Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (17 page)

Montclair had fashioned his handkerchief into a pad which he
placed firmly over the wound in the Spaniard's left side. Watching the
hurt man's face, he increased the pressure until the steady stream of
blood stopped. De Ferdinand became whiter than ever, but did not flinch.

Barbara did. "How d-dreadful!" she faltered. "W-why did you
shoot him?"

De Ferdinand murmured, "Mices elves dyings was?"

For some reason Barbara appeared to have no difficulty with
the gentleman's unique way with English, and she knelt beside him also
and said shyly, "No, sir. I am sure you are not badly hurt." Then, with
an anxious glance at her cousin she added, "Is he, Val?"

"Just a deep groove across the side of his ribs. You're
extreme fortunate, señor. I— Blast! Babs—I hate to ask, but I can't
hold this and get his shirt off, and I need it for a bandage. Could
you—-?" He looked at her doubtfully. She was such a timid little mouse
and this brave but crazy Spaniard had bled like fury. To his surprise,
her little hands came at once to hold his handkerchief tightly against
the wound.

"Brave girl," he said, relieved, and managed to detach the
hurt man from his shirt. Tearing it into strips, he said curtly, "Babs,
this is Señor Angelo de Ferdinand. Senor—my cousin, Miss Barbara Trent."

Barbara threw a quick, shy glance at the Spaniard's drawn,
intent face.

"Chaw incestual eyes must rest not mices decentless selves
upon," he murmured, faint but gallant.

Barbara looked startled.

Beginning to wind his improvised bandage around the lean,
olive-skinned body, Montclair explained, "I think that roughly
translates to a request that you not cast your innocent eyes upon his
indecent self."

"Oh," said Barbara, blushing, and lowering her gaze.

"And I did not shoot him," added Montclair. "Hold tight now,
Babs. Ah—here we go. The fact is that Señor de Ferdinand was—" He
caught the Spaniard's look of desperate entreaty, and amended
hurriedly, "was—er, showing me his new pistol, er, thinking it empty,
you know. Hang on, señor, I'm going to have to tug this."

"Oh dear," murmured Barbara sympathetically as the wounded man
gave a gasp. "Val—do you suppose a rib may be broken?"

De Ferdinand had managed to continue to prop himself up, but
now he began to sag. Barbara moved quickly to catch him and he sank
into her lap. "
Dios
!" he whispered.

"Poor soul." She took up a piece of the rendered shirt and
dabbed it at his sweating face.

"I think I'll leave the rest to old Sheswell," said Montclair,
wiping his hands on another remnant of the shirt. "We're closer to
Longhills than to Highperch, so I'll take you there, Señor de
Ferdinand, if—"

The dark eyes opened. Gazing up at Barbara, Angelo sighed,
"Madonna… chew kindly… most. Mices heart—words no havings.
Montclair—mices thanks ways all, but chew bring the Highperch, pliss.
Put horse on meece."

Their protests were unavailing. Weak and shaken he might be,
but he was also—as Montclair lost no time in telling him—stubborn as
any mule. Surrendering, Barbara said that she would stay with Señor de
Ferdinand while Montclair rode for a carriage. In the middle of a
tangled sentence denying the need for anything but his own horse, the
victim checked and stared to one side.

Montclair turned his head. A man lay propped on one elbow a
short way up the slope, watching them. "Well, of all the bare-faced—"
Montclair began. "Hey! Get down here!"

The man stood and ambled down the slope, a piece of grass
between his teeth. "Thought I'd stay near, sir," he said lazily. "Not
meaning to intrude, as they say. 'Case you might need a spot o' help
like."

He was tall and thin and clad in work garments that had seen
far better days. A battered straw hat, perched on a mop of curly and
untidy brown hair, shaded a face notable for bushy eyebrows, a jutting
chin, and a pair of heavy-lidded drowsy eyes of a very pale blue.

"I should have thought it would be dashed well obvious I
needed a 'spot of help,'" snapped Montclair. "You're the new gardener,
I believe? I've yet to see you standing up while you work! If all your
hard labour hasn't worn you out, you can bring the horses over here."

The gardener's thin lips twisted into a grin. He cast an
amused eye over Señor Angelo. "Dropped yer gun, didya, mate?" he
murmured innocently.

Barbara's eyes widened. The Spaniard glared at him.

"What is your name?" demanded Montclair.

"They call me Diccon, sir."

"Do they? Well that's not what I'd call you if there weren't a
lady present. Get the hacks.
Now
!"

"Right you are!" Diccon went shambling off.

Señor de Ferdinand was eased into his coat again. When Diccon
returned with the horses, Allegro stood firm, but the smell of blood
sent the bay prancing in fright. Montclair pulled him down and quieted
him, and Diccon all but lifted de Ferdinand into the saddle, and asked,
"Would ye want as I should come with you, sir?"

Montclair refused this offer, requiring instead that he escort
Miss Barbara home and that a groom be sent to Bredon immediately, to
fetch Dr. Sheswell to Highperch. Señor Angelo managed to convey the
information that Mrs. Henley's staff included a man of medicine. 'I
wish I may see it,' Montclair thought, cynically, but rescinded his
order without argument.

The ride to the cottage was accomplished with some difficulty.
The Spaniard seemed to get his second wind, and jauntily proclaimed
himself "a perfect fit," which caused Montclair to grin, but a few
minutes later he barely caught the man in time as he started to slide
from the saddle.

"I'll say this much for you," said Montclair, hauling him up
again. "You may be bats in the belfry, and 'perfectly fit' you're
certainly not—but you're a game one, señor."

Susan reined Pewter to a halt before they left the woods, and
made an effort to restore her appearance. She had shed tears of rage
and humiliation, and was still breathing too fast, and had no wish to
alarm her family. She had only to recall Montclair's heartless laughter
when she'd—er, fallen, and she began to seethe again, which would not
do, so she sat quietly for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to
compose herself. Since she spent several minutes thinking instead of
what she would like to do to the wretch, composure was not at once
achieved, but it was cool and quiet and peaceful among the trees, the
silence broken only by the drowsy twittering of the birds, and
gradually her tumultuous heart quieted. She had decided to continue on
her way when she heard a man laugh.

It was not her brother's merry peal, nor the rather shrill
bray of Señor Angelo's amusement, or the Bo'sun's boom. There was,
furthermore, something sinister about the laugh, if only because it was
obviously restrained.

The peaceful woodland glade began to seem lonely and menacing.
She was quite alone and too far from Highperch for screams to be heard.
If that horrid laugh belonged to Mr. Junius Trent… Her heart began to
pound again. She stifled the impulse to spur Pewter to a gallop and
make a run for safety. It was difficult to tell from which direction
the laugh had come, and she had been sufficiently foolish today without
capping it off by rushing straight at the very man she sought to avoid.
She urged the mare forward at a walk.

She heard voices then, again low pitched. Two men, and quite
nearby. Why were they talking so softly? How silly she was, imagining
all this drama. They were likely nothing more threatening than a pair
of poachers. Heavens, but her imagination was running away with her.
And then, like the crash of doom, a horse whinnied. Poachers did not
ride!

"D'ye take me for a flat?" demanded an irate and cultured
voice. "We'll have to keep a very careful watch on the lot of 'em, as
he said, or—"

A horse whickered, and Pewter whinnied a response.

A startled exclamation. Rapid hoofbeats.

With a squeal of fright Susan drove home her heels, and the
mare jumped into a gallop.

Someone shouted, "That way!"

Susan bowed to avoid a low-hanging branch. From the corner of
her eye she saw the shrubs to her right violently disturbed and her
heart jumped into her mouth.

Then Pewter burst from the trees and was thundering across
open country towards Highperch.

It was a few minutes before Susan dared glance behind her.
Half expecting to see two villains riding her down, she beheld only the
golden afternoon and no sign of pursuit. She gave a gasp of relief, but
just the same, she galloped the mare all the way home, slowing to a
canter only as they came to the drivepath.

Wolfgang ran from the open front door, barking a shrill
welcome, and Priscilla came dancing out, Bo'sun George following her.

"Mama, oh Mama! You've comed back!" Unable to wait for her
mother to dismount, the child hugged Susan's riding boot and cried
ecstatically, "Thank you so much for my paint! It's eggs-whizzit! Oh,
but my doll house will be the bestest in the whole county. And England!
Slap up to the knocker!"

"Priscilla," said Susan, trying to be stern, "you know Uncle
Andrew doesn't like you to use such terms."

"No, but that one must be all right, Mama, 'cause he said it
his own self. I heard him!" She drew back to beam up at her mother,
then went skipping back inside again, Wolfgang howling after her.

Dodman lifted Susan down and took the reins.

"So the boy came already," she said. "I didn't expect he'd be
so prompt. Has my brother seen the paint, Bo'sun?"

"Yes, ma'am." The green eyes twinkled. "He was a bit surprised
by the colour."

Susan's smile was rather grim. "He'll be more taken aback when
I tell him of the matter. Where is he?"

"Down to the boat, Mrs. Sue. A gentleman's come." He glanced
to the house and leaned closer. "Business, I think. They—"

"Here you are at last!" Mrs. Starr came onto the steps and
hurried to take Susan's parcels. "Oh do come quickly, my dear. You'll
never believe what our clever Bo'sun has done!" She beamed approval at
Dodman, who promptly became very red in the face and so flustered that
he led Pewter around to the wrong side of the house.

Intrigued, Susan followed the little woman indoors. "Whatever
has transpired, to win poor George such lavish praise?"

Mrs. Starr turned along the hall towards the withdrawing room.
"I vow you'll not credit it. This has been quite a day for paint and
paintings. Speaking of which, we were fairly astonished when the boy
brought that great tub of paint, Mrs. Sue, after your lectures about
economies! Here we are." She turned, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Close your eyes now. I want this to be a real surprise. Take my hand.
Slowly, dear ma'am…"

Groping her way, Susan proceeded obediently, halting when told.

"Now—only
look
!" cried Mrs. Starr, all
but squeaking with excitement.

Susan looked, and her eyes opened very wide indeed.

The painting now adorning the wall above the mantelpiece was a
far cry from the one Dodman had worked on this morning. The dirty old
frame had been polished and was transformed into a richly carven thing
of beauty. The raw potato had banished the brown swirls of encrusted
grime to reveal a riverbank scene at sunset, the turquoise skies,
streaked with crimson, reflecting on the smooth water. A little grove
of trees provided a rich background for some carefree picnickers—young
men clad in tunics and hose, girls wearing flowing gowns of silk and
brocade, their long tresses contained by jewelled nets; while amid the
branches and from be-hind trees, wistful-eyed nude nymphs and dryads
peeped at the merrymakers.

"Oh!" said Susan admiringly. "What a good thing you asked the
Bo'sun to clean it, Starry. It's very pretty, don't you think?"

"Indeed I do," agreed Mrs. Starr triumphantly. "I suppose it
cannot be of any value, else his lordship would not have left it in an
unoccupied house. But it does seem a shame it was allowed to come to
such a pass."

"And quite typical of that revolting creature," said Susan
grimly. "Has Andrew seen it yet?"

"No, but he cannot but be pleased." The little lady sighed
wistfully. "What a pity. I suppose we shall have to give it back to
Lord Montclair."

"Why? He doesn't deserve it. And at all events, he's abroad,
so I understand."

Mrs. Starr stared at her. "Abroad? But—how can that be when
you hit him with the brush only yester—"

"It appears that was his brother," said Susan, rather hastily.
"Oh, I have so much to tell you, Starry, but I am fairly perishing for
my luncheon and a cup of tea."

"Of course you are, my love. I'll put the kettle on at once.
Little Priscilla is so excited with her paint, but why ever did you buy
so much?"

"Well, actually," began Susan as they started down the hall to
the kitchen, "it was quite a bargain, although—" She checked, turning
to the gentlemen who came in at the rear door and walked towards them.

"Oh, you're back, Sue," said Lyddford with breezy redundancy.

A little chill crept between Susan's shoulder blades. Their
visitor was the foreign gentleman who had been with Sir Selby Trent
during her unhappy interview at Longhills Manor.

"I hope you have not mislaid me in your memory already," said
Imre Monteil, smiling at her. "Me, I am most delighted by this
opportunity to meet you again, Mrs. Henley."

She murmured a polite response, and glancing to her brother,
was the recipient of an urgent jerk of the head. Reluctantly, she
extended her hand.

It was taken in a clammy white clasp. Monteil bowed to kiss
her fingers. Her sense of revulsion was as intense as it seemed unkind
and unwarranted, and she had to force an answering smile. "I had not
realized you were acquainted with my brother, monsieur."