Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (44 page)

"Oh, yes it is! That Intelligence man, Diccon— By the bye, did
you bring him in to spy on us, too?"

"No, I did not! He was after Monteil. Now see here, Lyddford—"

Susan interrupted, her voice calm and dispassionate. "We are
moving away, my lord."

"Where?" he demanded, paling.

"Never you mind," said Lyddford. "I don't want you following
us and making sheep's eyes at my sister."

"Sheep's eyes! Now devil take you, Lydd—"

"I don't know what else you'd call it, Montclair." He added
mockingly, but with his fine eyes very intent, "Unless—is it possible
you have come to ask my permission to pay your addresses?"

"Andy!" exclaimed Susan, her eyes flashing with anger. "How
could
you embarrass me so? Mr. Montclair—I mean his lordship—made his opinion
of us too clear for me to have anything but disgust for such a
declaration."

Lyddford said sternly, "I'll hear his answer, if you please,
Mrs. H."

Admiral Lord Sutton-Newark had already visited Longhills, and
Valentine's discussion with him regarding the lovely widow had brought
a sharp and unyielding verdict. "Unequivocally—and finally—
no
!"
had said the old gentleman. "You are the head of the family now,
Montclair. You have an obligation to your name, and to all who have
carried it before you. You must marry well and with honour! There can
be no slightest hint of scandal about your lady. Susan Henley? No, by
Gad!
Never
!"

Montclair's head bowed. He said quietly, "No. That is not why
I came."

Lyddford gave a bark of sardonic laughter. "I believe that, at
least!"

"But there is no reason," went on Montclair, "for you to leave
here."

Susan rose to her feet. "There is every reason, sir," she
said. "As my brother started to tell you, we learned that prior to my
marriage Diccon was slightly acquainted with my husband. He was kind
enough to make an investigation for us, and found definite proof
that—that your mama did indeed refund the purchase price of this house.
You were perfectly right, my lord. We have, in fact, trespassed, and
owe you rent for the—"

Montclair stepped closer to her and said with a blaze of
anger, "Do not
dare
to say such a thing! You
saved my life, and in return I am expected to put you out of house and
home and charge you
rent
? If that isn't the most
preposterous—"

"I put it to you, sir," interrupted Lyddford, "that I don't
like your tone; I don't like your manner; and I most decidedly will not
accept your charity! Bad enough," he added grudgingly, "that I've to
thank you for clearing me with the Excise people."

Ignoring him, Valentine reached out towards Susan imploringly,
but she drew back as if his nearness revolted her. He lowered his hand
and asked in desperation, "Where will you go? Please—at least tell me
that."

Lyddford stalked over to the door and flung it open. "I tell
you goodbye, sir. No more. No less."

Valentine bit his lip and said huskily, "Lyddford—I beg you.
Give me a moment alone with her. Only a moment."

Andrew Lyddford was a volatile and somewhat selfish young man,
but he was far from being insensitive, and this whole unhappy interview
was weakening his stern resolution. He hesitated, glancing at his
sister.

Susan turned and walked from the room, her dark hair swinging
behind her.

For a moment Valentine gazed after her. Then, without a word,
he left the house.

"But my good blockhead"—Alain Devenish, who had just wandered
into the library after enjoying a late breakfast, leaned forward and
placed both hands on the map his friend was attempting to read—"it is
positively—
heathen
! Leave your confounded swamp
for a minute and attend me! No offense, but—the putrid lot tried to put
a period to you! Their own flesh and blood! And you allow them to
remain
here, a full week after their dastardly schemes failed? Blest if ever I
heard of such a thing!"

Obediently, Montclair looked up from the map of Amberly Down.
"You may believe I'll be glad to see the back of 'em—with the exception
of Babs, of course. I insist they keep to the South Wing, and not come
into this part of the house, but Junius is very ill, Dev. I can hardly
force them to move him when even the doctor from Town said it would be
a death sentence."

"The dirty bastard wouldn't be in such a fix had he not
planned
your
death in a particularly slow and
horrible fashion." Vaughan, who was sprawled in a deep chair reading
The
Times
, tossed the newspaper aside and added, "If Diccon has
his way—"

"Diccon has his hands full trying to trace Imre Monteil.
Besides, Junius is a bad man, I'd be the last to dispute that. But if I
pressed charges and the lot came out…" Montclair shrugged. "It won't
do. The Family, you know."

Devenish nodded a gloomy acknowledgement of the sanctity of
The Family. "I know. I suppose you're the head now—eh?"

"Unfortunately."

Vaughan said sympathetically, "Bad luck, old lad. Curst lot of
bothersome responsibilities. And with the staff you've got here, and
your farms and villages…" He shuddered.

"You think it's bad now," said Devenish cheerfully. "Only wait
'til you set up your nursery!" And with an oblique glance at Vaughan,
"I suppose your nautical great-uncle wants you to get leg-shackled as
fast as may be?"

Bending over the map hurriedly, Valentine murmured, "He said
something of the sort. I'm in no hurry. I've to see Babs safely wed
first."

Through a short silence Devenish frowned at him, then said
with a trace of diffidence, "While Joss and I were having a jolly time
being vagrants at Highperch—"

"For which I shall never be able to thank you enough,"
interjected Montclair, smiling gratefully from one to the other. "When
I think of how you hovered about trying to protect me—"

"We were truly noble," nodded Devenish complacently.

"And such splendid painters," mused Vaughan.

Montclair laughed. "The most ruffianly pair of hedgehogs I
ever saw. But it's amazing I didn't recognize you, if only for the fun
and gigs you had at my expense! Small wonder I warned Su— Mrs. Henley
against you. Did you know you scared her half to death one night when
she caught you watching Highperch?"

Vaughan threw up his hands. "
C'est mal
!
That was our Diccon. He took the night shift whilst we got our beauty
sleep."

"And as for being scared to death," said Devenish, "the lady
came nigh to causing both Joss and me to swoon with fright when she
damn near rode us down in the woods that day!"

Montclair's expression sobered. "You refuse to let me properly
thank you, but—"

"Oh, do stow it, you block," snorted Vaughan. "Cease
interrupting with all this poppycock, when we want to talk sensibly.
Now—speaking of weddings—"

Valentine returned his gaze to the map. "We weren't."

"Yes, we were," argued Devenish. "You said you had to get Babs
married off. And—er, as to the Glorious Widow—she is… ah, glorious. Eh,
my tulip?"

"Mmm," said Valentine, his head bowing lower over the map.

Vaughan said, "Dev and I—we rather thought… That is— We don't
mean to pry, but—"

Montclair straightened and looked at them gravely. "Thank
you," he said. "I'm very grateful for that."

"Oh," said Devenish, blinking at him.

"Er—quite," said Vaughan.

A week later Mr. Yates strolled with Alain Devenish through
the sunlit water gardens, and pointed out,

"Well, he
is
in deep mourning, sir."

"I fully understand that," nodded Devenish. "But—"

"Do you really, Mr. Devenish? No—please don't think I mean to
be insolent. I know you was friends with Mr. Valentine at school.
But—you didn't see them grow up, sir. I did. Always fighting, they
were. Over nothing, most of the time. But they made it up quick as a
wink, and underneath they were as close as brothers can be. Master
Geoff was the more easy natured of the two; a bit on the lazy side,
perhaps, if I may be so bold as to remark it. But such charm that boy
had, sir. Wound us all round his little finger, he did. Aside from
their squabbles, which is only natural in two healthy young boys,
Master Valentine fairly idolized his brother. Master Geoff could do no
wrong in his eyes. 'Til he went flaunting off and—" The steward checked
himself abruptly. "I think Mr. Val—I mean his lordship—was counting the
days 'til his brother come home. Never wanted the title, he didn't. Or
the fortune. He's not one for all the antics of Society, like Master
Geoff was. All he wanted was his music… Now—" He shrugged.

"That's another thing," said Devenish. "I used to find Lord
Valentine at his harpsichord every time I came. I don't think I've seen
him in that music room once since the fight at Highperch. Nor has Mr.
Vaughan."

"He doesn't have time, sir. Since you two gentlemen left, he
works all the hours of the day and often far into the night as well."

"Works? At what? Never say he means to add on to this
overgrown hut?"

The steward grinned. "Not exactly, sir, though he does intend
to rebuild the family Chapel. It's the land, mostly. He wants each of
the estate labourers to be given a cottage and a small acreage so as to
grow his own crops. He has been going over the parcels and approving
sketches for the cottages. And he's consulting with surveyors and
engineers to get that swamp drained at Amberly Down. He means to have
the stream rerouted so it flows as it did before the flood. Our
tenant-farmers have had a lot of trouble with standing water in their
fields."

"But—surely all that's your job," said Devenish, frowning.

"Right you are, sir." Yates added wryly, "And his lordship
consults with me about it. Constant! Fair wears me out, he does! I
don't mind hard work, Mr. Devenish. But—he never stops! It's almost as
if—he doesn't dare to stop…"

"Hmmn," said Alain Devenish.

Sir Selby Trent was thinner and wore a dejected look. The
afternoon sun was slanting golden lances across the gleaming floors of
the Great Hall, and he glanced around with a faint sigh for vanished
dreams. "It is a sad thing," he said reproachfully, "when a gentleman
has to petition for a talk with his own kin."

"Isn't it," said Montclair, waving him to a chair, and
marvelling that this devious scoundrel wore blacks and had the gall to
affect that ill-used air. "I'm glad you came, sir. I have wanted a word
with you before you leave."

"We will depart as soon as is humanly—perhaps I should have
said
humanely
possible. But for the time being,
my—my poor son…" Trent pressed a kerchief to his eyes.

"About Barbara," said Valentine firmly.

Sir Selby blew his nose. "My dear wife is fetching her," he
sighed.

"As head of the family, I'll not stand by and see her forced
into marriage with the likes of Dennis Pollinger, whether—"

"I wonder you can bring yourself to speak to my husband so
rudely, when our beloved son lies on his bed and will likely never walk
again." Lady Trent's shrill voice was an instant abrasion to
Montclair's nerves, and he thought she looked like a bird of prey as
she came into the room clad in severe blacks, as was her daughter.

He stood, and said with icy courtesy, "Good day, madam."

Barbara gave him a look of anguish. He smiled at her, and
added in a very different tone, "I've missed seeing you, little one."

She gave a helpless gesture. "Val—I'm so sorry—"

"Do not dare to apologize!" cried my lady militantly. "When I
think what we have suffered from all the lies and hypocrisy that have
been circulated about us, and—"

"Enough!" His temper flaring, Montclair interrupted, "You know
perfectly well what I could have done—and for the sake of our family,
have not done. I have nothing to say to either of you, except insofar
as Barbara is concerned."

"I had hoped you asked to see us out of Christian charity,"
murmured Sir Selby, blinking his pale eyes.

"You should have known better," snapped his wife. "Well, I at
least shall not mince words. Whatever was done, Valentine Montclair,
was done in an effort to save the family name. You may well look
ashamed," she added, as Montclair's face reflected his astonishment.
"You supposed we did not know how you lusted after that trollop at
Highperch!" She overrode his infuriated attempt to speak by the simple
expedient of raising her voice another decibel or two. "A fine scandal
it would have caused had you brought her here as your wife! My dear son
was wrong, I'll admit. But if he caused you to feel a—er, a trifle
indisposed, it was only—"

"A
trifle indisposed
, madam," thundered
Montclair, causing her ladyship's eyes to goggle as she drew back a
step. "Do you fancy me to be a total fool? I was being deliberately
poisoned before ever Mrs. Henley moved here! You and your son conspired
to bully the lady into keeping me at Highperch, and then sent over
poisoned medicine. There is no doubt in my mind but that I was meant to
expire there so that the widow and her family could be made the
scapegoats, thus killing two birds with one stone! That's why you
stayed away; why you kept my servants away, not even permitting my man
to come to me! You wanted no possible connection made between
yourselves—and my death!"

"Alas," moaned Sir Selby, burying his pale face in his
kerchief once more. "This is Monteil's doing! He has planted the seeds
of distrust in your poor confused head! Oh, that you would take the
word of that snake in the grass, over that of your own dear relations!"

"Not all, sir," said Valentine, breathing hard. "Only those
now dwelling under my roof!"

Taking a new course, my lady threw a hand to her bosom and
swayed alarmingly. "My heart… ! I am… going to swoon…"