The little procession walked formally to the dining room where, as always, George Delamin kept a good board and Stewart ate well and appreciatively. His mind, however, was not so much on his food as to be indifferent to the glances over the table of his young cousin. Could it be that the gypsy’s spell had worked? No it was absurd; but there she was glancing at him under her lashes and every time he looked directly at her the smile she gave him was, at the very least, provocative.
Stewart began to feel a painful constriction in his chest. Was it possible that the beautiful, worldly Emma Delamain, surrounded as she was by eager young men with fortunes and fine manners, could be tilting her bonnet, so to speak, at him?
Stewart had always been aware of the irony that he and his sister loved their Delamain cousins and that that love was not returned by them, until Brent had had a change of heart and declared for Mary. Stewart’s thoughts grew sober. But had he made Mary happy? There had been nothing joyous about the couple after their wedding, and John had sworn that he’d heard tears from the room of the newly marrieds, not just once, but night after night until they left.
John had even gone so far as to draw Mary on one side and ask if she were happy, if aught was amiss? But, although seeming to him on the verge of tears, she had vigorously denied that she was anything but blissfully happy. Yet her pale face and lustreless air had not deceived John, or Stewart who more than likely knew the reason for it. He was glad to see them go. Brent was too valuable to the Cause for Stewart to want to have to carry out his threat.
George talked all the time at dinner about his role in the local militia of which he was commander and what they would do to the Jacobites should they so much as see the whites of their eyes. His wife listened to him with approval but the rest of the family were silent. Emma in particular had become contemptuous of George. She thought he took the attitude he did to curry favour with Lord Dacre and his cronies. She had seen too much of their activities in London to feel any admiration for them. To her, half Allonby that she was, there was something stirring about the stories told of Prince Charles. How he had landed with but seven old and ailing men and how, in a matter of weeks, he had captured the hearts of almost every man in Scotland – well maybe not every man, but certainly every woman. Stories had travelled to London about the charm of the Prince, his handsome looks and kingly bearing so different from the bumptious, overweight Hanoverians. All the women were in love with him, so much so that some even lured the allegiances of their husbands and forced them to declare for the Prince. There were even reports of husbands and wives being split and supporting different sides.
Emma Delamain had returned north a dissatisfied girl, aware that there was more to life than pretty manners and dancing feet. The scorn heaped upon the Stuarts by her young friends and admirers had angered her. Had not Robert Allonby perished on the scaffold? Guy Delamain, her own father, had cared enough to live abroad as a wearied impoverished exile and die for the Cause. And there were her Allonby cousins, her own brothers Brent and Tom ... all hardy, robust supporters of the Stuarts. Beside them her friends looked foppish, their ideas superficial and their hopes frankly mercenary and self-centred.
Henrietta Dacre, her sister-in-law, typified everything that Emma had grown to dislike about London society and the Hanoverian court. She considered her empty-headed, mean-minded and selfish. She and Emma shared not the slightest thing in common and here she was casting derogatory glances at Stewart, eyeing him with contempt.
Stewart had unexpectedly appeared to Emma, meeting him again after a year, in an entirely new light. She could see how angry he was as George and Henrietta between them dominated the talk with their hatred of the Stuarts, their scorn for the Cause; how the muscles of his jaw worked and his eyes smouldered. Suddenly Emma was afraid for Stewart. What was his purpose in Penrith?
She drew him aside afterwards in the drawing-room as Henrietta prepared to play the piano for them and entertain them with some of her excruciating songs, boringly rendered in a monotonous voice. George sat beside his mother eyeing indulgently the talented little wife of whom he was growing so unexpectedly fond. True she was not comely and had apparently little to offer in the way of charm, but in the dark between the sheets she was just another woman’s body and a surprisingly accommodating one at that. Although George still kept a mistress in London he had begun to see less of her, and even to prefer the physical comforts provided by his own enterprising wife.
‘Do you really go to buy wood?’ Emma whispered to Stewart who sat next to her some distance away from her mother.
‘Why, do you think I do not?’
Stewart was intrigued by, his cousin’s question. Could it be ... He turned and looked at her and his heart missed a beat. Could it be that she pretended to be attracted by him, to have changed her mind so as to draw information from him? George and Emma had always been considered by the Allonbys to have much in common, certainly as far as Hanoverian sympathies were concerned.
On the other hand Emma had always been close to her mother. Would she really betray her mother’s family? As though wanting to prise the truth from her he leaned his face closer to hers and his eyes met hers, daring her to flinch. Emma regarded him steadily, aware of his warm breath close to her face, the hard rugged masculinity of his sun-bronzed face.
‘I am not of the mind of my brother George in case you thought it. Or my sister-in-law. A season in London would have changed me if I ever had been. They think of nothing but trivialities. Besides I hear the Prince is so handsome.’ As she dimpled flirtatiously Stewart realized that he loved Emma Delamain, truly and deeply. It was not something that was just occasioned by her youth or beauty; it would not pass.
‘Aye, that’s what’s won you is it?’
Emma clasped her hands, her shining eyes reflecting the attitude of half if not more of the women in the kingdom.
‘Oh, is he not remarkable? He is so young, about your age Stewart, and yet he controls an army. He must succeed must he not?’
‘Aye, if I have aught to do wi’ it.’
‘Then you are going to join him?’
‘You knew it already?’
‘I guessed it. I guessed you would not pass this way merely to purchase wood! I know you, Stewart Allonby. You know our brother Tom is part of the entourage of the Prince?’
‘Yes, I have heard from Tom directly.’
‘That is why my mother is so worn, so pale. She thinks of Brent and Tom, and you and John. She expects you all to be killed.’
‘But why should we fail? Why not George?’
Emma looked over to where George sat lounging beside their mother, his legs stretched before him, one arm draped across the back of the sofa.
‘There is something about George that is indestructible, don’t you think?’
Stewart smiled. Looking at George, Emma’s words seemed very apt.
‘George maybe, but not what he stands for.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘To Carlisle?’
‘To wherever you are going to meet the Prince.’
‘Of course not dear girl! It is fraught with danger at this instant.’
‘But in Perth and Edinburgh he gave balls and soirees.’
‘Not in Carlisle or Lancaster. Here it will be business until he reaches London.’
‘Oh, is it possible Stewart?’
‘Of course, it’s possible. It will happen.’
Suddenly Henrietta’s singing was interrupted by the arrival of a liveried servant who whispered into her ear. She got up closing the music with a flutter and hurried over to her husband.
‘George! It is my cousin who has arrived unexpectedly. George go quickly to welcome him; he awaits in the hall.’
But before George had time to move the door was again thrown open hurriedly by a servant and a tall well-built man resplendent in his military uniform strode into the room, his hands extended.
‘Henrietta!’
‘Angus.’
; The small woman was scooped up by the stranger who embraced her and then turned to survey the room with a quizzing glass.
‘George, dearest, may I present my cousin the Marquess of Falconer.’ George bowed and shook the proffered hand.
‘Delighted, my lord. Lord Dacre was only telling me recently of your exploits in France with his Grace the Duke of Cumberland.’
‘And it is on the Duke’s business that I am here, Sir George. I am part of an advance party to meet the rebels at the border, if they do not take us by surprise and get there before we are ready. His Grace will stop with Lord Lonsdale at Lowther Castle, but I sought leave to find my quarters with you, dear cousin, if you so permit it.’ He bowed towards Henrietta.
‘Oh Angus, ‘tis an honour. May I present my sister-in-law Emma and my husband’s first cousin Stewart Allonby.’
Lord Falconer strode across and kissed Emma’s hand, pausing as he raised his head to stare boldly into her eyes. What she saw did not displease her. The Marquess was a man in the Allonby mould, tall and broad but, unlike them, very dark and swarthy with a long rather beaked nose, a firm broad mouth and a deeply cleft chin which jutted at a determined angle – a man used to commanding and being obeyed. He wore no periwig and his thick black hair was tied by a ribbon at the nape of his neck, some straying curls falling over his high forehead to give him an air of brooding authority.
His eyes were of a curious brown-green, like those of his cousin Henrietta, but otherwise he did not resemble her at all, being so startlingly handsome, whereas she was small and very plain. He wore the red uniform of a Colonel with a row of medals, and a long sword at his waist touched the top of his shining black boots.
She liked everything about him except that he was a member of the Duke of Cumberland’s army.
‘Ma’am,’ Lord Falconer rose and turned to Stewart, bowed and took his hand.
‘Mr?’
‘Allonby,’ Stewart said clearly. ‘Allonby of Furness.’
‘Ah. I think I recall the name,’ the Marquess’s eyes narrowed.‘’Tis well known I believe, in certain circles Mr Allonby.’
‘Indeed, sir. I believe it is.’
‘But in this house you are obviously of the same opinion as your cousin.’
‘It is so my lord,’ George said angrily, strolling over. ‘In this house my cousin is a gentleman, a farmer and noises no political opinions abroad at all.’
‘And has Mr Allonby any purpose in being here?’ his lordship said swinging his quizzing glass and looking appreciatively at Emma again.
‘What purpose other than to see my cousin?’
‘I hear the Pretender is not far from the border. Know you aught about this?’
‘Nothing, my lord.’
‘Ah, ‘tis well.’ The Marquess turned to Henrietta and smiled. ‘I know you would not harbour traitors under your roof, my dear. Is there anything for me to eat?’
‘Oh, Angus, of course. It will be ordered already.’
‘I have ridden hard all day. My men are downstairs being attended to, I believe, in the kitchen. Tomorrow I must ride on, and pray where do you go to Mr Allonby?’
‘Penrith,’ Stewart said slowly. ‘I am buying wood saplings for my forests around Lake Derwentwater.’
‘Ah, I shall be in the opposite direction I fear. I have completed my reconnoitre of the border and go back to His Grace who has been recalled from the south to take his position up here. I saw naught to alert me on the Scottish border yet, and Carlisle is very solidly for His Majesty. I have my home on the border,’ Lord Falconer explained to Emma who was clearly bedazzled by this splendid creature in his gleaming uniform.
‘Your dinner is ready, my lord,’ a servant bowed and the Marquess, with a wave, took his cousin’s arm and left the room followed by George, For some moments Susan Delamain sat gazing after them until she was joined by Emma and Stewart.
‘So that is the Marquess of Falconer. I have heard much about him. He is a very famous, very fierce soldier, known as the Falcon after his family’s emblem which is the bird of prey. See, his beaked nose? They say he swoops on his enemies, and once he has his claws on them will not let them go. He is much feared, and hated by some. I think he will have no truck with our Prince and his army ...’
‘Not even the Falcon will rout them,’ Stewart said bitterly. ‘I too have heard how his lordship is called; but I believe there is more substance in the name than his deeds.’
Susan Delamain shook her head and her hand plucked worriedly at the silk of her dress, ‘That is not what I hear. He has spent many years abroad fighting the French. ‘Tis where he got his nickname, and earned it too by all accounts.’
Emma shivered.
‘He is certainly very awe-inspiring. Why, I think he is vaster than any of the men in our family and they are all good broad, hulking fellows. What a pity he favours the Hanoverians and not our side. I hear he is a disinterested politician; more keen on his soldierly duties, but, yes, a convinced Hanoverian.’
‘Enough of the Falcon. I must be gone before dawn,’ Stewart said, ‘for I am to proceed as soon as I can to Carlisle. It is true Aunt, Emma ...’ Stewart paused, and his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘that the Prince marches towards England and I go to join him.’
Carlisle surrendered to Prince Charles Edward on 14 November after some days of siege. The inhabitants of the town had thought themselves surrounded by a large army instead of a few thousand men, and also they were in mortal terror of the Highlanders whose reputation for savagery had preceded them. But once inside, the Highlanders surprised everyone by the mildness of their manners and the Prince, as usual, charmed the masses with his fair-mindedness and sense of justice.
On arrival at Carlisle Stewart Allonby had noticed the siege at the Penrith Gate and watched it in the fog and damp along with the rest. But, on hearing that the Prince was at Brampton seven miles away awaiting an encounter with General Wade’s army, he rode there and at once encountered his cousin Tom in the throng surrounding the Prince.
Tom looked gaunt and tired, there were deep shadows under his eyes and his cheeks were cavernous. He immediately asked for news of Brent.
‘He is to join us here, as I understand it, as soon as he has made rendezvous with Lord Derwentwater who is bringing arms from France. The enemy is already entrenched in Whitehaven with big cannon pointing over the sea.’
‘Aye. I wonder if Brent would be better off where he is – the supplies are vital.’
‘I think Brent would not stay. He yearns to fight with the Prince.’
‘Then he will meet us when we have taken Carlisle. Let me take you to his Highness.’
Stewart could see the crowd in the distance gathered around the Prince who was preparing to dine, but at that point a commotion began in front of the Prince’s tent and it was announced that a deputation had arrived from Carlisle to treat with his Highness for surrender. Stewart’s interview was postponed and the following day Charles Edward Stuart entered Carlisle and immediately set to making plans with his commanders for the occupation of England.
From the very first Stewart was aware of discord in the Prince’s ranks. There were so many Highland companies swearing different allegiances that their rivalry seemed more important than the Cause. Many of the Highlanders had been reluctant to cross the border and had returned to their homes, and those who had forded the River Esk had turned as a man and pointed their swords towards their homeland when they reached the English side. But, more important and damaging, was the fact that the Prince was quarrelling with the commander of half of his Army, Lord George Murray, who was reported to have offered his resignation which the Prince had accepted.
The Duke of Perth was now in sole command of the Army, but the restlessness continued down the ranks to the foot soldiers, many of whom still wanted to go home. Tom told how many commanders were putting pressure on the Prince to reinstate Lord George and eventually this was done, but permanent rancour remained between the Prince and his commander and sus
tained the unease among the men.
Thus instead of being elated Stewart was depressed and it was not until Brent arrived the following day that he began to take heart again.
For Brent this was the culmination of his life, the purpose for which he felt he had been born. He had ridden hard from Cockermouth where he had left Mary in the care of her sister and now here he was, the bustle and excitement of the Jacobite Army about him at last. As soon as he’d heard that the Prince had crossed the border he reminded Ambrose Rigg of their bargain and had put away his sailor’s clothes. The very sight of Brent’s rapturous face cheered Stewart and the two cousins embraced.
‘Where is Tom?’
‘He is with the Duke of Perth. The Prince I learn is not too happy to be attended by a Catholic clergyman; he has to maintain the image of religious indifference because of the possibility he may come to the throne.’
‘But the Prince is a Catholic!’
‘Aye, but ‘tis not political to mention religion until King James is established in London. How goes it with Mary, Brent, and Sarah?’
Stewart avoided looking at Brent as he asked him and turned to the window of his lodgings overlooking market street. Their host was a friend of the Allonbys and his house had been the place appointed for Stewart and Brent to meet.
‘They do well enough, anxious for the Cause.’
‘And Mary is ... happy?’
‘I think so, why should she not be?’
Stewart did not reply for, at that moment the door burst open and Tom wrapped his arms round his younger brother.
‘Oh, Brent ‘tis good to see you. I thought it would never happen. All the months we plotted and planned. How is the leg?’
‘It troubles me hardly at all. I have had many months at sea and this has toughened my sinews.’
‘And your wife? A married man, Brent!’
‘Aye.’
Tom looked searchingly at Brent, aware of the way he avoided his eyes. He glanced at Stewart, who, too, was looking away. All was not well there. The marriage had surprised Tom who knew the unstable romantic nature of his brother. Well, to all appearances, it had not altered him.
The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Page 26