Love Alters Not (18 page)

Piers muttered, “Well, at least he's alive. I suppose you
have
sent word to his illustrious—” He leapt from one invalid to the other. “Perry, old lad! What is it? Is that damnable foot—”

Peregrine straightened in the chair and lowered the hands that had covered his face. “The
cypher!
” he groaned. “Dear Lord, why did I not guess? You must be aware every dragoon in England is after it, and God knows how many bounty hunters!”

Piers exchanged a frightened look with his aunt, and it would have been hard to judge whose face was paler. He stammered, “I recall—some weeks back there was a flurry about a—a poem or some such nonsense, but—”

“Nonsense, is it?” Peregrine leaned forward. “Quentin Chandler is rumoured to have carried one of the stanzas, and got out of England by the skin of his teeth, and half dead! There is a reward of a hundred guineas for information leading to the arrest of any Jacobite found with the cypher on his person! Can you guess the ferocity with which the poor devil is hunted? And now … now my
sister
has it!”

Miss Guild wet suddenly dry lips. “Cypher? But—you said 'twas a poem.”

“It is. In four separately despatched stanzas. Each is said to contain a clue to the whereabouts of the treasure Charles Stuart amassed to finance his Cause.”

“If that foolish boy had a treasure,” said Miss Guild, who had a soft spot in her heart for the handsome prince, “why ever did he not use it?”

“It could not be converted into cash in Scotland, so they tried to get it over to France.”

“I wish them joy of that endeavour,” Piers inserted grimly. “The fleet prowls the waters 'twixt here and France, and I've heard a minnow cannot pass but what they search it!”

“Exactly so. Wherefore the treasure was diverted to England, the hope being to ship it from here, unsuspected. That plan failed also, for the Cause was lost 'fore ever the treasure could be put aboard ship.”

“And—now?”

“The Jacobites mean to try and restore it to the original donors. Oh, never look so astonished, Aunt. Half the poor devils are starving and dispossessed for their sympathies. The return of their valuables would mean the difference between life or death to many.”

Samuels put in dourly, “And the knowledge they'd contributed, an even surer death, to my way of thinking!”

The twins, who had forgotten he was present, stared at him.

Piers thought, ‘The devil! Well, too late to be cautious now,' and said, “I still do not see. Why the cyphers?”

“Besides,” said Jane Guild, “it seems to me far more dangerous to have sent out four messages instead of one.”

Peregrine shrugged. “Had a single letter containing all the information fallen into the wrong hands, they'd have the whole. As it is, even if a courier is taken, the military or whoever gets him will have only one stanza, and without the other three, the chances of decoding are judged impossible.”

Piers had been watching his brother narrowly. “You makebait,” he said, low and furious. “You—damned—stupid—
makebait!
”

Peregrine flushed scarlet and stared at the bedpost.

Miss Guild sighed. “I'd the same thought, Piers. He is involved.”

“You were to meet Tio—is that it? How deep are you in this, twin?”

Peregrine said defensively, “I promised to help Tio only if he called on me. I know about the cypher because—a friend told me of it.”

“De Villars!” snorted Piers. “I've warned you death stalks his shadow, but you must—”

“Oh, fiddle,” said Peregrine, irritated. “Treve's a dashed good man.”

“I'd be curst glad to have him at hand was I hunted, I grant you, but to cultivate his friendship is to bring yourself under the eye of the military. 'Tis only a matter of time before he's arrested, you know that!”

“I'll own I like Trevelyan de Villars,” Miss Guild interjected in her sensible way, “and I admire his courage. But that does not help us decide what to do now.”

Piers looked miserably at Glendenning's motionless figure. “Tio is our only hope. God send he wakes soon.”

Samuels asked, “Should we send word to the earl, Mr. Piers? He's a hard man and would fly into a proper pucker if he knew Master Horatio was involved in this business. But—he
is
his father.”

“If we tell old Bowers-Malden, the fur will fly,” muttered Peregrine dubiously. “He'll have Tio out of here in a wink, and we'll lose all chance to find out about Mitten.”

“Is the earl likely to have missed his lordship, Samuels?” asked Piers.

“I doubt it, sir. They don't see eye to eye on most things. Lord Horatio has not met his father this month and more.”

Piers nodded. “Then I fancy we're not being wholly ruthless in keeping the old boy in the dark another few days. Perry—do you stay here and hope Tio awakens in a rational state. I'm going down to Gloucestershire.”

“Why must I stay? I'm not helpless, you know.”

“No,” grinned his brother. “Only hopeless! I'm going after Treve, you dolt! I fancy he's at his uncle's country seat. He's the only man might know Mitten's whereabouts.”

Miss Guild sighed heavily. “Dear Mitten. I only pray her reputation is not quite ruined.”

“You think some base villain would dare—” Peregrine's face darkened. “Now God help any filthy swine who lays a hand on her!”

VIII

Despite her weariness, Dimity had not slept well, waking once in the grip of a nightmare in which the two mastiffs were chasing her while she hobbled in Mrs. Deene's crippling slippers, and falling asleep again, only to wake once more and lie wide-eyed, reliving the moments in Anthony Farrar's arms.

She had not encountered him at breakfast for since they were to make an early start, a tray was brought to her room. Now, she slanted a look at the man riding beside her through the brilliance of the morning. She noted again that he rode very well, with a lazy, almost slouching grace that made him seem as one with the big grey. He looked stern and unyielding. She tried to picture him panicking in the face of a Scots charge. Her brothers had told her that the Scots were fierce and terrible fighters, but still she could not imagine anything causing this individual to panic and run. At once, she felt traitorous for harbouring such doubts. Perry and Piers despised Farrar, and they had
been
there. They had judged contemptible the man she now mentally defended; the man she had not only allowed to kiss her, but whom she was beginning—

“Guilty conscience, ma'am?” he drawled, not looking her way.

Her cheeks burned. “I should think
you
might be the one to harbour such sentiments,” she answered. Then, realizing the double entendre, she added, “I mean—about last night.”

He turned a sardonic gaze on her. “You are
sure
that is what you mean?”

She mumbled, “I—had never been kissed so … before.”

“At least,” his lip curled, “not for a full five minutes.”

“I tell you Ellsworth
forced
himself on me. He was horrid! I did not willingly—” And she thought, ‘Oh, heavens!' and was silent.

An iron hand was upon her reins. The horses came to a halt. It was very peaceful on the country lane with no other travellers in sight, the trees softly whispering overhead, and a lark singing gloriously somewhere. Farrar had not worn powder today, and the sunlight awoke a bright sheen on his fair hair and made his eyes an emerald glow in his bronzed face. Dimity concentrated on the lush slope of a nearby hill.

He demanded softly, “Do you say you
did
willingly kiss me?”

What nonsense. As if she would have done so disgraceful a thing! It would be to betray the brothers she loved and
that
she would never do! She drew a steadying breath. “How can you ask such a question? You know perfectly well that you seized me—like any bear!”

His grin mocked her. “How odd that I'd the distinct impression you enjoyed it.”

“Odd, indeed!” But oh,
why
must her wretched heart flutter so? Frightened by her own reactions, she flared, “And quite at odds with both my moral standards and my reason for coming to The Palfreys.”

The amusement faded from his eyes. Her words had hit hard. Stung, he retaliated with a contemptuous, “I'd have judged both to be deplorable.” Predictably, she whirled on him in a flame, but he only shrugged, “Did you feel so violated, Madam Purity, I wonder you did not scream.”

Why had it not occurred to her to scream? She had to grope for a response. “I wish I may see myself so distressing your aunt!”

“Aha,” he jeered. “So next time I may count myself safe, eh?”

The knowledge that her feeble response had invited such vulgarity was no consolation. Outraged, she cried, “For shame! Whatever you think of me, I am a guest in your house, and—”

“You are a guest in my home, ma'am, only because my gentle aunt pities you!” He saw her flinch but seized her arm and grated, “Admit the truth. You're in this with my damnable cousin and his putrid friend!”

“No!” she gasped, striving in vain to break free.

His fingers tightened. “Then why did you creep out to cuddle with him? Having seen those passionate embraces, do you really expect me to believe that you are unacquainted with the creature?”

He was flushed beneath his tan, his eyes glittering with a rage disproportionate to the disgust he might have felt for a vulgar adventuress. Under normal circumstances Dimity, well equipped with common sense, might have noted such odd behaviour. Now, her own emotions rioting, she said, “Much I care what you believe! You were not slow to indulge
yourself
with some passionate embraces, when you'd done with peeping from behind curtains like any sneaking spy!”

“An I spied on you, 'twas because your behaviour had me off-stride. Yes, I admit that fact. Hating me one minute, helping me the next; your actions saying you were my enemy, your eyes saying something very different. Oh, never deny it! When I kissed you last night, your lips were as hot as mine own! Why, madam? To buy me with your favours, perchance? You'll catch cold at that, and so I warn you!”

“Oh!” gasped Dimity. “
Oh
!” Her hand flew up. His intercepted it. “Contrary to your beliefs, Captain Farrar,” she cried, “I am a very careful shopper and make it a practice never to buy a pig in a poke!”

The angry colour faded from his face, leaving him rather white. Releasing her, he said, “Oh, very good. You've a quick tongue, ma'am. You'll need it do you hope to oust me from my home.”

Breathing hard and feeling vulgar and miserable, she took up the reins. “Your solicitor will doubtless inform you of my chances.”

“Little fool,” he muttered. “Did it not occur to you that you've given your only proofs into my hands? Were I as evil as you think me, I'd have instructed Norris to destroy them. Simple enough. Where would you be then with your scheming?”

She was stunned, but she must not let him see her dismay. It was quite possible that Carlton
was
an impostor, for his aunt did not seem quite respectable. But it was also possible that their claim was valid, and she must not be the one to ruin it for them. She was new to bitter quarrelling and felt increasingly weak and shaken, but managed a laugh. “La, but you take me for a ninny! My man of the law in London had all my documents copied and—and signed by a Notary Public long before I came here, I do promise you.”

Watching her, Farrar thought that if she really had a “man of the law” in London,
he
would have been the one to present her documents. But he did not confront her with that obvious fact. She was pale, and her hands trembled as she urged the mare to a trot, but however close they were, she did not give way to tears.

Touching his spurs lightly to the stallion's sides, Farrar's lips quirked wryly. She mounted a good fight, did the wicked widow!

An hour later, they were clattering over the bridge across the River Avon. The sun sparkled on the water, and the spire of the great cathedral rose proud and high against the azure skies. It was Dimity's first sight of Salisbury Cathedral and she forgot anger and the aggravating ache of hurt. “Oh,” she murmured. “How beautiful! So tall and proud.”

“The tallest in all England,” he agreed, as lost as she in admiration of the great building.

“It must be the most beautiful in the world.”

“No … in all honesty, there is a cathedral in Amiens I find even more beautiful.”

She glanced at him. His face held a dreaming look. “Have you ever painted it?”

“Amiens? No, but—” He started. “I suppose Lady Helen told you that I dabble with oils.”

“I would say you do more than dabble, sir. I should very much like to see more of your work.” He flushed scarlet and looked fixedly at his own hand on the reins. Amused, she thought, ‘How shy he is about his talent.' But she had no wish to add to his embarrassment and said easily, “I expect you have been much about the world. Is France your favourite country?”

“It is very lovely, certainly. Unhappily, much of my travelling was during a state of war which is not the best way to see a land. And at all events, to an Englishman there is only one favourite country, no? I fancy your brother—or is that plural? I forget—would agree.”

She gave him a level look. To her surprise he said with a boyish grin, “
I
scored that time, eh ma'am?”

She rode on, hiding a smile and rather absurdly grateful for this truce. They passed under an ancient arch and along narrow cobbled streets where boys darted about hoping to earn a groat by holding horses, where muffin men cried their wares, apprentices polished latticed windows or swept thresholds, farmers and fine gentlemen rubbed elbows in the kennels, elegant coaches vied for space with great country wains and waggons, and everywhere was noise and confusion.