Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (18 page)

"We wasn't," said Lyddford. "But"—he gave her a mischievous
wink—"we are now."

"How—nice," murmured Susan, freeing her hand from the clasp
the Swiss was obviously unwilling to relinquish.

"One hopes ours will be a long and mutually—ah, beneficial
association," purred Monteil, his eyes not wavering from Susan.

'Heaven forfend,' she thought, and introduced him to Mrs.
Starr.

The little lady dropped a slight curtsy. The Swiss however,
bowed low, advanced upon her, and kissed her hand also. "
Enchante,
madame
," he said with patent admiration.

Blushing furiously, Mrs. Starr excused herself and hurried off
to the kitchen area. Susan yearned to depart also, but manners must be
observed, and if Monsieur Monteil really was able to throw some
commissions their way, it would not do to offend.

"Come and have a glass of Madeira," offered Lyddford, leading
their guest to the withdrawing room. "I'm glad you finished your
shopping in time, Sue. You were gone such an unconscionable time I
began to think you'd popped over to Baghdad or some such place. And
that awful paint you bought would bear me out! What on earth possessed—"

They had walked into the long sunny room by this time, and
Lyddford paused, glancing at the Swiss, who had uttered an odd hissing
sound. Monteil came to an abrupt halt, and stood with shoulders
slightly hunched, staring fixedly at the mantelpiece.

"Oh, it's our confounded cat," said Lyddford apologetically,
removing Welcome from the mantel.

"I think Monsieur Monteil admires our painting," said Susan.
"And I agree with him. Do you like it now that the Bo'sun has cleaned
it, Andy?"

Lyddford shrugged. "Oh, I suppose it's all right. I rather
liked it the other way. Bit of a challenge to guess what it was."

"Never heed my brother, sir," said Susan with a rueful laugh.
"He is hopeless with either art or music; indeed, I think he scarce
knows one from t'other!"

"Well, I do," declared Lyddford with a grin. "One's noisy."

Monteil wandered closer to the hearth. "It is most
interesting. Did it hang here when you—ah, moved in?"

"No, it didn't," said Lyddford emphatically. "There was
another picture here. And why anyone would want to paint a dead
partridge slung on a table with its head upside down is more than I can
comprehend! Most awful thing! Be dashed if I want to sit in the
withdrawing room with a dead partridge! I mean, enough is enough, what?
So I dug this one out."

"What do you mean, you 'dug it out'?" asked Susan. "Where was
it?"

"In the cellar. All kinds of old rubbish down there."

Monteil said in his soft voice, "If this is the sort of 'old
rubbish' in your cellar, Mr. Lyddford, I should very much like to look
at it."

Susan eyed him curiously. "Oh dear. That sounds as if you
think the picture might be valuable. Is it?"

He spread those long white hands and shrugged. "I think it is
a fair copy, madame. For just an instant when first I entered I thought
it might be an original, but I see now that the style is not quite as
fine as it appeared, and the paint is scarcely aged."

Susan said thoughtfully, "I wonder if Montclair painted it
himself…"

"Does the fella paint, then?" asked Lyddford, much shocked.

"I have not the remotest notion, save that he was buying some
gold-leaf paint whilst I was in the ironmonger's shop."

"Ah, but I believe that would be for his harpsichord, madame,"
interjected Monteil. "Valentine is a musician
par excellence
,
and the harpsichord is a truly magnificent old instrument."

"Be dashed if that surprises me." Lyddford shook his head
disapprovingly. "He's just the sort of slippery customer would maudle
his brain with music instead of doing a man's work!"

Monteil regarded him with amusement. "You are a gentleman of
firm opinions, monsieur. You will forgive if I point out that Frederick
the Great of Prussia, and your own King Henry the Eighth were both fine
composers, and—"

"There you are then," interposed Lyddford, triumphant. "I
don't have nothing against Fred. Never heard much about him, to tell
you the truth. But everyone knows Bluff King Hal was a dirty dish."

"Andy," protested Susan, with an eye on the visitor's faint
smile, "you must stop and think that Monsieur Monteil is well
acquainted at Longhills. Your pardon, sir, if we offend."

"Stuff," said Lyddford. "Monteil likely agrees. But— let's
speak of pleasant things for a change. Sue, we've been put in the way
of some very nice commissions thanks to this gentleman. A toast is in
order." He crossed to the sideboard and poured two glasses of

Madeira and one of cider, and distributing these said gaily,
"Here's to a long and profitable partnership!"

Honouring the toast, Susan thought, dismayed, 'Partnership?'

After only a very brief conversation, mostly having to do with
his admiration of Highperch Cottage, the Swiss took his leave, saying
that he was sailing for the Continent early in the morning and must be
aboard his yacht before dark.

They walked out onto the front terrace, all three. Lyddford
had rung for Deemer, but no one appeared to answer the bell, and
muttering anathemas on servants, he went to call up Monteil's curricle.

The Swiss turned to Susan and extended his hand. She shrank
from taking it again, but had no recourse. The cold, clammy fingers
closed about her own. He stepped very close to her, looking down at the
hand he held, and stroking it gently. "Will you believe me, dear lady,
if I tell you I have met countless beautiful women and have found them
unfailingly vapid, dull—in short, a very great bore. Until…" his dark
eyes lifted to her face, "… now."

Susan fought the urge to tear free and run. "You are too kind,
sir," she said, and made an effort to pull away.

His grip tightened. He stepped even closer, lifted her hand to
his lips, and watched her as he pressed a kiss upon her fingers.

'If he does that for one more second,' she thought, 'I shall
simply have to hit him!'

"Dear lady," he breathed, "you are the loveliest—"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Henley."

Never would Susan have dreamed she would find that sardonic
drawl welcome, but, provided with an excuse now, she pulled her hand
away, turned, and uttered a cry of dismay.

Mr. Montclair, mounted on his ugly stallion, was keeping the
drooping and bloodstained figure of Señor Angelo from toppling from his
bay.

"Andy! Bo'sun!" Susan called. "Come quickly!" And running to
the Spaniard's side, exclaimed in horror, "Oh! You have shot him!"

Montclair said dryly, "I wonder why I had anticipated just
such a considered reaction from you, madam."

Lyddford ran up. "Damn you, what have you done to him?"

Surrendering the mare's reins to him, Montclair's glance
turned from Susan's angry eyes to Monteil's enigmatic smile. With a
curl of the lip, he rode away.

There was much excitement at Highperch Cottage that afternoon.
After Monsieur Monteil departed and Señor Angelo had been tended and
ordered to remain in his bed, Susan, her brother, and Mrs. Starr
repaired to the withdrawing room for a council of war. Andrew
Lyddford's amusement over what he termed "the one-man duel of that
blockheaded Spaniard" gave way to fiery wrath when Susan began to tell
them of her encounter with Montclair. "Turn him up sweet?" he snarled.
"By God, but I won't! Stretch him out stiff is more like it!"

Susan admitted with a guilty little laugh, "I'm afraid I did
just that, dearest."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Starr, shocked.

"
What
?" demanded Lyddford, brightening.
"Hauled off and cracked him over the nob with your riding crop, did
you? Jolly good, by Jove!"

"Well, not that exactly." Knowing she was blushing, she said
hastily, "I'll explain later, but something else happened on the way
home that is rather worrisome. She told them of the men who had been
loitering about in the woods. "I thought at first they were poachers,
but when they spoke, their accents were cultured. I was so frightened
when they said they were to watch somebody. Andy—do you think they
meant us?"

Lyddford scowled and nodded. '"Fraid so. Likely Montclair's
having us watched. I wonder what does he expect to discover."

"He must have a very nasty suspicious mind," said Mrs. Starr.
"Of course, I could not but notice that you did bruise him rather
badly, dear Master Andy."

"And came nigh to adding some more today," he growled. "Did
you mark the way the fellow looked at my sister and Imre Monteil?
Confounded insolence!"

Susan was tempted to tell him of Monteil's attitude towards
her and how repellent she found the man. With true heroism she did not
utter any of it, but instead handed her brother the letter she had
received from the Longhills solicitors. "More unpleasant news I'm
afraid, love."

It was the last straw. Lyddford sprang up, waving the letter
about and raging of the villainy of their dastardly neighbour.

When he ran out of breath, Mrs. Starr murmured, "I suppose we
must give the devil his due. Mr. Montclair did help poor Señor Angelo,
at least, in spite of the fact that he and Mrs. Sue did not part in
charity with each other."

"Charity!" cried Susan hotly. "I could not feel charity for
that horrid man was he thrown to the lions! He is the most sneering,
overbearing, toplofty, sarcastic individual it has ever been my
misfortune to meet!"

Although fate had not treated her kindly, she was by nature a
kind young woman, not one to hold a grudge, and she seldom took anyone
in deep aversion. This fierce outburst caused her companions to eye her
in surprise, and Lyddford said shrewdly, "There's more here than meets
the eye, don't you agree, Starry? Come along now, Mrs. H. Exactly what
transpired that you left Montclair flat on his back? If the crudity
dared insult you—"

The grimness in his eyes frightened her, so she smiled and
told them the full story of her parting with Mr. Valentine Montclair,
not sparing herself, and joining in the laughter which followed.

Andrew was still wiping his eyes when Priscilla came in search
of them. She was dirty, tired, but overjoyed with the results of her
painting efforts, and pleaded that they all "simply
must
please come and see. Now!"

"Very well, but stop babbling," said Lyddford, resting a fond
hand on his niece's tumbled curls. "You're amazing free from paint,
sprat. How so?"

"Starry wrapped me all up in a sheet. We had to put Wolfgang
out 'cause he got a little bit painty, but I din't. Oh,
do
hurry! It looks just splendrous!"

Dutifully they followed her to the small room once occupied by
the bootblack.

On the threshold Susan checked and stared, wide-eyed. "Oh! The
wretched
man," she gasped.

Valentine Montclair had evidently not left Amberly Down before
she did. He must have still been in the ironmonger's shop when she'd
sent the paint back with the request for it to be delivered, and he'd
seized the opportunity to very effectively spike her guns. Had she
really intended to redecorate with the bright red paint, it would
doubtless have been judged bold and in questionable taste. But not by
any stretch of the imagination would anyone dare to paint the trim on
Highperch Cottage the lurid purple that now adorned Priscilla's doll
house.

"But of course, I instructed Ferry to communicate with the
woman at once." Sir Selby Trent's eyes were wide and injured as he
closed the door of his display case. "I had thought my promptness might
have pleased you, dear boy."

"Pleased me!" Montclair's hands gripped tightly on his riding
crop. "I told you I preferred to handle the matter myself, sir. The
Henley woman and her nasty little band have stolen a march on us by
taking possession of the cottage. It well may be that there is no
reasoning with her, but had you not interfered I might have at least—"

"Hoity-toity! Only listen to the lord of the manor!" Arms
folded across his powerful chest, Junius leaned against his father's
desk watching Montclair contemptuously, and managing to look
overdressed in a pair of extremely tight cream pantaloons, a blue coat
with big silver buttons, and a neckcloth which had taken his man an
hour to perfect. "You don't rule here yet, my poor clod," he sneered.

Montclair stepped closer to him, chin outthrust. "And
you
are here
only
because your father came in an
advisory capacity to my brother—a state of affairs which should by
rights have ended almost four years ago.
You
have
absolutely
no
right whatsoever to interfere in
the running of this estate. You had no business to call on Mrs. Henley
in Geoff's name, much less to insult and maul her, and break Lyddford's
head. Whatever the provocation, neither my father nor Geoffrey would
countenance such crude behaviour. I'll thank you in future to keep your
meddling out of any matter concerning Longhills."

Junius, whose face had become alarmingly red during this
declaration, snarled, "You puny would-be music master! What if I tell
you to go to hell?" Standing straight so that he towered over the
slighter man, he added, "Or what if I were to very gently break you in
half and—"

"Keep in mind that you are at a disadvantage," said Montclair,
throwing down his riding crop. "The only time you've ever bested me is
when you attacked from behind like the sneaking coward you are!"

Junius swore and whipped back his clenched fist, and Montclair
crouched, poised and ready.

Sir Selby sprang between them. "Is this truth, Junius? Did you
maul that trollop? I knew you'd struck her brother, but I never
dreamed—
Did
you, sir?"

His voice was a hiss of menace, and the glare in the pale eyes
sent an uneasy shiver down Montclair's spine.