Ask Me No Questions

by Patricia Veryan

  Shocked, Chandler quickly turned the subject to games, but it developed that Jacob was far more interested in books than in sports, and Chandler was mildly surprised to learn that the boy was already a proficient reader. He was also devoted to animals, and wriggled with delight when Chandler said, "You will enjoy seeing the farm then. Lots of animals there."

  "Oh, yes, sir! I shall have a farm some day. When I've got lots of prize money."

  "Ah, you mean to go to sea, do you?"

  The fair curls nodded. "It's in the family, y'know."

  Chandler said he hadn't known, and waited hopefully, but nothing more was vouchsafed, and to worm information out of a child would be despicable.

  They rode on through the rather dull morning, the boy full of eager anticipation, and Chandler lost in thought once more. He had, he was sure, seen a painting of King Arthur, the fabled monarch depicted as gazing at the distant figures of Guinevere and Sir Launcelot. It was likely not the same painting, because he seemed to recall that the artist had been some giant of the world of art. If he could just remember the fellow's name…

  Chapter 10

  The sound of angry voices caused Mr. Aymer's steps to slow as he approached Sir Brian's study. One voice rose to a bellow. 'Poulsborough,' thought the clergyman, and stood aside as the door burst open and a very tall big-boned man with a very red face erupted into the hall.

  "Damme, sir!" he roared, turning back into the room. "I see no reason for y'curst stubborn attitude! Durwood never objected!"

  Gordon Chandler walked around the desk to face his fiery and departing visitor. "Which is one reason," he said coolly, "why Durwood is no longer my father's steward."

  "What y'are, sir," raved the large Mr. Poulsborough, shaking his fist for emphasis, "is a dog in the manger. A damned dog in the manger! Y'don't use the cove y'self but once or twice a year. But y'r too damned mean-spirited t'let others benefit. No reason 'tall why m'captain has t'haul m'cargoes five extra miles overland, when he could unload—"

  "Your captain," drawled Chandler, advancing to the door, "fouled our beach with his refuse, abandoned an overworked donkey to expire in our wilderness area, and allowed his rascally crew to trample and destroy the plants and shrubs our gardeners had set out to prevent any more falling-away of the cliffs. Had my father taken my advice, Poulsborough, we'd have brought an action 'gainst you for restitution."

  "Top-lofty," bellowed his irate neighbour. "That's y'r trouble, Chandler! Y'aint liked! I'll talk to y'r sire, and—"

  "Not whilst I can prevent it! Do you show your face here again, and we will bring an action 'gainst you! Good day."

  Mr. Poulsborough snorted and swore and stamped down the hall, all but flattening Mr. Aymer against the wall, and imparting with a snarl that Gordon Chandler was a damnably hot-at-hand and uppity young pup, and that 'twas a great pity the poachers, or whatever they were, hadn't put a period to the bastard.

  Shocked, Aymer called a blessing after the thunderous retreat and was more shocked when Poulsborough advised him exactly what to do with his "confounded blessing."

  "I think you'll not save that sinner, Nathaniel." Returning to the chair behind the desk Chandler sat down and took up a letter directed to "Jos. Durwood, Esq."

  "My regrets that you were caught in the crossfire," he added, running his eyes down a lengthy and misspelled demand for payment for "five and twenty crates and barrels—LONG OVERDUE!" Becoming aware that the cleric had followed him inside, he asked absently, "Had you wished to speak to my father?"

  The reverend gentleman settled himself into a chair. "No. To you, Mr. Gordon." He coughed behind his hand, as he did at the start of his sermons. "I have noticed, an I dare remark it, that since you were so viciously attacked, you do not seem quite—That is to say you look very tired. You have been working rather heavily of late—no?"

  Chandler put down the letter and summoned a smile. "Heavily and late. The work must get done, and till my father settles on a steward…" He shrugged. "Thank you for your interest." His took up the letter again. "Was that all?"

  Despite his efforts, there was a note of impatience in his voice that was not lost upon Mr. Aymer. Poulsborough, he reflected, had been right to an extent: Gordon Chandler was considerably short on common courtesy and respect. He sighed. "No, as a matter of fact. 'Tis… about the boy."

  Chandler's attention snapped from crates and barrels. "What about him?"

  "I…" Aymer sighed again and said with his fine sense of drama, "Almost, I hesitate to mention it."

  Unimpressed by the sonorously lowered voice, Chandler said curtly, "As you will. Then pray excuse me. I have much to do."

  Aymer folded his hands. "However, it may indicate a serious problem, so—"

  Suspecting what was troubling the chaplain, Chandler fixed him with a level stare. "What kind of problem? He's a grand little fellow and has quite captivated Sir Brian. I've not seen my father so light-hearted since—" He checked that remark.

  "Since your poor brother was obliged to flee the country." Mr. Aymer shook his handsome head and sighed heavily. "A sad day for your father, Mr. Gordon. A sorry time for us all, and—"

  Slamming down the letter, Chandler flared, "Oh, for Lord's sake, man! Say whatever is hiding behind your tongue and have done with it!"

  A sad smile. A hesitantly uttered, "It is that… I begin to fear the child is… not quite—I mean— There seems a mental instability that—"

  "A—what?" His eyes a blaze of wrath, Chandler leaned forward. "I feel sure you mean to explain that ugly implication!"

  Alarmed, Aymer jerked upright in his chair. "I beg you will not be put about. Surely, you must have noticed? The boy is quite charming, I admit, but there is a major, even a sinister flaw in his character, for his personality shifts with each wind that blows."

  Chandler's response was concise and to the point, but not calculated to please a clergyman, and Aymer drew back, spreading his white hands as if to ward off such vulgarity. "Mr. Gordon! Alas, I have caused you to lose your temper. Had I dreamed you felt so strongly in the matter…" Bright and unmistakable now, there was malice in Aymer's blue eyes.

  Battling the urge to demand that this man of God take himself elsewhere, Chandler gritted his teeth and managed a curt apology. "You may be sure I feel strongly. Jacob is not yet six years old. We can scarce expect him to behave with the decision of a grown man."

  "We can expect that his preferences be consistent from day to day! Do you fancy, sir, that I would speak thus out of unkindness? Especially towards the nephew of so charming a lady?" Aymer said earnestly, "Let me give you an example. On Monday, I was pleased to find Jacob in the library. He was fascinated by a book of engravings, so I took him to my own quarters and showed him an illustrated text that I prize highly. He was enchanted. Truly enchanted. I asked him if he had any interest in becoming a man of the cloth, and pointed out that many gentlemen of my calling are fine scholars and write learned papers upon worthwhile subjects."

  "Whereupon," said Chandler, amused, "he told you he meant to become a sailor."

  "Just so. He said his father had been a captain for the East India Company."

  "You asked him, I take it?"

  There was scorn in the tone, and Aymer flushed and said huffily, "I see no reason why I should not have done so." Chandler looked at him steadily. Aymer was reminded that he never had cared for those cold grey eyes. So devoid of any feeling. He went on, "Jacob said he wished to follow in his father's footsteps, save that he would be a naval officer. Next day, he was coaxing Sir Brian to take him up to the top of the old lighthouse. As if your father could manage to climb those hundreds of steps!"

  "No, but the boy would not comprehend that. If he wishes to climb to the top, I'll take him."

  "So your father promised. The next instant the child was wanting to play ball! Thinking to spare Sir Brian, I suggested we go to the library instead. Jacob thanked me very prettily, but said he would be a moonling to want to read a book when he might play ball!
"

  "Well? I am sure my father was pleased to play with "him."

  "But—surely, you must see! 'Twas in direct opposition to what the boy had told me only the previous day! When I saw him later in the afternoon, I asked if he'd given any more thought to a career when he finished school. He said"—Aymer looked shocked—"he said he would like to be a—pirate!"

  Chandler laughed heartily. "So should I when I was that age! Lord, what an uproar to build over a trifle! He said he wanted to go to sea, did he not? Besides, the mind of a small boy is a capricious thing, at best."

  Considerably ruffled, Aymer said with unusual acerbity, "Perhaps that would explain why he told me yesterday that he had bacon and eggs for breakfast, which is his favourite, And this morning he shuddered when I mentioned my own breakfast egg, and said that he cannot abide eating unborn chicks! I tell you, Mr. Gordon, that child has some deep-seated brain disorder and should be taken to a surgeon."

  Chandler's eyes, which had returned to the letter, lifted again and meeting them, Aymer recoiled instinctively. In a very quiet voice, Chandler asked, "Are you perhaps implying that Jacob belongs in Bedlam?"

  "No, no! I never meant—I did not—I would not—"

  "I'm glad." Chandler took up Durwood's letter once more. "Have you broached the subject to Mrs. Allington?"

  "Not yet." Furtively mopping his brow, Aymer thought that Gordon Chandler's temper had most definitely deteriorated of late. He said, "I rather hesitate to do so. She is making such progress on the fresco that it seems likely she will not be here for much longer. But—in the name of human kindness, I should perhaps offer her the benefit of my counsel."

  Chandler feigned boredom. "You must do whatever you think best, of course, though in my opinion 'tis a matter for the lady and her family to deal with. I must ask however, that you do not worry my father with your—theories."

  Variously shaken and indignant, Aymer left him and walked slowly down the hall. How could the man have failed to notice that one day Jacob was as if glued to his coat skirts, and the next could scarce bear to be parted from Sir Brian? Chandler was not a man of high intellectual achievement, of course, but one would think him capable of noticing the inconsistencies in the child. On the other hand, Chandler might be too caught up in anticipation of the arrival of dear Lady de Brette to pay attention to other matters. At least, he had kept away from the chapel these past few days, and buried himself in his work, which was, thought Mr. Aymer sternly, just as well.

  Gordon Chandler was not the only busy individual on the estate. Ruth laboured long and hard at her task, making good progress but becoming so wan and pale that Sir Brian became concerned, and at length insisted she rest for a day or so. Grace was in full accord with this edict, and when Ruth reached the cottage that afternoon she was at once ordered to bed with the promise of a dinner tray to be carried to her.

  "Worn yourself to a shade, you have," said Grace, bustling Ruth up the stairs. "Worked hard enough for two this week, and worried half the night away by the look of you. Though why you should worry so much now, when the boys can venture out in safety is more than I can come at!"

  "It is because they can take turns going out that I worry so," said Ruth, sitting gratefully on the bed while Grace laid out her nightdress. " 'Tis wonderful to see them so happy. But I dread lest one of them gives the game away."

  Grace knelt to take off Ruth's shoes. "How should they? They're alike as two peas in a pod and good as gold about taking turns for their 'Jacob Day,' as they call it. Besides, there's many times, Mrs. A., when I cannot tell whether I'm talking to Master Thorpe or Master Jacob."

  "I know, and truly I am grateful they are so happy. But the thing is, they're very young and not accustomed to being—devious. If Jacob should forget to tell Thorpe something he should know, or if Thorpe chanced to contradict something Jacob had remarked to somebody—"

  "I don't never do that, Aunty Ruth," declared Thorpe indignantly, knocking on the door as he opened it. "We're awful careful. They don't even guess." He giggled and took a bite out of the apple in his hand. "It's fun to 'tend to be Jake. We're not a bit alike really, y'know. I thought they'd find us out the first day. But they're proper sillies and don't see it."

  Ruth moaned. "Heaven forgive me! 'Tis wicked to deceive people who have been so kind—so good to us!"

  "Run along now, Master Thorpe." Grace had heard the tremor in Ruth's voice. She closed the door behind the boy and said soothingly, "You've done the best for us as you knows how, and we're harming none. Into bed with you. You shall enjoy a nice book and tomorrow you can sleep late and be a lazy-lady so you can start work fresh on Friday."

  Aware that she really was over-tired, Ruth was soon gratefully tucked into bed. She ate a light meal and after the boys had joined her for evening prayers settled down with a book. Her many worries would not let her read, however, and when she drew the bed-curtains at half past eight o'clock the future looked so dark and grim that the pillow was soon wet with her tears.

  Morning sunlight was flooding the room cheerfully when she awoke. She washed in the cold water from her pitcher, and was brushing her hair when her eyes fell on the little clock on her chest of drawers. It was twelve minutes past six. "Good gracious!" she murmured. "Well, that's what you get, Mrs. A., when you go to bed so early!" She felt rested and refreshed, and ashamed of yesterday's surrender to melancholy. Crossing to the window she opened it wider and looked into the gardens.

  It was a perfect morning, a few puffy clouds drifting in a cerulean sky and the air crisp and bracing. A perfect chance for an early walk, she decided, and was about to turn back into the room when she saw the shadow.

  The breath seemed to freeze in her throat, and for a moment she was quite unable to move. It was exactly as Grace had described; a hunched, terrifying creature, with a long snout and a great mane about its shoulders. The shadow lay across the lawn in front of the cottage. She could not see the daemon, but her heart gave a lurch of terror as she caught a glimpse of Jacob's blue velvet coat in the far trees. She tried to scream a warning, but her voice was an almost inaudible croak. That fearful head swung towards the boy. Somehow regaining the use of her limbs, Ruth flew madly down the stairs, snatched up the poker from the parlour hearth, and was out of the door in a flash.

  She was halfway across the lawn when she realized that the blue coat was not velvet but broadcloth, and that it was worn not by a child, but by a man.

  For Gordon Chandler to spend the night tossing and turning through a futile rebellion against the machinations of Fate was a rare experience. It was all too clear that his sleeping heart slept no longer, and that this was no gentle awakening but a soul-shaking certainty that the perfect one was found. But the awakening had come too late, and had brought not joy, but anguish as relentless as it was pointless. At dawn he awoke from a fitful doze and took the old locket from his bedside table. He opened it and with one tender finger touched the silken gold strands he had appropriated with the aid of his pocket knife and that were now rather clumsily tied with a piece of string. He sighed. It was quite hopeless, and he was a very great fool. He was impatient with folly, especially his own, and be damned if he'd go back to bed and endure more hours of misery. He got up, cut himself shaving in icy water, took Carefree for a thundering gallop, and returned her to the stables. It being then still short of six o'clock, he decided not to astound the staff by appearing in the kitchen at such an hour, and wandered instead about the grounds. He had no intention of going anywhere near the blue cottage. Lost in thought, however, his feet betrayed him. He glanced up to find the cottage before him and a vision flying from the front door.

  They both stopped, staring at each other.

  Why she should have a poker in one hand he neither knew nor cared. Her hair was down and shimmered like a golden mantle about her shoulders, and the nightdress that billowed about her made her seem more of heaven than earth; an exquisite creature, all gold and white daintiness, her wide grey eyes fixed upon him, her lips
a little parted.

  Enchanted, he murmured, "How glorious is your hair…"

  She watched him, standing there so tall and dark and un-moving, with a look on his strong face compounded of awe and delight.

  Involuntarily, he reached out to her.

  That she should appear surprised or offended did not occur to her. The husky quiver to his deep voice, the wistful tenderness in his eyes drew her irresistibly. She started to him, and not until she stretched out her hand and discovered the poker in it, did there come the shocking awareness that she was barefoot in the garden, clad only in her nightdress and with not so much as a wrapper for propriety. That did shock her, and with a startled gasp she turned away.

  He snatched at her free hand. "No—-please don't go."

  "I must! I am—I am not dressed! Goodness! If someone should see!"

  Smiling because it had not occurred to her that he had seen, he asked, "Do you mean to strike me with your poker?"

  "Of course not! 'Twas—Oh! I'd forgot! The daemon! I saw its shadow, just as Grace did, and I thought you were Jacob, and—" Her frantic gaze found the shadow, clearer than ever. Her lower lip sagged, and she pointed wordlessly.

  Chandler found the shadow. The sun was in the east, so the creature must be… His keen eyes searching, he laughed softly. "There is your daemon, my dauntless warrior."

  Clinging to his hand, Ruth saw the creature he indicated, clinging precariously to a branch of the tree at the southeast corner of the cottage. "Being!" she gasped.

  He said with a chuckle, "I never thought I would be grateful to Jacob's pestiferous pet."

  With a sigh of relief, she attempted to disengage her hand.

  He tightened his grip. "If I let you escape, will you promise to come down again?" She hesitated, and he coaxed, "Now, Mrs. Ruth, we are both safely—er, bespoken. Is it so very bad to ask that you spend only a little time talking to a lone and lorn gentleman?" She looked troubled, and releasing her hand he added lightly, "And perhaps bring along something to eat. I'm fairly starved and the kitchen a deserted wasteland."