Journey to Enchantment (13 page)

Prudence glanced at Little Willie, who appeared to have dropped off to sleep. “I heard he was safely away,” she said.

“We got him out of one frying pan, and into another, sad to say.” His smile flashed at her. “I think you saw us from the point last week.”

“Yes. I was not sure, but later I suspected you'd been the one to ride Lord Briley's mare.”

MacTavish interjected with fierce anger, “You were
alone
on the point?”

“And came down like a thunderbolt to hear my fellows tell of it,” said Delacourt. “You're a bruising rider, Miss MacTavish.”

She felt ridiculously pleased and knew her cheeks were reddening.

“Perhaps,” said MacTavish darkly. “But it was foolish beyond permission. We'll have no more of that, Prue. We've got all we can handle.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “And now I can help. No—never look so cross, Papa. I'm in this, do ye not see it? Only tell me what you mean to do with poor Willie?”

“Hide him,” said Delacourt. “Just so soon as Kerbie returns. He gave the troopers the slip a few miles back, but they'll likely be searching all the homes hereabouts.” He smiled faintly. “I fancy he'll have to join your other hidden guests, sir.”

MacTavish met his daughter's curious stare. “We've two other lads in the second room of our pyramid,” he explained.

She clapped her hands delightedly. “Right under the Colonel's nose? Have they been there long, sir?”

“Upwards of a week.”

Delacourt said, “The problem is less one of a hiding place than of an escape. But the patrols have become so numerous and so damned suspicious that between them and the bounty hunters…” He frowned. “The price of our successes, alas.”

Watching him, marvelling that this ill-looking young man could be so fearless, Prudence said, “My own wicked suspicions told me you merely feigned illness. Is the truth of the matter perhaps that you are not quite recovered of your wound?”

At once, he grinned at her. “I play the self-indulgent invalid well enough to have infuriated you, ma'am. If you but knew how the sparks shot from your eyes when I said I was tol-lol.”

She laughed. “Aye. I fancied you the kind to enjoy your infirmities. And I think you have not answered me, sir.”

“You'll get no straight answers from him,” put in MacTavish. “So I'll tell you that he's not doing so well but that he'd be doing a sight better did he not try to do so much.”

“And there,” chuckled Delacourt, “is your straight answer.”

Prudence was mulling over that ‘straight answer' when she made her way up the stairs a short while later. There were so many questions she longed to ask, so many decisions to be made, so much planning to do, but not tonight. The Captain had begun to look very tired. She was afraid his desperate leap to avoid the charge from her blunderbuss, on top of all his other activity, had taxed his strength, and although his manner was now very different from the languid martyrdom he had earlier affected, she was plagued by the notion that his health was not as good as he'd implied.

She had hoped to be able to have a cose with her father, but the MacTavish had sent her off to bed, announcing his intention to retire just as soon as Lockerbie came in and helped them get Little Willie to the secret room in the pyramid.

Three wounded men would be sharing that tiny chamber. They must be spirited away as soon as possible. Delacourt had said he had a plan for the fugitives, but how he could hope to elude Cunningham's patrols handicapped by casualties, she could not guess. Still, Ligun Doone would contrive, of that she had little doubt. Despite his modest claim of a few successes, she knew that many rebels had been shepherded to safety thanks to his intervention.

She went to her room with her heart singing; a very different girl to the heartsick creature who had left it.

She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Kitty opening the bedcurtains and a cup of breakfast chocolate tantalizing her with its rich aroma. For a second she lay staring up at her trusting abigail, dismayed because Little Willie was now in the pyramid and she dared not tell the girl of it. Somehow, she dissembled, accepting her tray and bending her concentration upon the letters that had been brought in from the Receiving Office in Inverness. One of these was a long-awaited letter from her dearest friend who had married an army officer and gone off to the Americas with him, and another was from her favourite cousin in Perth. And both were unimportant compared to the excitement that flooded her being. She longed to jump from her bed and run to the MacTavish to demand he tell her all he knew of the gallant Ligun Doone. But even with Kitty, she dared seem no different than was usual, and she sent the girl off to press one of her most becoming gowns, a summery thing of white muslin sprigged with blue and worn over many petticoats.

She was gazing dreamily at the sunny morning, her letters still unread, when a scratch at the door announced the arrival of a guest whose existence she had quite forgotten.

Miss Clandon, it seemed, never looked anything but lovely. Her pale green silk cap was edged with rich lace, and the curls framing her piquant little face gleamed a rich gold in the early morning light. Her wrapper was of pale green taffeta and lace, and a nightgown of the same colour swirled about her dainty slippers. Running to the bed, she held out both hands in so warmly impulsive a gesture that Prudence could do nothing but clasp them.

“You are one of us!” exclaimed Miss Clandon with low-voiced exuberance. “Och, but I couldnae be more pleased! Geoffrey but now told me of it.”

So she had already visited her cousin's room. And in her nightrail! Prudence interposed, “Is he all right?” An anxious look came into the big brown eyes and she added hastily, “He, er, fell last evening. Did he not tell you?”

“He did not! He knew very well I would scold him, for he will not rest!”

Clearly, she had misinterpreted the cause of the Captain's fall, but Prudence did not pursue the matter, asking instead if Miss Clandon had grown up near to her cousin.

“Oh, no.” Miss Clandon appropriated one of Prudence's morning biscuits and then perched on the bed. “We are not related at all. 'Tis just the tale we put aboot to make things”—she giggled conspiratorially—“more respectable.”

The MacTavish's notions of propriety in a lady were very high, and Prudence was inwardly shocked. But, after all, the man lived on the edge of death every hour of every day. Why should he be criticized for keeping a mistress? “Then you help him in his rescue work?” she asked gently. “Would you tell me how it began?”

“It began the other way round—with a vengeance, Miss MacTavish. My uncle's estate is near Prestonpans. He's a kindly gentleman and very set against war. He cares for neither the Stuarts nor the House of Hanover, and was appalled when the fighting came so near to us. The English were soundly beaten, and fled in most dreadful disorder. They were killing the wounded where they lay.” Her eyes took on a haunted look, and her voice sank. “It was unco' ghastly! My uncle and my cousins could stand no more, and went out to try to help. Three young officers they brought in, and all sore wounded. Geoffrey was one. He'd a hole low on his shoulder you could put your hand in.… We thought only to make their last moments less terrible than to have their throats cut in the mud. The next day, one of them died. Poor lad, he was but fourteen. The second boy began to improve. But each time Geoffrey came around, he'd be fairly distracted to find he still lived, and he'd beg my uncle to put him oot, lest we were slain for sheltering him.” She shook her head. “And him, breathing oot blood with every word!”

Her throat so tight as to make speech difficult, Prudence faltered, “But you nursed him back to health.”

“I fancy we did, though it was a long road, and many the time I thought him gone. We were thinking we'd won our battle at Christmastime. The other boy we'd taken in was a bonnie wee lad named Abel. He'd been quite well for some time and was eager to get home. We tried to tell him there was no chance he'd get through, for the clans were hunting any English survivors. Abel loved us, but he'd no listen and slipped away, determined to spend Christmas with his family. He was almost taken, of course, and fled back to us, with a group of Jacobites hot after him.”

“Heavens! Did you all have to run for your lives?”

“Not quite, but we had to get our two Southrons away. Quick! Geoffrey was fair beside himself, dreading he'd be found—and you can guess how it would have gone for us, had that happened.”

“Indeed I can. I was told you tried to get him to the Border, but it was impossible.”

“Aye. Aboot as impossible for an Englishman to get through then, as it would be for a Jacobite to get through today. It's full circle we've come. At any road, however they tried, they were hounded north again. Abel managed to slip through, but Abel was well, and their desperate flight had sent Geoff into a relapse. He and Lockerbie know a deal aboot being hunted, I can tell ye, and have some braw tales o' their escapes. Lockerbie has been with my family since he was a bairn, and luckily he recollected I've a grandmama living near Inverness.”

“Lady Ericson.”

“Yes. A grand old lady. Lockerbie brought Geoff to her, and she gave him sanctuary and took a great liking to him.”

“I see. That must have been just before Culloden?”

“In March. By the time they reached Castle Court, Geoffrey had gone right doon again and was too ill to do more than lie abed. He'd every intention of contacting the military and explaining the mix-up with the names— You knew aboot that?”

“I know his real name, now, but not how the mistake occurred.”

“Ah. Well, there was a laddie in Geoff's regiment named Geoffrey Delacourt. He was killed, poor fellow, but we did not learn for many weeks that it was Dela
vale
who had been reported killed, and Dela
court
missing.”

“But how terrible for his family. They must have believed him slain.”

“Well, they did, of course. Geoff is deeply attached to his sister, and asked me to write and tell her of the mistake. I did, but it was months before we could get it down to England, and from what we heard later, she never received the letter.” She looked angry and stopped speaking, and Prudence waited a little while, then prompted, “But—how is it that Colonel Cunningham still thinks he is Captain Delacourt?”

“Because by the time Geoff was well enough to write to him, we had suffered Culloden. Cumberland went on his hideous rampage. Your brother was hunted to my grandmama's grounds. Rob and Geoffrey had been at school together, as you know, and when Geoff learned how our lads were being slaughtered, he was furious. He began to scheme a way to get Rob to safety. Did you know he's a wicked forger? And my grandmama's dresser is a most skilled lady. Between the three of them, they provided Robbie with papers, a sailor's uniform, and a passage to France. It all worked, sweetly, neatly. The word spread. More rebels came. Geoffrey went, as ye might say, into business. When they begged his name, he invented his alias, and verra soon was known tae all our people.”

“Yes, indeed he is! But—why did he not tell the Colonel his true name?”

Miss Clandon gave a slow smile. “Because he is the type of man he is. I doot he ever spares a thought for himself.”

Watching her, Prudence said quietly, “You make him sound a paragon.”

Miss Clandon laughed. “Och, he'd fairly hate that! No—he has his faults. Not the least of which is that he's insanely reckless at times. But he'll do anything to protect his family. He knew that if he was caught aiding the rebels, his estate would be forfeit and his sister left penniless, so he allowed the Colonel to go on believing him to be Delacourt, who was alone in the world, with no wife or children, and his only brother a soldier in India.”

Prudence said, frowning a little, “I could see that, right enough. But with a man like Cunningham, it would be best, I think, if the Captain went home as soon as may be. He's done more than his share.”

“So says my grandmama. She's a proud lady, wi' the tartan in her blood, y'ken, but Geoff quickly won her heart, and she began to fret for his sake. She asked your papa to take him in, so he'd not be under Cunningham's nose. And since Geoffrey had helped your brother…”

“There was not much Papa could do but say yes.” Prudence nodded. “Even so—Captain Delacourt should go home.”

“He means to. But he's a fine group working with him the noo, and always someone else comes who needs his help. So he stays. And—besides…” Again, she did not finish the sentence, but sat staring at the biscuit in her hand.

Prudence waited, then said, “Well, I think it all superb. Where does Lord Briley fit into the plans? Or does he fit in at all?”

“He's in it up to his aristocratic neck. He works with several other English gentlemen to help those who manage to get to the Southland. And what a fine lad, for all his posing and that finicking lisp. I was that glad to meet him.”

“He told us he went to Prestonpans looking for a friend's grave. Is that so?”

“Yes. But mostly he was trying to find out what had happened to Geoffrey. He needed an introduction to my grandmama, and since I'd reason to come up also, we travelled together.”

“By ship,” said Prudence. “Miss Clandon, would it not be the easiest way for our fugitives to escape—to take ship?”

“Of a surety! And the curst redcoats know it and watch every cove and inlet. And the English men-o'-war prowl the coastline. A sad number of our lads have been killed trying to escape by that route. Their next best chance is to run north into the mountains. But the redcoats guard the passes, so that along with the English gentlemen who were out with Prince Charles, their one last hope is to attempt the Border. Right good sport the troopers have wi' 'em! Sometimes, they're hunted clear to the south coast before they're pounced on and dragged back to be shot—the poor exhausted souls!”