Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (12 page)

"I had a letter also," said Sir Harry and, looking steadily at
his brother added, "I think.''

Reddening, Mitchell nodded. "You did." They were all staring
at him, especially that clod Devenish. He bit his lip, then added
clearly, "You are perfectly correct, gentlemen. I intercepted my
brother's letter and came in his stead."

"Jove!" gasped Devenish, appalled.

Redmond turned narrowed, deadly eyes on him, and Sir Harry
intervened swiftly, "My brother seems to think that because my wife
recently presented me with a very beautiful little son, I must
henceforth be wrapped in cotton."

Frowns became smiles. Leith's gaze turned speculatively to the
cleric, and Sir Harry explained, "My uncle was up to his revered ears
in our little tussle with the Sanguinets, and thus feels entitled to be
in on whatever is brewing."

Langridge flushed and mumbled something about likely being of
very little use.

"What
is
brewing, Tris?" demanded
Devenish eagerly. "
I
had no letter.''

"Nor I," said Leith, "though I fancy Diccon knew I was here
and means to join us. And in view of the attack on Redmond—"

Sir Harry interrupted intently, "Then they were
not
thieves?"

"They knew me," Mitchell admitted. "It was quite apparent I
was to be disposed of before I could get here. Luckily, I'd anticipated
something of the sort and so carried my sword."

"The devil!" exclaimed Bolster, indignant. "You might have
told
me
, Mitch! I can be tr-trusted, after all!"

Mitchell's cold eyes softened. "Of course you can, Jerry. The
thing was that Diccon said to tell no one of it, and—"

He was on shaky ground and said hurriedly, "For that matter,
you didn't take me into your confidence, either."

"Fooled you," said his lordship with simple pride. "Fooled old
Harry, too. At least,' he peered at his friend in sudden doubt, "I
think I did."

"Oh, you did," Sir Harry acknowledged. "Although Uncle
Mordecai and I were both rather curious as to why you suddenly left the
Priory and went haring off with some ramshackle excuse about having
promised to drop in on Strand.''

"All we need now," said Mitchell, "is the omniscient Diccon."

"I hope to God he's alive," muttered Leith. "The man has led a
charmed life up to now, but if Claude really is on the move, Diccon may
also have been—er, intercepted."

There was a short silence. Mitchell broke it. "Are we to
infer, then," he drawled, "that your visit here was a coincidence,
Devenish?"

Devenish stared at his boots. "Matter of fact," he said
reluctantly, "I came because I—had a, er, feeling." From under his
lashes he saw the faint curl of mockery to Mitchell Redmond's lips, and
added a defiant, "Yes, I'm aware it sounds stupid, but it's God's
truth!"

"Then are we to understand you have also brushed up against
our fine Frenchman?" asked Sir Harry.

Devenish grinned. "Might say that."

"You might indeed," said Leith. "Very well, let's pool our
information while we await Diccon." Again, his dark eyes sought his
wife's beauteous face. "My own initiation into the schemes of the
Sanguinets came about rather by accident. I'd taken a bit of a rap on
the head at Waterloo, as you can see. Unfortunately, it left me with no
memory. My wife, who was Rachel Strand at that time, was in Brussels
with her sister, and Rachel was so kind as to help me. Later, I met
Diccon, who'd been working for Claude in Brittany, in the guise of a
groom."

"He's a damned brave fellow," Sir Harry put in. "We knew him
as an itinerant tinker."

"And as a Bow Street Runner," murmured the Reverend Langridge,
reminiscently.

"And a Free Trader," said Mitchell, his eyes stern. "Although
I've no doubt he in fact is a spy, eh, Leith?"

"At all events," Leith went on, having apparently not heard
the question, "Rachel was betrothed to Claude Sanguinet, and she and
Charity journeyed to his chateau in Brittany. Diccon had warned me that
Claude plotted the overthrow of the British government, and I
suspected, rightly, that Rachel was there to discover something of
Claude's plans."

"By Jove!" said Sir Harry, looking at the silent girl
admiringly.

"Dev and I decided to follow," Leith went on. "That's about
it. We managed to get into the chateau. We found out that Claude meant
to kidnap the Regent, and—"

The Redmonds and Mordecai Langridge were all on their feet,
the air ringing with their exclamations of incredulity.

"Kidnap
Prinny
?" cried Sir Harry. "How?"

"Claude had caused a special carriage to be made. It had
partitions fitted inside the ceiling that could be rolled down to
conceal a central compartment, the outsides of the partitions very
cunningly painted to represent an unoccupied interior. Claude, as you
may know, had inveigled himself into Prinny's good graces. He planned
to trick the Regent into entering the coach. Very soon, our trusting
Prince would be drugged—easy enough of accomplishment—and the screens
would be lowered. To all casual passers-by, an empty coach would drive
through London Town and away to a secret location."

Lord Bolster, who had been listening in a rather bewildered
fashion, asked, "But why? Claude Sanguinet already has most of the
money in the world."

"But not the power, my lord," said the Reverend, nodding
solemnly.

"Right you are, sir," Leith agreed. "Claude's ancestors once
ruled Brittany, and the poor idiot fancies himself royal. With Prinny
in his hands, Lord knows what he could have forced the government to
do."

Sir Harry, his face grim, muttered, "A black coach. And four
black horses."

"And the coachman and outriders wearing black livery," said
Mitchell, broodingly.

"Then you've seen it also?" asked Leith.

"To our sorrow," said Sir Harry. "But ours was in England.
Yours, I take it, was in Dinan?"

"Yes. Thanks to which we were able to win free and bring our
girls safe home. Later, I was so fortunate as to persuade Rachel to
take me to husband, and here we are."

"Oh, no, you don't!" exclaimed Mitchell. "I know that damnable
chateau. It's a veritable fortress. If you got out unscathed, it was
nothing less than a miracle."

"I got out unscathed. Devenish brought a memento with him. A
crossbow bolt."

"Did he, by God!" Sir Harry said. "I'd heard Claude Sanguinet
has a passion for medieval weaponry. You are fully recovered, I trust,
Mr. Devenish?"

"Perfectly fit, thank you," said Devenish. "However, I had
another encounter with our Claude last year. I was visiting a—a cousin
of mine who has inherited a castle in Ayrshire. The old place had stood
empty for decades and we'd gone up to look it over. Turned out a little
clutch of Free Traders had found the castle exactly suited their own
nefarious pursuits and took a very dim view of the owner's arrival. At
least, that's what we thought at first. Eventually we discovered
Sanguinet was behind the whole business and had arranged a neat
funeral—for me." His eyes were remote for an instant. He said with a
rather forced smile, "He's a busy fella."

Leith said gravely, "He doesn't like you, Dev. After all, you
did kick him."

A broad grin spread across Mitchell Redmond's face, and he
raised his cup in salute to Devenish.

"Life does have its moments of bliss," sighed Devenish.
"Anyway, he had his man put a bolt through my leg, so I cannot see his
right to hold a grudge, silly chap."

"He does, however. He has in fact a consuming passion to see
you dead, and you know what they say about the third time. It might
well behoove you to stay clear of this imbroglio."

"Pooh," said Alain Devenish. "Nonsense."

"What escapes me," said Sir Harry, "is why none of it has been
made public. Is it unreasonable to suppose that Claude Sanguinet should
have been denounced as a criminal and yourself praised?"

"Praised!" Devenish gave a cynical snort. "Old Tris was
politely asked to resign his commission."

"The devil!" said Mitchell. "Is Whitehall run mad?"

Leith said with a wry shrug, "They would not believe us.
Whilst we were running for our lives with Sanguinet's pack at our
heels, Claude was sending powerful emissaries to London, claiming I had
invaded his home for the sole purpose of abducting his fiancee, and had
in the process tried to murder him."

The reverend gentleman, who had been following all this with
breathless attention, now leaned forward and asked eagerly, "Had you
so?"

"Well—not very successfully." Leith's mouth twitched into a
faint grin. "I—er, threw him in the pool."

Awed, Mitchell asked, "Never say it was that bottomless one by
the Pagoda?"

"You have it," said Devenish, laughing. "Unhappily, Claude
survived and is regarded as a much-wronged man, while Tris is disgraced
and shunned. Symbolic justice, eh?"

"Enough of me," said Leith briskly. "May we hear your story
now, Sir Harry?"

"Since we are all comrades in arms,'' responded the young
baronet, his green eyes twinkling, "we can drop the title, if you
please. As to our tale—egad, I scarce know where to begin. I'll try to
be brief. We knew Claude to be the motivating force of the clan, but
we've not run up against him directly. Our encounter was with Parnell.
Did you know him?"

Leith shook his head. "I know they called him Monsieur
Diabolique. My wife knew him." He glanced at Rachel, but she was
staring at her interlaced fingers and did not look up. "Nasty," he went
on quickly, "was he?"

"Very nasty," said Sir Harry.

Mitchell said, "Harry," in a flat, quiet voice.

Harry looked at him sombrely and nodded. ''Parnell Sanguinet,"
he began, "was a savage, gentlemen. I think he was mad, but that didn't
help us, of course. My father died soon after I was brought home after
Ciudad Rodrigo. I was still very much an invalid, and we were not told
until much later that he had been ruined at play and committed suicide.
Oh, never look so aghast, it was not the truth—merely what we were led
to believe. Needless to say, Mitchell and I and my uncle fought to
clear his name."

Devenish's brows went up, and he whistled softly.

In a very small voice Rachel put in, "Parnell Sanguinet came
to this house many times. Charity and I were terrified of him although
I suppose he was a well enough featured man. I remember that he spoke
of a girl who was his ward, and we felt so very sorry for her." She
knit her brows. "Nanette—was it?"

Sir Harry hesitated, then said slowly, "Quite right, ma'am.
It's too long a story to tell now. Suffice it to say that in trying to
help her, we annoyed the Sanguinets and things became a bit, er,
frenzied. Towards the end of it, I was fighting my way out of an ambush
with my uncle to side me.'' He saw surprise on their faces, and smiled.
"Do not be deceived. This gentle cleric is a fine fighter, you may
believe me. Anyway, Mitchell had stayed behind to guard Nanette. We had
thought their hiding place quite safe, but they were discovered.
Nanette was dragged off, and my brother near killed." He darted a
glance to Mitchell, who was gazing with deep concentration into the
fire, and there was a small, hushed pause.

Tristram said gently, "You rescued your lady, of course."

'' And married her, praise be! But it was a chancy business.
For a while, it looked—" He paused, his eyes sombre, then said in a
brighter tone, "I believe I have neglected to mention that through all
of this I was aided and abetted by a Good Samaritan who called himself
Diccon. At the finish he came to Newgate where I was spending an
enforced, ah, holiday, and dashed if he wasn't all elegance and the
officials bowing and scraping to him. He got me out of a very sticky
mess, told me something of his real occupation, swore me to secrecy,
and ordered me to stay clear. I rather gather," he ended whimsically,
"that I have been recalled."

Devenish said with enthusiasm, "Jove! Between the lot of us,
old Claude hasn't had things all his way!"

Leith turned to Bolster. "And you, Jerry? I'd no idea you had
tangled with the Sanguinets. Where do you figure in all this?"

With typical modesty, his lordship asserted that he'd had
little to do with it, save for trying to "give old Harry a boost, a
time or two."

"Stuff," said Sir Harry. "You saved my bacon, Jeremy, as well
you know!"

"It would seem to me," said the Reverend, "that—goodness
gracious, only listen to your gentle lapdog, Leith."

The terrace doors burst open, and a tall, thin, shabbily
dressed man with a mop of curling brown hair that escaped untidily from
a disreputable old hat, fairly shot into the room and slammed the door
behind him. Turning an irate scowl on Leith, he said with breathless
indignation, "Blast it all, Colonel! I had to run like the devil to
beat that tiger of yours into the house!"

At the sight of this newcomer, Rachel had whitened and shrunk
a little farther back into her chair. The men, however, were all on
their feet. Leith said, "My regrets. But you might have let me know you
were calling this conference."

"Diccon!" His face one big grin, Sir Harry strode to wring his
old friend's hand. "Damme if I didn't think Claude had got you at last!"

"You may believe he gave it a good try!" His own saturnine
features breaking into a rare smile, Diccon grabbed Harry's arms for an
instant, then turned to run keen eyes of a very light blue over the
assembled group, his gaze lingering an extra second or two upon
Mitchell's expressionless countenance. He turned to Leith. "As for you,
sir, I did send you word. Because of it, my messenger died in one of
those clever little 'accidents' at which Claude is so adept. Frankly, I
am astonished that so many of you have arrived intact, for I've no
doubt our fanatic has my letter and knows what we are about." He went
over to grip Leith's outstretched hand and then bowed with courtly
grace to Rachel. "How do you go on these days, Mrs. Leith?" he asked
gently. "I fancy you must be wishing me at Jericho, rather than here,
cutting up your peace."