Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (41 page)

Lady Bryce glanced from her enraged elder relative to her
nephew. Hawkhurst looked ready to collapse, yet in his eyes shone a
light she'd not seen in years. She felt a tingle of excitement and
said, "I cannot, Garret. The St. Alabans brought me home, but Coleridge
and Dora elected to stay, despite the advanced hour, and have not yet
returned."

Hawkhurst's eyes flashed to the clock on the mantelpiece. The
hands indicated a quarter past four o'clock, and anxiety deepened the
clefts between his brows.

"Colley said there would be dancing, and they'd likely be
late," Euphemia put in. "Don't worry, Hawk. He will take care of the
boy. And now—"

"And
now
," the Admiral interposed
grimly, "perhaps you will be so very good, Mr. Hawkhurst, as to explain
what in the name of heaven is going on in this madhouse!" Euphemia
slipped quietly away.

At nine o'clock that morning, Euphemia entered the gold salon
to find a fire blazing on the hearth but the drapes still closed.
Hawkhurst was asleep on a sofa, and the Admiral sat in an armchair,
head sunk on his chest, snoring loudly. Ponsonby, in the act of
straightening a blanket over his employer, glanced up, and crossed to
her side. The gentlemen, he whispered, had been asleep for a few hours.
Lord Coleridge had not yet returned, and he had sent Manners into Down
Buttery to find him.

Despite their lowered voices, Hawkhurst moved lazily, then his
head turned toward them. Euphemia requested that a light breakfast be
served in half an hour and, hurrying to the sofa, sank to her knees
beside it.

Hawkhurst started up and asked anxiously, "Is Colley come home
yet? Have—"

She placed her hand over his lips. "Hush, love. Lord Wetherby
is still sleeping. Ponsonby has sent your head groom to the Broadbents,
to find Colley." Hawkhurst had lowered his feet to the floor as she
spoke, and, noticing how cautiously he moved, she said, "We must have
the dressings changed at once, Garret. How does it feel?"

"Much better, thank you," he lied cheerfully and, running a
hand over the stubble on his chin, added, "I must look a sight! Your
pardon, ma'am."

She smiled. "I have seen—"

"I know. You and your bivouacs." He caressed her cheek and, as
she snuggled against his hand, murmured, "My blessed candle, how may I
ever thank you for all you have done?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, sitting back on her heels and
joying in the tenderness so clear in his eyes, "since Kent belongs to
me, and I've no slightest intention of giving him up, you might—"

"Nothing has changed, Mia," he interposed. "My reputation is
no whit less shocking today than before."

"No, but mine is
very
shocking," she
pointed out. "I fear the name Buchanan will soon be vilified throughout
the length and breadth of England."

An arrested expression came into his eyes, but before he could
respond the Admiral spluttered and started to waken.

"Did you tell him?" whispered Euphemia.

"Yes, he was becoming so apoplectic I thought it the lesser of
two evils. He took it very well, thank God, but is so damnably humble I
can scarce endure it."

Wetherby's first enquiry was, of course, for Kent, but having
been informed on that score, he proceeded to call down blessings on
Euphemia's head, extolling her rare humanity in having rescued the boy
in the first place, her saintly compassion in caring for and protecting
him, and her perspicacity in having finally identified him, until she
begged for mercy. "For truly, my lord," she smiled, "my part in this
was small indeed. Who would not have helped the child in his sorry
condition? The one who has borne the heaviest burden has been your
grandson."

This well-intentioned remark unleashed a veritable flood of
self-recrimination. She could not but assume Wetherby to be a
tyrannical monster, a blind, foolish old curmudgeon. And she was right,
for he deserved to be flogged and keel-hauled at the very least. He was
unworthy of his grandson's regard, let alone his affection. Hawk, on
the other hand, was the finest, the bravest, the most exemplary and
gallant individual who had ever drawn breath! Having said all of which,
the old gentleman stood and began to move towards the door in an
attitude of utter dejection.

Hashing a grim look at Euphemia, Hawkhurst limped over to put
an arm about Wetherby's bowed shoulders and assured him that nothing
could ever mar the regard in which he held him. "Please let us speak no
more of the past, but—" His eager glance flashed to the side as the
door opened. "Manners! Did you find the boy? Have you brought him back?"

"I found him, sir," the groom imparted breathlessly. "But the
children all stayed up very late, watching the dancing. The nursemaid
said they are still fast asleep, and to wake Kent would be to wake the
others in the room, so she asked that we let him stay a little longer.
I hope that was all right, sir? Lord Coleridge has taken Miss Broadbent
for an early drive, but Mr. Broadbent's man said his lordship means to
go back for Master Kent and will bring him home."

Hawkhurst breathed a sigh of relief and assured the groom he
had acted very properly, but the Admiral glowered, "Up all night,
dancing! Then goes for an early ride!" He grinned suddenly. "Oh, to be
young again!"

In great good humour the two men repaired to their chambers to
bathe, shave, and change clothes. Lady Bryce, exhausted by the night's
events, was still sleeping, but within half an hour Euphemia, Wetherby,
and Hawkhurst sat down to breakfast. It was not an easy meal: The
conversation turned mostly upon the joyous recovery of the boy and the
chain of events that had led up to this moment, but, despite
Hawk-hurst's attempts to steer away from the subject, they all thought
often of the runaways, and twice the Admiral so far forgot his deep
obligation to Euphemia that he launched into a denunciation of her
absent brother that made her blush with shame.

They had repaired to the drawing room, and Hawkhurst was
telling the Admiral of Kent's wood-carving when Dora trotted into the
room, still wearing her cloak and with her bonnet all askew. She took
her nephew's outstretched hand and panted, "Say it is not true! Our
little Stephanie, gone from us? Nell Henderson just told me. Oh, my
poor dear boy! How sorry I am, though I could see it from the start, of
course." She accepted the glove Euphemia picked up and restored to her,
but dropped it again as she clasped her hands and observed dreamily,
"So romantic… 'no sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they
loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but—' "

"Good God, Dora! What in the
deuce
are
you jabbering at?" rasped the Admiral. "Is Kent come home with you?"

His daughter blushed furiously and stammered something utterly
unintelligible.

Bryce strolled in from the stables, still clad in his party
finery, and halted to stare around uneasily. "You're a glum-looking
lot, I must say!" His eyes narrowed, and with a total change of manner
he asked perceptively, "What's wrong?"

Hawkhurst hobbled eagerly toward him. "Where is Kent?"

"Kent? What, ain't he here yet? Lord, but he had such a jolly—"

A cold premonition seized Euphemia, and she came to her feet,
the breath fluttering in her throat.

Whitening, Hawkhurst snapped, "How could he be here? What
d'you mean?"

"Manners said you was bringing the boy home," said the Admiral
hoarsely. "Where in God's name is he?"

Looking from one to the other uneasily, Bryce said, "I cannot
guess, but it is nothing to go into the boughs about, I do—"

"Damn you!" grated Hawkhurst, advancing on him, threateningly.
"
Tell
me!
Where is Kent
?"

Dismayed, Coleridge stammered, "Wh-why, some of us went for a
drive after the party, for it was a brilliant morning. When we came
back, Mrs. Broadbent said the others had decided to start home and
would bring Kent, for the boys had struck up quite a friendship. I do
not see what—"

"You young block!" roared the Admiral. "
What
others? The Dunnings?"

"N-No, sir. It was an unexpected guest, I gathered. She
chanced to drop in and stayed, of course. I am not personally
acquainted with the lady, but Mama must be, for she came to her
Musicale. Name of Frittenden. You—Oh, gad!" And with a gasp he leapt
forward to steady his swaying cousin.

Wetherby, whose face had begun to take on a livid hue, rallied
amazingly. Throwing an arm about Hawkhurst, he cried, "The boy's ill!
Dora, send one of the grooms for That Quack. Miss Buchanan, some cognac
if you please. Sit him down here, Colley. It's all right, Garret. Just
rest, dear lad. You're weak as a cat, and small wonder, cavorting about
the countryside half the night with that leg not so much as begun to
heal! Never you worry, my poor fellow. Colley and I will ride out after
that harridan at once. We'll have Avery back here in a pig's whisper!"

Hawkhurst propped himself on one elbow and peered down at his
injured leg. "Not that bad, is it, Nell?"

"I only wish as Dr. Archer would come," gulped the
housekeeper, leaning over the bed as she gently spread salve on the
wounds. "Look how it's swole! And black from ankle to knee! You
shouldn't never be up and about, Master Garret, and you knows it! Yet,
however can I blame you, when that sweet child…" Her words scratched
into sobs. Hawkhurst felt tears splattering onto his ankle and,
managing to regain the breath her ministrations had snatched away,
gasped, "Courage, my Nell. We've weathered it this far. We'll get him
back." He patted her shoulder and watched Bailey usher her from the
room, wishing he could believe his own words.

The valet closed the door and returned to his side. "You will
be wanting riding clothes, sir? I doubt we can get a top boot over
those bandages."

'Then I'll wear shoes and drive the curricle. Now hurry, man!"

Despite his resolve not to vex his master, by the time the
change of raiment had been completed, Bailey was shaken out of his
imperturbability and pleaded, "Sir, you cannot! We've already sent
every available man out on the search. Can you not rest? You will lose
that leg if you go on like this!"

"Sooner my leg," said Hawkhurst quietly, "than my son."

Downstairs he found Euphemia presiding over the tea tray in
the drawing room, while acquainting his aunts with details of which
they had been unaware. Dora and Carlotta, sitting very close together
on the sofa, both stood as he limped over to kiss and comfort them. He
turned to Euphemia, and her hand went out to him. Taking it, he said
apologetically, "I fear I have allowed myself to behave very badly. I
cannot quite recall what happened. Bailey tells me my grandfather and
Colley went after… Avery?"

Dora and Carlotta exchanged stricken glances. Euphemia also
had seen the faint quiver of Hawkhurst's lips as he spoke his son's
name and, knowing he had been pushed to the breaking point, said in her
calm fashion, "Yes. Colley drove the curricle like a Roman gladiator. I
only hope they may be able to stop in Down Buttery! And," she tightened
her clasp on his hand, "as for your behaviour, Hawk, you have been
splendid throughout, but—"

The doors were flung open, and Coleridge entered. Carlotta and
Dora clung to one another, trembling. Hawkhurst blenched and stood very
straight, like a man braced to receive sentencing. But there was no
need for words; the youth's strained expression spoke for him.
Hawkhurst turned away, his head bowed. Carlotta uttered a wail and sank
into Dora's arms in a flood of tears. Sick at heart, Euphemia slipped
her hand through Hawkhurst's arms. He patted her wrist automatically,
his Fingers like ice, and, without turning, asked in a remote voice,
"How much head start… has she?"

"A good two hours, I'm afraid," Coleridge said miserably. "No
one even noticed which way she went. Oh, Hawk, I am so sorry. I'd give
my life not to—"

"I know. It wasn't your fault. Do not blame yourself."
Hawkhurst sat down wearily, and Bryce stood before him, wringing and
wringing at the hat in his hand and longing to be able to help.

Carlotta's weeping was becoming hysterical. Euphemia summoned
Mrs. Henderson, and Dora helped convey her sister-in-law upstairs.

When they were gone, Bryce said frantically, "Hawk, there must
be
some
damned thing we can do?"

Hawkhurst leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his
eyes for a second, then looked up and asked, "Is my grandfather all
right?"

"Yes, and I'd have gone with him and Hal had I thought—"

"Archer?" Euphemia interposed. "Lord Wetherby went somewhere
with Dr. Archer?"

He nodded. "We met him in Down Buttery. The Admiral apologized
to him so humbly I think the poor man was more appalled than by all the
ranting and raving. When he learned the whole, nothing would do but
that they both go rushing off in Archer's gig, for the old gentleman is
convinced Mrs. Frittenden will take the London Road."

"I doubt it. The roads will be clogged with holiday traffic."
Hawkhurst stared blindly at the fireplace. Two hours… He gave a little
gesture of hopelessness and muttered, "She might have gone to the West
coast or to Scotland, or Wales. Or she might be safely hidden away.
I'll warrant they'll have vanished into thin air, as they did before.
And she ran while I sat here… like a total clod… and ate breakfast!"

Euphemia and Bryce exchanged glances of helpless frustration,
but neither spoke.

"She will take my little son back to that merciless hound,"
Hawkhurst said dully. "And if they sell him… to a sweep again…" He
shrank and bowed his head into hands that shook.

Bryce swung abruptly away and paced to stand staring out at
the morning that was again becoming bleak and grey, the brief sunshine
hidden by heavy overcast. Euphemia put one hand on her lover's
shoulder, struggled to muffle her sobs, and strove vainly to come up
with some helpful suggestion.