“Frippery!” Wrenching around, she cried indignantly, “You came all the way to Prestonpans to give your friend what aid you might! You journeyed with me on that horrid boat into what you—being a poor Sassenach and not knowing beauty when you see it—likely regard as a desolation! I know that you have helped our fugitives in England, and you are going to risk your life tomorrow—and you call yourself frippery?”
“I am really a very great hero, now that you remind me of it,” he acknowledged. “Wherefore, you cannot give me a nay, ma’am.” He saw her eyes cloud and she shook her head and started to respond. Frightened, he put a hand over her lips. “No, no. You cannot deny it ith de rigueur that when the hero goeth charging into battle, hith lady ith obliged to thend him off with hope in hith heart.” And abruptly abandoning frivolity, he asked wistfully, “Have you no hope to give me, my beautiful Beth?”
She thought, ‘How dear he is. How gentle and kind, and strong. The very epitome of a gentleman.’ And with tears beading her lashes, she said in a husky little voice, “None—I am afraid.”
Some time later, beating his own craven retreat, Delacourt wheeled his chair along the terrace towards the glow of a cigarillo and the man who sat on the balustrade, gazing across the moonlit lawns. “Well, Thad,” he said, “what luck, old fellow?”
The rather drooping figure straightened. Briley answered, “The lady hath a deal of brainth. Turned me down. Flat.”
Delacourt, who had known what the verdict would be, said a sympathetic, “Oh, bad luck. My condolences. But, this is scarce a normal atmosphere. Can you only persuade her parent to bring her to visit you in Wiltshire, perhaps if she saw you in your natural surroundings—”
“You mean”—Briley faced him squarely—“were I to bribe her with the glorieth of Dunthter Court—” He swore and jerked his head away. “Little wonder Beth would not have me, eh? A man who cannot even pronounth hith own name!”
“What stuff! Elizabeth is not the girl to be put off because you lisp.”
“Or—becauth you do not?”
Delacourt left the chair and put one hand on Briley’s broad shoulder. Before he could speak, his lordship shrugged away and stood with his back turned. “That wath dethpicable. My apologieth, Geoff. I know there ith only liking between you. I’m behaving like a whining cur.…” He turned again, the familiar grin on his lips, but his eyes veiled. “It’th my damned title, you thee. Properly put her off. And her love for her own land.” His voice shredded a little. He went on hurriedly, “I think you are in little better cathe—eh?”
Delacourt stared blankly for an instant, then returned to his chair. “Oh, no,” he said breezily. “The little Prudence is a lovely lass, but we merely enjoy a summer dalliance.” He saw his friend’s eyes whip to his face with a rather shocked expression and added with a lift of the brows, “Had you thought it a serious attachment? Silly gudgeon. We should not suit, you know. Besides, I fancy both our hearts are—er, engaged elsewhere.”
Lord Briley grasped the handles of the chair and pushed it across the terrace. “I do not recall your having a tendre for any of the London ladieth,” he murmured.
“Ah, but I do not tell you all my secrets.”
“All! Damn you, Geoff! I think you tell me none at all.”
Delacourt laughed.
When the doors had closed behind them, all was quiet in the garden. The moon slid slowly up the western sky; a soft night wind rustled the treetops and whispered through the shrubbery. After a while, the music that drifted pleasantly from the windows ceased; the ground-floor lights winked out, one by one, and the glow of candles being carried up the stairs could be seen. Amber brightened the windows of the first, and then the second floor. There was the click of locks turning. Two more candles ascended to the third floor.
Time passed. The second-floor lamps and candelabra were extinguished, the two glowing windows on the third floor were darkened, and the great house was silent.
* * *
It had been agreed by the conspirators that only those directly involved would leave their rooms that eventful night, so as not to excite the suspicions of the servants. James MacTavish was amused by this, and said that if he knew his staff they were likely quite aware of what was going forward. Nonetheless, every effort was made to present an appearance of normality, and anyone dwelling at Lakepoint and unaware of the treasonable activities would have supposed all inside to be peacefully sleeping. In point of fact, very few had gone to bed. Windows were open and ears straining for the first sounds of approaching riders. Elizabeth Clandon waited, weeping softly and saying some extra-fervent prayers in behalf of a young man with tawny eyes, freckles, and a lisp. Hortense sat up in bed, hugging her knees, and worrying over what her stars had imparted about one occupant of the household. Prudence knelt gazing at a sketchbook spread on the window seat of her bedchamber, the book opened to a page whereon the soft moonlight illumined the likeness of a dark young man with a thin, fine-boned face and a proud tilt to his chin.
In his converted bedchamber, the heavy draperies drawn to conceal the candlelight, that same young man sat in his wheelchair and watched an excited butler don his uniform. My lord Briley lounged on the bed, offering unhelpful but amusing suggestions that helped Sidley control his tight-strung nerves.
Out at the stables, Lockerbie and Cole argued the politics of the Jacobites and King George while they packed food and supplies into a wagon that had been driven over from the home farm earlier in the day.
Prudence closed the sketchbook, sighing, and gazed out at the night. She thus was the first to catch a glimpse of the approaching riders. She tensed, frowned in bewilderment, and stood up, then knelt on the cushions, counting, “Eight … ten … twelve…” Her heart began to hammer. She jumped down and, staying for neither dressing gown nor slippers, raced madly along the hall and sped like a wraith down the stairs.
Reaching the ground floor she ran to the Captain’s door and threw it wide.
Sidley had already gone to the stables, fortunately, but Delacourt flung around in his wheelchair, a frown of irritation drawing his brows into a dark bar above his nose. “What the devil…?”
Briley, who had been lounging on the bed, sprang to his feet, his face becoming very red and his eyes very round as he took in Prudence’s nightdress and bare feet.
She came quickly into the room, closed the door, and gasped a breathless, “Captain Delacourt, from which direction are your people coming? East?”
“No!” He leaned forward in his chair, narrowed eyes watching her intently. “What have you seen, ma’am?”
“Riders,” she gasped. “Fifteen or twenty. Two by two.”
He drove a fist into his palm, groaning an exasperated, “Dammitall!”
“Good Lord above,” exclaimed Briley. “Now the cat ith in with the chickth and no mithtake. What the devil d’ye mean to do?”
XI
‘Cunningham!’ thought Delacourt, ragefully. ‘Cunningham!’ He said to Prudence, “Bless you, brave girl.” A corner of his mind stored the picture she presented, with her long, glowing hair all about her, and that delightful nightdress billowing about her shapeliness. “Run and get your spy-glass as quickly as you can and take it to your father. He’ll be able to confirm whether they’re our people or Cunningham’s.” Prudence fled, and he turned to Briley. “Thad, Sidley must not see the troopers, if that’s what they are.”
“And you think they are, eh, my tulip?”
Delacourt grinned his appreciation of that cool drawl. “Yes. He’s probably still supervising poor old Kerbie and my groom. Get out there and tell him bounty hunters are coming and will spoil the whole scheme do they rumble us. Send him up to his room— No, wait! He’ll be able to see them from up there. Hell! Send him—ah, I have it! There’s an old shed behind the stables. Tell him to hide there for a bit. Then warn the fellows in the pyramid, and send Kerbie here, on the double!” Briley sprinted to the door. Delacourt called, “Oh, and tell Cole to saddle up a fast horse.�
�
Briley nodded and was gone.
Delacourt leaned back his head, his thoughts racing. The ‘escort’ he’d sent for would be arriving at any moment. They were already late. They must be warned, or they’d ride into a trap. God! Had Cunningham rumbled their plan? His hands gripped the arms of the chair as he battled the frustration of being unable to do more than just sit there and scheme.
The door opened. James MacTavish hurried in wearing a bright plaid dressing gown, his thinning hair rumpled and untidy. Delacourt asked, “Troopers?” and the older man nodded. “Are they coming here, d’you think?”
“If they are, at this hour o’ the night, we’re betrayed, lad.”
The door burst open again and Lockerbie ran in looking grim. “What aboot that wagon, sir? ’Twill give us away, surely, if—”
“Never mind that now. Kerbie, we must warn Dermott and MacWilliams or they’ll ride into an ambush. I wish to God I didn’t have to ask you, but—”
Lockerbie grinned and interrupted, “What am I tae tell ’em, sir?”
“To lie low until we know what’s to do. Hurry! Then get back here. Fast. But don’t come in if it looks like trouble.” Lockerbie opened the door again. Delacourt called, “Have a care, friend. I don’t know how I’d go on without you.”
Lockerbie stood looking at him for a brief, meaningful instant, then left, passing Briley, who came in and reported, “They’re coming on. Not in any hurry that I could tell, Geoff.”
“Maybe it’s simply a troop out after some poor devil. What about Sidley?”
“All right and tight. I told him the whole thing would depend on him, and he took on the look of old Thaint George.” He chuckled. “Thpeaking of dragonth, you might have warned me, you fiend. We made good thpeed through the yard, but when we opened the door of that old shed, poor Thidley gave out a yell, and I had to clap my hand over hith mouth. Damn near frightened me to death, I’ll admit, and the chap about fainted! What the devil ith that confounded creation?”
MacTavish laughed. “The Monster! Egad, I’d forgot aboot him!”
Prudence came in, wearing a simple, full-skirted beige muslin gown. “The troopers have spread out all along the top o’ the slope above the hoose,” she said. “They’re watching us—nae doot o’ it!”
Delacourt’s lips gripped together.
Whitening, MacTavish said sharply, “Then they mean to stay here! Why? Ye dinna fancy your precious butler got word ta Cunningham?”
“No, I don’t think so, sir.” Delacourt thought it more likely that someone had claimed the reward on his own head, but he said only, “Whatever happens, we must make our move before dawn.”
Briley said ironically, “With that moon, my tulip, it might ath well be dawn now.”
Cole slipped inside and leaned back as he closed the door. Turning to him, Delacourt said, “You’re not in this, Cole. Get yourself back to England.”
“I’ll do that, sir. When you come.” The cadaverous features settled into a scowl. Cole added, “I’ll not pretend I’m in sympathy with any of this, but for your sake, Master Geoffrey, if there’s aught I can do…”
“There is. If you’ll be good enough to take the spy-glass upstairs and let us know of any movements of the troopers.”
Cole took the glass and went off, and those remaining sat down and were silent, each one striving to come at a solution.
Briley was first to speak. “Better delay, dear old boy.”
MacTavish nodded, but Delacourt shook his head. “If Cunningham has sent troopers here to spy on us, this may be our last chance to get the men clear.”
“It is possible the redcoats are come to protect us,” MacTavish reasoned. “Cunningham warned we might be subject to reprisals because of your presence, Delacourt. I could ride out and demand to know what they’re doing, and mayhap that would create sufficient of a diversion for the wagon to slip away.”
Delacourt considered that for only a second. “Even if it worked, sir, the wagon cannot move rapidly—or silently. It would be shielded by the trees for only a short distance and then would be clearly visible. If possible, we must draw their attention northeast—away from the route our men will take.”
“What we need,” Briley said thoughtfully, “ith a large Merlin-type diverthion.”
Delacourt stared at him. “Yes, by God! And I think we’ve just the thing, if we can pull it off!” He turned to Prudence, laughter glinting in his dark eyes. “Do not you agree, Miss MacTavish?”
For an instant she did not comprehend, then she gasped, “The Monster! Oh, it would be splendid! But, Papa, it has been lying in the shed for years, do you fancy it is seaworthy?”
MacTavish pursed his lips. “Aye, I do. ’Twas a well-made boat, and yon shed is watertight, I know, for we’d a man hidden there for a while during that last bad storm and he wasnae wet by so much as a drop.”
“Wonderful,” exclaimed Delacourt. “Now—can we get it launched without being seen?”
“Yes,” Prudence answered eagerly. “The shed canna be seen from the hoose or the slope, because o’ the stables and the trees. If we use the wheelbarrows and take the Monster doon through the copse, we can launch him in the little cove and be well oot intae the loch before the troopers see.”
“No need for wheelbarrowth, ma’am,” put in Briley diffidently. “We’ll have your father and Cole and me, and”—he glanced at Delacourt—“and not you, dear boy, tho do not be arguing.”
“No, but it’s a solid contraption, Thad. I think we must wait until Lockerbie returns. If our chaps are not coming there will be no need to resort to all this. He can help you carry the Monster to the lake if necessary. But if we do go, I reserve the right to be a rower. That I can do.”
“For Lord’s sake,” groaned MacTavish. “And what if they start shooting and sink our Monster? Are ye strong enough to swim to shore? Have ye the slightest idea o’ how cold that water is?”
Delacourt’s jaw set. He said stubbornly, “I shall manage.”
“You must not go, Papa,” said Prudence. “If there should be shooting once the Monster is seen, it would look very odd if you did not appear to enquire as to the cause. Cole can help me row.”
“You!” Flushed with anger, Delacourt snapped, “The devil! I’ll not have you a target for every musket on the hill!”
Briley looked at him sharply.
Warmed by this proprietary and protective stand, Prudence argued, “No, really, Captain. I can swim like a fish, and I know just where we can hide the Monster once we’ve drawn the troopers off. Even if Lockerbie and Cole were to row, they’d be able to see nothing. One person has to stand up so as to look through the jaws and direct the rowers. Besides, I am a Scot and have done nothing to help our fugitives. You must let me do this! Papa, tell him I can!”
MacTavish looked from glowing girl to glowering man, and said with slow reluctance, “My daughter knows every nook and cranny o’ the loch. If aught goes wrong, the others would have a sight better chance with her to guide them.”
“Sir,” Delacourt snarled, “you cannot have thought that if those troopers catch sight of the monster, as we hope they will, they’ll go wild! Every man jack of ’em will be charging after it, shooting like maniacs. I beg you—”
Cole burst in. “They’ve all dismounted and are sitting about, Captain.”
“Together?”
“No, sir. All strung out, like. And all facing this way. But I can see pipes lit, and I’d say they’ve settled down for the night.”
Delacourt turned to his host. “Sir, what time will the moon go down?”
“It’s likely to be riding high long after the sun is up, I’m afraid.”
Prudence said, “I shall go and get my cloak.”
“No!” raged Delacourt.
Lockerbie stuck his head around the door. “Your escort’s come, sir,” he announced, panting. “I’ve got ’em safe hid doon by the big pine tree, and I’ve warned ’em aboot yon butler and y’r plan fer him. They’re saf
e, so long as the redcoats dinna start nosing aboot.”
Delacourt swore under his breath.
With a last look at him, Prudence ran from the room.
* * *
Lockerbie climbed to his feet, brushed dirt from his breeches, and said, “She seems so sound as any bell, Captain. If there’s a hole anywhere I canna find it.”
“Very well.” Delacourt’s worried gaze was on Prudence, standing quietly in the dusty old shed. Her gown was not encumbered by hoops, but he muttered, “If you’ve to swim for it, Miss Prudence, those skirts could drag you under.”
“In that event, sir, I shall abandon modesty—and my skirts. They’re quite easily discarded.”
“In water? I doubt it. Better you should discard ’em now.”
She blushed. “No, sir. I shall if I must. But not until I must.”
Delacourt knew he was delaying them, his fear for the girl’s safety reducing him to a craven. “As you will,” he said harshly. “I fancy we’re ready, gentlemen.”
Prudence wheeled his chair outside, and he held the door wide as MacTavish, Briley, Lockerbie, and Cole staggered out bearing their difficult burden. The wounded men were already in the wagon and horses between the poles. ‘Captain’ Sidley, trembling with nervousness, stood close by, holding his horse. He gestured as they approached, and Delacourt asked that Prudence go on ahead with the boat bearers while he spoke with the butler.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“A trifle nervy, sir,” Sidley murmured. “Never worry. I won’t let you down.”
It was fascinating, thought Delacourt, what a difference a uniform could make. The butler had always had his aloof dignity, but now there was a resolute set to his chin, a glint of determination in his eyes. Delacourt felt a pang of guilt. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he had already handed Mrs. Cairn the letter that would ensure Mrs. Sidley was cared for until her husband’s return. “I am very sure you will do your possible,” he said gravely. “You know what you are to do?”
Journey to Enchantment Page 17
