Tales from the Tent Read Free Page B

for its hearing. I do hope you don’t suffer the same fate as those first poor souls who dared
tell the story of—

 
    4
    THE SEVERED LINE

    W ho among us in Scotland has not heard of ‘The Young Pretender’, son of James Edward the ‘Old Pretender’, the rightful
Stuart King of Scotland? No doubt very few. It brings the musician out in all of us, doesn’t it, to hear the stirring battle call of ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ himself, and the
Jacobite rising of the ’45. How bold and daring were the exploits of his followers; lengthy novels depict his brave attempt to bring the Stuarts back their kingdom of Scotland, their
birthright throne.
    But! What if I told you a different tale, with twists and turns, and evil lies, hmm?
    Come with me now to Rome where a lady lies, writhing and screaming in the last throes of her pain-wracked labour. Nursemaids, sweating and scurrying to and fro with hot water and swathings of
cooled cloths, await the arrival of the King’s new heir.
    Outside, a fierce thunderstorm adds its tension to a nerve-stretched night. It is four a.m., the darkest hour; the lady pushes for the last time and a new-born scream cuts through the waiting
ears of a small army of servants and doctors. The heir apparent has arrived. The clan chiefs, far off in tiny Scotland, will breathe hope again.
    The new mother opens her exhausted eyes, and for a moment she sees on the face of her doctor a frightened look. He hands the baby over to a trembling nurse, who swiftly wipes its tiny frame
before laying it down beside its mother, who pretends to be asleep. While her nurses make the place ready for his Majesty’s arrival the lady pulls back the shawl to see she has... a beautiful
daughter! The last thing she remembers before exhaustion sweeps over her is an enormous crack of lighting that lights up the entire room, but strangely leaves her infant clouded by a dark
shadow.
    When at last her eyes opened again it was her dear husband holding both her hand and the tiny fingers of their new–SON. The lady said nothing because she knew the chiefs would not accept a
female child. She kept silent and went along with the lie that she had given birth to a healthy son, but she had to know if her natural child was alive or not. When her health returned she forced
her handmaiden to tell the truth.
    ‘It was not to be disclosed to another living soul, Ma’am, but in the same hour your child was born a scullery maid brought forth an illegitimate son. It was his Majesty’s
orders that the babies be switched.’
    ‘Where is the kitchen lass, and does she still have my daughter?’ asked the lady, shaking with emotion.
    ‘Ma’am, she has been given a small dowry and, oh, please Ma’am, forgive me for telling you this, but she’s been sent to Scotland!’ The maid fell at the knees of her
mistress and sobbed.
    The Lady gently lifted her servant’s head and said, ‘Please tell me she has the child.’
    ‘Yes, Ma’am, the baby is with her.’
    Those were blessed words to her ears. She knew that her baby was lost to her forever, but at least a royal Stuart would grow, and, pray God, survive, within her rightful home on Scottish
soil.
    The scullery maid called her forced child Charlotte, and swore with every God-given breath to disclose to the lass, when the time was right, who she really was.
    Within no time of their arrival in Scotland, in a part of Edinburgh, the scullery maid found a house of employment. Strangely, the wealthy family with whom she had settled took her child as
well. Perhaps it was the distinctive blue of her eyes or maybe it was the bright red hair, one cannot say, but before long she was accepted as one of the family.
    Within this family were three children who were privately tutored in the highest of education, music and the arts. When old enough, Charlotte joined them in their classroom and soon stood out as
a bright and highly intelligent student.
    Soon it was time! One night the woman