Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (13 page)

Candle in hand he crept along the corridor although the wind
was
blustering so that there was small chance of those in the upstairs
bedrooms hearing him. Light still gleamed from the door to the dining
room. He paused, then moved on more soundlessly than ever. The door was
ajar. Cautiously, he pushed it a little wider.

Marietta sat at the table sifting through what must only be a
pile
of bills and making notes on a sheet of paper. He drew back as she
stood and crossed to the sideboard. She took out an ornate ginger jar,
returned to her chair, and shook banknotes and coins from the jar. The
counting of these was obviously disappointing, and she bowed her head
into her hands, looking tired and despairing. His heart wrung, it was
all he could do not to go to her at once and try to comfort her. But he
was a stranger, newly come into their lives. How mortified she would be
if she knew he'd watched her.

He backed away, therefore, and returned to his room, seething
with
anger that she should have to sit all alone in the middle of the night,
struggling with all those bills and that pitiful little pile of cash.
Probably trying to scrape together the funds to meet tuition costs for
a brother who had carelessly left school to "go into London for a
change, poor darling." "I'd 'poor darling' him," he muttered savagely.

He sat on the bed and waited. About half an hour later he
heard the
stairs creak, but he let another half-hour drag by before venturing
into the corridor once more.

There was no light in the dining room now, and the door stood
wide.
He groped his way to the sideboard and took down the ginger jar…

The thing is," panted Capitan Rodolfo as he helped Diccon lift
"Mrs.
Hughes-Dering" into the donkey cart, "there's not much good holding up
a stagecoach if there's no one in it."

Diccon agreed to the wisdom of this, but pointed out, "We
already have Freddy Foster and—"

'Sir Fred'rick," corrected Capitan Rodolfo, straightening the
mask
which had shifted around, blinding him. "Not "Freddy." We don't
know
him!"

'Sorry. I forgot. How many more passengers will we need?"

The dashing Capitan hesitated. "I 'spect such a famous
highwayman
wouldn't bother with a coach 'less it had at least three victims. Eh?"

'Probably not. In that case, I think we'd better fetch out
Lady Dora Leith. She's a passenger to delight any highwayman."

The Capitan looked dubious. "I dunno if Etta's finished her
yet. We could bring Miles Cam'ron."

'We could. But Capitan Rodolfo liked the ladies, don't forget."

'He did?" Astonished, the daring highwayman asked, "Why?"

'Well, he was a Spaniard, you know. A Latin." This evoking
nothing
more than puzzled incomprehension, Diccon said with a lurking smile,
"Latin gentlemen are particularly fond of the ladies. Capitan Rodolfo
always kissed them, before stealing their diamonds."

"
Ugh
!" exclaimed Arthur, revolted. "How
'gusting! Then I won't be
him
! Who else? I dunno
if Robin Hood held up stagecoaches."

'I think they'd not been invented then, old fellow. You might
consider The Dancing Master. He was very successful for a time, and so
far as I know they never hanged him."

Arthur was dubious. He would prefer, he said ghoulishly, to be
a
rank-rider who had met his end facing his captors with a scoffing laugh
before swinging on the great gallows known as Tyburn Tree. Diccon
provided some more likely candidates, but Devil Dice was dismissed as
being "too new"; the Hounslow Horror's preference to shoot his victims
through the eye lacked appeal; and although his famous mare, Black
Bess, was an inducement, Dick Turpin's humble start in life as a
butcher had a certain lack of dash. Diccon wasn't quite as sure as his
fellow-conspirator that Mrs. Cordova "wouldn't mind a bit" if her
"friends" were borrowed, and he pointed out that time was passing and
it might be as well to press on with the scheme. Bowing to such logic,
Arthur took off his mask and required that it be re-tied. "I'll change
to The Dancing Master," he announced. "An' you're the stagecoach
driver."

This being decided, they went in search of the third
passenger,
and "Lady Dora Leith" was carried out to the donkey cart-cum-stagecoach.

It was a bright, if rather cloudy morning. The wind was still
blowing, flapping The Dancing Master's cloak as he climbed onto the
seat beside Diccon. Lem Bridger had driven Marietta and Fanny to Cloud
Village to pay the chandler's bill and purchase candles, chicken feed,
oats, and other such vital necessities. Mrs. Cordova had intended to
stay at home, but when she had suddenly recalled an appointment and
hurried off to Madame Olympias' caravan, Arthur had seized the moment
to fill the doomed "stagecoach."

The highwayman laid out the route, Friar Tuck joined the
expedition
and was appointed Stagecoach Guard, and, Mr. Fox having been bribed
with an old shopping list, the conspirators set forth.

They had been gone only a few minutes when Sir Lionel wandered
up
from his workroom in search of someone to try out the new flea trap.
The house had that oddly flat feel that tells of the absence of human
beings. Sir Lionel shouted a few times, but then had a vague
recollection of Marietta telling him that she and Fanny were going
shopping. He supposed they must have taken Dova with them. Major Diccon
also appeared to be off somewhere, probably with Arthur. It was good of
the fellow to be so patient with the child, who seemed to regard him as
his own personal property. He padded rather disconsolately into the
withdrawing room. Not a soul. Not… a… soul! He brightened. This was his
chance, by Jupiter! On the thought he ran up the stairs at quite
remarkable speed, and within ten minutes was hurrying down again, clad
in riding coat and buckskins.

Only yesterday when he'd admired Orpheus, the Major had asked
if
he'd care to accompany him on a ride, offering to take one of their
hacks for his own mount. Sir Lionel flattered himself that he had been
used to cut quite a dash exercising his big black in Hyde Park. Of
course, Moonlight had not been quite as sprightly as Orpheus. A fine
animal, though, and plenty of spirit for a nineteen-year-old. Still,
like any other man, Sir Lionel did not care to make a spectacle of
himself and had been secretly relieved when Marietta had forbidden that
Diccon should ride yet, thus enabling him to decline the offer. The
Major
had
offered, though, and if he had meant to
limit his
invitation to a time when they would ride out together, he'd not said
as much. Exactly.

The stallion rolled his eyes and stamped about a bit while he
was
being saddled up, but made only a small show of biting, or flattening
his ears. Sir Lionel utilized the mounting block, then guided the big
horse out of the yard. The stallion tossed his head and snorted, eager
to run. Sir Lionel's pulses quickened as he felt the power of the
animal. If he was obliged to cling to the pommel a few times when
Orpheus danced in a circle, why, there was no one to see, and he was at
least keeping his seat. He managed to hold to a walk, then to a trot.
When Orpheus broke into an impatient canter, his heart began to pound,
rather, but—oh! the silken gait, the proud crest! What a horse!
Perhaps, when they were up the hill a little way and past these trees
he would dare to touch the smooth sides with his spurs. There, they
were clear now, and—

An oncoming rider and a scream caused him to pull back on the
reins,
and his heart thudded into his boots. He knew that voice and thought a
panicked, 'Devil take it, she's cornered me again!'

In this instance, he wronged the widow. Mrs. Isolde Maitland
was a
handsome woman with a superb figure, luxuriant auburn hair, and
well-cut features. If her hazel eyes were bold, they were also large
and bright, but they looked better than they saw. In fact, the widow
was short-sighted, and as her brother repeatedly warned, she should
wear her spectacles instead of hiding them in a drawer. She had not
glimpsed Sir Lionel through the trees and was really startled when he
burst into sight. It tookonly an instant, however, for her quick wits
to seize this golden opportunity, and she said with a breathless little
laugh, "My goodness, dear sir, you are so sudden!
How
you
frightened me, you daring thing! You may go now, Murphy. I shall be
quite safe with Sir Lionel." A brisk wave of her hand dismissed her
following groom who rode off, hiding a smirk. "At least, I think I will
be safe," she added coyly. 

Sir Lionel said in a hollow voice, "You're far from home,
ma'am."

'Can you guess why I so often ride this way?" she purred,
urging her brown mare closer.

Orpheus snorted and bucked, and Sir Lionel clung desperately
to the
pommel. "Best not… venture too close," he gasped, surviving the threat
without a marked degree of skill. "He's— he's somewhat of a handful."

''Ah, but not for such an accomplished rider as yourself." She
narrowed her eyes, peering at the grey. "What a large creature! And how
well you look in the saddle, dear Sir Lionel. Though, I vow, were I
your lady I would be terrified to see you up on such a brute. But then,
I was ever protective of those I… love."

Sir Lionel quailed inwardly, and took refuge in silence.

Undaunted, she swept on, "I'd no
least
notion you enjoyed a morning canter. I wonder if you will be so
generous as to allow me to share your rides?"

'Oh, he ain't—ain't mine, ma'am," gulped Sir Lionel, allowing
Orpheus to trot. "Belongs to a fellow who stays with us. Temporarily,
that is."

'Ah, yes. My dear brother told me of your—er, guest. Not a
very
charming one, I gather. Poor Innes was rather hurt to receive such
Turkish treatment at your hands. Under the circumstances… But I told
him that you'd not have allowed it for an instant! Sir Lionel
Warrington, I said, is the very soul of honour, and would never permit
his bosom bow to be insulted. Especially since our two families seem
likely to become even more… close."

As if to emphasize her words, she leaned nearer. "I should not
flatter you, sir, but—I am just a silly girl with little willpower. So
I will confess that I have such an admiration for you! It fairly wrings
my heart to see a lonely gentleman struggling to deal with a large
family without a lady at his side. Truly, you are the type to throw
other men into the shade and make a girl's heart beat faster! Yes, I
own it, though it makes me blush! My dear brother says I must not
betray my feelings or you will think me fast, but I told him—no such
thing. Sir Lionel Warrington has been about the world, I said. He would
understand a lady's heart. I have no fears on that head, I said. And
furthermore…" On she went. Flapping her eyelashes at him in that
appallingly coy way. The least misstep and she would claim he'd popped
the question. And she wouldn't be a gentle and loving wife as darling
Elsa had been, for Isolde Maitland cared not a rap for anything but the
title. He could speak plainly, of course, and advise her to set her
sights on some other poor fellow. Only, burn it! he owed Innes that
confounded five thousand! If only he could escape! If only he'd stayed
at home! She'd never have caught him had he not ventured out.

''Jus' give me time to find a good place to lurk, please,"
said The
Dancing Master. "An' then you come, an' I'll jump out waving my trusty
horse pistol, an' being a Very Vill'nous Rank Rider, an' I'll freeze
your blood when I roar, 'Stand an' d'liver!' " He removed the "Guard"
from his lap and climbed down from the donkey cart, practising his
Villainous Scowl, then asked anxiously, "Has you brought something to
d'liver?"

Diccon had persuaded Bridger to make a few purchases in the
village,
and he admitted to having some "valuables" stashed away, this bringing
a beam to interfere with the scowl. "But you'd best not roar terribly
loud, Villainous Rank Rider," he cautioned. "Mr. Fox is sensitive and
we mustn't upset him."

The Dancing Master nodded, and hurried off along the lane
scowling busily.

Amused, Diccon watched that hop, skip, and jump progress. A
fine
little chap was Master Arthur Warrington. Briefly, he dreamed a dream
of himself and Marietta comfortably settled into a charmingly
refurbished Lanterns, and with little children playing around them.

He started when there came a distant shout. He was forgetting
his
duties. The Guard was sound asleep. He grinned and slapped the reins on
Mr. Fox's back, and the "stagecoach" rattled up the slope.

Safely hidden at the bend of the lane, pistol in hand, and
mask in
place, The Dancing Master waited, tense with excitement. The hoofbeats
were confusing as they seemed to be coming from higher up the lane,
instead of from below. But now they were upon him.

With a high-pitched squeal, he leapt from his place of
concealment and roared, "
Stand an d'liver
!"
whereupon several things happened very rapidly.

Two riders cantered around the corner from the north at the
same instant that the "stagecoach" arrived from the south.

Already irritable because of the slow pace and the human who
bounced
so ineptly on his back, Orpheus let out a scream of fright, and reared,
his hoofs flailing at the air.

Diccon sprang up, shouting, "Out of the way, boy!"

Arthur hurled himself aside.

Friar Tuck awoke like an uncoiled spring and shot under Mr.
Fox's nose, yowling a protest.

Startled, the little donkey brayed shatteringly and tried to
bolt, causing Diccon to be flung back on the seat.

Trying to control her scared mare, whose nerves were not
helped by
the wild gyrations of Orpheus, Mrs. Maitland shrilled, "Warrington,
hold your brute still!" She squinted at the donkey cart. "Isn't that…
Dora Leith?"