The children declared they dared not go. Widow Fleming was busy; and she had sent them away. “Then go and tell your father. Ask him to come in.” Mr Ruthven was shocked into his usual manners when he saw Lady Carse unable to stand or speak. His assurances that he did not believe her in any personal danger, if the report were ever so true, were thrown away. Her consternation was about a different aspect of the matter. She at once concluded that the cause of the Stuarts would be triumphant. She saw in imagination all her enemies victorious—her husband and Lord Lovat successful in all their plottings, high in power and glory; while she, who could have given timely intimation of their schemes—she who could have saved the throne and kingdom—was confined to this island like an eagle in a cage. For some time she sat paralysed by her emotions; then she rose and went in silence to Annie’s dwelling. The steward was just departing, and he seemed in the more haste for the lady’s appearance; but Annie stopped him—gravely desired him to remain while she told the lady what it concerned her to know. She then said, “I learn from the steward, madam, that it is known throughout Edinburgh that you are still in life, and that you are confined to some out-of-the-way place, though, the steward believes, the real place is not known.”
“It is not known,” the steward declared; “and it is anything but kind of you, in my opinion, Mrs Fleming, to delude Lady Carse with any hope of escape. Her escape is, and will always be, impossible.”
“I think it my business,” said Annie, “to inform the lady of whatever I hear of her affairs. I think she ought to have the comfort of knowing that her friends are alarmed: and I am sure I have no right to conceal it from her.”
The steward walked away, while the lady stood lost in reverie. One set of ideas had driven out the other. She had forgotten all about the Jacobite news, and she stood staring with wide open eyes, as the vision of her escape and triumph once more intoxicated her imagination.
Annie gently drew her attention to the facts, telling her that it was clear that the ball of thread had done its duty well. The alarm had begun with Mr Hope, the advocate. He had demanded that the coffin supposed to contain the remains of Lady Carse should be taken up and searched. When he appeared likely to obtain his demand, Lord Carse had avoided the scandal of the proceeding by acknowledging that it had been a sham funeral. Annie believed that now the lady had only to wait as patiently as she could, in the reasonable hope that her friends would not rest until they had rescued her.
At this moment Lady Carse’s quick sense was caught by Adam’s pulling the widow’s gown and asking in a whisper, “What is a Pretender?” and by Annie’s soft reply, “Hush, my dear!”
“Hush! do you say?” exclaimed Lady Carse, with a start. “What do you mean by saying ‘hush’? Is the Pretender come? Answer me. Has the Pretender landed in Scotland?”
“He has not landed, madam. He is in yonder vessel. You had a great deliverance, madam, in not being taken away by his boat last night.”
“Deliverance! There is no deliverance for me,” said the lady. “Every hope is dashed. There is no kindness in holding out new hopes to me. My enemies will not let me stay here now my friends know where to find me. I shall be carried to Saint Kilda, or some other horrible place; or, if they have not time to take care of me while they are setting up their new king, they will murder me. Oh, I shall never live to see Edinburgh again: and my husband and Lovat will be lording it there, and laughing at me and my vain struggles during all these years, while I lie helpless in my grave, or tossing like a weed in these cruel seas. If God will but grant my prayer, and let me haunt them! Stop, stop: do not go away.”
“I must, madam, if you talk so.”