"Oh, my sister's the salt of the earth and not one to hold a grudge under these circumstances. Besides"—Lyddford's voice lost its kindliness—"so long as you're recuperating here, you cannot very well have us kicked out, can you?"
The smile faded from Montclair's eyes, and the faintest flush lit his pale face, but he met Lyddford's suddenly hard stare levelly. "No," he said. "I certainly cannot."
The door opened softly. Montclair couldn't see who entered, but he heard the rustle of silks and then smelled violets.
Lyddford said, "He's awake again, and seems much better this time."
Susan Henley came to rest a cool and investigative hand on the patient's wan cheek. "You've tired him," she scolded.
"I knew I'd be in the suds! That's what comes of trying to help a bit!" With an unrepentant grin, Lyddford said, "I'm off!" and departed.
The widow bathed Montclair's face, held the glass while he drank some deliciously cool barley water, then instructed him to go back to sleep.
Drowsily, he watched her cross to the little table, pull the branch of candles closer, and sit down with her work-box. She began to darn a sock. She had a very pretty way of turning her wrist. He glanced up and found her eyes on him. They really were most remarkable eyes, so clear and— The low-arching brows were lifting slightly. He was very tired now, but murmured, "Why did—"
She shook her head and put one slim finger over her lips. "Hush."
"No. Please—I must—"
"Not more thanks? Heavens, sir, I have been thanked each time you wake up! Have done with your gratitude I beg, and do as your head nurse tells you."
Despite the stern words, her mouth curved to a smile, and he persisted doggedly. "You risked your life to come down those steps. I can't understand why."
Her eyes sharpened and her cheeks seemed a little flushed. She stared hard at her sock, and murmured, "Do you say you—watched me coming down to you?"
"It was the bravest thing I ever saw." He sighed. "I thought—you were an angel."
Her lashes lifted and she looked at him, startled, then said with a smile, "How can you ever have supposed such a thing? I wasn't wearing white."
"No," he said drowsily, "pink."
Susan dropped the sock and when she had retrieved it, her cheeks were very pink indeed. "My habit is pale green, Mr. Montclair."
"Oh. I—thought I saw pink." He sighed again. "Must have dreamed it."
"Indeed you must," she confirmed rather austerely. "Now, go back to sleep."
With each day that followed, Montclair grew stronger. The petite Mrs. Starr and her faithful helper Martha did most of the nursing; they both were kind and gentle, but although grateful for their efficient care, he missed a pair of serene grey eyes and the smell of violets. He slept many hours away, but Bo'sun Dodman came in to check on him several times each day. From him Montclair learned that Mrs. Henley and her brother had gone into Town. Apparently, Lyddford was striving to obtain a position either on the staff of a Foreign Minister, or at the Navy Board, and hoped to enlist the aid of his uncle, Sir John Lyddford, in these endeavours. In view of the unsavoury reputation of the late Lieutenant Burke Henley, Montclair judged the chances for success to be slight, but he said nothing. His chats with the Bo'sun also provided him with a better understanding of the widow's struggle to keep the family together after the death of her grandfather. That it had been a desperate struggle became very apparent, but his attempts to discover the extent of their remaining fortune were deftly turned aside, and since good manners forbade that he question the Bo'sun outright, he was thwarted.
Despite his physical improvement, his spirits were low, a state he fought to conceal. Several bones had been broken in his hand, and the injury caused him constant anxiety. His attempts to move the fingers failed dismally. He knew he should be grateful that it had not been necessary to amputate as he'd at first feared, but he was haunted by the dread that he would no longer be able to play competently. Barbara was another source of worry; and despite their differences, the continued absence of his family troubled him. It was absurd that he should want them to come, but if they had no sufficient interest to do so, they could at least, he thought fretfully, have permitted Babs to pay him a visit.
Alain Devenish, who had been a frequent visitor at first, had not appeared for several days, and Montclair missed his cheerful presence even while he recognized that his friend had a young ward and great estates of his own to be cared for.
Priscilla's short afternoon visits were bright oases through these long days. He looked forward to her coming, and was more and more drawn to the child and charmed by her quaint mixture of solemnity and gaiety. She had a remarkable gift of imagination, and they spent a good deal of their time together in constructing a progressive fairy-tale poem. This fabrication grew more and more complicated, and was a source of much amusement to them both. The child's words were occasionally somewhat unorthodox, but she had a quick ear for rhythm, and Montclair found his work cut out to keep abreast of her in their poetical ventures.
He was anticipating the child's presence on a rainy afternoon a week after Mrs. Henley's departure, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. His heart gave a leap, but then sank again when Sheswell's voice boomed out. The physician had not called for eight days. He was less gentle in his movements than was Dodman, and Montclair nerved himself for an unpleasant few minutes.
The Bo'sun was proud of his patient's rapid progress, and as the door swung open he was saying eagerly, "… may not be quite as you'd expected, doctor."
The floor shook to Sheswell's heavy tread. "I can but hope you're wrong, Dod—" The great voice stilled.
Montclair smiled as the doctor stood perfectly still, staring at him. "Good afternoon, Sheswell." His voice was firmer today, and he was able to raise his left hand steadily. It fell back, however, as the doctor did not move but continued to stand as if frozen, his eyes fairly goggling.
"Thought you'd be surprised, sir," chuckled the Bo'sun.
Sheswell gave a start. "Amazed is more like," he exclaimed, coming to take up Montclair's hand vigorously. "By all the gods, I cannot believe it!" He peered into the sick man's eyes, felt the pale forehead, and exclaimed, "You've done exceeding well, Dodman. Jove, but you have! Fever down, some colour in the cheeks, eyes clear! How does the head feel, Mr. Montclair? Still have some beastly headaches, I'll warrant. Have to expect those for a long time to come, and you'll likely find your reasoning confused. Natural. Quite natural."
He proceeded to examine the almost-healed head injury, and the splints on the broken hand and the leg were checked. "Well, well," the doctor said jovially, "you'll be up and trotting about in a day or two, eh, sir?"
"That would be splendid," said Montclair, rather short of breath. "I've been sitting up every afternoon, and I stood yesterday, with the Bo'sun's help."
"I think the doctor's teasing, sir," Dodman put in smilingly.
Sheswell laughed. "Not a bit of it, m'dear fellow. Do him the world of good. I'll have some crutches sent over this afternoon."
"Crutches!" gasped Dodman, startled. "But, sir—how can he manage crutches with only one hand?"
"Perhaps I can get about with just one," put in Montclair eagerly. "Eh, Sheswell?"
"Perhaps, Mr. Montclair. But I think we can contrive to strap the right crutch to your elbow, so you'll have some control over it. Awkward, but it might serve. Meanwhile, we can shorten the leg splints so you can get about easier. Let's have these off now…"
The next half-hour was unpleasant, and by the time the doctor left, Montclair felt worn, and fell asleep before he could see Priscilla.
In the downstairs hall, Dodman said hesitantly, "A little rough for him, wasn't it, sir?"
The physician shook his head. "Don't do to coddle 'em, m'dear chap. Sooner they're up and about, the better. Especially in a case like this. You'll be needing some more medicine, I fancy. Wonderful what it can do, ain't it? Not that Montclair was all that badly off, as I said.
&nb
sp; Still, I'll have some sent over with the crutches. Might be an idea to increase the dosage. Just as a precaution, y'know. You've been managing to get some food into the poor chap by the look of things, eh? Excellent. You're a dashed good man, Dodman. Don't be surprised do I refer some of my less serious cases to you. You ought to get yourself a licence, damme if you oughtn't!"
Dodman flushed with pleasure. Almost, he confessed how he and Mrs. Sue had supplemented Dr. Sheswell's orders, but the physician was so delighted it seemed expedient to leave well enough alone.
That night a keen wind came in from the east, and by morning one might have thought it October rather than early July. The gusts shook the old house and whined in the chimneys, while leaden clouds brought a steady cold rain. The inclement weather did not keep people indoors, apparently. Soon after breakfast Montclair prevailed upon the Bo'sun to shave him, and he was staring somewhat aghast at the reflection of his drawn white face and sunken eyes when he heard a familiar and piercing voice.
Dodman took the mirror and the shaving impedimenta and all but ran from the room. A twittering Martha Reedham bustled about tidying the bed, plumping Montclair's pillows, and smoothing the counterpane. In another minute Mrs. Starr, her lips tightly pursed with disapproval, ushered in Sir Selby and Lady Trent.
Montclair had wanted them to come, but perversely, the recollection of their parting now came so clearly into his mind that he was speechless.
Lady Trent suffered no such inhibitions. She rushed to the bed, bent over her nephew, and kissed his cheek, marvelling that he yet lived, and mourning that they had been unable to see him before this. "If you knew how frightful it has been! The newspapers, and the Runners, and to add to the rest, we have been plagued by an endless stream of pushing people calling themselves your friends, some you've not seen for years, I am very sure! The horrid busybodies! I wonder I have survived it!"
"Truly frightful," agreed Sir Selby, clinging to Montclair's wasted left hand and patting it repeatedly. "You may be assured the criminals will be tracked down and brought to justice! But you look much improved from the last time we saw you. You won't remember that visit of course, poor fellow." His pale eyes scanned Montclair's face narrowly. "Jove, but youth is astonishing! I must admit we were loath to abandon you in this house, dear lad, but you were in no condition to be moved."
Lady Trent's thin lips quivered, and she gave it as her opinion it was a marvel that he still lived. "Heaven knows what these dreadful people might have done," she observed. "Three times we have come and been turned away on the grounds you was too ill to be disturbed, though I doubt you was even told of it, unhappy boy. When first I heard you had been struck down so savagely, I fainted dead away. Did I not, Trent?" Not waiting for a confirmation, she shrilled on. "The strain was… dreadful! Almost beyond my powers to support." She vanished into her handkerchief. "We all were worried to death! I vow, I wonder my poor heart did not break!"
Montclair wondered where her heart had been when she'd offered to give him a "pity party," but, helpless in the face of feminine tears, he assured her that he was feeling very much better and was much obliged to Lyddford and Mrs. Henley for their excellent care of him.
"Obliged, is it?" flared my lady, forgetting her grief abruptly. "If my suspicions are correct, Montclair, Dr. Sheswell's instructions have been poorly kept. Why, he thought you would be better in no time, whereas you almost… And to see you—like this… poor shattered invalid! We ought never to have left you in their hands. But we did what we thought right at the time. Always your best interests have weighed with me. Heaven knows I have tried to make a good home for you, little as you've appreciated my poor efforts."
Unable to restrain himself, he said coolly, "To the contrary, I am quite aware of your efforts at Longhills, ma'am. Speaking of which—how is my cousin Barbara?"
Lady Trent's lips settled into a thin line. "She is happily planning her wedding."
"And has been exceeding anxious to see you," murmured Sir Selby.
"Did you bring her with you, then?" asked Montclair eagerly.
"To this house?" shrilled his aunt. "I hope I am a better parent than to allow my daughter to set foot under this roof while That Woman resides here!"
Trent said, "Babs awaits you at home."
"How relieved you will be to be in your own bed at last," Lady Trent purred. "We have brought your man to help carry you to the carriage. Trent, do you ring the bell and tell them to send Gould up."
Her husband moved to the bellpull.
"I am not ready to come home yet," said Montclair.
"Of course you are ready," his aunt's voice rose. "Why would you wish to stay in this dreadful place when Longhills awaits you?"
"The boy is still weak," soothed Trent. "We must make allowances. But we will keep a very easy pace, dear lad, and you will be carried, so there's no cause for alarm." The all too familiar set of his nephew's pale lips inspired him to add hurriedly, "You really must leave these premises, Valentine. We are far past the date specified for the eviction of the Henley woman and her tribe, and so long as you remain here, we cannot enforce it."
"Good God, sir," exclaimed Montclair, irked. "Do you fancy I shall proceed with an eviction against the lady who saved my life?"
"Saved your life—my hatpin," snorted my lady. "She was extreme reluctant to offer you shelter, which anyone with the least compassion would gladly have done! In point of fact, she only agreed to do so after we paid her a pretty penny! Saved your life, indeed! Pish!"
"Mrs. Henley took some most desperate chances in climbing down into that loathsome pit to help me, ma'am. And—"
"And was it not remarkable," she said with her thin smile, "that a newcomer to the district found you in a place none of the rest of us had even considered? Faith, but one marvels at her perspicacity—or… whatever it was…"
Montclair's head was aching again, but he met her eyes levelly. "Perhaps you should say straight out what you mean, ma'am."
"My dear wife and I have merely wondered," murmured Sir Selby, "if Mrs. Henley's so magnificent 'rescue' might have been prompted by—er, foreknowledge of the unfortunate event."
"You mean that she and her brother had me attacked and thrown into the Folly."
"She had motive enough, Lord knows," said my lady with a shrug. "Had you died, the ownership of this place would have been bound up in legal nonsense for a great while. Meantime, she has possession. She could have lived here rent-free, indefinitely."
Montclair's hand clenched on the coverlet. "Then how very foolish in her to come to my rescue," he said dryly.
Trent smiled a patient smile. "Perhaps that was made necessary. "One gathers that her little girl had formed the habit of playing near the Folly—"
"A clear case of criminal neglect by her misguided parent," inserted my lady with a smug nod of her head.
"Had the child heard you in the Folly," Trent went on, "and confided in some of the local children, or—"
"Or perchance they had thought you slain," his wife again interrupted. "But when the child discovered you still lived, that sly widow saw her chance for an even better ploy. She would come gallantly to your rescue, bring you here, nurse you back to health, and so win your gratitude that you would give her the house! A pretty scheme upon my word!"
"And an exceeding unlikely one, ma'am," said Montclair frowningly. But Lyddford's acid words came to plague him… 'So long as you are recuperating here, you cannot very well have us kicked out, can you?'
Her ladyship tittered. "Never say you have fallen into the hussy's toils? No, I'll not believe you could be so gullible, Montclair!"
He began to feel tired and dispirited, but persisted, "Say rather, I do not believe her guilty of such a scheme."
"Of course you do not," said Trent. "Who could expect your poor brain to function properly after suffering such a wound?"
"You shall have to let us do your reasoning for you, dear nephew," purred my lady. "And I tell you, Montclair, that gratitude is well an
d good, but one must face reality. Why would a scheming and mercenary adventuress go to so much trouble for a man she thoroughly dislikes?"
"Unless she hoped to profit by it," said Sir Selby.
"Which she has done," declared my lady. "Handsomely!"
Montclair wished they would go away.
Chapter 11
Entering the house by the rear door, soaked, and aching with tiredness, Susan was rushed at and embraced by an elated Edwina Starr. "Oh, my love, you are safe home! At last!"
"Yes, thank goodness!" Susan allowed the little lady to appropriate the worn valise she carried, and began to unbutton her heavy greatcoat.
Mrs. Starr scolded fondly, "You should have let Deemer bring this heavy bag up for you."
"Andy appropriated the poor man the instant he showed his face at the dock. Is all well? Where is Priscilla? How is Montclair?"
"All is well. Or very nearly," said Mrs. Starr in a low urgent voice as they walked along the passage together. "Priscilla is outside, and—" They had reached the long windows looking out onto the garden court behind the house, and the light of this dull morning fell fully upon Susan's face. Shocked, Mrs. Starr exclaimed, "How sunburned you are! My poor child—we must cover your face with cucumber tonight! Oh, you should never have gone! It has been too much for you!"
"You know it really takes three to manage the barge, Starry, and with Montclair so ill I felt the Bo'sun must stay here."
"Well, he is much better, heaven be praised. No— trouble… ?"
"None. Save that we were delayed by a gale and had to ride at anchor off Clovelly for two miserable days." Starting up the stairs, Susan pulled back her shoulders and said brightly, "But thanks to Monsieur Monteil we've a full cargo. The men will be busy."
"And what of the monsieur? Did he come smoothing around you, dear ma'am? Oh, how I mistrust that man!"
"No, but we must be grateful to the gentleman, for he has been more than good." There came the recollection of Monsieur Monteil's ardent glances, the touch of that soft white hand on hers as they had stood on the windy Devonshire beach, and Susan struggled to restrain a shiver. "I'll own he is not exceeding attractive, but—"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart Page 19