Love Alters Not (35 page)

“To the contrary, Colonel Fotheringay,” said Lady Helen, her usually serene manner a little strained. “We cannot but be grateful for your intervention.”

Fotheringay slanted a glance at the silent but seething captain that boded ill for that individual. “Will you pray be seated, ladies?”

Dimity and Lady Helen sat down again, and the colonel drew up a chair, but Captain Lambert and the two other soldiers remained standing. Dimity's nerves were tight. She scanned the colonel's face; the proud tilt to the strong chin, the narrow swoop of the nose, the disdainful twist to the thin lips, and the coldness of the unreadable dark eyes, and her heart sank. Brooks Lambert was a dangerous and probably ruthless man whose inner cruelty was hidden beneath an elegant appearance and handsome features. But for all his charming manners and chivalry, she sensed that it was the colonel who was the more to be feared.

“I understand your nephew is from home, ma'am,” said Fotheringay affably. “I trust Sir Anthony is fully recovered of his wound?”

“He is, I thank you.”

“I'm glad to hear it. So many, alas, were less fortunate, and I cannot help but wonder, you know, why you should be reluctant to divulge his whereabouts.”

Startled by the abrupt shift of emphasis, my lady said, “I—I am not, sir. It was the manner in which we were asked that was—unsettling. My nephew visits at a neighbouring estate. If you are eager to speak with him you'll likely find him there.”

‘With a treasonable cypher in his pocket,' thought Dimity, suddenly very cold.

“My thanks, ma'am. Are you all right, Miss Cranford? You are so pale.”

His smile was, she thought, as warm as that of a spider. “You must forgive me, sir,” she said, trying to be calm when her heart was thumping so loudly she was sure the colonel must hear it. “I fear I am rather tired.”

“I quite understand. I've had a busy day myself. In fact, do you have no objection, my lady, I shall wait here for your nephew, rather than seeking him.”

Lambert grinned broadly.

Terrified that Farrar might in some way be involved with this frightful Jacobite business, my lady sought desperately for a logical reason to deny her home to these military men.

Colonel Fotheringay did not wait for her response, however, but turned to Lambert and snapped out crisp orders. “Warn the house servants and the grooms and stableboys that anyone attempting to inform Sir Anthony Farrar or those in his party that there are soldiers here, will be arrested and charged with aiding the king's enemies. Get our fellows out of sight. I want not a thread of a uniform to be visible. Sergeant, you will watch the road, and report to me the instant any coach or rider approaches. Fast!”

Lambert and the sergeant ran out.

Lady Helen sprang up with a cry of shock. “Colonel! I demand—”

“To know what I am about,” he interposed, coming to his feet politely. “We seek a traitor, my lady. And we seek the message he carried and which he may well have passed on to friends. Your nephew is known to have deplored the actions of the Duke of Cumberland. Additionally, he has friends whose loyalties are—questionable, at best.”

Frozen, Dimity thought, ‘I wonder if he knows Tio is asleep upstairs!'

“Whatever you have heard,” said Lady Helen desperately, “Farrar is loyal to his king and country!”

He bowed, and said with his thin smile, “In that case, ma'am, he has absolutely nothing to fear. It will, however, be necessary that we search him upon his return. Until then, pray be at ease. We will sit here together, like friendly, civilized people, and—wait…”

*   *   *

“You've trained your people well, by Jove,” said Peregrine, panting a little as he leaned on Farrar's arm and toiled up the front steps. “That lad must have been waiting for us.”

“He did come promptly, didn't he,” murmured Farrar, wondering if Aunt Helen had told the grooms to be on the lookout for his return. The boy had seemed rather stiff and unsmiling when he took Poli's reins. And his hands had been so cold, although the night was mild … Peregrine stumbled. “Easy,” he said. “You're likely rather pulled after that ride.”

“Not too bad. But I'll own it would have been easier had we waited for the coach.”

“Yes. Only a horse, you know, is less conspicuous than a coach and four, and I'd as soon get this cypher tucked away as soon as may be.”

“You're perfectly right, and I'm a gudgeon,” said Peregrine apologetically, pausing to catch his breath as they reached the terrace. “You have it safe, of course?”

“In my waistcoat pocket.” Farrar bent and scooped up Swimmer as she charged in a fierce attack upon his boot. “Here's another welcoming committee.” He straightened the wide scarlet ribbon Carlton had tied around the kitten's tiny neck, and glanced up with a smile as the front door was swung open. “Thank you, Leonard. Have the ladies retired?”

“No, sir,” said the butler woodenly, following them across the lower hall. “May I be of assistance, Mr. Cranford?”

Irritated, Peregrine replied that he could manage perfectly well, and clung to the railing, dragging himself upward with weary determination and mentally consigning all stairs to perdition.

Farrar slowed his own steps and kept an eye on his companion. Cranford was pluck to the backbone, but he'd been pushed to the limit tonight.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Little feathers of ice seemed to shiver down Farrar's spine. He heard Peregrine draw a hissing breath and, looking up, saw the tall, erect military figure, the cold disdainful face. He glanced swiftly to Leonard, who gave a wry shrug.

“You must not blame your butler, Farrar,” said the colonel. “Your servants were instructed not to warn you that we were here.”

Over the red-uniformed shoulder Farrar saw his aunt and Dimity standing watching, their faces pale and strained.

“Not another search, surely?” he drawled, allowing the squirming kitten to drop to the floor. “This becomes monotonous, Colonel.”

Fotheringay shrugged. “I believe it was Euripides who said that a man is known by the company he keeps.”

“Such as the crippled fellow,” said Lambert, coming up the steps behind them, pistol in hand. “By an extraordinary coincidence, sir, we encountered him while we were searching the North Downs!”

Wondering how on earth they were to get out of this, Peregrine gave a snort of indignation and his eyes shot to Dimity. “Are you all right, Mitten? I've seen this fellow work before!”

“In which case we can forego introductions,” said the colonel smoothly. “In view of the fact that you and your brother served with Sir Anthony in Scotland, Cranford, I suppose it is not remarkable that you should visit The Palfreys. I would be interested, however, in knowing why you both rode one horse.”

It was odd, thought Farrar, that he could detect no hint of scorn in the demeanour of a man he'd have expected to hold him in abhorrence. He said, “Cranford experienced some slight misunderstanding with his mount, Colonel. Is it really necessary that we be held at gunpoint?”

Fotheringay's eyes flickered to Lambert's pistol. “Are either of you armed, Farrar?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I think it unlikely that these two gentlemen pose a threat, Captain.”

Lambert stared at the colonel with obvious incredulity. “You would take
his
word, sir?”

The colonel answered acidly, “It has been my experience—until now, at all events—that the word of an officer in His Majesty's service is to be trusted.”

Lambert saw the grin that was swiftly erased from his sergeant's broad visage and knew this little episode would give the men a good laugh at his expense. He flushed and holstered his weapon, promising himself that someday he would repay Anthony Farrar for the amused twinkle he saw in the green eyes.

“I must now ask you,” said Fotheringay, “where are the rest of your guests? I believe Piers Cranford stays with you, and Gordon Chandler also?”

Was it a guess, or did he know? And did he also know Glendenning was here? Farrar decided to risk it having been a guess. “I am involved in an
affaire-d'honneur,
and Cranford and Chandler are conferring with the other fellow's seconds.”

“I see. Then you'd best not tell me whom you are to fight, or I'll be obliged to put a stop to it. Meanwhile, you and Mr. Cranford here must be searched. I presume you have no objection, Farrar? Sergeant, take the gentlemen into another room. I feel sure Sir Anthony can find one that will answer the purpose.”

Farrar nodded, and as the sergeant crossed towards them, he turned away and hissed one soft word.

Seemingly unable to move or speak, so terrified was she, Dimity watched as her brother and Farrar were escorted across the lower hall by the sergeant and a trooper. If Sir Anthony had the cypher, he was sure to be arrested. And from the ashen pallor of dear Perry's thin face, she rather suspected he had. There was nothing to be done. Yet, how could they all be so calm, when those two fine young men were about to be dragged to torment and execution? She began to feel sick, and gave a cry of anxiety when Peregrine, who had been labouring along painfully, suddenly stumbled, fell headlong, and let out such an agonized wail as she'd never heard him utter even in those dreadful days when first he had been sent home. To her unspeakable horror, he lay doubled up and writhing on the floor. Every eye turned to him, even the colonel looking aghast. But despite her closeness to her brother, Dimity's shocked gaze flashed to Farrar.

He was the only person in the room not looking at the convulsed man on the floor. His piercing gaze instead was fixed on her. The moment their eyes met, he looked meaningfully to where Swimmer, curled into an agitated ball on the rug, pedalled furiously at the wide scarlet ribbon about her neck. Bewildered, Dimity followed his gaze, then looked back at him, but he was now bending over Peregrine.

Dimity started to her brother, crying a distraught, “My poor dear! Are you—”

“Stay back, ma'am!” snapped Fotheringay.

“My—my curst … foot…” groaned Peregrine, clutching his leg.

Dimity, whose steps had carried her nearer to Swimmer, stooped and took up the kitten. Anthony had been trying to tell her something. He wanted her to do something with the kitten—but, what? “Is he all right? Oh, is he all right?” she cried, frantic.

Swimmer, still biting furiously at the abhorred ribbon, caught it between her sharp little teeth and gave a mighty tug.

“Sergeant, and you Trooper, assist Mr. Cranford,” said Fotheringay, unrelenting. Something about this was worrying him. He knew the feeling and it seldom played him false. Cranford looked very bad, and certainly was not the type to make such a fuss for nothing. In point of fact, he looked the kind of high-couraged young fellow who would hide his pain behind tight-locked teeth and allow not a sound to escape him. It was this atypical behaviour that disturbed! The colonel frowned and thought shrewdly that if it
had
been a hoax, whatever they'd hoped to achieve had failed. He'd made damned sure that no one had come near them save for his own men. What such a display would have availed them if there was something fishy afoot, he could not think. Unless Farrar hoped to so play on his sympathy that Cranford would be spared from being searched, in which case, by heaven, he'd find he had chosen the wrong man!

He put Lambert in charge of the search, and then ushered the ladies back to their seats. “I feel sure that your brother will be quite all right in a minute, Miss Cranford,” he assured the white-faced girl. “He likely has done too much, riding about like that. These amputations can be devilish tricky for a while. My goodness! Only look at this ferocious creature. May I?” He took the kitten from Dimity's reluctant hands. He was fond of cats and put Swimmer on his knee as he sat down.

Dimity's attention was diverted by a movement on the spiral staircase. Horatio Glendenning had started down. He glanced towards the little group, froze, backed up the steps silently, and disappeared from view. Dimity drew a breath of relief and returned her fearful gaze to the long fingers that caressed Swimmer.

*   *   *

Colonel Fotheringay tapped his whip against his gleaming top-boot and looked from Farrar to the drooping figure beside him. “You were very thorough, Lambert?” he asked, still unconvinced.

Fuming over the unnecessary roughness to which he and Peregrine had been subjected, Farrar adjusted his cravat and answered tersely. “The captain was so thorough I should be pleased to discuss his thoroughness with him at some time in the near future.”

Lambert gave a mocking bow.

The colonel looked from one to the other. There could be little doubt but that they shared a mutual dislike. Lambert was by nature vindictive and would have been only too pleased to have discovered something to cause trouble for these men. Once again, thought Fotheringay, he had been given false information. He was irritated, for he did not enjoy frightening the innocent, especially a crippled ex-soldier, and poor Cranford looked totally spent. “My apologies, Sir Anthony,” he said, making his mind up quickly as was his wont. “Mr. Cranford, you will do well to get to your bed.” Stalking out of the library, he paused, one hand on the latch. “A word of advice, Farrar. Be very careful with whom you associate in future.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” said Farrar, yearning to plant his knuckles in Lambert's sneer.

Fotheringay lifted his whip in a gesture of salute and led his men out.

Peregrine straightened as the door closed. “Lord save us all! That was—”

“Hush!” Farrar hurried to listen intently, then open the door a crack.

In a minute or two the impatient dance of many hoofs could be heard on the drivepath.

Leonard hurried along the hall. Farrar said softly, “Make sure they are all gone, if you please.”