Escaping the coach and running to bend over her sire, Marietta asked, “Are you all right, Papa? Whatever happened?”
“Sir Lionel very gallantly saved Mrs. Maitland when she fainted and fell from her horse,” said Diccon, battling laughter.
“As usual you talk rubbish!” Mr. Williard dismounted and thrust the reins at his groom. “M’sister never fainted in her life. And if she did,” he contradicted himself, dropping to one knee beside the widow, “there must have been some damned good cause.”
Recovering, Mrs. Maitland moaned, “Oh, oh, oh,” and threw her arms around his neck, wailing, “Poor woman … she has lost her head!”
“And so have you, by the look of things,” snapped her insensitive brother. But for the first time, catching sight of the unfortunate figure in the ditch, he recoiled, aghast.
“No, no. Pray do not be distressed, ma’am,” said Marietta, kneeling and taking one of Mrs. Maitland’s hands. “It’s my aunt’s newest effigy—not the real Lady Leith.”
“As anyone can see, who’s not half blind,” snarled Williard, pulling himself together and casting a blighting glare at his sister.
With comprehension came rage. Mrs. Maitland turned on Diccon, shrilling, “Oh! How horrid you are! You deliberately tried to frighten me!”
“A shameful and dastardly trick to play on a helpless lady,” roared Williard.
“Nonsense,” said Diccon coolly. “I regret the lady was frightened, but it was an accident.
“If you would be so kind as to—get off my lap, ma’am?” ventured Sir Lionel.
Williard pulled the widow up, and Diccon left the cart and helped Sir Lionel to his feet.
“It wasn’t the Major’s fault, sir,” quavered Arthur, clutching his “pistol” and looking very scared. “We was just playing Highwayman, but—”
Williard boomed, “I hold you responsible for your son’s deplorable conduct, Warrington! And you had best pray my sister ain’t seriously hurt! As for you, Major, dash it all, I’d think a grown man could find something more worthwhile to do with his spare time than to play games with children!”
“We differ,” drawled Diccon.
“By grab!” exclaimed Mr. Williard’s groom who had been watching Diccon narrowly. “I thought I reckernized you! We was in the same company at Waterloo. D’you remember me, Sergeant?”
Marietta’s eyes flashed to Diccon’s expressionless face.
Fanny, who had come to stand close to her, murmured, “Sergeant?”
Innes Williard gave a bark of laughter. “Sergeant, is it? I knew you were no officer! Lie your way out of this, fellow!”
Ignoring him, Diccon put out his hand. “Of course I remember you, Skipton. I’m glad to see you survived. Not many from our company did.”
The groom drew back, eyeing his employer uneasily. “Beg pardon, sir. Wasn’t me place to have spoke up.”
“You did well,” said Williard, grinning broadly. “Now I’d like to hear what our pseudo major has to say for himself.”
Marietta said, “I am sure we all honour any gentleman who fought in that terrible battle. Regardless of his rank. But instead of standing about talking, we must get my father home, Maj—er, Mr.—”
“Major is correct, ma’am,” said Diccon, his smile awakening tiny laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes.
“’Ware deception, Miss Marietta,” jeered Williard, helping Mrs. Maitland to mount up. “I fancy he’ll claim a battlefield commission.”
“Are you subject to such flights of fancy?” Diccon raised his brows. “From sergeant to—major? Egad! It’s clear to see you’ve never served in the army!” He turned to Sir Lionel. “You must go home in the carriage, sir. You’ve taken a nasty spill.”
Sir Lionel’s eyes turned longingly to Orpheus. “But, I—”
Marietta took his arm. “This way, Papa,” she said firmly, leading him towards the coach.
“I want our physician to look at you, Isolde.” Williard raised his voice and called vindictively, “And you’ll be hearing from me, Warrington. In more ways than one, I promise you!”
* * *
Sir Lionel sat in his favourite chair in the book room and stared at the empty hearth, pondering Fate. Marietta had gone upstairs to put Arthur down for his nap; Dova was in the withdrawing room, fussing over her decapitated “friend”; Fanny was setting out luncheon, and Diccon was at the stables attending to his hack. So, as usual, here sat the head of the house, deserted; with no one to confide in, or offer him sympathy. It had been thus, ever since his darling Elsa died. Trying to cope, all alone. And life was so deuced full of traps. It was clear that Innes Williard meant to be difficult over that unfortunate wager. And very likely Diccon would march back in here, claiming that confounded brute of a horse had a strained hock, or some such thing. Lord knows, he’d meant no harm when he’d taken the stallion out for a little jaunt, but—
The faintest silvery sound alerted him, and he looked up to find the Major—or whatever he was—standing beside his chair.
“By George!” he exclaimed. “You tread softly, man! I didn’t hear a sound till your spur jingled. You don’t mean to ride out again after luncheon?”
“No. Before, sir. I rather think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”
“Fiddlesticks! Now sit down, do! Never think I care whether you’re a major or a private! You keep m’cellar well-stocked and I’d be a fool not to comprehend that in your line of work small—ah, deceptions, are sometimes a necessity. Truth is, I owe you an apology for borrowing your hack without asking permission.”
Settling into the chair indicated, Diccon said, “No harm done, though I seldom allow anyone to ride Orpheus. He’s a tricky brute to manage.”
“Speaking of which,” put in Marietta, coming into the room, ginger jar in hand. “However did you manage to double our Chinese Funds, Papa?”
Diccon, who had stood when she entered, acquired an apprehensive expression and edged towards the door.
Mystified, Sir Lionel said, “How’s that again?”
“What is twelve from forty-two?” she asked, stepping in front of Diccon and looking up at him enquiringly.
“I—er—,” he mumbled.
She nodded. “Too difficult, sir?”
“If you can’t deduct twelve from forty-two, you ain’t even a sergeant,” said Sir Lionel, laughing. “It’s thirty of course, m’dear. What else?”
“Sixty-five, apparently.” She flung out an arm to bar the door. “Oh, no, you shan’t escape, sir! Papa, I believe we have caught Major Diccon with his fingers in the ginger jar!”
Sir Lionel was much shocked, and leaning forward in his chair, protested, “That’s not an accusation to be made lightly, Marietta!”
“You shall be the judge,” she decreed. “And pending the verdict the accused may not leave the court-room! Sit—down—sir!”
She advanced determinedly, and Diccon retreated and half-fell into a chair while declaring that he knew nothing of Chinese Funds.
“It is what we call the ready cash we keep in our Chinese ginger jar,” she said. “The case is, Papa, that I tallied up the funds last night and arrived at a total of forty-two guineas. I took out twelve with which to shop and pay some bills today. But when I put back the change just now, the jar was much heavier. It now holds sixty-five guineas, twopence three farthings!”
Sir Lionel frowned. “I really see no cause to discuss such matters in front of our guest. Perhaps your aunt—”
“Aunty Dova had borrowed ten shillings, not added a groat. So—unless you made a deposit, Papa…?”
He shook his head, and they both turned and looked at the accused.
Diccon said, “This is ridiculous. How could I know of your secret vault?”
“Because you move like a shadow,” said Marietta, “and likely saw one of us open the jar at some time or other.”
“By Gad, sir,” exclaimed Sir Lionel. “If you fancy we charge our guests for their accommodations, I don’t scruple to say I am affronted!”
> “I think I am the one to be affronted,” said Diccon, rallying. “You accuse and judge me with not a shred of proof. Doubtless Miss Marietta was tired when she took her reckoning last night and made a small error. I will tell you that I do not make a habit of spying on my friends, nor do I interfere in their financial matters. However, you remind me of an obligation. I must pay the apothecary for his services, and will insist that you give me his reckoning.”
This resulted in a heated argument that was terminated when Mrs. Cordova came and called them to luncheon. Not in the least anxious to question such a fortuitous windfall, Sir Lionel at once made a show of formally escorting his sister-in-law to the dining room. Diccon lost no time in emulating his example and offered his arm to Marietta. Taking it, she looked up at him. His eyes slid away from hers, guiltily. She leaned nearer and said with a twinkle, “I think you are very sly, Major. No wonder you were in such a hurry to escape us.”
Relieved, he answered, “Unfortunately, I really must leave, Miss Warrington. You have been more than good, but I’ve business—er, matters to be dealt with. I—er, I was rather hoping I might tempt you to ride down to the manor with me.”
She glanced out of the window. They were already well into autumn; there would not be many more of these golden afternoons. “I wish I could,” she said as they walked into the corridor. “But I was out all the morning, and there is so much mending waiting to be done.”
“And lots of grey and rainy days in which to accomplish it,” he argued. “Please come. You must grant me a favour, you know, since you so cruelly accused me of playing—er, the spy.”
She glanced up at him in mild surprise. He was evidently becoming more at ease with her and his pale eyes were suddenly lit with sparkling glints of laughter. Belatedly, it occurred to her that he was a very attractive man. “If I owe you anything, sir,” she said, “it is my thanks for your patience with Arthur. I know bachelor gentlemen do not much care to be pestered by small boys.”
“Very true. That rascal is rapidly ruining my reputation in the district! So you see, ma’am, you have no choice. You must protect me from his cunning blandishments, for I am putty in his hands!”
She laughed. “I will come on one condition—that you permit me to ride your magnificent grey.”
Watching them from the dining room, Mrs. Cordova enquired, “Do you two mean to join us today?”
* * *
Orpheus balked at the unfamiliar side-saddle, and, evidently feeling that he had been sufficiently put upon today, made a bared-teeth grab at Diccon’s hand. His reward was a sharp rap on the nose and a reprimand in the tone that he knew meant business. However, Diccon began to unbuckle the girths and said apologetically that he should never have entertained the notion that the stallion could be ridden by a lady.
Indignant, Marietta protested, “But you agreed! Besides, I am not an inexperienced rider. Come, sir, you must give me the benefit of the doubt!”
Diccon hesitated, Marietta coaxed, and, unable to resist, he at length tossed her into the saddle while Bridger kept a firm hand on the bit.
As if chastened, Orpheus started off meekly, and they rode side-by-side down the slope, Diccon keeping his borrowed mare close to the stallion, ready to intervene if the different balance angered the high-strung animal.
The meadow grasses tossed to a light breeze, the air was warm, and beyond Lanterns the blue waters of the Channel glittered as if spread with diamonds.
Marietta exclaimed happily, “What a perfect afternoon!”
“Perfect, indeed,” agreed Diccon, watching her. An enchanting smile was turned to him. He thought, ‘Lord, but she’s a lovely little thing!’ and managed to say more or less sensibly, “But you would rather be in Town, I think?”
“Sometimes, yes. I miss the home where I was born, the social whirl, our friends.” Her smile became rueful. “Rather more than some miss me, I fear. There is something to be said for being reduced to—to a lower standard of living. Only your real friends still come to call.”
“And the false friends you are better off without. Were you deeply disillusioned, ma’am?”
“In a few instances. For the rest, I was fairly sure of the reaction I could expect. Oh, dear! Does that sound dreadfully harsh and cynical?”
He shrugged. “Sensible, rather. To put humanity on a pedestal is to invite disaster.”
“Yes. We all have our failings. And however we try to hide them, I think most people are not deceived.” She added with a chuckle, “I could wish they were!”
“On the other hand, some people have so many good points that without a few failings they’d be nigh unbearable.”
She glanced at him in time to see him turning his head away. “I suppose you think I was fishing for that compliment,” she said mischievously.
“Were you? My apologies. In point of fact, I was referring to myself.”
That won a laugh. She said, “It certainly might apply to your horse, sir. He has a silken gait. My own favourite mount—” She broke off, suffering a pang as she thought of her loved little white mare.
“You had to leave her in Town, did you?” he asked, eager to chase the shadow from her eyes. “Shall you try to buy her back when you return?”
Marietta stared at him.
He said innocently, “Well, you do plan to restore your fortunes, do you not?”
“Do you mean by wedding one of the fabulously rich princes and potentates lining up before my father’s front door?”
“Just so. Do but ally your beauty to a positive outlook and you will be a wealthy young matron in no time, comfortably restored to a Curzon Street palace, and a position as leader of London Society.”
“What a picture you paint!” she said merrily. “Thank you for it. That would answer my father’s dream, Fanny could have a proper London Season, and I could meet all my friends again.”
“Is that what you would like?”
Was it what she would like? She pondered for a moment, and he watched her and marvelled at how charming was the change from gaiety to gravity.
She said then, “For my family—yes. But—do you know, I would miss this place. It is so peaceful and beautiful. Even poor old Lanterns.”
“You’re not repelled by the manor, then?”
“No, indeed. I feel sure it was once a happy home. Though I’ll own I’d not dare be alone there. Even in the daylight. How can you be so brave as to stay after dark?”
His lips quirked. “Nerves of steel. Poor Mr. Fox shares your fears though, and demands that I hold his hoof once the sun goes down.”
“No, be serious. Have you never witnessed strange lights at night time? Or seen the—the—”
“The ghosts? Oh, yes.”
“Good gracious! Or are you teasing again? There have been so many stories and Aunty Dova says there must be some fire behind all that smoke.”
“I expect she does.” He pursed his lips. “I haven’t told anyone this, Miss Marietta, but there is a knight in black armour who trots along the corridors at midnight, howling, and slicing about him with a great war axe, and—”
“I wouldn’t think a knight in full armour, carrying a war axe, could ‘trot’ anywhere without his horse,” she put in, her eyes mirthful.
“Ah, but ghostly axes likely don’t weigh much. And besides, if what one reads about the times is truth, they were a sturdy lot.”
“Hmm. Why does he howl and slice about?”
“From what I can gather his admired lady ran off with a wandering minstrel, and the knight longed to—er, do him in.”
“If the knight was so bloody-minded, she probably made a wise choice.”
“More likely she regretted it. Life with a wandering minstrel must have had its drawbacks.”
“Unless she was a music-lover.”
He looked at her sharply. “Are you, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed I am! Isn’t everybody?”
A grim expression drove the smile from his eyes. He said a clipped, “No, M
iss Warrington. Most decidedly not!”
They had by now reached the courtyard at Lanterns. Diccon dismounted, looped the reins over a post, and reached up to lift Marietta down.
As she leaned to him, Orpheus, who had endured to that moment, lost his temper and shot stiff-legged into the air.
Marietta became the second Warrington to be hurled from the stallion’s back. She gave a shocked cry, but then was caught and held firmly. “Thank heaven!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You … were…” The words faded. His arms crushed her close. His head was bent above her. She knew now what Fanny had meant by her remark that when he looked at her his eyes were far from cold, for they glowed as if lit with silver flame. She was neither afraid nor angry. That scorching light was replaced by a deep tenderness. For a breathless moment she thought he was going to declare himself. Instead, his eyes became veiled. He set her down, and asked with quiet courtesy if she was all right. “I should never have let you ride the silly brute.”
“I enjoyed every moment,” she argued, shaken, but trying to match his poised control. “Still, I am very glad you were so quick to catch me, Major. No, do not unsaddle him. I cannot stay.”
“I know. It was good of you to come. But you will ride the mare home, ma’am.”
There was a set to his jaw that told her it would be pointless to object. Not that she intended to do so. In fact, his sternly protective air brought her an odd sense of comfort. This man guarded those he cherished. She experienced a fleeting sense of envy for the lady who would become his wife.
He exchanged the saddles with swift, practised hands and asked if she would care for a cup of tea or a glass of ratafia before starting back. “I could bring it out to you,” he added, bowing to the proprieties.
Curious, she asked, “Do you really have ratafia?”
His eyes danced but he replied gravely, “Let us say I could lay my hands on some.”
“Oh, how silly of me! I quite forgot your—er, trade.”
He put a finger on his lips. “Careful, Miss Warrington. The walls have ears and you’d not want— What is it?”
Gazing at the house she felt chilled and said, “I would have sworn … Oh, I expect I am being silly, but—I am sure someone was watching us from that upstairs window!”
Lanterns Page 11
