Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  * * *

  The Captain’s venture out of doors appeared to have exhausted him, and he kept to his room for the rest of the morning. A breeze came up in the afternoon and blew in grey clouds to shut out the sun. Lord Briley, who had been closeted with Delacourt, joined Hortense and Prudence for a late luncheon, and afterwards accompanied the ladies to the music room, where Hortense played the harpsichord and Prudence sang some of the beautiful airs and folk-songs of her land. MacTavish, who had been obliged to attend to some pressing matter with his steward, returned to them and they all joined in singing “Women Are Angels, Wooing,” Briley raising a fine clear baritone voice that compensated for the lisp. They parted in perfect amity at three o’clock, to rest before changing for dinner.

  Leaving the music room on Briley’s arm, Prudence saw Lockerbie wheeling his master along the corridor towards them. “Ah, Captain,” she said. “How glad I am to see you up and about. I was quite alarmed by your high colour this morning. You are feeling better, I trust?”

  He smiled wanly at her. “To say truth, dear ma’am, I fear you were perfectly right. I tax my strength by being up at all, but I felt I must come and thank you, Mr. MacTavish, for all your kind efforts in my behalf.”

  “My very great pleasure, my dear fellow,” said MacTavish gravely.

  Prudence murmured, “Kind … efforts?”

  “Your papa,” explained the Captain, “was so kind as to have me moved to two ground-floor rooms. It was so—so very wearying you know to be hauled up and down the stairs. I am most—” He paused, coughing, and waved his hand in a helpless fashion.

  MacTavish slipped one hand onto his shoulder. “Say no more, I beg you. And pray do not attempt to come to the dining room tonight. No, ’tis no trouble to my staff to bring you your tray. You can join us tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” the Captain asserted forlornly. “Indeed, I hope so.”

  Lockerbie wheeled his drooping charge away, and the rest of the party dispersed to their various chambers.

  Prudence went into her parlour and sat by the window, staring unseeingly into the drizzling afternoon. So the cunning Captain had already thrust a spoke into her wheel! With his bedchamber now two flights below hers it would be much more difficult to keep watch on his activities. She thought angrily, ‘And that much easier for him to pass his spy reports on to his soldiers!’ She wrung her hands. If Delacourt was a spy he doubtless planned to send them all to a terrible death. Well, he’d not succeed, the cruel beast! Somehow, no matter what the cost, she would outwit him!

  IV

  “The green muslin?” said Kitty, shocked. “But—’tis oot o’ style, miss! People will think I dinna ken how tae dress my lady.”

  Prudence took down the slightly faded muslin gown and eyed it with approval. It should blend in nicely. “Have I a green bonnet? But—no. On second thought—a scarf, a green scarf for my hair will be better. And—no powder, Kitty.”

  “Losh, but ye’ll look a fright! And the Captain’s cousin coming tae visit him s’afternoon.”

  Reinforcements, no doubt! “Why was I not told? From whence comes this cousin?”

  “I didnae hear,” replied Kitty. It had not escaped her that her young mistress had been extreme preoccupied of late with Captain Delacourt, for all she tried to appear indifferent to the handsome invalid. After Lord Briley left yesterday afternoon, Miss Prue had announced her intention to devote herself to the Captain’s entertainment and had sat in the book room reading Shakespeare to him until he’d fallen fast asleep. Miss Prue had seemed rather vexed when the poor laddie began to snore so loudly, but when he’d woken and apologized in so meek a way, she had wheeled his chair tae his room with her own hands so that he might rest. When Colonel Cunningham had dropped in for tea, Miss Prue had scarcely spoke of anything but the Captain and of how she admired his brave acceptance of his suffering. Though, mused Kitty, to her own way of thinking, Captain Delacourt was bonnie enough, but a wee bit of a mama’s boy when it came tae spunk.

  She turned from rummaging through the chest of drawers. “I canna find a scarf of green, miss. There’s this blue one, but—”

  “Never mind. I shall borrow one from my aunt. She’s sure to have one.”

  Hortense was reading a letter and in a great state of agitation. “’Tis your poor Aunt Geraldine,” she cried. “You’ll remember her friend, Mrs. Andover? Gone! And only think—the stars told me that death was close to us this week!”

  “Not very close, surely. I’ve never met the poor lady, have you? How came she to go to her reward?”

  Hortense turned a closely written page so as to read the crossed lines. “Her doctor—MacPherson, a good man—said she’d been so unwise as to eat a quantity of gooseberries when the moon was at the full and the fruit fermenting!”

  “Goodness!” said Prudence, uncertainly. “Is that dreadful?”

  “It must be. Oh, dear! If the world is not full of pitfalls for the unwary!”

  “All sorts of pitfalls,” muttered Prudence, contemplating the villainy of English Captains. “Aunty Mac, do your stars have anything to say that would affect us—directly, I mean?”

  Gratified by this interest in her favourite subject, Hortense tossed her sister-in-law’s letter aside. “Indeed they do! Prue, my love, I’ve no wish to frighten you, but—oh, a dreadful menace is coming upon us!”

  ‘The cousin,’ thought Prudence grimly. ‘Well, at all events, I’m prepared for him!’ “Do you know when this menace will afflict us?”

  “Very soon, I should say.” Her aunt sighed. “And in a strange garment,” she added dramatically.

  “Strange … what?”

  Hortense said defensively, “My charts say that a man wearing outlandish attire will come seeking the death—the death, Prue!—of a resident of Lakepoint.” She tucked in her chin, her eyes wide and tragic.

  Prudence battled the impulse to laugh. “How dreadful. I hope your stars have erred this time. May I please borrow a green scarf?”

  Hortense regarded her niece gloomily and acknowledged, if only to herself, that although a dear and pretty creature, Prudence was a widgeon. Green, she pointed out, was unlucky. This did not daunt her niece, and the end of it was that Hortense rang for her maid, who was able to unearth a charming zephyr shawl which, when loosely draped about Prudence’s bright curls, looked so enchanting that Hortense forgave her and declared staunchly that nothing so lovely could possibly be unlucky.

  Armed with this assurance, Prudence tripped downstairs and went into the kitchen to purloin a basket and some pruning scissors. She was rather taken aback to find Captain Delacourt chatting with the kitchen staff in the large sunny room. She checked, hoping to hear what he was prying out of the servants, but their startled faces betrayed her, and his dark head turned, his martyred smile dawning at once.

  “How charmingly you look, Miss MacTavish. Outward bound, are you? Alas, had I but the strength to accompany you.”

  She told him she meant to undertake nothing of a taxing nature. “Just a little stroll before luncheon, Captain. Perhaps Lockerbie could bring you along.”

  “Had you come seeking me, then? How very thoughtful.”

  She put up her brows. “But why ever should I seek you in the kitchen? It is surely the last place I’d have expected to find a guest.”

  Again, for a split second she thought to glimpse that glinting dance of amusement in the dark eyes, but then the thick curling lashes swept down and he was saying that the chef had very obligingly volunteered to show him how the morning bannocks had been prepared. “Such a sure hand has your wonderful maître de la cuisine. It is a recipe I am very anxious to give my own cook.” He sighed and added despondently, “If I am ever so fortunate as to return to England.”

  Prudence thought, ‘Oh, you wicked liar!’ She glanced at the servants, but they were looking so innocently pleased by the words of praise that she could not think they had been saying anything they shouldn’t. She excused herself, collected her gardening arti
cles, and exited by the side door.

  The morning was warm and full of the scents of summer. Señorita was chasing a grasshopper in the kitchen garden, her whiskers ferocious. Oblivious to the havoc the cat was creating among the young lettuce plants, Prudence strolled around to the side of the house, frowning a little. She would have to instruct Mrs. Cairn to warn the servants. Geoffrey Delacourt had altogether too much easy charm, and although they were good, loyal people, there was no telling what he might worm out of them.

  The cutting beds were located beyond the rose gardens, and here phlox and lupins, iris and daisies and cornflowers bloomed in colourful array. Prudence cut a nice bouquet and embellished it with some sprigs of apple blossom before turning back towards the house.

  Captain Delacourt’s ground-floor suite had been formed by allocating him two connecting ante-rooms located at the rear of the house, next to the MacTavish’s study. Prudence turned her idle steps in that direction, trusting her choice of gown would render her inconspicuous against the verdant background. Several stone benches were set around the lawns, one of which was fortuitously placed just below the terrace not far from the Captain’s windows which, due to the warmth of the day, were wide open. Prudence sat down and waited, hoping she had managed to reach this point unobserved.

  All was quiet and peaceful. Birds chirped and flirted in the oak trees that stood one on each side of the terrace. A butterfly hovered over a low-hanging branch of the gold-laden acacia in the centre of the lawn. Prudence smiled nostalgically at the tree. Years ago, though it seemed only yesterday, she and Robbie had been used to climb into its branches to keep watch on Papa when they were engaged in some particularly desperate enterprise. Often, their wickedness would consist of smuggling bon-bons or jam tarts outside on some glorious sunny afternoon when they were supposed to be in their rooms struggling with the studies Miss Grover had set them before luncheon. They’d had a clear view of Papa’s study from the acacia and— Prudence tensed with a gasp of excitement. Captain Clever might have played right into her hands, for although she was years older now, she was not so decrepit she could not climb that tree again. And she would borrow Robbie’s glass from his room. She chuckled gleefully, then listened intently as she heard a door close and Lockerbie’s voice raised in a scolding way, the words not quite distinguishable.

  “Oh, hush, man,” said the Captain, his voice clearer, as though he had wheeled his chair close to the window. “It was a waste, at all events. They either know nothing, or will say nothing.”

  There was a pause, Prudence straining her ears for the least murmur.

  Lockerbie said quite distinctly, “There’s Miss MacTavish’s girl—Kitty something or other. Frae what I hear, he was sweet on her.”

  “Was he, now? Splendid, Kerbie! You’re a better spy than I am, be damned if you ain’t! We can work through her, then. You must—”

  Dimly, Prudence had heard the sound of a carriage coming up the drive. Now Lockerbie interrupted sharply. “Somebody’s coming, sir!”

  There was the sound of a door being wrenched open, and another voice, an Englishman’s voice, husky with emotion. “Master Geoffrey!”

  “Cole!” Delacourt sounded overjoyed and there were the unmistakeable sounds of an affectionate reunion.

  “We thought—we thought as you was … dead, sir!”

  “You old rascal! How did you sniff me out?”

  “Mr. de Villars told me. I came at once, of course, but—oh, sir! It’s a dangerous game you’re playing here. If they unmask you, it doesn’t bear thinking of!”

  “Then do not think on it. Just remember, Cole, I’m known as Geoffrey Delacourt up here—you must not forget. Kerbie, you’d best close those windows. Jove, but I’m glad to see you, Cole! How does my sister—”

  The windows were closed and the rest of the question was lost. Prudence blinked at the acacia tree through a blur of tears. Not until that moment did she realize how desperately she’d been hoping her suspicions were groundless. Not until now had she understood that she also had been on the brink of succumbing to that little glint of laughter in a pair of dark eyes, or to the gentleness in his smile that had caressed her a time or two. Succumbing to the wiles of a spy. A man who dwelt in their home while gathering evidence against them, plotting to use sweet, trusting Kitty, who admired him so, as a tool to trap the man she loved and haul him off to be executed. “Oh!” she whispered, rubbing fiercely at her tearful eyes. “What a muckle great doddipoll ye are, Prue MacTavish! Faith, but Robbie would—would laugh himself intae a … spasm!”

  Smothering a sob, she took up her flowers and walked quickly back to the house. She ran up the stairs to her brother’s room, having given the flowers to Sidley, and sought for the spy-glass. Typical of Robbie, his press was a shambles, and the drawers of the two large chests little better, but at last she unearthed the telescoping glass, buried under a welter of old letters in his desk drawer. She dusted the lens, drew out the sections, and trained the glass on the acacia tree. She could even see the bees that darted amongst the blooms! Triumphant, she telescoped the sections and slipped the glass into her pocket. With this, she might see something so damning that Papa would fairly have to believe her!

  Since Mr. MacTavish had gone to Inverness to confer with a fellow scholar, and Hortense was off to meet with the Astrological Circle at the home of her dearest friend, no formal luncheon was served that day, a buffet having been set up in the breakfast parlour to accommodate Prudence and Captain Delacourt whenever it should suit them to take themselves in search of food. Prudence did not see the Captain, however, and made a light meal of fruit, some lemonade, and a piece of sponge cake. By the time she had finished there was still no sign of him and she hurried into the garden once more.

  All nature seemed to be drowsing that sultry afternoon. Down by the rose arbour a gardener knelt weeding, his back to the house, and another man was scything the lawn near the west wing and the music room. Prudence wandered past the acacia tree and, when she was fairly sure it shielded her from any chance of the Captain spotting her from his windows, she turned about and wandered back again. She glanced over her shoulder. The toiling gardener had not seen her. Like a flash, she darted in amongst the leafy bower of the branches.

  It was cooler in here, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of the blossoms. The old bench that had been built around the trunk was still there, a forgotten bonus that made her initial climb much easier. Even so, she felt slightly apprehensive as she looked up. The first branch seemed very far. She wondered if the trunk had grown since she was a schoolroom miss, and decided that was very likely. She reached up tentatively. She could clasp the branch and it felt sturdy enough, but how to get up there? Fortunately her gown had no hoops and she had worn only four petticoats, so she should not be too encumbered. She glanced around nervously, then pulled up her skirts and stuck her left foot into the cleft remaining from a sawn-off limb. That must be the answer, of course! This had been the branch she and Robbie had used as a first step! She tightened her lips and determined that she would just have to get along with what was left of it.

  Gripping the upper branch tightly, she pushed up with her right foot and shot into the air. Her head made violent contact with another slyly lurking limb. She squeaked with pain and almost lost her grip, but somehow managed to haul herself up and straddle the branch. She rocked precariously, her head hurting and an ominous tearing sound alarming her. Intensely aggravated, she discovered that she was perspiring, her hair was all knocked down, and she was most uncomfortable. Worse, it was all for naught! Instead of facing the house she was facing the tree trunk, which was ridiculous! She growled out one of Robbie’s choice oaths. She might be hind end foremost, but at least she was up and it should be a simple matter to turn around. Clinging to the branch above her head, and with a great struggle, she succeeded in bringing her right leg over the branch she was straddling, but there were more tearing sounds. Oh, if only ladies could wear breeches! It dawned on her, then, tha
t she must resemble a berserk gorilla, and the thought so amused that she began to giggle. She controlled herself and at length was able to turn about on the branch so that now she sat beside the trunk, facing the house. Provided she clung very tightly to the trunk with her right arm, she could fish Robbie’s glass from her pocket and see whether she could get a clear view of Delacourt’s room.

  Contrarily, her skirts had completely reversed themselves. Not only was she sitting on the front of her gown, but the twisted-around back portion only reached to her knees. Heaven forfend anyone should discover her in such an unladylike state! She panicked momentarily, and had to remind herself grimly that it was all for Scotland, her Papa, and Little Willie Mayhew. Wriggling, she tugged and fought to straighten her gown. It was a heating and lengthy process, but at last she worked the pocket around to where she could reach the glass. She was panting when she extracted it and, balancing gingerly, devoted both hands to pulling out the three sections. She gripped the glass securely with her left hand and, again wrapping her right arm around the tree trunk, levelled the glass. Voilà! She could see right inside the Captain’s windows, now open again. The room appeared to be empty, but she could see the foot of the bed, and he might now be having a nap, maintaining his pose of a weak invalid. Likely, he had not been wounded at all, and the entire tale concocted only so as to pull the wool over her trusting father’s eyes!