“You … damned rascal!” croaked Sir Brian, and held out his arms.
Quentin gave a small sigh of relief and stepped into a crushing embrace.
Her eyes blurring, Penelope had to turn away.
“Peccavi—peccavi, sir,” gasped Quentin, drawing back. “Egad, for—for a sick gentleman, you’re vastly strong.”
“In my denunciations, at least,” said his father, then scowled and added ferociously, “Not that you didn’t deserve most of it!”
“I’ll not argue that, sir. But…” Tilting his head to watch his sire with a tentative smile, he asked, “Am I—just a little forgiven?”
“No!” snarled Sir Brian. And seeing that anxious smile fade, he said, “Why did I have such a rogue for a son? Blast you, Quentin, you could charm the fangs from a snake, I swear!”
“I’d never have drawn such a simile, Father—I do assure you.”
Sir Brian laughed. “Come over here by the fire, boy! You’re soaked through. Ah! Have I hurt you again? The arm, is it?”
“Hanging by a thread,” said Quentin solemnly, a twinkle creeping into his eyes as Gordon rushed to draw a chair closer to the fire, Penelope brought him a glass of wine, and the Corporal took away the dripping cloak.
“How did you get away, Rabble?” asked Gordon, gripping his shoulder.
“Very bravely! If you did but know the misery I endured whilst I led that fumble-footed troop in circles.…” He laughed suddenly, the wine and the fire warming him. “Lord, but they were a muddy mess! I left poor Holt struggling to free himself from a lovely bog on Salisbury Plain! Faith, you could hear the man curse for miles! Tiele! You stayed, then. My dear fellow, how very good of you.”
He stood to shake Tiele by the hand and, noting the joy in the faces of Killiam and his father’s speechless valet, wrung their hands also.
“Let’s get you into some dry clothes, sir,” said the Corporal, blinking rapidly.
“What he needs is a good long sleep,” Sir Brian muttered.
“No time for that, sir. I must be on my way. With your permission, I’ll go and change my clothes.”
He took Penelope’s hand and started for the bedchamber, Killiam hurrying ahead. At the door, Quentin looked down at her tenderly. “You’re a bold hussy,” he murmured softly. “But I fancy my papa will be glad enough to care for you until I can come back home and claim you.”
“It makes no odds, love,” she said, just as softly. “I go with you. You’ll not be rid of me so easily.”
He smiled and lifted her hand to his lips. “Nothing would please me more. But I’ve a task to complete.” His eyes very soft, he murmured, “And then … my darling girl.…” He glanced up. The others were gathered about the fire, having apparently seen or heard nothing of this tender exchange. He bent and kissed her full on her willing mouth, drawing back to murmur, “Then you will have yet another name.” He kissed her hand and left her.
Penelope, her heart full, rejoined the gentlemen at the fire, and a moment later the hall door opened to admit de Villars.
Without preamble, he said, “Your carriage is ready, Sir Brian. We’ve no time to lose. That confounded Holt is quite likely to come here, although your idiot son very dangerously made it appear he’d come past—not from—our scruffy tavern.”
“Just one moment, if you please,” commanded Sir Brian autocratically, and then proceeded to express his gratitude so humbly that de Villars, renowned rake and duellist, fled in disorder.
Amused, Gordon asked, “Tiele? Do you ride with us?”
Ever the gentleman, Duncan Tiele said it was as Penelope wished, and volunteered to escort her. Penelope thanked him, but announced her intention to remain with Quentin. Gordon said that she must travel under his escort, and Sir Brian insisted she ride to Lac Brillant with him. “It will be my opportunity to become better acquainted with my future daughter,” he added with a fond smile.
They were still arguing when Quentin returned, looking weary despite his best efforts, but considerably less drowned. His caped cloak, which Daffy had appropriated and spread before the fire, was steaming but still very wet. Gordon offered his in substitution, since it had now been decided he would ride in the coach with his father.
Tiele said, “We have been trying to convince Miss Montgomery to accompany one or other of us, but I fear yours is the only word she will heed, Quentin.”
“In which case she will travel with you, Tiele.” Over his shoulder, Quentin called to the Corporal to arrange for the hire of a carriage for Mr. Tiele. Penelope’s hand, already fast caught within his own, tightened. He said gently, “If Holt should come up with you in company with my father and brother, m’dear, he’d be a noddicock not to put two and two together and arrive at an approximation of my true identity.”
“Come along—do!” urged de Villars, again sticking his head around the door.
Carrying Quentin’s valise Killiam hurried to join him, and Daffy, also laden, followed them out.
Sir Brian stood. “You will follow by another route, Quentin?”
“Regrettably—no, sir. Oh, never look so alarmed. When my task is completed, I—”
“Task?” At once uneasy, Sir Brian said, “I’d fancied your only task was to escape with your head!”
“Would that it were. But I’ve a message must be delivered.”
“We’ll have one of the grooms deliver it.” Frowning as Quentin shook his head, he went on impatiently, “Very well, then—I’ll deliver it! But—”
“Father,” said Quentin gently, “I cannot.”
“Why not? Because it has to do with those miserable damned Jacobites? ’Fore God! If this task of yours has to do with igniting the whole hellish mess again, I’ll see you—”
Quentin’s laugh rang out. “No, really, sir—you must not be pinching at me again. I’m still not recovered from your last scold.”
Torn between rage and anxiety, Sir Brian’s face was a study. Quentin gripped his hand and said with ready sympathy, “I am such a trial, I know it. But I do swear, sir, the message I carry involves nothing more than a fortune—and the lives of a great many frightened people.”
“Am I then not to be trusted?”
“With my life, sir. But”—a whimsical grin tugged at Quentin’s mouth—“you are not markedly in sympathy with the Jacobite Cause.”
“Not … markedly? By God, I am not! Even so— Boy, you’re in no state to jaunter about the countryside. Give me the curst paper and, against my better judgement, I’ll guarantee—”
“Sir, I cannot.”
“Cannot? Why the devil—”
“No, sir,” Gordon put in. “He cannot, because the message he carries is death.”
Paling, Sir Brian gasped, “Now heaven aid us! Must we still suffer this nightmare, then?”
“For a very little time, sir,” said Quentin earnestly. “I’ve only to leave the message in a certain place. Then, I shall come at once to you.”
“Dammit—I still do not see why—”
Quentin said with quiet inflexibility, “Because I gave my word, sir.”
It was unanswerable. Sir Brian swore under his breath, fumed, groaned, and gripped Quentin by the shoulders. “Wretched offspring! Someday, when you are safe out of this, you and I will have at your peculiar political persuasions. Till then—I cannot agree with you; I cannot help you. But—” his tone softened—“no more can I put you out of my heart, so I fear I shall have to grin and bear it.”
They embraced, and without another word Sir Brian left, his valet saying a fervent, “God bless you, Master Quentin,” before following.
Gordon came to wring his brother’s hand and claim a farewell kiss from a shy-eyed Penelope.
There were just three left after the door closed once more, and Tiele said aggrievedly, “I am surprised you trust me with your lady, Chandler. Especially since you encouraged my courtship of Miss Montgomery before you stole her away from me.”
“It was very bad, I know,” Quentin admitted. �
�But, you see, I did not think she would have me.”
Tiele laughed. “What a rasper! You thought rather that you had only danger to offer her.”
Her heart in her eyes, Penelope looked up at her love.
Watching her, Quentin murmured, “Which is purest truth, after all, my dear.”
“It is no use trying to escape,” she warned. “You are quite trapped, sir.”
He smiled and pulled her closer. “Indeed I am. But tell me, you little rascal—for how long were you aware of my noble martyrdom in pushing you into the arms of another, more worthy gentleman?”
The room was quiet and dim, the pleasant light of the flames dancing upon Penelope’s shining hair and revealing the adoration in Quentin’s thin face. It seemed to Tiele that they had quite forgotten his presence, and he thought that not until this moment had he glimpsed the abiding wonder that is true love. Reluctant to intrude in so priceless a moment, he backed quietly away.
“I suspected it for some time,” Penelope murmured, her hand going up to caress Quentin’s cheek. “You were so nonchalant with me, but now and again you made a little slip.”
“For instance, when the dog frightened you during our walk, and I almost kissed you,” he said with a rueful sigh.
She nodded. “That was one of your worst mistakes. And when I fainted, and you called me your ‘darling girl.’ Oh, yes, I heard.” She smiled saucily. “I thought it might indicate an emotion rather more than friendship.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into the warm palm. “Rather more, indeed,” he said tenderly. “That blasted bird frightening you so caused me to quite forget—” He started, looked up, and had the grace to flush darkly. “Oh, Tiele—er, there you are. I was so—distracted I did not notice what Daffy carried downstairs just now. Has she taken Jasper?”
Recovering his voice, Tiele said, “No. I believe she took Miss Montgomery’s dressing case and a hoop bag. And the Corporal carried your valise, I know. You do not really mean to scrag the little blighter?”
“I should! Your pardon—I’ll be back in a second.” Scarcely able to tear himself away, Quentin caressed Penelope’s soft cheek, then walked quickly into her bedchamber.
Returning to the sofa, Penelope sat down and looked in an embarrassed way at Mr. Tiele. “You have been very kind, and we have treated you badly, sir,” she admitted. “I beg your pardon for it.”
He came forward and smiled down at her, awe still very apparent in his eyes. “I am more grateful than I can say. I know now that I’d not had the remotest idea of such devotion as you and Chandler share. I only pray it is not so rare I’ll have no hope of finding it for myself.”
It would be, she thought, a real tragedy if he did not do so, for he was the very best type of man, and she said earnestly that there was no doubt such happiness waited in his future.
Neither of them noticed the hall door slowly inching open.…
* * *
From the instant Quentin entered the bedchamber, Jasper had fixed him with a baleful eye, and when the tall man crossed to open the cage, the canary went into his war dance, shouting his rage and scattering debris in all directions. Quentin narrowed his eyes against the dust, told the bird in soft but explicit terms exactly what was his probable ancestry, and reached into the cage to grasp the swinging perch as Jasper fluttered about, screeching.
With a deft twist Quentin disconnected the bar from the swing. Whether this apparent destruction of property he considered his own offended Jasper, or whether he was terrified would be hard to tell. Whatever his motivation, the canary took drastic measures. With a shrill squawk he alighted on Quentin’s withdrawing hand and gave it a good peck.
The beak of a healthy bird is more powerful than the uninitiated might think. With a startled oath, Quentin pulled his hand back, and Jasper, triumphant, swooped out also and began to zoom giddily about the room.
“Damn and blast your feathers,” growled Quentin. But he had neither the time nor the inclination to engage in what would certainly be a prolonged struggle to catch the bird. The light was dim in the room and he went over to the window, took out his penknife, and carefully inserted the thin blade into the hollow bar he held. After only a moment’s probing, a corner of parchment appeared. Quentin wound it carefully until a long thin cylinder was eased from the bar. It unrolled in his hand and he gazed down at the innocuous poem inscribed there, again marvelling that hidden within it was so vital a message—or part of one.
He folded the precious fragment carefully and slid it into a cunningly hinged plate along the grip of his small-sword. Jasper continued to scream defiance as Quentin replaced the weapon in its scabbard, and he looked up at the bird speculatively. Rob would be able to get the confounded little brute, he thought. Still, he must be careful in closing the door. He walked over and opened the door cautiously, watching the canary. Turning about, he halted abruptly, all thought of the need to confine Jasper driven from his mind.
How it could all have happened without his hearing, he could only set at the canary’s door, for all that screeching must have drowned the inevitable sounds.
Duncan Tiele lay sprawled either dead or unconscious in front of the sofa. Across the room, Roland Otton stood behind Penelope, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other aiming a pistol at her head.
“Nasty business, isn’t it?” he said regretfully, shifting his grip to her wrist and pushing her forward. “But you brought it on yourself, you cannot deny.”
Quentin drew a deep, hissing breath. “Then your quarrel is with me,” he said, flexing the fingers of his right hand and wondering for how long he could manipulate a small-sword if the opportunity arose.
“Yes, of course it is. But—my dear fellow, whatever else, I am a patriot. Our estimable Captain Holt has put out a warrant for Miss Montgomery’s arrest.” He shrugged, his black eyes glinting mockery.
That terrible news reduced Quentin to stark panic. With a mighty effort, he managed to conceal it and to sound undismayed. “Even so, you will make more money off my head than hers.”
“Oh, yes. But do you know, Chandler, I really do not enjoy—er, questioning a wounded man.”
“Or burning him?” said Penelope with disgust.
“C’est la guerre, my sweet love … as I have told you before.”
Quentin uttered a smothered expletive and lunged forward. Otton twisted Penelope’s arm up behind her. She managed to refrain from crying out, but the pain made her gasp and at once Quentin threw up a hand in acknowledgement of defeat and stepped back. “Don’t hurt her! Please don’t hurt her. I will surrender my sword.”
Struggling frantically, Penelope cried, “No! He cannot get away, Quentin. Rob will come, or—”
“But no one will come, my pretty,” Otton purred. “Your aunt and uncle and most of the men went tearing off after Captain Holt and his merry men. I knew your lover would elude them. I’ve seen him ride. So I stayed here and waited. My man, an estimable chap, and one of your grooms, Cole, stayed with me. We watched your father leave and the direction from which he came. My people are holding your servants at gunpoint in a nice quiet room below stairs. Not that they will dare raise a fuss because … well, only look outside, Chandler.”
Quentin walked to the window and glanced into the fading afternoon. Military uniforms were everywhere, troopers sauntering cheerfully into the tap or chatting with comrades in the yard.
Otton volunteered, “There’s a regiment quartered just this side of Winchester. They favour this decrepit old place. One shout from Cole—one pistol shot, and they’ll be up here quicker than a rabbit can twitch its nose.”
Quentin glanced to Tiele, who still lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”
“If he has a thin skull.” Otton shrugged. “One takes no chances.”
Penelope said in a strangled voice, “He hit him terribly hard.”
“Even so,” Otton pointed out, “I am easier to deal with than Delavale will be. He is a very jealous man and, do you know, Chandl
er, I believe he suspects you had a little—er, dalliance with the fair Sybil.” He shook his head chidingly. “Such a naughty fellow—who ever would have thought it in your condition?” His taunting voice hardened. “The cypher. Quickly. I shall hand her over, else.”
Quentin said contemptuously, “Whether I give it to you or not, you’ll likely do so. What guarantee have I that you’ll spare her?”
“My word of honour.”
Quentin said nothing, but his lip curled in an eloquent appraisal of the worth of that offer.
“Whatever else I may be,” said Otton, flushing, “I do not break my given word. Give me the cypher and she goes free.”
“And what of Quentin?” asked Penelope frantically.
With a slow smile Otton said, “I only want the cypher. Chandler can take his chances.”
Quentin knew better. If he was left alive he might be recaptured, and there would be nothing to prevent him telling his inquisitors that Otton had the cypher and had allowed him to escape. Otton was not the type to risk his own head. But—Penny would be clear. That was all that mattered now. He reached slowly for his sword.
Otton levelled the pistol at him. “If I fire, she will be taken and you’ll die easier than she does.”
“The cypher is in the grip.”
Still aiming the pistol steadily at him, Otton growled, “Unbuckle your sword-belt then, but—have a care.”
Moving smoothly, Quentin obeyed, alert for any least chance to attack. He unfastened the hinged plate and removed the cypher. The long deadly pistol in Otton’s hand held very steady, the barrel gleaming in the firelight. Quentin held out the cypher and for a second everyone stood motionless. Except Jasper. Having been deprived of his own perch, his beady eyes located another. Elated, he zoomed across the room to alight on the barrel of the pistol.
Captain Otton was apparently no more proof against the shock of whirring wings beside his face than was Penelope. With a startled yell, he swayed to the side.
Penelope wrenched free from his loosened clasp and ran clear.
Simultaneously, Quentin sprang forward and, not daring to delay for the instant it would take to unsheath his sword, with one savage swipe of the scabbard slammed the pistol from Otton’s grasp.
Practice to Deceive Page 28