Angel's Touch (28 page)

Fussed over and bullied into partaking of a little of the
food that was presently brought, and thankfully gulping down a cup
of hot tea, Verity found them to be right. She did feel a deal
better, and was able to rouse herself sufficiently to deliver a
fluent account of the day’s adventures.

When she had finished,
and the two elderly ladies had done exclaiming and blessing
themselves, they drove her to bed and tucked her up, confident in
the belief that she would drop asleep in minutes. Verity was so
tired that she thought so herself.

But
the instant she was alone, the doubts that had been relegated to
the back of her mind came flooding in to plague her. And Henry’s
eyes, wild and anguished, just before he sank unconscious into his
groom’s arms.

Verity turned her face
into her pillow and wept.

Could she have been
transported by some magical means to Braxted Place, it might have
resolved all her doubts. For her beloved Henry Haverigg, threshing
in his huge four-poster bed in an agony of mind which sent shivers
of fear through the heart of the faithfully attendant Hoff, uttered
such words as must have brought welcome balm to her heart.

Chapter
Eleven

‘
What did I
say?’
begged the marquis, his grip
demanding about his faithful henchman’s wrist.

Hoff eyed him
uncertainly, unwilling to trigger off another such storm as he had
witnessed last night.

The
black eyes burned at him.
‘Tell
me.’

The
man sighed. He never had been able to resist that dynamic,
compelling look. ‘You were calling for that there Miss Lambourn
something pitiful, me lord.’

It
was the simplest way he could think of to describe the harrowing
groans of his master as he called out for the girl as if she had
been a goddess, empowered to
deliver
him—as he had begged—from
the torture of his own mind.

But Henry stared at
the groom, his expression perplexed. Then he shook his head angrily
and gripped the wrist he held more tightly.

‘
Not
that, fool! Do you think I can’t remember that? My God, she walks
in my mind day and night, and if I talk to her in my semi-delirium
it is not to be wondered at.’

‘
Talk!’ echoed his henchman scoffingly. ‘Aye, if you want to
call it that. But I never heard no conversation like it, nor I
never will.’

The
marquis reared up in bed, releasing his grip on the man’s wrist
only so that he might grasp him by the shoulders, the better to
bellow into his face.

‘
Because I know that if
she
were here beside me I could
be
calm. Don’t you
understand?’

He
released the man and fell back upon his pillows, closing his eyes.
His voice came tiredly, wretchedly. ‘No matter how monstrous my
actions, how bizarre, she, like you, dear friend and comforter—’
with a flicker of a smile to the groom as those eyes flew briefly
open and shut again ‘—she will not blame me. She knows me. It is as
if she has always known me. And I her.’

His
eyes opened and the energy mounted in his voice. ‘Whatever I may
have said, Verity knew I did not mean. But not so the gypsies,
Hoff.’ He was leaning up on his elbow now. ‘What did I say to the
gypsies? That is what I am asking you.’

‘
Ah,’ said Hoff heavily, and nodded his head. ‘You tried to
have that there capting of militia arrest ’em. Said as how you
didn’t care if he shot ’em, only so as he got ’em off of your
land.’

Salmesbury sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. ‘And to
them I owe the safety of my children and of Verity herself.
Oh,
God.’
He sat
up, preparing to throw off his covers. ‘I must see them. God send
the captain did not obey me.’

‘
That he didn’t, me lord,’ soothed his henchman, but put out a
hand to prevent him from leaving the bed. ‘But you’ll not get up
today, me lord.’

Salmesbury sank back, for he was indeed fatigued. He must see
the gypsies, however. A picture of the previous evening was in his
mind, and abruptly he saw again his son’s face where he sat on the
pony before the gypsy. Oh, God,
Wystan!
What had he
thought?

‘
Hoff!’ he said urgently, his hand going out. ‘The children!
How are the children?’

‘
Don’t you worry your head over them, me lord. Fit as fiddles,
both of ’em.’

‘
I
must see the boy,’ muttered Henry, once more attempting to
rise.

‘
No,
me lord, no. Stay put and rest, I beg you. You know Dr Claughton
said as how you didn’t ought to get up.’

‘
To
hell with Dr Claughton! I shall certainly get up.’ He paused, an
odd thought entering his head. ‘No, wait. I shall rest then, Hoff,
and rise a little later. But first be so good as to fetch the
children to me.’

This
was so unprecedented that even Hoff could not forbear a shocked
gasp.
‘Here,
me
lord?’

‘
Yes, here,’ responded the marquis, and grinned suddenly. ‘Let
them see another side of their father for once, and realise that he
is but a mortal man.’

Hoff
privately thought that what they would see, coupled with what they
had witnessed last night, was more likely to convince them that
their father was demented. For besides his crumpled nightshirt, and
the blue smudges under his eyes, Henry’s motions of the disturbed
night had rid him of his nightcap, leaving his long brown hair
falling about his shoulders in disarray.

Nor
was the groom entirely mistaken. A few minutes later, he returned
to his master’s chamber with the infant Peggy in his arms, and
Wystan lagging a little in his wake. The boy stopped short at sight
of his father’s dishevelled state and his jaw dropped
open.

His
eyes goggled a moment. But the slight figure in the bed leaned
forward from the bank of pillows, and smiling, held out his arms.
In instinctive reaction, Wystan gasped,
‘Papa!’
and then ran to the bed to
find himself enfolded, for the first time he could remember, in
this man’s strangely comforting embrace.

His sister Peggy,
needless to say, no sooner saw her brother locked in those
unfamiliar arms than she set up a jealous shriek.

‘
Me
too, me too! Peddy up now!’

Both
father and son burst out laughing, breaking apart. Soon both
children were ensconced on the bed, a fatherly arm about each,
while Wystan poured out the tale of their adventures the day
before. Verity’s name figured largely, and at last Henry became
aware that every time his son mentioned it, he looked sideways at
his father.

Had the boy guessed,
then? Well, why not? He was no fool. But Henry had no intention of
discussing his plans as regards Verity Lambourn until he had
settled everything with the lady herself. For although he could not
doubt that she reciprocated his affection, he was by no means
certain of his acceptability as a husband.

There were the strange views she had expressed on marriage,
and her wish to work at this writing—although she could as well
pursue
that
married to him as not. More easily. More to the point, could
she be expected to overlook the past? The dark shadow of Meg’s
accident would always be there, even when not in mind, in the
legacy of his physical punishment. It was very well to know and
respect the integrity Verity possessed, but might it not lead her
to discard him? For he was unworthy, God only knew. And she was too
honest a soul not to recognise the shoals ahead.

Inwardly sighing, he refocused his attention on the boy’s
face, realising that he had stopped speaking.

‘
I’m
sorry, Wystan. What were you saying?’

Braxted frowned. ‘You went away. In your head, I
mean.’

The
marquis tightened his hold about the child’s shoulders. ‘I did. I
beg your pardon.’ He paused, looking into the blue eyes, in which
he recognised uncertainty. ‘Wystan, if you find me sometimes
strange. . .distanced. . .or perhaps a little as if I have lost my
senses, I pray you don’t ever think it means I love you less. You
and Peggy. You see, when your mama. . .died—’ bringing out the word
with difficulty ‘—I was very much at fault. I am still learning to
live with that. Do you understand at all?’

The
boy nodded solemnly. ‘I think so. You get a bit
broody-like.’

‘
That is it exactly.’

Wystan looked at him a moment longer, and then, so abruptly
that it startled Henry, his face broke apart in a wide smile.
‘Well, you won’t much longer.
She’ll
see to that.’ Then before his
father could respond, he turned to his sister. ‘Won’t she, Peggy?
She’ll see to that.’

‘
See
dat,’ shouted the infant.

‘
Ssh, it’s a secret. Peggy not to tell.’

‘
Seekit. Peddy no tell.’

In a
moment, the two of them were jumping on the bed, both shouting
Peggy’s version, ‘Seekit! Seekit!’ at the tops of their voices.
Called to order by Hoff, who was afraid they might land on his
master’s injured leg, they tore round the room in boisterous
spirits while the marquis lay against his pillows, laughing, all
the gloom vanishing from his features.

A
couple of hours later, having partaken of a belated breakfast
together, the marquis and his son, with Hoff aboard at his own
insistence, were perched in the phaeton, driving down into the
valley towards the gaily painted caravans.

They must have seen
him coming, for as he brought the carriage to a standstill, he saw
them gathering in knots, coming from inside the circle, to stand,
arms folded, presenting him with the same hostile silence that had
greeted Verity.

The
marquis refused to be intimidated. He climbed unhurriedly from the
phaeton, took up his cane and limped towards them. Stopping a few
yards before them, he looked from face to face as if he sought to
memorise them. They stared back impassively, but he could feel the
vibration of loathing directed towards him. At last he began to
speak, not in the manner of one addressing an audience, but looking
first at one and then at another, appealing directly to
each.

‘
I
am come to retract the words I spoke to you last night. I do not
seek your friendship, for I know that is impossible. But perhaps I
may at least mitigate your hatred, and pray you to try to
understand.’

There were the
faintest flickers of the eyes, one to another, in silent
communication. Salmesbury had evidently chosen an acceptable
tack.

He
held out his hand to Braxted, and the boy put his own into it. ‘But
for one of your number, this child, together with my daughter,
would not be here with me today. For that you have my everlasting
gratitude, and you may ask of me what you will.’

One
of the gypsy women spat suddenly. ‘We don’t want no reward o’
yourn, Markiss.’

‘
I
don’t blame you,’ Salmesbury sighed. ‘Very well, I will make no
excuses, and I will offer you nothing. Believe me only when I say
that what I spoke last night came from my distress of mind, and
from nothing else. And accept also my assurance that as long as I
am alive you and yours will ever be welcome on my land.’

With that, he turned
away and began limping towards the carriage. A shout from behind
stopped him.

‘
Ho,
there, Markiss!’

He turned, and saw
that one of the men had come forward. He was a tall, burly fellow
with thick black hair waving down to his shoulders.

‘
That’s Peneli,’ whispered Wystan. ‘The one who helped us
escape.’

‘
You
want me?’ Henry asked of the man.

‘
Not
I,’ Peneli said proudly. He jerked his head. ‘It’s me
mam.’

A
hand reached up and clipped him smartly across the ear. Old
Mairenni pushed past him, muttering, ‘Keep civil tongue in yer
head, boy.’

She
came on and Wystan backed away, for she was odd enough and
sufficiently witch-like to frighten a little boy. She paid him no
attention as he went to the phaeton to seek refuge with Hoff, but
came up to the marquis, standing before him and squinting up into
his face, her lined features questioning.

Henry frowned. ‘We have met before, I think.’

‘
Aye, at fair,’ she answered.

‘
Why, you are the woman who told fortunes!’

‘
That I am, master,’ she nodded. ‘Don’t ye pay no mind to
these ’un.’ She gave that characteristic gypsy jerk of the head to
indicate the gypsies behind her.

The
marquis flicked a glance at them and found they had begun to
disperse. ‘They have every right to be angry with me.’

‘
B’ain’t angry, master. Glad they be as to find ye don’t mean
to throw we off yer land.’

‘
They have a strange way of showing it,’ Henry said with a
brief smile.

‘
Ah,
master, ye don’t understand Romany ways. Besides, knowed it we did,
what ye say. She told we.’

‘
She?’ he repeated, knowing very well what the woman
meant.