“Lord! Ain’t it enough, sir? They’ll tell that bloody Cunningham and he’ll come and tear this pyramid apart like he did the MacKenzies’ cottage.”
“Our stalwart Colonel already knows about this pyramid, and I believe MacTavish was at pains to show him the hidden room. There are two, you know, but only one is public knowledge.” He thought, ‘I hope,’ and added, “I know this is not a prime posting house, but we’ve plans to get you on your way very soon.”
“Sir,” interjected Campbell, looking appalled, “I trust ye ken how much we’re beholden tae ye. ’Tis no that we’re ungrateful—Gawd knows we’d all be dead was it not fer ye’sel’.”
Delacourt smiled but he was uneasily aware that none of these poor fellows was in any condition to travel. Willie had that ugly wound in his knee; Campbell’s ankle was shattered; and young Stephens, with the longest journey to safety, had a musket ball through his side that had broken two ribs. “If I could arrange it,” he muttered, “you’d all stay where you are for at least a month. But I’ve a notion our time is limited.”
Stephens gasped, “Never say the house is watched, sir? If that’s the case we should all leave at once, and not delay another minute!”
“I don’t believe it is watched. Yet. MacTavish is highly regarded throughout the world because of his contributions to archaeology. He has been honoured by several foreign governments. You may be sure that any accusations against him will have to be well substantiated, if only because of his worldwide reputation.”
“Ye mean,” said Jock Campbell, “they may hae their suspicions, but they’ll be needing proof. And we’re it, eh, sir?”
“Exactly. So, my regrets, lads, but you’re all going to be arrested.” Dismay came into their eyes, and he added with a grin, “By me.”
“Whisht,” breathed Willie, much relieved.
“What’ll ye do wi’ us, Captain?” asked Campbell.
“In your condition, run you through a corner of hell, I’m afraid. You’re to be conveyed by wagon to Fort Augustus—or at least to a few miles northwest of the place. I’ve men to meet us there with horses and you’ll be taken to Glenrae, where I understand your family can offer sanctuary, Mayhew.”
“Aye, sir. For me and all of us. And right glad they’ll be tae help.”
“Splendid. As for you, Ensign, as soon as you’re fit to go on from Glenrae there’s a fishing boat and a guide to take you over to France if you wish.”
“Thank you, sir. God send amnesty is granted soon,” said the Ensign.
Campbell, who had been watching Delacourt frowningly, said, “Sir, ye said ye was tae be the one tae arrest us?”
“Correct. I’ve the uniform, you see, and papers if we’re stopped.”
The three men exchanged sober glances. Willie said, “Ye’re never meaning tae ride all that way yersel’?”
“Oh, I shall do, never fear.” They did not look much relieved, and he smiled wryly. “Unless you’ve another English officer handy who can fit into my uniform.”
“Ye’ve many friends, sir,” Campbell argued. “There must be some English Jacobites among ’em.”
“Three. One’s short and fat. Another’s about the size of Willie, and the third took a musket ball through his leg when we relieved the troopers of Jamie MacDougall.”
The Ensign pursed his lips. “What about the gentleman who’s been staying here, sir? Lord Briley.”
“Oh, he’d be more than willing. In fact, he’ll likely flay me alive when he discovers I’ve not given him a chance at this, but the fact is, the poor fellow lisps. If you should encounter a patrol, as you very likely will do, his lordship would be too easy to identify to Colonel Cunningham.” The Ensign started a further protest, but Delacourt stopped it with a lift of his hand. “Enough, gentlemen, enough! I appreciate your concern, but I shall be suitably disguised, I assure you. We shall go on very well, I’ve no doubt.” He stood. “Now, we shall attempt this on Sunday morning, so prepare yourselves.”
Their grateful thanks followed him to the door. He stepped cautiously into the night, and stood motionless for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When he could detect no movement or the slightest sound, he slipped into the shrubs where he had concealed his wheelchair, retrieved it, sat down, and sighed wearily. He fairly ached with tiredness, and his wound, which had been less troublesome these past few days, was causing him the old nagging pain that was like a wire band tightening around his lung. He coughed involuntarily, winced, and peered about, holding his breath. Again, he seemed to have escaped detection, and he manoeuvred the chair through the grounds to the long temporary ramp MacTavish had caused to be put up alongside the door that opened into the west side of the house.
Sidley worried him. But if he was wrong, if his uneasiness about the butler was unjustified, he was putting those poor devils through this ordeal needlessly soon. Although it was not really needless at all events—not with MacTavish and Hortense and Prudence always at risk. Nothing must happen to those good people, however willing they were to take the chance. An image of Prudence’s vital little face came into his mind’s eye. No. He dared not delay any longer!
The rear hall was dark and deserted, the house quiet, its inhabitants long since sleeping. He pulled on the wheels, guiding the chair silently along to the room that served him as a parlour. Cautiously, he lifted the latch. Lockerbie was not waiting to censure him for having gone out alone; a candle burned on the table as he had left it, but the room was empty. Delacourt closed the door, climbed from the chair, and started towards the bedchamber.
He had very little warning: a sudden beading of chill, clammy sweat on his face, a numbing dizziness, a complete loss of all awareness of colour. He knew he was going down and in that same instant saw a man come from the bedchamber. With his last gleam of consciousness he recognized the narrow face, shocked out of its customary imperturbability. He thought a fading, ‘Sidley…’
“Sir, please try to take a little. Oh, God! Sir! Please!”
With a tremendous effort Delacourt whispered, “Did you call … for help?”
“No, sir. Thank the Lord you’re better! Try and sip a little of the brandy.”
“Do not lift me, please. I’ll be—all right if you just … let me lie here for a minute.” He could feel the man trembling and thought remotely, ‘I must have put the fear of God into him.’ The sick weakness began to fade, but the sharp pangs still racked him. If he could just manage to breathe very lightly for a minute or two …
At length Sidley whispered, “Will I lift your head a little now, Captain? So you can have the brandy?”
Delacourt nodded, and the butler slipped an arm under his shoulders and held a glass to his lips. He sipped cautiously, dreading that he might cough again. The powerful spirit blazed through him. He held his breath and was able to fight off the cough, and in a moment felt warmed and stronger. “Thank you,” he managed, “for not rousing the house.”
“If I can help you to your bed, sir, I’ll go and find your servant.”
Delacourt said with a twinkle, “Lord, no! He’d fuss me to death. Why don’t you just wheel my chair over and get me into it. In a little while you can help me to bed, if you’d not object.”
“Object, sir! Of course not.” The butler peered into that pale but dauntless grin. Lord, but the man looked like death! “Are you sure you’re ready, Captain? You went down like a stone.”
“Dreadful habit. Probably scared you out of your wits, eh? Yes, I’m going along better now. Just bring the chair if you will.”
Sidley snatched a cushion from the sofa and put it behind the invalid’s head, then got up and wheeled the chair closer. Delacourt sagged dizzily when he first managed to get to his feet, but after he’d been placed in the chair he seemed to revive and in a few minutes the terrifying pallor began to ease a little. Sidley gave him the brandy glass, and the next healthy swallow was not followed by that betraying moment of taut immobility. “I really think,” ventured Sidley,
“that I should fetch your man.”
“If you do, I imagine the first thing he’ll want to know is what you were doing in my room.”
How odd, thought the butler, that the dark eyes that a moment ago had seemed so dazed and helpless, now glinted rather unpleasantly. He folded his hands. “I was looking for you, sir.”
Delacourt took another sip of the brandy and regarded him with one eyebrow raised in a silent, ironic questioning.
“I know it sounds peculiar—to come at this hour. But I had to talk to you, sir.” A pucker disturbed Sidley’s forehead. “I’d not expected to find you gone out, Captain. When I couldn’t make you hear my knock, I was afraid you might have come over queer.”
“So you came in. I see. Since I was hit, I suffer these silly fainting fits occasionally.” Delacourt added untruthfully, “I can feel them coming on, and sometimes, to be out in the fresh air works wonders.”
“Even so, you should have rung for your man, first. Suppose you’d fallen from your chair, sir?” Sidley bent closer and whispered, “And—with what’s going on in this house…!”
‘Oh, Lord!’ thought Delacourt. He watched the butler inscrutably. “I cannot imagine to what you refer.”
Sidley glanced around. “Might I be permitted to sit down, Captain?”
“Of course. My apologies. Now, was it because of what you suppose to be, er, ‘going on’ that you came knocking on my door at dead of night?”
Sidley pulled over a straight-backed chair and disposed himself neatly upon it. “I just didn’t know what to do, sir. And you, being an army officer, I thought could advise me.”
“I’ll try. Spit it out, man.”
That brusque adjuration relieved Sidley. This might be a very sick gentleman, but he had the assurance of the officer, all right. He lowered his voice and said, “I think there’s rebels being sheltered here, Captain Delacourt. Sad I am to have to say such a dreadful thing, for Mr. MacTavish has been good to me, and I have nothing but respect for him and his family.”
Delacourt’s heart sank. “Good God! Are you sure? I’ve seen nothing.”
“They’re very sly about it, naturally enough. But I reckon that’s why you was offered to stay here. Mr. MacTavish said you being young Master Robert’s friend, it was the least he could do. But I think you’re being used, sir. They know Colonel Cunningham won’t have this house searched if you vouch for them.”
“I cannot believe it! By God, Sidley, if you’re just making a mountain out of a molehill—”
“I’m doing no such thing, Captain!” His pale grey eyes glowing with zeal, Sidley declared, “I told you I like Mr. MacTavish, and I meant it. But, God, how I hate these dirty Jacobites! My boy was in the army.” The blazing look faded. Watching him, Delacourt thought inconsequently that save for the pockmarks that scarred his face, the butler was a fine figure of a man: tall, with a good pair of shoulders, and with light brown hair, to judge from the shade of his brows. Probably in the neighbourhood of forty-three, and with only the beginnings of a paunch. Sidley said with ineffable sorrow, “Such a good boy, sir. He worked hard at his lessons. His one dream was to serve his country. My wife and I scrimped and saved to buy him a cornetcy; that’s why I took this position and left my wife in England. Our son’s first station was Scotland. He was so proud.” He turned away and finished huskily, “He was … only nineteen.”
Delacourt climbed from his chair and rested a hand upon the bowed shoulder. “My poor chap,” he said in his gentlest voice, “I am so very sorry. Was it at Prestonpans?”
“Culloden, sir. My—my wife suffered some sort of seizure when she got the word. The shock, they think. He was all we had, you see. Just the one boy.”
Delacourt tightened his grip for a moment, then returned to his chair. “I wonder that Mr. MacTavish did not mention it to me.”
“I never told them. I just said my wife had been taken ill and—and they gave me time off to go to her. I meant to tell them. But Mrs. Sidley has to have constant care. Her sister’s with her, but there’s doctor’s bills and medicines, and a woman who comes in and helps every day. It all costs money, sir. It’s hard to get an English butler to come all the way up here, and Mr. MacTavish pays me well. But their boy ran off to England instead of fighting for his Prince. If they knew about my son, it might make them feel uncomfortable. And if rich folk get uncomfortable with a servant, he’s gone before you can wink your eye!”
Little wonder he hated the Jacobites, poor fellow, thought Delacourt, and asked, “Will you tell me what you have seen here?”
Sidley took a deep breath and brought his emotions under control. “I’ve heard a lot of comings and goings—mostly in the wee hours of the morning, sir. And I’ve seen food disappear like it was half a dozen guests we had here, instead of only yourself and your servants.”
“We’ve had Miss Clandon and Lord Briley, don’t forget.”
“No, no, sir! Much more than that. And what would Lord Briley want with rolls of lint and bandages?”
“Jupiter! You’ve seen these things carried upstairs?”
“Not upstairs, sir. I don’t know where. It’s all done at night. I’ve stayed up a time or two, but whenever I peep out, I don’t see anything. And I have to be careful. Mrs. Cairn is fairly crazed for the master, and she watches us like a hawk. I fancy my life wouldn’t be worth much if they knew I suspect.” He bent closer, his voice again dropping to little more than a whisper. “I saw muddy footsteps across the terrace early one morning when I looked out of my window. I couldn’t tell which room they went to, but it looked as if someone had climbed in a downstairs window, sir! I dressed as quick as I could, but by the time I came down they were gone. Gone as if they’d never been!” He pursed his lips and stared at the young Captain solemnly.
Delacourt thought, ‘That was a close one!’ “You are quite sure?” he asked. “It couldn’t have been a trick of the light?”
“No, sir! I’ve been thinking what to do, and—since you know Colonel Cunningham, I decided to go to him.”
Delacourt gazed at the zealous features for a moment, then turned his chair away. He said slowly, “I wish you were a trifle less observant, Sidley.”
He heard the hiss of indrawn breath and the sound of Sidley coming to his feet.
In a voice of suppressed excitement, the butler said, “I knew it! I thought you wasn’t very excited about what I told you, sir. So it’s all a plan, is it? The Colonel knows.”
Delacourt faced him again. “You have it. You’re a jolly shrewd fellow, I must say.” He saw the sallow skin flush with pleasure, and went on, “You can help us. The thing is—we’re after bigger fish than MacTavish.”
“Bigger…? Oh! Strike me dumb! You mean that filth—Ligun Doone?”
Delacourt looked down and murmured, “I did not say that, you’ll mind.”
“Very true, sir. By the powers, but this is grand! So you were put here, were you, Captain? And MacTavish thinks it was all his idea! He thinks he’s using you, whereas all the time you’re laying a trap for the real traitor.”
“Hum,” said Delacourt. “I suppose you might say that. I would prefer, however—Colonel Cunningham would much prefer—that you said nothing. Tell me whatever you see, but you’ll have to be devilish cautious about it, and obey any orders I give you, without question. If you don’t think you can handle that, Sidley, I’m afraid we shall have to send you off. We cannot let anything spoil this.”
“Lord, no, sir! Oh, if only I could tell my wife!”
Delacourt gave a small smile. “I fancy she’ll be glad when Doone hangs.”
“I don’t know, sir. Women are funny, you know. But—for me, it’s like the answer to a prayer! When Doone is hacked up and his head stuck on Tower Gate, my boy will be avenged! Praise God! Oh, I’ll obey you, sir. Whatever you say. How shall I get word to you? Through your servant?”
“Yes. Lockerbie’s to be trusted. He has no fondness for the Stuarts. If I need you, he’ll slip a note to you, and if you hav
e news for me you can get word to him.”
“Yes, sir.” Sidley moved to the door but turned before opening it, his eyes very bright. “You cannot know how much this means to me, Captain Delacourt. I only wish one thing—that mine could be the hand that holds the axe!” He grinned rather horribly, then said a startled, “Oh, I am sorry, sir! I was so carried away, I forgot. If you’re ready, I’ll prepare you for the night.”
Delacourt thanked him, but said he was much restored and could manage until Lockerbie returned from his ‘stroll.’ It was foolish, perhaps, but he did not relish being put into his nightshirt by a man who yearned to hack him to pieces.
* * *
“The MacTavish says that Captain Delacourt has a scheme whereby they will be safely away this week-end,” said Hortense, carefully unravelling a misplaced stitch in her embroidery. “This French knot is being tiresome. I vow the man is a marvel to so constantly conflummerate— Oh, dear, oh, dear!”
Seated beside her in a shady spot of the shrubbery, and thinking that her aunt’s ‘marvel’ had seemed to avoid her these past two days, Prudence glanced up at the change in tone. Colonel Cunningham, followed by two troopers, was marching briskly towards them. Her heart gave a skip. She said in a low voice, “We must be very careful, dear. He’s a terribly dangerous creature.” She watched her nervous aunt anxiously, but with lives at stake Hortense resorted to an unsuspected reserve of strength. She might be a little pale, but the hand she extended did not tremble and she said quite calmly, “Good morning, Colonel. How energetic you are. I vow this muggy weather quite enervates me.”
“I am not allowed to be enervated, ma’am,” he responded, bowing over her hand. “Ain’t in the King’s Regulations, you know, and besides, this Doone fella keeps us busy enough. He was seen in the hills yesterday. You’d do well to have a care, ladies. With Captain Delacourt here, you would be judged an enemy of all rebels and there’s no telling to what vengeance he and his cutthroats might resort.”
Prudence blinked at him. “Good gracious! Does he lead a band of ruffians?”
Journey to Enchantment Page 15
