Cherished Enemy (37 page)

Deborah giggled. “I think Charles is still laughing! The wretch fled the scene and left me to try to placate Uncle Lennox. Not that I blame him, for there was sufficient of an uproar without your father seeing that Charles was in whoops!”

“Oh, heaven forfend! Did Papa berate the poor girl? I expect she could not help dropping it.”

“She did not exactly drop it,” said Deborah mirthfully. “She sort of danced around, holding the tray high, trying to keep it from the dog. I fancy he thought it all a game and he pranced and barked around her, jumping up after it.”

I wonder he didn't eat it, once it had fallen!”

“Luckily when it sailed off the platter it landed on the hall table, by which time Uncle Lennox was there, and in full cry, so your naughty Trifle evidently decided discretion was the better part of valour and beat a hasty retreat.” She laughed. “I wish my mama might have seen it, she would have been so amused, and with her love for dogs would have put in a good word for the puppy. My uncle's plans for him are not felicitous, alas.”

“I have no doubt of that! Rob—Mr. MacTavish calls him The Unmitigated.” Rosamond's smile was more betraying than she would have dreamt. “But I must own him to be prejudiced since he has more than once been a victim of my aunt's pet.”

They had started slowly along the hall towards the withdrawing room, but Deborah, who had watched her cousin narrowly during this little speech, now drew Rosamond into the sewing room.
“Dr. Victor!”
she reminded in an urgent undervoice. “Do be careful, dear! His life depends on us!”

“Oh, I know, I
know!
” Rosamond gripped her hands distractedly. “I am terrified lest I make a slip in front of someone else! I am so new at this treason business, and if I should betray him!” She closed her eyes, trembling. “I think I should—die!”

For a moment Deborah was silent. Then she leaned back against the cutting table and, carefully arranging her skirts, asked, “Was it a frightful shock when you found out about Hal?”

Rosamond did not at once reply, continuing to stare down at her interlaced fingers. Then, raising her eyes, she admitted, “Frightful.”

“And have you forgiven us—Charles and me—for what we are doing?”

“I am
helping,
Deb! I should think that would give you the answer!”

“I
would
have thought so, certainly. Only—now I begin to suspect there may be another, perhaps more compelling reason for you to help us.”

Rosamond flushed, but said, defiant, “Is unfair to say that. I am helping partly because I agree with my brother's feelings and partly because I find I am not quite so … so relentless as I thought, and cannot bear to think of the poor souls suffering so.”

“But you like Robbie MacTavish very much. No?”

“I—” Rosamond bit her lip, then stammered imploringly, “I—I tried very hard
not
to like him, Deb. I was not untrue to Hal's memory, if that is what you think. I loved him very dearly.”

Deborah smiled sadly. “Yes, I know. I used to wish so much that you had been
in
love with him, but perhaps, now, 'tis as well you were not.”

Inwardly aghast, but refusing to voice a denial that would be meaningless, Rosamond said earnestly, “I would have been a good wife. I promise you, I would. He was the—the dearest, most gallant boy. When Dr. Victor told us how he—died…” She closed her eyes for an instant. “Oh … Deb!”

Relenting, Deborah stood and put her arms about the distressed girl. “I had no wish to upset you, Rosa. 'Tis just that—you see, Charles is so afraid.”

With a little sniff, Rosamond said drily, “Is he? Faith, but I'd begun to think my gentle, peace-loving brother not afraid of anything!” Her eyes kindled. “And as for you, Deborah Singleton! If
ever
I heard of a lady being so bold as to go flaunting off impersonating a
parlourmaid!
”

“A kitchen-maid,” corrected Deborah, moving back a step and folding her hands demurely.

Rosamond gave a little trill of laughter. “How
shocking!
Oh, Deb—was it awful? Was it beyond words thrilling? How did you ever muster the courage to do so outrageous a thing? If Papa ever finds out…! Horrors!”

“It
was
rather awful. But—I was so very angry, when I learned about my darling brother.” Deborah paused, her eyes sad and nostalgic. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “I find myself remembering how happy we all were when we were children together … I—I try not to imagine what he suffered, God rest him!”

“Amen,” whispered Rosamond, and after a quiet moment said gently, “Charles told me you suspected for some time that Hal had fought for the Stuart Cause. I wish you had told me.”

“I dare not. Charles and I well knew what my uncle's reaction would be. But when I was able to help that poor fugitive in Oxfordshire…” Her blue eyes shining, she said, “It made me feel that I had helped to save a life—for Hal's sake. You cannot
know
how grateful I was! And he was such a fine young man. So worth saving!”

Rosamond gripped her hands with excitement. “I think you are marvellous! But—was Mr. Fairleigh—or Otton—really so cruel as to torment him?”

“Aye. And the poor boy badly hurt! That greedy rogue would stop at nothing to lay his hands on the treasure! Now why do you look so perplexed? Never say you've formed a
tendre
for Otton as well as—”

“Of course I have not,” interpolated Rosamond hurriedly. “'Tis just—I find it oddly difficult to judge him capable of such savagery.”

“I'll own he's a handsome rascal, but—”

“Pish! Much that has to say to it! You are quite
sure
he—he actually—”

Deborah frowned and said in a hushed voice, “They were burning the poor soul. With cigars, Rosa.”

“Oh—God! Fairleigh did—
that?
No, no! I
cannot
credit it!”

“Well—I did not
see
it, thank heaven! And I believe Otton—or Fairleigh, as you know him—has since denied that part of it.” She shrugged. “As he would, of course. Now—we must join the others, but first—” She reached out to take Rosamond's hand and hold it as she said diffidently, “Dearest, forgive me for speaking out in such a matter, but—I beg of you—do not give your heart to Robert MacTavish. He has small chance of coming through this dangerous business alive, and—” She broke off, her woman's eyes searching Rosamond's face, reading correctly the shy blush, the look that was at once tender and proud. “Oh, Lud!” she sighed miserably. “Then it is too late, and Charles was right, alas! Has Rob offered?”

“You may be sure he would speak to Papa first. But—he will not. He cannot … poor darling.” Rosamond took a deep breath. “I care for Robbie MacTavish, I'll own. And I believe he loves me. But—I think we both know how hopeless it is. I will not go against my father's wishes, and—” Her smile went a little awry. “You may guess what he would say … how much it would hurt him.”

Deborah blinked away tears and hugged her fondly. “Dearest—I am so sorry.”

“Do not grieve for me, Deb. I have found the man I love. There are—are some—obstacles, I grant, but—” She bit her lip, then went on bravely, “I wish with all my heart that Rob would go back to France, while there is yet time. That I could at least know … he was safe. But—he is not the kind to run, and I can only honour him for—for that.”

“Yes. He is truly a fine man. Only … what shall you do?”

“Wait. We both must … wait, I fear, for happier times. I only pray—” She stopped, pushing away the dread of what might lie ahead for Robert MacTavish, then went on cheerfully, “And what about you two reckless creatures? Are your risks one jot less than ours?”

“We have escaped suspicion thus far. We are English, and Hal changed his name so that very few people know he fought for the Jacobites. The Bishop does, of course, but—”

Incredulous, Rosamond interrupted, “The—
Bishop?
Did he
help
Charles, then?”

“But of course. He has a kind heart, and Charles went to him with his problem—as soon as he knew the extent of it. The Bishop devised the scheme to shift him about from parish to parish, for you must realize we could not have all the couriers coming to Little Snoring.”

“Then it was all planned out in advance? Good heavens!”

“Good Bishop,” Deborah amended with a faint smile. She paused, then said gravely, “With luck, when this dreadful mess is over, Charles and I can pick up the threads of our lives and be happy together. But Robert MacTavish is a Scot and his family already strongly suspect. His sister is betrothed to a most gallant gentleman who goes hourly in danger of being named a traitor. Rosa, my sweet Rosa, even if MacTavish escapes, what future will he have?”

For an instant Rosamond felt crushed and hopeless. Then her chin came up. She said with a small, proud smile, “Why—he means to breed whales!”

*   *   *

The birthday party was a great success, marred only slightly by Trifle's latest escapade, the absence of Roland Fairleigh, whom the colonel had liked, and the arrival of Lord Thaddeus, whose lisp and appearance did not charm the stern soldier. Mrs. Singleton and her son drove up and were soon followed by several close friends and neighbours, all bearing gifts. Dinner was a triumph for Miss Seddon and the cook, who had repaired the damaged cake so skilfully that no one would have guessed it had ever been dropped. If Robert Victor was grieving his dead friend, he concealed it well and was throughout the evening bright and cheerful, charming the ladies and entertaining the gentlemen with his good-humoured wit. It seemed to Rosamond that Howard was very subdued, which was natural enough, and that Charles was worrying, which added to her own anxieties. There was little chance for private conversation, but when her brother held the door open for the ladies to withdraw, she was able to linger, and whispered, “You are afraid.” And having arrived at a better understanding of this quiet but intrepid man, added, “For Victor?”

He hesitated, then replied softly, “We are running out of time, Rosa. I don't like the fact that Thad could not find the gentleman who was to give Rob warning. I had expected word of Holt's actions before this, but if Treve has had to run for his life—” He broke off and said grimly, “It's too chancy by far. Rob should have left before this. He must leave here tonight without fail.”

Rosamond endorsed that decision with all her heart, yet she felt chilled, and stood unmoving for a moment, staring blindly at him. She was shocked from her trance when her aunt called and she went out with a bright smile and in her heart the consciousness that a dark shadow crept ever nearer.

Some party games were organized and there was much merriment, which did little to alleviate the underlying grimness that plagued five of those present. Afterwards, Mrs. Estelle played the harpsichord and Rosamond was asked to sing. The colonel, a great music lover, forgave Lord Thaddeus all his shortcomings when it was found that he had a fine baritone voice and that when he sang the lisp was far less noticeable. Rosamond and the young peer sang several duets which pleased everyone, and when the guests rose to leave, they declared enthusiastically that they had seldom enjoyed a more delightful party.

Rosamond, who had begun to think the evening would never end, gladly accompanied her aunt and Deborah up the stairs. She had told Addie not to wait up for her, and did not change her gown but sat down to wait. Soon, her cousin scratched at the door, and the two girls talked for an hour of Deborah's experiences whilst trying to aid the rebels, and of their various hopes for the future. Then Deborah slipped away to rendezvous in the garden with Charles. Half an hour after Rosamond heard her father and Victor come up to bed she was hurrying across the dark lawns to the pavilion.

16

Victor was bending over the reference table, puzzling at the cypher. He jerked around as Rosamond entered, then came to meet her. She put her hands into his outstretched ones and said breathlessly, “Charles says you will leave us tonight!”

“Yes.” His clasp tightened. “My efforts here are useless, 'twould seem. I only pray I've not brought danger upon you.”

She searched his face but his eyes reflected no more than a deep anxiety.

“You were very brave to come and—try to help,” she said, trying also to be brave. “I only—only pray…” Her voice broke, and she turned away.

He asked huskily, “What do you pray, little Miss Sussex?”

“That you may, someday … go back to your beautiful farm in Wales, and—and have a—a happy life … there.”

She turned, looking up at him, and suddenly she was in his arms, fighting sobs.

“Hush. Hush, fairest of all conspirators.” His voice was strained, his cheek pressed tight against her hair. “Never weep, little lass. Our paths crossed in this strange journey we call life. Are you—sorry for that? Not I!”

“Not—sorry,” she quavered. And then, dashing her tears away, she leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. “Greedy to—to hear you say it.”

She felt him start, and went on yearningly, “Oh, Rob—I know we must part, but is it so much to ask? Do you think I have not seen how you look at me? Do you think I have not felt your dear hand tremble, heard the tenderness in your voice?”

All the colour left his face and he stepped away to stand with his back to her and his head down-bent. “And do you think I have not reproached myself a hundred times over?” he muttered in a low, tormented voice. “Despised myself for my weakness in letting you see how—how I feel?”

She smiled, and coming up behind him, rested her cheek against his broad shoulders. “You love me. Deny it and 'twill be another of your infamous falsehoods, Robbie MacTavish!”