“All the talk in town is that there will be an invasion by the Jacobites. Perhaps that’s what’s delayed him.”

Henry rolled his eyes and said, “There’s always an invasion. How many times did old King James try to reclaim his crown and have it come to nothing?”

I admitted that was so. “But this is his son, and the country does seem ripe for some sort of mischief, so maybe this younger James Stewart will do what his father could not.”

“I tell ye what,” said Henry drily. “Next time Captain Gordon comes, I’ll send him up to tell ye his opinion of the matter, shall I? Me, I take no part of politics. It’s all a game to them, these great men and their wars, and we’re the pieces they discard when they are done their play. They claim the glory, and we pay the price.”

I was not altogether sure that I agreed with him on every count, for even great men fell in battle, and I knew that Robert Moray sat in prison now in danger of his life while I sat here in comfort, drinking brandy. But I knew what Henry meant.

His mention of the paying of a price turned my thoughts back to Archie Browne, who twisted everything he touched in one way or another, seeking payment.

I’d been sent down here by Gilroy to inquire about one person, and it was the same person whose weak side had not yet been mentioned.

“What happened to Maggie?” I asked.

It was, admittedly, an abrupt shift in the conversation, and Henry looked at me narrowly over the rim of his glass. “No idea. She left here with Lily. I’ve not seen her since.”

“And when was that? When did they leave, exactly?”

“In the spring of ninety-nine.”

A year after the date on the certificate of marriage. “You’re certain of the year?”

He said, “I’m not like to forget it, am I? Not that year. First Walter’s wife and wee lad died of fever, then our mother died, and then Maggie and Lily left…”

It seemed as though he might have added something else beyond that, but he only took a deep drink from his glass and said, “It was an evil year.”

I took him at his word. “You’ve not seen Lily since then, either, I’d imagine?”

There was evidently something in my tone that made him wary.

“She’s in trouble,” he said. “Isn’t she?”

Like Gilroy, I had instincts. It was plain both Henry and myself were on the same side when it came to Lily’s welfare. “Yes, I think she is.”

“What has she telt ye?”

“I haven’t been able to speak to her privately.”

“I could,” he offered. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea. She is being watched.” I told him of the man in grey, and while I spoke I saw that he was coming to the same opinion I had come to of that man’s identity, because when I had finished, Henry sat in thoughtful silence with his drink.