Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  There had been only one adoring look from him today, and that very brief. Perhaps his affections were not as deeply engaged as she'd dared to dream. He was, after all, a brilliant prize on the Marriage Mart, who could walk into Almack's and take his pick from the cream of the current crop of highly born damsels. What a contrast was Miss Fanny Warrington, who never had been and probably never would be presented to Society. Marietta, on the other hand, had been presented, was beautiful, and didn't make gauche remarks or become impatient with the perplexing creatures called gentlemen. It was not remarkable that once having met her, Blake Coville had never even noticed her little sister. Now it would seem that Jocelyn Vaughan, who had noticed and had stolen her heart away, was also turning his beloved but fickle eyes towards Marietta.

  She said rather tartly, "I collect your thoughts are far from bread dough, Mr. Vaughan." And with sad double entendre, "Or did the game lose its appeal once you'd tried it?"

  He smiled absently, wondering just how to ease into the subject with Miss Marietta. "I fancy I'm just unskilled is all. You ladies are far better at such tasks."

  "Is your cook at Greenwings a female, sir?"

  "Good heavens, no! My uncle would faint at the very thought! Our chef is a Frenchman. Quite a famous fellow, in fact."

  "Really? Had I known I would have been quite in a quake when setting my poor culinary efforts before you."

  The curl of her lip escaped him. He was, he knew, ill-equipped for the role of deus ex machina; God forbid he should worsen a tricky situation. Diccon was such a confoundedly private sort of man; not the type to take kindly to interference, however well-meant. Him and his confounded walls! Why was Fanny looking so put about? Whoops! He must not have answered her! He said quickly, "Oh no. I think it is remarkable how well you do; all things considered. Diccon told me, in fact, that he enjoyed some jolly good meals whilst he stayed here."

  'All—things—considered?' Love or no love, at this her little chin lifted dangerously. "Is that so?"

  "I promise you. He likes plain cooking. Which is surprising when you think that he's travelled about the world a great deal."

  Fanny drew a deep breath, then purred, "Indeed? Then, as a 'plain cook' I may consider myself flattered, is that what you say, Mr. Vaughan?"

  "Oh, absolutely. Ah, here comes Bridger with the carriage. At last!" All unaware of the daggers that were being hurled his way from a very pretty pair of hazel eyes, Vaughan dried his hands and shrugged into his coat.

  "Good morning, Miss Marietta! I've been waiting for you—"

  "With the greatest impatience, dearest," put in Fanny, smiling so broadly that all her little teeth were on view. She hurled a damp piece of linen at the much abused dough and, ignoring the fact that it missed and flew into the flour bin, said to her bewildered sister, "Thank goodness you are come to rescue the poor man. He has been bored to distraction in my company. I shall go down and help Papa and leave you in peace. Together. Good day, sir."

  "I fear I annoyed her." Vaughan sighed and held the back gate open.

  Hiding her frustration, Marietta walked through. Eric's letter had left her emotions in a turmoil and she'd intended to at once seek out Aunty Dova, but Vaughan had clearly been waiting for some time and she could scarcely refuse to talk to him. She liked Jocelyn Vaughan. His admiration of Fanny had been apparent from the start, and she had begun to entertain great hopes, for she thought he would be a devoted and responsible husband. She said gravely, "Why, my sister did seem a trifle put about, and she usually has the most sunny disposition."

  "With an occasional storm," he said ruefully.

  "Do you not care for a lady with spirit? Fanny can fire up, I'll admit, and she can be rather blunt, at times. But her bad humours are very brief and she is always contrite afterwards."

  He smiled. "It is what one most likes about her. There's no posturing and fluttering with Miss Fanny. She's the most lovely, feminine little thing, but it's straight from the shoulder with her. The man to win her will have to be prepared to defend his opinions, but he'll know few dull moments, I think."

  "You like my little sister very well, I see. In which case I cannot but wonder what you found to quarrel about."

  "To say truth, I don't really know, ma'am. I was helping— that is to say, she let me have a shot at kneading the dough, and—"

  "I thought so." Smiling, she drew him to a halt and faced him, using her handkerchief to remove the flour from his straight nose and not dreaming that from a distance this innocent task could look like an embrace. "Did you drop the dough, or do something dreadful? She is very proud of her cookery."

  They walked on through the meadow towards the little hump-backed bridge that crossed the stream, and he said laughingly, "No, no! Acquit me of such a crime! We got along famously on the cooking front. Then, we were talking about Diccon, and—"

  "Ah," said Marietta.

  Vaughan glanced at her sharply. "She don't like him. Dare I ask why?"

  Marietta hesitated and chose her words with care. "During this past week you've had some chats with my aunt, Mr. Vaughan. Perhaps Diccon has told you of Madame Olympias?"

  "No. But I heard talk of her in the village. They say she's very mysterious. I'd like to try for an appointment with the lady. Since she keeps her caravan on your land, I thought you might…" His honest eyes widened. "Oh, egad! Never say Mrs. Cordova is… ?"

  She said with quiet dignity, "I wouldn't say it except to a very close friend. We keep it as secret as possible, of course."

  He flushed with pleasure. "I'll not breathe a word to a soul, I swear it. Is your aunt really clairvoyant, Miss Marietta?"

  "Oh, yes. Sometimes, rather frighteningly so."

  "How jolly splendid! But—I don't quite see what that has to do with Diccon."

  "It is that to an extent Fanny takes after Aunty Dova and she is sometimes able to—to sense things about people. She is— it sounds foolish, but she is extreme afraid of the Major."

  "The devil, you say! Oh, I beg pardon! But—he's a perfect gentleman, I promise you. How ever has he managed to frighten her?"

  "I'm not sure. I don't know that she herself is sure. I think it is just something instinctive. She adores Arthur, and I had hoped that Major Diccon's affection for him would have won her over."

  "But it hasn't?"

  Marietta looked troubled, and Vaughan said earnestly, "You don't share her prejudices, do you, ma'am? They're quite unjustified. I know he seems a touch haughty and reserved at times, but—well, he's had a beast of a life."

  "I gather it has been full of violence. What a pity that he gave up his music. He has such great talent, do not you think?"

  "He didn't give it up, Miss Marietta." Vaughan hesitated then overcame his dislike of gossip and launched his "Rescue Diccon" campaign. "I don't know all the details," he began. "He never speaks of his family, as you probably know."

  "He did tell me that his grandfather was a fine musician, and that he was taught to play the violin as a very young child."

  He nodded. "His father also was a music lover, but he died very suddenly when Diccon was about eleven years old. Mrs. Paisley was shattered by her loss, and quite unable to cope with the world. You may know that she was married again a year later."

  "Yes. To Sir Gavin Coville."

  "It was a disaster. At least, insofar as Diccon was concerned. Sir Gavin took him in dislike. Probably, it was mutual. Sir Gavin is a stern disciplinarian, very set in his notions, and Diccon I don't doubt was stubbornly resistant to the new order of things. One of Sir Gavin's first commands was that his step-son no longer waste his time on so unmanly a pursuit as music."

  "Unmanly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Why, most gentlemen today play some kind of musical instrument!"

  "Quite so. The tricky thing was that Diccon had made some sort of deathbed vow to his father that he'd continue his musical studies. But of course, he had no power to defy Coville."

  "I think it disgraceful that Sir Gavin should have forced him
to break such a vow! From what I know of Major Diccon, he would certainly have stood up to such tyranny."

  "He did. But he was only twelve years old. His violin was taken, smashed, and burned before his eyes."

  "Oh, poor boy," she said sympathetically. "Could not his mama help?"

  "The lady was frail and very timid, I collect, and would do nothing her husband disapproved of. Luckily, Diccon was away at school much of the year. It was while he was still at Eton that he met and fell in love with a most beautiful girl. My aunt knew her and held that it was a real Romeo and Juliet sort of romance. Both so young, you know, and so hopelessly attached."

  They had reached the bridge and by mutual consent they halted. Marietta gazed out across meadows and woodland to where the chimneys of Lanterns were backed by the sparkle and shimmer of the Channel. Her thoughts were on Diccon and his young life that had been so tragically different from her own. It was not at all proper, of course, for Vaughan to be discussing his friend's family history, which was probably why he was silent and looked so uncomfortable. But she wished he would say more, and she prompted, "Why—hopelessly?"

  "Eh? Oh, well, Sir Gavin had already chosen Diccon's prospective bride. A rather starched-up young damsel from a powerful and wealthy house. Grace, Diccon's own choice, had everything he wanted in his wife. She was the daughter of a corn-chandler. A good family. Well-to-do, but not great wealth or lands. Sir Gavin straitly forbade the match. Diccon defied him and said they'd be married anyway. Sir Gavin went to Grace's father. The gentleman was proud, and was enraged to think his daughter should be judged unacceptable."

  "So he also forbade the match?"

  "Absolutely. Grace was heartbroken. Diccon was furious. And unfortunately there was no possibility that if they waited a few years their marriage would have been permitted."

  "How sad. So that was what brought about the breach with his family?"

  "The real breach came when he turned eighteen. Grace was a year younger. She had gone into a decline when she was forbidden to see him and her health suffered. Diccon was desperate, I suppose. At all events, they slipped away one night and made a dash for Gretna. Very bad form, of course. But understandable in the circumstances."

  "So they were married?"

  "Never got there, ma'am. It was winter, and they were caught in a blizzard and snowed in. Sir Gavin came up with them at some little hedge tavern, and dragged Diccon back to Town by force."

  "Good heavens! What about the girl?"

  "From all I can gather, they left her there. You can imagine the state of mind she came to. A frail, gentle girl who had never been away from her home unchaperoned; knowing she was disgraced, and likely with no funds." He paused, looking very grim. "Thing is—the poor creature tried to follow them on foot. Someone should have stopped her from going out in such weather. As it was, she became lost."

  Marietta gasped and turned to face him. "Oh! Never say they didn't find her?"

  "They did, but too late, I'm afraid. She'd evidently stopped to rest. Worst thing you can do in a snowstorm. The poor girl just got too cold, d'you see? Shocking tragedy. There was quite a fuss, but it was all hushed up, so my aunt said."

  "How perfectly dreadful! No wonder Diccon loathes the Covilles! Whatever did he do?"

  "Went berserk, according to servant hall gossip. Da— er, dashed near strangled Sir Gavin, then raged out of the house and swore he'd never come back. He went into the military and worked his way up. Volunteered for the sort of suicidal missions most fellows pray they'll escape. It's miraculous that he's survived this long. Had a charmed life, I suppose you might say."

  Appalled by the sad tale, Marietta was briefly silent, then she said in vexation, "And now what must he do but venture into the stormy waters of free-trading! Of all the shatter-brained things!"

  'So that's it,' thought Vaughan. Clearly, the lady was interested in Diccon, but she believed him to be a rascally rumrunner. He said earnestly, "Oh, but that was all part of it, do you see, ma'am?"

  She looked at him, puzzled. "You never mean to say he is a smuggler for the Army?"

  "Supplying the brass with premium port?" Vaughan thought of General Smollet, and laughed. "I'd not be surprised! No— seriously, Miss Marietta, there's no end to the roles he's had to play in smoking out criminals and conspiracies. He's done some truly grand things for England; most so secret they're not made public. It's a hazardous occupation to say the least, and he has paid dearly for his successes. His life is at risk, even now, because he bested an international gang of art thieves early this year. As usual, the authorities ignored his warnings till it was nigh too late to save the day. That's usually the way of it. You'd think Whitehall would be grateful, but they begrudge giving him any credit. Half the time they don't even pay him! Were he in a regular regiment he'd be covered with honours and awards, but these poor Intelligence fellows are—"

  At this, Marietta caught his arm. He was startled to see that her face was paper white, her eyes wide and frightened.

  She said gaspingly, "Do you say he… that Diccon is… an Intelligence Officer?"

  "Why, yes, ma'am. About the best of the lot. My apologies if I alarmed you. It's a dangerous game, but he knows his business, never fear." Encouraged by such a display of caring, he said, "He means to leave the service now, I think. Ready to—er, settle down and—and become the—ah, family man." He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. She was very still, as if overwhelmed. He went on, "In fact, I believe he has found the lady he hopes will consent to be his—er, bride."

  Marietta scarcely heard him. So Diccon had not become a free-trader in an attempt to augment his Army pay. Major Diccon Paisley was, in fact, a professional spy! An extreme clever spy. 'There's no end to the roles he's had to play in smoking out criminals.' She experienced a pang of intense pain. He had played a role for her!

  Persevering, Vaughan said, "I'm very sure that the lady who weds him will find him a most devoted and—and—"

  A distant, shrill screaming fractured the quiet.

  Turning her head to stare back towards the dower house, Marietta thought, 'Fanny!'

  Vaughan was already running down the hill. She picked up her skirts and followed.

  Papa was in a scratchy temper, probably because Eric had not returned from Town last night as he'd promised. Leaving the basement, Fanny winked away tears, but fought the inclination to go up to her room and indulge in a good cry. Instead, she set the bread dough to rise, and tidied the kitchen. That occupation caused her to think of Vaughan's clumsy efforts, which made her smile sadly. The gentleman had seemed vastly preoccupied, but perhaps she had been too quick to find an explanation for his behaviour. He might, after all, have wanted to talk to Marietta about his fondness for Miss Fanny Warrington. Or about Marietta's relationship with Major Diccon. Or—oh, any number of things. Her sunny nature reasserted itself and she decided that she'd been a great silly, taking offence at nothing.

  It was very quiet in the house this morning. Aunty Dova was up at her caravan again. She seemed in a glum mood of late, poor dear. Perhaps the rheumatism was troubling her. There was plenty of work to be done. The terrace should be swept and the brasses polished. But… the sun slid golden invitations through the kitchen windows. Such a lovely morning, and there was half an hour to spare before the bread must be punched down again.

  She exchanged her apron for a sun-bonnet and collected a small basket from the scullery. She would need some mint for dinner and there was a nice patch growing wild down by the stream; there'd be just enough time to gather some.

  She left by the front door. Heaven forbid that Mr. Jocelyn Vaughan and her sister should think she was following them! A pleasant breeze was fluttering the tree branches and the sun was warm. Setting off towards the stream, she saw Arthur coming up the hill from the direction of Lanterns astride the little donkey called Mr. Fox. She waved to him, but he didn't see her and she went on in search of the mint. The patch was just past the copse of beeches. Approaching the tre
es, she heard a male voice.

  "Eric?" she called. "Is that you, dear?"

  A pause, the sound of a smothered hiccup, and Blake Coville sauntered from the trees. "Now here's a sight to gladden the heart of a lonely gen'leman," he said, smiling at her. "And with more lively conversation than my hack offers."

  He seemed very flushed. He must, she thought, be embarrassed because she'd overheard him talking to his horse. "I would certainly hope so, sir," she said, returning his smile. "Are you come to see my sister? She will be back soon, I'm sure."

  "Saw her," he said rather indistinctly, and hiccuped again. "She was with Vaughan. Very much with him." He laughed in a way she could not quite like, and added, "I d'cided to wait for her here where it's cooler, though I doubt she'll come back soon. But only see what a kind Fate has sent me; another goddess to br-brighten my day. Whither away, pretty little bird?"

  Fanny admired his lazy charm and good looks, but the glitter in his eyes this morning made her uneasy. Clearly, he was annoyed because he'd seen Marietta walking with Jocelyn Vaughan. She said lightly, "Oh, I'm out on the hunt for fresh mint, Mr. Coville. There's a nice patch on the bank nearby."

  "Ah, yes. I think I saw some. Back this way, m'dear." He stretched out a hand, evidently forgetting he held something, which fell to the ground. Snatching up the small flask, he reeled a little as he stood straight, and said, "Come. I'll help you find't."

  Inexperienced she may be, but Fanny was no fool and to venture into a copse of trees with a gentleman who was in a fair way to being intoxicated would be both improper and the height of folly. She stepped back, half turning from him. "Thank you, Mr. Coville, but—"

  "Surely you know me well 'nough t'call me Blake, lovely little thing that you are."

  His voice was at her ear. So was his breath. He was indeed intoxicated. And at this hour of the morning!

  She moved away from him. "You should not address me in such fashion, sir. Now, if you will be so kind as to—"

  He caught her wrist and jerked her to him. "But it is for you to be kind, pretty one." He held her close and bent to her lips.