Page 36 of Beguiled

Donning his hat for the sake of respectability, David set off for the Tolbooth Tavern. It was only a few minutes down the High Street, and soon he was opening the door and stepping inside.

It was busy, but Euan had managed to secure them a nook by one of the windows, just a bit of ledge to sit on and a small rough table. He waved at David, beckoning him over.

When David got there, he saw that Euan had already bought the drink. A little earthenware jug of whisky sat, waiting to be poured into a small pewter cup. Euan himself was drinking ale. David wondered if it was still his habit to avoid the spirits his older brother had so disapproved of.

“You came,” Euan said, smiling.

“Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?” David squeezed into the narrow window seat beside the other man and poured himself a measure of the hard stuff. He took a gulp. It was rough and fiery. Very far from the best whisky he’d ever tasted, but still, that burn was an old, familiar friend.

“You’re a man of your word,” Euan agreed.

“I like to think so,” David replied, taking his hat off and laying it on the table. “So, what news of your brother?”

Euan reached into the inside pocket of his coat and drew out a paper. “Read for yourself,” he said, handing it to David.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, go on.”

David unfolded the letter and began to read Peter’s neat, copperplate handwriting. The tone of it was typical of the man, pithy and understated. He hadn’t had to suffer “too many floggings” on his arrival, he said. And though the first year had been “unpleasant”, he’d finally been assigned to a “good master” who appreciated his skills and literacy. Now he was foreman at the man’s works, and was married.

“Married!” David exclaimed, looking up.

Euan grinned—really grinned this time. “Can you imagine it? My bachelor brother with a woman?”

David gave a laugh. Peter had not been near as handsome as his younger brother, and though big and capable and a passionate radical, had been oddly shy with women. Perhaps the conditions of New South Wales gave a woman a different view of what was important in a husband. Or perhaps it gave a man a different view of himself.

“It sounds as though he’s making the best of it,” David said, folding the letter up and handing it back.

“Yes,” Euan agreed as he tucked it away again. “I think he is. Though I know that when he says the first year was bad that it must have been truly horrible. And the thought of Peter having to suffer one of those brutal floggings you hear about—” He swallowed. “I can only hope this Mr. Munroe will keep him on.”

“It sounds promising that he will,” David pointed out. “I’ll warrant this Monroe chap has seen what a steady character Peter is and how profitable he can be to the man’s business.”

A little of the worry faded from Euan’s eyes. “You’re right,” he said firmly. “Peter would be an asset to anyone.”

David lifted his cup in a toast. “To Peter,” he said.

“To Peter,” Euan repeated, lifting his tankard. They clicked rims and drank deeply.

After a brief silence, David asked, “And what of Peter’s hopes for you?”

The letter had ended with Peter exhorting Euan not to give up his dreams of the Kirk, to try to complete his education.

Euan shrugged. “I wrote back straightaway, so he should know by now that I’ve become a journalist and won’t ever be a minister of the Kirk.”

“Will he mind, do you think?”

“I think he’ll be as proud as a cockerel. He was never much of a churchgoer anyway. No, his next quest will probably be to persuade me to marry too.”

David laughed. “And is there a lady who has your eye?”

Euan didn’t answer straightaway. He looked down into his ale as though considering what to say, and when he raised his gaze again, he still didn’t seem sure.

“There is someone,” he admitted. “But she is beyond me.”

“Her position, you mean?”

“That, and her marital state.”