Ask Me No Questions

by Patricia Veryan

  Gordon had not responded to her remarks, and she tightened her clasp on his arm. "Do not be grumpy, dear sir. Stay for the boat party. Gilbert offers a fine breakfast on the barge, strolling minstrels, and a cruise down to Hampton Court." She saw his lips parting, and said cajolingly, "You would not say no without so much as considering my feelings?"

  Repentant, he said, "Of course I consider your feelings, Nadia. But I do not see—"

  "You never see! You are a young man, Chandler! Not a hoary old sage!"

  "Well, yes, but I do have obligations at home, and—"

  "Oh, pish! Do not be so adamantly set 'gainst a merry, frolicsome party. The best of the ton will be there. Fowles, of course, and Samantha Golightly, and my dearest friend, Lady Melissa Coombs, and her silly husband. And Reggie Smythe—such a droll gentleman! And Albert Harrier, and Duke, and…"

  'Oh Lord!' thought Chandler as she rattled on, not once naming anyone with whom he cried friends.

  "And you need not be anxious for dear Sir Brian," she finished at length, "for you told me he is happily involved with that grubby old fresco he unearthed. Only look at those cherry ribbons! Such a delicious shade! Pray be sweet and buy me some."

  Obediently, he detoured to a stall and made the transaction, and my lady went on as though there had been no interruption. "Besides which, now he has found a restorer, you are free of that charge 'pon your time." Intrigued by his scowl, she asked, "Why so murderous a look? Do you not like the man he hired?"

  "If 'twas a man, I might," he grumbled.

  Lady Nadia's mouth fell into a very pretty O of surprise. "You never mean— Oh, you quiz me, you naughty thing!"

  "Would that I did. No, I am perfectly serious. My father has taken on a female artist."

  "If—ever I heard of such a thing!" she gasped, scandalized. "Why, 'tis… 'tis monstrous! Did you not protest?"

  "You may believe I did, but—" Her sudden faint scream interrupted him, and he bent to chase away the emaciated little dog that had cringed with a pleading whimper about her skirts. "Poor fellow," he said, looking after the animal. "He is starving by the look of—"

  "Oh! How dirty he is! And he touched my gown! You never think there are fleas?" Lady Nadia shook her voluminous skirts anxiously. "Do look, Chandler! I vow I cannot abide creatures!"

  Irritated, he said, "A fine figure I should cut, shaking out your skirts in public! How many would believe 'twas fleas I sought?"

  "Chandler!" But she had seen his vexation and knew he was not in sympathy with her dislike of livestock—as though a lady of fashion could have anything but abhorrence for filthy little mongrels! "I am sorry I am not brave," she said meekly. "But I count on you to protect me, and—" It was apparent that her effort to please had not succeeded. Moving closer to smile her enchanting smile into his frowning eyes, she said, "I cannot blame you for being impatient with me, when I am so silly… Gordon." .

  In that moment she was all clinging and coquettish femininity, and very beautiful indeed, so that he relented and said warmly, "How could a man be cross with so lovely a creature?"

  "La, la! I am forgiven!" Her merry little laugh rang out. "Now, do pray tell me of this female. What like is she? Old, and one of those dreadfully strange artist types?"

  "She is about five and twenty, I suppose, and—"

  "Five… and… twenty? Why—why 'tis immoral!"

  " 'Tis nothing of the kind! An you fancy my father would bring his lightskirt to Lac Brillant, ma'am, disabuse your mind of such nonsense! The woman is not particularly attractive, and is besides installed in the most distant guest cottage, with—"

  "My God in heaven! Why ever would Sir Brian permit the woman to dwell on the estate?"

  Through his teeth he said, "I do not scruple to say, ma'am, that I mislike the inference."

  He was far from having a silver tongue, but in spite of his often brusque ways had never used such a tone to her.

  "But my dear Gordon," she said earnestly. " 'Tis not your kind papa whose motives I question, but hers! You may depend upon it that anyone so bold as to insinuate herself into a post which should have been given to some worthy male can only be an adventuress! What it is, she means to become your step-mama, and—"

  Halting, Chandler threw back his head and laughed so heartily that several heads turned, the shivering little mongrel crept closer again, and a vendor with a tray of lace-trimmed caps and fichus hurried up to suggest that "the happy milor' " might like to buy some for his lady.

  Lady Nadia said huffily, "You may laugh, sir! But the day will dawn when I'll remind you of your gullibility!"

  Chapter 6

  Ruth awoke to the sound of birdsongs and the smell of coffee brewing. She yawned and stretched luxuriantly before pulling back the bed-curtains. Sunshine flooded the room and the air was already warm. She got up and went over to open the casements wider. The weeping willow tree that trailed its long green fingers in the stream was full of birds and each one had its own branch that must be hopped on, and its own hymn to the sun that must be rendered before the business of the day began.

  Drinking in the beauties of this breezy morning, Ruth suddenly recollected that today was the first anniversary of their arrival. One week since their hired coach had crept in the back way and violated Sir Brian's velvet lawns. She smiled reminiscently. How very angry Mr. Chandler had been. When Sir Brian had viewed the damage later, he'd also been angry, but by that time Grace had busied herself with some improvised garden tools so that the wheel ruts had not been quite so raw and glaring, and the flower bed less flattened. The head gardener, Mr. Swinton, had caught Grace at work and had all but danced his rage. It had been necessary, she'd said with a tilt of her chin, to speak sharply to him. That intelligence had rather worried Ruth, but so far as she knew there had been no further incidents.

  There were no stirrings as yet from the boys' room. They slept so much more soundly here. And, bless them, they were happy, although they were obliged to spend so many hours indoors. After the first few days she had made them take a nap in the afternoons, and when dinner was over they were allowed to slip outside to play in the woods behind the cottage. They went armed with strict instructions that they must be very quiet, and at once return when she lit the lamp in their bedchamber, or if they saw or heard anyone. They seemed to have turned the situation into a game in which they were Chivalrous Knights, with gardeners, grooms, or gamekeepers designated variously as Enemies of the King, Outlaw Knaves, or Dragons. Gordon Chandler was inflexible in demanding a good day's work from those who served his father, but in return they were well paid, comfortably housed, and never required to labour outside after the evening meal. As a result the twins had not yet been obliged to hurry home, and they very obviously counted the hours until their early evening forays.

  Two days after their arrival here, there had been a close call. While Ruth was at work in the chapel, Mrs. Tate had suddenly appeared at the cottage door and had been irked to find it locked and all the curtains tightly closed. Grace, loyally fulfilling her role as the feeble-minded chaperone, had evidently been convincing, for that afternoon the housekeeper had so far unbent as to tell Ruth she had met her "cousin" and had added with a shake of the head, "poor creature."

  It was all going so well, Ruth thought gratefully. The work was slow and taxing, and at first she had been very tired, her back and arms one large ache. She had experienced the same difficulties in Italy, but Papa had taught her how to pace her initial efforts and gradually she was able to work a little longer before being obliged to rest.

  Sir Brian came often to the chapel. Initially, he had commenced his visits with a concerned question as to whether such labour was not too hard for a lady. No matter how exhausted she felt she'd always found a bright smile for him and denied being in the least tired. She'd been afraid that she must certainly look tired and feared he would question her further, but he instead had passed at once to other subjects, and she had realized that although he was not unkind, he was not one to be de
eply interested in the affairs of others. He neither enquired into her family background, nor invited her opinion on anything save the estate or the fresco. Often, when he wandered in to view the progress of the work, he would bring his chaplain with him, and the Reverend Mr. Aymer was unfailingly gentle, grave, and in complete agreement with whatever Sir Brian chanced to remark. Amused by these traits, Ruth was not at all offended by them. She had, in fact, been relieved that Sir Brian did not complain over the slow progress of the work, but was instead almost childishly delighted by the brighter colours that were beginning to appear from under the mantle of grime that had for so long concealed them.

  Had Mr. Gordon—as everyone seemed to call him—been present, she was sure he would have found fault with her painstaking methods, but heaven was kind; he was still away, doubtless paying court to his betrothed who was, so Mr. Aymer had imparted, the most beautiful lady in London Town. If that were so, Ruth had said rather tartly to Grace Milford, it was unfortunate, for very beautiful ladies were often extreme spoiled, and Mr. Gordon's disposition would not be improved did he marry someone as ill-tempered as himself.

  She experienced a twinge of guilt for that unkind judgment, but at this point her introspection was cut off abruptly as a shriek, followed by hysterical outcries, broke the stillness. Snatching up her wrapper she ran downstairs, her heart hammering with dread. In the kitchen, Grace stood on a stool, her skirts tight clasped about her knees as she sobbed and pleaded to be forgiven and protested herself "innocent of all but steadfastness and loyalty to my poor Mrs. A.!"

  Her apprehensive gaze having swept the room and found nothing to cause such behaviour, Ruth said sharply, "Have done, or you will frighten the twins! To whom are you talking?"

  "S-Saint Paul," sobbed Grace. "He w-was a sinner afore he came to be a saint… so he'll be more like to understand and's-speak up for… a good and honest woman. I knowed we shouldn't have done it! I knowed as we'd be punished!" Her voice rose to a wail. "Oh, Lord save us all! 'Tis—'tis retribution!"

  "Good gracious, what a state you've come to! Get down from there at once. At once, you silly creature! Now, sit here and calm yourself." Ruth patted the trembling hand she held, and when Grace was breathing more evenly and some colour had returned to her pale cheeks, demanded, "Whatever upset you so? Was it a mouse?"

  "Oh, how I wish it had been, Mrs. A!" Her eyes still haunted with terror, Grace said, " 'Twas a great hugeous… d-daemon!"

  "Nonsense!" declared Ruth, after a surreptitious re-checking of the sunny kitchen. "If truth be told, you saw but the shadow of—"

  "That's just what I see! And heaven grant I n-never see no more'n its shadow, for it was a foul fright, Mrs. A." She lowered her voice to a half-whisper, clutching at Ruth's arm with her cold hands, and staring apprehensively into the corners. "A most drefful thing! A great wild boar… with its fur all sticking up round its shoulders like any mane! And—a long pointy snout! Oh!" Poor Grace threw her apron up to her face and wept again. " 'Tis all them wicked lies we told! The devil hisself is coming after us, sure as sure!"

  There was no doubt but that the poor woman was terror-stricken, and Ruth's conscience was made no easier by the knowledge that she really had, as dear Jonathan would have said, told some raspers. "But we have done nothing so evil as to bring daemons after us," she asserted with as much confidence as she could muster. "We have heard no complaints from Chef about the amount of supplies he sends us. The boys have been so good. And Sir Brian is getting full value for the wages he pays me, for truly, Grace, I work very hard. Surely, the Lord would not punish me only for trying to keep us together?"

  Grace was in reluctant agreement with this summation, but she had been badly shaken, and Ruth was obliged to spend the next half hour in trying to calm her. There was no time left for breakfast. She dressed, and plaited her hair in a scramble, but when she hurried across the dew-spangled gardens she took with her the comforting knowledge of having convinced Grace that her "daemon" had been no more than the shadow of the hollyhocks by the kitchen window. Even so, long after she was busily working the matter still preyed on her mind and she was so deep in thought that she did not hear someone come into the chapel, and gave a little jump of fright when Sir Brian spoke just behind her.

  "Oh!" she gasped, jerking around to face him, one hand pressed to her galloping heart. "How you startled me, sir!"

  He smiled up at her. "So I perceive. You are white as a sheet. I had but come to persuade you to share a cup of coffee with me, never dreaming I might sound as if I'd been a fearsome ghost!"

  "You are very far from that, sir," she said, laughing as she took the hands he reached up to help her down. "I must have been extreme deep in concentration."

  It was this scene that met Gordon Chandler's eyes as he strolled into the chapel. He halted and stood very still. The sun was slanting a bright beam onto Miss Allington's face and awakening her hair to a pale gold. It was less severely dressed this morning, several tendrils having escaped the tight plaits to curl down beside her ears. Her eyes were sparkling mirthfully, and with that winning smile curving her lips she did not look nearly so plain as he remembered. Were she to be clad in a fashionable gown and her hair more attractively styled, she might even be judged pretty. With a stirring of unease he heard his father's answering laugh, and noted the way he held the woman's hands—both of 'em! Was it possible Nadia was in the right of it? But that was fustian. Were Papa in the petticoat line he could have his pick of the eligible ladies in the south country.

  He said heartily, "So I have found you, sir."

  Looking pleased, his father swung around. "Come home at last, have you Gordon? Welcome!"

  Chandler threw a searching glance at Miss Allington. The laughter had died from her face. She looked vexed. Most definitely, she looked vexed. He thought, 'Why, the jade is annoyed because I disturbed them! I think I owe Lady Nadia my apologies!' He returned his attention to his father. Was it his imagination, or was the dear old fellow less downcast? He said, "You're looking very fit, sir."

  "That is Miss Arlington's doing," said Sir Brian with a mischievous wink. "We enjoy such pleasant chats together. I'd quite forgot how much a house is brightened by the presence of a lady. Speaking of which, did you see your lovely bride to be?"

  "I did, and she sends you her affectionate regards, sir. I'd hoped to bring her here but, alas, she was unable to accompany me. I have instead brought a likely seeming man for you to interview. He's waiting in your study. I think he'd make you a good steward."

  He declined Sir Brian's invitation to walk back to the main house with him, saying that he wanted a word with Miss Allington. When his father was gone, he moved nearer to the resident restorer. She was at work again, presenting her back to him as she scrubbed away at the painting with some sort of cloth or brush. Running lightly up the steps, he said, "By your leave, ma'am, I should like to see what you've accomplished."

  Ruth stepped back. She had been quick to note the annoyance on his face when he'd first come in. Likely he thought it improper for his noble sire to talk to the hirelings. She was quite sure how he would react to the results of her back-breaking labours.

  She was perfectly correct.

  "Jupiter!" said Chandler, staring with a frown at the small area where colour was flowering from grime. "Is that all you've done in an entire week?"

  She had to bite back a comment that she'd really finished, but had put the grime back so as to still be here to see his charming scowl again. Instead, bowing to Resolution, she said humbly, "I have to make haste slowly, sir. 'Tis delicate work."

  "Evidently. At this rate, we'll have you here for Christmas, ma'am."

  'Would that we might use you for the Yule log,' she thought savagely, and with a demure smile murmured, "You are very kind, Mr. Chandler."

  He was a head taller than she, but his look of disdain seemed to be levelled from a great height. In a voice of ice, he said, "Were I you, madam, I would not count on that."

  Her chin jerked up
. For just an instant, he thought to see a flash in the eyes, which were a much lighter grey than his own. Then, she resumed her efforts. Given pause by that glimpse of fire, he watched her speculatively for a few minutes, noticing that she was using some mixture that constantly fell onto the platform. "I'd think you could achieve more with some honest soap and water, instead of whatever that stuff is," he offered.

  Ruth closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Would you, sir?"

  "Decidedly. I shall have a couple of the lackeys come over to assist you."

  "You are all consideration. I rather doubt Sir Brian would be pleased, however."

  "My father would be pleased," he snapped, "to view the fresco sometime in this decade!"

  "An this work is hurried, or the wrong materials used, Sir Brian will view a bare wall."

  'A likely tale,' thought Chandler, and said derisively, "So you have convinced him that your material contains— what? Some magical qualities?"

  Yearning to scratch him, she faced him again, "But of course. We restorers guard our secrets, and—"

  "Aye! I'm aware of that!"

  "—and Sir Brian has had the courtesy not to require me to divulge them," she finished.

  Her cheeks were flushed now, and the sparkle in her eyes was plain to see. Irritated by the fact that she looked even more attractive when she was angry, he growled, "Has he so? Then I shall be courteous also, and give you fair warning, Miss Allington, that whilst you are guarding your, er— secrets, I shall be on guard also!" Satisfied with this Parthian shot, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

  Ruth spent the rest of the morning composing crushing set-downs to be hurled at the Grimly Gordon, and was so preoccupied that she was able to forget the fact that she'd had no breakfast. Hurrying to the cottage for luncheon, she swept, seething, through the door Grace held open for her.