His tiny acquaintance had by this time found its way to the top of the strand of grass, and stopped. “Now what are you going to do, foolish creature?” Devenish enquired. “There is nothing for it but to go down again. Had you a single brain in your head, you would know that!” The caterpillar paid him no heed. Probably, he decided, because it had no brains in its head. It was better off in such a deprived state. If one had brains, one cared about people. And just when one least expected it—just when one might, in fact, have felt in need of a little sympathy and support—those same people turned on one like angry serpents. “I have struggled these twenty years and more … I have watched your irresponsibility drive you from one disaster to the next.…” The fair head ducked lower. It was true, of course. And Uncle Alastair had been angry before. Very angry. But had not glared with such a look—a look almost of … contempt.…
“He loves you, you know.”
Devenish frowned at the quiet drawl. Not looking up, he growled, “I came out here to get away from you.”
“I know.” Craig settled his shoulders against a convenient birch tree and folding his arms, said, “Still, I must talk with you.”
Devenish sneered, “I wonder you dare. Are you forgetting that I have inherited your father’s murderous inclinations?”
“That is not possible.”
“Devil it ain’t! You saw the likeness the moment we met. At the time I thought it was impudence when you stared so. But it was shock, was it not?” He had brought a frown to those controlled features and, bitterly hurt, wanting only to hurt in turn, laughed. “Was you afraid, cousin? Did you fear I might seek vengeance for my youthful, slaughtered father, my heart-broken mother?”
“No.”
“I’d be within my rights, by God, but I would! Yet—you heard him. You have the taint of murder in your veins. But I am the one from whom people will shrink in horror! I am the one who is—his greatest trial!” He swung his head away, but Craig noted how his hand gripped the bench until the knuckles gleamed white. And with sudden and unexpected sympathy, he offered, “He has cared for you for twenty years; naturally, he—”
“I need no reminders of that, damn you!” Devenish jerked around to reveal a haggard face and eyes that blazed. “You likely think me too selfish to be aware of my uncle’s self-sacrifice, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, blast your smuggery, I am not unaware! I have disappointed him a hundred times—and worried him twice that often, belike. But I’ll repay him, never doubt it! He is growing old, but his old age will not be lonely, I do assure you.”
“Nonsense!”
With a swift, fluid movement, Devenish came to his feet. “Your pardon?”
“He is not old. I doubt he’s much past forty.”
“Five and forty, if you must know, Master Impudence.”
“And have you never noticed, my Lord Arrogance, how fine looking a man he is? What he needs is a loving wife—not a repentant would-be martyr.”
For a moment Devenish was so taken aback that hurt and rage left him and he stared his astonishment. Then, “M-marry?” he gasped. “Uncle Alastair? Damme, but you are wits to let! I might have known you sought me out to mouth some such fustian!”
“Aye, you might!” Pushing himself away from the tree, Craig said a disgusted, “And I might have known you were too set up in your own conceit to listen to aught that did not concern your all-important self!”
Devenish seized his arm. “Confound you! I’ll make you eat those words!”
“Yap, puppydog,” Craig taunted.
Devenish’s fist swung up. Craig’s hand flashed to catch his wrist. For an instant they stood there, eye to blazing eye, the Canadian’s fair young might straining to hold back the Englishman’s slighter but powerful arm. And then, with a sweep, Craig released his grip and moved back.
“Do you see now? D’ye see how easy it would be? I came out here to bid you farewell, and only look at us! Another moment and—”
“And you would have done—what? Murdered me?”
“Did you mean to kill me? Think, man! Did you?”
“Don’t be so blasted ridiculous! Pummel your cloddish head, perhaps. No more. For Lord’s sake, Tyndale, do you really believe I’ve murder in mind?”
“No more than I believe my father had. But this morning when you attacked me—”
“Dash it all, did you fancy your life in danger then?”
“No. But when you tricked me and I grassed you, you went down mighty hard, cousin. Suppose your head had hit a rock? With what lies between us, who would have believed I did not deliberately put a period to you?”
Devenish avoided that earnest gaze and said an uneasy, “Very few people know what lies between us.”
“It would all come out, certainly. And what would that do to your uncle?” After a brief silence, Craig went on, “I came to tell you that I am leaving. While I am in Scotland, I mean to find out whatever I may about the death of your father. And I swear—so long as I live, should we ever meet again, no matter how you may provoke me, I’ll never raise my hand against you!”
For a long moment they stared at one another in a silent measuring, both faces grim until a twinkle dawned in Devenish’s eyes. He said, irrepressibly, “How relieved I am. I shall be safe.”
Tyndale’s lips tightened. “Goodbye, then. I mean to leave at once. I have already sent Montelongo ahead with my chaise and luggage.”
Devenish nodded. Craig started off, hesitated, then turned back. “We will not meet again, cousin. Will you not at least say goodbye to me?”
“No need,” said Devenish cheerfully, coming up with him. “I ride with you.”
“You—what? In spite of all I have said, you still think I pursue Cousin Yolande?”
“No. But since you raise the question, I’ll have no interference in that quarter.”
“Naturally. Unless the lady should—er—change her mind. After all, no formal announcement has yet been made, so she is not irrevocably bound.”
“Bound? Why, you insolent bumpkin, I—” Devenish burst into a laugh. “Off we go again! Lord, it will be a miracle do we not come to blows before the day is out. But by hedge or stile, I go with you. I mean to prove to my uncle that, however aggravating you may be, I can rise above such petty annoyances. That I can control my—ah—natural instincts and travel beside you, turning the other cheek to your boorish ways and smug fatuities, and maintaining always my usual calm dignity.”
Tyndale demonstrated how aggravating he could be. He gave a shout of laughter.
* * *
“What a perfectly lovely morning,” said Yolande from beneath the protection of her sunshade. “I am so glad you suggested that we walk back to the hotel after church.”
Mr. James Garvey directed a glance from the vibrant blooms of the gardens through which they strolled on this balmy Sunday, to the lovely face of the lady beside him, framed as it was in a very dainty high-poked bonnet of cream straw, with pale blue velvet ribbons that tied demurely under her dimpled chin. “I had at first thought we might go for an early ride,” he said. “But then I supposed you have had sufficient of riding.”
She smiled up at him. “I have indeed. You are a most thoughtful escort, sir.”
“It has been my very great pleasure, ma’am. Indeed, I am most gratified you do not visit relations along your way, else I should be sent packing, I do not doubt.”
“As a matter of fact, we had intended to, but—” She checked and said a careful, “It is—er—imperative that we reach Ayrshire as quickly as possible, and you know how it is with family—you stop to visit for just a little while, and perhaps have dinner, but they are so eager to entertain you that a week passes in a twinkling. Papa decided it was best that we travel straight on.”
“And most fortunate for me.”
She blushed prettily. “I am assured you will find a way to contradict me, sir, but I cannot continue to take you out of your way.”
“I should not presume
to contradict so lovely a lady, but will point out, rather, that since I also am bound for Scotland, I would certainly travel the Great North Road.”
“Yes, but you must have noted, Mr. Garvey, that we do not make rapid progress. You could travel much faster alone.”
“And much less happily!” He drew her to a halt. “Miss Drummond, am I encroaching? These past three days have been a delight for me, but I pray you believe that you have only to say the word and I will leave you in peace.”
Yolande scanned the anxious features of this most eligible bachelor and could only like what she saw. Rumour had it … But rumour was so often based on petty jealousy. He had been more than kind and, while openly admiring, had not once stepped beyond the bounds of good manners. Aunt Arabella was captivated, for Mr. Garvey spared no effort to show her every attention, never—as was so often the case with gentlemen—granting the older lady the barest of civilities while attempting to ingratiate himself with the younger.
“Our journey must have been a great deal more tedious without your many kindnesses, sir,” she said. “For instance, our dinner last night and the play were both so enjoyable.”
“You are too kind. I had feared the farce might offend your aunt—it was a little broad. But the play was well done, I thought.”
Mrs. Drummond had privately expressed herself as considerably scandalized, but Yolande, no mean judge of character, had suspected that both her aunt and Mr. Garvey had by far preferred the rather naughty comedy of the farce to the melodrama of The Milkmaid’s Secret—or—A Tattered Tinker. She kept these conclusions to herself, however, continuing to chat easily with Mr. Garvey as they made their way along the sun-dappled paths of the little park and thence to thoroughfares busy with open carriages, their elegantly garbed occupants out for a Sunday drive. Several people recognized her companion and waved a greeting. He was very well acquainted, naturally, thought Yolande, and wondered again why he was going to so much trouble to escort two ladies he scarcely knew. Early in their journeying he had said that he was bound for Stirling, but Aunt Arabella had remarked in private that the gentleman was obviously bewitched, and that she would not be in the least surprised did he persist in escorting them all the way to Steep Drummond. Yolande was too level-headed to believe this suave Corinthian was exactly bewitched. It was said sufficient handkerchiefs had been dropped for him that he would stand knee-deep in them were they all gathered around him at once. Still, he was evidently willing to slow his own progress, and she had been sincere when she’d thanked him for relieving the tedium of their journey. His cheerful presence had done much to divert Aunt Arabella’s tiresome chatter and had enabled Yolande to relegate her own perplexities to a far corner of her mind—at least during the hours of daylight.
The afternoon was growing warm by the time their walk was concluded, and Mr. Garvey was handing Yolande up the front steps of their hotel when the diminutive and ferocious boy who served him as tiger approached. He was, as always, very smart in his scarlet-and-gold livery, but Mr. Garvey eyed him with just the trace of a frown. The boy, he ruefully admitted to Yolande, had been bred up in the gutter and, despite all his own efforts, still used such language as must shock any gently nurtured lady. Despite this unenthused reception, the tiger knuckled his brow and bestowed a meaningful look on his employer.
“I collect,” sighed Mr. Garvey, “you have got into some mischief from which I am now expected to extricate you. Is it something you can manage to convey without offence to the ears of Miss Drummond?”
The tiger glanced at Yolande and hung his head.
Mr. Garvey nodded. “As I suspected. I fear I must investigate at once, ma’am. If I know this rascal I am quite likely to find the town beadle awaiting with a warrant for my immediate arrest! May I have the honour of escorting you down to dinner? Six o’clock? Or is that too countrified?”
Yolande said that six o’clock would be just right, favoured both Mr. Garvey and his tiger, who bore the droll name of Lion, with one of her brightest smiles, and made her way to the suite she shared with her aunt.
“Here I am at last, dear,” she said, opening the door to the parlour that separated their rooms. “Have I been—” She checked, and stood motionless on the threshold.
Two young men had sprung up at her entrance. Two men dissimilar in everything save their fair colouring and something indefinable that she had not quite been able to place. Her wide gaze dwelling a shade longer on the taller of the pair, she gasped, “Alain…! And—Craig! What on earth…?”
“Discovered you was here, my fair.” Devenish beamed, striding over to claim her hand and drop a proprietary kiss on her brow.
“B-but,” she said unsteadily, freeing her hand so as to extend it to Tyndale, “how? That is— I thought—” Her hand being taken and bowed over, she was struck by some invisible lightning bolt and so unnerved that she at once summoned a fierce frown and levelled it at the unfortunate Devenish.
“Oh, but this is too bad of you, Alain. You know full well my parents wished me to be free from all entanglements so that I might—”
“Entanglements, is it?” he protested with righteous indignation. “Now, see here, Yolande, I ain’t no entanglement! I’ve come rushing here purely so as to escort you—”
Striving to appear collected, when he was in fact badly shaken, Craig drawled, “I thought you were escorting me!”
“Yes, but Yolande is so much prettier.” Yolande was also obviously astounded by this apparently amicable exchange, and Devenish grinned, swung the door to, and imparted, “Ain’t no need for you to be in a pucker lest I slaughter our Colonial bumpkin, coz. We have declared a truce. Now why in the world would you do so shatter-brained a thing as to journey to Scotland for the summer?”
“I do not see that it should be judged shatter-brained if I visit my grandpapa.” Yolande removed her lacy shawl as she spoke and, Craig, being closest, at once took it from her.
Devenish leapt forward and all but tore the reticule from her hand. “You did not tell me you meant to go!” he complained, with a fierce scowl at Craig.
“No. Nor do I need an escort, Dev.”
“’Course you need an escort! A single lady jauntering about—”
Mrs. Drummond made an entrance at this point, hurrying from her bedchamber, proclaiming that she had sent Sullivan out with ‘him,’ and that he would soon feel better. She gave a little squeak of surprise when she saw Yolande. “Oh! You are come back, love. Did you have a nice walk? Was not the sermon inspiring this morning?” She cast a stern glance at the gentlemen. “‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!’”
Happily misinterpreting the quotation, Devenish soothed, “Do not get up into the boughs, ma’am. Tyndale’s becoming accustomed to it.”
Puzzled, Yolande asked, “Accustomed to what?”
“Good old Socrates went after some Canadian beef again. Aunt Arabella had to struggle to restrain him.”
“Oh, my goodness! That wretched little beast!” Yolande moved to sit beside her aunt on the rather faded sofa. “You really should keep him on a lead, Aunt Arabella.”
“No, but it was famous,” Devenish exclaimed, blithely ignoring the thoughtful gaze Craig turned upon him. “That was how we discovered you was here.”
Mrs. Drummond said a surprised, “You did not know? But I had supposed you were seeking to come up with us.”
“No, ma’am.” Tyndale settled himself against a side table. “Devenish guides me to my inheritance. At least, he says that is what he’s about.”
“Your inheritance…? Surely you never mean that horrid old haunted castle on the edge of the cliffs?”
“Aunt!” gasped Yolande, her apologetic glance flying to Craig’s impassive features. “What a thing to say!”
“It is truth, after all,” said Devenish, suddenly grim. “I understand you have been put in possession of all the hideous facts, Yolande?”
“I marvel that you two gentlemen can be so convivial,” Mrs. Drummond interposed. “Now in my youn
g days—”
“I am delighted you are so civilized,” Yolande interjected swiftly. And in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “Only think, Aunt, we shall now have six escorts!”
“If the arrival of your cousins does not discourage our charming gallant,” Mrs. Drummond pouted.
Devenish and Tyndale exchanged taut glances. “Gallant?” Tyndale murmured.
“What—has some impertinent fellow been annoying you?” asked Devenish, bristling.
Mrs. Drummond tittered. “Annoying? An odd way to describe a gentleman who is all consideration. Quite, in fact, the most courteous and charming man I have met this twelvemonth and more!” Her sharp eyes rested fixedly on Tyndale as she spoke, and he reddened and looked away.
Devenish experienced an odd surge of resentment. His unwanted cousin was a clod, and Lord knows he had reason to detest the fellow, but—he was family. With a hauteur that startled Tyndale and astonished Yolande, he said, “Then I’m obliged to him. Perhaps I may have the name and direction of this paragon?”
For a second, Mrs. Drummond fancied it had been the Colonel who spoke and she was shocked into silence.
Yolande said, “His direction is here, for he stays at the hotel. I fancy you are already acquainted, Alain, for he is very highly regarded and you may see him everywhere. He is Mr. James Garvey, and I—”
The Noblest Frailty Page 10
