Ken Follett - A Place Called Freedom (1995)

Slowly Jay swung the rifle back until it was pointing at his stag again. Of course he would not kill his brother. It would be unthinkably wicked. He might be haunted all his life by guilty memories.

But if he refrained, might he not always regret it? Next time Father humiliated him by showing preference for Robert, would he not grind his teeth and wish with all his heart that he had solved the problem when he could and wiped his loathsome sibling off the face of the earth?

He swung the rifle back to Robert.

Father respected strength, decisiveness and ruthlessness. Even if he guessed that the fatal shot was deliberate, he would be forced to realize that Jay was a man, one who could not be ignored or overlooked without dreadful consequences.

That thought strengthened his resolve. In his heart Father would approve, Jay told himself. Sir George would never let himself be mistreated: his response to wrongdoing was brutal and savage. As a magistrate in London he had sent dozens of men, women and children to the Old Bailey. If a child could be hanged for stealing bread, what was wrong with killing Robert for stealing Jay’s patrimony?

Lizzie was taking her time. Jay tried to breathe evenly but his heart was racing and his breath came in gasps. He was tempted to glance over at Lizzie, to see what the devil was holding her up, but he was afraid she would choose that instant to fire, and then he would miss his chance; so he kept his eyes and his gun barrel locked on Robert’s back. His whole body was as taut as a harp string, and his muscles began to hurt with the tension, but he did not dare move.

No, he thought, this can’t be happening. I’m not going to kill my brother. By God, I will, though, I swear it.

Hurry, Lizzie, please.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move near him. Before he could look up he heard the crack of Lizzie’s gun. The stags froze. Holding his aim on Robert’s spine, just between the shoulder blades, Jay squeezed his trigger gently. A bulky form loomed over him and he heard his father shout. There were two more bangs as Robert and Henry fired. Just as Jay’s gun went off, a booted foot kicked the barrel. It jerked upward, and the ball went harmlessly up into the air. Fear and guilt possessed Jay’s heart and he looked up into the enraged face of Sir George.

“You murdering little bastard,” his father said.

7

THE DAY IN THE OPEN AIR MADE LIZZIE SLEEPY, AND soon after supper she announced that she was going to bed. Robert happened to be out of the room, and Jay politely sprang up to light her way upstairs with a candle. As they mounted the stone staircase he said quietly, “I’ll take you down the mine, if you like.”

Lizzie’s sleepiness vanished. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He grinned. “Do you dare to go?”

She was thrilled. “Yes!” she said. Here was a man after her own heart! “When can we go?” she said eagerly.

“Tonight. The hewers start work at midnight, the bearers an hour or two later.”

“Really?” Lizzie was mystified. “Why do they work at night?”

“They work all day too. The bearers finish at the end of the afternoon.”

“But they hardly have time to sleep!”

“It keeps them out of mischief.”

She felt foolish. “I’ve spent most of my life in the next glen and I had no idea they worked such long hours.” She wondered if McAsh would be proved right and the visit to the pit would turn her view of coal miners upside-down.

“Be ready at midnight,” Jay said. “You’ll have to dress as a man again—do you still have those clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Go out by the kitchen door—I’ll make sure it’s open—and meet me in the stable yard. I’ll saddle a couple of horses.”

“This is so exciting!” she said.

He handed her the candle. “Until midnight,” he whispered.

She went into her bedroom. Jay was happy again, she noted. Earlier today he had had another row of some kind with his father, up on the mountain. No one had seen exactly what happened—they had all been concentrating on the deer—but Jay missed his stag and Sir George had been white with rage. The quarrel, whatever it was, had been easily smoothed over in the excitement of the moment. Lizzie had killed her stag cleanly. Both Robert and Henry had wounded theirs. Robert’s ran a few yards, then fell, and he finished it off with another shot; but Henry’s got away, and the dogs went after it and brought it down after a chase. However, everyone knew something had happened, and Jay had been quiet for the rest of the day—until now, when he became animated and charming again.

She took off her dress, her petticoats and her shoes, then she wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in front of the blazing fire. Jay was such fun, she thought. He seemed to seek adventure, as she did. He was good-looking, too: tall, well dressed, and athletic, with a lot of wavy fair hair. She could hardly wait for midnight.

There was a tap at the door and her mother came in. Lizzie suffered a guilty pang. I hope Mother doesn’t want a long chat, she thought anxiously. But it was not yet eleven: there was plenty of time.

Mother was wearing a cloak, as they all did to go from one room to another through the cold passages of Jamisson Castle. She took it off. Underneath she had on a wrap over her nightclothes. She unpinned Lizzie’s hair and began to brush it.

Lizzie closed her eyes and relaxed. This always took her back to her childhood. “You must promise me not to dress as a man again,” Mother said. Lizzie was star tied. It was almost as if Mother had overheard her talking to Jay. She would have to be careful: Mother had a remarkable way of guessing when Lizzie was up to no good. “You’re much too old for such games now,” she added.

“Sir George was highly amused!” Lizzie protested.

“Perhaps, but it’s no way to get a husband.”

“Robert seems to want me.”

“Yes—but you must give him a chance to pay court! Going to church yesterday you rode off with Jay and left Robert behind. Then again, tonight you chose to retire when Robert was out of the room, so that he lost the chance of escorting you upstairs.”

Lizzie studied her mother in the looking-glass. The familiar lines of her face showed determination. Lizzie loved her mother and would have liked to please her. But she could not be the daughter her mother wanted: it was against her nature. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said. “I just don’t think of these things.”

“Do you … like Robert?”

“I’d take him if I were desperate.”

Lady Hallim put down the hairbrush and sat opposite Lizzie. “My dear, we are desperate.”

“But we’ve always been short of money, for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s true. I’ve managed by borrowing, and mortgaging our land, and living most of the time up here where we can eat our own venison and wear our clothes until they have holes in them.”

Once again Lizzie felt a pang of guilt. When Mother spent money it was almost always on Lizzie, not on herself. “Then let’s just go on the same way. I don’t mind having the cook serve at table, and sharing a maid with you. I like living here—I’d rather spend my days walking in High Glen than shopping in Bond Street.”

“There’s a limit to how much one can borrow, you know. They won’t let us have any more.”

“Then we’ll live on the rents we get from the crofters. We must give up our trips to London. We won’t even go to balls in Edinburgh. Nobody will come to dinner with us but the pastor. We’ll live like nuns, and not see company from one year’s end to the next.”

“I’m afraid we can’t even do that. They’re threatening to take away Hallim House and the estate.”