Journey to Enchantment (9 page)

Contrarily, her skirts had completely reversed themselves. Not only was she sitting on the front of her gown, but the twisted-around back portion only reached to her knees. Heaven forfend anyone should discover her in such an unladylike state! She panicked momentarily, and had to remind herself grimly that it was all for Scotland, her Papa, and Little Willie Mayhew. Wriggling, she tugged and fought to straighten her gown. It was a heating and lengthy process, but at last she worked the pocket around to where she could reach the glass. She was panting when she extracted it and, balancing gingerly, devoted both hands to pulling out the three sections. She gripped the glass securely with her left hand and, again wrapping her right arm around the tree trunk, levelled the glass.
Voilà!
She could see right inside the Captain's windows, now open again. The room appeared to be empty, but she could see the foot of the bed, and he might now be having a nap, maintaining his pose of a weak invalid. Likely, he had not been wounded at all, and the entire tale concocted only so as to pull the wool over her trusting father's eyes!

She had no sooner arrived at this conclusion than she heard a man humming. Her heart gave a frightened leap. He was very close by. But it was likely the gardener, who would soon pass and go on to the house, or the outdoor servants' quarters. She waited, scarcely daring to breathe, for a glimpse of the musically inclined gardener. What a long time it was taking him to come into sight. Fretting, her heart gave another bounce as the hum became a song, sung in a deep, cultured, and melodious voice:

“Man may escape from rope and gun;

Nay, some have outlived the doctor's pill:

Who takes a woman must be undone,

That basilisk is sure to kill!

Sure to kill! Sure to kill!

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets,

So he that tastes woman … woman … woman,

He that tastes woman—ruin meets!”

Prudence gritted her teeth. It was
him,
of course! And how like Fate to bring him to this very spot, at this of all moments, to warble his revolting little song!

Lockerbie's voice, chuckling. “That's a right good song, sir. Faith, but I've not heard ye sing in a muckle long time.”

“Not had the breath for't, alas. In fact, I'm … not at all sure but what I've … used more than I had.”

“Are ye all right, sir? Will I be running for your medicine?”

“Thank you. But do not bring it for a little while, please. It's grand to be away from beds and stuffy rooms for a bit.”

Prudence groaned inwardly and prayed the wretch would go away.

“I dinna like leaving ye oot here, sir,” said the faithful Lockerbie.

“Why, you can come and collect me in half an hour, Kerbie. Toddle off, now, there's a good fellow.”

Lockerbie grumbled to himself, but (to Prudence's stark horror) trudged off towards the west wing, probably to cadge a tankard of ale from the kitchen maids.

The humming started again. That same odious song, with a word sung softly here and there, indicating the spy had regained his wind a trifle. ‘Thirty minutes!' she thought, anguished. ‘I canna bear thirty minutes o' this noise!'

One single moment later, she would have gladly settled for thirty minutes of the Captain's singing, for, craning her neck to see him, she came eye to eye with a bee.

The widespread belief that if one remained still a bee would lose interest was, she soon perceived, another old wives' tale. She scarcely breathed, but the bee, fascinated, hovered before her eyes. Desperate, she hissed, “Go away! Shoo!”

The bee buzzed a little louder and showed a marked inclination to sit on the end of her nose. She jerked her head back in alarm, grasped the end of Hortense's scarf, and flapped it. This was an error. The buzz became aggressively loud, and the bee began to whip about, apparently calling in comrades, because two more wearing the same uniform swelled the ranks. With a squeal of fright, Prudence came down the tree much faster than she had gone up. She clung to her branch as she lowered herself, giving a louder squeal as a sharp pang above her elbow warned that she had been stung.

“Good gracious me!” The Captain had manoeuvred himself within the screen of the branches and was standing, clinging to his chair, an astounded expression on his face as he gazed up at her. “Whatever,” he gasped, “are you doing?”

“Exercising my fingernails!” she snapped, groping vainly with her right foot for the cleft branch, and hideously aware she must look a perfect fright. “Will you please to move? I am being stung to death, and you stand like a lump, staring!”

“Poor girl!” He clambered gingerly onto the bench and reached upwards. “Only let go, and I will try to catch you.”

“For heaven's sake! If—if you could just put my foot in the cleft branch, I can manage by myself.”

There was a short pause during which she heard muffled sounds indicative of effort—or mirth—or both. Her arms were aching fiercely when he said sadly, “Alas … I cannot seem to reach it, ma'am. Do trust yourself to me. I will … do my poor best. I promise you.”

She hesitated. If he really had been badly hurt at Prestonpans, she might cause him to suffer another setback, though why that should matter was beyond her ken. And he was probably perfectly well. Certainly well enough to have managed that spirited mare on Wednesday morning. A bee made a practice zoom at her. With a yelp, she let go.

Strong arms received and held her. Dusky eyes scanned her with a mixture of concern and amusement. The amusement eased into admiration, and his grip tightened. Prudence felt half crushed, a condition that for a moment of insanity she was willing to endure indefinitely. But then Delacourt lowered her to the ground, stepped down himself, and groped his way to his chair.

“What very odd habits … you Scots have,” he said breathlessly.

Ignoring him, Prudence attempted to inspect her arm. The attack had been from the rear and she could not discern the site.

“Dear me,” sighed the rescuer. “You have been stung, haven't you? You are very brave, ma'am, but that must come out at once.”

It hurt quite nastily, but she said an austere, “It can wait until I get back to the house, thank you.”

“Oh, no. Every second counts if you are not to develop
apiology acutus.
” Prudence stared at him suspiciously, and he went on with bland assurance, “I am very adept in such matters, for my sister made a habit of getting herself stung. I had to suck out the stingers very promptly for her or she became quite ill. I remember she was once stung on the—” He checked. “Well, never mind. Come now, I shan't hurt you.”

His countenance was grave, but his eyes and the twitch of his lips made Prudence decide to leave him at once. She was deterred when she noticed that he was quite pale. She moved closer saying uncertainly, “Are you all right? It must have been most taxing for you to catch me. I mean—I know I'm not a wispy lass.”

“No,” he agreed absently, inspecting the back of her arm.

“What?” she demanded, stiffening.

“Oh—I mean, it was no bother. Besides”—he touched her arm gently—“I admire fine healthy young women.”

Affronted, Prudence snorted, “Well!” and strove to pull away.

“No, no. You must not move, for I've a good grip on it. Bend down, if you please.”

She thought, ‘A good
grip
on it'? But for some reason that she would have been quite unable to explain, she obeyed him.

“Put back your arm a little. Ah—that's better.”

She felt his lips on her skin, and a devastating shiver went through her.

After a moment he said, “Perhaps you should kneel. I can't quite get it and your arm is becoming very inflamed.”

Prudence's knees were so weak that it was no handicap to sink onto them.

Delacourt bent forward. His arm slipped about her waist, and she felt the velvet touch of his mouth again. Presently, he said, “There—it's all done now.” She turned to him. “If you … will…” he mumbled, and sagged weakly.

With a startled cry, she reached up to support him, but he came from the chair in a limp tumble and she clung to him, his head pillowed against her bosom.

“Oh, my heavens! Captain! Are you all right?”

His eyes still closed, he murmured dazedly, “Quite all right, dearest Mama…” and kissed his soft pillow lingeringly.

“Oo-oh!” cried Prudence, sputtering with indignation. “Wake up!” She tried to push his head away, but it was heavily resistant.

He sighed and blinked up at her. “What's … to do?”

“Aye! What indeed?” she said, her face flaming. “You kissed me—” And she broke off, her hand moving to the afflicted area.

“I would not dream of doing so improper a thing,” he declared primly. “Why am I sitting under this tree? Did I go off in one of my swoons?”

She fixed him with a hard look. “You fell out of your chair. You were helping with my stinger.”

“With your what?”

“I was stung,” she said haughtily. “By a bee. As you very well know.”

He put one hand to his brow. His hand shook. Indeed, all of him seemed to shake. “The last thing I recollect,” he said, his voice muffled, “is catching you when you jumped down from your exercises. What with—er, one thing and another, I am quite overcome. Would you be so kind as to help me—back into my chair?”

Warily, she helped him. “I'll hae ye tae know ye dinna fool me, Captain Delacourt,” she told him.

“Fool you? Dear ma'am, I confess I find you inexplicable. I did but offer you a helping hand, whereby I am now exhausted.”

She stepped back while he gazed up at her soulfully. “I think you are very sly,” she announced.

He sighed. “I trust you will not hesitate to call upon me the next time you require first aid. You see, I do not hold a grudge.”

Her determination not to laugh at such schoolboy innocence was almost overborne. The Captain lowered his eyes meekly, then seemed struck to stone. Following his gaze, Prudence gave a gasp. Her gown had suffered several small tears during her adventure, and her pocket had evidently become caught on a branch, considerably to its detriment. The object she had carried there had fallen forward. Robbie's spy-glass was quite visible. Trying to think of something sensible to say, she was speechless. Delacourt looked up, his face frighteningly bleak for an instant. Then he smiled. “I am sincerely flattered, ma'am,” he murmured.

She could have sunk. “Dinna be flattering ye'sel', sir! I carried yon glass purely tae—tae watch the birds.”

“You are sure it was not—the bees? Or perhaps both?”

She gave an outraged gasp, but before she could retaliate, a quiver beside his mouth caught her attention and then his eyes were sparkling at her and so undermining her common sense that when he enquired if he might borrow the offending spyglass, she thrust it at him resistlessly. At once irked by such silly weakness, she began to push the chair from beneath the tree.

The Captain trained the glass on the drivepath, and Prudence saw that a coach was bowling along towards the house.

“My cousin is arrived,” he said, closing the glass and returning it to her by holding it over his shoulder. “How very fatiguing. I really do not know if I have sufficient strength to receive visitors. Not after all this excitement.”

Prudence glared at the back of his head. It would be interesting, she thought, to see by what name this newcomer addressed the rascally Captain.

By the time she had wheeled the chair back to the house, Captain Delacourt's cousin had been welcomed and was ensconced with Hortense. The invalid, having apparently revived to an extent, professed a weary resignation to “doing the pretty” and entreated Prudence to take him to the drawing room.

The cousin was not at all what Prudence had expected, being a petite girl of about her own age, with unpowdered ringlets the colour of ripe corn, big brown eyes, and a buoyant, happy manner. She uttered a shriek when she saw Delacourt, and flew up to embrace him while inundating him with questions as to his welfare. The Captain appeared singularly unreluctant after all, coming to his feet in quite a sprightly way, and returning his cousin's embraces with gusto. He lost no time in making the two girls known to one another, and Prudence begrudgingly admitted to herself that Miss Elizabeth Clandon was a very pretty girl, with a way of spreading her hands to emphasize her remarks which was charming. She spoke with a Scots accent—an odd fact, if she was related to the Captain. She was also, Prudence became aware, staring, with a twinkle in her eyes that was indeed reminiscent of her kinsman.

“My wee pet,” cried Hortense, who had been eyeing her niece in horror. “Have you suffered an accident?”

Prudence had been so upset by the Captain's disgraceful behaviour and then the arrival of his relative that she had quite forgotten her own appearance. She became the focus of all eyes and wished the floor might open and swallow her. Putting up a hand to her tumbled curls, she stammered, “I—er, fell.”

“From a tree,” explained the Captain, with helpful and revolting honesty.

Hortense gave a little squawk.

“But I caught her,” he added, sinking down into his chair again.

“You never did!” His cousin gave him a shocked look. “For goodness' sake, Geoffrey! One might think you'd learn—”

“She was not very high up,” he said hurriedly. “Exercising, y'know.”

“Ex … er-cising…?” breathed Hortense, her eyes goggling. “In a tree? In
public?
”

Very red in the face, Prudence said, “I had not thought it to be public, Aunty Mac.”

“That is perfectly true,” Delacourt said supportively. “She was hiding there, ma'am.”