The carriage rocked to a stop before a modest townhouse at the base of Calton Hill. Alex excused himself. Mr. Carter nodded and indicated he would wait in the carriage.
This was Alex’s first home visit of the day—Mrs. Stewart and her affliction of diabetes. She liked to be bled every Tuesday. Alex obliged, as most medical professionals still considered bleeding to be an appropriate treatment fordiabetes mellitus. However, he had found a restrictive diet to be more effective in reducing the sugar in urine and alleviating the symptoms. Not that Mrs. Stewart listened to him, no matter how many times he urged her to give up shortbread biscuits.
Regardless, he bled a half pint of blood and listened to her heart with hisstethoscope, a newly-arrived device from Dr. Laennec in Paris. The instrument was rather ridiculously named but effective. He smiled as she told him about her grandson, and he asked polite questions about her daughter’s health. Alex privately believed that Mrs. Stewart, like many of his patients, benefited from kindness and a listening ear.
He made notes in his physician’s log, checked his watch, and returned to the hackney cab thirty minutes later, giving the driver an address on West Bow in Old Town.
Mr. Carter continued on, as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “As I was saying, the history of your branch of the family is important to this case. Your great-grandfather, Lord Colin Whitaker, joined the Jacobite rebellion of ’45 and was part of the Duke of Perth’s personal retinue. Fortunately for him, Lord Colin was abed with fever when the Jacobites fell at Culloden. Unfortunately, the fever did not prevent Lord Colin from being accused of high treason. His father called in favors in Lords and had his son’s name removed from the list of traitors in the Act of Attainder of 1747.”
“Aye.” Alex knew much of this history. “But I fail tae see how this impacts us at this juncture?”
“Ferndown and his son are determined to see the late Lord Lockheade’s wishes made a reality.” Mr. Carter shifted the case on his knees. “They feel strongly that a second incarnation of the Marquesses of Lockheade should be created with Master Frederick as the first heir.”
All the pieces slotted into place.
“They wish tae see my branch of the family attainted.” Alex nodded slowly. “If my great-grandfather is formally declared a traitor for siding with the Jacobites and conspiring against the Crown, his entire family line will be disinherited.”
Mr. Carter’s eyebrows ratcheted up. “Precisely. A Writ of Attainder against Lord Colin Whitaker would effectively dismiss any claim your family line had upon the marquisate. High treason is theonlyway a man can lose a title he was rightly born to bear. Ferndown argues that Lord Colin was declared a traitor at the time—even if his actual name was removed from the Act of Attainder of 1747—and that Lords should now formally recognize the verdict.”
“But . . .Iam not a traitor.” Alex frowned. “And declaring a dead man a traitor nearly eighty years after the fact is unusual, particularly when Parliament at the time chose not to attaint him.”
“Correct. It is unprecedented.” Mr. Carter’s expression could best be described as long-suffering. As if this idea had already been discussedad nauseam. “Parliament has not issued a single Writ of Attainder since that mess with Lord Edward Fitzgerald over twenty years ago. Lords is strongly inclined to mend fences at the moment, not burn them down. In fact, they have begunforgivingthe Writs of Attainder from ’47 and reinstating lands and titles. So it seems almost comical to think that this petition will get anywhere. But as I said, Ferndown is powerful and has the King’s ear.”
Alex stared at the city passing by as Mr. Carter spoke. They were crossing over the Earthen Mound and climbing into Old Town proper.
He could feel Mr. Carter’s eyes on his shoulders, measuring the breadth of him, surely wondering how the flower of English aristocracy had devolved upon a Scottish physician.
Alex turned back to Mr. Carter beside him. “If this all happened last Spring, why am I only now being informed, six months on?”
“Well,” Mr. Carter sighed, “neither Lord Frank nor Ferndown had any obligation to inform you. And the Courts had not insisted upon it, so nothing was done until now. All of which explains our presence here—myself and my colleagues.”
“What happens now?”
The carriage rocked to a stop in front of a small door on West Bow. Mr. White and his gouty leg awaited Alex on the second floor.
Mr. Carter was still meandering to the point.
“Myself and my colleagues have been sent as representatives of the Crown to present all this to you. The Committee on Privilege is strongly split on what to do in this instance—award the marquisate to yourself or to young Master Frederick Fulton. Both sides have made a compelling case. So the decision was made to seek your own wishes in this matter.”
“Pardon?” Alex reached for the door handle.
Mr. Carter managed a weak smile. “Unlike most titled peers, you now have a choice before you—do you wish to contest the posthumous Writ of Attainder on Lord Colin and fight to succeed as Lord Lockheade? Or will you accept the Writ of Attainder on behalf of your ancestor and permit yourself and your descendants to be disinherited?”
Alex moved throughthe next few days in a blurry haze—bleeding patients, stitching wounds, prescribing medicines.
His mind was fixated on Mr. Carter’s visit.
The solicitor had made matters clear before he left:
If Alex contested the Writ of Attainder, it was plausible that Lords would side with him. If, however, he declined to contest it, Lords would likely award the marquisate to wee Frederick Fulton.
The Committee on Privilege needed Alex to make a decision.
However, some on the Committee—those opposed to Ferndown—were worried that Alex, as a Scottish physician residing in Edinburgh, did not understand what he might be accepting or rejecting.
Therefore, they had invented an unusual plan to match this unusual circumstance.
Mr. Carter would prepare a detailed account of the marquisate’s properties and enterprises for Alex to peruse. Then after the New Year, Alex would visit Frome Abbey, the seat of the Marquess of Lockheade. He would spend several days there, surveying the estate and speaking with the steward. He would be encouraged to assess the marquisate holdings and ask questions. The goal was for him to understand the responsibilities and privilege entailed upon assuming a marquisate.
