Cherished Enemy (26 page)

“Captain Jacob Holt!”

11

Never in her life had Rosamond experienced such total despair. Her sole coherent thought was ‘he has come to arrest me!' She was so frightened that it was as much as she could do not to spring up and run away, and her pulse fluttered at such a rate that she could scarcely breathe. In that moment of stark terror, she turned to Victor. His eyes held hers in a calm, level look. He stood then, as did the other gentlemen, to greet the newcomer, but he turned slightly from them and gave her a sly wink, the corners of his mouth quirking into his mocking grin. Inexplicably, she was strengthened and she drew a deep shuddering breath and fought to control her nerves.

Neat and brisk as always, Holt advanced to shake the colonel's hand, pay his respects to the ladies, and acknowledge Charles and the doctor. He apologized profusely for calling at such an hour, but had, he said, been in the vicinity and “decided to look in, being concerned for Miss Albritton's health.”

Mrs. Porchester beamed at him. “But how very kind in you. Ain't that kind, Albritton? Especially since we met but once in Paris, and once by purest chance on the way here.”

“It is indeed kind,” rumbled the colonel, motioning this new guest to a chair and giving Charles a terse nod, although that courteous young man had already started towards the credenza to pour a glass of Madeira for Holt.

“You will be thinking me a fine dunce of a father, to let my females trot about alone,” the colonel went on. “The truth is that one of my Parisian nephews was escorting 'em, but he's of a delicate constitution and was laid low by a choppy crossing. Victor here, being a friend of the family, was good enough to take his place, but you may be sure I appreciate your concern.

The captain voiced a polite response and said that Miss Albritton appeared to be none the worse for her mishap despite the taxing journey home. “I trust your wound is healing nicely, ma'am?”

Inwardly very conscious of both his bland smile and her sense of extreme danger, Rosamond managed to keep her voice steady as she thanked him and said she was “as good as new.”

Mrs. Porchester interposed, “My dear niece is a brave gel and makes light of her injuries. The truth is that she is
not
quite as good as new, but she is doing well, Captain.
Both
our wounded are mending, in fact.”

Rosamond's nerves twanged taut again. Charles Albritton's hand jerked very slightly, but Victor's smile was unshaken.

Holt's keen gaze slanted to each of the young men. “I—ah, did notice some marks of battle…” he murmured.

The colonel chuckled. “Oh, nothing to that, sir—'twas merely a rough and tumble. My sister-in-law refers to the cut in Victor's arm.”

Rosamond's breathing seemed to have been shut off. She sat as if frozen, while Holt's mild voice echoed and re-echoed in her ears.

“You have hurt your arm, Doctor? How did that happen?”

“It happened,” said the colonel, bristling, “because of that damned revolting animal you hear yowling outside!”

“Because of my own carelessness, more like.” Victor sent a rueful smile into Holt's glacial stare. “Mrs. Porchester's dog alarmed the team, who in turn came near to oversetting my horse, and I was so clumsy as to be thrown.”

“Fell on his own dagger,” put in Charles, adding an amused “Clumsy clod.”

“Bad luck,” murmured the captain, his smile failing to warm his eyes. “Nothing serious, I gather, else you'd not be up and about. Which is as well, since you've had your share of wounds, eh—Victor?”

Charles drawled, “Come now, Holt. Don't be giving all your sympathy to Rob. I've bruises too, you know.”

“Which you earned,” Victor declared with an unrepentant grin. “But I think the captain did not refer to my bruises.”

“True,” said Holt. “I referred to your limp. Is that what put you out of the military, by any chance?”

“Yes. But there was no ‘chance' about it, I do assure you.”

“Don't doubt that,” said the colonel, interested. “Damned fine fighters, those Scots. Got to give 'em that.”

Holt murmured, “I doubt the doctor would agree with you, sir.”

“Then you mistake it,” countered Victor. “I make it a point never to underestimate my enemy, Captain.”

Holt met his gaze squarely. “No more do I, Doctor. You were with the Fourteenth Light Dragoons, I believe? In which case you will be acquainted with Lieutenant Toby Filkins? Come now—you must remember him. Hulk of a fellow with the face of a gentle abbot and the temper of a Goliath.”

Rosamond held her breath and thought, ‘A trap. Be careful! Oh,
do
be careful!'

Victor frowned, then said slowly, “Not unless you mean
Major
Filkins? Jove, but I never did hear what became of him. Recovered, I hope?”

A flicker of chagrin touched Holt's eyes. “You're right, he
is
a Major! Jupiter, but I sometimes think my memory's going. Toby has recovered his health, but not his morale, I think.” He turned with a faintly apologetic smile to his host. “Forgive. We discuss a great block who managed to get himself bested by some puny Scots stripling on Culloden Moor.” His eyes darted back to Victor. “You disagree?”

“With your description, certainly. The last I saw of Toby he was fighting right well. And the lad may have been a—ah, stripling, but he knew how to manage his sabre!”

“Admittedly,” said Holt. “But what so mortified Filkins was that the Scot was already wounded. A—er, bayonet through his leg, I think Toby said…”

Charles observed musingly, “Yet he was able to best the bigger man.”

“He has my profound admiration,” declared the colonel. “Scots traitor or no! If you've ever had a bayonet stuck in you—”

“Lennox!
Please
…” implored Mrs. Estelle, paling. “Such a topic—just after dinner! Such a
topic!
”

“My apologies, ma'am,” said Holt. “Still, I must agree with the colonel. One cannot but admire the fellow. You suffered a—er, similar unpleasantness, did you, Victor? Or were you struck down by a musket-ball?”

His eyes glinting, Victor murmured, “No. Same disease, I fear. And I agree whole-heartedly. What happened to the gentleman? An he survived the battle he was executed, I suppose.”

Holt gazed thoughtfully at his wine, then replied, “I've no idea. Perhaps he has eluded the axe…” He smiled and added gently, “for a while, at least.”

*   *   *

With punctilious good manners Captain Holt took his leave at the end of half an hour that seemed to Rosamond several days long. She had consistently avoided Victor's eyes but she knew he watched her. She knew also that she was shivering and terribly cold and was so unnerved by the time the door closed behind the soldier that she did not protest her aunt's worried statement that she looked “worn to a shade” and must at once go and lie down upon her bed. She said her good-nights to three concerned gentlemen and allowed Aunt Estelle to shepherd her upstairs.

A short while later, alone in her bed in the darkened room, she stared blindly at the canopy and found she had no recollection of getting undressed or of who had put her to bed. Her mind seemed frozen; all of her seemed frozen; numbed by the terrible awareness that Robert Victor was a suspected Jacobite. There was no doubt but that Captain Holt believed he was the man who had fought his friend. Certainly, he would not entertain such a suspicion unless he had something more to justify it than Victor's admission that he had taken a bayonet wound. Perhaps Holt had been given a description of this “Toby” person's adversary. And it made sense. Indeed, so many little incidents were now explained that she marvelled at how dull-witted she had been not to have formed her own suspicions. Dull-witted or unwilling to admit the possibility. Now that she had faced it, there was no difficulty in believing him capable of treason. From the very beginning she had sensed strength in the man and a surfeit of pride. She could picture him wearing plaid and sporran … Almost she could see the ravening horror of that terrible battlefield; Victor standing straight and unyielding in the heaviest part of the fighting, his kilts swinging as he wielded his great sword, his fair head high-held despite the pain of his wounds, his pale face set and grim. As he slew dear Harold, perchance. She shuddered and closed her eyes, the tears creeping slowly from under her lashes, and her heart aching as it never had ached before.

What a sorry fool not to have realized something was odd when Victor had not denied having been at Culloden, but sort of skirted the issue with some devious twaddle about doctors being sworn to save lives—not take them. He'd been able to speak of the battle so easily because he
had
been there. Only fighting for the wrong side! And of course he had helped the fugitive—the man was one of his own! She recollected now that it had been Victor who had said “dinna” for “did not,” just as Addie said it. That slip should have told her he was a Scot. Oh, but she had been an easy foil for him! The silly little English girl, who had become fond … more than fond of a man for whom she should feel only disgust. She would not spare herself, but faced her guilt squarely, although to own it was racking. In the lane that night, just before they found the fugitive, shamefully, she had
wanted
Victor to kiss her … And when she had flirted with him this afternoon she had waited with trembling eagerness for him to hold her again. How vile! How disgusting that she should be so weak-kneed as to have given her heart to a creature who was at best a blackmailing and unscrupulous criminal, and at worst an unspeakably loathsome traitor!

‘You chose right well, Rosamond,' she thought bitterly. ‘You could not be in love with a gallant gentleman like Harold Singleton, but you were easily captivated by the murdering savage who could very well have killed him!' And how Victor must have laughed at her, for he doubtless hated the English—even as she hated all Jacobites. Covering her face, she writhed with shame and humiliation, but to indulge such emotions was to waste time. She bit her lip hard and then wiped savagely at her tears. She was aware now of both his infamy and her own foolishness. There must be an end to folly, and there was another terror to be faced.

Captain Holt was very obviously an ambitious man and had looked at her tonight with eyes as hard and cold as any agates; very different to the glowing admiration he had affected at Tante Maria's ball. It would appear that, suspecting Victor to be a Jacobite, he also thought that she was in cahoots with the man. The wonder was that they had not both been arrested. Holt must lack proof. He would have plenty of that very soon, for if he had not already done so, he would certainly send a request to The Horse Guards at Whitehall for information concerning one Captain Robert Victor. At the most it would be a day or two before he learned that no such officer had fought at the Battle of Culloden Moor. In behalf of King George, at least! The next step would be the arrival of a troop of horse, clattering up the drive to drag the wretched doctor away! And her also, belike! To face a terrible nightmare ending in death! And what of Charles and Papa? Would
they
be accused of harbouring the king's enemies? Would her gentle aunt be suspected? Dear God! Only this morning her greatest worry had been her brother's theft of the icon. How trite that offense seemed now, by comparison with this hideous threat. For it would be judged high treason! The traitorous doctor had brought the ghastly shadow of axe and block to hover over her loved ones! The very thought made her blood run cold and she knew she could wait no longer. Why Roland Fairleigh had chosen to desert her just when she most needed his counsel, she could not guess, but her mind was made up. As soon as the gentlemen retired, she would seek out her father and lay the whole terrible business before him.

*   *   *

Chichester's famed Cathedral Church of the Holy Trinity was farther afield than Lennox Albritton's customary place of worship, but it was where he had been christened, and on the Sunday closest to his birthday he never failed to transport his family to the beautiful eleventh-century cathedral. Dr. Victor, who had accompanied them, was properly quiet during the service, but when they were leaving, expressed a deep admiration of the great building, especially the detached campanile with its octagonal top storey. Pleased by his awe, Colonel Albritton urged Charles to recount some of the history of the cathedral, and as they emerged slowly into glaring sunlight and a hot wind, Victor listened attentively to details anent the Lady chapel and library, the unique cloisters, the height of the spire, and the fires that had raged there during the twelfth century.

Rosamond, who knew it all by heart, seized her opportunity. Thanks to having drifted off to sleep last night before completing her plan, she had not spoken to her father, and because they had left early this morning, there had been no time to snatch a word with him. Aunt Estelle had not accompanied them to church, pleading the onset of a cold. Nor had Howard Singleton ridden over to join them as he often did on this special Sunday. Probably, she thought irritably, due to the attraction of the dashing Mr. Fairleigh, but it was as well neither of them was here, because now at last she had a moment alone with her father. Taking the arm he offered, she whispered a plea for an interview with him as soon as they reached home.

The colonel had an idea that his sister-in-law's absence had nothing to do with a cold, but was instead connected with preparations for his birthday. He was therefore in an expansive mood and, squeezing his pretty daughter's hand, urged, “Tell me what you are up to, puss. Those young cubs won't hear.”

“I cannot, Papa. Is most important. May I come to your study before luncheon?”

“Secrets, eh? Very well. But you shall have to be brief, for I'm famished. Ah, here's Amos with the chariot. Hurry up, you young jabbernolls, mustn't keep the horses standing!”