Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  “Yes, sir. When we come up with the other men they will have uniforms for themselves and his lordship. We will go off as quickly as possible until we are out of sight of the bounty hunters, then they will change clothes.” He glanced from the retreating Monster to the slope along which he had earlier glimpsed the glow of a cigar or a pipe, here and there. “There seem an unconscionable lot of ’em, and they’re likely desperate rogues. If the Monster doesn’t draw them off, are you sure you and Mr. MacTavish will be able to repel them should they attack?”

  “Oh, quite sure. They’ll likely be too busy shooting at the decoy to have any shot left for us. Good luck to you, my dear chap. And remember, keep your eyes and ears open; pick up anything you hear said of Doone, and get back here as soon as you can. I’m eager to go home.”

  “Yes. You are, er, quite sure Cunningham’s people will be keeping an eye on things, sir?”

  “I am quite sure that you will not be harmed,” said Delacourt, hoping that the night was sufficiently dark to hide his red face.

  Sidley put out his hand. “Thank you. I am proud to do what I can, sir. It—it has been a great honour.”

  Squirming, Delacourt shook hands and watched the butler mount up. He had already said his farewells to the wounded men, and now he left the chair and walked to where the Monster was in the process of being pulled into the water.

  MacTavish and Lockerbie held the strange vessel steady, and Cole crawled in through the impromptu door that had been fashioned so long ago by inexpert hands. The Monster tilted, its wooden ‘arms’ splashing at the surface.

  Prudence went to kiss her father and receive his blessing. Silently, she turned to Delacourt. He came to her and she gave him her hand. He bent and pressed a kiss upon it. “Well, you’ve made your choice,” he said coolly. “In with you, m’dear. And God bless and keep you safe.”

  She thought with a sharp pang that they might never see each other again. If this venture failed—even if it succeeded—she might return to find that he had been arrested. She longed with all her heart to throw her arms about him, but the code of polite behaviour forbade so pushing a display and she turned instead towards the boat. Delacourt was not upset by this parting, evidently. But then he was accustomed to danger. Her eyes blurred; vaguely aware of her papa’s murmured encouragement, she crouched, squeezed in through the little door, and made her way to the bow where, by clinging to the sides of the Monster’s head, she was able to see through the great jaws. The boat rocked to Lockerbie’s weight, and then Cole asked, “Ready, miss?”

  “Aye,” she answered, not daring to look at him and reveal her distressed face. “Row together until I tell ye otherwise. You will likely feel it strange at first, for the oars are the arms, as it were, and my brother said it was hard going.”

  Lockerbie was silent. She had sensed from the start that he feared the loch, and she knew how overwhelming such a dread could be. He had conquered it, evidently, which she thought admirable. “You do not care overmuch for the water, do you, Mr. Lockerbie?” she remarked.

  He grunted in an embarrassed way, and then the Monster began to move unevenly and with considerable splashing into the open water of the loch. “You’re a brave man,” she said, and thought, ‘Lord, I hope so, for we’ll need a brave man when the troopers spot us, I fancy.’ For the first time it occurred to her that in case of an emergency it would be difficult to get out of the enclosed boat. Pushing such a horrifying picture from her mind, she directed them. “We must veer to the right a wee bit, so when I give you the word, Cole, you must row alone. Now!”

  With slow and grotesque gait, the Monster moved northwards.

  * * *

  “I never said as ’ow it wasn’t big,” said Sergeant Hobson argumentatively. “All I said was, it’s like the rest o’ this perishing country. Cold and empty. I don’t like it. I like it better than Injer, but I don’t like it. And I don’t like being out ’ere sitting on the cold grass and keeping guard over I don’t know who, nor fer why!”

  “If I was you, Sarge,” offered Trooper Jenkins, taking the pipe from between his stained teeth and poking it at his large friend, “if I was you, I say, I’d be glad as there’s a nice moon tonight. Not that it’s all that bright just now. But it’s there. And you know what that there big lake is, Sarge? That’s Loch Ness. That’s what it is.”

  “Cor!” exclaimed the Sergeant with an extravagant gesture of amazement. “D’you all ’ear that, my coves? Jenkins knows where we is!”

  Soft laughter rose from the men who flanked them, but Trooper Jenkins was undisturbed. “You may mock,” said he, bodingly. “I says as you may mock. But you’d not be mocking if there wasn’t no moon. ’Cause that’s when that there thing comes out, so the cook told me.”

  The few murmurous side conversations died sudden deaths and there was a tense hush.

  “Wotcha mean—thing?” demanded the Sergeant. “You don’t never believe all that jaw about the great serpent wot lives in that there puddle? Cor lumme! You’re easy took in, ain’tcha, Jenkins? You reckon as we’re all gonna be chewed up by a overgrown serpent?” He gave a soft hoot of laughter in which several diplomatic cronies joined. “You wanta watch these Scotchmen wi’ their naked knees. Say anything they will, just ter—” He glanced at his companion and was shocked. Trooper Jenkins had fought beside him in India and also at the Battle of Culloden Moor. Despite his teasing, he knew the man was no coward. But now, Trooper Jenkins’ pipe had fallen unheeded from between his suddenly lax jaws, and his eyes stood out like hard-boiled eggs from his greenish face. “Fred?” said the Sergeant sharply. “You sick?”

  “Arrr…” quoth the intrepid Jenkins. “Oooo…” With which, he slid fluidly to the turf and lay still.

  “Wot the—” began the Sergeant, dismayed.

  A shrill scream shattered the silence. “Quiet, you damn dogsbody!” snarled Hobson, whirling about. He perceived then that he was the only one (save for poor Jenkins) not standing, and he clambered up as his valiant fighting men began to collect in a tight group. “See ’ere—” he howled. But then he himself saw, and his words were cut off as by an invisible knife.

  A horrid sight had appeared on the hitherto serene surface of the loch: a great, dragonlike creature, with ungainly legs that tore at the water, and a huge head that rocked back and forth, searching quite obviously for prey.

  “Gawd!” shrieked Trooper French, retreating. “It’s coming this way!”

  “To … to … arms!” whispered the Sergeant, who had faced a murderous Scots charge without a tremor.

  Corporal Corbett groped for his musket and raised it with shaking hands. In that instant, the monstrous head seemed to look straight at him. His knees turned to jelly, but he fired. Unfortunately, the ball took one of the horses across the rump, and the stricken beast reared with a scream and began to kick out in pain and fright. In seconds, the staked horses, who had been grazing quietly, were transformed into a seething, squealing, panicked mass.

  “Hold ’em!” shouted Trooper Church, in vain.

  Recovering his nerve and his musket, not necessarily in that order, the Sergeant roared, “Come on, lads! Let’s get this ’ere fish!”

  A couple of troopers, less adventurously inclined than their fellows, began to spring in pursuit (or so they later declared) of the vanishing horses. The rest of the men, gripping their weapons in sweating hands, uttered a feeble huzzah or two, and staggered after their leader.

  “Don’t shoot till it’s close enough,” Hobson howled, slithering down the bank a minute later. “By gum, but it’s a big ’un, and you can only see the ’ead and shoulders. It’s going straight for Inverness!”

  “Likely hungry,” offered a youthful and considerably frightened recruit.

  Inside the ‘hungry big ’un,’ Delacourt’s arms were already trembling with fatigue and he could feel sweat coursing down his face. They’d only been rowing for a few minutes, but one would think the soldiers must have seen.… A distant scream rang out and was
followed by the sound of a shot. Cole stopped rowing, and Prudence gave a gasp. Delacourt’s head jerked up hopefully. “What’s happening?”

  Prudence, who had been straining her eyes through the Monster’s bobbing jaws, gave a cry of shock at the sound of his voice, and swung around.

  “Captain Delacourt! Oh, my God!”

  “Prayers later, ma’am. What’s going on?”

  Obedient to that sharp, authoritative voice, she forced her head around. She might have known he’d come. Stubborn, idiotic creature! But contrarily, her fears diminished and her heart began to sing because he was here. “There seems to be a terrible lot of shouting and thrashing aboot,” she reported, and with a sudden gurgle, “Faith! I think they shot one o’ their own cattle!”

  Phlegmatic as ever, Cole asked, “Why would they do that?”

  “Sacrifice to the water god,” said Delacourt, amusement brightening his eyes. “Row, Cole!”

  “But they’ve seen us, sir. They must’ve. Shouldn’t we turn back?”

  “Not on your life! We must keep ’em away from his lordship and our wounded for at least another five minutes. Head straight for ’em, Prue, lass.”

  She said with a little flutter of apprehension, “As you wish. Then you must row alone now, Captain. Can you?”

  “’Course … I can!” And he did, for his mind was busied now with a delightful twist to this scheme, and laughter was welling up inside him despite the increasing pangs that stabbed through his chest.

  “That’s enough!”

  He stopped rowing. They heard the shouts and the crashing sounds of men charging through bracken. Prudence ducked instinctively as two more shots rang out, deafening in the stillness of the country night.

  Delacourt asked urgently, “How close inshore are we?”

  “Aboot a—a hundred yards, I’d think.” She could see the troopers coming down the bank, brandishing their weapons, led by a Sergeant who seemed, to her frightened eyes, to be ten feet tall. She began to shake and gripped her lip between her teeth lest she whimper.

  “Will we turn back now, sir?” asked Cole uneasily.

  “We will not! Prudence, how do we face? Towards them?”

  “No. We’ve drifted off to their left—we’re facing more towards Inverness.”

  “Splendid. Try and keep us thus for a minute or—”

  Whoops and shouts interrupted him. “Fire!” shouted a bull-like voice.

  “Down!” Delacourt grabbed Prudence unceremoniously by her skirts and pulled her downwards.

  The shots sounded like a small battleground. The old boat shuddered as several balls struck home and a section of the side was smashed in over Delacourt’s bowed head.

  “Geoffrey!” shrilled Prudence, in a momentary lapse from proper behaviour.

  “Obliging of ’em,” he exclaimed inexplicably, tearing at the splintered ‘scales.’ “Cole, have you your tinder box?”

  “Aye, sir.” Cole dragged the device from his pocket and handed it over.

  His thin hands working frantically, Delacourt awoke a spark and then a flame. “Hold this till it catches, Prue,” he panted, thrusting the wood at her.

  Wondering if he had gone mad, she cried, “Mon, ye’ll fire the boat!”

  The wood was tinder dry and the old paint burned merrily. She shrank away and began to cough from the smoke.

  “Take my place, ma’am, if you please.” Delacourt clambered into the bow, taking the burning little torch from her and holding it out before him. “Row!” he commanded. “You alone, ma’am. That’s grand! Now…” He held his torch out through the jaws, blowing the smoke insofar as he was able. “Both together!”

  Another shot rang out, the ball coming so close they heard it screech along the side. Peering through the smoke, Delacourt saw the soldiers, dead ahead. And he saw their plunging prowess come to an abrupt halt.

  “Keep it up!” he cried exultantly.

  “Gawd…!” came a strangled shriek. Several of the troopers shrank back, gawking at the fire that blazed from the mouth of the onrushing Monster.

  “It’s a … bloody damn … dragon!” wailed a London voice, and one would-be fisherman fled up the bank incontinently.

  Delacourt’s hand was beginning to scorch. He said hurriedly, “On the count of three, everyone howl as loudly as you can. One … two … three!”

  It was, as Sergeant Hobson later relayed to his awed comrades in Inverness, “The most God-awful roar ever a man heard!” And as that roaring screech split the night, Delacourt blew with all his might, so that the flames spewed out. Of necessity then, he tossed the burning brand towards the rapidly approaching bank.

  No last straw ever proved more backbreaking. Their superstitious minds already taxed to the limit, the soldiers variously shrieked, sobbed, or swore. And to a man they deserted, vying with one another as to whose legs could sprint the fastest.

  Laughing till he cried, Delacourt gasped out, “Another … howl, my hearties!”

  Triumphant, they gave it their all, the resultant banshee wail lending wings to twenty booted feet.

  There was no need now to find a hiding place for the Monster, for it was very apparent that the only thing the soldiers had in mind was escape. By the time they guided their craft into the quiet cove beyond the stables the little crew was weak with mirth. A small crowd awaited them, for the confrontation between military and Monster had been clearly visible from the house and, long before it was done, every member of the staff from the ten-year-old bootblack to the mighty Mrs. Cairn had joined the family, first on the front terrace, and then on the shore.

  A muted cheer rang out as the Monster wobbled to the bank, and many eager hands helped pull it onshore.

  Prudence emerged, and then Cole, their smoke-grimed faces marked with tears of laughter. Glowing with pride, James MacTavish swept his daughter into his arms. Hortense kissed the back of her head and hugged them both. Kitty ran up, babbling, “Oh, Miss Prue! ’Twas my Bill you helped and I never knew! Oh, Miss Prue!” Delacourt clambered out. Miss Clandon sped to embrace him, then he was hoisted onto the shoulders of two footmen and borne in a small victory parade to the house, while Cole was thumped on the back and exclaimed over until his dour face was one great beam of delight.

  They adjourned to the drawing room. The draperies were closed and candelabra lit. No one wasted a thought on the fact that three of the celebrants were black with soot, the remainder variously en déshabillé; that the MacTavish wore no wig, and Miss Clandon no cap. Mrs. Cairn and her maids hastened to the kitchens to return with a small feast of wine and cheese, crusty bread, and little cakes. And everyone—even the bootblack—ate, drank, and made merry.

  MacTavish exclaimed happily, “I told you they all knew!”

  “Aye. To a point only,” qualified Mrs. Cairn, beaming fondly at him.

  “I didnae,” said Kitty, between tears and joy. “Och—had I but known!”

  “If ye but knew how we laughed,” Miss Clandon cried, planting another smacking kiss on Delacourt’s sooty cheek. “We saw it all. Every bit!”

  “’Tis little wonder the Sassenachs—I mean, the soldiers—ran,” said Mrs. Cairn, raising no objection as MacTavish’s arm slipped about her waist. “Losh, but yon wee boat looked sae lifelike it fairly froze me blood, I’ll no deny it!”

  “I thought you meant to divert them,” said Hortense, clinging to her niece’s hand. “Not attack them!”

  His cheeks aching from laughter, Delacourt said, “Attack is the best means of defence, so they say. Are Briley and the lads safely off?”

  “Likely halfway to the Fort by this time,” said MacTavish, in flagrant exaggeration.

  Kitty slipped in to seize Delacourt’s hand and kiss it, despite his protests, murmuring tearful and inarticulate thanks for his efforts in behalf of her love.

  Embarrassed, he disentangled himself. “Do not thank me, m’dear. Thank your mistress. What a grand piece of luck that you and your brother built our lovely Monster, Miss MacTavish.”r />
  Prudence twinkled at him, but before she could respond her father stood, glass in hand, and waved for silence. “It would be plain foolishness,” he said, “to pretend ye’re not all aware of the identity of the gentleman who honours us with his presence. I give you a toast, ladies and gentlemen.” Everyone stood and he turned and held his glass high. “To a right gallant Englishman. Mr. Ligun Doone!”

  The following roar of his assumed name was unheard by the honouree. Unutterably tired, his chin propped on one hand, Delacourt was fast asleep.

  XII

  Prudence awoke to a sense of discomfort and unease. She felt stiff and her arms ached. The smell of rain hung on the air, and the room lacked the brightness that spoke of a nice day. Yawning, she remembered, and gave a gasp. They had voyaged in the Monster, and the fugitives had been enabled to get safely away. It was doubtful if they had gone farther than to draw level with Urquhart Castle, for they certainly would have had to travel with caution. She threw back the bedcurtains.

  Kitty was at the window, peering into a misty, grey morning. She whirled around guiltily. “Miss Prue! Oh, I’m sorry. I fancied ye were still asleep.”

  Prudence hurried to join her. Everything looked thoroughly soaked, and large drops fell steadily from the eaves. “How long has it been raining?”

  “Mr. Cole said his lumbago woke him at aboot five.” Kitty looked worried. “Och, but ’tis thankless weather fer sick men tae be oot in.”

  Prudence gave her a consoling hug, then hopped back into bed. “They’re bonnie lads, Kitty, for all they’re a wee bit mauled just now. We must be thankful they’re on their way to freedom.”

  “Aye. That we must!” Kitty brought over the tray, and expressed the hope the chocolate was not too cold.

  “It’s lovely,” said Prudence, sipping gratefully. “Have you heard anything of Captain Delacourt? He was so very exhausted last night.”

  “Mr. Cole says he slept like a log all through what was left o’ the night.” Kitty did not miss the worry in the girl’s expressive face and went on gently, “Come now, Miss Prue—never let your egg get cold.”