“’Tis nigh eleven o’clock,” observed Mathieson, who had been grumbling about all the hard work to which he was subjected. “I was up at dawn. And whilst you were still dreaming, I had already started the fires and put water on to boil, though such tasks are far beneath my dignity.”
Unmoved, Fiona concentrated upon applying her paintbrush to the palm tree on the large section of the desert island.
Mathieson contemplated her drowsily. For a travelling troupe—especially, so small a troupe—to devote two caravans to scenery, costumes, curtains, properties, et cetera, he thought illogical. At least, the ostensible purpose was illogical. Few troupes of strolling players carried set pieces, usually conveying their scene purely by costume and the play itself, or occasionally by utilizing painted sheets or screens that could be unrolled and hung where appropriate. The pieces of scenery hauled about by the Avon Travelling Players were wooden and mounted on wheels to facilitate handling. Each piece was double-sided, with a two-inch space between the sides. He had commented that this caused the pieces to be more cumbersome and that they might better have simply painted both sides of a single piece of plywood, but Bradford explained that when they’d attempted this the scenic pieces tended to bend when hauled about and would not stand properly. “The audiences,” he said solemnly, “were not impressed by a bent pirate ship, and the mood suffered.” There were seven of these set pieces in all; three depicting part of the desert island on one side and the deck of the pirate ship on the other; another three portraying the exterior of the farmhouse, backed by the withdrawing room of the villainous Sir Roger’s glooming mansion; and the seventh, a representation of the forward half of a royal frigate, which was attached to a rope and drawn across the stage behind the “palm trees” in the final scene, much to the excitement of their various audiences. When first he had laid eyes on these large pieces it had occurred to Mathieson that the hollow areas between the sides might actually constitute a hiding place for valuables. His eager and surreptitious investigations had proved only that the “treasure” was indeed brass and glass, and that the hollow centres of the set pieces contained nothing more exciting than air and a few cobwebs.
Fiona having offered no comment upon his grievances, he now informed her with a sigh that she was a hard-hearted woman. “Have you no sympathy for my backbreaking labours?”
She chuckled in that soft little ripple of sound he found remarkably attractive, and pointed out that they all worked hard. Mrs. Dunnigan did a great deal, but had her hands full caring for the ladies and helping with the cooking, and Japhet worked endless hours helping Cuthbert or anyone else who needed his services. “Besides,” she added with a marked lack of sympathy, “to the newest member of any group falls the most onerous tasks.”
“I believe you, Miss Kindliness,” he said mournfully. “Your papa has also required that I practice my part in the play.”
“Oh dear. Do you find that an onerous task, Sir Lazylump?”
“Not—entirely. There are one or two scenes that are—er, bearable.” She gave a squeak of indignation. His mouth twitched; he added blandly, “In fact, those are the parts I think need more rehearsal. I’m sure you will be more than willing to oblige your father by going over them with me.”
She glanced at him under her lashes, well aware of both the gleam in his eyes and the fact that her cheeks were becoming heated. “Which scenes?”
“Well now, let me see … Ah, yes. There’s the one at the beginning—”
“Scene One,” she corrected.
“So you guessed, clever child!”
Of course she’d guessed! She would have wagered her garter that he would pounce on that particular scene! But—“No, I didn’t,” she denied, blushing. “I was merely providing you with the proper terms.”
“Realizing that my own—terms—are quite improper?” ‘And there,’ he thought, ‘goes that intriguing little dash of dimples again, and how very daintily she blushes!’
“But of course,” she agreed provocatively. “Now what is the difficulty about Scene One?”
“It’s that part where brave Captain Jack Firebrand declares himself to Beautiful Dairymaid Barbara and sweeps her into a passionate embrace.”
‘Naughty rascal!’ thought Fiona. “But Jack is not Captain Firebrand at that time,” she demurred, “and does not become so until after he is betrayed and sold into slavery.”
“Later becoming the dashing scourge of the Spanish Main! Yo and ho!”
She looked up at him rather ruefully. “You think it a very bad play, do you? I suppose it is rather simple.”
He could not like to see that downcast expression on her face, and he said quickly, “It has been my experience, Tiny Mite, that some very bad plays have been written by famous men who forgot how to be simple and tried merely to be clever, thereby boring everyone in their audience save for those who are impressed by the incomprehensible. Heywood’s play is not intended to be profound. It is instead jolly good fun, and I think country folk and probably a lot of city folk will enjoy it enormously and leave the hall with a smile rather than a sigh. Not so ill an effect in these difficult times.” Considerably surprised by this flow of volubility, he added, “None of which has anything to do with you and I rehearsing the scenes in which I need—ah, assistance.”
“Is very true that you lack expertise,” she agreed, her eyes downcast.
He looked very hard at her, then said grittily, “Merci mademoiselle. Now, as I recollect, we are in the withdrawing room and I seize you—”
“Well, do not,” she interjected hastily, waving her paintbrush at him as he prepared to stand up. “Let us try a—er, less tiresome scene.”
“Tiresome!”
“I mean one not so—active.”
“Oh. Well, the other part that I do not seem to have learned properly is the scene in Act Two in which I have escaped and must sail away and leave you.”
“Hmmnn. You mean where you bid Miss Barbara farewell and vow your undying love?”
“While pressing her to my heart, and—”
Her brush faltered. Over it, she looked at him in mild surprise. “I do not recall that you do that.”
“You see? You too need practice. Now put down those silly paints and we can—”
The dimples flickered enchantingly. “No, really. I must finish this.”
Mathieson groaned and lay back again. “‘Woman’s at best a contradiction still!’ Though I demean myself to supplicate in an ungainly sprawl at your pretty feet, you will not aid me!”
She chuckled, but, watching all the lean unconscious grace of him, wondered if it was possible for him to be ungainly.
“Hasten, fair but heartless artist,” he sighed. “I await your pleasure.”
“You will wait a shorter time an you allow me to concentrate.”
“I shall be dumb.” He closed his eyes. “Wake me when your masterpiece is a fait accompli.”
“Wretch!” She began to paint again. In a short while the palm tree was complete. She surveyed it with her head held on one side. “How does that look, Ro—Captain Mathieson?”
He snored loudly, but when she advanced on him, paintbrush poised, he opened one eye, then sat up quickly. “Evil child! What were your intentions, I wonder?”
“To paint the end of your nose bright green, Master Tease!”
“One masterpiece a day, Tiny Mite. Now—I am ready to view your progress … Turn it this way a little.” He leaned back on his hands, crossed his long legs, and inspected the “palm tree.” “Jolly good,” he said admiringly. “But—where’s its head?”
She fixed him with a stern stare. “Where is—what’s head?”
“Grammar! Grammar! And besides,” he pursed his lips, “I didn’t think they dwelt on desert islands. Are you sure they do?”
“I am sure you are an odious man,” Fiona informed him, not mincing words. “An you think my work so funny, try if you can do better!”
“I did not say ’twas funny. I merely aske
d if peacocks dwell on—”
“It is—not—a peacock! ’Tis a palm tree, as you know perfectly well, horrid creature!”
“Oh.” He looked searchingly at the palm tree. “Well—now that you tell me, of course, I—”
With a squeal of indignation, she snatched up her painty rag and threw it at him. “Wretch! Evil—actor!”
“Oho!” he laughed, catching the rag. “The ultimate insult!”
“You are jealous! You know you could not make so fine a—”
“Stunted little weed—”
“Is not stunted! I stood on tiptoe to paint it, and—”
“Small wonder it looks stunted! Now if you but had a few more inches to you; say twenty or so—”
He dodged the paintbrush in the nick of time and as Fiona began to stalk away, he called, still chuckling, “Come now, Tiny Mite. Do not be a poor sportsman. You never mean to abandon me here? Suppose your great love comes upon me? I shall be most foully done to death and none to give me aid!”
She turned at this, disclosing a frown but eyes full of merriment. “I can hear your teeth chattering. But you may rest easy. Freemon will likely not return until dinner time. Now farewell, I’ve to help Grandmama.”
“But you promised to read over those scenes with me.”
“I did no such thing! Besides, ’tis more important that this be done. Do you try your skills at palm trees. The scenery must be dry by tomorrow in time for your debut as our Stupendously Dashing Hero.”
Feigning indignation, he started up.
Fiona laughed and danced away.
Grinning, Mathieson settled back to watch the breeze billow her skirts and ruffle the soft brown ringlets tied behind her head with a broad riband of peach velvet. She was a cheerful little soul, he thought musingly, as full of mischief as she could stare, which was as well, for a lesser girl must have been crushed by fear of the danger which hung over them all. Not that she was so naive as to be unaware of their peril. Far from it. During this past week he’d learned much of Miss Fiona Bradford, as he had learned much of all the troupe members, and he knew that behind her cheerful light-heartedness there dwelt courage and resourcefulness and a deep devotion to her family.
It had not been as gruesome a period as he’d feared. For one thing, he was glad to be away from Town for a change. For another, he found the play amusing and enjoyed both watching the others at their rehearsals and the performances he had seen. As for his companions, well, they were a foolish lot, beyond doubting, but he was finding them less insufferable than he’d anticipated.
For instance, aside from his ridiculous and unending political speeches, Gregor was an expert musician and it had been quite interesting one evening when he’d discoursed knowledgeably and at length upon the origins of the bagpipes and the old Scots and Gaelic melodies. When referring to his family history, Gregor’s saturnine features would become touched by sorrow and although he said little on that particular subject, one gained an impression of a tragic past that might well account for his gloomy attitude.
Pauley was as sunny-natured as Gregor was morose; open and uncomplicated, the product of a well-to-do family of shipbuilders. The large house where he had been born had been burned down during the Uprising, but instead of bewailing the fate that had destroyed his home, he was only grateful that his family was safe and well, and had cheerful expectancies of rebuilding their fortune once the treasure was distributed. Unfortunate, thought Mathieson, that he was in for a disappointment on that score, but his ebullient spirit would doubtless sustain him.
The boy, Japhet, was a confounded pest and deserved to be sent off with a flea in his ear. But he was very young. And perhaps because of his own bitter youth, Mathieson had not yet been able to bring himself to give the boy the setdown he warranted. Besides, his mother was my lady’s trusted abigail, and was grateful to him for bearing with the lad. It might well be a matter of boredom invested against the possibility of some future profitable return.
He had been unable to learn much from Cuthbert. The big man was taciturn and unwilling to be friendly. He was devoted to Lady Clorinda, and that devotion appeared to extend to the Bradfords, but he said little, and to his credit seldom participated in the long-winded political discussions that would develop around the campfire in the evenings.
Mathieson was more than ever of the opinion that Freemon Torrey was not the mate for Miss Fiona. Torrey was all unrestrained impulse, fire and fury, and although it was clear he worshipped the chit, she’d be little better off as his wife than she was as the daughter of Mr. Mervyn Bradford. Worse, in fact! Bradford was as irresponsible as any stripling, true, but full of fun besides, and despite his theatrical manner there was a warmth and an underlying kindness to the man.
A much finer candidate for Fiona’s hand, in Mathieson’s opinion, was Thaddeus Heywood. He had in fact already dropped several hints in Heywood’s ear, pointing out Miss Fiona’s many attributes, and in turn had suggested to the girl that Heywood was a splendid fellow. There was a mystery somewhere in Heywood’s background, but Mathieson thought he knew what it was. He had noted a slowness to respond when Heywood was called by his surname, and, suspicious, he’d experimented with the casual use of “my lord” as a form of address. Heywood had responded with immediacy and no trace either of surprise or of consciousness of the title. Very likely he was a peer using an assumed name. Further, unlike Freemon Torrey and Gregor, Heywood had little to say of the pros and cons of the Rebellion, wherefore it was doubtful that he was a Jacobite at all. Far more probably, he was one of those kind-hearted but ill-advised individuals who felt obliged to help the hounded fugitives and their unfortunate families. A failing, admittedly, but by and large he was a nice fellow, just the kind to make his chosen lady a devoted husband, and not go wandering off into little dalliances on the side. By God, but he’d better not do so! Mathieson scowled. She was a sweet little chit and if she had a fondness for his lordship, he’d damned well better be good to her, or—
He sprang to his feet. Nom de Dieu, but this was an irritating subject! Be curst if he would have any more of it! He stamped over to the set piece and gingerly removed a fly which had committed suicide on Miss Fiona’s “palm tree.”
“Torrey doesn’t like it.” My lady turned the pages of the play and set the chair to rocking slowly. “But your papa feels we must make the change just in case Captain Lake should come up with us again, and I agree. Besides, I’ve a notion young Mathieson will excel in the role of Firebrand—he’s a swashbuckler if ever there was one, eh?”
“Hmmnn,” said Fiona, standing in the open doorway of the caravan and watching the distant Mathieson busily at work on the piece of scenery.
“Torrey says he will seek to take advantage of you on stage,” my lady went on. “You must tell me at once an he does so. I’ve no intent for you to be made uncomfortable. As it is, for Torrey to have to watch Mathieson making love to you will likely cause more bad blood between them.”
“What?” said Fiona, turning with a shocked little gasp.
My lady shook her head reproachfully. “I doubt you heard a single word.” She set the play on the table and came to stand beside her granddaughter. “What is it that so fascinates—Oh.” She frowned. “I see. Never form a tendre for that one, child. He’s a pretty rogue, but a rogue for all that, and has broke more hearts than—”
“Well, he’ll not break mine! Besides, Captain Mathieson thinks of me as his little sister, and is determined to bring me up properly.”
My lady’s jaw dropped. “To … what?”
“He considers Papa to have been remiss in my education,” said Fiona demurely.
“Well! Of all the impertinence! How dare he presume to judge your father? Not but what he ain’t perfectly right, for Bradford never has seen to your proper guidance, being quite content to allow you to mother him, rather than be a responsible father to you! But for Mathieson, of all men to censure— La, but I must have been all about in my head when I let him join us!”
Fiona asked pensively, “Why did you allow it, Grandmama?”
“Oh … curiosity, perhaps.” My lady returned to her chair and said with rather a wistful sigh, “I wanted to see if he is as black as he’s painted. Besides, ’twill do no harm to have another sword in case things go badly, and I’d sooner have him under my eye than …” She paused, then went on militantly, “But not if he is trying to fix his interest with you, miss! That I’ll not stand for!”
“What do you think of Thaddeus Heywood as a husband for me, ma’am?”
Lady Ericson sat very still for a moment. Then, her tone casual but her eyes very intent she asked, “Have you a kindness for him, child?”
“I have indeed. Thaddeus is the dearest of creatures. But, I believe the poor soul has already lost his heart, Grandmama.”
“Hmmnn. Did he tell you so?”
“Not in so many words. But we have talked often, and I sense an inner sorrow. Perhaps he has been rejected.”
“Hah! And a prodigious silly chit to reject so prime a prize. The boy is charming, not unattractive, gentle, honourable, will never be able to spend a fourth of his fortune, and is a baron besides!” My lady’s chin jutted. Eyes flashing, she muttered, “Little fool!”
Fiona’s wonder at such vehemence was drowned in her deeper astonishment. “Thaddeus—Heywood? A peer?”
“Yes, and lud what a gabbling gossip I am! You will please to forget I’ve told you. Now—enlighten me pray, as to how our fine instructor means to improve you? I’ll own he’s had sufficient experience with the fair sex to know what he’s about.”
“Evidently, ma’am,” said Fiona. “For I rather suspect Captain Mathieson has reached the same conclusion as you have done, and means me to marry Thaddeus.”
Dedicated Villain Page 13