“Tit for tat!”
“What the devil d’you mean?”
“You know damned well what I mean! And I have every right to shoot a trespasser on my land.”
“Why not?” sneered Gains. He gestured towards his face. “Finish the job.”
Euphemia looked from one to the other in stark incredulity. Here lay Hawk, battered and hurt; she herself was mud from head to foot, her clothes in rags. And all they could do was wrangle in this idiotic fashion! “My lord,” she said determinedly, “this has gone on for much too long, and—”
“I can well believe that! Poor soul!” Gains interposed wickedly. “No gentlewoman would care for this situation!” He shrugged out of his greatcoat and, ignoring the levelled Manton, walked over to wrap it about her. “If you will allow me, I shall escort you back to Dominer and send help for—”
“Devil you will!” Hawkhurst snapped. “Perhaps you will be so kind—before you get yourself off my property—to admit that you tried to put a bullet through my head with this!”
Gains’ brows lowered. “I’ll own I should have done so four years since. But, if you must know, I lost the gun, and—”
Hawkhurst gave a hoot of derisive laughter.
“By Jove!” breathed Gains thunderously. “I must be mad to have let you go on living, you arrogant clod! Well, I shall rectify that as soon as you’re on your feet again! Meanwhile, I am on your accursed property seeking my dog, whom you persist in luring here to—”
“Luring?” Hawkhurst exploded. “Why, that miserable flea-carrying cur has caused more chaos in my home than a herd of elephants! I’ll send you my reckoning, by God! And do I catch him on my land again, I shall—”
“Oh, be still!” cried the indignant Euphemia.
“If you harm one hair of Sampson’s head…” snarled Gains.
“Who do you take me for? Delilah? I’m not interested in the hairs on his blasted head! I’ll put a ball through his mangy carcass, is what—”
“And within that same hour, my seconds will call on you!”
“Oh! How I tremble, my lord!”
“Will … you … both … be … quiet!” shrieked Euphemia.
Shocked, they stared at her. “I have never,” she began furiously, “in all my days, seen two grown men behave so—”
A shout from down the hill interrupted her. “Mia? Is that you? Mia?”
Euphemia gave a cry of joy. “Colley! Oh, thank heaven!”
“You need not have worried, dear lady,” said Hawkhurst, venomous gaze on Gains. “I could’ve kept him back!”
All but spluttering his wrath, Gains turned from him. “Miss Buchanan, have I your leave to call upon you while you are in Bath?”
“No, you have not, damn your impudence,” Hawkhurst blazed. “And how the devil did you know she was going to Bath?”
“Colley!” Euphemia ran eagerly to meet the young exquisite who jumped the wall with lithe grace, only to pause, stunned by the scene that met his eyes. “Oh, Colley! I have never been so glad to see a rational human being in all my life!”
* * *
WARMED BY his cousin’s greatcoat, and with the assistance of both Gains and Coleridge, Hawkhurst was hoisted into the saddle. Watching Colley swing up behind him and support his wilting form, Euphemia was amazed not only by the fact that Gains had been quite willing to help, but that Hawkhurst apparently found nothing odd about that assistance. She could only conclude that, being a mere practical woman, she was incapable of understanding the rules governing the dangerous game the two men were playing. Hawkhurst’s passivity only went so far, however. The effort of mounting had exhausted him, and he was bowed over the horse’s mane, but, when Lord Gains insisted that Euphemia ride his grey, he dragged up his head and demanded caustically, if threadily, that they all stay close together during the ride back to Dominer. Gains lost no time in delivering a withering rejoinder. Colley, meeting Euphemia’s disbelieving eyes, sighed and gave a rueful shrug.
The journey was necessarily slow, the fog being all but impenetrable now, and the daylight fading so that Euphemia feared that if they did not somehow find Dominer before dark, they would be doomed to overnight in the open. Bryce, however, possessed an uncanny sense of direction, and, to her great relief, within half an hour, they were met by anxious grooms who ran out from the yard to greet them.
Lord Gains, who had led his horse all the way, lifted Euphemia down. He bade her a kind but brief farewell, shrugged into the coat she insisted upon returning, and rode off, an airy wave of his hand silencing her fervent thanks.
Bryce now took charge. He guided his sagging cousin into the arms of the waiting grooms with near feminine tenderness, sent a stableboy racing to the house to alert the staff and the family, and commanded one man to bring Dr. Archer at once and another to ride to the village for the Constable. Hawkhurst muttered something in apparent protest at this last order, but was ignored as Bryce swung easily from the saddle and steadied him, saying a firm, “We’ll carry you, old fellow, and—”
“Not likely!” Hawkhurst peered around uncertainly. “Mia, where are you? Are you … all right?”
She was aching with fatigue, but assured him that she was very well. “Now you must let Colley help you, Garret. You are in no condition to walk.”
“I’ll not be carried … in,” he muttered stubbornly.
Coleridge swore under his breath, but drew his cousin’s arm across his shoulders.
Thus, supported by Bryce and Manners, Hawkhurst struggled up the steps and into the side hall. Euphemia was so vexed she could have hit him, but, running ahead to open the door, she was confronted by the Admiral, and one look at the old gentleman’s stricken face explained his grandson’s attitude.
“Nothing to be concerned about, sir,” announced Hawkhurst cheerfully. “Made a blasted fool of myself. But it’s not serious.”
Wetherby appeared to have been struck dumb. He followed meekly as Hawkhurst was aided into the Great Hall. Lady Bryce hurried around the corner, took one look at her nephew, and fainted dead away. Ponsonby, a maid, and a lackey ran to restore her. Coleridge, his voice crisply authoritative, called to Mrs. Henderson asking that medical supplies be brought to Mr. Garret’s room. “Ellie, Miss Buchanan has suffered a bad fall and will need your best care. One of you people, find Sir Simon at once, if you please. Manners and I shall carry you upstairs now, Hawk. A chair-hold would be the easiest style, I fancy, Manners.”
Hawkhurst was near the end of his tether and raised no demur. He could no longer see anything clearly but managed to keep his head up, determined he would not alarm his grandfather by being so stupid as to faint. On the second step, his determination was overcome. He gave a small sigh, his arms slid from the shoulders of his bearers, and his head rolled back limply.
The Admiral was aghast and, recovering his voice, sprang forward crying an anguished, “Oh, God! Is he—?”
“He’ll be right and tight, sir,” said Colley breathlessly. “Could you please go on ahead and open the door for us?”
Even through her own anxiety, Euphemia marvelled at the boy. A shout would have brought the omnipresent Bailey to perform this small service, and innumerable lackeys and footmen hovered about, eager to assist. The Admiral’s face brightened predictably, and he hastened to do as he was asked. Hawkhurst was borne into the great bedchamber. Starting instinctively to follow, Euphemia found an arm slipped about her waist, and the Admiral said kindly, “You may be assured he will be well cared for, my dear. Our Nell Henderson has dealt with worse than this. You look ready to drop. Come now, and perhaps when you are rested, you will tell me what has happened.”
She leaned on him gratefully, not until that moment realizing how utterly exhausted she was. By the time they reached her bedchamber, she was trembling as with ague. No sooner had the Admiral left, however, than the door flew open, and a petrified Stephanie ran in to plead for word of her brother. “They will not let me in the room! What was it? Has he met Gains at last?” Euphemi
a shook her head, but her attempt to reply was foiled as she instead burst into tears and to her horror seemed quite unable to stop weeping. The faithful Ellie swung into action. Miss Hawkhurst was begged to go for a glass of cognac. “Not ratafie, Miss. Your brother’s best brandy. Come now, Miss Euphemia, you cuddle up to Ellie and have a good cry. Then we’ll get you bathed and popped into a nice warm bed. You’re half-froze and half-naked, poor brave soul. Cry, my lamb, cry away.”
* * *
EUPHEMIA lay drowsing between sleep and waking for a little while. Not until she moved lazily and sore muscles protested, did recollection flood back. She sat up, snatching for the bellrope, and saw her brother hovering at the foot of the bed, watching her anxiously.
“Deuce take me!” he moaned. “Did I wake you, Mia? Ellie will have my ears!”
She reached out to him, and anticipating her question, he came to give her hands a squeeze and smile into her frantic eyes. “He’s resting comfortably now. And Archer gives the credit for that entirely to you, for Hawk would have bled to death had you not found him. Colley showed me those ruins this morning. Egad, what a gruesome mess! I could scarce believe you climbed those steps all the way to the roof. And I give you fair warning, the old gentleman is in a fair way to placing you on a pedestal.” He looked grave and added, “Seems to make a habit of it, don’t he?”
“Simon, what did Archer say about his leg? He’ll not be lamed?”
“He says not, though it took him forever to stitch Hawk back together. Had the very deuce of a time, poor fellow, although Archer gave him laudanum. What none of us could understand is how you happened to find him in that pea soup yesterday afternoon.”
“I honestly don’t know. I thought I heard him a few times, but—it was dreadful! A nightmare! Did the Constable come?”
“Yes. What a clunch! Weather permitting he means to come again this afternoon.” Euphemia slanted a glance to the windows, and he went on, “Yes, it’s still quite murky outside and very thick in spots. At this rate, Aunt Lucasta may have to sit down to Christmas dinner with only half the Buchanan contingent represented.”
“What a shame,” said Euphemia, trying to look disappointed.
He chuckled and tugged at a curl which had escaped her cap. “Not very convincing, sister mine. Are you feeling better this morning? May I ring for your tray?”
She said that she felt stiff, but much better, and declined the tray, wanting to talk with him. He drew up a chair and settled down astride it, facing her over the back. “I do not mean to plague you for details. Colley told us much of it, and you’ll have to wade through the rest later, I’m afraid. Just one or two questions, to which I’d like immediate answers, Mia!”
“How very brotherly,” she said fondly. “I’ve some questions of my own.”
His eyes were very empty all at once. “Such as…?”
Poor dear. Did he suppose she had not noticed how downcast he had been these past few days? “You first, sir,” she said, folding her hands demurely upon the coverlet.
Despite his uneasy conscience, he was amused as always by her assumption of meekness. “Very well. Regardless of the cause, you were alone with the man you love for some time. You are sadly compromised. Does Hawk return your affection?”
She could not know of the softness that came into her eyes, but Buchanan saw it, and his last doubts vanished. “He loves me,” she said. “And, oh, Simon, you must have thought him splendid. He was incredibly brave and made no fuss, although that ghastly trap…!” She shuddered.
“Yes, I saw it. We brought it back, in fact. How Hawk managed to avoid being thrown to his death I cannot comprehend. Which brings me to my second question. Does he really believe Gains could be so—so devious and savage?”
“Colley is sure Lord Gains was not responsible,” she replied, evading his eyes. “I fear that Hawk has many enemies.” And hating to deceive him so, she scolded lightly, “You have now exceeded your quota, sirrah, and must submit to my inquisition. I notice that you have spent a great deal of time with—” She paused, struck by the way his hands clung so tightly to the chair back and wondering if his wound still troubled him. “—with Coleridge. Have you by any chance met Chilton Gains?”
“Yes.” Able to breathe again, the guilty plotter relaxed. “Fine young fellow.”
“I rather thought he would be. I’ve met his brother twice and cannot help but like the man. I do so pray it will not come to a meeting between them, but they are both so terribly hostile.”
Buchanan frowned but said nothing. Certainly Gains had sufficient reason to demand a meeting at any time he chose. A duel was not imminent, however. From what Archer had said of Hawk’s injuries, he would be unable to walk for a week, at least. He thought, Thank God! and could have sunk from self-loathing.
Sir Simon had much to learn of the stubborn nature of Garret Thorndyke Hawkhurst.
SIXTEEN
BY THREE O’CLOCK that December afternoon, a breeze had sprung up, and by four the fog was definitely dispersing. Stephanie was laid down upon her bed, having spent much of the night sitting beside her brother, and Buchanan was in the stables, checking over his horses and equipment in preparation for the journey to Bath the following day. In the drawing room a shocked group had gathered to hear Euphemia’s account of what had transpired at the ruins. Carlotta and Dora were seated at a card table which had been set up so that they might work on Christmas decorations. Euphemia sat beside the fire, with the Constable, a paunchy, middle-aged gentleman named Mr. Littlejohn, next to her. Kent was kneeling at her feet, listening intently to the proceedings, and the Admiral stood with his back to the hearth and glared at the Constable.
“Most dastardly thing I ever heard of!” he snorted, pulling at his whisker and managing somehow to imply that the entire matter could be laid at Mr. Littlejohn’s door. “Murdering Bedlamites running loose through the countryside, assaulting the Quality! Deplorable!”
Mr. Littlejohn appeared to be more concerned over why Miss Buchanan had been “traipsing about in the fog,” a concern that drew an outraged snort from Wetherby.
Not altogether accurately, Euphemia explained that, having been confined to the house for some days with a sick child, she had felt the need for a breath of air and had gone out, only to become lost. “I chanced to hear Mr. Hawkhurst calling and managed to find him.”
“But whatever was Hawkhurst doing on top of the tower, love?” Dora looked up from the paper chain she was fashioning and said curiously, “He could not have gone up there for the view, you know, for the fog was too thick to see anything.”
The Constable, writing painstakingly in his tablet, suspended his endeavours to nod approval and tell her that was “a good point.”
“Hawkhurst has for years loved to look at that view.” Carlotta set her glass upon the table and thought the contents were not nearly as agreeable as the ratafia which had plunged her into disgrace after the party. “That,” she went on absently, “is a well-known fact in the neighbourhood.”
The Admiral chomped his jaws with an impatience that was heightened as the Constable, writing busily, muttered, “A … well-knowed … fack. Still, fack remains as it were a sight odd to look at the view when there wasn’t none. And a odder sight. Or a sight odder,” he frowned uncertainly, “that any persons would have knowed as he was a’going up on that there tower on that partickler arternoon so they could leave that there trap there. Now, you may wonder as how I knows that!” He scanned the baffled group with a portentous eye. “I knows as it musta been left fer Mr. Hawkhurst, ’cause no poacher in his right mind would set his traps atop a fifty-foot tower! Less’n he were looking fer to catch a eagle!” He leaned back, smiling around triumphantly, until he met the molten glare levelled at him by the Admiral.
“I would not think,” Dora offered sapiently, “that a poacher would use a trap like that for an eagle. Would it not be…” she attempted to remove a paper loop from her sticky fingers, “… rather large? Eagles have small feet.”
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Wetherby gave a subdued snarl and gritted his teeth at the chandelier.
“Ar! Very true, ma’am,” smiled Mr. Littlejohn. “You got a real head on your shoulders! I don’t rightly know what you’d use to catch a eagle, but—”
“God bless it!” roared the exasperated Admiral, “there are no damnable eagles hereabouts!”
“Ar,” agreed the Constable and added with remarkable sagacity, “No more there bean’t any bears neither! And, even if there was, why a trap, I asks you? Fella wants to kill someone, he shoots him, or sticks a knife in him. Don’t go leaving no Russian bear tamer lying about on top of a fifty-foot tower on the off-chance his murder-ee, as you might say, would fancy a stroll on top o’ said tower to admire the view in the middle of a thick fog! Odd, says I!” and he nodded with ponderous vehemence. “O-d-d…”
“Nothing odd about it, Littlejohn,” Hawkhurst contradicted from the doorway. “It gave the man a chance to kill me with no risk of incriminating himself.”
Euphemia and Dora both sprang to their feet. The Admiral spun around, and Kent rushed to seize Hawkhurst’s hand and beam joyously up at him.
“No use, sir,” sighed Bryce, helping his cousin into the room. “Couldn’t keep him upstairs.”
“Oh, Hawk!” worried Euphemia, forgetting herself. “Dr. Archer said—”
“Man’s a quack!” proclaimed the Admiral, pleased by her proprietary air. “Sorry, m’dear, but he always was. Don’t blame you a bit, Garret. Kent, stop jumping up and down and bring that footstool for Mr. Hawkhurst.”
Kent obeyed with alacrity. Bryce eased the invalid into a chair, then bent and, keeping one eye watchfully on his face, lifted the bandaged leg.
Hawkhurst’s gaze lingered on Euphemia, and, if he noted that she looked a little wan today, she noted the flicker that touched his eyes as Bryce lowered his foot. Her hand went out to him in an instinctive gesture of sympathy. He smiled and winked at her. Not very much, but seeing it, Dora smiled dreamily and spread glue on her thumb, while Wetherby could have danced a jig and, turning to the Constable, felt almost in charity with him as he declared, “Now you’ll get your answers, Littlejohn!”
Some Brief Folly Page 27
