Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (16 page)

Fervently wishing himself dead, Alain Devenish dragged his
unco-operative body out of the ditch and again sprawled, face down, at
the side of the lane, too nauseated to move another inch. He had, he
told himself fuzzily, probably felt worse in his life. He could not
remember when. His head ached dully, he felt wretchedly ill, and his
leg was pounding so that he clutched at it miserably. Dimly, he was
nudged by a sense of urgency; of something vital he must accomplish
with the least possible delay, and obedient to that spur he struggled
upwards, fighting the nausea until it overwhelmed him and he sank down
and was very sick. For a while he lay still, not thinking at all,
drenched in a cold sweat and lacking the strength of a newborn kitten.
But gradually he began to feel less limp and, after what seemed a very
long time, he crept slowly to his knees and thence to his feet. The
lane, the dark loom of hedges, the violet skies of evening, tilted
slowly to the right. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and hung
on. When he peeped through his lashes once more, the countryside had
righted itself. His first few steps were uncertain, but in a little
while he was going along less erratically. Still, it was several more
minutes before he began to wonder why he was here, and where "here" was.

Puzzled, he slowed, then stopped. A large badger, very wet,
trotted busily into the lane, paused to shake itself, then froze,
petrified, as it saw the human so near to it. There was water nearby,
then, thought Devenish. The badger watched, undecided as to whether a
retreat or an attack was indicated. Devenish started to bow, thought
better of it, and said softly, "Good evening, Mr. Badger. Alain
Devenish at your service." The badger abandoned its deliberations and
waited fearlessly. Devenish put it in possession of the fact that he
had been properly hornswoggled. "I was," he advised, "half suffocated,
drugged, and tossed into a ditch. And let me tell you, sir, that if the
party I suspect of this dastardly crime was in truth responsible, it is
a miracle I yet live!" The badger took a few unhurried steps. "Off to
your club, eh?" said Devenish. "Then, if you've no objection, I do
believe I shall avail myself of your bath." The badger paused, twitched
its long whiskers, and went upon its way.

Devenish watched it, a faint smile lurking about his mouth,
then turned aside, crossed the ditch, found a break in the hedgerow and
emerged into a wide meadow that sloped downwards to a distant gleam
that was the river. Starting thitherward with quickening step, he
tensed and stopped.
Yolande
! His lovely little
lady was at the mercy of that miserable libertine, Garvey! Trusting
him! Supposing him to be—what was it she'd said? "All that is
conciliating!" He thought, "
Conciliating
! My God!"
He must get to her, and as fast as may be! But starting off, he again
checked, the sense that he was followed bringing a recollection of the
vicious assault in the stable. He swung around, ready for battle, his
keen eyes scanning the quiet loom of the hedge. But there was no
movement this time; no rush of dark forms, no sickly-smelling rag to be
clapped over his nostrils with the resultant and immediate weakness
that had been so swiftly followed by unconsciousness. Perhaps it was
only the badger, who had decided to come this way after all. He resumed
his route. "Not too sociable creatures, badgers," he advised a field
mouse as it scampered past. "But far more decent," he went on, his
usually humorous mouth settling into a stern line, "than many of us who
walk on two legs!"

The evening air was sweet with the scents of damp earth and
honeysuckle, and vibrant with the small, myriad voices of the night
dwellers; the warning call of an owl, the pattering progress of some
water rat or mole, countless chirps and rustlings that ceased abruptly
as Devenish approached the river. Coming to the bank, he sat down,
pulled off boots and stockings, divested himself of coat, cravat, and
shirt, rolled up his breeches, and stepped gingerly into the water. He
gasped and danced a little to that icy immersion, but waded deeper,
bent, and with the aid of his handkerchief managed to wash himself
quite well. The cold water took his breath but set his skin to tingling
and his head began to throb less viciously. When he felt sufficiently
cleansed, he trod rapidly up the bank, and then stood very still,
listening.

The sounds of the night had resumed when he'd begun to take
off his clothes, but now all was very silent. The breathless hush was
of itself a warning. He thought, "So I was right the first time!"

"You might as well have taked off the lot," said a clear,
childish voice. "You're all over wetness."

Devenish, who had jumped at the first word, now continued up
the bank, peering at the small, dark outline beside his discarded
garments. "Who the deuce are you?" he enquired, then hopped as he trod
on a sharp pebble and added an exasperated, "Dammitall!"

The small figure backed away.

"My apologies. No—do not go away," Devenish pleaded. "What are
you doing out alone after dark like this? You should be laid down upon
your bed."

"Never mind about me," said the child with surprising
firmness. "I may be all of my ownness. But I is not touched in the
upper works."

Devenish was beginning to shiver. "N-no more than I. Are you a
boy?"

" 'Course. What are you going to dry on?"

"My shirt." He took it up and began to scrub vigorously. "It
will dry as I go along. And because a fellow bathes in the river, don't
mean he's a looby."

"Anyone what puts his whole self—or most of it—into the river
at night, is crazy. But it ain't 'cause of that I thinked it. I heered
you talking to the badger."

Beginning to feel a little warmer, Devenish laughed, pulled
the shirt briskly back and forth across his shoulders, then shook it
out and began to put it on. "So you were watching, were you? I thought
someone was. As for the badger—well, when a fellow's alone he talks to
all manner of things. I didn't frighten him, you know."

"I know. You got Rat Paws."

"I've—
what
?"

The child shrank back behind one protectively upflung arm.
"Don't ye clout me! Oh, don't you never clout me!"

"Curse and confound it!" fumed Devenish. "I'm not going to hit
you. Put your blasted arm down at once!"

With slow caution that guarding arm was lowered. A scared
voice whimpered, "Lor', but you get so cross, so quick! I be afeared!"

Devenish winced. Even from this unknown child! "My wretched
temper," he muttered contritely. "I'm sorry, boy. Now, tell me why you
made that revol—er, that unkind remark about my hands." He held out one
slim, neatly manicured member and peered at it by the light of the
rising half-moon. "They ain't that bad, surely?"

"Rat Paws don't mean
hands
! Cor!" the
scorn was apparent. "Don't you know
nothink
? It
means as you understand the little people. Animals."

"Does it, by Jove!" Devenish pulled on his jacket. "Well, I'll
be dashed! Rat Paws, eh? And how did you know, my elf, that I've a way
with animals?"

The child sighed and shook his head at this inexplicable
obtuseness. "Because of the badger, 'course," he explained patiently.
"He would've either runned off or gived you a good bite if you didn't
have the Rat Paws. Not many does. I don't. But I seen it before. Among
the Folk."

"Aha!" Devenish felt in his pockets. "So you're a gypsy lad,
are you?"

The child sprang up and crouched, hissing furiously. "Go on!
Count it! Count it! See if I cares! I didn't prig nothink!"

"I doubt there was anything to prig. Someone was before you, I
fear."

The boy sniffed and sat down with the unaffected, loose-limbed
slump of childhood. "I bean't surprised. You deserve it for being
indecent."

"Good God!" Devenish abandoned his hopeful but doomed search
for any kind of cash or pawnable item still remaining about his person.
"
Now
what are you accusing me of? Because I took
off my shirt? Did it offend you to look upon my nakedness, Master
Virtuous, you should have continued about your probably nefarious
pursuits!"

There was a brief pause, then the boy remarked thoughtfully,
"I don't know what all them jawbreakers means. But I heered you say the
badger he was more decent than what you is. And badgers are not always
nice."

Devenish chuckled. "Well, that wasn't quite what I meant. Now,
sirrah, I think I shall walk with you so far as your cottage—or do you
dwell in a caravan, perhaps? Anyway, I'll see you safe home. Which way?
And by the by, where are we?" The small stocking-capped head turned to
him with incredulity. "I was robbed in St. Albans," he explained, "and
thrown in a ditch not far away from here, but I've no least idea where
I am."

"Lawks! A rank rider?" The boy moved a step closer and looked
around uneasily.

"Something like that." Devenish dropped a reassuring hand onto
a very frail shoulder. "Never fear, laddie. He's far off by this time."

"I hopes as how he is. We're on the outside of Cricklade."

Devenish knit his brows. "Oh, then that's the Thames, is it?
Jove! I've a school friend lives nearby, just past Tewkesbury."

"Tewkesbury!" The boy gave a muffled snort and began to move
off. "It's this way. There's a sign at the crossroads."

Following, Devenish scanned him narrowly. How thin he was,
poor shrimp. Likely half-starved, and although he moved along well, his
stride was short and cautious as he picked his way across the meadow.
It was too dark to see the face and, beyond noting how peaked it
seemed, the eyes dark shadows in that pale oval, Devenish had no clear
impression of his looks. There was an inconsistency about his speech
that was intriguing. Although he used cant terms and his grammar was
atrocious, the h's and g's were largely intact, and just now he had
said with surprising precision, "badgers are not always nice." Odd.
Recalling his last succinct exclamation, Devenish enquired, "What's
wrong with Tewkesbury?"

"Nought. Be ye going to walk?"

"
Touche
! I suppose…" he frowned, "I've no
choice." And then, resenting a scornful "Hah!" he demanded, "And why
should that disgust you?"

" 'Cause you be a nob. And nobs don't walk better'n thirty
miles."

"Surprising as it may seem to you, young sir," said Devenish
loftily, "I have been on the padding lay before. Now then"—he indicated
the row of shabby cottages they were approaching—"is this where you
live?" The boy nodded and led the way to a gate that drooped in a
picket fence sadly lacking paint.

Devenish closed the gate behind him, waved cheerily, and went
on his way. "Strange little duck," he mused, then glanced back
curiously. It was stranger that a gypsy should live in a cottage, but
perhaps the child's parents had tired of the nomadic life. At all
events, it was none of his bread and butter. But, by gad! when he and
Yolande set up their nursery the children would not be permitted to
wander about the countryside after dark! Yolande… His eyes softened to
a surge of tenderness. God love her sweet soul, already he missed her
damnably! He squared his shoulders. "Tewkesbury. Thirty miles. Lord!"

He stepped out briskly and soon came to the fork in the land,
the signpost pointing south to Swindon, and northwest to the Cotswolds,
beyond which lay Tewkesbury and the home of Valentine Montclair.
Perhaps he might advance faster by retreating, for Swindon, on
horseback at least, was not far from the Leith's country seat,
Cloudhills, where he could be sure of a warm welcome and the loan of a
chaise and pair, even if Tristram was from home. But he
had
no horse, and Cloudhills was as far as Tewkesbury and in the wrong
blasted direction! He'd never visited Montclair's country place, but
Val had been a fine fellow at Harrow, and would most certainly do all
he might to aid a former schoolmate.

Not until he had walked a long way did it occur to him that
Craig might be the villain who'd had him abducted, so that he might
dishonourably pursue his cousin's lady without fear of interruption. He
halted, scowling, but almost immediately grinned and shook his head.
Never. Tyndale, whatever else he might be, was a gentleman.

The gentleman in question was at that very moment lowering
himself to the ground, having accomplished which, he stretched out his
long legs and leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes. The
cut above his right temple had stopped bleeding, but the blow must have
jarred halfway down his spine, and each hair on his head seemed to
throb. He had not the remotest idea of where he was, but considering
England was such a tiny island, it was amazing he'd not walked clear
across it. The lanes went on and on, one succeeding another, the
occasional signposts all too often extending invitations from towns
he'd never heard of, and only his small knowledge of celestial
navigation enabling him to constantly head north. He sighed. He'd
endured worse pain than that which he now suffered, but, Jupiter, he'd
be glad to be rid of it! Still, he mustn't lounge here for long. If
what Devenish had said was true, and as far-fetched as it seemed, Dev
was not the kind to lie, then the beautiful Yolande was in real peril.
A man who would betray his country was capable of any villainy, Tyndale
sighed again. He was so very tired. He could not guess at the hour, and
his watch was gone, along with his ring. He didn't mind the watch so
much, but the ring had belonged to his father and carried the family
crest. Blast those… misbegotten…

He awoke shivering and soaked. More rain! It was a wonder this
little island stayed afloat! He knew he'd slept only a short while, but
it was very cold now, and the rain becoming a downpour. He struggled up
and trudged through the puddles, concentrating on Yolande's lovely
eyes, and the proud rage that had flashed in them so adorably
yesterday… Or was it yesterday? Gad, but he was cold, and to add to his
misery, a chill wind was rising, cutting icily through his wet clothes.
A gate banged to a sudden gust. His teeth beginning to chatter, Tyndale
drew his jacket closer, tucked his hands under his arms, and kept
moving. A flickering glow of lightning illumined a cluster of distant,
dilapidated farm buildings. The gate slammed again and he saw that it
was not a gate, but the door to a small shed located only a few yards
from the lane. Part of the farm, no doubt, but hidden from it by a
stand of trees. He halted and scrutinized the shed with interest. A
glance at the house verified that not a light shone. They would
certainly be asleep at this hour. He scaled the low wall in a quick
leap and again searched the gloom for irate men, or dogs. He'd had
enough truck with dogs to last him for a while. But all was quiet, save
for the depressing beat of the rain. He crept to the swinging door and
peered inside. A toolshed, having among all the muddy impedimenta, a
pile of dry sacks.