Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (23 page)

"Ugh," muttered his wife, staring at the hearth.

Welcome tucked in his chin, stretched, and emerged from the
coal scuttle to investigate the visitors.

"The
dear
kitty," gushed my lady,
bending to the little tabby.

Welcome crouched, stared fixedly at her, backed away, then
fled.

'Oh dear,' thought Susan. "I have no intent to sound unkind,"
she began, "but—"

"Unkind! Why, I believe there is not an unkind bone in your
body, dear ma'am," said the doctor heartily. "And anyone must have a
heart hard as stone to insist upon us carrying that poor young man
across country at this hour."

"Ye-es. But—"

"Give us a day or two," Sheswell went on, leading her towards
the hall. "He's a high-couraged lad, and will give you no trouble, I'll
vouch for that."

And somehow it was all settled. Dr. Sheswell promised to send
nurses to Highperch at the very earliest possible moment, and left
several bottles of medicine with Mrs. Starr, together with firm
instructions as to dosages. Sir Selby bowed low over Susan's hand and
told her emotionally that he would "never forget" her heroism. Lady
Trent embraced her and said that Mrs. Henley was "a good Christian
woman—whatever anyone might say!" And they were gone with a clatter of
hooves and rumble of wheels and a handkerchief fluttering from the
window of the great carriage.

Susan walked back into the house, closed the door, and turned
on her devoted retainer. "Starry! Did you not see I wanted none of
this? Whatever is my brother going to say? A fine pickle you have got
me into!"

Mrs. Starr blinked her pretty eyes and wailed, "Oh, dear Mrs.
Sue, I have angered you! I am such a ninny! I could only think of that
poor young man, in such pain and not a sound out of him while the
doctor tugged him about—so carelessly, I thought. Indeed, I cannot like
the man, and it seemed to me—" She broke off, tilting her head. "He is
calling, poor soul! I must go!" With a flutter of draperies she ran.

"Traitor!" cried Susan, who had heard no call. Mrs. Starr
moaned, and ran faster.

Sighing wearily, Susan began to climb the stairs at a slower
pace, her thoughts chaotic. 'Whatever am I to say to Andrew?' She put a
hand to her aching head. Perhaps he would be delayed and Montclair
would be safely removed to his own bed by the time
The
Dainty Dancer
returned. Or she might be able to convince
Andy she'd allowed Montclair to remain here hoping to win him to a
kindlier attitude. Perhaps he'd even be pleased…

"
Pleased
!" Andrew Lyddford threw up one
arm in a wild gesture of frustration and paced to the withdrawing room
windows again, while Susan watched him unhappily. "I think you've run
mad, is what it is," he raged. "Why in the name of all that's holy did
you allow the fellow in the house?"

It was dusk and the room was beginning to grow dark; Deemer
came in and began to move quietly about, lighting candles.

"He is very ill, love," said Susan desperately. "It will be
many weeks before—"

"
Many weeks'
?" he roared. "I understood
you to have been told three days ago it was just for a day or two! And
why are you looking so hagged, I'd like to know? Where are the nurses
Trent was to send?"

"Dr. Sheswell cannot get the ones he wants. It seems they're
working on urgent cases elsewhere and he has had a horrid time trying
to find suitable women. Now he is indisposed himself, and there is an
outbreak of mumps among the servants at Longhills, so that the Trents
are fearful of sending any of their people, and—"

"Good God, what stuff! Is the village depopulated? Are there
no willing nurses at—at Tewkesbury, or Gloucester? Indisposed, indeed!
Only look at you—worn to a shade! By Jehoshaphat, Sue, you've let
yourself be properly hornswoggled! Selby Trent is known for a
clutchfist. He likely had no intent of sending anyone and—"

"But he has been most generous, Andy," she interposed
hurriedly. "He has sent us a carte blanche for all the village shops.
Starry and Martha have driven in twice, and we have plenty of supplies,
and—"

"To Jericho with his supplies! Get this pest out of our house
is what we must do! And speedily! Aye, I know you think me a regular
Captain Stoneheart, but tell me this, Madam Gullible—if his doctor was
so sure he would be up and about in no time, why does he still lie up
there looking like a death's head?"

"It is a good question, dear Master Andrew," said Mrs. Starr,
hurrying into the withdrawing room holding a tray on which was a plate
piled high with fragrant biscuits and muffins. "But do pray keep your
voice down. The poor young man is in such misery."

Instinctively reaching for one of Mrs. Starr's excellent
shortbread biscuits, Lyddford's hand paused and he looked up sharply.
"Is the fellow conscious?"

"Sometimes, but not for very long, praise be. These past two
days he's been out of his head off and on."

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, staring at her in horror.

Susan put in hurriedly, "But Dr. Sheswell said he will soon be
well and there is absolutely no fear of real danger."

"Aye, ma'am," said Bo'sun Dodman, coming to join them. "Well,
I'd be easier could Mr. Montclair get some proper rest, is all. Martha
says he has little sleep. He's weak as a cat, his spirits are at low
ebb, and he's worn to the bone with pain."

"That don't surprise me," said Lyddford glumly. "His head's
broke, his hand's broke, his leg's broke. He ain't likely to be feeling
top o' the morning, is he? What baffles me is why my sister allowed him
to be foisted off on us."

"Simple kind-hearted compassion, sir," sighed Mrs. Starr,
giving Susan a wan and sympathetic smile.

"Simple's the word," grumbled Lyddford. "Trent has access to
unlimited funds. Certainly he can provide for his kinsman better and
easier than can we. Dammitall, he had no— Oh, your pardon, ladies, but
d'ye realize I've work to be done, and the house swarming with invalids
and visitors?"

Susan did not at once reply. In her ears was a faint voice
pleading, 'Could you… hold my hand… just for a minute?' He'd only asked
it of her because he dreaded to be left alone in that awful pit… Or
perhaps from the instinctive need of a person close to death to reach
out to another human presence. Despite the fact that they despised each
other she had tried to help him. And yet… She sighed.

Watching her tired face Mrs. Starr gave Lyddford a rare frown
and said defensively, "In point of fact the Trents have not come once
since they left Montclair here, Master Andy." She started out of the
room, pausing to add over her shoulder, "And his affianced bride has
never so much as set foot across our threshold, which is pretty
behaviour if you was to ask me!"

"Even so, you are perfectly right, Andy," said Susan. "The
responsibility was mine, and I suppose I have been very silly. It's
none of our bread and butter, after all."

"You've a kind heart, Mrs. Sue," declared Dodman with a fond
smile. "And Mr. Montclair's young and seems to have kept himself trim
enough. It's not as if he was smashed up inside, or his back broke.
Likely he'll do very well, just as his doctor says. Then the Trents
will be grateful, and maybe—"

Deemer came into the room. Lyddford glanced at him enquiringly.

"A Mrs. Bentley is here, sir. Says she was sent by Dr.
Sheswell."

"Oh, thank heaven," murmured Susan.

"It's past time," grunted Lyddford. "Come on, Bo'sun George.
We'll get as much work done as we can this evening. I've another cargo
to ship day after tomorrow."

Mrs. Bentley, a short rather square woman, waited in the
servants' hall. Susan's first impression of her was of greyness. Her
hair was grey, her eyes were pale and watery, the shawl pinned over the
dun-coloured coat was grey, and there was a musty air about her. But
she bobbed a curtsy and said respectfully that Dr. Sheswell sent his
apologies for the long delay and that she would do her best to help the
"poor gent."

There was an air of tragedy to the last two words. Susan eyed
her uneasily and asked for her experience. It was broad and her
references were excellent. It was silly to be prejudiced against the
woman only because she seemed of a rather mournful disposition.
Sheswell obviously thought highly of her, and besides, it would be a
relief to be able to get a good night's sleep for a change. She
summoned Martha to conduct Mrs. Bentley to the small room they'd
readied for her arrival, and went up to look in on Montclair.

He lay as she'd left him, thin and bearded, bearing little
resemblance to the man she'd struck with the dustpan brush. His right
hand and left leg were splinted, his head heavily bandaged. Somewhere
between sleep and waking, his eyes were closed, but his left hand
plucked restlessly at the coverlet and he muttered unintelligibly, his
head moving in a feeble but endless tossing.

Mrs. Starr, seated beside the bed, took a cloth from the bowl
of lavender water and bathed his face.

Susan whispered, "Does he seem any better to you, Starry?"

The little woman hesitated. "If you was to ask me, Mrs. Sue,
he was doing better last Sunday."

"So I thought, though I dared not tell my brother that. Well,
at least a nurse has come, so the responsibility is off our hands,
thank goodness."

The thought of an uninterrupted night's sleep was luxury, and
after saying her prayers, Susan snuggled down gratefully. The fog had
come up again, and a profound silence enveloped the old house, blotting
out even the slap of the water against the dock. The hush invited
slumber, and she was so tired that she fell asleep immediately after
blowing out her candle.

She could not tell what woke her, but she was suddenly,
heart-stoppingly, wide awake, and listening. The quiet was so intense
it was almost a sound in itself. She sat up, holding the bedclothes
around her, her eyes trying to pierce the dark. Had Montclair cried
out, perhaps? But, of course, if he should, Mrs. Bentley was here now.
Martha slept next to the nursery, and would go to Priscilla at once if
the child suffered one of her nightmares. Perhaps, she thought, it had
just been a bad dream… Another moment, and she would lie down again and—

A horse neighed loudly.

Susan's heart leapt into her throat. Pennywise and Pound
Foolish were elderly and seldom woke at night. Priscilla's pony,
Deemer's old cob, and the Bo'sun's chestnut gelding were in the paddock
on the other side of the house. Andy's big grey, Ghost, was in the
stables, as was her own little mare, Pewter. And the neigh had sounded
as if the horse stood on the front lawn. Who could possibly be calling
at this hour of the night?

She slipped from bed and ran to peep through the window
curtains. The three-quarter moon shone through a veil of mist, but
there was sufficient light for her to see if anyone was outside. There
was no horse on the drive. Nor had she heard the hoofbeats of a
departing rider. But there was no doubting she'd heard that neigh.

The minutes crept past. Her feet were very cold and she began
to shiver and wish she'd put on her dressing gown, but she would not
leave the window to get it. Perhaps it
had
been
one of the horses in the paddock. All this worrying must have made her
nerves—

The mists on the drive swirled. She gave a gasp as a dark
shape rose, seemingly from the ground. Only a glimpse she had—then he
was gone, but she was sure it was a man, and equally sure that he'd
been watching the house. She flew to the bed, snatched up her dressing
gown, and was in the corridor in an instant. A dark figure loomed
before her, and she came near to fainting from fright.

Fully dressed, Lyddford said cheerily, "What's to do?"

"Oh, how you… frightened me!" she gasped.

"Who did you think I was?" he said, grinning. "Attila the—"

"I saw someone," she panted. "On the drive. A man. He—he was
watching the house, Andy!"

"Damn," he grunted and ran to the stairs, Susan following.

Flinging open the front door, Lyddford sprang down the steps,
pistol in hand. He ran a short way, stopped in a listening attitude,
then came back. "Nobody," he muttered. "You're sure?"

"Quite sure."

He restored the pistol to his coat pocket. "Didn't recognize
him, I suppose?"

"No. But he was tall. Oh, Andy, you don't think whoever tried
to kill Montclair—"

He put an arm about her. "Don't be a peagoose, Mrs. H. There
are a dozen possibilities. Have you forgot those varmints you saw in
the woods? Old Selby Trent might have set 'em to see if we're murdering
his precious nephew. Or some thief might be after our boat; a gypsy
might be after the horses; some bird-witted traveller might have become
lost and mistaken the cottage for a tavern… Back to bed for you, my
girl!"

But Susan noticed that for all his bantering tone, he shot the
bolts on the front door for the first time since they'd moved here, and
as she walked up the stairs, she heard him repeat the process with the
back door.

Mrs. Starr removed Welcome from her shopping basket and
adjusted her left mitten. "I shall try if I can borrow Mrs. Edgeworth's
new book so that you can read it to us tonight, Mrs. Sue. I'll be back
as quickly as I can," she added worriedly. "I don't like leaving you
alone, with poor Mr. Montclair doing so poorly. And—That Woman… !" Her
lips tightening, she threw a grim look at the stairs.

There was no love lost between her and their new nurse. It had
taken Mrs. Starr less than a day to pronounce that Mrs. Bentley was
lazy. The next morning she had complained that not once had she seen
the nurse do any more for her patient than to give him the medicine Dr.
Sheswell had sent along with her. "There he was at nine o'clock last
evening, poor gentleman, tossing and turning and so hot and
uncomfortable," she'd told Susan indignantly. "And her, snoring in the
chair! A fine nurse
she
is! I declare Señor
Angelo could do better!"