Ask Me No Questions (20 page)

Tummet sprang to his feet at Ruth's approach. She performed the necessary introductions and asked, "Have you perhaps brought a message for me, Mr. Tummet?"

"From me guv'nor, marm," he answered, his eyes on Mr. Swinton, who had become very stiff but showed no sign of retreating. "Me temp'ry guv. Mr. August Falcon. Only me message aint' fer you, exackly. They're coming dahn fer the party. Sir Neville Falcon and all the rest of 'em." He turned away from Swinton, and his face contorted into a grotesque wink. "Thought you'd want to know."

'I am supposed to gather something from that remark,' thought Ruth. Before leaving Town she had sent a note round to Falcon House thanking August Falcon for the letter of recommendation he'd so kindly writ in her behalf. Grace had told her it had been delivered into Tummet's own hands, so he could not judge her to have been remiss on that score. Baffled, she said, "Party… ?"

"That'll be Sir Brian's birthday party," said Swinton. "Quite a occasion. Lots o' the Quality come. Though"—he fixed Tummet with a level stare—"Mr.
August
Falcon ain't never been invited."

"Ar. Well 'e
is
invited this year," said Tummet. "Being as Sir Brian Chandler's grateful to 'im"—his eyes slid to Ruth again—"on account o' a certain letter what certain folk knows of." And again came that horrendous wink.

His earlier wink must then have referred to Mr. Falcon's effort in her behalf, though why Tummet should find that a matter for such facial contortions was puzzling. Ruth turned to Grace and received so demure a look from that popular lady that she almost laughed. "I had invited Mr. Swinton to take a cup of tea," she said. "But I see you have prepared lemonade. Perhaps you would prefer that, now that the afternoon is become so warm, Mr. Swinton?"

"Anything prepared by the hands of Miss Milford will be gratefully accepted," he responded.

Miss Milford's lashes fluttered coquettishly.

"Me own words, exack," said Tummet.

Diverted as she was by these preliminary skirmishes, Ruth was somewhat uneasy as she excused herself and went into the cottage. It was apparent that her faithful handmaiden was of a more flirtatious nature than she had suspected, and that, however devoted, she had forgotten all about the twins. Ruth was relieved to find them in their bedroom chortling over a sketch of a monstrous creature they'd labelled "A Hidjus Deemon." It was really quite well done and did bear some resemblance to a wild boar, but when she praised their efforts they became so hilarious that she had to quiet them.

She went downstairs and enjoyed the cold lunch Grace had prepared. Her preoccupation with Tummet's peculiar behaviour was so frequently disturbed by Grace's giggles that it was eventually driven from her mind altogether. From what she could hear of the outside conversation, the male sallies were becoming ever louder and more pointed, and she was seriously considering putting a stop to the visitations when Tummet took himself off, and a few minutes later, looking rather grim, Swinton departed also.

Grace carried in the lemonade jug and the glasses. Her eyes were very bright and her cheeks flushed with the pleasure of having had two gentlemen bristling over her. Although she could sympathize with such feminine emotions, Ruth took her to task for having failed to keep an eye on the twins, and for quite forgetting to behave as though she was feeble minded. Ruth was more worried than angry, but Grace appeared to be quite crushed, and admitted she was wicked. Since she soon added with a twinkle that it had made such a lovely change to be pursued once more, Ruth was not convinced of her repentance.

That her concerns were well founded was proven the following day. She was busily at work about eleven o'clock when she sensed another presence and glanced around to find Gordon Chandler's brooding gaze upon her. Her "Good morning, sir," inspired only a grunt. Apprehensive, she asked, "Have you come to take me to your papa?"

He said harshly, "No. Nor to the executioner. Why do you wear your hair so?"

She was taken offstride. "Does the style displease Sir Brian?"

"It displeases me. And if you mean to remind me that 'tis my father who pays your wages, allow me to point out that he might not continue to do so were I to advise him of a certain discrepancy." He added ominously, "To say the least of it."

Ruth's grip on the bread tightened. "Perhaps you should tell me the—er,
most
of it."

"Would I
knew
the most of it! I begin to think I've come at only the top of the iceberg." He stamped up the steps and wrenched cloth and bread from her hand. "Go and sit down," he ordered roughly. "You look tired."

What a mass of contradictions the man was. She wandered to the nearest pew. "You mean hagged, I collect."

"An I meant hagged, I should have said hagged," he growled, commencing to scrub at the fresco.

"Oh, I've no doubt that you would. Still, I thank you for your concern."

"I have many concerns."

She thought, 'Yes, you do, poor man,' and broke a short silence to exclaim, "Not so rough, Mr. Chandler! We are not at war with the fresco!"

Moderating his efforts, he said dryly, "Perhaps not. But I collect there was a small war on your lawn yesterday afternoon."

"Goodness me! I'd not realized Swinton was so upset as to—er, lodge an information 'gainst us."

Chandler swung around and shook the rag at her, scattering crumbs. "No more he did. But he chanced to mention that August Falcon's ruffian of a valet was courting your cousin, and 'twas clear neither of her swains find the lady in the least dim-witted. I'd give much to know why you saw fit to paint her in so unflattering a light."

Ruth thought, 'Oh, Grace, you wretch! I
knew
this would happen!' And with the feeling that she struggled to escape an ever widening morass, she said, "I believe I did not use those words—er, exactly. But it requires no high intelligence in a lady to attract gentlemen, Mr. Chandler. Quite the reverse, in fact."

"Egad, but you've an odd notion of male preferences, ma'am! Some of us admire a lady with a well-informed mind." He glanced to the side as Mr. Aymer wandered in and, his eyes suddenly brilliant with laughter, he added
sotto voce
, "I cannot say as much for our worthy chaplain, however."

"Oh," she exclaimed in mock indignation. "Odious man!"

Chandler called, "Come on, Aymer! Lend Miss Allington your aid. I'm quite worn out assisting her!"

The chaplain came eagerly to take his turn, and Chandler disdained the steps and jumped down lightly.

"Sir Brian asks if you still mean to try for some game this afternoon," said Aymer, as he climbed to the platform. "Swinton is complaining about the depredations of rabbits again, and Chef would be glad of some for the kitchen."

"I've to ride into Dover this afternoon, but I'll hope to go out later." With a sly glance at Ruth, Chandler added, "Who knows? I may even bag a wild boar."

The chaplain begged Ruth not to be alarmed, and Chandler laughed and walked out with his long easy stride. Aymer said reassuringly, "I believe there have been no wild boars on the estate this fifty years and more. Mr. Gordon says the strangest things at times. Were he not so serious minded a gentleman one might suspect him of facetious-ness."

Beginning to entertain the gravest doubts of Mr. Gordon's serious-mindedness, Ruth said, "I am sure you are an excellent judge of character, Mr. Aymer." She settled back comfortably to listen with half an ear to a learned discourse upon the evils of light-mindedness while she reflected upon how pleasant it was to see whimsicality banish the care from a certain pair of fine grey eyes.

Gordon Chandler's efforts to hire a new steward for the estate had met with little success so far, and the resultant additions to his own responsibilities were proving to be a heavy burden. He'd been sure his father would approve of the most recent applicant, but Sir Brian had liked Durwood, who'd had a greasy smile and a clever tongue. His own allegations that the man was dishonest had been met with doubts and arguments until, frustrated and impatient, he had insisted that the steward be replaced. Sir Brian's feelings had been ruffled, and although he knew he'd been justified, Chandler knew also that he had upset the old gentleman. It was not like Sir Brian, the kindest of men, to be petulant, but illness and the constant worry about Quentin had made his temper more uncertain than in past years. 'Knowing all that,' thought Chandler as he rode homeward through a veiled sunset, 'I should have handled it more tactfully.' And he sighed, aware that tact was not his strong point.

He glanced at the lowering clouds. Dusk would come early tonight. Discussions with the builder regarding the demolishing of the ancient lighthouse had kept him longer in Dover than he'd intended. It was another matter on which he differed with his father. Sir Brian was fond of the old structure and reluctant to have it pulled down. In their young days, he and Quentin had loved to play there. In later years it had served often as their meeting place where they could wrangle in private over political matters, although they'd known it was crumblingly unsafe and a potential death-trap. After he himself had found children of estate workers playing on the soaring steps that wound up the tower, he'd had the door padlocked, and had at last convinced Sir Brian that it must be razed. It was over a month since he'd given Durwood instructions to arrange for this to be done, and he'd been taken aback to learn this afternoon that the ex-steward had never even approached the contractor in the matter. It was typical of Durwood. Lord knows, he was glad to be rid of the man, but neither of the prospective stewards the registry office had found were satisfactory, one having been an obvious toad-eater, and the other lacking the experience and polish required to manage so large an estate.

He'd been up at dawn, and was tired when he rode into the stableyard, but he was determined to get in a little hunting before dinner. To that end, he avoided his father, changed clothes hastily and thoroughly upset his man by refusing the services of a loader.

"But, Mr. Gordon," protested Stoneygate, wringing his beautifully kept white hands in dismay. "You've no properly trained dog since your big spaniel—"

"I'll get along without one," Chandler interrupted, not caring to be reminded of dear old Stumble, who had fallen over his own feet since puppyhood and had been a loved and valued friend to the day of his death.

Poor Stoneygate stared his astonishment. "Perchance you could try the red hound called Traveller, sir. He is well named. Your keeper says he can ran faster than any hound he ever saw."

"Very true, and always in the wrong direction. Thank you—no." Chandler walked over to his gun cabinet and selected a fine silver-mounted fowling piece. "Now stop fussing over me like an old hen, Stoney. I am quite strong enough to carry my own shot and powder, and I want no dog and
no loader
. And no arguments!"

The valet did no more than utter a few moans until his employer left. He watched from the window as Chandler set forth, game bag slung over his shoulder and hunting gun on his arm. He presented a fine figure of young manhood, with a trim physique and long muscular legs that would make any valet proud to dress him. "If only," Stoneygate told the damp evening air, "he was not so proud and stubborn. It is not fitting that he should have gone out without a loader, at the very least!"

Actually, Chandler had two reasons for refusing company. One of these was connected with the devious widow. He had been irked when she'd been annoyed in Brodie's Library. Where she'd come by the notion that someone was lurking about the woods, he had no notion, but—by

God!—if there was anything to her suspicions he meant to get to the bottom of it! The memory of how pale and frightened she'd looked when she came out of the library still vexed him. He was sure she had held something back about that fellow who'd annoyed her on the Portsmouth Machine. It occurred to him that the same rakehell may have dared pursue her onto Lac Brillant land and the thought awoke such a wrath that he fairly burned to catch the miserable hound at his trespassing. Stalking briskly into the shadowy woods, he made the widow a mental promise that she would have no more cause for worry whilst she remained here. Not on that suit, at all events.

At the same instant, the object of his vow was very worried indeed, but for a quite different reason. The weather had become increasingly warm and close, with a hint of storm in the listless air. To work hard in such muggy conditions had been enervating, and she had come home eager to wash and change her dress. Grace had dinner ready and they had sat down to table earlier than usual. The boys had been restless and irritable, probably feeling the thundery tension in the air. The cottage was oppressively hot and at sunset Ruth had let them go out to play, having herself wandered about for a while in case the amorous head gardener might be nearby. The twins had now been gone for five and forty minutes. It was an unpleasant evening, and she had lit their bedchamber lamp a quarter-hour since; surely, they must have seen it. Plagued by a premonition of trouble, not all Grace's attempts to convince her they would return at any minute could calm her fears. She gave Grace strict instructions not to leave the cottage, and hurried into the woods.

It was dim amongst the trees and everything seemed very hushed and still. She did not dare call the boys, but several times she paused to listen in case she might hear their footsteps. The silence began to seem menacing as she moved deeper into the woods. The birds weren't singing and even the small wild creatures seemed to scuttle about on tiptoe.

She jumped when she heard a male voice at no great distance. The fear that it might be the whistling man made her nerves tighten, but stretching her ears, and with her eyes straining to pierce the dimness, she crept on.

The voice grew clearer. A soft grumbling. She realized then that she was hearing Gordon Chandler's deep tones. His words came to her sketchily at first.

"… have you told repeatedly… don't want you seen at this stage of… had you any brain at all I'd have a better chance of driving it through your stupid head… damned lucky to be alive!"