Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (11 page)

Glaring at him, Redmond slid the pistol back into its holster.
"I've seen you before somewhere. Where?"

The removal of the pistol exerted an immediate and beneficial
effect upon the youth. Grinning up at his victim, he said with bright
insolence, "Me name's Dick. An' I 'spect as 'ow yer rolled yer orbs
over some lucky cove what happened ter look like me. Ain't likely as
I'd ferget a swell like yerself, is it, yer honour?"

Redmond considered him thoughtfully. "You're a brash little
bantam," he said, thinking that the boy had a fine pair of shoulders
and might develop into a likely fighting man were he decently cared
for. "And there's a law against trespassing, whether you work for
Rickaby or not."

"Oh, I wouldn't never trespass, sir! I don't set one toe on no
land where there's a sign posted. Only thing—I didn't see no such thing
round here, milor'."

Redmond's stern lips twitched. "I am not a milord. Now be off
with you, and don't hang about Mr. Strand's preserves in the future."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir!" The boy backed away, then ran off,
laughing.

Redmond muttered a faintly amused, "Blasted young
rapscallion," and turned Whisper for Strand Hall. When he reached the
stables, he handed the mare over to a groom who stared in surprise at
his muddy knees, and walked across the yard trying to recall where he
had seen the redhead before. It had been an association that was not
entirely praiseworthy, he was sure of that. But—

A shadow fell athwart his path. He halted, his upwards glance
discovering that Alain Devenish stood nearby.

"Been ploughing?" enquired Devenish, his eyes angelic.

"Excellent exercise," returned Redmond blandly. "You should
try it some time, Devenish. Might help you."

"I doubt that," said Devenish, smiling with a gleam of very
white teeth. "I prefer to stay
on
the horse."

"Good gad," Redmond exclaimed. "Have you been riding, then?
In
that
?"

Since Devenish wore primrose pantaloons, a long-tailed powder
blue jacket, and an elaborate waistcoat, the question could only be
construed as provocation, and he treated it accordingly. "As any fool
can plainly see—no. Matter of fact"—he fell into step beside
Redmond—"I've been waiting for you. Wanted to tell you that I took a
damned dim view of your remarks last evening.''

"How difficult for you," purred Redmond. "Tied hand and foot,
are you not? Since we both are guests here."

Devenish took his arm and pulled him to a halt. His blue eyes
flashing fire, he grated,"We shall not be guests forever, Redmond."

"After which, shall you call me out, I wonder? Oh dear.
However shall I endure the suspense?"

"I will shorten it for you," snarled Devenish, his fist
clenching.

Fortunately, the hostilities were suspended at this point
because Josie ran to join them, the skirts of her demure pink and white
gown blowing in the wind. Her animated little face alight, she
commandeered a hand of each of the gentlemen, and began to pull them
back to the house.

"You must come quick," she urged, "for Mrs. Rachel is going to
pour coffee and she said I could have some too if only you will say
yes, Mr. Dev. So you will, won't you? And Mrs. Hayward has cooked them
scrumptious little cakes, and—"

"
Those
cakes," he corrected, sure that
Redmond was amused by his ward's unfortunate grammar. "And I am not in
the least hungry." A startled and pleading glance was turned up to him,
so that he could not but relent. "You've roses in your cheeks this
morning, my elf," he said, smiling reluctantly. "What mischief have you
been up to?"

"Not any, sir. Only I was running about a bit trying to find
Little Patches. Have you seen her? Have
you
, Mr.
Redmond?"

Neither gentleman, it transpired, had seen the kitten.

"I 'spect she's playing, or sleeping somewhere," said Josie
philosophically. "She's a good sleeper. She can sleep on a clothesline,
Fisher says." And, all healthy young appetite, she tugged at them,
begging that they hurry, "else Lord Bolster will have et it all up
before we get there!"

The house was cosy and warm, a small fire burning welcomingly
in the red saloon, where Leith and Bolster were laughing over a remark
that Rachel had made. The newcomers were greeted, and in a moment Mr.
Fisher entered followed by a maid carrying a large tray. Soon fragrant
cups of coffee were being handed around. Josie, looking very conscious,
sat on the edge of a chair, the tip of her tongue just visible as she
concentrated upon the desperate business of mastering cup, saucer,
spoon, and cake. Bolster lost no time in conferring his approval on the
macaroons. With one eye on his lordship and the other on the
diminishing cakes, Josie enquired rather anxiously if he had eaten his
breakfast as yet.

He replied in the affirmative and, selecting another macaroon,
said, "Jolly good, too." Then, becoming aware of the covert amusement
on Rachel's face, he glanced around and asked with a touch of
uncertainty, "Why? Have I been r-remiss? Was we all to breakfast
together?"

"Of course not," said Devenish, with a fulminating look at his
ward. "Josie was just concerned, weren't you, child?"

''Yes,'' she admitted with disastrous honesty,"I was concerned
as you were going to pig the lot, my lord."

Redmond threw back his head and laughed heartily. Poor Bolster
turned crimson, and Devenish leapt to his feet and thunderously
banished the repentant girl from the room. "Devil take the brat," he
groaned, clutching his fair locks as Josie fled. "Each time I give an
inch, she disgraces me!"

"No, no," said Bolster placatingly. "I'm the one disgraced,
Dev. I've a shameful sweet tooth I d-don't make much effort to
control.'' He threw a rueful glance at Rachel's amusement. "From the
mouths of babes, eh?"

Sinking down beside him, Devenish mourned, "Babes! Sometimes
Josie is as old as time. And sometimes…" He gave a despairing gesture.

"She is a darling," said Rachel warmly, wondering why Brutus
was going berserk in the garden.

"She is a scamp," sighed Devenish. "I try to teach her, but
still she blurts out whatever comes into her head and devil take the
consequences. I wonder if she ever will have the faintest notion of how
to go on in polite company."

Bored, Redmond drawled, "Whatever did you expect? Surely you
did not think to take a gypsy waif of unknown background and turn it
into a, ah, silk purse in only—"

Flushed with rage, Devenish fairly exploded to his feet. "Now,
by God, it is long past time for someone to attend to that nasty mouth
of—''

Slanting a glance at his wife's dismayed face, Leith
intervened with a sharp, "Dev! Easy!"

"I see we arrive barely in time to prevent bloodshed."

The rich, laughing voice sliced through that taut instant.
Redmond, his face suddenly very pale, sprang up to face the two men who
now entered the room. "Harry!" he half whispered. "Oh, my God!"

Beaming, Jeremy Bolster hastened to shake the outstretched
hand of the young baronet. With a wink, he said
sotto voce,
"Dashed
timely, old fellow."

Sir Harry Redmond was a shade wider in the shoulders and an
inch shorter in stature than his younger brother, and lacked Mitchell's
good looks, but he was a pleasant-faced young man, blessed with vividly
green if rather narrow eyes, the strong Redmond nose and chin, and a
usually agreeable disposition. The brief look he turned on Mitchell was
grim, but he drew his companion forward and, shaking hands with Leith,
said, "Jove, Tris, you've changed a trifle since last we met!"

Leith grinned, while trying desperately to remember just when
and where he had met this man. There could be no doubt of his identity,
not after that betraying exchange of glances between him and Mitchell;
otherwise, he'd have had not the least notion who he was. "Oh, Boney
rearranged my face, as you see," he said easily.

"For the better," lied Sir Harry. "You've not met my uncle, I
think? The Reverend Mordecai Langridge—Colonel Tristram Leith."

The Reverend, a short, plump, middle-aged cleric of rather
colourless aspect and mild brown eyes, acknowledged the introduction
bashfully. Neither of the newcomers was known to Rachel or Devenish,
and when they had been presented, the little clergyman turned to
Mitchell with a look of helpless apology. "Well, here we are, my boy, "
he said wryly. "You might have guessed we'd find you out."

Mitchell shook hands with him and greeted his brother
uneasily. "Now, Harry," he murmured, "do not fly into the boughs. I
simply saw no reason why—"

"Did you not? Then you and I have some caps to pull." Anger
flared in the green eyes, to be banished by a swift smile. "But not
now," said Sir Harry, and clapped his brother heartily on the back.

Mitchell uttered a smothered exclamation and jerked away from
that heavy hand.

"Bantling?" Alarmed, Sir Harry reverted to the nickname that
had not been used this year and more. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," gasped Mitchell, but sat down rather abruptly.

Tristram Leith's suspicions, stirred when Bolster arrived, now
hardened into cold certainty. He said in his deep drawl, "I'd not call
it 'nothing.' Your brother was set upon." His tone was cool; his dark
eyes met Sir Harry's frowning ones in a steady warning. "By thieves."

Harry might be temporarily out of his depth here, but not for
a second did he imagine that chance had brought these men together.
Leith's plea for caution had been unmistakable, however, which meant
that someone must be kept in the dark. A shrewd glance at the most
logical person confirmed Harry's first impression that she might be in
the family way, which explained Leith's concern. To what extent the
Colonel was involved with the Sanguinet clan, Harry had no idea. The
last time they'd met had been at a ball in Madrid, with the mighty
Wellington present, and Leith in his regimentals dazzling all the
pretty signorinas. He hadn't been a staff officer then, of course, nor
had his handsome face been marred by the scars Waterloo had left him.

With these thoughts racing through his mind, Sir Harry bent
over his brother, peered into the strained face and said, "Thieves, is
it? Jupiter, but they found poor pickings, I'll wager. Minor damage,
old fellow?"

A guarded relief came into Mitchell's eyes. "Very minor,
mon
sauvage. ''

"Do sit down, gentlemen," said Rachel, who had already
summoned a maid to bring more cups. "May I offer you coffee, Reverend?"

Mr. Langridge happily accepted a steaming cup and needed no
urging to further deplete the macaroons. Occupying the chair next to
him, Sir Harry stirred sugar into his cup. "My apologies for intruding
upon you, Leith. Is—er, Strand about?"

"In Town, I'm afraid," Leith answered. "Good gad! Listen to
that fool Brutus! Better send a footman out to him, m'dear."

Rachel rang her little hand bell, and as the maid hurried in,
the Reverend said uneasily, "Your dog's a bit of a tartar, eh?"

"Did he annoy you, sir?" asked Leith. "My apologies. I assure
you that he is all bark and no bite."

"Oh, really!'' protested Langridge. " He was ready to tear us
limb from limb! Eh, Harry?"

"That's odd," Leith muttered. "Usually, he's the gentlest
creature."

"He must reserve his dislike for Redmonds,'' said Mitchell. "I
rated the same treatment when I first arrived."

"So you did," Leith turned to Bolster. "Well, Jeremy, Brutus
was once yours—can you shed some light on this?"

"Far as I know," replied his lordship, looking levelly at Sir
Harry, "he only loathes one creature in the whole world. Donkeys."

"Aha!" said Mitchell. "So Mr. Fox is still at Moire, is he?"

Sir Harry nodded and, seeing Leith's puzzlement, explained,
"Mr. Fox is a donkey. A very unusual donkey, I might add."

"I was surprised he was still there," said the Reverend,
restoring his cup to its saucer. "I made sure Diccon would have—"

Rachel's spoon clattered ringingly onto the silvertray. Her
gasped "Diccon!" was drowned by Devenish's exuberant shout.

"Diccon! I
knew
it!" He sprang up,
exclaiming, "I
knew
Sanguinet had come out of his
hole at last!
That
is why we are all here! Has
each of our lives been touched by that damned villain, then?"

Leith crossed to sit beside his wife and take her cold hand.
"My love," he murmured urgently, "never look so afraid. We know very
little yet. There may be nothing to it at all."

She clung to him, her face deathly pale. "Tell me truly,
have
you heard from Diccon?"

"I have not. And only look at you working yourself into a
spasm. Go and lie down upon your bed, and I will—"

"No! I have always known this day would come, but— Please,
dearest, let me stay. I promise not to be a nuisance.''

He scanned her face worriedly, lifted her hand to his lips,
then returned to the men who by common consent were discussing
Devenish's new chaise and appeared to have noticed nothing of the
tender little scene. "Very well, gentlemen," said Leith, his voice
taking on the subtle ring of authority, "let's have at it. I know, of
course, how Claude Sanguinet has affected the lives of my own family,
but—"

"Forgive me, Colonel," interjected Sir Harry apologetically,
"but
we
do not know of it. Perhaps at this time
we should all lay our cards on the table."

Leith was silent, his eyes flickering to his wife. Rachel's
hands were tight-gripped but she seemed to have her nerves under
control. He said carefully, "I must know first, have any of you
gentlemen been in touch with Diccon?"

Jeremy Bolster raised one muscular hand. "I have. Had a letter
from the old boy telling me to come here at once, but he didn't say who
I was to meet, only not to say anything."