Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  She had no sooner arrived at this conclusion than she heard a man humming. Her heart gave a frightened leap. He was very close by. But it was likely the gardener, who would soon pass and go on to the house, or the outdoor servants’ quarters. She waited, scarcely daring to breathe, for a glimpse of the musically inclined gardener. What a long time it was taking him to come into sight. Fretting, her heart gave another bounce as the hum became a song, sung in a deep, cultured, and melodious voice:

  “Man may escape from rope and gun;

  Nay, some have outlived the doctor’s pill:

  Who takes a woman must be undone,

  That basilisk is sure to kill!

  Sure to kill! Sure to kill!

  The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets,

  So he that tastes woman … woman … woman,

  He that tastes woman—ruin meets!”

  Prudence gritted her teeth. It was him, of course! And how like Fate to bring him to this very spot, at this of all moments, to warble his revolting little song!

  Lockerbie’s voice, chuckling. “That’s a right good song, sir. Faith, but I’ve not heard ye sing in a muckle long time.”

  “Not had the breath for’t, alas. In fact, I’m … not at all sure but what I’ve … used more than I had.”

  “Are ye all right, sir? Will I be running for your medicine?”

  “Thank you. But do not bring it for a little while, please. It’s grand to be away from beds and stuffy rooms for a bit.”

  Prudence groaned inwardly and prayed the wretch would go away.

  “I dinna like leaving ye oot here, sir,” said the faithful Lockerbie.

  “Why, you can come and collect me in half an hour, Kerbie. Toddle off, now, there’s a good fellow.”

  Lockerbie grumbled to himself, but (to Prudence’s stark horror) trudged off towards the west wing, probably to cadge a tankard of ale from the kitchen maids.

  The humming started again. That same odious song, with a word sung softly here and there, indicating the spy had regained his wind a trifle. ‘Thirty minutes!’ she thought, anguished. ‘I canna bear thirty minutes o’ this noise!’

  One single moment later, she would have gladly settled for thirty minutes of the Captain’s singing, for, craning her neck to see him, she came eye to eye with a bee.

  The widespread belief that if one remained still a bee would lose interest was, she soon perceived, another old wives’ tale. She scarcely breathed, but the bee, fascinated, hovered before her eyes. Desperate, she hissed, “Go away! Shoo!”

  The bee buzzed a little louder and showed a marked inclination to sit on the end of her nose. She jerked her head back in alarm, grasped the end of Hortense’s scarf, and flapped it. This was an error. The buzz became aggressively loud, and the bee began to whip about, apparently calling in comrades, because two more wearing the same uniform swelled the ranks. With a squeal of fright, Prudence came down the tree much faster than she had gone up. She clung to her branch as she lowered herself, giving a louder squeal as a sharp pang above her elbow warned that she had been stung.

  “Good gracious me!” The Captain had manoeuvred himself within the screen of the branches and was standing, clinging to his chair, an astounded expression on his face as he gazed up at her. “Whatever,” he gasped, “are you doing?”

  “Exercising my fingernails!” she snapped, groping vainly with her right foot for the cleft branch, and hideously aware she must look a perfect fright. “Will you please to move? I am being stung to death, and you stand like a lump, staring!”

  “Poor girl!” He clambered gingerly onto the bench and reached upwards. “Only let go, and I will try to catch you.”

  “For heaven’s sake! If—if you could just put my foot in the cleft branch, I can manage by myself.”

  There was a short pause during which she heard muffled sounds indicative of effort—or mirth—or both. Her arms were aching fiercely when he said sadly, “Alas … I cannot seem to reach it, ma’am. Do trust yourself to me. I will … do my poor best. I promise you.”

  She hesitated. If he really had been badly hurt at Prestonpans, she might cause him to suffer another setback, though why that should matter was beyond her ken. And he was probably perfectly well. Certainly well enough to have managed that spirited mare on Wednesday morning. A bee made a practice zoom at her. With a yelp, she let go.

  Strong arms received and held her. Dusky eyes scanned her with a mixture of concern and amusement. The amusement eased into admiration, and his grip tightened. Prudence felt half crushed, a condition that for a moment of insanity she was willing to endure indefinitely. But then Delacourt lowered her to the ground, stepped down himself, and groped his way to his chair.

  “What very odd habits … you Scots have,” he said breathlessly.

  Ignoring him, Prudence attempted to inspect her arm. The attack had been from the rear and she could not discern the site.

  “Dear me,” sighed the rescuer. “You have been stung, haven’t you? You are very brave, ma’am, but that must come out at once.”

  It hurt quite nastily, but she said an austere, “It can wait until I get back to the house, thank you.”

  “Oh, no. Every second counts if you are not to develop apiology acutus.” Prudence stared at him suspiciously, and he went on with bland assurance, “I am very adept in such matters, for my sister made a habit of getting herself stung. I had to suck out the stingers very promptly for her or she became quite ill. I remember she was once stung on the—” He checked. “Well, never mind. Come now, I shan’t hurt you.”

  His countenance was grave, but his eyes and the twitch of his lips made Prudence decide to leave him at once. She was deterred when she noticed that he was quite pale. She moved closer saying uncertainly, “Are you all right? It must have been most taxing for you to catch me. I mean—I know I’m not a wispy lass.”

  “No,” he agreed absently, inspecting the back of her arm.

  “What?” she demanded, stiffening.

  “Oh—I mean, it was no bother. Besides”—he touched her arm gently—“I admire fine healthy young women.”

  Affronted, Prudence snorted, “Well!” and strove to pull away.

  “No, no. You must not move, for I’ve a good grip on it. Bend down, if you please.”

  She thought, ‘A good grip on it’? But for some reason that she would have been quite unable to explain, she obeyed him.

  “Put back your arm a little. Ah—that’s better.”

  She felt his lips on her skin, and a devastating shiver went through her.

  After a moment he said, “Perhaps you should kneel. I can’t quite get it and your arm is becoming very inflamed.”

  Prudence’s knees were so weak that it was no handicap to sink onto them.

  Delacourt bent forward. His arm slipped about her waist, and she felt the velvet touch of his mouth again. Presently, he said, “There—it’s all done now.” She turned to him. “If you … will…” he mumbled, and sagged weakly.

  With a startled cry, she reached up to support him, but he came from the chair in a limp tumble and she clung to him, his head pillowed against her bosom.

  “Oh, my heavens! Captain! Are you all right?”

  His eyes still closed, he murmured dazedly, “Quite all right, dearest Mama…” and kissed his soft pillow lingeringly.

  “Oo-oh!” cried Prudence, sputtering with indignation. “Wake up!” She tried to push his head away, but it was heavily resistant.

  He sighed and blinked up at her. “What’s … to do?”

  “Aye! What indeed?” she said, her face flaming. “You kissed me—” And she broke off, her hand moving to the afflicted area.

  “I would not dream of doing so improper a thing,” he declared primly. “Why am I sitting under this tree? Did I go off in one of my swoons?”

  She fixed him with a hard look. “You fell out of your chair. You were helping with my stinger.”

  “With your what?”

  “I was stung,
” she said haughtily. “By a bee. As you very well know.”

  He put one hand to his brow. His hand shook. Indeed, all of him seemed to shake. “The last thing I recollect,” he said, his voice muffled, “is catching you when you jumped down from your exercises. What with—er, one thing and another, I am quite overcome. Would you be so kind as to help me—back into my chair?”

  Warily, she helped him. “I’ll hae ye tae know ye dinna fool me, Captain Delacourt,” she told him.

  “Fool you? Dear ma’am, I confess I find you inexplicable. I did but offer you a helping hand, whereby I am now exhausted.”

  She stepped back while he gazed up at her soulfully. “I think you are very sly,” she announced.

  He sighed. “I trust you will not hesitate to call upon me the next time you require first aid. You see, I do not hold a grudge.”

  Her determination not to laugh at such schoolboy innocence was almost overborne. The Captain lowered his eyes meekly, then seemed struck to stone. Following his gaze, Prudence gave a gasp. Her gown had suffered several small tears during her adventure, and her pocket had evidently become caught on a branch, considerably to its detriment. The object she had carried there had fallen forward. Robbie’s spy-glass was quite visible. Trying to think of something sensible to say, she was speechless. Delacourt looked up, his face frighteningly bleak for an instant. Then he smiled. “I am sincerely flattered, ma’am,” he murmured.

  She could have sunk. “Dinna be flattering ye’sel’, sir! I carried yon glass purely tae—tae watch the birds.”

  “You are sure it was not—the bees? Or perhaps both?”

  She gave an outraged gasp, but before she could retaliate, a quiver beside his mouth caught her attention and then his eyes were sparkling at her and so undermining her common sense that when he enquired if he might borrow the offending spyglass, she thrust it at him resistlessly. At once irked by such silly weakness, she began to push the chair from beneath the tree.

  The Captain trained the glass on the drivepath, and Prudence saw that a coach was bowling along towards the house.

  “My cousin is arrived,” he said, closing the glass and returning it to her by holding it over his shoulder. “How very fatiguing. I really do not know if I have sufficient strength to receive visitors. Not after all this excitement.”

  Prudence glared at the back of his head. It would be interesting, she thought, to see by what name this newcomer addressed the rascally Captain.

  By the time she had wheeled the chair back to the house, Captain Delacourt’s cousin had been welcomed and was ensconced with Hortense. The invalid, having apparently revived to an extent, professed a weary resignation to “doing the pretty” and entreated Prudence to take him to the drawing room.

  The cousin was not at all what Prudence had expected, being a petite girl of about her own age, with unpowdered ringlets the colour of ripe corn, big brown eyes, and a buoyant, happy manner. She uttered a shriek when she saw Delacourt, and flew up to embrace him while inundating him with questions as to his welfare. The Captain appeared singularly unreluctant after all, coming to his feet in quite a sprightly way, and returning his cousin’s embraces with gusto. He lost no time in making the two girls known to one another, and Prudence begrudgingly admitted to herself that Miss Elizabeth Clandon was a very pretty girl, with a way of spreading her hands to emphasize her remarks which was charming. She spoke with a Scots accent—an odd fact, if she was related to the Captain. She was also, Prudence became aware, staring, with a twinkle in her eyes that was indeed reminiscent of her kinsman.

  “My wee pet,” cried Hortense, who had been eyeing her niece in horror. “Have you suffered an accident?”

  Prudence had been so upset by the Captain’s disgraceful behaviour and then the arrival of his relative that she had quite forgotten her own appearance. She became the focus of all eyes and wished the floor might open and swallow her. Putting up a hand to her tumbled curls, she stammered, “I—er, fell.”

  “From a tree,” explained the Captain, with helpful and revolting honesty.

  Hortense gave a little squawk.

  “But I caught her,” he added, sinking down into his chair again.

  “You never did!” His cousin gave him a shocked look. “For goodness’ sake, Geoffrey! One might think you’d learn—”

  “She was not very high up,” he said hurriedly. “Exercising, y’know.”

  “Ex … er-cising…?” breathed Hortense, her eyes goggling. “In a tree? In public?”

  Very red in the face, Prudence said, “I had not thought it to be public, Aunty Mac.”

  “That is perfectly true,” Delacourt said supportively. “She was hiding there, ma’am.”

  She glared at him. “Not very successfully.”

  “It was fatiguing,” he admitted, sighing and putting back his head. “But when a lady screams, what is a gentleman to do?”

  Hortense, mesmerized by her niece’s expression, took warning. “Exactly so, Captain Geoffrey,” she babbled. “So you, ah, have Scots blood, do you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Clandon said brightly. “The Montgomerys were—” She checked suddenly. Her cousin was starting to nod and had not glanced at her, but his hand, Prudence noted, was hidden by the sweep of Miss Clandon’s skirts and he could very easily have given her garment a warning tug. “That is to say,” the girl continued, “Geoffrey’s mama’s people were originally from Edinburgh.”

  “Why, how very nice,” said Hortense. “Captain, you never mentioned— Oh, he has dropped asleep, poor boy.”

  Miss Clandon bent over her cousin, then said, smiling, “He looks so much better than the last time I saw him. This Highland air must agree with him.”

  Prudence’s memory gave a jolt. She said, “Clandon! I remember now. Lord Briley told us it was the Clandons who rescued the Captain after he was wounded.”

  “Why, then, you must be the girl his lordship escorted up here to Castle Court,” exclaimed Hortense. “How silly of me not to put two and two together, but for some reason I had thought he referred to a little girl—a child, I mean.”

  Miss Clandon, who had begun to look worried, said quickly that it was all very proper. “Some friends of my father were sailing on the same vessel, and the lady saw to it that everything was, er, as it should be.”

  Prudence smiled sweetly. Hortense again rushed into the breach. “Oh, well, of course, we never thought— That is to say, his lordship is so, er, I wonder if I should not have one of the servants take poor Captain Delacourt to his room now. I expect you have things to talk about, Miss Clandon, but—”

  “Oh, I’ll just run along wi’ Geoffrey,” said the girl blithely. “We’re more like brother and sister, you know, and never ones to stand on ceremony. Unless you object, ma’am? He has a parlour, you were telling me, but if you think it not convenable…?”

  Hortense, inwardly reeling, said she thought it would be quite proper since Miss Clandon was so attached to her cousin. So long as her abigail went with her, of course. Miss Clandon curtseyed to the ladies and thanked them demurely for having taken such excellent care of “dear Geoffrey.” A footman came in answer to the bell, and the invalid, Miss Clandon tripping along beside the chair, was wheeled gently from the room.

  “Her abigail?” said Prudence as the door closed behind them. “Why would she bring her maid, I wonder?”

  “Well, dear, since she’s to stay overnight, at least, I expect Lady—”

  “Papa did not tell me Miss Clandon was coming, nor that she would overnight with us!” Scowling, Prudence sat beside her aunt and muttered, “I wonder what kind of tale they fobbed him off with.”

  Hortense, whose sensibilities were not yet recovered, said feebly, “She does seem rather fast, I must admit. But if they grew up together…”

  “You surely did not believe that twaddle, ma’am? I doot there’s a worrud o’ truth in the whole dish! And if Mr. Clandon—if there is any such person—had friends coming up on the ship, why would he entreat Lor
d Thaddeus to escort his daughter?”

  “W-well, I— They might have— Prudence, you never think that girl is— Oh, I cannot believe his lordship would have brought his lightskirt to this house, or that the Captain would perpetuate the—”

  “The lies?” Prudence said baldly. “Aunty Mac, that man is an English spy sent here to try and trap Little Willie Mayhew and likely Ligun Doone as well!”

  Hortense whitened and gave a faint shriek. “Oh, never say so! Are you sure? It does not seem— He does not look— He is so very—”

  “Evil! A liar and a rare villain, and a very dangerous man. I fancy that dandy, Lord Thaddeus Briley, is in cahoots with him, which is a pity because I’ll own I like the gentleman.”

  “Well, so do I,” said Hortense. “And, really, dear, I cannot believe … Heaven help us if it is truth!”

  “Aye. But I decided to do a wee bit helping on my own. I was up in the acacia tree, using Robbie’s spy-glass to peep into Delacourt’s room, when the wretch caught me.”

  “Yes, so he said. But, Prue, however did you manage to climb up in your petticoats?”

  “Well, I did,” said Prudence. “It was difficult, I’ll admit, and horrid coming down, but then I was stung, and that wicked Englishman was so bold as to—” Flustered, she broke off, her face flaming again.