Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  ''From one of Claude Sanguinet's Lascar cut-throats in Dinan." Diccon helped him to his feet. "My apologies. But I don't have many friends. Can't afford to have them killing each other."

  Dour and silent, MacDougall righted the table.

  Diccon steered Vaughan into a chair and asked, "Do you mean to call me out, Joss?"

  Vaughan sighed heavily. "I rather suspect we're at Point Non-Plus. I can't in honour court my friend's chosen lady."

  Diccon looked down at him and knew that here was a man worthy in every respect to marry his beloved. Young, thoroughly decent, courageous, handsome, and with a large fortune. The urge to strangle him was strong, which was pure dog-in-the-manger selfishness. It was not impossible for Vaughan to have formed an immediate and lasting attachment. If he himself really loved her—and Lord, how he loved her!—he should be rejoicing at her opportunity to make what everyone would consider a brilliant match.

  He was, he discovered, incapable of such saintly behaviour, and it was as much as he could do to admit, "My own case is quite hopeless, Joss, else I promise you I'd fight for her every step of the way. But—if I must lose her, I couldn't wish to lose to a better man."

  'Thank you kindly," said Vaughan acidly. "But I've no wish to win by default." He frowned. "Of course, you are a—er, a touch old for her, and that might—"

  ''Nine yearrrs isnae a major gulf," growled MacDougall.

  ''Nine? Why, if she's a day over nineteen, I'll—"

  "What?" gasped Diccon, his head jerking up.

  ''Hoot-toot! Tis Miss Fanny is the laddie's one and only!" howled MacDougall.

  Vaughan stammered, "Eh? You never supposed—?"

  ''You said 'Miss Warrington,' you block! Marietta's the elder."

  ''Oh. But you argued that she's so beautiful, and I thought surely—"

  ''So she is, deuce take you! What—are you quite blind?"

  ''Well, I—er, I—" To each man his own vision, thought Vaughan, and said with rare tact, "I suppose once my eyes had rested on Miss Fanny, I simply didn't see anyone else!"

  MacDougall was at his elbow with a beaming grin, a mug, and a bottle of cognac. "Will ye no sluice some o' this over yer ivories, Lieutenant?"

  ''By George, but I will!" said Vaughan.

  ''We all will!" With not a twinge of saintly regret that Marietta had just lost a splendid suitor, Diccon raised his mug. "A toast to your good fortune in having found your true 'one and only,' Joss. And may your courtship prosper!"

  ''And yours also," said Vaughan. They drank again and he exclaimed, "Hi! I've had a thought!"

  MacDougall lifted his glass willingly. "Losh, but we'll drink tae that!"

  ''No—seriously," said Vaughan. "If I win my lovely lady, your lovely lady won't be obliged to marry for convenience, Diccon! Don't you see? I'm perfectly able to support the family! And you needn't tell me you're too destitute to be an acceptable parti! You may not claim your title, but you've a fine old name, and I seem to recall your mentioning once that you've a sizeable inheritance from your grandmama, to say nothing of all that back pay still owing you! And only look at this splendid estate. Oh, I know it's been let go to seed, but if you was to turn it into a producing farm it would likely support you comfortably. There! Our troubles are over!"

  ''If the lassies will hae either of ye," qualified MacDougall.

  ''Of course they will," said Vaughan. "How could they refuse such a dashing pair? I'll own I never expected to have a rascally free-trader for a brother-in-law, but barring that complication, there's nought to stand in our way! Here's to love and a pair of betrothals!"

  Diccon echoed the toast heartily. The threatened barrier between them had disappeared, which was certainly a cause for rejoicing, and not for the world would he throw a shadow over Vaughan's happiness. But there were still formidable obstacles in his own path. Firstly, of course, was the tragedy of his mama; and then, even if Vaughan was accepted and the financial security of the Warringtons assured, Marietta might not want Diccon Paisley for her husband. Furthermore, the menace of the Swiss and his mighty killing machine, Ti Chiu, remained, and Sir Gavin and Blake Coville had to be reckoned with. The final and most potentially deadly threat was the newly arrived letter now residing in his pocket. But perhaps he was borrowing trouble. More than likely his suspicions were completely unjust. They had better be unfounded, by heaven! They must be!

  ''If you was to ask me, miss," said Mrs. South, leaning over the counter of her tiny haberdashery and post office and speaking in a hushed voice, "that queer foreign lady takes advantage, expecting you to collect her mail!"

  Marietta had walked to Cloud Village on this cool morning to buy knitting wool and some buttons for Fanny's new evening gown. She took up the two letters addressed to Madame Olympias in care of Sir Lionel Warrington, and gave Mrs. South the three letters to be sent off. She could not but feel deceitful when she replied excusingly that Madame Olympias paid a generous rent in exchange for being allowed to leave her caravan on dower house property. "All we really do in return is keep an eye on the caravan and pick up her letters and messages."

  ''Aye, but it's an imposition, if I may be so bold as to say it. What's more, with all the open land round here, I don't see why that there caravan has to be on Lanterns' property!"

  ''Why, Madame Olympias has to leave it somewhere safe, you know. She is in Town most of the time."

  ''Even so, there's something very strange about that Madame, if you was to ask me. No one never sees her come. No one never sees her go. And where do she come from or go to? Aha! There you are then, ain'tcha! On top of my boy disappearing of hisself like that, I mean! I wouldn't be surprised if—"

  To Marietta's relief Mrs. South's surprise was forgotten when Blake Coville came in, ducking his curly head as he entered the little shop and brightening it with his easy, assured charm. He dazzled Mrs. South with a smile, and bowed to Marietta. He had chanced to catch sight of her as he was driving through the village, he said, and nothing would do but that he take her home.

  The sky was acquiring a whitish look and the wind was a little more chill than she'd expected, and her shawl too light to provide much warmth. Marietta accepted Coville's offer gladly, and made a mental note that some story must be conjured up to shield her aunt from a suspicion of witchcraft.

  He carried out her small parcels and handed her into the stylish curricle. "What luck to have captured you!" he said with an air of triumph.

  ''Lucky for me, certainly. I thought you had gone back to Town, so that Sir Gavin could meet with the—er, sheikh, did you say?"

  He threw the warm rug over her knees, swung into the curricle and took up the reins a small villager had held for him. "Correct, ma'am." Tossing a coin to the child, he guided his team along the cobbled street. "I could scarce wait to get back here. Dare I hope you missed me? You were in my thoughts every—"

  "Oh! Do have a care!" she exclaimed.

  He had driven to where the street widened outside the Seven Seas tavern and turned his team neatly but at a pace that caused a sturdy man in smock and gaiters to jump for his life.

  "Look before you leap!" shouted Coville laughingly. "Egad, Miss Marietta, how do you bear this bucolic wilderness? The dim-witted yokels alone would drive me berserk!"

  "That particular dim-wit is Jed Westmere. He was near blinded by a mine blast at the Battle of Badajoz, and probably did not expect anyone to be driving on a narrow street at such a rate!"

  "Oh, dear!" He gave her a quizzical look. "Then I beg his pardon. Come now, lovely one, do not pinch at me when I've missed you so." She still looked stern and he added cajolingly, "I've brought you a little surprise from the metropolis."

  Marietta glanced at the small package he placed on the seat between them, and realized that her feelings for Blake Coville had undergone a subtle change. She felt vaguely disloyal to be in the curricle beside him because, charming as he may be, he was Diccon's enemy.

  "Come now, open it," he urged. "You're never going to forbid th
at I give you a very small token of my—regard?"

  His eyes were full of laughter, the high crowned hat was set at a jaunty angle on his thick hair, and his coat emphasized the breadth of those fine shoulders. He was undeniably a very handsome man, and the eyes of every female they passed followed him admiringly. 'Which he knows,' thought Marietta. But after all, he would be a fool not to know it. And, besides, she was not betrothed, and was under obligation to no one. Impatient with herself she took up the little box and unwrapped it.

  The brooch was of gold filigree around a central oval on which was painted a picture of old London Bridge, as seen from the river. The detail was extraordinary for such a miniature work and Marietta exclaimed, "How lovely it is! Oh, but I cannot accept, Mr. Coville. You are too kind, but you must know it would not be—"

  "Now pray do not say it would not be proper! You will note it is a poor gift really, for I chose with care and there are no jewels, and the gold is likely brass! Furthermore, it is a used piece that I came upon in Town and hoped might not offend."

  "Poor gift, indeed! It is an antique and I suspect valuable! And as for the gold being brass—" She broke off, for he was watching her with a broad grin. "Oh, but you are teasing me. No, sir, truly I am most grateful, but—"

  "You must consider me a poor friend if so simple a gift cannot be accepted. Have I offended, Miss Marietta? Or is it, perhaps, that my step-brother has been turning you against us? He is very cunning and can twist truths to suit—"

  "Please stop, Mr. Coville! Major Paisley has been very kind to us and—"

  "Whereas I am unkind and too evil to dare present a little gift?"

  "No! I did not mean that at all, but—"

  "If you will not accept the brooch, ma'am, what else am I to believe? I had hoped you were beginning to think of me as— more than a friend. In spite of the depth of my own feelings, I've taken care not to move too fast, but you must know what my intentions are."

  Suddenly, her mouth was dry. Again, she searched his face. The boyish grin had vanished. He looked sad, and she knew she had hurt him. So he really meant to offer for her. That was surely the highest tribute a man could pay a lady. It was what she had hoped for, wasn't it? Papa would be ecstatic with joy. Any sensible maiden would at this point lower her lashes and tremble and flutter her fan while stammering shyly that she did not know what he meant, so that he would be obliged to declare himself. She heard herself saying instead, "How could I think you either unkind or evil, when you and Sir Gavin have been our good friends? I promise you that Major Diccon Paisley does not speak of your quarrel. Certainly, I do not wish to distress you. The brooch is delightful and I will accept it most gratefully."

  He gave a whoop of triumph. "Splendid! And you will wear it? Not take it home and hide it away in your jewel box?" She laughed. "I will put it on now, if you wish." He did wish, and drew the team to a halt while she pinned the brooch to her shawl. "There," she said, turning for his appraisal. "Does it look nice?"

  His admiring gaze was not on the brooch but on her smiling face. He said huskily, "No. It looks fairly breathtaking!"

  Chapter XII

  Lem Bridger climbed down from the box of the old coach and handed Madame Olympias out. "Coming on to rain, marm," he said in his crisp London voice. "What time shall I call for you?"

  "Oh, dear! I don't know!" She scanned peaceful meadows and the rich loom of the encircling woodland, and murmured, "What a bother this is! Were we followed, do you think?"

  "I don't, marm. Likely we might be on the way back, for Miss Marietta's right, and folks is curious, no use denying. They want to see where I go to meet up with Madame's coach."

  Mrs. Cordova sighed. It was all Isolde Maitland's fault. The wretched woman had cornered Fanny after Church and demanded to know how Madame Olympias arrived at Lanterns, and where she came from. Fanny's inventive mind had not failed her. Madame, she'd said, had been born a gypsy but had married into a noble house. Sadly, the family had fallen upon bad times, and when she was left a widow, Madame had found herself very short of funds. She had resumed her occupation of telling fortunes, but in the strictest secrecy, for, however impoverished, her late husband's family was proud and would be horrified if they discovered the source of her income. To preserve her secret she occasionally borrowed her sister-in-law's coach, but instructed the coachman to set her down at some distance from Lanterns. Sometimes, she would walk through the woods to her caravan. Sometimes, she would send a message asking that Bridger call for her at this or that hedge tavern. After Mrs. South's remarks, Marietta had thought it necessary to reinforce this tale, and Bridger had driven out in the coach this morning with Madame Olympias hiding under the seat. Once they were sure they were not followed, he'd detoured into a wooded area and when he drove out again Madame Olympias had been "picked up" and was conveyed to her caravan.

  She consulted the letters in her reticule. "I've Miss Deerhurst coming at half past eleven," she said. "A Monsieur Gistel at one; he's new and by his writing I think an elderly gentleman. Then there's old Mrs. Middlewich. And I'd not put it past Isolde Maitland to call without an appointment! You'd better come at four o'clock, Bridger."

  The coachman nodded, carried a well-supplied picnic hamper into the caravan, and went away.

  As soon as she was inside, Madame Olympias brightened. This cosy little place was all her own; she felt stronger here and quite sure of her powers. When she lit the solitary lamp she saw that The Mystical Window Through Time was dusty. She wiped it off with the soft piece of flannel she kept for dusting, but the crystal looked no clearer and she peered at it uneasily. If it refused to cooperate she might have a troublesome time with her new client, this Monsieur Gistel. She wound her little clock and put it on the bookcase, then sat in the impressive bishop's chair, rested her elbows on the round table, and prepared her mind to receive her clients.

  Miss Deerhurst arrived punctually, as always. A tall, stringy, twittery spinster, she lived with her uncle in a fine house outside Eastbourne that had been promised to her if she cared for the gentleman for the balance of his lifetime. A good cook and a meticulous housekeeper, she was keeping her part of the bargain, but she mistrusted her crochety old uncle and had confessed that she was often sleepless at night, dreading the prospect of what would become of her when he went to his reward. It would be nice if there was something encouraging to tell the poor woman, but thus far the only indications were that the house would be left elsewhere and Miss Deerhurst's future would not be bright. No point in telling her that. Time enough for sorrow when the blow fell. Therefore, Madame Olympias listened patiently to her fears, told her some entirely spurious stories of ladies she'd known in similar circumstances upon whom Fortune had smiled, and after consulting the Mystical Window Through Time, sent Miss Deerhurst home twittering with excitement because of the 'stranger' who would soon appear to change her life.

  There was now plenty of time for a leisurely luncheon, but the rumble of carriage wheels and a shrill female voice announced the arrival of the Widow Maitland, even as Madame Olympias had anticipated.

  "I care not if you've other appointments," announced the unscheduled client, sweeping into the caravan with a rustle of petticoats and a snap of her hard dark eyes. "They must wait! I was most displeased with my last sitting. At the rates you charge, Madame, one is entitled to expect satisfactory results. No! I do not wish to hear excuses! You were not, I am assured, concentrating properly, or else your Mystical Window was clouded or something. It certainly looks murky now," she added snidely as she seated herself across the table. "Most murky! And you need not bother with all your Jupiter in the ascendants, or Moon in transportation, or such fustian. I am not easily gulled, I promise you. I expect to be married within the year, and I wish to know if it is truth that the gentleman in question may soon be rescued from his financial, er—embarrassments."

  'The horrid woman is afraid Lionel will slip through her clutches if one of the girls marries well,' thought Madame. " 'Ave I not tell y
ou at your last consult this gentleman is not for you?" she purred, slipping a hit in under the widow's guard.

  Mrs. Maitland scowled. "You told me almost nothing! I require more details. Look into your Mystical Window if you please, and tell me by what means this change in his finances is to be accomplished."

  Madame Olympias first demanded her fee, plus the amount the widow had neglected to pay after her previous visit.

  Mrs. Maitland quivered with rage, but fumbled in her reticule and tossed the coins onto the table.

  'Two guineas wrest from the miserly clutch-fist,' thought Madame Olympias gleefully. However, she really tried to give value for her fees and she concentrated upon her Mystical Window. It was still clouded, which was worrisome, but she said with high drama that she saw nothing worthwhile in Mrs. Maitland's present romantic interest. "A male is in your future, but yes. Another gentleman. This male, he is not. For this male there is much trouble." To her inner dismay the last sentence came involuntarily.

  Abandoning her interest in "this male" Mrs. Maitland demanded to know more of the other "gentleman" and Madame Olympias painted a glowing if unidentifiable portrait of good looks allied to rank and fortune so that her client finally departed with far less antagonism.

  As the door closed Mrs. Cordova sighed with relief, but the unscheduled consultation had taken almost an hour and there was little time now for anything but a hasty nibble at her bread and butter and sliced cold pork. She was sipping a glass of milk when the caravan rocked. A cow or some large animal must have brushed against the steps. Glass in hand, she went over to pull aside the window curtain and peep out. She stared, transfixed. A very tall individual was sauntering towards the steps watching a groom who, although not above average height, seemed to her to be gigantic. Immensely broad, with chunky legs and long powerful arms, his features were of an Oriental cast and as if hewn from solid rock; the mouth a narrow slit and the eyes deep-set and almost hidden under the heavy overhanging brow. He had evidently circled the caravan, and he approached the tall man and appeared to make a brief report. His employer nodded and the groom turned and strolled towards the carriage that waited in the shadow of the trees.