Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (27 page)

"This is the first time they've showed their noses since they
browbeat you into letting Montclair stay here!"

"Good gracious!"

"Just so! And as for Miss Trent," the little woman sniffed
disparagingly, "her ladyship likely judges this an unfit atmosphere for
her pure daughter. But
I
judge it most odd. One
would suppose a newly engaged girl should brave any atmosphere to be at
the side of her betrothed when he is in such straits."

"I think all at Longhills 'most odd,'" said Susan with a sigh.
"Only listen to her. You'd best find the Bo'sun. He must get that
horrid woman away before she sends Montclair into a relapse again!
I'll—" A heavy step behind her brought her spinning around with a
guilty yelp.

At the foot of the stairs stood the Bo'sun, wearing a
greatcoat and carrying a pair of crutches and a large medicine bottle.

"Welcome home, ma'am," he said breathlessly. "All shipshape?"

"Yes. But it was chancy putting in to our dock, George. It's
not an easy river."

"True. But ye'd best stir your stumps, Mrs. Sue. We've
company."

Susan nodded to the upper floor and pulled a wry face. "So I
hear."

"And more arriving," he said, running an eye down her. "Let me
get your boots, ma'am. You'll want to change out of those breeches
before you see the nobs, I expect."

Mrs. Starr hurried off, calling for Martha to help Mrs. Sue.

Unceremoniously, Susan sat on the stair. The Bo'sun put down
his burdens and pulled off her boots, then took up the valise and
followed as she scurried up the stairs.

Two minutes later Martha brought hot water, and with lightning
speed Susan washed, Martha brushed out her long hair, a pale lavender
gown trimmed with ivory French braid replaced shirt and breeches, and
ivory sandals were slipped onto her feet.

"My cap!" she gasped, sliding a carved Indian ivory bangle
onto her wrist.

"Oh! Your poor nails, missus," moaned Martha.

Susan glanced regretfully at her ragged fingernails. "I know,
I know. I was hoping to get the tar off, but—yes, that one will do,
Martha. Quickly!"

She all but ran along the hall, hearing London voices
downstairs that were drowned, as she went into her bedchamber, by Lady
Trent's shrill voice.

Sir Selby and his wife sat beside the bed. Susan welcomed them
politely, but aside from a vague impression that his coat was grey and
that my lady wore an elaborate puce gown that made her look sallow, she
scarecly noticed them. Her attention flew to Montclair, and her pulses
gave the little leap that was so stupid and that had spurred her
decision to accompany her brother on the voyage to Devonshire.

He was clean-shaven again, and she was shocked to note how the
lack of the beard emphasized the gaunt hollows in his cheeks. A sudden
eager flush stained those cheeks; the dark eyes lit up, the amber
flecks glowing. He said in a firm voice that surprised her, "Here is my
intrepid rescuer come back, and—"

"And Mrs. Henley will be wanting her bedchamber restored to
her," interposed my lady, smiling the smile that seemed as if taken
from a box and glued over her sneer.

Susan's heart was pounding. They wanted him to go home. Did he
want to go? She searched his face and found only that warm smile.

"I fancy you think it past time we should relieve you of your
burden," said Sir Selby. "I hope you have not been plagued to death,
ma'am. We have brought our coach and shall carry my nephew off, so—"

"Your pardon," interposed Montclair, watching Susan. "But
unless my presence here is a great inconvenience, I would prefer to
delay leaving until I feel stronger."

"Now, now, dear lad," purred Trent. "We must consider others.
And I think we have imposed upon Mrs. Henley sufficiently."

Susan shook her head. "It has been no imposition, sir. And I
would be sorry to see Mr. Montclair leave us before he is well enough
to stand the journey."

"I am very sure you would," smirked my lady, unable to
restrain her waspish tongue.

Sir Selby frowned, but his attempt to speak was halted as
Montclair lifted a thin hand. "Mrs. Henley is not one to hide her
teeth," he drawled. "Did she wish to be rid of me, she would say so."

"I am not sure whether that is a compliment or an insult,"
said Susan, smiling at him.

"And it is all of a piece," snapped my lady. "My poor nephew
is in no condition to know what is best for him, and—"

A loud male voice cut through her words. "Your pardon, ma'am."

My lady did not care to be interrupted at the best of times.
This was not the best of times. She sprang to her feet and whirled on
the intruder in a passion. "How
dare
you burst
into a sickroom and—"

Her husband's quick eyes had noted the small staff one of the
two newcomers carried. "Are you gentlemen from Bow Street?" he asked,
silencing Lady Trent with a gesture.

A short, sturdy, moon-faced individual with a pugnacious stare
and cold dark eyes grunted, "Yussir. Orficers o' the law. I'm 'Obkins,
hand this"—he jerked a thumb at his meek associate—"is Limmer. Both
desirious o' a word or three with Mr. Montclair, we his. Hif you don't
hobject, that his."

"But my dear man, of
course
we do not
object," said my lady, all gracious condescension. "As you may well
imagine, our most fervent prayer is that the vicious would-be murderer
of our beloved nephew should be seized and hung with the greatest
dispatch."

The smaller Runner coughed and pointed out with a timid bow
that they were unable to guarantee this happy result. "The murderee not
having become one, good and proper like, and the law getting so gentle
and kindly with evildoers, that the villin might get off with
transportation. But apprehend of him we will, m'lady."

"To which hend we got some pertinent questions for to hask,"
growled his partner.

"Well, we shall not delay you," said Trent. "We were in fact
just taking our leave."

"Uncle," said Montclair. "I should very much like to see
Barbara."

"But of course, Valentine," said my lady soothingly.
"Tomorrow, poor dear boy. Tomorrow morning."

"Come, my love," urged her spouse. "We must not impede the
progress of justice. Good day to you, nephew. Mrs. Henley." And with a
firm grip on his wife's elbow and a rather sad smile, he moved smoothly
from the room and closed the door.

Mr. Hobkins stared pointedly at Susan.

"Mr. Montclair is a long way from being recovered," she said.
"Please do not tire him."

This evidently ruffled the Runner's sensibilities, and he
observed that he was very sure that Mr. Montclair was "more hanxious
than hanyone to see 'is wicked attacker brought to justice. Heven," he
added with a grim nod, "hif there's them has
haint
hanxious! Not by so much has a whisker!"

Susan was still mulling over those ominous remarks after she
had received an ecstatic greeting from her small daughter and Priscilla
had gone off with Martha to change her wet shoes and be de-muddied.

Andrew hurried down the back stairs, looking, Susan thought,
endearingly handsome in a brown velvet coat and cream pantaloons, and
presenting a very different appearance from the unkempt sailor who'd
slunk into the house after the Trents departed.

"I think they suspect us," she told him.

"The devil!" he gasped, paling. "Of not having gone to Town?"

"Of having a hand in the attack on Montclair," she went on,
accompanying him into the withdrawing room.

"What fustian," he said scornfully. "As if they'd entertain
such a cork-brained notion after you risked your neck to climb down to
the poor fellow. Besides, they questioned us all when first Montclair
was brought here. By Jove, but they did, and a sillier set of gudgeons
I never hope to see!"

She crossed to the sideboard to pour him a glass of wine, and
was attacked by a ferocious Welcome who had managed to get the lower
cupboard door open and evidently regarded the shelf as his lair. The
little cat sprang out, waving his arms to terrify her, then tore off,
whiskers bristling and tail held sideways, in high triumph. Laughing,
Susan rustled her skirts at him. "Yes, Andy," she said. "And between
your threatening to throw them in the river if they didn't stop
pestering us, and Angelo confusing them with his incomprehensible
answers, I wonder we weren't clapped up then and there."

Lyddford tossed himself into his favourite chair and chuckled
unrepentantly. "Don't do to bow down to a trap, love."

Susan carried over his wine. "Well, these aren't the same men.
Quite a different proposition to the pair who came at first."

"All tarred with the same brush, pox on 'em." Lyddford raised
his glass. "Here's to my excellent first mate
pro tem
!
Truly, I don't know how we'd have managed without you, Mrs. H."

Blushing with pleasure, she asked, "Was I really a help? You
surely would have contrived better had the Bo'sun been aboard."

"Oh, surely," he agreed with a grin. "But only think how
disappointed Imre Monteil would have been! Be dashed if ever I saw a
man's face glow as his did when we came ashore at Clovelly! He has a
tendre
for you, my girl! And he's a rare catch, do you fancy him. Rich as
Croesus, I hear. Faith, but who could doubt it? That yacht of his must
be worth more than everything we own, even if you was to include
Highperch."

"But I do not fancy him," she said quickly. "Though I cannot
but be grateful for the work he has sent our way. Even," she added with
a thoughtful pucker of her brows, "if I don't quite understand his need
for us."

"Perfectly obvious. He cannot bring his dashed great yacht
upriver.
The Dainty Dancer
is flat-bottomed and
far more manoeuvrable."

"Well, I know that, silly. But why must he come up-river?
There are many other places where he
could
moor
his yacht safely and store his cargo."

Lyddford shrugged. "He wants to store it here. He likes
Highperch. Means to buy it, y'know. Made me a most generous offer.
Don't look so worried, you foolish chit. This ain't my house."

"No, and it may not be mine, either. But—if it was— Andy—you
wouldn't wish me to sell to him?"

"Why not? The sum he offered would buy us a jolly nice home in
Town. And certainly, this place needs a great deal of work."

Susan stared at him in dismay. He met her regard gravely, but
his eyes danced, and she threw a cushion. "Oh, you horrid creature! You
are teasing! A house in Town wouldn't provide us a dock for
The
Dainty Dancer
—at least, not a dock we could use!"

He fielded the cushion laughingly, lifted a cautioning hand,
and glanced to the open door. "You must not murder me, Mrs. H. We've
Runners in the house, don't forget."

She stood. "Yes. And Montclair was sufficiently exhausted
after his loving relations left. I must find the Bo'sun and send them
packing!"

"Cluck, cluck, cluck," jeered her brother, raising no
objection when Welcome raced back in and took possession of his lap.

Susan smiled, and hurried out, taking care to keep her face
turned from him, and irked by the awareness that she was blushing.

The men from Bow Street were firing interminable questions at
Montclair, and Dodman, representing himself as the sick man's medical
advisor, promptly called a halt to the interview. Mr. Hobkins was
affronted, and relieved his feelings by accusing Montclair of knowing
very well who had tried to put a period to him, and of "deliberately
pertecting 'im hor them what done the foul deed." The vexed Bo'sun
relieved his own feelings by offering the Runner an extremely
uncomplimentary assessment of the silly gumps now posing as
representatives of law and order, whereupon the irate Runner took
himself off, his meek associate slanting an amused wink at Dodman as he
was escorted from the room.

Susan wandered closer to the bed. Montclair was watching her
with an oddly speculative expression. Flustered, she glanced at the
crutches propped against the chest of drawers. "You are looking very
much better, sir," she said. "But not ready for those, I think."

"I've been here for over a month, Mrs. Henley. It is time I
was up and about."

She moved a little nearer and smoothed the pillow. "You have
had a very bad accident. One does not recover quickly from shock and
loss of blood, sir. Nor do broken bones heal in a month."

"Still, my uncle was right. I have imposed on you long enough.
Besides, there are things at Longhills requiring my attention."

She sat down on the bedside chair and pointed out demurely,
"But you—er, do not feel strong enough to travel."

He chuckled. "Strong enough to travel as far as the
windowseat, ma'am. Indeed I look forward to it more than you can
imagine. And speaking of travelling, I understand you were in Town. Did
you go on your boat? You look the picture of robust health."

"Indeed?" she said, her head tilting upward.

His mouth quivered. "I perceive I have said something
dreadful."

"Not at all. There is nothing dreadful about being— big and
healthy!"

"Then why do you gnash your teeth when you say it?"

She glared at him, saw the lurking smile, and relented. "Oh,
very well. I suppose every woman prefers to be thought of as small and
dainty—even when she is—"

"Tall and graceful, and serenely beautiful as any goddess of
ancient Greece?"

Astounded, she felt her cheeks grow hot, and stammered in
confusion, "The goddess of fishwives, perhaps?"

"
Touche
!" But the reminder caused him to
marvel that he had not seen her beauty in the first moment they met. Or
that even in that dirty old mob-cap and apron he'd not realized at once
that she was a lady of quality. She was watching him curiously, and he
shrugged and admitted wryly, "I was wishing I hadn't said that."