Desperation and Decision (6 page)

I entered the Pyrenees Conference room the
next morning no less bewildered, clutching the sheaf of papers that
included my report, but determined to squelch my dark impressions
and be a part of whatever I was supposed to be a part of here, be
it probationary or whatever God chose to make of it.

Archibald Campbell sat with Doctor Mac and
Madame Rose at one of several smaller tables adorned with cups and
plates around the sides of the conference room. Madame Rose wore a
sky-blue morning dress trimmed with pink satin rosebuds and Doctor
Mac wore a surprisingly dandyish blue suit that almost matched his
wife's gown for shade. Warm golden wood trim accented the black and
gold brocade panels walling the room and a golden carpet sprang
thick and plush under my feet as I moved toward them into the room.
Black leather and mahogany seats gleamed with bronze studs around a
formal conference table.

An outlandishly-costumed woman immediately
broke away from Madame Rose and stretched out a hand to me. She
dressed in a loose, brocaded pink silk tunic sprayed with golden
embroidered fireworks and quaint tight-bottomed black trousers,
with ridiculously high, lacquered pink platform shoes. Her golden
hair was smoothly drawn into braided buns on either side of her
head and held in place with thin enameled sticks and pink and black
ribbons. Ornate metal pendants glazed pink dangled from her ears
and over her ample bosom.

"Oh, Prince Florizel, this is one of my
dearest friends, Annabelle Bliss Fun," Madame Rose explained,
rising also and joining us. I took as light a grip as politely
possible on the strange woman's hand, a little fearful of her
curving pink and gold enameled claws. "Her husband is Fun See
Tokiyo, the merchant who is to be another of the company
members."

"You didn't tell me Prince Charming was so
handsome!" Madame Annabelle said to Madame Rose in an absurd stage
whisper.

"I didn't know it until last night, silly,"
Madame Rose retorted merrily. "Pray forgive us, your highness. We
are irrepressible assigners of unfortunate nicknames. My husband is
still known as 'Don' among his cousins for his tendency to take on
impossible tasks in the name of gentlemanly and right conduct, like
Don Quixote stood for chivalry. That is how our eldest daughter
came to be called Dulcinea."

"I will happily tilt windmills at his side,
and be his Sancho Panza in such a cause as that," I immediately
rejoined.

A much older lady doing the honors of the
breakfast tea turned out to be Elinor Dashwood Ferrars, stately and
sweet at the same time, dressed in a softly patterned light brown
day gown covered with tiny white vines and leaves and a cozy beige
shawl and white mob cap. She gave me tea and a warm smile and I
recalled that she was the wife of the country parson, Edward
Ferrars.

A graceful ebony-skinned woman in rich dark
red with soft lace at her throat and wrists introduced herself
while handing me a plate of assorted breakfast items. Sahara
explained that she was the wife of Zambo, the owner of the
Caribbean security firm. The last person who scurried in was the
very beautiful, vivacious lady of India we had glimpsed the night
before, dressed in wrappings of deep violet. A bronze stud pierced
her nostril and bronze hoops graced her wrists.

"I am Abdalla Gafur," she explained
breathlessly. "I am the wife of the one called Mowgli. Forgive me
for not greeting you last night, but Sararati was so naughty to
slip out after his father and annoy you all when I thought he was
already in bed. This is why we call him Sararati, because it means
naughty. He is so curious about everything and pesters Doctor Twist
endlessly. I thought he would be lonely and frightened with
strangers, but he is his father's son."

"Considering the flock of kids we all brought
along, dear lady, one more child could hardly be called annoying,"
Doctor Mac, who had also risen to shake my hand, said to her
kindly. "Looking forward to becoming better acquainted with your
naughty son."

Abdalla Gafur smiled bashfully at us and
Madame Rose squeezed her shoulder before turning toward the last
party seated away from the main conference table.

This man was from head to foot a son of the
American West. He dressed entirely in black leather trail garments,
boots, and a Stetson, all beautifully-ornamented with Indian
beadwork of the Western American Plains people. Iron-grey hair fell
in waves to his shoulders and a carefully-waxed handlebar moustache
touched an immaculate goatee. He possessed a harshly handsome,
aquiline face and jet black eyes.

"This is Pecos Bill," Doctor Mac exclaimed,
dragging me over to him. "His wife Sluefoot Sue is to be a member
of the company. And this is their man-of-all-work, Dobbs." A
drably-dressed, somber-looking cowboy nodded to me but kept his
place beside the black-clad man, who looked intently at me but made
no motion. Doctor Mac had clapped a hand on the fellow's shoulder
but other than a flicker of his eyes he gave no
acknowledgement.

"Bill had a horse named Widowmaker," Doctor
Mac explained, "Which no one but he and his wife had ever
successfully ridden, a magnificent black stallion, so I'm told.
Someone snuck into their camp one night and tried to steal the
animal. Bill went after the horse thief, actually to save his life,
because the horse was in the process of stomping the man to death.
Unfortunately a stray blow from Widowmaker's hooves nearly made Sue
a widow, and left our western friend more or less paralyzed up to
the eyes. Sue and Dobbs, here, have worked out a means of
understanding him by his blinks and eye motions."

"He says he's right pleased ta make yer
acquaintance, and ain't never met a prince before," Dobbs affirmed.
I went white and red by turns, shocked by this man's crushing
disability and astounded by his impeccable appearance and alert
demeanor. I had skimmed the outlandish biography of Sluefoot Sue
and scoffed at the adventures hinted at in this couple's career.
But I could at least credit that he had been an active, vibrant
man, and to see him reduced to this appalling state of helplessness
left me without a clue as to how to speak to him, to act in his
presence.

"We all need a human touch," Doctor Mac said,
very softly. "Even if it doesn't seem like we could profit by it.
Don't falter now, Prince Charming, when it's hardest but may matter
most."

I glanced sharply at him. I was not a man for
intimate contact under any circumstances. Mine was a world of
polite bowing or the briefest of handshakes. But as I shifted my
gaze back to those eagle-bright eyes I found myself reaching out
and placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder. His expression
changed, somehow, even though his mouth remained fixed. Warmth
flooded those black eyes and I could tell I had managed to do the
right thing.

Turning toward the conference table as
someone rapped upon it, I realized that Mrs. Moore-Campbell stood
at the head of the table and that others who must be the actual
members of the company had already taken their places while I had
been distracted by these introductions. I hurried to the chair left
open for me at the foot of the table, wondering whether this was a
place of honor opposite our leader or a place where she could
better pass judgment on my performance. I could not help noting
that she looked anything but likely to scrutinize. In fact, she
seemed ill-at ease but still magnificent in an ivory morning dress
embroidered with bronze leaf sprigs and tiny seed pearls. Ivory
combs with pearls swept her hair up into a most becoming French
roll.

"Thank you all for coming. The lady and
gentleman seated with my husband at the second table are Dr. and
Mrs. Alexander Mackenzie Campbell, our cousins. Mrs. Campbell is
the administrator of the Alexander Campbell Foundation Trust,
established in memory of our guardian. She has been asked to sit in
on this meeting because our enterprise will need financial backing,
and we hope to interest her in our cause.

"This is a very different undertaking for me
from singing in a concert hall. We have, all of us, seen a need for
something to be done about a certain pattern of crimes we have
researched or personally witnessed. Deciding how to take action to
stop these crimes is in the hearts of everyone assembled here. That
is why I have asked you to come to this meeting.

"I propose that we band together and use the
talents and skills God has given to us to fight an evil that has
taken hold in many places around the world and risen far into the
highest ranks of government, business, and even the church. Some of
you have reports to make on what we have learned concerning these
criminal elements. We believe wrong-doers have been trained and
organized for a common purpose as yet only partly understood.
Reverend Ferrars, please begin."

Edward Ferrars, wearing a somewhat misshapen
gray cardigan, houndstooth gray knee-breeches, pale yellow and gray
argyle socks, comfortable brown walking shoes, and holding a gray
motoring cap nervously in his blue-veined, wrinkled fingers,
stiffly rose from his seat and drew a pair of steel half-spectacles
from his breast pocket. He was a stooped, slightly portly gentleman
past the middle age, white side-whiskers framing a kind, serious
face. He adjusted a sheepskin draped over his chair.

"I keep sheep," Edward confided with a boyish
smile, "because they remind me that man needs a Shepherd. This
story I am about to relate represents incidents repeated a thousand
times or more, everywhere."

"Mr. Collins!" I said, bowing slightly to
the gentleman who rushed out to meet me as I approached the cottage
of the vicar of Lady Catherine de Bourgh's living. Mr. Collins
pumped my hand, presenting his wife Charlotte, a plain but
pleasant-looking woman. Collins wore an overly elaborate cassock
trimmed in purple velvet and thick with snowy lace. We had just
arrived from services at Lady Catherine's chapel when I made my
presence known to them.

"You see that we are in the midst of more
improvements to our humble abode, Mr. Ferrars," gushed Mr. Collins.
The place was in a disastrous state of construction with lumber and
scaffolding and mud in equal measures of inconvenient placement.
"Her ladyship is so careful of our comfort, and constantly looks
for ways to show her pleasure at my attention to her parish. And
she has given me more and more responsibility for her affairs, both
parochial and personal. I have the greatest influence to--"

"I need to speak with you about a private
church matter, Mr. Collins." I bowed to his wife. For a moment I
saw a flash of something in the woman's eyes. Fear, perhaps despair
haunted them. So she knew, or suspected. I pitied her as she
gathered her tastefully simple black and white striped skirts,
turned, and fled the room.

"Dear me, Charlotte is so abrupt," blustered
Collins. "Perhaps she is checking on the children. Such a devoted
mother she is. I would have asked her to bring us some tea."

"No, thank you, Collins. I have come to you
about a very grave matter, one that as yet is only whispered of,
but may soon become a shout of disgrace upon the church."

"What? You speak nonsense, Mr. Ferrars."

"You said that Lady Catherine has entrusted
to you certain matters of personal business." I cut him off with an
impatient wave of the hand. "One of these was the selection of a
personal attendant to her ladyship's daughter, a young woman who
handles her correspondence and other family matters. This woman has
compromised you, Collins."

"How dare you?" Collins' face turned
scarlet. "I am an important man! My living is larger than yours,
and Lady Catherine and her nephew Mr. Darcy are very powerful
people. Accuse me at your peril."

"You do not want them to know what you have
done. Do not force me to make it public. Think of your wife, your
children—your connection to the family of Mr. Darcy's wife. Spare
these people your disgrace, the full disclosure of your foolish,
carnal weakness. You have betrayed your wife with this creature and
allowed her to extort the position with Miss de Bourgh from you in
exchange for her silence."

Collins began to tremble. "Oh, mercy! The
scandal! What can I do?"

"This evil you have done is bad enough, but
there is more. This treacherous woman has taken from Lady Catherine
vital documents. They will enable unscrupulous persons to steal
from her ladyship great quantities of money, land and influence.
Scandals cannot hope but attach themselves to her and her family
unless her ladyship can hush them up. We will try to help her do
that, but you must resign the living here and take your family into
seclusion. You will never again seek a position in the church."

"I shall be ruined! This is the only
profession I am trained for."

"You may suffer in this life for what you
have done, but I pray you will seek God's forgiveness so that you
do not face His wrath in the next. Remember what the Word says
about those who cause His little ones to sin – you who abuse the
trust of those who rely on a man of God."

Edward Ferrars seemed drained when he
finished his story. He wiped his forehead, peered around the room
and sat down with a stiff little bow. Everyone stirred and murmurs
of shock and distress broke the heavy silence.

"Prince Florizel, please give us your report
next," Madame Phoebe invited.

I cleared my throat, tried to make my eyes
expressionless, and made a formal, continental bow. I referred to
the very clear and straightforward account Madame Phoebe had given
to me, not because I did not vividly remember this occasion, but
because I still did not know what exactly was expected of me, and
how my account might mesh with others. I did not wish to leave out
anything our leader might consider important to making her
case.