Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (11 page)

She was already running to him, crying sympathetically, "Oh,
my goodness! They
have
been rough with you!"

"Serves him right," said Diccon, slouching up to scan Harry's
battered self judicially. "I told him to stay away from that lot!"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "You did. But—" He blinked at the girl,
wondering if he was dreaming. "I do not understad… how—"

"Of course you do not," she said, seizing him by the arm. "And
you will please to sit down on this tree stump before you fall upon
your face, for it is much too warm to carry you about. There—that is
better. If you will be so kind as to bring water, Diccon, I will
contrive to repair your friend. I am, indeed, relieved that you found
him, since—"

"Diccon did not find me." Harry glanced curiously at the tall
man who now rummaged through the cart. "Were you looking for me,
Diccon? I—er—I thought you would be gone about your trading."

"Was." Bowl in hand, Diccon wandered towards the stream.

"Do be still," the girl adjured, wiping at Harry's head with a
wisp of cambric. "If you will refrain from speaking all the time, I
shall try both to attend to you and answer your curiosity, which is, I
can see, setting you all on end."

Ten minutes later, however, he had gathered only that "the
good Diccon" had rescued her from a Horrid Fate, that her name was Miss
Brown, and that she had "left" Sister Maria Evangeline and her friends
and been brought this far by a kindly young clergyman who was very shy
and very stupid since he had taken her many miles out of her way and
then become 'calf eyed' so that she'd had to leave him and would have
been stranded—save for 'Good Diccon'.

Harry was feeling much better now than he had upon regaining
consciousness outside the Sanguinet estate, but his head still pounded
so savagely as to make thinking a sad effort. Unable to unwind the
tangle of her words, he reverted to a previous, and unanswered,
question and was promptly told to hush.

"I only asked," he said with faint indignation, "if your
friend was—"

"Be quiet!" she frowned, working gently at a cut on his lip.
"All you do is talk while I try only to help you. Instead of all this…
chatter about my friend— Oh! I am so sorry! But there is a little speck
of gravel. I must get it out."

Submitting, he could only marvel she had not fainted. The
water Diccon had brought from the stream was now crimson; his hurts
must have been a frightful mess. Yet she had bathed them kindly, albeit
with frowning concentration and an apparent disinclination to answer
the few questions he had managed to slip in when she did not have him
in such a grip that talk was impossible. Now, he again seized his
opportunity. "She was sitting with you at the table, and—"

"Oh—Sister Maria Evangeline. Well, of course she is not here!
Where do you suppose we should have hid her? Beneath the cart?"

The picture this conjured up drew a laugh from Harry, followed
by a spasmodic clutch at his ribs; but before he could comment, she
went on, "Still, she is a good woman, and I am glad you found her so
fascinating."

"Er—yes…" He eyed her uneasily and thought to glimpse the
flicker of a dimple at the side of her mouth. Her eyes were quite
large, he noted, and flecked with little splashes of blue. Actually,
she wasn't so bad looking, if only… She moved her head a trifle,
glanced at him, and those big eyes slowly crossed, her chin sagging in
the vacuous expression of stupidity that quite appalled him. "I'm sure
she is estimable," he said, blinking and looking away hurriedly. "But,
I really meant the other—" He gasped and flinched back from her hands,
and she cringed a little, her eyes returning to normal.

"
Tiens
? Your head—it is very bad… I
think."

"And you are very brave," he said comfortingly.

She looked down at her bloody hands and fluttered, "I am not…
missish… if that is… what… you…" She swayed. Harry jumped up and caught
her, and she leaned against him weakly.

"Here." He guided her to the tree stump on which he'd been
sitting. "Please rest a moment, Miss—er, Brown. I'm not like to bleed
to death, you know."

She tried to smile but her face was paper white, her eyes
lacking focus. Harry had seen that look before and at once swung her
head down between her knees. She gave a resentful squeal and punched
him on the thigh, and he jumped back. Regarding him with indignant and
watering eyes, and touching her snub nose, she wailed, "Oh! How bad of
you! I think you have broken it!"

Harry explored the afflicted area. It was idiotically small
but appeared intact. "I am sorry ma'am," he said penitently. "I thought
you were going to faint."

"A poor sort of creature you think me!" She stood, bade him be
seated, and resumed her repairs. After a moment, he tried once more.
"Your friend—"

"I have no friends," she snapped. "I am all alone in the
world. With no one who cares a tiny piece for me!" Diccon, an
interested if supine observer, made a small sound of protest, and she
flashed a tremulous smile at him and amended. "Except my very dear,
kind Diccon."

Weeping women terrified Harry, wherefore he maintained a
discreet and fearful silence. Nonetheless, in a little while he saw
that tears crept down her cheeks and, aghast, burst out, "Oh, Lord! I
beg you will not weep, ma'am! I am really feeling much better thanks
to—"

"I shall weep if… I wish…" she asserted, her lower lip
trembling. "And I do not cry for you, at all events, but because…
because I am such… a great stupid!" She swung away, and sobbed, "Oh!
How I hate myself! I was so
sure
—if I had gone to
Spain… I would have been able to… But I see I am just a—weak and
foolish… girl… after all! Juana is worth ten of me!"

Harry, who had listened in bewilderment to this uneven speech,
now interposed an eager, "Juana? Do you refer to Juana Smith?"

"
Oui
—I mean—yes!" She wiped away her
tears with the heel of one hand, leaving a crimson smear across her
cheek. "She is my very dearest friend. But I hate her. She did what I
am too weak and vapourish to be able properly to do. And—" She turned
to him intently. "Why? Do you know her, also?"

"I do, indeed. Her husband and I saw service in Spain
together. Juana is the dearest girl, and as for old Harry Smith—"

"
Old
Harry!" she snorted, resuming her
task. "I doubt he is a day older than you! And Juana is the world's
most dreadful spitfire. Except for me. But she is brave… There—I am
done. And you may have a black eye, sir, which shall give you less
opportunity to look at the ladies."

"God forbid!" grinned Harry. "Speaking of which—the lady I
sought to describe had hair the colour of sunshine in the morning, and—"

"And eyes of the cerulean blue," she cried, waving her arms
dramatically. "And a shape beyond the dreams of mortal man. While her
voice—ah! the trill of a nightingale!
N'est'ce pas
?"

At first taken aback, Harry had become lost in reflection and
sighed a dreamy, "
Mai oui… absolument
…

"Pah!" she snorted rudely. "It is as I have think! You are
just like all the rest, and have fallen in love with my Lady Nerina
Tawnish!"

"Nerina…" he breathed. "What a beautiful name."

"It means nymph of the sea," said Miss Brown. "And if you love
her you had best be able to swim very fast, for there are many big fish
after that one!"

The dreams fading from his eyes, Harry looked up. "You are
exceeding outspoken, ma'am. Why would you think I should presume to
have a
tendre
for the lady? I only ever saw her
twice."

"The more fool you, to have fallen in love so quickly! And
least of all with Nerina. But you have the look—much good it will do
you! She knows where she is going, and what she wants. And it is not
the likes of
you
."

Flabbergasted by such blunt rudeness, Harry stared at her
speechlessly. The scorn died from her eyes to be replaced by a look of
dismay that as quickly became defiance. "I have shocked you, I collect.
Well—" her voice scratched a little, and her lips quivered, "do not
expect me to behave as one of your sickly sweet ladies of Quality, for
I am not!"

"Of course you are," frowned Harry. "You are Convent educated
and should be spanked for—"

"Oh, and have been, I do assure you, sir." she flashed. "More
times than I could count. But all have despair of me. Even Sister Maria
Evangeline… Her voice softened and a wistful look crept into her eyes.
"She was used to say that I am more shrew than saint. Convent or no…"
She sighed, then her chin went up and she snapped, "And so be warned!"
nodded fiercely, and started off with her nose in the air.

Harry recovered himself in time to stand and catch her arm.
"Even so, I thank you," he said politely. "I am most grateful, Miss—
er. Brown."

She wrenched away; then, as if disconcerted by the violence of
her reaction, dropped him a swift curtsey. "I would let you kiss my
hand, Mr.—er, Allison, did I not know the kind of man you are."

He comprehended at last why she spoke to him with contempt. At
the boardinghouse she had affected a patch on her mouth, and she likely
considered him an immoral man. He flushed and drew back, whereupon she
went to the stream and, kneeling, began to rinse out the rags, singing
softly to herself in a rather scratchy soprano.

The pride that had sustained Harry during the girl's
ministrations ebbed away. He was not quite sure, whether he sat down or
his knees gave out under him. He leaned his head back against the tree
with a weary sigh and closed his eyes for a minute… Opening them, he
was astounded to see the sky flushed with sunset. A blanket had been
spread over him, and despite the sensation that he had been ridden over
by a cavalry regiment, he felt a little less miserably uncomfortable.
Mr. Fox grazed nearby, still wearing his hat. It was a rakish beaver,
although the crown was now somewhat crushed and the brim drooping.
Perhaps it was the angle at which it sagged, or the faintly whimsical
look in the large dark eyes beneath it, but there was a distinct
resemblance to the great statesman and Harry muttered, "By George! He
really does look like Charles James Fox!"

"Told you so." Diccon appeared at his side as if by magic and,
scanning him a trifle anxiously, said, "You look properly dished!"

"I shall come about, never fear. But—I do apologize for
causing you all this trouble. And for leaving you in such a… er—"

"Top lofty?" Diccon suggested.

Harry coloured faintly. "No, was I? Well then, I certainly—"
Here, his gaze straying to Mr. Fox once more, a surge of resentment put
humility to flight. "Dash it all! That's
my
hat!"

"Well, it's been a hot day." Diccon sat down beside him. "Mr.
Fox—he feels the heat something terrible."

There was a brief silence. Almost, Harry fell asleep, but
memory stirring, he looked up again to ask, "Were you really seeking
me, Diccon?"

"Wanted to give you your share." Diccon dropped two coins onto
the blanket.

"Two shillings! Wealth for a sultan! Bur—why give it to me?"

"Your hat buckle was silver, like you said. Sold it to a
tinker."

"Even so. I have been eating you out of house and home,
besides being a confounded… nuisance." Harry roused himself and held
out the coins with one hand even as his other moved to touch his
pounding temple. "Take them—please. I owe you much more than—"

"Don't owe me nothing," Diccon intervened gruffly. "Bought
enough vittles to keep us eating fer a week—if you want to come along."

"Please." Harry managed a smile. "Now I'll feel less of… a
burden…"

"You keep on like this." observed Diccon with mild severity,
"I'll have to charge you more'n buckles! Terrible strain on Mr. Fox
t'see you all banged about. Took a real fancy t'you, he has, and he
worries dreadful."

His voice droned on, bur the words became indistinct and Harry
drifted into a slumber haunted by dreams of eyes that glowed like
diamonds in a darkly handsome face.

The next time he awoke it was full dark, and the sounds of
heaven were filling the clearing. He lay very still, scarcely daring to
breathe. The sparkle of the fire dazzled his eyes, the air was soft and
balmy, and the music soared and rippled through the stillness with an
incredible beauty. Gradually, he realized it was a violin he heard, and
in the hands of a master. What the melody was he had no idea, but when
at last it stopped he did not move for a while, hoping it would resume.
At length, turning carefully, he lifted himself to one elbow.

Diccon sat on the tree stump, fiddle in one hand and bow in
the other, gazing into the fire.

Astounded. Harry settled back, and drifted into sleep while
pondering the incongruities of this most unusual trader.

During the course of his life, Harry had not come in the way
of many people cursed with afflictions, bur those few he had
encountered had been unfailingly self-effacing and of a pronounced
humility. His earlier suspicion that Miss Brown possessed neither of
these traits was borne out the following morning. He awoke feeling
renewed and, intending to repay Diccon in whatever way he was able,
left his blankets so as to start the fire. Miss Brown, however, was
before him. Not only was the fire blazing merrily, but water was
heated, and Harry was immediately pounced upon, made to sit on the
convenient tree stump and have his head inspected, bathed, pronounced
healing satisfactorily, and rebandaged. He was grateful for this
kindness and made some courteous enquiries about her background. These
were most harshly repulsed. His attempts at polite conversation were
ignored, but when he gave up and lapsed into silence, he was promptly
accused of sulking. Miss Brown, he perceived, was a hopeless case. Far
from attempting to minimize her pitiful handicap, she accentuated it by
a hostile manner that frequently deteriorated into outright rudeness.
It was possible that did she attempt to improve her appearance a trifle
she would not be totally repulsive, but instead her hair seemed even
more untidily tangled this morning, and her face not only lacked any
trace of cosmetics but was defaced by several smears of dirt. His
incredulity that a gently born girl could have plunged herself into so
shocking an adventure faded before the realization that she was as
wanting in sensibility as in conduct. If she saw anything improper in
having spent the night alone in the woods with two strange men (an
event that would have reduced most gently bred ladies to total
despair), she betrayed no sign of it and was even now, in fact, glaring
at him belligerently.