"What are you doing here?" I asked, disentangling myself at last.
"Father's sister lives here," she replied. "I'm st-staying with her. Or do you mean why am I here?" She waved a hand at the dingy confines of Mr. Samuels's emporium.
"Well, that too," I said. "But that can wait a bit." I turned to the pawnbroker. "Four pound six, or I'll walk up the hill," I told him. "Make up your mind, I'm in a hurry."
Grumbling to himself, Mr. Samuels reached beneath his counter for the cash box, as I turned back to Mary.
"I have to buy some blankets. Can you come with me?"
She glanced outside, to where a small man in a footman's livery stood by the door, clearly waiting for her. "Yes, if you'll come with me afterward. Oh, Claire, I'm so glad to see you!"
"He sent a message to me," Mary confided, as we walked down the hill. "Alex. A friend brought me his letter." Her face glowed as she spoke his name, but there was a small frown between her brows as well.
"When I found he was in Edinburgh, I m-made Father send me to visit Aunt Mildred. He didn't mind," she added bitterly. "It m-made him ill to look at me, after what happened in Paris. He was happy to get me out of his house."
"So you've seen Alex?" I asked. I wondered how the young curate had fared, since I had last seen him. I also wondered how he had found the courage to write to Mary.
"Yes. He didn't ask me to come," she added quickly. "I c-came by myself." Her chin lifted in defiance, but there was a small quiver as she said, "He.…he wouldn't have written to me, but he thought he was d-dying, and he wanted me to know…to know…" I put an arm about her shoulders and turned quickly into one of the closes, standing with her out of the flow of jostling street traffic.
"It's all right," I said to her, patting her helplessly, knowing that nothing I could do would make it right. "You came, and you've seen him, that's the important thing."
She nodded, speechless, and blew her nose. "Yes," she said thickly, at last. "We've had…two months. I k-keep telling myself that that's more than most people ever have, two months of happiness…but we lost so much time that we might have h-had, and…it's not enough. Claire, it isn't enough!"
"No," I said quietly. "A lifetime isn't enough, for that kind of love." With a sudden pang, I wondered where Jamie was, and how he was faring.
Mary, more composed now, clutched me by the sleeve. "Claire, can you come with me to see him? I know there's n-not much you can do…" Her voice faltered, and she steadied it with a visible effort. "But maybe you could…help." She caught my look at the footman, who stood stolidly outside the wynd, oblivious to the passing traffic. "I pay him," she said simply. "My aunt thinks I go w-walking every afternoon. Will you come?"
"Yes, of course." I glanced between the towering buildings, judging the level of the sun over the hills outside the city. It would be dark in an hour; I wanted the blankets delivered to the prison before night made the damp stone walls of the Tolbooth still colder. Making a sudden decision, I turned to Fergus, who had been standing patiently next to me, watching Mary with interest. Returned to Edinburgh with the rest of the Lallybroch men, he had escaped imprisonment by virtue of his French citizenship, and had survived hardily by reverting to his customary trade. I had found him faithfully hanging about near the Tolbooth, where he brought bits of food for his imprisoned companions.
"Take this money," I said, handing him my purse, "and find Murtagh. Tell him to get as many blankets as that will buy, and see they're taken to the gaolkeeper at the Tolbooth. He's been bribed already, but keep back a few shillings, just in case."
"But Madame," he protested, "I promised milord I would not let you go alone…"
"Milord isn't here," I said firmly, "and I am. Go, Fergus."
He glanced from me to Mary, evidently decided she was less a threat to me than my temper was to him, and departed, shrugging his shoulders and muttering in French about the stubbornness of women.
The little room at the top of the building had changed considerably since my last visit. It was clean, for one thing, with polish gleaming on every horizontal surface. There was food in the hutch, a down quilt on the bed, and numerous small comforts provided for the patient. Mary had confided on the way that she had been quietly pawning her mother's jewelry, to ensure that Alex Randall was as comfortable as money could make him.
There were limits to what money could manage, but Alex's face glowed like a candle flame when Mary came through the door, temporarily obscuring the ravages of illness.
"I've brought Claire, dearest." Mary dropped her cloak unheeded onto a chair and knelt beside him, taking his thin, blue-veined hands in her own.
"Mrs. Fraser." His voice was light and breathless, though he smiled at me. "It's good to see a friendly face again."
"Yes, it is." I smiled at him, noting half-consciously the rapid, fluttering pulse visible in his throat, and the transparency of his skin. The hazel eyes were soft and warm, holding most of the life left in his frail body.
Lacking medicine, there was nothing I could do for him, but I examined him carefully, and saw him tucked up comfortably afterward, his lips slightly blue from the minor exertion of the examination.
I covered the anxiety I felt at his condition, and promised to come next day with some medicine to help him sleep more easily. He hardly noticed my assurances; all his attention was for Mary, sitting anxiously by him, holding his hand. I saw her glance at the window, where light was fading rapidly, and realized her concern; she would have to return to her aunt's house before nightfall.
"I'll take my leave, then," I told Alex, removing myself as tactfully as I could, to leave them a few precious moments alone together.
He glanced from me to Mary, then smiled back at me in gratitude.
"God bless you, Mrs. Fraser," he said.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and left, hoping that I would.
I was busy over the next few days. The men's arms had been confiscated, of course, when they were arrested, and I did my best to recover what I could, bullying and threatening, bribing and charming where necessary. I pawned two brooches that Jared had given me as a farewell present, and bought enough food to ensure that the men of Lallybroch ate as well as the army in general—poorly as that might be.
I talked my way into the cells of the prison, and spent some time in treating the prisoners' ailments, ranging from scurvy and the more generalized malnutrition common in winter, to chafing sores, chilblains, arthritis, and a variety of respiratory ailments.
I made the rounds of those chieftains and lords still in Edinburgh—not many—who might be helpful to Jamie, if his visit to Stirling should fail. I didn't think it would, but it seemed wise to take precautions.
And among the other activities of my days, I made time to see Alex Randall once a day. I took pains to come in the mornings, so as not to use up his time with Mary. Alex slept little, and that little, ill; consequently, he tended to be tired and drooping in the morning, not wanting to talk, but always smiling in welcome when I arrived. I would give him a light mixture of mint and lavender, with a few drops of poppy syrup stirred in; this would generally allow him a few hours of sleep, so that he could be alert when Mary arrived in the afternoon.
Aside from me and Mary, I had seen no other visitors at the top of the building. I was therefore surprised, coming up the stairs to his room one morning, to hear voices behind the closed door.
I knocked once, briefly, as was our agreed custom, and let myself in. Jonathan Randall was sitting by his brother's bed, clad in his captain's uniform of red and fawn. He rose at my entrance and bowed correctly, face cold.
"Madam," he said.
"Captain," I said. We then stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at each other, each unwilling to go further.
"Johnny," said Alex's hoarse voice from the bed. It had a note of coaxing, as well as one of command, and his brother shrugged irritably when he heard it.
"My brother has summoned me to give you a bit of news," he said, tightlipped. He wore no wig this morning, and with his dark hair tied back, his resemblance to his brother was startling. Pale and frail as Alex was, he looked like Jonathan's ghost.
"You and Mr. Fraser have been kind to my Mary," Alex said, rolling onto his side to look at me. "And to me as well. I…knew of my brother's bargain with you"—the faintest of pinks rose in his cheeks—"but I know, too, what you and your husband did for Mary…in Paris." He licked his lips, cracked and dry from the constant heat in the room. "I think you should hear the news Johnny brought from the Castle yesterday."
Jack Randall eyed me with dislike, but he was good as his word.
"Hawley has succeeded Cope, as I told you earlier that he would," he said. "Hawley has little gift for leadership, bar a certain blind confidence in the men under his command. Whether that will stand him in better stead than did Cope's cannon—" He shrugged impatiently.
"Be that as it may, General Hawley has been directed to march north to recover Stirling Castle."
"Has he?" I said. "Do you know how many troops he has?"