Contrary to her assumption that he was still abed, Delacourt, fully dressed save for his coat, had ventured onto the terrace. He perched on the low wall, gazed across the wide panorama, drew in a deep breath, and winced. His eyes turned to and held on the acacia tree, until he sensed that he was no longer alone. He glanced up quickly and found Lockerbie watching him. He grinned and winked at the sombre-faced man.
Undeceived, Lockerbie said, “Yon hole in yer chest is fretting ye.”
Delacourt shrugged. “I took a small tumble last night.”
“What—sae soon?” The words were out before he could stop them. Lockerbie bit his lip, repentant.
“Don’t worry so. It wasn’t one of my famous swoons. I’m going on very much better, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” lied the Scot staunchly. “If—if ye’d just give over, sir. Small wonder ye tire sae quick. Ye push yersel’—always, ye push yersel’.”
Delacourt stood and looked at him steadily. With a wry smile he said, “Needs must, when the Devil drives.”
VII
It was a brilliant morning; the kind of springtime perfection that comes along occasionally as if to reassure mankind that all is indeed well with the world. Prudence forgot about war and death and peril for a while and rode joyously through the cool peace of the countryside, her gaze drinking in verdant slope and darkling wood and the two great billowy cloud ships that hung motionless against the dark blue ceiling of the heavens. It was so still, so silent that the pure notes of a meadowlark’s song etched themselves crisply, almost tangibly, against the hush. She had no intention of climbing into the hills this time, but she turned her mount towards higher ground where she might get a better view of Lakepoint and the far-reaching sheen of the loch. She skirted a copse of birches and jumped the mare across the small ravine the burn had made, then gave a frightened cry as a shot rang out very close at hand. The mare shied and danced about, snorting her fear. Prudence reined her in, stroking her neck and talking softly to her, her own heart hammering as she watched the man who rode from amongst the trees astride a tall bay horse.
“My dear lady,” said Colonel Cunningham, pulling up beside her, “I do trust I did not startle you. I fancied myself quite alone up here today.”
His smile was kind, his manner contrite, and his hard black eyes needle-sharp. Seldom afraid, Prudence was frightened now and prayed she might do nothing, say nothing, to endanger their valiant invalid. “You startled both my horse and myself, sir,” she said calmly. “Is this an escape from your military duties? Or were you shooting at more of our unhappy rebels?”
He brandished a sleek hunting gun. “No, no. Just after a grouse. Saw some fat ones when I was down here yesterday, so came back to see if I could please my cook by bagging a couple.”
She did not point out that there were many fat grouse between here and Inverness, but said, “I fancy your game bag is full already.”
He had no game bag at all, belatedly aware of which he searched her face narrowly. She looked innocent and not very bright, this pretty Scots lass, but he had learned long ago that one does not judge a book by its cover. “Lost it en route,” he said. “Had it tied to the pommel and it must have fallen.” He restored the gun to its scabbard and went on, “I let this old fellow stretch his legs in a gallop, which probably brought about my loss. Gad, but it’s a beautiful day. Would you prefer I go away and not spoil it?”
It was all said in the same friendly, conversational tone, and Prudence started. “My apologies, Colonel. I must have behaved most rudely last evening to leave you with such an impression.”
“Not at all. You were most gracious.” He dismounted, lifted her down, and they walked along together, leading the horses. “But an army of occupation cannot expect to be popular. And you must be irked by the presence of one of my officers in your home.”
“My father is not a man to shirk his obligations, sir,” she said carefully. “But I’d be telling lies did I say it was a welcome development insofar as I am concerned.”
He laughed. “An honest woman! What a relief. You’ve no idea of the insincere things a man in my position is obliged to listen to. I can readily appreciate your father’s situation.”
“Because of the ‘insincere things’ Captain Delacourt says?” she asked, her nerves growing tighter every moment.
His brows lifted at this immediate taking up of the gauntlet. “Do you find him so?”
“I find him as seldom as may be, Colonel.”
He nodded sympathetically. “And probably imagine he was billeted upon you in order to spy.”
She could not restrain a gasp. “Heavens! What would he be spying on? We are not Jacobites; my papa does not hold with the business. If you put the Captain at Lakepoint to—”
“But, my dear, I did not put him there,” he said soothingly. “In fact, I was not aware he was up here at all until he sent his man to apprise me of that fact. Nine months late.”
Her heart leaping about, Prudence said, “He’s no been wi’ us for nine months, sir! Nor is he likely to be!”
“No. Poor fellow. I’m afraid you’re right.” He sighed. “What a very bad time of it he has had. Dragged from pillar to post … to find safe haven at last in the home of his school friend’s family. Despite their dislike of us. It would appear to reinforce the old adage that ties forged at Oxford hold fast unto the grave.”
Another warning bell rang in Prudence’s mind. If it was an old adage, which she doubted, it was one she’d not heard. She thought, ‘Dear God! Did Captain Delacourt say Oxford?’ And not daring to risk it, she pointed out, “If our guest told you he met my brother at Oxford, Colonel, his memory is no better than my papa’s. Robbie was at Cambridge.”
“By Gad, but you’re correct! I vow my mind is deteriorating. It must be the rarefied air. Speaking of which—I do trust you have no thought to climb into the higher hills again, dear ma’am. Should you not have a groom to accompany you?”
How smooth he was. How slimy! What did he mean, ‘again’? Had he known of her climb the other day? If so, he—or his men—must have seen the Captain and Willie! And if that was the case, he was playing cat and mouse, as the military loved to do. He was after Ligun Doone and knew he was at Lakepoint! She felt sick, her throat almost closing with panic. But this menace beside her was waiting, his mild gaze ready to detect any terror—which heaven knows she was riddled with! With all her might she fought for calm. “Now you sound like my father,” she said, smiling at him sweetly and praying she was not as pale as she felt. “I seldom go into the hills any more. But sometimes I simply long to be alone.”
She prayed he would take the hint, but he answered, “You’ll not be alone for long do you venture into those crags, Miss MacTavish.” He slanted a grim glance at the jagged peaks to the south. “They fairly swarm with ragtag soldiery who’d as soon cut your lovely throat as look at you!”
Bristling, she exclaimed, “I doubt that! They are Scots, sir!”
He bowed. ““Touché. But you would do well to remember that not all Scots are gentlemen, any more than all Englishmen are monsters.”
“I had not thought that of all Englishmen,” she said, aware that it was too late to take back her unfortunate outburst.
“And that properly drives me to the ropes!” Amusement softened his eyes unexpectedly. “As well it should. I see it does not do to fence with you, ma’am. May I assist you to mount?”
He cupped his hands for her boot, and when he had tossed her into the saddle, saluted her smartly, and stepped back. Prudence remained staring down at him. He had said she’d fenced with him. She’d tried, but she doubted she was clever enough to fool this man. It was hopeless to try to be careful and diplomatic. Nonetheless, for Captain Delacourt’s sake, she bent and put out her hand. “It’s a thankless task you have, sir,” she said with her most glowing smile. “I dinna envy you it.”
He looked surprised, and took her hand firmly. “Thank you. Lovely creatures like yourself make my task mor
e palatable.”
But as she started away, he called, “Be very careful, Miss MacTavish.”
* * *
“I tell you, the man suspects!” Still clad in her riding habit, Prudence gripped her hands tightly as she sat in the gold saloon with her father, Miss Clandon, and Delacourt. “That last silken little remark of his had me shivering all the way home.”
Miss Clandon nodded thoughtfully. “He’s a shrewd one all right. I’m thinking ye shouldnae dally up here any longer, Geoff. Somebody else can carry the cypher, if it does come doon tae that. Certainly, you’re in no case—”
“He was likely only testing Miss MacTavish,” Delacourt interpolated, with a warning look. “I’ve no reason to suppose he mistrusts me. After all, everyone imagines Ligun Doone to be a Scot.”
“Aye, they do,” MacTavish agreed. “But ’twas a fool boy’s trick to choose such a name.”
“Thumbing his nose at ’em,” said Miss Clandon, regarding the Captain with exasperated affection.
Taking one puzzle at a time, Prudence asked, “What cypher?”
Miss Clandon looked dismayed. “Oh, dear! I thought you’d told her.”
Troubled, MacTavish asked, “Delacourt?”
“No!” The Captain’s dark brows met in a frown. “The less your daughter knows, sir, the safer she’ll be.”
“They dinna hang us by degrees,” said Miss Clandon dryly. “And she already knows enough to hang.”
“Never even think that!” gasped Delacourt, horrified.
Prudence intervened hotly, “What dreadful rubbish! You’ve been a godsend to our people, Captain. My father and I would be ingrates indeed were we unwilling to be at risk for your sake!”
He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “I think you do not know what you risk, ma’am.”
“How jolly it would be,” drawled another English voice from the doorway, “to walk in and find you all chatting about a new poem, or the weather, or thomething dull and normal.”
Delacourt swung his chair around. “Thad! You’re late, you bounder!”
His lordship entered, paid his respects to them all, and protested his innocence. “My wig, y’know,” he said, smoothing that perfection. “Took my man forever.” He glanced at Prudence’s amused face. “Am I to gather we have a new recruit, dear boy?”
“Unhappily so,” said Delacourt, frowning.
“And one who is overwhelmed by the bravery of two Englishmen in behalf of our poor rebels, my lord,” Prudence declared.
His lordship acquired a hunted look. “P-pray do not refine upon it, ma’am. I plain did not like the oddth. Not a fair fight. Are you ready, Mith Clandon?”
“Yes. Is there anything else, Geoff?”
He leaned forward. “Tell me again, if you will, Elizabeth.”
“I am to discover if the men who were lurking about Castle Court are gone now. I must tell Grandmama that Colonel Cunningham has had word a Jacobite was taken near Tullynessie. And that”—her voice shredded a little and she clasped her hands—“that you dinnae think it could be J-Johnny Robertson, but—but that he is being put to the question because the redcoats think he was carrying a part of the cypher.”
Prudence cringed. The cypher again. And God help the poor lad—whomever he may be! She glanced at his lordship, hearing him mutter a curse under his breath.
“If that ith the cathe, then they don’t yet have it.”
Delacourt nodded. “And let us pray it is not Robertson they’ve caught. But—if it is, he likely destroyed his cypher, and we’ll have to send off another. Remind Lady Ericson, Elizabeth. And don’t forget. I think we must send out two of the list, just to be on the safe side.”
Miss Clandon repeated the message, and he wheeled his chair to take her hand and press it to his lips. “Very good. Now be off with you, madcap. And—God guard you both.”
Mincing past, Briley paused by the wheelchair, tugged his friend’s head around by the hair, and scanned him judicially. “Too wan, by half. Get into the fresh air, dear boy. Have a long walk. Do you good.” He glanced slyly at Prudence, slapped his friend on the back, and was off, the clicking of his high heels on the stone floors echoing after him.
* * *
Prudence guided the invalid chair along the path that led through the shrubbery, and halted in the shade of a weeping willow tree that bowed beside the goldfish pond. “This is nice,” she said tentatively.
“That would be better, I think.” The Captain indicated the centre of the flower gardens where four paths came together spokelike to form an open area wherein curving stone benches offered rest amid the blossoms.
“But there is no shade for you,” she demurred.
“True, but you brought your sunshade. We can huddle under it together,” he said, sending a whimsical grin over his shoulder.
Prudence said, “I think we shall have the tree.”
“No, if you please.” He added quietly, “In the centre we can be sure we are not overheard, ma’am. Trees on this estate have a way of being most unexpectedly occupied.”
She gave a trill of laughter. “How wretched of you to remind me.”
“And how excellent of you to illustrate how easily one can become careless. I sent Kerbie to investigate, and he confirmed that it is very easy to see right into my windows with a glass. A nasty error on my part.”
“You made a more serious one,” she told him, turning the chair onto the narrow path through the flowerbeds.
“I did? Pray tell me.”
“There is a bench below the level of the terrace. If you look, you will see it is directly in line with your windows.”
He turned his dark head, and Prudence noted how thick was his hair, and how it strove to curl even though Lockerbie had tied it back so severely. He said, “It is a sufficient distance that a conversation in the room could not be overheard—is that what you imply?”
“Yes. And you are mistaken. I sat there and heard you telling Lockerbie what a good spy he was.”
“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Captain, looking up at her, dismayed.
“And I heard your groom arrive from England, and— Good gracious! I’ve not seen him since!”
He said gravely, “He knew too much.” He drew a finger across his throat. “Let that be a lesson to you, Madam Eavesdropper!”
His reward was a repetition of her rich little gurgle of mirth, and he divulged that Cole was caring for the men in the pyramid. “But please tell me how you heard us. We all kept our voices low, as I recall.”
“’Tis some trick of the echo. Robbie and I used it occasionally to spy on our father.”
“Wretched brats. I can picture Rob being so graceless, but I’d not have thought it of you, ma’am.”
Seating herself on one of the benches, she admitted with a sigh, “Alas, I am very graceless at times. And when I was a child—oh, dreadful! It was Rob’s doing, of course. He was my idol and allowed me to tag along after him.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the arms of his chair, watching the sunshine wake her hair to a bright coppery glow and bring a golden sheen to the curve of her cheek. Smilingly, he said, “If I know aught of brothers and sisters, what you mean is that he bullied you into sharing his scrapes.”
“No, no. I fear that was not the way of it, for I was a natural tomboy. Indeed”—she gazed out at the magnificent sweep of the loch—“’twas my idea aboot the Monster…”
“Monster?”
“Aye. We’d heard poor Aunty Mac conversing with Papa in his study, you see, while we were sitting on yon bench.” She saw his dark brows lift, and went on hurriedly, “You’re thinking us horrid, but truly—we seldom listened. This time, Aunty was boring on at Papa aboot her stars and the Monster, which we found delicious beyond belief.”
“Never say your Monster was in Mrs. Hortense’s stars? I’ve noticed she takes it all very seriously. Do you, Miss MacTavish?”
She hesitated. “I know astrology is not as highly thought of as it once was. But there mu
st be something to it, surely? After all, many great monarchs and politicians ordered their lives according to the advice of their astrologers, and—”
“And forced their subjects to wear iron collars, and burned witches, and—”
“And I’ll no have ye laughing at her, sir!” The delightful twinkle lit her eyes, although she pretended severity. He sobered and said with commendable meekness that he was very sorry and had the greatest liking and respect for Mrs. MacTavish. “But—do tell me, what was the connection between the lady’s stars and your Monster? Do you mean the legendary Nessie?”
“I do, that. The Loch Ness Monster.” She frowned at the quirk that tugged at his lips and said, “I suppose you think it all a hum.”
“No, indeed, ma’am. I’d not dream of making so improper an observation.”
He looked so prim and proper that she could not but laugh. “You have quite a way with words, Captain.”
Delacourt watched the merry curve of her lips and forgot all words.
Aware of his absorption, she blushed and went on quickly, “As I was saying before you gave me such a cruel setdown…”
He groaned and put a hand over his eyes.
Smiling, Prudence went on, “Aunty Mac told Papa the Monster was going to come oot onto the land and would eat us all up for breakfast on the following Sunday.”
He lowered his hand to stare at her. “You’re making it up! She meant it?”
“Her stars meant it, sir. Papa laughed so hard, and we laughed, too. Poor Aunty Mac was upset and began to cry, but Papa could not stop laughing. So I got the idea for the Monster to help my aunty.” She sighed. “Lud, what a flummery! Er, I mean—what an uproar that caused.”
“Do tell me,” he murmured, fascinated by the twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes.
“You should know that Robbie and I had for some time been building a boat. We’d had to be very secretive aboot it, for Papa did not like us to go out alone on the loch. Storms can come up suddenly, you know. The water is terribly cold, and it is bottomless in parts. We’d been doing our dark deeds in an abandoned old shed behind the stables. I’ll show you, if you wish. ’Tis none so far.”
Journey to Enchantment Page 11
