Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (19 page)

And went away dizzy with triumph, for she had smiled at him.

''I'll tell you what it is." Sir Lionel stamped into the
kitchen
scattering mud from his boots and raindrops from the capes of his
driving coat. "That stream is more like a river than—"

''Papa! My dumplings!" squealed Fanny.

''Eh?" He paused to stare at her.

She bent protectively over her bowl of dough. "You're dripping
all over them."

''Oh. Sorry, Fan." He sniffed. "Jove, that smells good! Stew
for
lunch? Stew's common, so Dale says. But to my mind, it's always good on
a rainy day."

Marietta came to help him out of his coat. "Did you find what
you needed in Eastbourne, sir?"

''I did." He dug an elbow in her rib and winked like a
mischievous schoolboy. "And won't your aunt be surprised!"

Standing at the stove and prodding a reluctant prospective
dumpling
from the spoon while watching her father expectantly, Fanny asked,
"What kind of surprise, Papa?"

''It missed the pot!" exclaimed Marietta. "Shoo! Go away,
Friar Tuck!"

Mrs. Cordova hurried into the kitchen, having kicked off her
pattens
in the scullery but with her voluminous cloak scattering even more
raindrops. "Such a dreadful time I had with that wretched Maitland
woman," she wailed. "And I have— Why are we feeding raw dumplings to
Friar Tuck?"

''Be dashed if the stupid animal ain't lapping it up," said
Sir Lionel, intrigued.

''Then he must go out, for he will be sick." Mrs. Cordova
flung off
her cloak revealing Madame Olympias' spangled wrapper beneath it.
"Come, puss!"

''Why must Friar Tuck be thrown out in the rain?" protested
Arthur, joining the group.

''Because your sister will persist in giving him scraps," said
Mrs.
Cordova, ejecting the annoyed Friar. "And I will tell you, Warrington,
that your would-be lady is extreme irked, so you may expect her brother
to come demanding payment at his first opportunity."

''Oh, egad!" moaned Sir Lionel, sweeping her discarded cloak
from a
chair and clutching it as he sat down. "What have you done now?"

''I have done nothing." She retrieved the cloak and shook it
out,
drawing a howl from her inundated brother-in-law and another shriek
from Fanny. "Madame Olympias, however, has saved you from matrimony.
For the moment, at least."

''Did the widow arrange for a reading?" asked Marietta. "I
wonder she
did not come here to see you, Papa. Whatever did you tell her, Aunty?"

''Madame Olympias looked into the Mystical Window Through
Time—" said Mrs. Cordova with dignity.

''You mean that silly little crystal ball," scoffed Sir Lionel.

''—And told her that she will never be Lady Lionel
Warrington," she
went on, ignoring him. "I quite thought," she added musingly, "that she
was going to strangle me."

Cheered, he said, "By Jove, now that was well done!"

Arthur tugged at Marietta's skirt and hissed, "Has you asked
him about Major Diccon?"

''What about that—that lying renegade?" demanded Sir Lionel,
his eyes sparking.

Arthur looked scared and went outside mumbling that he was
going to see if Friar Tuck had gone into the barn.

Following him to the door, Mrs. Cordova called, "Take an
umbrella!"
then moaned as the boy ran across the side yard carrying a closed
umbrella.

''Well? Did our smuggling peer dare show his face at my door?"
asked Sir Lionel.

''On his own property?" said Marietta demurely.

''Dash it all, girl," he snorted. "Why must you defend the
rogue? If I thought—"

''Marietta Paisley, Baroness Temple and Cloud," trilled Mrs.
Cordova. "It has a ring, Warrington. You cannot deny it has a ring."

''Not if he refuses the title," Fanny pointed out. "Oh, dear!
Where ever is my lid?"

''And not the ring of gold," said Sir Lionel. "Yes, you will
say that
sounds vulgar, but if he is not pockets-to-let why would he have
abducted his mama?"

''I must have the lid, or the dumplings will be ruined,"
wailed Fanny, searching.

''He did not abduct the lady," said Marietta, carrying a jug
of milk from the pantry.

''He told you that?" asked her father.

''Yes. I asked him if the rumours speak truth, and he gave me
his solemn oath that he has never harmed a lady in his life."

''Evasion number ninety-three," muttered Fanny.

Marietta frowned, then said, "Oh—Aunty has your saucepan-lid,
Fan."

''His solemn oath?" Sir Lionel pursed his lips. "Hmm."

Fanny attempted to appropriate the large iron lid that Mrs.
Cordova
held and was gazing at dreamily. "Aunty Dova? May I have my lid please?"

''Oh dear, oh dear!" sighed Mrs. Cordova, relinquishing it. "
'Double, double, toil and trouble.' "

''Is that so?" growled Sir Lionel, linking this remark with
Major Diccon's questionable character. "Well, I'm not surprised."

Fanny hurried to put the lid over her stew, then turned to
scan her aunt uneasily.

Also recognizing the signs, Marietta asked, "What else did you
see in your Mystical Window, Aunty?"

Mrs. Cordova gave her a tragic look. " 'Something wicked this
way comes.' "

''Is it the widow?" cried Sir Lionel, with the air of a
cornered rabbit.

''I must warn his lordship," muttered Mrs. Cordova worriedly.

''Egad!" exclaimed Sir Lionel. "Is she after him too? He's too
young for her, by more'n a decade I'd think."

Marietta entered this fragmented conversation to ask sharply,
"Which lordship?"

It was a question not destined to be answered. From the side
yard
came a clattering of hooves, and an exuberant shout of "House, ho!"

For an instant nobody moved. Then they heard Arthur scream, "
Eric
!"

''By George!" exclaimed Sir Lionel, springing up. "The boy's
home!"

The back door burst open. Eric Warrington, a tall,
good-looking
young man with abundant chestnut hair and a pair of merry blue eyes,
hurried in to be embraced, kissed, slapped on the back, and welcomed
with an outpouring of love and joy. As usual, the heir brought with him
a vibrant aura of energy and enthusiasm so that the household seemed
stirred to a new excitement. Arthur was swept to his brother's
shoulder. All the ladies were pronounced diamonds of the first water,
Sir Lionel was "looking very fit," and Eric announced that he had
"squeaked away from Cambridge" to attend to a pressing matter of
business. Yes, this was a new coat, and they would like to see his new
jacket, the tails were more sloping now, and most fellows wore
pantaloons these days. But never mind about all that, they must come
outside and see something. "And," he said with glowing pride, "one or
two little surprises."

In the yard a large surprise awaited. Lem Bridger was admiring
a
team of matched bays harnessed to a neat and fast-looking closed
chaise. They all stared, struck to silence.

Marietta was first to recover her voice. "What a dashing
coach. Have you hired it, dear?"

''No such thing! It's mine! Ain't it splendid? Do come and
see!"

Bewildered, they gathered in the rain to admire the
coach-work, the
springs, the large wheels, the luxurious red-and-white interior, thick
rugs, and fat squabs. "Tooled it down here myself," said Eric, ignoring
their astounded expressions and adding with a fine nonchalance, "But I
mean to take on a servant who will also be my coachman. How do you like
the hacks, sir? Bought them off a poor fellow who had a beastly run of
luck at the tables and has the tipstaffs after him."

Agreeing that the team was also splendid, Sir Lionel asked
uneasily, "On tick, m'boy?"

''No, sir! I owe not a groat. It's all paid for! And only see
what we have here!"

The rug was folded back to reveal a pile of gaily wrapped
parcels.
"For all of you," cried Eric, beaming. "Come, help me carry them. See
to the team, please, Lem. You've some real bloodstock to care for
again! The thing is," he went on gaily, handing out parcels to be
carried to the house, "I had the most fabulous piece of luck on a race
between Galen Hilby and Freddy Foster. You likely heard of it. I
chanced to have some inside knowledge, and risked every penny of my
summer earnings. And I won! Oh, I can scarce wait to show you what I've
brought! Hurry and let's get out of the rain!"

Following the others to the steps, laden, Marietta said
happily,
"How glad I am that this is not the 'something wicked' you spoke of,
Aunty."

Mrs. Cordova, who doted on her eldest nephew said, "And I, my
love. Bless his heart, he fairly radiates
joie de vivre
.
But we must keep our wits about us, Etta, for the wickedness is coming.
Oh, yes. It surely is coming!"

Marietta hummed softly as she stood before the cheval-glass in
her
bedchamber and surveyed her reflection. The white taffeta gown trimmed
with pink embroidery fit perfectly, and the bell-shaped skirt was in
the very latest style. She added the matching pink manteau; lined with
white silk, it fell to her ankles and had wide pink ribbons to be tied
in a bow at one shoulder. Taking up the dainty circular fan of white
lace with gold sticks, she fanned herself gently. "You look very fine,
Miss Warrington of Warrington Hall," she advised, with a curtsy to the
mirror. There were elbow-length white gloves also, and a beautifully
embroidered reticule. She touched the reticule with one fingertip and
sat on the bed, gazing at it.

The day had been almost like Christmas-time. Over luncheon
Eric had
answered their eager questions about friends and the famous in London.
Afterwards, he had presented his gifts, and enjoyed their excitement.
Fanny had been radiant, promenading around the drawing room displaying
her exquisite shawl of Norwich silk and the pearl necklace and matching
earrings and bracelet. There had been a hat of the very latest curly
brimmed style, and a fine new tool set for Papa; Arthur had been
rendered speechless with delight by a large box of toy soldiers and an
hussar's uniform, complete with a plumed helmet; Aunty Dova had
declared she was ready to swoon with joy when Eric presented her with a
lilac silk parasol trimmed with black lace, and a most fetching lilac
bonnet over which three large feathers waved proudly.

At dinner, when Arthur was in bed, Eric had told them more
about his
wonderful wager, and had thrilled them with a description of the horse
race which sounded to have been rather a desperate affair. Later, in
the drawing room, he'd regaled them with amusing anecdotes about
University life and had made them all laugh by describing the plight of
the hapless students cramming for their examinations and of his noble
forbearance when they were "so stupid as to defy belief." Clearly, he
had much to discuss with his father, and very soon after tea the ladies
had gone up to bed to admire their various treasures in private.

It had been a long and eventful day, and Marietta was sleepy,
but
she did not change into her night rail, crossing instead to open the
casement and look into the darkness. The air was cold and it was
raining steadily. She knelt in the window-seat and leaned out a little
so as to feel raindrops on her cheeks. Her windows faced south and she
thought to see a little light far down the slope, near the cliffs. It
would seem that Major Mallory Diccon Paisley was still up. Her thoughts
drifted to their encounter this morning; the firm clasp of his hand;
the light eyes that could be so cold or so tender or suddenly take on
that devastating glow. The memory made her shiver.

The curtains billowed.

Eric said softly, "Small wonder you're cold. Are you wits to
let, my best of sisters?"

He closed the door, and she pulled the casement shut then ran
to hug him and thank him once more for her "lovely finery."

''It becomes you," he said with a fond smile. "I'm glad you
modelled it for me. Did you know I meant to come up to talk?"

''I thought you might, as you were used to do." She took off
the
manteau and laid it on the bed carefully, then sat beside him at the
empty hearth. "It's so wonderful to have you home again, dearest. I
suppose we must not hope that you mean to stay for long?"

''No, I cannot. But long enough to give you what I really came
for." He said boyishly, "Close your eyes and put out your hands."

Obeying, she protested, "Not another present? You've given me
too
much al—" The feel of what now reposed in her cupped hands silenced
her. She opened her eyes and stared at a thick pile of banknotes.
Looking into her brother's solemn face wonderingly, she faltered,
"Why—there must be…"

''A hundred pounds," he said with an emphatic nod. "And
there'll be more, Etta, I promise you! I would have given it to Papa,
only—well, where money's concerned, I'd sooner you were the one to dole
out the dibs."

She ga:ed down at the notes she held. There would be enough
now to
pay the many bills she'd had to shuffle about, and to complete the
tuition fees for Arnold. To be given such a sum was providential, but—
"I—I don't know what to say. You are so good." And with a searching
glance at him, "How can there be more? Surely, wagering must be extreme
risky business?"

He laughed, took the notes and went to put them on her
dressing
table. "I knew that was coming. My Etta. Always the sensible one, yet
you manage to look so pretty that a fellow would never guess you'd a
brain in your head." Sitting down again, he pulled his chair closer.
"No, I do not mean to gamble anymore. I've been offered a chance to
make a good deal of money handling the investments of several
gentlemen. You know I was always quick at arithmetic. I've a little
capital left from my wager, and soon I'll be able to invest on my own
account."

Impressed, she said, "It sounds a wonderful opportunity for
such a
young man. But what of your studies? Shall you continue at Cambridge?"