Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (26 page)

The Bo'sun was proud of his patient's rapid progress, and as
the door swung open he was saying eagerly, "… may not be quite as you'd
expected, doctor."

The floor shook to Sheswell's heavy tread. "I can but hope
you're wrong, Dod—" The great voice stilled.

Montclair smiled as the doctor stood perfectly still, staring
at him. "Good afternoon, Sheswell." His voice was firmer today, and he
was able to raise his left hand steadily. It fell back, however, as the
doctor did not move but continued to stand as if frozen, his eyes
fairly goggling.

"Thought you'd be surprised, sir," chuckled the Bo'sun.

Sheswell gave a start. "Amazed is more like," he exclaimed,
coming to take up Montclair's hand vigorously. "By all the gods, I
cannot believe it!" He peered into the sick man's eyes, felt the pale
forehead, and exclaimed, "You've done exceeding well, Dodman. Jove, but
you have! Fever down, some colour in the cheeks, eyes clear! How does
the head feel, Mr. Montclair? Still have some beastly headaches, I'll
warrant. Have to expect those for a long time to come, and you'll
likely find your reasoning confused. Natural. Quite natural."

He proceeded to examine the almost-healed head injury, and the
splints on the broken hand and the leg were checked. "Well, well," the
doctor said jovially, "you'll be up and trotting about in a day or two,
eh, sir?"

"That would be splendid," said Montclair, rather short of
breath. "I've been sitting up every afternoon, and I stood yesterday,
with the Bo'sun's help."

"I think the doctor's teasing, sir," Dodman put in smilingly.

Sheswell laughed. "Not a bit of it, m'dear fellow. Do him the
world of good. I'll have some crutches sent over this afternoon."

"Crutches!" gasped Dodman, startled. "But, sir—how can he
manage crutches with only one hand?"

"Perhaps I can get about with just one," put in Montclair
eagerly. "Eh, Sheswell?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Montclair. But I think we can contrive to strap
the right crutch to your elbow, so you'll have some control over it.
Awkward, but it might serve. Meanwhile, we can shorten the leg splints
so you can get about easier. Let's have these off now…"

The next half-hour was unpleasant, and by the time the doctor
left, Montclair felt worn, and fell asleep before he could see
Priscilla.

In the downstairs hall, Dodman said hesitantly, "A little
rough for him, wasn't it, sir?"

The physician shook his head. "Don't do to coddle 'em, m'dear
chap. Sooner they're up and about, the better. Especially in a case
like this. You'll be needing some more medicine, I fancy. Wonderful
what it can do, ain't it? Not that Montclair was all that badly off, as
I said.

Still, I'll have some sent over with the crutches. Might be an
idea to increase the dosage. Just as a precaution, y'know. You've been
managing to get some food into the poor chap by the look of things, eh?
Excellent. You're a dashed good man, Dodman. Don't be surprised do I
refer some of my less serious cases to you. You ought to get yourself a
licence, damme if you oughtn't!"

Dodman flushed with pleasure. Almost, he confessed how he and
Mrs. Sue had supplemented Dr. Sheswell's orders, but the physician was
so delighted it seemed expedient to leave well enough alone.

That night a keen wind came in from the east, and by morning
one might have thought it October rather than early July. The gusts
shook the old house and whined in the chimneys, while leaden clouds
brought a steady cold rain. The inclement weather did not keep people
indoors, apparently. Soon after breakfast Montclair prevailed upon the
Bo'sun to shave him, and he was staring somewhat aghast at the
reflection of his drawn white face and sunken eyes when he heard a
familiar and piercing voice.

Dodman took the mirror and the shaving impedimenta and all but
ran from the room. A twittering Martha Reedham bustled about tidying
the bed, plumping Montclair's pillows, and smoothing the counterpane.
In another minute Mrs. Starr, her lips tightly pursed with disapproval,
ushered in Sir Selby and Lady Trent.

Montclair had wanted them to come, but perversely, the
recollection of their parting now came so clearly into his mind that he
was speechless.

Lady Trent suffered no such inhibitions. She rushed to the
bed, bent over her nephew, and kissed his cheek, marvelling that he yet
lived, and mourning that they had been unable to see him before this.
"If you knew how frightful it has been! The newspapers, and the
Runners, and to add to the rest, we have been plagued by an endless
stream of pushing people calling themselves your friends, some you've
not seen for years, I am very sure! The horrid busybodies! I wonder I
have survived it!"

"Truly frightful," agreed Sir Selby, clinging to Montclair's
wasted left hand and patting it repeatedly. "You may be assured the
criminals will be tracked down and brought to justice! But you look
much improved from the last time we saw you. You won't remember that
visit of course, poor fellow." His pale eyes scanned Montclair's face
narrowly. "Jove, but youth is astonishing! I must admit we were loath
to abandon you in this house, dear lad, but you were in no condition to
be moved."

Lady Trent's thin lips quivered, and she gave it as her
opinion it was a marvel that he still lived. "Heaven knows what these
dreadful people might have done," she observed. "Three times we have
come and been turned away on the grounds you was too ill to be
disturbed, though I doubt you was even told of it, unhappy boy. When
first I heard you had been struck down so savagely, I fainted dead
away. Did I not, Trent?" Not waiting for a confirmation, she shrilled
on. "The strain was… dreadful! Almost beyond my powers to support." She
vanished into her handkerchief. "We all were worried to death! I vow, I
wonder my poor heart did not break!"

Montclair wondered where her heart had been when she'd offered
to give him a "pity party," but, helpless in the face of feminine
tears, he assured her that he was feeling very much better and was much
obliged to Lyddford and Mrs. Henley for their excellent care of him.

"Obliged, is it?" flared my lady, forgetting her grief
abruptly. "If my suspicions are correct, Montclair, Dr. Sheswell's
instructions have been poorly kept. Why, he thought you would be better
in no time, whereas you almost… And to see you—like this… poor
shattered invalid! We ought never to have left you in their hands. But
we did what we thought right at the time. Always your best interests
have weighed with me. Heaven knows I have
tried
to make a good home for you, little as you've appreciated my poor
efforts."

Unable to restrain himself, he said coolly, "To the contrary,
I am quite aware of your efforts at Longhills, ma'am. Speaking of
which—how is my cousin Barbara?"

Lady Trent's lips settled into a thin line. "She is happily
planning her wedding."

"And has been exceeding anxious to see you," murmured Sir
Selby.

"Did you bring her with you, then?" asked Montclair eagerly.

"To
this
house?" shrilled his aunt. "I
hope
I am a better parent than to allow my daughter to set foot under this
roof while That Woman resides here!"

Trent said, "Babs awaits you at home."

"How relieved you will be to be in your own bed at last," Lady
Trent purred. "We have brought your man to help carry you to the
carriage. Trent, do you ring the bell and tell them to send Gould up."

Her husband moved to the bellpull.

"I am not ready to come home yet," said Montclair.

"Of course you are ready," his aunt's voice rose. "Why would
you wish to stay in this dreadful place when Longhills awaits you?"

"The boy is still weak," soothed Trent. "We must make
allowances. But we will keep a very easy pace, dear lad, and you will
be carried, so there's no cause for alarm." The all too familiar set of
his nephew's pale lips inspired him to add hurriedly, "You really must
leave these premises, Valentine. We are far past the date specified for
the eviction of the Henley woman and her tribe, and so long as you
remain here, we cannot enforce it."

"Good God, sir," exclaimed Montclair, irked. "Do you fancy I
shall proceed with an eviction against the lady who saved my life?"

"Saved your life—my hatpin," snorted my lady. "She was extreme
reluctant to offer you shelter, which anyone with the least compassion
would gladly have done! In point of fact, she only agreed to do so
after we paid her a pretty penny! Saved your life, indeed! Pish!"

"Mrs. Henley took some most desperate chances in climbing down
into that loathsome pit to help me, ma'am. And—"

"And was it not remarkable," she said with her thin smile,
"that a newcomer to the district found you in a place none of the rest
of us had even considered? Faith, but one marvels at her
perspicacity—or… whatever it was…"

Montclair's head was aching again, but he met her eyes
levelly. "Perhaps you should say straight out what you mean, ma'am."

"My dear wife and I have merely wondered," murmured Sir Selby,
"if Mrs. Henley's so magnificent 'rescue' might have been prompted
by—er, foreknowledge of the unfortunate event."

"You mean that she and her brother had me attacked and thrown
into the Folly."

"She had motive enough, Lord knows," said my lady with a
shrug. "Had you died, the ownership of this place would have been bound
up in legal nonsense for a great while. Meantime, she has possession.
She could have lived here rent-free, indefinitely."

Montclair's hand clenched on the coverlet. "Then how very
foolish in her to come to my rescue," he said dryly.

Trent smiled a patient smile. "Perhaps that was made
necessary. "One gathers that her little girl had formed the habit of
playing near the Folly—"

"A clear case of criminal neglect by her misguided parent,"
inserted my lady with a smug nod of her head.

"Had the child heard you in the Folly," Trent went on, "and
confided in some of the local children, or—"

"Or perchance they had thought you slain," his wife again
interrupted. "But when the child discovered you still lived, that sly
widow saw her chance for an even better ploy. She would come gallantly
to your rescue, bring you here, nurse you back to health, and so win
your gratitude that you would give her the house! A pretty scheme upon
my word!"

"And an exceeding unlikely one, ma'am," said Montclair
frowningly. But Lyddford's acid words came to plague him… 'So long as
you are recuperating here, you cannot very well have us kicked out, can
you?'

Her ladyship tittered. "Never say you have fallen into the
hussy's toils? No, I'll not believe you could be so gullible,
Montclair!"

He began to feel tired and dispirited, but persisted, "Say
rather, I do not believe her guilty of such a scheme."

"Of course you do not," said Trent. "Who could expect your
poor brain to function properly after suffering such a wound?"

"You shall have to let us do your reasoning for you, dear
nephew," purred my lady. "And I tell you, Montclair, that gratitude is
well and good, but one must face reality. Why would a scheming and
mercenary adventuress go to so much trouble for a man she thoroughly
dislikes?"

"Unless she hoped to profit by it," said Sir Selby.

"Which she has done," declared my lady. "Handsomely!"

Montclair wished they would go away.

Entering the house by the rear door, soaked, and aching with
tiredness, Susan was rushed at and embraced by an elated Edwina Starr.
"Oh, my love, you are safe home! At last!"

"Yes, thank goodness!" Susan allowed the little lady to
appropriate the worn valise she carried, and began to unbutton her
heavy greatcoat.

Mrs. Starr scolded fondly, "You should have let Deemer bring
this heavy bag up for you."

"Andy appropriated the poor man the instant he showed his face
at the dock. Is all well? Where is Priscilla? How is Montclair?"

"All is well. Or very nearly," said Mrs. Starr in a low urgent
voice as they walked along the passage together. "Priscilla is outside,
and—" They had reached the long windows looking out onto the garden
court behind the house, and the light of this dull morning fell fully
upon Susan's face. Shocked, Mrs. Starr exclaimed, "How sunburned you
are! My poor child—we must cover your face with cucumber tonight! Oh,
you should never have gone! It has been too much for you!"

"You know it really takes three to manage the barge, Starry,
and with Montclair so ill I felt the Bo'sun must stay here."

"Well, he is much better, heaven be praised. No— trouble… ?"

"None. Save that we were delayed by a gale and had to ride at
anchor off Clovelly for two miserable days." Starting up the stairs,
Susan pulled back her shoulders and said brightly, "But thanks to
Monsieur Monteil we've a full cargo. The men will be busy."

"And what of the monsieur? Did he come smoothing around you,
dear ma'am? Oh, how I mistrust that man!"

"No, but we must be grateful to the gentleman, for he has been
more than good." There came the recollection of Monsieur Monteil's
ardent glances, the touch of that soft white hand on hers as they had
stood on the windy Devonshire beach, and Susan struggled to restrain a
shiver. "I'll own he is not exceeding attractive, but—"

"Attractive! 'Tis not his looks, but his
looks
I dislike!"

Susan chuckled. "Oh, Starry, you wretch, you
must
not speak of him so. Andy thinks the world of him, and likely I have
misjudged the gentleman. He was the very soul of courtesy—so kind and
all consideration towards me. Besides, only think how these
consignments help us. Andy says if it keeps up—"

A sudden shrill outburst sent both women's glances to the head
of the stairs. Susan gave a gasp of fright. "The Trents? Heavens! Do
they visit him often? Have they brought his affianced?"