Love Alters Not (32 page)

“Thank you, Captain. Pray tell Mrs. Deene that I shall replace her wardrobe at my very first opportunity.”

He glanced at Carlton. “What about the boy? I doubt Mrs. Deene is well enough to cope, but—”

Lady Helen said, “He may stay here until his aunt is able to claim him.”

“You are very good, ma'am.” Saluting, he bade them good day and marched outside, followed by his men.

Through a taut silence Dimity hurried to the window, watched them ride from sight, then ran up the steps. In the music hall the servants stood about in little knots, staring at her. She flew to where Cissie and Rodgers whispered together. “Where is the master?”

Rodgers said with frank hostility, “Ahem—reckon you've done about enough to him, miss. I'll say nought.”

Dimity glanced up. Jordan stood on the stairs watching her with a troubled face. He hesitated, then jerked his head towards the back of the house. With a grateful smile she fled.

The chapel was empty. Nor was there any sign of his tall figure in the stableyard. She ran across the park for a short way, then turned into the rose gardens at the west side of the house.

Farrar stood gazing at the sundial, his shoulders very straight, his hands clasped loosely behind him.

With a flurry of skirts, Dimity flew to his side. “Anthony—you must have understood!
Please
say you understood!”

He turned to her, his eyes blank and expressionless. “Deceit on deceit. Lie on lie,” he drawled. “Are you done now, Madame Vengeance? Did you plan to make me fall in love with you and then—deride me? Or is this just the first step in my chastisement?”

“No! No! Tony—please. You must listen!”

He beat away the frantic hands that sought to grasp his arm, and turned on her in a sudden blaze of fury. “
Listen
is it? Madam, I have listened till my ears ring with it! I'll give you credit for one thing—you wrapped me round your little finger easily enough. Like a—a blind fool, I thought I'd found—” The harsh words ceased. His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Which would have been most unfair, after all. You are to be congratulated, Miss Cranford. Your woman's wiles are—stronger than … than the whole damned army!”

He turned away, a dreary resignation replacing that searing wrath. And he looked so haggard, so lost that she ran in front of him and, desperate, begged, “Tony—my dearest, if you will just—”

Anguished by the form of endearment, he seized her arms and shook her savagely. “For the love of God, go
away
from here! Enjoy your triumph and
leave me be!
”

“No! I haven't—”

A wild thunder of hooves, shouts of wrath, and Dimity gave a shriek. “Piers! Perry! Oh, thank heaven!”

Piers was out of the saddle while his mare yet ran. He landed, staggering, and raced at Farrar, his face murderous. “Unhand my sister, damn your eyes!”

“No!” screamed Dimity, as Farrar thrust her clear.

Piers' fist whipped back. With another squeal, Dimity threw herself at Farrar and clung desperately.

“Get away … dammit!” grated Farrar, struggling.

“Let her go, you blackguard,” roared Peregrine, scrambling erratically from the saddle, “or I'll— Blast and damn, my foot's gone again! Piers—grass the dirty villain!”

“Mitten,” raged Piers, dancing about. “Can't you get out of the way?”

Lord Glendenning, very pale, rode up and more or less slid from the saddle. “Mitten—thank heaven you're safe,” he gasped, clinging to the stirrup. “Take your filthy hands—off her, Farrar!”

“I am—trying,” groaned Farrar, tugging at Dimity's hands fast clasped behind his neck.

“What're you messing about at, Piers?” howled Peregrine, sitting on the lawn wrestling with a buckle. “Kill the bastard!”

“Well, curse it all, I will, can I just get Mitten away. He won't let her go!”

“Hiding behind … a girl…” gasped my lord, swaying and livid. He advanced, lifting one wavering fist. “I challenge you … Captain…” and he struck Piers in the eye and fainted.

“Ow!” yelled Piers.

“Tio!” sobbed Dimity.

“I accept your challenge,” said Farrar, beginning to grin, despite himself.

“And mine, blast your eyes!” groaned Piers.

“And mine,” raged Peregrine. “So soon as I get my foot on.”

“Could we call a truce,” suggested Farrar, “so that someone can help poor Glendenning?”

“All right, Perry?” called Piers, clutching his eye. “Tio's gone off again.”

“Yes, of course. Mitten—did this libertine harm you?”

“No, no,” said Dimity, running to kneel beside Glendenning. “I am so grateful that dear Tio is alive, but—oh, how ill he looks. You should never have brought him!”

“
Brought
him!” Piers crossed to blink down at Glendenning. “I'd like to have seen anyone keep him from coming. Silly idiot.”

“Farrar,” called Peregrine. “Give a hand here, will you?”

Farrar went over and knelt beside him. He stared at the mutilated leg for a minute, then looked up into the thin young face. “Charged to my account, I fancy,” he said quietly. “I'm most terribly sorry, Cranford.”

“I got off lucky, compared to some of my friends,” Peregrine said rather brutally. “However, we can remedy that when I blow a hole through you.” Farrar gave him a measuring look, and he added apologetically, “I know you have the choice of weapons, sir, but—I can't very well use a smallsword, you see.”

“Of course,” agreed Farrar politely. “Only I'm afraid you shall have to wait your turn.”

“I claim first chance at you,” said Peregrine. “My brother won't mind. Oh, that's very good. Thank you.” He stood, and with Farrar's aid limped to where Dimity and Piers ministered to Glendenning. “Piers, old lad, you'll not object do I have first crack at— My God!”

They all stared at him.

“Mitten!” he gasped, scarlet. “What the
devil
are you wearing?”

Piers, who had been kneeling behind his sister, had his first full view as she turned to look up at Peregrine. “The deuce!” he exclaimed, flinging a shielding arm across the embarrassment. “Farrar! Turn your prying eyes away! Mitten, take that disgraceful thing off, at once!”

Glendenning, who had opened his eyes, said feebly, “Better not, Mitten.” And with a faint grin murmured, “Matter of fact, I think it jolly—er, becoming.”

“Becoming for a skirt,” said Peregrine, taking off his coat and wrapping it primly around Dimity. “But where in the deuce is the top piece? By Jove, Farrar, but you'll pay for shaming my sister. How dare you put such a wicked frock on her?”

“What leads you to suppose I had a hand in what your sister wears?” asked Farrar in a rather unfortunate turn of phrase.

“By God, I'd best not find you had a hand in—” cried Peregrine, then broke off, turning an even deeper shade of red. “Ah, th-that is to say—”

“You've said too much already,” interposed Glendenning faintly. “Mitten—forgive me for interrupting these tangled threads, but—did you deliver my—er, message?”

She tore her gaze from Farrar's fascinated expression. “What? Oh—yes, Tio. Never fret.”

“Thank the good Lord,” he sighed.

Farrar bent over him. “Shall I send for a hurdle, Tio? Or would you prefer we carry you?”

“I think I can manage, if you'll just help me up.”

Farrar slipped an arm about him and lifted cautiously. Supporting Glendenning on the other side, Piers said, “I'm sorry, Perry. You asked me something, I think?”

Farrar said, “He wants to know if he can have first crack at fighting me. I'm afraid he cannot. I'm already booked for the morning.”

“Well, that's a fine state of affairs, I must say,” grumbled Peregrine. “With whom?”

“Your sister's friend, Rafe. What happened to you, Tio?” And a sudden crazily logical explanation for all Dimity's falsehoods causing his heart to leap, he added, “Nothing to do with de Villars, I hope?”

“'Fraid so,” murmured his lordship, who had pushed himself too soon and too hard in the desperate search for Dimity. “Be safer if you … do not take me in your house.”

“Take you
in
it?” snorted Peregrine. “I should rather think we shall
not
take you in it! I can scarce wait to know for how long my
sister
has been in it, and you may be sure I'll have a few words to say to you, Mitten, at which time, among other things, I shall require to know who is this ‘Rafe' fella.”

Farrar put in quickly, “He is a neighbour who meant to kill me, but killed my dog instead, which is why—”

The small party came to an abrupt halt at this, the twins staring in shocked disbelief.

“Killed your
dog?
” gasped Peregrine. “I should
hope
you mean to fight the beastly fellow! Sorry, Mitten, but whether or not he is a friend of yours, anyone who'd kill another man's dog ain't fit to go!”

“Of course he is not a friend, silly,” she said. “He's Tio's friend, not mine. I never met him until I came here, and I must say, Tio dear, he is a
very
nasty man.”

Lord Glendenning, whose dizzied head had sunk onto his chest, raised it and blinked at the blurred shape he rather supposed was Dimity. “Don't mean to—to contradict, m'dear,” he faltered, “but—I'm not acquainted with anyone named Rafe, that … I can recall.”

“Well, that's not his true name, of course,” she said, with an uneasy glance to Farrar, “but—
you
know who I mean. He's the—er, gentleman you sent me to find. Mr. Green…”

“Oh—
damme!
” groaned Peregrine.

Glendenning's hand clamped hard onto Farrar's supporting arm. He gasped, “D-devil he … is! By God, Mitten—what have you done?”

Paling, she stammered, “Well, I-I … Oh Tio, you
said
‘Fayre' and ‘Hall'—and D-Decimus Green, and—”

Vastly intrigued, Farrar interpolated, “But Green's name is not Decimus, ma'am.”

Beginning to be really terrified, she blurted, “Only because he does not choose to use it. Your aunt told me he prefers to be called Rafe. Oh—
pray
do not frighten me so!”

“
Frighten
you!” sputtered Piers. “Do you realize—”

Farrar lifted an autocratic hand. “Miss Cranford, Green's given name is Oliver.
Decimus
Green is a nearby hamlet, not a man.”

She gave a squeak of terror and clutched Peregrine's arm.

Appalled, Glendenning said threadily, “My fault, likely … I said ‘fair'—meaning the colouring of the man to whom you were to give it, and if I said ‘all,' Mitten, I—I must have been trying to tell you his name.”

“Charles Albritton?” murmured Farrar, surprised. “The clergyman?”

“Mitten,” groaned the viscount. “You—you didn't…?”

Pressing clasped hands to her whitening lips, she whimpered, “Oh! My God, how can I have been such a widgeon? I tried. I really tried! But—I
did,
Tio! I gave the cypher to Mr. Rafe Green, and he is the most horrid man you could imagine!”

“Holy … Christ!” groaned Glendenning, and fainted again.

XIII

Lady Helen was upstairs fussing over Horatio Glendenning, who had been put to bed; Peregrine was stretched out on the sofa in the bookroom, looking broodingly at his foot; and Piers stood by the fireplace, glass in hand. Dimity, who at last had felt able to beg a fichu from Lady Helen and was thus considerably more at ease, sat in the great elbow chair, sipping at a glass of cowslip wine. Despite her preoccupation with this disastrous turn of events, she was also pondering the complete inconsistency of the male animal for, although both her brothers and Glendenning had called out Farrar, at the moment they appeared to find it perfectly convenable to accept his hospitality, drink his wine, and converse upon treasonable matters in his presence.

“What boggles me,” said Piers, fixing Dimity with a darkling look, “is how you could have seized upon those four words—Fair, All, and Decimus Green—and managed to concoct such a farradiddle!”

“Could you not have taken one look at the varmint and seen he was no gentleman?” demanded Peregrine. “Any fellow who would train a dog to slaughter his enemy instead of coming slap up to him himself is merest scum, Mitten. Dashitall, have we taught you nothing?”

She blushed and said miserably, “I am very, very sorry. I have made wretched work of it!”

Farrar, who had been sitting on the reference table at the side of the pleasant room, stood, and said hotly, “No such thing! You did wonderfully well!”

“Well?” cried Piers, rounding on him. “Lord only knows how many men have died for that damnable cypher, and what must my sister do but—”

“Risk her life to lead the dragoons away from Tio? Come into the home of a man she has every right to—to despise, and run all manner of risks only so as to try to complete a mission so deadly few men would dare tackle it? She is a true heroine and one you should be proud of, instead of—”

This defence won him a glowing look from Dimity, but Peregrine interpolated wrathfully, “We do not need
you,
Farrar, to be telling us of the value of our sister! Furthermore,
you
ain't in this mess, and come to that— By the bye, are you acquainted with Glendenning?”

Farrar said in a quieter voice, “Any time these ten years. He's a splendid fellow.”

“He don't hold the same opinion of you, sir,” snapped Piers.

Farrar reddened painfully. He drew back, and his eyes fell. “No. Well—that is only to be expected.”