"I'll say this much for you," said Montclair, hauling him up again. "You may be bats in the belfry, and 'perfectly fit' you're certainly not—but you're a game one, señor."
Susan reined Pewter to a halt before they left the woods, and made an effort to restore her appearance. She had shed tears of rage and humiliation, and was still breathing too fast, and had no wish to alarm her family. She had only to recall Montclair's heartless laughter when she'd—er, fallen, and she began to seethe again, which would not do, so she sat quietly for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to compose herself. Since she spent several minutes thinking instead of what she would like to do to the wretch, composure was not at once achieved, but it was cool and quiet and peaceful among the trees, the silence broken only by the drowsy twittering of the birds, and gradually her tumultuous heart quieted. She had decided to continue on her way when she heard a man laugh.
It was not her brother's merry peal, nor the rather shrill bray of Señor Angelo's amusement, or the Bo'sun's boom. There was, furthermore, something sinister about the laugh, if only because it was obviously restrained.
The peaceful woodland glade began to seem lonely and menacing. She was quite alone and too far from Highperch for screams to be heard. If that horrid laugh belonged to Mr. Junius Trent… Her heart began to pound again. She stifled the impulse to spur Pewter to a gallop and make a run for safety. It was difficult to tell from which direction the laugh had come, and she had been sufficiently foolish today without capping it off by rushing straight at the very man she sought to avoid. She urged the mare forward at a walk.
She heard voices then, again low pitched. Two men, and quite nearby. Why were they talking so softly? How silly she was, imagining all this drama. They were likely nothing more threatening than a pair of poachers. Heavens, but her imagination was running away with her. And then, like the crash of doom, a horse whinnied. Poachers did not ride!
"D'ye take me for a flat?" demanded an irate and cultured voice. "We'll have to keep a very careful watch on the lot of 'em, as he said, or—"
A horse whickered, and Pewter whinnied a response.
A startled exclamation. Rapid hoofbeats.
With a squeal of fright Susan drove home her heels, and the mare jumped into a gallop.
Someone shouted, "That way!"
Susan bowed to avoid a low-hanging branch. From the corner of her eye she saw the shrubs to her right violently disturbed and her heart jumped into her mouth.
Then Pewter burst from the trees and was thundering across open country towards Highperch.
It was a few minutes before Susan dared glance behind her. Half expecting to see two villains riding her down, she beheld only the golden afternoon and no sign of pursuit. She gave a gasp of relief, but just the same, she galloped the mare all the way home, slowing to a canter only as they came to the drivepath.
Wolfgang ran from the open front door, barking a shrill welcome, and Priscilla came dancing out, Bo'sun George following her.
"Mama, oh Mama! You've comed back!" Unable to wait for her mother to dismount, the child hugged Susan's riding boot and cried ecstatically, "Thank you so much for my paint! It's eggs-whizzit! Oh, but my doll house will be the bestest in the whole county. And England! Slap up to the knocker!"
"Priscilla," said Susan, trying to be stern, "you know Uncle Andrew doesn't like you to use such terms."
"No, but that one must be all right, Mama, 'cause he said it his own self. I heard him!" She drew back to beam up at her mother, then went skipping back inside again, Wolfgang howling after her.
Dodman lifted Susan down and took the reins.
"So the boy came already," she said. "I didn't expect he'd be so prompt. Has my brother seen the paint, Bo'sun?"
"Yes, ma'am." The green eyes twinkled. "He was a bit surprised by the colour."
Susan's smile was rather grim. "He'll be more taken aback when I tell him of the matter. Where is he?"
"Down to the boat, Mrs. Sue. A gentleman's come." He glanced to the house and leaned closer. "Business, I think. They—"
"Here you are at last!" Mrs. Starr came onto the steps and hurried to take Susan's parcels. "Oh do come quickly, my dear. You'll never believe what our clever Bo'sun has done!" She beamed approval at Dodman, who promptly became very red in the face and so flustered that he led Pewter around to the wrong side of the house.
Intrigued, Susan followed the little woman indoors. "Whatever has transpired, to win poor George such lavish praise?"
Mrs. Starr turned along the hall towards the withdrawing room. "I vow you'll not credit it. This has been quite a day for paint and paintings. Speaking of which, we were fairly astonished when the boy brought that great tub of paint, Mrs. Sue, after your lectures about economies! Here we are." She turned, her eyes bright with excitement. "Close your eyes now. I want this to be a real surprise. Take my hand. Slowly, dear ma'am…"
Groping her way, Susan proceeded obediently, halting when told.
"Now—only look!" cried Mrs. Starr, all but squeaking with excitement.
Susan looked, and her eyes opened very wide indeed.
The painting now adorning the wall above the mantelpiece was a far cry from the one Dodman had worked on this morning. The dirty old frame had been polished and was transformed into a richly carven thing of beauty. The raw potato had banished the brown swirls of encrusted grime to reveal a riverbank scene at sunset, the turquoise skies, streaked with crimson, reflecting on the smooth water. A little grove of trees provided a rich background for some carefree picnickers—young men clad in tunics and hose, girls wearing flowing gowns of silk and brocade, their long tresses contained by jewelled nets; while amid the branches and from be-hind trees, wistful-eyed nude nymphs and dryads peeped at the merrymakers.
"Oh!" said Susan admiringly. "What a good thing you asked the Bo'sun to clean it, Starry. It's very pretty, don't you think?"
"Indeed I do," agreed Mrs. Starr triumphantly. "I suppose it cannot be of any value, else his lordship would not have left it in an unoccupied house. But it does seem a shame it was allowed to come to such a pass."
"And quite typical of that revolting creature," said Susan grimly. "Has Andrew seen it yet?"
"No, but he cannot but be pleased." The little lady sighed wistfully. "What a pity. I suppose we shall have to give it back to Lord Montclair."
"Why? He doesn't deserve it. And at all events, he's abroad, so I understand."
Mrs. Starr stared at her. "Abroad? But—how can that be when you hit him with the brush only yester—"
"It appears that was his brother," said Susan, rather hastily. "Oh, I have so much to tell you, Starry, but I am fairly perishing for my luncheon and a cup of tea."
"Of course you are, my love. I'll put the kettle on at once. Little Priscilla is so excited with her paint, but why ever did you buy so much?"
"Well, actually," began Susan as they started down the hall to the kitchen, "it was quite a bargain, although—" She checked, turning to the gentlemen who came in at the rear door and walked towards them.
"Oh, you're back, Sue," said Lyddford with breezy redundancy.
A little chill crept between Susan's shoulder blades. Their visitor was the foreign gentleman who had been with Sir Selby Trent during her unhappy interview at Longhills Manor.
"I hope you have not mislaid me in your memory already," said Imre Monteil, smiling at her. "Me, I am most delighted by this opportunity to meet you again, Mrs. Henley."
She murmured a polite response, and glancing to her brother, was the recipient of an urgent jerk of the head. Reluctantly, she extended her hand.
It was taken in a clammy white clasp. Monteil bowed to kiss her fingers. Her sense of revulsion was as intense as it seemed unkind and unwarranted, and she had to force an answering smile. "I had not realized you were acquainted with my brother, monsieur."
"We wasn't," said Lyddford. "But"—he gave her a mischievous wink—"we are now."
"How—nice," murmured Susan, freeing
her hand from the clasp the Swiss was obviously unwilling to relinquish.
"One hopes ours will be a long and mutually—ah, beneficial association," purred Monteil, his eyes not wavering from Susan.
'Heaven forfend,' she thought, and introduced him to Mrs. Starr.
The little lady dropped a slight curtsy. The Swiss however, bowed low, advanced upon her, and kissed her hand also. "Enchante, madame," he said with patent admiration.
Blushing furiously, Mrs. Starr excused herself and hurried off to the kitchen area. Susan yearned to depart also, but manners must be observed, and if Monsieur Monteil really was able to throw some commissions their way, it would not do to offend.
"Come and have a glass of Madeira," offered Lyddford, leading their guest to the withdrawing room. "I'm glad you finished your shopping in time, Sue. You were gone such an unconscionable time I began to think you'd popped over to Baghdad or some such place. And that awful paint you bought would bear me out! What on earth possessed—"
They had walked into the long sunny room by this time, and Lyddford paused, glancing at the Swiss, who had uttered an odd hissing sound. Monteil came to an abrupt halt, and stood with shoulders slightly hunched, staring fixedly at the mantelpiece.
"Oh, it's our confounded cat," said Lyddford apologetically, removing Welcome from the mantel.
"I think Monsieur Monteil admires our painting," said Susan. "And I agree with him. Do you like it now that the Bo'sun has cleaned it, Andy?"
Lyddford shrugged. "Oh, I suppose it's all right. I rather liked it the other way. Bit of a challenge to guess what it was."
"Never heed my brother, sir," said Susan with a rueful laugh. "He is hopeless with either art or music; indeed, I think he scarce knows one from t'other!"
"Well, I do," declared Lyddford with a grin. "One's noisy."
Monteil wandered closer to the hearth. "It is most interesting. Did it hang here when you—ah, moved in?"
"No, it didn't," said Lyddford emphatically. "There was another picture here. And why anyone would want to paint a dead partridge slung on a table with its head upside down is more than I can comprehend! Most awful thing! Be dashed if I want to sit in the withdrawing room with a dead partridge! I mean, enough is enough, what? So I dug this one out."
"What do you mean, you 'dug it out'?" asked Susan. "Where was it?"
"In the cellar. All kinds of old rubbish down there."
Monteil said in his soft voice, "If this is the sort of 'old rubbish' in your cellar, Mr. Lyddford, I should very much like to look at it."
Susan eyed him curiously. "Oh dear. That sounds as if you think the picture might be valuable. Is it?"
He spread those long white hands and shrugged. "I think it is a fair copy, madame. For just an instant when first I entered I thought it might be an original, but I see now that the style is not quite as fine as it appeared, and the paint is scarcely aged."
Susan said thoughtfully, "I wonder if Montclair painted it himself…"
"Does the fella paint, then?" asked Lyddford, much shocked.
"I have not the remotest notion, save that he was buying some gold-leaf paint whilst I was in the ironmonger's shop."
"Ah, but I believe that would be for his harpsichord, madame," interjected Monteil. "Valentine is a musician par excellence, and the harpsichord is a truly magnificent old instrument."
"Be dashed if that surprises me." Lyddford shook his head disapprovingly. "He's just the sort of slippery customer would maudle his brain with music instead of doing a man's work!"
Monteil regarded him with amusement. "You are a gentleman of firm opinions, monsieur. You will forgive if I point out that Frederick the Great of Prussia, and your own King Henry the Eighth were both fine composers, and—"
"There you are then," interposed Lyddford, triumphant. "I don't have nothing against Fred. Never heard much about him, to tell you the truth. But everyone knows Bluff King Hal was a dirty dish."
"Andy," protested Susan, with an eye on the visitor's faint smile, "you must stop and think that Monsieur Monteil is well acquainted at Longhills. Your pardon, sir, if we offend."
"Stuff," said Lyddford. "Monteil likely agrees. But— let's speak of pleasant things for a change. Sue, we've been put in the way of some very nice commissions thanks to this gentleman. A toast is in order." He crossed to the sideboard and poured two glasses of
Madeira and one of cider, and distributing these said gaily, "Here's to a long and profitable partnership!"
Honouring the toast, Susan thought, dismayed, 'Partnership?'
After only a very brief conversation, mostly having to do with his admiration of Highperch Cottage, the Swiss took his leave, saying that he was sailing for the Continent early in the morning and must be aboard his yacht before dark.
They walked out onto the front terrace, all three. Lyddford had rung for Deemer, but no one appeared to answer the bell, and muttering anathemas on servants, he went to call up Monteil's curricle.
The Swiss turned to Susan and extended his hand. She shrank from taking it again, but had no recourse. The cold, clammy fingers closed about her own. He stepped very close to her, looking down at the hand he held, and stroking it gently. "Will you believe me, dear lady, if I tell you I have met countless beautiful women and have found them unfailingly vapid, dull—in short, a very great bore. Until…" his dark eyes lifted to her face, "… now."
Susan fought the urge to tear free and run. "You are too kind, sir," she said, and made an effort to pull away.
His grip tightened. He stepped even closer, lifted her hand to his lips, and watched her as he pressed a kiss upon her fingers.
'If he does that for one more second,' she thought, 'I shall simply have to hit him!'
"Dear lady," he breathed, "you are the loveliest—"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Henley."
Never would Susan have dreamed she would find that sardonic drawl welcome, but, provided with an excuse now, she pulled her hand away, turned, and uttered a cry of dismay.
Mr. Montclair, mounted on his ugly stallion, was keeping the drooping and bloodstained figure of Señor Angelo from toppling from his bay.
"Andy! Bo'sun!" Susan called. "Come quickly!" And running to the Spaniard's side, exclaimed in horror, "Oh! You have shot him!"
Montclair said dryly, "I wonder why I had anticipated just such a considered reaction from you, madam."
Lyddford ran up. "Damn you, what have you done to him?"
Surrendering the mare's reins to him, Montclair's glance turned from Susan's angry eyes to Monteil's enigmatic smile. With a curl of the lip, he rode away.
There was much excitement at Highperch Cottage that afternoon. After Monsieur Monteil departed and Señor Angelo had been tended and ordered to remain in his bed, Susan, her brother, and Mrs. Starr repaired to the withdrawing room for a council of war. Andrew Lyddford's amusement over what he termed "the one-man duel of that blockheaded Spaniard" gave way to fiery wrath when Susan began to tell them of her encounter with Montclair. "Turn him up sweet?" he snarled. "By God, but I won't! Stretch him out stiff is more like it!"
Susan admitted with a guilty little laugh, "I'm afraid I did just that, dearest."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Starr, shocked.
"What?" demanded Lyddford, brightening. "Hauled off and cracked him over the nob with your riding crop, did you? Jolly good, by Jove!"
"Well, not that exactly." Knowing she was blushing, she said hastily, "I'll explain later, but something else happened on the way home that is rather worrisome. She told them of the men who had been loitering about in the woods. "I thought at first they were poachers, but when they spoke, their accents were cultured. I was so frightened when they said they were to watch somebody. Andy—do you think they meant us?"
Lyddford scowled and nodded. '"Fraid so. Likely Montclair's having us watched. I wonder what does he expect to discover."
"He must have a very nasty suspicious mind," said Mrs. Starr. "Of course, I could not but notice
that you did bruise him rather badly, dear Master Andy."
"And came nigh to adding some more today," he growled. "Did you mark the way the fellow looked at my sister and Imre Monteil? Confounded insolence!"
Susan was tempted to tell him of Monteil's attitude towards her and how repellent she found the man. With true heroism she did not utter any of it, but instead handed her brother the letter she had received from the Longhills solicitors. "More unpleasant news I'm afraid, love."
It was the last straw. Lyddford sprang up, waving the letter about and raging of the villainy of their dastardly neighbour.
When he ran out of breath, Mrs. Starr murmured, "I suppose we must give the devil his due. Mr. Montclair did help poor Señor Angelo, at least, in spite of the fact that he and Mrs. Sue did not part in charity with each other."
"Charity!" cried Susan hotly. "I could not feel charity for that horrid man was he thrown to the lions! He is the most sneering, overbearing, toplofty, sarcastic individual it has ever been my misfortune to meet!"
Although fate had not treated her kindly, she was by nature a kind young woman, not one to hold a grudge, and she seldom took anyone in deep aversion. This fierce outburst caused her companions to eye her in surprise, and Lyddford said shrewdly, "There's more here than meets the eye, don't you agree, Starry? Come along now, Mrs. H. Exactly what transpired that you left Montclair flat on his back? If the crudity dared insult you—"
The grimness in his eyes frightened her, so she smiled and told them the full story of her parting with Mr. Valentine Montclair, not sparing herself, and joining in the laughter which followed.
Andrew was still wiping his eyes when Priscilla came in search of them. She was dirty, tired, but overjoyed with the results of her painting efforts, and pleaded that they all "simply must please come and see. Now!"
"Very well, but stop babbling," said Lyddford, resting a fond hand on his niece's tumbled curls. "You're amazing free from paint, sprat. How so?"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart Page 13