Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (34 page)

"You deserve it, love. And I think Mr. Vaughan is a very lucky
man
to have won your heart. Now I must go and find Arthur. I hope he hasn't
wandered off to Lanterns again."

They walked up the stairs together and Fanny asked, "Why? I
thought
you had quite forgiven Major Diccon. In fact, you were so worried about
him last night that I was convinced you had become rather fond of him."

So she had been that obvious. She said slowly, "And if I had,
would you be pleased? Or are you still afraid of him?"

"Oh—I'm just a silly. Jocelyn thinks very highly of him, and
he
could not like a bad man, I am sure. Only look at the time! Half past
eleven already. Jocelyn will be here at any minute! I must go and
change my gown!"

Lost in thought, Marietta wandered along the corridor. Fanny
had
avoided her eyes and had answered her question in a flustered way. She
did still fear Diccon. And her fears were all too well justified. If
she did but know— But she must not know. Nothing must be allowed to
shadow her happiness. Looking up, she gave a shocked gasp. Her aunt
knelt on the floor outside the parlour, peeping through the keyhole.

"Aunty!" she hissed, hurrying forward.

Mrs. Cordova flapped an arm urgently and responded with a
marked lack of contrition, "Ssshh! I can't hear!"

Marietta crept closer and was able to discern male voices.
They sounded very serious and there was no cheerful laughter.

Her aunt turned a stricken face and reached out for
assistance.
Helping her to her feet, Marietta whispered, "Are you acquainted with
the General?"

"No, no. Nor is your father, I am assured."

"But General Smollet said—"

Trotting to the kitchen beside her, Mrs. Cordova gasped out,
"You
can believe not one word any general tells you, my love!" She sank into
a chair and flapped a handkerchief at her heated countenance. "It is
just as I feared! The General touched very briefly on that ugly
business last night. It was all too clear that what he really came for
was to warn your father to be on the lookout for any gentleman in the
vicinity who has suddenly come into money."

Marietta sank to her knees beside the chair and clutched at
her aunt's free hand. "Did he… did he n-name any names?"

"From what I could hear, they are hard after a young man who
has
eluded them thus far. Smollet said"—Mrs. Cordova's eyes were dark with
apprehension—"he said if your papa suspects anyone—
anyone
—he
should report it at once."

Marietta's lips felt stiff. She gulped, "To—to whom?"

"He said that luckily one of his finest men is in the area. A
man
with an impressive record of unmasking… tr-traitors!" The last word was
an anguished wail.

Marietta closed her eyes and bowed her head against the chair
arm.
"The man with the 'impressive record' being Major Diccon Paisley."

"Yes." Mrs. Cordova's clasp tightened on her niece's fingers
and she moaned, "
Traitors
! Oh… Etta!
Whatever
are we to do? If Diccon catches him—"

Marietta summoned a smile. "He hasn't caught him yet, love.
And my brother may have been very naughty, but it
isn't
treason! We know that! We'll think of something, never fear."

The General's visit was short. Sir Lionel imparted over
luncheon
that Smollet was a good enough fellow and that he would have invited
him to stay and join them, "but he's a grim sort of old boy, y'know.
Full of worries about some traitor or other. I told him I've a musket
loaded and ready, and if a cur of that sort comes in range I'll know
how to deal with him!"

When the meal was over Mrs. Cordova decided to go up to her
caravan,
and was not deterred when Sir Lionel said he would be unable to spare
Bridger this afternoon. She felt quite safe in walking to the caravan,
she said, as no one was likely to stand about spying on her in the
pouring rain.

Despite the weather, Vaughan borrowed Diccon's handsome closed
carriage and came to whisk Fanny off for a drive.

Arthur had taken his luncheon early, as usual. He'd eaten
sparingly
and gone up to his room to play. Preoccupied with her anxieties,
Marietta didn't realize until the house was quiet again how long the
boy had been gone. His nature was much too affectionate for him to
enjoy solitude. Suspecting that he'd fallen asleep, she went in search
of him and was half-way up the stairs when the most terrifying thought
occurred to her. In her trusting idiocy she had sent Eric to meet
Diccon. And in his letter Eric had written: "I must get out of the
country, and thanks to you I think I know how I can manage this." She'd
assumed he meant that their occupancy of a home that was so close to
the Channel would be useful to him. But suppose he intended to seek
help from the man he believed her to like and to trust? What if Eric
turned to Diccon the free-trader for an escape from the law, little
knowing that Diccon
was
the law? Her knees felt
weak. She clung to the stair railing and to her nerves, and she prayed.

She had regained her composure, outwardly at least, by the
time she
walked into the room Arthur shared with Arnold when Arnold was at home
for the holidays. The little boy was curled up in the windowseat with
Friar Tuck beside him, watching the raindrops race each other down the
pane. He accepted an offer to be read to, but with a marked lack of
enthusiasm. He seemed subdued and there were few of his usual
interruptions. Concerned, she stayed with him for a time, reading, then
drawing. They were playing raindrop races on the window-pane when there
came the busy sounds of hammering. "It must be Papa and Bridger," she
said lightly. "I expect they're making a surprise for us. Shall we go
downstairs and see?"

He shrugged apathetically. "If you like."

"What would
you
like? Something to eat,
perhaps?"

Another shrug. Staring at Friar Tuck, who had fallen asleep on
the book, he answered, "It doesn't matter."

She felt his forehead. It was cool. "Do you feel well,
dearest?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Is something troubling you?"

"No."

Desperate, she asked, "Did you want to go and see Major
Diccon?"

He stroked Friar Tuck's fur forward between his ears, giving
the cat
what he called "The Snake Head," and concentrating on this endeavour,
muttered, "Aunty Dova says I'm not to go there no more."

So that was it. But in her own opinion the pretence must be
kept up,
at least until Eric was safely away. She offered to walk to Lanterns
with him, but he said apathetically that he didn't want to go out,
adding an unprecedented, "It's too wet."

Giving up, she took him with her and went downstairs to help
with dinner.

The skies were darkening and the drawing room was shadowy. Sir
Lionel and Bridger were tidying up tools and carrying ladders out to
the barn.

"Time for tea, eh?" said Sir Lionel hopefully, and over his
shoulder added, "Now—don't
touch
nothing, Etta! It's a surprise. For your aunt."

Bridger chuckled.

"And don't
tell
her!" called Sir Lionel.

Mrs. Cordova joined them for tea, and was agog to learn about
the
surprise, but Sir Lionel insisted it must wait until they were all
here. An hour passed before Vaughan and Fanny came into the house with
a flurry of laughter and raindrops. They had driven as far as Lewes,
and had purchased a bottle of cognac that made Sir Lionel's eyes gleam;
some pastries that Vaughan said loyally were not to be compared with
Fanny's cookery; and a marzipan soldier for Arthur. The little boy
brightened and was promised he should have some after supper, but by
the time he was taken up to bed, declared himself tired and said he
would save the treat for tomorrow.

Marietta went downstairs and told her aunt that she feared her
brother might be sickening for something. She had little time to worry
about it however, for Sir Lionel was clearly eager to show them his
latest invention, and announced they would be given a showing after
dinner.

The evening was cool so a fine fire was lit, and, with only
two
small branches of candles burning and the rain pattering against the
windows, the drawing room was cosy and inviting when they all were
assembled there. Beaming with suppressed excitement, Sir Lionel
directed each of them to a specific chair, and was about to begin his
demonstration when they heard a carriage pull up outside.

Mrs. Cordova went in search of an umbrella.

"Oh—no!" wailed Sir Lionel, exasperated. "Only a noddicock
would venture out on such a night!"

His worst fears were borne out. Holding an armful of cloaks,
Marietta showed three evening callers into the room. With smothered
giggles, Mrs. Cordova appropriated the damp garments and carried them
off to be hung up to dry. Mr. Innes Williard was glorious in formal
evening dress and knee breeches but wore a glum look that said he was
here against his will. Mrs. Isolde Maitland was clad in an ornate gown
of purple satin with a profusion of frills and little bows on the
bodice and sleeves and an overskirt of silver lace. Under a vulgarly
large and wide-spreading diamond necklace her bosom was very much on
display. She fluttered her fan coyly at Sir Lionel's aghast face, and
presented her mother to the company. Rustling in stiff forest green
bombasine Mrs. Crosbie Williard was small, thin, and waspish. She was
clearly on the far side of sixty but her auburn hair was suspiciously
untouched by grey. Her faded brown eyes were still keen, however, and
darted about, birdlike, as if determined to miss nothing.

The guests were comfortably settled and at once Mrs. Maitland
directed the conversation to the topic that seemed uppermost on
everyone's mind today: the disgraceful invasion of Lanterns by armed
criminals, and the return of Lord Temple and Cloud to the
neighbourhood. With high drama she announced that her nerves were
"completely overset" by the realization that the countryside "fairly
swarmed with thieves and murderers"! Her brother said testily that he
hoped the gentlemen of Sussex were able to deal with such riffraff,
whereupon Mrs. Crosbie Williard retorted dryly that she very much
doubted it. Her daughter's laugh shrilled out, and Marietta and Fanny
retreated to the kitchen to assemble refreshments.

"Papa is furious." Fanny giggled, setting biscuits on a
serving plate.

Marietta put the kettle on the hob and said innocently, "Why?
Because his Isolde is flirting with Jocelyn?"

Fanny squeaked and had to muffle her laughter. "Is it not
hilarious?
Between her eyelashes and her fan he'll be lucky to avoid the
pneumonia!"

Both eyelashes and fan were at top speed when Marietta carried
a
laden tray into the drawing room, and Mrs. Cordova, who had slipped
into the room and sat on the far end of the sofa, was watching the
widow's gyrations in fascination.

They had come through "a veritable deluge" declared
Mrs.Maitland, and her "little heart" had fairly fluttered because
the
stream was so high and the bridge so very old. One wondered that Temple
and Cloud did not build a new one.

Fixing Innes Williard with a resentful stare Sir Lionel said
that
he
wondered they had ventured out on such a
stormy night.

"I, for one, didn't want to come," stated Mrs. Crosbie
Williard
baldly. "It's hard enough for a frail and elderly lady to get about,
let alone climbing in and out of carriages in the middle of a flood!"

"Not my intention," grunted Williard, darting an irked glance
at his sister.

"Oh, but we
had
to, dear sir," gushed
Mrs. Maitland. "Now,
Mama, did I not tell you it would be well worth your while? You visit
us so seldom and you've never seen anything like these— oddities, you
must own." She fluttered her fan and her eyelashes in the general
direction of the sofa.

"Can't see 'em now hardly, it's so dim in here," grunted Innes
Williard. "You practicing economies with candles, Warrington?
Advisable, I don't doubt."

His mother, who had been staring at the effigies, barked,
"That's a
fair dummy on the end. Looks more lifelike than the rest of 'em!"

Mrs. Maitland screamed, "Mama! You naughty thing! That is Mrs.
Cordova!"

Vaughan turned away and was grateful for the dim light.

Innes Williard, grinning from ear to ear, explained that his
mother
was inclined to be deaf and likely had not heard the introductions.

Sir Lionel could be frosty when he chose. He said that he
believed
his sister-in-law had not been present at that time, and with great
formality rectified the omission.

To Vaughan's utter delight, Mrs. Cordova rose, swept into a
stately
curtsey, then held out her skirts and waltzed about the room singing
somewhat inaccurately, " 'Like untuned golden strings some women are,
Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.' "

"Mad," sniffed Mrs. Crosbie Williard in an audible aside to
her son.

Fanny began to hand around cups and saucers. One look at her
love's
brimming eyes was almost her undoing, and she moved on hastily.

Mrs. Maitland said with sugary cajoling, "Now you must own how
clever the likenesses are, dearest Mama."

"I'll own it's one way of filling a room with company, if
you've no
worthwhile acquaintances," her mother observed with no sugar at all.

Undaunted, Mrs. Maitland tittered, requested more milk in her
tea
and said, "Speaking of filling a room with company, I had thought Mr.
Blake Coville might be here. Do you expect him to call, Sir Lionel?"

"No, madam," said Sir Lionel frowningly. "I do not."

"Such firmness." The widow opened her eyes at him admiringly.
"I
don't blame you, of course. I suppose it was inevitable that he would
fall from grace." She sipped her tea, watched Marietta over the rim of
her cup and purred, "Now that Temple and Cloud has returned to the
neighbourhood… Though rumour says
he
has not a
feather to fly with."