Dedicated Villain (40 page)

He pulled his boots on, noted absently that his ankle was much less painful, and, having wrapped his cloak about him, clambered through the narrow door and sat beside Heywood. The single caravan in front of them was the largest of their train, the property waggon in which four of the set pieces were
stored. If he knew MacTavish, the Scot would have insisted on driving.

The sky was grey, the great dark clouds which skulked below the overcast warning of rain to come, and a chill wind sent occasional gusts to agitate the treetops.

“Lovely morning,” he said ironically, peering about at the dark loom of hills, broad meadows, and endless meres and streams that reflected the dull skies.

“Charming,” responded Heywood.

There were few signs of human habitation and none of other vehicles. They thundered over a long bridge. The water below was rapid and full of whitecaps. If it was the Severn, they had turned east. He asked, “Where are we? This doesn't look like Chester.”

“Avoided it.”

Avoided it … Mathieson frowned. “Good God! Was that the Dee? Are we in Wales, then?”

Heywood pointed the whip ahead, and again to the left, and, dimly, Mathieson glimpsed the proud loom of mountains.

“Stop,” he demanded. “I must go and see about Rump.”

“Can't, dear boy.” Heywood pulled back his shoulders in an involuntary gesture of weariness. “But never fear, Japhet will take care of him, and we'll have to pull up again thoon at all eventh, to retht the cattle.”

“You look properly out of curl. How long have you been driving?”

Heywood turned to reveal a drawn face but a bright grin. “Half the night. We left just before one o'clock, which you'd know had you not been ath one dead.”

“Then why did you not waken me, you clod? Here—let me take the ribbons for a while.”

“Never be tho eager! You'll have your turn. Ah! Rob ith pulling off. Alleluia!”

The caravans slowed and turned aside into a meadow that sloped gradually downward from the lane. A line of elms
loomed up and they drove along behind the trees until there was small chance of being seen by any passing travellers.

Mathieson clambered down at once and limped back along the line. The caravan directly behind them was Bradford's. By some illusion of the half-light, it appeared to have grown taller. Torrey, stretching wearily in the driver's seat, gave him a cold stare and sneered, “Have a good sleep, did you?”

“Yes, I'm ashamed to admit. You did not, I take it.”

“No. Nor did I snore while the women did the work.”

“You are of the true nobility,” smiled Mathieson, and walked on, wondering what that gibe had meant.

The next caravan was the one now occupied by Fiona, Elizabeth, and Moira, my lady having moved in with Mrs. Dunnigan. Dismayed to see his love on the driver's seat, Mathieson hastened to lift her down and only in the nick of time avoided the teeth that the near horse snapped at his shoulder. “Hey!” he cried, bringing his hand down smartly on the black's nose. He had never been attacked by any of the animals in the past, and he'd thought Rump the tallest, if not the largest of their horses, but this big brute was as tall, certainly. He dismissed a momentary confusion as Fiona reached out to him, and he caught her in his arms.

He was a man of fastidious habits, and knowing his beard grew rapidly, was not surprised when she giggled and told him he looked like a hedgehog. “Never mind about that,” he said, setting her down and pressing a quick kiss on her brow. “How
dared
they make my Tiny Mite drive whilst I snored?”

“Sssh!” she said, smiling up at him, one hand still on his chest. “You had earned your sleep. And we took it in turns, Beth and I. Besides, I think your bristles are very—”

“Very what, you wretch?”

“Masculine,” she said with a yearning look.

He took up her hand and kissed it. How intrepid was this slip of a girl. Cold and wet and her fingers red and pinched by the reins, but not a murmur of complaint, her dauntless chin held high and proud, her eyes full of love for him. He was so damnably
unworthy … With an effort he overcame the need to hug her closer. “Never say my lady drove also?”

“No, for she could not quite manage the reins. But she sat beside Beth, and then stayed with me for a little while. Oh, Roly. Is it not exciting? Do you think we shall manage to—” She checked as MacTavish walked up, leaning on Bradford's arm.

Both men looked weary and owly eyed, but MacTavish seemed to have recovered from his ordeal of the previous evening. He smiled at Mathieson and asked in his quiet fashion that Fiona waken Miss Torrey and her cousin and come to the last caravan. “We're to have a council of war, ma'am, but there's no need to disturb Lady Clorinda.”

Mathieson handed Fiona up the back steps, and waited for her. In a moment, Japhet and Gregor hurried past carrying buckets of water for the horses. The boy grinned at Mathieson and told him that Rumpelstiltskin had already been watered down and was “full of frisk.” Fiona came out again, and they walked on together, contriving to touch hands, and to exchange glances when they fancied themselves unobserved, these silent communications saying as much as any spoken words, so that Mathieson was sorry when they came to the end caravan. This was the second largest of their vehicles and it seemed to him that it had been thoroughly scrubbed, for the red roses painted on the sides no longer carried the dust and mud splashes accumulated during their long journey, and were marred only by the evidences of yesterday's rain.

Despite MacTavish's consideration of her, the absence of motion had awoken my lady, and she joined them and took her place at the top of the rear steps of the caravan when they all were gathered there. MacTavish sat one rung below her. Four chairs were set out for the ladies, who managed to appear only slightly rumpled, and the men stood around looking tired, unkempt, and unshaven. Mathieson drifted to the rear, consumed with curiosity, but convinced they would talk more readily if the outsider among them was not too visible.

Mrs. Dunnigan and Moira began to hand out mugs of cider and ale, and plates of sliced pork pie, cheeses, and pickles were passed around.

“My dear friends,” my lady began. “Thanks to your hard work, courage, and endurance, we have reached the last stage of this journey. Rob MacTavish will tell you where we go from here, but before he has his say, I want to explain something to those of you who, having no very clear idea of what has been planned, played your parts—” she paused, smiling through the laughter “—with unquestioning loyalty.”

Mathieson threw a narrowed glance at MacTavish, wondering if he was to be permitted to hear this, but the Scot did not look his way, and mildly astonished, he returned his attention to my lady.

“You all know” she went on, “about the Committee, and why we are here. What you may not know is that, because of the ever-present danger of arrest and because few men or women can endure unbroken against torture, no one member of the Committee knew every detail of our plans. Rather, we each knew a part only. My part was to devise the coded messages which told the final location to which the treasure was to be delivered. But I did not—still do not—know the temporary locations where the treasure was deposited, and—”

MacTavish said firmly, “Your pardon, ma'am. But I'll finish, if you please.”

He glanced around the intent faces and explained, “I interrupt because Lady Ericson would doubtless make nothing of her own part in all this, and that I'll not stand for.”

Applause rang out; my lady made an impatient gesture of dismissal, but she blushed and a faint pleased smile hovered.

MacTavish continued. “You all know how bravely this little lady has striven for our Cause and our people. I would be dead long since had it not been for her and Ligun Doone, who risked their lives to smuggle me oot o' Bonnie Scotland after Culloden. Lord knows how many other fugitives have survived thanks to her unselfish and unceasing heroism. But—not content
with all she has done, she insisted upon volunteering to become a member of our troupe.” He took up Lady Clorinda's hand and touched it to his lips. “Ma'am, I think you cannot know how deeply we all love and honour you.”

There was an emotional chorus of “Aye's” and expressions of affection and gratitude. Poor Lady Ericson was overwhelmed, and, having commandeered her son's handkerchief, in a muffled voice from the depths of it, told MacTavish that he was a wretch and to stop making her into a watering pot and “get on with it!”

“Aye,” said Gregor. “Tell us the noo what happens next, Robbie.”

MacTavish nodded. “As my lady said, we've reached the final step. Last night when the dragoons came, I was awaiting the arrival of the men who have helped me in my own assigned task—the gathering of the treasure.”

“That must have been a prodigious chancy business,” put in Bradford. “You've told us very little, Rob, but we all know it was no easy task for you to accomplish so much so soon.”

“You were working fairly under the noses of the dragoons,” said Cuthbert. “How did you manage to escape capture?”

“Largely because I'd ten of the most gallant fellows alive, to help me. We had to retrieve the treasure from areas that were thickly patrolled. To do it, we were variously coal heavers, shepherds, rag-and-bone men, pedlars, and bakers. I cannot speak highly enough of my men. They were superb throughout. They used disguises, worked day and night, knew little of sleep and much of peril. The toll was high. Of the ten who were so brave as to work with me, only six were able to finish.”

“Not killed, I pray God,” interjected my lady anxiously.

“I hope not, ma'am. One was shot and had to run for his life when a dragoon challenged him. Two were hurt when we were hauling a load on a stormy night, and a waggon overturned. Another was injured by a footpad who guessed rightly that the articles in his rag-and-bone cart were worth stealing. The survivors
are all exhausted and at the very limit of their endurance.”

“Let's gie a wee yell fer our Robbie and his lads,” cried Pauley.

A soft but enthused cheer went up.

Torrey asked, “When do we help your poor fellas by taking the treasure off their hands, Rob?”

MacTavish rested a measuring glance on Mathieson. “We already have done so.”

They all stared at him, baffled.

“I ken we've fine fresh horses,” said Gregor, slowly.

‘And bigger brutes, at that,' thought Mathieson.

“Oho!” exclaimed Heywood, the first to comprehend. “Jolly clever! I
thought
my caravan had a different air about it!”

The missing nail on the bunk support flashed into Mathieson's mind.

“Do I hear ye say ye
changed caravans
?” asked Pauley in patent amazement. “And we all sae daft as not tae notice? When?”

MacTavish grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “Last evening. My fellows came in just after you left, Roly. All the time those dragoons were having such a jolly time wrecking our camp and knocking me about, the treasure they sought was less than a quarter mile away! My lads transferred all our goods to the new caravans and drove off the old ones. Mrs. Dunnigan and Japhet knew, of course, but I thought some of you would notice the difference when you loaded the set pieces and properties after the performance. I'm sure you would have done so, had you not all been so weary.”

“I'd my suspicions,” said Bradford grandly.

“I feel a proper cawker,” Heywood admitted more honestly. “How could I have been tho blind?”

Confused, Moira Torrey said, “But—there's no treasure in our caravan. Where is it?”

“I think I can guess,” said her brother. “These caravans are taller, now that I come to notice 'em. Likely a lot heavier, too. False bottoms, eh Rob?”

“And a few other tricks I'll … er, not go into.”

‘The treasure chest holds no imitations now,' thought Mathieson. ‘And I'll wager the spaces in our set pieces are well filled!'

“So this part of our task is done,” said Bradford, redundantly. “But our fine new horses mean we've still far to drive, eh Rob?”

“Not so very far, sir. From here, our cargo will travel by boat.”

“Back up tae Bonnie Scotland?” asked Pauley, his face aglow with excitement.

MacTavish shook his head. “To the south of England.” He held up one hand to quiet the flurry of dismay. “Is an isolated spot where we believe the military will never think to seek, and the treasure can lie in complete safety until we dare begin to distribute it.”

“Are you quite sure of the captain of this boat?” asked Torrey.

“Quite sure. Unhappily, he believes he has fallen under suspicion and a frigate of the Royal Navy hovers about. Within the past week he has twice been boarded and searched. Our plan was to rendezvous with him in two days, if he could slip away, but last night he sent word that the frigate is off to Belfast, and he must sail at once. I'll own I wasn't sure we could get to him in time. 'Twill be a scramble, but this is our best chance. Perhaps, our only chance.”

Lady Clorinda put in, “To lend wings to our efforts, we learned that dragoons are prowling the Mersey Estuary and that another troop is en route from Manchester.”

“Lord alive,” exclaimed Cuthbert. “Do they suspect our plans, then?”

Bradford boomed dramatically, “Heaven forfend we have been betrayed!”

“They suspect something, certainly,” admitted MacTavish. “The more reason for us to make our dash as soon as the horses are rested.”

“But—not to the Merthey, I think,” murmured Heywood.

They all looked at him, unease written large on several of the strong faces. MacTavish said coolly, “Exactly so, Thad. Our captain will come in on the falling tide and weigh anchor. The estuary is relatively shallow, and when the tide goes out, the boat will be in river water—a narrow channel only—so we'll be able to cross the sands of Dee, load her up, and—”