Ask Me No Questions

by Patricia Veryan

  His eyes brightening, Jacob asked, "Does that mean I won't have to keep inside, sir?"

  Sir Brian nodded.

  "Oooh!" breathed Jacob. "How sp'endid!" He gripped his hands so hard that Ruth thought the frail bones would snap, and for an instant it seemed that Sir Brian was going to be hugged. But then the boy offered a jerky bow and said solemnly, "You're mos' kind. Thank you, sir."

  "Bless my soul!" murmured Sir Brian.

  Ruth said, "I promise faithfully that Jacob will cause you no trouble, sir."

  "And no more disciplining of Mr. Chandler either, boy," said Sir Brian sternly. "I'll own he needs it at times, but that's for me to tend to."

  "I think Jacob must apologize to your son," said Ruth. "How is he today, sir?"

  "Oh, perfectly fit, I thank you. Solid steel is Gordon. Now, ma'am, the constables are waiting to hear your story, so if you will please to come this way…"

  "What in the name of perdition is—that?" Sir Brian, who had gone to his son's apartments to apprise him of the latest developments, paused on the threshold of the small parlour, an expression of abhorrence on his face.

  Wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, and seated in a chair before the open casement, Chandler lowered one hand to calm the little dog that cowered against his foot. "Hercules, Papa," he answered gravely. "I found him in Town."

  "You'd have done better to leave him there!" Sir Brian closed the door and crossed to sit in the window-seat. "That's not a dog, it's a shiver! And not a fitting animal for a gentleman!"

  Chandler sighed, put back his bandaged head, and closed his eyes.

  Sir Brian looked at him anxiously. "Giving you pepper, is it lad?" he enquired in a gentler tone. "I shouldn't pinch at you when you're in queer stirrups. But that"—his kindling eye rested on Hercules again—"must—"

  " 'Tis none so bad, sir," said Chandler, with a faint smile. "Seems to have put me off my stride a trifle. But I'll be up and about in no—" Here, attempting to rise, he swayed artistically and sank back again.

  "For Lord's sake, stay there," cried his sire, alarmed. "You're properly wrung out, and small wonder. That's a devilish cut, and your side is a grisly mess. I wonder that fool Keasden let you out of your bed."

  'To say truth, he didn't. But I don't care to languish like a schoolroom miss, only because I took a rap on the nob." From under his lashes he saw that he had successfully diverted Sir Brian's attention from his abominable pet, and he asked, "Have there been any new developments?"

  "You may believe there have! I've set every available man to scour the grounds for the rogues who attacked you. Not a sign thus far, burn it! Mrs. Allington is—Why the deuce did you not tell me that she is a widow?"

  "May I ask who did?"

  "The lady herself. Just now. And the boy with her. Most damnable thing! You know I cannot abide untruths!"

  "I'll admit I was most shocked. I had fully intended to tell you. But you knew I'd been set against your taking her on in the first place, and I was reluctant to seem to—er, gloat."

  "The devil! Gloat about what? You fancy I made a mistake, eh? No such thing! She does her work well enough." Sir Brian's eyes darkened. "If it weren't for all her fabrications—"

  "Just so. But we should not find it too difficult to replace her. I shall handle the interviews this time, and—"

  "I think I did not say I had turned her off," put in Sir Brian testily. " 'Twould be a pretty thanks to the lady for having helped you. Not many women would've ventured into the woods at night, especially knowing there were murderous ruffians lurking about. And then to find you in the state you'd come to! Why, most females would have swooned on the spot and been worse than useless, for there's few of 'em can stomach the sight of blood." He frowned. "Still, I'll own I cannot abide deception."

  Watching him from under his lashes, Chandler said with emphatic righteousness, "You are very right, sir. The fact that Mrs. Allington has some backbone don't excuse her disgraceful behaviour. She has deceived you on more than one count. I'd be willing to swear that repellant brat is hers. Surely, you have marked the likeness?"

  "Well, I did, of course. D'ye think I'm blind? And as for deceiving me, if the boy is her own, one can scarce wonder she'd have gone to any lengths to keep him with her. Any mother worth her salt would do the same." He paused, and added musingly, "He's a quaint child…"

  "Quaint! That's not the word I'd have used!"

  Sir Brian grinned. "Aye. He told me how you swore when you found his hedgehog in your game bag."

  "So it was his doing! Little hellion! Really, sir, you must not allow your obsession with that fresco to overwhelm your good judgment! The brat—"

  "I am aware it has pleased you always to sneer at my fresco. The day may come when you laugh on t'other side of your face. However, 'the brat' did not seem so repulsive last evening when he came to your aid, I'll warrant. I do not scruple to tell you, Gordon, that you want for a proper sense of gratitude."

  "And you, sir," said Chandler with his warm smile, "have the kindest heart in Christendom. I bow to your wisdom, and own myself at fault. The lady, whatever else, is a fine artist; the boy is courageous; and you are perfectly correct in that we stand indebted to them both." From the corner of his eye, he saw Stonygate in the open door of the dressing room, shaking his head in amused rebuke. Ignoring his upright valet's high principles, he went on, "I shall raise no further objections to your allowing 'em to stay here till the fresco is finished, I give you my word."

  "Hum," said Sir Brian, pleased to have bested his strong-willed son.

  "Now, pray tell me, sir, what has our upright constable to say?"

  "A lot of balderdash, as you might suppose. The big fellow who questioned you last evening came back this morning with an assistant who writ down everything. Not that Mrs. Allington could tell them much. The boy could not recognize anyone in the dark, but he heard one of 'em whistling some song or other. Much that has to say to anything."

  " 'Lillibulero.' Yes, I heard it also."

  "By God, but it makes my blood boil, to think of you being set upon in your own home! We must have more keepers about at night from now on. What the devil d'ye suppose the bastards were about?"

  "Reconnoitering, I should think. With an eye to robbery. Is the constable finished with Mrs. Allington?"

  "Yes. I sent her back to the cottage. She'll need to rest after such a shocking experience." Sir Brian added with faint amusement, "Aymer's escorting her."

  Chandler looked at him curiously. "You cannot think he has a genuine interest in the lady?"

  "Why not? Because you've caught yourself so beautiful a bride, you can see no other, but Mrs. Allington's a fine-looking young woman, and has been properly bred up, there's no doubting. Not every man can find a diamond of the first water like Lady Nadia, you know."

  Chandler lowered his eyes to the softly snoring Hercules, and said nothing at all.

  For several days Lac Brillant was a maelstrom of activity. The shocking news that a highly born gentleman had been attacked and nigh killed on his family estate was printed in every newspaper in the land, each account more lurid than the last. Bow Street Runners arrived from London, repeated all the questions asked by the local minions of the law, and departed looking ponderous, having succeeded only in irritating Chandler and infuriating the village constable and the law officers from Dover. Concerned relatives and friends came calling, their well-meant solicitude eventually proving to be so wearying that Chandler formed the habit of bolting from the house whenever the rumble of wheels was heard on the drivepath. Often, he would seek refuge in the chapel, and Ruth was able to gauge to a nicety how long it would be from the time she heard an approaching carriage or riders, until the fugitive would burst through the door and shut it tightly behind him.

  She was counting the seconds while at work one overcast morning, and turned with a smile as he came, panting, to the platform. "Two minutes, precisely," she said, waving a piece of bread at him. "You must have been delayed.
"

  "I was," he panted. "That fool—Aymer."

  She clicked her tongue reprovingly. He had removed the tape from his head, and his dark hair was more loosely arranged than usual, probably to conceal where it had been cut away from the wound. She thought the less severe style charming, but said only, "For shame to speak so of a man of God. Mr Aymer is far from a fool, sir."

  "Aha!" He sprawled in the front pew, looking up at her.

  "So my father was right, as usual. Are we soon to hear an announcement?"

  Ruth had gone back to work, but at this she spun around and said, startled, "You cannot be serious?"

  He chuckled. "To say truth, I thought it hilarious."

  "Indeed?" Perversely affronted, her chin tilted upward. "Do you think it a disgrace that he might find a—a hired worker attractive?"

  "Say rather that I think it ludicrous for Aymer to turn his eyes in your direction. You would not suit, you know."

  "How can you know whether or not we would suit? Faith, but I'd not realized Mr. Gordon Chandler is so expert in affaires de coeur."

  He unwound his long length from the pew and wandered to the foot of the platform steps. "He is far from that, Mrs. Ruth. But—"

  "But one must keep to one's class, eh?" Flushed and angry, she said with scornful pride, "Mr. Nathaniel Aymer is socially above a poor widow! Well, I'll have you know, sir, that I am—" She retreated then, her heart giving a nervous little jump as he came up the steps. "I am every bit as well born as your precious chaplain! Nor," she added defiantly, "is he the only gentleman ever to have found me attractive!"

  Very close to her now, he said quietly, "I know."

  With the door closed not a sound penetrated the thick chapel walls. As though touched by some enchantment, Ruth was quite unable to tear her gaze from the grave grey eyes that looked so steadily into her own. Her heart began to thunder. She said a decidedly feeble, "Oh."

  He took another step. "I think I have never properly thanked you for coming to help me."

  "But indeed you have, sir. You sent me that beautiful gown." The box, from one of Dover's most exclusive modistes, had been delivered to the cottage two days ago, and had contained a delicately simple gown of blue silk to be worn over a white chemise with frilled sleeves. "You have most excellent taste, Mr. Gordon," she added with a twinkle.

  "I must confess that Mrs. Tate was my aide-de-camp on that expedition. Although I can claim to have specified the colour, which I'd fancied would look very well on you. I wish you did not dislike it."

  "How could I dislike it? Ah—you think I should have worn it. 'Tis much too fine to work in, you know. I shall save it for a special occasion."

  "Then I must arrange a special occasion." There was a faint wistfulness to the smile that curved his mouth. "And very soon."

  Caught in a trap from which she never wished to escape, Ruth experienced a brief sense of dreamy contentment. Then, Chandler's hands clenched hard, his head jerked upward, and, as if suddenly short of breath, he said, "It was small payment for your kindness, Mrs. Ruth. You are a very brave lady."

  She felt dazed, but managed somehow to turn away and scrub blindly at the fresco. "Oh no," she said, struggling to control her foolish weakness. " 'Twas just more of my scheming. A fiendish plot to curry favour in Sir Brian's eyes."

  "As I suspected." He gazed at the back of her head. A bright strand of hair had escaped the plait and was curling onto her snowy neck. He groped in his pocket. "But you are properly served for your fiendishness," he went on, lying glibly. "For there is a small beetle has become entangled in your hair."

  "Ugh!"

  Her hand flew up. He restrained it. "Keep still, intrepid one, and I shall remove the intruder. Bow your head a trifle."

  She obeyed, shaken by an involuntary shiver when his fingers touched her neck lightly.

  "There." Having completed his theft, he tossed the imaginary "offender" to the floor. "Now I have rescued you and evened the score. Do you acknowledge my valour?"

  'Truly, you were superb." She stepped to the edge of the platform and peered at the floor. "Where is it? Was it very large?"

  Chandler sneezed, and emerging from his handkerchief, declared, "Enormous." He folded his handkerchief meticulously over his small prize, and replaced it in his pocket. "Eighteen legs and sharp pincers to give you a good nip. There it goes, galloping under the pew. What, did you not see? Well certainly you could not fail to have heard the thunder of its hoofs."

  She laughed. "And certainly, Sir Valour, you could not fail to see what is right under your nose."

  His head whipped up and he stared at her.

  "Only look," she said hurriedly, and stepped aside.

  The restored area of the fresco was much larger now. The surface was cracked and in places the paint was gone, but the scene was recognizable.

  "Be dashed!" he exclaimed. " 'Tis our own estate! There's the old lighthouse! The top half anyway."

  "Yes, so I thought. Only it was new when this was painted."

  "In which case the fresco cannot be above three or four hundred years old!"

  "My goodness! Was it in use that long ago?"

  "Oh yes, and long before that. The Romans put up lights all around the coast, you know. I believe their name for 'em was 'pharos.' They almost all were wrecked by our charming English weather, but promptly put up again. We think our old tower was restored in the fourteenth century. It was more sturdy than its predecessors and would likely still be in service save that Cromwell's forces riddled it with shot when two of my ancestors hid there. The varmints did so much damage the tower became unsafe. That's why the new light was put up on the headland five miles to the north of us." He said enthusiastically, "Gad, but my father will be pleased to find the painting is part of Lac Brillant's history! What's this down here? Another house?"

  "I cannot quite tell. I think the artist changed the shape of the rocks a little."

  "The cliffs have changed, certainly. The sea is relentless, you know."

  She sighed. "Very true."

  "Now what have I said to make you sad? Was your husband lost at sea, Mrs. Ruth?"

  Her thoughts had flown to Jonathan. She said brightly, "Did I look sad? I was only wondering what we will find when I have cleaned to the foot of the lighthouse."

  "No, you weren't. Do you think that by now I cannot read your moods? Do you think I don't know that sometimes you are worried?" He gripped her hands and held them strongly. "You are not to worry for your future. Do you hear me? Devil take it! When is your confounded major coming home to take care of you?"

  Scarcely knowing whether to laugh or cry, she said, "He is not confounded!"

  "He is neglecting you shamefully! I've a damned good mind to trace the fellow down and see what he means by it!"

  Desperate, she declared, "There is not the need, sir. He—he may be coming home very soon."

  He released her hands but still watched her narrowly. "You've heard from him, then? How?"

  She racked her brains. "Mr, Tummet brought me a letter. My fiance wrote there was a chance he might get a leave. If it was granted he is already on his way home and will be here in—in the autumn."

  "I see." Still watching her, he said, "Why will you not tell me his name? I know only that—"

  "Good morning, Mr. Chandler."

  In their preoccupation, neither of them had heard the door open.

  Jacob stood smiling shyly up at them.

  "Hello, young sir," said Chandler, returning the smile. "Come to see how your aunt goes on?"

  "No, sir. Well, I have a'course, but Miss Tate sent me to tell you that Mr. Aymer is fetchin' your cousin, the Hon'rable Horace."

  "He would!" Chandler looked at Ruth and gave a rueful grin. "I must escape the family prattlebox! Come, lad. You shall go with me to the Home Farm. Is that agreeable?"

  Jacob gave a small leap of excitement, and Ruth watched fondly as, hand in hand, they fled.

  At the stables the head groom was amused by Chandler's r
equest for a nice quiet mount for Master Jacob. He pointed out with a grin that neither Mr. Gordon nor his brother had gone in much for "nice quiet mounts," and that Sir Brian's horses were all too large for a small boy.

  "I c'n ride a real horse," declared Jacob with dignity.

  "I am very sure you can," agreed Chandler. "Oakworth, we will take Carefree and Miss Nymph."

  Oakworth, a nimble raw-boned man who had worked his way up from stableboy, looked dismayed, and protested, "But—that be Lady Nadia's mare, sir. I doubt her la'ship will—"

  "Her ladyship will be glad to have the mare exercised. Make haste, man!"

  Oakworth shouted orders, and very shortly the two horses were led out. Jacob was delighted with the pretty chestnut mare and, boosting him up, Chandler was relieved to see that the boy did not seem frightened, although he looked alarmingly small in the full-sized saddle.

  They started off at an easy pace. Miss Nymph was well behaved and Chandler held Carefree in, much to her indignation. Overjoyed, Jacob concentrated on keeping his seat. Chandler slipped a hand into his pocket. His handkerchief was still tightly folded over its treasure. He smiled faintly, and his thoughts wandered to Ruth and the man who was likely even now on his way to claim her.

  "Does your head still hurt, sir?"

  Jacob was watching him anxiously.

  "No, I thank you. As you see, I've taken off the last of the tape."

  "Yes. Is that why your hair's not tidy?"

  Chandler grinned. "Look a fright, do I?"

  "Oh, no. You look younger. And not so cross."

  'Gad!' thought Chandler. "Do you find me to be cross, Jacob?"

  "Not always. Jus'—sometimes you look cross. Or—not so much cross, p'raps. More like you was thinkin' serious thoughts. Gran'papa made a picture once of a man what looked like that."

  "Do you recall who was the gentleman?"

  The smooth brow puckered. "He was a king, I 'member."

  "Charles, perhaps?"

  "No. Older ago than that. He had a funny table, or somethin'."

  "Arthur?" said Chandler, incredulous.

  "That's the one! He wasn't so good looking as you. But his eyes was—sort of lonely. Like yours are sometimes."