Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (11 page)

"Not worth
your
while, perhaps," argued
Diccon. "But you worry too much. Besides, I can't leave until I have
word from Italy
."

"Ah, well. On your own 'ead be it. What more can Yves do? And
your fine Orpheus?"

"I'll ride him down to Lanterns." Diccon stifled a sigh. "It's
time I went back there, at all events."

"Mais non!
You must not be alone! 'Ow
shall you manage the beasts? And if—"

"Jove, what a gloom-merchant! MacDougall should return at any
day, and I'm well rested. I thank you for taking care of my animals.
When may I expect the next shipment?"

"To this place? You may not. The Swiss, 'e know I work with
you, and because of our—er, conspirings, 'e 'ave lose much of the money
which 'e love! Me, I do not like to be dead,
merci!"
Wringing his friend's hand, Yves said mournfully, "Au
revoir,
my Diccon. I will tell you again that it is the great pity you are too
sure of your own self. You are good. But not an army,
mon
ami.
Send me words when the Monteil go back to 'is—what is
it you say?—'is lair! Or, better, when 'e meet 'is doom!"

Diccon was irked, but he knew better than to try to change the
mind of this droll but stubborn individual. He promised to "send words"
as asked, and watched the Frenchman stride rapidly down the hill. He
was a fiery little gamecock; a typical Latin, ready to imbue every
situation with drama, but a devilish good man in a scrap, just the—

There came a soft footfall behind him. Involuntarily, he
whipped around.

Carrying a large tin bowl, Marietta exclaimed, "My, but you
are so sudden!"

The sunbeams filtering through the branches of the laburnum
tree awoke a bright sheen on her dusky hair and deepened the green of
her eyes. Alarm touched the delicate features that he found almost too
exquisite to be real. He had frightened her. 'Fool!' he thought, and
straightened at once, smiling a greeting.

"I promise you I mean no harm," she said. "I came to see your
horse. He is splendid!"

"Yes. Ah—he is."

In the course of his chequered career he had mixed with all
classes and conditions of people and often his life had depended upon
his ability to say the right thing at the right moment. His quick wits
had never deserted him. Until now. The nearness of this slim girl
seemed to reduce his brain to glue, and his desperate attempt to find
something charming and ingratiating to say failed miserably. He
recovered to an extent and intercepted her outstretched hand as she
moved towards Orpheus. "You must let me introduce you, ma'am. He
sometimes forgets his manners with strangers."

Still holding that small hand in his own, breathing in the
faint sweet scent she wore, and wretchedly aware that his own hand
trembled betrayingly, he reached out to the horse. Orpheus tossed his
head and rolled fierce eyes at the newcomer.

"Behave, you rascal," said Diccon. "Miss Warrington is a
friend." After a suspicious sniff, the big grey quieted and permitted
that his nose be stroked.

Marietta had not missed the look of awe that had dawned in
Diccon's eyes, and was quite aware of the tremor to the long fingers
that held her hand as though it were fashioned of sheerest crystal. In
company with every female since the dawn of time, she knew when she was
admired. In this instance it was a nice feeling, especially since he
made no attempt to stand too close, as he might so easily have done. He
released her hand very carefully, as though fearful of breaking it.
With an inward smile she thought that this tall, shy man was a far cry
from the deadly individual who had faced down Innes Williard, or the
brusque stranger who had only a few days ago remarked that he wondered
if she ever said "anything sensible." She said lightly, "You are very
handsome, Orpheus. But I wonder what you would do if your master had
said I was an enemy."

Diccon smiled. "That is something you will never discover,
ma'am, for I never would tell him such a rank falsehood."

"I think I am fortunate! Is your friend going away, Major? Do
you wish us to stable Orpheus for you?"

"No, no! I'd not impose— I mean, it is time— it's past time I
went—er, home." He untied the reins, then reached for the bowl Marietta
carried. "Let me take that. It's too heavy for you." He peered at the
contents and wrinkled his nose. "Gad! What is this stuff?"

"Mash for the chickens. And you cannot carry it and manage
Orpheus as well. Will he allow me to lead him, do you think?"

"Yes. So long as I am close by."

She took the reins and started along the side drive-path that
led to the barn and stableyard. "Oh, how beautifully he moves! Would
you let me ride him? I love a spirited animal. Now why must you look so
aghast? I have a very good seat, I promise you."

"Then I shall begin to train him to accept a side-saddle, Miss
Warrington."

"Another polite evasion, Major?"

He looked startled and she said laughingly, "Oh, yes. I am
aware of your devious ways, but I will not tease you. As to your going
back to Lanterns, that is quite out of the question until you are
better—unless you've someone to help you."

"You're very kind, but I am much better, I thank you. And my
man will be rejoining me within a day or two."

His man? She hid her surprise and decreed serenely that until
then the Major must remain at the dower house, and that there was
plenty of room for Orpheus in the barn. "It will make very little extra
work for Bridger, for we only keep three horses, nowadays." She heard
the note of regret in her own voice and added hurriedly, "Now tell me
why you call him Orpheus, if you please."

"Like his namesake, he is a music lover."

Marietta patted the glossy shoulder of the big horse. "He
sings, no doubt?"

"Not really. Cannot follow a tune for the life of him. But— in
a sense he does follow a tune."

"You are going to have to explain that, Major."

Greatly daring, he said, "If you will come to Lanterns and
visit me, I'll show you. One picture is worth a thousand words, so they
say."

"The picture of you putting Mr. Williard to flight was worth
many thousand words." Her smile faded into a troubled look. "I am sure
you… heard."

"I'd not intended to eavesdrop, ma'am. But his voice carries,
and I thought you might—er—"

"Be grateful for some interference? I was, indeed. Your rescue
was very well timed. Had my brother Eric been there, he would have done
exactly the same."

"He is abroad, Miss Warrington?"

"No. At Cambridge. We'd hoped he would come home for the
summer, but he took on two students cramming for Responsions, and was
unable to break away. Arthur adores him, and was terribly cast down.
But Eric tries to—to help with expenses, you see."

"He must be a fine fellow."

"Yes, he is, and full of high spirits; always ready for any
escapade, the more reckless the better. I am very sure his friends had
some jolly scheme for the Long Vacation that he would far rather have
shared than spending the summer days tutoring."

They had reached the barnyard, and a small army of chickens
came rushing to meet them with much squawking and a flurry of dust and
feathers.

"If you will be so good as to tether Orpheus," said Marietta,
"I'll divide up the mash and you will see how impolite are the table
manners of our flock."

Five minutes later, Diccon retreated from the yard and leaned
against the fence brushing straw and feathers from his breeches.
"They're savages," he said breathlessly.

"And carnivorous," she agreed.

He inspected the back of his hand. "I thought that great red
brute would go for my throat!"

She could not restrain a chuckle. "That was Gentleman
Jackson." And recalling how Diccon had dodged about, trying to put down
the smaller bowls while the flock surged about him, she said, "I'm
sorry he pecked you, but I think he grew impatient."

"Impatient! He was downright murderous! I'm very sure Jackson
would never behave in such a way!"

She closed the gate and asked, "Do you know the great man?
Eric yearns to meet him."

"Most young bucks do. He's a grand fellow. And considering I
did exactly as you bade me, I fail to see why your rooster became so
hostile."

She thought triumphantly that she'd found one more piece of
the puzzle that was this enigmatic gentleman. He might be a humble
free-trader, but he knew the much-sought-after boxing champion. She
explained, "He became hostile because he was— er, baffled by your
terminology." Diccon raised an eyebrow enquiringly, and she said, "As I
told you, sir, one does not summon fowls by calling 'Chicken, chicken.'
"

He grinned and untied Orpheus. "No, but when I called, "Here,
coop, coop, coop," following orders, they came at me like Ney's
cavalry. Now, will you tell me what I'm to do with my friend, here?"

Before she could respond Mr. Fox came plodding towards them,
with Arthur mounted on his back. The boy, red-faced and out of breath,
wheezed, "I must… talk with… Sir G'waine! P-private!"

"Ar-thur… !" said Marietta, recognizing the signs.

"Oh,
do
go 'way, Etta! It's… it's men
talks!"

"Now that's a sure way to make the ladies curious," advised
Diccon gravely. "Besides, it's not quite polite. What we have to do,
Sir Lancelot, is to beg your sister's pardon, and ask if we may be
excused." With a hopeful glance at Marietta, he added, "Just for a
little while."

"Disgraceful, sir!" trumpeted Lord Ignatius Dale, his dark
eyes protruding alarmingly and his whiskers vibrating. "I say it
again—dis-grace-ful!"

As cool as the short, round peer was inflamed, Diccon faced
him on the terrace of the vast stone pile that was Downsdale Park, and
drawled, "There is not the need, my lord. I heard you the first time. I
brought Master Warrington here to apologize for trespassing, and—"

"Not - the-
need?"
bellowed his
lordship. "Not—I say
not
the
need,
sir? What, I wonder, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, would you fancy constituted a
need? That undisciplined young savage lurking behind you, sir, brought
that confounded mangy little ass trampling all over my grounds, sir! It
consumed my peonies! My
peonies!
M'wife dotes on
'em, d'you hear me?"

"Along with most of the county, I do, sir. But—"

"Eh? Why, Devil take you, sir, how
dare
you, sir?" Purpling, his lordship howled, "I said m'wife
dotes
on 'em! And the poor soul is laid down on her bed with the vapours,
from the shock of seeing that damned
ass
leering
at her through the window of the breakfast parlour while she was eating
her eggs, sir! All along the terrace the mangy damned brute trampled
his dirt! And not content with eating m'confounded
peonies,
and putting m'lady into the vapours, what must the damnable—"

Diccon lifted one hand to halt the flow. "Guard your tongue,
sir! There is a child here."

"By George, don't I know it!" Dale shook clenched fists at the
impervious sky. "The brat's dumb brute ate m'papers, you stupid bl—" he
checked with a fuming glance from Diccon's hauteur to Arthur's
terrified face.

"Do you say Mr. Fox was inside your house, my lord?"

"Who the deuce is Mr. Fox?"

"My donkey is named for Charles James Fox. He looks like him,
you see. Especially," added Diccon musingly, "when he wears his hat."

Staring at the donkey Lord Dale saw the resemblance to the
great statesman, and almost smiled. "What I see," he snapped,
recovering, "is that you are ripe for Bedlam, sir. You and that brat
with you! A gentleman should feel safe in leaving important letters
lying on the table of his own terrace. A
gentleman
does not have to put up with common trespassers, and donkeys, and
runny-nosed brats daring to insult him on his own lands!"

"I will admit that Mr. Fox is partial to a paper snack now and
then, and I am sorry for it if he ate your letters. But I fail to see
that he insulted you, nor do I see that Master Warrington stands in
need of a handkerchief. As for my social standing, should you perhaps
be happier were you to be insulted by someone with a title in front of
his name—whether or not he personally had
earned
the right to be addressed as 'my lord'?"

Dale scowled. "Why, you're a dashed revolutionary! I'll have
you clapped up, be damned if I don't."

"Which won't get your letters back, will it?"

"No, and they were government documents, I'll have you know,
and I hadn't even read 'em! By Jupiter, if I thought 'twould serve, let
me tell you I'd have that confounded ass cut up and—"

Arthur gave a horrified yelp. "It wasn't his fault, sir! I
only came here 'cause I thought Alan A'Dale lived here, but Mr. Fox
din't know your letters was 'portant, and I'm
very
sorry, Lord, but please don't cut up his tummy!"

Dale glared at the scared child and ground his teeth. The
donkey brayed shatteringly, dogs barked a noisy accompaniment, and from
inside the mansion a faint scream sounded.

Diccon said, "You made your apologies very nicely, Arthur. Now
go back to Mr. Fox. This noisy man is upsetting him."

Arthur fled.

Diccon turned back to the angry peer. "Now, see here, Dale—"

"Stay back!" raged his lordship. "You men—throw him over the
wall!"

"An' then," said Arthur, kneeling on a kitchen chair and
watching his aunt tape a piece of sticking plaster across Diccon's
knuckles, "a lady comed out, an' she was all stiff, like a statue, but
Diccon bowed to her, jus' like Sir G'waine would, an' he talked, an'
she didn't seem so stiff, an' in the end they went to look at the
flowers in the garden an' me an' Mr. Fox crep' away an' waited."