Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (37 page)

The kitchen began to brighten to the approach of a lamp. His
heart pounding, Harry knelt, snatched up the shelf, and backed down the
remembered old steps, groping his way and lowering the shelf into place
over his head as heavy footsteps thumped into the kitchen. He heard a
rattle of crockery and the woman whining her mystification over where
the candle could've got to. He fumbled for the tinderbox, lit the
candle and, shielding the flame cautiously, scanned the shelf above
him. One of the threadbare cleaning rags it held was hanging through!
It might not be discovered for weeks; on the other hand, did anyone
seize it, the tunnel would be found and his life might well be forfeit.
He tiptoed down the narrow steps, poured some melted wax onto the
lowest step, and settled the candle into the puddle. Creeping upwards
again, the man's coarse voice was clear.

"… won't never escape him again, I can tell ye! Stupid chit!
And if that there Redmond shows his nose, we're ready for h
im
!"

"D'ye suppose the Frenchy'll kill him, Shotten?"

Shotten! So Devil Dice lived in Joseph's cottage! Harry lifted
the shelf a fraction, dreading it might scrape and betray him. Light
glared into his eyes and he saw to his horror that Dice stood scant
feet away.

"I 'ope he does!" barked the highwayman. "Monsewer never has
forgive me fer saying I put a period to him and then him turning up
alive where we didn't dare dish him!"

Dice halted before the shelves and began to rummage about.
Holding his breath, Harry edged his way downwards.

'One of these days," said Shotten, "I'll get loose o' that
damned Frog, and— Hey! What's this?" Harry's heart jumped into his
throat. He eased the shelf into place and pressed back against the
mouldering wall. "Why—dang ye, May! You went and et my piece o' that
cake! Here I come home after a hard day…"

Staying for no more, Harry sighed with relief and started off.
The low, narrow passage, doubtfully reinforced here and there by
rotting timbers and bricks, was shrouded by webs that assured him
nobody had passed through for a long time. He ate the cake as he went;
it was dry and heavy but took the edge off his hunger, and he grinned,
picturing Shotten's rage had he but known the man they sought was
dining at his expense. He hurried on through the chill, musty gloom,
crouching low and encountering only spiders and a solitary mouse during
his journey. Surely he now held the advantage of surprise, for most of
Sanguinet's men were guarding the grounds and no one would expect him
to suddenly appear inside the house. With luck he might be able to find
Nanette and win her away without being detected, though he would likely
have to wait until everyone was abed. It shouldn't be too long a wait,
for it was already long after midnight…

It never occurred to him that he was rushing headlong into an
enemy stronghold, that he had no weapons and was hopelessly
outnumbered. He thought only of his love, and vengeance.

The great house was very quiet when Harry at last judged it
safe to open the panel. The shelves no longer contained the large bread
bins but were crowded with dairy products, some of which had been
carelessly propped against the rear wall and were displaced by its
motion. He heard something topple and even as his eyes rested upon the
middle shelf, several eggs sailed past to land with soft crunches on
the floor. He listened tensely, but aside from the kitchen cat who at
once investigated this fortuitous event, there was no disturbance.
Harry began to clear the shelf, but the space was small and the
Sergeant's coat cumbersome. He slipped out of the coat, deciding he
could reclaim it on the way back, and crawled through the aperture. The
pantry door was partly open; lights still burned in the kitchen but he
heard no sound as he closed the panel. The cat looked up at him warily
but, when he stooped to stroke her, resumed her self-imposed task of
tidying up the eggs remaining. His eye caught by a pitcher of ale,
Harry bore her company for a moment while he drank thirstily, thinking
that it was dashed considerate of whomever had designed the tunnel to
begin and end it in a pantry. Distantly, a clock chimed the hour.
Three. By now most of the servants would have retired… He tiptoed to
the kitchen door and pushed it open a crack. The familiar room
stretched before him, neat and empty. He strode swiftly across it,
running one hand caressingly along the tabletop. Entering the flagged
corridor, nostalgia tightened its grip on him. Home… The home where he
and Mitch and his father had been so happy. He was dazzled then by a
lightning flash. A reverberating peal of thunder drowned his footsteps
as he hastened towards the stairs. A few feet ahead, the door to the
small salon swung open suddenly and a footman backed out carrying a
tray piled with teacups and a teapot. Harry made a dive for the open
door of the main dining room. He flattened himself against the wall in
the darkened room, and the footman grumbled past en route to the
kitchen.

Harry uttered a sigh of relief, then ran lightly down to the
salon.

He leaned to the door, but could detect only male voices—no
little shrew… Across the wide central hall, light glowed from under the
library doors. At any moment the footman might finish in the kitchen,
but with luck would go straight to the rear stairs. Harry made a dash
for it, down the corridor, across the hall, and to the sweep of the
curving staircase, where he halted abruptly. A gentleman was sauntering
down those stairs. A dark, well-built, elegant young man of moderate
height, one arm carried in a sling, who paused also, took in the
intruder's shabby garb but intrepid manner and, with an amused lift of
well-shaped brows, enquired calmly, "Have I perhaps the honour to
address Sir Harry Redmond?"

"Damn!" thought Harry. He bowed. "M. Guy Sanguinet?"

Sanguinet bowed in turn, contriving to make the gesture
graceful despite his injury and his position on the stairs. With a
twinkle in his hazel eyes he observed, "You are of an impudence, sir!"

"All in the point of view," Harry pointed out cooly. And
thinking that Guy bore little resemblance to Parnell, added, "This
happens to be
my
house."

The thin lips took on a cynical twist. "And you have come home
to die,
enfin
?"

"I have come in pursuit of the murderer who killed my father."

Sanguinet restored his hand to the railing and shook his head.
"
Mais non
. Your papa shot himself, as I told your
brother. I regret to have to—" Amazingly, a long-barrelled pistol of
gleaming silver seemed to leap into the hand in the sling and was aimed
steadily at Harry's heart, wherefore he checked his forward plunge.
Sanguinet nodded gravely. "The quarrel with you, Redmond, I have not.
Give me your word to leave Moire as you came, and—"

"The devil I will!" Surprised nonetheless by this leniency,
Harry exclaimed, "Do you seriously expect me to leave Miss Carlson to
your brother's tender mercies?"

"Ah…" The Frenchman's eyes became very still. "Our triangle
becomes a quartet. The lady have tell you, perhaps, that I too love
her?" Harry nodded and Sanguinet said with a wry shrug, "But not,
tristement
,
that she return my affection. Even so, you may be assured I do not
permit that she is abused."

"May I? Yet you stood meekly by and watched your brother flog
a helpless boy half to death!"

Sanguinet all but cringed. He said nothing, however, and moved
down to the next stair.

The wind outside was so fierce now that Harry had to lean
closer to make himself heard. "I am told you are a gentleman. Your
brother is not. And you certainly know what he intends for Miss
Carlson."

Brief but stark despair flashed across Sanguinet's face.
"Permit that I say this—but you risk your life if—"

"No more than you, apparently, since you creep about
concealing a pistol! Did you intend, perhaps, to use it on—"

His words were drowned in a bellow of thunder that shook the
floor and rattled the windows. Simultaneously, the kitchen cat shot
from the corridor, skidded in the hall, and tore up the stairs.
Sanguinet's eyes widened in surprise. Harry sprang up the few steps
separating them and grabbed for the pistol. He knew somehow that Guy
would not summon aid—that this was purely between the two of them. And
it was so. Struggling desperately, they stumbled downward. Both men
were young, and each hampered by an injury. Evenly matched, therefore,
they strove in grim silence for possession of the weapon, the ravening
storm drowning the sounds of their efforts.

"Fool!" gasped Guy as they reached the lowest stair. "You will
be… discovered… at any moment! Now go—and I swear—I shall not betray
you."

"But—you are a Sanguinet," panted Harry. "Wherefore… your word
is without value."

Guy swore and heaved mightily. Gasping with pain, Harry
staggered, but Sanguinet was swaying, his face convulsed, the pistol
wavering. Harry released his hold on it and struck instead for the jaw,
connecting true and hard. Sanguinet's head jerked back; he crumpled,
and Harry caught him and eased him to the floor. He ripped off the
sling, untied it and, taking the fabric between his strong teeth,
wrenched with his right hand until it tore. Working rapidly, he bound
Sanguinet hand and foot, using the remaining strip for a gag. He then
dragged the unconscious man to the well beneath the stairs, cursing
under his breath at the pain this caused him. Returning, he snatched up
the pistol and strode to the library doors. Lightning glared vividly.
He waited for the peal, then opened the door.

The two who faced each other before the fire were too intent
upon their discussion to be cognizant of his coming, and he shot the
heavy bolt carefully and strolled toward them.

"… anything in this world—only name it," Parnell Sanguinet was
saying grandly. As usual, he was clad in black relieved only by the
white gleam of his cravat and the lace at his cuffs, his sombre garb
accentuating the vivid beauty of the girl who drew back from his
outstretched arms. A very different lady this, Harry thought with a
pang, from his little shrew. She was elegant in pale green sarsenet,
emeralds glowing at throat and ears, an emerald comb among the shining
curls upon her head, and that head flung back, her attitude reflecting
loathing. "There is
nothing
—in this entire
world—that could induce me to share life with you," she said clearly.
"Sooner would I be dead! And Guy will never allow you to—" Undeterred,
he paced closer. "But Guy, dear child, will do as I wish."

"You underestimate him," observed Harry, the pistol very
steady in his right hand.

"
Sacré bleu
!" The ejaculation was hissed
out as the man whipped around to crouch, unmoving, before the menace of
the pistol. Nanette uttered a gasping cry, her locked hands held before
her mouth, her eyes reflecting a mingling of joy and terror. Lightning
flashed once more, and Harry's skin crawled as the glow seemed captured
in the pale slitted eyes, so that for an instant it was as if he faced
a wild beast rather than a man. Without glancing to Nanette, he asked
gently, "Are you all right, little one?"

"Yes, yes! Oh—but you should not have come!"

Sanguinet straightened. A small pulse beat beside his jaw, but
he smiled and murmured, "
Vraiment
!" You have
walk into my web, Redmond. Most unwise."

"Ah, but I do believe you have spun your last web, monsieur."

"Mitchell!" exclaimed Nanette. "Harry—he is not—"

"He's alive, No thanks to this carrion." He gestured
contemptuously to her stepfather.

Sanguinet's eyes widened at the epithet. "I think," he
murmured, "you will regret that insult. And I think also that you dare
not shoot, poor fellow, for my men they would hear."

"Perhaps you should not refine overmuch on that either." The
drawl was lazy but the glitter in the green eyes almost gave Sanguinet
pause until he recalled that he held all the cards in this deadly game.
"You can do nothing," he shrugged. "
Délicieux
,
is it not? Even have I do everything you and my lovely Annabelle
suspect, I am the diplomatist. I represent a government with which your
Foreign Office is of an anxiety to improve relations. They do not risk
the international incident for merely the foolish little tragedy you
tell them."

"Governments be damned!" Harry flashed. "You'll answer to me
for your crimes! And your sword can speak for you—not your glib tongue!"

"
Allons, done! Allons
! How may you accuse
me of a crime when
you
are already totally
without the credit? Can it be possible, monsieur, you have not yet see
my posters? Your England is very full of them—all having your likeness
and naming you the kidnapping rapist who have steal my so-loved
daughter." He chuckled softly. "Ah, but how pale you are become,
mon
ami—and
with reason—for truly you are a marked man. Do any
of your so-upright British peasants lay the eye upon you and you are
hung by your heels before two words you may speak!"

Cold fingers shivered down Harry's spine, but he said
scornfully, "Gammon! You'd not do so, for it would ruin Nanette
completely, and—"

"And do but think, Redmond, how gallant I shall then seem in
the eyes of the world—to take this shamed girl and give her my noble
name."

"You filthy scum!" Harry's finger tightened on the trigger.
"You
would
ruin her—just to force her to—"

Perceiving belatedly that his gloating had carried him too
far, Sanguinet said sharply, "Kill me, and it shall but lend the
credence to my posters!"

Nanette, who had stood in stunned silence, now intervened,
"Harry! Do not! I think I have found a way to prove some of our
suspicions, at all events! Papa's coach has folding inner walls which
can be closed to conceal the centre. They are very cleverly painted so
as to indicate empty seats and a far window, and to anyone casually
glancing inside, the carriage would be apparently unoccupied. We have
only to tell the Bow Street people, and—"