Lessons in French

by Laura Kinsale

  "Constable Hubble!" Callie said, relieved to see that Colonel Davenport must have set the parish officer on the hunt for Hubert. "Is he here? Have you found him?"

  The constable looked up, recognized her, and pulled off his hat. "No, my lady." He glanced back at Jock uneasily and lowered his voice to a lugubrious whisper. "I ain't going to disturb nothin' further now, ma'am. I'm told there's mortal sickness in the house."

  "Mortal?" Callie stopped short, feeling a wave of alarm for Madame. She looked toward Jock. "No… the duchesse is not worse?"

  The manservant shook his gleaming head slowly and bowed it down. "She's real poorly, my lady." He spoke English with strong traces of a drayman's accent. "Mortal poor. She ain't got long, Doc says."

  Callie had known this was coming, but not so soon. And Trev… where was Trev? She stared in dismay at Jock. "Is her son here?"

  "On his way, my lady," Jock said gruff ly.

  "No one is with her?" Callie moved toward the door. She couldn't leave the duchesse alone if she was failing. She turned to the constable. "I must go in. But I think I may have heard him in the back, behind the stable," she said. Major Sturgeon came up and stood by her shoulder, but she only glanced at him. "Please do look, Constable, and send word up to me immedi ately if he's here. Then you can secure him and wait for Colonel Davenport."

  "You're mistaken, beggin' your pardon, my lady!" Jock said strongly. "He's not in the stable, I assure you! I've had a message sent to him to come as soon as he can."

  "A message?" Callie drew in her chin in confusion.

  Constable Hubble twisted his hat in his hands. "Is my lady lodging a complaint too? Because I don't much like to make an arrest at such a moment."

  Callie blinked. "Arrest?" Then she shook her head. "There's no one to arrest. You can't arrest a bull." She bit her lip, envisioning what damage Hubert might have done while he was on the loose. "Can you?"

  The constable gave a hawking laugh. "Nay, my lady, I'm not here to arrest no bull. I reckon you mean the colonel's animal? I've kept a lookout for 'im this morning, certain enough, but I've a warrant here for—" He pulled a document from inside his coat. "For a duke of Mon-serks, says. Of French origin, residin' at Dove House, village of Shelford, hundred of Radlow, union of Bromyard, county of… etc., etc."

  "That French fellow?" Major Sturgeon spoke at her elbow, a sharp note in his voice. "This is where he lives?"

  Constable Hubble glanced up and nodded at Sturgeon. "Aye, sir. I'm after 'im, I can assures you. But his mama's in her last mortal coils, her man here tells me, and he's been called to come to her side. I'd as soon wait a little while sir, beggin' your pardon. There be no hurry to take the gentleman up. It can wait until his mama's left this world, god bless 'er."

  "The duke?" Callie took a trembling breath. "I don't understand. You have a warrant for the duke?"

  "Aye, my lady. Arrest warrant."

  "Arrest!" She gasped. "For what?"

  "Assault on an officer of the king's army, ma'am, and on a justice of the peace. That was Colonel Davenport himself, my lady, and this here military gentleman, if I'm not mistaken."

  Callie turned to Major Sturgeon. She looked at his swollen jaw, and thought of Trev's swollen hand. With a speechless burst of insight, she apprehended that they had not, after all, fallen off their respective horses.

  "Breakin' the king's peace, riot, and threatenin' behavior," Hubble added, reading from his warrant. "Attested to by John L. Sturgeon, Major, Mr. Daniel Smith, proprietor of the Bluebell tavern, list of other witnesses, statements taken on the spot, etc., etc."

  She was still staring at Major Sturgeon. A warrant for Trev's arrest.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them. Trev had said she would understand today why he had to go away.

  Her heart sank. It was a shock, but not entirely beyond comprehension. Ever since she had known him, Trev had played over the edge of safe and lawful conduct. He seemed to glory in discovering just how far he could go, how much he could get by with. She was probably fortunate to escape having a warrant for her own arrest, merely for having tea with him at the Antlers.

  Major Sturgeon seemed vexed, as well he might if Trev had assaulted him. There had been an instant antagonism between the two of them at their brief meeting, a hostility that Trev had certainly done his best to encourage. She felt blood rising to her cheeks. Had it been over her? She could not imagine that two gentlemen had exchanged blows over Lady Callista Taillefaire. They would be more likely to consult one another on novel methods to escape her spinster clutches.

  "I didn't wish to burden you with the details of a rather sordid encounter, Lady Callista," the major said, his voice still slurred by the swelling at his jaw. "I beg your pardon if I've bent the truth regarding my injury."

  "Oh no," she said, turning away hurriedly. "I'm sure it's no business of mine how you came to be injured."

  "Perhaps someday you'll allow me to tell you a bit about this 'duke,'" he said, speaking with considerable bitterness. "He claims to be your friend, but I don't think you should depend upon it, my lady."

  "Indeed," Callie said. She was having a little trouble breathing. "Perhaps someday you will tell me. But now I really must go in to the duchesse." She turned and went quickly up the path to where Jock stood at the door.

  "Let's just take a look in the stable yard, Constable," Major Sturgeon said behind her. "For this bull—and anyone else who may be there."

  Ten

  CALLIE HURRIED UP THE STAIRS OF DOVE HOUSE. SHE did not pause to knock at the bedroom door but went straight in, fearing to find the duchesse in very grave condition. Instead she found Madame sitting up in a chair, sipping at a cup of tea while a nurse changed the bedsheets with competent efficiency.

  "Lady Callista!" Madame said in her soft, strug gling voice. "Do come in. I am so… pleased to see you." She had to pause a moment in the midst of the sentence to catch her breath, but she was attired in a dressing gown, her hair arranged neatly and her color good.

  Callie dropped her hand from the door knob. "Good morning, ma'am." She halted uncertainly. "I'm sorry to burst in upon you. But I thought—they told me below—I was most concerned, ma'am! I thought you were left alone."

  Madame smiled and lifted her hand. "As you can see, my son has procured… an excellent woman to nurse me."

  The nurse lifted her head for a moment and nodded curtly before she went back to work. She had a military air about her that made Callie feel as if she should salute in reply.

  "But I'm impatient for a little company," Madame said. "I feel so much better that I must have a… caller to amuse me. I heard someone ring a little while ago, but still I am deserted, you see! My infamous son, he is sleeping very late."

  Callie moved into the room. "You're feeling better, ma'am?"

  "Much better." The duchesse smiled. "I do believe I could… dance."

  Callie had never thought of herself as particularly shrewd, but she noted the contradiction between Jock's story to the constable and the evident truth that Madame was not on her deathbed quite yet. "I'm so glad," she said. "That's a great relief to me. But you haven't seen the duke today?"

  The duchesse shook her head. "It is most vexing. I should like to send him down to see what is… all this clamor. Voices at the door, and I heard the strangest sound, my dear, you… would not credit. Nurse says I am dreaming, it's only a dog, but we have no dog, you know!" She shook her head. "And it did not sound like a dog at all. More as the very Horn of Salvation! But sinister. Very low. Almost I could not hear it."

  "I heard a dog barkin', madam," the nurse said stubbornly. "Certain as I live."

  "Yes, there was a dog too," Madame agreed. "But this was… different."

  "Aye, and it may be that your mind is playin' tricks on you, madam, since you haven't yet been bled as the doctor directed." Nurse snapped the sheets taut across the bed. "Too much heat in the brain."

  The duchesse made a little face, turning toward Callie so that the
nurse could not see. She winked. "Yes, my brain is boiling," she said. "But I wish for my son… to approve my treatments."

  "He'd best rouse himself out of bed, then, madam," the nurse said with the disapproval of the righteous for all those who did not rise at first light.

  "Indeed," said Madame. "Before my head bursts! Perhaps, Lady Callista, would you be so good as to direct his… manservant to wake him?"

  Callie opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. She was certain Trev was far away somewhere, f leeing the law, though she had no idea how to break this news to the duchesse. As she searched for some way to def lect the request, a low vibration rose beneath her very feet, a rumble that was just at the edge of hearing. The long and haunting note seemed to tremble in the walls themselves before it died away below hearing.

  "There!" the duchesse exclaimed and was immedi ately overcome by a fit of coughing. She leaned over, struggling to breathe, while men shouted outside. Callie and the nurse hurried to assist Madame, but she waved, pointing to the door. The nurse was wide eyed now, supporting the duchesse's thin shoulders as she coughed, looking up at Callie as if she had seen a ghost.

  It was indeed a malevolent and unearthly sound, if one didn't know precisely what earthly beast had produced it. A surge of relief f lowed through Callie, but Hubert's bellow had sounded so close that even she was startled. She looked out the front window, seeing nothing in the garden but the constable's coattails as he ran out of the stable gate toward the lane. He paused, looking up and down in both directions, and then ran across toward the opposite hedgerow. After a moment, a brindled dog raced after him, barking with all the offended frenzy of a shopkeeper chasing a thief.

  She turned to the duchesse, who was barely recov ering her breath. "Go!" Madame whispered. "I'm… fine! See what—" She lost her voice in another cough but waved so emphatically toward the door that Callie hurried to it.

  "It's only my bull, ma'am; you needn't be alarmed," she said. She lifted her skirts and hastened down the stairs.

  Jock stood in the open door with his back to her as she came down, looking out and pointing across the road. "That way!" he yelled to someone outside. Beyond his big shoulders, she caught a glimpse of Major Sturgeon dodging round the horses tied at the garden gate. "Follow the dog!" Jock shouted to him. "It broke through the hedge!"

  She was about to dart past him to join the pursuit, when a brutal crash and a woman's scream from the direction of the kitchen stairs made her grab the newel post, turning. Lilly came squealing round the corner, colliding with Callie and springing back, her eyes wide. She stood still, put one hand over her mouth, and gestured wildly toward the kitchen.

  Callie heard a familiar low rumble, a thump, and the sound of breaking dishware. "Oh dear," she said. She rounded the corner, already expecting disaster, but the sight that met her was rather more along the lines of a culinary apocalypse.

  The kitchen at Dove House was not a large chamber. Four ancient stone steps led down to it from the main body of the house, and at the far end, it gave out on the rear yard. At the moment, the back door stood open, blocked by a brawny woman f lapping her apron with both hands and breathing with such violent agitation that the sounds she made almost equaled the gusty snorts of the colossal bovine occupant who took up the largest part of the room.

  For an instant Callie stood stock-still, completely confounded by the sight. She had already braced herself to find Hubert involved in this outlandish pickle, but it wasn't Hubert beside the overturned table. Amid the broken eggs, cooked carrots, and remnants of a perfectly browned apple pie, stood—not Hubert—but a black bull of equally gargantuan proportions, swishing its tail against the cupboard. He munched happily on a head of lettuce, showing no objection to the f lour-sack blindfold across its face. As it swallowed the final head of lettuce leaf, Trevelyan—looking entirely the part of an unshaven and wrinkled fugitive from British justice— offered it a ripe tomato from the mess on the f loor.

  "Close the doors," he ordered with such a snap of command in his voice that Callie slammed the kitchen door behind her, nearly catching Lilly's nose in it. The new cook was a little less docile. She only dropped her ample apron to her lap and stood gaping in the open back entry. The bull snuff led, turning its blindfolded face up toward Callie, giving a happy moan as its nostrils f lared.

  The entire state of affairs came clear to her in a single burst of comprehension. She recognized Hubert—she should have done so instantly, only he looked so oddly different, like a familiar person wearing a peculiar wig. Trev would be hiding from the constable, of course, and for some absurd reason he meant to conceal Hubert too. They would have been in the stable yard and ducked into the kitchen as the first possible cover with the pursuit so near. She had been through just this sort of close call with Trev any number of times.

  By instinct she hopped down the steps and edged past Hubert to reach the back door. "You must come inside." She took the cook-woman by the arm. "This is a perfectly harmless animal, I assure you, but there's a dangerous criminal and a vicious dog out there. Hurry now, shut the door!"

  The cook from Bromyard gave a faint scream and banged the door closed behind herself as she stepped gingerly inside. Callie glanced at Trev. "What of Lilly?"

  "And good morning to you too, Lady Callista." He grinned at her, that familiar slanted grin that made them instantly conspirators in crime. With a cordial bow, he added, "Jock can manage Lilly, but damn this great ox." He tried to offer Hubert the limp green top of a carrot, but the bull was attempting to turn blindly toward Callie, treading on a fallen bread loaf and shoving the table another foot toward the hearth. The cupboard tottered dangerously. "Can you keep him quiet?"

  She lifted her skirt and climbed across the table leg to reach Hubert's head. The bull gave a deep sigh of contentment once she joined him, and ceased his attempt to destroy the kitchen furniture. He accepted the carrot top from Trev's bandaged hand with a gentlemanly swipe of his great tongue.

  "What," Callie said fiercely, untying the blindfold so that she could scratch the bull's broad forehead, "are you doing?"

  "Ah," Trev said with an airy wave of another carrot top, "we're just having a bite of breakfast, you see."

  "I thought you meant to go—" She stopped, remembering the cook.

  He gave her a glance, a compelling f lash between them, awareness and a vivid memory of the night before. She looked down and shook away an apple peel that clung to her hem, clearing her throat.

  "My lady! Pardon us!" The cook's voice quaked. "But—" She could not seem to gather any further speech as she pointed at Hubert with a muscular arm and shook her head.

  "Yes, of course, you are quite right," Callie said in her most soothing-of-servants manner. "We must remove him. But not until we know it's safe."

  "Safe!" the new cook said indignantly. "I didn't take this position to be attacked by cattle and criminals, I tell you, in my own kitchen, and on my very first day!"

  "Certainly not," Trev agreed. "But I'm obliged to you for your courage. It's women of your iron moral fiber who saved England from Bonaparte."

  The cook glanced at him. She took a deep breath, as if to reply sharply, and then straightened her shoul ders a little. "I spe'ct so. And who might you be?"

  "The duke," he said easily.

  "The duke!" She made a puff of disdain. "Oh, come!"

  Trev shrugged and smiled. The cook's lips pursed as she tried to maintain her indignation, but her frown eased. Ladies always melted when Trev smiled in that self-deprecating way. Callie had a strong tendency to soften into something resembling a def lated Yorkshire pudding herself, in spite of knowing better than anyone how dangerous it was to succumb.

  "I'm one of those eccentric dukes," Trev said. "The French sort."

  "Little does she know," Callie said under her breath, pulling Hubert's ear forward so that she could rub behind it. The bull tilted his head and moved it up and down with heavy pleasure. Trev took a step back as a horn waved perilously close to his
face.

  The door opened a crack. "They're on the way back, sir," came Jock's disembodied voice.

  "Already?" Trev said. "Can't Barton even lead a respectable goose chase?"

  "They don't look none too happy, sir. Sturgeon's got mud over half his breeches, and his sleeve's torn off."

  "The work of the vulgar Toby, I perceive." Trev gingerly pushed Hubert's horn away from his face with his injured hand. "Doubtless this too will be added to my account. Keeping a vicious dog on the premises."

  "Old Toby's all right," Jock muttered through the door. "Had all the sense knocked out of him in his line o' work, is all."