Briefly, Lisette was tempted to intercede for him. That he had journeyed all this way to see her was indicative of a lasting affection, for which she was grateful. But the certain knowledge that Strand would be enraged, the awareness of the deep dislike already existing between the two men, and a fear of provoking what might very well lead to tragedy dissuaded her. It was not until they came inside to change for dinner that she found the note upon her pillow, with her name inscribed in a beautiful copperplate hand on the folded sheet. So James had left a message! Opening it, she read:
I recall when first I saw you,
that the rain was pouring down.
It was night and I was driving
all alone through London Town.
A chaise splashed up beside me
and I saw your laughing face
With the lamplight softly shining
on your loveliness and grace.
At once I knew
my every hope was you.
I remember the enchantment
when at last I learned your name.
All my world was bright and glowing
never afterwards the same.
Every dream was built around you
everything I owned I'd give
To with happiness surround you
for as long as I may live.
Because, I knew
all joy in life was you.
I am warned you love another
and that I can never see
In your eyes a glow of caring
or of tenderness for me.
But perhaps I yet can serve you,
win a kindly word—a smile
And my poor heart keep from breaking
if I dare to hope the while, that
Someday you
may start to love me, too.
Long before she reached the end of that poem, Lisette's eyes were blurred with tears. She pressed the so carefully written words to her bosom, her heart full. Here was devotion, indeed. How sweet of poor James to pen such beautiful words; how dear to be offered such humble love and devotion. She read it many times before she retired that night, and many times in the days that followed. Longing to write to express her gratitude, she could not do so. She was married, past redemption indeed, to a man with not a shred of romance in his soul, and although her own happiness was immeasurably increased because of Garvey's tenderness, to let him know that could only add to his grief. And so she did not respond, but carried the cherished poem carefully folded and wrapped in a perfumed handkerchief, in her bosom.
The antagonism between Strand and Norman reached its peak in a way she would never have expected. It occurred on a morning when she went yawning down the stairs for their morning ride and found her husband, as usual, booted and spurred, in the stables, laughing up at Judith, who was already mounted and looking down at him in an astonishment that changed to a squeak of delight.
"You never did! Oh, you wicked, wicked man!" she cried, leaning suddenly to ruffle up his light, crisp hair.
Why that gesture of affection should bring a little pang of irritation to Lisette, she could not have said, but looking at them she was shocked by two things that she would have noted before had she not been walking in a dream these past days, by reason of a certain letter in her bodice. Firstly, Judith was growing very pretty; and, secondly, the sling was gone from Strand's arm! That last was such a shock that she stood still and mute for a moment. Judith saw her and cried merrily, "Come and chastise your evil spouse, dearest! What a villain!"
Laughing still, Strand turned towards her. The smile died from his eyes. Lisette wore the new habit she had ordered in London and that had only yesterday arrived. It was of primrose cloth, with large mother-of-pearl buttons and foaming lace at cuffs and throat; her hat was new also, a chic little straw cap with short yellow feathers curling all along the narrow crown, and longer ones swooping at the back. He bowed. "My compliments, madam wife. A very pretty habit."
"Thank you, sir. My congratulations also—your arm is healed, I see." But having learned something of his impatience with infirmity, she added anxiously, "You did speak with Dr. Bellows before the splints were removed?"
"I did indeed. I have no wish to prolong my handicap, m'dear."
His eyes twinkled at her. Lisette blushed and trembled, and Judith called, "Never mind your husband, dearest. Look at me!"
She flung her arms wide. She had become quite slender. Marvelling, Lisette said, "You look charmingly. But, why did I not notice, I wonder?"
Norman came up, growled a greeting and swung into the saddle, watching Judith as she tugged at the waist of her habit, replying merrily, "Your evil spouse, Mrs. Strand! I wondered why he set such a wretched table!"
Lisette stared in astonishment at her husband's amused face, and he patted his own trim middle and said gravely that he had to be careful not to get fat. "You—did it deliberately?" gasped Lisette.
"What a filthy trick!" glowered Norman.
Judith chuckled. "No, but I think it delicious, and so kind. See, Norman, how slender I am become!"
He saw and, withholding his instinctive congratulations, said grudgingly, "Aye, well, I am not. My clothes fit so snug as ever, though I've starved since first we set foot here."
"Of course they do. Only look at yourself, Norman! You are positively svelte!"
Bewildered, he looked down. "I am? But—that cannot be. My coat is—"
"Strand asked Lisette's dresser to alter our clothes, so we would not notice when first we began to shed pounds," Judith laughed. "Are you not pleased?"
A grin trembled on Norman's lips, but he recovered and said gruffly, "I think it a foul trick! Much confidence you place in our willpower, Strand, that you must serve us so!" And he rode out of the yard.
"Pay him no heed," urged Lisette. "It was very well done, though I could wish you had let me in on the secret. No wonder we have set no covers for guests."
He laughed. "For that, I do apologize and will admit I had many trays carried to me in secret. But the boy, looks well, do not you think? And our Judith will win hearts when we return to Town."
"Town?" Judith put in, eagerly. "Are we going back, Strand?"
"I've some business that takes me to London next week, and I'd thought you ladies might wish to shop at one of the bazaars— Bennet's this time, since I'm told it is the more elegant."
Judith's excitement was somewhat marred when they came up with Norman, and he grunted moodily that at least he did not have to go. Knowing better than to attempt to reason with him when he was in such a temper, Lisette was nonetheless irked, for Strand seemed to be going out of his way to be kind, and she could not but be grateful.
"We all shall go," Strand ruled. "You would enjoy a visit to London, I fancy, madam wife?"
"Oh, I would! Especially since it has not been a hot Spring."
This understatement provoked them all to laughter. They were riding along the Downs when Strand said, "Cheer up, Master Gruff and Glum. I believe you may enjoy the gentleman I want you to meet."
"Some crusty old tutor, I suppose," sneered Norman.
"He's crusty all right, but not a tutor. As a matter of fact, he's an old sea dog."
Norman's eyes shot to Strand eagerly. "A sailor?"
"Yes. I've noticed your preoccupation with ships. I think John Hawkhurst might—"
Norman all but fell from his horse and, reining up, gasped, "Hawkhurst? You never mean—you cannot mean Lord Wetherby?"
"I can, and do. Admiral Lord Jonathan Wetherby. He is— Do you know these fellows?"
Four rough-appearing young men were striding towards them. Norman took them in at a glance and said, "Let's go home. Quickly!"
Strand reached over to pull back on his reins and they all halted. "I do not retreat on my own lands, Norman. Lisette, you will please take Judith back to the house." And as she hesitated, he snapped, "At once!" in a tone that brooked no argument.
Frightened, the sisters turned their mounts and trotted back
the way they had come.
"If it comes to a turn-up," Strand said coolly, "stay close and keep back to back. It's the safest way when outnumbered, and these look hefty fellows."
Norman looked at him remorsefully. Strand had not asked what was the trouble, but it was very clear that he was willing to share it.
"Hey!" cried one of the approaching bullies. "You wi' the red dicer! We want a word wi' you."
Surprised by the London accent, Strand said, "Since I am not wearing a hat, I presume you address my brother."
This announcement brought consternation to the new arrivals. They conferred briefly, then the apparent spokesman, a burly young man with a mop of curly brown hair and belligerent dark eyes, said, "Ee didn't say as 'e was yer bruvver. I's'pose we ain't goin' ter be give the right ter perfect ourselves."
Strand refrained from pointing out that they were trespassing. "I was not aware," he answered mildly, "that I was attacking you. If you've some complaint you should speak to my steward. But if you can state your grievance courteously I can give you a minute or two. What's your name?"
"Jem Shell," said the spokesman, and jerking his thumb toward Norman, added, "'Ee owes us. A borde."
"Your pardon." Strand turned to the miserable Norman. "Did you gamble with these men?"
Shouts of laughter went up. Reddening, Norman stammered, "N-no, sir."
'"Ee bought me sister!" said Shell. "Then 'e wouldn't pay up!"
Astounded, Strand said feebly, "Bought… your sister? For a shilling?"
"Just a kiss, sir," Norman mumbled. "Only once we were in the barn, she ran—and they wouldn't believe when I said I did not get my kiss."
"I would say the girl showed good sense."
"And I'd say 'e's a liar!" snarled Shell.
"If you weren't four to one, I'd thrash you for that!" blazed Norman.
With an exaggerated shudder, Shell retaliated, "Lor'! I'm all of a quiver. You best run back 'ome wi' yer dainty bruwer wot hides a'hind bein' Quality so 'e don't 'ave ter face up ter the likes of us."
Strand regarded him thoughtfully.
"Ar," put in another youth with protruding teeth and a bitter expression. "Run orf an' 'ide—like y'been doin' all week. Scared't'set foot off'n yer big brother's land, ain'cha!" He spat perilously close to Strand's arm. "Quality!" he jeered, and donated a profane assessment of the aristocracy.
A little light began to dance in Strand's eyes. He dismounted and walked over to tie Brandy's reins to a branch. "You will recall," he reminded them, "that I said I would hear you out were you courteous. You are not courteous. Norman, d'you think we can beat some manners into the heads of these clods?"
To their credit, not one of them attempted to rush him until Norman had fairly leapt from the saddle. Then, the four toughs sprang into the attack.
It seemed, for a while, an uneven battle, heavily balanced in favour of the trespassers. Strand, however, had an odd way of fighting, for he sprang in and out, blocking and feinting with his left, unleashing his right only occasionally, but to astonishing purpose. Shell was the first to feel the power of that deadly right, and he soared backwards to lie groaning on the turf. Norman's stringent diet, taxing walks, and early rides stood him in such good stead that he was inwardly amazed. So were his opponents, and as another man reeled from the fray, Strand laughed cheerily. "Even odds, Norm. Good work!" Even as he spoke, his boot slipped on the wet turf, and he staggered, momentarily off balance. Unversed in the rules of The Game, the burly young man in the tattered brocaded waistcoat rammed home a solid left that smashed Strand to his knees. With a cry of rage Norman jumped forward, decked the waistcoat, turned back to his own challenger, and was in turn levelled by a flush hit to the jaw. As Norman went down, Strand got up, and the last survivor was neatly folded in half by the edge of Strand's left hand whipping across his midsection. His right cheekbone lurid, Strand bent over Norman. "You all right, old chap?"
Panting, Norman tried to sit up and fell back again. "Jove…"he gasped happily. "What a—jolly good—scrap."
"Wasn't it?" Strand manipulated his jaw carefully, decided it was intact, and went over to the sprawled Shell. "Your trouble, friend," he vouchsafed, "is drink. Too much of it. You'd do quite well, otherwise." He extended a hand. Shell took it and pulled himself to a sitting position.
"Guv'nor," he groaned. "Where'd you learn to 'it like that? A skinny gent like you?"
"Harrow," Strand grinned. "You would be surprised how miserable life can be for a boy who's not all brawn. If you're to survive, you learn fast."
"That last 'un," moaned Strand's final opponent, massaging his painful middle, "didn't come from no 'arrow! More like a chap I see in Singapore once."
"I say!" cried Norman."Was you in the Navy, Bill?"
Bill allowed as he had been, but had been demobilized. "Is that where you learned that trick, sir?" he asked, eyeing Strand in awe.
"No. India. Are you all ex-servicemen?"
Shell got to his feet. "I was a rifleman, sir. Jim and Bob was artillery." Still rubbing his chin, he muttered bitterly, "Kicked us out, they did. No pension. No work. Can't even afford ter get 'itched up—wot girl'd 'ave us?"
Strand said, "I cannot answer for the girls, but it happens that I need some men. What kind of work can you do?"
At once they were crowding around him, their previous hostility forgotten, their eyes eager at this new hope. In very short order Strand had taken on four new men, who were instructed to report to Mr. Connaught at nine o'clock next morning. "One thing," he cautioned, mounting up and wheeling his horse, "I'll not tolerate a drunkard. Do your drinking in the time you do not work, if you must. But let me catch you gin-raddled on my property, and you'll never work for me again. Norman, have you anything to say to these men?"
Norman said earnestly, "I honestly did not get that buss, Shell."
The big man grinned. "Know y'didn't, Mr. Van Lindsay. We was just tryin'. A man gets a bit desprit when 'e's allus 'ungry."
Riding off beside his brother-in-law, Norman said fervently, "I know just what he means!"
Dinner that night was the merriest meal they'd yet enjoyed together. The battle had melted away all barriers between Strand and Norman and, rather typically, the admiration the boy had been fighting for some time now sprang to full flower and he became so enthused in his description of Strand's prowess in the noble art of fisticuffs that his exasperated brother-in-law was at last compelled to warn him to desist else he'd take him out to the barn next morning and demonstrate some of the "art" he'd held back from employing today. The girls, who had watched the fight from a stand of trees, were also full of admiration for the warriors, and, Lisette approving, Strand had permitted his frustrated chef to prepare an excellent meal, requiring only that Norman and Judith deal with it sparingly.
Afterwards, they played jackstraws in the lounge, Strand's thin fingers proving amazingly nimble at the game, although Judith won, her steadier hand prevailing in the last taut moments. It had been a close match, taking longer than they'd anticipated. By the time it was done, the teatray was brought in and within half an hour Strand was lighting Lisette's candle for her while one of the maids assisted Fisher to extinguish the lamps and lock up for the night.
Humming as she went into her bedchamber, Lisette was abruptly silenced. A great red rose lay on her pillow. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat as she stared blindly at the glowing bloom. Behind her, Denise giggled and spread her prettiest negligee on the bed.
By the time the maid left her, Lisette was gratified by the knowledge that she looked charmingly in the pink nightgown, her dark hair waving softly beside the dainty lace cap. Denise had extinguished all the candles and the flickering light from the fire played softly about the great room. Lisette leaned back against her pillows, hands clasped as they had been once before when she awaited her unwanted husband. She was not quite so nervous tonight. Strand had been more than kind—more than patient. Although, she thought defensively, he had only himself to blame both
for having left her on their wedding night, and for rushing into her boudoir in such a rage he'd tripped and broken his hand. She smiled faintly and glanced to the side. Brutus was noticeable by his absence.
Time passed, and her apprehension began to mount. Strand would be gentle with her, of that she was quite sure, but to hope for a little romance, a few ardent words of love, was to ask too much of so matter-of-fact a gentleman. Only, how precious it would be to be approached with adoration… with words holding even a trace of the sweetness poor James Garvey had penned.
The door opened softly. Strand came in and closed it behind him. The long dressing gown he wore was dark red and made him look very pale. He walked to the end of the bed and stood there for a moment, staring at his beautiful bride, his expression veiled by the shadows. Her breath fluttering in her throat, her palms damp, Lisette could not know how his heart thundered or how his fine hands trembled with nervousness. She waited hopefully for a word of affection.
Strand untied the sash of his dressing gown. "You must," he said in a casual tone, "think me a sorry bridegroom only now to be able to—to come to you."
Lisette swallowed, and managed, "N-no. And—thank you for the rose."
He went over to blow out the solitary candle he had brought with him. Climbing into the bed, he paused, leaning on one elbow and gazing down into his bride's huge, terrified eyes.
As he bent to kiss her, a desolate and distant howling arose from the direction of the stables.
Justin Strand smiled grimly. "Not this time, Brutus," he murmured. "Not this time!"
Chapter 11
In anticipation of the visit to London, Judith and Miss Wallace, Lisette's rather formidable dresser, put their heads together over periodicals and pattern cards, spending hours closeted together while Judith was instructed as to which fabric might be purchased for which style. Her experience at the wedding with the plain gown Strand had selected and the compliments it had won her had taught her much. Now, with Judith's figure much improved, Miss Wallace said they could afford to be a little less spartan, and Judith plunged happily into a glorious world of India muslins, cambrics and gauzes, ribbons and frills and laces, French knots and rosettes, and all the delicious accessories for which Strand appeared perfectly willing—as a disgusted Norman phrased it—"to stand the huff."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption Page 17