Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (35 page)

"In whatever way I can. If you are in—I mean, if you need—"

Inwardly cringing, she lifted her eyes to meet his and said
candidly, "If I need—money? Is that what you mean?"

It sounded bald, to say the least of it. He was unskilled in
what his brother termed frivolity, flattery, and fal-lals.
Uncomfortably aware that he was flushing, he balanced himself on his
crutch so as to take up her hand. It was very soft and warm, even if
the fingernails were discoloured and too short. "What I am trying to
say is that—I want to be—more than just a friend to you, dear ma'am."
Because he was looking down at her hand he did not see her sudden
pallor, or the spasm of pain that flickered across her face, and went
on, "I know you are faced with financial troubles and that life is
difficult for you, and—er…"

'Oh, no!' thought Susan, anguished. 'Do not, Valentine!
Please
do not!' But she said quietly, "And you want to—smooth my path?"

He smiled. "That is one way of wording it, certainly."

It was a way she had heard before. Wounded to the heart, once
more she had to turn from him. "You told Priscilla you were not rich."

"One does not discuss such delicate matters with a child.
Certainly I can afford to take a—"

'Oh, God!' thought Susan. 'Oh, God!' And desperate to stop him
from saying that horrid word, she interpolated, "Do I understand you to
say you are… are willing to, as Andy would say, tow us out of the River
Tick?"

He said heatedly, "You see? You should not even know such a
term! Lyddford does not protect you properly, Sue! Dash it all, I—"

"Do wish to… protect me?"

"Assuredly! And if Imre Monteil has offered to—"

Very pale, she rounded on him. "Monsieur Monteil has never
made me an offer of any kind, sir!"

"Well, he will, let me tell you, which isn't surprising!"

"Indeed?" she said, controlling herself with an effort. "He
has been a perfect gentleman, and if—"

"Perfect gentleman, is it? The way the beastly fellow leers at
you makes my skin creep! How you can bear to let him slobber over you I
don't—"

"
Slobber
?" she echoed, her voice becoming
unwontedly shrill. "Your charm of manner, sir, is exceeded only by your
arrogance! Whatever else,
he
does not—that is, I
would
not— And—and besides, when I came to your silly Folly, Mr. Valentine
Montclair, it was to help a hurt human being. I did not expect to be
insulted in return!"

He stared at her resentfully. "Insulted! However could I have
deluded myself into thinking I was being generous?"

"And however can I withstand such noble condescension?" she
said, quivering with wrath. "La, but it passes understanding!"

"The devil!" Furious, he swung closer to her.

Susan took a few hurried paces to the rear, but rushed on, "It
was not bad enough to insult me, you must say vile things behind his
back about a gentleman who has been nothing but kind and—and helpful!"

"Aye, he'll be kind, I'll warrant! And he'll 'help' you
straight into the—"

"Yes, malign him—as you mocked my new workmen and called them
'disgusting hedgehogs'! They might not be Corinthian dandies—"

"
Dandies
! Now if that isn't—"

"—but
they
, at the least, have never
spoken one improper word to me, and—"

"I should think not, by God!" His eyes glittering, he said,
"Only tell me who—"

"—and furthermore, I am perfectly satisfied with their work,
so—"

"Work? What work? Be dashed if I've seen them do aught! I vow
they're lazier than my lazy gardener, and if what I suspect is—"

Suspect? Now came fear to add to her misery. Facing it
bravely, she demanded, "
Now
what do you imply? Of
what do you suspect us, sir? Do you think it probable that we have
stolen the—the Montclair Mermaid from your fountain, perhaps?"

"Egad, woman, but you're high in the instep! And you speak of
my
pride! All I tried for was—"

"I am all too aware of what you tried for! But do not feel
obliged to limit your reviling of us, sir! I heard there was a plot
afoot only a year or so ago to kidnap the Prince Regent. Perhaps you
think we have
him
tucked away in our cellar!"

She was white with hurt and anger, but Montclair's wrath was
cooling, and he said impatiently, "Don't sneer at me, blast it! This is
all so ridiculous! I don't—"

"You do not wish to be bored by someone ridiculous," she said
with superb hauteur. "But of course. I shall send the Bo'sun to help
you. Although perhaps you will not feel perfectly
safe
with him, since you doubtless suspect
him
as
well!"

"Oh, I do, for he is always slipping away somewhere. I'd
fancied he was—"

"Organizing an uprising of the villagers against you?" she
sneered.

"No, you must do better than that, ma'am. Let us have him
rather occupying a sinister hut in the woods, where he breeds—ah,
man-eating moles, perhaps."

His lips quirked and a dance of laughter came into his eyes.
Almost won to an answering smile, Susan remembered his offer, and a
fierce pang transfixed her. Suddenly overwhelmed and tearful, she all
but ran from him.

Exasperated, Montclair followed her slowly. The ways of women,
he thought, were indeed inexplicable. 'And despite all the fustian she
spoke, she did not answer my question. She did not say whether she
really cares for that wart Monteil…'

At the foot of the steps he paused, glancing up. Two ladders,
unoccupied at present, were propped against the east front of the
house. Jove, if the beautiful but provoking widow hadn't made him
forget all about the paint! The trim had been partially restored to a
soft cream. He smiled faintly. He'd never really believed she would
make good her threat to use that garish red or the purple he had
substituted. His inspection was interrupted abruptly, and he cried a
startled "Hey!" as he was swept up from either side and carried up the
steps.

"Bit too much fer yer, mate?" said a hoarse voice in his right
ear.

He had barely time to glimpse a hairy, dirty face under a
battered old hat; then he was set down and the even more disreputable
individual on his left was shoving the crutch under his arm. 'Mrs.
Sue's fine new workmen,' thought Montclair cynically, settling the
crutches and scanning a man who might very well be taken for a
third-rate pickpocket. He wore a patch over one eye, and the other
managed always to avoid a direct glance. His hat was an abomination
over an untidy mop of black, greasy hair, and his ragged clothing,
several sizes too large, hung loosely from a pair of sagging shoulders.
"Worse goin' up than comin' dahn, ain't it, guv," he said in a nasal
whine. "We thought as we'd give yer a bit of a hoist, like."

"Good deed fer the day," called the first vagrant, shambling
off.

"Yes. Er—well, I'm obliged," said Montclair, eyeing the
unlovely pair without delight.

"Cor! Look whatcha bin an' gorn an' done, Seth," called the
first man, climbing his ladder.

Montclair glanced down, and swore. There was a generous smear
of cream paint on the sleeve of his blue coat.

"Luwa duck," moaned Seth, and taking out a filthy kerchief
added what appeared to be coal dust and a scattering of tobacco leaves
to the disaster zone.

"Let be," said Montclair indignantly, shoving his hand away.

"Clumsy block," leered the first man, dipping his brush in the
paint pot.

"Jest tryin' ter be of 'elp, Dicky," whined Seth.

"Your best
help
will be to get back to
work," said Montclair, fuming over the ruin of his coat, but unable to
scold since the bumbling oafs may have been sincerely trying to help
him.

Seth retreated to his ladder, and clambered upward, groaning
about his "poor tired bones," and then engaging in a whispered
conversation with his cohort.

Montclair frowned from one to the other.

Dicky leered down at him. "Was yer waitin' fer some more 'elp,
guv?" he enquired with bland insolence.

'Heaven forbid!' thought Montclair. "I was waiting to see you
get back to work," he replied pithily.

"Right y'are, sir!" Seth dipped the brush deeply, and swung it
out.

Montclair manoeuvred the crutches desperately, and avoided
most of the flying paint. "Take care, damn you!" he cried angrily.

"Sorry, guv," leered Seth.

Dicky pointed out sagely, "Bad luck ter stand under a ladder,
mate."

"Worse luck to be impertinent while standing
on
one," snapped Montclair, balancing himself on his right foot and
dealing Seth's ladder a whack with his crutch.

Seth screamed loudly and clung to the ladder like a terrified
monkey.

Somewhat appeased but with the unhappy conviction that paint
was trickling down his forehead, Montclair turned to enter the house.
He thought he heard a muffled laugh and jerked about angrily.

The suspects were industriously and soberly at work.

"Confounded hedgehogs," he muttered, and swung himself inside.

For the balance of the day Susan contrived to elude Montclair.
She felt wrapped in a grey despair, and fought it by immersing herself
in the many tasks that had been postponed owing to the presence of an
invalid in the house. The rugs in the lower hall and the entrance hall
were rolled up and carried outside to be thoroughly beaten. She next
decided that the furniture arrangement in the withdrawing room did not
please her, and she required Martha and Deemer to help her improve it.
Meanwhile, the dining room rugs joined those in the back garden, to be
attacked with gusto (and some whispered imprecations) by the Bo'sun.

At three o'clock, drawn by the uproar, Valentine peered over
the balcony rail into such a maelstrom of activity that he retreated in
horror. He sat at the window of his bedchamber looking out at the
golden afternoon and thinking of his brother. Uncle Selby had told him
that when he'd first been attacked, a letter had been despatched to
Geoff's last known address advising that he was near death. That had
been better than five weeks ago, which meant it was not yet even
halfway to India. By the time Geoff came home he would probably be
completely well again. He was almost well now—except for his hand. He
removed the sling he was required to wear when not using his crutches,
and held his arm out straight. He was almost sure his broken leg had
mended. Surely then, his hand should have healed also, but his efforts
to move the fingers were unavailing.

"Hello, Mr. Val," called Priscilla. "Won't they wriggle yet?"

He turned eagerly to the child, glad of her company, and she
danced in with Wolfgang beside her, and stared curiously at the
inanimate fingers. "Has you tried bending 'em yourself?"

"No. The doctor said I must not."

"Oh—him," she said, unimpressed.

He chuckled. "You don't care for Dr. Sheswell, Lady Priscilla?"

She shook her head decidedly. "Uncle Angelo calls him a wallet
in the wind and says he hides his teeth. Miss Babs laughed and laughed,
and Uncle Angelo said his soul she makes sing."

Valentine, also laughing, lifted his brows at this. "Does she,
indeed?"

"Well, that's what he said. I wonder if his soul is singing on
The Dainty Dancer
. Do grown-ups always have
singing souls when they're in love, Mr. Val?"

He stared at her, then said slowly, "It's a nice thought. Did
you make it up yourself?"

"No. Uncle Angelo telled Miss Babs 'bout it. I like Miss Babs.
She talks so soft, when she's not crying. She does cry a lot." She
tilted her head thoughtfully. "Even more than Mama. I 'spect that's why
Angelo's always hugging her better."

"Is he, by Jove! Er—do you see her often?"

"He lets me walk over there with him, in the afternoons
sometimes. He won't let me ask Mama if I can go after my bedtime."

Incredulous, he asked, "Do you say that Senor Angelo goes to
the Manor to take dinner with Sir Selby Trent?"

"No. He jus' meets Miss Babs in that little garden house on
the hill."

Montclair thought, 'Why that slippery Spaniard! Junius will
break him in half if he catches him!' He frowned thoughtfully. He had
promised his cousin he would not allow her to be forced into marriage
with Pollinger, but an impoverished Spaniard was scarcely a
satisfactory substitute. Unless Babs had given him her heart, of
course. And what a bumble broth
that
would be!
There was no doubt of Uncle Selby's reaction. As for Aunt Marcia—

"'Scuse me, but—do you, Mr. Val?" asked Priscilla, out of
patience.

"My apologies, milady. I didn't hear what you said."

"No, 'cause your ears were off somewhere else," she said
accusingly. "I asked you where you think Dr. Shes'ell hides his teeth."
She leaned closer and whispered with high drama, "I wouldn't be
s'prised if it was in the cellar."

Amused, he tugged one of her ringlets. "You scamp. Is this a
new story for us to make up?"

"No! I don't want a story about him. Or his friend. I like
him
worse than Dr. Shes'ell."

"Which friend? My uncle?"

"No. The tall man who calls on Mama. He's got dead eyes, and
his hands are like lard. Ugh!"

Valentine leaned forward. "What makes you think Monsieur
Monteil is a friend of Dr. Sheswell?"

"I seed them together one night. It was all Wolfgang's fault.
He'd goed out for a little run, but he din't come back, so I had to
find him, only I found them 'stead, over by the bridge, talking
whispery. I 'tended they was Roundheads, an' I was a Royalist spy, an'
I creeped up on them an' listened to their secret plans."

She crouched, looking very melodramatically furtive, and he
smothered a grin and asked, "Were they awfully wicked plans?"

"Well, I couldn't hardly hear them, but I think they must've
been, 'cause one of them was cross an' said it should've been done by
now."