Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  ''You play splendidly. You must know I mean to demand that you play for us at the dower house. Unless—" She hesitated and added with care, "Am I intruding on very personal ground? If so, I beg pardon."

  At once his expression lightened. "How could I be anything but pleased? Amateur musicians love a captive audience, you know."

  ''Your performance just now did not sound in the least amateurish. How is the piece called?"

  ''The Honourable.'' I wrote it for Sir John Moore, who was one of the most truly honourable gentlemen I have ever known."

  Marietta stopped walking and put an impulsive hand on his arm. "You composed that beautiful music?"

  He nodded, her admiration causing his lean cheeks to flush with pleasure.

  ''But—how wonderful! What a great gift! Is that why you stay here, all alone? To concentrate on your composing? What else have you written? Oh, I must hear it all!"

  ''I'm afraid you have, ma'am. At least, that is my only concert piece."

  Bewildered, she said, "But—why? How could you have thrown away such talent in exchange for a military life? You should have studied with a famous composer, or at some great school of music, like—like that university in… in Paris is it?"

  ''Can you mean the Sorbonne, perhaps?"

  ''Yes, that's the place."

  Briefly, his long fingers covered the small hand on his arm. He said huskily, "How kind you are. Thank you. That was my dream, certainly. But—life has a way of rearranging dreams, alas." He paused, as if again viewing a past only he could see, then he said brightly, "Do not be thinking me a failure, however. A few friends are willing to let me play for them now and then. Mr. Fox doesn't mind, and Orpheus is a true afficionado." His eyes met hers. He said with a little hesitancy, "If I dare believe that my music has pleased you, then I have scored a—a true triumph."

  ''It has indeed pleased me, Major. Now, do you mean to tell me who was inside the manor?"

  Gazing down at her, he muttered, "What? Oh! My man has returned. MacDougall is my good friend as well as my servant. You must come and meet him. He's going to fetch tea into the garden for us."

  Amused by his proprietary air, she said, "That would be nice, but I wonder what Lord Temple and Cloud would think of us trespassing on his property like this?"

  ''Oh, I doubt he would object."

  ''Easy to say, sir. But suppose he should come riding in this very moment? Then what would you say?"

  ''I would likely be speechless with astonishment. To the best of my knowledge no peer of the realm has set foot on the place for more than a decade."

  ''He has been abroad, so I was told. But I should warn you that he is back in London and likely to come down here very soon."

  ''Really?" He looked at her thoughtfully, then asked, "Will this suit for our tea party, ma'am?"

  A blanket had been spread on the weedy turf that once had been lawns, and a sturdy, rather dour-looking man, probably in his late forties and very neat in a dark brown habit, was setting a laden tray on a stool.

  ''Oh, lovely," said Marietta, undaunted by thick mugs, a tin teapot, and a chipped plate piled with bread and butter.

  Diccon said wryly, "Far from a fashionable party, I'm afraid. But I think you'll find the tea worthwhile."

  ''However illegal," she murmured. "But never fear, I have lived in Sussex long enough to ask no questions."

  ''In which case you may enjoy your tea with a clear conscience. Over here, Mac! I must make you known to Miss Marietta Warrington. Micah MacDougall, ma'am. Sir Lionel Warrington and his family are leasing the dower house, Mac. And you had best set me straight on something since you know all the ton gossip. Is Lord Temple and Cloud in London?"

  Having jerked a stiff bow to the young beauty who smiled at him so charmingly, MacDougall directed a level stare at his master. "Tae the best o' my knowledge, Major, he isnae."

  Marietta said, "If he has left Town it must be all the more likely he means to come here, no?"

  ''Nae, Miss Warrington. I fancy Lanterns willnae see Lord Temple and Cloud again. I'll tend tae the hacks, sir." A curt bow and the Scot strode away.

  Marietta sat on the blanket and looked after him curiously.

  ''I wonder how he could possibly know that. Servant hall gossip?"

  ''Undoubtedly. It spreads like wildfire and is usually infallible."

  Perhaps it was, she thought, yet it did not match what Sir Gavin Coville and his son had said.

  Diccon sat beside her and she poured the tea, spread damson jam on a thick slice of bread and butter, and, perhaps because she was out in the clear sunlit air, found both exceptionally delicious. The moments flew while they chatted easily, discovering a shared love of children and music, the paintings of that rather odd but brilliant gentleman, Joseph Turner, and a difference of opinion over the prospect of a steamship ever crossing the Atlantic Ocean without sails, which Marietta thought unlikely and Diccon was sure would be accomplished within a few years. After a short companionable silence, she asked if he really was at Lanterns to try and find the legendary Sigh of Saladin, and what he knew of it.

  ''Not a great deal," he admitted. "You may be sure I'd be delighted to find the pretty thing, but what I was able to learn is very likely one part fact and ninety-nine parts fiction. When you consider how rumours fly around London Town and are embellished and enlarged upon in only a few hours, you can imagine how a tale would become distorted over six centuries."

  ''But legend says that it is a picture comprised entirely of gems and framed in solid gold—true?"

  He nodded. "Supposedly captured from under Saladin's nose by Lord Simon Cloud during the Third Crusade, brought to Lanterns, and then lost again while the manor was under attack by the French. Some stories have it that Saladin himself sent emissaries here to try and retrieve it."

  Refilling his cup, she said, "With his great wealth, I wonder that the sultan would have gone to so much trouble over one small picture."

  ''Because it was a national treasure, ma'am. Entrusted to his keeping. He was reputed to be a proud and honourable gentleman and counted it a shameful blot on his character that he had failed his trust. That is why they named it The Sigh of Saladin, you see."

  She finished her tea and was quiet for a little while, drowsily content, thinking of the mighty sultan and the treasure he had lost. She roused when Diccon waved a bee from her hair. "I wonder," she said, "if it will ever be found."

  ''If it is, the finder will be a very wealthy man. And his children and grandchildren after him, I'd guess." He added with a grin, "If he's not murdered for it! Only find an object of great beauty and you also find an army of cut-throats ready to take it away."

  ''You had to spoil the romance! And I must get home, Major." Smiling, she reached out and he sprang up to help her to her feet. She asked, "Are you sure you won't stay with us for another few days? You cannot be very comfortable here."

  He thanked her, but said that MacDougall could make a frozen ditch comfortable, and that he had work that must be done. He insisted on riding back with her, however. She said little on the return journey, and he suspected she was thinking of the lost Sigh of Saladin.

  Actually, Marietta's thoughts were on Sir Gavin Coville and his son. If their suspicions were true and Temple and Cloud really did mean to come to Lanterns, Major Diccon could very well be in great trouble. To trespass in a peer's home would be punishable by transportation, at least. And if his lordship should discover Diccon's smuggling activities, the death penalty would certainly be imposed. She stole a glance at the man beside her. He rode with lithe ease and appeared to be relaxed but she experienced again the sense of leashed power. In his business he had undoubtedly learned how to take care of himself. Yves had said that the Major "should have been dead many times" but always survived. She hoped fervently that his luck would continue.

  They rode into the stableyard at the dower house and Diccon swung from the saddle, and walked around to lift her down.

  A familiar voice called
her name. Marietta's heart gave a little leap and she turned to see Blake Coville stride across the yard to greet her.

  His eager look faded into an almost ludicrous disbelief. Staring at Diccon, he cried, "You! I thought you were still at your friend's convent!"

  Turning in bewilderment, Marietta saw that Diccon's head was high, and on his face the forbidding hauteur she had seen when first they met. He said icily, "I am very sure you did!"

  'You are—acquainted?" asked Marietta.

  'To my sorrow, ma'am," said Diccon. "I suppose I should have—"

  ''Allow me to present my step-brother," shouted Coville with fierce hostility. "The ignoble Mallory Diccon Paisley, Lord Temple and Cloud!"

  Chapter VIII

  It seemed to Marietta that for an instant everything was as if frozen. The mellow sunlight was as bright, the sky as deeply blue, while they all stood like so many statues: Coville slightly crouching, his face distorted with passion; Diccon straight and proud, his eyes meeting her shocked gaze steadily; Aunty Dova, who had come out onto the back step, smiling an empty smile.

  Finding her voice somehow, Marietta said threadily, "It's not true! It cannot be true! You couldn't… you wouldn't lie to us like that."

  ''Oh, would he not!" Striding to face his step-brother Coville demanded, "Where is she, you merciless rogue? What have you done with Lady Pamela?"

  Ignoring him, Diccon said, "Miss Warrington, I have not lied to you, I only—"

  ''Attend me, damn you!" shouted Coville.

  Diccon's eyes narrowed and turned on him, glinting oddly. He said with soft but ineffable menace, "You had best hope I do not."

  Coville drew back a little, then, to Marietta's astonishment, turned and ran past Mrs. Cordova and into the house.

  ''He has gone to get his courage," said Diccon contemptuously. "Miss Warrington, if I did not tell you everything about myself, it was—"

  She felt betrayed and foolish, and deeply hurt, and she interrupted, "It was deliberate deception from the start! You knew very well who I was and where we lived!"

  ''No."

  'You said your name was Diccon."

  ''So it is. Your father did not give me time to finish my introduction, and—"

  ''You neglected to add the rest of it! Why? To amuse yourself? You stayed in our home, pretending to be a poverty-stricken free-trader, and all the while knowing you own this house! Did you enjoy laughing at us? Was that a very funny joke, Major? Ah, but I forget, your rank is only another of your lies! Mr. Williard's groom named you sergeant, and I was so trustingly stupid as to believe—"

  ''No!" He caught her by the arms and said desperately, "Listen! Marietta, you must listen! I've been—"

  She wrenched free. "Do not dare to touch me! Will you deny telling me this very afternoon that no peer had visited Lanterns for many years?"

  ''No, but—"

  ''Do you deny that your ancestral title is Lord Temple and Cloud?"

  His lips tightened. He said stormily, "If you will stop firing off accusations at me, and listen for—"

  ''Stand away from him, ma'am!"

  Mrs. Cordova had gone. Blake Coville stood alone on the steps, a long-barrelled duelling pistol aimed steadily at Diccon's back.

  Horrified, Marietta cried, "Don't! Oh, for pity's sake—do not!"

  Without so much as a glance at Coville, Diccon said, "Never fear, Miss Marietta, it's just so much bravado. He'd not dare shoot me."

  ''Do not refine on that," said Coville grittily. "If you don't tell me what you've done with Lady Pamela, I'll be more than justified to—"

  ''To shoot me in the back? And before ladies?" Diccon swung around and began to walk slowly towards that deadly muzzle. "You're very free with your unproven accusations. Now try if you've the gumption to shoot an unarmed man while you look him in the eye!"

  Coville set his teeth and took aim.

  Watching his face, her breath held in check, Marietta suddenly ran forward and threw herself between the two men.

  Startled, Coville's grip tightened instinctively.

  Diccon threw Marietta aside even as the shot fragmented the silence. The ball burned a hole through his sleeve. With a leap he was atop the steps. His left hand smashed the pistol from Coville's grasp; his right, in a hard backhanded swipe, sent the man sprawling. "Murderous carrion!" he snarled, and ran to help Marietta to her feet, then grip her shoulders and shake her hard. Through his teeth, he said, "Do not—ever—do such a stupid thing again! Are you all right?"

  Shocked and enraged, her voice was shrill as she answered, "No thanks to your silly heroics! Accusing me of stupidity, when you walked straight at a loaded gun! If ever I heard of such—"

  ''What a'God's name are you about?" Sir Lionel burst from the kitchen followed by his sister-in-law and a white-faced Fanny. "Fighting before ladies? Have you quite forgot your manners, gentlemen?"

  Running to throw her arms about her sister, Fanny asked, "Are you hurt, dearest?"

  Marietta shook her head, but clung to her, trembling from the reaction.

  Over-riding Diccon's attempt to respond, Sir Lionel shouted, "I will ask that you leave my house at once, Major!"

  Coville picked himself up and said, "You'd best have a care, sir, or his lordship might revoke your lease."

  Sir Lionel stared at him.

  Mrs. Cordova danced down the steps and sang in her shrill wavering voice, "Our Diccon is a baron; an old name and proud. Our Diccon, brother dear, is Lord Temple and Cloud."

  'Wh-what… ?" gasped Sir Lionel, his eyes goggling.

  "And his lordship is just leaving," said Marietta. Diccon scanned her scornful face and, without another word, mounted up and rode from the yard.

  ''I never trusted him," declared Fanny with vehemence. "Never!"

  Marietta, who was already tired of that remark, said nothing.

  ''That is because you are afraid of him," said Mrs. Cordova, knowingly. "You have something of me in you, my love. You can sense the danger of the man."

  A small fire had been lit in the drawing room and the three ladies were gathered around the hearth. Blake Coville and Sir Lionel were still in the dining room, lingering over their wine and cheese. Coville had blamed his loss of control on his anxieties for Lady Pamela Coville, and admitted shamefacedly that he should never have brought the pistol outside with ladies present. He had not meant to shoot, he insisted, but the hair-trigger needed only the slightest pressure and when Marietta had run in front of him, the shock had caused his grip to tighten just sufficiently to make it fire. He knew his conduct had been reprehensible and could easily have resulted in a tragedy. The very thought unmanned him, and he'd apologized so humbly to Marietta that tears had come into his eyes. He had been forgiven and invited to stay for dinner, an invitation he'd accepted gladly.

  Marietta had been petted and praised, becoming quite the heroine of the deadly incident. In private she was congratulated because Mr. Coville had returned apparently as enamoured of her as before. But, although her nerves were calmer now, she felt depressed and unhappy. Her aunt's words irked her, and she said, "Why either of you should be afraid of the Major, I cannot think. He deceived us certainly, and told the most dreadful untruths, which is past forgiving. But I won't believe he meant us harm."

  ''He harmed Arthur," said Fanny stubbornly.

  ''You know that was unintentional, and he has since made the boy very happy. Indeed, what we are to tell the little fellow, I do not know. He'll miss Diccon so."

  Mrs. Cordova nodded. "Yes, he will. You can't deny that, Fan."

  ''Perhaps not," said Fanny. "But I'm very glad Mr. Coville is here again, so that Etta can put the wicked creature out of her mind."

  ''The 'wicked creature,' " said Marietta, "probably saved my life this afternoon! Had he not pushed me aside when Mr. Coville fired, I might very well have been hit."

  Fanny had been unaware of that fact. Dismayed, she exclaimed, "Then I owe him an apology, and my most fervent thanks. But—oh, dear! I still cannot
like a man who has kidnapped his poor mama."

  Marietta said, "I don't believe for a minute that he has done such a thing!"

  ''Then you believe that Sir Gavin and Blake Coville are lying?"

  ''Say, rather, that I think they must be mistaken."

  Fanny sighed, and said dubiously, "But consider all the fibs the Major has told us, and how skillfully he evades an issue if he doesn't wish to answer."

  ''Evasions, yes," admitted Marietta. "He has many faults, I admit. I'll just not believe that murder is among them. Don't you agree, Aunty?"

  Mrs. Cordova pursed her lips, leaned to whisper in "Captain Cameron's" ear, then said gravely, "I have no doubts at all, my love. He has killed. Oh, yes. Our noble landlord has killed!"

  ''Aunty!" cried Marietta, taken aback. "I thought you liked him!"

  ''But I do, child! I like him very well. Only Fan is perfectly right to be afraid of him. We all should be. He is a very dangerous man—even as his step-brother told us!"

  'Ye've got three bullet holes in ye, aside from that musket ball you hauled around in your back for yearrrs!" MacDougall's accent was very broad as he slammed a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and juicy pink slices of ham onto the kitchen table. "Ye've been knifed and beaten and had a great rogue horse trrrample ye half tae death—" As if to emphasize this unhappy inventory a bowl of buttered toast and a pot of jam joined the plate. He turned to the coffee pot that was hissing fragrantly on the hob. "And for—what?" he demanded, snatching it up. "What hae ye tae show fer all that meeserrrry? Is there never tae be an end of thumbing yer nose at Fate?"

  Diccon reached for the damson jam, his thoughts on a certain idyllic tea party. "What would you suggest?" he asked absently.

  ''I'd suggest," growled MacDougall, dashing coffee into a mug, "that ye turrrn yer back on the whole ungrrrrateful parcel of 'em! May they rot! I'd suggest," he went on, thrusting the steaming mug in front of his employer, "that we go back tae Toon, kick yon parrrasites oot o' your fine hoosie, and that ye take your place in Society as is your rrright and bounden—"

  ''You know how I feel on that subject," interrupted Diccon, an edge of impatience to his voice. "As for the town house, my hands are tied. I cannot prove my right to it without leaving myself open to immediate arrest."