Ask Me No Questions (16 page)

He pulled her hand through his arm, holding her firmly. "I forbid you to swoon, Miss Allington! Someone been annoying you?"

"Yes— No— I never swoon! But— Oh, do not regard it. Is—"

"I
shall
regard it—whatever—or more to the point,
whomever
it was." He relinquished her hand for an instant as he turned to the library. "Some Buck in here? Which one?"

She caught his arm as he flung the door open. "No— please! Do not!"

"The devil I won't! My father's people are not molested when they come into Dover, madam. I give you my word!" He stalked inside, grasping her hand again so that she had no choice but to follow. "Well?" he said, not troubling to lower his voice. "Point him out, if you please."

Heads turned. The proprietor looked alarmed and hurried to them.

Ruth caught a glimpse of a dark blue coat making for the rear door. "I cannot. He—he did nothing really. Said nothing. Mr. Gordon—
please
!"

The proprietor asked anxiously, "Is there some difficulty, Mr. Chandler? Is the young lady unwell?"

Chandler said curtly, "You should be more careful whom you let in here, Brodie. One might suppose a lady could venture onto your premises in broad daylight without being annoyed by some would-be Ranelagh rake!"

Unhappily aware of the battery of eyes now fixed upon her, Ruth flushed scarlet and murmured, "It is quite all right, Mr. Brodie. I thought I saw a—a rather tiresome acquaintance. I must have been mistaken. I am indeed sorry to have caused such a commotion."

"Nonsense!" barked Chandler. "Is the fellow here? Look about you, ma'am."

She hissed, "
Will
you let be! He is gone."

He took her arm, said a terse, "Good day" to the proprietor, and propelled Ruth outside again just as Dutch Coachman brought the carriage deftly into the kennel. The footman sprang down to open the door and hand Ruth up the step. Chandler sent him off to collect his mount from the livery stable and ride her home, then climbed in after Ruth.

"And now," he said, sitting beside her as the carriage started off, "we will have the truth of it, an you please Miss Allington. You were annoyed, I am perfectly sure. By whom?"

"I have not the remotest notion," she said, mortified, yet rather touched by his concern. Her response brought an angry snort from him, but before he could rail at her she went on, "I first saw him on the accommodation coach when I came to be interviewed by your papa." The memory of the smiling man's knee pressing against her own made her skin creep. If she told Chandler of such a personal matter he would likely think she was just exaggerating an incident caused only by the rocking of the carriage. She added rather lamely, "Even then, he really did nothing. Save to stare at me."

Chandler frowned. She was very pale again, and her hands were gripped tightly. He said, "Not such unusual behaviour, I think. An attractive young lady, travelling unescorted. A gentleman should not persist, of course. Assuming that he was rebuffed."

"I did rebuff him," she said indignantly. "At least, I tried. But he smiled and smiled, so that I was obliged always to avoid his glance. Why must you always—" She stopped then, for she saw a quirk tug at his lips and a twinkle come into his eyes. "Oh," she said with a rather shaken laugh. "You are teasing I see, and likely think me making a mountain out of a molehill. But—truly, mere was something about his eyes… The
way
he looked at me. And that horrid, unending smile. Even after I had changed into your carriage, he still stood there in the rain. Smiling after me. To suddenly see him in the library…"

"Him. What did he look like? Was he a gentleman?"

"He was dressed like one, and spoke in cultured accents. I would guess him to be about forty, not tall, but quite well formed, and very neat. His complexion was light, rather too pink and white, in fact. And—those hooded eyes… !" She shivered.

Chandler reached over and placed a strong tanned hand over both of hers. "He sounds a slippery article, I grant you. You may be at ease, ma'am, for you're safe away from him now. But I'll thank you not to go out alone in future."

"Why ever not? I am far past the age of being a schoolroom miss! When a lady is left alone in the world, sir, she has no choice but to—"

"You are not alone in the world! You are, for the time at least, a member of my father's household, and as such entitled to our protection. And you'll have it, Miss Independence, in despite yourself!"

It occurred to Ruth that she could easily come to like this high-handed interference, and that Mr. Gordon's affianced bride might be obliged to struggle 'gainst his masterful ways, but she was unlikely to be neglected.

As if he suddenly realized that he was still holding her hands, he drew back and changed the subject. "I had thought you were coming into town for supplies. Are we to stop somewhere?"

"No, I thank you. The articles will be delivered tomorrow."

He smiled faintly. "Still guarding your secrets, eh, Miss Allington?"

She smiled also. "But, of course."

And she thought, 'You little know how many!'

When Grace opened the back door both boys were hiding behind her, and they sprang out to greet Ruth with such exuberance that she had to caution them lest they were overheard. Jacob drew back at once, but Thorpe clung to her skirts while she walked across the kitchen, telling her in a stage whisper that they had finished their lessons and reminding her of her promise to read to them after dinner.

"Of course I will." She sank onto the settee in the parlour and smiled at Jacob, who stood regarding her in his grave way. "Now what is in that busy head of yours, dearest?" she asked.

"Wonderings."

"What kind of wonderings?"

"Whether you're happy here, Aunty."

"Very happy."

"You don't sometimes look happy," said Jacob.

"An' you have to work awful hard," said Thorpe. "My papa would not like it."

The thought of Johnny brought a pang, but Ruth managed to keep her smile intact. "Hard work is good for people."

Jacob said, "An' that Chandler man is unkind to you."

"We
know
," said Thorpe reinforcingly.

She thought, 'Oh dear! They must have heard me ranting and raving at luncheon!' Choosing her words with care, she explained, "Mr. Chandler is a rather—er, stern gentleman. But he could be a deal worse." And that was perfectly true, she realized. He could be the kind of man who thought any female on his staff must submit to pinches and fondlings, or a beast upon whom her efforts to make herself unattractive would make no impression since he would view her as a faceless creature he could force to satisfy his lustful cravings. She'd heard tales of such satyrs. She shivered instinctively. Instead of which, this afternoon Gordon Chandler had been someone to whom she had turned without question, and who had been quick to spring to her defense.

Her thoughts were not apparent but, unfortunately, her shiver was, and the twins exchanged a grim look.

"And what about you young gentlemen?" asked Ruth in a lighter tone. "You are being very good to stay in the house whilst the gardeners are about. Is it better now that you're able to go out for a little while in the evenings? You've not been seen?"

Thorpe said stoutly, "Pooh! He never even knows we're there!"

Ruth's heart gave a leap of fright.

Grace demanded sharply, "Who doesn't?"

"Mr. Chandler. He creeps about in the trees." Thorpe crouched dramatically. "An' he talks to 'em!"

"Talks to—who?" asked Ruth, so dismayed that she forgot her grammar.

"I told you. The trees," said Thorpe. "When he's not whistling."

"That wasn't him," argued Jacob.

Thorpe said defiantly, "It was him what I heard talking."

"Mercy me!" exclaimed Grace, paling. "Is he spying on us, then?"

"We're much better spies than he is," Jacob said. "We hear him long afore he gets a chance to hear us."

Thorpe grinned. "That's 'cause of the whistling. He does it sort of under his breath. Like he was thinkin' 'bout something else, and didn't know he was doing it."

The notion of someone creeping about at dusk, softly whistling, sent cold fingers down Ruth's spine. "What does he whistle? A song?"

Jacob nodded. "Always the same one. I 'spect it's all he knows."

"Lawks, Mrs. A.," said Grace nervously. "The twins had best not go out no more."

There was immediate consternation. From dauntless spy trackers, they became small boys, tearful at the prospect of being denied their brief daily escape into the glorious outdoors.

"But my darlings," said Ruth, taking their hands and drawing them closer. "You know how afraid we are of being separated. We daren't risk being discovered, and that's just what would happen if you were seen."

"But we won't be seen, Aunty." Thorpe's lower lip trembled betrayingly. "We're awful careful, and don't make any noise, almost."

"An' there's no one about after dinner—usually," said Jacob. "P'raps if we was to go out a bit later, Mr. Chandler wouldn't be there then."

Ruth said emphatically, "If you mean after dark, certainly not!" But they looked so devastated that she hugged them, and said, "My poor dears. What can I do to make it better?"

"You could let us have a—a pet," said Thorpe, sniffing.

"How I wish you could. But 'tis not possible. I am so sorry."

Jacob dragged a hand across his eyes and said gruffly, "Thass all right, Aunty. We'll pretend one."

"Please let us go in the woods," begged Thorpe. "Please, Aunty. Jus' for a little while. We'll swear a pirate's oath to be more carefuller!"

She had to take exception to 'carefuller,' but looking into their tearful faces she thought, 'They are just babes. How can they be expected to really understand?' So much had been taken from them; so much sorrow might lie ahead. And the end of it was, of course, that she gave in and said they might still play in the woods after dinner, but she would light the upstairs lamp in exactly half an hour, and they must come home at once. Even more important, they must tell her if the man who whistled ever came near to them. And especially they must let her know if it was indeed Mr. Chandler.

Sleep was long in coming that night. She could not banish the memory of the smiling man in the library. Nor of Gordon Chandler's brusque kindness to her. And now it seemed he prowled the woods at night… Why? Did he really suspect that she had secrets? If Jacob was right, he talked to someone. If he was not the person who whistled so constantly, was it possible that he had hired someone to watch her? Was that the man he met so secretively… ? Oh,
why
must everything seem so much worse during the hours of darkness?

She tossed and turned restlessly. Her last coherent thought before she at length drifted into an uneasy sleep was that she had quite forgotten to discover why the twins had not come downstairs this morning when Grace had started screaming…

Ruth was early on her platform next morning in spite of a dull and persistent headache, probably the result of her broken slumbers. She stood back for a moment, admiring her progress. In the small section she had cleared, the fresco was beginning to take form. At the top was a sunny sky, then a narrow body of water as seen from a distance with a single-masted sailing ship barely visible, and nearer at hand the beginnings of what might be cliffs and a hill. It was still too early to evaluate the work, but the colours did not appear to be irrevocably damaged, and even if the level of skill was not outstanding, the fresco would certainly be a worthy addition to Sir Brian's chapel.

She resumed her careful cleaning. Her arms were becoming inured to the constant effort and she went along smoothly, her mind almost at once reverting to the extremely troubling possibility that Gordon Chandler might prowl the woods at night.

Mr. Aymer came in after a little while. With the exception of Sundays, morning services had been moved to the music room of the main house until work on the fresco was completed, and the handsome cleric scolded Ruth in his gentle fashion because she had not attended the service today. Her explanation that she'd been unable to do so without making herself late to start work did not satisfy him, and he embarked upon a long monologue that began with the sins of omission and rambled about until it became inextricably tangled with self-sacrifice and Sir Brian's expectations of his employees. The reverend gentleman's demeanour towards Ruth had changed of late: At first she'd attributed this to Sir Brian's kindlier attitude, but once or twice she had surprised a look in Mr. Aymer's eyes that had been warmer than simple kindness. He had begun to drop in several times each day and make anxious enquiries as to whether she was not becoming weary. Her slightest comment would send him off on one of his discourses; she had once made the error of showing an interest in his remarks on the Holy Land, and he'd plunged into a lecture that lasted the better part of an hour. He was well travelled and learned, and under other circumstances she would have enjoyed his company while she worked. She had not the least desire to engage his interest however, and in an effort to spare them both embarrassment kept her responses monosyllabic.

Today, it seemed to her that his smile was warmer than ever. This made her so uneasy that she scarcely responded to his chatter, and when he enquired if she had enjoyed her "jaunt into Dover yesterday afternoon," she did not reply at all, pretending to be deep in concentration. He tried a few more times, then said with a sigh that he would not hinder her, and went away.

She watched his rather disconsolate departure feeling a proper flint-heart, but could only hope he would take the hint and not become a problem. It was really a great pity. He was charming, agreeable, and certainly a fine figure of a man. But with no least intention to criticise, she found him dull and rather pompous, and could not think of him in a romantic light. That judgment was of itself ridiculous, she told herself sternly. She was in no position to reject an offer that might provide her with a kind and worthy husband. One moreover, who could offer security and a comfortable home for them all on this estate that had become so dear to her heart. She giggled softly. Poor Mr. Aymer! Little did he know that an offer to Miss Allington would involve three other dependents! Somehow, the very thought of so proper a gentleman having to cope with her two mischievous nephews was hilarious. And what Jacob and Thorpe would think of—