Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (30 page)

"You've seen de Roule?" Harry interposed eagerly. "He was not
treated roughly, I hope?"

Puzzled by the Captain's lack of concern for his brother,
Anderson answered, "Matter of fact, he was knocked about a bit, but—
tough as nails, that'n! Even if he
is
a Frog.
No—it's Mr. Mitchell, Captain! Lor'—what a dance he led me! What with
milling kens, and hanging from winder sills by his finger nails—"

"Mitchell?" Harry ejaculated. "Oh, come now, Andy! My brother
a housebreaker—a prig? That's doing it up rather too brown!"

"True as I stand here! I tell you, Captain, we'd the Runners
after us in Town, and the Watch in Hampstead; and then he drug me onto
a perishing ship, what was pure horrid, and me so sick as a dog! But—I
got to admit it, S'Harry. He's a plucked 'un! And I was as wrong about
him as ever I could be. But—Gawd knows where he is now or… what's
happened!" And his voice broke.

Overcoming his amazement at this further revelation of his
brother's wicked antics, Harry clapped him on the back. "Never worry
so, you old war horse! He was here with me only a minute ago, and
looking amazingly well, moreover!"

"W-With…
you .
. . sir?" The downcast
head shot up, hope brightening those remorseful eyes. "Does ye really
mean it? Mr. Mitchell's safe? Not hurt, nor nothing? He's—home?"

"And up to his old tricks," smiled Harry. "He's supposed to be
fetching our luncheon but has completely forgotten us, I have no doubt."

"Thank… Gawd!" Anderson gulped. "Oh, sir, you don't know how I
blamed meself! It was all on account o' that there book! Mr. Michell
got me interested in it on the packet, and I brung it with me. I got so
wrapped up in the tale I coudn't hardly set it down. That night your
brother went orf with the Count, I didn't even look up when he came
back fer the pistol. I couldn't forgive meself when I realized what
he'd took, and me doing
nothing
to stay him! The
very thing, sir—the very thing what I'd held agin
him
!"
He beamed mistily. "Might say as how I got taught a lesson, eh, sir?"

"I'd say you obviously benefitted from it, for I think it
splendid that my brother interested you in books." Recalling the
implication in Mitchell's letter, he added curiously, "By the bye—which
one are you reading?"

"It's called
The Mysteries of Udolpbo
."
said Anderson cheerily, "and it's all about this poor young woman what—"

"
Mysteries of Udolpbo . .
?" Harry gazed
upon this old soldier, upon the craggy features, the broad shoulders,
fierce mien, and upright carriage that not even the loss of his leg had
been able to change. "The—the one by—
Mrs. Radcliffe . .
?"

"S'right, sir. You might think it's just fer the ladies, but
never you believe it! Reg'lar exciting, it is! Scary castles, and open
graves, and—"

"By… thunder!" blinked Harry, struggling manfully to
overmaster his mirth. "Forgive me. Sergeant. I forget my manners. I'm
escorting a lady to Devonshire and must make you known to her."

Anderson darted a stern glance at Nanette. "Oh, I know her,
sir. Spotted her right orf." He hesitated briefly and, his long years
of service giving him the right, scolded, "I'd've thought as how you'd
got enough trouble, Captain. The whole countryside's a'looking fer
that
lady! If you're caught with her—well, I hopes you know what you're
about, and that's a fact!"

Harry grinned and, with one hand loosely clasped on his
shoulder, led Anderson toward Nanette. "What a worrier! I'm hopeful of
getting her to Devon unrecognized. Otherwise, I fear her reputation
will be—somewhat tarnished."

"And your neck somewhat stretched, sir!" nodded the Sergeant
grimly. "A great lady like
her
—and all the
rewards as is posted! Lor'! Awful chancy!"

A terrible apprehension gripping him, Harry interrupted in a
strained voice, "
Great .
. . lady . . ?"

"Well, I know she ain't got no title, but still—S'Harry, if
Miss Carlson's
father
chances ter come up wi' you
. . ! Cor luvvus!"

Harry all but staggered. A roaring in his ears drowned
Anderson's stern warning. Miss
Carlson
? His
beloved little shrew? It
could
not be! It
must
not
be! Yet in that crushing moment he knew somehow that it
was
.
That his poor, terrified waif, the persecuted girl whose 'wicked
stepfather' had demanded she "marry for money" was in fact one of the
wealthiest heiresses in all Europe! And worse—the tender, fiery, warm,
and wonderful little lady to whom he had given his heart was the same
fiendish madwoman who had dared suspect his beloved father of
complicity in a murder."

"S'Harry . ?" Anderson was peering at him anxiously. "It I
said summit as I shouldn't've . . ?"

Harry somehow managed to reassure him, and when Anderson
persisted that he looked "like a shirt what's been run through the
mangle," he barked a laugh, said that he was starving merely, and sent
the Sergeant hurrying back to the gig to join the search for Mitchell.

Nanette was adding some greenery to the flowers. She glanced
up as Harry approached and asked lightly. "Who was—" One hand flew to
her throat. "W-What is it? Why—do you look at me… so?"

He advanced to seize her arms in a merciless grip—so different
from the way he had held her only moments before. "And—why," he grated,
"why did you lie to me? Miss
Annabelle Carlson
."

Her face became as white as his own. Briefly silent, she
recovered to quaver, "L-Iisten. I beg of you to—"

"To listen to
more
lies? More nonsense
about 'wicked stepfathers' and lecherous uncles? You deceived me from
the first! Why?"

"Y-You… l-lied, too. You's-said you were Harry Allison."

"Only because I'd no wish to advertise that I was quite in Dun
territory! Now let us have
your
excuse, madam!"
The scorn in his voice flailed her, and when she did not reply, he
shook her savagely and demanded. "Why did you hold men to be worthless
animals? Because they dared court the lovely heiress?"

She struggled vainly to break free. "I was beseiged! Some
pursued me honestly, for myself But most of my devoted suitors scarcely
saw me for the lure of
gold
that dazzled them!"

Releasing her. Harry's lips curved to a pale, humorless grin.
"So that is why you grimaced and acted the idiot. To escape the fortune
hunters."

"Yes. Partly But—"

"And you
dared
believe that of
me
?"
he thundered. "You thought I stayed with Diccon purely to get my greedy
hands on your
damnable
money?"

"Harry! I did not—
know
you." she choked
out pantingly. "When you first came. I thought perhaps—"

"
What did
you think? Oh, but this is
rich! For the love of God! Did you imagine I arranged to be beaten so
as to win your sympathy?
Did
you? Of course you
did not! Now, let us have some plain speaking for once! You knew very
well I'd no notion who you were and that I believed your lies about
your mercenary sire."

"But—I really was—"

"You
knew
," he overrode harshly, "how
desperately I wished to speak with Annabelle Carlson, yet you chose to
keep silent and mock me with your grimaces and contortions! I'll own
you played your part well, ma'am! You should've trod the boards, by
God! How you ferreted and dug and wheedled information out of me! 'Tell
me about your
dear
papa, Harry! Tell me about
Moire. I
love
to hear of your happy times . . !'
Faugh! What trickery and deceit!"

Reaching out her hands to him, Nanette half sobbed, "Can you
not understand? I was alone and utterly desperate. I had run away in
defiance of all… convention. Risking my good name—my future. At first,
I sought only to—"

"To discover what manner of savage I was? What the devil did
you take me for? When had you to fight off my unwelcome advances? When
did I behave dishonourably towards you? Did I
once
hold you against your will, and—and kiss you?"' Longing even now to
kiss away her tears, racked by despair, he raged, "
Did
I?"

"Please—
please
," she begged. "Let me
explain!"

"Oh, you will explain, ma'am!" He took her by the shoulders
again, grating, "By thunder, but you'll explain! You shall tell me why
you hounded my gentle father with your nonsense! Why you'd the
consummate gall to accuse him of—"

Vaguely, he had been aware of the distant drum of hoofbeats.
Now, Mitchell rode up, flung himself from the saddle and ran to tug at
Harry's gripping hands. "You're hurting her! Are you run mad? Let her
go!"

His face murderous with rage and pain, Harry whirled on him.
"Where in the
devil
have you been?"

In all his life his brother had never employed such a tone
toward him, and glancing from Nanette's tears to Harry's ashen-faced
despair, Mitchell stammered, "I'm… sorry. I-I met a French emigre, and
we fell to talking about the Revolution. I'm afraid I simply
forgot—about our lunch."

"Oh, to
hell
with our lunch!"

Mitchell's eyes took on a look of shock, and Nanette's head
lowered. Harry spun away, battling for control, and looked blindly out
across the Downs, at the morning that had been so beautiful and was now
bleak and empty. The ache in his head seemed to join with that in his
arm; but the ache in his heart was deeper yet, the more savage because
even whilst he had loved her with such reverence, knowing at last what
real love meant, she had believed him to be a scheming fortune hunter.
With a dull sense of bewilderment he knew that in just these few
seconds his every dream for the future had been wiped away, with no
hope of retrieval. His path was clear, however, and must be followed
with some semblance of dignity. He took a deep breath, pulled himself
together, and turned back to say with frigid politeness, "I do
apologize, ma'am. I was behaving like a boor. But whatever else, you
are a woman. Alone."

Aghast, Mitchell caught at his sleeve. "Harry! Do not talk to
her like that! You're ill, old fellow. Your arm—"

Harry wrenched free. "And you are late, Mitch. But—allow me to
present you to—" He bowed with mocking grace. "Miss Annabelle Carlson."

Speechless, Mitchell stared at her.

"Do not," Nanette whimpered. "Ah, do
not
—look
at me like that.'"

"Forgive us, Miss Carlson," said Harry. "We loved our father,
you see. And he is dead. So we must ask you a question or two. Very
politely."

Nanette flinched to that cold tone, and Mitchell frowned and
set out the stool for her.

She went instead to stand beside the table and faced them with
hands folded as though she were on trial. "I loved my brother also,
gentlemen. He was all—I had left. The gentlest, most warm-hearted boy…"
Tears hung on her lashes. She brushed them away impatiently and, her
little chin high, said in an only slightly quivering voice, "During his
last leave, your father saw him foully murdered. And would say nothing.
I implored him to speak, but he insisted I was mistaken. And so that
evil man went free!"

"If my father said he saw nothing—Miss Carlson," said Harry
softly, "then be assured—he saw nothing."

"I can be assured of one thing," she flashed with a return of
her old fire, "that your father lied to protect his friend."

"By Jupiter!" frowned Mitchell. "Forgive me, but—that is not
so!"

Harry's eyes were a narrow glitter in his white face. He
lifted a restraining hand. "The lady will, I am certain, have an
explanation for so vicious a statement."

Nanette flushed and began to speak with slow reluctance. "I
became very ill after the Enquiry into my brother's death. My
stepfather sent me to a cousin in Buenos Aires, and I remained there
for over a year. When I returned, my friends, thinking to protect me,
spoke of anything buy my bereavement. I was unaware of your papa's
death until quite recently, when I discovered how totally he had
deceived me."

A stiffled exclamation escaped Mitchell at this; but Harry,
his cold gaze fixed on Nanette, made no comment.

"The night Frederick was killed," she went on, "there was a
full moon. Sir Colin admitted at the Enquiry that the murder vehicle
passed his own so closely that the wheels almost scraped. He was, in
fact, incensed and leaned from the window to berate the other driver.
Yet he denied having seen the crest on the door panel—a crest I
know
was there! I taxed him with the lie!" Ignoring Harry's sharply
downdrawn brows, she hurried on, "I told him that I
knew
who had murdered my brother—and why. He pretended to pity me and said
he had
never
met the man and that the other
carriage had, in fact, been quite
empty
! Such
wicked untruths!"

His fist clenched, Harry said, "If you really believed that,
ma'am, why did you not testify yourself? It would certainly have been
allowed."

"I
begged
to do so! But my solicitor
would not hear of it. I would be disgraced, he said, and judged mad."
She tossed her head angrily. "Much I cared. He was just afraid—as
everyone is afraid!"

"Afraid?" sneered Harry. "Of whom?"

"Why—my papa, of course."

Mitchell's jaw dropped and he gaped at her.

Harry murmured cynically, "Oh, you've not heard the half of
it, Mitch. Miss Carlson's papa, having murdered
her
brother, is so depraved as to wish her to marry
his
!"

"His… brother?" echoed Mitchell. "Her own
uncle
?"

Nanette's lower lip began to thrust outward and her eyes to
spark.