She felt rather than heard a stealthy movement just behind her. Trying not to be silly, she waited for someone to speak, but the silence was heavy and undisturbed. The air seemed suddenly much colder and she was frightened! She gave a yelp of terror as something icy cold slid into the palm of her hand, and she whirled around, to be confronted by great doleful eyes and an ample sufficiency of wrinkles. She leaned against the railing for a moment, regaining her breath. The rail creaked ominously, and her hand flew instead to the head of her unexpected companion.
The bloodhound wagged his tail shyly and uttered a tentative ‘wuff.’
“How do you do?” replied Phoebe, grateful for his presence. “You must be Justice. Perhaps you can guide me to your master, sir.” The tail continued to wag, the dog regarding her with patient friendliness. “Find Carruthers!” she ordered sternly. He sat down and repeated his previous remark. It was unchanged through every command Phoebe could think of until she hit on the lucky “Would you like a walk?” whereupon he at once sprang up and began to pad back the way she had come, glancing over his shoulder from time to time, to ensure that she did not draw back from their bargain.
He turned to the left at the first side hall and went down some dim-seen stairs. Phoebe slowed. The hound could see more clearly than she was able to do, besides which he was in familiar territory. By the time she had groped her way to the ground floor, he was out of sight once more. The draperies were drawn across the windows, and with the approach of evening the hall was hushed and shadowy. The dog did not respond to her calls, and there was not a servant in sight. Phoebe suspected she must still be in the Lancastrian wing, and turned to the right. She entered the first room she came to, a shabby saloon bathed in the fading glow of sunset. Here the draperies had not been closed, and she hurried to the window to see if the ominous dark clouds she had noticed earlier were still coming this way.
She had arrived at the rear of the house and looked out onto gardens and lawn with a drivepath beyond. Carruthers, rather impressively clad in evening dress, although his thick dark hair was still unpowdered, stood on a flagged path, hands on hips, in an attitude of vexation. She began to wonder if he was ever cheerful. The casement opened easily enough, and she started to call to him, only to pause when he growled “So you have deigned to appear at long last! Where the devil have you been? I’d think you could manage to be here to welcome my prospective bride and her family!”
Phoebe looked curiously at the young man who strode to meet him. She was as agreeably surprised in him as she had been in his mama. As fair as Meredith was dark, Jeffery was a little taller and of slighter frame. His features were more finely chiselled, and about him clung an air of careless impudence far removed from his brother’s stern manner. Phoebe already knew he was eight years the younger, but she would never have supposed them to be brothers; in fact, the only resemblance she could find was that Jeffery’s handsome head was as innocent of powder or wig as was Meredith’s.
“I do apologize, Merry,” he said in a pleasant, repentant voice. “’Fraid the time eluded me. I know you’ll not approve, but truth to tell, I was sallying to the rescue of one sore-afflicted, who—”
Meredith’s hands dropped. He said in a near snarl, “Rescue, is it? By God, Jeff, if you’ve allowed yourself to become involved with some damnable Jacobite…!”
Phoebe’s eyes widened.
“Oh, for Lord’s sake,” exclaimed Jeffery. “As if I would do such a bog-brained thing! You know how I feel about their idiotic Cause! No, a far more pleasant rescue. I chanced upon the sweetest little creature, trying to climb down a tree whilst carrying a baby bird she had seen fall from its nest.”
“Whereupon you played the knight-errant, eh?”
“Did you fancy I’d neglect so fine an opportunity? A luscious morsel, Merry. I’ve not seen her since I went off to Cambridge, and—”
“You amaze me, brother, considering you’re more often out of that seat of learning than in it! Who is this ‘luscious morsel’? Do I know the chit?”
“Assurement! She has changed in so delightful a way—many ways, in fact—that I did not recognize her. And not until old Lockwood came galumphing up, complaining we were on his lands—”
“Were you? Dammit! You know I’m already at odds with the old curmudgeon!”
“Well, I suppose we were. But Rosalie managed to charm him out of his bad humour.”
Meredith said thunderously, “Rosalie? Do you refer to Rosalie Smith?”
“Yes. And do not come the ugly, aged mentor. You’ve had an eye in that direction yourself, from all I hear!”
“She is one of my village people, and I’ll not have her pestered!”
“She don’t talk like a villager. Nor behave like one. And as for her being pestered—have you exclusive pestering rights, perchance?” Jeffery’s amiable demeanour had undergone a subtle change; he was standing very straight, resentment in every line of him.
Meredith seized his arm. In a voice harsh with anger, he ground out, “My relationship with Rosalie need not concern you, bantling! Suffice it to say that if you annoy her, you’ll answer to me!”
Jeffery wrenched free. “’Tis my understanding you’ve brought your future bride here. Do not be a hog, Merry!” He grinned, in a sudden disarming shift of mood. “No, really, old fellow, I am most enthralled by this bombshell you’ve hurled. To think that ’neath that formidable exterior lurks a yearning heart!”
“Yearning, is it? Say rather that I yielded to Mama’s importunities.”
“Oh, Gad! Your affianced is a dragon, with tombstone teeth, a squint, and a figure like a blob!”
“Oh!” gasped Phoebe.
Meredith drawled with a grin, “But of course. Did you fancy I would offer for a beauty?”
“I cannot feature you offering at all. I thought you irretrievably shackle-shy. How did you manage it, old lad? Were you the gallant, dropping to one knee to plead your suit? Did she yield her lips with a tremulous sigh, or—”
“Scatter wit! As I recall, she said something about—bats.”
Amused, Phoebe saw Jeffery’s look of disbelief.
“Bats?” he gasped.
“Bats. And her mama made some remark about their feet.”
“Good God! Have they feet, then?”
“Well, of course they have feet! How d’you suppose they go on when they come to earth?”
“Well, I don’t think they stroll about much. They hang upside down in caves. By their tails.”
“Tails!” They began to walk away side by side, Meredith saying scornfully, “For Lord’s sake, Fidget, did you learn nothing in Nature Studies?”
“Never mind about Nature Studies,” Jeffery argued, his voice fading. “It sounds to me, Merry, as if you’ve offered for a proper widgeon. Best get out of it, old lad. I don’t want no addle-pated nephews.…”
Closing the window without a vestige of guilt for having been so dishonourable as to eavesdrop, Phoebe murmured, “Nor are you likely to have any, Mr. Jeffery Carruthers! Your grump of a brother will probably remain a bachelor to the end of his miserable days. Unless he marries your luscious Rosalie!”
* * *
Sinclair was not in his room, but when Phoebe returned to her suite she found her brother sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs, deep in a book.
He glanced up idly when she entered, then closed the book, staring. “Jove, but you look nice in that green thing.”
It was a rare compliment, for although she knew he was proud of her, he seldom deemed it necessary to remark upon his own sister’s good looks.
“Thank you, kind sir. But it is not green. According to the milliner who sold me the material, it is menthe poivrée glacée.”
“Well, it’s jolly pretty, but were I you, old lady, I’d think twice before pitching my peppermint at Carruthers.”
“Pitching … my…” she gasped. “Oh! Why ever would I do such a thing?”
“Do not try to throw dust in my peepers! He ruffled you
r feathers when he did not melt at your feet the way all the other fellows do. I saw you fire up.”
“To put it mildly.” She crossed to perch carefully against the end of the great tester bed. “Now, Sin, you cannot really think I would be interested in such a creature?”
“Because of those scars? I don’t think he’s so bad-look—”
“Of course not because of the scars. What rubbish! Because of his disposition, rather. He bullies his brother, terrifies his mother, is brusque and lacks polish, and if you say the least little thing that displeases, he fairly freezes you.”
“Yes, but don’t forget it is thanks to him that we—”
“Oh, pish! Lascelles is his best friend, yet he begrudges every least thing he does for the poor soul! Sin—whatever are you going to do?”
“I’d a word with Carruthers whilst you and Mama were resting. We’re to slip out tonight and move Lascelles to this Cut he told us of.”
“And that’s another thing! How can he be so heartless as to refuse to bring his friend into the Keep? Lascelles would be a deal more comfortable. He is terribly weak and ill, Sin. That wound in his leg must be properly dressed, and he needs food and water, much Carruthers cares!”
Rather surprised by this outburst, Sinclair came to sit beside her. “Not like you to be so unfair, m’dear. Carruthers is head of his house, and as such is directly responsible for the well-being of both his brother and his mama. It is very obvious he dotes on her, and—”
“Dotes on her? Why, he frightens the poor lady half to death! Did you notice how scared she became when he started growling about Jeffery? Oh, that reminds me! Sin, I have seen his brother, and we must be very cautious, dearest. Jeffery is a fine-looking young gentleman, a very different article to Meredith. But oh, so contemptuous of the Jacobites.” She giggled suddenly. “Meredith flew out at him because he suspected he’d been helping a rebel. I wondered he could keep his countenance, considering what he has been about!”
Sinclair’s lip curled. “I’ve heard rumours about Jeff Carruthers. He makes a practice of being rusticated, silly block. Here he is so fortunate as to be able to go to University, and—” He bit off the sentence hastily. “Why did Carruthers think he’d been helping a fugitive?”
“Jeffery said he’d come to someone’s rescue, but it turned out to be only some village belle. And when Carruthers railed at him for it, Jeffery told him to his head it was known he himself has eyes for the girl.” She sighed heavily. “A fine rake I’m to take to husband.”
They chuckled together. Sinclair said, “You little witch! Carruthers is no rake, and you’d never be able to get him to the altar, so don’t fret.”
“Get him! Why, you horrid! I’ll wager I could have Sir Grimly at my feet in a month!” She saw her brother’s troubled look, and hugged him. “Silly! I am only puffing off my allure!”
He did not look wholly reassured. “You are altogether too alluring in that gown for my liking. And did you see how Mrs. Lucille fairly floated when we arrived? She was in alt! It would be unkind in the extreme did you tease Carruthers. He is really in a desperate situation.”
“Well, I shall not tease, never fear. At all events, he dislikes me. And why his mama should be in alt only because her son has contracted a far from brilliant marriage, I cannot fathom. He is a fine figure of a man, and were it not for those scars would be quite handsome. He is vastly rich, I gather, and for all this place is such a ruin, I fancy he could bring it up to style without being in the slightest purse-pinched. All in all, I wonder he’s stayed a bachelor so long, but I suppose his manner frightens the ladies away, no?”
“No,” he said baldly. “His mama’s reputation.”
Astonished, Phoebe gasped, “His mama’s? You cannot mean it! Tell me!”
He was not one to gossip, and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t really know, save that years ago there was some sort of lurid scandal.”
“My heavens! And this is the family Papa was so happy to marry me into!”
* * *
The blue saloon was fairly well preserved, the couches faded but not uncomfortable, fine old rugs upon the polished boards, and some beautiful paintings and prints adorning the walls. Phoebe noted these details only in a remote fashion, however, for she was appalled to see scarlet coats among the dozen or so people who turned expectantly as Conditt opened the door and announced them. It was natural enough, of course. Carruthers was a former army officer, and likely had many friends among the military. His reluctance to bring the fugitive into his home took on another dimension.
Mrs. Lucille ran to them with a glad little cry. “Here you are! Now I mean to introduce you, my lady; Jeffery will take your son under his wing, and—Meredith! Come here and do your duty!” But as a murmur of admiring comments was heard, and her sons came forward dutifully, she murmured behind her fan, “Meredith is very cross with me, because I arranged this little welcome party for you. He says you are too tired, but you are not tired, are you, Lady Ramsay?”
Phoebe was of the opinion her affianced was correct for once, for she was sure her mama was very tired indeed. Ever courteous, Lady Eloise murmured that she thought it a charming gesture, and was borne off by her triumphant hostess.
Meredith, looking very well in his dark blue coat and paler blue unmentionables, offered Phoebe his arm. “I’m sorry about this,” he muttered. “But I collect we’re properly in for it.”
“For a short while,” she amended.
“One hopes,” he said gruffly, and waved forward the handsome young man Phoebe already knew to be his brother.
Jeffery had changed into a dull-gold velvet coat and a waistcoat of rich gold brocade. He lacked his brother’s breadth of shoulder, but he was graceful, and the colour of his dress emphasized his light hazel eyes. He had powdered his fair hair, and on one slender hand a great topaz sparkled. He came up to be presented, threw Phoebe an elaborate bow and was clearly awed. Despite this, he said with a twinkle that she had his deepest sympathy, and shook hands with Sinclair, then went off with him.
Chuckling, Phoebe said, “What a nice boy.”
“Yes. He’s a good fellow.” Carruthers took up her hand and startled her by pressing a surreptitious kiss into the palm. “Try to look smitten, for God’s sake,” he murmured. “I’m believed to have swept you off your feet, remember?”
She smiled at him adoringly. “So long as you confine such onerous duties to my hands, we may go along without open warfare, sir.”
“We had better, ma’am! Be very careful not to snipe at me tonight. Both the officers who dine with us are extreme shrewd.”
One of those officers called, “Come on, Merry! You cannot keep her all to yourself, you graceless dog!” and Carruthers gave a commendably reluctant grin and began the business of presenting his affianced to his friends.
The officer was Major Hilary Broadbent, a slight, fair-complected young man with freckles that spoke of hair to match his sandy brows, and long eyes of an even lighter shade of hazel than those of Jeffery Carruthers. His easy manner betrayed a deep friendship with his host. “You don’t deserve such a glorious Fair,” he declared, bowing over Phoebe’s hand. “I shall make it my business to see you accused of some heinous crime, so as to steal her away.”
Phoebe laughed. Carruthers pointed out that he had already fought several duels and one more would be child’s play, and they moved on.
The second military gentleman was a drawling, dandified type with a languid manner and penetrating dark eyes. Phoebe judged him dangerous and treated him with polite cordiality. The other guests were, by and large, a likeable group of people, all eager to congratulate Carruthers and to be pleased by his lovely and pretty-mannered prospective bride.
Dinner was served in a large and rather depressing chamber, which Carruthers said was “the small dining room.” Both before and during the excellent meal, he was the butt of considerable teasing because of his having so completely hidden his tendre for the fair Miss Ramsay. He took it in good
part until the second hour, when his chin began to tilt upward. Lucille stood earlier than Phoebe had expected and led the ladies to the withdrawing room.
Phoebe now became the recipient of the good-natured teasing, and she found it tiresome indeed, partly because it was all a sham, partly because she did not know the proper answer to some of the questions, and partly because she could hear a light rain pattering at the windows, and she was full of anxiety for their fugitive. She wondered uneasily how Carruthers and Sinclair could hope to get away from all this company so as to take Lascelles food and some protection from the weather. She was further troubled by a fear that her brother, an idealist who was inclined to expect too much of people, had set Jeffery down as a silly dandy. Sinclair had a fine and sometimes devilish vocabulary, and she could only hope he would not antagonize the younger Carruthers.
By the time the gentlemen joined them, Phoebe was not only ready to drop from weariness, but was concerned for her mother, whose kind eyes looked positively hollow with fatigue, but who would, she knew, fall to the floor sooner than disappoint her hostess by pleading exhaustion.
Meredith came at once to Phoebe’s side, as befitted a sorely smitten suitor. Bowing to her ear, he imparted that her brother was a fiend with the tongue of an asp, and that she looked properly hagged.
She leaned back in her chair and smiled up at him. “How very un-charming you are, dear sir,” she said very softly.
“Oh, yes,” he said just as softly, “I lack all the social graces, praise God! Allow me to demonstrate.” He stood and raised his voice. “My friends, you will forgive do we go early to bed tonight. My betrothed and her family have been travelling since early morning, and are fairly exhausted.”
The Tyrant Page 7