Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (2 page)

"It is our pleasure to have friends around us, ain't it,
m'dears?" he said heartily.

His two daughters agreed with polite promptitude.

Sir Gavin Coville smiled his thanks, and told the sisters that
they came like bright sunshine into the room. His ponderous gallantries
always amused Marietta. She sat at the table and began to pour the tea,
noting that Aunty Dova's light brown hair was even more fly-away than
usual, but that she looked quite well in a mulberry velvet gown and was
responding politely to their guests.

Praying that there would be no embarrassments, Marietta said,
"I hope you will always feel assured of a welcome here when you are in
the vicinity."

"You are too kind." Sir Gavin accepted the cup Fanny carried
to him. "But I fear this is an odd hour to pay a call. I trust we do
not intrude upon your time. We had to be in the neighbourhood on a,
er—matter of business." His voice died away, and he stifled a sigh, but
as if recollecting himself, went on hurriedly, "And since we
were
close by, we could not refrain from coming to see how you go on here."

"We go on well, I thank you," said Sir Lionel. "Not perhaps as
well as in days gone by. But… quite well."

Mrs. Emma Cordova, her round face full of mischief, confided
to the "lady" beside her, "They really came to look at Lanterns, you
know." Turning to Sir Gavin she added without a pause, "Did I introduce
you to Mrs. Butterfield, sir? You likely have met her son. Captain
Butterfield is the most delightful young man." She leaned forward and
putting up a concealing hand, whispered behind it, "The most frightful
gossip, you know, but a gallant soldier."

Sir Gavin said with kindly gravity that he was acquainted with
the lady, but not with her son.

Blake found these inanimate 'guests' hilarious and had to
struggle to keep his countenance. He did know George Butterfield, and
said that Mrs. Cordova was quite correct about that young gentleman's
tendency to gossip.

"Well, you know," said Sir Lionel excusingly, "I always think
that for all their faults, gossipy folk at least show an interest in
others."

Sir Gavin stared fixedly at his son who was showing an
interest in another scone, and Blake at once drew back his hand. Sir
Gavin smiled. His smile became fixed when Mrs. Cordova demanded
bluntly, "And why this sudden interest in Lanterns, sir?"

"Emma!" murmured Sir Lionel, embarrassed.

"It is, after all, my step-son's estate, dear ma'am," Sir
Gavin pointed out.

"It is now," agreed Mrs. Cordova. "Not that his poor papa ever
dreamt the title would come down to his son. Of course he did not,
since he died when he was twelve years old. I don't mean that Mr.
Paisley died when he was twelve years old, else he'd never have had a
son, would he? I mean he died when the
boy
was
twelve."

Sir Gavin corrected patiently, "Eleven, actually, ma'am.
Perhaps you are confusing the fact that he was twelve when I
married his poor mama."

"I am never confused," responded Mrs. Cordova with
questionable accuracy. "If I were, I might not have noticed that you
were not used to visit Lanterns as often as you've done these past few
months. What's to do, sir? Is Lord Temple and Cloud come to look over
his home at last?"

A grim expression darkened Blake Coville's handsome features.
Fanny gave her sister a long-suffering glance, and Sir Lionel moaned
faintly.

If Sir Gavin was annoyed, however, he maintained his aplomb,
murmuring with a smile, "Now whoever told you that, ma'am?"

Mrs. Cordova seized one of many trailing wisps of hair and
thrust it under her cap. She then took up her teacup and waved it
towards an extremely ample 'lady' who occupied a fireside chair. "Mrs.
Hughes-Dering," she said. "And if there is anything worth knowing, from
the shires to Brighton to Bath, Monica knows it, I promise you."

"Well, that is true," agreed Sir Lionel, who numbered the real
and extremely formidable dowager among his friends.

Blake, still looking grim, said, "Then perhaps the lady can
tell us of the whereabouts of my step-mother, which is more than—"

Sir Gavin's voice cut across the bitter words like the crack
of a whip. "You forget yourself, sir!"

There was an instant of stunned silence.

Blake flushed scarlet, and mumbled an apology.

Marietta and Fanny looked at each other in amazement. Their
hire of the dower house had been arranged with Sir Gavin's steward a
year previously. They had not met either of the Covilles for several
months after they'd moved in, but a recent visit had been followed with
rather surprising frequency by others. They had never known Sir Gavin
to be anything but poised and gracious. In fact Fanny had said he was
"Sedate, serene, and bloodless, and quite without any human emotions."

He was not sedate now, and to see that distinguished
countenance distorted with passion was shocking.

Engrossed in his troubles, Sir Gavin put a hand across his
brow and bowed his head.

Mrs. Cordova rose, pushed back her untidy hair and spread her
skirts. In a thin but not tuneless voice she began to sing, and as she
sang she danced slowly around the centre of the room.

"Oh, no!" moaned Fanny,
sotto voce.
"Aunty Dova's off!"

Blake Colville's jaw dropped and he stared, clearly
dumbfounded.

" ' Tis better,' " trilled Mrs. Cordova, " 'to have loved and
lost… than never… to have loved at all…' "

Sir Gavin's head jerked up, and he stared at her, his eyes
intent.

Sinking to a deep curtsy before him, she murmured, "Is that
not so, sir?"

He said tensely, "Then—you know, ma'am?"

Blake snapped, "How could she know? Nobody knows!"

"Ah," said Mrs. Cordova, drifting back to her chair. "But
nobody knows what I know. I know… things…" She pounced at another of
her inanimate friends and demanded saucily, "Is that not right, Sir
Frederick?"

Blake pulled his chair closer to Marietta and murmured, "Sir
Frederick? Is that supposed to be Freddy Foster? Be dashed if it don't
bear a strong resemblance to the silly clod— Er, what I mean is, are
they friends?"

"They were, before we left Town. Mr. Coville, pray do not
judge—I mean—Aunt Cordova was my mother's sister, and she is the
dearest creature, but—it is just that—well, since she lost her husband,
you know…"

"Married some Spanish fella, didn't she?"

He had spoken with no more than mild curiosity, but she was at
once defensive. "It was a very happy marriage, but he went back to
fight against Bonaparte and was killed at the Battle of Salamanca.
Aunty has never quite recovered from the shock."

Coville slanted a glance to where his father was now talking
earnestly to Sir Lionel. "Is that when the poor lady started making
these—er, effigies?"

Marietta shook her head. "It only began after we moved down
here. Aunty Dova is very warm-hearted, and she misses her friends
terribly. So she decided to pretend she can still chat with them, just
as if—"

A cry of anguish interrupted her, and she was dismayed to see
Sir Gavin bow forward in an attitude of despair.

As swiftly as she started up, Blake was before her, bending
over his father and patting his shoulder comfortingly. "Now, sir, you
must not upset yourself so. I thought we had agreed not to speak of the
matter."

Sir Gavin groped for a handkerchief, and dabbing at his eyes
gulped, "I—I know. But—the lady seemed to… That is, she said she knew…
something, but Sir Lionel says…" He shook his head, unable to finish
the sentence.

Sir Lionel hurried to the sideboard and poured a glass of
brandy for the distraught man.

Shocked by such a display of emotion, Fanny crept to take her
sister's hand and said nervously, "Dearest, perhaps we should allow the
gentlemen to be private."

"No, no. Pray do not let me frighten you away." Sir Gavin
sipped his brandy and set the glass down. "I do most humbly apologize
for… for that disgraceful outburst. But—" His voice shredded. "You had
as well know the whole. It is my—my dear wife, you see. She has
been—stolen!"

After the initial outburst of dismay and sympathy, Sir Lionel
exclaimed, "I can scarce credit that so dreadful a thing should take
place! How did it happen?"

Blake said sombrely, "We know very little. Three weeks ago at
some time during the night Lady Pamela vanished from our London house."

Incredulous, Marietta said, "But surely someone must have seen
or heard
something!
Did no one notice a—a
carriage pull up, or a door close, or something of the sort?"

Sir Gavin shook his head. "Alas. Nothing."

"In the heart of
London?"
exclaimed Sir
Lionel. "I'd have said such a crime could not go unnoticed!"

"True," said Blake harshly. "Unless the criminal chances to be
an expert in such matters."

Marietta searched his grim face. "Has there been a demand for
ransom, then? Do you say you suspect someone?"

"We've not been approached for a ransom. But we know—"

His father raised a silencing hand. "It is one thing to
suspect, Miss Warrington. But as to proving it…" He shrugged. "We
cannot be sure."

"Cannot be sure?" cried Blake impatiently. "What other
explanation is there? Who else could get into the house, know where to
find her, and spirit her away? Who else had a motive?"

"Who, indeed?" Sir Gavin said with a sigh. "We have kept the
matter very much in the family till now, but I will confide in you, my
friends, and hope your aunt may be able to help us." He took a deep
breath, as though nerving himself. "It is, you see, that my dear wife's
mama had settled a considerable sum upon her grandson—my step-son, that
is to say. But it was left in trust. Young Paisley was not—er, pleased
when I married his mother. I tried, but"—he shrugged helplessly—"I
failed, alas. The boy took me in dislike and wished to live elsewhere.
He demanded his inheritance. My wife loves him devotedly, but she was
forbidden to hand over the monies until he reached the age of five and
twenty. He stalked out of the house in a rage fifteen years ago, when
he was but eighteen years of age."

Mrs. Cordova sang softly, "But he's come home again… home
again."

They all stared at her.

Sir Lionel pursed his lips and murmured, "Jupiter, but Paisley
stayed away more than a day or two, didn't he! Fifteen years? Why, he
must be—let's see…"

"Three and thirty," supplied Blake. "But he's lived hard, and
looks older."

"Which has nothing to say to the matter," said his father in
another sudden burst of irritation. "The point is that his attitude
was—was quite unacceptable. He insulted me, which was not important
save that it upset my dear wife. Lady Pamela has been ill for some
years and her nerves are not— Well, at all events, she became
hysterical and said she would not sign over his inheritance until he
apologized. Paisley is a man of—of a most violent nature. He demanded
his rights, and so bullied my wife that I was forced to have him
ejected from the house."

"Pretty behaviour!" exclaimed Fanny, her romantic heart moved
by the dramatic tale. "What manner of man could treat his mama in such
a fashion?"

"My step-brother," muttered Blake, frowning, "is capable of
any villainy!"

Sir Gavin said wearily, "Now, Blake. We do not know that."

"We know that Lady Pamela disappeared the very next day! And
that she's not been seen since!" Blake sprang up and paced to the
fireplace agitatedly. "He has taken her, I tell you! And means to force
her to sign over the monies."

Marietta said haltingly, "But—surely, he is by now of an age
to claim his inheritance?"

"Exactly so," said Sir Gavin. "But the thing is, you see, that
there was a condition to the bequest. His grandmama, knowing how wild
and undisciplined was his character, stipulated that in the event he
should behave in such a way as to bring disgrace down upon the family
name, then my wife was to use the money to establish a home for
orphaned children."

His eyes very wide, Sir Lionel asked, "And
has
Paisley disgraced the family name? Oh, your pardon! I should not pry
into your affairs!"

"You do not pry, sir. Have I not asked for your aid?" Sir
Gavin said. "Paisley is, alas, of a revolutionary turn of mind. Heaven
only knows the type of men with whom he has associated these fifteen
years. He has been involved in some very dark doings: the kidnapping of
a young lady a few years back, a prominent and wealthy French nobleman
who was hounded to his death, an ugly scandal in Brittany—to name but a
few disgraceful incidents."

"Well! If that don't beat the Dutch!" muttered Sir Lionel,
flabbergasted.

Her eyes very round, Fanny breathed, "He must be a monster
veritable!"

Marietta asked, "Then you believe Mr. Paisley, or I should say
Lord Temple and Cloud, has kidnapped the lady so as to force her to
make over his inheritance."

Sir Gavin nodded miserably. "It would seem so, Miss
Warrington."

"Why, it's wicked!" declared Sir Lionel. "It's more than
wicked! Be dashed if it ain't downright evil! You must find your wife,
sir!"

"We have tried, heaven knows," said Blake. "We've had men
searching. We've scoured Lanterns from roof-tiles to cellars, but—"

"Lanterns!" Alarmed, Marietta cried, "Oh, no! Do you think he
has his mama here, then?"

"We'll not be safe in our beds with such a man in the
neighbourhood," exclaimed Fanny, turning pale.

"Pray do not be worried, ma'am," said Blake reassuringly. "He
is not there. Nor is my poor step-mama. After her disappearance, as my
father said, we fairly turned the wretched old ruin inside out."

Sir Lionel asked, "What do the authorities have to say? I
fancy you've Bow Street and the local constables searching for the
rogue?"