Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (25 page)

The moonlight filtered through the trees in an ever-changing
pattern that Harry found most pleasant, and he lay in drowsy
contentment, the sound of hooves and the movement of the cart a
pleasantly familiar accompaniment to his thoughts. His arm hurt, which
at first seemed odd. But gradually, the events of the day began to
drift back to him. He remembered stopping the cart beside a pond and
watching Nanette as she washed herself and tidied her hair. At his
request she had let down the bun, and he smiled into the darkness,
recalling how that cloud of rippling silk had swung down about her
face, and how prettily she had blushed when he told her that she was
beautiful… He'd allowed her to take the reins after that, for he had
become so tired he was scarcely able to maintain his position on the
seat. He'd been quite determined not to do as she requested and lie
down, thus leaving her to drive with only the doubtful assistance of
Lady Nerina. He knew she was frightened and had tried desperately to
maintain an easy conversation and conceal both his growing weakness and
the fact that his arm had commenced to throb abominably, but he'd
awoken to find his head on her shoulder and the cart stopped. His
immediate bright remark that he "must have dropped off for a minute"
had drawn a caustic, "Almost right off the cart, sir!" and she had
insisted that her friend be roused. He had a vague recollection of
changing places with the complaining Beauty, and of Nanette demanding
he swallow some of the brandy. It had certainly helped take the edge
off the pain, and he must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

It dawned on him that they should have reached East Bourne
hours ago, and he started up. A hand closed over his mouth, and Nerina
bent above him. "Oh, Sir Harry!" she whispered. "Thank God you are
awake at last!
Please
do not make a sound!"

"What in the deuce is going on? he hissed as she removed her
soft palm from his lips. "Where are we?"

"Indeed, I wish I knew! I thought I did. But I was quite
mistaken, and we were lost. Nanette felt sorry for the man's donkey, so
we stopped, and she helped him, although it was hideous, and I can
never understood how it is that when one is with her one is always
becoming involved in such strange happenings. Of course, my French is
poor, but it was quite the same with the oar. you know."

Perhaps because he felt decidedly light-headed, Harry
responded to foolishness with more foolishness and asked, "What
was
that all about?"

Nerina leaned closer. "We were coming back from Park Parapine.
Nanette became overset because some men followed us. She was sure they
were her papa's servants, and I expect she was right. She begged Sister
Maria Evangeline to instruct the coachman to take a side road, and
Sister Maria Evangeline is just as dramatically natured, so we did, and
were in no time most terribly lost. Just as bad as now, in fact! Then
the wheel came off the carriage and we went into a hole in the middle
of that desolate Plain, and who should come along but a gypsy with a
caravan full of the oddest things. He had an oar—it was new, he said,
and he'd ordered it for someone and could not sell it, nor lend it to
our coachman to help raise the carriage.
I
knew
at once it was all a scheme to make us pay more, but no one could
persuade him—until Nanette, as usual, managed to talk him around her
thumb." She sighed and said in a rather puzzled tone, "Everyone says I
am much more beautiful than she is. Yet, somehow, the gentlemen always
fall in love with
her
… I suppose it is because
she is so—" She stopped abruptly and then said, "Well, at all events we
drove on as fast as we could go, once the wheel was repaired, but then
we met the person who owns this donkey and cart, and in some odd
fashion Sister Maria Evangeline seemed to know him, so we stopped, and
nothing would do but that we trade the oar for a pistol he had. I
thought it all strange and most shocking, but Sister Maria Evangeline
said something about "needs must when the Devil drives" which did not
make any sense at all, for Harold was driving and he is a very
respectable individual, I am sure. And it was just as I feared, because
when her papa's men came close, Nanette fired the pistol at them!"

"Did she, by God!" Harry muttered admiringly. "Did she hit
anyone?"

"No, thank heaven! But it made me cry for it was the most
ghastly noise. Still, they rode off. And when we reached Tunbridge
Wells at last, Sister Maria Evangeline insisted we stay at that
frightful boardinghouse because Nanette's Papa would never dream of
looking for us there. The other girls are silly and said it was
exciting. I thought it was dreadful
and
improper!
And… "

Her voice went on and on, but it dawned on Harry that his
shrew must be very tired; and as soon as she paused he twisted until he
could reach the long hair Nanette had evidently not had time to restore
to the bun, and tugged it.

She glanced around, her eyes warming as she saw the white
gleam of his smile in the moonlight. "Poor Harry. How are you feeling?
Do you remember nearly fainting and with never a word to warn me of it?
I vow you are the—"

"Never mind that, miss!" He could detect the sound of many
hooves and a low mutter of conversation. "What have you got us into
now? Who
are
these people?" He started up on one
elbow and gave a gasp of indignation as her hand came around and pushed
his head down. She admonished, "Lie still, do! You must rest. We are
with some very kind—er—travellers.'

Of all the henwitted things!" Harry grumbled, pulling her hand
away. "You should have woken me at once. Two women—alone! I wonder they
didn't—"

"But I told them you were here," she interrupted hastily, "and
indeed they were most kind. M. Yves said he and his friends would
escort us. Only we have become lost. A little bit. A man was guiding
them, but he has gone to try and find a good campsite for the night."

"I
must
get to my sister's house!"
Nerina said in a low, scared voice. "If I spend the night in the
wilderness with all these strange men, I shall be—"

"Ruined…" muttered Harry, and thought that this time she was
absolutely correct. He eluded Nanette's restraining hand and heaved
himself upward, wincing a little as he peered over the side of the
cart. "The… devil!" he gasped.

A long line of ponies and donkeys followed, single file, each
animal having a large barrel slung on either side of its back. Quiet
riders ranged along the train at intervals, ensuring that they stay
within the shadows of the trees. He could catch only an occasional word
or two, but that they were French was obvious. "Free traders!" he
ejaculated. "That damnable little rascal has us leading a consignment
of illegal brandy!"

Despite his irritation, he had spoken with prudent softness.
The shriek my lady let out, however, would have woken the dead. Shouts
and curses rent the air. The cart came to an abrupt stop and Harry was
surrounded by grim faces, while no fewer than six even more grim
pistols were levelled at his head. A moan and a soft thud beside him
acquainted him with the fact that Nerina had fainted.

"
Qu'est-ce que c'est
?" cried one of the
smugglers, peering at Harry.

"Precisely what I should like to know, monsieur," he answered
in French. "What the devil do you mean by involving us in your
unsavoury business?"

A small but villainous-looking man wearing a blue-and-white
knitted stocking cap fixed Harry with an intense stare and growled
suspiciously, "You have a very youthful papa, mademoiselle!"

"
Out, en effet
," Nanette agreed, leaning
to pat the indignant Harry's shoulder. "But I am very young myself, M.
Yves. No,
?mon père
, you must not be cross. These
gentlemen have been too kind."

"I'll '
mon père'
you!" he hissed as she
planted a filial type of kiss on his cheek.

"Well, I had to make them think we were properly chaperoned,"
she giggled. "I told them Papa was taking his nap… Oh, dear! Did Nerina
faint again?"

"Yes—when I told her your 'kind gentlemen' are smugglers!"

Her small jaw dropped. "Lud . . !"

"You may well be dismayed. D'you realize we could all land in
gaol for this?"

"Do you know what is in my thoughts, Yves?" murmured a stocky
man with hard
eyes
. "It is that this one is an
exciseman!"

This frightful assertion brought forth several exclamations of
horror, and the pistols, which had begun to sag, were swung into line
once more.

"Well you quite mistake it," said Harry. "Nor am I the lady's
papa!"

At once six Gallic faces broke into broad grins. "By God!" he
cried wrathfully, "you Frenchmen are all alike! You cannot imagine I
should run off with
two
of 'em?"

It appeared they not only thought this likely but variously,
conformable, convenable, and desirable. Nanette, who had left her perch
so as to minister to the stricken Beauty, was vastly entertained and
squealed with mirth.

Rapid hoofbeats announced the return of the guide. "What's
wrong?" he called in French as he galloped towards the cart. "I have
found us a fine clearing, with a nice stream so that we can—"

Harry had stiffened in disbelief at the first words, and spun
around. The newcomer reined up. For an instant, petrified with
astonishment, neither of them moved; then two shouts rang out.

"
Sauvage
! What the devil… ?"

"Mitch! By thunder! Mitch!"

Harry was out of the cart in a mad scramble. Mitchell flung
himself from the saddle. The brothers embraced amid a farrago of
questions and counter questions; of beaming eyes, glad smiles, and such
a deep rooted joy that being men it must, of course, give way to
embarrassment and be concealed beneath raillery. But even as they
laughed and teased one another, Mitchell's keen gaze was taking in
Harry's pale face and torn and stained coat. And aware of the concern
that lurked behind that brilliant smile, a lump came into Harry's
throat. He thought of the letter that even now resided in his pocket
and which Mitchell, of course, must never know he had read. And
gripping his shoulder hard said gruffly, "Jove, you young whelp—but I'm
glad to see you!"

The 'clearing' Mitchell had found was actually more of a
hollow and to a solitary wanderer must have seemed a forbidding spot,
ringed about as it was by rocky slopes and hemmed in by the brooding
darkness of the trees. The smugglers, however, had proclaimed it
parfait
, for the fire's glow was less likely to be seen from
outside the deep declivity and the hurrying breath of the night wind
was happily excluded. With much zestful singing, the men bustled about,
erecting the tent, building the fire, and unloading and tending to
their animals, while a stout individual named Henri took charge of
their combined provender and, with a deal of interference, engaged in
the preparation of a meal.

As Mitchell had promised, a stream ran close by and, water
having been heated, Lady Nerina retired to refresh herself. Harry,
meanwhile, was led to the fireside and required to sit down so that
Nanette might replace the dressing on his arm. Mitchell at once
hastened to watch the proceedings, and Harry exclaimed impatiently, "At
last! Now tell me how it chances that not quite three weeks ago I put
you into a post chase for Oxford, have since confidently imagined you
to be toiling at your studies, and instead discover you tonight,
leading a band of smugglers through Sussex! Furthermore—" He stopped
with a hiss of indrawn breath as Nanette attempted to loosen the last
layer of bandage, which had adhered to the wound. She flashed an
anxious glance at his face. Mitchell had been given a brief account of
Harry's encounter with Willyum Brown's fine Welsh bull and volunteered
to dress the arm, "for I am sure you must be tired, ma'am, and would
like to join your friend."

"Oh, no you don't!" said Harry. "She has hands like a feather."

Nanette smiled. "Thank you, kind sir. It comes from practice,
you see, Mr. Redmond. I have spent much of these past few days tending
to your brother's hurts. Indeed, he is a most violent young man!"

Curious, Mitchell said, "You've a lot to tell me, I can see.
I— Good God! That's no 'little cut",
Sauvage
!
Yves! Over here,
s'il vous plait
!"

The Frenchman hurried over, a plucked chicken dangling from
one hand. He passed the fowl to Mitchell and, acquiring a professional
air, inspected the arm. When told the injury had been wrought by a
bull, he pursed his lips. "This must be very well cleansed and sewn—
tout
de suite
!"

"But," Nanette's voice was sharp with concern, "you are not a
surgeon."

He made a grand gesture. "Have no fears, mademoiselle; I have
care for the swine of
mon père
any time these ten
years and am most skilled."

"Swine!" Harry exploded, then broke into laughter. "Mitch, you
coxcomb! A fine respect for the head of your family! Thank you— no. I
prefer Mr. Chatham's dentist."

"What—Maxwell?" Mitchell shook his head dubiously. "Last time
we were at Beechmead, Lucian St. Clair told me all his patients die."

"Whereas I, my friends," Yves interpolated with simple pride,
"have yet to lose one swine."

Harry gave a hoot of mirth, and despite the worry that lurked
in his eyes, Mitchell chuckled. Nanette, however, was not amused.
"Men!" she exclaimed. "How can you jest about such a horrid great gash?
Ah! You cannot! We have no laudanum."

"Got something a da—er, a sight better," said Harry. "One of
the advantages of having a free trader in the family!"

Mitchell nodded, clambered to his feet, and went towards the
neatly assembled casks. Yves, meanwhile, having gathered hoc water and
clean rags, approached his patient and requested Nanette to provide him
with a needle and thread. Her horrified expostulation that he had not
washed his hands brought an indignant assertion that he had indeed done
so. "This very morning, at the first light!" He thrust out two grubby
palms in support of his statement. Nanette shuddered, and bowing, Yves
said grandly, "Very well, since tonight we dine in high fashion!" and
wandered in search of soap.