Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (5 page)

"Concerning my father," Redmond went on.

Again, Leith's recollection played him false. Beyond a vague
knowledge that Redmond's sire was a fine sportsman, he couldn't seem to
put a face to the name, but it was very possible he was a friend of the
family. "I, er, trust Sir Colin is well," he murmured hopefully.

That he had erred was at once obvious. Redmond looked
horrified and exclaimed, "Hardly! He was murdered in ' 14!"

"Good God! How damnable for you! Do you know who did it?"

"Oh yes," said Redmond, a deadly glint in his eyes. "We know,
my brother and I. I believe you are acquainted with Harry?"

Leith sighed and gave up. "I might be," he admitted wryly.
"There's a deal I cannot remember, even now. Only bits and pieces, I'm
afraid."

"Ah, is that the way of it? Must be beastly annoying for you,
Strand."

"It is, indeed. But I see you mistake, sir. Justin Strand is
my brother-in-law, and presently in Town. I am Tristram Leith."

"Oh, Lord!'' gasped Redmond, dismayed by the pitfall he had so
narrowly avoided.

Leith's expression became chill. He stood and said coldly,
"You have heard my name before, I see."

Redmond considered him. Egad, but it was a big fellow. "I
should have, I take it. I've been in Europe a great deal the last year
or so. But I fancy the uniform became you."

"So you
have
heard of me!"

"No, I tell you." Redmond grinned. "But military is writ all
over you. Cavalry? You've seen service, I gather."

Instinctively, Leith's hand lifted to his scarred cheek. "Yes.
Boney gave me something to remember him by. I wound up on Wellington's
staff, actually."

"Did you, by God!" Looking suddenly boyish without that
cynical hauteur, Redmond sat up, flinched, swore, but asked eagerly,
"Waterloo?''

"Yes."

"Jove—what luck! How I'd love to have been there! Invalided
out, eh?"

"No."

Nonplussed, Redmond watched him. That flat denial could mean
anything—even that he had been cashiered. He thought impatiently, "What
stuff!'' The man was the very essence of pride and integrity, and the
last type the military would have kicked out. On the other hand, it did
not do to jump to conclusions, as that silly little chit had done this
morning when she'd caught sight of his own back. The muscles under his
ribs cramped, and he thrust away the recollection. He was laid by the
heels for the present, else he'd ride out at once and track down
Strand. Or better yet, Diccon himself. Instead, all he could do was
wait to see what developed. An anxious frown pulled his brows together
as in his mind's eye he saw again the letter that he had most
dishonourably intercepted. It had been addressed to Sir Harry Redmond,
Moire Grange, Hants., but he'd recognized the untidy writing of the
direction and had broken the seal with not a second's hesitation. The
message had been very brief:

Harry-

Claude S. is on the move at last. Meet me at Strand
Hall near Horsham, in Sussex. Tell no one.

In haste
—

Trader

Trader meant Diccon, of course, and that zealous and little
appreciated guardian of Britain's well-being seldom erred. If Monsieur
Claude Sanguinet was "on the move," there was no telling what devilment
was brewing. One could but pray old Diccon reached Strand Hall before
Harry got wind of it all!

Mitchell put out his hand and, with a transforming grin that
caused Leith to revise his first impressions hurriedly, said, "Very
glad to know you, sir. I'm afraid I impose on your hospitality, and
I'll likely be a blasted nuisance for a day or two, but I assure you
I'm a fast healer."

Taking that slim hand and surprised by the strength of its
grip, Leith, ever courteous, answered, "It will be our pleasure to have
you with us. Is there anyone you wish us to notify?" And he was at once
intrigued by the schoolboy guilt that was reflected in the handsome
face of his guest.

"Oh, n-no," stammered Redmond. "No one at all. Thank you."

"Well, I think it a very odd circumstance," said Charity,
walking slowly downstairs beside her sister. "He has been here for
three days, surely there must be
someone
in this
world who cares about the man and would be interested in knowing of his
whereabouts? Sir Harry, certainly."

"Perhaps he told Dr. Bellows," suggested Rachel, straightening
the pink zephyr shawl about her shoulders. "On the other hand, he
is
a bachelor, and besides, it is possible that he does not wish to alarm
his relations."

"I asked Dr. Bellows how he goes on, and he said that the
wound is healing nicely." Charity frowned slightly. She had not slept
very well with such a man in the house, although Tristram would make
short shrift of any attempted knavery. If she had warned him. For
perhaps the hundredth time, she wondered why she had said nothing to
anyone of Redmond's shameful scars, instead allowing Brutus to sleep at
the head of the stairs. There was little doubt that the bulldog had
taken an immediate (and perfectly logical) dislike to Redmond, and
would alert the household if the man dared to set one foot outside his
door.

Rachel laughed softly. "Whatever are you pondering? You look
positively ferocious."

"No, do I? I was thinking of that strange valet, diLoretto. He
has the other servants properly in whoops, you know. Mrs. Hayward told
me that he has a little song or line of opera for practically any
situation that arises, and does not hesistate to render it, wherever he
chances to be."

"Yes, so Agatha told me. But he seems a very pleasant kind of
man. I hope—"

They had reached the ground floor and were starting across the
entrance hall.

"Oh, dear," said Rachel, pausing. "
Now
what is Brutus about?"

The bulldog's frenzied barking did not contain the warning
note he employed when strangers approached. His excitement was
evidenced by ear-splitting squeaks and yips interspersed with his usual
stentorian tones. The sisters halted and looked at each other
uncertainly.

"You do not suppose Justin is come home?" said Charity. There
was no rumble of carriage wheels outside, however, and the door that
opened was the one beyond the kitchen that led to the stableyard. Rapid
thuds, accompanied by the click of nails, presaged the arrival of the
dog, who hurtled at them from across the hall. Charity flung herself in
front of her sister, shrieking, "Brutus! Down!" She had armed herself
with a hastily removed slipper, but although she applied this impromptu
weapon to the dog's nose with firmness, once more her chin was lovingly
caressed by what seemed several yards of pink tongue. "Horrid… beast!"
she spluttered, staggering back.

"Br-Brutus! You silly dashed pest!" There was laughter in the
familiar voice.

With cries of surprised welcome, both girls ran to greet the
newcomer.

"Bolster!"

"Oh, Jeremy! How
lovely
of you to come!
Is Amanda with you?"

The broad shoulders of the man who strode across the hall were
exaggerated by the many capes of the long drab driving coat he wore. He
had snatched off his high-crowned beaver, causing straight yellow hair
to tumble untidily across his brow. Beaming, he bowed over Rachel's
hand, straightened, his hazel eyes aglow with pleasure at this reunion,
and turned to Charity to be seized in an impulsive, improper, and fond
hug that delighted him. His ruddy features became ruddier.

"I s-say, Charity," he stammered, grinning from ear to ear and
dropping his hat. "Here's a jolly f-fine welcome! Hey! Brutus! Give it
here, you curst commoner!"

Brutus had no intention of relinquishing his prize and, with
the beaver firmly gripped between his jaws, galloped jubilantly round
and round the three people who pursued him, variously entreating,
commanding, and threatening. Ears back, eyes narrowed, his powerful
legs pumping, he tore up the stairs, collided with the two men coming
down, and stiffened. It was the scent again! Fainter, but still beyond
bearing. He crouched, growling around the beaver, only to be shocked by
a voice like steel—a voice that brooked no falderal.

"Behave!" it proclaimed ringingly. "
Down
,
sir!"

Charity, who had been about to berate the dog, was at once
vexed that Mr. Redmond should presume to do so.

Brutus, however, dropped so abruptly that he slid down the
next stair. Looking up at the tall individual who had spoken with such
authority, he humbly laid his prize at the man's feet and assumed an
air of fawning servility.

"Do not toad eat me, you clumsy leviathan," said Mitchell
Redmond. "Be off with you!"

"
Well!''
murmured Charity.

Brutus grinned and wriggled his hips in the contortion that
passed for a wag of his tail. His efforts were wasted, however, and he
went dejectedly down the stairs.

Tristram Leith snatched up the battered beaver and tossed it
to its owner. "Greetings, Jeremy!"

"Thank you, Leith. Hello, R-Redmond. You here?"

"Evidently," drawled Redmond.

Bristling, Charity saw a matching indignation come into
Rachel's eyes. There was no cause for Mr. Redmond to speak so
cuttingly. Everyone loved Jerry Bolster, for surely a kinder, more
chivalrous person never drew breath.

Leith crossed to shake his friend's hand. "This is well timed,
indeed," he exclaimed. "You mean to spend a week or two with us, at
least, I hope?"

"Oh, do say you will, Jeremy," urged Charity.

"
Did
you bring your wife?" repeated
Rachel eagerly.

"No, as a matter of fact. That is to say, I left her in
Dorset." He turned his amiable smile on Redmond. "With your cousins,
dear boy. I fancy you know that Sophia has presented Camille with
twins."

"Good God!" exclaimed Redmond, astonished. "I knew she was in
a delicate condition, of course, but—twins!" For an instant he looked
quite enthusiastic, but catching Charity's eye, he added, "I wish Cam
joy of 'em. One brat is a devilish nuisance, let alone a pair."

Charity could have scratched the obnoxious creature. He must
certainly be aware of Rachel's condition, and he was, besides being an
unexpected guest, one for whom they had been compelled to summon the
doctor, give lots of extra care, and prepare a special diet. They would
have done as much for a horse, but the least he could do in return was
to be civil!

Seething, she said, "Be forewarned, Tristram. You are soon to
have a 'devilish nuisance' foisted off upon you! Mr. Redmond, I believe
you are acquainted with my sister?" As she spoke, she flung out a hand
to indicate Rachel. Because she was angry, the gesture was exaggerated.
It was also unfortunate, because she had completely forgotten that she
still held the slipper, which now flew from her grasp and landed
squarely in Redmond's face.

Bolster could not restrain a chortle. Leith quickly retrieved
the slipper and returned it to Charity. Scarlet with embarrassment, she
stammered out incoherent apologies.

Redmond rose to the occasion nobly. It was, he assured her, of
no importance whatsoever. Turning to bow over Rachel's hand, he said
with an enchanting smile, "Indeed, it fairly gave me back my own. What
a block you must think me, ma'am. I trust you will forgive such gauche
behaviour. The fact is, you are so slender I'd no least notion you mean
to present Leith with
un petit paquet.''

"Oh, prettily said," Rachel responded, laughter brightening
her lovely face. " I am surprised to see you up and about so soon after
your injury, Mr. Redmond."

Startled, Bolster intervened, "Injury? You hurt, Mitch? Not
another
duel?"

Irked by the awareness that a pair of scornful grey-green eyes
were fixed upon him, Redmond shrugged. "Something of the sort."

"Harry won't like that, old fellow. Was saying to me only
yesterday that he wishes—"

His brows drawing into a dark line, Redmond interrupted, "My
brother is in Dorset?"

"No. Was. Went to see the b-babies, y'know. Told you— twins—"

"Yes, yes! Lord sakes, Jerry! Where
is
Harry?"

"On his way back to the Grange, of course. Likely he'll come
here when he don't find you."

"Why the devil should he? Did you tell him I was coming here?"
Redmond's dark face flushed with irritation.

Bolster blinked at him and stepped back a pace. "Couldn't.
Didn't know, my t-tulip. I only meant Harry might c-come here because
I'd said I was coming."

Redmond scowled, and there was a short, uncomfortable pause.

Taking Bolster's arm, Leith led the way into the drawing room,
while enquiring heartily after the delightful Amanda, Lady Bolster.
Bestowing a disgusted look upon Redmond, Charity swept past beside her
sister, leaving the pariah to saunter after them, deep in thought.

Was it only a chance impulse that had brought Bolster into
Sussex? Or had he also been summoned? Redmond glanced up and found
Bolster watching him from across the big room, his open countenance
absurdly concerned. Dear old Jerry. A gudgeon, but the very best of
good fellows. Redmond winked, and at once a relieved grin lit his
lordship's face.

Redmond wandered over to the window seat and sat there,
looking unseeingly upon the fair morning, quite unaware of the
indignant glances coming his way from Miss Charity Strand. Bolster and
Justin Strand, he reflected, were good friends, so it was natural
enough that Jerry should stop here— except that Strand apparently no
longer resided here. He and his wife dwelt some twenty miles to the
south at an estate called Silverings. It was possible that Jerry had
gone there first, and come up here having drawn a blank. Redmond knit
his brows in frustration. It would be simple to come at the root of it.
He'd only have to ask, "Were you called here by Diccon, Jerry?" But
suppose the answer was, "Yes. Were you?" What would he say to that?
"Not exactly, old boy. I chanced to open one of my brother's letters
and read it." He cringed inwardly, picturing Bolster's horror at such a
deed. The ultimate dishonour—to pry into a letter intended for another.
And Jeremy could be so dashed high in the instep about somethings. "My
instincts," he thought defensively, "were purely protective. Harry has
already done battle with the Sanguinets, and he has a wife and little
son to be considered." Briefly, he felt not only justified but quite
noble, but then conscience began to poke at him. The trouble was that
one never really
knew
if one's motives were pure.
He might tell himself that he had acted altruistically, but had he? Or
was the real truth of the matter that he was driven by a consuming
thirst for vengeance? Was his real need to even the score with the
despicable Sanguinets? To make them pay for what they had done?