Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  He said quietly, “Unless I am the threat.”

  “Oh, I hope not. I really do. Perhaps it is that I’m not reading the warning properly, but I felt I must tell you, just in case. So many tangled threads. And death hovering … so horribly! And everything will be changed!” She moaned distractedly. “Oh dear, oh dear!”

  He stood and took her hands and led her to the chair again. “Now, now. Do not be so troubled. I thank you for coming down here to warn me. But—your visitor may already have arrived, ma’am, in which case you worry for nothing.”

  She looked at him dubiously, and he poured a little more wine in her glass and told her about his uninvited late-night caller.

  “He must have been a big fellow to toss you about,” she said, looking somewhat cheered.

  “His height is not exceptional, but he’s almost as broad as he is tall and of incredible strength.”

  “You saw that much—at night? Or is it that you have met him before?”

  “I’ve met him before, and certainly he has no love for me. But in this instance I think he was simply looking for The Sigh of Saladin. And that may be the danger you were warned of, ma’am: that unscrupulous men are hunting for the supposed treasure.”

  “Hmm. This very strong man who attacked you. Is he English?”

  “He is Chinese. And his master is a Swiss. There, you see? They are from far away, yet they are here.”

  She gave a sigh of relief. “Praise heaven, then that would explain it!”

  “It would indeed, and it is nothing that would bring trouble upon your brother’s household, so you may be at ease.”

  “Ye-es.” She sprang up in her abrupt fashion and trotted to the door. “And I must be off.”

  Diccon offered to drive her up the hill, but she declined, saying that she liked to walk. He accompanied her across the drawbridge, and when they reached the north end of the manor she stopped and reached up to pat his cheek. “Such a kind smile,” she said. “Poor boy. What a terrible grief to have lost your lady so young. The young feel things so very intensely.”

  Once again his breath was snatched away. He gasped, “You—you heard about it?”

  “No. But it was a simple puzzle to solve, after all. I did know that you had been devoted to your papa, but he died when you were eleven, I believe, and you said your tragedy occurred when you were eighteen. At that time you had already left home. Your mother was still living, so the only other cause of such grief would be a lady.” Her brow wrinkled. “It might, I suppose, have been a beloved sister, or aunt. But—it wasn’t, so now you will think me very clever, no? And you will pay heed to my warnings. Be very careful, ‘plain and simple, Major Diccon.’ You are neither plain nor simple, and I know you have lived with danger for most of your days. I fear you, my dear. But I like you. And I would purely loathe to discover that we have arrived at the wrong solution to what my Mystical Window is trying to tell me.”

  A beaming smile, a little pat on the arm, and she was gone, but Diccon still stood there watching as she walked with quick, bouncy steps up the slope and across the meadow.

  MacDougall emerged from the barn and wandered over to join him. “Whisht! She’s well away. It’s demented she is, puir lady.”

  Diccon said thoughtfully, “Or very wise, Mac. Either way, I think you and I must do what we can to make Lanterns more secure. I’ve a feeling that we’ve not seen the last of unexpected visitors.”

  * * *

  “Oh, a famous fellow, I agree. I always liked George.” Sitting beside Eric Warrington in the withdrawing room, Blake Coville was quite aware of the admiration in the younger man’s eyes, and although he longed to terminate this conversation he added graciously, “In fact, I helped him get out of England two years ago.”

  “Did you, by Jove! How famous! I never even saw Brummell. Did you know him, Papa?”

  “Not well,” said Sir Lionel. “One encountered him at various functions, of course. But I have never been an admirer of the Carlton House set, and Brummell seemed to me a very cold fish. Etta liked him, though, didn’t you, my love?”

  “He was very kind to me,” said Marietta, “when he might easily have snubbed me. And that is how we judge people really, don’t you think? Less by what men say of them than by how they treat us personally.”

  Coville had come here this afternoon hoping for a private chat with Marietta. Unfortunately, young Warrington had driven in only moments after he arrived. Now he was properly trapped and would likely be subjected to a half-hour of dull small talk before he could decently escape, without ever having spent a moment alone with her. All it wanted was for the lunatic aunt to appear! He conjured up a rather tight smile and said, “I hope that gentle tolerance will not be extended to my step-brother. I have been trying to hint your sister away from him, Warrington, but Miss Marietta is of a trusting nature, and he has a smooth tongue and I fear has managed to deceive her.”

  Indignant, Marietta protested, “I think you are saying I am gullible, which is not the case! I broached the subject with Major Diccon and he gave me his word of honour that he has not harmed his mama!”

  Coville said with an edge to his voice, “Easy said, ma’am, when he has no honour!” Eric looked shocked, and Coville added, “My apologies for speaking plainly. I’ve good reason for anger, Mr. Warrington, as your father could tell you.”

  “Just so,” said Sir Lionel. “And now is as good a time as any. Perhaps Mr. Coville will excuse us for a few minutes while you lend me a helping hand downstairs. I’ve a small problem with my new invention.”

  Coville stood at once and said he would be on his way, but Sir Lionel insisted he remain and take tea with them. “Fanny will brew up a pot for us,” he said jovially. “In the meantime, I feel sure Marietta would enjoy to take a stroll around the gardens now that the weather is so pleasant. Ain’t that right, m’dear?”

  Once again embarrassed by her father’s sledgehammer tactics, Marietta had no choice but to agree. Fanny tried not altogether successfully to hide her amusement and went into the kitchen to prepare the tea tray, while Sir Lionel took his son down to the basement.

  On the stairs Eric said uneasily, “Perhaps I should go and fetch Aunty Dova. Surely it’s not proper for Etta to be alone with Coville?”

  “What, in our own garden? Never be so prim, boy. Coville cannot very well pay court to your sister whilst we all sit and gawk at him, now can he? And I promise you he’s a damn sight finer catch for her than is that penniless and reluctant peer down the hill.”

  “Jove! There’s no chance of that, is there, sir? Fanny says he is a bad man and that he very probably murdered his mama and hid her body in the old barn.” Reassured by his father’s hoot of laughter, he went on, “Yes, well, I must say it sounds like so much fustian to me, because if it were true Bow Street would have him safely locked up in Newgate.”

  “So Marietta holds. Sir Gavin claims he hasn’t called in the law because he don’t want scandal, but…” Sir Lionel shrugged. “Who knows? Temple and Cloud struck me as a reasonable enough man at first, but he’s up to his ears in smuggling at the very least.”

  “You never mean it! A peer—free-trading?”

  “A peer who won’t use his title, which of itself is a sure sign he must be short of a sheet.”

  “Yes, indeed! Does he appear deranged?”

  “No, no. Quite a fine-looking chap, in a manly way. One of those strong and silent types. Your aunt says there’s an air of the panther about him.” Sir Lionel chuckled. “Emma and her fancies!”

  “Is it truth that he was at Waterloo, sir?”

  “So he says, and I’ll own I’d not care to have his glove in my face! He’d be a man to reckon with. Hand me down that tub of glue, there’s a good lad.”

  Obliging, Eric said thoughtfully, “I know Fanny is afraid of him, but Etta and Aunty Dova seem to like him. I wonder why.”

  “Because they’re women, of course. Show them an upstanding gentleman of character, and they’ll toss their pre
tty shoulders and forget him. But let them suspect a man is dangerous and with a touch of mystery about him, and they flock about him like so many moths round a flame. Aye, you may smile, m’boy, but I’ve seen it before and I don’t want to find Etta fluttering around that particular flame! No future in it. Now, you’d best run upstairs, and make sure Fan don’t volunteer to keep her sister company and drive poor Coville demented!”

  * * *

  “Oh, I think the guv’nor was grateful enough,” said Eric, riding beside Marietta early next morning. “But he didn’t like my having given the funds into your capable hands.”

  Marietta sighed ruefully. “Poor dear Papa. I only hope he may not begin to resent my interference.”

  “Interference be dashed! Now don’t let him break your shins—I mean, borrow from the reserves, Etta! You ain’t betrothed to Coville yet. Er—are you?”

  She laughed. “Foolish boy. As if I’d not have told you. Certainly Papa would have made the announcement if Mr. Coville had asked for my hand.”

  “From the way he behaved yesterday afternoon, I thought he was about to do so. He seemed exceeding anxious to be alone with you. When I peeped outside he was talking to you most animatedly. Wanted to find out about our background, I’ll warrant?”

  Marietta watched the clouds that were massing to the northeast, and said slowly, “When first we met he said he intended to ask me lots of questions about myself. But most of the time he only talks about himself or wants to know whether I have been down to Lanterns.” And she thought, ‘Just as Diccon said he would.’

  “He’s likely worried for his step-mama. I wonder you didn’t send him to Madame Olympias.”

  “You very much dislike Aunty Dova’s—hobby, don’t you, Eric?”

  “Of course I do. I suppose the whole County must know their local fortune-teller is really my aunt! What a come-down!”

  “Oh, I hope they do not! You should only see how she dresses when she goes to the caravan! The wig, and all the paint on her face, and the funny accent she uses. I promise you it would be hard to recognize her and I think it simply would not occur to most people that a gentlewoman would do anything so outrageous. Besides, she listens to their troubles very kindly, and they really do value the advice she gives them.”

  “Do they indeed! I shall go down and consult her myself. She can look into her crystal ball and tell me if there really is a treasure.”

  Marietta laughed. “Have a care, brother dear. Madame Olympias would be more likely to read your palm and find out all about your jaunts in London.”

  Eric’s grin vanished. He snapped, “How did you know I was in Town?”

  “‘Miles Cameron’ told her. Isn’t it extraordinary that she—Eric? You’re not angry?”

  “No. Of course not, you silly widgeon.” His brilliant smile chased away that sudden look of rage. “But I think I’d best not let her read my palm. My reputation would be—Jupiter! Who the devil is that?”

  Marietta turned and saw a great grey horse galloping across the meadows at breakneck speed. “Oh, that’s Major Diccon!” She waved. “I think he has not seen us.”

  “He has now; see, he’s turning.”

  “He’ll have to swing south to cross the stone bridge.”

  “Devil he will! He means to jump the stream!”

  Alarmed, she cried, “No! He cannot, it’s too wide! Oh, heavens! He has Arthur up before him! Wave him off, Eric!”

  “Too late. There he goes. Oh, jolly well done! Gad, but he can ride!”

  Orpheus came thundering up, then slowed and approached them with mincing decorum.

  “Etta! Eric!” screamed Arthur, his face flushed and his eyes blazing with excitement. “Did you see? Sir G’waine an’ me jumped over the moon! Like the cow! Wasn’t it fine?”

  “A fine risk to take with my brother up before you,” scolded Marietta.

  Diccon said blandly, “Oh, I felt perfectly safe in the company of the dauntless Lancelot, ma’am.”

  Noting the smile on the man’s fine-drawn face and the sparkle in his sister’s eyes, it occurred to Eric that Mr. Blake Coville had better make haste with his wooing.

  “He says I mayn’t try it till I get a horse like Awful,” said Arthur. “He says a man must know his mount ’fore—”

  “Major Diccon says,” Marietta corrected. “Not ‘he.’ You must allow me to present my brother, Major. Eric, this is Major Mallory Diccon Paisley.”

  “Temple and Cloud, eh?” said Eric, reaching out eagerly for the handshake. “Very glad to meet you, sir. Jove, but that’s a splendid horse.”

  “Yes, he’s a fine fellow.” Diccon patted the stallion’s smooth neck. “I’m told you’ve a nice team of matched bays.”

  Eric blushed with pleasure but gave a man-of-the-world shrug. “Oh, pretty fair. They’re good goers, but not in the same class with your animal. Is he really called Awful?”

  “Orpheus.”

  “And he is musical.” Marietta glanced at Diccon and added with meaning, “You must give my brother a demonstration, Major.”

  “It would be my pleasure. Now, if you dare enter my wicked castle, Warrington. I’ve a fearsome reputation, you know.”

  Eric grinned, but Arthur, who had been gainfully employed in tying a knot in Orpheus’ mane, said confidently, “I’m coming, too!” Diccon gave him a stern look and he added, “If y’please, sir.”

  “That’s much better,” said Marietta. “But it’s time for your lessons, young man.”

  The boy’s lower lip thrust out rebelliously.

  Eric said, “Beastly luck, child, but I only take educated pirates out rowing.”

  Arthur’s eyes became very round. “’S afternoon?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “You promise?”

  Eric put a hand over his heart. “A sacred vow.”

  “And you can ride home with me,” bribed Marietta. “Can we manage that, Eric?”

  Warrington dismounted, handed his reins to Diccon and lifted Arthur to Marietta’s saddle. Settling his brother into place, he murmured sotto voce, “He don’t sound demented to me.”

  “Who’s ’mented?” asked Arthur, loud and clear.

  Marietta closed her eyes and moaned softly.

  * * *

  “It could be jolly fine if you restored it,” said Eric, walking back through the new wing beside Diccon. “Assuming you enjoy country life, of course. Thank you for showing me around.”

  “I’m glad you like the old place. I take it you don’t enjoy country life? Perhaps you’re eager to get back to University?”

  “Devil I am! The country’s all right. For a day or two. But school—ugh! It’s damnable. Didn’t you find it so, sir?”

  Beginning to feel like Methuseleh, Diccon said, “Sometimes. But to have a degree in your pocket can be most helpful to your career. Depending upon what you mean to do with your life, of course.”

  “So everyone says. Did you win a fellowship, sir?”

  “Oh, don’t look to me for your example. Not if you expect to wind up with plenty of lettuce in your bowl!”

  “Well, that’s just it, you see. Even if I were to cram night and day it would take another two years to finish. I’m a fair scholar, but to say truth, I’ve no interest in the business. And my family needs help now!”

  Diccon thought of a spanking new coach and thoroughbred team, and the coat that was as if moulded to Warrington’s shoulders and proclaimed the costly genius of Weston. He kept his scepticism to himself and opened the kitchen door to wave his guest inside. “I haven’t started any repairs yet, and there’s not much in the way of usable furniture. I’m afraid this is the most presentable room in which to entertain you, but if you can stay for a glass of cognac I’d be glad of some intelligent company.”

  Flattered by such an invitation from a man whom he had recognized at once as a regular “top o’ the trees” Eric accepted eagerly. When he was settled at the table with a glass of most excellent brandy, Diccon sat opposite and gra
nted his request to be told about The Sigh of Saladin and the ghosts said to haunt the manor. Then, with skilled expertise he guided the conversation to Sir Lionel and his family. The brandy was velvety smooth, the kitchen warm, and the Major’s interest gratifying. Drowsily content, Eric relaxed, and quite soon the floodgates opened.

  Diccon listened to a wistful account of their grand house in London and of the life that had been “so very different” to their present circumstances, which were obviously regarded as deplorable. “Fanny was too young to have gone out into Society very much,” said Eric. “And she don’t miss Town. But it has been devilish hard on Etta, though she’s a good girl and don’t cry over spilt milk. My father hoped she would make a splendid match and rescue us all, but—buried out here…” He shrugged resignedly.

  “You cannot hide a diamond of the first water for very long, and Sussex is scarcely in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Miss Marietta will assuredly make a splendid match. I only hope it may be a happy one.” Diccon became aware that he had spoken sharply and that Warrington was staring at him. “I think it admirable that you mean to help your family,” he went on in a milder tone. “But it’s rather a tall order for a young fellow, isn’t it? At your age I had all I could do to provide for myself.”

  “Not much lettuce to be made in the Army, I fancy?”

  “Even when they remember to pay me—which they seldom do! Luckily,” Diccon met Eric’s gaze and said with a grin, “I have other—ah, irons in the fire.”

  “So I’ve heard. And if this brandy’s a sample I imagine you make more at your illicit career than at your public one!”

  “Well, there’s always money to be made. Provided one’s willing to take the risk. But I don’t recommend such unlawful activities to a young sprig like you, and I’ll be grateful do you keep mine to yourself.”

  It seemed to Eric that there was just a touch of condescension in the other man’s attitude. Irked, he reacted with the boastfulness of youth. “Never fear, sir. I’m told you refuse your title, whereby one gathers you also have no love for our present ridiculous form of government.” Lowering his voice, he leaned forward. “I’ll admit to you that I’ve set more than my toe outside the law. And more than once!”