Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (7 page)

Mrs. Bacon hurried onto the step and uttered a small cry, one
hand flying to her chest. She had suffered a slight heart seizure some
years earlier, and Harry knew he must get her out of this. He bit back
a pithy response, therefore, and said sharply, "Bolster, don't mess
about there! You know perfectly well the Marquis of Damon expects Mrs.
Bacon!"

As he'd hoped, the dropping of Camille's famous name was
effective. The bullies restraining Bolster let him go, then ducked as
he swung on them, brandishing his riding crop furiously. The rest of
Norrie's belongings would, Harry assured her, be carefully placed in
the wagon, and he would soon deliver them, along with his own, to the
Priory. Meanwhile, Lord Bolster would convey her to Cancrizans. There
was a small dispute between himself and Mr. Plum as to his
appropriation of the chaise, but since the vehicle was plainly marked
with his initials, ownership was reluctantly conceded. When Plum
triumphantly ordered Monsewer's horse freed from the poles, Jeremy just
as triumphantly desired Joseph, who had now come up with them, to
assist him in harnessing his fine grey gelding to the chaise. At
length, Mrs. Bacon was ushered inside. Harry wrapped a warm travelling
rug about her knees, quieted her anxieties with a kiss, sprang down,
closed the door, and turned to Bolster.

"Harry," said that worthy in a troubled undervoice. "I don't
like leaving you in this damned mess!"

"Get her the devil out of here!" Redmond murmured urgently. "I
shall follow you with the wagon just as quickly as I can."

All afternoon Sir Harry strove doggedly against Mr. Plum and
his leering sycophants. With the aid of the faithful Joseph, a footman,
and a groom who had also refused to leave, the wagon was loaded with
the belongings to which he was able to prove ownership. His progress
through the house provided excellent entertainment for Plum and
company, who did all possible to harass and impede him, nudging one
another, shouting mockery, and howling their amusement. When Harry
crossed to the drawing room sideboard to pour a glass of Madeira for
himself and his three helpers, a swaggering lout snatched up and
deliberately dropped the decanter. The lout was neatly floored for his
insult, whereafter the rest of that uncouth crew took care to stay
clear of Harry's deadly fists.

In the study, a hurried search through his father's desk
brought forth a notepad carefully inscribed with their various
birthdates, evoking a pang he could barely hide. A crude comment from
one of his tormentors so infuriated him that he wrenched the next
drawer too hard. The resultant cascade of papers, old quill pens,
broken pencils, and all the litter that accumulates in desk drawers
over a period of years added immeasureably to the amusement of his
audience. Among the debris, he came upon a packet of letters half under
the drawer lining, neatly tied and inscribed by a female hand. Curious,
he stuffed them into his pocket.

Shortly after six o'clock, friends of M. Sanguinet began to
arrive. An ill-assorted lot, clad in a miscellany of garments ranging
from morning clothes to one magnificent fellow in full Ball dress, they
prowled the house and engaged in furious altercations over various
items of value. Choked with fury, Harry stalked through the uproar,
head high, as they wrangled over his father's beloved clocks and
miniatures, sterling, china, paintings, and rugs. Watching him with the
eyes of love, Joseph fought to emulate that fiercely proud demeanour
but stumbled along, barely able to see through his tears.

Sir Harry's intention to depart without further violence
almost came to naught when he was forbidden to remove several fine old
books Mitchell had purchased from a private library sale the previous
summer. The more he argued with the adamant and insulting Plum, the
louder and more hilarious grew the comments of the crowd, and he was
urged to take his case "to ol' Parnell" at Sanguinet Towers. Through
teeth gritted with fury he smiled, "I shall."

Joseph insisted upon driving the wagon, adding his few
belongings to the contents, and they departed, profanely bidden adieu
by Mr. Plum, his minions, and the guests.

At the top of the hill, Sir Harry drew rein. For a long,
aching moment he looked back. Then, without a word, he rode on.

It was cold that evening, the wind moaning through the trees,
a new moon peeping occasionally from behind racing clouds and casting
shifting shadows across the narrow, deserted road. Lace was fidgety
and, having seen Redmond twice glance back, Joseph turned also and
voiced the fear that rank riders might be about. He had no sooner
uttered the words than one of Harry's travelling pistols flashed into
his hand as a horseman galloped after them.

An arm was waved vigorously. "It do be I, sir!"

The footman hove into sight, mounted on his old cob, a
carpetbag slung behind the saddle. Thankfully, Harry restored the
pistol to his deep pocket. Braggs announced his intention to go with
them as far as the Priory, and although Harry was vehement in his
protestations, the man said stubbornly, "Give me too much pay you done,
sir, and well I knows it. I'll find myself another situation
prompt-like with that letter you writ. I owes you more'n this, Sir
Harry, so let me help, do!"

Harry was both touched and pleased. He'd had no intention of
leaving Joseph alone on the roads with the wagon, but his need to
confront the man who had so carelessly allowed his friends to plunder
the Grange was a consuming flame. He gave one of his pistols to Braggs
and insisted they should pass the night at "The Georgian" where he was
well known. Promising the worried Joseph that he would travel to the
Priory the following day, he funded them, waved a farewell, and was
away at the gallop.

Looking after him, Braggs smiled admiringly, "A reg'lar out'n
outer, our Sir Harry, eh Mr. Joseph?"

"Who's about to get his head blown off!" Joseph worried. "I
know plenty about the Sanguinets, Braggs. Let me tell you… Poison, they
are! Poison!"

It began to drizzle shortly after nine o'clock, and by eleven
was coming down in torrents. Lace was tired, Harry was cold, and the
darkness had become so absolute that only his familiarity with the road
enabled him to go on. To journey any farther tonight would be folly,
but although he was well known in Tunbridge Wells, it appeared there
was to be a large wedding on the morrow and that every available
hostelry was filled to overflowing with those guests the bride's
parents were unable to accommodate. Shivering after his third
rejection, Harry made enquiries at the nearest stable, where an
obliging ostler directed him " 'fust right, second left, dahn the lane.
Missus Burnett's. Can't miss it, guv!" Harry had never been adept at
recalling directions; he could and did miss it, and was drenched and
half frozen when at last he came upon an inviting looking three-storey
house set back from spreading lawns, before which a lantern illumined a
swinging, rain-beaded sign that read "Mrs. Burnett's" and beneath this
disclosure, "A Refined Boarding House for the Genteel Traveller."

Harry dismounted wearily and bestowed Lace and his
instructions for her care, together with a shilling, upon a lad who ran
up, poorly protected by a square of sacking. He strode up two steps,
across a small porch, and opened the door into a warmly lamplit
vestibule giving onto a parlour wherein several people sat about a
leaping fire. They looked very genteel, indeed, but the thin and neat
little lady behind the desk scrutinized the newcomer from sodden beaver
to muddied boots and with folded arms and chilly mien informed him that
regrettably she was "Full Up! And—what's more—"

Harry snatched off his hat as she spoke, and now, pushing wet
locks back from his brow, said ruefully, "And what's more you run a
respectable house and do not take in stray travellers with neither
valise nor valet to recommend 'em, eh, ma'am?"

She eyed him warily, but the cut of the coat was awesome; his
clumsy efforts had sent his dark hair into wet curls that made him show
beguilingly youthful; the deep voice was gentle and cultured, and she
liked his wide mouth and the set of his chin. A good deal of the starch
had gone out of her voice, therefore, when she said, "S'right, sir!"

"Don't blame you at all, ma'am." He looked wistfully into the
parlour, encountering the eyes of no less than six pretty young ladies
who had been surveying his tall figure with interest. "My loss, for I
can see your establishment is the kind we used to dream of in Spain.
Oh, well…" He shrugged. "Best be on my way."

Hostility reeled before the full impact of his dazzling smile,
and she said feebly, "You'll likely find… somewheres… sir."

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. Been just about everywhere. Though
nowhere as home-like as this." He patted her hand. "Now take that
worried look from your pretty eyes. I shall do."

His own green eyes were making Mrs. Burnett's heart beat
faster than it had done for many a day and prompting the wish she was
twenty years younger. "And—you was in Spain, sir? Oh, my! To send one
of our fine young fighting men out on such a night . . ! It do seem
downright cruel."

"I've slept under a hedge on many a worse night, I do assure
you…"

"Hedge!" she cried indignantly. "For a gentleman such as
yourself?" She pulled her register closer and, tearing her gaze from
his hopeful face, peered at the close-written page. "We must have
something
…"

Half an hour later, sprawling before the fire that burned
brightly in the parlour gate, Harry was almost too weary to pull off
his boots. Accomplishing this he settled back, blinking drowsily at the
flames and calling down blessings on Mrs. Burnett's head for having
discovered that this small suite had just been vacated. A gust of wind
sent smoke billowing down the chimney, and the waiter, entering with
the tankard of ale he had ordered, observed it was a perishing night.
Harry agreed, and expressed his relief that he had been able to find a
room. "Did
Mr
. Burnett give you the suite, sir?"
the waiter enquired curiously. "I doubt as they've changed the sheets
yet." Harry assured him the suite had been allocated by the landlady
herself, then desired that his riding coat be cleaned, his shirt and
cravat washed and ironed, his beaver dried, and his boots polished.
"Better let me take your breeches, too, sir," said the waiter. "All
mud, they is." Harry agreed, the waiter accepted his gratuity and,
laden with clothing, took himself off.

Despite the fire, Harry's scanty remaining apparel soon
reduced him to gooseflesh. He blew out the candle and tottered into the
darkened bedroom. He felt no compulsion to search for fleas, but
crawled between the sheets and stretched luxuriously. The bedding was
adequate, the mattress a soft billow of feathers, the sheets almost
perfumed…

He awoke with a start. The room was very dark, but he knew
suddenly that he was no longer alone. His first thought was of the
thieves that were known to haunt hostelries and boardinghouses these
days, but then the blankets were pulled back. A sweet fragrance reached
his nostrils, and a warm, soft form slid into the bed beside him. Mrs.
Burnett's had more to recommend it than he'd dreamed! Delighted, he
slipped an arm about her. "Hello, sweetheart," he said by way of
welcome.

A smothered shriek rang out. The feminine form struggled
frenziedly against his ardent embrace. "Come now," he laughed. "No need
to play about, m'dear." Amusement became indignation as nails clawed at
him. "I say, now! That's a bit much!" His arm tightened. "What's the
difficulty? Wrong gentleman? Well, it's too late now. Here you are,
and—"

"Oooh!
Ooooh
! Let me go! You horrid
beast! You wicked ravisher! Let me go!"

"Let you
go
? I should jolly well think
not!
You
came to
me
—I
didn't drag you! How
dare
you call me a ravisher?
Boot's more on t'other foot if you was to ask me!"

She fought wildly, but she was soft and cuddly for all her
struggling and, from the sound of her voice, was young. "Come on,
puss," he said, cajoling if somewhat breathless. "I'm not such a bad
sort. How about a kiss?"

Instead, a hand cracked against his nose. He yelped and held
her tighter.

"I shall scream!" A note of pure terror was in the panting
little voice. "And—and if I do—you will be incarcerated!"

"And you, m'dear, will likely ruin any hopes you may entertain
of future business in
this
boardinghouse! Come
now—enough is enough. You hopped into my bed, and now you must—"

"This is
my
bed! And
my
room! There must have been some mistake. I should have lit the lamp,
but I was so very sleepy, and… Oh, sir! Whoever you are, I
beg
of you… I do not wish to ruin myself, but if you will not let me go, I
shall most assuredly scream and we shall have
everyone
in here!"

The prospect was not intriguing. "Well, of all the false
starts!" protested Harry, feeling much abused. "Let's have a little
light on the subject." He reached for the tinderbox but was stopped by
a half-sobbed, "No! Do not! I should
die
of
shame! And you… Oh, my dear God! You are…
naked
!"

He chuckled. "Yes, but you aren't." To his horror she began to
weep in earnest, and he said kindly, "Now, don't cry, for Lord's sake.
Look—you do not seriously expect me to believe all this? Mrs. Burnett
gave me this suite."

"Mrs. Burnett is a great gaby!" A loud sniff accompanied this
denunciation. "My friend did leave, but I told Mr. Burnett I would
remain. He is half-foxed most of the time, and I suppose… Oh, sir! I
know
what you must think… what you could not but believe.
Please
—I
implore
you—release me. I am an unmarried lady,
travelling with my friends from the Convent…"