Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (24 page)

"To… rekindle…" whispered Charity.

"
Oui
, to rekindle the flame," he said
sardonically, and as Charity lifted scared eyes to his, he shrugged.
"We are from an old and royal house, you know. Our ancestors once ruled
Brittany. Claude thinks that he will relight the fire of our destiny."
He shook his head and muttered in disgust, "
La folie plus
profonde!''

Very frightened now, she cried, "He has gone, hasn't he?
Gerard has taken the Charlemagne crown to England?"

Guy stared at her, then looked fixedly out to sea.

"He's scared to open his budget, 'count of me being here,"
Lion said scornfully. "I won't blab, guvnor."

Guy looked at the boy steadily, then turned to Charity and
said in French, "My dear lady, I do
swear
to
ensure that no harm will befall you."

"Never mind about me! Help me get word to England. Guy, I
implore
you! My God, what we have all suffered in these endless years of war!
Do you want it to start again? Oh, Guy, it must not! It
must
not!"

He walked away and with his back to her muttered, "If it was
you and your own Justin, would you betray
him
to
his death?"

"Justin is an honourable gentleman," she cried. "And always he
has been kind and good to me. Claude is cruel and vicious—a murderer
many times over, and he treats you—" She bit her lip and was silent.

"Yes. As if I were beneath contempt." His fists clenched. With
his eyes on the horizon, he said, "Perhaps I am."

Not understanding their words but alarmed by their intensity,
Lion asked, "What's up, missus? Is that there Frenchy—"

Charity reverted to English. "He plans to kill Prince George."

The boy gave a yelp of shock. "Whaffor? He might have maggots
in his head, but that ain't no reason to scrag the poor perisher! And
we don't need no Frenchy a-doing it!"

"A philosopher," murmured Guy dryly.

Charity said, "Lion, this is very, very important. A friend of
my brother has come to try and help. He was at my home when I was
kidnapped and must have discovered I was brought here. You may have had
him pointed out to you in London, for he is quite a noted duellist. If
you recognize him, you must be careful not to show it. Will you promise
me this?"

His voice squeaking with excitement, Lion exclaimed, "Love a
duck! I
did
see a gent like that at Strand Hall.
Is it Mr. Redmond? He's a right game 'un to—"

"Redmond?" Guy interpolated sharply. "Sir Harry Redmond?"

"His brother," said Charity. "Lion, do you say you were at
Strand—"

Astounded, Guy again interrupted, ''
Mon Dieu
!
Is he mad? Claude will kill him without the one instant of hesitating!
Gerard knows him well and there are others here who would recognize him
at once!"

"Does he know
you
, Guy? Have you met?"

He said a clipped, "
Oui, "
then added
with a faint smile, "Once, we fight a strange duel. He mistake me, do
you see, for my brother.''

"My heavens! Still, I beg you will help him get away from
here."

Guy's smile faded, and he said nothing.

Tugging at his sleeve, Charity said desperately, "It has
started
,
don't you see? It has
begun
! And we stand
here—doing
nothing
."

Guy remained silent, avoiding her eyes.

Lion said staunchly, "Don't you never worry, missus. I'll help
yer get orf this perishing island. We'll save ol' windy wallets
Georgie!"

"We will go back now." Guy's voice was cold and final, and
when Charity attempted to plead with him, he walked to the coach and
held the door open, his face inscrutable.

Helplessly, she climbed inside.

The castle was quiet when they returned. A brooding quiet,
Charity thought as she walked with Guy across the echoing vastness of
the Great Hall. At the foot of the main stairs, Guy bowed and prepared
to leave her. Several footmen and lackeys were watching, but made
reckless by anxiety, Charity caught at his arm and said a low-voiced,
"Guy,
please
. Will you not—"

"It is too late, ma'am," he reiterated quietly. "Your people
had every chance and did nothing. Now they are doomed by their own
folly."

Angered, she said, "You are just as bad as he! By your very
refusal to oppose him, you condone what he does!"

He gazed at her for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he
bowed again and walked off towards the book room.

The housekeeper rustled over. "Monseigneur is delayed on a
matter of business. He asks that you join him at luncheon, and later he
will conduct you around the castle."

Charity went upstairs to change her gown. Claude had evidently
decided there was no real need to guard her, for when she went into her
room Meg was nowhere to be seen. It was some small relief, at least,
not to have to deal with the surly woman. Wandering over to the window,
Charity looked yearningly towards England. If Gerard had sailed last
evening, he must already be far down the Scottish coast. Perhaps he
meant to go ashore somewhere and travel overland to the south country.
Sighing heavily, she turned to see Meg coming in from the parlour, a
scowl on her face.

"Ain't no manner o' use to blame me if she's lost," she
grumbled. "The fireboy didn't move hisself quick enough, and the
dratted cat was through the door quicker'n a bee's knees. Not my fault.
I tried."

Dismayed, Charity knew there was no point in asking the
household staff for help. Most of the lackeys and footmen were types
whom she would not be surprised to see in Newgate Prison and who would
be glad enough to help Little Patches along her way with a well-placed
boot. With this unhappy conviction to spur her, she hurried through her
toilette, noting vaguely that the lime green crepe looked quite well on
her. She selected a crocheted shawl that promised some warmth, allowed
Meg to drape it around her shoulders, and hurried from the room.
Luncheon was to be served at two o'clock, and it was now a little past
one.

She prowled up and down the corridor with no success, ignoring
the smirks of the servants as she called the kitten and hoping Little
Patches had not wandered outside. Her efforts not succeeding, Charity
went downstairs and again searched to no avail. She was about to go
outside when a shy maid bobbed a curtsey and imparted the information
that she had seen
la chatte très petite
run down
the basement stairs. Charity thanked her and hastened in the direction
indicated.

She came to a flight of deeply hewn stone steps that wound
around the massy wall, and she trod down with care. The lower regions
followed the slope of the hill, and thus, although there were no
windows at her end of the hall, far at the other end were narrow
slotted apertures through which gleamed daylight. At this end, one lamp
was lighted, revealing luxurious carpets and wall hangings with
occasional chests or tables as elegant as those above stairs.

Charity had thought the upper floor quiet and brooding, but
down here it was as if the busy activity all about her had ceased to
exist, so heavy was the silence. She wandered along, her "Here kitty,
kitty, kitty" echoing off to be swallowed up. None of the heavy doors
was open, save for a double door at the far end. She started towards
it, thinking that the most logical place to search. It occurred to her,
however, that if a servant had come down for something and Little
Patches had followed, she might accidentally have been shut in. With
this in mind, Charity reached out to try the latch of the next door she
approached, only to recoil with a little gasp of terror. The latch was
lifting. Suppose Claude was inside?

Suppose he thought she was prying? The door began to open.
Charity backed away.

"Meeoooww…?"

Limp with relief, Charity paused. Her heart gave a leap of
excitement as Mitchell Redmond appeared, candle in hand and Little
Patches squirming under his arm. In that first instant, Charity thought
she saw alarm in his wide grey eyes. Then a twinkle came into them. He
closed the door, let the kitten jump to the floor, and murmured, "No
chaperone again, I see."

The light words, the quirkish grin, brought such a surge of
emotion that Charity flew to give him her hand, murmuring incoherent
thanks, and stammering out questions until he put his fingers across
her lips.

"No time for all that. Besides, you've small need to thank me,
Miss Strand. I didn't come galloping to your rescue."

It was like a dash of cold water in her face, and she drew
back.

He added, "Didn't even know you was here. Deuce of a shock
when I saw you, I don't mind admitting. Thank God you had your wits
about you!''

It was foolish to be hurt. The important thing was that he had
come. "It doesn't matter about me,'' she said staunchly. "How on earth
did you reach here?"

"Diccon learnt that some of Claude's rogues had taken ship
from Birkenhead, so we went up there to sniff around. We were set upon
just before we reached the Mersey. We fought off the first lot, but
unfortunately Diccon was wounded. He begged that I take charge of a
notebook for him, and I was going through his pockets in search of it
when some more of Claude's fellows arrived."

Charity intervened anxiously, "Poor Diccon is not dead, is he?"

"I don't know." He looked sombre and went on, "I managed to
convince 'em I'd killed him and here I am."

Eyeing him with horrified disbelief she whispered, "You mean,
you
cannot
mean that you came here—all
alone
?"

He said cynically, "A disappointment as a relief force, am I?"

"No! Oh
no
! I was so
very
glad to see you!"

He looked down into her upturned, earnest little face. "Poor
chit," he thought, "she's had a frightful time." But the glitter of
tears lurked in those great eyes, and appalled, he took her arm and
began to lead the way back along the corridor while saying at his most
sardonic, "
What
a rasper! The instant you laid
eyes on me you were at your judgements again, deducing I was hand in
glove with the Emperor of the Darrochs!"

She blinked. "Well, what could you expect me to think? He had
his hand on your shoulder as though you were veritable bosom bows.''

"But of course. I had just presented him with Diccon's
notebook."

"You—Oh, you
never
did?"

In her dismay she halted, and halting also, he said with a
grin, "It so happens, my doubting friend, that I also carry a little
notebook. Luckily, I was able to copy most of what Diccon's had
contained and to, ah, revise his a trifle, before I handed it over."

"Oh!'' Exuberant, she flung her arms about him and gave him a
strong hug. "How simply
splendid
!"

Redmond laughed softly, and looking down at her curls, caught
in the light of the candle he'd hurriedly swung aside, he noted again
that they were quite pretty. Like spun gold, in fact.

Recollecting herself, Charity flushed scarlet and stepped
back, but she persevered. "What did you do with your own notebook? If
Claude should find it—"

"Never mind about that. Tell me this, ma'am. Those carrion who
stole you. Did they, er, I mean, were you… mistreated?"

He looked very grim now. Grateful, she said, "How kind in you
to ask. Actually, I was fortunate in a way. They thought I was Rachel,
you see, and Claude did not want anything to harm her before the babe
was born.''

One dark eyebrow lifted. "Did he not, by God! So it was
Leith's child he was after!" He whistled softly. "A good hater is our
Claude!"

Charity nodded, and they walked on in silence. Suddenly, to
his surprise, Charity gave a little ripple of laughter. In response to
his curious glance, she said, "I just realized what you said—the
Emperor of the Darrochs—such a good name for him."

Redmond stared at her, then said gravely, "You are a
remarkable girl, Miss Strand. Between us, I pray we may contrive so
that these miserable islands become the sum total of Claude's kingdom."
Little Patches suddenly shot between them and raced ahead towards the
stone stairs."I came down here on the chance of discovering something,"
Redmond went on. "But to no purpose. Have you learnt anything of
Claude's plans?"

"Yes. I expect you already know most of it. For instance, that
he means to murder the Regent."

"So Diccon was right! Please go on, I've not been a great
success as a spy, I fear. Claude's been a touch close-mouthed with me."
He grinned. "Don't think he trusts me yet."

"And will trust you less if Guy tells him who you really are."

"Aha, Guy's here, is he? I was afraid he was the kinsman
Claude referred to."

"Thanks to me, he knows you're here now." Distressed, Charity
met his startled glance. "Guy is an old and dear friend. I know he
would help me if he could, and he swears he will allow no harm to come
to me. He was with me when I warned the boy not to recognize you. I
should have thought— But I feel so
safe
with Guy.
Only, something he said later…" She bit her lip. "Oh, I
do
so wish I hadn't identified you. I should've had more sense!"

"It wouldn't have made much difference. He's sure to see me,
sooner or later. Unhappily, I'm known to him—to many of Claude's
people, in fact."

"And yet you came. How mad of you! But thank God you did. Now,
let me tell you as much as I know." As quickly and concisely as
possible, she put Redmond in possession of what she had learnt. At the
finish, he was very quiet, his face set in stern lines. Abruptly, he
swept her a low bow. "Miss Strand, I salute you. You are a spy
par
excellence
! Now I think we must reappear before we're
missed. You go first-take your ravening beast, and if you're
questioned, explain that you were searching for her. One thing, you are
perfectly
sure
of this Lion? He sounds
suspiciously similar to a lad named Dick whom I caught lurking about
your home in Sussex."