Give All to Love

by Patricia Veryan

  With an involuntary leap, he was beside her. “Dear God! What is it?”

  Paper-white, she said threadily, “Something is … crawling around my ankle. Oh, Dev! Oh … Dev…!

  He dropped to his knees and groped under her skirts. “Please—please do not faint. It is likely only one of the kittens, or— What the … Oh, it’s all right, love. It’s only a garden snake. See—”

  “Aaah!” she screeched.

  “Hush, dear, please hush,” he implored, glancing apprehensively at the dark sprawl of the house. “Look here,” he held up a long, narrow shape that coiled itself around his arm. “It won’t hurt you. Only think how friendly it was to have—” He detached the snake quickly, dropped it among the shrubs, and leapt to support Josie’s swaying figure.

  “It’s all right, my babe,” he murmured urgently, holding her close and pressing a kiss on her curls as she clung to him. “It’s all right now. He’s gone home. You are quite safe.”

  Shuddering, she gasped, “He was … crawling up my leg! Oh, Dev!” She began to weep hysterically.

  “Now, now—where is my brave girl? It was only a very trusting small snake who forgot to go to sleep for the winter. He’d not hurt you for the world, sweetheart, I swear it. There, there, never weep so. Hush, little one.”

  After a moment, between diminishing sobs, she said in a scratchy voice, “What … did you call me?”

  “Little one.”

  “No. Be-before that.”

  “Er—oh. Sweetheart. In a—fatherly way, of course.”

  She sniffed. “And—when you … kissed my hair. Was that a—”

  “Yes,” he said hurriedly. “Of course it was.”

  “Oh,” said Miss Josie Storm.

  Chapter 9

  Preparations for the ball went ahead at full speed. Guy spent many hours in the company of Mrs. Grenfell, inspecting, selecting, and supervising the repair and cleaning of the usable tapestries. He was driven into Cirencester to arrange for frames to be constructed and, upon his return, remarked with proper nonchalance that he had chanced to encounter Mrs. Bliss and that she sent her compliments to Josie and Devenish together with thanks for all their help and the information that Sir William was much improved and now able to sit up and occasionally to take a few steps.

  Josie was often busied with Mrs. Robinson, allocating rooms to the various guests who would overnight at Devencourt, and inspecting these apartments, many of whose furnishings had been under Holland covers for years.

  Devenish conferred with his head groom and his steward regarding the clearing of unused parts of the stables, coach house and barns, and ensuring there would be space for the carriages and feed for the mounts that would soon descend upon them.

  Due to the late notification of a major entertainment at a time when holiday parties were already under way, plus the rather remote location of the estate, most of the popular caterers had declined the commission. The one establishment willing to take on the catering for Miss Storm’s ball sent out an extremely supercilious young exquisite, who chanced to encounter the party working on the road. The wagon carrying supplies to the workers had fallen afoul of one of the potholes and lost a wheel. Devenish, arriving a few minutes earlier, had dismounted to lend a hand. The catering company representative, deducing from his dress and his educated accent that Devenish was a step or two above the other workmen, supposed him to be the foreman and indulged himself with a few snide remarks anent woodenheads who decided to hold a ball three weeks before the event. He discovered his mistake when Devenish’s hot temper flared, and much to the amusement of the workers, he was—as the foreman later related—“cut down, chopped up, and sent packing in jig time!”

  As a result, Wolfe became much courted by local merchants, a steady stream of grocers, bakers, butchers, dairymen, fishmongers, greengrocers, and florists beating a daily path to his door from as far away as Cheltenham and Bristol. Exultant because the house was to have a great party again and himself entrusted with most of the details, the old gentleman reeled about, snapping out conflicting orders to his underlings, playing the overworked martyr to Mrs. Robinson, assuring Devenish that everything would run so smooth as any top, and thoroughly enjoying himself.

  A Gloucester registry office had undertaken to provide temporary servants, and these individuals, uniformly complaining of the remote location, began to arrive to be interviewed. Devenish came into the Great Hall one afternoon and found it occupied by a small group of menials being conducted on a familiarization tour by Cornish. He retreated, only to collide with a flying seamstress, her arms full of pink velvet and having several pins in her mouth. She became shrilly convinced that she had swallowed one of the latter, and although this was found to have lodged in her ruff, Devenish was unnerved and fled the house.

  Acceptances were coming in, and one foggy afternoon a week before the date of the ball, Josie was seated at her small desk in the bookroom, going through her lists, when large hands swooped from behind to cover her eyes.

  “Oh!” she squealed, always excited by a game. “Let me guess! Uncle Alastair?” The hands were not removed. She went on eagerly, “Tristram? Oh, I know—Jeremy! No? John…?”

  “John who?” growled an irate voice.

  “Lyon!” She spun around and jumped up to hug and be hugged. “Our famous surgeon!” she exclaimed, as he released her, then kissed each hand in turn. “Oh, Lyon, do tell me—was it a success? Were you pleased? What did Lord Belmont say?”

  Lyon Cahill smiled, his brown eyes drinking her in eagerly. “One at a time, me proud beauty. Jove, but you look nice in that red—er, thing.”

  “I hope you know more about your surgical procedures than you do about ladies’ apparel,” she scolded, sitting down again. “It is a Spencer, foolish boy. And I wear it over my gown because the weather has turned so cold.”

  He perched against the edge of her desk, folding his arms across his broad chest and regarding her with such patent joy that she blushed a little. “Well, it’s very fine on you,” he declared. “As for the operation”—his face clouded—“it went so well. We did it last week. Belmont said it was superb, but … the patient died next day, poor fellow.”

  “Oh, Lyon! I am so sorry!”

  He sighed. “Shock, mostly. And it was so high, you know. Had it been at the knee, perhaps…”

  Josie shuddered. “How frightful it must be. I cannot bear to think of such an ordeal.”

  “I was talking to Belmont about it. He worked on the streets of Brussels during Waterloo. He arrived after the battle started, and was kept so busy with returning wounded, he never had the chance to get out to the field. He told me he will not soon forget the bravery of the men whose limbs he had to amputate without so much as a drop of laudanum. Most of them uttered not a sound.”

  “And soon died,” she said dismally.

  “Not all, m’dear. He had quite an impressive rate of survivals. We can do much better in his lordship’s private hospital, of course. And would do better yet could we but find some way to alleviate the pain.” He frowned. “That is our biggest hurdle, and irremediable, alas.” He saw the distress in her expressive face and added heartily. “Well, enough of me and my burgeoning career. Where’s the guv’nor?”

  She smiled up at him. “Yours, or mine?”

  “Mine. Does he go along all right?”

  “Excellently well. I believe he is becoming more accustomed to his crutch.”

  “He stuck to just the one, then? Famous! I never thought he would! It’s so miserable for the poor man. Does he seem very wretched?”

  “No! Never look so anxious. Guy is happier than I’ve seen him in an age. Indeed, he is out driving at this very minute—all alone.”

  Lyon’s jaw dropped. “But—but he never goes out alone! For one thing, he is not strong enough, and for another, he knows how people feel about him. Was some group of blockheaded yobboes to come upon him, Lord knows what might happen!”

  Alarmed, she cried, “Oh, my! I’d n
ot thought of that! And he has been driving out every afternoon this past week and more. I thought only that he needed a change, for the dear creature has been working so hard.”

  “Working?” Mystified, Lyon asked, “At what, dare I ask?”

  “You may, but I shall not answer.” She dimpled at him mischievously. “It is a secret. None of us is allowed to see until he presents his task, le fait accompli.”

  “I see you’ve been up to your tricks again! What else have you been about?”

  “Very much. Oh, Lyon, I never dreamed there was so much involved in giving a simple little ball.”

  “Little!” Devenish, who had come in a moment after Lyon, but had stood quietly unobserved until now, crossed to welcome the new arrival. Lyon was startled to note that Devenish was using a walking cane, but he did not comment.

  “Never allow yourself to be coerced into hosting a ball,” warned Devenish. “You’ll be badgered to death from morn till night, and driven from under your own roof by the pandemonium. The ladies, God bless ’em, are gone quite berserk!” He went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry, one of which he handed to Lyon. “Sit down, my dear fellow, and tell us all your news. I fancy you’ve some bragging to do.”

  Lyon sat as close to Josie as he dared, and apprised Devenish of the sad results of his initial venture into surgery.

  “One takes one’s chances when you butchers sharpen up your little knives and saws,” said Devenish, rather unmoved. “I feel sorry for his lady wife, but—” He paused, watching the young man curiously. “Cheer up, nipperkin! I’m quite sure you did your very best.”

  Lyon, who had been frowning into the fire, started. “Oh—my apologies. You know, our old London is strange at times. When I left the surgery that day, a man was waiting for me. The nurse said he’d been there for an hour. He was a well-set-up old fellow. Thin, neatly dressed, with snow white hair and a pair of the most snapping black eyes I ever saw.”

  “Wanted you to amputate that white thatch, I’ll warrant,” said Devenish with a wink at Josie.

  “You’re out there, Dev. He wanted me to look at his—dog.”

  “Dog?” echoed Josie, incredulous. “Whatever did you say?”

  “Be dashed if I see anything remarkable about that,” said Devenish, at once indignant. “Animals need doctors just as badly as do human beings.”

  Josie pointed out smilingly, “We have a very good farrier in the village.”

  “Farrier, my eye! What we need are veterinary surgeons. I doubt there are a hundred the length and breadth of England!”

  “Well, we’ve some fine veterinary schools now, at least,” said Lyon. “Will someone pray tell me how we came to discuss this deficiency?”

  “You started it,” Josie accused, but with her fond gaze on Devenish. “You dared to say the fatal word—dog. You might have known ’twould set old Rat Paws off!”

  They all laughed, and Devenish said, “Mea culpa, as usual! Do go on, Lyon. What about the aged gent’s animal?”

  “Well, I looked at it, of course. Poor creature had a small twig that had somehow worked down into its ear. I was able to get it out. Much thanks I got!” He held out one badly bruised hand.

  “You’d likely bite someone had you a twig in your ear,” said Devenish. “Were you reimbursed for this work of mercy?”

  “Not a sou. But—do you know—” Lyon’s gaze returned to the fire—“before I left, the old fellow suddenly asked if my name had always been Cahill.”

  “Did he, by God!” Devenish sat up straighter.

  Josie said intently, “Then he knew you, Lyon?”

  “So I thought. And I’d a feeling I’d seen him somewhere before. But Belmont called for me, and when I went back, the old gentleman was gone. He’d left me a note, though.” He took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Devenish. “Oddest thing.”

  Unfolding it, Devenish read aloud the message that had been inscibed in a neat, rather spidery hand. “‘You think not to have been paid. You have eased the suffering of the one being on this earth that I ever have loved. Payment will be in keeping with the value of your help. Lavisse.’ Hum…”

  “Quite correct, dear Gaffer,” said Josie. “The thoughtful grunt.”

  He grinned at her absently. “Lavisse … Is it familiar to you, bothersome child?”

  She shook her head.

  “Lyon!” Guy hobbled to join them, his cheeks aglow from the cold. “Bienvenu, mon fils!”

  Lyon jumped up and they shook hands, the brown eyes and the hazel ones warm with the affection they shared.

  “How well you look, sir!” Lyon said gladly. “This Devencourt air must agree with you. And you are walking so much easier!”

  “All thanks to my so clever investment in yourself. Do you know, Lyon, I really think that very soon I shall be able to manage with just the cane.”

  Josie murmured. “You would seem to progress as rapidly as Dev retrogresses.”

  Guy looked embarrassed, Devenish was apparently absorbed by his wineglass, and Lyon directed a shocked glance at his beloved, amazed that such an unkind remark could have issued from the lips of so kindly natured a girl.

  There was little time for reflection. Guy was full of questions about his stay in Town, and then Lady Godiva came trotting in and took up residence at Devenish’s feet, this prompting a joint recital of the fall of Sir William and the subsequent events. Josie, Devenish, and Guy all collaborated in the telling, and the tale became so amusing that the air rang with laughter and the time flew.

  At five o’clock, Devenish and Guy excused themselves and went upstairs to change their clothes. Lyon was alone with his love, but his attempt to declare himself was foiled, Josie saying that she also must change. The best he could do was to obtain her promise to meet him in the bookroom in an hour’s time and to accompany him on a short walk before dinner.

  Josie was not one to keep a gentleman waiting interminably while she decided which bracelet to wear, and he had been in the bookroom for only ten minutes when she entered, wearing a rich grey velvet cloak over her full-skirted evening gown of blue silk, and with sapphires sparkling in her ears. Lyon shrugged into his redingote and led her out through the French doors.

  The early evening was chill, with vapours swirling listlessly about, but the air was fresh and clean, and Josie, who had been in the house most of the day, was only too pleased to take Lyon’s arm and walk along the drivepath towards the distant lodge gates.

  “At last, I have you all to myself!” he said triumphantly. “I’ve waited and waited, for I have so much to say to you.”

  She said, “It is nice, isn’t it? We all are so proud of you, Lyon. Can you stay for the ball, or must you go home first?”

  “’Fraid I must. I shall have to pack, and I’ve a few patients to look in on before I come. However, I’ve already had a few words with Dev, and—” He checked. “Josie, how long has he been using that cane?”

  Her chin set and for a moment she did not reply. Then she said, “A few days. If he remembers.” She frowned darkly. “It is all fudge, Lyon, and done purely to convince me of his age and decrepitude.”

  Much shocked, he asked, “Why should he wish to do so? To keep you with him? I cannot credit that he would be that selfish!”

  “It is only amazing how much less infirm he is when Isabella Scott-Matthias is about! You’d scarce believe the transformation.”

  “Is she about, then? I fancy her ladyship stirs up the neighbourhood! She’s certainly a glorious sight.”

  “She is interested in stirring only one gentleman. She and her brother were invited to my party, but I doubt they’ll come after the contretemps with Sir William. My, but they left in a flame.”

  “I fancy Dev was glad enough to see him leave.” He frowned suddenly, a suspicion striking him. “He thinks Fontaine has a tendre for you.”

  She smiled faintly and, noting his expression, enquired, “Don’t you like Lord Elliot either?”

  “
I think him a well enough fellow, but—perhaps Dev’s dislike is justified. He’s not one to take people in aversion in the usual way.”

  “Well, he has this time. As a matter of fact, they were so mutually enraged at one point that I really fancied they would come to cuffs.”

  Lyon whistled softly. “I’d not like to see Dev go out with a man of Fontaine’s reputation. You must try if you cannot calm him, Josie.”

  She said nothing, her brow furrowed.

  Cahill clapped a hand to his head. “What a pudding head to so waste my opportunities!” He halted, faced her, and, nerving himself, said in an unsteady voice, “Josie, I am going along quite well in my profession. I’ll never have the fortune of a Fontaine, or of John Drummond, for that matter, but in a year or so I could give you a comfortable life, and— Well, Dev has come to think you are old enough to wed, so will you make me a very happy fellow please, and—and say you will marry me?”

  It was done! He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his sweating brow.

  “Poor Lyon,” she said, both touched and troubled by this clumsy proposal. “What an ordeal for you. And how very dear to be asked such a question by one of whom I am so fond, and who is, I suspect, fond of me…”

  “Oh, Lord!” he groaned, clutching at his hair. “How could I be such a blockhead? I knew I’d spoil it! But, surely you know—” He took her by both arms. “Of course you know. I’ve been in love with you for years and years.”

  She detached her arms and took his hands instead, saying gently, “I think perhaps I did know, my dear friend. And I am indeed most deeply honoured, but—”

  He paled and jerked away, interrupting harshly, “But you do not want me.” His eyes were bright with anger and there was a bitter twist to his mouth.

  Josie knew that look and said, distressed, “I want you and always shall, for my loved friend, but—”

  “There is not the need to sugar-coat it, I thank you. I’m gallows-bred, I know.”

  “What a horrid expression! As if you are, Lyon. And if it were a matter of birth, my own is no better than yours.”

  Standing half-turned from her, he growled, “I doubt that. Whoever your parents, they were likely of better quality than mine. Besides, you’ve the chance to raise yourself far above my station. I was a fool to hope—”