Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  ''And so became a sergeant. I see. And were you able to 'smoke him out' before the battle?"

  ''Fortunately, I was. During the battle."

  The empty look had come into his eyes at that memory, and seeing it, Marietta said, "There is a story there, I think."

  ''Yes, ma'am. Perhaps you will permit that I tell it to you— sometime?"

  He sounded so hopeful. Almost, she was lured into a smile, but then she remembered, and said hurriedly, "I had prefer that you tell me—" And she paused, for she had no real right to demand information about a family matter.

  Diccon watched the swiftly changing play of emotion on the face that had become for him the epitome of feminine beauty. "You want to know if I have really murdered my mother."

  Her eyes shot to his with an eagerness that both angered him and warmed his heart. He said grimly, "I see my dear stepbrother has been spreading his vitriol."

  Marietta frowned. "Mr. Coville is understandably anxious for the lady."

  He gave a shout of bitter laughter. "Oh, understandably! Good grief, madam, can you really believe that of me?"

  He had stopped walking. She stopped also, and searching his face, said hesitantly, "I can believe that if someone were spreading such untruths about my brother, he would call them out in an instant!"

  ''Then—you know them for untruths? Marietta," he stepped closer to her, "is that what you're saying?"

  That dreadful silver flame was in his eyes again, frightening her yet making her heart thunder with excitement. She said, "How can I know anything except—except that you do not deny it?"

  He caught her hand and drew her closer, demanding huskily, "Can you look into my eyes and judge me capable of such a thing? Can you?"

  She tried to steel herself against the tenderness that was so clear to see, but her attempt to break away was feeble in the extreme. It was all wrong, she thought in desperation. Blake should be looking at her in this unnerving way. Blake should be the one to make her heart pound so violently. He was the man who could provide for her family. Not this man of mystery who was so enigmatic and intense about things, and who lacked Blake's looks and light-hearted charm. Yet Diccon had shown unexpected depths of kindness, and of a strength that would be such a bulwark against the world for the lucky lady who— She thought, 'Good gracious!' and struggling to hold on to common sense, heard again Coville's sombre words, "He is the most dangerous man I have ever known."

  ''Even if I did not believe it," she said, turning her head away, "so long as you do not speak up, my family must have doubts. Who are we to believe? Sir Gavin and Mr. Coville have been most kind to us. Why would they lie about such a dreadful thing? Why even tell us of it? We are not long-time friends."

  He relaxed his hold on her hand. "But you live very close to Lanterns, Miss Marietta. I'll warrant my step-father desired you to keep him informed of what goes on at the manor."

  It was true. Walking on slowly, she said, "But if they wanted to watch Lanterns, why would they have leased us the dower house in the first place? Why not stay there themselves?"

  ''Probably because I had not at that time loomed as a threat on their horizon."

  Shocked, she said, "How do you constitute a threat? Sir Gavin is a very wealthy gentleman, and—" She bit her lip and did not finish the sentence.

  ''And Lanterns is a ruin and I am very far from being wealthy?" He nodded. "Quite. And I forget my manners. It is very bad form to slander members of one's own family behind their backs. Therefore, ma'am, I must say no more, and can only beg you to believe that as God be my judge I never have, and never will, I pray, harm a lady."

  Troubled, she was silent.

  He touched her hand tentatively, and she stopped once more and faced him.

  ''Will you trust me, ma'am? May I be permitted to see the dauntless Outlaw of Sherwood Forest again? And… and your— very lovely—self?"

  Marietta hesitated. Surely, no man could meet her eyes so steadily, so worshipfully, and be a liar and a murderer? And dear little Arthur loved him so.

  ''Please?" he murmured.

  ''I shall have to speak with my father. I think I can persuade him to allow my brother to come down and see you, even if he will not permit you to come to—" She laughed suddenly. "How silly of me! It is, after all, your own house!"

  ''Not by the law of the land, Miss Marietta. The lease is signed. For its duration, Sir Lionel is the legal owner. But—I thank you for allowing me to hope."

  He took her hand and bowed over it with courtly grace.

  And went away dizzy with triumph, for she had smiled at him.

  Chapter IX

  ''I'll tell you what it is." Sir Lionel stamped into the kitchen scattering mud from his boots and raindrops from the capes of his driving coat. "That stream is more like a river than—"

  ''Papa! My dumplings!" squealed Fanny.

  ''Eh?" He paused to stare at her.

  She bent protectively over her bowl of dough. "You're dripping all over them."

  ''Oh. Sorry, Fan." He sniffed. "Jove, that smells good! Stew for lunch? Stew's common, so Dale says. But to my mind, it's always good on a rainy day."

  Marietta came to help him out of his coat. "Did you find what you needed in Eastbourne, sir?"

  ''I did." He dug an elbow in her rib and winked like a mischievous schoolboy. "And won't your aunt be surprised!"

  Standing at the stove and prodding a reluctant prospective dumpling from the spoon while watching her father expectantly, Fanny asked, "What kind of surprise, Papa?"

  ''It missed the pot!" exclaimed Marietta. "Shoo! Go away, Friar Tuck!"

  Mrs. Cordova hurried into the kitchen, having kicked off her pattens in the scullery but with her voluminous cloak scattering even more raindrops. "Such a dreadful time I had with that wretched Maitland woman," she wailed. "And I have— Why are we feeding raw dumplings to Friar Tuck?"

  ''Be dashed if the stupid animal ain't lapping it up," said Sir Lionel, intrigued.

  ''Then he must go out, for he will be sick." Mrs. Cordova flung off her cloak revealing Madame Olympias' spangled wrapper beneath it. "Come, puss!"

  ''Why must Friar Tuck be thrown out in the rain?" protested Arthur, joining the group.

  ''Because your sister will persist in giving him scraps," said Mrs. Cordova, ejecting the annoyed Friar. "And I will tell you, Warrington, that your would-be lady is extreme irked, so you may expect her brother to come demanding payment at his first opportunity."

  ''Oh, egad!" moaned Sir Lionel, sweeping her discarded cloak from a chair and clutching it as he sat down. "What have you done now?"

  ''I have done nothing." She retrieved the cloak and shook it out, drawing a howl from her inundated brother-in-law and another shriek from Fanny. "Madame Olympias, however, has saved you from matrimony. For the moment, at least."

  ''Did the widow arrange for a reading?" asked Marietta. "I wonder she did not come here to see you, Papa. Whatever did you tell her, Aunty?"

  ''Madame Olympias looked into the Mystical Window Through Time—" said Mrs. Cordova with dignity.

  ''You mean that silly little crystal ball," scoffed Sir Lionel.

  ''—And told her that she will never be Lady Lionel Warrington," she went on, ignoring him. "I quite thought," she added musingly, "that she was going to strangle me."

  Cheered, he said, "By Jove, now that was well done!"

  Arthur tugged at Marietta's skirt and hissed, "Has you asked him about Major Diccon?"

  ''What about that—that lying renegade?" demanded Sir Lionel, his eyes sparking.

  Arthur looked scared and went outside mumbling that he was going to see if Friar Tuck had gone into the barn.

  Following him to the door, Mrs. Cordova called, "Take an umbrella!" then moaned as the boy ran across the side yard carrying a closed umbrella.

  ''Well? Did our smuggling peer dare show his face at my door?" asked Sir Lionel.

  ''On his own property?" said Marietta demurely.

  ''Dash it all, girl,"
he snorted. "Why must you defend the rogue? If I thought—"

  ''Marietta Paisley, Baroness Temple and Cloud," trilled Mrs. Cordova. "It has a ring, Warrington. You cannot deny it has a ring."

  ''Not if he refuses the title," Fanny pointed out. "Oh, dear! Where ever is my lid?"

  ''And not the ring of gold," said Sir Lionel. "Yes, you will say that sounds vulgar, but if he is not pockets-to-let why would he have abducted his mama?"

  ''I must have the lid, or the dumplings will be ruined," wailed Fanny, searching.

  ''He did not abduct the lady," said Marietta, carrying a jug of milk from the pantry.

  ''He told you that?" asked her father.

  ''Yes. I asked him if the rumours speak truth, and he gave me his solemn oath that he has never harmed a lady in his life."

  ''Evasion number ninety-three," muttered Fanny.

  Marietta frowned, then said, "Oh—Aunty has your saucepan-lid, Fan."

  ''His solemn oath?" Sir Lionel pursed his lips. "Hmm."

  Fanny attempted to appropriate the large iron lid that Mrs. Cordova held and was gazing at dreamily. "Aunty Dova? May I have my lid please?"

  ''Oh dear, oh dear!" sighed Mrs. Cordova, relinquishing it. " 'Double, double, toil and trouble.' "

  ''Is that so?" growled Sir Lionel, linking this remark with Major Diccon's questionable character. "Well, I'm not surprised."

  Fanny hurried to put the lid over her stew, then turned to scan her aunt uneasily.

  Also recognizing the signs, Marietta asked, "What else did you see in your Mystical Window, Aunty?"

  Mrs. Cordova gave her a tragic look. " 'Something wicked this way comes.' "

  ''Is it the widow?" cried Sir Lionel, with the air of a cornered rabbit.

  ''I must warn his lordship," muttered Mrs. Cordova worriedly.

  ''Egad!" exclaimed Sir Lionel. "Is she after him too? He's too young for her, by more'n a decade I'd think."

  Marietta entered this fragmented conversation to ask sharply, "Which lordship?"

  It was a question not destined to be answered. From the side yard came a clattering of hooves, and an exuberant shout of "House, ho!"

  For an instant nobody moved. Then they heard Arthur scream, "Eric!"

  ''By George!" exclaimed Sir Lionel, springing up. "The boy's home!"

  The back door burst open. Eric Warrington, a tall, good-looking young man with abundant chestnut hair and a pair of merry blue eyes, hurried in to be embraced, kissed, slapped on the back, and welcomed with an outpouring of love and joy. As usual, the heir brought with him a vibrant aura of energy and enthusiasm so that the household seemed stirred to a new excitement. Arthur was swept to his brother's shoulder. All the ladies were pronounced diamonds of the first water, Sir Lionel was "looking very fit," and Eric announced that he had "squeaked away from Cambridge" to attend to a pressing matter of business. Yes, this was a new coat, and they would like to see his new jacket, the tails were more sloping now, and most fellows wore pantaloons these days. But never mind about all that, they must come outside and see something. "And," he said with glowing pride, "one or two little surprises."

  In the yard a large surprise awaited. Lem Bridger was admiring a team of matched bays harnessed to a neat and fast-looking closed chaise. They all stared, struck to silence.

  Marietta was first to recover her voice. "What a dashing coach. Have you hired it, dear?"

  ''No such thing! It's mine! Ain't it splendid? Do come and see!"

  Bewildered, they gathered in the rain to admire the coach-work, the springs, the large wheels, the luxurious red-and-white interior, thick rugs, and fat squabs. "Tooled it down here myself," said Eric, ignoring their astounded expressions and adding with a fine nonchalance, "But I mean to take on a servant who will also be my coachman. How do you like the hacks, sir? Bought them off a poor fellow who had a beastly run of luck at the tables and has the tipstaffs after him."

  Agreeing that the team was also splendid, Sir Lionel asked uneasily, "On tick, m'boy?"

  ''No, sir! I owe not a groat. It's all paid for! And only see what we have here!"

  The rug was folded back to reveal a pile of gaily wrapped parcels. "For all of you," cried Eric, beaming. "Come, help me carry them. See to the team, please, Lem. You've some real bloodstock to care for again! The thing is," he went on gaily, handing out parcels to be carried to the house, "I had the most fabulous piece of luck on a race between Galen Hilby and Freddy Foster. You likely heard of it. I chanced to have some inside knowledge, and risked every penny of my summer earnings. And I won! Oh, I can scarce wait to show you what I've brought! Hurry and let's get out of the rain!"

  Following the others to the steps, laden, Marietta said happily, "How glad I am that this is not the 'something wicked' you spoke of, Aunty."

  Mrs. Cordova, who doted on her eldest nephew said, "And I, my love. Bless his heart, he fairly radiates joie de vivre. But we must keep our wits about us, Etta, for the wickedness is coming. Oh, yes. It surely is coming!"

  Marietta hummed softly as she stood before the cheval-glass in her bedchamber and surveyed her reflection. The white taffeta gown trimmed with pink embroidery fit perfectly, and the bell-shaped skirt was in the very latest style. She added the matching pink manteau; lined with white silk, it fell to her ankles and had wide pink ribbons to be tied in a bow at one shoulder. Taking up the dainty circular fan of white lace with gold sticks, she fanned herself gently. "You look very fine, Miss Warrington of Warrington Hall," she advised, with a curtsy to the mirror. There were elbow-length white gloves also, and a beautifully embroidered reticule. She touched the reticule with one fingertip and sat on the bed, gazing at it.

  The day had been almost like Christmas-time. Over luncheon Eric had answered their eager questions about friends and the famous in London. Afterwards, he had presented his gifts, and enjoyed their excitement. Fanny had been radiant, promenading around the drawing room displaying her exquisite shawl of Norwich silk and the pearl necklace and matching earrings and bracelet. There had been a hat of the very latest curly brimmed style, and a fine new tool set for Papa; Arthur had been rendered speechless with delight by a large box of toy soldiers and an hussar's uniform, complete with a plumed helmet; Aunty Dova had declared she was ready to swoon with joy when Eric presented her with a lilac silk parasol trimmed with black lace, and a most fetching lilac bonnet over which three large feathers waved proudly.

  At dinner, when Arthur was in bed, Eric had told them more about his wonderful wager, and had thrilled them with a description of the horse race which sounded to have been rather a desperate affair. Later, in the drawing room, he'd regaled them with amusing anecdotes about University life and had made them all laugh by describing the plight of the hapless students cramming for their examinations and of his noble forbearance when they were "so stupid as to defy belief." Clearly, he had much to discuss with his father, and very soon after tea the ladies had gone up to bed to admire their various treasures in private.

  It had been a long and eventful day, and Marietta was sleepy, but she did not change into her night rail, crossing instead to open the casement and look into the darkness. The air was cold and it was raining steadily. She knelt in the window-seat and leaned out a little so as to feel raindrops on her cheeks. Her windows faced south and she thought to see a little light far down the slope, near the cliffs. It would seem that Major Mallory Diccon Paisley was still up. Her thoughts drifted to their encounter this morning; the firm clasp of his hand; the light eyes that could be so cold or so tender or suddenly take on that devastating glow. The memory made her shiver.

  The curtains billowed.

  Eric said softly, "Small wonder you're cold. Are you wits to let, my best of sisters?"

  He closed the door, and she pulled the casement shut then ran to hug him and thank him once more for her "lovely finery."

  ''It becomes you," he said with a fond smile. "I'm glad you modelled it for me. Did you know I meant to come up to talk?"

  ''I thought yo
u might, as you were used to do." She took off the manteau and laid it on the bed carefully, then sat beside him at the empty hearth. "It's so wonderful to have you home again, dearest. I suppose we must not hope that you mean to stay for long?"

  ''No, I cannot. But long enough to give you what I really came for." He said boyishly, "Close your eyes and put out your hands."

  Obeying, she protested, "Not another present? You've given me too much al—" The feel of what now reposed in her cupped hands silenced her. She opened her eyes and stared at a thick pile of banknotes. Looking into her brother's solemn face wonderingly, she faltered, "Why—there must be…"

  ''A hundred pounds," he said with an emphatic nod. "And there'll be more, Etta, I promise you! I would have given it to Papa, only—well, where money's concerned, I'd sooner you were the one to dole out the dibs."

  She ga:ed down at the notes she held. There would be enough now to pay the many bills she'd had to shuffle about, and to complete the tuition fees for Arnold. To be given such a sum was providential, but— "I—I don't know what to say. You are so good." And with a searching glance at him, "How can there be more? Surely, wagering must be extreme risky business?"

  He laughed, took the notes and went to put them on her dressing table. "I knew that was coming. My Etta. Always the sensible one, yet you manage to look so pretty that a fellow would never guess you'd a brain in your head." Sitting down again, he pulled his chair closer. "No, I do not mean to gamble anymore. I've been offered a chance to make a good deal of money handling the investments of several gentlemen. You know I was always quick at arithmetic. I've a little capital left from my wager, and soon I'll be able to invest on my own account."