Ask Me No Questions (15 page)

Grace was in reluctant agreement with this summation, but she had been badly shaken, and Ruth was obliged to spend the next half hour in trying to calm her. There was no time left for breakfast. She dressed, and plaited her hair in a scramble, but when she hurried across the dew-spangled gardens she took with her the comforting knowledge of having convinced Grace that her "daemon" had been no more than the shadow of the hollyhocks by the kitchen window. Even so, long after she was busily working the matter still preyed on her mind and she was so deep in thought that she did not hear someone come into the chapel, and gave a little jump of fright when Sir Brian spoke just behind her.

"Oh!" she gasped, jerking around to face him, one hand pressed to her galloping heart. "How you startled me, sir!"

He smiled up at her. "So I perceive. You are white as a sheet. I had but come to persuade you to share a cup of coffee with me, never dreaming I might sound as if I'd been a fearsome ghost!"

"You are very far from that, sir," she said, laughing as she took the hands he reached up to help her down. "I must have been extreme deep in concentration."

It was this scene that met Gordon Chandler's eyes as he strolled into the chapel. He halted and stood very still. The sun was slanting a bright beam onto Miss Allington's face and awakening her hair to a pale gold. It was less severely dressed this morning, several tendrils having escaped the tight plaits to curl down beside her ears. Her eyes were sparkling mirthfully, and with that winning smile curving her lips she did not look nearly so plain as he remembered. Were she to be clad in a fashionable gown and her hair more attractively styled, she might even be judged pretty. With a stirring of unease he heard his father's answering laugh, and noted the way he held the woman's hands—
both
of 'em! Was it possible Nadia was in the right of it? But that was fustian. Were Papa in the petticoat line he could have his pick of the eligible ladies in the south country.

He said heartily, "So I have found you, sir."

Looking pleased, his father swung around. "Come home at last, have you Gordon? Welcome!"

Chandler threw a searching glance at Miss Allington. The laughter had died from her face. She looked vexed. Most definitely, she looked vexed. He thought, 'Why, the jade is annoyed because I disturbed them! I think I owe Lady Nadia my apologies!' He returned his attention to his father. Was it his imagination, or was the dear old fellow less downcast? He said, "You're looking very fit, sir."

"That is Miss Arlington's doing," said Sir Brian with a mischievous wink. "We enjoy such pleasant chats together. I'd quite forgot how much a house is brightened by the presence of a lady. Speaking of which, did you see your lovely bride to be?"

"I did, and she sends you her affectionate regards, sir. I'd hoped to bring her here but, alas, she was unable to accompany me. I have instead brought a likely seeming man for you to interview. He's waiting in your study. I think he'd make you a good steward."

He declined Sir Brian's invitation to walk back to the main house with him, saying that he wanted a word with Miss Allington. When his father was gone, he moved nearer to the resident restorer. She was at work again, presenting her back to him as she scrubbed away at the painting with some sort of cloth or brush. Running lightly up the steps, he said, "By your leave, ma'am, I should like to see what you've accomplished."

Ruth stepped back. She had been quick to note the annoyance on his face when he'd first come in. Likely he thought it improper for his noble sire to talk to the hirelings. She was quite sure how he would react to the results of her back-breaking labours.

She was perfectly correct.

"Jupiter!" said Chandler, staring with a frown at the small area where colour was flowering from grime. "Is that all you've done in an entire week?"

She had to bite back a comment that she'd really finished, but had put the grime back so as to still be here to see his charming scowl again. Instead, bowing to Resolution, she said humbly, "I have to make haste slowly, sir. 'Tis delicate work."

"Evidently. At this rate, we'll have you here for Christmas, ma'am."

'Would that we might use you for the Yule log,' she thought savagely, and with a demure smile murmured, "You are very kind, Mr. Chandler."

He was a head taller than she, but his look of disdain seemed to be levelled from a great height. In a voice of ice, he said, "Were I you, madam, I would not count on that."

Her chin jerked up. For just an instant, he thought to see a flash in the eyes, which were a much lighter grey than his own. Then, she resumed her efforts. Given pause by that glimpse of fire, he watched her speculatively for a few minutes, noticing that she was using some mixture that constantly fell onto the platform. "I'd think you could achieve more with some honest soap and water, instead of whatever that stuff is," he offered.

Ruth closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Would you, sir?"

"Decidedly. I shall have a couple of the lackeys come over to assist you."

"You are all consideration. I rather doubt Sir Brian would be pleased, however."

"My father would be
pleased
," he snapped, "to view the fresco sometime in this decade!"

"An this work is hurried, or the wrong materials used, Sir Brian will view a bare wall."

'A likely tale,' thought Chandler, and said derisively, "So you have convinced him that your material contains— what? Some magical qualities?"

Yearning to scratch him, she faced him again, "But of course. We restorers guard our secrets, and—"

"Aye! I'm aware of that!"

"—and Sir Brian has had the courtesy not to require me to divulge them," she finished.

Her cheeks were flushed now, and the sparkle in her eyes was plain to see. Irritated by the fact that she looked even more attractive when she was angry, he growled, "Has he so? Then I shall be courteous also, and give you fair warning, Miss Allington, that whilst you are guarding your, er— secrets, I shall be on guard also!" Satisfied with this Parthian shot, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Ruth spent the rest of the morning composing crushing set-downs to be hurled at the Grimly Gordon, and was so preoccupied that she was able to forget the fact that she'd had no breakfast. Hurrying to the cottage for luncheon, she swept, seething, through the door Grace held open for her.

"Gordon Chandler," she said through gnashing teeth, "is a monster
veritable
! Oh, but that smells delicious, and I am
starved
!" She threw her shawl over a chair, caught sight of her reflection in the glass of a picture, and wailed, "Lud! My hair!"

Carrying plates from the kitchen, Grace asked anxiously, "Whatever did the gentleman do to—"

"
Gentleman
! Crudity, rather! A viper! He stuck his proud nose in the air, sneered at me from under his horrid eyelids, and implied—he
dared
to imply—that I— Oh! That he must
guard
his papa from me! Jezebel that I am!"

Grace uttered a shocked squeal and, encouraged, Ruth raged on, thoroughly blackening Gordon Chandler's character, and feeling much better for it when she was done.

At the top of the stairs, Thorpe and Jacob looked at each other.

"He went an' did it again," whispered Thorpe.

Jacob nodded solemnly. "We gave him a chance, too."

"We shouldn't of."

"No. We better brew our campaign."

Unaware of the plot that thickened abovestairs, Ruth interrupted her luncheon to say repentantly, "How unkind I am become not to have mentioned that lovely vase of flowers. You know I love peonies. But you must not indulge me, my dear, lest we offend the mighty Mr. Swinton."

"The mighty foolish Mr. Swinton." Grace hurried in with a succulent slice of apple pie to put before her mistress. "He told me as peonies come from Chiney if you please, when I know for a fact as my grandfather used peonies for medicine! Nor he didn't send to Chiney for 'em!" She gave a derogatory snort. "A fine head gardener Swinton is!"

Ruth was remembering the affection in Mr. Gordon's eyes when he'd told Sir Brian he looked "very fit." If anything good could be said of the man, it was that he was devoted to his sire… She said absently, "In all fairness, I think he may be right, you know. I seem to recall Mr. Allington mentioning that the Chinese had found peonies to have medical qualities long before we—" She broke off abruptly. "Mr. Swinton
talks
to you? You never said aught of it."

"Why—er…" Her cheeks suddenly ablaze, Grace stammered, "He didn't exactly— I mean— That is, at
first
he—"

"Grace Milford! I know that look! Have you been flirting with Sir Brian's stern head gardener?"

"As if I would do so bold a thing!" Despite this denial, Grace found it necessary to dash back into the kitchen to fetch the milk jug.

Ruth looked after her uneasily. Grace had never betrayed the least inclination to matrimony, but her bright eyes and generously molded figure had won her several admirers. It had seemed to Ruth that she favoured the burly man who rather incongruously filled the post of valet to Mr. August Falcon, and she had prepared herself to receive notice that Miss Grace Milford had accepted an offer to become Mrs. Enoch Tummet. Perhaps she had attached too much importance to that friendship…

"Besides," said Grace airily, returning to fill Ruth's glass with milk, "Mr. Swinton ain't so very stern. He forbade me to dig in the garden, but when he come upon me, I teased him a bit, and next time he come he said he had to admit as I'd a way with plants. And he let me have them peonies, Mrs. A., with not a murmur. Cut 'em for me with his own hands, he did. 'Course," she directed a twinkling glance at Ruth, "that were after I'd given him a slice of our apple pie."

Her unease having become dismay, Ruth said, "But you must
not
encourage his attentions! If he should take to lingering about here, he might see one of the boys, or begin to suspect—"

"Now don't you never worry, dear soul. I'm careful as a clam, and let him know as I don't allow no gents in my kitchen, being a good church goer and bred up to what's right and proper."

"But you are supposed to be simple-minded! Surely, he must know that you are far from being so?"

Grace giggled. "He thinks I'm a half-wit. I told him about my fancying them shadows was a daemon boar, and he laughed and laughed, and went off shaking his head and saying as I be a silly little gal!"

Unconvinced, Ruth insisted that Grace must under no circumstances encourage Mr. Swinton's attentions. Grace promised to be very careful, but as Ruth was going out of the door, she added an unsettling, "On the other hand, Mrs. A., it don't do no harm to find out as much as we can. You never know when a pinch o' gossip might fend off a peck o' trouble."

Ruth had told Sir Brian she must go into the village for more supplies, and it had been arranged that Dutch Coachman should drive Miss Allington and her cousin into the old town, attend to some errands for Sir Brian, then call for the two ladies at Brodie's Lending Library in the High Street. Fortunately, there was no one about when Ruth walked into the stableyard. She told Dutch Coachman that her cousin had not felt up to the drive and, although he protested against her going into town alone, she managed to convince him that she only meant to place her orders and was not likely to encounter any ravening beasts in the High Street. The big man grinned and capitulated, and soon the coach was rolling down the drivepath.

Dover was full of activity this afternoon, the narrow streets crowded with coaches and waggons, horsemen and sedan chairs, and with seafaring men everywhere. Ruth was set down outside a bakery shop where she astonished the proprietor by her exacting requirements, and left him beaming with delight at the order she placed. From there she made her way to a far from fashionable bazaar where she was able to find the type of cotton goods she required and arrange for a bolt to be delivered to Lac Brillant the following day.

The transactions took less time than she had expected, and she strolled happily along the High Street, looking into shop windows and enjoying being surrounded by the bustle of town life once again. Eventually reaching the well-patronized lending library, she browsed among the books for a while. She was examining a new volume of poetry when she experienced the sensation that she was being watched. She looked up quickly. There was a blank space on the shelf and through it she could see into the next aisle. A gentleman stood there. Today, his coat was dark blue, but he was as neat, his smile as blandly ingratiating as ever. He raised his tricorne to her and inclined his head respectfully.

Nothing alarming in that, surely? Yet there was about this man an air of the relentless. The sense of being hunted was strong. She told herself it was illogical, but suddenly Ruth was so frightened that her hands became icy and she had to battle the impulse to run away. Somehow, she managed an answering nod, though a smile was beyond her. He replaced a book he'd been holding. She was sure he meant to approach her and, not waiting to find out, she walked rapidly to the door. If Dutch Coachman had not come yet she would go into another shop, or call a chair. Anything to get away from that persistent creature with his sly eyes and perpetual grin.

Outside, the breeze was becoming blustery and the temperature had dropped noticeably. The sky was more white than blue, the sudden glare dazzling. She hurried along the flagway, heard a startled exclamation as she almost collided with someone, and threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Dreading lest the smiling man had come up with her, she said "Your pardon, sir," her own voice shrill and strange in her ears.

There came a deep and familiar, "I should think so! You dashed near ran into me, madam! Where the deuce are you off to at such—" Gordon Chandler paused and took the hand she was lowering from her eyes. "Here—what is it?"

Never would Ruth have dreamed she would experience such a rush of relief at the sight of him. His brusque tones were so welcome, his grip on her hand so strongly comforting that instinctively she shrank against him.