Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (6 page)

Diccon hid his terror that she might be right, and said
coolly, "Try not to be so ridiculous. And don't pull at him, you'll
make him feel worse."

She fought him madly, and he took both her flying hands and
held the wrists in an iron grip. "Stop, or I shall be obliged to slap
you!"

Between the fog, the deepening dusk, and her tears, Marietta
couldn't see him very clearly, but she had an impression of a gaunt
face, unruly light brown hair, and piercing, very pale eyes. She choked
back sobs, and fought for control.

The deep, cold voice said, "That's better. I think he's just
stunned, but we must get him home. Is he yours? Who are you? Do you
live nearby?"

"He is… my brother." She watched as he felt for a pulse and
explored that pathetic little figure with steady, practised hands. "How
could you… strike him like—like that?" she demanded.

"I don't think anything's broken. If you saw it, then you must
know that he came at me from behind."

"But—he is only a
child!"

"Yes. Well, he was uphill from me and didn't look like one
with that damned great thing on his head. I thought— Never mind about
that." He took off his coat rather awkwardly and spread it over the
boy. "I'll go and get a horse poled up. How far away is your home?"

"Less than two miles."

He said inexplicably, "Then Mr. Fox will do," and walked away,
his head a little bowed and his steps rather erratic. Over his shoulder
he called, "Don't go mauling him about. He'll do better to lie quietly."

"He'd do better had you not struck him!" she retaliated.

There was no response. He disappeared into a great frowning
door of the manor, and Marietta hovered over her brother, holding his
small hand, and praying.

The 'hideous brute' returned quite soon but instead of a team
he led a small, shaggy donkey harnessed to a cart. Marietta's suspicion
that he was a penniless wanderer using Lanterns as a temporary haven
was reinforced.

He left the leathers trailing, and came to bend over the child.

She said with loathing. "I'll lift him, thank you very much!"

Her outstretched hands were again thrust aside. "Madam," he
said icily, "I appear to have won an ignoble victory. I do not propose
to watch you drop my victim and then blame me for any further damage."

"I am perfectly capable of lifting him, and I do not want you
to touch him with your—"

"Murderous hands? You will discover how murderous they are if
you do not stop being ridiculous. Move!"

He had not raised his voice, but the steel in the tone
convinced her that he was quite capable of attacking her, and she drew
back.

He bent and slipped an arm under the boy's shoulders.

Arthur moaned, and his eyelids flickered and opened. Confused,
he muttered, "I slew the… villin, Etta. But I hurt. Is I… dying?"

"No, no, dearest," she said over the lump in her throat.

"You won the battle but lost the war, old fellow," said Diccon
in a tone that surprised Marietta. "We're going to take you home with
the wounded."

"On a… gun carriage?" asked Arthur faintly.

"Just so. Now I'm going to lift you, and if it hurts you can
yell. Soldiers do yell, sometimes."

The suspicion of a grin tugged at the boy's mouth. "You did,"
he said. "You yelled—very loud."

"Hmm," said Diccon, and lifted him into the cart.

Arthur whimpered.

The donkey emitted an ear-splitting bray.

Marietta gave a gasp, and Arthur clung to Diccon's coat, his
eyes wide with fright.

Diccon said, "It's just Mr. Fox. He's a donkey, but he
worries."

"Oooh," whispered Arthur. "You got a donkey!"

"I have. When you're feeling better you shall ride him, if you
like."

"If you ever come near us again, my papa will take his pistols
to you," said Marietta through her teeth. "He likely will, anyway!"

His bored glance flickered from the peak of her hat to the hem
of her cloak. "One wonders," he drawled, "if you ever say anything
sensible, Madam Witch. You might better tell me with whom you stay."

She had quite forgotten her costume and her face flamed. She
said angrily, "We do not stay with anyone. As I told you, our house is
not quite two miles northeast. It is called—"

Incredulous, he interrupted, "The
dower
house? The devil you say!"

"Instead of swearing, perhaps you could set your donkey in
motion."

He offered a hand. "If you will hurry up and get in, I'll do
so."

Marietta refused his assistance but found it difficult to
climb into the cart wearing the voluminous cloak. Chagrined by the
awareness that the monster had viewed a good deal of her limbs, she was
breathless by the time she knelt beside Arthur. "We're going home now,
dearest," she murmured. "Be brave. You'll soon feel better."

"He does feel better," said Diccon, climbing to the seat and
chirruping to Mr. Fox. "He made a jolly fine charge. Though I'd be
interested to know why."

Arthur whispered, "He's got a donkey!"

Pausing on the landing, Sir Lionel was considerably taken
aback to see that the insensate villain who had attacked his child had
seated himself in the front hall. Usually mild-tempered, Sir Lionel
stiffened, his plump cheeks flushing with wrath. "I wonder at your
gall, sir!" he snorted, proceeding down the stairs. "I say, I am amazed
and confounded! One might suppose that having so brutally dealt with my
little son, you—"

Diccon came to his feet and interrupted, "How does the boy go
on? Is he badly damaged?"

"He will recover." Irked because he had for some reason felt
compelled to respond to the authoritative tone, and also because he was
obliged to look up at this crude individual, Sir Lionel added, "No
thanks to you, sir! You are fortunate I do not call you out, but—"

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Sir Lionel puffed out his cheeks and said, somewhat deflated,
"He did. Otherwise, I promise you, I would—"

"Yes. Well, of course you would. Any father worth his salt
would. I'll not distress you by staying. I just wanted to be sure he
was—"

"Good day, sir!"

Diccon frowned, but nodded and turned to the door.

"A moment, if you please!"

A large lady was running down the stairs.

Diccon checked, eyeing her rapid advance uneasily. At such a
headlong pace her flowing draperies constituted a distinct hazard.

"Look out!" shouted Sir Lionel.

Diccon sprang forward and was in time to catch her although
her size and speed sent him staggering.

"Thank you!" she gasped, regaining her balance. "Not that I
should feel beholden to you, of course, since you were so cruel to my
darling Arthur. But— Ah. He has hurt you, I see! Is that why you struck
him?"

He looked at her curiously, wondering if she had mothered the
lovely witch he'd driven home. Certainly, she indulged herself at table
and affected an odd style of dress, but he suspected that this lady
once had been a beauty. He was startled then to realize that her big
dark eyes were fixed upon his own unblinkingly. Disconcerted by a
sudden feeling that she could see into his mind, he replied, "I—thought
he was someone else. May I ask if he makes a habit of attacking
strangers?"

"He has a vivid imagination and spends much time in his
make-believe worlds. Which is not such a bad thing, the real world
being what it is… But he has never attacked anyone before."

"Did he say why I caused him to change his behaviour?"

"No. Do strangers make a habit of attacking you from behind,
Mr… ?"

Diccon stood very still, meeting her penetrating gaze
narrowly. "My name is Mallory Diccon—"

Irritated, Sir Lionel interrupted, "I do not care what your
name is, and I see no call for this discussion." He marched to fling
open the front door. "If you take my advice, sir, you will leave this
area without delay. Lord Temple and Cloud, who owns this estate, is
returning to the neighborhood momentarily, and will no doubt set his
dogs on any vagrants who loiter about."

Diccon bowed and left them.

"So I crep' up a'hind him," said Arthur, pale but bright-eyed
as he lay on the sofa in the withdrawing-room next morning. "An' then I
charged into battle on my trusty steed."

"You must have been going quite fast to hit him so hard."
Marietta dusted the mantelpiece clock carefully. "You might have
knocked him over the edge, you know. Didn't you think of that?"

"I jus' thinked he was a bad man. An' I wanted to rescue the
lady. The one you was talking about."

It occurred to Marietta that although his retaliation had been
far more violent than was justified, Mr. Diccon had some small basis
for complaint.

Arthur saw her faint frown, and explained, "I wouldn't have
been going so fast, but when my trusty steed started to run, well, my
armour was awful heavy, an' going downhill like that, I couldn't stop.
If he
had
falled—"

"Fallen, dear."

"—fallen over the edge, would he have been killed stone dead?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he would." Marietta laid down her duster and
went to sit on the sofa beside her brother. "And that would have been a
very terrible thing, Arthur. Something you would never be able to
forget for as long as you lived. Because when a life is taken, it
brings pain and grief to many other lives. You wouldn't want to cause
anything like that, would you?"

"But s'posin' he was a bad man?" he said earnestly. "A
very
bad man. S'posin' he'd hurt someone else? Even someone you loved?
Wouldn't it be right to make him dead then?"

"But he's not a bad man, my dear one. He's just a wanderer
who's borrowing Lord Temple and Cloud's house because he doesn't have
one of his own. Still, I know what you mean. That's why we have the
Watch, and the constables, and Bow Street to punish people who do very
bad things. We don't punish them ourselves."

"Oh. But there's not a Watch or a Bow Street here, is there
Etta?"

"There's Constable Davis in the village." With a sudden vision
of future embarrassments, she added, "But if we had absolute proof that
somebody had done something evil, we'd still talk it over with our
family before we bothered Mr. Davis. And above all, dearest, we don't
ever
deliberately hurt anyone. You might have hurt Mr. Diccon quite badly,
hitting him in the back like that. Will you promise to be more careful
in the future?"

He hung his head, and nodded.

Marietta stroked his curls fondly. He was such a sensitive,
lonely little boy, too often left to himself in his 'make-believe
world,' as Aunty Dova had said. He had already paid a high price for
his actions and she had no wish to make him feel crushed with guilt.
"Were you pretending that Mr. Diccon was the Sheriff of Nottingham?"
she asked kindly.

Arthur sighed. "I 'spect ladies don't know much 'bout things.
Robin Hood doesn't wear chain mail. It was Sir Lancer Lot who was
jousting with the Black Knight."

"I see. Then you didn't really think Mr. Diccon was a bad man,
did you?"

He considered this in silence. Then he raised his angelic blue
eyes to meet hers. "He's got a donkey," he said simply.

Fanny came in. "I'm baking you a gingerbread man, wounded
hero," she said, offering a skewer and a shallow pan to her brother.
"Would you like to make his face?"

Only too willing to oblige, Arthur took the skewer and with
great concentration began to give the gingerbread man a very toothy
grin and two big eyes.

Fanny smiled at her sister. "I see he's well on the road to
recovery. Is Mr. Coville coming to pay a call today? I'd thought he
meant to take you riding this morning."

Marietta had thought the same thing, but said they had formed
no definite plans.

"D'you know what I think?" said Fanny. "Your devoted swain is
a Bond Street Beau and believes no civilized person rises before noon."

Mrs. Cordova trotted across the entrance hall waving a bulky
parcel. She had left the front door wide, and brought a breath of warm
air and a flood of sunlight with her. "Only look what I found on the
terrace!" she panted.

"Aha!" exclaimed Fanny. "I mistake the matter, and the devoted
swain has called already!"

"But I do not have a devoted swain," said Mrs. Cordova,
puzzled. "Do I?" She peered hopefully at her amused nieces, then
laughed. "Oh, I see! Wicked girls that you are!" Inspecting the parcel
she added, "And this is not for you, Marietta. It's addressed to
'Master Arthur Warrington.' "

Arthur gave a whoop and reached out. Rending the brown paper,
he was suddenly very still, gazing and gazing. Mute, he held up a small
leather sword belt and scabbard. The two-edged sword was wooden but
beautifully carven, the hilt set with a great imitation ruby.

"Oooh!" he breathed, springing up. "Quick! Quick! Help me put
it on, Etta!"

She laughed. "What, over your nightshirt?"

"Jus' to see if it fits," he said eagerly.

Searching the paper, Fanny teased, "There's no card, but I
suspect Mr. Coville believes that the quickest way to a maiden's heart
is through her little brother. And you are blushing, Etta."

Mrs. Cordova had also picked up a piece of the wrapping.
Turning it in her hands she murmured, "I think you are in the wrong of
it, Fan."

Marietta looked at her sharply.

"It's from the Black Knight," cried Arthur, wrenching forth
the sword. "An' it fits jus' right! Oh, isn't it sp'endid!"

Marietta frowned.

Mrs. Cordova pointed out, "Under the circumstances, it is kind
in him."

"He might better have sent a book, or a toy," said Fanny
primly, "rather than a weapon of war!"

"Wheee!" squealed Arthur, leaping about and flourishing the
sword with vigour. "I mus' go and get dressed!"

Mrs. Cordova took the boy to the stairs, glanced out of the
front door, then hurried back to the withdrawing room. "You will want
to
change also, Etta. Mr. Coville is riding through the lodge gates! My,
what a handsome creature he is!"