Scarlet, the girl fled. My lady returned her attention to Mathieson. “I will accept your apology. This time. An it happens again we must judge the—ah, ‘temptation’ too strong for you, and will have no alternative but—”
“Of course it will prove too strong,” said Torrey, blazing with fury. “He can scarce keep his hands from her. Send him off, before—”
“Before … what …?” asked Mathieson, in a soft deadly voice.
“Enough!” shrilled my lady. “When I require your advice Freemon Torrey, I will ask you for’t.”
“I have a right to defend the lady I mean to wed!” argued Freemon, loud and defiant.
There was a moment of complete stillness while every eye was fastened on the three tall men and the small but invincible figure of my lady.
Flushed, and her bright eyes the brighter with anger, Lady Clorinda looked at Mathieson but he, more skilled than Torrey in the ways of women, kept his own eyes lowered and remained silent.
“Your rights, Freemon Torrey,” said my lady coldly, “exist only if your claim is valid, and—”
Torrey turned to face Bradford. “Tell her, sir! I am to marry your daughter. You gave me your word!”
Mathieson frowned, and directed a narrow look at Bradford.
With monarchial dignity the tall man declared, “You have evidently forgot that my word was qualified, Freemon. I promised that if my daughter was willing to take you to husband, I’d give you my blessings. No more. No less.”
“And since my granddaughter has made it perfectly clear she does not consider herself betrothed to you,” said Lady Ericson, “your rights in the matter extend no farther than those of a friend and a—”
“It has been understood for years—” stormed Torrey.
“Silence, sir!” The old lady stood very straight, head high-held, fine eyes flashing, chin outthrust, and the power of her such that everyone in the clearing was breathlessly still. “Twice,” she said awfully, “you have dared interrupt me! I suffer few men to do so. A third time, sir, and you will leave us, just as surely as will Mathieson does he displease again! Do you take my meaning?”
For a moment Torrey glowered at her rebelliously. Then he said, “I do, madam,” and offered a stiff bow.
“Thank you,” said my lady crisply. “We will not speak of this again, I trust. Bradford, shall you wish another rehearsal? We must be on our way by two o’clock.”
Her son consulted his ornate pocket watch. “’Tis precisely ten minutes past twelve. We should, I think, apply ourselves to luncheon first, and then we’ll have time to try the duel scene again, before we pack up.”
Alec Pauley turned to Moira. “The duel!” he muttered. “We’ll be lucky do those two gamecocks not fight a real duel before we’ve the chance tae stage one!”
“How dreadful.” Contrarily, Moira’s dark eyes glowed with excitement. “But, surely my brother knows he would stand small chance with Captain Mathieson.”
“I fancy he is aware o’ that fact,” said Pauley drily. “I wonder …” he frowned and did not finish the remark.
“Whether we should speak to Mr. Bradford? Is that what you were going to say?”
Pauley shook his head. “No lassie. I—I just wondered … what chance Captain Mathieson stands with little Miss Fiona …”
‘Or the other way around,’ thought Moira.
Alone in her caravan, Fiona was wondering much the same thing. Mathieson’s eyes had been ardent during their love scene. Had that been mere acting? Despite all the consternation, he had only kissed her on the brow, yet her heart had thundered a response that had shocked her by its intensity. It was the very height of folly to indulge such feelings. From the beginning she had known it would be dangerous to give her heart to such a man. And yet …
Agitated, she sprang up from the chair and began to pace about. Oh, why must life be so difficult? Why could she not be comfortably in love with Freemon Torrey, who was genuinely fond of her, and was not, after all, a bad man? Nor was she the only one in a pickle; there was Thaddeus Heywood, who Grandmama said was a titled gentleman, and who certainly was grieving and likely rejected by some silly girl. And only look at poor Moira—so shy-eyed and blushful whenever Alec Pauley looked her way. And he, poor lad, so enamoured of her it was a wonder Torrey did not see it. Heaven help them when he did notice, for there’d be trouble a’plenty! Freemon Torrey had larger plans for his sister than a practically penniless young rebel. It was all so unfair and—She whirled about as the door opened to admit Lady Ericson.
“Well, there’s no cause to look at me as though I were a two-tailed dragon rather than a feeble little old lady,” scolded the grande dame, sinking onto the chair and fanning herself with her diminutive handkerchief. “Oh, how very warm it is for October. And Lud, but I miss the refinements of life—my kingdom for a proper fan!”
Fiona knew her too well to be taken in by this carefree attitude, and handing her a week-old copy of The London Gazette which her father had purchased in Cirencester, she waited in silence for the storm to break.
My lady fanned herself with the Gazette, and hummed. “The play goes along well, I think,” she remarked airily. “Young Mathieson makes a dashing Firebrand, do you not agree? But of course you agree. That is very plain.”
“Is it, Grandmama?”
“Oh, very.” My lady sneered, “La, but you must learn not to be so transparent, Fiona. Had I behaved as warmly to the gentlemen who courted me as you do to Mathieson—”
“Who is not courting me.”
“Pah! I’d like to know what else you would call it. Those wicked black eyes of his fairly devour you, innocent that you are! Foolish child, I warned you before. ’Ware the likes of Rascal Mathieson. He was not fashioned for your kind.”
“For whom was he fashioned, ma’am?” asked Fiona meekly, but with a spark dawning in her green eyes.
“For opera dancers. His type always is—until they run out of funds. Whereupon they find themselves some indulgent and wealthy widow, usually years older than themselves and often slightly touched in the upper works. They marry the widow, whether or not she smells of the shop, keep her pacified with an occasional kind word or a night’s amour, and spend most of her fortune and their time between the muslin company and the tables.” My lady leaned forward, suddenly grim, and shook the newspaper under her granddaughter’s sagging jaw. “Aye, you think me a properly vulgar old woman! Well, perchance I am, but I’ve seen forty years more of life than you have. And I know a rogue when I see one. Oh, never tilt your chin up at me, miss! You may not think Mathieson a rogue, but—”
“I think him the bravest, most honourable gentleman I ever met,” declared Fiona, cheeks flushed and small hands clenched.
“And the most handsome, eh? La, the pity of it! D’ye know the dance he’d lead you?—even were he honourable, which he ain’t! The women wouldn’t let him be faithful for a minute! You’d not know from one night to the next whose bed he was sharing, and—”
“Grandmama!”
“Tush and a fiddlestick! ’Tis time you faced facts, child. I’ve small use for Freemon Torrey, but by heaven I’d sooner see you wed him than lie down your heart for Roland Mathieson to stamp on! And don’t pretend you’re not halfway in love with him already, for you show it each time you look at the young devil. By heaven, but I’ve a mind to send him packing, even as Torrey asks!”
“And what will happen do we encounter Captain Lake again? Can you really judge the risk—to all of us—warranted, ma’am?”
My lady set her small chin and frowned into her granddaughter’s defiant face. “I must consider the risk to you, also,” she answered slowly.
Remorseful, Fiona sank to her knees beside the chair. “Dearest Grandmama, I do not mean to cause you worry, truly I do not. Captain Mathieson likely flirts with all the ladies and means this as no more.”
My lady smiled faintly, and reached out to stroke the silken curls. “So the child is not all innocence, after all.”
“That lecherous boy! To what extent?”
“Oh, nothing naughty—or at least, not very naughty.” Fiona rested her head on my lady’s knee and murmured sadly, “I miss him so.”
“We all do, child. Be thankful he is safe away. But, for his sake as well as your own, I could never countenance a match with Roland Mathieson.”
Fiona sighed. “Now, dearest one, has he approached you in the matter?”
“No. Nor will he, for he is shrewd enough to know I have taken his measure. My fear is … Oh, pretty one, I’d not see you hurt!”
There were tears in Lady Clorinda’s eyes, and, deeply moved, Fiona leaned to hug her tiny but so formidable grandmother and kiss the rouged cheek.
It was sweet, but not quite the answer my lady had hoped for.
9
The village hall was crowded with virtually the entire populations of both Nether- and North-Brackendale. Outside, the wind was rising to set doors and windows rattling, but the drab little hall was brightened by a row of rush lights that flickered merrily along the edge of the small stage, and by the “sand dunes” and “palm trees” on which the Avon Travelling Players had expended so many hours. It was seldom these country folk were able to enjoy an entertainment, especially one with such ambitious scenery, and they sat entranced as the drama unfolded.
Mathieson had come successfully through the first two acts of Heywood’s play, and if he had at times remembered the dialogue imperfectly, he had improvised to such good effect that none of the spectators had detected the substitutions. They had now reached the third act.
Clad in a white open-throated shirt and black breeches, with a crimson sash around his waist, Captain Firebrand flourished his cutlass at the great treasure chest that spilled its bounty onto the island sands. “There, wanton!” he cried disdainfully. “Fill your greedy hands, since gold is your only idol! You sold me into slavery! You sold yourself to that—that unspeakable cur—” he gestured towards the palm trees “—who even now comes to claim you!”
Miss Barbara, delectable in a gown of pale pink muslin trimmed with ecru lace, sobbed, and ran to the edge of the stage. “Ah, how can he be so cruel?” she asked the enthralled audience. “Yet—he does not know … and how may I tell him I—sold myself … in exchange for his dear life … ?”
“I’ll tell him, lass!” shouted a sturdy farmer, springing to his feet. “Like any other fine gent, he cannot see past the end of his nose!” (Loud shouts of endorsement.) “Hey! Firebrand!—” Here, he was pulled down by his embarrassed spouse and subsided into surly growls that faded into awe as the bows and ‘midship of His Majesty’s Frigate, The Vengeance, rumbled and lurched into view behind the shuddering palm trees at the right rear of the stage. The audience cheered lustily, and the muscular Alec, concealed behind the left-hand curtains hauled on the guide rope until the frigate jerked to a swaying anchorage.
Resplendent in a great periwig, purple velvet coat, beribboned breeches, and a flowing black cloak flung back from the left shoulder, Sir Roger sprang over the “side” of the vessel and bellowed, “Avast, you scum!” He suffered a small embarrassment when his cloak caught on a splinter in the frigate almost toppling it, so that he was obliged to prop it up and free himself, to the raucous amusement of some of the more rowdy elements in the audience. His temper was not improved by the sight of Mathieson’s covert grin, but at last he was able to wrench out his sword and advance on the dashing pirate. “An ye want the girl,” he shouted in his fine, resonant voice, “fight for her!”
“I’ll not fight for your leavings,” declared Firebrand, sheathing his cutlass, and folding his arms proudly.
Barbara flew to sink to her knees before him.
“Ye silly gert gowk,” howled a big wheelwright in the front row. “She’s give up all fer ye’self!”
Mathieson had never dreamed that playacting could be so entertaining. He sent a delighted grin flashing at the captivated playgoer that brought yearning sighs from many female throats and caused the vicar’s wife, a fragile and romantically inclined lady, to grope dazedly for her vinaigrette bottle.
Behind the curtains, costumed as Firebrand’s rascally uncle, Bradford whispered, “It’s going along famously, Mama. Mathieson’s got ’em in the hollow of his hand. Jove, but the boy’s a natural-born actor!”
“Hmmnn,” said my lady drily. “You may be right at that.”
On stage now was the clash of swords as Firebrand and Sir Roger fought for the girl they both loved. The duel had been rehearsed several times and on each occasion Mathieson had seen hatred peeping from Torrey’s blue eyes. As always, the close brush with danger was exhilarating and he moved about nimbly, amused because it was so easy to lure his opponent into ever wilder attacks not included in the scenario.
Fiona watched with real anxiety, and when Captain Firebrand at last neatly disarmed Sir Roger, her sigh of relief blended with more cheers from the audience, while off to the side Thaddeus Heywood shook his head and muttered something about a day of reckoning.
Sir Roger, panting and thwarted, drew back, and the brave captain, only slightly out of breath, recommended that the distressed girl go away with the man to whom she had sold herself.
Barbara again appealed to the audience. “You know I am a good girl! I was betrayed!” She pointed dramatically at Sir Roger.
Loud boos and hisses sounded. Two men sprang onto the stage and made a run at Torrey, fists clenched and intentions clear. Cuthbert and Gregor sprinted to head them off and remind them it was “Just acting, sirs. Just acting.” Smouldering they allowed themselves to be shepherded back to their seats and Barbara proceeded to confess the noble self-sacrifice that had led to her fall from grace, and to identify the villain responsible.
Brave Captain Firebrand advanced on Sir Roger. “You shall pay for that villainy, sir!” he cried and swung up his fist.
At this point, the sound of a healthy blow was supposed to be heard, whereupon Torrey would stagger backward and fall. Heywood, perched on a stool behind the curtains and out of sight of the audience, made no attempt, however, to pound on the head of cabbage. Mathieson glanced to the side, and Torrey instinctively doing the same, the closely aimed blow actually grazed the villain’s cheek. “Whoops,” said Mathieson under his breath. The crowd howled its approbation, and Torrey had no need to feign wrath as he staggered and went down.
Triumphant, Captain Firebrand held out his arms.
“I am forgiven!” Betrayed Barbara flew to the embrace of her pirate as tears flowed and handkerchiefs fluttered. The lovers, arms about each other, did not see Sir Roger recover sufficiently to slink over to the treasure chest and begin to stuff his pockets with gems. Howls of outrage and warning rang out.
“Jack!” cried Barbara, becoming aware of Sir Roger’s dastardly behaviour. “That scoundrel steals your treasure!”
Captain Firebrand laughed and drew his lady close again. “Not so, beloved! He has found some pretty baubles.” He looked down at her adoringly. “’Tis I who have found the only real treasure!”
Gregor’s flute and milady’s paper and comb played a triumphal air, and amid more cheers and a veritable thunder of applause, Bradford and Gregor came in from each side, drawing the curtains closed.
“Oh, oh! It went so well!” cried Fiona, clinging to Mathieson’s hand and dancing with excitement.
“You did that deliberately!” snarled Torrey, advancing in a very different frame of mind.
“No, really,” protested Mathieson. “I looked across to see why Thad did not whack his cabbage, is all, and you moved in the same direction. Like a gudgeon,” he added sweetly.
“I’ll gudgeon you,” growled Torrey, snatching for his sword hilt.
My lady said tautly, “Oh, stop your silly quarrelling, do! Very well, Gregor.”
The curtains were pulled back and the cast of “My Lady Dairymaid” joined hands, walked
forward, smiling, and took their bows to sustained cheers and applause.
The curtains closed once more.
“Heywood should make his bow as playwright, no sir?” enquired Alec.
“Aye, was he here,” agreed Bradford, glancing about. “Where a’pox has the boy got to?”
Fiona frowned a little. “Cuthbert is not here, either.”
“Well, they’d best hasten,” said my lady with a twinkle, “else they will miss our surprise party.”
“A party?” Moira Torrey clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful!”
“What for?” asked Fiona eagerly.
“My brilliant debut,” drawled Mathieson. “Naturally enough.” He laughed at the storm of derision that greeted his boast, but his nerves were taut. Thaddeus Heywood was not the man to shirk his responsibilities, no more was Cuthbert. My lady, who might have been expected to be annoyed by such conduct, seemed not at all put out. Perhaps she had sent Cuthbert off to fetch supplies for her surprise party, but that did not explain Heywood’s disappearance. His blood began to tingle, and he eased his jambiya dagger in its scabbard.
Beyond noting that she stood between two men, one of whom was Cuthbert, Thaddeus Heywood’s attention was so fixed upon the cloaked figure of the girl that had the village suddenly disappeared he’d likely have been unaware of it. Just before the duel scene he had heard horses outside and with the eternal vigilance of the pursued, had investigated. His position behind the curtains at the far right of the small stage allowed him convenient access to both an outside window and the back door, and his cautious glance through the one had sent him plunging through the other.
She stood with her back towards him, and the hood had fallen onto her shoulders so that he could see the shimmer the moonlight awoke on her unpowdered fair curls. She was speaking in the soft, lilting voice that had haunted his dreams, and he halted a few paces away and stood motionless, gazing and gazing.
The man beside Cuthbert had seen Heywood’s approach, and he tensed, crouching a little, then smiled and relaxed again.
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