Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown

by Patricia Veryan

  Redmond made no effort to calm his indignant horse, but waved as the groom cantered from the trees to join them.

  "Come along, there's a good man," urged Redmond impatiently, "What in the deuce delayed you? Never mind— get down, if you please, and give me your reins. That's it. Now, I want you to accompany Miss Strand on a, er, vital errand. Her abigail was obliged to return home."

  Infuriated by such high-handed tactics, Charity snapped, "I was not with—"

  "Without apprehension?" inserted Redmond. "Naturally not, ma'am. Best, see to it that Miss Strand does not stay out too long in this wind." He added with a meaningful stare at Charity, "Or go too far."

  He had as well say she was no better than an infant! Yearning to remind him to give Best her leading strings, Charity restrained herself with considerable effort.

  To add to her humiliation, Best's grave expression left little doubt but that he was in full accord with Redmond. Taking back his reins, he tied them to the pommel. "No need for you to bother with this old fool, sir," he said, giving the hack a slap on the rump and watching him trot off. "He knows his way home. I'll take care of Miss Charity. Never you fear, sir."

  Turning on her heel, Charity marched off, muttering, "Of all the interfering… insufferable… opinionated… !"

  Smothering a grin, the groom asked, "Did you say something, miss?"

  "No! And furthermore, Best, I know very well what you are thinking, so you need not address me again!"

  Best obeyed this stricture for the next ten minutes, walking slightly behind Charity as she stepped out briskly along the lane, and thinking in amusement that he'd not be too much took aback did Redmond do what he'd said and have a word or two with the Colonel. Better tread careful, had Redmond, however good his intentions. Colonel Leith had not got all his rank without learning how to deal with insolence, and Mr. Redmond had brought insolence to a fine art!

  Charity's thoughts followed along similar lines. If that wretched Mitchell Redmond caused Tristram to be so alarmed that her daily walks were curtailed, or she was not allowed to step out-of-doors without being guarded like—Her heart gave a sudden odd little jump. Guarded? Against what? There was little doubt but that she had not made a dazzling impression upon Redmond; the man despised her. Why, then, should he care where she walked? Or whether she went alone or with an army of footmen and abigails to escort her? Why did he—

  She turned swiftly as she heard horses. Best glanced behind them also, but there was no sign of riders in the peaceful lane.

  "I could have sworn," said Charity, "that I heard—"

  "Have a care, miss!" Best exclaimed sharply.

  She swung around. A coach was coming around the curve of the lane. A large coach, very luxuriously appointed, and gleaming black. Charity's heart seemed to freeze. She saw in a series of cameolike impressions that the four horses were black and perfectly matched; that the coachman and guard wore black and gold livery; that three outriders, clad in the same sombre garb, were coming up quickly, riding in silence on the grassy verge of the lane.

  In a croak of a voice, she cried, "B-Best! Oh, Best! For the love of—"

  Best swore under his breath, grabbed Charity by the arm, and jerked her behind him. "Run, miss!" he urged. "Run!"

  The wind had sent several branches down, and he snatched up the nearest. It was pitifully inadequate against the three who rode at him brandishing long, serviceable-looking clubs, but it would have to do.

  Charity hesitated only a second, then ran, her little feet flying as she sped frantically to the break in the hedge beyond which was the meadow and a chance of being seen or heard. Her heart was beating so madly that it seemed to deafen her, but she heard a sudden choking cry and was anguished by the knowledge that poor Best had fallen.

  A man was laughing. Hooves were thudding up behind her. Sobbing with terror, her heart bursting, she could hear heavy running footsteps, harsh breathing. She screamed as a rough hand clutched her cloak and yanked it so hard that she fell. Brutal faces were grinning down at her. "Don't be so scared, Missus Quality," rasped a coarse voice. "We ain't a-goin' ter hurt yer. Not in your condition.''

  "Do not… touch me…" Charity gasped out between numbed lips. "Don't—"

  But she was wrenched to her feet, and she screamed again. A large hand smelling of stale beer and dirt clamped across her mouth. Dizzied, half stifled, sick with terror, she felt her bones turn to sand as consciousness faded.

  Her last thought was, "Sanguinet… ! Oh, my dear God!"

  Chapter 6

  Riding at a gallop towards Strand Hall, Mitchell Redmond readied Whisper, and with no check in pace, set her at a low wall on the far side of the meadow. The mare soared upwards in a beautiful leap, neighed with fear, and landed in a scramble that would have been disastrous had it not been for the consummate skill of her rider. Even so, she staggered, and leaping from the saddle, Redmond went to his knees. He was up in a second, heedless of his muddied britches as he checked on his mare. Whisper was sweating and trembling violently, but she did not appear to have taken any injury. Relieved, Redmond straightened and saw from the corner of his eye a rapidly departing figure. So that was what had caused the fiasco! Some blasted idiot had been lurking about under the wall! His irritation with Tristram Leith forgotten, he shouted, "Hey!"

  The intruder promptly broke into a run.

  Redmond turned to Whisper and stroked her. "Sorry, lass," he said, and mounted again. He turned her cautiously, but she gave no evidence of a limp or of reluctance, and he brought her to a canter.

  He never carried a riding whip, but there was at all times a Manton in his saddle holster. He slipped it out, levelling it as the mare came up with the fugitive. "Hold, you confounded clod! What in the devil d'you think you're doing?"

  The offender cringed, one arm protectively upflung, whining, "I ain't done nuffink, guvnor. Let me be. I didn't mean ter fright yer nag."

  He was only a youth; stockily built, with flaming red hair and a pinched-looking countenance that showed the lack of proper food. He had a strong beak of a nose and a pugnacious jaw, and the firm lips, now twisting downwards, parted to reveal regular, if not well-brushed, teeth. The one thing that Redmond found repulsive about his appearance was not so much a feature as the lack of it, for he had no eyebrows, so that his wide-set brown eyes looked naked and abandoned.

  "Who are you?" demanded Redmond, conscious of an odd sense of familiarity. "And what in hell were you about? D'you know you damn near caused my mare to break her pretty neck?"

  "Wasn't my fault, guv. I works fer Lord Rickaby. Just cutting acrost the field on me day orf. Musta been sleeping, just a bit of a kip, guv, and I didn't hear yer comin'. Don't you shoot, now!"

  Glaring at him, Redmond slid the pistol back into its holster. "I've seen you before somewhere. Where?"

  The removal of the pistol exerted an immediate and beneficial effect upon the youth. Grinning up at his victim, he said with bright insolence, "Me name's Dick. An' I 'spect as 'ow yer rolled yer orbs over some lucky cove what happened ter look like me. Ain't likely as I'd ferget a swell like yerself, is it, yer honour?"

  Redmond considered him thoughtfully. "You're a brash little bantam," he said, thinking that the boy had a fine pair of shoulders and might develop into a likely fighting man were he decently cared for. "And there's a law against trespassing, whether you work for Rickaby or not."

  "Oh, I wouldn't never trespass, sir! I don't set one toe on no land where there's a sign posted. Only thing—I didn't see no such thing round here, milor'."

  Redmond's stern lips twitched. "I am not a milord. Now be off with you, and don't hang about Mr. Strand's preserves in the future."

  "No, sir. Sorry, sir!" The boy backed away, then ran off, laughing.

  Redmond muttered a faintly amused, "Blasted young rapscallion," and turned Whisper for Strand Hall. When he reached the stables, he handed the mare over to a groom who stared in surprise at his muddy knees, and walked across the yard trying to recall w
here he had seen the redhead before. It had been an association that was not entirely praiseworthy, he was sure of that. But—

  A shadow fell athwart his path. He halted, his upwards glance discovering that Alain Devenish stood nearby.

  "Been ploughing?" enquired Devenish, his eyes angelic.

  "Excellent exercise," returned Redmond blandly. "You should try it some time, Devenish. Might help you."

  "I doubt that," said Devenish, smiling with a gleam of very white teeth. "I prefer to stay on the horse."

  "Good gad," Redmond exclaimed. "Have you been riding, then? In that?"

  Since Devenish wore primrose pantaloons, a long-tailed powder blue jacket, and an elaborate waistcoat, the question could only be construed as provocation, and he treated it accordingly. "As any fool can plainly see—no. Matter of fact"—he fell into step beside Redmond—"I've been waiting for you. Wanted to tell you that I took a damned dim view of your remarks last evening.''

  "How difficult for you," purred Redmond. "Tied hand and foot, are you not? Since we both are guests here."

  Devenish took his arm and pulled him to a halt. His blue eyes flashing fire, he grated,"We shall not be guests forever, Redmond."

  "After which, shall you call me out, I wonder? Oh dear. However shall I endure the suspense?"

  "I will shorten it for you," snarled Devenish, his fist clenching.

  Fortunately, the hostilities were suspended at this point because Josie ran to join them, the skirts of her demure pink and white gown blowing in the wind. Her animated little face alight, she commandeered a hand of each of the gentlemen, and began to pull them back to the house.

  "You must come quick," she urged, "for Mrs. Rachel is going to pour coffee and she said I could have some too if only you will say yes, Mr. Dev. So you will, won't you? And Mrs. Hayward has cooked them scrumptious little cakes, and—"

  "Those cakes," he corrected, sure that Redmond was amused by his ward's unfortunate grammar. "And I am not in the least hungry." A startled and pleading glance was turned up to him, so that he could not but relent. "You've roses in your cheeks this morning, my elf," he said, smiling reluctantly. "What mischief have you been up to?"

  "Not any, sir. Only I was running about a bit trying to find Little Patches. Have you seen her? Have you, Mr. Redmond?"

  Neither gentleman, it transpired, had seen the kitten.

  "I 'spect she's playing, or sleeping somewhere," said Josie philosophically. "She's a good sleeper. She can sleep on a clothesline, Fisher says." And, all healthy young appetite, she tugged at them, begging that they hurry, "else Lord Bolster will have et it all up before we get there!"

  The house was cosy and warm, a small fire burning welcomingly in the red saloon, where Leith and Bolster were laughing over a remark that Rachel had made. The newcomers were greeted, and in a moment Mr. Fisher entered followed by a maid carrying a large tray. Soon fragrant cups of coffee were being handed around. Josie, looking very conscious, sat on the edge of a chair, the tip of her tongue just visible as she concentrated upon the desperate business of mastering cup, saucer, spoon, and cake. Bolster lost no time in conferring his approval on the macaroons. With one eye on his lordship and the other on the diminishing cakes, Josie enquired rather anxiously if he had eaten his breakfast as yet.

  He replied in the affirmative and, selecting another macaroon, said, "Jolly good, too." Then, becoming aware of the covert amusement on Rachel's face, he glanced around and asked with a touch of uncertainty, "Why? Have I been r-remiss? Was we all to breakfast together?"

  "Of course not," said Devenish, with a fulminating look at his ward. "Josie was just concerned, weren't you, child?"

  ''Yes,'' she admitted with disastrous honesty,"I was concerned as you were going to pig the lot, my lord."

  Redmond threw back his head and laughed heartily. Poor Bolster turned crimson, and Devenish leapt to his feet and thunderously banished the repentant girl from the room. "Devil take the brat," he groaned, clutching his fair locks as Josie fled. "Each time I give an inch, she disgraces me!"

  "No, no," said Bolster placatingly. "I'm the one disgraced, Dev. I've a shameful sweet tooth I d-don't make much effort to control.'' He threw a rueful glance at Rachel's amusement. "From the mouths of babes, eh?"

  Sinking down beside him, Devenish mourned, "Babes! Sometimes Josie is as old as time. And sometimes…" He gave a despairing gesture.

  "She is a darling," said Rachel warmly, wondering why Brutus was going berserk in the garden.

  "She is a scamp," sighed Devenish. "I try to teach her, but still she blurts out whatever comes into her head and devil take the consequences. I wonder if she ever will have the faintest notion of how to go on in polite company."

  Bored, Redmond drawled, "Whatever did you expect? Surely you did not think to take a gypsy waif of unknown background and turn it into a, ah, silk purse in only—"

  Flushed with rage, Devenish fairly exploded to his feet. "Now, by God, it is long past time for someone to attend to that nasty mouth of—''

  Slanting a glance at his wife's dismayed face, Leith intervened with a sharp, "Dev! Easy!"

  "I see we arrive barely in time to prevent bloodshed."

  The rich, laughing voice sliced through that taut instant. Redmond, his face suddenly very pale, sprang up to face the two men who now entered the room. "Harry!" he half whispered. "Oh, my God!"

  Beaming, Jeremy Bolster hastened to shake the outstretched hand of the young baronet. With a wink, he said sotto voce, "Dashed timely, old fellow."

  Sir Harry Redmond was a shade wider in the shoulders and an inch shorter in stature than his younger brother, and lacked Mitchell's good looks, but he was a pleasant-faced young man, blessed with vividly green if rather narrow eyes, the strong Redmond nose and chin, and a usually agreeable disposition. The brief look he turned on Mitchell was grim, but he drew his companion forward and, shaking hands with Leith, said, "Jove, Tris, you've changed a trifle since last we met!"

  Leith grinned, while trying desperately to remember just when and where he had met this man. There could be no doubt of his identity, not after that betraying exchange of glances between him and Mitchell; otherwise, he'd have had not the least notion who he was. "Oh, Boney rearranged my face, as you see," he said easily.

  "For the better," lied Sir Harry. "You've not met my uncle, I think? The Reverend Mordecai Langridge—Colonel Tristram Leith."

  The Reverend, a short, plump, middle-aged cleric of rather colourless aspect and mild brown eyes, acknowledged the introduction bashfully. Neither of the newcomers was known to Rachel or Devenish, and when they had been presented, the little clergyman turned to Mitchell with a look of helpless apology. "Well, here we are, my boy, " he said wryly. "You might have guessed we'd find you out."

  Mitchell shook hands with him and greeted his brother uneasily. "Now, Harry," he murmured, "do not fly into the boughs. I simply saw no reason why—"

  "Did you not? Then you and I have some caps to pull." Anger flared in the green eyes, to be banished by a swift smile. "But not now," said Sir Harry, and clapped his brother heartily on the back.

  Mitchell uttered a smothered exclamation and jerked away from that heavy hand.

  "Bantling?" Alarmed, Sir Harry reverted to the nickname that had not been used this year and more. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," gasped Mitchell, but sat down rather abruptly.

  Tristram Leith's suspicions, stirred when Bolster arrived, now hardened into cold certainty. He said in his deep drawl, "I'd not call it 'nothing.' Your brother was set upon." His tone was cool; his dark eyes met Sir Harry's frowning ones in a steady warning. "By thieves."

  Harry might be temporarily out of his depth here, but not for a second did he imagine that chance had brought these men together. Leith's plea for caution had been unmistakable, however, which meant that someone must be kept in the dark. A shrewd glance at the most logical person confirmed Harry's first impression that she might be in the family way, which explained Leith's co
ncern. To what extent the Colonel was involved with the Sanguinet clan, Harry had no idea. The last time they'd met had been at a ball in Madrid, with the mighty Wellington present, and Leith in his regimentals dazzling all the pretty signorinas. He hadn't been a staff officer then, of course, nor had his handsome face been marred by the scars Waterloo had left him.

  With these thoughts racing through his mind, Sir Harry bent over his brother, peered into the strained face and said, "Thieves, is it? Jupiter, but they found poor pickings, I'll wager. Minor damage, old fellow?"

  A guarded relief came into Mitchell's eyes. "Very minor, mon sauvage. ''

  "Do sit down, gentlemen," said Rachel, who had already summoned a maid to bring more cups. "May I offer you coffee, Reverend?"

  Mr. Langridge happily accepted a steaming cup and needed no urging to further deplete the macaroons. Occupying the chair next to him, Sir Harry stirred sugar into his cup. "My apologies for intruding upon you, Leith. Is—er, Strand about?"

  "In Town, I'm afraid," Leith answered. "Good gad! Listen to that fool Brutus! Better send a footman out to him, m'dear."

  Rachel rang her little hand bell, and as the maid hurried in, the Reverend said uneasily, "Your dog's a bit of a tartar, eh?"

  "Did he annoy you, sir?" asked Leith. "My apologies. I assure you that he is all bark and no bite."

  "Oh, really!'' protested Langridge. " He was ready to tear us limb from limb! Eh, Harry?"

  "That's odd," Leith muttered. "Usually, he's the gentlest creature."

  "He must reserve his dislike for Redmonds,'' said Mitchell. "I rated the same treatment when I first arrived."

  "So you did," Leith turned to Bolster. "Well, Jeremy, Brutus was once yours—can you shed some light on this?"

  "Far as I know," replied his lordship, looking levelly at Sir Harry, "he only loathes one creature in the whole world. Donkeys."