Practice to Deceive (14 page)

She knew she was blushing, and said lightly, “Fustian. You and the Corporal have been more than gentlemanlike. I doubt either my papa or my brother would have called you out.”

Despite her denial, her pulse had quickened, because in point of fact, what he had said was truth. She'd not realized she was pleating her sash until his hand closed over hers for an instant, stilling her nervous fingers. She raised her eyes shyly and encountered such a tender expression that she could only be glad she was sitting down because her knees had melted.

“Wherever either of those fine gentlemen may be at this moment,” he said gently, “I pledge them my word that I shall not abuse my trust. Indeed, Penelope Anne, you must know how I—love and honour you…”

Penelope's heartbeat was deafening. She felt choked with joy, overwhelmed by the sure knowledge he was about to declare himself.

“… as deeply,” went on his deep, kind voice, “as though you were my own dear sister. The sister I never had, alas.”

It was like a blow to the heart. She felt quite frozen, and for a moment it took all her resolution not to betray her hurt. Somehow she responded, marvelling that her voice could sound so calm. “In which case, I mean to exercise a sisterly right. Oh, I—I know you are concerned for my safety, but just because your strength has begun to return does not mean you dare overtax it. It would be enough to sit up in the chair a few times today, and perhaps walk a little tomorrow.”

“A little!” The Corporal uttered a derisive, “Huh! Walked a mile already he has. And made sorry work of it!”

“Oh, Quentin,” exclaimed Penelope. “Please do wait until tomorrow to walk about.”

“I shall be gone from here by tomorrow.” The words were quiet, but his eyes were steady and determined.

Dismayed, she cried, “You
cannot!
”

Once again, he reached for and clasped her hand. “Dearest Penelope Anne, I was as good as dead and you gave me a priceless second chance at life and freedom. There are no words to thank you for what you've done—the risks you have taken, but— No!” He relinquished her hand to cover her parting lips. “You do but waste your words. I'll not be talked out of it this time. We leave at full dark this evening.”

Stunned, she stared at him in silence. She had mentally relegated him to the role of passive invalid, and had assigned to herself the task of arranging his deliverance. Only yesterday she had judged him too weak to do more than bow to her decisions. It was borne in upon her now that this resilient young man was not the kind to bow for very long, and that she would have to use all her wiles to prevent him from running himself into another disaster.

He lowered his hand, watching her rather sadly.

She said, “I repeat—you cannot, Major. There are military guarding the house.”

Quentin's breath was indrawn with a faint hissing sound, but he said nothing.

The Corporal, in his shirt-sleeves, little mountains of white soap beside his nose and cuddling against one ear, rushed out from behind the sheet to demand, “You've seen 'em, miss?”

Penelope nodded and told them the circumstances.

Killiam groaned, sat down on the bed, took up the towel that was draped across one shoulder, and began to wipe his face, quite forgetting that a lady was present and he wore neither jacket nor cravat.

Watching Quentin's stern face anxiously, Penelope added, “So you see, it is not to be thought of.”

“To the contrary,” he muttered. “It is become even more imperative.”

Exasperated, Killiam demanded, “Now, sir—how a'God's name can you leave here if they're outside, waiting for you to show your phiz? Likely, they're all slathering for promotions.”

“Or the reward,” said Quentin slowly.

“If they knew you were here,” said Penelope, “they'd come in after you, do you not think?”

“Most decidedly they would. No, m'dear, they're unaware as yet of my illegal residence. 'Tis far more likely your kindly uncle's conscience wrought upon him. He may have fancied I'd reach friends or family who would be eager to avenge my—less than gentle treatment at his hands. Or perhaps he thought I might swing back myself and fire the house, or some such deed.”

“But whatever could he tell them without betraying his own part in all this?”

“Probably he concocted some tale to the effect he'd been called away and was uneasy about leaving his ladies unprotected, with murdering rebels in the area.”

“In that case, we are safe for a time,” said Penelope, hopefully. “After Uncle Joseph returns and the guards are withdrawn, you can slip away.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said with a slow smile. “But it will not do. I leave tonight.”

“Gawd!” groaned the Corporal. “What'd I tell you, miss? Major, with the price that's on your head, it's like as not the whole countryside's up. Tell me how you mean to get clear. Only tell—”

“Hold your tongue!” snapped Quentin, suddenly all haughty authority.

“You shan't make me hold mine,” Penelope stormed. “If I'm to be dragged to my death, I mean to—”

“You!”
he cried, patently horrified. “By God, but you'll not be dragged by me! Why in the deuce would I remove the threat of my presence from Highview only to carry you into greater danger? Have some sense, do, Penny!”

The brotherly candour of those words acted on her overwrought nerves like a fan to flame. “Forgive me, sir.” She stood, chin high and her voice scornful. “I am too filled with disgust at this moment to be sensible, I doubt.”

Standing also, he said with a faint, fond smile, “I know what you're about, Penelope Anne. It will not do. Surely you see why I cannot—”

‘Penelope Anne.' He had been used to call her that years ago and had always said the name in a way she had come to think of as tender. That he should speak it now, having named her his sister, further infuriated her, and she turned on him, pale with anger. “I agreed to this—this risky business on one condition, Major Chandler. And your brother took an oath to abide by my terms. Now you seek to break his given word and foul his honour. For shame!”

His pale cheeks reddened and he turned away from her for an instant, but when he faced her again, his jaw was set. “Think what you will,” he said quietly. “But I'll
not
drag you to the gallows. No more would my brother have done. If that causes you to despise me, or to repent of your bargain, why”—he smiled wryly—“the soldiers wait outside. You have only to call.”

He knew she would not. In that moment, almost she could have struck him. She met his steady gaze, her own eyes blazing wrath. Then, she flung around and walked out, her head held high, but unhappily aware that it was difficult to look regal while clad in a flannel nightgown and a much-patched and faded dressing gown.

*   *   *

“After all we have done,” raged Penelope. “After all we have risked! How can he be so stupid? So arrogantly determined to throw it all away?”

“Never weep, my lamb,” said Daffy, tucking Penelope back into bed and placing the neglected breakfast tray across her lap. “He is only a man after all. And there's not a one of 'em as won't drive a woman distracted sooner or later.”

The prosaic words shocked Penelope. She realized suddenly that she had not thought of Quentin as a human being, but rather as a godlike creature, perfect in face and form, with a serene sweetness of disposition and an unwavering gentleness, at least insofar as she was concerned. She had caught a glimpse of steel just now when he had flown out at the poor Corporal. She had been hurt when he had spoken to her so sharply.…

Watching her expressive face, Daffy wielded teapot and cup deftly, and murmured, “Changed, has he, miss?”

Had he changed? Or was it simply that she had never really known him? Had she imbued him with qualities he did not possess? That no man possessed? She thought in a detached way, ‘I am a silly, naïve girl who fell in love with a dream that does not exist.' And at once, she began to enumerate his good points. His courage and warm-heartedness. The way he had of watching her when she spoke, as though what she had to say was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. His ready sense of humor, the set of his lips that was so instant an indicator of his mood; the lurking smile in his green eyes. She smiled faintly, tenderly, thinking, ‘and the way that one lock of hair persists in tumbling down over his brow.…' And she knew it didn't matter if he was less than she had thought him, that the fault was hers for having visualized him as being so godlike—and in supposing she could live with perfection, even if she won it. She was learning about Quentin Chandler—good and bad—and she loved him just as much.…

“You'll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea,” said Daffy kindly. “Oh, misery! It's not very hot, miss.”

Scarcely hearing, Penelope accepted the cup and stirred sugar into her lukewarm tea. “He means to leave
tonight,
Daffy,” she said. “He will be caught, or killed.… Oh, whatever shall I do? He is so stubbornly set on it!”

“Always been the same, by what Corporal Robert Killiam says.” Daffy darted a glance to the closed dressing room door and perched on the edge of the bed. “Only say the word and me and Corporal Rob will knock the Major down and tie him 'fore he can wake up. Rob knowed as he meant to do this, and he don't like it above half. He told me—”

Surprised out of her despair, Penelope said, “He did? When?”

“What? Oh—er, well it were last night, miss. The Major was asleep when I come up, and so was you. Corporal Robert Killiam heared me open the door, and he knocked very soft and asked—most polite like—if he could perhaps have a drop more water.” She blushed to see Penelope's astonishment. “Well—well, it's as you said, miss. They'm honourable gentlemen both. And I thought, so long as you was sure o' that, then—”

“Why, you deceitful little baggage! I suppose by the time I woke up and saw you disrobing, you had sat in there half the night playing Patience with the man!”

“No, no, miss! Only for a very little, and—oh, whoops!”

“Oh, whoops, indeed! Rascal! Pretending all the time you disliked the poor Corporal, but having clandestine card games with him the moment my eyes are closed!”

“You
knows
as I'm a good girl,” pleaded Daffy. “And anyways, much use I've got for that great, clumsy creature.” Her small plump fingers began to twist the end of the snowy but much abused apron into a tight roll. She went on in a rather distant voice, “Though … he don't seem to be such a bad chap, and … and…”

“And has a fine pair of shoulders, nice blue eyes, and a fine head of hair—eh, minx?” said Penelope, laughing tremulously.

Daffy's eyes flashed to her face and began to twinkle. “Why, as to that,” she said in her prim way, “I'm sure I couldn't say, Miss Penny. I'll own I've not heared him use evil words—or not many. But I don't see as how a girl could be interested in a man what's always so gruff and gloomy-like. Even if he is loyal as he can stare and would give up his life for the Major.”

“Good gracious,” muttered Penelope, who had selected a piece of cold toast from the rack, and now detached a small, folded sheet of paper that had adhered to it. “What—in the world…?”

Butter had dripped on the page and, as she unfolded it curiously, she saw that some of the writing was so blurred as to be almost gone. With some difficulty, she was able, however, to read the message aloud.

Greetings, R, on this your special day. Looking back over the years I wonder if you remember the Flying Dutchman? What a fellow he was! I've always thought he imparted his own sad lack of
semper paratus
to you. I hope you've overcome it. Can't recall how old you were, but just today I was chuckling over the time you bit Mars. May your troubles, like the years, roll away. Affectionately, S. K.

“How very odd,” she murmured, baffled.

“Well, it can't be for you, miss. Your name don't begin with R.”

“But how do you suppose it got onto my tray? It almost looks as though it was deliberately hidden.”

“What difference, Miss Penny? It don't say anything what makes any sense. Whoever this R is— Oh, I 'spect it is for that Captain Horrid Otton. He's the only R I can—” Daffy's eyes became very round. “Oh—my!”

“Corporal Rob!” Penelope was out of bed in a trice and running across the room, forgetting her dressing gown until, with a little scream, Daffy flew to wrap it around her.

The Corporal answered the scratch at the door, and Quentin turned from the window, a frown in his eyes.

Penelope thrust the message at Killiam. “This was in amongst my toast, Corporal. We think it is meant for you.”

The Corporal shook his head in mystification over the message, but Quentin, who came up to take and scan it, said with sudden intensity, “My brother writ this to me! R stands for Rabble.” He glanced at Penelope, his eyes ablaze with excitement. “You'll have noted with what irreverence he addresses me.”

“Are you sure?” she asked dubiously. “It is signed S. K.”

“I couldn't mistake his hand. And he'd not dare to put his own initials for fear it was intercepted and someone put two and two together.” His brows twitched together. “S.… K.… Ah! I have it! Sir Knight—of course! I was used to call him that when we were children, because he's the eldest and will inherit the title.”

“But whatever do it all mean, sir?” asked Daffy. “Who is this Dutch gent what Mr. Gordon speaks of?”

The Corporal grunted, “If 'twas a cove as sprouted wings, I'd think the whole world would know his name.”

“Not wings,” Penelope said eagerly. “Sails, I think. Isn't that the legend of the foul-mouthed ship's captain who was doomed to sail on forever and never find harbour? A ghost ship—no?”