Ava North is more comfortable talking to a dead man than a live one. Unfortunately, that also means it's that much harder to find love. She's in her forties and an introvert. Chasing down bad guys and being the best homicide Lieutenant is a piece of cake. Mmm cake. Finding a good man to share life with? That's another story.
Slate Forbes is busting his fur to make a success out of his pack's cabin business. He's too busy dealing with renovations, and a competing bear clan, to think of a mate. But none of that matters when the most beautifully awkward woman bumps into him and steals his drink. Now, he can think of nothing more than to find her, mate her, and make her his.
Coming across a dead body on vacation is not Ava's idea of relaxation, but she can tell something fishy's going on in the small town. She's not willing to let a possible crime go unsolved. Her focus on getting justice for the dead might be the end of her vacation and her life. With little evidence and no witnesses, she's not sure what to do. Will Ava solve this crime, or will she be the next name on the killer's list?
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
erri Wilder glanced around her newly decorated office. She’d made the entire floor of her building her home. Buying out the other two neighbors had worked for the best and now she could really spread out. A knock sounded at her door and she padded on her new ultra-soft carpet to open it.
“Cami!” Gerri hauled her old friend inside and hugged her tightly. She’d missed Camilla North and their friendship. “It is so good to see you. Shouldn’t you be hosting some save-the-Amazon-rainforest gala in Europe? What in the world are you doing in town?”
She pulled Camilla into the new cozy living room and took her coat. Gerri had followed a former client’s advice and gone with a full white décor. It really brightened the space, made it feel like a peaceful, wide-open space.
“Gerri, it’s so good to see you,” Camilla smiled, her voice squeaky with excitement. Gerri hung up the coat while Cami glanced around the renovated space. “This looks amazing.”
“I know,” Gerri agreed. “But you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,” Gerri pointed out and led her to the brand new beautiful sofas.
“What do you mean? I had to come over. I’m only in town for a few weeks, but I had to stop by to see you. I know we text all the time, but nothing beats seeing your lovely face.”
Gerri grinned at Cami. “Sit down. Let me get you some coffee or tea. I know your preference depends on where you’re traveling. So
what will it be?”
“Coffee, please.”
Gerri raised her brows. “I just got one of those cool espresso machines. It makes everything. Can I offer you a latte or a cappuccino?”
“Latte, please.”
Gerri rushed to the open kitchen across from the living room to make the drinks. “So, how are you? How’s Eric and Ava?”
“Oh, you know Eric. Busy with work. The good thing is that he can do his job from anywhere. It allows us to travel for my nonprofit.”
Gerri put the drinks on a silver tray along with containers of sugar and cream and spoons. Her oven beeped at that moment and she grinned. Her scones were ready. She pulled them out of the oven and placed them on a plate on the tray. She knew making them had been a good idea. “And Ava?”
Cami sighed loudly. Gerri shook her head.
“This coffee table is amazing,” Cami gushed. “Just look at that log. How in the world did you get someone to make a coffee table out of a log?”
Gerri winked. “Oh, you know, I have my ways.” Gerri sat on the sofa across from Cami. “Stop changing the conversation and tell me what’s going on with Ava.”
“Ava. My beautiful and stubborn daughter is, by all accounts, doing well.” She dumped three teaspoons of sugar into her cup and then a drop of cream. She stirred, took a sip and then added more cream.
“That tone doesn’t sound like she’s doing well. How’s her job?”
“Good. She’s a lieutenant now.” Cami’s voice lowered. She set her coffee cup down and glanced at Gerri. The worry was clear for her to see on her furrowed brow.
“What’s going on, Cami? Is Ava in some type of trouble?”
Cami shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. She’s just…” She took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, making Gerri’s concern rise with the scent of Cami’s sadness. “She just turned forty-two, and I can’t get her to go on a date. Her life is her job. She works in
Homicide and is working cases days on end with no sleep.” She gave Gerri a helpless look. “At this rate, I am never going to get grandkids.”
Gerri shook her head. “Come on, Cami. I doubt it’s that bad.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t exaggerate. I got so desperate that for her birthday party, I secretly invited every eligible man I could find in town.”
“And how did that turn out?” Gerri raised her brows.
“It turned into nothing. She missed it due to a break in a new case. Her vacation’s coming up, and I need her to go somewhere she can meet a man,” Cami explained, frustration in her tone. “I want my daughter to get married again. It’s ridiculous that she’s given up on love and romance.”
“What if she’s happily married to her job?” Gerri asked. “I know a lot of women feel fulfilled with their jobs and need no men in their lives.”
Cami nodded. “Yes, this is true, but Ava isn’t really happy alone.” She sipped her coffee and sighed. “I overheard a conversation she was having with her best friend, Hailey, when she thought she was alone. She was sad, Gerri.”
Cami’s shoulders slumped. “Ava said that she didn’t think she’d ever find a man she could trust. Not after her piece of shit exhusband. She didn’t sound bitter either. She sounded sad. She said she wants to have a family.” Cami sat back and stared down at her cup. “I need to help her.”
An idea popped into Gerri’s head. “What does she have planned for her vacation?”
Cami gave her a frustrated look and picked up a scone. “She’s going to some cabin to study for the next rank up in the department. Her vacation happens to fall during her ex-wedding anniversary this year, so she’s using her vacation to study and not think about her failed marriage.”
“Next rank?” Gerri questioned. “You said she just made lieutenant.”
“That’s not where she wants to be in life. She’s mentioned a captain’s position a few times. Her current boss isn’t retiring any
time soon, and I know she really loves being a detective, so I don’t know why she’s focused on a captain’s title.”
Gerri sipped her coffee. “Hmm…”
Cami chewed a bite of scone while she stared at Gerri. “I know that look on your face. You’ve got an idea.”
“I know where Ava should spend her vacation.”
Cami raised her brows. “I’m not sure. I haven’t told you yet. Ava hates all shifters. She found out that her ex’s mistress was a shifter.”
“I didn’t know she knew about them,” Gerri replied.
Cami shrugged. “She’s seen enough in her job to figure out they are real.”
Gerri tapped a manicured finger against her chin. “Then she definitely needs to go. She has to get over that if she wants to find happiness with the right man.”
“Go where?” Cami asked.
“I have a friend that owns several cabins. They’re near a skiing resort in Colorado. If she’s looking to relax, that would be a great place.” Gerri frowned. “But I don’t think she’ll want to go alone to a big cabin resort.”
Cami sat up in her seat. “I can ask Hailey to help us out. She can tell her that they need a girls’ trip.”
Gerri nodded. “Perfect. Let’s get Hailey to do that, but don’t tell her what this is about. Tell her we want Ava to relax.”
Cami picked up a scone and toasted Gerri with a wink. “Oh, this is going to be so fun!”
Gerri smiled wide. Yes, yes, it was going to be lots of fun.
C H A P T E R T W O
Ava sighed. “This is supposed to be relaxing, Hailey. I’m not here to pick up men.” She dimmed the headlights as a car drove past them. Being on unfamiliar terrain and dark out, not to mention the snow on the black top, she drove slower than normal “This is like going to Vegas, girl,” Hailey insisted. “What happens in this Podunk Town stays in this Podunk Town.”
“Hailey,” she said, “you sound like a horny twenty-year-old. Not a mature adult.” She squinted at the road. “Stop talking so loud. I can barely see where the lines are. Damn snow.” She stuck her tongue at Hailey. “I’m getting too old to drive at night.”
“Real funny.” Hailey grinned. “We may be in our forties,” she wiggled her brows, “but we’re not dead. At least, I’m not. Not sure about you. When was the last time you had sex? I mean with a breathing man, not a battery-bound toy.”
Ava grimaced, keeping her eyes forward. Hailey knew the answer, but she had brought it up anyway. “You know I’m busy at work. Besides, batteries don’t talk back.”
“You haven’t gotten laid in years,” Hailey said with sass.
“Like you’re any better, Hailey. How many times have you been on a date since leaving your cheating husband? And girl’s night is not a date.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Hailey sighed. “I enjoy our girls’ night dates.”
“Translation: you haven’t gotten laid in years.” Ava repeated Hailey’s words.
Hailey scrunched her nose. “That’s because I’m not a hoochie.”
“Neither am I,” Ava said. “What a pair we are.”
They both burst into laughter. That’s what she loved about her BFF. Hailey kept it real and Ava needed that. Being a homicide lieutenant in a big city, she only saw the worst side of humanity. She had to be reminded the world wasn’t inherently bad. There were good people who deserved good things.
“God,” Ava said, “look at us. Two divorcees with no children, no social life, going to spend our vacation in a cabin in Nowhere, Colorado.”
“Who knows? Maybe we will find ourselves dates,” Hailey added. “They may be mostly strangers, but that doesn’t mean they can’t warm our hearts and beds for a few days or nights.”
C H A P T E R T H R E E
va focused on the road, not replying to the comment. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t sleep with someone just for the physical release. Her heart had to be in it. Not her whole heart, but at least some of it. Her heart was buried somewhere in her left heel because of her divorce. Ava was sure her bed would remain cold.
She’d brought her training manuals from work to continue her studies. She’d told her mother that she was looking for a captain’s position in the city, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. She was considering finding a smaller town to work in. A place that didn’t house the world’s lowest pieces of shit.
She hadn’t thought the whole thing through, but the idea of being someplace where everyone knew your name, liked each other, and watched out for strange happenings, seemed appealing. Instead of hunting down killers, she’d rather help them before they got to the point of killing.
Yeah, it sounded like a fairy tale, but if she was going to hope, she’d hope for it all.
The long stretch of straight road came to a sudden end in a sharp curve. The yellow and black road signs glowed by the car’s headlights. She slowed to enter the bend. Then a dark shape lying in her lane came into view.
Ava slammed her foot on the brake, fishtailing the car. The vehicle slid around on the snow and stopped.
Hailey held her death grip on the oh-my-god handle above the door window while Ava leaned against the steering wheel, staring out the windshield. What the hell was she seeing?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving. She opened the door, but her friend grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? It could be an injured animal. It could attack you. Ava, I can’t help you if you get mauled to death. I’m not the action-woman. That’s all you. Stay in the car.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said. At least it wasn’t a person waiting to ambush and shoot her. That had happened more than once in her line of work. Getting closer, she could make out the form of a body with arms and legs. Oh, shit. It was a person.
She hurried closer and knelt by the head. She placed fingers on a very cold patch of neck. Even if she didn’t feel a pulse, she knew the woman wasn’t alive. She sighed and sat back on her feet.
Looking around, Ava couldn’t see farther than the edge of the road. Of course, there were no streetlights in the middle of the mountains. Another set of headlights appeared coming toward them.
The slamming of the car door behind her made her glance over her shoulder to see Hailey coming her way.
“I can’t get a signal, Ava. We’ll have to go somewhere else to call 911.” She shivered in the cold wind.
“Haley,” Ava called out, “stay by the car. You don’t want to see this.” Her friend had voiced many times over the years that she had no desire to see crime scene photos or encounter anything that wasn’t breathing.
“Oh shit,” Hailey mumbled, stopping, “it’s a human?” She scooted back to the other side of the car door. “Okay, I don’t want to see it. Nope. I’ll have nightmares for days.” She shivered. “It’s freezing out here, anyway.”
“Yeah,” she replied, standing. Though she was used to seeing dead bodies, it still did something to her to see deceased young people. The woman had so much life unlived. A knot formed in her throat and she let out a breath slowly.
She remained where she was, waiting for the approaching car to reach them. She hated for the scene to be compromised, but there
wasn’t much she could do unless she stayed there and sent Hailey to find a phone signal. They could do that.
She searched the darkness for wild animals. Grizzly bears and man-eating wolves and cougars popped into her mind. Maybe staying wasn’t a good idea. Ugh, she could be such a city girl. Dead bodies and criminals with guns didn’t faze her, but animals that could shred her with their claws? Those made her knees shake.
To her surprise, the person from the other car got out and walked toward her. She squinted her eyes into the headlights silhouetting the stranger. By his easy lope and the loose swag of his body, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Definitely not a frightened female.
His throat cleared as he stepped into her car’s light. “Well, what do we have here?” He stared at body on the ground. He was tall and lean. Devilishly handsome, and by the way he stood, he knew it. Her interest zeroed out.
“Who are you?” she asked, suspiciously. His head snapped toward her. For a second, his eyes seemed to glow. Must have been the light reflecting weirdly.
“My name is Wesley Gardner. I’m the head security for the cabin resort up the road. Got a call about something out here on the curve.” He seemed to be chewing on a toothpick. He turned his head to the side and spit it out. How sexy. Not. She was ready to puke.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Wesley,” Hailey hollered, standing behind the car door. Brow raised, Ava glanced at her friend. Even though she could tell her friend had been bothered by a body, she still managed to be polite and sweet. “I’m Hailey.” But now was not the time for her to be sweet to a stranger.
His smile was aimed at Hailey. Typical.
When they were together, Hailey was more often noticed with her beautiful hair, sweet smile, and outgoing personality. Ava didn’t see herself as outgoing. She was way too sarcastic. But she could chase fleeing suspects through a neighborhood. She had been athletic in high school—volleyball and ice-skating.
But she enjoyed her wine and pizza after a long day of investigation and that gave her the curves she’d come to love.
Fortunately, her brain was more important than her brawn.
Ava watched the man with caution, her arms crossed over her chest. The guy could be a total nut-job. Who knew? She shook her head and glanced down at the body between the newcomer and her. “Well, Wesley,” Ava used her take-charge tone, “there’s a dead person on the ground. You got a phone with a signal? We need to call the police.”
Wesley shook his head at the body and then nodded at her. “That’s sad. Dying out here, alone? Sad. And yes, I do. I have a satellite phone in the truck.” He bent over the body and scooted it into the lane his truck sat.
“Stop,” Ava hollered. “What are you doing?”
He glanced up at her. “Unless you want to run over the body on your way, I’m moving it for you.”
“You’re not supposed to. . .” She bit her tongue. “You really shouldn’t move the body.”
“No worries, ma’am.” He smiled. “It was right there, face up, hand at her sides, feet together.”
What was the point in explaining how important everything was in a scene if he was going to go against the rules anyway? “Never mind. You going to call 911?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled again, not affecting her. “As soon as you’re safely on your way, I’ll take care of everything. Call the police and all. But the sheriff won’t be coming. He and his cousin are hunting and won’t get in until real late tonight, but someone else will show up.”
Not reassuring. “We can’t go,” Ava told him.
“Why not?” he asked, a hint of frustration seeping through.
“Because we have to give our statement to the police,” she sighed.
“Ah,” Wesley waved a hand through the air. “Don’t worry about that. The sheriff isn’t the brightest bulb around here. He’s been at his post forever and does things as he sees fit. He wouldn’t know what to do with your statement. Besides,” Wesley glanced at his watch, “it’s almost five. Everyone at the sheriff’s office is gone for the day.”
“What about the medical examiner?” she asked.
“The town doesn’t have one. The ME from the city takes care of anything around here. I’ll have the on-duty officer call her and get any evidence necessary to investigate. Don’t let this spoil your night.”
Hailey’s voice came from the car. “Everything okay, Ava?” He winked at her friend. Ava rolled her eyes.
“Everything’s fine, Hay. Just a minute.”
She didn’t want to leave the scene of a crime. She shouldn’t leave. Her experience told her she needed to stay and handle the situation, but she had no jurisdiction here. She was a detective from Houston, Texas.
She should not get involved. But seeing as there was no officer around, she felt it was her duty to at least give a statement. Something.
“Maybe we should stay until the deputy arrives,” she said to Wesley. “What if they have questions?”
He shrugged. “It’s up to you, but I saw where she was located. I can easily tell them. People insist on walking this area because the view of the cabins and the ski resort is nice. It’s not the first time we’ve had issues with this area.
“You can stay, but the deputies here would rather talk to a local than an outsider,” he said, that slick smile on his lips. “I’m sure we could find stuff to talk about if you do stay, though.”
Her body involuntarily shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the coldness or the egotistical man standing in front of her.
“Right, but I think we’ll go,” Ava replied. She shook her head. She was letting her job get to her. She needed to eat and relax and let this guy do his job. She was on vacation, damn it.
She got back into the car and watched Wesley. They drove past him as he pulled a phone from his truck and waved it at them to make sure she saw it. At least he was making the call.
“How sad that someone died in such a pretty place,” Hailey said with a frown. “On another note, he seemed to know what he was doing.”
“I think he was too laid back,” Ava squinted into the dark road in front of her.
Hailey gasped. “Really? I didn’t see that. He moved the body and called. Come on, Ava. Give the guy some credit.”
“I guess. But he didn’t do any of the things he was supposed to. Plus, he wasn’t fazed by the dead body. Most people would have been upset, shocked…hell, anything other than be friendly with us.”
“You aren’t bothered by dead bodies,” Hailey pointed out. “Maybe he has a background like yours. He is a security guard after all. You don’t know.”
That could be true. She didn’t know. She was so used to being suspicious of people that she had immediately looked at the security guard like an incompetent. She smiled at Haley. She loved her best friend and the fact she never judged a book by its cover. Or maybe she thought he was hot.
“You kept smiling at him.” Ava grinned. She loved messing with Hailey.
“I did not,” Hailey protested. She turned to the side window. “I was being polite in an ugly situation.”
“Your destination is in one mile on the right.” The car’s GPS startled them both.
Ava let out a breath. She hoped this vacation would be restful despite the bumpy start. She also didn’t like Hailey’s idea of looking for possible dates. If her friend needed to find a man for vacation, she wouldn’t fault her.
Hailey deserved to get some romance in her life and Ava would encourage her to have fun. Ava, on the other hand, wasn’t going out of her way to impress anyone. That wasn’t her style.
Then again, maybe Ava’s lack of trying to be all girly and seductive was why her dick of a husband had cheated on her after five years of marriage.
C H A P T E R F O U R
“C
ome on, Hailey,” Ava said, “I just want to eat dinner. Not seduce the whole bar.” Ava tugged down on the skintight dress her friend forced over her head. She’d rather be wearing comfy, loose-fitting pants and sweaters. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy my meal, along with dessert, if I pop out of my dress.”
She wouldn’t even mind a long dress, but anything tight around her body made her feel like she was being restrained. Not fun. Not that she looked bad in the dress. She had a whole curvy Jessica Rabbit thing going, if she said so herself. But she wouldn’t enjoy trying to sit in that tiny outfit while the skirt rode up her thighs. She would rather it not explode off her body while she ate.
And though she didn’t really eat the healthiest at all times, she still loved food, so she wasn’t going to chastise herself for enjoying it. Her body was curvy and it was natural when you loved cake and dessert. There was way too much of her legs showing and she hadn’t gotten much sun so she felt she looked a little pale.
“How do you sit in something this damn short anyway?”
“Stop pulling on it. You’ll get it out of shape.” Hailey picked up her makeup brush and dipped it into finishing powder. “Did you call the front desk about the heater not working?”
“Yes,” Ava frowned and tugged on the hemline again. Damn short dress that kept riding up. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be showing off her undies. Then she’d definitely get some male attention once they
got a look at her booty. “They said they’d have someone fix it ASAP.” She turned sideways to the mirror and ran her hands down her slightly rippling front side. “You know, even with me not having gotten a tan and all my curves, this thing looks pretty damn good.”
“I saw it online and knew you’d look amazing in it.” Hailey winked. “Me, too, of course.”
Ava snorted. “Of course.”
“Feeling sexy is natural. Glad you’re seeing how hot you look,” Hailey smiled at her. “At least the curves are in all the right places after all my packages of Double Stuffed Oreos.”
She groaned thinking of the cookies. Damn. Those were good. She really had a sweet tooth problem. “They’re so worth it, though.”
She lifted her black flats she wore to the office some days.
“Oh, no,” Hailey said, “put those under the bed. Way under the bed.” She handed Ava a pair of four-inch-heeled shoes. “Here, I brought these for you.” Just Ava’s luck that she and Hailey wore the same size. Damn it!
“What? No,” Ava groaned.
Hailey raised a brow at her and went back to fluffing her blonde curls in front of the mirror. “Yes.”
“Remind me again why we got a two-bedroom cabin instead of two single-room cabins?”
Hailey gasped. “You know you love sharing a cabin with me. Besides, our rooms are on opposite sides of the cabin.”
“True, but now you can easily come over to my room and make me wear your shoes.”
“Stop whining and put them on.”
“I can’t walk in these. What in the hell are you thinking?” She slid one on her naked foot. Her toes squished together. It reminded her of the scene in Cinderella when the evil stepsister tried to shove her log of a foot into the dainty glass slipper. “I’m going to kill somebody with this heel when these shoes pop off my feet and go flying through the restaurant. I hope you know I’m going to blame you for that.”
“Quit complaining and put the damn things on. You’ll be sitting most of the time anyway.”
Ava sighed. Shoving the hair away from her face, she put on the torture devices and fanned herself. “You made me sweat it’s so hard to strap these things on.”
“If you don’t start seeing the positive side of this, I’m going to duct tape your mouth shut,” Hailey told her.
C H A P T E R F I V E
“Y
ou want positive?” Ava huffed. “Okay, I’m positive I’m going to fall on my face off this second story I’m walking on and bust my ass.”
“Ava!” Hailey growled, brushing her hair.
“And how am I gonna get laid—your ultimate goal—when I’m gonna be crawling all over the restaurant with a torn dress and broken ankles.”
“I don’t care how much you complain. You’re wearing them.”
This wasn’t exactly what she’d been thinking about doing tonight. Room service and an early night were more along her plans.
“Pout,” Hailey said, uncapping a lip gloss.
“Fine, but I’m leaving after this. You can join me or stay behind. My stomach is growling.” Her lips were coated with the berry color Hailey swiped on them, then Ava grabbed her scraggly carry-all bag. Hailey yanked it off her arm and handed her a clutch.
“Now, stand still,” Hailey huffed and tried to spritz her with perfume, but Ava almost broke her neck, rushing away.
“Allergies, Hailey!”
“Wow,” Hailey shook her head. “Have you totally forgotten how to be a female?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Ava said with a smirk. “I’ve turned into a homicide lieutenant. The dead don’t give a shit if my belt and shoes match.” She opened the door to their cabin and stepped out.
Her friend laughed and swatted Ava’s ass with her own small purse. “Good thing the men here are still breathing.”
“Good thing is yet to be determined.” Most of the time, she preferred her men unable to talk back. They sat at the back of the waiting winterized golf cart for the ride to the dining lounge and bar.
Minutes later, Ava and Hailey stood at the hostess’s station, looking around the extravagant space. The main lodge appeared big on the outside, but the inside was positively cavernous. Huge double-sided fireplaces were scattered about inviting intimate conversations. Waiters strolled with bottles of wine and glasses on trays over their heads.
Elkhorn chandeliers sparkled with faux candle lights that matched those on the tables in the packed dining section. The bar on the other side was lined with men watching a TV sporting event. The young hostess smiled at them.
“Would you ladies like to start with a drink at one of the smaller tables by the bar? Your first drink is on the house. We’ll have a dining room table for you in about fifteen minutes.”
Ava shook her head. No fucking way. She wanted food now. If she didn’t eat soon, she wasn’t going to be responsible for her bitchiness. “We’ll wait—”
“Yes,” Hailey interrupted her. “We’d love to start at the bar. Could we get two apple martinis, please?” She smiled at the hostess and gave Ava the stink eye.
Ava sighed and rolled her eyes, mumbling about women needing to get laid. “I guess the bar it is.” This was going to be a long night, and all she wanted was food and sleep. After being seated at a small round table in the bar area, a waiter placed drinks in front of them. After a cautious sip, she almost coughed out a lung. “That drink is strong enough to grow some chest hair.”
Hailey choked on her sip and half-coughed, half-laughed for a few seconds. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Ava.”
Ava took her shoes off and rubbed her toes. “If my feet turn black and fall off tomorrow, you’re carrying me wherever we go.”
Hailey grinned over the rim of her glass. “Hopefully, you’ll have a man to do that.”
Ha! No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t depend on a man to ever do anything for her. Fortunately, her parents raised her to be an independent person who could take care of herself. She didn’t need a man to make it in the world. If she wanted a man, that was something else. And she didn’t. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.
C H A P T E R S I X
Well, Ava wanted love, happiness, a couple kids, great sex, and for someone else to cook. Was that so much to ask for? She didn’t think so. Seemed rather ideal to her. Problem was finding someone who didn’t want a maid they could have bad two-minute sex with every night.
“Okay, Ava, pay attention,” Hailey scolded her playfully. “I’m going to show you how to pick up a guy at the bar.”
Ava groaned. Not this again. She took another sip of her drink and didn’t cough out a lung. She was proud of herself. “Hailey, I’m forty-two years old. If I haven’t gotten it by now, it’s not gonna happen. Besides, it didn’t work the first time you tried to teach me. Why would it when I’m tired and hungry?”
Hailey’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “Don’t give me that. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice the possible one-night stands by the bar. All of them are cute. And not just any type of cute. They’re the I’d-shave-my legs–and-girl-parts type of cute.” She sighed. “Drool-worthy.”
Ava took a look for herself. Well, damn. She wasn’t exaggerating for once. She’d never seen so many handsome men in one place in her life. What was up with that? Was there a sexy-hot-man convention going on? Though most looked a bit too young for her taste, there were possibilities. Maybe it was a good thing she’d gotten her wax with a fresh trim of the landing strip done. One of
these hotties might actually get a chance at exploring her airport. But not tonight. She really wanted to eat and go to bed already.
Hailey stood from her chair and smoothed down her tight dress. She drank the rest of her martini, put the empty glass down, and let out a slow breath. “Okay, now watch me.”
Like she had a choice. From the back of the room where they sat, her friend sashayed up to the bar, letting the men see her in the mirror on the wall behind the liquor. All eyes were on her. Ava’s stomach squirmed with the dread of having that many people scrutinizing her and the tiny dress riding up her pale, chunky thighs. She was more than okay with them, but it wasn’t like she put herself out on display either. She wasn’t a masochist. Most women she knew wouldn’t be caught dead without a tan.
Hailey put her hand on the shoulder of a man as she slid sideways between him and his buddy. “Excuse me,” she said in a soft, flirty voice Ava almost couldn’t hear, “I just need to order a glass of wine.” She raised her chin in search of the bartender, in the process lifting her chest in front of the man’s face.
She ordered—actually, the man placed the order and paid for it Hailey flirted until her glass arrived then came back to their table.
“See how easy that was,” Hailey said as if she’d just given her the cheat code to some test.
“Easy for you,” Ava replied, sucking down the rest of her martini in one gulp. Consequences of drinking liquor in a rush be damned. “I’m not good at chatting up a man unless his body is stiff, cold, and dead.”
Hailey rolled her eyes. “Really, Ava, you’re hopeless. Here,” she slid her glass of wine toward her, “drink this, find a guy, and get me a glass.”
“Fine.” Ava drank a couple swallows, surveying the selection. None of them really appealed to her.
Then, she overheard someone saying a silly joke and she grinned. A quick glance at the entrance and she caught sight of the jokester. The specimen—the most incredible she’d ever seen— stopped by the bar and nodded to the barkeep. The man commanded the air around him. Her stomach did a flip.
Several of the men watching the TVs turned their attention to this newcomer and greeted him. He was smiling and shaking hands with other men. He was funny and handsome. But the funny part was what really drew her attention. Her job consisted of so many serious moments that she really had a thing for a funny guy.
Like a host, he made his way to each guy, laid a hand on their shoulders, and talked and laughed. She couldn’t take her eyes from him. He was charismatic and breathtaking. Holy hotness. He lifted his nose as if to sniff the air and looked around, but his eyes never made it back to their small table. He leaned against the bar rail with his back to her and glanced up at the televisions.
Before she chickened out, she slammed back the rest of the wine and stood. She wanted to get his attention with a determination she only felt when chasing down a killer. He was the prey and she would have his eyes on her.
Confidence soared through her until she was a few feet behind him. The toe of her shoe dragged on the floor, causing her to lose her balance and trip forward. With her hands out, she knew she was going to shove into him, smashing him against the bar. Ultimate humiliation would arise. Fuuuuck!
That was the type of shit she didn’t have to worry about if the man was dead.
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general ridicule for the failure of her imprecation. Before the merrymeeting, however, was over, the sound of the “deaddrum,” beat by the approaching rioters, fell upon their ears, and Porteous, as if struck all at once with the certainty of death, exclaimed, “D——n the wife! she is right yet!” Some of his friends suggested that it might be the firedrum; but he would not give ear to such consolations, and fairly abandoned all hope of life. Before another hour had passed, he was in eternity.
Nicol Brown, a butcher, executed in 1753 for the murder of his wife, was not the least remarkable tenant of the Tolbooth during the last century. A singular story is told of this wretched man. One evening, long before his death, as he was drinking with some other butchers in a tavern somewhere about the Grassmarket, a dispute arose about how long it might be allowable to keep flesh before it was eaten. From less to more, the argument proceeded to bets; and Brown offered to eat a pound of the oldest and “worst” flesh that could be produced, under the penalty of a guinea. A regular bet was taken, and a deputation of the company went away to fetch the stuff which should put Nicol’s stomach to the test. It so happened that a criminal—generally affirmed to have been the celebrated Nicol Muschat—had been recently hung in chains at the Gallowlee, and it entered into the heads of these monsters that they would apply in that quarter for the required flesh. They accordingly provided themselves with a ladder and other necessary articles, and, though it was now near midnight, had the courage to go down that still and solitary road which led towards the gallows, and violate the terrible remains of the dead, by cutting a large collop from the culprit’s hip. This they brought away, and presented to Brown, who was not a little shocked to find himself so tasked. Nevertheless, getting the dreadful “pound of flesh” roasted after the manner of a beefsteak, and adopting a very strong and drunken resolution, he set himself down to his horrid mess, which, it is said, he actually succeeded in devouring. This story, not being very effectually concealed, was recollected when he afterwards came to the same end with Nicol Muschat. He lived in the Fleshmarket Close, as appears from the evidence on his trial. He made away with his wife by burning her, and said that she had caught fire by accident. But, as the door was found locked by the neighbours who came on hearing her cries, and he was notorious for abusing her, besides the circumstance of his not
appearing to have attempted to extinguish the flames, he was found guilty and executed. He was also hung in chains at the Gallowlee, where Muschat had hung thirty years before. He did not, however, hang long. A few mornings after having been put up, it was found that he had been taken away during the night. This was supposed to have been done by the butchers of the Edinburgh market, who considered that a general disgrace was thrown upon their fraternity by his ignominious exhibition there. They were said to have thrown his body into the Quarry Holes.
C II.
The case of Katherine Nairne, in 1766, excited, in no small degree, the attention of the Scottish public. This lady was allied, both by blood and marriage, to some highly respectable families. Her crime was the double one of poisoning her husband, and having an intrigue with his brother, who was her associate in the murder. She was brought from the north country into Leith harbour in an open boat, and as fame had preceded her, thousands of people flocked to the shore to see her. She has been described to us as standing erect in the boat, dressed in a riding-habit, and having a switch in her hand, with which she amused herself. Her whole bearing betrayed so much levity, or was so different from what had been expected, that the mob raised a general howl of indignation, and were on the point of stoning her to death, when she was with some difficulty rescued from their hands by the public authorities. In this case the Old Tolbooth found itself, as usual, incapable of retaining a culprit of condition. Sentence had been delayed by the judges, on account of her pregnancy. The midwife employed at her accouchement (who, bythe-by, continued to practise in Edinburgh so lately as the year 1805) had the address to achieve a jail-delivery also. For three or four days previous to that concerted for the escape, she pretended to be afflicted with a prodigious toothache; went out and in with her head enveloped in shawls and flannels; and groaned as it she had been about to give up the ghost. At length, when all the janitory officials were become so habituated to her appearance, as not to heed her “exits and her entrances” very much, Katherine Nairne one evening came down in her stead, with her head wrapped all round with the shawls, uttering the usual groans, and holding down her face upon her hands, as with agony, in the precise way customary with the midwife. The inner door-keeper, not quite unconscious, it is supposed, of the trick, gave her a hearty thump upon the back as she passed out, calling her at the same time a howling old Jezebel and wishing she would never come back to annoy his ears, and those of the other inmates, in such an intolerable way. There are two reports of the proceedings of Katherine Nairne after leaving the prison. One
bears that she immediately left the town in a coach, to which she was handed by a friend stationed on purpose. The coachman, it is said, had orders from her relations, in the event of a pursuit, to drive into the sea and drown her—a fate which, however dreadful, was considered preferable to the ignominy of a public execution. The other story runs, that she went up the Lawnmarket to the Castlehill, where lived a respectable advocate, from whom, as he was her cousin, she expected to receive protection. Being ignorant of the town, she mistook the proper house, and, what was certainly remarkable, applied at that of the crown agent, who was assuredly the last man in the world that could have done her any service. As good luck would have it, she was not recognised by the servant, who civilly directed her to her cousin’s house, where it is said she remained concealed many weeks. In addition to these reports, we may mention that we have seen an attic pointed out in St Mary’s Wynd, as the place where Katherine Nairne found concealment between the period of her leaving the jail and that of her going abroad. Her future life, it has been reported, was virtuous and fortunate. She was married to a French gentleman, was the mother of a large and respectable family, and died at a good old age. Meanwhile, Patrick Ogilvie, her associate in the dark crime which threw a shade over her younger years, suffered in the Grassmarket. This gentleman, who had been a lieutenant in the —— regiment, was so much beloved by his fellow-soldiers, who happened to be stationed at that time in Edinburgh Castle, that the public authorities judged it necessary to shut them up in that fortress till the execution was over, lest they might have attempted, what they had been heard to threaten, a rescue.
The Old Tolbooth was the scene of the suicide of Mungo Campbell, while under sentence of death for shooting the Earl of Eglintoune. In the country where this memorable event took place, it is somewhat remarkable that the fate of the murderer was more generally lamented than that of the murdered person. Campbell, as we have heard, though what was called “a graceless man,” and therefore not much esteemed by the Auld Light people, who there abound, was rather popular in his profession of exciseman, on account of his rough, honourable spirit, and his lenity in the matter of smuggling. Lord Eglintoune, on the contrary, was not liked, on account of the inconvenience which he occasioned to many of his tenants by
newfangled improvements, and his introduction into the country of a generally abhorred article, denominated rye-grass, which, for some reason we are not farmer enough to explain, was fully as unpopular a measure as the bringing in of Prelacy had been a century before. Lord Eglintoune was in the habit of taking strange crotchets about his farms—crotchets quite at variance with the old-established prejudices of his tenantry. He sometimes tried to rouse the old stupid farmers of Kyle from their negligence and supineness, by removing them to other farms, or causing two to exchange their possessions, in order, as he jocularly alleged, to prevent their furniture from getting mouldy, by long standing in particular damp corners. Though his lordship’s projects were all undertaken in the spirit of improvement, and though these emigrations were doubtless salutary in a place where the people were then involved in much sloth and nastiness, still they were premature, and carried on with rather a harsh spirit. They therefore excited feelings in the country people not at all favourable to his character. These, joined to the natural eagerness of the common people to exult over the fall of tyranny, and the puritanical spirit of the district, which disposed them to regard his lordship’s peccadilloes as downright libertinism, altogether conspired against him, and tended to throw the glory and the pity of the occasion upon his lordship’s slayer. Even Mungo’s poaching was excused, as a more amiable failing than the excessive love of preserving game, which had always been the unpopular mania of the Eglintoune family. Mungo Campbell was a man respectably connected, the son of a provost of Ayr; had been a dragoon in his youth, was eccentric in his manner, a bachelor, and was considered at Newmills, where he resided, as an austere and unsocial, but honourable, and not immoral man. There can be no doubt that he rose on his elbows and fired at his lordship, who had additionally provoked him by bursting into a laugh at his awkward fall. The Old Tolbooth was supposed by many, at the time, to have had her usual failing in Mungo’s case. The Argyll interest was said to have been employed in his favour, and the body, which was found suspended over the door, instead of being his, was thought to be that of a dead soldier from the castle, substituted in his place. His relations, however, who are very respectable people in Ayrshire, all acknowledge that he died by his own hand; and this was the general idea of the mob of Edinburgh, who, getting the body into their hands,
trailed it down the street to the King’s Park, and inspired by different sentiments from those of the Ayrshire people, were not satisfied till they got it up to the top of Salisbury Crags, from which they precipitated it down the “Cat Nick.” Aged people in Ayrshire still remember the unwonted brilliancy of the aurora borealis on the midnight of Lord Eglintoune’s death. Strange and awful whispers then went through the country, in correspondence, as it were, with the streamers in the sky, which were considered by the superstitious as expressions on the face of heaven of satisfied wrath in the event.
One of the most remarkable criminals ever confined in the Old Tolbooth was the celebrated William Brodie. As may be generally known, this was a man of respectable connexions, and who had moved in good society all his life, unsuspected of any criminal pursuits. It is said that a habit of frequenting cock-pits was the first symptom he exhibited of a defalcation from virtue. His ingenuity as a joiner gave him a fatal facility in the burglarious pursuits to which he afterwards addicted himself. It was then customary for the shopkeepers of Edinburgh to hang their keys upon a nail at the back of their doors, or at least to take no pains in concealing them during the day. Brodie used to take impressions of them in putty or clay, a piece of which he would carry in the palm of his hand. He kept a blacksmith in his pay, of the name of Smith, who forged exact copies of the keys he wanted, and with these it was his custom to open the shops of his fellow-tradesmen during the night. He thus found opportunities of securely stealing whatsoever he wished to possess. He carried on his malpractices for many years. Upon one shop in particular he made many severe exactions. This was the shop of a company of jewellers, in the North Bridge Street, namely, that at the south-east corner, where it joins the High Street. The unfortunate tradesmen from time to time missed many articles, and paid off one or two faithful shopmen, under the impression of their being guilty of the theft. They were at length ruined. Brodie remained unsuspected, till having committed a daring robbery upon the Excise-office in Chessel’s Court, Canongate, some circumstances transpired, which induced him to disappear from Edinburgh. Suspicion then becoming strong, he was pursued to Holland, and taken at Amsterdam, standing upright in a press or cupboard. At his trial, Henry Erskine, his counsel, spoke very eloquently in his behalf, representing in particular, to the jury, how strange and improbable a
circumstance it was, that a man whom they had themselves known from infancy as a person of good repute, should have been guilty of such practices as those with which he was charged. He was, however, found guilty, and sentenced to death, along with his accomplice Smith. At the trial he had appeared in a fine full-dress suit of black clothes, the greater part of which was of silk, and his deportment throughout the whole affair was completely that of a gentleman. He continued during the period which intervened between his sentence and execution to dress himself well and to keep up his spirits. A gentleman of our acquaintance, calling upon him in the condemned room, was astonished to find him singing the song from the Beggar’s Opera, “’Tis woman seduces all mankind.” Having contrived to cut out the figure of a draught-board on the stone floor of his dungeon, he amused himself by playing with any one who would join him, and, in default of such, with his right hand against his left. This diagram remained in the room where it was so strangely out of place, till the destruction of the jail. His dress and deportment at the gallows were equally gay with those which he assumed at his trial. As the Earl of Morton was the first man executed by the “Maiden,” so was Brodie the first who proved the excellence of an improvement he had formerly made on the apparatus of the gibbet. This was the substitution of what was called the “drop,” for the ancient practice of the double ladder. He inspected the thing with a professional air, and seemed to view the result of his ingenuity with a smile of satisfaction. When placed on that terrible and insecure pedestal, and while the rope was adjusted round his neck by the executioner, his courage did not forsake him. On the contrary, even there, he exhibited a sort of joyful levity, which, though not exactly composure, seemed to the spectators as more indicative of indifference; he shuffled about, looked gaily around, and finally went out of the world with his hand stuck carelessly into the open front of his vest.
The Tolbooth, in its old days, as its infirmities increased, showed itself now and then incapable of retaining prisoners of very ordinary rank. Within the recollection of many people yet alive, a youth named Reid, the son of an innkeeper in the Grassmarket, while under sentence of death for some felonious act, had the address to make his escape. Every means was resorted to for recovering him, by search throughout the town, vigilance at all the ports, and the offer of a reward for his apprehension, yet he contrived fairly to cheat the
gallows. The whole story of his escape is exceedingly curious. He took refuge in the great cylindrical mausoleum of Sir George Mackenzie, in the Greyfriars churchyard of Edinburgh. This place, besides its discomfort, was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of the persecutor—a circumstance of which Reid, an Edinburgh boy, must have been well aware. But he braved all these horrors for the sake of his life. He had been brought up in the Hospital of George Heriot, in the immediate neighbourhood of the churchyard, and had many boyish acquaintances still residing in that munificent establishment. Some of these he contrived to inform of his situation, enjoining them to be secret, and beseeching them to assist him in his distress. The Herioters of those days had a very clannish spirit, insomuch, that to have neglected the interests or safety of any individual of the community, however unworthy he might be of their friendship, would have been looked upon by them as a sin of the deepest dye. Reid’s confidants, therefore, considered themselves bound to assist him by all means in their power against that general foe, the public. They kept his secret most faithfully, spared from their own meals as much food as supported him, and ran the risk of severe punishment, as well as of seeing ghosts, by visiting him every night in his horrible abode. They were his only confidants, his very parents, who lived not far off, being ignorant of his place of concealment. About six weeks after his escape from jail, when the hue and cry had in a great measure subsided, he ventured to leave the tomb, and it was afterwards known that he escaped abroad.
The subsequent history of the Old Tolbooth contains little that is very remarkable. It has passed away with many other venerable relics of the olden time, and we now look in vain for the many antique associations which crowded round the spot it once occupied.
THE LOVER’S LAST VISIT.
B P W .
The window of the lonely cottage of Hilltop was beaming far above the highest birchwood, seeming to travellers at a distance in the long valley below, who knew it not, to be a star in the sky. A bright fire was in the kitchen of that small tenement; the floor was washed, swept and sanded, and not a footstep had marked its perfect neatness; a small table was covered, near the ingle, with a snowwhite cloth, on which was placed a frugal evening meal; and in happy but pensive mood sat there all alone the woodcutter’s only daughter, a comely and gentle creature, if not beautiful—such a one as diffuses pleasure round her hay-field, and serenity over the seat in which she sits attentively on the Sabbath, listening to the word of God, or joining with mellow voice in His praise and worship. On this night she expected a visit from her lover, that they might fix their marriage-day; and her parents, satisfied and happy that their child was about to be wedded to a respectable shepherd, had gone to pay a visit to their nearest neighbour in the glen.
A feeble and hesitating knock was at the door, not like the glad and joyful touch of a lover’s hand; and cautiously opening it, Mary Robinson beheld a female figure wrapped up in a cloak, with her face concealed in a black bonnet. The stranger, whoever she might be, seemed wearied and worn out, and her feet bore witness to a long day’s travel across the marshy mountains. Although she could scarcely help considering her an unwelcome visitor at such an hour, yet Mary had too much disposition—too much humanity,—not to request her to step forward into the hut; for it seemed as if the wearied woman had lost her way, and had come towards the shining window to be put right upon her journey to the low country.
The stranger took off her bonnet on reaching the fire; and Mary Robinson beheld the face of one whom, in youth, she had tenderly loved; although for some years past, the distance at which they lived from each other had kept them from meeting, and only a letter or two, written in their simple way, had given them a few notices of each other’s existence. And now Mary had opportunity, in the first speechless gaze of recognition, to mark the altered face of her friend, —and her heart was touched with an ignorant compassion. “For mercy’s sake! sit down Sarah, and tell me what evil has befallen you; for you are as white as a ghost. Fear not to confide anything to my bosom: we have herded sheep together on the lonesome braes;—we have stripped the bark together in the more lonesome woods;—we have played, laughed, sung, danced together;—we have talked merrily and gaily, but innocently enough surely, of sweethearts together; and, Sarah, graver thoughts, too, have we shared, for when your poor brother died away like a frosted flower, I wept as if I had been his sister; nor can I ever be so happy in this world as to forget him. Tell me, my friend, why are you here? and why is your sweet face so ghastly?”
The heart of this unexpected visitor died within her at these kind and affectionate inquiries; for she had come on an errand that was likely to dash the joy from that happy countenance. Her heart upbraided her with the meanness of the purpose for which she had paid this visit; but that was only a passing thought; for was she, innocent and free from sin, to submit, not only to desertion, but to disgrace, and not trust herself and her wrongs, and her hopes of redress, to her whom she loved as a sister, and whose generous nature, she well knew, not even love, the changer of so many things, could change utterly, though, indeed, it might render it colder than of old to the anguish of a female friend?
“Oh! Mary, I must speak—yet must my words make you grieve, far less for me than for yourself. Wretch that I am, I bring evil tidings into the dwelling of my dearest friend! These ribbons, they are worn for his sake—they become well, as he thinks, the auburn of your bonny hair;—that blue gown is worn to-night because he likes it;— but, Mary, will you curse me to my face, when I declare before the God that made us, that that man is pledged unto me by all that is sacred between mortal creatures; and that I have here in my bosom
written promises and oaths of love from him, who, I was this morning told, is in a few days to be thy husband? Turn me out of the hut now, if you choose, and let me, if you choose, die of hunger and fatigue in the woods where we have so often walked together; for such death would be mercy to me, in comparison with your marriage with him who is mine for ever, if there be a God who heeds the oaths of the creatures He has made.”
Mary Robinson had led a happy life, but a life of quiet thoughts, tranquil hopes, and meek desires. Tenderly and truly did she love the man to whom she was now betrothed; but it was because she had thought him gentle, manly, upright, sincere, and one that feared God. His character was unimpeached—to her his behaviour had always been fond, affectionate, and respectful; that he was a finelooking man, and could show himself among the best of the country round at church, and market, and fair-day, she saw and felt with pleasure and with pride. But in the heart of this poor, humble, contented, and pious girl, love was not a violent passion, but an affection sweet and profound. She looked forward to her marriage with a joyful sedateness, knowing that she would have to toil for her family, if blest with children; but happy in the thought of keeping her husband’s house clean, of preparing his frugal meals, and welcoming him when wearied at night to her faithful, and affectionate, and grateful bosom.
At first, perhaps, a slight flush of anger towards Sarah tinged her cheek; then followed in quick succession, or all blended together in one sickening pang, fear, disappointment, the sense of wrong, and the cruel pain of disesteeming and despising one on whom her heart had rested with all its best and purest affections. But though there was a keen struggle between many feelings in her heart, her resolution was formed during that very conflict, and she said within herself, “If it be even so, neither will I be so unjust as to deprive poor Sarah of the man who ought to marry her, nor will I be so mean and low-spirited, poor as I am, and dear as he has been unto me, as to become his wife.”
While these thoughts were calmly passing in the soul of this magnanimous girl, all her former affection for Sarah revived; and, as she sighed for herself, she wept aloud for her friend. “Be quiet, be quiet, Sarah, and sob not so as if your heart were breaking. It need
not be thus with you. Oh, sob not so sair! You surely have not walked in this one day from the heart of the parish of Montrath?”—“I have indeed done so, and I am as weak as the wreathed snaw. God knows, little matter if I should die away; for, after all, I fear he will never think of me for his wife, and you, Mary, will lose a husband with whom you would have been happy, I feel, after all, that I must appear a mean wretch in your eyes.”
There was silence between them; and Mary Robinson, looking at the clock, saw that it wanted only about a quarter of an hour from the time of tryst. “Give me the oaths and promises you mentioned, out of your bosom, Sarah, that I may show them to Gabriel when he comes. And once more I promise, by all the sunny and all the snowy days we have sat together in the same plaid on the hillside, or in the lonesome charcoal plots and nests o’ green in the woods, that if my Gabriel— did I say my Gabriel?—has forsaken you and deceived me thus, never shall his lips touch mine again—never shall he put ring on my finger —never shall this head lie in his bosom—no, never, never; notwithstanding all the happy, too happy, hours and days I have been with him, near or at a distance—on the corn-rig—among the meadow hay, in the singing-school—at harvest-home—in this room, and in God’s own house. So help me God, but I will keep this vow!”
Poor Sarah told, in a few hurried words, the story of her love and desertion—how Gabriel, whose business as a shepherd often took him into Montrath parish, had wooed her, and fixed everything about their marriage, nearly a year ago. But that he had become causelessly jealous of a young man whom she scarcely knew; had accused her of want of virtue, and for many months had never once come to see her. “This morning, for the first time, I heard for a certainty, from one who knew Gabriel well and all his concerns, that the banns had been proclaimed in the church between him and you; and that in a day or two you were to be married. And though I felt drowning, I determined to make a struggle for my life—for oh! Mary, Mary, my heart is not like your heart; it wants your wisdom, your meekness, your piety; and if I am to lose Gabriel, will I destroy my miserable life, and face the wrath of God sitting in judgment upon sinners.”
At this burst of passion Sarah hid her face with her hands, as if sensible that she had committed blasphemy. Mary, seeing her
wearied, hungry, thirsty, and feverish, spoke to her in the most soothing manner, led her into the little parlour called the spence, then removed into it the table, with the oaten cakes, butter, and milk; and telling her to take some refreshment, and then lie down in the bed, but on no account to leave the room till called for, gave her a sisterly kiss, and left her. In a few minutes the outer door opened, and Gabriel entered.
The lover said, “How is my sweet Mary?” with a beaming countenance; and gently drawing her to his bosom, he kissed her cheek. Mary did not—could not—wished not—at once to release herself from his enfolding arms. Gabriel had always treated her as the woman who was to be his wife; and though, at this time, her heart knew its own bitterness, yet she repelled not endearments that were so lately delightful, and suffered him to take her almost in his arms to their accustomed seat. He held her hand in his, and began to speak in his usual kind and affectionate language. Kind and affectionate it was, for though he ought not to have done so, he loved her, as he thought, better than his life. Her heart could not, in one small short hour, forget a whole year of bliss. She could not yet fling away with her own hand what, only a few minutes ago, seemed to her the hope of paradise. Her soul sickened within her, and she wished that she were dead, or never had been born.
“O Gabriel! Gabriel! well indeed have I loved you; nor will I say, after all that has passed between us, that you are not deserving, after all, of a better love than mine. Vain were it to deny my love, either to you or to my own soul. But look me in the face—be not wrathful— think not to hide the truth either from yourself or me, for that now is impossible—but tell me solemnly, as you shall answer to God at the judgment-day, if you know any reason why I must not be your wedded wife.” She kept her mild moist eyes fixed upon him; but he hung down his head and uttered not a word, for he was guilty before her, before his own soul, and before God.
“Gabriel, never could we have been happy; for you often, often told me, that all the secrets of your heart were known unto me, yet never did you tell me this. How could you desert the poor innocent creature that loved you; and how could you use me so, who loved you perhaps as well as she, but whose heart God will teach, not to forget you, for that may I never do, but to think on you with that friendship and
affection which innocently I can bestow upon you, when you are Sarah’s husband. For, Gabriel, I have this night sworn, not in anger or passion—no, no—but in sorrow and pity for another’s wrongs—in sorrow also, deny it will I not, for my own—to look on you from this hour, as on one whose life is to be led apart from my life, and whose love must never more meet with my love. Speak not unto me—look not on me with beseeching eyes. Duty and religion forbid us ever to be man and wife. But you know there is one, besides me, whom you loved before you loved me, and, therefore, it may be better too; and that she loves you, and is faithful, as if God had made you one, I say without fear—I who have known her since she was a child, although, fatally for the peace of us both, we have long lived apart. Sarah is in the house; I will bring her unto you in tears, but not tears of penitence, for she is as innocent of that sin as I am, who now speak.”
Mary went into the little parlour, and led Sarah forward in her hand. Despairing as she had been, yet when she had heard from poor Mary’s voice speaking so fervently, that Gabriel had come, and that her friend was interceding in her behalf, the poor girl had arranged her hair in a small looking-glass—tied it up with a ribbon which Gabriel had given her, and put into the breast of her gown a little gilt brooch, that contained locks of their blended hair. Pale but beautiful —for Sarah Pringle was the fairest girl in all the country—she advanced with a flush on that paleness of reviving hope, injured pride, and love that was ready to forgive all and forget all, so that once again she could be restored to the place in his heart that she had lost. “What have I ever done, Gabriel, that you should fling me from you? May my soul never live by the atonement of my Saviour, if I am not innocent of that sin, yea, of all distant thought of that sin, with which you, even you, have in your hard-heartedness charged me. Look me in the face, Gabriel, and think of all I have been unto you, and if you say that before God, and in your own soul, you believe me guilty, then will I go away out into the dark night, and, long before morning, my troubles will be at an end.”
Truth was not only in her fervent and simple words, but in the tone of her voice, the colour of her face, and the light of her eyes. Gabriel had long shut up his heart against her. At first, he had doubted her virtue, and that doubt gradually weakened his affection. At last he tried to believe her guilty, or to forget her altogether, when his heart
turned to Mary Robinson, and he thought of making her his wife. His injustice—his wickedness—his baseness—which he had so long concealed, in some measure, from himself, by a dim feeling of wrong done him, and afterwards by the pleasure of a new love, now appeared to him as they were, and without disguise. Mary took Sarah’s hand and placed it within that of her contrite lover; for had the tumult of conflicting passions allowed him to know his own soul, such at that moment he surely was, saying with a voice as composed as the eyes with which she looked upon them, “I restore you to each other; and I already feel the comfort of being able to do my duty. I will be bride’s-maid. And I now implore the blessing of God upon your marriage. Gabriel, your betrothed will sleep this night in my bosom. We will think of you, better, perhaps, than you deserve. It is not for me to tell you what you have to repent of. Let us all three pray for each other this night, and evermore, when we are on our knees before our Maker. The old people will soon be at home. Goodnight, Gabriel.” He kissed Sarah; and, giving Mary a look of shame, humility, and reverence, he went home to meditation and repentance.
It was now midsummer; and before the harvest had been gathered in throughout the higher valleys, or the sheep brought from the mountain-fold, Gabriel and Sarah were man and wife. Time passed on, and a blooming family cheered their board and fireside. Nor did Mary Robinson, the Flower of the Forest (for so the woodcutter’s daughter was often called), pass her life in single blessedness. She, too, became a wife and mother; and the two families, who lived at last on adjacent farms, were remarkable for mutual affection throughout all the parish, and more than one intermarriage took place between them, at a time when the worthy parents had almost forgotten the trying incident of their youth.
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AND CHATELAR; OR, TWILIGHT MUSINGS IN HOLYROOD.
There are no mysteries into which we are so fond of prying as the mysteries of the heart. The hero of the best novel in the world, if he could not condescend to fall in love, might march through his three volumes and excite no more sensation than his grandmother; and a newspaper without a breach of promise of marriage is a thing not to be endured.
It is not my intention to affect any singular exception from this natural propensity, and I am ready to confess that the next best thing to being in love oneself, is to speculate on the hopes, and fears, and fates of others. How truly interesting are the little schemes and subterfuges, the romancing and story-telling of our dove-eyed and gentle-hearted playfellows! I have listened to a lame excuse for a stolen ride in a tilbury, or a duet in the woods, with wonderful sensibility; and have witnessed the ceremony of cross-questioning with as much trepidation as I could have felt had I been the culprit myself. It is not, however, to be maintained that the love adventures of the present age can, in any way, compete with the enchantment of days agone; when tender souls were won by tough exploits, and Cupid’s dart was a twenty-foot lance, ordained only to reach the lady’s heart through the ribs of the rival. This was the golden age of love, albeit I am not one to lament it, thinking, as I do, that it is far more sensible to aid and abet my neighbour in toasting the beauty of his mistress, than to caper about with him in the lists, for contradiction’s sake, to the imminent danger and discomfort of us both. After this came the middle or dark ages of love, when it had ceased to be a glory, but had lost nothing of its fervour as a passion. If there is here less of romance than in the tilting days, there is considerably more of interest, because there is more of mystery. In
the one, the test of true love was to make boast, in the other it was to keep secret. Accordingly, for an immense space of time, we have nothing but such fragments of adventures as could be gathered by eavesdroppers, who leave us to put head and tail to them as best suits our fancy; and the loves of Queen Elizabeth, who lived, as it were, only yesterday, are less known than the loves of queen Genevra, who perhaps never lived at all.
These amatory reflections occurred to me some little time ago, during a twilight reverie in the long, gloomy banqueting-room of Holyrood. It was the very land of love and mystery, for there was scarcely one of the grim visages which glared upon the walls, but had obtained his share of celebrity in lady’s bower, as well as in tented field; and of scarcely one of whom any certain and defined adventures have been handed down. I continued speculating through this line of kings, blessing the mark and confounding the painter, who has given us so little of their history in their faces, till I grew quite warm upon the subject, and found myself uniting and reasoning upon the few facts of which we are in possession, till I fancied I could penetrate through two or three centuries at least, and had a pretty shrewd idea as to who and who had been together.
Scotland has, I think, in spite of its sober, money-making character, always excited a more romantic curiosity than England. This, perhaps, is more owing to its peculiar misfortunes than to any particular difference of disposition. English heroes have been as brave, and no doubt as loving, but they do not walk under such a halo of pity; and whilst we pry with eagerness into the secrets of the gallant Jameses, we suffer those of their English contemporaries to be “interred with their bones.” I have always felt this strongly, and at the time of which I speak, I felt it stronger than ever. I was treading upon the very boards which had bounded to their manly steps, and was surrounded by the very walls which possessed the secret whisperings of their hearts. From that identical window, perhaps, had the first James gazed upon the moon, which I saw rising, and fancied that he almost held commune with the eyes of his English beauty. There, perhaps, had the royal poet entwined her name with the choicest hopes of his bosom, and woven a tale of happiness which concealed but too securely the assassin and the dagger behind it. There, too, might the courteous and courageous victims of Flodden
Field and Solway Moss have planned the loves which characterised their lives, and the wars which concluded them, almost at the same moment. And there might the hapless Mary have first listened to the poisonous passion of a Darnley, or a Bothwell, and afterwards shed the tears of bitterness and self-reproach.
I paced this sad-looking room of rejoicing quite unconscious of the hours that were passing; for I was alone, and in a train of thought which nothing but a hearty shake could have interrupted. Mary, and all her beauty, and talents, and acquirements, continued floating before me. Her world of lovers and admirers, who, for the most part, were sleeping in a bloody bed, seemed rising one by one to my view, and I wandered with them through their hopes, and their fears, and their sorrows, even to the scaffold, as though I had been the ghost of one of them myself, and were possessed of secrets of which there is no living record.
Many of these ill-fated hearts have, by their nobility, or their exploits, or by the caprice of historians, received full meed of applause and pity; many, no doubt, have sunk into oblivion; and some, in addition to their misfortunes, have left their memories to combat with the censure which has been thought due to their presumption;—of these last I have always considered the unfortunate Chatelar to have been the most hardly used, and in the course of my musings I endeavoured to puzzle out something satisfactory to myself upon his dark and distorted history.
The birth of Chatelar, if not noble, was in no common degree honourable, for he was great-nephew to the celebrated Bayard, le Chevalier sans peur et sans tache. It is said that he likewise bore a strong resemblance to him in person, possessing a handsome face and graceful figure; and equally in manly and elegant acquirements, being an expert soldier and an accomplished courtier. In addition to this, says Brantome, who knew him personally, he possessed a most elegant mind, and spoke and wrote, both in prose and poetry, as well as any man in France.
Dangerous indeed are these advantages; and Chatelar’s first meeting with Mary was under circumstances calculated to render them doubly dangerous. Alone, as she conceived herself, cast off from the dearest ties of her heart, the land which she had learnt to consider her native land fading fast from her eyes, and the billows
bearing her to the banishment of one with which, as it contained none that she loved, she could feel no sympathy;—in this scene of wailing and tears, the first tones of the poet were stealing upon her ear with the spirit of kindred feelings and kindred pursuits. We are to consider that Mary at this time had obtained but little experience, and was probably not overstocked with prudence, having scarcely attained the age of nineteen years. Not only, are we told, did she listen with complacency and pleasure to Chatelar’s warm and romantic praises of her beauty, but employed her poetic talent in approving and replying to them; putting herself upon a level with her gifted companion, a course which was morally certain to convert his veneration into feelings more nearly allied to his nature. Had he not been blamed for his presumption, it is probable that he would have been condemned for his stoicism; and his luckless passion is by no means a singular proof that where hearts are cast in kindred moulds, it is difficult to recognise extrinsic disparities. Chatelar saw the woman, and forgot the queen; Mary felt the satisfaction, and was blind to the consequences.
It is much to be lamented by the lovers of truth, that none of the poetical pieces which are said to have passed between Mary and Chatelar have been handed down to us. One song would have been a more valuable document in the elucidation of their history than all the annals we possess, and would have taught us at once the degree of encouragement and intimacy which was permitted. Whatever it was, it was such as to rivet the chains which had been so readily and unadvisedly put on; and from the period of their first meeting, we may consider him the most enthusiastic of her lovers.
How long he continued the admiration and the favourite of Holyrood does not, I believe, appear. It could not, however, be any considerable time ere he was compelled to return with his friend and patron, Damville, to France, with full reason to lament his voyage to Scotland, and with, probably, a firm determination to revisit it whenever opportunity should permit. This opportunity his evil stars were not long in bringing about. The projected war of faith between Damville’s party and the Huguenots afforded him a fair pretext for soliciting a dispensation of his services. Of the first he was a servant, of the last he was a disciple. It was therefore contrary to his honour
and inclinations to fight against either of them, and, accordingly, in about fifteen months, we find him again at Holyrood.
Mary, it may reasonably be inferred, from her extreme love of France, and unwillingness to leave it, was not very speedily to be reconciled to her change of scene and society; a face, therefore, from the adopted land of her affections, and a tongue capable of gratifying them with the minutest accounts of the beloved objects it contained, must, at this time, have been acquisitions of no small interest. Chatelar, too, had already worked a welcome on his own account.
Few of my readers need be reminded how insensibly and certainly the tongue which speaks of that which is dear to our hearts is stored up with it in the same treasury. The tale and the teller of it,—the leaf and the wave it falls upon,—arrive at the same time at the same destination. Histories, for the most part, insinuate that Mary’s carriage towards Chatelar was merely that of kindness and courtesy; but this, I think, is an inference not warranted by the various facts which they have been unable to repress, and not even the silence of the inveterate John Knox upon this head can convince me that Chatelar had not reason to believe himself beloved.
Let us then imagine, if we can, what was likely to be the intoxication produced in the brain as well as the bosom of a man of an enthusiastic temperament by a free and daily intercourse, during three months, with the fascinations of a creature like Mary. What tales could that old misshapen boudoir—famous only, in common estimation, for the murder of Rizzio and the boot of Darnley—tell of smiles and tears over the fortunes of dear and distant companions of childhood, as narrated by the voice of one to whom, perhaps, they were equally dear! What tales could it tell of mingling music, and mingling poetry, and mingling looks, and vain regrets, and fearful anticipations! Here had the day been passed in listening to the praises of each other, from lips in which praise was a talent and a profession; and here had the twilight stolen upon them when none were by, and none could know how deeply the truth of those praises was acknowledged. Let us imagine all this, and, likewise, how Chatelar was likely to be wrought upon by the utter hopelessness of his case.
Had the object of his passion been upon anything like a level with him,—had there been the most remote possibility of a chance of its
