Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (38 page)

Susan felt every eye turn to her, and knew her face was
scarlet. "We weren't," she said. "Not exactly. I had intended to follow
you straight up to bed, Andy, but I sat down to pull my boots off, and
fell asleep. When I woke up it was past midnight, and I thought I heard
someone in the cellar."

"So you went tripping down there, all alone, and unarmed.
Famous behaviour, upon my word! I never fancied you short of a sheet,
Susan."

"I thought it was Welcome," she said simply.

"Lucky you came out alive," grunted Lyddford. "Both of you.
The fact remains that if that murdering hound has taken to coming into
Highperch after Montclair, something must be done. And the easiest
solution is for our noble guest to go back to his great Manor. No, Sue,
don't argue. I'll not have you and Priscilla—or any of us—put at risk
here. Montclair can hire an army to defend himself if he chooses. We
can't."

Before anyone could respond, Martha came into the room and
stood twisting the hem of her apron and looking at Susan in a troubled
way.

"Yes, Martha?" said Susan.

"I know as you're all talking, Mrs. Sue," said the girl
hesitantly. "But I thought I better come and tell you, just in case."

"Tell us what? Is it about Miss Priscilla?"

"No, ma'am. But she heard it, too. She's outside now, playing
with Wolfgang, but—"

"What did she hear?" asked Mrs. Starr patiently.

"Why—the crash. We was in what used to be the study, only it's
your sewing room now, you know, Mrs. Sue. And that's right under your
bedroom—only it's Mr. Valentine's room now, and—"

Susan tensed. "And you heard a crash, you said?"

"Yes, Mrs. Sue. It sounded like something heavy had been
dropped. Or like someone had fallen down, or—"

Lyddford and Susan were already running.

Montclair slept late, awakening to find Deemer opening the
window curtains. He felt bruised from head to toe, and by the time,
with the butler's help, he was shaved and dressed, he had found ample
evidence of the power of the intruder. Martha fetched his breakfast
tray, and he ate at the small table before the windows.

It was a beautiful morning, a slight haze draping an ethereal
veil over the river and the distant hills, but he scarcely saw the
loved prospect. He could see instead the glow in Susan's bruised face
as she lifted it to his kiss; feel again the softness and warmth of her
lovely body pressed against his. Since leaving Cambridge he'd been too
occupied with his music and his endless fight to guard Longhills to
have much time for women. When Mrs. Susan Henley had come uninvited
into his life she had seemed only a further complication to his already
difficult existence. Now, not only was he deeply indebted to her, but
if he thought of her as a complication, it was as a most delectable one.

She was very far from being his ideal. That often dreamed-of
lady was a soft-voiced, sweetly natured creature with shining golden
curls, eyes of cornflower blue, and a rosebud mouth. A delicate and
gentle lady who never spoke in anger, or argued with him, but would
adoringly agree with any opinion he voiced. Certainly she would not
dream of striking him with a dustpan brush! Always, she was impeccably
and elegantly gowned. And would faint at the very thought of a lady
wearing breeches! She moved with grace and propriety. (And the man who
lay in helpless agony at the bottom of a Folly waiting for her to find
the gumption to climb down and help him, would die alone!) His ideal
was, in short, a lovely dimwit without flesh and blood and human
failings, who would bore him to death in a week.

He chuckled, banished his 'ideal lady' forever, and put on her
vacant pedestal a tall, willowy young woman with candid grey eyes, a
resolute mouth, and long, very straight dark hair that gleamed
silkily—when it wasn't tucked under a stocking cap. He smiled again,
remembering her face last night, but the smile died abruptly as he
recalled the bruise he had put there. It had been unintentional, of
course, and she'd understood. Still—it should never have happened. He
frowned uneasily. He had criticized Lyddford for exposing his sister to
danger, but he himself was no less guilty. If his presence here
constituted a menace to Susan and the rest of them, he must leave. The
thought of a return to life with the Trents was not enticing, but it
was, he knew, past time that he went home. Certainly, little Barbara
had stood in need of him, and Lord only knows what Uncle Selby had been
about during his absence.

Sighing, he reached for the last crumpet. His outstretched
hand checked, and shock was like a physical blow. He had stretched out
his
right
hand unthinkingly, and his fingers had
moved
a little! Hope made his pulses race. Perhaps his hand was not
permanently damaged after all! Jupiter—he was almost well! He snatched
up his crutch, eager to test his leg. He found he was able to lower his
left foot to the floor and stand straight without the crutch, and with
only a little discomfort. Leaning on the crutch very slightly, he
crossed the big room and limped into the dressing room. It was an
ungainly hobble, admittedly, but it was a great improvement!

Elated, he swung around, so eager to find Susan and share his
triumph with her, that he forgot the need for caution and the crutch
pulled the rug into a fold. Thrown off balance, he staggered, and flung
his left arm out instinctively. His fingers closed around the handle of
a cupboard which was always kept locked. Unhappily, his weight was too
much. The handle broke off; he went down, still clutching it, and the
warped cupboard door flew off its rusted hinges and crashed down also.
He jerked his head away and threw up his arm to protect himself from
several cascading bottles.

When the shower ceased, he sat there taking stock of things.
Luckily, he appeared to have sustained no hurt, and none of the bottles
had smashed. He began to gather them up. There were six, uniformly
filled with a dark brown liquid that looked vaguely familiar. Idly, he
glanced at the label:

"For Valentine Montclair, Esquire.

Give one teaspoonful three times per day.

Dr. K.R. Sheswell"

A numbness came over him, and he leaned back against the lower
cupboard, staring blankly at the bottle in his hand, and trying to
fight away the insidious suspicion that was creeping into his mind. He
had improved to the point the medicine was no longer needed, that was
all. Only—if it was no longer needed, why had old Sheswell kept sending
it? For how long had it been withheld? His glance flashed to the
cupboard. Suddenly very cold, he could see that there were more bottles
still on the shelf. All apparently untouched.

His aunt's voice seemed to scream in his ears: "… If my
suspicions are correct, Dr. Sheswell's instructions have been poorly
kept. Why, he thought you would be better in no time…" He had not got
better "in no time." He had come very close to turning up his toes, and
it had been a long and slow recovery. But—surely the brave and
beautiful Susan had not schemed to— He threw his left hand across his
eyes, whispering an agonized, "No! Oh, God! Please—no!"

But doubt came to whisper slyly that his uncle had said Susan
had profited handsomely. Later, when he'd asked her, she'd admitted
that the Trents had made financial provision…

His aunt's voice again: "… That sly widow saw her chance… She
would nurse you back to health and so win your affections that you
would give her the house… Never say you have fallen into the hussy's
toils… ? I'll not believe you could be so gullible…"

He ducked his head and instinctively put both hands over his
ears, fighting to shut out that shrill vindictiveness. "I won't believe
it of her! I won't!"

In his misery he hadn't realized he spoke aloud. Nor had he
heard the door open, and he was startled when Susan said quietly, "What
won't you believe, sir?"

His eyes lifted to hers. She stood very straight, very white,
looking down at him with cold hauteur.

It made no sense, he thought in desperation. It
could
not make sense! And then, with perverse and shattering clarity, memory
supplied the scene it had denied him until now. The night he'd lain
half asleep during the early part of his recovery, and had heard Susan
whispering with Mrs. Starr. Starry had said they should never have done
something. Susan, obviously irked, had argued that nothing could be
proven. And then Starry had moaned, "… the Runners can be clever. If
they should even
suspect
— Suppose his family
should put two and two together? It is such a dreadful thing to do! I
never dreamed you capable of such ruthless—" He had dismissed it as a
dream, but with a terrible ache of grief he knew now that it hadn't
been a dream. He could even hear Susan's final words: "Stop being so
melodramatic! And keep your voice down, do. He might hear us!"

It was the withholding of his medicine that had so distressed
Starry and made her accuse Susan of ruthlessness. Ruthlessness, indeed!
It sounded the death-knell to his hopes, and he was so distraught that
for a moment he could neither move nor speak.

Lyddford ran in. "Gad, what a mess! You all right, Montclair?"
He stepped over the debris and assisted Montclair to his feet. "Why the
deuce have you been flinging all these bottles about?"

"Mr. Montclair found it necessary to break open the cupboard,"
said Susan, her lip curling contemptuously.

"Break… open…" gasped Lyddford.

"I didn't break it open, Susan," said Montclair. "I was—"

"Dear me," she sneered. "I'd not dreamed there were exploding
cupboards in this house. Just what did you expect to find, that you
must resort to such methods, sir?"

Sick at heart, he answered, "Not what I did find, certainly.
But I'm sure there is a very logical explanation." His eyes pleaded.
"Isn't there?"

"Explanation—for what?" said Lyddford, bewildered. "What the
deuce is all this stuff?"

"Oh, it is no use your taking that tone, Andy," Susan gave a
brittle mirthless little laugh. "Mr. Montclair will never believe you
don't know about it."

"By the Lord Harry! Know about—
what
?"

"The medicine," she said, so hurt and angry that she had to
fight for self-control. "Mr. Montclair believes we deliberately
withheld it so as to delay his recovery."

"
What
?" roared Lyddford, his face
reddening.

"I didn't say that," said Montclair. "If you would just—"

"It was exceeding obvious what you
thought
,"
she flashed.

"Why—why, you
ingrate
," Lyddford howled.
"You damned—
dog
! I—"

"Be quiet!" snapped Montclair. "Sue—for the love of God! I
fell and the cupboard door broke when I grabbed at it to steady—"

"Like hell!" shouted Lyddford.

Montclair rounded on him furiously. "
Will
you be quiet! Susan—
please
—I know that even now my
stupid head is—is confused sometimes. When all the medicine bottles
fell out—"

"You put two and two together, and we came up wanting," she
said. "La, sir, but your feelings change so rapidly! And how exceeding
convenient that you—ah—'fell' against that
particular
cupboard!" Her brows drew down. She said with biting scorn, "For
shame
that you should be so quick to believe the worst!"

She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist. "No! I
don't
believe it! That is—I do, but—but I know you must have had some reason.
If you will only
tell
me—"

"Not a word, Sue! Not one blasted word to the carrion!"
Lyddford sprang to wrench Montclair's hand away, sending him staggering
back to the wall. Through his teeth, he said, "Mrs. H., you will please
to leave us. At once! Send Deemer and the Bo'sun up here!"

Susan hesitated, glancing from his livid face to Montclair's
haggard one. "Andy—you won't…"

"If he was a whole man—by God, I think I'd strangle him with
my bare hands! But he'll answer to me, I promise you! Now—
go
!"

She turned and went out.

Montclair watched her in helpless misery. She had offered no
excuse. No denial. The cupboard
had
been locked.
His medicine
had
been withheld. But he wanted so
desperately to disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. He said,
"Lyddford, you must—"

Almost incoherent with rage, Lyddford snarled, "I take leave
to tell you that you are a damned
cad
and an
ugly-minded— You are no
gentleman
! When I
think
—
When I— My challenge to you
stands
, Montclair! As
soon as you put off those splints, my seconds will call on you."

Montclair sighed drearily, "I cannot fight you."

"You will, damn you! As soon as you're well, I'll haunt you!
I'll shame you until you've no choice! I don't want to see your face
until then—or until we meet in court!"

Montclair reached for his crutch. "There will be no need for
courts. I told your sister I will not contest your claim to Highperch."

Lyddford sprang forward and seized him by the neck-cloth,
thrusting his inflamed countenance forward. "Do not be offering us your
damned charity, Mr. High-in-the-Instep aristocrat! If it was only me
you insulted, I'd likely simply cut out your liver! But—that you should
dare
to think evil of my sister—! We will defeat
you in the courts, sir! Legally! And then— By God, but I can scarce
wait to get you before the sights of my pistol!"

Montclair knocked his hand away. "Meanwhile, you might try to
keep your so beloved sister from getting herself taken up for a
smuggler."

All the colour left Lyddford's face. In a controlled voice far
more deadly than his loud fury, he said, "Now—if I thought you meant to
betray us like the worthless hound you are—I'd make sure you never
reached Longhills alive."