"Beast!"' she exploded, fairly dancing her fury. "Unfeeling! Pompous! Pedantic! Idiotish! Oooh!"
"The devil!" blinked Harry, holding his smarting cheek. "In case no one ever instructed you, ma'am, that is not the proper way to respond to an offer!"
"Offer! Is that what you call it? That was not an offer, you puffed-up bag of conceit! That was a sanctimonious martyrdom—a sacrificial willingness to save me and to accept second-best from life! Well, I am not that desperate, Harry Sir Captain Redmond! Oh—or whatever! Sooner than wed a star-crossed, gushy-eyed, half-blind, maggot-witted chawbacon like you—I'll marry my uncle! And be dashed to you!"
"Good God!" he exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard. "Here's fine language for a gentlewoman! I should scrub out your naughty mouth!"
"Do you not remove your lecherous hands from my body in this very instant, I shall scream bloody murder!"
A horse was approaching—and at a rapid trot. Harry cast an unhappy glance to the trees at the curve of the lane and stepped back.
"Go!" snarled Nanette. "Climb into your beastly little cart, with your ugly coat and your great clodhopping shoes, and take yourself off! Go!"
Two boys sauntered toward them, grinning openly. Harry felt a savage urge to rap their loutish heads together. He bent a fierce glare upon them, and they fled towards the oncoming rider. Following their progress, he grumbled, "Then what will you do?"
"For your information, sir. the last proposal I received was delivered in a palace, with the gentleman down on both knees before me! And there are plenty more where that came from, so spare me your sympathy, I do entreat!"
Flushing partly because of her blazing scorn and partly because of an unhappy feeling it was well-justified, he muttered, "Lord, what a whisker! One of these days your—" He interrupted himself to gasp a disbelieving, "Nerina!"
The Beauty, mounted on a bay mare, waved agitatedly as she rode toward them.
"Go!" repeated Nanette, one outstretched arm pointing dramatically to the west. "You have done what you wished, for she is here to take me back, I've no doubt; and if I must watch you melt all over her silliness again, I shall cast up my accounts!"
"Shrew . . !" he grated. "Why must you use such crude expressions?"
"To describe crude situations! Now begone, sir—else I shall tell your sainted Goddess what manner of roue you really are!"
With a fuming glare Harry turned from her, swung into the cart, and slapped the reins against the neck of the drowsing Mr. Fox. "I hope you do marry your uncle!" he snarled. "It would serve you right to have a nursery full of nieces and nephews for your children!"
Having uttered the which rather muddled insult, he guided the little donkey away without a backward glance.
A mild breeze ruffled Harry's thick locks, and the sun shone benevolently upon him. A meadowlark soared upward, the clear notes of his song rippling through the peace of this beautiful spring afternoon. And aware of none of these blessings, Harry glared at Mr. Fox's ears, one sticking proudly upright through the brim of his old beaver, the other drooping at half mast.
What a shrew! What a bad-tempered, foul-mouthed, wretchedly ungrateful little baggage! He touched his still-tingling cheek. A fine reaction to the first offer he'd ever made! He'd likely have the devil of a bruise. Gad, but she'd dealt him a leveller! And to think he'd almost saddled himself with the vixen! What he should have done, of course, was to have swung her across his knee there and then and paddled her derriere! But recalling that Lady Nerina had seemed upset, he slowed the cart and glanced back uneasily. "… a gushy-eyed, half-blind, maggot-witted chawbacon . . !" Scowling, he turned around and jiggled the reins resolutely. Gushy-eyed, indeed! Lieutenant Fowler had been gushy-eyed over that little ladybird in Valencia. A revolting demonstration! He and Bolster had laughed themselves sick over it. Had he really looked like that? "I'll marry my uncle! And be dashed to you!" He chuckled despite himself. She'd do it, too, blasted little spitfire! But that had been a good one he'd dealt her in return… a nursery full of nieces and nephews. The amusement faded from his eyes, for the thought of Nanette as a mother brought with it the awareness that she would be superb in the role. He could all but picture her with head tenderly downbent over some tiny scrap of humanity. Why that should make him feel so damnably miserable he could not imagine; but, by God, she wasn't going to be pushed into a marriage she didn't want!
He turned Mr. Fox and started back even as two boys tore around the bend of the lane and galloped towards him. They were the same two who had passed earlier, and instead of continuing on their way, they detoured widely across the field, their white, scared faces very plainly betraying a reluctance to encounter him. Harry slapped the reins against the donkey's neck and urged him to "giddap!", but to no avail. Apprehension escalated into fear, and the placid trot became unendurable. He leapt from the cart and began to run. Behind him then there arose an alarming rattling and a distressed braying. Poor Mr. Fox was worrying again…
Harry rounded the bend as a piercing shriek rent the air. Nerina's bay mare was bolting towards the village, and at first he thought she had been thrown; but his frantic gaze discovered her standing by the low-barred fence with closed eyes and both hands pressed to her mouth. Samuel Chatham was beside her, and he turned as Harry ran up and waved with tremulous urgency. Lady Nerina raised a pale countenance and moaned, "Thank beaten you are come! Oh, why does she do such rash things?"
"Them wicked boys throwed me hammer over the fence, S' Harry," piped Mr. Chatham. "And the pretty little lady goed t'get it fer I…"
Was that all . . ! A sigh of relief escaped Harry. And then he saw Nanette standing in the middle of the field and, seeing also the reason for her frozen immobility, for a split second could not breathe.
"If only…" sobbed Lady Nerina, "her shawl was not… red!"
"A fine Welsh bull, bean't he? wheezed Chatham. "Willyum Brown paid a purty penny fo'un. But so mean natured, 'ee do be…"
He was also the biggest, blackest, and most muscular bull Harry had ever seen, with horns that looked a yard long as he stood there, tossing his massive head and pawing at the earth with one impatient hoof. Once, Harry had attended a bullfight in Madrid. The sport had not appealed to him, especially when he'd seen the unfortunate horse of a picador impaled on the bull's horns. He could still remember how it had screamed…
He had cleared the fence and was running even as the thoughts raced through his mind, but the bull had also started forward. "Move!" he roared. Nanette turned to him. He had a brief impression of huge eyes dark with terror and, beyond the chalk white face, a charging monster. He reached the girl a few seconds ahead of the bull, tore the shawl away, thrust her violently to the side, waved the shawl at the oncoming fury, and ran for his life. That he had succeeded in distracting the brute was evidenced by the nightmare of sound that was all about him: an explosive snorting of such power as to freeze the heart, a thunder of hooves with fourteen hundred pounds of power and muscle behind them. Harry waited until the last possible instant, then launched himself in a frantic dive to the side. A mighty shape brushed past him. He was down and rolling in the din, but regained his feet in a lithe spring. The bull was swinging about, midway between him and escape. Without waiting for those hot little eyes to discover him, Harry raced back the way he had come. He had never dreamed he could move so fast. He glimpsed Nanette clambering over the fence and fairly shot towards her. Again that petrifying thunder of hooves—gaining on him with every stride. The ground vibrated to the fearsome pursuit, and the fence looked miles away. "Too close!" he thought, and angled desperately to the side. A razor-sharp horn that would certainly have sliced into his back brushed his right sleeve. A deafening bellow escaped the infuriated animal, echoed distantly by a grievous braying. His lungs bursting, Harry sprinted frenziedly. In mere seconds he could again all but fee! the snorting explosive breathing and sensed that death was inches from him. He essayed a mighty burst of speed and flung himself at the fence, his left han
d grabbing the top rail as he vaulted into the air. A maddened snorting. An earth-shaking gallop. A dark shape lunging at him. Something thudded against his forearm—but he was clear! The fence shook and creaked as the bull rammed it in a bellowing frustration. Sprawled on hands and knees in the ditch, his head hanging, Harry sobbed for breath and prayed numbly that the fence would hold. The bull snorted fiercely, then lost interest and trotted away.
"Harry! Hurry!" Frantic hands were tearing at him. Nanette, on her knees also, was bending to peer into his contorted face. "Mon Dieu! Are you all right?"
"Sufficiently so…" he gasped, "to give you… the spanking you warrant!"
With a stifled sob, she threw her arms about his neck, murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank you! My brave one! Thank you!"
"Silly… chit…" panted Harry. "Do not—get so up… in the boughs…"
"Nanette!" Lady Nerina trod towards them, regarding her friend's unconventional attitude with shocked eyes.
Nanette stood and, flushing, said a defiant, "Well, he saved my life!"
"And most gallantly," acknowledged the Beauty, bestowing a dazzling smile on the impromptu matador. Her eyes were a blue stain in her exquisite face; the mellow sunlight turned her clustered curls to spun gold, and the white plume of her riding hat, curling beside her dewy cheek, seemed to emphasize the perfection of her skin. Befuddled, Harry eased into a sitting position and, leaning back on his hands, gasped, "It was a pretty good run… if I do say so. But a bit… too close… for comfort!"
"Much too close!" agreed Lady Nerina, watching him admiringly. "Oh, Nanette! Why do you do such madcap things? Sir Harry might have been killed!"
Nanette bowed her head and was, for once, speechless.
"She only sought to help Mr. Chatham… ma'am," Harry protested.
Nanette's lip was quivering, and there was the glitter of tears in her eyes as she looked beseechingly from one to the other. "The poor old gentleman was so upset, you see. I did not dream the bull was in there, or… Oh, Harry! If you had been—" She broke off and he grinned at her, but she tossed her head away. "Do not make excuses for me! I am just… a stupid! I do it all the time, do I not, Nerina?"
"Yes, truly," sighed my lady. "Nanette is always in a taking about something or other, and it is quite impossible to avoid being drawn into her predicaments. Only yesterday I was happily ensconced in my sister's lovely old house. Today, not only must I endure that awful village where the people stare at one so, and the inn is so primitive, but I have again risked Papa's displeasure by riding out alone, for I dared not bring my groom to carry tales." Her brow furrowed deliciously. "It is wicked to disobey one's parents. And yet—one must be loyal to one's friends. What a dreadful dilemma. If only one…"
Despite the appeal of that silvery voice, Harry's attention wandered. He was commencing to feel odd and to suspect all was not well with him—a suspicion verified by Mr. Chatham's piping interruption. "Ye'd best stop all the chit-chat, ma'am, and tie up S'Harry's arm."
Harry looked down to find crimson streaking his left hand. "Deuce take it all," he said wryly. "Didn't run quite fast enough at that!"
"Idiotish man!" Nanette had paled. "Take off your coat! No—do not get up!" She helped him ease the torn left sleeve free while scolding, "Are you so infatuated you dared not interrupt her but sat there and stoically bled like… like a fountain? Give me now your little knife."
Scarlet with embarrassment, Harry complied. "I was not being in the least stoical. I knew the brute had hit me, but I thought it was with his confounded snout. I'd no idea the horn caught me. And if you would but learn, my girl, to—" He checked, flinching, as she swung his wrist gently upwards.
"Tiens!" she gulped.
The underarm was deeply gashed between elbow and wrist, and bleeding profusely. Harry flashed a quick glance at Nanette's white face and said calmly, "Well, he really ripped me up, didn't he?"
"You need not be so valiant," she responded, her voice only slightly uneven. "I have not the intention to faint this time."
" 'The road to hell'," he quoted, " 'is paved with good intentions…"
She returned his smile and began to gingerly peel the shirt away, while requesting Lady Nerina to run to the cart and find a clean neckcloth for bandaging.
"Ye got t'be careful o'horn wounds," said Chatham knowledgeably, peering over Harry's shoulder. "It mayn't hurt much now but give it a hour. Say a half hour. Ah—does ye see the bone there, miss?"
Nanette turned even whiter and nodded. Harry nerved himself and clamped his right hand firmly around the gash, holding it closed. Nanette cringed but immediately pressed a piece of the ripped shirt sleeve against the part of the cut his hand could not encompass. He made no sound, but she saw his eyes flicker and, aching with sympathy, exclaimed, "Oh! That must have hurt dreadfully!"
"No," he lied. "Not—too… but then had to stop, breath eluding him.
Nanette whipped her gaze to Lady Nerina. The Beauty stood motionless, with head averted and eyes tight shut. "Good God!" raged Nanette. "What are you doing? The neckcloth! Quickly! Poor Harry is bleeding horribly!"
My lady pressed a hand to her mouth. "Must you talk about it?" she choked. "You are making me… ill…"
"If you dare to faint—I shall slap you!" Nanette started up, only to jump back as blood at once pulsed from the wound. "Oh, lud! Go at once, you silly girl!"
Nerina tottered off, sobbing miserably that if she caught so much as a glimpse of Sir Harry's injury she was sure to be sick. Nanette began to mutter beneath her breath, and when at last Nerina crept haltingly towards them, reached out and said a fierce, "Give it me! Hurry!"
In the act of complying, Nerina checked, stared with horrified eyes at her friend's bloody hand, and crumpled into a dead faint.
Dismayed, Harry started up, but sat back hurriedly as Nanette tightened her grip on his arm and ground out, "Do… not… dare!" She accepted the neckcloth gratefully from Mr. Chatham's wavering hand and added a heartless, "She does it all the time."
Harry directed an indignant glance at her. "Samuel—would you please help the lady? Perhaps—" But again his breath was snatched away, and for some moments he was quite unable to speak as Nanette bound his arm tightly.
Mr. Chatham essayed the trip to the cart, returning via an erratic route but bearing one of Diccon's clean shirts and a flask of brandy. Harry was by this time feeling not at all the thing and thought this an excellent notion, but Mr. Chatham's plans did not include the matador. He knelt instead beside the recumbent Beauty and began to pour the brandy between her teeth.
The bandage was knotted at last, and refusing aid, Harry insisted that Nanette turn her back while he changed into the clean shirt. Buttoning the left cuff clumsily, he asked, "Are you all right, little shrew?"
"Yes…" she whispered. He reached out and, turning her chin, said, "Poor little girl. You won't forget you promised not to faint… ?" She buttoned the right cuff and answered with a shaky smile, "If I do, you may box my ears, Tyrant!"
He winked jauntily and clambered to his feet. The trees tilted oddly, and he felt breathless again, but fought off the weakness and crossed to where Mr. Chatham sat with Nerina's head pillowed in his lap. "Ah, but she be a treat fer the eyes, don't she?" wheezed the old man. "Just to look at, a'course."
"You wicked old rascal," grinned Harry.
The dark lashes fluttered then, and those enormous blue eyes peered up at him. "Where… am I?" asked my lady predictably.
Harry leaned closer. "You are quite safe. Are you better now, ma'am?"
She blinked, managed to sit up, and gulped, "I… fainted."
"Yes, but I don't think you hurt yourself. Can you stand if I help you?"
He extended his hand. She scanned it anxiously, put her fingers gingerly into his grasp, and came to her feet, only to sway and clutch her brow. "Oh! I feel… drefful. An' I can taste…" Her eyes opened very wide and she spun on Nanette, who sat staring rather blankly at her stained hands. "Dear God! You—did nothing! My
frien! They have made me… drunk!"
"No, no," Harry reassured her. "But since you are better now, you must at once go back to Alfriston."
This ill-judged remark unleashed a torrent of slurred dramatics. Lady Nerina was not better! She had, she sobbed tragically, been abandoned by her faithful steed and further betrayed by her alleged frien' who had callously allowed her to be Drenched, Degraded, and Besotted with Spirits! The risks she had taken in Nanette's behalf were itemized and elaborated upon through a veritable tempest of tears. Harry listened patiently, but at length he turned away and, ignoring her protests, went to touch Nanette's untidy head very gently. "Are you all right, my shrew?" She managed a rather shaky smile and said she was perfectly all right. "But—poor Mr. Fox! Harry, you must explain to him!"
The little donkey's bowed head rocked rhythmically back and forth as he uttered his sounds of distress. Harry went to him at once, followed by wails of indignation from the ill-used Beauty. Mr. Fox let it be known that his sensibilities had been deeply offended but was restored, fortunately, by Diccon's letter to Nanette.
Harry joined then in the efforts of Nanette and Mr. Chatham to calm my lady, efforts that were interrupted as a wagon jolted around the bend. The driver of this equipage was a ruddy-faced, middle-aged man of stocky build and a shock of red hair that stood up all over his head, giving him a rather startled appearance. It developed that he was Mr. Chatham's youngest son, and upon being adjured by his sire to "get down here smart-like, and mind yer manners!" he clambered from the high seat. Cap clutched in hand, he nodded respectfully to the ladies, shook Harry's hand while viewing the discarded shirt with eyes that were very round indeed, and enquired if there was anything what he could do.
"Six sons I had," beamed Mr. Chatham. "One died o' the pox; one was killed at Assaye—served under Lord Moulton, he did! And one got blowed ter smitherins at that there Spanishy place where you come a cropper, S' Harry. This here's me Henery, wot's come to stay wi' me and me daughter fer a bit. Landlord over to "The Red Bull" in Cerne Abbas, 'ee be. Though," he grinned broadly, "maybe I'd best not say that—seein's ye've had yer fill o' bulls terday, S' Harry!" He gave a cackle of mirth at this fine joke and dug his son in the ribs. "S' Harry went and got hisself gored by Willyum Brown's bull."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette Page 17