Lanterns

by Patricia Veryan

  * * *

  The morning dawned bright and sunny with a brisk wind stirring the trees. Mrs. Gillespie arrived punctually for once and started work on the windows. Eric took his sire and Arthur out for a drive in his new chaise. Mrs. Cordova went about in a preoccupied manner and when spoken to responded only by singing to herself and shaking her head glumly. Fanny commandeered Marietta to help pick blackberries and the sisters went off into the woods with their baskets.

  Fanny was light-hearted and full of excitement over Eric’s arrival and his good fortune. It was especially wonderful, she said blithely, for little Arthur to have one of his brothers at home, and how kind of Eric to promise he would make up for their long separation by spending as much time as possible with the boy. Much as she loved Eric, Marietta was under no illusions. Her eldest brother’s promises, always well meant, had a tendency to be forgotten as soon as they were uttered, and at this particular time he had so many concerns on his mind. She said nothing to dampen Fanny’s sunny mood, however, and they spent a merry hour gathering the ripe berries until the worn strap on Marietta’s sandal snapped, hampering her efforts. The thick blanket of pine needles and leaves underfoot seemed soft enough, until she tried walking on it barefoot. They used Fanny’s hair ribbon as an impromptu strap, but it proved a poor substitute and at length Marietta reluctantly gave up. Eric’s sweet tooth had offered Fanny the chance to express her gratitude for the gifts he’d brought her, and she was dismayed to find they had not nearly enough berries for the two pies she hoped to bake. They solved the problem by emptying their collection into one basket which Marietta carried off towards home while Fanny continued to pick.

  They had come farther than Marietta realized. Very soon her sandal became such a nuisance that she took it off again and trod cautiously through the sun-dappled woods, wishing she’d thought to wear her pattens. The air was fragrant with the scents of damp earth and wildflowers; an occasional gust of wind rustled the branches sending sparkling little showers of droplets from the leaves, and except for the merry chirping of the birds it was so peaceful that she was sorry to leave the canopy of the trees.

  The sun was warmer now, but the thick meadow grasses were still damp. Limping along, she gave a yelp as she trod on something sharp. A fallen tree-trunk offered temporary seating and she put down her basket and investigated the damage. She had evidently stepped on a broken branch and quite a large splinter had driven into her heel. With a quick glance around, she removed her stocking. The splinter proved stubborn and hurtful; working at it carefully, she was breathless when she at last managed to extricate it and she exclaimed triumphantly, “Go away, you vicious beast!”

  “Alas,” drawled a deep voice. “Once again I am de trop.”

  Marietta’s heart gave a leap, her head shot up and her bare foot was whipped under her skirt. She was embarrassed to realize that she’d been too engrossed to be concerned with propriety, and her cheeks were hot when she stammered, “Oh! M-Major Diccon! I had stepped on a splinter you see, and—” She checked. He was riding Orpheus and he came up and dismounted with a marked lack of his usual ease. He was pale, there was a livid bruise down his left temple and he limped slightly. “My goodness!” she exclaimed, standing. “Not more of the work of the Warringtons I hope?”

  He shook his head. “An uninvited caller. Nothing serious, I promise you. Is your splinter dealt with, Miss Marietta? May Orpheus carry you home?”

  Her foot was sore, the dower house was out of sight, and it would be a long and uncomfortable walk. She said, “Oh yes, if you please. I would be most grateful. In a moment. If you would be so good as to first turn around?”

  He grinned and presented his back to her. Marietta replaced her stocking and the broken sandal and sat down again, inviting him to join her. “Are you in a hurry? Or could we rest for a little while? It’s such a lovely morning.”

  He assured her that he had “all the time in the world,” and sat beside her, lowering himself cautiously. “You have been blackberrying, I see.”

  “Yes, with Fanny. But my sandal broke, so I left her to do the rest of the work. My brother is come home from Cambridge laden with gifts for us all.…” For just an instant her eyes became troubled, then her bright smile dawned and she went on: “Eric loves sweets, so Fanny’s going to bake some pies. I’ll allow you to share some of these berries if you tell me about your ‘uninvited caller.’”

  She offered the basket. Its dark harvest gleamed richly and temptingly, and Diccon accepted the bribe at once. He gave her a light-hearted version of the attack, dismissing his injuries as “just a few scrapes logically come by as a result of not pausing to wake Mac before charging the enemy.”

  Undeceived, she said with a concern that delighted him, “It does not look like ‘just a few scrapes’ to me. You make it all sound of little consequence whereas it was more likely a desperate struggle. How fortunate that you were able to drive him off!”

  He smiled wryly. “I wish I could say I’d put the fellow to ignominious flight, ma’am, but after he tossed me at the wall I was in no case to defeat a cockroach.”

  She paused in the act of popping a blackberry into her mouth and stared at him. “You mean he pushed you against the wall?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean he objected when I gave him a whack with my pistol, and he quite literally took me up and threw me aside.”

  She blinked. It didn’t sound very heroic. “If you had a pistol why ever did you not shoot the nasty creature?”

  “I did. I think I hit him, in fact. It was too dark to see.”

  Envisioning Lanterns’ gloom, even by daylight, she revised her earlier opinion. “You should never have gone after him alone and in the dark. And how very odd it is that anyone could hope to find a lost treasure at night time! I suppose there is no chance of your recognizing him if you saw him again?”

  He said slowly, “That’s why I was riding over to see you. Arthur mentioned that your Mrs. Gillespie had gone to a fair at Lewes, and I wanted to talk to her about it. Did she come today, ma’am?”

  “Yes, and she’ll be glad to tell you about the fair. She could speak of nothing else last time she came.”

  “Arthur said she saw a—giant?”

  “So she claimed. He quite frightened her. I thought she meant he was part of a side-show, but she said he was just walking about and everyone was staring because he was enormous and of extreme strange appearance.”

  His lips tightened. “Did the lady say that her giant was from the Orient?”

  “That is what she thought, but—My heavens! Diccon! You do not suspect he was your intruder?”

  “I think it more than possible, yes. He had great strength, and if he’s the man I suspect, we’ve met before. It would explain why he was obliged to do his searching under cover of darkness, for he’s instantly recognizable and not the type who could venture abroad unnoticed.” He frowned, thinking that if Imre Monteil had heard of the legend he’d be the very man to lust after The Sigh of Saladin. In which case last night’s break-in might have no connection with— He glanced up. Marietta looked frightened. He said quickly, “That’s probably the sum and substance of it. A thief after a treasure that likely doesn’t exist, and who poses no danger to you or your family.”

  “But considerable danger to you?”

  He shrugged. “Fore-warned is fore-armed. Speaking of which, forgive me, but—why has your brother’s arrival upset you?”

  His eyes, which had been abstracted, were now piercingly intent. Dismayed, she thought, ‘How could he possibly know?’ and she protested, “Really, Major! Why ever should you think such a thing? It makes me very happy to welcome Eric home. If I seem a little excited, it is—”

  “No.” His long fingers closed over her hand. “Please do not freeze me, Miss Marietta. I am aware that I have no right to intrude in your affairs. I can only say that nothing would give me greater joy than—than to serve you in any way possible. If I were able to—” He bit off that useless wish, and amended
, “I have nothing to offer you but my friendship; and that I offer with all my heart. If you are ever distressed and need someone to just talk with perhaps, or—or if I could be of help, you have but to call.”

  She knew by now that his nature was proud, yet he had spoken so earnestly, so humbly, and he sat there with devotion plainly written on his bruised face, both hands holding hers as if he took some ancient oath of fealty. With an odd ache of the heart she realized that here was love; implied even if it could not be uttered. Here was a strong shoulder to lean on; a confidante when she so badly needed one. Her eyes blurred and she had to turn away, so moved that she could say nothing for a moment.

  To Diccon, her silence and her averted face were ominous. Likely, he had made a proper fool of himself, and she was trying not to laugh at him. ‘Clumsy idiot!’ he thought, and retreated behind his customary sauvity, saying with a smile, “Jupiter, what a speech! My friends would never believe it. You must think me a proper windy-wallets.”

  “Don’t spoil it!” Marietta dabbed furtively at her tearful eyes. “I think it quite—quite the nicest thing that was ever said to me.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Thank you, my—friend. You are, of course, perfectly right. If you will be so kind as to let me sit in front of your saddle you can carry me home, and along the way I will tell you, in strictest confidence, what is worrying me. You can be very wise and knowing, and say I am being a silly widgeon and making mountains out of mole-hills.”

  He chuckled and said he thought he was a reasonably brave man, but would never dare tell any lady that she was a silly widgeon. Because of the stallion’s uncertain temper, he swung into the saddle first and held the horse steady while Marietta used the tree-trunk as a mounting block. In no time he had settled her before him. He reined Orpheus to a walk and kept one arm about Marietta’s slender waist, joying in the feel of her clasped so close against him, breathing the sweet fragrance of her, listening as she told him of her beloved but headstrong brother, and her fears for his sake.

  By the time they approached the dower house quite a lot of the blackberries had vanished and so had the few lingering doubts Marietta had entertained. Diccon had a way of making her feel that he was not only deeply interested in what she had to say, but that he respected her opinions. It was a courtesy she seldom received from gentlemen. Papa and his friends tended to exchange indulgent smiles when she dared air her views on events, and invariably she would be told not to trouble her “pretty little head” with such deep subjects. Even Blake, who showed such partiality towards her, didn’t seem to have much interest in her remarks, and on one or two occasions had changed the subject so abruptly that she’d been convinced he hadn’t heard a word she said.

  When she finished her account, Diccon said gravely that in his view Eric Warrington was to be commended for striving to help his family. “However,” he added, “he does seem to be venturing into deep water at a rather young age. I think your concern is justified and far from widgeon-ish.”

  She turned and looked at him searchingly. “What must I do? If I try to advise him he’ll just say I’m being a nag and spoiling his triumphs. Should I speak to Papa about it?”

  Having formed a very good idea of her father’s mental accuity, he advised against such a step. “You don’t want your brother to think you’re going behind his back. On the other hand, I agree that a sensitive young fellow might balk at accepting advice from his sister. I wonder if he would come down and meet me? I might be able to find out a little more about the scheme and drop a friendly hint if it sounds at all smoky.”

  She was delighted by this suggestion. Eric, she said, was exceedingly fond of Arthur, and when he knew how kind Diccon had been to the boy he would certainly want to go down to Lanterns and meet him.

  They parted at the lodge gates. Dazzled by her smile, Diccon watched Marietta pick her way cautiously up to the house. She paused on the terrace to wave to him. He returned the wave, then reined Orpheus around to the south once more.

  He rode down the hill slowly, reliving their moments together, dreaming foolish dreams. But he must not indulge such thoughts. With an effort he forced himself to stop mooning like a lovesick boy and use his mind to some purpose. He pondered what she’d said and tried not to be influenced either by his love for her, or by cynicism. If Eric Warrington was a financial genius everything might be perfectly legal and above-board, and what a blessing that would be to his family. On the other hand, there was no denying that for a young fellow to have come by such a large amount and so quickly, sounded somewhat havey-cavey.

  Plagued by unease, he relaxed his grip on the reins and allowed Orpheus to spring into a thundering gallop.

  CHAPTER X

  MacDougall ran to take the bridle when Diccon rode into the courtyard at Lanterns. There was a frantic look in the Scot’s eyes, an expression so foreign to the usually phlegmatic individual that Diccon stared at him in astonishment and, dismounting, asked, “What is it?”

  “I’d nae bargained for this, y’ken,” gabbled MacDougall, his accent so thick as to be barely understandable. “A muckle bonnie brrrawl has the MacDougall fecht wi’ a musket or a dag i’ his clout, but bogles and goblins and witches, bonnie though they may be, isna whaur I’ll bide, mon! I’ll nae…” The words faded as he led Orpheus away, shaking his head.

  “I suppose you know what you said, Mac.” Shaking his own head, Diccon muttered, “Be damned if I do!”

  He crossed the bridge, entered the house by the front door, and wandered along the corridor his thoughts still on the lovely Marietta. “My friend,” she’d said, with such a warm smile. And how sweetly trusting she had looked while telling him of Eric Warrington’s grandiose plans. He pushed open the door to the kitchen which was at present the most habitable room in the manor. He’d have to see what—

  A soft chuckle, and the door slammed shut behind him.

  Whirling about, pistol in hand, he gasped, “Gad, ma’am! Never do that!”

  Emma Cordova spread her skirts wide and sank into a low curtsy. “As you command, my lord.”

  “I am not—” he began, restoring the pistol to his pocket.

  “—What you seem,” she finished, and curtsied again.

  He grunted and pulled out a chair for her. “Is anyone?”

  “‘Something wicked this way comes,’” she quoted. “If I thought ’twas you, Temple and Cloud.…” She leaned forward, arms on the table, peering up at him.

  “My name is Mallory Diccon Paisley. A mouthful, I agree. So most people simply call me Major Diccon.” His unexpectedly endearing smile chased the grimness from his eyes. “And what would you do, ma’am? Inform against me as a free-trader?”

  “Oh, no. I would kill you.”

  She spoke matter-of-factly, but his smile died and he stood staring down at her. “By Jove, I believe you would make a try at it.”

  “I love my family. And what I see in your eyes tells me—”

  “That I am the evil coming this way?”

  “Very possibly. In spite of how much you love her.”

  He stiffened, then turned away to open a cupboard. “May I offer you a glass of ratafia, ma’am?”

  “Only if you have nothing livelier. Ah. You are exceeding attractive when you smile, which you know, of course. Yes, the Madeira will do nicely, thank you.” She sipped the wine he handed her and watched as he poured himself a glass and pulled a chair closer. “You don’t bother to deny it, do you, Major?”

  He said blandly, “Deny what is the threat I pose? I’ve not the benefit of your Mystical Window Through Time, ma’am. Perhaps you will tell me.”

  “That’s not what I meant, as you are well aware. I suppose ’twould be a waste of my time to try to wring a plain answer from you, and as I know the truth at all events I won’t make the effort. As to the other”—Mrs. Cordova sighed heavily—“it is very confused just now and difficult to understand. But I must warn you because there is trouble and danger, and a visitor who seems
to threaten you, and…”

  “And—ma’am?”

  In a sudden and disconcerting shift of mood she giggled and said coquettishly, “And this is excellent wine, sir. I will take a teensy bit more, if you please. Thank you. I do hope there has been a great tragedy in your life? Oh, dear. Now I’ve made you spill the wine!”

  Slightly breathless, he said, “You’ve a way of catching a man offstride, Mrs. Cordova.”

  “Good. Has there been? I don’t mean the war or anything connected with your—er, occupation.”

  In the act of taking up his glass again his hand stilled for an instant. Then he said expressionlessly, “When I was eighteen.”

  To his astonishment she choked on her wine, sprang up, and began to pace round and round the table, wringing her hands and wailing. “Oh, no, no, no! Too long ago! Then, it will be here! It will be here!”

  He was silent, watching her, wondering if she was quite sane or if she really did possess clairvoyant powers. Fortune-tellers, mediums, mystics were very popular nowadays and although he’d always viewed matters of the occult with scepticism he knew several people of fine intellect whose decisions were influenced by the advice of their astrologers.

  Mrs. Cordova halted before him, clasped hands pressed to her mouth, her big dark eyes fixed upon him with such drama as to be ludicrous, yet he felt no inclination to laugh, and asked gravely, “Do you say that this visitor will be responsible for a tragedy?”

  She nodded.

  “Here at Lanterns? Or at the dower house?”

  “There you are,” she wailed, throwing her arms wide. “Which? I only know that dark clouds are all about us. The Mystical Window warns of a most dreadful threat. But it makes no sense, do you see? For sometimes it seems to come from far away, and sometimes is here. Here! And how can that be? Unless…”