Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown

by Patricia Veryan

  His voice squeaking with excitement, Lion exclaimed, "Love a duck! I did see a gent like that at Strand Hall. Is it Mr. Redmond? He's a right game 'un to—"

  "Redmond?" Guy interpolated sharply. "Sir Harry Redmond?"

  "His brother," said Charity. "Lion, do you say you were at Strand—"

  Astounded, Guy again interrupted, ''Mon Dieu! Is he mad? Claude will kill him without the one instant of hesitating! Gerard knows him well and there are others here who would recognize him at once!"

  "Does he know you, Guy? Have you met?"

  He said a clipped, "Oui, " then added with a faint smile, "Once, we fight a strange duel. He mistake me, do you see, for my brother.''

  "My heavens! Still, I beg you will help him get away from here."

  Guy's smile faded, and he said nothing.

  Tugging at his sleeve, Charity said desperately, "It has started, don't you see? It has begun! And we stand here—doing nothing."

  Guy remained silent, avoiding her eyes.

  Lion said staunchly, "Don't you never worry, missus. I'll help yer get orf this perishing island. We'll save ol' windy wallets Georgie!"

  "We will go back now." Guy's voice was cold and final, and when Charity attempted to plead with him, he walked to the coach and held the door open, his face inscrutable.

  Helplessly, she climbed inside.

  The castle was quiet when they returned. A brooding quiet, Charity thought as she walked with Guy across the echoing vastness of the Great Hall. At the foot of the main stairs, Guy bowed and prepared to leave her. Several footmen and lackeys were watching, but made reckless by anxiety, Charity caught at his arm and said a low-voiced, "Guy, please. Will you not—"

  "It is too late, ma'am," he reiterated quietly. "Your people had every chance and did nothing. Now they are doomed by their own folly."

  Angered, she said, "You are just as bad as he! By your very refusal to oppose him, you condone what he does!"

  He gazed at her for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he bowed again and walked off towards the book room.

  The housekeeper rustled over. "Monseigneur is delayed on a matter of business. He asks that you join him at luncheon, and later he will conduct you around the castle."

  Charity went upstairs to change her gown. Claude had evidently decided there was no real need to guard her, for when she went into her room Meg was nowhere to be seen. It was some small relief, at least, not to have to deal with the surly woman. Wandering over to the window, Charity looked yearningly towards England. If Gerard had sailed last evening, he must already be far down the Scottish coast. Perhaps he meant to go ashore somewhere and travel overland to the south country. Sighing heavily, she turned to see Meg coming in from the parlour, a scowl on her face.

  "Ain't no manner o' use to blame me if she's lost," she grumbled. "The fireboy didn't move hisself quick enough, and the dratted cat was through the door quicker'n a bee's knees. Not my fault. I tried."

  Dismayed, Charity knew there was no point in asking the household staff for help. Most of the lackeys and footmen were types whom she would not be surprised to see in Newgate Prison and who would be glad enough to help Little Patches along her way with a well-placed boot. With this unhappy conviction to spur her, she hurried through her toilette, noting vaguely that the lime green crepe looked quite well on her. She selected a crocheted shawl that promised some warmth, allowed Meg to drape it around her shoulders, and hurried from the room. Luncheon was to be served at two o'clock, and it was now a little past one.

  She prowled up and down the corridor with no success, ignoring the smirks of the servants as she called the kitten and hoping Little Patches had not wandered outside. Her efforts not succeeding, Charity went downstairs and again searched to no avail. She was about to go outside when a shy maid bobbed a curtsey and imparted the information that she had seen la chatte très petite run down the basement stairs. Charity thanked her and hastened in the direction indicated.

  She came to a flight of deeply hewn stone steps that wound around the massy wall, and she trod down with care. The lower regions followed the slope of the hill, and thus, although there were no windows at her end of the hall, far at the other end were narrow slotted apertures through which gleamed daylight. At this end, one lamp was lighted, revealing luxurious carpets and wall hangings with occasional chests or tables as elegant as those above stairs.

  Charity had thought the upper floor quiet and brooding, but down here it was as if the busy activity all about her had ceased to exist, so heavy was the silence. She wandered along, her "Here kitty, kitty, kitty" echoing off to be swallowed up. None of the heavy doors was open, save for a double door at the far end. She started towards it, thinking that the most logical place to search. It occurred to her, however, that if a servant had come down for something and Little Patches had followed, she might accidentally have been shut in. With this in mind, Charity reached out to try the latch of the next door she approached, only to recoil with a little gasp of terror. The latch was lifting. Suppose Claude was inside?

  Suppose he thought she was prying? The door began to open. Charity backed away.

  "Meeoooww…?"

  Limp with relief, Charity paused. Her heart gave a leap of excitement as Mitchell Redmond appeared, candle in hand and Little Patches squirming under his arm. In that first instant, Charity thought she saw alarm in his wide grey eyes. Then a twinkle came into them. He closed the door, let the kitten jump to the floor, and murmured, "No chaperone again, I see."

  The light words, the quirkish grin, brought such a surge of emotion that Charity flew to give him her hand, murmuring incoherent thanks, and stammering out questions until he put his fingers across her lips.

  "No time for all that. Besides, you've small need to thank me, Miss Strand. I didn't come galloping to your rescue."

  It was like a dash of cold water in her face, and she drew back.

  He added, "Didn't even know you was here. Deuce of a shock when I saw you, I don't mind admitting. Thank God you had your wits about you!''

  It was foolish to be hurt. The important thing was that he had come. "It doesn't matter about me,'' she said staunchly. "How on earth did you reach here?"

  "Diccon learnt that some of Claude's rogues had taken ship from Birkenhead, so we went up there to sniff around. We were set upon just before we reached the Mersey. We fought off the first lot, but unfortunately Diccon was wounded. He begged that I take charge of a notebook for him, and I was going through his pockets in search of it when some more of Claude's fellows arrived."

  Charity intervened anxiously, "Poor Diccon is not dead, is he?"

  "I don't know." He looked sombre and went on, "I managed to convince 'em I'd killed him and here I am."

  Eyeing him with horrified disbelief she whispered, "You mean, you cannot mean that you came here—all alone?"

  He said cynically, "A disappointment as a relief force, am I?"

  "No! Oh no! I was so very glad to see you!"

  He looked down into her upturned, earnest little face. "Poor chit," he thought, "she's had a frightful time." But the glitter of tears lurked in those great eyes, and appalled, he took her arm and began to lead the way back along the corridor while saying at his most sardonic, "What a rasper! The instant you laid eyes on me you were at your judgements again, deducing I was hand in glove with the Emperor of the Darrochs!"

  She blinked. "Well, what could you expect me to think? He had his hand on your shoulder as though you were veritable bosom bows.''

  "But of course. I had just presented him with Diccon's notebook."

  "You—Oh, you never did?"

  In her dismay she halted, and halting also, he said with a grin, "It so happens, my doubting friend, that I also carry a little notebook. Luckily, I was able to copy most of what Diccon's had contained and to, ah, revise his a trifle, before I handed it over."

  "Oh!'' Exuberant, she flung her arms about him and gave him a strong hug. "How simply splendid!"

  Redmond lau
ghed softly, and looking down at her curls, caught in the light of the candle he'd hurriedly swung aside, he noted again that they were quite pretty. Like spun gold, in fact.

  Recollecting herself, Charity flushed scarlet and stepped back, but she persevered. "What did you do with your own notebook? If Claude should find it—"

  "Never mind about that. Tell me this, ma'am. Those carrion who stole you. Did they, er, I mean, were you… mistreated?"

  He looked very grim now. Grateful, she said, "How kind in you to ask. Actually, I was fortunate in a way. They thought I was Rachel, you see, and Claude did not want anything to harm her before the babe was born.''

  One dark eyebrow lifted. "Did he not, by God! So it was Leith's child he was after!" He whistled softly. "A good hater is our Claude!"

  Charity nodded, and they walked on in silence. Suddenly, to his surprise, Charity gave a little ripple of laughter. In response to his curious glance, she said, "I just realized what you said—the Emperor of the Darrochs—such a good name for him."

  Redmond stared at her, then said gravely, "You are a remarkable girl, Miss Strand. Between us, I pray we may contrive so that these miserable islands become the sum total of Claude's kingdom." Little Patches suddenly shot between them and raced ahead towards the stone stairs."I came down here on the chance of discovering something," Redmond went on. "But to no purpose. Have you learnt anything of Claude's plans?"

  "Yes. I expect you already know most of it. For instance, that he means to murder the Regent."

  "So Diccon was right! Please go on, I've not been a great success as a spy, I fear. Claude's been a touch close-mouthed with me." He grinned. "Don't think he trusts me yet."

  "And will trust you less if Guy tells him who you really are."

  "Aha, Guy's here, is he? I was afraid he was the kinsman Claude referred to."

  "Thanks to me, he knows you're here now." Distressed, Charity met his startled glance. "Guy is an old and dear friend. I know he would help me if he could, and he swears he will allow no harm to come to me. He was with me when I warned the boy not to recognize you. I should have thought— But I feel so safe with Guy. Only, something he said later…" She bit her lip. "Oh, I do so wish I hadn't identified you. I should've had more sense!"

  "It wouldn't have made much difference. He's sure to see me, sooner or later. Unhappily, I'm known to him—to many of Claude's people, in fact."

  "And yet you came. How mad of you! But thank God you did. Now, let me tell you as much as I know." As quickly and concisely as possible, she put Redmond in possession of what she had learnt. At the finish, he was very quiet, his face set in stern lines. Abruptly, he swept her a low bow. "Miss Strand, I salute you. You are a spy par excellence! Now I think we must reappear before we're missed. You go first-take your ravening beast, and if you're questioned, explain that you were searching for her. One thing, you are perfectly sure of this Lion? He sounds suspiciously similar to a lad named Dick whom I caught lurking about your home in Sussex."

  "I'd not be surprised. But there is much of good in him. As there is in Guy…" She broke off, then said distractedly, "How terrifying it all is! I scarce dare think of what will happen if Guy feels bound to tell Claude—"

  "Then don't think of it," he said bracingly. "Guy is of a different mould to Claude, thank God! Perhaps he will not betray us. Go! Off with you, now."

  Hesitating, her anxious gaze upon him, she asked, "But, what do you mean to do?"

  A wry smile touched his mouth. "Jove, do you fancy I'm ready with a plan of campaign like our superb Wellington? I must disappoint you again, for I am a mere mortal man!''

  "But—but you must have some plan?"

  "Only to leave this island paradise. Today, if possible, since we cannot go yesterday."

  "Oh. How?"

  "Madam, begone!"

  But as she turned and reluctantly started away, he added in a penetrating whisper, "I don't know how. We shall just have to play the cards as they are dealt. And—pray!"

  Chapter 12

  Charity returned Little Patches to her suite without incident, went back downstairs, and followed the sounds of conversation and laughter into a lavishly decorated salon, rich with crimson velvet, crystal chandeliers, thick rugs, and gold draperies. Quite a crowd was gathered, but the moment she entered Claude was at her elbow and she was introduced to a succession of cold-eyed men, most of whom, in some capacity or other, were his employees. Amazed by his effrontery, she looked up to find him regarding her in amused expectation. He bent to her ear. "Aren't you going to cry out for help? It would be so diverting."

  She clenched her hands and tossed her chin a little higher, but said nothing.

  "Admirable," he said with a chuckle. "Such poise, such dignity. I vow, Monsieur Rivers, the women of your land may look sweetly soft, but they have the core of steel."

  Charity darted a glance at Redmond as he sauntered up, impressive in shades of grey. He sneered at Claude's remark, but she did not hear his answer. That he should be present in such a gathering horrified her, and the ensuing two hours became an interminable nightmare. The food was served buffet-style, and people seemed to drift in and out unannounced, so that she was in constant dread lest someone arrive who knew him. If Redmond shared her apprehensions, he gave no sign of it, apparently thoroughly enjoying himself, and so relaxed and at ease that she began to seethe with irritation because he did not have the sense to take himself out of so perilous a situation and retreat to a quiet corner where he could be unobserved.

  Meanwhile, Charity did not lack for company. Many of these mercenaries sought her out since she was one of very few ladies present. When they discovered that she ignored them, however, they soon gave up, and moved on to more congenial company. As she had expected, the food was superb, but she had no appetite, contenting herself with a small puff pasty and a glass of lemonade. She had to fight to conceal her anxieties and to avoid seeking out Redmond's dark head, easily discernible above the crowd. She thought she was succeeding until a suave voice murmured, "Your countryman fascinates you notwithstanding, mademoiselle?"

  She stiffened. "If one could be said to be fascinated by evil, monsieur."

  Sanguinet offered a glass of ratafia and handed her plate to a hovering lackey. "You eat like the little bird," he scolded. "I shall instruct my chef to prepare a very British dinner especially to tempt your appetite.''

  She reminded him that she was a notoriously small eater, and then came near to fainting.

  Guy Sanguinet strolled into the room. His eyes flickered over the gathering and stopped abruptly when they came to Redmond. As though he sensed that he was being watched, Redmond glanced around. Charity's blood seemed to congeal ; she found it difficult to breathe as the seconds stretched into an eternity. Still the two men looked at each other in a silence that became excruciating. Surely, she thought, everyone else in the room must be aware of this tense confrontation. Guy would denounce Redmond. He must, or betray his brother by remaining silent, which he had said he would not do. And then Redmond turned away, Guy wandered over to a group of sea captains at the buffet table, and Charity could breathe again. Astonishingly, no one seemed to have noticed anything out of the way. Claude was chatting with a distinguished older gentleman at a side table. Charity breathed a silent prayer of thanks and took a healthy gulp at her wine.

  Trying to recover her equanimity and watching the occupants of this luxurious room, she thought how extraordinary was this gathering. Most of these men must be aware of the terrible events that were even now being set in motion; certainly, they knew she was a prisoner here. Perhaps that was why so many avoided her eyes. Perhaps, as ruthless as they might be, to see a lady so blatantly held captive was too much for them to face without shame. Some of those whom Claude had presented had murmured acknowledgements in French, and for them she did not feel such scorn. They might truly believe Claude could prevail and bring their ancient enemy crashing down into defeat at last. However base their actions, they were not treasonable. Bu
t the Britons she could not excuse. Even if they despised the Hanoverian succession, they must know Claude for the murdering madman that he was; they must suspect his ultimate ambitions, yet they followed him, lured, she supposed, by his gold rather than by his cause.

  Claude was talking to Redmond again. Poor Redmond, she thought. He must be seething with frustration. He had made his way here against tremendous odds, learnt everything he had come to learn, only to be trapped and powerless to get away.

  They came over to her, Guy, looking sombre, bringing up the rear. She had hoped that Claude would be unable to conduct his promised tour of the castle. He had once taken Rachel through his superb chateau in Dinan; Charity had been spared the experience because she'd been confined to an invalid chair at that time, but Rachel's description of Claude's pride in his possessions had been sufficient to convince her she never desired such a doubtful pleasure. It had, it developed, been a pleasure deferred. Claude offered his arm as he commenced the tour. Reluctantly, Charity stood, but she did not take his arm. He apologized with a crafty smile for "Mr. Rivers' " presence, explaining that the Englishman had expressed a desire to be allowed to accompany them. They set out.

  An hour later, Claude had ushered them through a wearying succession of elaborately restored salons, lounges, bedchambers, and suites; the kitchens and stillroom; the various dining rooms, galleries, ante-rooms, game room, and an enormous music room. Charity's fascination with antiquity was dulled by her other preoccupations, but she could not fail to be amazed by the amount of time and money that had been expended on a structure that Claude admitted he had no wish to see again once his coup was accomplished. To brag of his possessions and his achievements delighted him, and he discoursed at length upon the history of the castle which had, he said, been constructed in the twelfth century by a deposed Scots clan chieftain.