Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart

by Veryan, Patricia

  "Barbara Trent! What on earth are you doing?"

  Barbara gave a whimper of terror and whirled around.

  Lady Trent, all chin and frown, was coming rapidly along the hall. "Have you quite taken leave of your senses, Miss Care-for-Nobody? We have been waiting this age!"

  Angelo inserted, "Madam—mices elves—"

  My lady drew herself up and regarded him with disgust. "What in heaven's name… ? Albertson—who is this?"

  The footman, breathless and irritated, hastened to them. "Slipped past me at the door, m'lady. I been searching all over! Said he wanted to see Mr. Montclair!"

  "Nonsense! Mr. Montclair has no wish to see anyone who cannot speak English! Show the person out."

  "Madam!" said Angelo, indignant. "Angelo Francisco Luis—"

  "This way—sir," growled the footman, taking his arm.

  "Hand-un mices elves, oncely at!" cried Angelo, striving rather feebly to escape. "Lagunes de Ferdinand," he shouted after the ladies, completing his introduction. "Meeces wishing—"

  Having reached the door, the footman ejected Señor de Ferdinand. Head first.

  His ship had gone down in a great storm and he was at the bottom of the sea. Far above him, moonlight shone through the green waters, and the seaweed rippled and swung to the pull of the tide, but down here it was dark. The urge to swim up to the surface grew upon Montclair. He tried to move but pain sank its teeth into him so sharply that he lay still again. He couldn't think very well. Something bad had happened at home… And then for some reason he'd been in the woods… But where he was now, or why, eluded him. He had awoken several times before this, but the pain had been so excruciating he'd felt sick and had drifted into the shadows again. He sighed wearily. If only he had some water…

  When he opened his eyes again it was light. A pale murky light. He could smell fog. The birds were singing busily. There must be hundreds of birds. All twittering at once. Such a lot of noise for such tiny creatures… And oh Lord, but his head was hell, and he was so damnably thirsty! His left hand was cold. He moved the fingers. They seemed to touch stone. A stone slab…

  He knew then, and he gave a gasp and his eyes opened very wide.

  He was in the Folly! With the shock of it came complete recollection. He'd quarreled with the Trents, and then gone to meet Barbara. But he'd been struck down in the woods by a monstrous creature who had evidently thrown him into the Folly and left him to die. And he would die, for no one would think to look for him here. He wondered vaguely who had tried to kill him, but it seemed unimportant. The important thing was that he must get out, or even if his head wasn't crushed, he'd die of thirst and starvation. He tried to sit up, but there was something horribly wrong with his left leg, and his desperate efforts carried so terrible a price that he was very glad to let himself sink into oblivion.

  After a long time he awoke again. He was still in the Folly, and he was much weaker. Unless he was willing to just lie here and politely die he must try once more to get up. He lay still, gathering his strength.

  Somewhere, very far away, a dog was barking shrilly…

  Priscilla tiptoed into the clearing. Her fine new friend Mr. Val'tine had told her she must never come here. He'd said it was a bad place and that the lady Fury would boil Wolfgang and eat him all up. She had told Wolfgang about this, but he was in one of his adventuring moods and it was just like him, bold and terrible as he was, to never mind about the Fury. She scanned the drifting mist nervously. If Mama or Uncle Andy caught her she'd really get spanked. Only you didn't leave your friends just 'cause they was naughty. If she ran off and let Wolfgang get eaten up by that horrid Fury, she'd never forgive herself.

  She saw him then and gave a gasp of fright. He was right at the edge, his tail waving furiously, barking down into the pit.

  Priscilla gripped her small hands before her mouth and whispered, "Oh dear, oh dearie me! Wolfgang! Come here at once!"

  But her whisper went unheard, and the dog barked louder than ever.

  She must be brave. Mr. Val'tine wouldn't leave his dog for a Fury to eat up, she was very sure of that! Trembling, she crept forward, calling to the dog, but ready to run for her life if the Fury's terrible face should drift out of the pit. And at last, when she was much too close and her knees were shaking so that she didn't think she could take another step, Wolfgang heard her and ran to prance about her in great excitement, then dart back again.

  "No!" she quavered. "Bad dog! Come away from—"

  "Priscilla… ? Is that… Priscilla?"

  Half fainting with terror, Priscilla screamed shrilly and ran as fast as her little legs would carry her. The Fury had heard her! And Mr. Val'tine had been wrong. It was a gentleman Fury, not a lady! And he'd known her name and prob'ly had a cooking pot ready, and a list like Mama and Papa had brought home once from a great dinner they'd gone to, with lots and lots of fancy things to eat writ out on it, all in French. Only the Fury's list would say Boiled P'scilla and Wolfgang pudding! Wolfgang was coming now. Howling. She gave a sob of gratitude, but daren't look back lest the gentleman Fury be close behind her with his long terrible teeth and great claws reaching out to take her and pop her into his cooking pot.

  She ran almost all the way home.

  "He most certainly is not here!" Standing on the front steps with Deemer on one side of her, and Mrs. Starr on the other, Susan frowned into Junius Trent's bold grin, and demanded, "Why on earth should you fancy Mr. Montclair would visit us? One might suppose he'd have sufficient sense to know he'd be unwelcome."

  Trent leaned forward in the saddle, taking in the widow from the hem of her pale yellow muslin gown to the shine on her proud dark head. "You're fair and far out there," he said. "My cousin ain't one for sense. Nonsense—yes. Sense—very little, alas."

  Sir Dennis Pollinger uttered a bray of laughter at this witticism, startling the fine grey horse he bestrode so that he was hard put to it to keep his seat. "Gone and got himself lost, silly cawker," he imparted when he had quieted his mount. "So we're all out looking for him, d'ye see?"

  Mrs. Starr tightened her grip on the rolling pin in her hand. "If a grown man cannot find his way about his own estate, he is either ripe for Bedlam or a slave to Demon Rum," she observed tartly.

  Junius, not one to waste his time with menials, gave her a bored glance. "Your cook has a point," he said to Susan. "You may take your pick, ma'am."

  "I prefer to take my leave of you, sir," she said frigidly. "No such individuals have passed this way this afternoon, I promise you. Good day."

  "If you should see him—" began Junius.

  Susan curtsied and with one finger under her chin, promised, "I shall spank the wayward boy, and send him home."

  They could still hear Pollinger's braying laugh after the door had closed.

  Deemer said, "What do you suppose it's all about, Mrs. Sue? Two grooms came looking for Mr. Montclair this morning, whilst you was saying goodbye to Mr. Andrew."

  Mrs. Starr's eyes widened. "You never think—there's been murder done?"

  "I do not," said Susan. "The man was probably in his cups and is snoring in a ditch somewhere. Quite typical of his unpleasant self."

  Panting happily, Wolfgang ran in from the back door. Following, also panting, Priscilla saw them, and ran to plead that Mama keep her promise and take her riding this afternoon. "You said we could go 'smorning, but then you talked an' talked with Uncle Andy, and now the day's almost gone!"

  "But—darling, it's getting foggy and cold. I think it would be better if we waited 'til tomorrow, and—" The beam vanished from the hopeful eyes and the small face became resigned. Susan relented. "Oh, all right, you rascal. Martha will help you change into your habit. Hurry now."

  Very much the little lady as she guided her pony across the meadows, Priscilla said happily, "Only look, Mama. The sun's coming through the clouds. Will we get a rainbow, d'you s'pose? I like rainbows."

  "I don't think so, darling." Susan glanced at the trees that loomed ghostlike
through the misted air, and wondered if unpleasant Junius Trent had found his cousin.

  "Uncle Andy says rainbows are good luck. Why, Mama?"

  "I expect because God painted one in the sky after the great Flood we read about at prayers, do you remember? It was His promise to us not to send quite so much rain again." Priscilla looked solemn, and Susan added on a lighter note, "And there is also a legend that tells of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow."

  The big eyes widened. "Ooh! Then Mr. Val'tine's found it. The rainbow yesterday had one foot right on his house! Oh, how monst'ous grand! I'll have a very rich friend!"

  "Priscilla," said Susan thoughtfully, "you haven't seen your new friend today, have you?"

  The brown curls danced under the neat little blue hat as Priscilla shook her head briskly. "I pro'bly won't never see him again after Uncle Andy was so dreffully savage to him. An' I was hoping very bad to see him, 'cause I must tell him as he's mistakened about the Fury."

  "Mistaken, dear." Susan frowned in irritation. "And— there are not such things as Furies."

  "But, Mama, you told me if I had my teeth filed to points I would look like a Fury, and—"

  "Yes, but Furies are only in fairy stories really, darling. We make up stories about them for fun, but there are none in real life."

  "But there are, Mama! There's one in the Folly! I heard it! Honest and true, I did, Mama!"

  The little face was so earnest. Heaven forfend whatever she'd heard should cause her to have nightmares again. That wretched Montclair—to frighten her so! Somehow, thought Susan, she must put a stop to this horrid business. She said, "Well—if you're sure, perhaps you'd best take me to see this Folly."

  "Oh, no, Mama! I promised Mr. Val'tine I wouldn't never go there again, and I wouldn't have, only Wolfgang made me!"

  "Pris—cil—la… !"

  "He did! He did, Mama! I telled and telled him how we wasn't to go there no more, but Wolfgang is so foxed in his ways, you know, and—"

  Susan repressed a smile. "You mean—fixed in his ways, I think."

  "Do I? Uncle Angelo said 'foxed.' Anyway, whatever it is, Wolfgang is it. A very naughty doggie, I told him. Very stern I said it, Mama. Only, I knew Mr. Val'tine wouldn't leave his best friend in hidjus peril, and Wolfgang was hanging right over the edge and barking and barking."

  "Edge? I thought you said it was a Folly, dear?"

  "Yes, Mama. It was. A long long time ago. But it's all falling down now, and there's a hugeous hole in the middle what goes right through to China, I 'spect!"

  It sounded most unpleasant. "So you had to go and drag that naughty dog away, did you?"

  "No. I called him, only he's so brave he wanted to fight that Fury. But the Fury woke up, and that's when I found out Mr. Val'tine had made a mistake, 'cause he said it was a lady Fury, Mama, and it isn't. It's a gentleman Fury."

  With a fond smile, Susan asked, "Did he come out and chase you?"

  Priscilla shivered and turned pale. "I don't know. When he shouted my name, only soft and creepily you know, I was so frighted! I ran and ran all the way home!"

  A dreadful suspicion began to raise gooseflesh on Susan's skin. She reined up, and the child halted her pony. "Dearest, when did this happen?"

  "This morning, Mama. When you was saying goodbye to Uncle Andy."

  "I see." It was silly, of course, but— "Mama wants you to think very carefully now. Did you really hear a voice? Or was it just a make-believe voice?"

  Again the determined shake of the little head. "No, Mama. I din't make it up. Not this time I din't. But I'll never go near there again, I truly won't."

  Susan hesitated. Valentine Montclair was despicable, and from what Angelo had said the wretch was determined to force his unhappy little cousin to the altar. But whatever he was, whatever he had done, he was a human being, and if there was any chance he had fallen into this Folly of his, he must be helped. Thus, she said quietly, "I just want to—to make sure of something. Come along, sweetheart, show me your Folly. The Fury won't come if I'm with you, I promise. This is a—a real adventure, and I need your help. Do you understand?"

  "Oooh…" said Priscilla, ecstatic.

  Susan took up the train of her habit and trod carefully across the littered clearing. She had left Priscilla and the horses in the trees, just in case there might be something the child should not see. She thought, 'Which is ridiculous, and I'm just being foolish!' But she went on.

  As she drew closer it seemed that the normal sounds of the woods faded and an unnatural stillness enfolded this macabre clearing. The weak sun had gone into hiding once more, and the mists were thickening. There was not a breath of wind, the trees were completely motionless, and the Folly hove up lonely and forbidding against the darkening skies.

  The place was positively ghoulish! To think of Priscilla coming here all alone! She found herself holding her breath as she picked her way among the great mossy slabs and then went with careful steps inside the broken walls. The pit loomed before her and she gave a gasp. "Dear God! Small wonder he chased her away!"

  It would seem the man had done them a great service. And in return… Guilt scourged her but she told herself that, basically, he still was at fault. Such a gruesome hole in the ground should never have been left open. If he had one single ounce of concern for others, he'd have had it sealed up long ago! Anyone might fall into the beastly place! She found herself reluctant to go any nearer, and stood staring uneasily at those sad and broken ruins. What nonsense! There was nothing to be afraid of. In a few seconds she would be laughing at herself because that ancient cellar contained only dampness and—rats? She pushed her qualms aside, ventured to the brink, and peered down.

  Heavens, what a pit! It was too dark to see anything much. "Hello?" she called, feeling a perfect fool. "Is anybody there?"

  Silence.

  She gave a sigh of relief, and turned back to where Priscilla waited.

  "Hello… ?" The cry was faint and croaking, but she halted and stood as if frozen, an icy hand touching between her shoulder blades. "Oh… my heavens!" she whispered, and flinging around, was at the brink again in a second.

  "Mr. Montclair? Is that you?"

  This time the response was almost immediate. "Yes. Please… get help."

  He was down there! And he sounded so weak. She thought, aghast, 'Small wonder! All this time!'

  "Are you hurt?" she called.

  A pause, then a feeble, "A trifle. Please… water…"

  "I'll fetch some! I must send for help, then I'll come, I promise!"

  She ran to where Priscilla waited. The small face was pale, the eyes behind the spectacles enormous with fright.

  "Mama! I been so scared! Did it chase you? You shouldn't of—"

  "Darling, listen—there is nothing bad to chase me. But your friend, Mr. Valentine, is down there, and he's hurt a little bit, I'm afraid."

  It would have been hard to tell whether the mouth or the eyes were the roundest. "Oh, poor Mr. Val'tine! We better help him, Mama!"

  "Yes. We must. Only, we're not strong enough to get him out by ourselves. I think I should stay with him. Could you ride home and fetch someone? I know the Bo'sun and Uncle Andy are away, but—tell Uncle Angelo or Deemer; they'll know what to do."

  The child whimpered. She looked so little and frightened on the back of her pony, and she was only five. She was, she revealed, afraid to leave her only mama where the gentleman Fury might come back at any minute and eat her all up.

  It was quite understandable. Poor Burke had been all tenderness with his child, and Priscilla had adored him. She'd been shattered by his sudden death, and it had left her with the obvious fear that she might lose the other people she loved. It took a moment, but when Susan painted a picture of a great heroine riding bravely for help, the child's active imagination was fired. Beaming, she pushed the spectacles higher on her little nose, and took up the reins.

  "Dearest," said Susan. "Mr. Valentine has had no food or water for a long time. When y
ou were here before did you see a stream nearby?"

  "No, Mama. But—our picnic might still be there. Starry made one for me and Wolfgang to take in the garden on Wednesday only we earned here 'stead, so we put it in our larder, but then we met Mr. Val'tine and I forgot all 'bout it."

  Today was Saturday. Still, it might be usable. Susan enquired as to the location of the "larder," and then sent her daughter off, urging her to hurry but ride carefully.

  The larder was a narrow space between two of the great stone slabs which had tilted against each other. Gingerly Susan reached inside and pulled out the small covered basket. Ants had found the cake and bread and jam, but the bottle of lemonade was corked just tightly enough to have kept them out. She snatched it up and ran back to the pit.

  Her call brought only a feeble croak in response. Poor Mr. Montclair must stand in desperate need of water, but if she threw the bottle down it might break, or he might be too weak to reach it. She was so near—and she might as well have been a mile away. Fretfully, she thought, 'Surely I can do something?

  She began to prowl around the edge. If this horrid pit had really been a cellar, then there must have been stairs, but she could discern only the sheer wall, and she couldn't possibly get down that. And then she saw a slight dip in the far edge that looked too even to have formed by chance. She hurried to it, and knelt, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to pierce the gloom and uttering an exclamation of excitement when she discovered the remains of a flight of steps, the first usable one being about four feet from the top. It looked horribly narrow and crumbly. She bit her lip but there came again a faint pleading cry. "Water… please… water…" All thought of his infamy was gone now, and her kind heart was wrung. She called, "I'm going to bring it down to you."

  "No! Too… dangerous. Just… lower it and…" The weak voice trailed into silence.

  Trembling, Susan sent a swift prayer heavenwards. Then she tucked the precious bottle into the pocket of her skirt, turned onto her tummy, and groped downward with her feet. If Mr. Montclair was conscious, she thought grimly, he would have a most excellent view of her pink pantalettes. Her right boot touched the step, and she could feel pieces of debris. The thought of rats recurred. She reached out and was able to grasp a long fallen branch, then she let herself down, resting more and more of her weight on the step until she was reasonably sure it would not crumble under her. She lowered herself gradually, holding her breath, her heart thundering, trying not to think of the black void below. The step was wider and deeper than she'd at first supposed, and she was able to turn sideways. She made her left hand let go, and gripping her branch, lowered that arm slowly, still clinging with her right hand to the top of the pit. She pressed desperately against the wall, grateful that she'd often climbed trees with Andy in her tom-boyish younger days, and had a good head for heights.