He had not raised his voice, but the steel in the tone convinced her that he was quite capable of attacking her, and she drew back.
He bent and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.
Arthur moaned, and his eyelids flickered and opened. Confused, he muttered, “I slew the … villin, Etta. But I hurt. Is I … dying?”
“No, no, dearest,” she said over the lump in her throat.
“You won the battle but lost the war, old fellow,” said Diccon in a tone that surprised Marietta. “We’re going to take you home with the wounded.”
“On a … gun carriage?” asked Arthur faintly.
“Just so. Now I’m going to lift you, and if it hurts you can yell. Soldiers do yell, sometimes.”
The suspicion of a grin tugged at the boy’s mouth. “You did,” he said. “You yelled—very loud.”
“Hmm,” said Diccon, and lifted him into the cart.
Arthur whimpered.
The donkey emitted an ear-splitting bray.
Marietta gave a gasp, and Arthur clung to Diccon’s coat, his eyes wide with fright.
Diccon said, “It’s just Mr. Fox. He’s a donkey, but he worries.”
“Oooh,” whispered Arthur. “You got a donkey!”
“I have. When you’re feeling better you shall ride him, if you like.”
“If you ever come near us again, my papa will take his pistols to you,” said Marietta through her teeth. “He likely will, anyway!”
His bored glance flickered from the peak of her hat to the hem of her cloak. “One wonders,” he drawled, “if you ever say anything sensible, Madam Witch. You might better tell me with whom you stay.”
She had quite forgotten her costume and her face flamed. She said angrily, “We do not stay with anyone. As I told you, our house is not quite two miles northeast. It is called—”
Incredulous, he interrupted, “The dower house? The devil you say!”
“Instead of swearing, perhaps you could set your donkey in motion.”
He offered a hand. “If you will hurry up and get in, I’ll do so.”
Marietta refused his assistance but found it difficult to climb into the cart wearing the voluminous cloak. Chagrined by the awareness that the monster had viewed a good deal of her limbs, she was breathless by the time she knelt beside Arthur. “We’re going home now, dearest,” she murmured. “Be brave. You’ll soon feel better.”
“He does feel better,” said Diccon, climbing to the seat and chirruping to Mr. Fox. “He made a jolly fine charge. Though I’d be interested to know why.”
Arthur whispered, “He’s got a donkey!”
* * *
Pausing on the landing, Sir Lionel was considerably taken aback to see that the insensate villain who had attacked his child had seated himself in the front hall. Usually mild-tempered, Sir Lionel stiffened, his plump cheeks flushing with wrath. “I wonder at your gall, sir!” he snorted, proceeding down the stairs. “I say, I am amazed and confounded! One might suppose that having so brutally dealt with my little son, you—”
Diccon came to his feet and interrupted, “How does the boy go on? Is he badly damaged?”
“He will recover.” Irked because he had for some reason felt compelled to respond to the authoritative tone, and also because he was obliged to look up at this crude individual, Sir Lionel added, “No thanks to you, sir! You are fortunate I do not call you out, but—”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
Sir Lionel puffed out his cheeks and said, somewhat deflated, “He did. Otherwise, I promise you, I would—”
“Yes. Well, of course you would. Any father worth his salt would. I’ll not distress you by staying. I just wanted to be sure he was—”
“Good day, sir!”
Diccon frowned, but nodded and turned to the door.
“A moment, if you please!”
A large lady was running down the stairs.
Diccon checked, eyeing her rapid advance uneasily. At such a headlong pace her flowing draperies constituted a distinct hazard.
“Look out!” shouted Sir Lionel.
Diccon sprang forward and was in time to catch her although her size and speed sent him staggering.
“Thank you!” she gasped, regaining her balance. “Not that I should feel beholden to you, of course, since you were so cruel to my darling Arthur. But—Ah. He has hurt you, I see! Is that why you struck him?”
He looked at her curiously, wondering if she had mothered the lovely witch he’d driven home. Certainly, she indulged herself at table and affected an odd style of dress, but he suspected that this lady once had been a beauty. He was startled then to realize that her big dark eyes were fixed upon his own unblinkingly. Disconcerted by a sudden feeling that she could see into his mind, he replied, “I—thought he was someone else. May I ask if he makes a habit of attacking strangers?”
“He has a vivid imagination and spends much time in his make-believe worlds. Which is not such a bad thing, the real world being what it is.… But he has never attacked anyone before.”
“Did he say why I caused him to change his behaviour?”
“No. Do strangers make a habit of attacking you from behind, Mr.…?”
Diccon stood very still, meeting her penetrating gaze narrowly. “My name is Mallory Diccon—”
Irritated, Sir Lionel interrupted, “I do not care what your name is, and I see no call for this discussion.” He marched to fling open the front door. “If you take my advice, sir, you will leave this area without delay. Lord Temple and Cloud, who owns this estate, is returning to the neighborhood momentarily, and will no doubt set his dogs on any vagrants who loiter about.”
Diccon bowed and left them.
* * *
“So I crep’ up a’hind him,” said Arthur, pale but bright-eyed as he lay on the sofa in the withdrawing-room next morning. “An’ then I charged into battle on my trusty steed.”
“You must have been going quite fast to hit him so hard.” Marietta dusted the mantelpiece clock carefully. “You might have knocked him over the edge, you know. Didn’t you think of that?”
“I jus’ thinked he was a bad man. An’ I wanted to rescue the lady. The one you was talking about.”
It occurred to Marietta that although his retaliation had been far more violent than was justified, Mr. Diccon had some small basis for complaint.
Arthur saw her faint frown, and explained, “I wouldn’t have been going so fast, but when my trusty steed started to run, well, my armour was awful heavy, an’ going downhill like that, I couldn’t stop. If he had falled—”
“Fallen, dear.”
“—fallen over the edge, would he have been killed stone dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid he would.” Marietta laid down her duster and went to sit on the sofa beside her brother. “And that would have been a very terrible thing, Arthur. Something you would never be able to forget for as long as you lived. Because when a life is taken, it brings pain and grief to many other lives. You wouldn’t want to cause anything like that, would you?”
“But s’posin’ he was a bad man?” he said earnestly. “A very bad man. S’posin’ he’d hurt someone else? Even someone you loved? Wouldn’t it be right to make him dead then?”
“But he’s not a bad man, my dear one. He’s just a wanderer who’s borrowing Lord Temple and Cloud’s house because he doesn’t have one of his own. Still, I know what you mean. That’s why we have the Watch, and the constables, and Bow Street to punish people who do very bad things. We don’t punish them ourselves.”
“Oh. But there’s not a Watch or a Bow Street here, is there Etta?”
“There’s Constable Davis in the village.” With a sudden vision of future embarrassments, she added, “But if we had absolute proof that somebody had done something evil, we’d still talk it over with our family before we bothered Mr. Davis. And above all, dearest, we don’t ever deliberately hurt anyone. You might have hurt Mr. Diccon quite badly, hitting him in the
back like that. Will you promise to be more careful in the future?”
He hung his head, and nodded.
Marietta stroked his curls fondly. He was such a sensitive, lonely little boy, too often left to himself in his ‘make-believe world,’ as Aunty Dova had said. He had already paid a high price for his actions and she had no wish to make him feel crushed with guilt. “Were you pretending that Mr. Diccon was the Sheriff of Nottingham?” she asked kindly.
Arthur sighed. “I ’spect ladies don’t know much ’bout things. Robin Hood doesn’t wear chain mail. It was Sir Lancer Lot who was jousting with the Black Knight.”
“I see. Then you didn’t really think Mr. Diccon was a bad man, did you?”
He considered this in silence. Then he raised his angelic blue eyes to meet hers. “He’s got a donkey,” he said simply.
Fanny came in. “I’m baking you a gingerbread man, wounded hero,” she said, offering a skewer and a shallow pan to her brother. “Would you like to make his face?”
Only too willing to oblige, Arthur took the skewer and with great concentration began to give the gingerbread man a very toothy grin and two big eyes.
Fanny smiled at her sister. “I see he’s well on the road to recovery. Is Mr. Coville coming to pay a call today? I’d thought he meant to take you riding this morning.”
Marietta had thought the same thing, but said they had formed no definite plans.
“D’you know what I think?” said Fanny. “Your devoted swain is a Bond Street Beau and believes no civilized person rises before noon.”
Mrs. Cordova trotted across the entrance hall waving a bulky parcel. She had left the front door wide, and brought a breath of warm air and a flood of sunlight with her. “Only look what I found on the terrace!” she panted.
“Aha!” exclaimed Fanny. “I mistake the matter, and the devoted swain has called already!”
“But I do not have a devoted swain,” said Mrs. Cordova, puzzled. “Do I?” She peered hopefully at her amused nieces, then laughed. “Oh, I see! Wicked girls that you are!” Inspecting the parcel she added, “And this is not for you, Marietta. It’s addressed to ‘Master Arthur Warrington.’”
Arthur gave a whoop and reached out. Rending the brown paper, he was suddenly very still, gazing and gazing. Mute, he held up a small leather sword belt and scabbard. The two-edged sword was wooden but beautifully carven, the hilt set with a great imitation ruby.
“Oooh!” he breathed, springing up. “Quick! Quick! Help me put it on, Etta!”
She laughed. “What, over your nightshirt?”
“Jus’ to see if it fits,” he said eagerly.
Searching the paper, Fanny teased, “There’s no card, but I suspect Mr. Coville believes that the quickest way to a maiden’s heart is through her little brother. And you are blushing, Etta.”
Mrs. Cordova had also picked up a piece of the wrapping. Turning it in her hands she murmured, “I think you are in the wrong of it, Fan.”
Marietta looked at her sharply.
“It’s from the Black Knight,” cried Arthur, wrenching forth the sword. “An’ it fits jus’ right! Oh, isn’t it sp’endid!”
Marietta frowned.
Mrs. Cordova pointed out, “Under the circumstances, it is kind in him.”
“He might better have sent a book, or a toy,” said Fanny primly, “rather than a weapon of war!”
“Wheee!” squealed Arthur, leaping about and flourishing the sword with vigour. “I mus’ go and get dressed!”
Mrs. Cordova took the boy to the stairs, glanced out of the front door, then hurried back to the withdrawing room. “You will want to change also, Etta. Mr. Coville is riding through the lodge gates! My, what a handsome creature he is!”
Running to peep at the “handsome creature,” Fanny closed the front door and called, “Only one horse, Etta. You won’t need your habit.”
Marietta fled to her room. She put on a pomona green and white muslin morning dress, tidied her hair, brushed a hare’s foot over her shiny nose, and hoped Papa would not attach too much importance to this visit.
In the entrance hall, Blake Coville waited. His well-cut riding coat was blue, his linen like snow, and immaculate moleskins clung to his muscular legs. He was a sight to make any female heart flutter and Marietta’s heart was no exception as he took her hand and said admiringly, “How charming you look, Miss Warrington. Your father has given me leave to take you for a short stroll. May I beg that you will agree?”
All smiles, Sir Lionel stood nearby, nodding encouragement, and when Marietta said she would go and fetch her bonnet and a parasol, he told her triumphantly that he had already sent for those articles. Mrs. Gillespie came puffing from the back stairs, her square face flushed as she offered the dainty bonnet. Embarrassed by such a display of eagerness, Marietta tied the ribbons hurriedly and avoided Mr. Coville’s eyes.
Outside, the air was already quite warm. They followed the drive-path around to the back of the house, then walked through the gardens and into the meadows.
Coville took Marietta’s parasol and put it up for her. “You are not provoked with me for suggesting that we walk?” he asked. “I had intended to bring a mount for you, but—alas! there is no time!”
Disappointed, she asked, “You are returning to London, sir?”
He nodded and said with a sigh, “Our steward sent a footman with an urgent message. A foreign potentate has arrived at Carlton House in connection with a matter vital to Britain’s interests, and since my father has travelled widely and chances to be acquainted with the sheikh.…” He shrugged ruefully.
“Your papa is asked to handle the business, is that it? You must be very proud to be the son of so important a gentleman.”
“Yes. Well, I am, of course. But to leave Sussex at this particular time is”—he sighed again—“is very far from my own wish, Miss Marietta.” He offered his arm. “May I be permitted to address you so?”
Well aware that eyes were watching from the windows of the house, she slipped her hand onto his arm and said, “In private perhaps, Mr. Coville.”
He patted her hand. “Then, in private, I must be Blake. Yes, I know that is being very forward, but you must know how very lovely you are, and how much I admire you. I am so glad we are friends. I only wish—” A worried look came into his eyes. “There’s no use wrapping it in clean linen—I wish my step-brother was not coming back at this particular time. You will take care, ma’am?”
“Good gracious,” she said, smiling at him. “I am in peaceful Sussex, Mr. Coville. Not aboard some East Indiaman being pursued by Portuguese pirates!”
“I know. But—may I beg that you will do something to set my mind at rest?”
Temple and Cloud must really be a bad man. Pleased that Mr. Coville should be so concerned for her safety, she asked, “Such as?”
“If by any chance you hear that Paisley, my step-brother, has come to Lanterns, will you get word to me? Your father has my direction. I’ll come at once, I promise you.”
Astonished, she protested, “No, really! You are very kind, but his lordship cannot pose a threat to me, or to my family, surely?”
That frighteningly grim look was in his eyes once more. He said quietly, “He is the most dangerous man I have ever known. I would hold no lady safe within ten miles of him! And you stay here, ma’am, on his land. I know you must think I exaggerate. I do not. Quite apart from Paisley, there are treasure hunters to be guarded against. If you see anyone lurking about Lanterns—”
Marietta started.
He drew her to a halt and peered into her face. “What is it? Never say you’ve already seen trespassers down there?”
Mr. Diccon hadn’t really meant to hurt Arthur, and had been so gentle with the child afterwards. And Arthur was overjoyed with the sword. Somehow she could not bring herself to betray their trespasser. “After all you have told us,” she said, “I would be terrified to go near the old place.” Coville looked unconvinced, and she added, “Besides, sure
ly your step-brother would not choose to live in such an old ruin?”
“There is no telling what mischief he may be brewing. I could not bear that anything untoward should happen to you, or to your family.” He pressed her hand and said earnestly, “While I’m away I shall hold your lovely face always in my mind’s eye. And I’ll count the hours till I can return and find you safe.”
It was a good thing, thought Marietta, knowing her cheeks were hot, that she had more common sense than to refine upon such behaviour. If she allowed herself to interpret his remarks as she knew Papa or Fanny would do, it would be very easy to believe that Mr. Blake Coville’s heart was being ensnared by a penniless girl with a large family to be provided for.
CHAPTER IV
“I am quite aware that I’m not going fast enough for you,” said Diccon wielding the curry comb with steady strokes. “But I’ve already taken care of Orpheus, and what you fail to realize is that I’m not supposed to be doing this at all. Someone should be waiting on me, rather!”
Mr. Fox brayed softly, turned and lowered his head to lean it against his owner’s chest. Diccon staggered, and swore. Mr. Fox looked at him anxiously. Pulling the donkey’s ear, Diccon soothed, “It’s all right. Don’t fly into a pelter. I’m not quite steady on my pins yet, is all.”
Reassured, Mr. Fox permitted his head to be turned aside again and his grooming recommenced.
It was a brilliant morning. The sky was a deep blue against which white clouds billowed majestically. The warm air was heavy with the scents of blossoms and the clean salt tang of the sea. Birds hopped and twittered, bees buzzed, and Diccon grumbled.
“Only listen to all that peace and quiet! The place is like a blasted tomb! Yes, I know that’s how it is supposed to be. It wasn’t yesterday afternoon, though.” He chuckled, and the curry comb slowed. “We didn’t know about that little brat and his family in the dower house, did we, Fox? As well we found out. We’ll have to be more careful, especially when Yves comes back. Can you imagine that rogue’s reaction were he to rest his eyes on the delectable witch?”
Here, the curry comb stopped altogether, and Diccon leaned on the donkey’s back, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Did ever you see such a little beauty? But what a termagant! Likely that’s why she’s unwed. No man wants a shrew for a wife. She may perhaps be betrothed, in which case heaven help the poor fellow! We’re happy in our bachelor life, aren’t we, Fox? Though it would be grand to have a little scamp like young Arthur about the house. If one had a proper house. And to have a gentle lady to confide in, and love, and who would care about us.” He considered that wistfully, then uttered a snort of derision, “Who’d want us, eh? A battered bachelor short on those two vital necessities, looks and lettuce. And—your pardon, but facts are facts—a donkey.”
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