“My love,” she said in an almost audible voice, “how charmingly you look. Never say I did not warn you.”
Accustomed to both the whispering voice and trailing wisps, Prudence tripped to the bed and arranged herself on the end of it. “Warn me about what, Aunty Mac?”
With mild interest Hortense watched one of her shawls drift to the floor. “That a tall, dark, and handsome man would enter your life before the moon was at the full. You chose not to heed me. As everyone chooses not to heed me, alas. But it was written in the stars. All the signs were confirming. And you see, dearest Prue, that I was perfectly right.” She removed her attention from the now motionless defector, and rested a patient smile upon her amused niece. “Laugh, then. But”—she raised her white hand in a graceful gesture of emphasis—“one of these days you all will be obliged to cease your mockery.”
Prudence jumped up and ran to hug her. “Of course we do not mock you, dear one. We love you—you know that.” She kissed the cheek lifted to her and went back to her perch, remarking, “But I think you are not quite right this time, you know, for you said ‘tall and handsome’ and from what Cairn says, our horrid intruder—”
“Prue! Your papa’s guest!”
“—horrid Englishman is neither tall nor handsome.”
“Cairn!” sniffed Hortense, forgetting, as she occasionally did, to be ethereal. “Much she knows of it! She is so biased she’d likely think an Englishman a goblin were he a veritable Adonis. You may believe me, Prudence. The laddie is both tall and handsome, and has the prettiest dark curls, for all they were tangled on his pillows when I saw him.” She hove a tragic sigh. “So young to die, poor boy.”
Curiosity getting the best of her, Prudence restrained an indignant comment. “So you’ve seen him. Is he going to die, do you think? I hope not. It would be purely wretched to have a funeral from Lakepoint.”
Shocked, Hortense mourned the fact that her niece had been sweetly gentle as a bairn. “When did you become so heartless? If you could but have seen him lying there, his fine face all white and wasted and lined with suffering, yet”—she clapped a handkerchief to her lips and went on, fainter than ever—“yet smiled at me … so bravely.”
Prudence was finding it difficult to maintain her callous air, for there could be little doubt but that her aunt was genuinely affected. She said uneasily, “Never cry, Aunty Mac. We’ll contrive to coddle the creature, I’ve no doot, though I’ll have none of him! Oh, all right! Never go into the boughs! I’ll speak politely tae him—no matter how many he may hae foully murdered wi’ his bluidy sabre!”
Hortense shuddered and said wiltingly, “How like you are to your sire, poor child. The angrier you become, the more broad is your speech.”
Bristling, Prudence decided not to wait for her aunt and departed in search of her father.
She found him in the book room, as usual, dressed for dinner but poring over a tattered, leather-bound volume. He looked at her vaguely, then his eyes lit up when he saw her demurely clad in her great-skirted gown, her pearls, and her powder. Prudence cast down her eyes and, with her hands loosely clasped before her, said meekly, “I have made you angry, Papa. Indeed, I did not mean to, and am very sorry.”
She expected him to put down his book and come and kiss her and say she was a naughty puss but that there was no prettier girl in all of Scotland and the Isles. Instead, there was a silence. Stealing a glance at him, she saw that he had set the book on the reference table and stood frowning down at his hand still resting on the closed volume. Dismay touched her. Was he really very angry? Over a miserable Sassenach? Astonished, she cried, “Papa? I dinna understand this business!”
He smiled suddenly and came over to her. “Of course you do not, child,” he said, dropping a kiss on her temple. “Wherefore, I must explain.” He led her to sit beside him on the brocaded cushions of the window seat. “We are,” he said slowly, “indebted to Captain Dela-court.”
Prudence watched him, her curiosity deepening by reason of the remark and his infinitesimal stumble over the name. “How?” she asked baldly.
“He was, ah, kind to your brother. Er, when they were at school.”
“I suppose that means Rob was under the hatches, as usual, and—”
“And I could wish he had not taught you that shocking cant! Further, Miss Sauce, your brother was not in just that—particular kind of embarrassment. The point is not what he suffered, but that our guest came to his rescue at a—a time he needed help.” Here, noting that his daughter’s gaze was lowered but that her chin was rebellious, MacTavish seized the latter article and tilted it up so that her stormy eyes met his. “We are indebted to the gentleman,” he reiterated firmly. “And he truly is a gentleman. I’d hoped you’d be away by now to your aunt in Edinburgh, but—” He broke off, then finished, “I must insist that you treat him with courtesy. And that you welcome his friends, should they come here.”
She took his hand and held it in both her own. “Such as that silly wee Sassenach who came tripping and lisping here today?”
MacTavish frowned and stood. He was not a large man, nor of intimidating aspect, but when angered he was impressive. He was angered now, and realizing for the first time how deep were his feelings in this matter, Prudence gazed up at him, her heart beginning to flutter with fright.
“Lord Thaddeus Briley,” said MacTavish in a voice of ice, “is, I grant you, an Englishman. He is also a very good man. That this recent folly occurred to bring down such bloodshed and grief upon our dear land is a tragedy beyond belief. I fear it is a tragedy with ramifications we Scots have yet to feel. For those of us who were not enamoured of your handsome Prince, it is a deeper tragedy. And I remind you, Prudence, that many English gentlemen fought for the Jacobite Cause and have given up their lives because of it.”
She had already come to her feet and, shaken but stubborn, she countered, “Aye, sir. But our guest did not! He was a Captain in the service of that German usurper! He is one of the very men our Robbie fought, and we—”
“That will do!” The voice was not loud, but Prudence shrank. “I have extended the hand of hospitality to Captain Delacourt. If you, by word or deed, offend him, you besmirch the honour of our house. And that, Prudence, I will not tolerate!”
Pale and trembling, her head bowed, she was silent.
“Do you understand me?” demanded the MacTavish.
“Aye, sir,” she whispered, fighting tears.
“Thank you. Tomorrow, is he well enough, I shall take you up and introduce you to our Captain. You will please to be available at two of the clock.”
Dinner was not a pleasant meal that evening. The servants were as quietly efficient as ever but by their tight lips and flashing eyes conveyed their resentment of the situation. Hortense was in a reminiscent mood, and her soft voice prosed on interminably about her late husband’s bosom bow, Major Flitton, who had fallen at Prestonpans. It was an unfortunate topic that did nothing to ease the tension. MacTavish maintained a politely attentive attitude and made an occasional attempt to change the subject. Not a sullen girl, Prudence was devastated by this first serious quarrel with her father and could scarcely touch her food, much less contribute her share of the conversation. She had seldom been more relieved than when the meal came to an end and her aunt led the way to the drawing room.
“Now, my love,” said Hortense, as soon as the butler had served them their coffee and departed, “what is it that has you so up in the boughs? Is it the Englishman?”
“Papa said … that I must be polite to the wretched creature. And him lying above stairs in comfort and luxury while fine gentlemen like my dear brother and—and Jamie MacDougall fly for their lives with those damned hounds behind them, fairly slathering to haul them to the nearest firing squad!”
“Prue!” squealed Hortense, so agitated that two of her scarves slithered to the floor. “If your papa did but hear you swear!”
Dashing away tears with an angry hand, Prudence said, “Och, awie
! He couldnae be more displeased wi’ me than he is the noo! We never quarrel, Aunty Mac. Never! And now, because of this—this Englishman! Oh! I hate Captain whatever his name is! I hate him!”
“I warned you, child. Remember?” The widow’s large hazel eyes took on the expression that Robert MacTavish had been wont irreverently to dub her ‘Ophelia look.’ “The stars told me,” she half whispered, “that with his coming this family would be rent asunder. That our lives would be changed forever and ever.…”
Her ready sense of humour reviving, Prudence resisted the impulse to add ‘Amen,’ and instead gave a snort. “Huh! Then they were right for once! Only look at us—poor Rob an outcast; the cursed redcoats spreading death and destruction through the Highlands; the castle at Achnacarry burned doon, and the old fortress blown up—”
“The Jacobites did that,” Hortense pointed out sighfully.
“Aye—and for good reason! The thing is, it’s him”—Prudence jerked her head towards the upper floors—“and his kind we’ve to blame. But I’m to curtsey and simper and wish him well, lest my dearest papa never speak tae me again. I’d as soon smile at a snake!” She snatched up her aunt’s fallen scarves and stretched them between her hands, scowling down at the taut fabric.
Hortense gasped, “Prue! You never would…!”
Her eyes dark with anger, Prudence said grittily, “Och, but ’twould do me hearrrt guid!”
Fanning herself and gazing at her niece with wide, awed eyes, Hortense murmured, “But whatever would we do wi’ the poor laddie’s corpse?”
The thought brought a glint of laughter into Prudence’s eyes. “Take it doon tae the loch and give it tae the Monster fer his supper!”
* * *
At precisely two o’clock on the following afternoon, Prudence presented herself at her father’s study door, and enquired innocently, “Will ye be wanting me to change my dress, sir?”
MacTavish ran a glance over her wind-blown, unpowdered hair, the glow the fresh air had brought to her cheeks, the dusty blue riding habit, and battled a smile. He realized that she thought she looked unattractive. “I doubt you can do better, my dear,” he said gravely, and had to turn away as he saw indignation come into her betrayingly expressive face.
It was a fine thing, Prudence thought, as she accompanied her sire up the stairs, that the father you had worshipped all your days could turn on you like a viper when you least expected it.
The door of the enemy’s room loomed ahead. She tightened her lips. She’d show this wretched little Sassenach how a proud Scotswoman could put him in his place. Unless, perhaps, he’d had the good manners to pass to his reward even as they came up the stairs.
Her morbid hopes were unwarranted. Lockerbie answered her father’s knock, assured Mr. MacTavish that the Captain was awake and waiting eagerly to meet Miss Prudence, and bowed them into the room.
Keeping her eyes downcast, Prudence curtseyed through the introduction and heard a weak but pleasant voice murmur, “How do you do, ma’am? My apologies for intruding on you. I fancy you do not like to have a Sassenach in your home.”
Her head jerked up. Her first reaction was shock. She thought, ‘Why, he’s only a boy!’ The white, long-sleeved nightshirt and the wan face against the pillows gave an impression of defenceless youth, and pain had left its mark on the Captain. Dark shadows ringed the dusky brown eyes, and deep lines were etched between his heavy brows. His hair, almost black, had been brushed back severely, but was already starting to curl about his face, further emphasizing his pallor. A tentative smile tugged at his wide mouth, and his initial rather wistful look was replaced, as she watched, by admiration.
Geoffrey Delacourt was as surprised as was Miss MacTavish. Robbie’s only comment about his sister had been that she was ‘a very good sort of girl.’ Now, Delacourt saw an exquisite little creature, all blue eyes, gleaming red-gold hair, and prideful arrogance. The little uptilted nose he thought charming, and the full lips very kissable. His gaze drifted lower. Gad, but she’d a shape to her, this Scots lass!
Prudence saw the gleam that came into the long, dark eyes, and pulled herself together. “I cannot but welcome whomever my father invites here, sir,” she said meekly.
She meant, of course, I have no choice.’ Amused, Delacourt murmured, “Thank you, ma’am. Have you been riding? You fairly radiate robust health! How I envy you!”
Prudence stiffened. ‘Robust…?’ Could she have caught it from Aunty Mac?
A faint tremor in his voice, MacTavish said, “Aye, Prue’s none of your dainty clinging-vine types.”
Reeling, his daughter riposted, “Speaking of which, Captain Delacourt, I met your friend Lord Briley yesterday. He spoke well of you.”
Shocked, MacTavish darted a quick look at her, noted her heightened colour, and intervened hurriedly, “We must not tire you, my dear fellow. How do you go on today?”
The long thin hand on the coverlet lifted feebly. “Tol-lol, sir,” sighed the invalid. “Not very much better than yesterday. But—I thank you.”
‘Tol-lol!’ thought Prudence, contemptuously. “We will hope your recovery is rapid, Captain,” she said with a bared-teeth smile.
‘I am sure you will, you little vixen,’ he thought. “Will you remember me in your prayers?” he begged, his voice noticeably weaker.
She answered truthfully, “You have been in them since I heard of your arrival here.”
He raised a hand to his lips and coughed. It was a thin, painful sound, and tore Prudence’s antagonism to shreds. She curtseyed again, murmured an appropriate farewell, and walked past Lockerbie as he swung the door open, quite forgetting to thank him.
II
Aside from the fact that he appeared to have a great number of friends who visited him at rather odd hours, one would hardly have known Captain Delacourt was in the house. And yet, in a subtle way, his influence was everywhere. The frigid demeanour of the servants began to melt on the second day of his occupation, and by the fourth was gone. The housemaids soon were competing for the privilege of waiting upon his rarely rung bell, and when it was believed he slept, a funereal silence descended upon the house. His man was a quiet type, not given to making friends easily, and the thaw did not appear to extend to him so that he became even more morose and silent. The housekeeper affected to be unaware of Lockerbie’s existence and, on the few occasions that it was necessary for her to address him, would either talk right through him or at the wall beside him, but never rest her eyes upon what she referred to as ‘his putrid visage.’ The military doctor, who came every few days to check on his patient, encountered Mrs. Cairn early one breezy afternoon and was subjected to the same treatment. Himself a Scot, the rotund physician reached across the stairs as the housekeeper made to sweep past him. “Ye’re a right bonnie lass,” he said gruffly, “and I’ll no hold it against ye that ye’ve no love for the English, but if your soul matches your face, ye’ll no vent y’r hatred on that boy above stairs. He’s got all he can manage tae survive, ma’am.”
“D’ye take me fer a heathen, Dr. Cauldside?” she replied, bristling as she lowered her eyes from the landing to glare at him. “Fer all we may need tae disinfect the premises when he’s gone at last, I’ll no add tae his misery.” And on she marched, pausing at the landing to peer about and call in her softest voice for Señorita.
Prudence had returned from a visit to the buttery in time to overhear this little exchange. She nodded coolly to the physician and came up with the housekeeper halfway along the east hall.
“Are Captain Delacourt’s friends becoming a nuisance, Carrie?” she asked, unfastening the silken scarf she had tied about her curls.
“Aye, they are that. Traipsin’ in and oot at all hours. One might think the guid doctor would be more concerned for his patient than tae allow it. And a more sullen, scrrruffy lot ye’d never wish tae meet. Not a worrud out of ’em. Slink past wi’ their heads doon and their tongues twixt their teeth, fer all the worruld as if they were ashamed—as well th
ey should be, consorting wi’ a redcoat! That lord chappie is one o’ the few as will gie me the time o’ day, and him lisping and fluttering like any dandified milksop! Señorita? Now where on airth has that wee besom taken hersel’ tae? Señorita…? Ye know ye’re not allowed above stairs!”
Señorita, a small grey kitten, had been presented to Hortense a year ago by a Spanish gentleman visiting the MacTavish. She had been received without much enthusiasm, but had soon become the pet of the household. She was now large and independent and regarded the occupants of Lakepoint as her pets, and quite sure the animal would not be far away, Prudence went on to her room.
She was to drive into Inverness with her aunt that afternoon, and Kitty already had the cream silk Watteau gown laid out on the bed, with the hoops hanging from the wardrobe door. The abigail was agog with excitement, for it seemed that the military hunters had been foiled once again and Jock Cameron had slipped from their net, leaving his pursuers baffled. Beaming, Kitty watched Prudence clap her hands and dance a small jig. “Aye, I knew that’d please ye, miss!”
Prudence was rather more than merely pleased. Jock Cameron had been one of her most persistent beaux and she had been not at all offended by his declarations of undying affection, for he was a fine-looking lad with a grand physique and an amiable disposition, to say nothing of a respectable inheritance. Jock had been wounded at the Battle of Culloden and, despite a bold dash for freedom, was rumoured to be trapped near Beauty Firth with the redcoats enjoying a merry game of cat and mouse before seizing him. “’Tis a miracle,” she cried gleefully. “I’d been fairly dreading tae hear he’d been shot. However did he get away?”
Journey to Enchantment Page 2
