The distant Cheviots were dusted with snow. Our little horses, still heavy with their winter coats, pricked up their ears as we picked our way along the banks of the Tweed. The river sparkled as it coursed over shallows and folded deep and brown under the roots of trees. The lambs here were newborn, pure white and fragile. Their mothers were protective and alert. It was the middle of April and we were almost at Traquair. My brother had lent us money to make this journey to Scotland but he expected to be repaid by my brother-in-law Charles.
Once again we had travelled the hidden paths of England and Scotland, avoiding all but the most remote inns and seeking lodgings in farmhouses and cottages. With the reluctant consent of my sister Anne, we were accompanied by John, our young companion on our flight to France over twenty years ago, now a middle-aged man. We faced no trials like those encountered in the winter but we made a quiet group, each too preoccupied with what had been and what the future might hold, to concentrate on the present. Poor John found us sad company and he also fell into thoughtful reflection. Emptiness had settled on me like a weight. This wasn’t the panicked terror of old, where fears jumped out at me in daylight and haunted my sleep. I travelled through each day certain that I would always be William’s wife but we would now live apart, even though I was several months with child. The irony of my late burst of fertility brought more sorrow, as we had once shared a dream of a house noisy with children. I knew that Grace had much to reflect on too, not least the bitter words we had sometimes exchanged in our enforced isolation. I was facing a life without my husband and a future without my dear Grace but I reminded myself that each day brought me closer to Anne.
Grace had needed persuading to be with me on this journey, breaking every law in the land, but I promised to release her once I had secured my daughter and the estate papers. She yielded to my desperate pleas for a female companion to accompany me, since I was with child, and finally agreed to come. My brother had promised to find Grace a home after I had left the country, since I argued that our mother had taken Grace from her family as a child and we had a duty to her.
We avoided the villages of Innerleithen and Traquair and crested a hill. The land fell away into a hollow where the ancient house of Traquair rested solid and patient as it had for six hundred years. I stopped my horse and the others waited for me, turning back in their saddles. I wanted to look at the house, to fix Traquair in my mind as a memory. It was a beautiful house, like my own Terregles but better. It was still a home.
Our horses became impatient, suspecting that stables were close and without a signal, they cantered together down the hill. As we approached, we laughed and called out and John did his amazing two-fingered whistle. This was madness, as magistrates may have been waiting for us, but we were lucky, as ever, when foolish bravado overcame sense. The door opened to a tumble of children and dogs, including my perfect little girl.
I couldn’t stop touching her and crying and she grew impatient with a mother who wouldn’t pay attention to important things like her new ribbons or the amazing servants’ bells that rang a different sound for every room. Charles and Mary hurried Grace and I away to the drawing room upstairs. There was too much to say, so we were silent. I couldn’t stop looking at my child, who was healthy and grown. I wanted her on my knee but felt uncertain to ask. She circled the furniture, banging the keys on the harpsichord and stealing glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. We were brought cakes and sweet wine and Charles talked about crops and the weather. When I thought of the rescue I felt that an aura of shame hung over me. I suspected Charles and Mary caught my mood, so apart from a hug and a whispered thank you from Mary, neither of them questioned me. That night, Anne slept in her own bed in my room and in the morning I found she had crept in beside me.
Charles asked me to meet him in the library and I waited for him there, pulling books from the tightly ordered shelves and smelling the new leather binding. The library was almost complete. There were sections for philosophy, history and the great writers of the day and I wondered whether Mary or Charles ever sat here to read. I thought of Anne having lessons in this room with her cousins, part of her everyday routine I was about to destroy.
I heard Charles’ footsteps on the stairs and he appeared without his wig, as he often did on days spent only with the family. He pushed a hand through his thinning hair.
‘It’s too hot in here,’ he fussed. ‘Why do they lay fires in April?’
‘You asked to see me, Charles,’ I reminded him.
‘Ah yes.’ Charles made a point of trying to remember why. He frowned and paced the room, one hand on the back of his neck.
‘Look here, Winifred, you must know how incredibly grateful we are to you for saving William. You were so very …’ he hesitated.
‘Brave?’ I helped him.
‘Yes, that’s it, brave, of course. The thing is, how long do you think you’ll stay? My friend, the Lord Lieutenant, will tip us off if soldiers are on their way but I think it’s only a matter of time.’
‘I only came to pick up Anne and say farewell to you and Mary. I plan to leave for Terregles tomorrow.’
‘My dear sister, you don’t have to leave so soon. Stay with us a few days. I’m sure Mary’s told you how much we have enjoyed your daughter. We’ll miss her. And is it wise to go back to Terregles?’
‘Thank you, Charles.’ I bowed my head towards him. ‘But I must retrieve something. Only I know where it is. Also, I must try to save anything that’s left at Terregles. William and I are in desperate need of money. If I could trouble you for horses for Anne and Alice, her nurse. I’ll try to sell them to a stable in London and return the money to you.’
‘Nonsense!’ Charles roared. ‘Keep the money. You’re absolutely right. The government don’t own Terregles, whatever they might think. Get over there and sell what you can but don’t hang around. They’ll be watching out for you. Your tenant farmers did well this year, so I’ll give you all of the rent money. The trustees can go hang.’
‘Charles, I’m grateful to you. You’ve done so much for us already.’
Charles studied the terraced garden below. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. ‘We haven’t done enough. It was never enough.’
The following day we arrived at Terregles in the late afternoon, untroubled by soldiers or brigands. I was beginning to feel safe. It was unlikely that our passage had been unnoticed but perhaps there would be enough time to rescue what we needed. Anne rode in front of John on a large horse from Charles’ stable and she was the first to see the turrets of our home. She squealed and bounced with delight and I found my own excitement rise as the familiar landscape unfolded.
But the bustle of life and work was, of course, gone from the estate buildings. Where things had been made and grown, there were weeds and decay. Apart from us, there was no sound beyond the screaming gulls. Anne turned to me, her young face full of dismay. ‘Mother, where is everyone?’
The house was worse. Broken glass scraped on the floor as I forced open the thick oak door and the smell of smoke and urine swept me back to the destruction of my family home at Lincoln’s Inn. I didn’t want Anne to see this. I gave Alice some money and asked her to find rooms in the village for herself, John and Anne. Grace and I would have to stay.
We worked for many hours before dark, identifying anything left intact that could be sold. I was glad that Anne didn’t see the doll’s house broken and scattered across her bedroom floor. We lit a candle in the kitchen and burned some broken furniture in the grate. Our supper was bread and cold bacon, carried from Traquair.
‘I’m going to call all our neighbours to the house tomorrow morning,’ I mumbled, so hungry I couldn’t wait to empty my mouth.
‘Isn’t that asking for trouble?’ Grace answered.
‘They must already know we’re back. I’ll try to stop anyone informing by pretending we have the government’s permission to be here. They can then pick over the things we’re selling.’
Grace shrugged. ‘It might work. We shouldn’t stay long though. We must get out into the garden and dig up the papers.’
I nodded, my mouth too full to speak, and wiped my hands on my petticoat. Grace was already at the passage that led to the pantry and still room and I hurried after her. The spades were where they had been left, just inside the door of the estate workshops. Our thieving neighbours clearly had no need for such mundane items. Tonight there was no moon but we knew exactly where to search. The ground was soft from the spring rain and only a few deep shovels of earth revealed the top of the leather case. We brushed the soil away with our hands and reached down, lifting it onto the grass. I knelt to open the lid then hesitated. Something had moved behind me. I felt rather than saw the presence. Grace stood up. I knew she had seen it too. We waited. My heart hammered in my chest. There was a sound, a thin wail.
‘It’s a rabbit,’ Grace laughed, ‘probably caught by a fox. Open the case, Win. Those papers better have survived.’
I picked up the box and held it close to my chest. I didn’t feel safe. ‘Let’s go inside.’ I peered into the dark. ‘We don’t know who might be watching.’
Inside, we built up the kitchen fire and I prised open the lock with a knife. The papers were intact, dry and legible. I hugged Grace and we laughed with relief. This was my proof. The estate belonged to my son, not to William, and could not be taken away.
That night, I rested on the bed I had once shared with William, the case next to me. There was almost no bedding and what remained was soaked with rain from the broken windows. I knew sleep was impossible and I lay and stroked my belly, swollen with pregnancy, and wished for the safe delivery of one more child. Dawn would come soon and I had no desire to linger. There was nothing for me here.
I must have dozed and woke, startled. Someone had stepped on broken glass. Again, the high, thin wail. I cursed that I’d let John sleep in the village. I’d been too confident. It might end here after all. I picked up the broken rocker from the child’s crib at the foot of the bed and crept from the room, raising it above my head as a club. There was no sound, just someone small and quiet moving through the rooms downstairs. I followed the wraith, catching a glimpse of a figure ahead of me, flitting from room to room. They knew the house. Finally, I found her in the kitchen, pushing the bread and bacon we had saved for the morning into her mouth and her pockets. A tiny baby, almost newborn, lolled on her shoulder. If I didn’t immediately recognise her, I recognised the greed. It was Isobel.
Before dawn, Grace crept downstairs into the kitchen and seeing me already there with Isobel, stepped backwards, her hand over her mouth. ‘What on earth is she doing here?’
‘I found her in the house last night. She has a newborn boy. I’ve sat with her all night trying to help her feed the baby but she can’t. She hasn’t the strength. And she’s eaten our breakfast.’
This was too much for Grace. ‘I’m cold, dirty and haven’t slept. I will not go without breakfast. I’m going to one of the farms to buy eggs, bread and milk. I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I’ve had enough. While I’m gone would you please ask her,’ she flapped at Isobel with her hand, ‘to lay a good fire and boil some water so that we can wash.’
I stood up and searched in my purse for money. ‘Could you ask the farmer’s wife if anyone in the village is nursing a baby? We could save this child.’
Grace straightened to her full height, nearly as tall as me. ‘Sometimes you have to let things be.’ She lowered her voice, so that Isobel wouldn’t hear. ‘The child will die soon. Surely that’s the best thing.’
‘But who knows what this child might become?’ I whispered. ‘We can’t decide who lives and dies. We must give him a chance.’
‘Winifred, we’ve got other things to think about. Getting back to London safely must be our only ambition. You are a meddler. Leave this!’
I also pulled myself to my full height, glad I was taller than Grace, and put my hands on my hips. ‘Yes, I’m a meddler. Yes, I interfere. I don’t believe we have to meekly accept things. That’s how I am and I’m not going to change.’
Grace and I glared at each other, our eyes almost level. Grace’s expression softened and she shrugged. ‘You’ve become just like your mother.’ She slammed the door behind her.
Our neighbours gathered in the formal gardens, already smothered with weeds. It was a beautiful day, almost summer, and many had arrived with their children and food and ale. I watched Grace move among them, shaking their hands, and I saw that she had once been part of this community, whereas I had always been a visitor. John rang a bell he found in the stables and gradually the voices and laughter became a murmur and then stopped. I addressed the crowd from the steps of the terrace.
‘My dear friends and neighbours, you may have heard rumours that I am implicated in the escape from the Tower of London of the Earl of Nithsdale. There is no evidence to connect me with this deed.’ Even the children were silent. ‘I have the permission of the government to be here and I will leave tonight. Please enjoy today and buy whatever takes your fancy. Everything is laid out in the stables.’ I gestured towards the yard.
A man raised his hand and stood up, twisting his hat in his hand. I nodded to him and all heads turned. ‘My lady, if I may be so bold, I have a question for you.’
‘Go ahead,’ I smiled encouragement.
‘Is it true that the Earl wears women’s dresses?’
The crowd roared with laughter but I waited for silence. Eventually, they wiped their eyes and looked at me expectantly. ‘I can confirm that he does but only when the occasion demands and certainly none of mine.’
The crowd whooped and cheered and a fiddler began to play. We were about to have a magnificent party.
I took my chance to slip away with Isobel. Grace had found a young woman in the village who had given birth to twins and one had died. Suspecting I was going to snatch her child, the only thing she had ever owned, Isobel trailed behind me but I dragged her along by the wrist. We found the cottage and knocked on the door. A woman without any teeth peered out.
‘Can we see your daughter?’ I asked.
She held open the door. News belongs to everyone in a tiny village like Terregles and we were expected. My eyes adjusted to the dank interior. There were two rooms downstairs and the woman, probably no older than me, beckoned us to follow her into the back. A young woman was nursing a baby, her expression blank. I knelt down and looked into the empty crib. ‘I’m so sorry that you lost your baby.’
She nodded and looked up at me, waiting to hear what I had to say. Isobel pressed her child against her shoulder and he gave a barely audible mewl. The young woman’s eyes widened. I spoke simply, so that Isobel would understand.
‘I want you to nurse this baby. I will pay you. Once he is weaned his mother,’ I pushed Isobel forward, ‘will come back for him.’
I opened my bag and brought out some of the gold coins given to me by Charles. The older woman stepped forward and pushed them into her pocket. The deal was done. She nodded to her daughter. The girl placed her own child in the crib and raised her arms for Isobel’s baby.
Isobel tried to run with her baby towards the door. The grandmother blocked her way and I had to prise the child from her arms. ‘Isobel, if you don’t give this woman your baby, he will die. Probably today.’
We watched Isobel’s baby attach to the young woman’s swollen breast, which glowed in the half light like a lantern. He struggled to swallow at first but then his cheeks found the rhythm and I saw him relax. I put an arm around Isobel and steered her through the cottage to the door. She wailed but without any sound.
Our neighbours weren’t people of wealth, so little was sold. By late afternoon, most of the villagers had gone and Grace had engaged two ladies, sisters who shared a pretty cottage by the church, to hire a man and a cart to pack up everything that remained and send it on to Traquair. I hoped that Charles would find buyers and send the money to me, wherever I might be.
There was still much to do and I walked through the garden with Anne trotting beside me, considering whether to stay one more night. I heard my name. One of our neighbours called to me from the terrace. He seemed distressed and I hurried towards him.
‘My lady …’ he had been running and he struggled with the words, taking gasps of air between each phrase. ‘Soldiers are on their way … from Dumfries.’ He bent over, holding his belly. ‘They’ll be here in two hours.’
‘Thank you, thank you, my good friend,’ I called over my shoulder as I ran to find the others.
I sent John and Isobel on the big horse to Traquair, pinning a note for Mary on Isobel’s shift. I lied and said she was a hard worker and didn’t mention how much she ate. I told Mary about the child and knew Isobel would be cared for. Isobel’s baby would have to take his chance. As for John, he could make his own way home if he wished. I imagined Charles would persuade him to stay.
We left the house open, goods spread across the yard, trusting the sisters to save what they could. We were gone within an hour and by nightfall we were well on our way to Carlisle. Our journey to London was untroubled, although we were always careful, and as we picked our way along a narrow track, somewhere in Leicestershire, I expressed aloud my puzzlement.
‘Why do you think we attract no attention?’
‘That’s easy, my lady,’ Alice grinned. ‘They’ve been told to look out for the Countess of Nithsdale. They’ll be watching out for someone grand, in a coach, with loads of servants. Just look at us.’
I saw what she meant and roared with laughter. Two middle-aged ladies, none too clean, travelling with their daughters, Anne and Alice, on ponies that would have fetched nothing at a horse fair. It was a perfect disguise.
We entered London in the early morning across the marshes of Moorfields. A deep mist hung across the fields, the orb of the sun visible as if viewed through fine muslin. Bulrushes rose from the invisible landscape and the snickering of goats the only sound of life. We fell silent, like the birds, and travelled in single file, trusting our ponies to find the well-travelled path to Moorgate, an entrance I had heard was less heavily guarded than the main London gates. But the guards were on alert and we were stopped and questioned. I made much of our guise of being country women on business and many more coins had to be exchanged before we were allowed through.
To attract less attention, we dismounted from our ponies and walked into the London streets, already throbbing with morning trade and people pushing through the crowd to their place of work. Anne folded her small body into my cloak and Alice linked arms with Grace. I saw that they were both terrified, neither having ventured further than Traquair House. Even for me, a frequent but privileged visitor, this felt like a different London and I was overwhelmed by the clamour of different tongues, the jostling of bodies and the smell of people who did not have the means to wash.
We found cheap lodgings with stables, two rooms with food provided by a couple who worked at the nearby Bethlehem Hospital; too busy to be curious and even better, absent for most of the day. The rooms were bare but clean and our new hosts rushed to provide us with bread and ale before they left for their day’s work at the hospital. Leaving the others to doze under rough blankets, I pulled my cloak around me and risked the streets to find a private messenger. I sent word of our safe arrival to my brother, no longer wanting to involve our friends Mr and Mrs Mills, and begged him to meet me the following day at an inn close to our lodgings. That night I slept poorly, my blood humming in my ears as I listened to every footstep, every call from the street, fearing that the king’s men had found us at last. Grace and I would be arrested, of course, but what of Alice and Anne, where could they go?
In the morning, our landlord brought word from my brother. If he was curious about the message with its unknown seal, his expression betrayed nothing. After reminding my companions not to leave our lodgings or answer the door, I travelled across the thoroughfare and down the opposite street with my hood over my face, expecting a hand on my shoulder at any moment. The inn was empty of customers and the innkeeper and his wife were busy sweeping dirty sawdust from the floor. I was directed to an upstairs room, suitable for a woman to meet a gentleman alone, and chose to sit in a corner by the window, since the light was poor. Splinters from the furniture caught at my clothes as I rested my arms on the chair. I waited for William, my breath fast and shallow, listening to the sounds from below.
I heard the heavy tread of footsteps rising up the external staircase and saw my brother enter the doorway, frowning as he searched for me in the dusty shadows.
My skin prickled with relief and I called out, ‘Hello!’
William kissed my outstretched hand and sat heavily in a chair across from me. ‘Thank goodness you’re all safe. Everyone seems to know that you’ve been in Scotland and the king is furious. At court they say he regards you as the most troublesome woman in the country. I’m afraid they’re searching for you again. You can still be prosecuted for your husband’s treason.’
I tipped more of Charles’ money onto the table between us. ‘My dearest brother, can I beg two favours? Please try to secure our passage on the first possible boat to Ostend and don’t reveal my identity.’ I looked down at my clothing, ‘We’ll travel as an ordinary family.’
William glanced over my dirty cloak and gown. ‘A most effective disguise if I may say so. I barely recognised you myself. The king wants you gone but not dead. He still hopes to be remembered as a modern king and executing women isn’t what a modern king does. But you’re not popular and there’s been much unrest. Groups of lads calling themselves Jacobites and Whigs have been fighting in the streets. It’s just an excuse for trouble but your capture could make things worse.’
He couldn’t hide his pride at what came next. ‘You perhaps haven’t heard but my title has been restored and I seem to be accepted at court. I have the influence to make sure you escape safely. You’ll be allowed to travel without hindrance if I let the right people know that you’ll leave within days.’
I clapped my hands. ‘That is good news and so much deserved. You have suffered a great deal. I’m proud that you’ve always tried to live peacefully for the sake of your family.’
William smiled and tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I was arrested after your husband’s escape and was so angry with you. It felt as if you’d repeated what our mother did to me. I thought I’d lose everything again; stuck for ever in a lifetime of gain, imprisonment and loss. But friends spoke out for me and I was quickly released.’
The innkeeper entered with ale and I waited until we had been served and coins exchanged before asking the question that most troubled me. ‘I understand how my behaviour must have affected the lives of many ordinary people who trusted me but our Jacobite friends, what do they think of what I did?’
William’s eyes became tender and he looked at me with an expression I remembered from my childhood. ‘Win, you were always headstrong, impetuous and sure of yourself, so no one would have expected anything else. There will always be criticism but your bravery can never be in dispute.’
This wasn’t what I wanted to hear but I recognised his honesty. If I was uncertain about the sense of my act, how could I expect other people to think differently? William saw my disappointment and ploughed on with his news. ‘I’m convinced it won’t be long before our estate is restored. I have my eye on the very cottage for Grace Evans.’
He watched my reaction, his face bright and seeking my approval. I thanked him but my words lacked conviction. I was not ready to part from Grace. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased,’ I mumbled.
Other fears needed to be allayed before we parted. ‘I trust that the Mills and Mrs Morgan have not come under suspicion?’ I asked.
My brother stared into the empty grate between us and rubbed his hands as if there was warmth from a fire. ‘None at all, so far. You planned it well and luck was on your side but we shouldn’t prolong this meeting. I’ve probably been followed and if you are arrested, none of us will be safe. What was the other task?’
I gave him the legal papers retrieved from Terregles and asked him to deposit them with my lawyer. We both stood, awkward with a parting we knew would be final. Looking around, William reached into his cloak and produced a letter from my husband. Promising to send the tickets to our lodging he whispered farewell, holding my hands and pressing a small leather pouch of coins into my fist.
I stepped back and exclaimed, ‘William you can’t afford this.’
He laughed but his eyes glistened, ‘I haven’t forgotten your loyalty, Win. Visiting me every week in the Tower.’ With a small bow, he was gone.
I hurried back to the lodging, only aware of the ragged trews, faded petticoats and worn shoes of passing pedestrians. Every time I dared look up from under my hood to make a safe crossing, I thought I saw Marian’s vengeful face in the crowd.
The boredom and fear of waiting in lodgings made us too impatient with Anne, as she whined again and again about wanting to go home and, at last, I agreed that Alice could take her to see the ponies in the stable. In the simple parlour of our rooms, I was alone with Grace and she watched me read William’s letter. I tossed it aside, impatient with his petulant rant about money and the boredom of living with the elderly remnants of the exiled Stuart court. Grace spoke casually, as if the question of my future had only just occurred to her.
‘So are you planning to be with William when we reach France?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I’ve made my decision. We’re sailing to Ostend and from there, I plan to travel to Bruges, to Lucy’s convent. I’ll have the baby there, we’ll be cared for and Anne can join the girls for lessons. I can’t look too far into the future but I might remain within the convent. Grace, when we reach Ostend you can return to London. You’re guilty of no crime – at least none that anyone knows about.’
Grace frowned. ‘Is the pregnancy secure?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. It’s over four months now and the child isn’t moving yet.’
‘Then I’ll accompany you to Bruges. When you’re safe with the Abbess I’ll come back.’
‘Oh Grace,’ I gasped in relief. ‘But I promised to release you. My brother thinks that he will soon regain the estate and that means a home for you.’
She spread out her hands, resigned, ‘And could I settle for a single moment in my solitary cottage if I was worrying about the most troublesome woman in England travelling to Bruges on her own? Of course I’ll come.’
‘But what about Alice? I’ve made mistakes, Grace, assuming too much and not thinking about what you might want. We mustn’t repeat this with Alice. Perhaps she could return from Bruges with you.’
I saw that Grace looked wary and I hurried to make myself clear. ‘I don’t mean that you would be responsible for her but my brother might find her a post at Powis or she could return to Traquair. What I’m trying to say is, Alice must know that she has a choice.’
Grace frowned. ‘Why can’t she stay at the convent?’
‘Of course she can. I’m sure my sister would be glad to employ her but she’s only twenty-five. A convent is not the best place for a young woman. Think of what we were doing at her age!’
An enigmatic smile flickered across Grace’s lips and her eyes narrowed. ‘I remember what you were doing. As for myself, nothing more will be said.’
That evening, the tickets for our passage from Gravesend arrived. We would leave in a farmer’s cart the following morning and must be ready by dawn. I lay awake listening to the rhythm of night sounds from our shared beds and, sitting up, saw the shadow of our bundles tied and ready by the door. Parting the thin cloth at the windows, the streets were empty and the moon was waning. It was almost dawn. Kissing Anne’s hot brow, I slipped out into the night.
This was my last night in London, my last in my country of birth and I wanted to feel the streets under my feet, smell the sewers and watch the people wake and light lamps in their windows, as they woke to an ordinary day. I had walked only a short way from our rooms when a hand reached out from a doorway and gripped my arm. From behind, I heard a rasping voice.
‘I know who you are.’
‘You know who I am?’ I gasped, seeing the face of my assailant, an old woman with wisps of tangled grey hair hanging from the folds of a dirty shawl.
She tossed back her head and laughed at me, her wide mouth showing a few black teeth. Her grip tightened. ‘I’ve found you. At last.’
Panic gripped my throat and stomach. Was I strong enough to push her away? A man stepped from the shadows and grasped the old woman from behind.
‘It’s fine, Mary. Let the lady go. She’s not your daughter.’
I recognised my landlord and my legs trembled with relief. ‘She’s from the hospital, m’lady. Wanders off from time to time to find her daughter. She does no harm and we always catch her. Gave you a fright though,’ he grinned.
‘I was terrified. I can’t thank you enough.’
He led Mary away by the hand, calling to me over his shoulder. ‘Get off home now. Your transport will soon be outside the door. And I do know who you are. Godspeed on your journey, Lady Nithsdale.’