Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  ''He's likely worried for his step-mama. I wonder you didn't send him to Madame Olympias."

  ''You very much dislike Aunty Dova's—hobby, don't you, Eric?"

  ''Of course I do. I suppose the whole County must know their local fortune-teller is really my aunt! What a come-down!"

  ''Oh, I hope they do not! You should only see how she dresses when she goes to the caravan! The wig, and all the paint on her face, and the funny accent she uses. I promise you it would be hard to recognize her and I think it simply would not occur to most people that a gentlewoman would do anything so outrageous. Besides, she listens to their troubles very kindly, and they really do value the advice she gives them."

  ''Do they indeed! I shall go down and consult her myself. She can look into her crystal ball and tell me if there really is a treasure."

  Marietta laughed. "Have a care, brother dear. Madame Olympias would be more likely to read your palm and find out all about your jaunts in London."

  Eric's grin vanished. He snapped, "How did you know I was in Town?"

  '' 'Miles Cameron' told her. Isn't it extraordinary that she— Eric? You're not angry?"

  ''No. Of course not, you silly widgeon." His brilliant smile chased away that sudden look of rage. "But I think I'd best not let her read my palm. My reputation would be—Jupiter! Who the devil is that?"

  Marietta turned and saw a great grey horse galloping across the meadows at breakneck speed. "Oh, that's Major Diccon!" She waved. "I think he has not seen us."

  ''He has now; see, he's turning."

  ''He'll have to swing south to cross the stone bridge."

  ''Devil he will! He means to jump the stream!"

  Alarmed, she cried, "No! He cannot, it's too wide! Oh, heavens! He has Arthur up before him! Wave him off, Eric!"

  ''Too late. There he goes. Oh, jolly well done! Gad, but he can ride!"

  Orpheus came thundering up, then slowed and approached them with mincing decorum.

  ''Etta! Eric!" screamed Arthur, his face flushed and his eyes blazing with excitement. "Did you see? Sir G'waine an' me jumped over the moon! Like the cow! Wasn't it fine?"

  ''A fine risk to take with my brother up before you," scolded Marietta.

  Diccon said blandly, "Oh, I felt perfectly safe in the company of the dauntless Lancelot, ma'am."

  Noting the smile on the man's fine-drawn face and the sparkle in his sister's eyes, it occurred to Eric that Mr. Blake Coville had better make haste with his wooing.

  ''He says I mayn't try it till I get a horse like Awful," said Arthur. "He says a man must know his mount 'fore—"

  ''Major Diccon says," Marietta corrected. "Not 'he.' You must allow me to present my brother, Major. Eric, this is Major Mallory Diccon Paisley."

  ''Temple and Cloud, eh?" said Eric, reaching out eagerly for the handshake. "Very glad to meet you, sir. Jove, but that's a splendid horse."

  ''Yes, he's a fine fellow." Diccon patted the stallion's smooth neck. "I'm told you've a nice team of matched bays."

  Eric blushed with pleasure but gave a man-of-the-world shrug. "Oh, pretty fair. They're good goers, but not in the same class with your animal. Is he really called Awful?"

  ''Orpheus."

  ''And he is musical." Marietta glanced at Diccon and added with meaning, "You must give my brother a demonstration, Major."

  ''It would be my pleasure. Now, if you dare enter my wicked castle, Warrington. I've a fearsome reputation, you know."

  Eric grinned, but Arthur, who had been gainfully employed in tying a knot in Orpheus' mane, said confidently, "I'm coming, too!" Diccon gave him a stern look and he added, "If y'please, sir."

  ''That's much better," said Marietta. "But it's time for your lessons, young man."

  The boy's lower lip thrust out rebelliously.

  Eric said, "Beastly luck, child, but I only take educated pirates out rowing."

  Arthur's eyes became very round. " 'S afternoon?"

  ''This afternoon."

  ''You promise?"

  Eric put a hand over his heart. "A sacred vow."

  ''And you can ride home with me," bribed Marietta. "Can we manage that, Eric?"

  Warrington dismounted, handed his reins to Diccon and lifted Arthur to Marietta's saddle. Settling his brother into place, he murmured sotto voce, "He don't sound demented to me."

  ''Who's 'mented?" asked Arthur, loud and clear.

  Marietta closed her eyes and moaned softly.

  ''It could be jolly fine if you restored it," said Eric, walking back through the new wing beside Diccon. "Assuming you enjoy country life, of course. Thank you for showing me around."

  ''I'm glad you like the old place. I take it you don't enjoy country life? Perhaps you're eager to get back to University?"

  ''Devil I am! The country's all right. For a day or two. But school—ugh! It's damnable. Didn't you find it so, sir?"

  Beginning to feel like Methuseleh, Diccon said, "Sometimes. But to have a degree in your pocket can be most helpful to your career. Depending upon what you mean to do with your life, of course."

  ''So everyone says. Did you win a fellowship, sir?"

  ''Oh, don't look to me for your example. Not if you expect to wind up with plenty of lettuce in your bowl!"

  ''Well, that's just it, you see. Even if I were to cram night and day it would take another two years to finish. I'm a fair scholar, but to say truth, I've no interest in the business. And my family needs help now!"

  Diccon thought of a spanking new coach and thoroughbred team, and the coat that was as if moulded to Warrington's shoulders and proclaimed the costly genius of Weston. He kept his scepticism to himself and opened the kitchen door to wave his guest inside. "I haven't started any repairs yet, and there's not much in the way of usable furniture. I'm afraid this is the most presentable room in which to entertain you, but if you can stay for a glass of cognac I'd be glad of some intelligent company."

  Flattered by such an invitation from a man whom he had recognized at once as a regular "top o' the trees" Eric accepted eagerly. When he was settled at the table with a glass of most excellent brandy, Diccon sat opposite and granted his request to be told about The Sigh of Saladin and the ghosts said to haunt the manor. Then, with skilled expertise he guided the conversation to Sir Lionel and his family. The brandy was velvety smooth, the kitchen warm, and the Major's interest gratifying. Drowsily content, Eric relaxed, and quite soon the floodgates opened.

  Diccon listened to a wistful account of their grand house in London and of the life that had been "so very different" to their present circumstances, which were obviously regarded as deplorable. "Fanny was too young to have gone out into Society very much," said Eric. "And she don't miss Town. But it has been devilish hard on Etta, though she's a good girl and don't cry over spilt milk. My father hoped she would make a splendid match and rescue us all, but—buried out here…" He shrugged resignedly.

  ''You cannot hide a diamond of the first water for very long, and Sussex is scarcely in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Miss Marietta will assuredly make a splendid match. I only hope it may be a happy one." Diccon became aware that he had spoken sharply and that Warrington was staring at him. "I think it admirable that you mean to help your family," he went on in a milder tone. "But it's rather a tall order for a young fellow, isn't it? At your age I had all I could do to provide for myself."

  ''Not much lettuce to be made in the Army, I fancy?"

  ''Even when they remember to pay me—which they seldom do! Luckily," Diccon met Eric's gaze and said with a grin, "I have other—ah, irons in the fire."

  ''So I've heard. And if this brandy's a sample I imagine you make more at your illicit career than at your public one!"

  ''Well, there's always money to be made. Provided one's willing to take the risk. But I don't recommend such unlawful activities to a young sprig like you, and I'll be grateful do you keep mine to yourself."

  It seemed to Eric that there was just a touch of condescension in the other man's at
titude. Irked, he reacted with the boastfulness of youth. "Never fear, sir. I'm told you refuse your title, whereby one gathers you also have no love for our present ridiculous form of government." Lowering his voice, he leaned forward. "I'll admit to you that I've set more than my toe outside the law. And more than once!"

  Diccon chuckled. "So your generous gifts to your family weren't paid for by a lucky wager. What a slyboots to have fobbed your sister off with some tale of grandiose investments! I knew it was unlikely, at your age. Rum running, eh?"

  ''Not so!" exclaimed Eric, indignantly. "Bigger game, sir! I"—a swift glance at the door—"I am a—a sort of courier. An exceeding high paid courier, I might add. For a group of influential gentlemen."

  Diccon's eyes were veiled, but his lips twitched and one of his brows arched upward ironically.

  Touched on the raw, Eric flared, "You think I brag, and that gentlemen would not trust weighty matters to the care of a man of two and twenty! Well, that is exactly why I am hired! Because I look younger than I am." He laughed suddenly. "You should only see the rig I wear when I'm sailing! I look like nothing so much as an underpaid apprentice clerk. How I laugh to myself when the Riding Officers don't so much as glance my way! If they did but know what—" He broke off. He'd said more than he intended, and finished rather lamely, "You'd not credit the amount of secrecy and spying that goes on in the world of industry."

  ''Is that so? Well, I expect you're old enough to know what you're about, and whether the risks you run are justified. For my part, I'm of a mind to marry and settle down." Diccon sighed, and said ruefully, "I'll have to give up smuggling then, of course. A gentleman cannot take the chance of bringing shame to his loved ones."

  Eric frowned into his wineglass and said nothing.

  ''I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed meeting your family," Diccon went on, his eyes very keen under the thick brows. "They've been most kind to me. I really envy you your young brother. He's an engaging little scamp. You're his idol, and it's plain to see that he'll take you for his model in life."

  Lifting his head, Warrington searched the lean features and found only a friendly smile. "Yes," he said, setting down his glass. "Well, I must be getting home. Good day, sir, and thank you for your hospitality."

  Outside, the skies had darkened, the air was very still and the clouds had the yellowish tinge that warned of a thunderstorm. Eric Warrington rode up the hill slowly, in a marked departure from his customary neck or nothing pace. The smuggled brandy was potent stuff and his head felt just a touch fuzzy. But it was not the effect of the wine that brought the uneasiness to his spirits. He wondered if he'd said too much to a man he really scarcely knew. He heard again a deep voice that said, "… he'll take you for his model in life." It did little to lighten his mood.

  Diccon stood on the drawbridge and watched him out of sight. Deep in thought, he wandered around to the barn, kicking a pebble before him. Mac had gone back into the house and the barn was dim and quiet, the air heavy with the scents of hay and animals. He came to a halt and gazed blankly at an empty stall. Then he drove a clenched fist at a post and said an explosive "Damn!"

  The storm, which had been threatening all day, broke in full fury shortly after four o'clock. Jocelyn Vaughan pulled the top cape of his riding coat higher about his throat, ducked his head against the teeming rain and urged his horse to a gallop. He'd glimpsed the chimneys from the top of the hill and thought it would be a short ride to the manor, but the distance was deceiving and by the time he approached the closed lodge gates he was soaked. The little lodge was unoccupied and he had no intention of dismounting to open the gates. The tall grey gelding cleared the hedge neatly and cantered along the short drive-path to the terrace steps.

  Even through the downpour Vaughan could see that it was a much smaller house than he'd envisioned, and in better repair. Urged on by a deafening peal of thunder, he dismounted, secured the reins to a post, and ran up the steps and across the terrace.

  There was no sound from within, and not a single candle brightened the windows. "Hello!" he shouted, pounding on the door. "Are you asleep again, you lazy varmint? Wakey, wakey!"

  Rushing into the kitchen with her arms full of damp washing, Fanny heard the shouting and the repeated blows on the front door. "Oh, rats!" she panted. "Go away, whoever you are!"

  The pounding was redoubled and an irate roar advised that if the door wasn't opened instantly there would be bloody murder done.

  Mrs. Gillespie had gone home early with one of her 'headaches," and Marietta was striving frantically to rescue the rest of the laundry. Papa and Eric had driven off somewhere in the new coach, which left to Fanny the task of dealing with this violent caller. She deposited her load on the kitchen table and hurried across the withdrawing room, prepared for battle. Lightning flashed as she entered the hall. The front door was being pushed open. A gauntletted hand came into view and that irate male voice shouted, "Where the devil are you, traitor? Guard yourself! I'm coming in!"

  Fanny's impassioned retort froze on her tongue. Into her mind came Marietta's story of the intruder who had broken into Lanterns and so brutally attacked Diccon. This was very likely the same creature. Having failed at the manor he'd decided to search the dower house! She started to back away. Terrified by the slow opening of the door, she fled into the drawing room. There was no time for a further retreat. Fortunately, they'd not yet lit candles and the room was quite dim. She sank onto the sofa next to "Mrs. Hughes-Dering" and did her best to resemble a dummy.

  Jocelyn Vaughan stepped into a spacious but gloomy entrance hall. He peered about curiously, his eyes still dazzled from that brilliant lightning flash. Directly opposite, heavy draperies were tied back on each side of an archway giving onto a corridor. He went over to the archway and saw a flight of stairs at some distance to his left, several rooms to his right, and, facing him, a partly open door. It was chill and deathly quiet. He took off his hat and shook it, sending water spraying from the brim. 'Grim sort of place,' he thought, and howled, "Hello? Did everybody die?"

  Aside from another peal of thunder there was no response. He crossed the corridor, pushed the door wider, and looked into a large drawing room. He was considerably put out to find upon entering this shadowed chamber that several people were present, all of whom saw fit to ignore him. "Good day," he said stiffly. "Your butler must not have heard me at the door."

  Silence. Not a word, not a movement.

  ''All dead, are you?" he enquired with heavy sarcasm.

  The complete lack of any reaction was peculiar, to say the least. They were so unnaturally still. Uneasy now, he moved forward and addressed the military man seated by the empty hearth. "Are you asleep, sir? Have I broke into the wrong house? I'm here to… see…" The eyes were open, however, their fixed, glassy-eyed stare was unnerving. Vaughan, who was no stranger to death and had himself almost succumbed to wounds sustained at the Battle of Quatre Bras, recoiled, the hair on the back of his neck lifting. He held his breath, put out a hand and gave the man's shoulder a tentative shake. There was no angry protest, no resistance at all. Slowly, the soldier slumped to the side.

  ''Jupiter!" yelped Vaughan, horrified.

  He touched the arm of one of three ladies seated on a sofa, and the large dowager sagged slightly. The lady to her left sagged more than slightly, her head lolling in a most horrid fashion.

  ''What a… ghastly… thing!" he whispered, breaking into a sweat. His hand shook as he reached for the slender girl on the far end. A piercing shriek rang out and his hand was knocked aside. His heart jumped into his throat. With a terrified shout he fairly leapt back. The young woman sprang to her feet. The poor creature's mind must have cracked, he thought dazedly, for in such a place of horror she was laughing hysterically.

  Desperate, he looked about. Three roses in a crystal vase were displayed on a round occasional table. He snatched up the vase, removed the roses and flung the water in the face of the convulsed girl. Her laughter was cut off. She stood rigid
and gasping, her eyes (which, sadly, were very pretty) wide with shock, and water dripping down her nose.

  ''Ooo-oh!" she gulped.

  ''My poor little soul," said Vaughan kindly, setting the vase aside and putting a consoling arm about her tiny waist.

  "Monster!" she shrieked, swinging one damp but efficient hand into cracking contact with his cheek. "How—dare—you!"

  ''What—on earth?" Another lady, very wet and dishevelled and wrapped in a large apron, hurried to join them.

  ''Don't look!" cried Vaughan, flinging up a gallantly protecting hand. "It's horrid! Is your master still alive?"

  Marietta's lower lip sagged, and Fanny stared at this (astonishingly handsome) young lunatic speechlessly.

  ''There has been a most frightful tragedy," said Vaughan, drawing his handkerchief and wiping his pallid brow. "This poor demented maid appears to be the only survivor! We shall have to call in the authorities at once. Are you the housekeeper? Or is there someone who can—"

  ''Survivor… of what?" asked Marietta, bewildered.

  ''Mass murder in the drawing room," spluttered Fanny.

  ''Oh, dear me! Another visitor! The Mystical Window Through Time was right again!" A startling figure came in from the front hall and peered up into Vaughan's face. "So you have this way come," she remarked. "But you don't look very wicked."

  He was unable to return the compliment and gazed at her, stunned. A tangle of wet hair was plastered to her forehead, thick face paint was running, giving her a most ghoulish appearance, and a voluminous cloak sagged, drenched, about her.

  A small boy clad in what appeared to be chain mail, and with a most odd helmet on his head came clanking down the stairs accompanied by a large ginger cat that flashed across the dining room and launched itself into the visitor's arms.

  ''I knowed he wouldn't keep his promise," the child wailed. "I'll split his wishbone!"

  Vaughan whispered, "Oh… my… God!"

  Fanny could not contain herself, and laughed till she cried.