Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (36 page)

"Yes. He is, indeed," said Harry tautly. "So you made your
move, did you?"

"Yus, sir." Anderson gave a small sigh of relief that the
Captain had known he would put up a fight. "I reckoned as it was now or
never. You'll mind as I allus kept a needle and thread stuck under me
collar, just in case you lost a button orf yer jacket or something?
Ain't never lost the habit. I gives the mare the needle—right in the
rump. Cor! You shoulda seen her go! Straight up! And the bully keeps
on
going, like a ugly fat bird! Mr. Mitchell makes a dive fer Diabolick
and I takes on the cove nearest to me. We was going at it hot and heavy
fer a little bit, but then—someone whacked me over the head and I
sort've lost track o'things fer a minute. Next thing I knowed they'd
took orf me wooden leg, sir. I just had ter lie there and… and watch. I
wasn't no use ter poor Mr. Mitchell. None a'tall!"

For a moment Harry said nothing, visualizing the scene with
painful clarity. Then, holding the chairback very hard, he grated, "Who
did it? Sanguinet himself?"

The Sergeant nodded. "And loved every minute, Captain. I'll
say one thing, his brother tried to stop him. When that perisher shook
out the whip, he grabbed hold of his arm. Diabolick looked him straight
in the eye and said something. Not much, but I could tell it was
enough. And Guy give up."

Harry swore bitterly and rammed his fist against the chair.
"How soon did Miss Carlson come down?"

"Very quick, sir. I was a'thrashing and a'cussing. Mr.
Mitchell didn't make one single sound, but the donkey was crying
something awful. You'd a' thought the whip was coming down on
his
back! Miss Nanette come running up, white as a sheet, and begged
Diabolick to stop. She'd do whatever he wanted, she says. He smiles at
her and says a'course she will—he never doubted it. And in he starts
again! I think even his own men was fair took aback!"

Harry stared at him in unseeing misery. Had it been only this
morning they'd talked in that misty clearing? Only this morning that
Mitch had said shyly, "I do not think I would care to be—all alone in
the world." He'd not dreamed then that he himself might be the one to
be "left all alone". If Mitch died… A smothered groan escaped him, and
his head bowed onto his arms. At once the Sergeant was beside him.
"Don't sir! Don't you never give up! S'Harry—you done the best you
knowed!"

The best he knowed… Perhaps. But if only he'd sent Mitch to
see Cootesby and had himself remained with Nanette. He might have known
that Sanguinet, desiring her, would have tracked them down! How glibly
he had offered her his protection. How nobly he'd sworn that whilst he
lived Sanguinet would not lay a hand upon her! Well, his hand was upon
her now! That thought made him writhe. For the present, his one hope
lay in the fact that Guy Sanguinet apparently bore some resemblance to
a gentleman and, despite his loathesome inheritance, might shield her…
at least until he himself could come up with them. Meanwhile, there was
nothing to be gained by brooding over how much better he might have
handled matters. He had done all in his power to elude detection and,
believing he had succeeded, had left her as well protected as possible.
He'd had an obligation to his father as well as to his brother and the
girl he loved. He
had
done his best. He said a
husky, "Thanks, Andy," and pulled back his shoulders. "What of Miss
Carlson? He didn't abuse her in any way?"

"No, sir." The Sergeant returned to his chair once more.
"She's got plenty o' spirit, that little lady. She run and grabbed hold
of the whip and hung onto it, but Sanguinet just pushed her away." He
paused, an odd little smile appearing as he said slowly and with
relish, "His brother shot the whip out of his hand."

Harry's eyes opened wide. "Jove! That must have been a
fantastic shot!"

"That it were. Diabolick didn't say nothing. He just stood
there staring at his brother. Lor'! I don't never want no one to look
at me like that, Captain! Then he pulls a little pistol out of his
pocket. Miss Carlson runs to Guy and throws her arms around him. I
thought as he was done fer, I can tell yer. And so did he, I reckon,
'cause he pushes Miss Carlson away from him." Anderson shook his head
condemningly. "A lovely bunch they is, eh sir?"

"For God's sake!' Harry exploded "Don't keep me in suspense!
Did he shoot?"

"He aimed very careful and let him swear for a minute. Then he
says, 'Blast that animal and its beastly noise!' and up and shoots the
poor donkey!"

"Devil take the miserable hound! I'd fancied that a mistake!
Better he had rid the world of one of his own vicious clan!"
Harry-stood, stalked to the uncurtained window, and peered outside. The
evening was dark and stormy, and it was beginning to rain. Where would
Sanguinet take Nanette . . ? Would he dare to beat her . . ? A cold
sweat sprang out on his brow and he had to battle the terror of it. He
swung back into the room abruptly. "Which way did they go. Andy?"

The Sergeant peered curiously at him. "Why, you must've passed
'em. sir. They'd not been gone above five minutes when you come. And
they took the same road."

"The only coach I passed bore no crest and was quite empty.
They—""

The door opened. Twickenby came into the room, followed by his
wife, and Harry went quickly to meet him. The doctor raised a
lugubrious countenance and said sadly. "I did—the best I could, sir…

Harry felt sick. "My… brother . . ?" he said in a far away
voice.

"Twick… en… by…" warned the lady in a low undertone.

He shot her a malevolent glance. "He's asleep now. Thanks to
laudanum. I wish I could say he will recover But—it's been a terrible
shock, you see. I will do my best, of course, but—he's not very
physically hardy."

Harry wet dry lips, tried to speak, and could not. Mrs.
Twickenby moved closer and looked searchingly into his drawn face. "My
dear young sir." she murmured, "pay him no heed. He's only trying to
get his price up." Her husband cast her a glance of pure loathing, and
she chuckled and, patting Harry's arm. said kindly, "Your brother's
going to have a nasty week of it—I'll not lie to you. But we'll take
good care of him—of that you
may
be sure. My
sheets are aired and free from fleas, and if he starts to run a fever.
Twickenby will bleed him. He's a hard man for the pennies, but a fine
doctor for all that. Now—ten shillings for tonight, and a guinea on
deposit, if you please…

Harry drew the collar of Andy's greatcoat higher about his
chin and leaned to the blowing mane of the hack the Sergeant had found
for him. The wind was out of the north and the rain drove into his
face, the drops cold and stinging. As well he'd insisted on the
Sergeant staying with Mitch. Andy had been furious, but was in no state
to ride fast and far as Harry must do. He prayed his decision to follow
this familiar road had been well founded. Sanguinet might have been
heading for the main London turnpike, or perhaps had intended to
journey as far as Guildford before turning east to Kent and Sanguinet
Towers. But Harry was gambling on the sadistic nature of his enemy. If
Parnell Sanguinet suspected he entertained a
tendre
for the girl, it would afford him tremendous enjoyment to hold Nanette
at Moire: to gloat over her in the very house of the man who loved her.

He smiled humorlessly, and spurred harder. If his intuition
proved correct, his enemy might have dealt him a better hand than he
knew. Moire Grange was an old house, with a priest's hole and secret
escape route dating back to the days of Henry VIII. It should be a
simple matter to get into the Home Wood, and from there to the butler's
cottage, the larder of which contained the entrance to a tunnel that
led directly to the pantry of the Grange…

His thoughts and the blackness of the night were disrupted by
a flash of lightning. The mare jibed and neighed her fear. She was an
unlovely creature with a hammer head and a jolting gait that caused
Harry's arm to throb ever more wearyingly so that he thought with
longing of his so-missed Lace and her sweetly smooth and untiring
gallop. The hack had bottom, at least, for he'd set a wickedly
dangerous pace through the storm, drawing heavily on his knowledge of
the road. He'd no sooner had the thought than the mare shied. A
carriage was halted at the branching of the road ahead, the guard
holding his lantern so as to read the signpost which informed the
traveller that Horsham lay ten miles to the northeast, and Haslemere
ten miles northwest.

A shout from the carriage was followed by a small scream. The
lantern drew a blue gleam from the musket the coachman levelled at
Harry. He reined in at once, holding up his right hand, and shouted
over the clamour of the wind an offer to be of assistance. Apparently
reassured by his cultured accents, the coachman howled, "How's the road
to Horsham, sir?" to which Harry replied, "Awful, I don't doubt. Take
it slowly or you'll lose a wheel at the least."

A feminine voice called, "Sir! Pray come here!" and he walked
the mare to the carriage, narrowing his eyes against a flurry of
wind-driven rain. "Oh, sir," the voice was pleasant and sounded to be
that of a mature lady in some perturbation of mind. "Are we safe upon
this road? I've heard Devil Dice preys upon those who journey
hereabouts." She leaned to the open window as she spoke, the guard's
lantern illuminating her plumply pretty face.

"Why, you look to be well-protected, ma'am," said Harry. "But
were I you, I'd slip that necklace under the squabs."

Her white hand flew to her bosom and the diamonds that
sparkled there. "Oh, but I should feel unclad without them!" She moved
closer, saying flirtatiously, "Such a charming smile as you have, dear
sir. We've met before—no?"

"I fear that pleasure has been denied me. Do you travel alone,
ma'am?"

"No, my sister is with me." She drew up the fur-lined hood of
her pelisse. "She is under the seat, foolish creature! We should have
reached Horsham long since but were delayed by first one piece of
trivia, then another. And finally were forced off the road by a most
cloddish crew and all but overturned!"

Harry tensed. "I wonder could it be the coach I am striving to
come up with. Were there outriders?"

"Several. And a more surly lot I never encountered. Not the
type you would associate with, I am very sure! Are you… quite positive
we have not met before, sir? Good gracious, my mind must be getting
addled, for of late I seem to see you everywhere! Could it have been in
Paris? I would swear…"

Her bright eyes searched his face uncertainly. Harry assured
her he could not have forgotten so charming a lady and was favoured by
a rippling laugh, the notification that he was a saucy rogue, and the
extension of a small, gloved hand through the open window. He kissed it
impudently, bade her farewell, and rode on. "A more surly lot I never
encountered…" It
had
to be Sanguinet's party! He
had guessed rightly!

The rain did not fall as drenchingly in the Home Wood, but all
about was the thrash and rattle of tossing branches; leaves and debris
filled the air, and the occasional muffled crash of some great limb
falling bore witness to the fury of the storm.

Leading the frightened mare, Harry progressed steadily and
could not but be grateful for the uproar. When he had come to the top
of the hill he'd watched the lodge gates for some time and thus
discerned an occasional glow that spoke of a cigar or pipe. Guards were
posted, probably armed with orders to shoot first and question later.
He had made a wide detour therefore and now, knowing every inch of
these woods, came at last in sight of the butler's cottage. A light
gleamed in the parlour window, but he saw no sign of movement inside.
Joseph was no longer here, of course; but before he left, would he have
bothered to remove the key from under the loose brick by the step? The
audaciousness of entering through the front door was appealing. He tied
the mare, strove to quiet her jumpy nerves for a minute, then started
forward only to be staggered by a mighty gust. From somewhere above him
came a deafening crack and a dark mass smashed to earth scant feet
away. The mare screamed, bucked and reared frenziedly. Running for her,
Harry was too late and she tore free and fled into the night. If she
was seen, his presence would be made known. Still, she'd run off to the
north, away from the main house. With luck she'd go clear to the
boundary and onto Westhaven's preserves with none the wiser. Meanwhile,
the sooner he was about his business the better.

He leapt the small picket fence, ran across the
debris-littered patch of lawn, and flattened himself in the shadows of
the tall yew hedge beside the door. Lightning flared in a brilliant
betrayal that laid bare his place of concealment; but after long, tense
seconds there was still no sign of reprisal and he crept to the
doorstep. The key was there! He snatched it up, breathed a triumphant,
"Aha!" and peered in through the parlour window. A scrawny-looking
woman was asleep in the armchair beside the fire. Harry fitted the key
very carefully into the lock and raised the latch. The door creaked a
little as it swung open and his eyes darted to the sleeper; but despite
that small sound and the blustery rush of air, she made no movement,
continuing to snore softly. He closed the door, wiped his muddy boots
thoroughly, then tiptoed to the kitchen.

By the faint light from the parlour he discerned muddle and
disorder, with many unwashed pots and pans lying about. The shelves
lining the larder were no neater. Harry carefully lifted out the lowest
of the shelves against the rear wall, revealing the narrow blackness of
the aperture beneath. This was the entrance to the priest's hole, that
ancient escape route thanks to which many youthful indiscretions had
been committed. As he started to put the shelf down, the end struck the
wall with a crash he'd have thought would wake the dead. He stood
tensely, cursing his clumsiness, his ears straining; but the soft rasp
of the woman's snoring continued smoothly, and he could breathe again.
He balanced the shelf carefully on a pile of empty bottles, then crept
into the kitchen to appropriate a candle and tinderbox from the table.
He slipped them into his pocket, went back to the larder, and deposited
a piece of currant cake into his other pocket. He was taking up the
shelf again when the front door slammed wide and a man's voice bawled,
"May? Are ye awake, old woman? I'm cold and wet and starved!"