Journey to Enchantment (25 page)

Elizabeth was very still. Then she turned, her head high. “Would ye be unaccountably shocked if we were?”

“Shocked? Why, no! I should be delighted for your sake. I think him a most pleasant young man, and he is as brave as he can stare.” She paused, taken aback as Miss Clandon uttered a sardonic laugh.

“Well, I'm not! Can ye no feature how joyful would be his family tae see him wed a Scots lass wi' a three thousand pounds dowry, and no great name tae bring him?” She gave a prideful toss of her lovely head. “Not great tae the Sassenachs, at all events, though I'm a long way frae being ashamed o't!” Unwanted tears stung her eyes. She said with an impatient flirt of the shoulders, “Och, awie, wherefore maudle over it? 'Tis pointless. I couldnae be happy away frae my mountains and lochs.” She blinked at Prudence. “No more could you.”

Prudence thought sadly, ‘I could be happy wherever
he
is.' And she said with more pathos than she guessed, “Oh, yes. So long as I could come home sometimes to see my family.” She saw shock come into the other girl's eyes and said wistfully, “It's lovely to be able to talk with someone of my own age. I wish you were staying longer. I'm—rather short of friends, you see.”

Elizabeth promptly burst into tears. Prudence jumped up, put her arms around the weeping girl, and led her to the bed, where she sat beside her, trying to comfort that grief until it had eased, then drying Elizabeth's tears and saying kindly that they would not speak of the matter again.

“But I want … to,” gulped Elizabeth, blowing her red little nose. She sighed gustily, clutched the sodden handkerchief, and confided, “Thaddeus did offer, Prudence. And—and I refused. D'ye understand why? There's just too much against us. He's a high-born lord, wi' an ancient name and a grand position.” She gave a watery and pathetic laugh. “Can ye—can ye no see little Betsy Clandon wearing velvet and ermine … and walking majestically beside him intae Westminster Abbey wi' … wi' Kings and Queens?” She shuddered violently, and bowed her head into her hands. “I would fairly curl up and
die!
I couldnae
do
it! Never, never,
never!
”

Prudence thought, aghast, ‘Lord, but it's a pickle and no mistaking!' But she said staunchly, “I think you would charm all the lords and be the envy of all the ladies. Sure it is that you'd be the prettiest among 'em all.” Elizabeth smiled mistily, and Prudence went on, “Now, since you've been so forthright with me, I'll be honest also, and admit that I—I have become rather—fond of Captain Delacourt.”

Elizabeth wiped away a stray tear. “You mean you admire him. Faith, but we all do.”

“No,” said Prudence bravely. “I do not mean that.”

Elizabeth stared at her. There was no smile; no joyful exclamation. She said quietly, “Has he offered, or told you that he has a
tendre
for you?”

“Not in so many words, but—”

“I see.” Elizabeth stood. “We are friends, are we not? It will be so lovely. But I must run now.”

And she was gone with a swish of her skirts, the door whipping shut behind her.

*   *   *

Stamping to a chair in Delacourt's parlour, Cunningham occupied it and said an exasperated, “Well, I fancy you saw the rout of my ‘splendid' fighting men last night?”

Delacourt leaned back against the pillow Cole had put in his invalid chair, and had no need to feign weariness. “No, sir,” he answered truthfully. “Some of it only. Egad, but I'd not have missed it for the world. Did you see it, sir?”

The Colonel gave him a level look. “Let me understand you, Captain. Do you say
you
actually saw this—this reptile, or whatever it is?”

“I most certainly did. I fancy half the town's at the loch this morning, eh, sir?”

“At least. Would you be so good as to describe the creature for me?”

Delacourt paused thoughtfully. “Let's see.… It appeared to be about—oh, I'd say about forty feet long, and—”

“By God! You
saw
that length?”

“Oh, no. But to judge by the size of the head and the upper part of it, which was all that was visible by the time I saw it, I'd think it must be that size. At the very least.”

Cunningham eased himself back in his chair and, still transfixing the younger man with his unblinking stare, asked, “What colour was it?”

Into his mind's eye came a picture of those flamboyant blue and red scales, and Delacourt had to struggle to restrain a grin. “I couldn't tell, sir. It was night, you know.”

“I am aware. But you saw the smoke and flame it breathed?”

“Smoke and flame? Er, no, I cannot say I did, Colonel. Nor have I heard anyone at Lakepoint speak of such a phenomenon.” The corners of his mouth would not behave, and he asked, “Are you sure that your people did not mistake it? In all the, er, excitement, I mean.”

Cunningham sprang up and began to pace about, biting out his words with restrained fury. “No, I am not sure, Captain! If I were to say of what I
am
sure, it would be that either my men were properly hoaxed, or that they were roaring drunk! Of all the bumbling, maggot-witted—” He snatched a decanter of wine from the side table, ground his teeth, and fumed in silence.

“I can hardly blame them, sir. A man signs up to fight the King's enemies but he doesn't bargain for a damn great sea serpent to be thrown into the—”

The Colonel, who had been glaring down at the invalid while refilling his glass, suddenly lost his grip on the dewy surface of the crystal decanter and it plummeted from his hand. “Look out!” he exclaimed, making a futile grab for it.

Delacourt's reaction was automatic, but he was tired and his outstretched hand too slow. The decanter fell heavily onto his knee. He uttered a muffled yelp and gripped the affliction as the decanter crashed to the floor.

“Gad, what a clumsy ox!” cried the Colonel remorsefully, but with his bright, hard eyes glued to the invalid's face. “I say, I'm most frightfully sorry! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” whispered Delacourt. He coughed and leaned back, turning the chair slightly so that Cunningham was obliged to move to observe him.

The door opened. Prudence hurried in, taking in the situation at a glance. “Heavens!” she cried, wrinkling her nose. “The room smells like a brewery. Have ye had a wee accident, Colonel?”

“A stupid one, miss,” he admitted wryly. “Dropped the decanter on poor Delacourt, as if he'd not sufficient grief.”

Prudence went to bend over the victim. “Are ye hurt, sir?”

He gave her a surreptitious wink and said feebly that it was nothing at all. But he was breathing hard, she noted, and his hand trembled as he moved it from his knee to the arm of his chair.

Prudence resisted a compelling urge to wrap the decanter about Colonel Cunningham's gentle smile, and walked over to tug on the bellrope, then open the terrace doors.

Cunningham picked up the decanter. “You don't look driven to the brink of a decline by all the excitement of the night, Miss MacTavish,” he observed mildly.

“I'll not say I enjoyed the sight. Especially since the beastie frightened my poor aunt oot o' her wits. But it was not the shock I felt when first I saw it.”

“Really? And did you also remark the fire shooting from the mouth of this apparition?”

Had Delacourt mentioned fire? She dared not glance his way with Cunningham's piercing stare upon her. She summoned a puzzled look. “Fire, d'ye say? Lud, sir, 'tis a sea serpent, not a dragon! Who's been trying to scare ye wi' such stuff?”

Her gaze slipped past the Colonel to Delacourt, and his approving grin told her she had said the right thing.

Cunningham bristled. “I do not scare easily, Miss MacTavish! I believe it no more than do you! May I ask how often you have seen the creature?”

“Not very frequently, sir. Oh, Forbes, we have had a small calamity. Would you please send one of the maids to clean it up for us?” She turned an innocent smile on Cunningham as the footman bowed and departed. “Speaking of calamities, sir, whatever were your men doing on the lake in the middle of the night?”

Cunningham said with stiff hauteur, “They were here for your protection, ma'am. We've observed several bounty hunters lurking around Inverness. They're a dashed rough lot, I can tell you, and with Delacourt billeted here and feelings running high against the English because of that da— that traitor Ligun Doone, I feared for your safety.”

“Well, I'm sure we are very grateful, sir,” she said with her sweetest smile.

Cole came into the room and frowned at Delacourt's pale face. “You're looking properly gut-foundered,” he said bluntly. “Dr. Cauldside wants him to keep to his bed, Colonel.”

“No, no,” Delacourt protested feebly. He coughed, and said in a failing voice, “Perfectly … able to—”

“Yes,” said Prudence, “we can see how able you are, Captain. Shall we leave him in peace, sir?”

Cunningham chewed his teeth, but the Captain did look pulled, and the girl would serve his purpose as well, perhaps better. He bowed her to the door, told Delacourt he must get a good rest, and accompanied Prudence along the hall. “Well,” he said expansively, “you're rid of one of your guests, at all events. I hear Lord Briley has gone charging off in pursuit of your famous fish.”

“He'll have his work cut out to hook our Nessie, sir. And if he ventures onto the loch, the tables might be turned.”

“A distinct possibility. I'll own myself surprised, for his lordship did not impress me as a clever man. I must have misjudged him.”

“Indeed?” said Prudence.

“I cannot quite understand how it is that Briley allegedly raced away in the direction of Inverness, yet no one coming from town towards Lakepoint seems to have encountered him.” His sly glance flickered to her face, and he waited.

“Aye, that's odd, all right,” she agreed, and, her eyes widening, exclaimed, “Losh, mon! Ye never fancy he has been gobbled up by yon overgrown newt?”

Repeating this conversation to Dr. Cauldside as they drove back to Inverness together, Colonel Cunningham snorted, “Overgrown newt, indeed! I'll stake my oath, doctor, that the apparition on the loch last night was not an overgrown anything—save perhaps the product of an overgrown imagination!”

The doctor pointed to the large numbers of sightseers who swarmed in such excitement about the road that progress was slowed. “Ye'd have a hard time convincing
them,
” he said.

“Fools,” snorted the Colonel contemptuously. “A parcel of witless bumpkins. The thing is”—he frowned—“Delacourt is no fool and he said— Tell me honestly, Cauldside, just how ill
is
that boy?”

The doctor hesitated. “Had he not been in superb condition before he was hit, he'd be dead and buried these nine months. That he's survived this long is remarkable. But”—he pursed his lips—“something is not as it should be.”

“What?”

“My name has nine letters, ye ken,” Cauldside retaliated irritably. “Not three! When I progress tae the point I can peep inside a mon, I'll be off tae bigger and better places than Inverness, I can assure ye!”

The Colonel grunted. “I do not question your skill. Certainly, he gives the appearance of weakness. Only sometimes, I think to catch a glimpse of—” Again, he checked, then asked, “Do you know what Ligun Doone means?”

“Trouble,” said the doctor with a sly grin.

“No, man. I mean literally.”

“Oh. No, I dinna. Is there a meaning? I'd thought it simply a name.”

Cunningham scowled at the passing countryside. “There is a meaning. I heard it somewhere, sometime. Blast it all—if I could just remember.”

“Ask Jamie MacTavish, he's the scholar amongst us.”

“I asked him. He claims he's not a student of archaic languages. I think even if he did know, he'd likely not tell me.”

“Do ye really doot the MacTavish? We've proved nothing; Delacourt's seen nothing. And I know he's at odds wi' most o' the clans by reason o' his political beliefs.”

“True. But many a non-Jacobite Scot is now helping rebels. MacTavish would not be the only one to be playing his cards close.”

Cauldside eyed the Colonel somewhat askance and wondered how he himself was regarded by that cold and impersonal mind. “I fancy every mon has his own axe tae grind.”

“Hmmn.” Cunningham maintained a brooding silence for some minutes, breaking it at last to exclaim, “That name holds the key, I know it! I've sent a letter to Whitehall. When I receive an answer we'll very likely have another axe in our picture—one already ground to a razor sharpness!”

*   *   *

Hortense looked up from her charts as Miss Clandon entered her parlour, and offered a warm, if vague, smile. “Oh dear! Am I late for luncheon again?” she asked, disentangling her quill pen from the lace at her bodice.

“Not very.” Elizabeth stepped closer and peered curiously at the chart. “Good gracious, ma'am, how complex it looks. 'Tis beyond my ken how you can puzzle it all oot. What does it tell you today?”

Hortense adjusted a pale pink trailing wisp, then had to snatch it away as Señorita shot from beneath the desk to leap with frantically flailing arms in pursuit of the alluring scarf. “'Tis very worrisome,” sighed Hortense, watching as Elizabeth picked up the irked cat and amused it with the quill pen. “As you will see, Saturn here is in the ascendant, and Saturn I find ominous at the best of times. Now, you will note the squares and oppositions— Oh,
do
be careful! She almost had you! And yet, perhaps that would be as well. Just a
little
bit of blood, you know. For there it is.”

She pointed a bony finger at a portion of her involved chart, and Elizabeth peered in anxious bewilderment. “Alas, ma'am, I am too dense. Is the blood here? At Lakepoint?”