by Mayhem
"Drive the devils out,” the other croaked.
The nearest human figure took on Lady Wiston's features, and Miranda knew she was Prometheus being punished for her gifts to mankind.
Miranda awoke as the landau again pulled up. She felt not at all rested, wearier and stiffer than ever in fact. Her head ached, and the horror of her dreams loomed over her like menacing storm clouds.
Outside, though the rain had stopped, a funeral pall of sloe-black clouds hung low across the sky, shutting out the evening light. Inside the carriage dusk had already come and lamps shone in the windows of the Haycock Inn.
Ted opened the door and clambered down. Miranda heard him say, “'Twill be dark soon, sir. There's a nasty hill in Stamford, seven mile on, wi’ a tricky spot at the top and then a fork where we turn off the Great North Road t'ward Oakham, easy to miss in the dark. ‘Tis time I earned me keep, methinks."
Opposite Miranda, Danny stretched and yawned enormously. “Have a good sleep, miss?” he asked.
"Well...."
He grinned. “I reckon you'd give your eye-teeth, same as me, for a floor as don't joggle and sway about, and a nice feather bed."
Miranda tried to smile. “I don't know about my eye-teeth, but I should give a good deal."
"Never fear, miss, Ted says we'm past half way."
"Half way! Is that all?” she cried to Mr. Daviot, who climbed in and sank wearily to the seat beside her.
"Past half way,” he said soothingly as the carriage began to move, “and that's half the journey from London to Northwaite Hall, remember. Before we started out this morning we had travelled over a hundred miles already. We have not near so far still to go."
"But the night will be utterly black. Even Ted will not be able to drive faster than a snail's pace. Oh, I wish we had not gone first to Redpath Manor!"
"It's a pity, I agree, but I still believe it was the sensible thing to do. Though of course I'm sorry Aunt Artemis will be confined for a few extra hours, in the end it will not make much difference. I daresay she will sleep it away. The worst must have been the first shock of Snell's betrayal and her abduction."
"If only that were the worst! Do you know how physicians try to cure madness?"
"No, but—"
"They told us, Lady Wiston and me, when we visited the New Bethlem Hospital.” The horror of her dreams swept over Miranda again. “First they isolate the lunatic from all friends. Then they beat him to make him afraid, so that he will be obedient. If he protests, he is immobilized in a strait waistcoat and shackles, and they burn his scalp with hot irons and—"
"My dear girl, listen!” Mr. Daviot took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I'm sure all sorts of horrors go on in the public hospitals, but Aunt Artemis is in private care."
Miranda felt tears pouring down her face. “They did all those dreadful things to poor King George,” she said flatly. “Right there in Windsor Castle, his own home. They told us."
"Well, I am very sorry for the unhappy King, but the case is quite different. His doctors were desperate to restore his sanity. Snell does not wish to cure Aunt Artemis; indeed, quite the contrary. If she were judged rational, he would lose at a stroke his control of her funds, which I am convinced is the sole motive for the whole affair. The last thing he'll do is pay for treatment."
"Makes sense, miss,” said Danny.
It did make a sort of sense, but Miranda was too tired to be consoled by mere reason. At that moment Mudge, who had been trying in vain to draw her attention to his desire to join her upon the seat, lost his minimal patience and bit her knee. That was the last straw. The sobs she had so far restrained burst forth.
Peter Daviot gathered her into his arms and held her close, her cheek pressed to his already damp lapel as he stroked her hair. “My poor girl,” he murmured, “you are quite burned to the socket."
"I did not mean to behave like a watering-pot,” she wept. She ought to pull away, but the warm strength of his embrace was so comforting she clung to him. “I'm sorry."
"Balderdash! You have every excuse. I've been admiring your composure, and it's the more to be wondered at if you have been imagining such horrors."
"She has been like a mother to me. I cannot bear to think—"
"Hush, Miranda. Hush, love.” He rocked her gently, like a small, unhappy child. “Don't think about it. It will not happen. The villain is rapacious and callous, but we have no cause to suppose him to be deliberately cruel, and he has no reason to desire a cure. Trust me."
"If only I had trusted you in the first place, instead of him!"
"Well, of course, you should have guessed at once that when I described myself as an adventurer I meant it as a synonym for knight errant."
She looked up to smile at him, grateful for his effort to cheer her. In the gloom their gazes locked. Miranda could not stir; her breath caught in her throat; a flood of heat washed through her as he bent his head. His lips touched hers.
Mudge yelped and made another attempt to clamber onto the seat. Miranda was suddenly conscious of Danny, tactfully snoring scarce three feet away. She jerked back.
Mr. Daviot let her go. Unlike the first time he had kissed her, he made no apology—but this time she had not slapped his face.
Lifting Mudge onto the seat between them, he glanced at Danny with a rueful grimace. His eyes on Mudge he said in a casual tone, “The beast bit you, did he not? We shall stop at the next inn for you to treat the wound and—"
"Oh no, it is nothing."
"Show me."
"Certainly not!"
"Then give me leave to doubt, and to insist that you—what was it you told me?—do it right in the first place to avert the need to amputate! And, as I was going to say, we shall stay for a few hours rest."
"Unless you mean to make me drive a stage, which I cannot advise, I can rest perfectly well as we go along,” Miranda protested.
"That's a taradiddle if ever I heard one. One may fall asleep in the carriage but one does not awake rested. I'm not speaking only of you. We are all exhausted. Besides, however warm the day, the night will grow chilly. Ted and I are damp, and Danny is sodden. I should not dare to return him to Mrs. Potts with an inflammation of the lungs."
"No fear o’ that, sir,” said Danny, confirming that his snores had been a matter of tact.
Mr. Daviot frowned at him. “But we shall be better able to tackle Snell and his bruiser if we are well rested. Also, the clouds may clear in a few hours, which would allow us to travel faster and with less danger of coming to grief. Tell Ted to stop at the next respectable inn, if you please."
He made it impossible for Miranda to argue. In any case, she had not sufficient energy for dispute. Leaning back in her corner with her eyes closed, she had scarce sufficient energy to ponder the kiss which still burned on her lips, the “love” which had issued from his lips.
A slip of the tongue, the latter, she decided sadly. As for the kiss, she could not place any importance on an embrace no different from the one he had once bestowed on her without so much as knowing her name.
Adventurer or knight errant, he distributed his caresses with a freedom which robbed them of all significance.
* * * *
Black night had fallen when the landau turned into the cobbled yard of the Bull and Swan at Stamford. Ostlers with lanterns converged upon the horses, and a waiter in a short, striped coat with a napkin over his arm hurried up.
"Ye'll dine, sir?” he asked as Mr. Daviot opened the door, “and stay the night? Fine food and fine accommodations ye'll find at the Bull and Swan."
"We shall stay a few hours,” said Mr. Daviot, descending and turning to help Miranda down.
Mudge sprang down ahead of her. With the loop of his leash in her hand, she stumbled on the steps. Mr. Daviot caught her. For just a moment he held her much closer than was strictly necessary. She found her feet and he let go.
Danny at their heels, they followed the waiter into the inn by the side door.
They entered a foyer with a low, black-beamed ceiling. Off it opened a coffee room and a noisy taproom, a wide passage to the front door, and an oak staircase to the upper stories. The landlord, a short, round man with a round, ruddy face, eyed them with somewhat startled curiosity: a well-dressed gentleman with a decidedly drab female on his arm and the battered visage of Daylight Danny towering over them, obviously in attendance.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"We shall rest here for a few hours,” Mr. Daviot informed him, “but we must go on before morning, at one o'clock, say. So we shall require horses then, and a meal at half past eleven, and in the meantime tea for the lady and chambers for the three of us and my coachman."
"One chamber for the coachman and your manservant, sir, and one for yourself and your good lady?"
"My good lady? Oh, Miss Carmichael is not my wife."
"Indeed!” The innkeeper looked as if he felt they might at least have had the decency to pretend.
Miranda flinched. She had not thought how her travelling without a chaperon would appear to strangers.
"She is my cousin,” Mr. Daviot said swiftly. “And Mr. Potts is my friend, not my servant. We shall need four—"
"Begging your pardon, sir,” said Danny, “but I'll gladly share wi’ Ted. What's more, ‘twouldn't hurt none if you was to take the bed, and him and me to have a pair o’ pallets on the floor.” He leaned forward and muttered in Mr. Daviot's ear, “It being low tide with us as you might say, sir."
Straining her ears to hear this sensible comment, Miranda was half aware that Mudge had caught the scent of either food or a cat. Head raised, he snuffed the air intently with his flat nose, then leaned down and sniffed at the floor, casting about like a foxhound. He looked around, nostrils aquiver. All at once he yelped, yanked the leash from Miranda's hand, and galloped up the stairs.
"Oh dear!” She picked up her skirts and raced after him.
As she reached the top of the stairs, he stopped at a door half way along a dimly lit corridor. Scrabbling at it, he started to howl.
"Mudge, be quiet! Come here at once, you horrid dog!"
He paid her not the least attention, as usual. Miranda hurried after him to quiet him before the landlord decided to turn them all out.
The door opened. Silhouetted against the candlelight within, a huge, burly figure stood foursquare on the threshold. With a joyful yip, Mudge darted between his treetrunk legs and into the room.
"I'm so sorry,” Miranda stammered. “My dog...."
The colossus did not budge an inch. From behind him came a familiar voice.
"Mudge! Good gracious, where did you spring from? Yes, yes, dear boy, you shall have a comfit."
"Lady Wiston!” Turning back towards the stairs, Miranda called, “Mr. Daviot! Danny! Come quick, oh, do hurry! Lady Wiston is here."
Faster on his feet than Danny, Mr. Daviot reached Miranda while the bulky bruiser was still pounding up the stairs. Seeing the stranger, much of a height but twice his bulk, Mr. Daviot slowed to a halt and started to speak. Before he could utter a word, the giant stuck out an apparently casual fist and socked him on the jaw.
Mr. Daviot flew backwards across the passage, hit the opposite wall, sagged, and slumped to the floor.
Chapter 18
Peter lay still. He was not senseless, but the fireworks in his head made him wish he was. Rockets blazed a path of agony from chin to crown and back; squibs exploded in his ears; Catherine wheels spun dizzily against his closed eyelids.
Then a cool hand touched his forehead, a gentle voice said anxiously, “Peter ... Mr. Daviot, can you hear me? Speak to me, please! Open your eyes!"
He no longer wished he was senseless. With a pitiful groan, he opened his eyes and looked up into a dear, anxious face. Reaching up, he ran his fingertips down her cheek.
"I shall live,” he croaked. The movement of his jaw sent fresh showers of sparks along every nerve. He closed his eyes again.
From beyond Miranda came Danny's severe voice. “Better put them fives down afore you does any more damage. Well, if it ain't Chopper Charlie! And what might you be a-doing of here?"
"Pertecting my lady,” said Chopper Charlie truculently.
"Pertecting! All my eye and Betty Martin, that is. Don't tell me it weren't you as run off wi’ her la'ship in the first place."
"Anybody c'n make a mistake.” The brute sounded distinctly abashed.
"Danny!” That was Aunt Artemis. “What a delightful surprise. Miranda, my dear, is poor Peter in sore straits? I fear Charlie did not realize in time that friends had arrived."
"Oh ma'am!” Miranda hiccuped on a dry sob.
Peter opened his eyes to see his beloved embrace his beaming aunt. Very touching. He recalled their attention with a heartrending moan.
"Sore,” said Miranda, “but not, I think, in desperate straits. Danny, pray fetch my chest from the carriage. You—are you a chambermaid here? I shall need cold water and linen, if you please, and ice if you have any. The rest of you, ladies and gentlemen, I am very sorry you were disturbed, but there is nothing for you to see now, so pray go away."
Peter loved to hear her taking charge. Practical, yet sensitive; straightforward, yet tolerant of other's foibles; easily moved to both amusement and sympathy; that was the girl he wanted.
Too bad he had nothing to offer her.
"Mr ... er ... Charlie, pray carry Mr. Daviot into the room. Careful, now. He is Lady Wiston's nephew, you know. It was lamentably ill done of you to attack him without warning, and without waiting to find out who he was or what he wanted."
"I knows it, miss,” said the huge bruiser guiltily. “Many's the time I been in a heap o’ trouble acos I fergits to think afore I acts."
"I'll walk,” Peter mumbled. The thunder and lightning in his head had subsided to a mere double throb.
Charlie offered a hand like a slab of raw beefsteak, and with its help Peter rose unsteadily to his feet.
"No hard feelings, sir?” Charlie begged. “'Twas for your auntie's sake I grassed you."
"No hard feelings,” Peter consented, adding austerely, “but try to remember that bribery is always to be preferred to violence."
Miranda smiled at him, and he recalled saying the same to her with regard to Mudge and comfits, shortly after their first meeting. Shortly after their first kiss. She had not slapped him the second time he kissed her. Either she had forgiven him for the first time—or she had forgotten it.
Mudge had been responsible for the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting. He had not improved upon acquaintance. As Peter, supported by Charlie's oaken arm, stumbled after Miranda into his aunt's private parlour, the pug decided Charlie was an intruder. Snarling, he darted at the big man's ankles.
"Not now, you wretched creature,” cried Aunt Artemis, fumbling in the pocket of her Cossacks for comfits. “Where were you yesterday when I needed you? He is a friend now, not an enemy."
Mudge ignored her. Charlie tripped and staggered forward. Peter lost his balance. Miranda, swinging around to reach for the dog's leash, caught him as he toppled.
Once more he had her in his arms, but he was in no case to appreciate the situation. A bass drum boomed in his head. It was all he could do not to shoot the cat on the spot.
"His face has gone green!” Miranda said sharply. “Quick, a basin."
A fine figure he cut! Definitely not hero material, Peter thought sadly as she sat him on a sofa, made him lean forward, and held his forehead. Aunt Artemis shoved a basin under his nose, but the nausea passed off. At least he had not utterly disgraced himself.
The chambermaid reappeared with napkins and a jug of cold water. Aunt Artemis at last succeeded in extracting a handful of comfits from her pocket and enticed Mudge away from Chopper Charlie's boots. Danny thudded in, panting, with the medicine chest, followed by Ted Coachman.
Miranda set about making up cold compresses with comfrey and pungent arnica. As she worked, she addressed the maid,
“Pray tell the landlord we shall all stay the entire night. Have you dined, Lady Wiston?"
"No, dear, not yet. My friends will join me,” she told the girl.
"Mr. Daviot will require gruel and a strengthening broth,” Miranda added.
Peter was already too much recovered to let that pass. “Here, I say...” he began to protest, but the pain in his jaw changed instantly from a throb to a stabbing agony, cutting him short.
"And a bottle of claret,” Miranda ordered, giving him a quizzical smile. “You would find chewing excessively uncomfortable, I fear. Here, hold this.” She gently placed a chilly, dripping, aromatic cloth against his aching face. “The back of your head is sore too, is it not? I shall make another compress."
"You're an angel,” he said through scarcely moving lips. Already the pain was ebbing, but he needed something to distract him from her closeness. “Will you ask Aunt Artemis to tell us her story?” he mumbled. “Though I am not in the least surprised that she has made a friend and defender of her captor, I should like to know how it came about."
She laughed. “Nor am I, and so should I. Lady Wiston, will you not enlighten us? How come you to be here in Stamford when we assumed you must be confined at Northwaite Hall by now? We cannot wait to hear."
"A mighty fidget we bin in,” Danny confirmed.
"You must be patient, my dears,” said Aunt Artemis. “I have just twenty minutes to do my yoga before dinner. I missed yesterday, what with one thing and another.” She looked around the room to find a suitable spot.
"Yoga?” asked Charlie with interest.
"I daresay your chamber is the best place,” Miranda hastened to advise. “The inn servants will be in and out of this room, setting a table and bringing chairs."
"I expect you are right, dear,” Aunt Artemis agreed meekly, but the glance she shot her companion was full of mischief. Her horrid experience did not appear to have cowed her in the least.
* * * *
Mr. Daviot insisted on joining the rest of the company at table. Miranda surveyed his face, noted that his cheeks were no longer quite as white as the encircling bandage which held the cold compresses, and conceded.