Ask Me No Questions (21 page)

He would only use such demeaning terms to a hireling for whom he had very little respect. Ruth's heart contracted painfully. Perhaps it
was
the whistling man. Perhaps he
had
been hired to watch her, and Chandler was irked because his henchman had been seen. She was very close now, and knew she ran a great risk of being seen, but strangely she wasn't frightened; just achingly disillusioned.

Edging around a tree trunk she looked into a small clearing, and she checked, and stood staring.

"No, damn you," said Chandler roughly. "Those tricks will avail you nothing! I'm accustomed to dealing with toad-eating scoundrels, and—" He looked up then, and saw her.

He was sitting on a tree stump, his gun and game bag lying beside him. And the "toad-eating scoundrel" he chastised was a small and very thin mongrel that wriggled and leapt and butted its head in an ecstasy of joy against a lean and caressing hand.

For a moment the two humans stared at each other, equally shocked, equally motionless.

Then, Chandler drawled wryly, "Hercules, I fear we are found out."

For some reason a lump had come into Ruth's throat. She started forward and the dog cowered against Chandler's top-boot, regarding her in abject terror.

"Her-Hercules?" she managed unsteadily.

Chandler stood, scooping up the little animal and tucking it under his arm. "My—er, new hunting dog," he said, without much conviction.

Ruth reached out. Hercules sniffed her fingers apprehensively, then his ears went back and he began to wriggle, while behind Chandler's elbow a small tail wagged frenziedly.

Stroking the dog's head and conscious of a disproportionate relief, Ruth said, "So
this
is who you were talking to! Why, he is just a pup. Look at those big feet! What breed is he?"

"A Covent Garden Courser," he said blandly. "Very rare."

Laughing, she peered at his face. "I think you are making that up. Where did you get him?"

"I did nothing of the sort. He got me. Followed me here from the Market."

"Covent Garden? Good gracious me! What wonderful endurance for so small and starved a puppy."

"Yes. Er—well, he didn't exactly follow me. Not all the way. The truth is that I—sort of came upon him there, and he spun me such a tragedy tale that—"

"That you rescued him! Oh, how very kind. But—why keep him out here?"

He thrust Hercules into her arms while he took up his hunting gun. "If I introduced him to my father in his present condition, I'd likely be disowned."

"But surely you could at least take him to the stables?"

"So I thought, but my head groom is adamant. Fleas."

With a gasp Ruth returned Hercules to his owner. Chandler laughed, and accepting the dog asked, "Dare one enquire why you wander about the woods at this hour? What with whistling men and daemons lurking behind every tree, I'd have thought—"

Putting an end to his nonsense she said firmly, "I felt the need for a breath of air. 'Tis so warm tonight."

Even as she spoke, summer lightning flooded the clearing with a white glare. Hercules, who had just been put down, foiled Chandler's attempt to pick up his game bag by leaping into his arms with a little yelp of fright, and Ruth, who feared lightning, moved a step closer to him.

Amused, he said, "Well, I see I've to take you back to Swinton's cottage, Sir Shivershanks. You'll not object, I trust, do we see the lady home first?"

"No, but really, there is no need, Mr. Gordon. I am quite able to—" Ruth broke off with a gasp as thunder rolled distantly.

"Yes, I see how able you are. But even if you were, ma'am, 'tis not the height of wisdom to venture here after dark if you really have seen strangers lurking about. I've not been much plagued by poachers, but these are hard times and men driven by hunger are apt to lose their scruples."

The thought of the twins encountering such desperate individuals reinforced her resolve to forbid them to go out again unless she or Grace accompanied them. "I did not say I had
seen
anyone," she said.

"You just heard him?"

She crossed her fingers. "Mmm."

"Whistling."

"And always the same song," she said, recalling what the twins had told her.

"Ah. Then you heard him more than once." There was irritation in his voice now. "I'faith, but you beg for trouble, ma'am. You should have let me know of it at once."

"I did tell you! At least I started to."

"When? I don't recall— Oh! Is that what you meant when I brought you the fish? Good God! If you thought there were varmints about, why would you have continued to walk about the woods?"

"Er—well, at first I thought little of it. And then, since you obviously knew nought of it, I supposed it was one of the gardeners, or a groom out for a stroll, perhaps."

"Or a lover and his lass," he supplied ironically.

"Well, that is possible, of course. But I should not think a lover would be whistling." She added demurely, "Would you, sir?"

"Would I whistle at such a moment? You may believe I'm not so daft as to waste my opportunities, and—" Interrupted by another vivid flash and a closer grumble of thunder, he felt Ruth's hand slip onto the arm that held Hercules. "And in fact," he went on impulsively, "were you and I not betrothed to other people— Blast!"

They were coming out of the trees, and the light that glowed from many windows of the various buildings made it less dark in the gardens. Her heartbeat quickening, Ruth glanced up at him, and prompted, "Yes, Mr. Chandler?"

"Be dashed if I haven't left my confounded game bag! And I snabbled four fine conies for Chef. I'll have to go back. Here—" He thrust Hercules at her. "Keep him for a few minutes, will you?"

"But—"

"Oh, for Lord's sake! He likely has only one or two surviving fleas! I'll take him over to Swinton's when I get back."

"I wasn't thinking about fleas! Only—can the game bag not wait till morning?"

He said wonderingly, "An you are so kind as to worry for my safety, pray do not."

"I've no doubt you can guard yourself. Only…"

He patted her hand. 'Thank you. But I do not like to kill pointlessly." Dimly, she saw the white gleam of his smile. He said, "You go on inside, Madame Restorer. I'll hurry back, and be glad of a cup of tea can you and Miss Milford spare one." And he was gone.

Hercules began to struggle and to yelp frantically. Troubled, Ruth carried him into the cottage and called to Grace, "Are the boys come home?"

Chandler blinked to the glare of the lightning and strode on. It was quite dark between flashes now, but he knew these woods as well as he knew his way about the rooms in the houses of Lac Brillant, and he went unerringly towards the spot where he had left the game bag. He was touched by the knowledge that the widow had been anxious about him. She may have stretched the truth a trifle when first she applied for her post, but after all, a woman alone… There was her soldier, of course. He frowned thoughtfully. One could but hope the major was not a pompous ass and would realize what a rare prize he'd captured. And Mrs. Allington, he had come to believe,
was
a rare prize. Not that he had any interest in her apart from her professional abilities, of course. He was a man soon to be wed, and would be a scoundrel and a fool to harbour a romantical inclination towards any other lady—least of all, one already spoken for. Still, the widow obviously possessed a kind heart. She had recoiled from the prospect of fleas—the reminder brought a grin to banish his frown—but she'd been quite taken with the little dog, a different reaction to that of Nadia when— Thunder boomed, cutting off that line of thought, and when the lightning flashed again he saw the game bag, lying where he had left it.

Rain began to patter down as he took up the bag. It felt odd, and with a deep dismay he realized it was moving. He despised the careless huntsman who neglected to make sure that his shot had resulted in a clean kill, and that he could have been guilty of causing needless suffering was unforgivable. Propping his gun carefully against the tree trunk, he wrenched open the bag, thrust his hand inside and drew it out with a startled "Ow!" His hand felt as though a dozen red hot splinters had driven into it. He dropped the bag instinctively, and caught a glimpse of a small shape scuttling across the clearing.

He stared after it. A
hedgehog
! How the devil could a hedgehog have wriggled its way into his game bag? He snatched up the bag. The conies were gone. Rage boiled through him. This was no daemon boar at work! This was a prankster! One of the village lads, doubtless! Well, by God! the young fiend would pay for his rascality!

He raced across the clearing, his language such as would have caused Lady Nadia to fall in a swoon. His hand stung like fire, but the deeper smart was to his pride for having twice been so taken in.

Even as he plunged into the opposite trees, he heard a sound that was at once cut short and that banished all thought of youthful pranks. Someone was whistling that old marching song called "Lillibulero." He caught a glimpse of dark figures, and thought, 'Four of the bastards!' as he skidded to a halt.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

Someone snarled, "It's the perishin' son!"

Another voice shouted, "Shab orf! Outta this! Quick, mates!"

Quite forgetting he had left his gun across the clearing and that the odds were four to one, Chandler charged.

The engagement was short, but very sharp. One of the intruders stayed well clear, but his companions answered the challenge zestfully. In perfect condition and no stranger to fisticuffs, Chandler sent one man reeling back, levelled another, and was himself sent sprawling. Dazed, he rolled to avoid a flying boot, grabbed it and with a heave brought its owner crashing down. He was on his feet again, the taste of blood in his mouth, but the dizziness fading fast. Another dim shape hurtled at him. He caught the gleam of steel as lightning flashed, but a cultured voice shouted commandingly, "No killing! We don't want him dead!" With his left arm thrown up to protect himself from the knife, Chandler rammed his right home, and heard an explosive "Ooof!" At the same instant, a tree seemed to fall on him. He was down again, struggling to get up, but hampered by a sick weakness. He got to his hands and knees. A boot drove at his ribs, slamming him onto his back. He heard mocking laughter. The lightning split into countless piercing shards, all flying at his head. A very long way away someone was whistling "Lillibulero." Pain took him, and wiped the night away…

Something icy cold was hitting his face. Whatever it was must be very sharp, because it hurt abominably. With a great effort he got one eye open. It was night. He was in the woods. Lying down, with raindrops striking his face.

'Ridiculous!' he thought. He tried to get up and stopped trying at once.

There came a shrill wail. "Sir! Oh, sir! Please don't go off again! I can't lift you!"

It was the outside of enough that this pestilent creature should shriek at him when his head had exploded. "Stop that!" he gasped. His voice sounded odd and distant, but the wails stopped.

The crack of thunder was close, shattering the brief silence and, it seemed, Chandler's head. A groan rose in his throat, but one didn't make such a sound where others could hear. He smothered it and, managing to force both eyes open, discerned a most odd figure crouching over him. Someone who had apparently been cut in half. But could still talk. This seemed curious. "How…" he enquired, "d'you manage to be alive?"

"Thank goodness! I was 'fraid you'd died."

Chandler thought, 'It's a child, you stupid clod!' "I've not," he said. "But—I cannot seem to—to get up just now." He tried again, and this time his ribs joined with his head in sending him back into forgetfulness. It must have been a very temporary lapse, because the voice was coming to him again. "I'll help. Come on, sir. Try."

"Thank you," gasped Chandler, doing his best. "Oh, Gad! No use. Could you… d'you think, bring help?"

"I d-don't want to leave you." The voice sounded very young and scared. "They might—they might c-come back. They're bad. I knew they were bad the firs' -time I heard them."

"When was… that?"

"A long time ago. Days 'n days. Weeks I 'spect. Please try an' get up."

"Are you," managed Chandler, "a boy?"

"Y-yes, sir. But I can help. I'm strong. You could l-lean on me."

"Thanks. But—I seem to be rather… tired. You'd help me most if you'd… you'd be so kind as to bring someone… with…"

He had intended to ask for brandy, but there was no need, because a flask materialized at his lips. He took a healthy swallow, and looked up again.

There were two figures this time. The boy, and a woman. The rain was still splashing onto his face. He said in a surer voice, "Don't tell my father."

"No. I knew you wouldn't want that. I'll send for Swinton."

"Wait, please. I'll be all right… in a minute or two." He realized that it was the widow, and with a sigh of relief muttered, "I hoped you'd come."

Ruth took the unsteady hand that reached out to her. "Your head is hurt," she said gently. "I cannot see very well in the dark. Is there any other injury?"

The boy's voice, less tremulous now, said, "They kicked him in the side awful hard. I—I thought he was killed, Aunty Ruth."

"
Aunty Ruth…
?" Chandler groaned. "Now, what—"

Biting her lip, Ruth said, "Never mind about that. If I prop you, can you sit up?"

It came to him that she was already propping him, for his head and shoulders were on her knees, and her arm was around him. He said weakly, "What's your name, boy?"

"Jacob, sir."

"Then take my hand, Jacob, and when your aunt… lifts, you pull. All right?"

"All right."

The first attempt was not a great success, but with the second Chandler was on his feet, clinging to Ruth as the woods revolved slowly around him. She made him rest for a minute or two while she steadied him on one side and Jacob propped him on the other. Then, they set off.

For Chandler, it was an interminable journey and not one he later cared to remember. Twice, he thought he was surely going to disgrace himself by casting up his accounts, but the dread of doing such a revolting thing in front of the widow gave him the strength to fight back the sickness and keep on. The cold rain and the brandy did much to restore him, and by the time they reached the cottage, although the pain had increased rather than diminished, his legs felt steadier and he could keep his head up.