Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (5 page)

"If you will stay quiet a minute or two, we shall have you
clear," he said, and vanished. She heard his deep voice issuing crisp
orders.

Then another man called, "The horses must've broke loose and
bolted, sir. No sign of 'em. Will I unhitch one of the greys?"

"No, you fool. How would you get him over that damned great
mess? Run to the house and bring men. And send a groom for Dr. Archer.
I said—
run
! Manners! Get over here and help me set
some boulders on these wheels—and fast, before the wind beats us!"

Kent! thought Euphemia, and started up only to shrink back as
the carriage heaved terrifyingly.

"Madam!" He was at the window again, a glitter in the eyes
that she now saw were a remarkably fine, clear grey. The drawl was gone
as he said sternly, "If you will refrain from hopping about in there,
we may yet—"

"But… the boy—" she began.

His keen gaze flashed to Buchanan. "—will stand a better
chance of recovering do you not dance the pair of you down the cliff!"
he interposed curtly and was gone.

"Wait!"

But he did not wait, and a faint moan escaped her brother just
then, as he stirred, provoking an exasperated, "Oh, damn the woman!"
from outside.

"Lie still, dearest," said Euphemia urgently. "Simon, are you
much hurt?"

His eyes opened dazedly. He raised his head, and she could
have wept her relief because, although his cheek and forehead were cut,
his eye was unhurt. "What… ?" he muttered. And then, in a clearer
voice, "Mia! My God! Are you—" Frantic, he got an elbow beneath him and
started up, but at once his face twisted with pain, a choked gasp cut
off his words, and he slumped down again. Euphemia's half-screamed, "
Simon
!"
returned their rescuer's face to the window.

"All right, ma'am. Let us have you out. Are you injured?"

He was wrestling with the door, and when she had replied that
she was not at all hurt, he grumbled an impatient, "Manners? Where in
the deuce are you?" The door swung suddenly upward, then fell open with
a crash. Euphemia's heart leapt into her throat, but this time there
was no resultant rocking from the carriage.

"Everything's right and tight," said the stranger, giving her
an engaging grin as he reached for her hands. "Can you manage? Lots of
room for dancing out here. I'm sure you shall like it… better. Up you
come!"

His grip was very strong, and she was hoisted to sit on the
side of the carriage while he jumped down. He reached up, smiling that
warm quirkish smile, and she leaned to him and was lifted to the ground.

"My brother!" she gasped. "He's newly home from the Nivelle,
and—"

"Is he, by God!" He swung back onto the carriage side once
more. "Wounded… ? Where?"

"His right shoulder. And I fear he has hurt it again."

"Wouldn't be surprised." He disappeared into the interior, his
voice coming muffled to her. "You sit down, ma'am, and we—"

"And there is a boy!" she called.

His head reappeared, and he scanned her tautly. "Not on the
box, was he?"

"Yes." She glanced around a scene of chaotic devastation.
Great heaps of rocks, dirt, and smashed shrubbery spoke of the fury of
the landslide. A liveried groom was bent above a sprawled shape, and
she said anxiously, "Neeley! Is he… ?"

"Lucky to be alive, ma'am. Minor damage." He climbed out and
with a supple leap was beside her. "Your brother don't seem too bad.
But—I fear that the boy may have gone over the side."

Euphemia followed his frowning gaze and swayed, a sickness
sweeping over her. The carriage lay at the very brink of the road, the
boot hanging out over the drop. Only a small tree, now horizontally
leaning in space, had saved them from going straight down, but they
undoubtedly would have been at the foot of the cliff by now, but for
the heavy boulders that were piled on the right wheels. She started for
the edge, and at once a firm hand was upon her arm. She flashed an
irritated look at her rescuer, mildly surprised to find that she had to
look up at him, although he was not so tall as Leith. He accompanied
her without comment, however, only tightening his hold when she stood
at the brink. Instead of the gradual slope she had so hoped to find,
she looked down a perpendicular wall to tree-tops far below. There was
no sign of Kent…

"Steady," said that deep voice. "Perhaps he… was…" She heard
the hiss of indrawn breath and, glancing up, saw his narrowed eyes
fixed to the right. Looking there also, she threw a hand to her mouth,
at once relieved and terrified. The sheer wall bowed outward at that
point, and from beneath the outcropping could be glimpsed what appeared
to be the roots of a bush. And clinging to those roots, two small,
white hands! She sobbed, "Oh… my dear God!"

"Why in the devil didn't he shout?" the man grumbled, already
shrugging out of his many-caped driving coat and a peerlessly cut
jacket. "Is he mute?"

"Yes."

He shot an astonished glance at her, then shouted, "Manners!"
and, as the groom sped towards them, drawled "I dare not fancy myself
so blessed that you've a rope in your carriage, ma'am?"

She confirmed this pessimism, and Manners, a dark,
impassive-featured, slender man, came up and said coolly, "Sir?"

"Cut the reins from the greys. Fast."

Manners was gone.

Looking down at the small, desperately gripping hands and the
petrifying drop below them, Euphemia opened her mouth to call
encouragement.

Strong fingers clamped ruthlessly over her lips. "No sympathy,
for Lord's sake! If the boy loves you, that very love may weaken him."
He withdrew his hand. "What's his name?"

However irked she might be by such arrogance, she could not
but accept the wisdom of his words, and replied, "Kent."

"Hey, there Kent!" he shouted, tossing his jacket aside. "I'm
coming down after you. If you let go before I get there—I'll blister
your rump!" He slanted a faint grin at Euphemia. "Your pardon, ma'am.
Oh, good man! And already tied." He tugged at the thin leathers Manners
handed him and nodded his approval, then came to the edge and played
the impromptu rope downward. "Not long enough. Dammit! Ma'am, I'll
essay that climb, but a fly I am not. Your pelisse, by your leave." It
was off in a flash, and Euphemia fighting against shivering from both
cold and apprehension, as he used his pocket knife to slash it into
four strips. He tied knots dextrously and tested them hard but, still
not satisfied, proceeded to rend his coat in like fashion. When the
last strip was tied, he muttered, "That should suffice." He secured one
end of the rope about his lean middle, his eyes searching about. His
horses would have been invaluable, but the great mound of earth and
rubble completely blocked the road. Close at hand, a downed tree
offered an up-thrusting splintered, but solid-looking, branch.
"Manners." He pointed. "Use that." He thrust the rope at his groom and
strode towards the rim.

Euphemia's heart was thundering. The leather looked so thin,
and her pelisse and his coat bulky and unreliable. Two lives would
depend upon that clumsy line. Manners, echoing her thoughts, said a
worried, "Mr. Garret, I—"

His employer was already sitting with his legs over the edge.
"Blast your eyes, hasten!" he commanded, but his brilliant grin flashed
an appreciation of the solicitude. The groom shook his head, took up
the slack, and looped the rope about the branch, holding the free end
firmly. "Play it out evenly, now," cautioned Mr. Garret. He swung
around, gripped the edge with both hands for a second, then lowered
himself.

Euphemia's breathing seemed to stop. The dark head swung
perilously beneath her, but she saw that he was leaning against the
rope, bracing himself with his feet as he backed down. He seemed, she
thought gratefully, to know what he was about. The wind was blowing the
fine cambric of the white shirt, and she noted absently the breadth of
the shoulders and the ripple of the muscles. He must be half frozen,
but he was a splendid athlete, no doubt of that. He was also solidly
powerful; Manners, more slenderly built, would never have been able to
haul him up! She turned back, intending to offer her help, and was
greatly relieved to see Neeley, battered and bloody, but assisting in
the playing out of the rope. Peering anxiously over the edge, she could
still see Kent's hands, and then Garret, far down on the outcropping,
roared, "More, for God's Sake! About six feet! Hurry!"

She relayed the information to the men at the tree and saw the
rope slacken. Too fast! she thought and, sure enough, heard a
blistering outburst of cursing from beneath the outcropping.

"Hold up now!" shouted Mr. Garret, and she waved an imperative
summons to Manners. She could not see either man or child, and there
was no sound for a few seconds. Then she heard the rumble of Garret's
voice, followed by a sudden sharp crack, a shout, and the rope became
taut. She whispered, "My God… My God!"

A considerably breathless voice restored her heartbeat. "Haul…
away!"

The men hauled obediently, and the leather became appallingly
taut. It must not snap… it
must
not! Shaking with
cold and anxiety, her head splitting, Euphemia peered downward. Mr.
Garret's wind-tossed hair came first into view, and she saw that he was
trying to ease the pressure on the rope by again half-walking. She saw
also, with a great surge of thankfulness, that he held Kent, not on his
back, as she would have supposed, but clinging around his neck, so that
the man's arms were an added protection about him.

Her relief was short-lived. The rope seemed to slip backward a
little, and she saw Garret flash a tense glance upward. One of the
seams in the coat was unravelling! Before her horrified eyes, the
garment, still several feet below the edge, began to pull apart.
Momentarily frozen with terror, she heard Mr. Garret's harsh, "Take
him! Quick!" He was holding the boy upright, the small feet on his
chest, the hands reaching to her. Without an instant's hesitation she
flung herself flat and stretched down her arms. She could just barely
feel Kent's fingertips. Garret managed another step. She heard a
ripping sound, but she had those frail hands fast gripped now. A
startled cry rang out, and the boy was a dead weight. She thought
anguishedly, It broke! That brave man is dead! But then, beyond Kent's
white terror-stricken face, she saw that by some mighty effort Mr.
Garret, freed of the encumbrance of the boy, had managed to grab the
parting rope just above the ripped fabric and clung, with both hands,
to the leather strap.

Kent was astoundingly heavy, and for once she was glad to be
tall and strong. She pulled with all her might but with little success,
until strong hands came to aid her, and Neeley was dragging Kent over
the rim. She saw Mr. Garret, climbing hand over hand up the rope.
Sitting up, she took the shuddering child in her arms, and he clung to
her, sobbing in silent hysteria.

Neeley was reaching down again. "Jolly well done, sir!" he
cried, and Mr. Garret hove into view and seconds later was sitting
close by, head down, panting heavily.

Only then did Euphemia recall that her brother still lay hurt
and alone. Gently, she put Kent aside, clambered to her feet, and
tottered towards the carriage. Vaguely, she knew that Manners was
bending over his employer, and that Neeley was comforting the boy. She
was weeping now, feeling sick from the reaction, and her head hurt so.
The landscape began to blur and waver before her eyes. I cannot faint
yet, she thought doggedly. A strong arm was supporting her, and she
leaned gratefully against a white shirt, saw it spotted with crimson
and glanced up to discover Mr. Garret beside her, an ugly laceration
above his right eye. He had, she thought numbly, very fine eyes, the
grey emphasized by a dark band around the outer rim of the iris…

Her last sensation was of being swept up and held like a child
in his arms. She had not been lifted so in years… he must be very
strong. She felt perfectly safe…

"Of course I intend to lay her upon a bed! Had you the
ornamental water in mind?"

The words were uttered in a low but irked tone, and
interrupted Euphemia's comfortable doze. She did not quite hear the
words the woman spoke but was amused by the snorted vehemence of the
male voice. "D'ye take me for a gapeseed? Be assured I know it. But her
brother's with her and—"

Simon! Euphemia's eyes shot open. She was not in the rocking
coach as she'd drowsily supposed. Instead, she was being carried
through a room redolent with the smell of burning logs and lit by a
warm, glowing light. Above her was a high and splendidly plastered
ceiling. She realized that her head had fallen back, and raising it a
little saw a very long and wide hall, charmingly furnished, and
decorated throughout in shades of blue, gold, and cream.

"So you are awake," said Mr. Garret in a gentler fashion.
"Parsley!"

That commanding shout sent Euphemia's hand to her aching brow.

"You've a fine lump," he nodded. "My apologies!" And in a
fierce whisper, "Aunt Carlotta,
where
is that
blasted idiot of a butler?"

"He is attending to the bedrooms. Now pray do not be provoked.
You yourself told the maids they might go to help decorate the Church
Hall."

Mr. Garret now turned into a huge circular central area, this
floored with exquisite parquetry and decorated in a continuation of the
main theme. Brocaded blue and cream draperies, tied back by
gold-tasselled cords, hung at the many windows; giant double doors at
the left apparently constituted the main entrance, and from the centre
of the room a graceful staircase spiralled upwards.

Awed, Euphemia murmured, "I would like to be put down, if you
please."

"So you shall," he whispered, his eyes glinting at her. "Upon
a bed. And why in the devil couldn't Mrs. Henderson attend to the
bedrooms?"