Impressed, she said, "It sounds a wonderful opportunity for such a young man. But what of your studies? Shall you continue at Cambridge?"
''For a while." He looked thoughtful. "Till I am more sure of where I stand.
Marietta said intuitively, "You're worried. There's something wrong with all this, I can feel it! Dearest, if there's a danger—"
''Of course there's danger. There's always risk where large amounts are involved." As though her words had irritated him, he jumped up and paced to the window and stood there, gazing broodingly into the rainy darkness. When he spoke it was in a harsh voice she scarcely recognized. "Did you ever think how I felt, Etta? To see my father whistle our fortune down the wind? To watch our home, our carriages, our horses—everything! swept away. To lounge in the calm detachment of University life, doing nothing to help, whilst you were reduced to living down here in poverty, scrubbing and slaving, with no servants, no social life at all!" Returning to stand with his back to the hearth he gave an impatient gesture that silenced Marietta's attempt to respond. "I know how brave you are, and that you will tell me it's not so bad here. But do you think I don't see your pretty hands? Look at them, Etta! Work-roughened, the nails broken. Do you remember that ode Vespa writ for you, called 'Lovely Hands That Hold my Heart'? What would he think could he see them now?"
Marietta promptly hid the offending articles by sitting on them. She well remembered Jack Vespa, who had adored her. One of Wellington's dashing captains, his grand sense of humour and a courageous ability to pull himself up again however Fate crushed him had made him her dearest friend and most favoured suitor. She had not, she believed, ever known the mystical elation of being 'in love,' but she had loved Jack and would probably have been quite content to marry him. However, his countless offers for her hand had been sternly rejected by Papa on the grounds that he could not support her in the manner to which she was accustomed. She stifled a sigh. Poor Jack. He would have been even less able to support the whole family!
''And our beautiful little sister," continued Eric. "With so much promise. Toiling over that stove like some hapless kitchen-maid, instead of having a proper Season and making the brilliant match she deserves! Gad! It fairly makes my blood boil!"
''Yes, because you are so good, and you love us and want to help. I honour you for that, dear. But you have only to look about Town to see fine old families brought to ruin. Sad as it is, such tragedies happen every day. I won't pretend it was not rather—terrible—at the time, or that I don't miss our lovely home and the jolly life we were used to lead. But only think how fortunate we are. This is such a lovely place, and by exercising caution with our funds—"
''Funds?" He snorted disgustedly, "What funds? You had to sell nearly everything we owned to pay my father's debts."
''But I've been able to put a little in the bank, and you have worked so hard to help with school expenses, and Aunty Dova does quite well with her readings."
''You mean she hornswoggles the gullible into paying for her flim-flams and fancies! That's called charlatanism, Etta!"
''No, no! Never say so! Truly, she has a gift!"
''Aye! The gift of losing herself in delusion. Even as my father loses himself in his foolish inventions and leaves to you the task of struggling with the bills and somehow managing to keep us afloat!"
Distraught, she sprang up and ran to throw her arms around him. "Do not! Oh, Eric, you must not say such things! You know how Mama's death broke his heart and his spirit. But he loves us, my dear one, and we shall never be loved in just that same way by anyone else."
''I know." He sighed and kissed her, and, still holding her, asked gently, "And does he keep out of mischief, Etta? I stopped at the Seven Seas before I came home, and I heard some talk of a widow with ambitions in his direction. The lady must not be of very good ton, for I gather she has a brother who has boasted that he holds some sort of note from my father. Is it truth?"
''Oh, dear." She sat down again. "I'd not realized the gossipmongers had it. That wretched Mr. Williard! I admit Papa is— is not always very wise, but—"
''A masterpiece of understatement! Gaming again, is he? My God! And I have not the authority to stop him! Do you wonder that I search for a way to help? I mean to see you all back in Town, Etta. In our own home, if possible. And one way or another I'll do it, by heaven but I will!"
He looked so determined. 'He has grown up,' she thought, 'and I never noticed—never dreamed he was so bitter!' She said, "Not if it means taking risks, I beg you! Besides, I have some news also. I've an admirer, brother dear! Three, in fact! One is rich and handsome. One is rich and—and not so handsome. And one is poor and nice-looking."
He straddled the dressing table bench and grinned at her, once again her youthful, fun-loving brother. "And you mean to accept the rich and handsome one, do you? Is he the one you care for, love? Or is it a matter of expedience?"
She blushed and said shyly, "Well, to say truth he hasn't offered yet. But if he does, our problems will be over, and you won't have to worry about restoring our fortunes."
''Jolly good! Who is this young money-bags?"
''His name is Blake Coville."
''Sir Gavin Coville's heir?" His eyebrows lifted and he whistled softly. "Well, well! I've seen him about Town. He's quite the non-pareil, but—lots of handkerchiefs have been dropped for that one, Etta. 'Twould be a real feather in your cap if you could snare him. Does he call on you down here?"
''Yes. Quite often. We hired this house from Sir Gavin's steward, you will recall."
''So we did. I'd forgot. The owner's Lord Temple and Cloud, though, is he not? I wonder you haven't set your cap in that direction. Or is he a loathesome old reprobate who lurks and leers amid his ruins?"
Marietta looked at her hands. "No, dearest. He's not a loathesome old reprobate."
The tinkling of the little bell hanging over the door awoke Diccon. As always he was fully alert the instant he opened his eyes. Something had disturbed the long cord he'd strung from the old wing all the way to his bedchamber. Perhaps Friar Tuck was paying a nocturnal visit. Perhaps an enterprising rat had called. Or perhaps the rat was of the two-legged variety. And although he'd been dubbed "a revolutionary," he was sufficiently conservative to prefer to be aware of the identity of guests; especially those who arrived, uninvited, in the middle of the night. Flinging back the covers, he pulled on his breeches, snatched his new flintlock pistol from the bedside table, and hurried into the corridor. It was very dark save for the glow of the broad candle on the landing, and he raced towards that flame, the floorboards icy cold against his bare feet. Unless this was one of Imre Monteil's assassins it was unlikely that the intruder would come into the new wing, but he paused at the top of the stairs, ears straining and eyes narrowed against the gloom. There was no slightest movement, and not a sound other than the occasional flurries of the wind.
The treads of the stairs were prone to creaks, but there was a quicker method. He slid soundlessly down the banister rail and was across the great hall running to the door leading to the old wing. It was shut. He set the hair trigger on the pistol that Tathum and Egg had made for him, then lifted the latch and eased the door open. The hinges, newly oiled, did not betray him. Moving with the soundless speed for which, in some circles, he was renowned, he was inside, down the steps, and had flattened himself against the wall. It was doubtful if the glow from the 'new' stairwell would have been seen when he opened the door, but he again paused, listening intently. He heard nothing, but his keen sense of smell detected the faintest hint of difference in the air; the acrid scent that signalled the presence of an oil lamp where there should be none. So his suspicions were justified. He moved on, progressing more cautiously here, feeling his way over the debris but swearing in soft anguish as he stubbed his bare toe on a fallen chunk of masonry. He sensed rather than saw that he'd reached the original great hall. At the far end a gleam of light came and went at the top of the stairs above the minstrel gallery. Someone, he t
hought grimly, was searching for The Sigh of Saladin; someone who was undeterred by ghostly rumours or the tales of mysterious lights and wailings.
Faint as it was, the glow helped him to avoid the few pieces of furniture. He crept up the stairs, passed the minstrel gallery, and climbed to the first floor. Now the light was moving about in one of the upper rooms. This was the lantern he'd smelled, and the fact that the beam was narrowed must mean the intruder was aware that the new wing of the manor was occupied. He heard an odd, smothered sort of snuffling, as of some large beast rooting about. A familiar sound. His foot touched something small that rolled across the floor. The noise was barely perceptible but at once the lantern was extinguished and the darkness became absolute.
There was a thudding of boots, a grunting, a sense that something vast was rushing at him. There was no time to shout a warning. He fired blindly, the retort shattering the silence. A howl rang out, terrifying in its depth and fury. He was caught up in a mighty grip and swept off his feet. The arms about him tightened savagely, driving the air from his lungs. Struggling frantically to break free before his ribs were crushed, he managed to strike out with the pistol and felt it connect hard. A bestial roar and he was hurled aside. He crashed against the wall with stunning force. From a long way off Arthur's voice echoed in his ears. "Mrs. Gillespie seed a giant at the fair in Lewes." His last conscious thought was a disgusted, 'Stupid! Stupid…'
The morning dawned bright and sunny with a brisk wind stirring the trees. Mrs. Gillespie arrived punctually for once and started work on the windows. Eric took his sire and Arthur out for a drive in his new chaise. Mrs. Cordova went about in a preoccupied manner and when spoken to responded only by singing to herself and shaking her head glumly. Fanny commandeered Marietta to help pick blackberries and the sisters went off into the woods with their baskets.
Fanny was light-hearted and full of excitement over Eric's arrival and his good fortune. It was especially wonderful, she said blithely, for little Arthur to have one of his brothers at home, and how kind of Eric to promise he would make up for their long separation by spending as much time as possible with the boy. Much as she loved Eric, Marietta was under no illusions. Her eldest brother's promises, always well meant, had a tendency to be forgotten as soon as they were uttered, and at this particular time he had so many concerns on his mind. She said nothing to dampen Fanny's sunny mood, however, and they spent a merry hour gathering the ripe berries until the worn strap on Marietta's sandal snapped, hampering her efforts. The thick blanket of pine needles and leaves underfoot seemed soft enough, until she tried walking on it barefoot. They used Fanny's hair ribbon as an impromptu strap, but it proved a poor substitute and at length Marietta reluctantly gave up. Eric's sweet tooth had offered Fanny the chance to express her gratitude for the gifts he'd brought her, and she was dismayed to find they had not nearly enough berries for the two pies she hoped to bake. They solved the problem by emptying their collection into one basket which Marietta carried off towards home while Fanny continued to pick.
They had come farther than Marietta realized. Very soon her sandal became such a nuisance that she took it off again and trod cautiously through the sun-dappled woods, wishing she'd thought to wear her pattens. The air was fragrant with the scents of damp earth and wildflowers; an occasional gust of wind rustled the branches sending sparkling little showers of droplets from the leaves, and except for the merry chirping of the birds it was so peaceful that she was sorry to leave the canopy of the trees.
The sun was warmer now, but the thick meadow grasses were still damp. Limping along, she gave a yelp as she trod on something sharp. A fallen tree-trunk offered temporary seating and she put down her basket and investigated the damage. She had evidently stepped on a broken branch and quite a large splinter had driven into her heel. With a quick glance around, she removed her stocking. The splinter proved stubborn and hurtful; working at it carefully, she was breathless when she at last managed to extricate it and she exclaimed triumphantly, "Go away, you vicious beast!"
''Alas," drawled a deep voice. "Once again I am de trop."
Marietta's heart gave a leap, her head shot up and her bare foot was whipped under her skirt. She was embarrassed to realize that she'd been too engrossed to be concerned with propriety, and her cheeks were hot when she stammered, "Oh! M-Major Diccon! I had stepped on a splinter you see, and—" She checked. He was riding Orpheus and he came up and dismounted with a marked lack of his usual ease. He was pale, there was a livid bruise down his left temple and he limped slightly. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, standing. "Not more of the work of the Warringtons I hope?"
He shook his head. "An uninvited caller. Nothing serious, I promise you. Is your splinter dealt with, Miss Marietta? May Orpheus carry you home?"
Her foot was sore, the dower house was out of sight, and it would be a long and uncomfortable walk. She said, "Oh yes, if you please. I would be most grateful. In a moment. If you would be so good as to first turn around?"
He grinned and presented his back to her. Marietta replaced her stocking and the broken sandal and sat down again, inviting him to join her. "Are you in a hurry? Or could we rest for a little while? It's such a lovely morning."
He assured her that he had "all the time in the world," and sat beside her, lowering himself cautiously. "You have been blackberrying, I see."
''Yes, with Fanny. But my sandal broke, so I left her to do the rest of the work. My brother is come home from Cambridge laden with gifts for us all…" For just an instant her eyes became troubled, then her bright smile dawned and she went on: "Eric loves sweets, so Fanny's going to bake some pies. I'll allow you to share some of these berries if you tell me about your 'uninvited caller.' "
She offered the basket. Its dark harvest gleamed richly and temptingly, and Diccon accepted the bribe at once. He gave her a light-hearted version of the attack, dismissing his injuries as "just a few scrapes logically come by as a result of not pausing to wake Mac before charging the enemy."
Undeceived, she said with a concern that delighted him, "It does not look like 'just a few scrapes' to me. You make it all sound of little consequence whereas it was more likely a desperate struggle. How fortunate that you were able to drive him off!"
He smiled wryly. "I wish I could say I'd put the fellow to ignominious flight, ma'am, but after he tossed me at the wall I was in no case to defeat a cockroach."
She paused in the act of popping a blackberry into her mouth and stared at him. "You mean he pushed you against the wall?"
''No, ma'am. I mean he objected when I gave him a whack with my pistol, and he quite literally took me up and threw me aside."
She blinked. It didn't sound very heroic. "If you had a pistol why ever did you not shoot the nasty creature?"
''I did. I think I hit him, in fact. It was too dark to see."
Envisioning Lanterns' gloom, even by daylight, she revised her earlier opinion. "You should never have gone after him alone and in the dark. And how very odd it is that anyone could hope to find a lost treasure at night time! I suppose there is no chance of your recognizing him if you saw him again?"
He said slowly, "That's why I was riding over to see you. Arthur mentioned that your Mrs. Gillespie had gone to a fair at Lewes, and I wanted to talk to her about it. Did she come today, ma'am?"
''Yes, and she'll be glad to tell you about the fair. She could speak of nothing else last time she came."
''Arthur said she saw a—giant?"
''So she claimed. He quite frightened her. I thought she meant he was part of a side-show, but she said he was just walking about and everyone was staring because he was enormous and of extreme strange appearance."
His lips tightened. "Did the lady say that her giant was from the Orient?"
''That is what she thought, but—My heavens! Diccon! You do not suspect he was your intruder?"
''I think it more than possible, yes. He had great strength, and if he's the man I suspect, we've met before. It would explain
why he was obliged to do his searching under cover of darkness, for he's instantly recognizable and not the type who could venture abroad unnoticed." He frowned, thinking that if Imre Monteil had heard of the legend he'd be the very man to lust after The Sigh of Saladin. In which case last night's break-in might have no connection with— He glanced up. Marietta looked frightened. He said quickly, "That's probably the sum and substance of it. A thief after a treasure that likely doesn't exist, and who poses no danger to you or your family."
''But considerable danger to you?"
He shrugged. "Fore-warned is fore-armed. Speaking of which, forgive me, but—why has your brother's arrival upset you?"
His eyes, which had been abstracted, were now piercingly intent. Dismayed, she thought, 'How could he possibly know?' and she protested, "Really, Major! Why ever should you think such a thing? It makes me very happy to welcome Eric home. If I seem a little excited, it is—"
''No." His long fingers closed over her hand. "Please do not freeze me, Miss Marietta. I am aware that I have no right to intrude in your affairs. I can only say that nothing would give me greater joy than—than to serve you in any way possible. If I were able to—" He bit off that useless wish, and amended, "I have nothing to offer you but my friendship; and that I offer with all my heart. If you are ever distressed and need someone to just talk with perhaps, or—or if I could be of help, you have but to call."
She knew by now that his nature was proud, yet he had spoken so earnestly, so humbly, and he sat there with devotion plainly written on his bruised face, both hands holding hers as if he took some ancient oath of fealty. With an odd ache of the heart she realized that here was love; implied even if it could not be uttered. Here was a strong shoulder to lean on; a confidante when she so badly needed one. Her eyes blurred and she had to turn away, so moved that she could say nothing for a moment.
To Diccon, her silence and her averted face were ominous. Likely, he had made a proper fool of himself, and she was trying not to laugh at him. 'Clumsy idiot!' he thought, and retreated behind his customary sauvity, saying with a smile, "Jupiter, what a speech! My friends would never believe it. You must think me a proper windy-wallets."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns Page 15