less than he liked the weavers. As he had told Wedderburn, he did not consider himself political.
He was about to mount up when he realised he was not the only human being in the stable. The lassie, Susan, emerged from one of the stalls, herself and the white dress now protected from dirt and cold by a black cloak clutched close about her.
‘I know the matter you were here to see my father about,’ she said.
‘Oh aye?’
‘Oh aye,’ she echoed. ‘I heard at the door.’
Jamieson considered the combination of her directness of speech and her hunched, uneasy stance. He said cautiously, ‘I dout your faither wouldna be best pleased aboot that. Or aboot ye waitin oot here on such a mornin.’
‘Ma faither disna ken aboot either,’ she retorted, a perfect mimic. ‘And I wasna waitin on you. Since I hadna a book tae read, and nae task either, I cam oot tae see the horses.’
He could not help smiling. ‘But ye kent I would be here sooner or later.’
‘And I ken aboot Joseph Knight,’ she said. Then, reverting to English: ‘Don’t you think it’s an interesting name?’
‘Is it?’
‘Biblical,’ she said, ‘but chivalric too, and mysterious. The Black Knight. I think of him as a chevalier of darkness.’
‘Aye, weel,’ Jamieson said, ‘your faither disna share that view.’
‘Papa never mentions him. But we all know about him, it’s hardly a secret. My sisters and I. And Mama too, although she wasn’t married to Papa when it happened. My other brothers and sisters – the old, half ones – even they were too young to remember much about it now, but we all know.’
‘How’s that?’
‘The servants, of course – the older ones. And Aeneas MacRoy with a drink in him.’
‘Him that convoyed me in and oot? Aye, whit sort o a man is that? Some kind o major-domo?’
‘He thinks he is, though it’s Mama that runs the household. Aeneas is our schoolmaster.’
‘The times are tolerant, when lassies cry their dominie by his Christian name.’
She laughed. ‘Only behind his back. In the schoolroom he’s strictly Maister MacRoy.’
‘It’s a queer dominie that gangs aboot like a servant, showin folk in tae his maister. He must leave aff teachin ye as aften as he taks it up.’
‘Aeneas has been here so long nobody is concerned about what it’s fitting for him to do or not do. He and Papa are old comrades – from the Forty-five. I don’t think Papa notices any more whether Aeneas is tutoring us or skulking in a corner or chewing his dinner thirty-two times to aid the digestion – he does that, you know.’
‘Frae the thrawn look on him, it disna work.’ Jamieson was gratified to see a smile break over Susan’s face. ‘Onywey, whit does he ken aboot Joseph Knight?’
‘Oh, this and that. He doesn’t say much about him, and then only when he’s drunk, but you can tell it’s deep in him yet. And my uncle James, he doesn’t mind speaking about it – the case I mean.’
‘Is he in the picture wi your faither?’
‘The one above the fire? Yes, on the left. The roguish-looking one. He was a rogue then, apparently.’
‘Faith, whit way is that tae speak aboot your uncle?’
‘It’s only what my father says. He doesn’t mean it harshly. But you can see him curl up inside if the plantations are mentioned when my uncle visits. Papa always stamps out the first few words that might blow in Joseph Knight’s direction. I know, I’ve watched for it. Did Papa tell you who painted that picture?’
‘He didna, na.’
‘My uncle Alexander. He died not long after he painted it. Do you know who else is in it?’
‘Anither uncle o yours.’
‘That’s right. Uncle Peter. He died in Jamaica too. But not just him.’
Jamieson frowned. The lassie was haivering. ‘There’s jist the three o them,’ he said.
‘You didn’t look closely enough. It’s very dark on that porch. Yet it’s the middle of the day.’
‘Whit are ye sayin, miss?’
She took a step back, and he realised his question had come out quite fiercely.
‘Joseph Knight is there too. Or he was once. Papa had him painted out after the court case.’
‘How dae ye ken that?’
‘Because I do. I must have looked at that painting a thousand times. There’s somebody there under that heavy shadow. You can just make him out. And I’m sure he’s black. Who else could it be?’
Jamieson shrugged. Now he wanted to go back into the library. The lassie seemed to have a lively imagination, but why would she come up with such a story? Then again, why would Wedderburn go to that trouble? Why not just take the painting down, destroy it?
‘If your faither had that done, it was lang afore ye were born. Did he tell ye that was whit happened?’
‘No, but it’s obvious, isn’t it? I think Papa was ashamed. He thinks the court case was a great stain on the family, and of course it was, but not for the reasons he thinks.’
‘Whit dae you think?’
‘That Joseph Knight must have been very brave. And right.’
And clad in shining armour, Jamieson added into himself. He said: ‘Ye dinna approve o slavery?’
‘Do you?’
‘I dinna think muckle aboot it.’ It existed. It was a fact of life. That was what he thought.
‘Well, you should.’
‘You dinna like it, then?’
‘How could I? How can anybody? It makes me ill to think of it. There are associations formed to abolish it. I’m going to join one and fight it.’
‘There’s associations formed tae fecht aw kinds o things. That disna mak them richt. It’s slavery that biggit this fine hoose, and bocht aw thae books ye read.’
‘That’s not my fault. Nobody should be a slave. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it, the court case? Whether you could be, in Scotland. What I don’t understand is why Papa wants to find him now, after all this time?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘Not because he’s had a change of heart, anyway. You thought that, and he nearly took your head off.’
‘Ye’ve sherp lugs, miss. Whit was the book ye wanted?’
‘Oh, I hadn’t one in mind. I’ll devour anything. Like a sheep.’ She bleated and he laughed. ‘It’s strange work you have,’ she said.
‘I work tae eat, like maist folk. I dae whit I dae.’
‘Look for people?’
‘That. And this, and thon.’
‘What’s your horse’s name?’
‘I dinna ken. I hired it. I dinna keep a horse.’
She clapped the horse’s neck. ‘Imagine not knowing her name. What if she wouldn’t do as she was bid, or something feared her?’
Jamieson smiled. ‘Miss, this is the maist biddable horse I was ever on. It jist gangs whaur ye nidge it wi your knees. If I spoke tae it I would probably fleg the puir beast.’
‘Do you think he’s still