Cherished Enemy

by Patricia Veryan

  “I know,” interrupted Charles curtly.

  Victor sighed and leaned back against the table. “Is why he gave me this,” he said, with a weary gesture toward the bruise on his jaw.

  She glared at him, but ceased to struggle and Charles relaxed his grip. “And did you tell my brother that you were so crude, so base as to—to touch my—me?” she demanded, her cheeks becoming heated at the mere recollection.

  “No, ma’am,” he drawled. “You did. Whereby…” He touched the bruise on his cheek-bone.

  So he had been punished for his wickedness. To an extent. It was something, but— “You should have called him out and shot him through the heart,” she said hotly.

  Victor jeered, “Oho! What a bloody-minded—”

  “Say rather, what a patriot,” she flared. “My brother appears to have lost his sense of values, sir, but I have not forgot where my loyalties belong!”

  Two stern faces watched her. They both seemed so tall, and she became very conscious of how little she was, but she turned to face Charles and, standing proud and dauntless before him, said, “You are in league with this disgusting creature, I collect. Well, you both are much stronger than I, and could silence me easily enough. But unless you mean to kill me, you had best—”

  Charles’s handsome face twisted and he shrank back in horror. “Rosa! How can you say so dreadful a thing?”

  The initial shock was fading, and the full tragedy of it was coming home to her. The ache in her heart was suddenly nigh unbearable, and she felt as if she were drowning in tears of misery and disillusionment. “After what I have seen here tonight,” she said, the words coming hoarsely from her quivering lips, “I—I have no choice but to believe you capable of … any infamy.”

  Very pale, Charles gazed at her. His shadowed eyes fell. He asked quietly, “What do you mean to do?”

  She could scarcely see now, and her throat was so tight it was all she could do to whisper, “Tell … my father.” Despising her weakness, she dashed a hand across her eyes, and demanded, “Shall you kill him … too?”

  Charles pulled her into his arms, and hugged her tight. “Do not! Do not! Most loved of sisters, could you really believe such evil of me?”

  Sobbing heart-brokenly, she gulped, “Oh, Charles … how can I, when I—so love you? But—dearest … what has happened to all your fine ideals? How could you have lied and deceived me so? How could you allow this horrid man to force you to betray your own family, and most of all your dearest friend, who gave up his life for—”

  “For Prince Charles Edward Stuart!” cried Robert Victor ringingly.

  II

  CERTAINTIES

  13

  The first stunning shock, the incredulous disbelief had eased now, but Rosamond still sat huddled against Charles, clutching the glass of brandy a terrified Victor had brought when she had almost fainted.

  Peering at her anxiously, Victor half-whispered, “Are you feeling better, lass? Mayhap you should take another little sip.”

  She obeyed, coughed, and returned the glass to him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Did I frighten you? That was silly.”

  “You had suffered a great shock,” said Charles, with an irked look at his friend.

  “Aye. My fault. I’m a curst clumsy block to have thrown the news at you in so crude a way, Miss Rosa.”

  Rosamond blinked at him, looking so dazed and helpless that he longed to take her in his arms and soothe away her fear and hurt. That right was denied him. Now, or ever. He had found the exquisite little creature he always had dreamt of finding, but he had found also that there was between them a barrier so formidable as to be insurmountable. He clenched his hand tight, and was obliged to avert his eyes quickly.

  “I just—cannot believe it, you see,” Rosamond explained. “I simply cannot. Hal was so—so patriotic … so—” She sat up straight and turned appealingly to her brother. “Are you sure? Are you perfectly sure?”

  Charles nodded gravely.

  “That Hal—of all men, would turn his back on his own country…” She put an unsteady hand to her temple. “Why? It seems so—so foreign to everything I have ever believed of him. Why? Oh! If only I could understand. ’Twill break Howard’s heart! He worshiped Hal. And—poor Violet … and Deb—” She broke off, a little snatch of memory causing her to jerk up her head abruptly. “Deborah knows!”

  Charles and Victor exchanged sober glances, then Victor took the glass to the desk and set it down. “I’ll go now.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!” snapped Charles, his arm still protectively around his sister. “We’ve scarce begun to work, my friend!”

  Hesitantly, Victor muttered, “I think Miss Rosa will hear you more comfortably, am I not present.”

  “No,” said Rosamond. “I do not pretend to comprehend, but—if my brother names you friend, Dr. Victor—” She smiled wanly. “But, ’tis not—Dr. Victor, is it?”

  He bowed and said with a flourish, “Robert Victor MacTavish, ma’am. At your service.” And perching on the arm of the settle, he added, “Who apologizes most sincerely for all his wicked lies. You were quite justified in despising me, ma’am. But you must not despise your brother. Charles has no liking for my political beliefs. He is a truly Christian gentleman whose sole concern is to help the suffering and innocent victims of our unhappy Rebellion. If you knew how many lives he has—”

  “Enough, Rob,” said Charles, reddening. “As for you, Rosa, what you said was perfectly right. I have indeed brought the shadow of the axe over this house. But I have tried very hard to ensure it will touch only me. Should I be arrested, I will confess my own guilt, and swear that you and the rest of the family knew nothing of—”

  She gave a gasp and hugged him tight. “No, no! We must never come to such a pass! Whatever you have done was out of fond memory for Hal, I know.” She kissed his pale, troubled face and turned to Victor. “Sir, Charles said that you had come from France to help him. You must have thought me very silly and—I expect I have made things more difficult for you. I am sorry for that, but—I did not know … Even now, ’tis so difficult to accept all this, perhaps because I love my country dearly, and—” She faltered to a halt.

  “And I am an enemy,” he interpolated gravely. “Of course, ma’am, I quite understand.”

  “If my brother calls you friend, sir, I do not see how I could—name you enemy.” Her eyes, which had lowered, lifted to his and were trapped for a long, breathless moment. Then she went on hurriedly, “I think all the lies that—that both of you have told have been to protect me. No?”

  “We tried.” Charles tightened his arm about her. “You’re a Trojan for taking it like this, love. Go to your bed now and try to forget—”

  “No, dear!” she said with a touch of her usual spirit. “I must know what ’tis all about!”

  Charles sighed and glanced at Victor. “Is a wilful creature, this sister of mine.”

  “Aye,” agreed the Scot, his eyes saying a great deal more than that one word as he watched Rosamond. “But she has that right, you know.”

  “A right that could pave her way to the block,” said Charles bitterly.

  “She already knows too much for her own safety, alas. ’Twould be better to my way of thinking were she to know the whole. At least then she’d know what she must guard against. But the decision is yours, lad.”

  Not waiting for that decision, Rosamond put in, “I always believed Hal to be the most patriotic of men. Whatever induced him to switch his allegiance to the Jacobite Cause?”

  Charles hesitated, but then answered slowly, “You’ll remember how deeply Hal was affected by his father’s death?”

  “Yes. But he was so very kind to Aunt Violet, and so anxious for her. Papa worried for him, I think.”

  “He did. Is a kind-hearted gentleman, Rosa. ’Twas his idea, when Aunt Violet began to recover her spirits, that Hal should go to Paris for a change of scene.”

  “I know. And—oh! Was that when Hal met Prince Char
les?”

  Charles nodded. “And was deeply impressed by him.”

  “’Twas a mutual liking,” put in Victor. “I saw them together, often. They were best of friends.”

  “When he came home from France,” resumed Charles, “Hal told me of his extreme admiration for the Prince. He had no use for the House of Hanover, and had pledged his sword to Stuart. You may believe I was horrified. I tried everything: reason, prayer, pleading, shouting. Even a threat to tell my father.” He smiled at Rosamond’s startled exclamation. “Which I did not do, obviously. Nothing would move him. He returned to France the following year, and spent three months working for the Jacobite Cause.”

  “Did Debbie know?”

  “She did not learn the truth until after—” He paused very briefly. “Until after his death.”

  Victor said, “Your brother worked a minor miracle in leading everyone to believe Singleton had volunteered to fight for the king. I’ll never understand how you managed that, Charles.”

  “Nor I,” said Rosamond. “I remember how disappointed I was that Hal was unable to visit us wearing his uniform … I never dreamt the true state of affairs! But—how did you come to be involved with the Jacobite Cause, Charles? Were you won over by the Scottish Prince also?”

  He shook his head, frowning.

  Victor murmured gently, “I believe it was because of the way of his friend’s death, ma’am.”

  Paling, Rosamond clung to her brother’s hand. “Then—you really did fight beside him, Mr. Mac-Tavish?”

  “I did, I’m proud to say. He was a grand fellow, if a wee bit of a braggart about his lady.” Watching her compassionately, he explained, “I knew much of you long before we met, ma’am. Hal carried a miniature of you always. I wish I had a shilling for every time I caught him—gazing at it.”

  Rosamond blinked rather rapidly, her thoughts on the implacable remarks she had made at Tante Maria’s ball, never dreaming that Hal himself had been a Jacobite …

  Victor went on, speaking with slow and obvious reluctance. “Much of what I told his poor mama was truth. We did fight together. He did try to protect me after I was hit. He was wounded at much the same time. Later”—his mouth twisted bitterly—“after our battle became a rout, my leg prevented me from achieving more than a slow hop. Hal managed to keep on his feet, and dragged me with him until we were clear of that—field of death … We hid under a culvert. He’d taken a musket-ball through his side and was in much pain. I could use my hands, at least, and was able to bind the wound for him, but he needed proper attention. Much hope of that…” He paused for a long moment, then went on, his head bowed now, his words jerky and uneven and almost inaudible. “The redcoats were searching the field for reb survivors and—and bayoneting those they found. Then they began to spread the search. I knew the country and I’d family not far away. But soon I could scarce crawl. In case we should be separated I drew Hal a map in the dirt, and told him to try to reach my father’s house. After a while, I was—unable to continue. Hal was nigh as bad, but his every concern was for me. He swore he’d find my father and send him tae me. The last thing he did was tae grrrip my hand and … and wish me well and—tell me if I got clear and he dinna … I was tae—be in touch wi’ his people.” He glanced up, his face haggard and shining with sweat. “He loved you—very deeply, Miss Rosamond.”

  She wiped hurriedly at her eyes and said a scratchy “Thank you, sir. Did you—ever hear … how he died?”

  “Your brother did.”

  Charles took up the sad tale. “As you know, when I learned Hal had fallen, I went up to try and find his grave. I knew I dare not go to the military and claim he’d fought for our side. As luck would have it, there was a young English captain recuperating nearby. A proper madman—who was trying to help Jacobite fugitives from his sick-bed.”

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed Rosamond, astonished. “After Culloden? What a frightful chance to take, especially when he’d fought against them!”

  “He’s a braw broth of a boy,” said Victor, grinning. “In fact, my sister—” He caught himself up abruptly.

  “The fellow we speak of,” Charles went on, “is from a fine old family, and to protect them, when he went into the rescue trade he called himself Ligun Doone. He was wounded at Prestonpans last year, when the Scots routed us. Doone was desperately ill for many months, and given very little chance to live, but he’s a fighter. He managed to recover to a degree, and when he heard about Culloden and what was happening to the fugitives, he was enraged.” He smiled faintly. “He once told me he thought it ‘very poor sportsmanship.’ He began to help wherever he could and at considerable risk to himself. Soon, he had built up a small group working to get rebels to sanctuary.”

  Rosamond asked intently, “But how were you able to contact the gentleman? How did you know about him? Surely his true identity was a closely guarded secret?”

  “Very closely guarded! Suffice it to say that—perhaps because of my cloth—I was trusted and taken to him, and it was from him I learned what had happened.” He paused, then stood, his fine hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the flickering candles.

  “Hal had struggled along with the help of two other fugitives,” he went on. “They were constantly forced to detour away from Rob’s home. They’d no food; no shelter. Hal’s wound had become infected, and he was failing rapidly. God only knows what—what they suffered, but one of the others died. The second man begged Hal to go with him into the Highlands. Hal refused, saying he must try and—and find Rob’s family. He went on alone. English patrols and bounty hunters were everywhere. Hal must have been hopelessly lost. The—the poor fellow travelled in a circle. The weather was bad—he was … tormented by starvation and loss of blood and—gangrene. And so, at last, just before help came, he—” The strained voice was suspended, then continued hoarsely, “—he—died … all alone in the cold and rain—with no one to lift a hand to help, or— That—splendid … gallant—”

  Blinded with tears, Rosamond accepted Victor’s silently offered handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth.

  Charles walked a few quick paces away. Head bowed, nails digging into his palms, he fought for control and muttered shakenly, “Doone’s people met up with the other survivor. They found Hal, too late, alas, but gave him a proper burial. I went to his grave. And there I vowed before God I would do all I might to prevent other brave men from suffering so cruel an end. For Hal’s sake. I joined Doone’s little group and came home to be of what help I could down here, where I’ve had the great good fortune to work with some very brave gentlemen.” He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back and turned to face Rosamond again. “Perhaps that means I am a traitor, but—it’s over, don’t you see? Whatever they did, right or wrong, it’s over! There’s no cause for keeping on with all the slaughter and brutality!”

  Unabashedly weeping, she gulped, “And—Deborah…?”

  “She had suspected the truth for some time. She kept imploring me to tell her how Hal died. I tried to spare her, of course, but—” He shrugged. “She discovered what I was doing, and nothing would satisfy her until at last—I told her the truth. She was so enraged, so grief-stricken … She took the same vow I had done.”

  “I—see. So—when she was supposed to be in Denmark…?”

  “She was in Oxfordshire.”

  “Oxfordshire! But—why on earth…?”

  “An English Jacobite was in great trouble. He carried the first cypher, and a ruthless pack of bounty hunters and soldiers were hot on his heels. His brother had reason to suspect that if he could win through, he’d make for a certain estate. We knew he was hurt and hard-pressed and his brother was uneasy about the present owner of the place, so Deb assumed the name of Betty Park and went there to apply for work as a maid. She was hired and managed to get a message to Quent____er, the fugitive. Thanks to her, he was able to come up with his brother eventually, and is now safe in France.”

  “By the skin of h
is teeth,” muttered Victor.

  Rosamond blew her small reddened nose and, again wiping her eyes, asked, “And is it truth, then, that your cypher holds the key to the location of a great treasure? Where did it come from?”

  “From many people,” explained Victor. “Now we seek to return their valuables. You may be sure that with all the reprisals ’gainst the families of Jacobite sympathizers, they stand in desperate need of their belongings.”

  “And—you were sent back here to decode the cypher, Mr. MacTavish? You have the key?”

  He said wryly, “No to both questions, ma’am. I came back because I’m a crazy Scot, and could nae bear the thought of a clutch of Sassenachs doing my worrrk for me!”

  Memory was jogged by those words. She gasped, “A … crazy Scot! My heavens! So that is what he said! I thought he called you a ‘crazy sot’!” They were both staring at her. “That beautiful estate we trespassed upon while coming here,” she said. “I thought ’twas most odd!”

  Victor grinned at Charles. “Lac Brillant. We detoured there, hoping for word of the gentleman who has the key to the cypher. The horseman you saw, ma’am, was brother to the reb Miss Deborah helped in Oxfordshire.”

  She nodded slowly, still fitting pieces together. “But—you are a Jacobite yourself. Why then were you so harsh with that poor boy near Lewes? You hit him so very hard, and he was badly wounded.”

  “I had no choice in the matter. An you recollect, the lad was hysterical. Another second and his outcries would have been heard by the dragoons. I had to silence him as quickly as possible.” He shrugged, and said ruefully, “I hope you will believe, I regretted the necessity.”

  “I cannot but admire your fortitude, sir,” she said quietly. “And you, Charles? What is your task in this business?”

  “Och aweigh,” said Victor with a grin. “Charles has no specific task, Miss Albritton. He’ll tell you he simply works with those who organize things on the southern end of our rescue chain. The truth is that this meek and mild individual has risked his life countless times to help our fugitives. He is, besides, the man to whom all the various cyphers have been delivered.”