Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (19 page)

"You are a stupid!" she flared, clenching her hands as she
railed at him. "I hope your Nerina
does
marry
you! It would serve you right to spend the rest of your life listening
to her foolishness— when you were not gambling away
her
fortune!"

Harry brandished the small club and warned, "Now you listen to
me, my girl! I have endured about enough of—" And he stopped, gazing in
stunned disbelief at what he held. "Where did you get this?"

Struck by the change in his manner, she replied, "It was in
the cart. I found it when I was searching for the rolling pin. Why?"

He tore his eyes from the crown atop that truncheon and asked,
"Do you know what it is?"

"But of course. It is a little bludgeon—or club—with a knob on
one end. It is quite heavy. I suppose Diccon carries it for protection.
He does not care for firearms, you know. And I am glad I hit that
beast, for he struck you with a great branch. Most dreadfully hard. I
wish I had killed him!"

"Killed who?" asked Diccon, ambling into the clearing. His
eyes flashed to Harry. "Trouble? I see you found my baton." He reached
to take it, grinning broadly. "Didn't know as how I was a Runner, did
you?"

"What I'd
like
to know," smiled Harry,
"is how you came by it."

"Three of my papa's men found me!" Nanette interposed
urgently. "Hideous great smelly ruffians! They sought to drag me off,
but I screamed, and Mr. Fox shouted, and Harry came. And he fought
them! Oh, Diccon!" Her hands clasped, her small face suffused with a
flush of excitement. "If you could have but
seen
him! So brave! And so terrible! He knocked the biggest one down, and
then the other also, but another came and crept around behind him, and—"

"She crowned him with your baton," Harry laughed. "Like a
regular Amazon!"

"Amazon!" she expostulated with a flash of her big eyes.

"Oh—well, I mean, with incredible courage," he amended
hastily. "Whilst I was like so much dead meat."

"No! Do not heed him, Diccon. He was splendid! Only when the
other pig hit him across the back with a branch, he could not jump up
right away."

Diccon's faint amusement gave way to concern. "You all right,
Harry? You took a nasty one at Rodrigo."

Harry had no recollection of having mentioned that fact and
frowned his perplexity. Before he could speak, however, Nanette cried,
"Ah! Now this I did not know!" She grasped his arm and pulled him
towards the tent. "In with you! You shall rest, mighty warrior, while I
prepare your victory feast."

Her program sounded delightful but he said gravely, "I fear
our victory feast must wait, little one."

"Right," sighed Diccon, relinquishing his plans to settle down
beside the fire. "What we got to do now is to move camp. Less'n we want
more unexpected visitors. I think we'll let our military gent drive the
cart. He's likely had a bit of experience at leaving no tracks behind."

The 'military gent' smiled grimly. "Do our three valiant girl
snatchers pass this way again, they'll think Mr. Fox grew wings!"

The sun was almost down now and the purple shadows of dusk
were creeping into the little glade beyond Alfriston where they had at
length decided to halt for the night. Harry accepted the tin cup Diccon
brought to him, rose from the stool beside the fire, and lifting his
cup, saluted "A lady who is as brave as she is lovely."

Nanette glanced up from her kettle in pleased surprise. Harry
took a sip of the brandy and, watching her over the rim of the cup,
knew with a touch of nostalgia that he would always remember her like
this, the flames lighting her face with a dancing glow, her eyes very
bright, that half-smile hovering about her lips. Lowering the cup, he
smiled back at her. And at once she blushed, while her thick, curling
lashes dropped in confusion. His heart beginning to beat very fast, he
took an instinctive step towards her.

"
Does
ye think she's pretty?" Diccon
asked softly.

Harry, who had completely forgotten the Trader was present,
checked and sat down again hurriedly. "Why, yes. In her own way."

"Aye." With a sigh of contentment, Diccon at last assumed his
favourite position and, stretching out his long legs, murmured, "A
man'd have t'be a blind fool not to see it." A faint smile lurked in
the blue eyes, and Harry reddened and said defensively, "Yes—er… well,
Jove! That
awful
face she pulled!"

Diccon chuckled. "Near split me sides each time she done it.
If you could've seen your expression!"

"I saw hers!"

"Aye. Well, she'd reason enough, poor lass."

"Indeed?" flared Harry haughtily. "Against me, sir?"

Diccon raised one hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Don't
frizzle your ears! If I'd thought that, I'd never have let you come
along."

"I'm glad you did. Lord, but I wish you could have seen her!
To think of a tiny girl like her having the nerve to whack that hulking
lout on the noggin!"

"She's a rare one, all right."

"With a rare imagination. You'd not believe the whiskers she
spun me! One would suppose her father to be a veritable prince of
darkness!"

Diccon's gaunt face became unwontedly grim. "There's things
walking about on two legs, Harry, as I'd be downright ashamed to
interduce to Mr. Fox as men!" He took a healthy swallow of his cognac
and was sufficiently strengthened as to sit up and lean forward. "Way I
sees it," he said softly. "She's a spirited little thing and fighting
as best she knows. But her papa's got the law on his side, and he ain't
the kind to care fer public opinion; nor her the kind to get her
friends mixed up in it 'less'n she must. Only thing I can think to do
is get her to her aunty, like I promised."

Troubled, Harry's eyes followed the girl as she bustled about,
singing happily to herself. Was the poor little shrew really a victim
of brutal avarice? If so, he'd been a perfect clot! Totally lacking
sympathy and understanding. Squirming inwardly, he found Diccon's
twinkling eyes upon him and said, "I only hope she is not seen with us.
It would, I fear, put her into a most unhappy situation."

Diccon turned also to look at the busy cook and muttered, "If
her papa comes up with us, friend Harry, you and I will have a deal
more to cope with than a unhappy sityation!"

Harry had come to love dinner time and their easy conversation
as they ate around the fire. Tonight, however, although he took his
part in the talk, he was preoccupied, his thoughts turning ever to the
morrow. He would see Lady Nerina again! Anticipation made his heart
race. Would she remember him at all… ?

"Troopers and special police all over the place," Diccon
grumbled.

Harry gave a start. "Where? Lewes?"

"Aye. More excitement than you'd've seen in a month o'Sundays
in the old days. They was even some young bloods from London. All after
the reward."

"Reward? What reward?"

"Some child's been stole, and the poor family has put up a
tidy sum for information."

"And so the greedy vultures gather," frowned Nanette, standing
and taking the empty plates.

"I could use a reward myself," said Harry thoughtfully. "And
if there's one thing I despise it's anyone who would harm a child. A
girl, Diccon?"

"Fraid so."' He shook his head. "World's losing it's morals,
so it is."

Nanette was singing as she carried the kettle to the pan on
the table and began to wash the crockery. Her voice was not strong, but
she carried the tune truly. She had tied a red shawl about her
shoulders, the rich colour matching the ribbons that held her braids.
Harry went over to help and urged her to go on singing. She did so,
shyly at first, but gathering confidence until she faltered, unable to
recall the words. He prompted her in his rich baritone, "… thy
neighboring hills

"What a nice voice!" she exclaimed, putting the plates into
the box. "Sing with me, Harry!"

And so they sang together and were soon joined by another
voice—the pure, soaring notes of Diccon's violin. Nanette clapped her
hands delightedly when the song was finished, but the evening air was
growing cool, and as they went to the fire, she shivered a little.
Harry took off his jacket and wrapped it about her. She looked so
absurdly small that he said she was more like a little bird than a girl
and, swinging her off her feet, deposited her on the stool and sat
close beside her as Diccon launched into a rousing version of
"A'Hunting We Will Go"!

And so the pleasant hours passed. The fire leapt and crackled;
the air was brisk and clean, full of the sweet smells of earth and
blossoms and wood smoke; and the moon crept higher until the trees
stood like black etchings against a silver sky. The violin, Nanette's
husky soprano, and Harry's deep tones entwined through one song after
another. He also forgot the words in the midst of "The Mermaid," and
his improvisation brought a shout of laughter from Diccon, while
Nanette yanked at his hair in mock indignation. He threw his head back
against her knee and laughed up at her, and when he straightened, her
hand slipped onto his shoulder. It seemed so natural, so as it should
be. But looking down at his tumbled dark hair, her voice shook a
little. And watching her. Diccon's eyes grew troubled.

The many-paned windows of the village shop positively sparkled
with cleanliness. The display area was immaculate, the beaded green and
white reticule tastefully placed beside the green sunshade. On the
stand, the white gown of sprig muslin with pale green ribands beneath
the bodice and laced through the tiny puff sleeves, was dainty and
charming. Harry looked through the windowpanes with not one whit of
appreciation for their spotless shine, however, and the rest of the
display escaped him entirely, as he gazed at the muslin gown with
helpless longing. How sweet Nanette would look in that gown. Almost he
could picture her in it. Never before had he so desired anything, and
never before had he been so totally unable to purchase what he desired.
He smiled wryly, recalling the emerald and diamond necklace he had
bestowed on the last barque of frailty to live under his protection,
and the ruby encrusted comb that had brought such a sparkle to the eyes
of his little Spanish ladybird. And now, a simple muslin gown that
probably cost five shillings at the most might as well have been a
hundred carat diamond, so totally was it beyond his reach. He turned
sadly away.

Diccon had driven on to "The Star," where Nanette wished to
have a private cose with her schoolfriend. She had told Harry he was
not to come to the inn until at least eleven o'clock, so he had plenty
of time.

He glanced again at the muslin gown. It was quite useless, of
course… He strode up the step and entered, bowing his head to avoid the
low lintel. As he straightened, his eyes were level with the chin of a
giant of a woman, and he was so startled he all but took a step back.
She stood at least five inches over six feet, and there was little
doubt but that she indulged a hearty appetite. Several double chins
were ranked above the small ruff of her vast dove grey gown; her bosom
was of awesome proportions, and the arms that were folded across it
would have done justice to a wrestler. Her hair was black and glossy
and arranged into tight curls of such profusion as to be suspect, and
they framed a face that seemed composed of two round and rosy cheeks,
between which a tiny nose, blue eyes, and a little rosebud mouth were
all but lost. Instinctively, Harry's eyes shot to the narrow door and,
reading his thoughts, she chuckled and said in a rumble of a voice,
"There be another door out back, sir. Twice that size. Else I'd have to
conduct me business outside!" The folded arms began to heave up and
down, the grey gown shook violently, the small mouth widened, and the
eyes disappeared totally. From within this formidable lady came a great
wheezing explosion of mirth, a sound so contagious that Harry could
only join in. It ceased as suddenly as it had begun and, wiping at the
folds of her cheeks, she removed her handerchief to again reveal those
two bright blue slits that were her eyes. "I seed ye look at the
muslin. What size be your lady, sir?"

Harry held his hand beneath his chin. "The top of her head
comes to here."

"A little'un, bean't she? My husband now… he do be just about
your size."

"Is he now?" murmured Harry politely. And he thought, "Gad!"

"Ar," she chortled knowingly. "That there frock would be just
the right size. Be she pretty ?"

"Yes, indeed she is. And—if she had some ribbons for her hair…"

Before he could finish, her hand darted out and clasped across
the pudgy palm she extended were several loops of ribbon exactly the
shade of those on the muslin gown. "Six shillings the lot," she rumbled.

"I should not have come in and wasted your time, ma'am," he
said ruefully. "I do apologize," and he turned to leave.

"Cannot always have what we want, can we?" she said
sympathetically, her eyes scrutinizing him with an odd intensity. "Take
my husband, now. He always longed to go to one o'them there fancy
London tailors. Never could, a'course. But he do be a fine figure of a
man. Like yourself. That there jacket o'yourn now. Would
that
be from a fancy London tailor—by any chance?"

"Yes, ma'am. Though it has seen better days, I fear." Harry
looked down regretfully at Bertie Schofield's somewhat tattered garment.

"Ar—but…
which
one?" she persisted.

"As a matter of fact, it is by Weston."

"Ar. Western…" She fixed him with a shrewd stare. "And does
lots o'lords, and sirs, and honourables—that sort—does
they
go to this here Western?"

"Indeed they do, ma'am. He has, I believe, dressed the Regent,
and—"