A Rose in Winter (69 page)

"Father!" Erienne's eyes blazed with outrage, and in the face of her confrontation Avery's anger subsided. "Farrell is not a useless cripple, and I resent you calling him one!"

Aggie had drawn near and stood in polite silence until her mistress looked around. "Will the gentlemen"—she plied the word with a sidewise glare toward the mayor—"like to eat now, mum?"

Avery came out of his chair, indicating his eagerness, and Erienne nodded. The woman hurried back to the table and poured more wine, and the men followed. Erienne waited until Farrell and her father had settled themselves at the table, then made her excuses.

"I really must see what's keeping Lord Saxton. While I'm gone Aggie will serve you. Please enjoy yourselves."

Avery was not at a loss as to the procedure of helping himself to the bread and wine that had been placed on the table and, with both hands occupied, pointed his chin after his departing daughter.

"Gone ter swab his majesty's arse, no doubt." He swung a glare on Aggie, who gasped in surprise, then continued defiantly. "Why, the twit probably has ter bathe him like a babe."

Aggie met his gaze for a moment and glanced at the blushing face of Farrell, then hastily left them to serve themselves as she went to the kitchen. In an effort to control her rage, she braced her arms against the cutting table and, with narrowed eyes, perused the long length of a sharp knife, considering what such a weapon might do for the relief of Avery's belly. She dismissed several bloodthirsty alternatives before her gaze fell on the rack where a drying clump of cooking and medicinal herbs hung, and her eyes took on a definite gleam. She was well acquainted with the benefits of senna and fleawort, and when liberally applied, either or both might create the reaction she desired.

"Just about the time he'll be eatin' again," she murmured to herself.

She set to work with a vengeance, adding the stuff to the bowl she had set aside to serve the mayor. The rarebit would hopefully hide the flavor, and since the man dined with such enthusiasm, he'd probably not even notice.

When she entered the great chamber again, she carried the steaming bowls on a silver tray. A smile aglow from ear to ear, she hastened to set a serving before Farrell and then another in front of the mayor.

"A sample of rarebit, sir?" she sweetly cajoled as the aroma wafted through Avery's testing nostrils.

He lifted a spoonful and delicately tasted from the edge. He found it delicious and wasted no time devouring the dish until he was fully sated. Finally he pushed back from the table with an eruptive belch to demonstrate his admiration of the cook.

The rest of the afternoon was passed in a relaxed manner. The guests were taken on a tour of the stables, where some fine, hot-blooded mares were lovingly displayed. The only puzzlement was that no stallion seemed in attendance. Avery yawned his way through a tour of the grounds, which pointedly did not include the ruins of the east wing, and yearned for the comfort of the bed in his chamber upstairs.

The discussion turned to firearms, where Farrell was wont to lead it, and Lord Saxton expounded on the accuracy of a new Yankee gun of unusually light caliber and a newfangled barrel. Here Avery found some meat to chew and bluntly discoursed at length on the robust reliability of the English "Brown Bess" musket. Avery declared its accuracy to be phenomenal at thirty paces and scoffed at the idea that any gun could consistently kill a squirrel at better than a hundred. The unflinching mask gave no indication as to the effectiveness of his arguments, but a small demonstration was provided by the master of the house, and much to the mayor's chagrin, the matter was settled in favor of the colonial gun. Red-faced, Avery took note that both his daughter and son seemed pleased by the outcome of the exhibition, as if they favored the scarred one as their champion. He could excuse the girl, for she appeared unreasonably attached to the man, but his own son...

Avery's mouth drooped. Of late, Farrell had grown overly fond of guns and spent his hard-earned money to that end, leaving only a shallow pittance now and then for his doting father. It was also marked in Avery's mind that his son had lost his love for a night at the tavern amid good friends and many mugs of ale. More often than not, he traveled to York, and Avery was beginning to wonder if the journey was all for want of new employment.

I'm losin' the lad, he thought morosely, and to the likes of that black-garbed deformity, a man who's probably never sat a horse or shot a weapon in a good, hearty battle.

Avery hurried forward to join the other three, noticing that they had drawn ahead and again conversed in muted tones. Farrell seemed more inclined to converse privately with the two of them than with him, and on several occasions had grown silent when he came near, as if the lad were afraid to let him hear.

Avery trailed the group to the study, where that same foppish cripple withdrew to the protective shadows surrounding the harpsichord, removed his gloves, and ran through a long series of tunes. Avery hung close to Erienne, hoping that he would find a moment to broach the subject of his visit, that of his need for a liberal portion of her wealth. He had carefully planned his plea, and just this afternoon had enhanced it. Surely she would see that Farrell needed money and attention for his arm.

Much to his disgust, his daughter moved to the harpsichord and stood beside her husband. He dared not join them, for the moment seemed almost private between them as her soft, lilting voice combined with the notes of the instrument. It was a silly song of love, and he thought the girl daft to fill the man's head with such ideas of devotion. During the day Avery had taken special notice of statements indicating the lord and his lady had separate chambers, and he concluded that the show of affection did not extend to her bed.

It was to Avery's great relief that Paine entered to announce that dinner would be served. The four of them gathered at the candlelit table, Lord Saxton in the massive chair at the head, Erienne close upon his right, and the two men together on the opposite side. Both Farrell and Avery were quick to note that services were set only for the two of them and that Erienne merely accepted a glass of wine to sip. It puzzled the mayor, but he shrugged it off as some foible of the rich. As for himself, he accepted this opportunity to dine wealthily on the delicately prepared foods.

It was Farrell who made the inquiry after he had raised a glass to the health and fortunes of their host. He gestured to his sister's empty place and asked in puzzlement, "You do not eat with us tonight?"

Erienne smiled and began with an apology. "There is no affront intended, Farrell." She reached out and laid her hand upon the black-gloved one that rested near her own, squeezing it fondly. "My husband, as you know, prefers to dine in privacy, and I have chosen to join him this evening."

Avery was astounded that the girl would openly prefer the company of 'that twisted face while she dined rather than take her food with normal people. Pondering this development, he pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. Women had always confused him, but this twit was waxing insane in her selectivity. First she dismissed all the suitors as being an ugly, ancient lot, and now she slavishly doted on her husband's every need, seeming ignorant of the fact that most folk thought him a monster of sorts. Why, she even clung brazenly to his arm and gazed upon him with idolizing tenderness, as if he were some noble knight.

A bowl containing a rich broth liberally laden with bits of vegetable and meat was placed before Avery, interrupting his musings. Paine refilled their goblets and set warm loaves of bread within their reach before withdrawing to a safe distance. Disdaining the knife, Avery broke off chunks of bread and began to dunk them in the soup. With the bread in one hand and the spoon in the other, he set about his meal. Every three or four spoonfuls, he sopped the bread and filled his mouth from the dripping piece. As he progressed, a path began to form between his shirtfront and the edge of the bowl.

Of a sudden, Avery paused. His eyes widened and his cheeks bulged with a half-squelched belch. A wet, gurgling rumble echoed through the room as his stomach rebelled, and Avery's neck grew red as he struggled with an unquenchable urge. Slowly it passed, and he relaxed. After a quick, sheepish glance about the table, the mayor bent himself to his task again. The bread dipped. Avery slobbered. The spoon made several round trips twixt dish and lip before a pained look came across his face again. The spoon clanked onto the plate, and his hands went beneath the table to clench each other. He squirmed and shuffled his feet while a red-and-white mottled appearance overtook his face. His jaw grew rigid, while his feet moved faster.

At last the pain receded. He glared down Farrell's questioning frown and stared at Erienne until she sipped her wine, though she continued to watch him over the rim of the glass. He might have imagined it, but even the blank helm of his host seemed to lift a puzzled brow. Avery pushed back the half-finished bowl, tossed down some wine, and morosely chewed a piece of dry bread. The combination seemed to settle his stomach, and the chatter between Farrell and Erienne gradually resumed.

By the time the second course arrived, Avery was well disposed to deal with it. In fact, when he caught a whiff of the fare, he was eager to accept it. Aggie even ladled an extra portion onto his plate, casting a smile in his direction. By the time Paine placed the dish before him, his mouth was watering, and before the man withdrew his arm, Avery held the knife and fork at the ready. He delved to the depths of his dish and, stuffing a large piece of meat into his mouth, chewed it in pure delight with eyes half closed. Swallowing heavily, he muttered as he dipped again.

" Tis good. 'Tis very good." He waved his knife about. "The best I've had in some time."

He plunged the laden fork into his gaping maw and was searching for another piece when suddenly the butts of both the fork and knife struck the table, still in his fists. He leaned forward, half rising. A slow groan of agony squeezed out between his clenched teeth, and his entire body went as rigid as some bronze statue, while his face turned much the same hue. He dropped the knife and fork, and his hands clenched the edge of the table until his knuckles grew white. His teeth ground together, and he sucked in a quick, whistling breath. He held the pose for a moment, then in rapid syllables and an overloud voice he barked out, " 'Tis-such-a-comely-night-outside, urp! I-think-I'll-take-meself-out-for-a-little-walk."

He nodded an abrupt pardon, then fairly flew from the room, his coattails sailing out behind with the speed of his passage. The tower door thundered wide, then slammed back to latch solidly.

Farrell glanced at Erienne and shrugged. She looked at Paine, who in absolute stoic pose held his usual calm expression. Aggie's manner was much the same, though a darker shade of red was slowly creeping up her neck, and she seemed to have gained an odd twitch about her shoulders and a slight tic at the corner of her mouth. As Erienne continued to stare, the woman gave a strange choking cough and hurried from the room. When the door closed behind her, a muffled noise, much like the sound of suppressed laughter, drifted back to them.

By the following evening Avery's stomach had finally calmed enough to allow him to leave his room in quest of Erienne's quarters. The hour was late, and everyone had retired for the night. He had determined it would be the last chance he would have to meet with her in private, for he and Farrell were planning to return to Mawbry the next morning. The previous night had been spent in a frenzied effort to find relief for his roiling bowels. He had no idea what malady had struck him; he would have blamed it on spoiled vittles except for the fact that none of the others seemed affected. Thus he felt considerably frayed by the worry that it might be of a serious nature, which only made him all the more anxious to secure a wealthy sum from his daughter.

Only a few candles remained lit along the wall of the upper hall. At his seemingly innocent inquiry, Farrell had given him instructions to the bedchambers of the lord and his lady. Avery followed the way carefully, stealthily creeping close to Lord Saxton's door to listen. No light came from beneath the portal, and no sound issued from the room, which encouraged him to believe the man was slumbering in peaceful repose.

More confident now, yet still wary of making a noise until he was assured that his daughter was alone, Avery went down the corridor to Erienne's room. This time he found a thin shaft of light shining from beneath the base of the door. Stepping near, he leaned an ear to the wooden planks. Much to his disappointment, he heard Erienne speaking in a muted tone, but hoping that it was only a servant she was with, he stayed. A burst of masculine laughter came from the room, and Avery almost stumbled back in shock before he collected himself and pressed his ear tighter against the door.

Erienne's bubbling reply erased any doubt as to her companion's identity. "Christopher, be serious. How can I even concentrate on finding a name for our babe if you tease me like that?"

Avery's eyes shot open wide, and his face took on a crimson hue comparable to the prior evening's. He wanted to bolt through the door, tear the filthy scoundrel from the girl, and pound him to a bloody pulp, but the fear that the man might do worse to him halted such a foolish idea. His caution did not slacken the rage that built within him. He despised Christopher Seton, and he fumed at the thought that the man had gotten to the twit and filled her belly with his seed. Kin or not, Lord Saxton was a fool to have trusted him with her. No wonder she could look so happy with Lord Saxton when this Seton rascal was crawling between her thighs at night.