Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (21 page)

Two eyes of solid ice regarded her as from a great height. "I
fear, Miss Buchanan," he drawled, "that you shall have to let me be the
best judge of my undoubtedly poor selection of cattle."

Leith threw him an astonished look. Euphemia, feeling as
though she had been struck, dropped a curtsey and, her cheeks flaming,
murmured, "I am most truly set down, Mr. Hawkhurst."

Ignoring her, he fixed the Colonel with a stern stare. "I may,
I am assured, rely upon your discretion, Leith?"

Euphemia could not hold back her gasp of indignation and was
reminded of his own total lack of discretion, not only with regard to
his innumerable birds of paradise, but in his attempt to force his
attentions on her that very morning! Leith, who had never so much as
hugged her, seemed momentarily struck to silence by the implication.
Then he murmured a wooden, "You may," and, with a somewhat stiff smile,
ushered her from the room.

Seething, Euphemia walked beside him to the stairs, mounted
the first step, then whirled to look down at him. The handsome face was
raised to her, the dark brows lifted enquiringly. How
dared
such as Garret Hawkhurst cast an aspersion upon the character of this
thoroughly honourable young man! Furious, she exclaimed, "Tristram, I
am sorry! He is… he is absolutely impossible! How dare he speak to you
so!"

He blinked a little in the face of such vehemence, then, a
wistful grin curving his fine mouth, said, "No, but Hawk is within his
rights, Mia. He
is
responsible for your safety
while you are here, you know."

"The deuce he is!" she flared hotly. "Oh, I know I should not
use such terms, but, really, that man is—is the outside of enough!"

And turning, she ran lightly up the stairs, leaving Leith to
gaze after her, his dark eyes unwontedly sombre.

Euphemia seated herself at the dressing table and took up her
hairbrush, wondering vaguely why Ellie should have looked so worried
because she had said she was going riding. She began to brush her hair,
her thoughts refusing to leave Hawkhurst. She found it difficult to
hold her anger and sighed, recalling what Ponsonby had said of him: "…
the most high-couraged youth, the most loyal and truly gallant young
man…" A frown puckered her smooth brow, and she thought with a surge of
irritation, The most vexing collection of contradictions!

Ponsonby was prejudiced, of course. Only this morning Lady
Bryce had complained that Hawk allowed the servants to take advantage
of him, and not only overpaid them outrageously but was forever
coddling them, heedless of how this might inconvenience the family. For
example, this evening they were all to be allowed to go to the
Christmas party at the rectory. Euphemia sighed and wished that, now
dear Leith was come, she would feel a little less miserable.

"… with
him
, Miss?"

She glanced up, realized that she must seem a total featherwit
and, feeling her face burn, enquired, "Your pardon, Ellie? I fear I was
wool-gathering."

"I said, you ain't never going riding… with…" The abigail
faltered into silence before the sudden chill in the usually kind blue
eyes.

"Mr. Hawkhurst," Euphemia said levelly, "is having the horses
saddled at this moment, I believe."

Ellie gave a muffled grown and, tearing nervously at her
frilled apron, persisted, "Oh, Miss, you been so… so good to me. I know
I shouldn't say nothing, but—Oh, Miss! He didn't ought to let you ride
with him!"

Anger brought the glitter of ice into Euphemia's eyes. She had
become fond of Ellie, but the woman was not a lifelong servant, and for
a relative stranger to be so presumptive was unpardonable. "You have
some objection to Colonel Leith?" she said frigidly.

To her surprise relief flooded the abigail's broad features.
"Oh, thank goodness! I thought as ye was going with Mr. Garret, ma'am."

"Indeed?" The rage that swept Euphemia now made her previous
vexation seem trite. She stood and, with chin high and manner regal,
said, "You will, I feel sure, explain that disloyal remark."

Ellie shrank away a pace, then bowed her head into her hands
and burst into tears. "I shoulda knowed," she wept. "Mr. Garret… bean't
the type to… to put a lady's life in danger. I shoulda knowed. It
was
disloyal!"

Euphemia's knees turned to melted butter. She was vaguely
aware of sinking onto the bench and of feeling terribly cold. Like the
pieces of a nightmare jigsaw puzzle, she saw again Hawkhurst clinging
to the end of that makeshift rope on the cliffside; herself and Kent,
hiding in the dressing room and Hawk grumbling, "… if a man cannot
shoot straight with a Manton…" to which Mr. Bailey had said anxiously
that the Constable should have been summoned; and finally, Leith, as
she had first heard him today, "… I tell you, Buck, it was a deliberate
attempt at murder… !"

"My dear God," she whispered. "Someone means to kill him!"

"Yes, Miss," mourned Ellie, wiping her eyes with her apron.
"This morning the ball went right through his new hat. Manners said,
instead of seeking cover, Mr. Garret rode straight at the place where
the shot had come from, but the man was too far ahead. He dropped his
gun, but Mr. Manners says they don't know whose it is. Hogwaddle, Miss!
We all of us knows! It be Lord Gains! Small wonder that his lordship
should hold a grudge, I suppose, but he should call Mr. Garret out,
like a gentleman. Not keep at him like this."

Very pale, Euphemia asked in a far-away voice, "What else has
happened?"

"Year before last, he was set on by Mohocks. He was with
Colonel Leith, thank goodness, and they give a good account of
theirselves. But I heard the Colonel talking to Dr. Archer after they
come home, and he said it was no more Mohocks than his sainted
Grandmama! 'They was after Gary!' he says. Six months later, the master
was sailing, and a leak come in his boat. It was a new boat, Miss, and
there must've been a lot of leaks, 'cause it went down like a stone,
and if he wasn't a strong swimmer, he'd surely have drowned. That was
when we all began to start putting two and two together! When he was in
London in the summer, a coping stone fell—missed him by a hair, his
aunty said. He pretends it's all just 'accidents,' but he ain't fooling
none of
us
!"

Euphemia felt sick and was silent until, realizing Ellie was
speaking again, she said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I said it's wicked to torment a man so, just now and then, so
he never knows what's coming. Fair wicked!"

Euphemia walked slowly along the corridor, drawing on her
gloves, her riding crop under her arm and her brow furrowed with worry.
The shock of learning that Hawkhurst's life was threatened, and with
such fiendish persistence, had driven all other considerations from her
mind. It could not be Gains! It just
could not
be! Seldom had she been more instantly drawn to a man, and seldom did
her judgments prove wrong. Her first impression of Hawk, in fact—She
checked, startled to realize that she was beginning to think of him by
his nickname and, also, that her cheeks were very warm. Seized by a
sudden need to once more view the incredible beauty of Blanche
Hawkhurst, she ran up the stairs to the top floor.

She hurried into the gallery, her feet soundless on the thick
carpet, and stopped abruptly. Hawkhurst sat on the bench before the
central portrait. His head was down-bent, elbows on his knees, and
hands loosely clasped between them. No one seeing him thus would have
dreamed he did not mourn his wife, for he looked every inch a man
crushed by grief. Even as she watched, his shoulders drooped lower, and
one hand was drawn across his eyes in a weary gesture. Then, as if
impatient with himself, his head came up; his shoulders squared; he
stood and, never glancing in her direction, wandered to the far window
and leant against the panelled wall, staring out into the gardens.

Euphemia's heart was wrung. He looked so very alone that she
had to fight an all but overmastering urge to run and cheer him
somehow. But he was a strong man, and her witnessing of his sorrow
would merely exacerbate his feelings. Reluctantly, therefore, she
turned and walked slowly to the doors. Perhaps Dr. Archer had been
mistaken, after all. Perhaps Hawk really had loved Blanche, if only for
her beauty. She felt again the unfamiliar urge to weep and wondered if
she was turning into a watering pot.

Someone stood before her, and, looking up, she beheld Tristram
Leith, a romantic figure in his staff officer's uniform, his eyes very
grave as he watched her. She forced a smile and held a finger to her
lips. He stepped aside at once and walked beside her to the stairs.

"Whatever must you think of me?" she apologized. "I am truly
sorry. Shall we still have time to ride?"

He teased her gently about her tardiness and assured her there
was time for a short ride. Leaving the house, however, was like
entering the polar regions. Euphemia gave an involuntary gasp, ducking
her head against Leith's cloak, and at once he took her arm and said
solicitously, "No, it's too cold for you. We'll talk inside."

"Never!" she laughed. "I need this, Tristram. To blow the
cobwebs away."

"The cobweb ain't spun that would dare mar you, lovely one.
Come then, let's make a dash for it before we freeze solid."

Hand in hand, they ran to the stables and rode out seconds
later at a canter that swiftly became a gallop, down the slope and up
the far hill.

From the end dormer window of the gallery, two grey eyes
watched broodingly until the riders were lost from sight.

"Oh, Leith!" gasped Euphemia, cheeks a'tingle and eyes
sparkling. "That was superb! Thank you!" She looked around curiously at
the mouldering arches and walls that had been erected long and long ago
on this lonely hilltop, and among which Leith had halted to lift her
from the saddle. "What is this place?"

"Nobody really knows. It's part of Dominer's Home Farm now,
but scholars say it was a temple once and that Druids may have
worshipped here. We often came here when we were boys. We used to climb
to the top of the tower. It was Hawk's favorite place whenever he
craved solitude."

She looked at the great ivy-clad tower that soared at the very
brink of the hill. "My heavens! How dreadfully dangerous! Had you
fallen—"

"Then I'd not be here to pester you today," he grinned. "But I
wish you might see the view from up there. It's superb."

She advised him firmly that she was perfectly satisfied with
the view from their present vantage point and seated herself on the
handkerchief he spread atop the lower outer wall.

Leith stood beside her, tall and straight, everything a girl
could hope for. And watching him, wishing with all her heart that she
loved him, she knew she did not, nor ever would, save as a cherished
friend.

A dog barked somewhere, deep and baying, and she said
anxiously, "Goodness! I do hope that's not Sampson!"

"So you've met that hound, have you? Trust Max to acquire a
mongrel who's a natural born clergyman."

She gave a ripple of laughter. "Clergyman? You mean he saves
souls?"

"Devil a bit of it. He visits. The sick. And the indigent. And
the rich, the poor, the hale, the hearty—and especially, he visits
Gary. It's a delight to both of 'em, you know. Don't think they could
get along without one another."

Incredulous, she stammered, "But… Hawkhurst tried to… to kill
him! He said he'd send him back to Gains
a la
John the Baptist!"

He gave a shout of laughter. "And probably grabbed a pistol
and tore after him howling bloody murder, eh? Lay you odds the gun
wasn't loaded. Or if it was, he'd have been unable to get 'the blasted
trigger' to work or some such fustian."

"Oh!" she gasped indignantly. "And I swallowed the whole!"

Leith put one booted foot on the wall and, leaning forward,
took up her whip and toyed with it absently. "Hawk saved your life, so
I hear. And young Kent's, which must have been a shade trying for him,
poor old fellow."

"Yes." Her indignation faded. "I had heard he does not care to
have children around him. I can understand why."

"It has done him good. I could see it the instant I arrived."
Her vivid face was raised in an immediate and eager questioning, and,
his heart sinking, Leith said quietly, "Hawk's been like a man frozen
these last four years, Mia, a man afraid to live—not daring to love,
and so grasping at every straw in a sort of defiant seeking for the
happiness he cannot have."

"But, why not? Lives can be rebuilt. Happiness can come again.
Even if he loved her so—"

"
Loved
her? Good God! I wonder he didn't
strangle her! Oh, I know I should not speak ill of the dead—and Blanche
was not an evil lady, do not mistake. In a way, Hawk was better served
than poor Simon, for Blanche was not, so far as I am aware, er…"

"Generous—with her affections?" Euphemia supplied dryly.

"Right you are. She was just possessed, heart and soul, by
another fellow. And she was so besotted she would do whatever he bade
her. Blast him!"

"Mount," Euphemia nodded. "Did you know him, Tris?"

"Regrettably. And for a while I hoped she would settle for
him. They were much alike, their total selfishness disguised by beauty.
But I think Mount really loved Blanche insofar as he was capable of it,
and I know she was mad for him. Only…" He hesitated as though fearful
of betraying a confidence and shrugged, "Well, they would have been
penniless. So she married Hawk."

"I heard some of it. But, Leith, you are Hawk's friend, and
you have always been as loyal as you could stare. Is there nothing can
be done? His Grandpapa surely, could—"

"The Admiral worshipped Blanche," Leith interposed softly. "He
holds Garret solely to blame for her death."