Sanguinet's Crown

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Sanguinet's Crown Page 8

by Patricia Veryan


  Laughing, Charity went and gathered her up. “Foolish creature,” she scolded, holding the pleased kitten against her throat. “I suppose Brutus chased you out here. So now I am given the choice of taking you home, or carrying you all the way to the village with me.”

  Her answer was a grating purr and the busy kneading of little paws at her collar. And so they went on, kitten and bearer together, through the brilliance of the May morning.

  Soon, the purrs became softer, but rhythmically even. Charity held out her small burden and surveyed it. Little Patches was asleep. That she was a very sound sleeper Charity knew from experience, and so she deposited the kitten carefully in one of the copious pockets of Rachel’s cloak and walked on.

  Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Alain Devenish, his handsome, earnest face, and the unconventional offer he had made her. Her first offer. She smiled ruefully. And her last, no doubt, for it was extremely unlikely she would ever receive another. Small chance of marriage for a plain girl who dwelt in the country for most of the year, had never been launched into the ton, was not adept in the art of flirtation, and was, besides, a bluestocking. “Rachel,” argued a contrary inner voice, “was used to dwell in the country and furthermore had no dowry such as Justin has now settled upon you.” But Rachel, said Charity to herself, is so exquisitely beautiful and probably received more offers than she would admit, until Claude Sanguinet monopolized her every moment and spread the silken net that almost dragged us all down to tragedy. She shivered.

  “I am not surprised to see that you shake in your boots, madam! All alone again, and far from home! Where is your maid or your footman?”

  Charity thought, “Oh, confound the creature!” But, looking up, was just for a moment struck to silence.

  Whisper pranced and sidled skittishly, rolling her eyes at Charity as though she resented the presence of another female. Untroubled by her antics, Redmond swayed in the saddle with easy grace. He wore no hat and the mischief of the wind had blown his dark hair into a rumpled untidiness, so that although he scowled fiercely at her, he looked younger somehow and less formidable. The fresh air and exercise had brought a flush to his lean cheeks and a sparkle to his eyes, and the dark red riding coat that fitted his shoulders to perfection so became him that Charity thought a bemused, “My heavens, but he is a fine-looking man!”

  The mare capered as the wind tossed a weed, and she reared, snorting with exaggerated panic. Redmond pulled her down, and as she spun, he demanded, “Come, ma’am. I will escort you back to the house.”

  “I cannot say how you go on in Hampshire, Mr. Redmond,” said Charity, recovering her voice. “But here in Sussex a lady need not fear for her safety when she is on her own land.”

  “Then since you are no longer on your land, perhaps you will agree—like a sensible woman—to go home.”

  It was true. She had crossed the wilderness area and the meadow and reached the lane at the edge of Justin’s preserves. Chagrined, she exclaimed, “Oh, for goodness’ sake! I have walked to the village since I was a child, sir. And I scarcely think—”

  “Very obviously. Attempt it now, if you please, Miss Strand. Cast your mind back a few days. Have you so soon forgotten the circumstances under which we first met?”

  The scorn in his voice was biting. Flushing resentfully, Charity pointed out, “That was some miles to the north of Strand Hall. And—”

  “And thus in darkest Africa, I suppose. I should think you would be aware that it is neither—blast you, Whisper!—it is neither safe nor proper for you to jaunter about the countryside in this ill-bred fashion.”

  Ill-bred! Charity drew herself up to her full fifty-nine inches and declared with regal disdain, “I cannot feel it incumbent upon me, Mr. Redmond, to be guided by your inhibitions. Do you judge it unsafe out here, I recommend that you hurry to Colonel Leith, who will, I am sure, offer you his protection!”

  He glared at her, his eyes narrowing unpleasantly. “By Jove, but I’ve a damned good mind to throw you across my saddle bow.”

  “Then you will most assuredly answer to my brother-in-law,” she retaliated, her face flushed with anger.

  “Your brother-in-law, madam, is about to be treated to a piece of my mind! Best!” His voice rose to a shout, and Charity stepped back quickly as the alarmed thoroughbred immediately jumped into the air and whirled about twice.

  Redmond made no effort to calm his indignant horse, but waved as the groom cantered from the trees to join them.

  “Come along, there’s a good man,” urged Redmond impatiently. “What in the deuce delayed you? Never mind—get down, if you please, and give me your reins. That’s it. Now, I want you to accompany Miss Strand on a, er, vital errand. Her abigail was obliged to return home.”

  Infuriated by such high-handed tactics, Charity snapped, “I was not with—”

  “Without apprehension?” inserted Redmond. “Naturally not, ma’am. Best, see to it that Miss Strand does not stay out too long in this wind.” He added with a meaningful stare at Charity, “Or go too far.”

  He had as well say she was no better than an infant! Yearning to remind him to give Best her leading strings, Charity restrained herself with considerable effort.

  To add to her humiliation, Best’s grave expression left little doubt but that he was in full accord with Redmond. Taking back his reins, he tied them to the pommel. “No need for you to bother with this old fool, sir,” he said, giving the hack a slap on the rump and watching him trot off. “He knows his way home. I’ll take care of Miss Charity. Never you fear, sir.”

  Turning on her heel, Charity marched off, muttering, “Of all the interfering … insufferable … opinionated…!”

  Smothering a grin, the groom asked, “Did you say something, miss?”

  “No! And furthermore, Best, I know very well what you are thinking, so you need not address me again!”

  Best obeyed this stricture for the next ten minutes, walking slightly behind Charity as she stepped out briskly along the lane, and thinking in amusement that he’d not be too much took aback did Redmond do what he’d said and have a word or two with the Colonel. Better tread careful, had Redmond, however good his intentions. Colonel Leith had not got all his rank without learning how to deal with insolence, and Mr. Redmond had brought insolence to a fine art!

  Charity’s thoughts followed along similar lines. If that wretched Mitchell Redmond caused Tristram to be so alarmed that her daily walks were curtailed, or she was not allowed to step out-of-doors without being guarded like—Her heart gave a sudden odd little jump. Guarded? Against what? There was little doubt but that she had not made a dazzling impression upon Redmond; the man despised her. Why, then, should he care where she walked? Or whether she went alone or with an army of footmen and abigails to escort her? Why did he—

  She turned swiftly as she heard horses. Best glanced behind them also, but there was no sign of riders in the peaceful lane.

  “I could have sworn,” said Charity, “that I heard—”

  “Have a care, miss!” Best exclaimed sharply.

  She swung around. A coach was coming around the curve of the lane. A large coach, very luxuriously appointed, and gleaming black. Charity’s heart seemed to freeze. She saw in a series of cameolike impressions that the four horses were black and perfectly matched; that the coachman and guard wore black and gold livery; that three outriders, clad in the same sombre garb, were coming up quickly, riding in silence on the grassy verge of the lane.

  In a croak of a voice, she cried, “B-Best! Oh, Best! For the love of—”

  Best swore under his breath, grabbed Charity by the arm, and jerked her behind him. “Run, miss!” he urged. “Run!”

  The wind had sent several branches down, and he snatched up the nearest. It was pitifully inadequate against the three who rode at him brandishing long, serviceable-looking clubs, but it would have to do.

  Charity hesitated only a second, then ran, her little feet flying as she sped frantically to the brea
k in the hedge beyond which was the meadow and a chance of being seen or heard. Her heart was beating so madly that it seemed to deafen her, but she heard a sudden choking cry and was anguished by the knowledge that poor Best had fallen.

  A man was laughing. Hooves were thudding up behind her. Sobbing with terror, her heart bursting, she could hear heavy running footsteps, harsh breathing. She screamed as a rough hand clutched her cloak and yanked it so hard that she fell. Brutal faces were grinning down at her. “Don’t be so scared, Missus Quality,” rasped a coarse voice. “We ain’t a-goin’ ter hurt yer. Not in your condition.”

  “Do not … touch me…” Charity gasped out between numbed lips. “Don’t—”

  But she was wrenched to her feet, and she screamed again. A large hand smelling of stale beer and dirt clamped across her mouth. Dizzied, half stifled, sick with terror, she felt her bones turn to sand as consciousness faded.

  Her last thought was, “Sanguinet…! Oh, my dear God!”

  Chapter 6

  Riding at a gallop towards Strand Hall, Mitchell Redmond readied Whisper, and with no check in pace, set her at a low wall on the far side of the meadow. The mare soared upwards in a beautiful leap, neighed with fear, and landed in a scramble that would have been disastrous had it not been for the consummate skill of her rider. Even so, she staggered, and leaping from the saddle, Redmond went to his knees. He was up in a second, heedless of his muddied britches as he checked on his mare. Whisper was sweating and trembling violently, but she did not appear to have taken any injury. Relieved, Redmond straightened and saw from the corner of his eye a rapidly departing figure. So that was what had caused the fiasco! Some blasted idiot had been lurking about under the wall! His irritation with Tristram Leith forgotten, he shouted, “Hey!”

  The intruder promptly broke into a run.

  Redmond turned to Whisper and stroked her. “Sorry, lass,” he said, and mounted again. He turned her cautiously, but she gave no evidence of a limp or of reluctance, and he brought her to a canter.

  He never carried a riding whip, but there was at all times a Manton in his saddle holster. He slipped it out, levelling it as the mare came up with the fugitive. “Hold, you confounded clod! What in the devil d’you think you’re doing?”

  The offender cringed, one arm protectively upflung, whining, “I ain’t done nuffink, guvnor. Let me be. I didn’t mean ter fright yer nag.”

  He was only a youth; stockily built, with flaming red hair and a pinched-looking countenance that showed the lack of proper food. He had a strong beak of a nose and a pugnacious jaw, and the firm lips, now twisting downwards, parted to reveal regular, if not well-brushed, teeth. The one thing that Redmond found repulsive about his appearance was not so much a feature as the lack of it, for he had no eyebrows, so that his wide-set brown eyes looked naked and abandoned.

  “Who are you?” demanded Redmond, conscious of an odd sense of familiarity. “And what in hell were you about? D’you know you damn near caused my mare to break her pretty neck?”

  “Wasn’t my fault, guv. I works fer Lord Rickaby. Just cutting acrost the field on me day orf. Musta been sleeping, just a bit of a kip, guv, and I didn’t hear yer comin’. Don’t you shoot, now!”

  Glaring at him, Redmond slid the pistol back into its holster. “I’ve seen you before somewhere. Where?”

  The removal of the pistol exerted an immediate and beneficial effect upon the youth. Grinning up at his victim, he said with bright insolence, “Me name’s Dick. An’ I ’spect as ’ow yer rolled yer orbs over some lucky cove what happened ter look like me. Ain’t likely as I’d ferget a swell like yerself, is it, yer honour?”

  Redmond considered him thoughtfully. “You’re a brash little bantam,” he said, thinking that the boy had a fine pair of shoulders and might develop into a likely fighting man were he decently cared for. “And there’s a law against trespassing, whether you work for Rickaby or not.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t never trespass, sir! I don’t set one toe on no land where there’s a sign posted. Only thing—I didn’t see no such thing round here, milor’.”

  Redmond’s stern lips twitched. “I am not a milord. Now be off with you, and don’t hang about Mr. Strand’s preserves in the future.”

  “No, sir. Sorry, sir!” The boy backed away, then ran off, laughing.

  Redmond muttered a faintly amused, “Blasted young rapscallion,” and turned Whisper for Strand Hall. When he reached the stables, he handed the mare over to a groom who stared in surprise at his muddy knees, and walked across the yard trying to recall where he had seen the redhead before. It had been an association that was not entirely praiseworthy, he was sure of that. But—

  A shadow fell athwart his path. He halted, his upwards glance discovering that Alain Devenish stood nearby.

  “Been ploughing?” enquired Devenish, his eyes angelic.

  “Excellent exercise,” returned Redmond blandly. “You should try it some time, Devenish. Might help you.”

  “I doubt that,” said Devenish, smiling with a gleam of very white teeth. “I prefer to stay on the horse.”

  “Good gad,” Redmond exclaimed. “Have you been riding, then? In that?”

  Since Devenish wore primrose pantaloons, a long-tailed powder blue jacket, and an elaborate waistcoat, the question could only be construed as provocation, and he treated it accordingly. “As any fool can plainly see—no. Matter of fact”—he fell into step beside Redmond—“I’ve been waiting for you. Wanted to tell you that I took a damned dim view of your remarks last evening.”

  “How difficult for you,” purred Redmond. “Tied hand and foot, are you not? Since we both are guests here.”

  Devenish took his arm and pulled him to a halt. His blue eyes flashing fire, he grated, “We shall not be guests forever, Redmond.”

  “After which, shall you call me out, I wonder? Oh dear. However shall I endure the suspense?”

  “I will shorten it for you,” snarled Devenish, his fist clenching.

  Fortunately, the hostilities were suspended at this point because Josie ran to join them, the skirts of her demure pink and white gown blowing in the wind. Her animated little face alight, she commandeered a hand of each of the gentlemen, and began to pull them back to the house.

  “You must come quick,” she urged, “for Mrs. Rachel is going to pour coffee and she said I could have some too if only you will say yes, Mr. Dev. So you will, won’t you? And Mrs. Hayward has cooked them scrumptious little cakes, and—”

  “Those cakes,” he corrected, sure that Redmond was amused by his ward’s unfortunate grammar. “And I am not in the least hungry.” A startled and pleading glance was turned up to him, so that he could not but relent. “You’ve roses in your cheeks this morning, my elf,” he said, smiling reluctantly. “What mischief have you been up to?”

  “Not any, sir. Only I was running about a bit trying to find Little Patches. Have you seen her? Have you, Mr. Redmond?”

  Neither gentleman, it transpired, had seen the kitten.

  “I ’spect she’s playing, or sleeping somewhere,” said Josie philosophically. “She’s a good sleeper. She can sleep on a clothesline, Fisher says.” And, all healthy young appetite, she tugged at them, begging that they hurry, “else Lord Bolster will have et it all up before we get there!”

  The house was cosy and warm, a small fire burning welcomingly in the red saloon, where Leith and Bolster were laughing over a remark that Rachel had made. The newcomers were greeted, and in a moment Mr. Fisher entered followed by a maid carrying a large tray. Soon fragrant cups of coffee were being handed around. Josie, looking very conscious, sat on the edge of a chair, the tip of her tongue just visible as she concentrated upon the desperate business of mastering cup, saucer, spoon, and cake. Bolster lost no time in conferring his approval on the macaroons. With one eye on his lordship and the other on the diminishing cakes, Josie enquired rather anxiously if he had eaten his breakfast as yet.

  He replied in the affirmative and, selec
ting another macaroon, said, “Jolly good, too.” Then, becoming aware of the covert amusement on Rachel’s face, he glanced around and asked with a touch of uncertainty, “Why? Have I been r-remiss? Was we all to breakfast together?”

  “Of course not,” said Devenish, with a fulminating look at his ward. “Josie was just concerned, weren’t you, child?”

  “Yes,” she admitted with disastrous honesty, “I was concerned as you were going to pig the lot, my lord.”

  Redmond threw back his head and laughed heartily. Poor Bolster turned crimson, and Devenish leapt to his feet and thunderously banished the repentant girl from the room. “Devil take the brat,” he groaned, clutching his fair locks as Josie fled. “Each time I give an inch, she disgraces me!”

  “No, no,” said Bolster placatingly. “I’m the one disgraced, Dev. I’ve a shameful sweet tooth I d-don’t make much effort to control.” He threw a rueful glance at Rachel’s amusement. “From the mouths of babes, eh?”

  Sinking down beside him, Devenish mourned, “Babes! Sometimes Josie is as old as time. And sometimes…” He gave a despairing gesture.

  “She is a darling,” said Rachel warmly, wondering why Brutus was going berserk in the garden.

  “She is a scamp,” sighed Devenish. “I try to teach her, but still she blurts out whatever comes into her head and devil take the consequences. I wonder if she ever will have the faintest notion of how to go on in polite company.”

  Bored, Redmond drawled, “Whatever did you expect? Surely you did not think to take a gypsy waif of unknown background and turn it into a, ah, silk purse in only—”

 

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