Journey to Enchantment (18 page)

Her mouth trembled. She answered falteringly, “Taken and shot. But he managed to give the cypher to a shepherd, and he led the redcoats away.” She bowed her head for an instant and when she looked up, her eyes were bright with the sheen of tears. “Johnny Robertson was—was executed at Perth on the morning of the tenth.” On a sob, she gulped, “That … fine wee lad!”

Delacourt shrank in his chair. “My God!”

The MacTavish murmured, “May the Good Lord rest him.”

Prudence had not known the hapless fugitive, but it was obvious that Delacourt had, for his shoulders slumped and he covered his eyes for a moment. “Cumberland!” he gritted, as though it had been an oath. “What disgrace and dishonour he visits upon our England!” Nobody spoke, and after a pause he went on with forced calm, “So the shepherd carried the cypher to Lady Ericson, did he? It was well done. And she is a most gallant lady. I only wish she'd be done with this desperate business.”

Miss Clandon smiled faintly. “She says the same of you.”

“I know.” He gave her a rueful glance and sat straighter. “Mr. MacTavish, can you get word to Johnny's people?” MacTavish indicating that he could do so, Delacourt went on, “Robertson was a right gallant gentleman, and he'd not thank us for sitting here mourning him instead of attending to business. My friends, it seems we've a cypher to be delivered, and no courier.”

“Devil take you, Geoff,” exclaimed Briley, viewing Delacourt through his haughtily upheld quizzing glass, “if you can meth about in a Jacobite frolic, you might have the goodneth to allow me to play!”

“I'll hae ye to know, my lord,” snorted Sir Matthew, “that there are Scotsmen here, willing and able!”

“And Scotswomen,” put in Prudence, her face flushed, her eyes glowing with excitement. “
I
could carry your cypher, Captain!”

MacTavish glared at her, started to speak, but subsided. Delacourt leaned back, elbow on chair arm and chin in hand, and regarded them in turn. “Sir Matthew, your courage does you credit, but I am very sure Cunningham would never allow you to take ship without you had an excellent reason. And if we fabricated one, you would be searched from head to toe and like as not escorted and watched like a hawk thereafter.” He kindly refrained from pointing out that it would be a difficult journey by land in these perilous times, and that Sir Matthew was plagued by gout. The older man's irked protests ceased when Delacourt lifted an authoritative hand and went on, “No, sir. I thank you, but it will not do. The same would apply to you, Mr. MacKie. And as for you, Miss MacTavish”—his eyes softened as they rested upon the girl's radiant eagerness—“can you really suppose I would repay your father's kind hospitality by—”

“What in the name o' our sainted Queen Mary has that tae do wi' it?” she stormed, jumping up and glaring at him. “I'm a Scot, sir! And you're a Sassenach! And—”

“And he is also Ligun Doone,” interjected her father, quietly reproachful.

Her bubble burst. She mumbled, “Oh … aye,” and, blushing, sat down again.

MacKie chuckled. “We seem to hae but one volunteer left.”

They all looked at his lordship, and he stood and bowed extravagantly.

With slow reluctance, Delacourt said, “Thad, this is not your fight.”

“No more ith it yourth, dear boy.”

“I made it mine because Cumberland's damned butchery sickened me. I am involved with this confounded treasure only because many innocent families may starve without their belongings are returned to them, and because it galls me to think of some greedy bounty hunters—or dragoons—living in luxury at their expense.”

“No need to hog all the glory for yourthelf, Geoff. I think I have not been completely idle on the other thide of the border.”

“No, indeed. And fought in Holland right valiantly,” Delacourt agreed warmly. “In fact, I could tell—”

With grim menace, Briley interrupted. “But will not, do you ever hope to thee England again!”

Amused, Prudence saw his grim theatrics replaced by consternation, his pleasant features becoming very red as he shot a dismayed look at Miss Clandon. That young lady, noted Prudence curiously, was glaring at him as though she might cheerfully have strangled him.

Sir Matthew laughed. “I'll nae deny I think it grand o' ye tae volunteer fer such a chancy business, Lord Thaddeus.”

“Well, gentlemen,” asked Delacourt, “are you all willing to entrust our vital cypher to this thimblewit?”

“A little more from you, my lad,” warned Briley, “and I will forget you are an invalid.”

Despite the banter, a sudden gravity fell upon them. They all knew that Briley risked a horrible death, and that because of his rank there was no power in the land could save him if he was caught with the cypher. The ayes were uttered with reluctance, and as each man voted he stood and crossed to shake Briley's hand, a procedure that left the shy peer scarlet with embarrassment.

“Very well,” said Delacourt, refraining from adding to his friend's panic by gripping his hand. “Now for our other problem: We've to devise a means for getting our wounded out of the pyramid. It's a splendid hiding place for a week or so, but the poor devils are cramped and stifling, and the sooner we get them away, the better. Any notions?”

“I'd gladly take them wi' me in my carriage,” said MacKie, “but they'd be no more safely hid at my hoose than where they are. Besides which, I'll admit I've a groom I'd nae trust wi' a silver coin, much less wi' six hundred pound!”

Prudence gave a shocked gasp.

Interested, Delacourt said, “No, has my worth increased again? Gad, but Cunningham did not tell me.”

“Had ye no twisted his tail by gripping his hand,” growled Lockerbie from his post by the door, “he might've found the time tae.”

Sir Matthew enquired, “What's all this?”

“Nothing, nothing,” said Delacourt hastily. “Now we must—”

“Something, something!” Lockerbie interposed with the assurance of a trusted retainer. “Yon nasty Colonel said he'd soon lop Ligun Doone's head could he but bring him in his grasp. And what must Captain Reckless do, but go and shake his hand and tell him he'd live tae brag on't!”

A shout of laughter went up, but Prudence frowned, vexed by such heroics.

Briley, grinning broadly, said, “And you call
me
thimblewit!”

“We're no closer to a solution,” Delacourt said with a smile. “I've a plan we might attempt, but it's so chancy I'd as soon not try it unless nothing better offers. Thad, when do you mean to return home?”

“I ethcort Mith Clandon to her father next week. I might be able to move the date up, if there ith a boat thailing.”

Delacourt shook his head. “That won't do. For Elizabeth to journey all this way to see her grandmama and then turn about in only a few days must cause comment. And were you to go back without her would excite even more attention. We shall have to wait.”

“Dare we?” asked Sir Matthew, anxiously. “The other couriers were away weeks since, and—God willing—are likely close to their destinations already.”

“If I am not becalmed, heaven forfend, I'm like to make jolly near ath good time,” lisped Briley. “Quicker by water, y'know, thir.”

Mr. MacKie, who feared water travel, shuddered. “Sooner yourself than I, my lord,” he said. “I prefer a good fast team or a good fast horse!”

“The Highlands are not for an Englishman,” Delacourt pointed out. “Some clans are still up, and even a Scot is as liable to be slain by an enemy clansman as not.”

“How true,” sighed MacTavish. “Our poor bonnie land, ever torn by these cruel clan wars.”

“It's little short o' a miracle ye came through safe yourself, lad,” remarked Sir Matthew.

“None of my doing, sir.” Delacourt indicated the silent Lockerbie, who dozed in a chair at the rear of the room. “That gentleman, his many—nay, innumerable relations—and their combined knowledge of your beautiful mountains brought me safe here.”

“For which there's many a Scot will call doon blessings on his head,” said MacKie with feeling.

The immediate chorus of “Ayes” brought a flush to Delacourt's thin face and also roused Lockerbie, who took out his timepiece, rose, and announced determinedly that it was past time for his master to be abed. The girls also said their good nights, MacTavish accompanying them to the stairs and handing each her candle. Prudence went with Miss Clandon to her door, and they parted, their friendship a little more firmly established, each to climb gratefully between the sheets as soon as possible, and then to lie there, unable to sleep, though for somewhat different causes. Elizabeth's ruminations had to do with two gentlemen: one a loved and lost young Scottish fighter, the other an Englishman with tawny eyes that seemed ever to hold a smile. Prudence lay staring blindly at the silken bedcurtains, her thoughts turning back to the afternoon of this crowded day, to the old shed behind the stables and Geoffrey Delacourt's long sensitive fingers caressing her. She shivered to the recollection of his lips upon her mouth, her eyelids, her bosom. How
ever
could she have been so vulgar as to allow it? Perhaps, because this was a time of war, which always, so she'd heard, imparted an air of urgency; a clearer awareness, maybe, of the transience of life—and love. She might not even
be
in love. Not really. It would be very well if it faded away. Quietly. Delacourt seemed uninclined to offer for her. And even if he should, she had no wish to leave her beloved land. Certainly, he would never consider moving up here. ‘What a muddle,' she thought. And, sighing, saw his grave eyes and the smile that would so unexpectedly creep into them. She sighed again. Yearningly.

‘You, Prudence MacTavish,' she thought sternly, ‘have become enchanted by a foreigner. That's what it is. It willnae last, so dinna fash yersel'. 'Tis just an … enchantment.…'

Smiling, she drifted into sleep.

IX

Life at Lakepoint settled into an outwardly quiet pattern. James MacTavish, who promised to bend his every faculty to come up with a scheme to smuggle their fugitives aboard some ship, had postponed that task so as to concentrate on researching his forthcoming talk in Edinburgh. With the best will in the world for his persecuted countrymen, he was a scientist first, and a patriot and plotter variously second and third. It was because of his absent-minded response to a remark of his sister-in-law that Hortense became suspicious and was of necessity admitted to their traitorous circle. Discovering that there were wounded men in the pyramid, she contrived to wander unobtrusively to that structure at least once a day, smuggling food, fruit, and medical supplies under the hoops of her voluminous skirts, and coming away with aching heart and tearful eyes because the fugitives endured their sufferings with such fortitude.

Lord Briley remained at Lakepoint, to the delight of Hortense, because he was fascinated by her astrological prowess and spent long hours listening to her explain the celestial bodies and marvelling at her expertise, until Miss Clandon, who had returned to her grandmother's castle, arrived—this daily visit occasioning some remark among the servants, and awakening conflicting emotions in Prudence's troubled heart. She was becoming very fond of the forthright, golden-haired girl, and she was more and more drawn to Lord Briley's bashful whimsicality. It was pleasant to think that Miss Clandon was developing a
tendre
for the young peer—unless that possibility would create more havoc with Captain Delacourt. She discovered, however, that nobility was not for her, and more and more her inclination was to wish that the friendship between the nobleman and the girl he so obviously admired would blossom into lasting devotion.

The weather, meanwhile, continued unusually fine. In the afternoons Prudence wheeled Delacourt outside and took him for leisurely strolls around the estate. Sometimes, Mrs. Cairn would pack them a hamper and Delacourt would balance it on his knees until they arrived at a suitable site, when they would picnic and talk in perfect harmony amid the quiet peace of the countryside.

As they grew to know one another better, they chatted on many subjects: Delacourt learned of her devotion to her brother, and listened with amusement to the tales of their childhood escapades. He was quick to realize that she had led a surprisingly sheltered life, and he noticed how avidly she hung upon his words when he spoke of London and the Polite World. He regaled her by the hour with descriptions of fashions, manners, balls, and parties (to most of which he had not gone). Her rapt attention was his reward, and he began to envy the fortunate man who would introduce her to such delights. Occasionally he would grow silent and withdrawn after such an interlude, and Prudence, guessing him to be tired, would betray no awareness of his shift of mood, but sing softly to herself as she puttered with the plates of food, or went off to collect flowers. Delacourt found her surprisingly knowledgeable on the subjects of music and art. Politics they mutually avoided, but he told her, rather shyly at first, of his passion for gardening. They shared enthusiasms for horses, dogs, and cats, although his interests were more catholic in this last regard than were hers, for he had a deep-rooted reverence for all living creatures and could watch a spider with as much interest as a kitten, whereas she withdrew, shuddering, from the eight-legged creatures. This aspect of his nature puzzled her, and she asked him once how he could bear to have fought in the war, when he would protest if she squashed an ant that encroached upon their luncheon. He answered with his slow smile that he had fought because he believed Prince Charles would be wrong for England, and seeing her swift frown, added whimsically, “No—do not eat me, I beg! I promise you there was no wanton killing by my men, and in my only large battle we were quite hopelessly defeated, you know.”