Journey to Enchantment (6 page)

“He lost three, ma'am. And gained three hundred.”

She gave a gasp, one hand flying to her throat. “Oh—no! I never meant— That is, he was crude and vulgar, but— Oh! My heavens!”

The Colonel laughed in a thin bray that added to her distress. “Give it not another thought, dear lady. He's survived worse, I do assure you. We know how to punish, even as we know how to reward, and I'll not have our friends abused. Don't you agree, my lord?”

Feeling a veritable murderess, Prudence's distressed eyes turned to the side. Briley bowed with easy grace and responded suitably, but it was not upon his elegance that her gaze held. Geoffrey Delacourt was clad in formal evening dress. His thick hair was powdered and tied back with a dull red riband. A half-moon patch adorned his right cheekbone, snowy Mechlin lace was at throat and wrists, and the dark red velvet coat, richly embroidered with silver, accentuated his pale, delicately molded features. All this she noted absently, for it was the expression in his eyes that was of prime importance. A look of sympathetic understanding so heartfelt that it was as though he had put a comforting arm about her. He bowed slightly in his invalid chair, and smiled at her. She thought with a shock, ‘Heavens, but he's a fine handsome creature!' and had to drag her scattered wits back together so as to respond to something Briley had said, whatever it might be. His lordship was watching her curiously. She curtseyed and said quickly, “I shall never forget what you did for me today, my lord.”

Her remark must not have been too out of place because he merely looked embarrassed and said, colouring up, that he was glad to have come along at a useful moment.

Prudence went with her father to occupy the white brocade sofa.

“Dare we hope that your aunt means to join us?” asked the Colonel.

“I rather doubt it, sir. She was very frightened this afternoon.”

“Disgraceful business,” he said, drawing a chair closer to her. “With your permission, MacTavish, I shall call again, so as to make my apologies to the lady.”

As it chanced, this was not necessary. Hortense soon drifted into the room with a swish of lavender taffeta and a trail of scarves. She quailed at the sight of the scarlet uniform, and her response to the Colonel's gallantries was a faint and disjointed jumble that brought a quirk to the side of Delacourt's mouth and a twinkle to his lordship's tawny eyes.

At dinner Prudence sat opposite her father at one end of the table, with Lord Briley to her right hand and the Colonel on her left. She was thus able to chat with those gentlemen and keep an eye on the rest of the occupants of the charming old wainscoted room. Hortense appeared to have recovered her nerves and was conversing politely with her brother and the Colonel, who was obviously exerting every effort to be pleasant. Despite herself, Prudence's eyes strayed often to the quiet elegance of the young man at her father's left hand. Delacourt spoke seldom, and his voice was becoming noticeably less audible. He picked at his food, and Prudence was relieved when her father leaned to speak to him with low-voiced solicitude, then beckoned to the waiting Lockerbie.

Delacourt seemed to be painfully embarrassed and apologized for “spoiling this delightful meal in so foolish a way.” His smile quivered; he looked drawn and tired as Lockerbie backed the chair away from the table, and his small farewell wave ended with a droop of his hand in a gesture so pathetic that Prudence's momentary sympathy evaporated into contempt.

Hortense looked distressed, however, and the Colonel said that the invalid did not appear to be much improved. “Nine months since he was hit,” he observed. “One would think he'd either have recovered by this time, or—” He checked abruptly.

MacTavish shook his head. “It was most unfortunate the Clandons were unable to get him to the Border, but at that time the clans were up, and English officers were hunted—quite the reverse of our present—er—”

“Tragedy?” The Colonel accepted a cheese tart and said breezily, “In view of that tragedy, I must say I think it exceeding kind of you and your ladies to have taken one of our fellows into your home. I' faith, 'tis little short of extraordinary.”

His smile was bland, but Prudence felt a pang of fear. This beastly Sassenach suspected that they had ulterior motives, that was very plain. She said, “My father repays a debt, sir. Captain Delacourt chances to be a very good friend of my brother, you see.” Far from appearing pleased by this timely explanation, MacTavish frowned, and her heart sank.

“Is that so?” said the Colonel. “Is your brother about, ma'am? I'd very much like to meet him.”

Her blood seemed to congeal. She sought frantically for something convincing to say and was immeasurably relieved when MacTavish said that his heir was in Devon, visiting his great-aunt.

“Very fond of Devon,” imparted his lordship, adding inconsequently, “Know it well.”

The Colonel touched his napkin to his lips. “One gathers you are also familiar with this part of the country, my lord. Do you spend a deal of time up here?”

“No, thir. I am here only to ethcort a lady to her grand-mama.”

“Oh, of course. Lady Ericson's granddaughter, I think. The, er, same girl whose family shielded Delacourt after Prestonpans, no?”

“Yeth, matter of fact. I'd gone there to look for the grave of a friend who fell in the battle. Mithter Clandon wath pointed out ath a man who'd helped theveral of our wounded. We became acquainted and he mentioned that hith daughter wath to have come up here to her grandmama, but that he could not undertake the journey. After all he'd done for our people”—he gave a deprecatory shrug,—“it theemed only a—er, fair.”

“Quite so,” said Cunningham approvingly. “Jolly good of you, just the same. Came up by ship, I understand. Only safe way, with the country in its present state, but must have been beastly tiresome.”

“I think it wouldn't be quite the thing for me to admit that, Colonel,” said Briley with a twinkle. “I'll own to not caring for water travel, though. Much prefer to ride. Which remindth me, you drive a fine team, thir. Very like to a pair Jack Longley tooled around Hyde Park a year or tho back.”

“They are the very same,” exclaimed Cunningham, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Bought 'em off him when he lost everything on 'Change. By Gad, but you've an eye, my lord! That mare you ride is no breakdown, either!”

Briley laughed and launched proudly into the bloodlines of his mare.

Prudence could breathe again, for horse talk was a sure way to please the gentlemen. The rest of the meal passed off without incident, but when her aunt stood to withdraw, Prudence asked to be excused, admitting that she was rather tired this evening.

The gentlemen were all on their feet, of course, and were unanimous in urging her to rest.

She caught her father's eye and said, “I am not too tired for you to come in and say good night as you always do, dear sir.”

The Colonel and Lord Briley smiled at this evidence of family affection, but James MacTavish was surprised by it. He was devoted to his children, but not so devoted as to make a nightly pilgrimage along two long halls and up two flights of stairs so as to say his good nights. He gave no sign of anything untoward, however, and assured Prudence that he would be up within thirty minutes.

He was as good as his word. Prudence had just settled into her bed when he scratched on the door. She dismissed the nervous Kitty, then stretched out a hand to her father as he sat on the side of the bed. Clasping it, he asked, “What is all this about, miss? You know I should not leave my guests.”

“I know, I know. But, Papa, I
had
to speak to you. For Kitty's sake.”

He frowned. “Kitty? Oh, your abigail. Surely it can wait for—”

“No, sir, for she is in a dreadful state. Her beau was out with Prince Charles and now they're hunting him to his death. You'll recall Bill, Papa? They called him Little Willie.”

“Hmmnn, yes. Mayhew. They're hard after the boy, and he's wounded, though ye'd best not tell your woman that unhappy fact.”

“She already knows, sir. And she says—Papa, is it truth that Ligun Doone helped our Rob to escape?”

MacTavish started. “Now where did she hear that?”

“I don't know. But
is
it truth?”

He hesitated, looking dismayed. “I cannot answer, Prue.”

“So you gave your word. I understand, and I'll not ask you to tell me aught of it, for I'd sooner die than endanger such a gallant gentleman.”

“Easily said, my dear.”

Anxious, she searched his face. “Do you mean because of my wretched temper?”

“We'll be charitable and call it spirit, rather, but 'tis a dangerous trait when one plays a game of life and death.”

She admitted sadly, “It is my besetting sin. I said something foolish at dinner, did I not? I saw that I'd vexed you when we were speaking of Robbie, but that beastly Cunningham looked so sly, as if we'd a secret reason for allowing Captain Delacourt to stay here. I thought if he knew that Rob had cried friends with the Captain—” Her father still looked stern, and she said, “And I really dinna ken what's sae bad aboot having said it, Papa.”

He hesitated, then answered slowly, “I'd not mentioned Rob for fear Cunningham would at once begin to be curious as to his whereabouts.”

Remorseful, Prudence gripped her hands together. “And I had to do exactly as you feared and set the Colonel's brainbox to working! Oh, Papa!”

He patted her dainty lace-trimmed cap. “Never mind. What's done is done, lass, and I believe we shall survive your unruly tongue. Thanks to Lord Briley. How fortunate was his horse blathering.”

“Yes, but”—she clutched his cravat—“Papa, you should have
seen
him this afternoon. He was not at all the dandy. In fact, sir, he frightens me! I think he is here to watch us.”

MacTavish looked at her frowningly. “Why?”

“Because the Ensign called him Major Lord Briley!
Major,
Papa! And he pretends to be such a milksop.”

“For goodness' sake, Prudence! He'd not be the first dandy ever to don a uniform, or to revert to type when his fighting days were done. Only look at Delacourt. He's scarcely a military type, either.”

“No, but he's so ill one cannot imagine how he might have been in his prime, and there are inconsistencies about the Captain also, sir, that—”

“Child,” he said impatiently, “I vow you're beside yourself! I wonder you don't suspect the butler. After all, Sidley is English. You must not allow yourself to jump at every shadow.”

He tried to get up, but his daughter tightened her grip determinedly and he sat down again, perforce.

“Papa,
please
listen to me! For a moment this afternoon, Lord Thaddeus looked every inch a Major. I could see the Ensign was terrified, and spoke to him with such respect! Now, why would he primp and posture and act the fool as he does, unless it is to deceive us?” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Papa, I am sure it is a plot to entrap us! Perhaps they are after Robbie. Does he mean to come home?”

“Heavens above!” MacTavish disentangled her grip from his laces. “D'ye take your brother for a caper-wit?”

“No, sir. But, well, now there's this business with Little Willie. Papa, can you get word to Ligun Doone?”

“Even could I, he cannot help every hunted rebel. Oh, never look so glum. If Doone comes nigh to Mayhew and learns of his plight I fancy he'll render whatever aid he may. Perchance he already has done so.” He stood, wondering in an irked way whether he'd ever have time to get to the notes for his lecture. “You've had a wearying day, Prue. Go to sleep. And you might try remembering Mr. Doone in your prayers.”

“I do, Papa. They say he is one of the bravest gentlemen in all Scotland, but I fancy he walks on thin ice every day of his life and can use all the prayers sent up for him.”

“I'm very sure of it. Now get to sleep, and do not be lying there worrying about nonsense.”

Prudence sighed, blew out her candle, and lay down. At once her thoughts turned to Delacourt. She closed her eyes and concentrated on sleep. He had looked very pale and tired this evening, but she did not believe for a moment that he was expiring. He enjoyed the part of the long-suffering invalid, was all. And could there be anything more reprehensible? Oh, pox on the man! She tossed onto her right side. What a widgeon, to be fretting about the Southron when she'd forgotten to have a word with God in behalf of an heroic Scot. Her feet were cold. Perhaps the Lord would forgive if she spoke to Him from the warmth of her bed, instead of upon her knees, as she should. “Dear Lord, will Ye no accept my apologies for addressing Ye in this lazy way? 'Tis in the matter of Mr. Ligun Doone…”

*   *   *

Prudence awoke with the dawn. She lay in her warm cocoon for a few minutes. Worrying. And it would only get worse if she stayed there. She got out of bed and went to the window. The sky was a blushing soft coral wherein floated a few fluffy clouds. Perfect weather for a ride—if she dared.

Half an hour later, having washed in the frigid water of her pitcher and dressed herself, she crept along the hall. The house was hushed, but in the stables the grooms were busily at work, and in no time her favourite dapple grey was saddled and ready. She guided the big horse across the park, skirting the woods and taking the path that led eventually to General Wade's Road. She had told the anxious grooms that she would not leave the estate, but there was a mystery about this early morning that lured her on, and after all, the redcoats would not dare harm her again after what had befallen their coarse Sergeant. She rode on. The birds were twittering now, but no other sound disturbed the still air. The waters of the great loch were smooth as glass, the roseate heavens reflecting in that mirror. A gull came cawing in from the east to swoop low over the water and settle down, leaving a long wake behind him. Prudence kicked her heels home, and the grey leapt eagerly into a gallop. She followed the shore for a while, then turned southwards, climbing into the hills until the wild beauty of the Highlands was all about her: lonely vales, tree-clad slopes, rushing, clear burns, rugged crags, and the air so pure that far to the north she could glimpse Ben Wyvis lifting mighty shoulders against the opalescent skies.