“No, dear. But he will come very soon, I’m sure.”
“Can I go outdoors and wait for him?”
“After you’ve seen the surprise, perhaps. In fact…” She hesitated, then said, “I’ve something I must show him before he talks to anyone else. If you should see him first, would you tell him that? It’s—a secret, and a very important secret.”
“Sort of like the secret orders the Staff Officers carried for the Duke at Waterloo?”
“Yes, dear. Just like that.”
He was impressed and agreed to relay the secret message, provided he could wear a blue coat. “Staff Officers wear blue coats y’know.”
Luckily, Marietta was able to unearth a faded blue velvet coat from Arnold’s press. It was too big, but with the aid of a belt and turned up sleeves it would serve. She left Arthur eating his porridge and sliced peach and explaining to Friar Tuck that he knew all about Staff Officers ’cause a friend of Aunty Dova’s had married with a lord whose son had been one. “His name’s Colonel Leith,” he said, “an’ he’s very fine, an’ taller than…”
The sentence went unfinished, which Marietta put down to the charms of peach and porridge.
It had rained steadily all night and this morning a strong wind drove flurries of drops against the windows and set the barn door to banging. Marietta washed the tea-stained tablecloth and hung it over the clotheshorse in a corner of the warm kitchen. Fanny was gathering ingredients for a seed cake, and when the repairs to the “risers” were completed she sent Vaughan out to the barn to collect eggs. He hurried in with a piece of sacking over his dark head and announced that he had “liberated” ten eggs and that the rain seemed to have set in for a long stay.
When Marietta went upstairs to fetch Arthur, Vaughan said, “You look very grave, Miss Fanny. I saw how you watched your sister; do you think she grieves because of Coville’s behaviour?”
“No.” Fanny cracked an egg and emptied it into the bowl then stood staring down at the two pieces of shell in her hands. “I believe she had already realized he was—well, not the man we thought him.” She sighed. “Etta has been so good, Jocelyn. You cannot know how hard she has worked, taking care of us, handling all the details that Papa—I mean…”
“Yes,” he said understandingly. “I know what you mean. In a sense Miss Marietta has mothered you all.”
She smiled up at him. “You do understand. It is exactly that.” She blushed and said shyly, “Thanks to Etta I am so very happy. But I want her to be happy also, and she is not. I know she’s worrying. And it must be very bad, because she can usually hide her worries from us all.” She reached for another egg. “I do wish I knew what was troubling her.”
Vaughan concentrated on folding his piece of sacking, and said nothing.
* * *
Marietta slipped quietly out of the front door and into the grey and misty morning. Leaves and grasses drooped soddenly and large drops fell from the eaves, but the rain had eased to a drizzle. Arthur was nowhere in sight. She pulled the hood over her hair and started around the far side of the house, avoiding the kitchen area. There was no need to disturb Fanny and her devoted assistant cook. As she’d expected, apart from two ducks who waddled about unperturbed by the damp, the back gardens were deserted. Arthur had probably crept out and gone towards the London Road to wait for Eric. She drew her cloak tighter and started off, keeping to the trees so as not to be seen from the house.
Her pattens were in the scullery and rather than go in and claim them she’d come out in half-boots that were soon thoroughly soaked. She trod carefully and paused several times to peer about through the misted air, hoping to catch a glimpse of a small solitary figure. She was almost to the bridge when she saw a flash in the copse of beeches by the stream. Perhaps Arthur had put on his chain mail before venturing into the rain.
Relieved, she hurried forward, only to stop abruptly. The figure she came upon was solitary but far from small.
For the barest instant her heart leapt, and she had to repress a strong compulsion to run to him. But then came the pain of comprehension; the glint of light had come from a spyglass, trained at the moment on the distant London Road. He was up here waiting in the rain with remorseless patience; hoping for a sight of his quarry. Crushed by despair, she had to blink away tears.
As though he had sensed her presence Diccon swung around. He whispered her name, and there came that blaze of joy in his eyes; the silver blaze that wrought such havoc with her foolish heart.
Somehow she kept her voice calm. “Good morning, Major.” She glanced pointedly at the spyglass in his hand. “I’d not realized you were one of those people who have an interest in birds.”
He looked bewildered, then said with a wry smile, “The creatures I watch for, Miss Marietta are, unhappily, birds of prey.”
“The same species that visited you last night?” She had noted at once the ugly graze across his cheekbone and said with instinctive sympathy, “They marked you, I see. I— We were very anxious for you.” His eyes lit up again, and she went on quickly, “Lieutenant Vaughan said there was quite a battle and that you were able to defeat them all except for that terrible Chinese man.”
He smiled. “Vaughan exaggerates, as usual. As for Ti Chiu, I must own I was quite outclassed, but I’ll excuse my defeat by claiming that it would take a troop of heavy dragoons to subdue that ugly customer.”
“Then that is just what should be done. You are an Army officer, why have you not called for reinforcements to arrest him? You said he and his master were in the country illegally.”
“So they are, ma’am. And to say truth I did send out a call for help. Unfortunately, the local troopers have been occupied with another matter which causes my attempted robbery to appear comparatively insignificant.”
She said with real indignation, “I cannot think that the attempted murder of an English peer could be judged insignificant!”
“I hope that no murder will ever be judged so, Miss Marietta. Only—the other matter, you see, involves our national security.”
She was suddenly very cold. “Oh.”
Concerned, he said, “You’re shivering. And small wonder. Those little boots were not intended for walking in the rain. May I escort you home?”
What he meant was, “May I come and see what is going on at the dower house?” But Vaughan was there, of course, to report to him. With another pang of misery she thought, ‘Oh, heavens! Is that why Jocelyn courts little Fanny?’
Diccon’s hand was on her arm. Scanning her face anxiously, he asked, “What is it? I thought we had agreed that if you were troubled you would come to me?”
How could he look at her with such tenderness and be so treacherous? Truly the officers of the Intelligence Service were a breed apart! But she would not be taken in this time; she would be as deceitful as he.
And so she smiled up at him and said, “Well, I am with you, am I not? My trouble is that Arthur has gone off again and I can’t find him. I thought perhaps he had run away to London, or come to you. Have you seen him?”
“No, and I would have done if he left after eight o’clock. Are you sure he’s not in the house—or the barn, perhaps?”
“He wasn’t in his room. He’s been rather downcast these past few days, so I thought…” She shrugged. “No doubt you’re right. I’ll go home and look more thoroughly.”
He folded the glass. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. Really, there is not the need. It is just a short walk, and—”
“And I could wish you do not walk out alone, ma’am.”
He looked stern, and like a ray of light it came to her that he might not have been setting a trap for Eric after all. That he might have been standing here in the rain hour after hour because he feared that the ruthless treasure seekers might next break into the dower house. Her heart leapt with joy and she said, “But surely you don’t really think this Monsieur Monteil and his henchmen mean to invade our home?”
It was exactly w
hat he feared, but not for the world would he frighten her. He’d given Joss strict instructions to alert Sir Lionel and Bridger to the threat without alarming the ladies. He said, “Oh, no. Why would they? If The Sigh of Saladin had been hidden in the dower house it would have been discovered centuries ago.”
Joy faded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Of course.”
CHAPTER XVI
Realizing that she may have betrayed herself, Marietta tried to remedy matters by chattering gaily all the way back to the dower house, making Diccon laugh with her description of Sir Lionel’s disappointing new invention. And because she suspected he would know of it anyway and think it odd if she failed to mention it, she said casually, “Oh, and we’ve been visited by an Army General. He warned Papa to be on the look out for “some traitorous gentleman” who might journey through the area. It seemed rather a pointless warning,” she added with a little laugh. “How does one recognize a traitor? Would he wear all black, perhaps? Or ride in a very fast coach and four with the words ‘I Am A Traitor’ inscribed on the panels?”
Diccon thought regretfully that she would have no trouble recognizing this particular fugitive, but years of concealing his true feelings stood him in good stead and as they approached the house he managed a smile and said that all traitors were known to sport very large black whiskers and go armed to the teeth with sword and dagger and at least one pistol. “Indeed, you’ll recognize him at a glance, for he’ll scarce be able to stagger about under all that weight!”
He was rewarded by her infectious chuckle and an invitation to come inside for a cup of tea. Longing to accept, he declined politely, on the grounds that he must get back to his “post.”
His “post” being the hill from which he could watch the London Road, thought Marietta. The road along which Eric would very likely come. She had never pleaded for the company of any gentleman, but she swallowed her pride and coaxed, “No, must you go? Surely you can spare us a few minutes?”
For a second he looked down at her, his expression enigmatic, then he asked, “Has Sir Lionel forgiven me, then?”
With all her other worries Marietta had quite forgotten her father’s wrath at Diccon’s deception, and she hesitated.
He said, “I thought not. But I thank you for the invitation. I’ll go back to the bridge and turn my glass this way. If you don’t find the boy, please wave to me from the upstairs balcony, and I’ll come down and help search for him.”
“But wouldn’t it be easier if you waited here? It likely won’t take me very long to find him if he’s in the house or the barn.”
He agreed, but pointed out that he had no wish for Sir Lionel to see him lurking about the house. Marietta could think of no more reasons to delay him, and had no recourse but to thank him for his concern and leave him there.
Diccon stood at the end of the back lawn and watched her follow the path that led past the west end of the house and around to the barnyard. How graceful was her walk; how proudly she held her lovely head. And there could be no doubt now: she knew. He had been too long schooled to read people’s faces not to recognize the fear she’d tried so hard to hide. She was afraid of him! What a bitter irony when he loved her so dearly. But her fear meant that she knew about Eric’s guilt, and suspected he was hunting her brother.
If she could but know how he dreaded that Eric Warrington might come this way, or of how passionately he prayed that her traitorous brother would be taken long before he set foot on Lanterns soil. To watch her valiant effort to appear light-hearted had wrung his heart, and he’d longed to take her in his arms and cherish and comfort her. But he shrank from admitting his involvement while there was still the possibility that the wretched Eric would be caught in Town, or anywhere but here. If not, if Fate levelled the ultimate challenge and he was the man who must send her loved brother to shameful and hideous public execution … His shoulders slumped. Anguished, he turned away, thinking, ‘Lord, please. Don’t make it be me! Don’t let me be the one to break her heart!’
He looked up and found Mrs. Cordova standing only a few paces distant, watching him. There was compassion in her round face, and he knew the bland mask he showed the world had slipped. For the first time in years he was unable to reclaim it, and without a word strode rapidly across the meadow.
* * *
Marietta’s search of the barn and sheds having proven fruitless she went back into the house and climbed to Arthur’s room hoping he might have returned. Once again unsuccessful, she went through the other first-floor rooms and was about to go downstairs and see if he was in the cellar when she heard a faint sound behind her. Friar Tuck emerged from the passage leading to the attic stairs, his claws making little clickings on the boards. At the sight of her he feigned terror; his back arched and with tail bushed out and ears back he scampered along the corridor and thundered down the stairs, headed kitchenwards, no doubt.
He had pointed the way for her, and she went very quietly up the narrow attic stairs. The door was slightly ajar. Pushing it wider, she heard a doleful sniff. Arthur sat huddled against the broken rocking horse Eric had promised to repair last year. He looked pathetically small and stricken, head bowed onto drawn-up knees, arms wrapped around them as though holding himself together.
She crept inside, the creaking of the floorboards drowned by a sudden shuddering sob. Sinking to her knees, she waited, watching him, aching for him, wondering if somehow he’d heard about the terrible folly of the brother he’d always idolized. When he at last lifted a reddened and tear-streaked face, she said gently, “My dearest, how can I help?”
He dragged a hand across his eyes and gulped a hoarse, “You can’t, Etta. No-nobody can h-help. ’Cept him. An’—an’ he won’t, ’cause…” His voice broke. “’Cause he’s jus’… bad!” He reached out, leaning to her, the tears overflowing.
Marietta held him tight, rocking him gently, murmuring words of comfort until the storm of grief eased a little. Stroking his hair, she asked, “How did you know, love? Did you overhear someone speak of it?”
He sniffed and drew back. She gave him her handkerchief and when he’d blown his nose and wiped his eyes he said scratchily, “I saw him! I told you. But you wouldn’t listen. No one wouldn’t!”
Bewildered, she said, “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t recall—”
“No, ’cause you din’t listen. But I told you! An’ you said it wasn’t him, and that he was just l-living there! An’ his name was diff’rent so I thought it wasn’t him. An’ he was so … kind … to me. An’ he said he never … did nothing like that. But—but he did, Etta! Mr. Blake said his name’s really Temple an’ Cloud, so it was him! An’-an’… Oh, I l-liked him so much an’ I didn’t think I’d ever like someone what … what was wicked!”
Marietta stared wide-eyed at that small, sorrowful face, and asked in a half-whisper, “What did you see, Arthur? Would you please tell me again? I’ll listen hard this time. I promise.”
So he told her all about the two men who had carried the muffled figure out to the carriage on that fateful evening. “An’ Diccon said that whatever happens she mustn’t never be found. I heard him, Etta!” He clung to her again, and gulped, “It was his own mama! How could he be … so bad when I thought he was so good? How could he, Etta?”
She soothed him as best she might, but she felt numbed and desolate, and thought miserably, ‘How could he indeed!’ She took Arthur back to his room and made him lie down and rest and sat beside him, hearing again that loved voice saying, “If I told you, it would make you an accessory, do you see?” Surely, that had been as good as an admission of guilt, but she’d refused to believe evil of him because he had seemed to be brave and decent and honourable.
With a sigh for her gullibility she saw that Arthur had fallen asleep, probably worn out, poor little boy. She pulled the eiderdown over him, closed the curtains, and tiptoed out.
Fanny was scrubbing the kitchen table, and told her that Vaughan had gone down to the workroom to chat with their father,
and that Friar Tuck had fairly shot out of the back door when Aunty Dova went to gather some onions. The cat was terrified of thunder and if he’d retreated to his favourite hiding place in the barn it was a sure sign that they were going to have another storm from this very stormy autumn.
The skies were getting darker by the minute and Marietta decided to feed the chickens before the rain really came down. She met her aunt coming out of the barn carrying a basket of onions and carrots, her hair and her cloak flying.
“We’re in for some weather,” she announced. “Speaking of which, have you and Major Diccon quarrelled? I saw him leave. I think I’ve never seen such desolation in a man’s eyes. He is head over heels in love with you, child. Now why do you smile?”
For a moment Marietta considered sharing the bitter news that Major Mallory Diccon Paisley had almost certainly done away with his parent, but there was no telling what her aunt would do with that information and if it was spread about its possible usefulness would be ended. She said, “Because I believe he loves only his work, and is using us to accomplish his goal.”
“No, no. You wrong him, Etta. Poor creature. I cannot but pity him.”
Her eyes wide, Marietta said, “But I thought you so feared him? Have you changed your mind?”
“I admire him. And—yes, I fear him. More than ever now, alas.”
“Then, what …? Do you think I could use this alleged love he holds for me? I mean, if Eric should come, might Diccon help him—for my sake?”
“I wonder.” Mrs. Cordova said thoughtfully, “However he may deny it, there are centuries of tradition behind him. I rather suspect the case would be, ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.’ Hurry and come inside, Etta. After all the rain I’m afraid we’ll have lots of trees down if this beast of a wind keeps up.”
During the night the wind not only kept up, it increased to gale proportions, howling in the chimneys and roaring in from the sea to hurl itself against the house with a force that threatened to tear the roof off.
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