Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (7 page)

Running to peep at the "handsome creature," Fanny closed the
front door and called, "Only one horse, Etta. You won't need your
habit."

Marietta fled to her room. She put on a pomona green and white
muslin morning dress, tidied her hair, brushed a hare's foot over her
shiny nose, and hoped Papa would not attach too much importance to this
visit.

In the entrance hall, Blake Coville waited. His well-cut
riding coat was blue, his linen like snow, and immaculate moleskins
clung to his muscular legs. He was a sight to make any female heart
flutter and Marietta's heart was no exception as he took her hand and
said admiringly, "How charming you look, Miss Warrington. Your father
has given me leave to take you for a short stroll. May I beg that you
will agree?"

All smiles, Sir Lionel stood nearby, nodding encouragement,
and when Marietta said she would go and fetch her bonnet and a parasol,
he told her triumphantly that he had already sent for those articles.
Mrs. Gillespie came puffing from the back stairs, her square face
flushed as she offered the dainty bonnet. Embarrassed by such a display
of eagerness, Marietta tied the ribbons hurriedly and avoided Mr.
Coville's eyes.

Outside, the air was already quite warm. They followed the
drive-path around to the back of the house, then
walked through the gardens and into the meadows.

Coville took Marietta's parasol and put it up for her. "You
are not provoked with me for suggesting that we walk?" he asked. "I had
intended to bring a mount for you, but—alas! there is no time!"

Disappointed, she asked, "You are returning to London, sir?"

He nodded and said with a sigh, "Our steward sent a footman
with an urgent message. A foreign potentate has arrived at Carlton
House in connection with a matter vital to Britain's interests, and
since my father has travelled widely and chances to be acquainted with
the sheikh…" He shrugged ruefully.

"Your papa is asked to handle the business, is that it? You
must be very proud to be the son of so important a gentleman."

"Yes. Well, I am, of course. But to leave Sussex at this
particular time is"—he sighed again—"is very far from my own wish, Miss
Marietta." He offered his arm. "May I be permitted to address you so ?"

Well aware that eyes were watching from the windows of the
house, she slipped her hand onto his arm and said, "In private perhaps,
Mr. Coville."

He patted her hand."Then, in private, I must be Blake. Yes, I
know that is being very forward, but you must know how very lovely you
are, and how much I admire you. I am so glad we are friends. I only
wish—" A worried look came into his eyes. "There's no use wrapping it
in clean linen—I wish my stepbrother was not coming back at this
particular time. You will take care, ma'am?"

"Good gracious," she said, smiling at him. "I am in peaceful
Sussex, Mr. Coville. Not aboard some East Indiaman being pursued by
Portuguese pirates!"

"I know. But—may I beg that you will do something to set my
mind at rest?"

Temple and Cloud must really be a bad man. Pleased that Mr.
Coville should be so concerned for her safety, she asked, "Such as?"

"If by any chance you hear that Paisley, my step-brother, has
come to Lanterns, will you get word to me? Your father has my
direction. I'll come at once, I promise you."

Astonished, she protested, "No, really! You are very kind, but
his lordship cannot pose a threat to me, or to my family, surely?"

That frighteningly grim look was in his eyes once more. He
said quietly, "He is the most dangerous man I have ever known. I would
hold no lady safe within ten miles of him! And you stay here, ma'am, on
his land. I know you must think I exaggerate. I do not. Quite apart
from Paisley, there are treasure hunters to be guarded against. If you
see anyone lurking about Lanterns—"

Marietta started.

He drew her to a halt and peered into her face. "What is it?
Never say you've already seen trespassers down there?"

Mr. Diccon hadn't really meant to hurt Arthur, and had been so
gentle with the child afterwards. And Arthur was overjoyed with the
sword. Somehow she could not bring herself to betray their trespasser.
"After all you have told us," she said, "I would be terrified to go
near the old place." Coville looked unconvinced, and she added,
"Besides, surely your step-brother would not choose to live in such an
old ruin?"

"There is no telling what mischief he may be brewing. I could
not bear that anything untoward should happen to you, or to your
family." He pressed her hand and said earnestly, "While I'm away I
shall hold your lovely face always in my mind's eye. And I'll count the
hours till I can return and find you safe."

It was a good thing, thought Marietta, knowing her cheeks were
hot, that she had more common sense than to refine upon such behaviour.
If she allowed herself to interpret his remarks as she knew Papa or
Fanny would do, it would be very easy to believe that Mr. Blake
Coville's heart was being ensnared by a penniless girl with a large
family to be provided for.

"I am quite aware that I'm not going fast enough for you,"
said Diccon wielding the curry comb with steady strokes. "But I've
already taken care of Orpheus, and what you fail to realize is that I'm
not supposed to be doing this at all. Someone should be waiting on
me,
rather!"

Mr. Fox brayed softly, turned and lowered his head to lean it
against his owner's chest. Diccon staggered, and swore. Mr. Fox looked
at him anxiously. Pulling the donkey's ear, Diccon soothed, "It's all
right. Don't fly into a pelter. I'm not quite steady on my pins yet, is
all."

Reassured, Mr. Fox permitted his head to be turned aside again
and his grooming recommenced.

It was a brilliant morning. The sky was a deep blue against
which white clouds billowed majestically. The warm air was heavy with
the scents of blossoms and the clean salt tang of the sea. Birds hopped
and twittered, bees buzzed, and Diccon grumbled.

"Only listen to all that peace and quiet! The place is like a
blasted tomb! Yes, I know that's how it is supposed to be. It wasn't
yesterday afternoon, though." He chuckled, and the curry comb slowed.
"We didn't know about that little brat and his family in the dower
house, did we, Fox? As well we found out. We'll have to be more
careful, especially when Yves comes back. Can you imagine that rogue's
reaction were he to rest his eyes on the delectable witch?"

Here, the curry comb stopped altogether, and Diccon leaned on
the donkey's back, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Did ever you see
such a little beauty? But what a termagant! Likely that's why she's
unwed. No man wants a shrew for a wife. She may perhaps be betrothed,
in which case heaven help the poor fellow! We're happy in our bachelor
life, aren't we, Fox? Though it would be grand to have a little scamp
like young Arthur about the house. If one had a proper house. And to
have a gentle lady to confide in, and love, and who would care about
us." He considered that wistfully, then uttered a snort of derision,
"Who'd want us, eh? A battered bachelor short on those two vital
necessities, looks and lettuce. And—your pardon, but facts are facts—a
donkey."

Mr. Fox tossed his head and brayed, and Diccon laughed.
"Insulted you, did I? Very well, I'll stick to my task and then I mean
to go and poke around the old wing. You never can tell, there might
really be a
Sigh of Saladin
lurking about. If we
were to find that, my friend… ah, then things would be different!"

He finished his grooming, turned the little donkey out to
graze, and walked back to the manor. It would take a small army and a
large investment to restore Lanterns, but with typical Scots industry
MacDougall had attacked the littered kitchen in the 'new' wing so that
the enormous room fairly shone with cleanliness. Diccon filled the
coffee pot at the pump and set it on the stove to heat while he 'poked
around.' One of the first improvements, he thought, must be to have
running water laid on.

The broad passage was gloomy and deathly still, and the chill
from the flags struck through the soles of his boots. The rooms he
passed were shuttered and dark. At the end of the corridor a massive
sweep of stairs led to the railed balcony of the first floor and beyond
spread the immensity of the single-storey hall that connected the old
and new wings. He walked softly across it, his ears straining against
the solid wall of silence. At the far end an iron-bound door opened
onto three wide stone steps worn by age and leading down to the most
ancient part of Lanterns. It was even more gloomy here for there were
no windows on this level, the only light filtering down from the
stair-well to the upper storey, and from one room where a block had
tumbled from the west wall. The stone floor was uneven, and the smell
of damp and decay hung thickly on the air.

The farther he progressed the more noticeable was the
deterioration, and he halted in the vast chamber that had been the
original great hall, saddened because the poor old house had come to
such a state. Yet it still retained traces of former glory. A rusting
suit of armour sagged on a small dais and the walls were hung with
several broadswords, a crossbow, a mace, and a mighty war axe, their
grim dignity marred by cobwebs. Three chests, a very long table, and
benches set on either side of the outer door had survived, thick with
dust. At the southernmost end of the room a narrow flight of stairs led
to the upper floor and en route provided access to the minstrel
gallery, which was supported by sturdy beams.

Here, in the twelfth century, the mighty Simon, Lord Cloud,
had held court, surrounding himself with knights and squires and men at
arms, and lovely ladies who wore flowing robes and wimples and busied
themselves at their tapestries. It was this same nobleman who was said
to have come home from the Third Crusade with the
Sigh of
Saladin
as a wedding gift for his bride. If legend spoke
truth the jewelled picture had been hidden when Lanterns was besieged
by invading French during the war that ended in 1217. Part of the
house was burned during the desperate fighting and Lord Simon and the
squire who had hidden the picture were slain. If such a treasure had
actually existed, it was never seen again, but the tale had been handed
down through the centuries and in the event that it was based on fact,
surely the picture would logically have been hidden here, rather than—

The sound was no more than a whisper, but he heard it, and
sensed also that he was no longer alone. With not a second's hesitation
he raced soundlessly back to the main entrance and peered outside. A
ginger-and-white cat was slinking in through the hole in the wall. The
knight who attempted to follow was making a good deal of noise due to
chain mail and a dropped helmet. The latter having been replaced, he
tried again and succeeded in getting one leg through the space.

Amused, Diccon growled, "Advance and be recognized!"

There came a startled yelp. The cat shot out through the wall
and fled. The knight backed away then crouched behind a stone urn, his
plumes waving above it betrayingly.

Diccon choked back a laugh and called, "Only Sir Lancelot may
pass this way! If you are he, show your sword."

A tremulous voice said, "I'm he," and a small wooden sword
waved beside the plumes.

Diccon stepped from the entrance arch. "Welcome, Sir Knight.
Are you on a quest?"

"Y-yes." His eyes very wide, Arthur came into view but pressed
back against the urn. "I'm a shiverous knight," he explained. "So I've
came to 'pologize for jousting with you without telling you we was
jousting."

Diccon managed to keep his countenance while offering a
profound bow.

"An' to see your donkey," said Arthur, venturing a step closer.

Watching the hopeful little face, Diccon knew it was unlikely
that Sir Lancelot had obtained permission to come here. Still, it would
do no harm to let the boy meet Mr. Fox, at least. "This way," he said
with an inviting gesture.

Arthur came to join him, peered in through the door, then
stepped back a pace. "It's awfly dark."

"We can follow the moat around to the kitchen door on the
other end, if you wish."

"Ooh," breathed Arthur. "Is this a moat? It's all dried up."

"To a pirate, perhaps. But to a knight of the round table it's
full to the brim. Every good castle should have a moat, don't you
think?"

Impressed, Arthur nodded and walked a little closer to the
tall man. "We got one, y'know. It's behind the barn." Brightening, he
enlarged upon that stretch of the imagination. "A dragon lives in it.
Has you got a dragon, Mr. Diccon?"

"You should call me Sir—er, Gawaine. My dragon has gone flying
off somewhere, I'm afraid. Probably in search of lunch. Speaking of
which, I do have a kitchen. And I believe there is a seed cake lurking
about. Perchance you would share my board, Sir Lancelot?"

"A'right," said Arthur, happily. "But I'd rather have some
cake, if you please."

"Shameful, I calls it!" Mrs. Gillespie set the iron on its
heel and handed the folded tablecloth to Marietta. "This'n needs a
darn, Miss. The squire should call in the army and chase the varmints
out." She folded her arms across her bosom, tucked in her chin, and
arranged her sagging features into the expression that said she knew
Important Things.
"If
they be humings, that is to
say!"

"Not—human?" Seated at the kitchen table working her way
through a pile of mending, Marietta smiled. "Come now, you never
believe the ghost stories about Lanterns?"

"Aye. There's them as laughs." Mrs. Gillespie nodded grimly
and took up her iron again. "But my mister's seen lights in them there
ruins o' dark nights."

Marietta had occasionally observed Mr. Gillespie making his
way home from the Seven Seas tavern after his "lunch" and could well
believe that there was no limit to what he might see later in the
evening.