Yellow cloth binding with silver title on the spine. Black street scene drawing on the boards.

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Written in 1893, ‘Catriona’ is the sequel to the highland adventure ‘Kidnapped’, and follows the further adventures of its hero, David Balfour. After arranging a safe passage to France for his comrade Alan Breck Stewart, David tries to clear their names of involvement in the murder of Colin Campbell of Glenure, the ‘Red Fox’. The political complexities and intrigue surrounding the ‘Appin murder’ make Davidʼs situation appear hopeless as he tries to find a path that will both save Alan Breck and James of the Glens, and keep his own neck out of the hangman’s noose. With his life again in danger, the only person he can trust is Catriona, the daughter of the treacherous James More. Part adventure, part romance, and filled with atmospheric and evocative descriptions of old Edinburgh and the surrounding area, Stevenson considered ‘Catriona’ to be one of his finest works.

Part adventure, part romance, and filled with atmospheric and evocative descriptions of old Edinburgh and the surrounding area, Stevenson considered ‘Catriona’ to be one of his finest works.

‘The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me from their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning, I was like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to my last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my own head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. To-day I was served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by me carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and the ball directly at my foot. There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail. The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still to handle; the second, the place that I was in. The tall, black city, and the numbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world for me, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands and the still country-sides that I had frequented up to then. The throng of the citizens in particular abashed me. Rankeillor’s son was short and small in the girth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain I was ill qualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter. It was plain, if I did so, I should but set folk laughing, and set them asking questions. So that I behooved to come by some clothes of my own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter’s side, and put my hand on his arm as though we were a pair of friends. At a merchant’s in the Luckenbooths I had myself fitted out: none too fine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback; but comely and responsible, so that servants should respect me.’

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