Ask Me No Questions

by Patricia Veryan

  "Gordon Chandler," she said through gnashing teeth, "is a monster veritable! Oh, but that smells delicious, and I am starved!" She threw her shawl over a chair, caught sight of her reflection in the glass of a picture, and wailed, "Lud! My hair!"

  Carrying plates from the kitchen, Grace asked anxiously, "Whatever did the gentleman do to—"

  "Gentleman! Crudity, rather! A viper! He stuck his proud nose in the air, sneered at me from under his horrid eyelids, and implied—he dared to imply—that I— Oh! That he must guard his papa from me! Jezebel that I am!"

  Grace uttered a shocked squeal and, encouraged, Ruth raged on, thoroughly blackening Gordon Chandler's character, and feeling much better for it when she was done.

  At the top of the stairs, Thorpe and Jacob looked at each other.

  "He went an' did it again," whispered Thorpe.

  Jacob nodded solemnly. "We gave him a chance, too."

  "We shouldn't of."

  "No. We better brew our campaign."

  Unaware of the plot that thickened abovestairs, Ruth interrupted her luncheon to say repentantly, "How unkind I am become not to have mentioned that lovely vase of flowers. You know I love peonies. But you must not indulge me, my dear, lest we offend the mighty Mr. Swinton."

  "The mighty foolish Mr. Swinton." Grace hurried in with a succulent slice of apple pie to put before her mistress. "He told me as peonies come from Chiney if you please, when I know for a fact as my grandfather used peonies for medicine! Nor he didn't send to Chiney for 'em!" She gave a derogatory snort. "A fine head gardener Swinton is!"

  Ruth was remembering the affection in Mr. Gordon's eyes when he'd told Sir Brian he looked "very fit." If anything good could be said of the man, it was that he was devoted to his sire… She said absently, "In all fairness, I think he may be right, you know. I seem to recall Mr. Allington mentioning that the Chinese had found peonies to have medical qualities long before we—" She broke off abruptly. "Mr. Swinton talks to you? You never said aught of it."

  "Why—er…" Her cheeks suddenly ablaze, Grace stammered, "He didn't exactly— I mean— That is, at first he—"

  "Grace Milford! I know that look! Have you been flirting with Sir Brian's stern head gardener?"

  "As if I would do so bold a thing!" Despite this denial, Grace found it necessary to dash back into the kitchen to fetch the milk jug.

  Ruth looked after her uneasily. Grace had never betrayed the least inclination to matrimony, but her bright eyes and generously molded figure had won her several admirers. It had seemed to Ruth that she favoured the burly man who rather incongruously filled the post of valet to Mr. August Falcon, and she had prepared herself to receive notice that Miss Grace Milford had accepted an offer to become Mrs. Enoch Tummet. Perhaps she had attached too much importance to that friendship…

  "Besides," said Grace airily, returning to fill Ruth's glass with milk, "Mr. Swinton ain't so very stern. He forbade me to dig in the garden, but when he come upon me, I teased him a bit, and next time he come he said he had to admit as I'd a way with plants. And he let me have them peonies, Mrs. A., with not a murmur. Cut 'em for me with his own hands, he did. 'Course," she directed a twinkling glance at Ruth, "that were after I'd given him a slice of our apple pie."

  Her unease having become dismay, Ruth said, "But you must not encourage his attentions! If he should take to lingering about here, he might see one of the boys, or begin to suspect—"

  "Now don't you never worry, dear soul. I'm careful as a clam, and let him know as I don't allow no gents in my kitchen, being a good church goer and bred up to what's right and proper."

  "But you are supposed to be simple-minded! Surely, he must know that you are far from being so?"

  Grace giggled. "He thinks I'm a half-wit. I told him about my fancying them shadows was a daemon boar, and he laughed and laughed, and went off shaking his head and saying as I be a silly little gal!"

  Unconvinced, Ruth insisted that Grace must under no circumstances encourage Mr. Swinton's attentions. Grace promised to be very careful, but as Ruth was going out of the door, she added an unsettling, "On the other hand, Mrs. A., it don't do no harm to find out as much as we can. You never know when a pinch o' gossip might fend off a peck o' trouble."

  Ruth had told Sir Brian she must go into the village for more supplies, and it had been arranged that Dutch Coachman should drive Miss Allington and her cousin into the old town, attend to some errands for Sir Brian, then call for the two ladies at Brodie's Lending Library in the High Street. Fortunately, there was no one about when Ruth walked into the stableyard. She told Dutch Coachman that her cousin had not felt up to the drive and, although he protested against her going into town alone, she managed to convince him that she only meant to place her orders and was not likely to encounter any ravening beasts in the High Street. The big man grinned and capitulated, and soon the coach was rolling down the drivepath.

  Dover was full of activity this afternoon, the narrow streets crowded with coaches and waggons, horsemen and sedan chairs, and with seafaring men everywhere. Ruth was set down outside a bakery shop where she astonished the proprietor by her exacting requirements, and left him beaming with delight at the order she placed. From there she made her way to a far from fashionable bazaar where she was able to find the type of cotton goods she required and arrange for a bolt to be delivered to Lac Brillant the following day.

  The transactions took less time than she had expected, and she strolled happily along the High Street, looking into shop windows and enjoying being surrounded by the bustle of town life once again. Eventually reaching the well-patronized lending library, she browsed among the books for a while. She was examining a new volume of poetry when she experienced the sensation that she was being watched. She looked up quickly. There was a blank space on the shelf and through it she could see into the next aisle. A gentleman stood there. Today, his coat was dark blue, but he was as neat, his smile as blandly ingratiating as ever. He raised his tricorne to her and inclined his head respectfully.

  Nothing alarming in that, surely? Yet there was about this man an air of the relentless. The sense of being hunted was strong. She told herself it was illogical, but suddenly Ruth was so frightened that her hands became icy and she had to battle the impulse to run away. Somehow, she managed an answering nod, though a smile was beyond her. He replaced a book he'd been holding. She was sure he meant to approach her and, not waiting to find out, she walked rapidly to the door. If Dutch Coachman had not come yet she would go into another shop, or call a chair. Anything to get away from that persistent creature with his sly eyes and perpetual grin.

  Outside, the breeze was becoming blustery and the temperature had dropped noticeably. The sky was more white than blue, the sudden glare dazzling. She hurried along the flagway, heard a startled exclamation as she almost collided with someone, and threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Dreading lest the smiling man had come up with her, she said "Your pardon, sir," her own voice shrill and strange in her ears.

  There came a deep and familiar, "I should think so! You dashed near ran into me, madam! Where the deuce are you off to at such—" Gordon Chandler paused and took the hand she was lowering from her eyes. "Here—what is it?"

  Never would Ruth have dreamed she would experience such a rush of relief at the sight of him. His brusque tones were so welcome, his grip on her hand so strongly comforting that instinctively she shrank against him.

  He pulled her hand through his arm, holding her firmly. "I forbid you to swoon, Miss Allington! Someone been annoying you?"

  "Yes— No— I never swoon! But— Oh, do not regard it. Is—"

  "I shall regard it—whatever—or more to the point, whomever it was." He relinquished her hand for an instant as he turned to the library. "Some Buck in here? Which one?"

  She caught his arm as he flung the door open. "No— please! Do not!"

  "The devil I won't! My father's people are not molested when they come into Dover, madam. I give you my word!" He st
alked inside, grasping her hand again so that she had no choice but to follow. "Well?" he said, not troubling to lower his voice. "Point him out, if you please."

  Heads turned. The proprietor looked alarmed and hurried to them.

  Ruth caught a glimpse of a dark blue coat making for the rear door. "I cannot. He—he did nothing really. Said nothing. Mr. Gordon—please!"

  The proprietor asked anxiously, "Is there some difficulty, Mr. Chandler? Is the young lady unwell?"

  Chandler said curtly, "You should be more careful whom you let in here, Brodie. One might suppose a lady could venture onto your premises in broad daylight without being annoyed by some would-be Ranelagh rake!"

  Unhappily aware of the battery of eyes now fixed upon her, Ruth flushed scarlet and murmured, "It is quite all right, Mr. Brodie. I thought I saw a—a rather tiresome acquaintance. I must have been mistaken. I am indeed sorry to have caused such a commotion."

  "Nonsense!" barked Chandler. "Is the fellow here? Look about you, ma'am."

  She hissed, "Will you let be! He is gone."

  He took her arm, said a terse, "Good day" to the proprietor, and propelled Ruth outside again just as Dutch Coachman brought the carriage deftly into the kennel. The footman sprang down to open the door and hand Ruth up the step. Chandler sent him off to collect his mount from the livery stable and ride her home, then climbed in after Ruth.

  "And now," he said, sitting beside her as the carriage started off, "we will have the truth of it, an you please Miss Allington. You were annoyed, I am perfectly sure. By whom?"

  "I have not the remotest notion," she said, mortified, yet rather touched by his concern. Her response brought an angry snort from him, but before he could rail at her she went on, "I first saw him on the accommodation coach when I came to be interviewed by your papa." The memory of the smiling man's knee pressing against her own made her skin creep. If she told Chandler of such a personal matter he would likely think she was just exaggerating an incident caused only by the rocking of the carriage. She added rather lamely, "Even then, he really did nothing. Save to stare at me."

  Chandler frowned. She was very pale again, and her hands were gripped tightly. He said, "Not such unusual behaviour, I think. An attractive young lady, travelling unescorted. A gentleman should not persist, of course. Assuming that he was rebuffed."

  "I did rebuff him," she said indignantly. "At least, I tried. But he smiled and smiled, so that I was obliged always to avoid his glance. Why must you always—" She stopped then, for she saw a quirk tug at his lips and a twinkle come into his eyes. "Oh," she said with a rather shaken laugh. "You are teasing I see, and likely think me making a mountain out of a molehill. But—truly, mere was something about his eyes… The way he looked at me. And that horrid, unending smile. Even after I had changed into your carriage, he still stood there in the rain. Smiling after me. To suddenly see him in the library…"

  "Him. What did he look like? Was he a gentleman?"

  "He was dressed like one, and spoke in cultured accents. I would guess him to be about forty, not tall, but quite well formed, and very neat. His complexion was light, rather too pink and white, in fact. And—those hooded eyes… !" She shivered.

  Chandler reached over and placed a strong tanned hand over both of hers. "He sounds a slippery article, I grant you. You may be at ease, ma'am, for you're safe away from him now. But I'll thank you not to go out alone in future."

  "Why ever not? I am far past the age of being a schoolroom miss! When a lady is left alone in the world, sir, she has no choice but to—"

  "You are not alone in the world! You are, for the time at least, a member of my father's household, and as such entitled to our protection. And you'll have it, Miss Independence, in despite yourself!"

  It occurred to Ruth that she could easily come to like this high-handed interference, and that Mr. Gordon's affianced bride might be obliged to struggle 'gainst his masterful ways, but she was unlikely to be neglected.

  As if he suddenly realized that he was still holding her hands, he drew back and changed the subject. "I had thought you were coming into town for supplies. Are we to stop somewhere?"

  "No, I thank you. The articles will be delivered tomorrow."

  He smiled faintly. "Still guarding your secrets, eh, Miss Allington?"

  She smiled also. "But, of course."

  And she thought, 'You little know how many!'

  When Grace opened the back door both boys were hiding behind her, and they sprang out to greet Ruth with such exuberance that she had to caution them lest they were overheard. Jacob drew back at once, but Thorpe clung to her skirts while she walked across the kitchen, telling her in a stage whisper that they had finished their lessons and reminding her of her promise to read to them after dinner.

  "Of course I will." She sank onto the settee in the parlour and smiled at Jacob, who stood regarding her in his grave way. "Now what is in that busy head of yours, dearest?" she asked.

  "Wonderings."

  "What kind of wonderings?"

  "Whether you're happy here, Aunty."

  "Very happy."

  "You don't sometimes look happy," said Jacob.

  "An' you have to work awful hard," said Thorpe. "My papa would not like it."

  The thought of Johnny brought a pang, but Ruth managed to keep her smile intact. "Hard work is good for people."

  Jacob said, "An' that Chandler man is unkind to you."

  "We know," said Thorpe reinforcingly.

  She thought, 'Oh dear! They must have heard me ranting and raving at luncheon!' Choosing her words with care, she explained, "Mr. Chandler is a rather—er, stern gentleman. But he could be a deal worse." And that was perfectly true, she realized. He could be the kind of man who thought any female on his staff must submit to pinches and fondlings, or a beast upon whom her efforts to make herself unattractive would make no impression since he would view her as a faceless creature he could force to satisfy his lustful cravings. She'd heard tales of such satyrs. She shivered instinctively. Instead of which, this afternoon Gordon Chandler had been someone to whom she had turned without question, and who had been quick to spring to her defense.

  Her thoughts were not apparent but, unfortunately, her shiver was, and the twins exchanged a grim look.

  "And what about you young gentlemen?" asked Ruth in a lighter tone. "You are being very good to stay in the house whilst the gardeners are about. Is it better now that you're able to go out for a little while in the evenings? You've not been seen?"

  Thorpe said stoutly, "Pooh! He never even knows we're there!"

  Ruth's heart gave a leap of fright.

  Grace demanded sharply, "Who doesn't?"

  "Mr. Chandler. He creeps about in the trees." Thorpe crouched dramatically. "An' he talks to 'em!"

  "Talks to—who?" asked Ruth, so dismayed that she forgot her grammar.

  "I told you. The trees," said Thorpe. "When he's not whistling."

  "That wasn't him," argued Jacob.

  Thorpe said defiantly, "It was him what I heard talking."

  "Mercy me!" exclaimed Grace, paling. "Is he spying on us, then?"

  "We're much better spies than he is," Jacob said. "We hear him long afore he gets a chance to hear us."

  Thorpe grinned. "That's 'cause of the whistling. He does it sort of under his breath. Like he was thinkin' 'bout something else, and didn't know he was doing it."

  The notion of someone creeping about at dusk, softly whistling, sent cold fingers down Ruth's spine. "What does he whistle? A song?"

  Jacob nodded. "Always the same one. I 'spect it's all he knows."

  "Lawks, Mrs. A.," said Grace nervously. "The twins had best not go out no more."

  There was immediate consternation. From dauntless spy trackers, they became small boys, tearful at the prospect of being denied their brief daily escape into the glorious outdoors.

  "But my darlings," said Ruth, taking their hands and drawing them closer. "You know how afraid we are of being separ
ated. We daren't risk being discovered, and that's just what would happen if you were seen."

  "But we won't be seen, Aunty." Thorpe's lower lip trembled betrayingly. "We're awful careful, and don't make any noise, almost."

  "An' there's no one about after dinner—usually," said Jacob. "P'raps if we was to go out a bit later, Mr. Chandler wouldn't be there then."

  Ruth said emphatically, "If you mean after dark, certainly not!" But they looked so devastated that she hugged them, and said, "My poor dears. What can I do to make it better?"

  "You could let us have a—a pet," said Thorpe, sniffing.

  "How I wish you could. But 'tis not possible. I am so sorry."

  Jacob dragged a hand across his eyes and said gruffly, "Thass all right, Aunty. We'll pretend one."

  "Please let us go in the woods," begged Thorpe. "Please, Aunty. Jus' for a little while. We'll swear a pirate's oath to be more carefuller!"

  She had to take exception to 'carefuller,' but looking into their tearful faces she thought, 'They are just babes. How can they be expected to really understand?' So much had been taken from them; so much sorrow might lie ahead. And the end of it was, of course, that she gave in and said they might still play in the woods after dinner, but she would light the upstairs lamp in exactly half an hour, and they must come home at once. Even more important, they must tell her if the man who whistled ever came near to them. And especially they must let her know if it was indeed Mr. Chandler.

  Sleep was long in coming that night. She could not banish the memory of the smiling man in the library. Nor of Gordon Chandler's brusque kindness to her. And now it seemed he prowled the woods at night… Why? Did he really suspect that she had secrets? If Jacob was right, he talked to someone. If he was not the person who whistled so constantly, was it possible that he had hired someone to watch her? Was that the man he met so secretively… ? Oh, why must everything seem so much worse during the hours of darkness?

  She tossed and turned restlessly. Her last coherent thought before she at length drifted into an uneasy sleep was that she had quite forgotten to discover why the twins had not come downstairs this morning when Grace had started screaming…