Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  In the morning she awoke feeling wrung out from lack of sleep, and her nerves were on edge when at eleven o'clock she ushered a distinguished caller into the book room. Her heart had convulsed with fright when she saw the military uniform, but there was only one sergeant riding escort and the General seemed a pleasant, fatherly sort of man. He had made Sir Lionel's acquaintance at the home of Lord Kingston Leith, he said, and since he was in the neighbourhood had thought he'd pay a courtesy call. She knew her father would have wished to be denied, but she did not dare deny this particular caller.

  Fanny was in the workroom watching Sir Lionel struggle with his new invention, a long track from which hung several strands of thin wire, and was enquiring as to the name and purpose of this device.

  "It's called a Riser," he said. "And its purpose is— Ah, hello, Etta. Has someone come? I thought I heard the doorbell. Not Eric, I suppose?"

  "It is a military gentleman, sir." She gave him the calling card.

  "General Sir Nevin Smollet." He said frowningly, "Never heard of the fella."

  "He says he met you at Lord Leith's house. He's short and square-ish, rather gruff and formidable-looking, but very courteous."

  "Hmm. I fancy he's come to find out what we know about last night's disgraceful fiasco down at the manor. He'd do better to call on Temple and Cloud—or Major Paisley, as he calls himself. Sure he ain't mistaken this for Lanterns?"

  She assured him that this was not the case, and he stamped his way up the stairs grumbling that what with lecherous London beaux, murderous thieves, exploding rockets, and the County turned topsy-turvy, a man's privacy was doomed.

  Watching her sister, Fanny asked, "What is it, dear? Are you grieving because Blake Coville showed his true colours?"

  "Good gracious, no! I am only thankful your gallant Jocelyn was at hand. Do you expect he will call today?"

  "But, of course," said Fanny pertly. "He is anxious to talk to Eric, you know."

  Marietta dropped the pliers she'd taken up absently. "Why?"

  Startled, Fanny said, "Why, to tell him he wishes to fix his interest with me, I expect." She took Marietta's hand, searching her face anxiously. "Etta—there is something! Do you think I can't tell when you are worrying? Is it that you do not approve of Jocelyn?"

  "Of course I approve, you goose! He is exactly the type of man I prayed you would find." Fanny looked unconvinced, so Marietta said, "I'll admit I was most shocked by Mr. Coville's disgraceful behaviour."

  "I know you favoured him, dearest. I'm so sorry you were disillusioned. It seems wrong that I should be so very happy while you are sad. But—oh, Etta, it is perfectly glorious to be in love!"

  Marietta hugged her. "And it is glorious to see you so happy. Besides, I am not sad. Though I'll own I am somewhat surprised, because Mr. Vaughan does not appear to be a poor professor or an artist, and though he most certainly has a brain in his head, he does not go about quoting from the Greek or Latin, so—"

  "Wretch!" cried Fanny, won to a laugh. "I never said such things!"

  "Oh, yes you did!"

  "Then I must have done so when I was very young and foolish! Jocelyn Vaughan is all I could ever wish for in a husband, so do not be reminding me of my nonsense. No, really, Etta," with sudden shyness, Fanny said, "I just marvel that I could be so lucky."

  "You deserve it, love. And I think Mr. Vaughan is a very lucky man to have won your heart. Now I must go and find Arthur. I hope he hasn't wandered off to Lanterns again."

  They walked up the stairs together and Fanny asked, "Why? I thought you had quite forgiven Major Diccon. In fact, you were so worried about him last night that I was convinced you had become rather fond of him."

  So she had been that obvious. She said slowly, "And if I had, would you be pleased? Or are you still afraid of him?"

  "Oh—I'm just a silly. Jocelyn thinks very highly of him, and he could not like a bad man, I am sure. Only look at the time! Half past eleven already. Jocelyn will be here at any minute! I must go and change my gown!"

  Lost in thought, Marietta wandered along the corridor. Fanny had avoided her eyes and had answered her question in a flustered way. She did still fear Diccon. And her fears were all too well justified. If she did but know— But she must not know. Nothing must be allowed to shadow her happiness. Looking up, she gave a shocked gasp. Her aunt knelt on the floor outside the parlour, peeping through the keyhole.

  "Aunty!" she hissed, hurrying forward.

  Mrs. Cordova flapped an arm urgently and responded with a marked lack of contrition, "Ssshh! I can't hear!"

  Marietta crept closer and was able to discern male voices. They sounded very serious and there was no cheerful laughter.

  Her aunt turned a stricken face and reached out for assistance. Helping her to her feet, Marietta whispered, "Are you acquainted with the General?"

  "No, no. Nor is your father, I am assured."

  "But General Smollet said—"

  Trotting to the kitchen beside her, Mrs. Cordova gasped out, "You can believe not one word any general tells you, my love!" She sank into a chair and flapped a handkerchief at her heated countenance. "It is just as I feared! The General touched very briefly on that ugly business last night. It was all too clear that what he really came for was to warn your father to be on the lookout for any gentleman in the vicinity who has suddenly come into money."

  Marietta sank to her knees beside the chair and clutched at her aunt's free hand. "Did he… did he n-name any names?"

  "From what I could hear, they are hard after a young man who has eluded them thus far. Smollet said"—Mrs. Cordova's eyes were dark with apprehension—"he said if your papa suspects anyone—anyone—he should report it at once."

  Marietta's lips felt stiff. She gulped, "To—to whom?"

  "He said that luckily one of his finest men is in the area. A man with an impressive record of unmasking… tr-traitors!" The last word was an anguished wail.

  Marietta closed her eyes and bowed her head against the chair arm. "The man with the 'impressive record' being Major Diccon Paisley."

  "Yes." Mrs. Cordova's clasp tightened on her niece's fingers and she moaned, "Traitors! Oh… Etta! Whatever are we to do? If Diccon catches him—"

  Marietta summoned a smile. "He hasn't caught him yet, love. And my brother may have been very naughty, but it isn't treason! We know that! We'll think of something, never fear."

  The General's visit was short. Sir Lionel imparted over luncheon that Smollet was a good enough fellow and that he would have invited him to stay and join them, "but he's a grim sort of old boy, y'know. Full of worries about some traitor or other. I told him I've a musket loaded and ready, and if a cur of that sort comes in range I'll know how to deal with him!"

  When the meal was over Mrs. Cordova decided to go up to her caravan, and was not deterred when Sir Lionel said he would be unable to spare Bridger this afternoon. She felt quite safe in walking to the caravan, she said, as no one was likely to stand about spying on her in the pouring rain.

  Despite the weather, Vaughan borrowed Diccon's handsome closed carriage and came to whisk Fanny off for a drive.

  Arthur had taken his luncheon early, as usual. He'd eaten sparingly and gone up to his room to play. Preoccupied with her anxieties, Marietta didn't realize until the house was quiet again how long the boy had been gone. His nature was much too affectionate for him to enjoy solitude. Suspecting that he'd fallen asleep, she went in search of him and was half-way up the stairs when the most terrifying thought occurred to her. In her trusting idiocy she had sent Eric to meet Diccon. And in his letter Eric had written: "I must get out of the country, and thanks to you I think I know how I can manage this." She'd assumed he meant that their occupancy of a home that was so close to the Channel would be useful to him. But suppose he intended to seek help from the man he believed her to like and to trust? What if Eric turned to Diccon the free-trader for an escape from the law, little knowing that Diccon was the law? Her knees felt weak. She clung to t
he stair railing and to her nerves, and she prayed.

  She had regained her composure, outwardly at least, by the time she walked into the room Arthur shared with Arnold when Arnold was at home for the holidays. The little boy was curled up in the windowseat with Friar Tuck beside him, watching the raindrops race each other down the pane. He accepted an offer to be read to, but with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He seemed subdued and there were few of his usual interruptions. Concerned, she stayed with him for a time, reading, then drawing. They were playing raindrop races on the window-pane when there came the busy sounds of hammering. "It must be Papa and Bridger," she said lightly. "I expect they're making a surprise for us. Shall we go downstairs and see?"

  He shrugged apathetically. "If you like."

  "What would you like? Something to eat, perhaps?"

  Another shrug. Staring at Friar Tuck, who had fallen asleep on the book, he answered, "It doesn't matter."

  She felt his forehead. It was cool. "Do you feel well, dearest?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  "Is something troubling you?"

  "No."

  Desperate, she asked, "Did you want to go and see Major Diccon?"

  He stroked Friar Tuck's fur forward between his ears, giving the cat what he called "The Snake Head," and concentrating on this endeavour, muttered, "Aunty Dova says I'm not to go there no more."

  So that was it. But in her own opinion the pretence must be kept up, at least until Eric was safely away. She offered to walk to Lanterns with him, but he said apathetically that he didn't want to go out, adding an unprecedented, "It's too wet."

  Giving up, she took him with her and went downstairs to help with dinner.

  The skies were darkening and the drawing room was shadowy. Sir Lionel and Bridger were tidying up tools and carrying ladders out to the barn.

  "Time for tea, eh?" said Sir Lionel hopefully, and over his shoulder added, "Now—don't touch nothing, Etta! It's a surprise. For your aunt."

  Bridger chuckled.

  "And don't tell her!" called Sir Lionel.

  Mrs. Cordova joined them for tea, and was agog to learn about the surprise, but Sir Lionel insisted it must wait until they were all here. An hour passed before Vaughan and Fanny came into the house with a flurry of laughter and raindrops. They had driven as far as Lewes, and had purchased a bottle of cognac that made Sir Lionel's eyes gleam; some pastries that Vaughan said loyally were not to be compared with Fanny's cookery; and a marzipan soldier for Arthur. The little boy brightened and was promised he should have some after supper, but by the time he was taken up to bed, declared himself tired and said he would save the treat for tomorrow.

  Marietta went downstairs and told her aunt that she feared her brother might be sickening for something. She had little time to worry about it however, for Sir Lionel was clearly eager to show them his latest invention, and announced they would be given a showing after dinner.

  The evening was cool so a fine fire was lit, and, with only two small branches of candles burning and the rain pattering against the windows, the drawing room was cosy and inviting when they all were assembled there. Beaming with suppressed excitement, Sir Lionel directed each of them to a specific chair, and was about to begin his demonstration when they heard a carriage pull up outside.

  Mrs. Cordova went in search of an umbrella.

  "Oh—no!" wailed Sir Lionel, exasperated. "Only a noddicock would venture out on such a night!"

  His worst fears were borne out. Holding an armful of cloaks, Marietta showed three evening callers into the room. With smothered giggles, Mrs. Cordova appropriated the damp garments and carried them off to be hung up to dry. Mr. Innes Williard was glorious in formal evening dress and knee breeches but wore a glum look that said he was here against his will. Mrs. Isolde Maitland was clad in an ornate gown of purple satin with a profusion of frills and little bows on the bodice and sleeves and an overskirt of silver lace. Under a vulgarly large and wide-spreading diamond necklace her bosom was very much on display. She fluttered her fan coyly at Sir Lionel's aghast face, and presented her mother to the company. Rustling in stiff forest green bombasine Mrs. Crosbie Williard was small, thin, and waspish. She was clearly on the far side of sixty but her auburn hair was suspiciously untouched by grey. Her faded brown eyes were still keen, however, and darted about, birdlike, as if determined to miss nothing.

  The guests were comfortably settled and at once Mrs. Maitland directed the conversation to the topic that seemed uppermost on everyone's mind today: the disgraceful invasion of Lanterns by armed criminals, and the return of Lord Temple and Cloud to the neighbourhood. With high drama she announced that her nerves were "completely overset" by the realization that the countryside "fairly swarmed with thieves and murderers"! Her brother said testily that he hoped the gentlemen of Sussex were able to deal with such riffraff, whereupon Mrs. Crosbie Williard retorted dryly that she very much doubted it. Her daughter's laugh shrilled out, and Marietta and Fanny retreated to the kitchen to assemble refreshments.

  "Papa is furious." Fanny giggled, setting biscuits on a serving plate.

  Marietta put the kettle on the hob and said innocently, "Why? Because his Isolde is flirting with Jocelyn?"

  Fanny squeaked and had to muffle her laughter. "Is it not hilarious? Between her eyelashes and her fan he'll be lucky to avoid the pneumonia!"

  Both eyelashes and fan were at top speed when Marietta carried a laden tray into the drawing room, and Mrs. Cordova, who had slipped into the room and sat on the far end of the sofa, was watching the widow's gyrations in fascination.

  They had come through "a veritable deluge" declared Mrs.Maitland, and her "little heart" had fairly fluttered because the stream was so high and the bridge so very old. One wondered that Temple and Cloud did not build a new one.

  Fixing Innes Williard with a resentful stare Sir Lionel said that he wondered they had ventured out on such a stormy night.

  "I, for one, didn't want to come," stated Mrs. Crosbie Williard baldly. "It's hard enough for a frail and elderly lady to get about, let alone climbing in and out of carriages in the middle of a flood!"

  "Not my intention," grunted Williard, darting an irked glance at his sister.

  "Oh, but we had to, dear sir," gushed Mrs. Maitland. "Now, Mama, did I not tell you it would be well worth your while? You visit us so seldom and you've never seen anything like these— oddities, you must own." She fluttered her fan and her eyelashes in the general direction of the sofa.

  "Can't see 'em now hardly, it's so dim in here," grunted Innes Williard. "You practicing economies with candles, Warrington? Advisable, I don't doubt."

  His mother, who had been staring at the effigies, barked, "That's a fair dummy on the end. Looks more lifelike than the rest of 'em!"

  Mrs. Maitland screamed, "Mama! You naughty thing! That is Mrs. Cordova!"

  Vaughan turned away and was grateful for the dim light.

  Innes Williard, grinning from ear to ear, explained that his mother was inclined to be deaf and likely had not heard the introductions.

  Sir Lionel could be frosty when he chose. He said that he believed his sister-in-law had not been present at that time, and with great formality rectified the omission.

  To Vaughan's utter delight, Mrs. Cordova rose, swept into a stately curtsey, then held out her skirts and waltzed about the room singing somewhat inaccurately, " 'Like untuned golden strings some women are, Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.' "

  "Mad," sniffed Mrs. Crosbie Williard in an audible aside to her son.

  Fanny began to hand around cups and saucers. One look at her love's brimming eyes was almost her undoing, and she moved on hastily.

  Mrs. Maitland said with sugary cajoling, "Now you must own how clever the likenesses are, dearest Mama."

  "I'll own it's one way of filling a room with company, if you've no worthwhile acquaintances," her mother observed with no sugar at all.

  Undaunted, Mrs. Maitland tittered, requested more milk in
her tea and said, "Speaking of filling a room with company, I had thought Mr. Blake Coville might be here. Do you expect him to call, Sir Lionel?"

  "No, madam," said Sir Lionel frowningly. "I do not."

  "Such firmness." The widow opened her eyes at him admiringly. "I don't blame you, of course. I suppose it was inevitable that he would fall from grace." She sipped her tea, watched Marietta over the rim of her cup and purred, "Now that Temple and Cloud has returned to the neighbourhood… Though rumour says he has not a feather to fly with."

  Williard had the grace to be embarrassed by his sister's behaviour, and he snorted, "Rumour! Blasted area fairly hums with rumours!"

  "Yes, indeed." Not one to miss an opportunity, Mrs. Maitland added, "I myself am a victim—as are you, Sir Lionel! Indeed," she hid behind her fan and said roguishly, "our names are… linked, I fear."

  Sir Lionel threw an agonized glance at Marietta.

  "Were I you, ma'am," put in Mrs. Cordova with unexpected clarity, "I'd give not a thought to such nonsense. I'm very sure my brother pays no heed to gabblemongers!"

  Vaughan caught his breath.

  For an instant the room was very still.

  Sir Lionel stood nervously, and retreating from this dangerous conversation went to the credenza at the side of the room and began to rattle glasses about.

  Flushed, and her eyes glittering wrath, Mrs. Maitland sat up poker stiff and snapped, "There are some very unkind people about, dear Mrs. Cordova. For instance, there are those who believe that this silly Madame Olympias, who pretends to be a clairvoyant is no other than—"

  Her venom was stilled by a sudden bellowing clap of thunder.