She'll ask."
He sat down on the bed to think, and she went and sat next to him.
"Tell her I've had to go home, on family business. That my granny's died or something of the sort, and I've tae go to the funeral, sort out her affairs. And that I'll come back, when it's all over," he added softly.
"Will you?" she asked, taking his hand, which had been smoothing the sheet. He closed his fingers around hers and looked at her, his grey eyes clouded with unexpressed emotion, and behind that, apprehension.
"Aye, I will," he said. "If it all goes well. And if it doesna … well, I daresay she'd no' want to see me anyway, in that case. Tell her, will ye?"
"No," Beth said. "Tell her yourself. It'll come better from you. You can call in on your way to Scotland, explain you've got to rush to get there for the funeral, that it could take some time to sort out everything, with all the cousins and suchlike. But you tell her, Duncan, or she'll be hurt. You're the first man she's trusted in years, and you owe it to her … "
"Tae tell her a pack of lies," Duncan interrupted.
"She'll understand that, later, when you come back and tell her the truth. But she won't understand if you leave without saying goodbye. She'll harden her heart against you, and you'll never get her back."
In the end, he didn't go on his way to Scotland, but the evening before, and he didn't rush off, but stayed for a few hours. When he came back in the early hours of the morning he seemed happier. And sadder, too. What he said, and what Sarah replied, remained a mystery, because neither of them ever spoke of it to anyone else.
* * *
"Ridiculous upstart!" Lord Edward announced, inadvertently interrupting Beth, who had just been assuring the Earl of Highbury in a low voice that there was really no need for him to apologise yet again for the behaviour of his wayward son. The earl glanced coolly across at Edward, awaiting further comment before he defended his son from what appeared to be, in Beth's view, a fair accusation.
"Cope will soon send him packing, never fear," said Lord Winter. "All a storm in a teacup, if you ask me."
The earl relaxed, gathered his bishop's robes about him, and turned his attention back to Beth.
"I am surprised you didn't choose to attend this little masquerade as an Amazon warrior, Lady Elizabeth," he said. "It would be more fitting than a demure mediaeval lady, surely?"
"Mediaeval ladies did not wear corsets, my lord," Beth smiled "I have chosen comfort over aptness. And it is always better to hide one's light under a bushel. It gives one the element of surprise."
"Yes, well, you certainly had that with Daniel. If you won't accept my apologies, then at least accept my thanks for not killing him. Anthony tells me you're remarkably accurate with a knife."
Beth shifted uncomfortably. How much did her husband tell Highbury?
"How is Daniel?" she asked.
"Healing. And licking his wounds over in France. Or possibly Switzerland by now."
"Oh, my lord!" cried Isabella. "Surely you have not let your only son travel abroad in these dreadful times!"
Lord Edward and his sisters, considering it beneath their dignity to adopt costume, but wishing to attend the party, had paid lip service to the spirit of the masquerade by wearing normal attire and adopting black velvet masks which covered their faces and were kept in place by a button held between the lips. Isabella's voice was somewhat muffled as a result, and it took the earl a moment to interpret her utterance.