Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  Marietta laughed. “No, really! How can you be so foolish? Do not have us betrothed only because I’m sorry for our treatment of him.”

  “What about his horrid treatment of a little child?”

  “You know that was unintentional. Only think of how he must have felt when Arthur slammed that broom into his back. And I might very well have killed the poor soul because of my silly suspicions! But he scarcely even taxed me with it!”

  Fanny gave a scornful little snort. “Perhaps he is enjoying his convalescence too much to risk jeopardising it.”

  “That is unkind.”

  “If it is, I am sorry. But I do not like to see you so—so intrigued by a very ordinary man who is so much older than you are.”

  It was true. Marietta did find the Major intriguing. She said slowly, “I’ll admit I think him very far from being ordinary. Do you never feel that his is a very strong and commanding nature? Yet he is willing to play childrens’ games with Arthur. I would like to know more about him. Besides, I doubt he is more than a year or two older than Blake Coville.”

  “Mr. Blake Coville has as good as offered for you. Mr. Innes Williard is absolutely besotted and you’ll not fend off an offer from him for much longer. Either of them is a hundred times to be preferred over a man who is a considerable enigma! And if the Major, or whatever he is, is so strong and commanding, why has he only a little donkey between himself and destitution?”

  Marietta answered defensively that Major Diccon also possessed a magnificent grey stallion, to which provocation Fanny tossed a pretty shoulder and went off in a huff.

  Shaking out a bolster cover, Marietta wondered why she had become so annoyed by her sister’s remarks, and whether, if she really had to choose between Major Diccon and Innis Williard, she would—

  “So here you are, my pretty!”

  One of the gentleman in her thoughts was close behind her, his bluff voice causing her to swing around hurriedly. “Mr. Williard!” She shook his hand politely. “My apologies. Was there no one in the house to greet you?”

  “Pshaw, I do not stand on ceremony, Miss Marietta.” His ruddy face was wreathed in a grin and his bold dark eyes devoured her hungrily. “Don’t worry about my seeing you in your apron. I think we’re on such terms that I need not be shy about finding my way to your side if my knock at the door goes unanswered.”

  Marietta tried unsuccessfully to free her hand and wished that he would not stand so close. As usual, he was clad in the latest fashion, but his garments seemed never quite to fit properly, and for all the fobs and seals and the great ruby ring on his square hand, he had none of the quiet elegance that the Major managed to achieve in a plain coat and riding breeches. She dreaded that Fanny might be right and Williard meant to offer. He must be closer to Aunty Dova’s age than her own, and although many ladies admired his rugged good looks, she could not like his loud voice and aggressive manner.

  She said, “You should have been properly received, sir. But I think my papa could not wish me to be private with you here. If you will be so good as to release my hand, we can—”

  Instead, he held her tighter, his eyes glittering as he thrust his face close to hers. Words tumbled from his lips and he all but panted, “Much your papa will care if I have you all to myself for a minute. He likely thought to dodge me, but he need not have worried. I don’t mean to press him for payment. What is money, after all? And if we can keep it in the family, my dear, why—”

  Marietta wrenched free and made for the back door. Surely Papa had not been so unwise as to borrow from this man? “You must discuss financial matters with Sir Lionel,” she began.

  Moving very fast for such a husky individual, Williard was before her, blocking her retreat. “Come now, sweeting,” he said, affecting a persuasive manner. “There’s no need to be coy. You’re no green girl, and I’ve been about the world! You know my feelings for you, and I’d thought you would like a double wedding. Sir Lionel and my pretty sister, and you and—”

  Enraged, she interrupted, “You forget yourself, sir! If you have spoken to my father in this matter, he has not mentioned it to me! Nor have I given you any cause to suppose I would welcome a declaration from you, much less one offered in such terms and in so improper a way! Be good enough to let me pass!”

  He did not like to be crossed, and at this his dark brows drew together. Marietta’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with wrath, her head held very high. She looked even more desirable, but that she would react in this way to his very generous proposal was as annoying as it was unexpected. Isolde had agreed with him that the chit would be overjoyed by such a grand chance, but whatever Miss Warrington felt at this moment, he could not think it was joy. Resentful, he pointed out, “I do not ask about a dowry. Did you remark that? I know your father is properly in the basket. If you are ashamed that you bring nothing to the union, do not give it a—”

  “Pray have done, sir! Had you approached my father in the correct fashion—”

  “Do not take that tone with me, my girl!” His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. “I do you the honour of offering you my name, and you dare to turn up your nose? You should have left those high and mighty airs with the dim-witted London beaux who are easily fooled! You do not fool me! Your father lost five thousand guineas to me, and has begged for time. I’m a patient man, and for your sake would be willing to wipe out that debt, but do not try my patience too far, or—”

  “What a pity about your ears.”

  With a startled oath, Williard whipped around to face the owner of that sardonic drawl.

  Marietta, who had been stunned by the amount of Sir Lionel’s indebtedness, pulled her hand free with a gasp of relief that at once became apprehension. Major Diccon stood watching them. He looked haughty and contemptuous, but he was also pale and had been ill. If Mr. Williard lost his temper, as was his habit, the Major would be no match for him.

  “Who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?” roared Williard, his face assuming a crimson hue.

  Diccon said icily, “I am a guest in the home of Sir Lionel Warrington. I cannot think that you have a similar claim.” His lip curled, his eyes raked Williard from head to toe, and he added, “I believe you must not have heard Miss Warrington desire you to move aside.” His voice sank to a purr. “Do so!”

  With a snort of rage Williard stamped forward and swung his heavy riding crop high. Diccon’s eyes narrowed, and he crouched slightly.

  Alarmed, Marietta stammered, “Thank you, M-Major Diccon. I feel sure Mr. Williard is—is leaving now.”

  What Williard read in Diccon’s face she could not tell, but his impassioned glare faded, he lowered his hand and growled, “Major, is it? Well, you’re a damned impertinent jackanapes, whoever you are! But I’ll not discipline you in front of the lady.” He turned about and stamped towards the gate in the hedge, blustering, “Your father won’t thank you for this day’s work, I promise you, Miss Marietta!” Diccon took a step toward him, and Williard hurried for the safety of the gate. Passing through, he shouted, “Set one foot on my land, fellow, and my men will know how to deal with you, major or no!” The gate slammed behind him.

  There came a burst of soft applause from the house. Mrs. Cordova stood in the open scullery door beaming at them. “Oh, well done, Major!” she trilled. “’Faith, but you properly frightened the creature! Do you not agree, Etta?”

  Marietta said, “To say truth, for a minute, sir, I really thought he meant to attack you.”

  Diccon smiled his lazy smile. “Then I must be thankful I was able to bluff him. He’s a big fellow. I only hope I did not step in where angels would fear to tread.”

  In Marietta’s ears was the echo, ‘Five … thousand … guineas.…’ She said with an effort, “Oh. I mean—no! You were most kind, and I thank you.”

  He bowed, watching her worried face gravely.

  Mrs. Cordova said, “And I thank you, too, sir. I never liked that man! Which reminds me—you have a caller wi
th a horse, Major. He would not come in, and is waiting on the terrace. It is the man who waits, you understand? I suppose the horse also waits, but—” She gave a sudden shriek of laughter. “My, how confusing this becomes! His name, he says, is Monsieur Yves, and something is causing him the greatest distress.”

  “He said that?” asked Diccon sharply.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Cordova held out her skirts and essayed a risky pirouette on the step. “I could tell. I often can, you know.” She murmured in a far-away voice, “I see many more things about people than they suspect. You must let me tell your fortune, Major.”

  “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.” Mrs. Cordova beamed at him and hurried down the steps, and he said hastily, “But for the present, I beg you will allow me to rob your vegetable garden.” Receiving her permission, he bowed slightly and left them, walking briskly to the neat rows of vegetables and then around to the front of the house.

  “He stole a carrot,” said Marietta. “Did you see the horse? I only caught a glimpse, but it’s a beautiful animal.”

  “And costly.” Mrs. Cordova nodded. “It would be interesting to know how he came by the creature.” Another pirouette and she murmured, “I fancy most men tread softly around our major. I wonder why he does not want me to tell his fortune.”

  * * *

  Yves’ shaggy little pony and Orpheus were tethered at the lodge gate, and as the two men left the terrace and started down the drive-path, Yves halted. “’Allo? ’Allo?” he said, annoyed. “I do not care to make the shout. It is truth that beside you Yves is always as if walking in the ditch, but if you could your mind remove from the très belle mademoiselle, you might ’ear those things I say.”

  Diccon flushed slightly. “A proper fool I should be to allow my hopes to drift in that direction. I apologize if my mind wandered. Now tell me—have you finished the deliveries?”

  Yves directed a much-tried look at the sunny skies. “’Ave I not said it? Your beast I bring to you now, for we sail tonight.”

  “Tonight! There’ll be a moon, you fool!”

  “And the more large fool I, if we stay.”

  The grey stallion nudged his master’s shoulder and whinnied a greeting, and Diccon caressed the silken neck affectionately before giving in to rank flattery and offering the carrot in his pocket.

  Watching this fond reunion Yves said solemnly, “They come, mon ami. Two with the long memory who love not this Yves, but who love much less my Diccon.”

  “They’re not alone.” Diccon shrugged. “Likely at least half a hundred men would rejoice to hear of my departure from this world. Yet I live.”

  “Ah, but suppose I tell you that a week since these two they sail from a small French fishing village at dead of night? Suppose I say that one ’e is very tall and very white—like the dough? And the other”—he threw his arms wide—“much of a Chinese walking mountain?”

  Diccon stiffened and stepped away from the velvety muzzle that was tickling his neck. “Monteil?”

  “Mais oui!” Yves nodded vigorously. “This same Monsieur Imre Monteil who vow your death. The monstrous Ti Chiu, also! If you ’ave wisdom, you go very fast away. Like me.”

  “Nonsense. Wherever he may be going, Monteil would not dare to set foot in England again. And even if he did, he’d never think to look for me here.”

  “Do you forget that this evil one was so thick as inkle-weavers with the mighty Claude Sanguinet? Like as not ’e still ’ave many spies, and if ’e desires a man to find—that man is found! Listen, mon ami! To stay in this place—” Yves offered the dramatic and all-encompassing shrug that covers every imaginable situation and can be achieved only by a Frenchman. “Ce n’est pas la peine!”

  “Not worth your while, perhaps,” argued Diccon. “But you worry too much. Besides, I can’t leave until I have word from Italy.”

  “Ah, well. On your own ’ead be it. What more can Yves do? And your fine Orpheus?”

  “I’ll ride him down to Lanterns.” Diccon stifled a sigh. “It’s time I went back there, at all events.”

  “Mais non! You must not be alone! ’Ow shall you manage the beasts? And if—”

  “Jove, what a gloom-merchant! MacDougall should return at any day, and I’m well rested. I thank you for taking care of my animals. When may I expect the next shipment?”

  “To this place? You may not. The Swiss, ’e know I work with you, and because of our—er, conspirings, ’e ’ave lose much of the money which ’e love! Me, I do not like to be dead, merci!” Wringing his friend’s hand, Yves said mournfully, “Au revoir, my Diccon. I will tell you again that it is the great pity you are too sure of your own self. You are good. But not an army, mon ami. Send me words when the Monteil go back to ’is—what is it you say?—’is lair! Or, better, when ’e meet ’is doom!”

  Diccon was irked, but he knew better than to try to change the mind of this droll but stubborn individual. He promised to “send words” as asked, and watched the Frenchman stride rapidly down the hill. He was a fiery little gamecock; a typical Latin, ready to imbue every situation with drama, but a devilish good man in a scrap, just the—

  There came a soft footfall behind him. Involuntarily, he whipped around.

  Carrying a large tin bowl, Marietta exclaimed, “My, but you are so sudden!”

  The sunbeams filtering through the branches of the laburnum tree awoke a bright sheen on her dusky hair and deepened the green of her eyes. Alarm touched the delicate features that he found almost too exquisite to be real. He had frightened her. ‘Fool!’ he thought, and straightened at once, smiling a greeting.

  “I promise you I mean no harm,” she said. “I came to see your horse. He is splendid!”

  “Yes. Ah—he is.”

  In the course of his chequered career he had mixed with all classes and conditions of people and often his life had depended upon his ability to say the right thing at the right moment. His quick wits had never deserted him. Until now. The nearness of this slim girl seemed to reduce his brain to glue, and his desperate attempt to find something charming and ingratiating to say failed miserably. He recovered to an extent and intercepted her outstretched hand as she moved towards Orpheus. “You must let me introduce you, ma’am. He sometimes forgets his manners with strangers.”

  Still holding that small hand in his own, breathing in the faint sweet scent she wore, and wretchedly aware that his own hand trembled betrayingly, he reached out to the horse. Orpheus tossed his head and rolled fierce eyes at the newcomer. “Behave, you rascal,” said Diccon. “Miss Warrington is a friend.” After a suspicious sniff, the big grey quieted and permitted that his nose be stroked.

  Marietta had not missed the look of awe that had dawned in Diccon’s eyes, and was quite aware of the tremor to the long fingers that held her hand as though it were fashioned of sheerest crystal. In company with every female since the dawn of time, she knew when she was admired. In this instance it was a nice feeling, especially since he made no attempt to stand too close, as he might so easily have done. He released her hand very carefully, as though fearful of breaking it. With an inward smile she thought that this tall, shy man was a far cry from the deadly individual who had faced down Innes Williard, or the brusque stranger who had only a few days ago remarked that he wondered if she ever said “anything sensible.” She said lightly, “You are very handsome, Orpheus. But I wonder what you would do if your master had said I was an enemy.”

  Diccon smiled. “That is something you will never discover, ma’am, for I never would tell him such a rank falsehood.”

  “I think I am fortunate! Is your friend going away, Major? Do you wish us to stable Orpheus for you?”

  “No, no! I’d not impose— I mean, it is time— it’s past time I went—er, home.” He untied the reins, then reached for the bowl Marietta carried. “Let me take that. It’s too heavy for you.” He peered at the contents and wrinkled his nose. “Gad! What is this stuff?”

  “Mash for the chickens. And you cannot carry
it and manage Orpheus as well. Will he allow me to lead him, do you think?”

  “Yes. So long as I am close by.”

  She took the reins and started along the side drive-path that led to the barn and stableyard. “Oh, how beautifully he moves! Would you let me ride him? I love a spirited animal. Now why must you look so aghast? I have a very good seat, I promise you.”

  “Then I shall begin to train him to accept a side-saddle, Miss Warrington.”

  “Another polite evasion, Major?”

  He looked startled and she said laughingly, “Oh, yes. I am aware of your devious ways, but I will not tease you. As to your going back to Lanterns, that is quite out of the question until you are better—unless you’ve someone to help you.”

  “You’re very kind, but I am much better, I thank you. And my man will be rejoining me within a day or two.”

  His man? She hid her surprise and decreed serenely that until then the Major must remain at the dower house, and that there was plenty of room for Orpheus in the barn. “It will make very little extra work for Bridger, for we only keep three horses, nowadays.” She heard the note of regret in her own voice and added hurriedly, “Now tell me why you call him Orpheus, if you please.”

  “Like his namesake, he is a music lover.”

  Marietta patted the glossy shoulder of the big horse. “He sings, no doubt?”

  “Not really. Cannot follow a tune for the life of him. But—in a sense he does follow a tune.”

  “You are going to have to explain that, Major.”

  Greatly daring, he said, “If you will come to Lanterns and visit me, I’ll show you. One picture is worth a thousand words, so they say.”

  “The picture of you putting Mr. Williard to flight was worth many thousand words.” Her smile faded into a troubled look. “I am sure you … heard.”

  “I’d not intended to eavesdrop, ma’am. But his voice carries, and I thought you might—er—”