Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (30 page)

"No. But I heard talk of her in the village. They say she's
very
mysterious. I'd like to try for an appointment with the lady. Since she
keeps her caravan on your land, I thought you might…" His honest eyes
widened. "Oh, egad! Never say Mrs. Cordova is… ?"

She said with quiet dignity, "I wouldn't say it except to a
very close friend. We keep it as secret as possible, of course."

He flushed with pleasure. "I'll not breathe a word to a soul,
I swear it. Is your aunt really clairvoyant, Miss Marietta?"

"Oh, yes. Sometimes, rather frighteningly so."

"How jolly splendid! But—I don't quite see what that has to do
with Diccon."

"It is that to an extent Fanny takes after Aunty Dova and she
is
sometimes able to—to sense things about people. She is— it sounds
foolish, but she is extreme afraid of the Major."

"The devil, you say! Oh, I beg pardon! But—he's a perfect
gentleman, I promise you. How ever has he managed to frighten her?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know that she herself is sure. I think
it is
just something instinctive. She adores Arthur, and I had hoped that
Major Diccon's affection for him would have won her over."

"But it hasn't?"

Marietta looked troubled, and Vaughan said earnestly, "You
don't
share her prejudices, do you, ma'am? They're quite unjustified. I know
he seems a touch haughty and reserved at times, but—well, he's had a
beast of a life."

"I gather it has been full of violence. What a pity that he
gave up his music. He has such great talent, do not you think?"

"He didn't give it up, Miss Marietta." Vaughan hesitated then
overcame his dislike of gossip and launched his "Rescue Diccon"
campaign. "I don't know all the details," he began. "He never speaks of
his family, as you probably know."

"He did tell me that his grandfather was a fine musician, and
that he was taught to play the violin as a very young child."

He nodded. "His father also was a music lover, but he died
very
suddenly when Diccon was about eleven years old. Mrs. Paisley was
shattered by her loss, and quite unable to cope with the world. You may
know that she was married again a year later."

"Yes. To Sir Gavin Coville."

"It was a disaster. At least, insofar as Diccon was concerned.
Sir
Gavin took him in dislike. Probably, it was mutual. Sir Gavin is a
stern disciplinarian, very set in his notions, and Diccon I don't doubt
was stubbornly resistant to the new order of things. One of Sir Gavin's
first commands was that his step-son no longer waste his time on so
unmanly a pursuit as music."

"Unmanly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Why, most gentlemen
today play some kind of musical instrument!"

"Quite so. The tricky thing was that Diccon had made some sort
of
deathbed vow to his father that he'd continue his musical studies. But
of course, he had no power to defy Coville."

"I think it disgraceful that Sir Gavin should have forced him
to
break such a vow! From what I know of Major Diccon, he would certainly
have stood up to such tyranny."

"He did. But he was only twelve years old. His violin was
taken, smashed, and burned before his eyes."

"Oh, poor boy," she said sympathetically. "Could not his mama
help?"

"The lady was frail and very timid, I collect, and would do
nothing
her husband disapproved of. Luckily, Diccon was away at school much of
the year. It was while he was still at Eton that he met and fell in
love with a most beautiful girl. My aunt knew her and held that it was
a real Romeo and Juliet sort of romance. Both so young, you know, and
so hopelessly attached."

They had reached the bridge and by mutual consent they halted.
Marietta gazed out across meadows and woodland to where the chimneys of
Lanterns were backed by the sparkle and shimmer of the Channel. Her
thoughts were on Diccon and his young life that had been so tragically
different from her own. It was not at all proper, of course, for
Vaughan to be discussing his friend's family history, which was
probably why he was silent and looked so uncomfortable. But she wished
he would say more, and she prompted, "Why—hopelessly?"

"Eh? Oh, well, Sir Gavin had already chosen Diccon's
prospective
bride. A rather starched-up young damsel from a powerful and wealthy
house. Grace, Diccon's own choice, had everything he wanted in his
wife. She was the daughter of a corn-chandler. A good family.
Well-to-do, but not great wealth or lands. Sir Gavin straitly forbade
the match. Diccon defied him and said they'd be married anyway. Sir
Gavin went to Grace's father. The gentleman was proud, and was enraged
to think his daughter should be judged unacceptable."

"So he also forbade the match?"

"Absolutely. Grace was heartbroken. Diccon was furious. And
unfortunately there was no possibility that if they waited a few years
their marriage would have been permitted."

"How sad. So that was what brought about the breach with his
family?"

"The real breach came when he turned eighteen. Grace was a
year
younger. She had gone into a decline when she was forbidden to see him
and her health suffered. Diccon was desperate, I suppose. At all
events, they slipped away one night and made a dash for Gretna. Very
bad form, of course. But understandable in the circumstances."

"So they were married?"

"Never got there, ma'am. It was winter, and they were caught
in a blizzard and snowed in. Sir Gavin came up with them at some little
hedge tavern, and dragged Diccon back to
Town by force."

"Good heavens! What about the girl?"

"From all I can gather, they left her there. You can imagine
the
state of mind she came to. A frail, gentle girl who had never been away
from her home unchaperoned; knowing she was disgraced, and likely with
no funds." He paused, looking very grim. "Thing is—the poor creature
tried to follow them on foot. Someone should have stopped her from
going out in such weather. As it was, she became lost."

Marietta gasped and turned to face him. "Oh! Never say they
didn't find her?"

"They did, but too late, I'm afraid. She'd evidently stopped
to
rest. Worst thing you can do in a snowstorm. The poor girl just got too
cold, d'you see? Shocking tragedy. There was quite a fuss, but it was
all hushed up, so my aunt said."

"How perfectly
dreadful
! No wonder
Diccon loathes the Covilles! Whatever did he do?"

"Went berserk, according to servant hall gossip. Da— er,
dashed near
strangled Sir Gavin, then raged out of the house and swore he'd never
come back. He went into the military and worked his way up. Volunteered
for the sort of suicidal missions most fellows pray they'll escape.
It's miraculous that he's survived this long. Had a charmed life, I
suppose you might say."

Appalled by the sad tale, Marietta was briefly silent, then
she said
in vexation, "And now what must he do but venture into the stormy
waters of free-trading! Of all the shatter-brained things!"

'So that's it,' thought Vaughan. Clearly, the lady was
interested in
Diccon, but she believed him to be a rascally rumrunner. He said
earnestly, "Oh, but that was all part of it, do you see, ma'am?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "You never mean to say he is a
smuggler for the Army?"

"Supplying the brass with premium port?" Vaughan thought of
General
Smollet, and laughed. "I'd not be surprised! No— seriously, Miss
Marietta, there's no end to the roles he's had to play in smoking out
criminals and conspiracies. He's done some truly grand things for
England; most so secret they're not made public. It's a hazardous
occupation to say the least, and he has paid dearly for his successes.
His life is at risk, even now, because he bested an international gang
of art thieves early this year. As usual, the authorities ignored his
warnings till it was nigh too late to save the day. That's usually the
way of it. You'd think Whitehall would be grateful, but they begrudge
giving him any credit. Half the time they don't even pay him! Were he
in a regular regiment he'd be covered with honours and awards, but
these poor Intelligence fellows are—"

At this, Marietta caught his arm. He was startled to see that
her face was paper white, her eyes wide and frightened.

She said gaspingly, "Do you say he… that Diccon is… an
Intelligence Officer?"

"Why, yes, ma'am. About the best of the lot. My apologies if I
alarmed you. It's a dangerous game, but he knows his business, never
fear." Encouraged by such a display of caring, he said, "He means to
leave the service now, I think. Ready to—er, settle down and—and become
the—ah, family man." He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.
She was very still, as if overwhelmed. He went on, "In fact, I believe
he has found the lady he hopes will consent to be his—er, bride."

Marietta scarcely heard him. So Diccon had not become a
free-trader
in an attempt to augment his Army pay. Major Diccon Paisley was, in
fact, a professional spy! An extreme clever spy. 'There's no end to the
roles he's had to play in smoking out criminals.' She experienced a
pang of intense pain. He had played a role for
her!

Persevering, Vaughan said, "I'm very sure that the lady who
weds him will find him a most devoted and—and—"

A distant, shrill screaming fractured the quiet.

Turning her head to stare back towards the dower house,
Marietta thought, 'Fanny!'

Vaughan was already running down the hill. She picked up her
skirts and followed.

Papa was in a scratchy temper, probably because Eric had not
returned from Town last night as he'd promised. Leaving the basement,
Fanny winked away tears, but fought the inclination to go up to her
room and indulge in a good cry. Instead, she set the bread dough to
rise, and tidied the kitchen. That occupation caused her to think of
Vaughan's clumsy efforts, which made her smile sadly. The gentleman
had
seemed vastly preoccupied, but perhaps she had been too quick to find
an explanation for his behaviour. He might, after all, have wanted to
talk to Marietta about his fondness for Miss Fanny Warrington. Or about
Marietta's relationship with Major Diccon. Or—oh, any number of things.
Her sunny nature reasserted itself and she decided that she'd been a
great silly, taking offence at nothing.

It was very quiet in the house this morning. Aunty Dova was up
at
her caravan again. She seemed in a glum mood of late, poor dear.
Perhaps the rheumatism was troubling her. There was plenty of work to
be done. The terrace should be swept and the brasses polished. But… the
sun slid golden invitations through the kitchen windows. Such a lovely
morning, and there was half an hour to spare before the bread must be
punched down again.

She exchanged her apron for a sun-bonnet and collected a small
basket from the scullery. She would need some mint for dinner and there
was a nice patch growing wild down by the stream; there'd be just
enough time to gather some.

She left by the front door. Heaven forbid that Mr. Jocelyn
Vaughan
and her sister should think she was following them! A pleasant breeze
was fluttering the tree branches and the sun was warm. Setting off
towards the stream, she saw Arthur coming up the hill from the
direction of Lanterns astride the little donkey called Mr. Fox. She
waved to him, but he didn't see her and she went on in search of the
mint. The patch was just past the copse of beeches. Approaching the
trees, she heard a male voice.

"Eric?" she called. "Is that you, dear?"

A pause, the sound of a smothered hiccup, and Blake Coville
sauntered from the trees. "Now here's a sight to gladden the heart of a
lonely gen'leman," he said, smiling at her. "And with more lively
conversation than my hack offers."

He seemed very flushed. He must, she thought, be embarrassed
because
she'd overheard him talking to his horse. "I would certainly hope so,
sir," she said, returning his smile. "Are you come to see my sister?
She will be back soon, I'm sure."

"Saw her," he said rather indistinctly, and hiccuped again.
"She was
with Vaughan. Very much with him." He laughed in a way she could not
quite like, and added, "I d'cided to wait for her here where it's
cooler, though I doubt she'll come back soon. But only see what a kind
Fate has sent me; another goddess to br-brighten my day. Whither away,
pretty little bird?"

Fanny admired his lazy charm and good looks, but the glitter
in his
eyes this morning made her uneasy. Clearly, he was annoyed because he'd
seen Marietta walking with Jocelyn Vaughan. She said lightly, "Oh, I'm
out on the hunt for fresh mint, Mr. Coville. There's a nice patch on
the bank nearby."

"Ah, yes. I think I saw some. Back this way, m'dear." He
stretched
out a hand, evidently forgetting he held something, which fell to the
ground. Snatching up the small flask, he reeled a little as he stood
straight, and said, "Come. I'll help you find't."

Inexperienced she may be, but Fanny was no fool and to venture
into
a copse of trees with a gentleman who was in a fair way to being
intoxicated would be both improper and the height of folly. She stepped
back, half turning from him. "Thank you, Mr. Coville, but—"

"Surely you know me well 'nough t'call me Blake, lovely little
thing that you are."

His voice was at her ear. So was his breath. He was indeed
intoxicated. And at this hour of the morning!

She moved away from him. "You should not address me in such
fashion, sir. Now, if you will be so kind as to—"

He caught her wrist and jerked her to him. "But it is for you
to be kind, pretty one." He held her close and bent to her lips.

"How
dare
you!" she panted, struggling
furiously.

"Don't be such li'l prude. You think I've not seen you watch
me?
Come—why grudge a kiss or two?" One of his hands was fumbling with her
bodice. He said thickly, "Y'r sister was cuddling with Vaughan in broad
d-daylight so there's no call for you to play Miss Prim."