Journey to Enchantment (23 page)

“What we need,” Briley said thoughtfully, “ith a large Merlin-type diverthion.”

Delacourt stared at him. “Yes, by God! And I think we've just the thing, if we can pull it off!” He turned to Prudence, laughter glinting in his dark eyes. “Do not you agree, Miss MacTavish?”

For an instant she did not comprehend, then she gasped, “The Monster! Oh, it would be splendid! But, Papa, it has been lying in the shed for years, do you fancy it is seaworthy?”

MacTavish pursed his lips. “Aye, I do. 'Twas a well-made boat, and yon shed is watertight, I know, for we'd a man hidden there for a while during that last bad storm and he wasnae wet by so much as a drop.”

“Wonderful,” exclaimed Delacourt. “Now—can we get it launched without being seen?”

“Yes,” Prudence answered eagerly. “The shed canna be seen from the hoose or the slope, because o' the stables and the trees. If we use the wheelbarrows and take the Monster doon through the copse, we can launch him in the little cove and be well oot intae the loch before the troopers see.”

“No need for wheelbarrowth, ma'am,” put in Briley diffidently. “We'll have your father and Cole and me, and”—he glanced at Delacourt—“and not you, dear boy, tho do not be arguing.”

“No, but it's a solid contraption, Thad. I think we must wait until Lockerbie returns. If our chaps are not coming there will be no need to resort to all this. He can help you carry the Monster to the lake if necessary. But if we do go, I reserve the right to be a rower. That I
can
do.”

“For Lord's sake,” groaned MacTavish. “And what if they start shooting and sink our Monster? Are ye strong enough to swim to shore? Have ye the slightest idea o' how cold that water is?”

Delacourt's jaw set. He said stubbornly, “I shall manage.”

“You must not go, Papa,” said Prudence. “If there should be shooting once the Monster is seen, it would look very odd if you did not appear to enquire as to the cause. Cole can help me row.”

“You!”
Flushed with anger, Delacourt snapped, “The devil! I'll not have
you
a target for every musket on the hill!”

Briley looked at him sharply.

Warmed by this proprietary and protective stand, Prudence argued, “No, really, Captain. I can swim like a fish, and I know just where we can hide the Monster once we've drawn the troopers off. Even if Lockerbie and Cole were to row, they'd be able to see nothing. One person has to stand up so as to look through the jaws and direct the rowers. Besides, I am a Scot and have done nothing to help our fugitives. You must let me do this! Papa, tell him I can!”

MacTavish looked from glowing girl to glowering man, and said with slow reluctance, “My daughter knows every nook and cranny o' the loch. If aught goes wrong, the others would have a sight better chance with her to guide them.”

“Sir,” Delacourt snarled, “you cannot have thought that if those troopers catch sight of the monster, as we hope they will, they'll go wild! Every man jack of 'em will be charging after it, shooting like maniacs. I beg you—”

Cole burst in. “They've all dismounted and are sitting about, Captain.”

“Together?”

“No, sir. All strung out, like. And all facing this way. But I can see pipes lit, and I'd say they've settled down for the night.”

Delacourt turned to his host. “Sir, what time will the moon go down?”

“It's likely to be riding high long after the sun is up, I'm afraid.”

Prudence said, “I shall go and get my cloak.”

“No!” raged Delacourt.

Lockerbie stuck his head around the door. “Your escort's come, sir,” he announced, panting. “I've got 'em safe hid doon by the big pine tree, and I've warned 'em aboot yon butler and y'r plan fer him. They're safe, so long as the redcoats dinna start nosing aboot.”

Delacourt swore under his breath.

With a last look at him, Prudence ran from the room.

*   *   *

Lockerbie climbed to his feet, brushed dirt from his breeches, and said, “She seems so sound as any bell, Captain. If there's a hole anywhere I canna find it.”

“Very well.” Delacourt's worried gaze was on Prudence, standing quietly in the dusty old shed. Her gown was not encumbered by hoops, but he muttered, “If you've to swim for it, Miss Prudence, those skirts could drag you under.”

“In that event, sir, I shall abandon modesty—and my skirts. They're quite easily discarded.”

“In water? I doubt it. Better you should discard 'em now.”

She blushed. “No, sir. I shall if I must. But not until I must.”

Delacourt knew he was delaying them, his fear for the girl's safety reducing him to a craven. “As you will,” he said harshly. “I fancy we're ready, gentlemen.”

Prudence wheeled his chair outside, and he held the door wide as MacTavish, Briley, Lockerbie, and Cole staggered out bearing their difficult burden. The wounded men were already in the wagon and horses between the poles. ‘Captain' Sidley, trembling with nervousness, stood close by, holding his horse. He gestured as they approached, and Delacourt asked that Prudence go on ahead with the boat bearers while he spoke with the butler.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“A trifle nervy, sir,” Sidley murmured. “Never worry. I won't let you down.”

It was fascinating, thought Delacourt, what a difference a uniform could make. The butler had always had his aloof dignity, but now there was a resolute set to his chin, a glint of determination in his eyes. Delacourt felt a pang of guilt. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he had already handed Mrs. Cairn the letter that would ensure Mrs. Sidley was cared for until her husband's return. “I am very sure you will do your possible,” he said gravely. “You know what you are to do?”

“Yes, sir. When we come up with the other men they will have uniforms for themselves and his lordship. We will go off as quickly as possible until we are out of sight of the bounty hunters, then they will change clothes.” He glanced from the retreating Monster to the slope along which he had earlier glimpsed the glow of a cigar or a pipe, here and there. “There seem an unconscionable lot of 'em, and they're likely desperate rogues. If the Monster doesn't draw them off, are you sure you and Mr. MacTavish will be able to repel them should they attack?”

“Oh, quite sure. They'll likely be too busy shooting at the decoy to have any shot left for us. Good luck to you, my dear chap. And remember, keep your eyes and ears open; pick up anything you hear said of Doone, and get back here as soon as you can. I'm eager to go home.”

“Yes. You are, er, quite sure Cunningham's people will be keeping an eye on things, sir?”

“I am quite sure that you will not be harmed,” said Delacourt, hoping that the night was sufficiently dark to hide his red face.

Sidley put out his hand. “Thank you. I am proud to do what I can, sir. It—it has been a great honour.”

Squirming, Delacourt shook hands and watched the butler mount up. He had already said his farewells to the wounded men, and now he left the chair and walked to where the Monster was in the process of being pulled into the water.

MacTavish and Lockerbie held the strange vessel steady, and Cole crawled in through the impromptu door that had been fashioned so long ago by inexpert hands. The Monster tilted, its wooden ‘arms' splashing at the surface.

Prudence went to kiss her father and receive his blessing. Silently, she turned to Delacourt. He came to her and she gave him her hand. He bent and pressed a kiss upon it. “Well, you've made your choice,” he said coolly. “In with you, m'dear. And God bless and keep you safe.”

She thought with a sharp pang that they might never see each other again. If this venture failed—even if it succeeded—she might return to find that he had been arrested. She longed with all her heart to throw her arms about him, but the code of polite behaviour forbade so pushing a display and she turned instead towards the boat. Delacourt was not upset by this parting, evidently. But then he was accustomed to danger. Her eyes blurred; vaguely aware of her papa's murmured encouragement, she crouched, squeezed in through the little door, and made her way to the bow where, by clinging to the sides of the Monster's head, she was able to see through the great jaws. The boat rocked to Lockerbie's weight, and then Cole asked, “Ready, miss?”

“Aye,” she answered, not daring to look at him and reveal her distressed face. “Row together until I tell ye otherwise. You will likely feel it strange at first, for the oars are the arms, as it were, and my brother said it was hard going.”

Lockerbie was silent. She had sensed from the start that he feared the loch, and she knew how overwhelming such a dread could be. He had conquered it, evidently, which she thought admirable. “You do not care overmuch for the water, do you, Mr. Lockerbie?” she remarked.

He grunted in an embarrassed way, and then the Monster began to move unevenly and with considerable splashing into the open water of the loch. “You're a brave man,” she said, and thought, ‘Lord, I hope so, for we'll need a brave man when the troopers spot us, I fancy.' For the first time it occurred to her that in case of an emergency it would be difficult to get out of the enclosed boat. Pushing such a horrifying picture from her mind, she directed them. “We must veer to the right a wee bit, so when I give you the word, Cole, you must row alone. Now!”

With slow and grotesque gait, the Monster moved northwards.

*   *   *

“I never said as 'ow it wasn't big,” said Sergeant Hobson argumentatively. “All I said was, it's like the rest o' this perishing country. Cold and empty. I don't like it. I like it better than Injer, but I don't like it. And I don't like being out 'ere sitting on the cold grass and keeping guard over I don't know who, nor fer why!”

“If I was you, Sarge,” offered Trooper Jenkins, taking the pipe from between his stained teeth and poking it at his large friend, “if I was you, I say, I'd be glad as there's a nice moon tonight. Not that it's all that bright just now. But it's there. And you know what that there big lake is, Sarge? That's Loch Ness. That's what it is.”

“Cor!” exclaimed the Sergeant with an extravagant gesture of amazement. “D'you all 'ear that, my coves? Jenkins knows where we is!”

Soft laughter rose from the men who flanked them, but Trooper Jenkins was undisturbed. “You may mock,” said he, bodingly. “I says as you may mock. But you'd not be mocking if there wasn't no moon. 'Cause that's when that there
thing
comes out, so the cook told me.”

The few murmurous side conversations died sudden deaths and there was a tense hush.

“Wotcha mean—thing?” demanded the Sergeant. “You don't never believe all that jaw about the great serpent wot lives in that there puddle? Cor lumme! You're easy took in, ain'tcha, Jenkins? You reckon as we're all gonna be chewed up by a overgrown serpent?” He gave a soft hoot of laughter in which several diplomatic cronies joined. “You wanta watch these Scotchmen wi' their naked knees. Say anything they will, just ter—” He glanced at his companion and was shocked. Trooper Jenkins had fought beside him in India and also at the Battle of Culloden Moor. Despite his teasing, he knew the man was no coward. But now, Trooper Jenkins' pipe had fallen unheeded from between his suddenly lax jaws, and his eyes stood out like hard-boiled eggs from his greenish face. “Fred?” said the Sergeant sharply. “You sick?”

“Arrr…” quoth the intrepid Jenkins. “Oooo…” With which, he slid fluidly to the turf and lay still.

“Wot the—” began the Sergeant, dismayed.

A shrill scream shattered the silence. “Quiet, you damn dogsbody!” snarled Hobson, whirling about. He perceived then that he was the only one (save for poor Jenkins) not standing, and he clambered up as his valiant fighting men began to collect in a tight group. “See 'ere—” he howled. But then he himself saw, and his words were cut off as by an invisible knife.

A horrid sight had appeared on the hitherto serene surface of the loch: a great, dragonlike creature, with ungainly legs that tore at the water, and a huge head that rocked back and forth, searching quite obviously for prey.

“Gawd!” shrieked Trooper French, retreating. “It's coming this way!”

“To … to … arms!” whispered the Sergeant, who had faced a murderous Scots charge without a tremor.

Corporal Corbett groped for his musket and raised it with shaking hands. In that instant, the monstrous head seemed to look straight at him. His knees turned to jelly, but he fired. Unfortunately, the ball took one of the horses across the rump, and the stricken beast reared with a scream and began to kick out in pain and fright. In seconds, the staked horses, who had been grazing quietly, were transformed into a seething, squealing, panicked mass.

“Hold 'em!” shouted Trooper Church, in vain.

Recovering his nerve and his musket, not necessarily in that order, the Sergeant roared, “Come on, lads! Let's get this 'ere fish!”

A couple of troopers, less adventurously inclined than their fellows, began to spring in pursuit (or so they later declared) of the vanishing horses. The rest of the men, gripping their weapons in sweating hands, uttered a feeble huzzah or two, and staggered after their leader.

“Don't shoot till it's close enough,” Hobson howled, slithering down the bank a minute later. “By gum, but it's a big 'un, and you can only see the 'ead and shoulders. It's going straight for Inverness!”

“Likely hungry,” offered a youthful and considerably frightened recruit.

Inside the ‘hungry big 'un,' Delacourt's arms were already trembling with fatigue and he could feel sweat coursing down his face. They'd only been rowing for a few minutes, but one would think the soldiers must have seen.… A distant scream rang out and was followed by the sound of a shot. Cole stopped rowing, and Prudence gave a gasp. Delacourt's head jerked up hopefully. “What's happening?”