Flowers From The Storm (33 page)

“My papa. He doesn’t know what’s become of me. He won’t even know that I went with the duke of my own will. He might believe I’ve been hurt, or even—he might think anything!”

“Right. Your father’s worried about you. Where is he?”

“He and my Cousin Edward are staying at the Gloucester Hotel.”

“There you are. We’ll just arrange to slip a note under his door—tell him you’re perfectly well, but can’t come back at the moment. That’s all true, ain’t it?”

“He can’t read a note. He’s lost his sight. And I don’t know what he’d think to get a message like that from me. He’d be beside himself. Wouldn’t thou be? And how can I not go back? Where else am I to go?”

“Oh Lord,” Durham said, and sighed. “Nothing is simple.”

He eyed her speculatively, rubbing his chin. The room fell silent, except for the occasional scrabble of the dogs’ toe-nails as they shifted and pushed one another out the way, vying for the duke’s attention.

“Fane,” Durham said abruptly, “make yourself useful. Go down and invite Mr. Gill in to luncheon.”

The colonel rose obediently, restoring his plumed hat firmly to his head.

“And do make certain that he accepts,” Durham added, with a lazy lift of his brows.

Colonel Fane bowed, imposing in his uniform and tall plume, his hand resting casually on the gold-and-silver hilt of his sword. “Most persuasive, when I wish to be. My mother always said so.”

The duke didn’t relish seeing Richard again, that was immediately obvious. He came to his feet with an irritated exclamation as Colonel Fane ushered the Quaker into the room still carrying his curious box.

Jervaulx moved to the sofa where Maddy sat, taking up a place behind her. The black setter instantly made a stand at her feet, growling, while Devil jumped up onto the sofa beside Maddy and began barking and snarling at the newcomer.

“Shev,” Durham snapped. “For God’s sake, shut them up!”

Jervaulx made a hiss between his teeth. The dogs grew quiet. Devil put his paws in her lap and lowered himself into a crouch, half on her and half off, while Cass stood alert, pressed against her knees.

Maddy, barricaded among dogs, gave Richard a feeble smile. “Thou art good, to come again to help.”

He looked around at the other men, then said softly, “I followed. I was afeared for thee, Archimedea.

There is no harm?”

“Oh, no. No. The duke brought us here—these are his good friends. Durham, and Colonel Fane.”

In spite of his dark plain coat and broad hat, Richard Gill seemed in some strange and subtle way not unlike Colonel Fane—the one an easy scarlet brilliance, trimmed in white and gold and blue, the other starkly unadorned, and yet both with a strength about them, something unexpectedly formidable underlying their preposterously different facades and characters.

Durham didn’t invite the Quaker to sit. He leaned his hands on the back of a chair. “Let me be straightforward with you, Mr. Gill. We have no intention that the duke shall go back to his family—not under the circumstances that Miss Timms has described to us. She has suggested that you might have some other opinion. I must say, I don’t see that it’s really your affair, but it so happens that it’d be dashed inconvenient for us if you should go talking abroad, so I thought it best to have… shall we say, a little discussion of the matter.”

Richard said nothing. Colonel Fane stood behind him, leaning his shoulder against the door frame, not so foolish-looking now as he blocked the way out.

“Miss Timms requested your aid,” Durham said. “Are you willing to give it?”

“Archimedea is doing what she thinks right,” Richard said noncommittally.

“Well, if it ain’t too impertinent, sir, I guess what I want to know is what you think’s right. I understand that you’ve made it some sort of personal concern of yours—that you might even take his family’s view of things. Didn’t matter in that case, y’see, that you couldn’t name this very chambers— if you was to tell

”em he’d got as far as the Albany, they’d be sure to realize who he’d come to.“ Durham flexed his hands on the chair and added softly, ”He’s my friend, Mr. Gill. I want you to understand that clear. Very clear.

I won’t let him be locked up on account of some pious zealotry on your part.“

With a slight chink of metal, the colonel shifted his stance, standing upright. “No indeed,” he murmured.

“Tell me what I can say to induce you to keep silent in this matter, Mr. Gill.” A faint mocking lilt marked Durham’s tone.

“There is nothing thou can say.”

“Ah. I suppose that only a higher voice than mine could move you?”

Richard gave a nod of assent.

Durham lifted his eyebrows. “Are you sure then, that you’ve been brought here to no divine purpose?

That there’s nothing you might be meant to learn?”

“I think,” Richard said, “that thou might have some smooth pretty words at hand to convince me there is more.”

Durham smiled. “Words? Is that all you think we have to convince you? My dear fellow, do I need to lay it out?”

Richard’s expression did not alter. Maddy was really proud of him, that he didn’t lose his fortitude, or his serenity, in the face of this thinly veiled threat. “Concerning the Duke of Jervaulx,” he said merely,

“I’m not certainly persuaded to either course.”

“Mr. Gill—I’m a frivolous fellow, as I’m sure you’ve determined for yourself. I like a good dinner and a bottle; I’m partial to fair ladies and gambling halls and the best tailors. I really don’t have anything to recommend me at all—not even as much as Fane there, who can at least say he led his battalion in open order at Quatre Bras and Waterloo. Beyond that, about the best part of either one of us is that we love this man like our own blood; we don’t give a damn for his title or his family or what they want; we’ll hang before we see him put away against his will—he’d do the same for us, y’see, just like you’d do it for your own. And that’s all, Mr. Gill. All the pretty words I know on the subject.”

The enamel clock on the mantel chimed, a sweet melody in the silence. Devil put his nose beneath Maddy’s hand and licked it.

Richard looked toward her. “Let me beg thee tenderly to come away and leave them to what they wish to do. It is worldly business, and none of ours.”

“All right, go now,” Durham said quickly, before she could answer. “Go—but stay away from your father. Give us some time, Miss Timms. A few hours, half a day, enough for us to get ourselves safely away. You’re in no danger—he’ll have you back—please, can you give us just that much? A little time before you return directly to him?”

She bit her lip, imagining her father’s fears—balancing that against the lies she would have to tell, or set in motion Jervaulx’s seizure. And she had a terrible feeling that she
would
tell lies, even to her papa, that she—like Durham and Colonel Fane—would do almost anything.

She drew a breath. “Until this evening?”

“That’s enough.”

She rose. The dog thumped to the floor and pressed past her, rounding the sofa to join the duke. “I will stay away from Papa ”til supper, then. At seven.“

Durham nodded shortly. “That’ll do. Begone, the both of you. And don’t look back, or we’ll turn you to pillars of salt. I swear it.”

Words or no, Christian understood well enough the way Durham and Fane got the dour thee-thou between them— Durham with his sardonic smile and Fane at his best negligent muscle-flexing. The procedure had Christian’s full approval. He didn’t like it that Maddygirl had so quickly put her trust in the fellow, trotting off without a by-your-leave
heads together whisper look assess talk
plans he couldn’t understand—until he’d heard
back
and seen Maddy begin to contend words with the gloomy mule man.

Meddlesome bastard, to have followed them even here!

Durham and Fane would take care of it. Christian watched in pleasure, waiting for them to heave the Mule out on his ear. He would have lent a hand to it himself, but didn’t want to upset the dance that Durham would be leading. Christian couldn’t really follow the discourse; he only knew that Durham made sweet threats in that soft tone and got answers of obstinate brevity. Christian would embarrass himself by a clumsy entry at the wrong time.

He saw the Mule address Maddy.
Lebeg tend comay then, leave whish do
. Christian heard Durham’s quick response with his own appeal to her…
ask hours time? Give time
?

Christian couldn’t see her face, but her pause alarmed him. His body went tense. He took a step; she asked Durham something; Durham answered—
enough
? She rose and Christian moved, all at once. She was out of his reach; Durham was speaking to her with a parting tone—urging her to leave! The Mule turning to go with her, dogs in the way of Christian’s feet… he suddenly found himself with no idea at all of what had just passed, but no one showed a sign of preventing her.

“
Stay
.” His enraged voice arrested everyone. “Maddygirl! You…
stay
.”

He caught up with her. Without ceremony, he thrust her back toward the sofa. Her cloak flared around her as she fell onto the seat.

Christian stood over her. “You…
me
,” he said, knowing it was too little, unable to command the words to tell her that she must not leave without him and that he wasn’t going anywhere without Durham and Fane and the dogs. Most emphatically she must not leave him and go with the Mule. He addressed that in particular by standing between her and the Quaker, the dogs seconding him, ready to counter any attempt to take her away.

Durham dropped into a chair, crossing his arms. He gave Christian a look that meant he’d bungled the transaction, but Christian didn’t care. Any agreement that required Maddy to leave him was mistaken.

The Mule looked ice daggers at him with those vapor-drab eyes; only Fane had an idle smile, as if it were a row over some ladybird. Maddy herself just sat on the sofa, her head down, her hands in two fists on her knees. After a moment, she put one tight hand to her mouth, and Christian realized, like a blow, that she was weeping.

His certainty evaporated. He felt suddenly conspicuous, the center of incriminating attention. He had made her cry. They all looked at him, and he could not tell them why it was important. She had to stay with him. She
had
to. He was going home with her, marry her and… he couldn’t think beyond that. Why was she crying?

“Maddygirl,” he said hoarsely.

She shook her head, like a quick rejection.

Christian glared at the Mule. He thought this must be his fault, interfering rogue,
creep round steal inyour thee-thou coat
. Strangle the fellow. Christian was considering the notion when suddenly something dark passed in front of him, moving quickly past toward the door.

He realized that it was Maddy. He hadn’t even seen her stand up; his brain got behind again—making sense out of the hooded shape when she was already beyond him. He was still trying to gather a response from his scattered awareness when Fane straightened up from his indolent pose against the door frame, blocking it.

“Shev wanchu stay, Miss.”

She whirled around to Christian. “Papa!” she cried. “Mus godim! Go—him! Understand?”

“
Stay
.” It was all Christian could utter.

“Jervaulx!” Her face was terrible, pleading with him. “Papa need me. Fraid me. Musgo!”

Fear and denial rose in his throat. Her father—
blind old afraid
. But Christian needed her. “Maddy…”

He gritted his teeth. “Can’t.” He hated speaking in front of the others: words like a dimwitted beast, the old jokes and easier exchange with Durham and Fane vanished in his dread.

“Please,” she said. “Thou mus let me go.”

No. No! He looked beyond her to Fane, shook his head emphatically to keep the guardsman in place, preventing her desertion.

Her thee-thou mule touched her shoulder. “Arked ya. I goeth fathee.” He looked past her and Christian.

“Ike see fathout shspicion. Friend business.”

Maddygirl turned to him, her face alight with a joy that incensed Christian. “Thoudst?”

“Y’won’t trayus?” Durham’s sharp voice came from a place that Christian had forgotten. It scrambled his focus; he found Durham and tried not to surrender him again.

“No,” the Mule said.

“Have word ond?” Durham demanded.

“I have said. Truth dosth work God.”

Pious mule
, Christian thought.

The sober thee-thou glanced at Maddy. “Thou’ll stay tly return. Consid morthen.”

She nodded meekly to his command. The Mule, who’d never even taken off his hat, faced the door.

Fane stood implacably until Durham said, “Let’im go,” and the guardsman made a bow and stood aside.

Maddygirl turned back to Christian. She gave him a look that razed him, a single glance of accusation, and walked past him to sit down on the sofa.