Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (31 page)

She gave a squeal of rage. "You lie! And you smell like a
brewery!
Oooh! Let me go—at once!" To emphasize her demand, she kicked his shin
hard. Had she been wearing only her light sandals the effect might have
been slight. Luckily, however, knowing she would be on muddy ground she
had put on her wooden pattens. Coville yelped and his hold on her
loosened just sufficiently for her to wrench free.

His face contorted. She knew fear and wondered why she had
ever
thought him handsome and gallant. He snarled, "You'll pay for that wi'
more'n a—"

Over his shoulder, she saw rescue coming, and flung herself
aside.

Mr. Fox's nature was whimsical and he liked to play practical
jokes.
His lowered head struck Mr. Blake Coville squarely in the back and
propelled him head-first into the stream.

Arthur slid from the little donkey's back as the involuntary
bather
soared from the water, spluttering and dashing the hair from his eyes.
Mr. Fox brayed raucously, his upper lip curling back in what could only
be a grin. Convulsed with laughter, brother and sister clung together.

Blake Coville had cultivated an air of cool elegance and was
not in
fact given to acts of violence. He was, however, plagued by worry and
great stress, and the one thing he had never been able to endure was to
be made to look ridiculous. Snarling profanities, he plunged towards
the bank.

Fanny saw his face. She grasped Arthur's hand and began to
run.
Frightened now, the little boy tripped, and as she dragged him to his
feet, the infuriated man was upon them.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he raged, and seized the child's
other arm.

"Ow!" cried Arthur.

Fanny uttered a shriek and began to flail her little basket at
Coville's head.

His temper was out of control. "Laugh at this, you little
doxy!" he
growled, and with a hard shove sent her staggering to her knees.

Mr. Fox brayed distressfully and hung down his head.

With a wrathful cry, Arthur ran at Coville and rained small
fists at his leg. "A gen'elman don't hit a lady! You're
bad
!"

Coville caught him by the hair. "Curst brat, I'll teach you—"

"No lessons today, thank you." Vaughan's pistol cracked across
the
enraged man's wrist, causing him to howl and snatch his numbed fingers
from Arthur's hair.

Coville turned to meet this new attack. What he met was
Vaughan's
left fist which connected harshly with one eye. In the next second, his
chin received Vaughan's famous right. Sprawling, drenched, knowing he'd
have a black eye and that he was very likely ruined, Coville almost
sobbed, "Damn you… Vaughan! You'll—you'll rue this."

Vaughan ignored him. "Are you all right, Miss Fanny?"

She was torn between the need to tell Coville exactly what he
was,
and another need. She chose the latter and leaned weakly against
Vaughan. "Oh, Jocelyn."

"My dearest girl," he said huskily, his ready arm supporting
her.

Coville clambered to his feet and started to reel towards the
trees where his horse was tethered.

Arthur said in a tremulous voice, "That bad man hit Fanny,
Etta!"

"I saw him, love." Hurrying up, Marietta pulled him to her.

"My father will call on you, Mr. Coville. Meanwhile, do not—
ever—set foot on our property!"

"Your
property?" Over his shoulder
Coville cried shrilly,
"You've ambitions to become Lady Temple and Cloud, have you? Much good
will it do you to throw out lures to Diccon Paisley! That filthy,
murdering bas—"

Vaughan strode purposefully towards him.

Abandoning the last shreds of honour, Blake Coville ran away.

Vaughan escorted the sisters back to the dower house and broke
the
news to their father. At first incredulous, Sir Lionel then flew into a
passion. Only with the greatest difficulty was Vaughan able to dissuade
him from ordering up the carriage and starting for Downsdale Park, to
confront Blake Coville, horsewhip in hand. He himself, said Vaughan
firmly, claimed the right to settle accounts with Coville. This
interesting attitude did much to restore Sir Lionel's spirits. His
elder daughter may have lost her chance to make a brilliant match, but
it would seem that little Fanny might yet save the day. He said he
would have to consider the matter, and Vaughan tactfully departed
leaving his love to the care of her aunt and sister while Sir Lionel
penned an infuriated note to Blake Coville and another to Sir Gavin in
London.

Fanny, meanwhile, was cherished and comforted, taken to her
bedchamber, and made to lie down. She was quite willing to rest, and
grateful for all the attention, but was perfectly cheerful. Coville's
behaviour she mentioned briefly and with disgust. Her interest centered
upon Jocelyn Vaughan. His heroism, his good looks, his unassuming
manners, his courtesy, were unexcelled. He was the kindest of men, the
bravest of men, in short— the epitome of manly perfection.

Mrs. Cordova managed to break in on this
ecstatic inventory
and
shaking her head observed fondly that Fanny lacked sensibility. "Your
tongue runs on wheels, Miss! Your poor sister is more upset, I vow. Go
and lie down on your bed for a while, Etta. Sweet child, you are
shaking like a leaf!"

Marietta needed little persuasion. As she closed the door she
heard
Fanny murmur, "Poor Etta! I forgot how disappointed she must be in Mr.
Coville!"

But it was not Blake Coville's disgraceful conduct that had
brought
the despair to her eyes. When she reached the privacy of her room she
sank onto the bed, staring blindly at the window, as grief-stricken as
Fanny was elated. Diccon Paisley was an Intelligence Officer! How
lightly Vaughan had relayed that news, and how horribly everything had
at once fallen into place. She could hear him declaring so humbly that
he had nothing to offer her but his friendship, and managing to imply
that he yearned for much more. 'Nothing would give me greater joy than
to serve you… If you are ever distressed and need someone to talk
with…' Words that had warmed her heart because like a stupid she'd
believed them to be sincere. But they weren't sincere at all. They were
instead cunning and full of guile.

She had reached out to Diccon gratefully. Like a gullible
idiot she had
confided
in him! Had she been completely blind? From the very beginning he had
told lie upon lie! Small wonder he had been so eager to conceal his
real
identity! Small wonder he'd claimed to be a penniless free-trader! He
had not come here to restore Lanterns. Rather, he was a cold and
calculating spy, slithering about his terrible business, managing
glibly to talk his way out of whatever shadow of truth might compromise
his plan while he hunted his prey. He had even stooped to use Arthur to
inveigle himself into her affections and win her confidence.

He had succeeded on both counts, far more thoroughly than he
could
know. And as a result there was a deep ache in her heart; the cruel
hurt of loss and betrayal. The tears came then; a storm of wracking
sobs she had to stifle in her pillows and that left her weak and
exhausted. Wearily, she went to the washstand to bathe her reddened
eyes.

He was clever—Jocelyn had said he was 'one of the best.' But
she
would fight him. Somehow, she must circumvent his scheming deceit.
Above all, her adored Eric must be rescued. It was terrible to know
that he had broken the law, but in a way the difference was slight;
Eric was an industrial spy, Diccon was a government spy. Diccon spied
for pay, whereas Eric had meant only to help his family.

She sighed miserably, and wished love had not come to her,
since it
brought such pain and disillusionment. Well, love and grief must be
shut out now, and forgotten. Her only thought must be to—somehow—find a
way to outwit the cunning Major.

Mrs. Cordova answered Diccon's knock, but instead of admitting
him,
she stepped out onto the terrace, closing the door behind her.

He asked anxiously, "Is she— Are the young ladies all right?
Dale's head groom said there'd been trouble here."

She spread the skirts of her evening gown and began to hum
softly.
"So you were at Downsdale Park, were you, my lord? Some—urgent
business, perhaps?"

"Yes." Her persistent use of his title was a minor irritant.
Ignoring it, he repeated, "Is Miss Marietta—"

"The pastry man had urgent business as well," she said
inexplicably.
"I sent him to Lanterns. You've seen him already, I'd not be surprised."

Gritting his teeth, he fought for patience. "I've seen no
'pastry man,' nor do I know what—"

"He looks like pastry," she clarified. "Uncooked, you know.
With
black currants for eyes." Diccon tensed, and she giggled. "Ah, yes. You
do know, don't you, Major? Beware! He's an evil—"

Marietta opened the front door. "Aunty? Who is it?"

She was pale and there was a strained expression in her eyes,
but
she appeared to be unharmed and with a great surge of relief Diccon
reached out to her. "Thank God, you're all right!"

How terrified he looked. She thought bitterly, 'Such a clever
one!'
and made herself take his hand. "Quite all right, I thank you. Do come
in."

He held her hand tightly as he stepped into the front hall.

Mrs. Cordova skipped past them and went up the stairs,
chanting softly to herself.

Searching Marietta's face, Diccon said, "I came as soon as I
heard."

"Oh dear. Has it spread about already?" Making no attempt to
reclaim
her hand, she said ruefully, "I'd hoped we could avoid a scandal. Do
you know what happened?"

"Only that your sister was molested. I have no details."

Briefly and without drama she provided the details.

When she finished he was tight-lipped and his eyes glinted
anger. He said tersely, "Dammitall! I should have warned him off!"

She smiled faintly at this proprietary attitude. "Why? Does he
make a habit of attacking young ladies when he's in his cups?"

"Drunk, was he? Something has set him off, then. He's afraid
of his
father and has had to repress his true feelings for years. Sometimes,
if he's under a lot of strain his control snaps, and when it does he's
capable of anything. My dear, I am so very sorry. I feel responsible.
Was Miss Fanny much hurt?"

'My dear?' How could he? How
could
he?
She struggled
against showing her revulsion, and said, "You are in no way
responsible, and you did try to warn me, so pray do not blame yourself.
Fanny is bruised, but more angry than frightened."

It seemed to him that her eyes were rather too bright and that
the
becoming colour in her cheeks had been applied, which was not her usual
habit. Enraged, he thought, 'That filthy blackguard properly frightened
her!' He asked, "Did Joss see it?"

"Yes. And handled the matter deedily."

'They'll go out, then,' thought Diccon. He said, "Blake has
ruined
himself, and he need not count on his sire to stand by him. The least
hint of scandal sends Sir Gavin straight into the boughs, and there's
no doubt this tale will be all over Town by morning."

She started to lead him towards the withdrawing room, but he
declined her invitation to stay for dinner, saying he would not intrude
on them at such a time. "Please give your father and Miss Fanny my
sympathy and good wishes. I'll call tomorrow, if I may." As if in an
afterthought, he asked, "Does your brother know of the business?"

He meant Eric, the viper! She answered guile with guile. "Yes.
Arthur saw it all. Did I neglect to mention that when Coville struck my
sister, Arthur sprang to her defence and gave him quite a pummelling."

"Did he, by Jove! My compliments to the rascal! He came down
to return Mr. Fox, but I was away, unfortunately."

"He wanted to see you, but he was rather worn out, poor dear,
so I put him to bed early."

They walked out onto the front terrace. The sun was low in the
sky,
throwing a warm pink glow over the land, softening the lines of the
house, and turning the clouds to scoops of pink sherbet. Diccon,
however, was oblivious to all beauty save the one who walked beside
him. Hating this, he said, "Coville must be called to account, you
know, ma'am. I fancy Joss will— Or, perhaps your brother Eric has
insisted on that right?"

Marietta's hand clenched hard. He fished adroitly did Diccon
Paisley
of the Intelligence Service! "I think I had better not answer you, sir.
Duelling is unlawful. And despite your—illicit activities, you are
still a soldier, no?"

She had spoken lightly, but it was an evasion. And if she felt
it
necessary to evade… 'Damn!' he thought, and replied, "Officially, I'm
on leave at the moment, Miss Marietta. And to say truth, I'm—I'm very
seriously considering leaving the Army and settling down."

This, of course, was said to lull any fears she might have.
"At
Lanterns?" she asked demurely. "Would it not be too quiet here for you?"

"I've had my fill of action."

He was watching her narrowly. He must not suspect how bitterly
she
despised him. She forced her lips to smile and said, "You must have led
such an exciting life."

"Interesting, certainly. I've seen a good deal of the world;
met a
lot of fascinating people. Not to mention some dashed tricky, ugly
customers."

"Such as this individual Mr. Vaughan spoke of? Monsieur
Monteil?"

He drew a breath and wondered what else Joss had told her.
"Yes. Your aunt says he visited Madame Olympias. It seems he covets
The
Sigh of Saladin
. Among other things."

"Is that surprising? A great many people would like to find
it. But
if it is really priceless I shouldn't think there was much to be gained
by stealing it. Surely, nobody would dare buy it?"

"Imre Monteil is not motivated by money, ma'am. He's extreme
wealthy. Made a fortune in munitions. He likes to acquire lovely
things, with or without the owner's consent. And he has a deep hatred
for England."