He did not like to be crossed, and at this his dark brows drew together. Marietta's cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with wrath, her head held very high. She looked even more desirable, but that she would react in this way to his very generous proposal was as annoying as it was unexpected. Isolde had agreed with him that the chit would be overjoyed by such a grand chance, but whatever Miss Warrington felt at this moment, he could not think it was joy. Resentful, he pointed out, "I do not ask about a dowry. Did you remark that? I know your father is properly in the basket. If you are ashamed that you bring nothing to the union, do not give it a—"
"Pray have done, sir! Had you approached my father in the correct fashion—"
"Do not take that tone with me, my girl!" His hand shot out and grasped her wrist. "I do you the honour of offering you my name, and you dare to turn up your nose? You should have left those high and mighty airs with the dim-witted London beaux who are easily fooled! You do not fool me! Your father lost five thousand guineas to me, and has begged for time. I'm a patient man, and for your sake would be willing to wipe out that debt, but do not try my patience too far, or—"
"What a pity about your ears."
With a startled oath, Williard whipped around to face the owner of that sardonic drawl.
Marietta, who had been stunned by the amount of Sir Lionel's indebtedness, pulled her hand free with a gasp of relief that at once became apprehension. Major Diccon stood watching them. He looked haughty and contemptuous, but he was also pale and had been ill. If Mr. Williard lost his temper, as was his habit, the Major would be no match for him.
"Who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?" roared Williard, his face assuming a crimson hue.
Diccon said icily, "I am a guest in the home of Sir Lionel Warrington. I cannot think that you have a similar claim." His lip curled, his eyes raked Williard from head to toe, and he added, "I believe you must not have heard Miss Warrington desire you to move aside." His voice sank to a purr. "Do so!"
With a snort of rage Williard stamped forward and swung his heavy riding crop high. Diccon's eyes narrowed, and he crouched slightly.
Alarmed, Marietta stammered, "Thank you, M-Major Diccon. I feel sure Mr. Williard is—is leaving now."
What Williard read in Diccon's face she could not tell, but his impassioned glare faded, he lowered his hand and growled, "Major, is it? Well, you're a damned impertinent jackanapes, whoever you are! But I'll not discipline you in front of the lady." He turned about and stamped towards the gate in the hedge, blustering, "Your father won't thank you for this day's work, I promise you, Miss Marietta!" Diccon took a step toward him, and Williard hurried for the safety of the gate. Passing through, he shouted, "Set one foot on my land, fellow, and my men will know how to deal with you, major or no!" The gate slammed behind him.
There came a burst of soft applause from the house. Mrs. Cordova stood in the open scullery door beaming at them. "Oh, well done, Major!" she trilled. " 'Faith, but you properly frightened the creature! Do you not agree, Etta?"
Marietta said, "To say truth, for a minute, sir, I really thought he meant to attack you."
Diccon smiled his lazy smile. "Then I must be thankful I was able to bluff him. He's a big fellow. I only hope I did not step in where angels would fear to tread."
In Marietta's ears was the echo, 'Five… thousand… guineas…' She said with an effort, "Oh. I mean—no! You were most kind, and I thank you."
He bowed, watching her worried face gravely.
Mrs. Cordova said, "And I thank you, too, sir. I never liked that man! Which reminds me—you have a caller with a horse, Major. He would not come in, and is waiting on the terrace. It is the man who waits, you understand? I suppose the horse also waits, but—" She gave a sudden shriek of laughter. "My, how confusing this becomes! His name, he says, is Monsieur Yves, and something is causing him the greatest distress."
"He said that?" asked Diccon sharply.
"Oh, no." Mrs. Cordova held out her skirts and essayed a risky pirouette on the step. "I could tell. I often can, you know." She murmured in a far-away voice, "I see many more things about people than they suspect. You must let me tell your fortune, Major."
"It would be my pleasure, ma'am." Mrs. Cordova beamed at him and hurried down the steps, and he said hastily, "But for the present, I beg you will allow me to rob your vegetable garden." Receiving her permission, he bowed slightly and left them, walking briskly to the neat rows of vegetables and then around to the front of the house.
"He stole a carrot," said Marietta. "Did you see the horse? I only caught a glimpse, but it's a beautiful animal."
"And costly." Mrs. Cordova nodded. "It would be interesting to know how he came by the creature." Another pirouette and she murmured, "I fancy most men tread softly around our major. I wonder why he does not want me to tell his fortune."
Yves' shaggy little pony and Orpheus were tethered at the lodge gate, and as the two men left the terrace and started down the drive-path, Yves halted. " 'Allo? 'Allo?" he said, annoyed. "I do not care to make the shout. It is truth that beside you Yves is always as if walking in the ditch, but if you could your mind remove from the tres belle mademoiselle, you might 'ear those things I say."
Diccon flushed slightly. "A proper fool I should be to allow my hopes to drift in that direction. I apologize if my mind wandered. Now tell me—have you finished the deliveries?"
Yves directed a much-tried look at the sunny skies. " 'Ave I not said it? Your beast I bring to you now, for we sail tonight."
"Tonight! There'll be a moon, you fool!"
"And the more large fool I, if we stay."
The grey stallion nudged his master's shoulder and whinnied a greeting, and Diccon caressed the silken neck affectionately before giving in to rank flattery and offering the carrot in his pocket.
Watching this fond reunion Yves said solemnly, "They come, mon ami. Two with the long memory who love not this Yves, but who love much less my Diccon."
"They're not alone." Diccon shrugged. "Likely at least half a hundred men would rejoice to hear of my departure from this world. Yet I live."
"Ah, but suppose I tell you that a week since these two they sail from a small French fishing village at dead of night? Suppose I say that one 'e is very tall and very white—like the dough? And the other"—he threw his arms wide—"much of a Chinese walking mountain?"
Diccon stiffened and stepped away from the velvety muzzle that was tickling his neck. "Monteil?"
"Mais oui!" Yves nodded vigorously. "This same Monsieur Imre Monteil who vow your death. The monstrous Ti Chiu, also! If you 'ave wisdom, you go very fast away. Like me."
"Nonsense. Wherever he may be going, Monteil would not dare to set foot in England again. And even if he did, he'd never think to look for me here."
"Do you forget that this evil one was so thick as inkle-weavers with the mighty Claude Sanguinet? Like as not 'e still 'ave many spies, and if 'e desires a man to find—that man is found! Listen, mon ami! To stay in this place—" Yves offered the dramatic and all-encompassing shrug that covers every imaginable situation and can be achieved only by a Frenchman. "Ce n'est pas la peine!"
"Not worth your while, perhaps," argued Diccon. "But you worry too much. Besides, I can't leave until I have word from Italy ."
"Ah, well. On your own 'ead be it. What more can Yves do? And your fine Orpheus?"
"I'll ride him down to Lanterns." Diccon stifled a sigh. "It's time I went back there, at all events."
"Mais non! You must not be alone! 'Ow shall you manage the beasts? And if—"
"Jove, what a gloom-merchant! MacDougall should return at any day, and I'm well rested. I thank you for taking care of my animals. When may I expect the next shipment?"
"To this place? You may not. The Swiss, 'e know I work with you, and because of our—er, conspirings, 'e 'ave lose much of the money which 'e love! Me, I do not like to be dead, merci!" Wringing his friend's hand, Yves said mournfully, "Au revoir, my Dicco
n. I will tell you again that it is the great pity you are too sure of your own self. You are good. But not an army, mon ami. Send me words when the Monteil go back to 'is—what is it you say?—'is lair! Or, better, when 'e meet 'is doom!"
Diccon was irked, but he knew better than to try to change the mind of this droll but stubborn individual. He promised to "send words" as asked, and watched the Frenchman stride rapidly down the hill. He was a fiery little gamecock; a typical Latin, ready to imbue every situation with drama, but a devilish good man in a scrap, just the—
There came a soft footfall behind him. Involuntarily, he whipped around.
Carrying a large tin bowl, Marietta exclaimed, "My, but you are so sudden!"
The sunbeams filtering through the branches of the laburnum tree awoke a bright sheen on her dusky hair and deepened the green of her eyes. Alarm touched the delicate features that he found almost too exquisite to be real. He had frightened her. 'Fool!' he thought, and straightened at once, smiling a greeting.
"I promise you I mean no harm," she said. "I came to see your horse. He is splendid!"
"Yes. Ah—he is."
In the course of his chequered career he had mixed with all classes and conditions of people and often his life had depended upon his ability to say the right thing at the right moment. His quick wits had never deserted him. Until now. The nearness of this slim girl seemed to reduce his brain to glue, and his desperate attempt to find something charming and ingratiating to say failed miserably. He recovered to an extent and intercepted her outstretched hand as she moved towards Orpheus. "You must let me introduce you, ma'am. He sometimes forgets his manners with strangers."
Still holding that small hand in his own, breathing in the faint sweet scent she wore, and wretchedly aware that his own hand trembled betrayingly, he reached out to the horse. Orpheus tossed his head and rolled fierce eyes at the newcomer.
"Behave, you rascal," said Diccon. "Miss Warrington is a friend." After a suspicious sniff, the big grey quieted and permitted that his nose be stroked.
Marietta had not missed the look of awe that had dawned in Diccon's eyes, and was quite aware of the tremor to the long fingers that held her hand as though it were fashioned of sheerest crystal. In company with every female since the dawn of time, she knew when she was admired. In this instance it was a nice feeling, especially since he made no attempt to stand too close, as he might so easily have done. He released her hand very carefully, as though fearful of breaking it. With an inward smile she thought that this tall, shy man was a far cry from the deadly individual who had faced down Innes Williard, or the brusque stranger who had only a few days ago remarked that he wondered if she ever said "anything sensible." She said lightly, "You are very handsome, Orpheus. But I wonder what you would do if your master had said I was an enemy."
Diccon smiled. "That is something you will never discover, ma'am, for I never would tell him such a rank falsehood."
"I think I am fortunate! Is your friend going away, Major? Do you wish us to stable Orpheus for you?"
"No, no! I'd not impose— I mean, it is time— it's past time I went—er, home." He untied the reins, then reached for the bowl Marietta carried. "Let me take that. It's too heavy for you." He peered at the contents and wrinkled his nose. "Gad! What is this stuff?"
"Mash for the chickens. And you cannot carry it and manage Orpheus as well. Will he allow me to lead him, do you think?"
"Yes. So long as I am close by."
She took the reins and started along the side drive-path that led to the barn and stableyard. "Oh, how beautifully he moves! Would you let me ride him? I love a spirited animal. Now why must you look so aghast? I have a very good seat, I promise you."
"Then I shall begin to train him to accept a side-saddle, Miss Warrington."
"Another polite evasion, Major?"
He looked startled and she said laughingly, "Oh, yes. I am aware of your devious ways, but I will not tease you. As to your going back to Lanterns, that is quite out of the question until you are better—unless you've someone to help you."
"You're very kind, but I am much better, I thank you. And my man will be rejoining me within a day or two."
His man? She hid her surprise and decreed serenely that until then the Major must remain at the dower house, and that there was plenty of room for Orpheus in the barn. "It will make very little extra work for Bridger, for we only keep three horses, nowadays." She heard the note of regret in her own voice and added hurriedly, "Now tell me why you call him Orpheus, if you please."
"Like his namesake, he is a music lover."
Marietta patted the glossy shoulder of the big horse. "He sings, no doubt?"
"Not really. Cannot follow a tune for the life of him. But— in a sense he does follow a tune."
"You are going to have to explain that, Major."
Greatly daring, he said, "If you will come to Lanterns and visit me, I'll show you. One picture is worth a thousand words, so they say."
"The picture of you putting Mr. Williard to flight was worth many thousand words." Her smile faded into a troubled look. "I am sure you… heard."
"I'd not intended to eavesdrop, ma'am. But his voice carries, and I thought you might—er—"
"Be grateful for some interference? I was, indeed. Your rescue was very well timed. Had my brother Eric been there, he would have done exactly the same."
"He is abroad, Miss Warrington?"
"No. At Cambridge. We'd hoped he would come home for the summer, but he took on two students cramming for Responsions, and was unable to break away. Arthur adores him, and was terribly cast down. But Eric tries to—to help with expenses, you see."
"He must be a fine fellow."
"Yes, he is, and full of high spirits; always ready for any escapade, the more reckless the better. I am very sure his friends had some jolly scheme for the Long Vacation that he would far rather have shared than spending the summer days tutoring."
They had reached the barnyard, and a small army of chickens came rushing to meet them with much squawking and a flurry of dust and feathers.
"If you will be so good as to tether Orpheus," said Marietta, "I'll divide up the mash and you will see how impolite are the table manners of our flock."
Five minutes later, Diccon retreated from the yard and leaned against the fence brushing straw and feathers from his breeches. "They're savages," he said breathlessly.
"And carnivorous," she agreed.
He inspected the back of his hand. "I thought that great red brute would go for my throat!"
She could not restrain a chuckle. "That was Gentleman Jackson." And recalling how Diccon had dodged about, trying to put down the smaller bowls while the flock surged about him, she said, "I'm sorry he pecked you, but I think he grew impatient."
"Impatient! He was downright murderous! I'm very sure Jackson would never behave in such a way!"
She closed the gate and asked, "Do you know the great man? Eric yearns to meet him."
"Most young bucks do. He's a grand fellow. And considering I did exactly as you bade me, I fail to see why your rooster became so hostile."
She thought triumphantly that she'd found one more piece of the puzzle that was this enigmatic gentleman. He might be a humble free-trader, but he knew the much-sought-after boxing champion. She explained, "He became hostile because he was— er, baffled by your terminology." Diccon raised an eyebrow enquiringly, and she said, "As I told you, sir, one does not summon fowls by calling 'Chicken, chicken.' "
He grinned and untied Orpheus. "No, but when I called, "Here, coop, coop, coop," following orders, they came at me like Ney's cavalry. Now, will you tell me what I'm to do with my friend, here?"
Before she could respond Mr. Fox came plodding towards them, with Arthur mounted on his back. The boy, red-faced and out of breath, wheezed, "I must… talk with… Sir G'waine! P-private!"
"Ar-thur… !" said Marietta, recognizing the signs.
"Oh, do go 'way, Etta! It's… it's men t
alks!"
"Now that's a sure way to make the ladies curious," advised Diccon gravely. "Besides, it's not quite polite. What we have to do, Sir Lancelot, is to beg your sister's pardon, and ask if we may be excused." With a hopeful glance at Marietta, he added, "Just for a little while."
Chapter VI
"Disgraceful, sir!" trumpeted Lord Ignatius Dale, his dark eyes protruding alarmingly and his whiskers vibrating. "I say it again—dis-grace-ful!"
As cool as the short, round peer was inflamed, Diccon faced him on the terrace of the vast stone pile that was Downsdale Park, and drawled, "There is not the need, my lord. I heard you the first time. I brought Master Warrington here to apologize for trespassing, and—"
"Not - the- need?" bellowed his lordship. "Not—I say not the need, sir? What, I wonder, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, would you fancy constituted a need? That undisciplined young savage lurking behind you, sir, brought that confounded mangy little ass trampling all over my grounds, sir! It consumed my peonies! My peonies! M'wife dotes on 'em, d'you hear me?"
"Along with most of the county, I do, sir. But—"
"Eh? Why, Devil take you, sir, how dare you, sir?" Purpling, his lordship howled, "I said m'wife dotes on 'em! And the poor soul is laid down on her bed with the vapours, from the shock of seeing that damned ass leering at her through the window of the breakfast parlour while she was eating her eggs, sir! All along the terrace the mangy damned brute trampled his dirt! And not content with eating m'confounded peonies, and putting m'lady into the vapours, what must the damnable—"
Diccon lifted one hand to halt the flow. "Guard your tongue, sir! There is a child here."
"By George, don't I know it!" Dale shook clenched fists at the impervious sky. "The brat's dumb brute ate m'papers, you stupid bl—" he checked with a fuming glance from Diccon's hauteur to Arthur's terrified face.
"Do you say Mr. Fox was inside your house, my lord?"
"Who the deuce is Mr. Fox?"
"My donkey is named for Charles James Fox. He looks like him, you see. Especially," added Diccon musingly, "when he wears his hat."
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns Page 8
