Love Alters Not (40 page)

At his most cynical, Farrar drawled, “My dear ma'am, do you say
you
desire to accept the hospitality of a craven deserter?”

Her high colour deepened and once more her gaze flickered and fell. “If Miss Clement told you I said that—”

“In view of the confusion as to her identity, Miss—er, Clement felt obliged to act as your emissary and has handed me the documents you brought to prove your claim, so—”

“That wicked little slut!” she shrilled, springing up with remarkable agility in view of her infirmity and rather belatedly clinging to the chair. “I warn you, Captain! I'll have the law on you if you've tampered with them papers!”

“But of course we shall have the law in this, madam. My solicitor has your proofs and is in the process of conducting enquiries to prove—or more probably disprove—your claim.”

“If only
one
of them papers is missing, Captain Sharp,” she flared, her accent slipping disastrously, “you'll be sorry, I promise you! And as for that baggage what you've had in keeping here—”

“Miss Clement has been in the care of my aunt, Lady Gilbert Farrar. As soon as she was able to tell us her true identity, her brothers and her betrothed were notified, and came to conduct her back to her home.”

“A likely story,” she sneered, but sat down again as Leonard returned with a tray on which was a single glass. He tendered it, his manner so icily disdainful that Farrar had to repress a grin. Her eyebrows and little finger elevated, Mrs. Deene took up the glass, and when the butler had withdrawn, she said with less force, “Where is my dear nephew? If one hair of his sweet head has been harmed, I warn you—”

“How odd,” Farrar interposed, “that I had fancied you would thank me for having cared for him during your absence. Indeed, I have wondered why the boy would have been so willing to accompany a lady he certainly knew was not his aunt.”

Her eyes narrowed vengefully. “I suppose the little ingrate claimed I was harsh with him!” She saw Farrar's lips tighten into a thin hard line and, recognizing her error, cooed, “But of course he did not. The poor baby was likely terrified of being left all alone in the world with his dear aunty dead—as he was deliberately misinformed—and so fell in with the Clement woman's plans! You may be sure I have informed the authorities of
her
wickedness, and she will be hauled into court when the time comes!”

Farrar thought, ‘Hell! We must get Mitten out of this!'

Mrs. Deene said a triumphant, “Don't like that, do you, your mightiness? Formed an attachment for the little doxy, have you? It don't surprise me, considering as—”

“Farrar,” Lady Helen made her graceful way from the rear hall, “I wonder if—”

“I shall attend you in a moment, ma'am, an you will wait in your parlour,” he interposed swiftly.

“What he means,” Mrs. Deene explained with an angry titter, “is that he don't choose to introduce me. I am Mrs. Catherine Deene, whose sister was cruelly abandoned by Mr. Walter Farrar, and I—”

“Have come to take back the child?” enquired Lady Helen, advancing with a relieved smile. “Oh, I am so glad. I am Lady Farrar, and although I sympathize with your predicament, it has really been most inconvenient to have the boy here. Farrar, do pray have the goodness to desire one of the maids to pack his things at once.”

Farrar, who suspected that his aunt had become very fond of Carlton, hid his surprise and crossed to the bell pull. Reaching it, his hand was arrested as a piercing shriek rang out.

Carlton came into the room, a mottled red and white, and looking utterly miserable.

Mrs. Deene, who had sprung up, spilling her wine, retreated behind her chair. “Carlton! My God! What have they done to you?”

“Hello, Aunty Cathy,” the boy said feebly. “I'm not very ill, you know. The gardener says it's only measles, and—”

“
Measles!
Oh, you stupid boy, of all times—” and then, with a crocodilian smile, “Not that it is your fault, dearest.” She turned to my lady. “Small wonder you were so eager to be rid of him! For shame, to throw a sick child into the gutter!”

Inwardly amazed by this unexpected development, Farrar pointed out that measles was no longer considered a very severe ailment, “For not nearly so many die of it as were used to do. Caught as an adult, of course, it can be extreme dangerous, but an you have already had the disease, chances are you'd not contract it again.”

“Well, I have
not
had it!” Mrs. Deene cried, horrified. “And only
look
at him!”

Carlton trod closer. Farrar, a certain quick-witted young lady in mind, had half-suspected that horrid rash to have been applied with his own paint brushes, but he now saw that the boy was indeed sadly afflicted, his arms and legs full of the angry spots that adorned his cheeks.

“You
have
come to take me with you, haven't you, Aunty?” Carlton sighed pathetically. “They don't like me here, and now Miss Clement's gone—”

“Oh, she
has,
has she?” Controlling her frustrated wrath with an effort, Mrs. Deene added a cajoling, “Stay back, dear little fellow, but tell your aunty why you went off with—with that person.”

“They said you was dead,” he explained, his trusting gaze fixed upon her. “And Miss Clement was coming here 'cause she hated Sir Anth'ny, so—”

“
Sir
Anthony…?” she echoed, with a sort of gasp, her widening eyes darting to Farrar.

“A windfall, ma'am?” he drawled sardonically.

“So she said she'd help me if it would dis'blige him,” Carlton finished. “But I'd like to go with you, please.”

“Of course you will go with her,” promised Farrar. “The lady is, after all, your own flesh and blood and will want to care for you.”

“Have you the least vestige of human kindness,” cried Mrs. Deene, wringing her hands and assuming a martyred air, “you will allow me to stay
here
and care for the sweet baby.”

“What? While you attempt to steal my home and estates? You give me credit not for human kindness, but for the disposition of a saint!” He saw her mouth opening for a predictable response and continued hurriedly, “We'd no choice with Miss Clement for she was carried into this house.”

“Very clever of the hussy,” said Mrs. Deene waspishly.

“Furthermore,” my lady interposed with a hauteur she seldom employed, “the young lady left as soon as she was able. I will thank you to do the same, ma'am. Ah, here you are, Leonard. Pray tell one of the maids to pack Master Carlton's valise at once.”

“No!” snapped Mrs. Deene, red with anger.

Ignoring this unseemly interruption, Leonard said smoothly, “Is already done, ma'am. When this lady announced herself I instructed Rodgers to pack the young gentleman's belongings. Shall I have his valise put into Mrs. Deene's vehicle?”

“You will do no such thing!” shouted Mrs. Deene. “I came here to fetch a well child—not one infected with a deadly disease! My solicitor means to bring you to court very shortly, after which the boy will have
your
valise packed, Sir Anthony Farrar! What
you
may do, my good man, is to have my stolen belongings made ready.”

“That was done before Miss Clement left, madam,” said Leonard, who had received some advance instruction from his employer, and was also very much on his dignity at having been addressed as a “good man.” “Miss Clement also left a sum of money to recompense you for their use.”

“And only proper she should do so,” said Mrs. Deene, betraying not the least appearance of gratitude. “For I shall be obliged to burn every stick and stitch of it sooner than use objects worn by a woman little better than a—”

“An it would suit you better, we can simply burn your trunks and so spare you the task,” interjected Farrar, blandly.

She threw him a venomous glance. “I shall leave this depraved house at once. Carlton, come outside with me. I'll have a word or two with you, my lad. Not too close, mind!” Her look of blazing contempt was wasted on my lady, and equally wasted on Farrar, who offered a deep bow as Leonard ushered her out.

The instant the front door had closed, Lady Helen murmured, “Oh, what a dreadful woman! And I fear she means mischief! Thank heaven Miss Cranford is still in the barn making a list of our bazaar donations!”

“Holt has evidently not divulged her true name nor did we—for which I thank you—so can we get her away quickly, she may be safe.” For just an instant a bleak look came into his face, then he said, “Now—tell me, ma'am, have you really had measles?”

Any demonstration of his devotion never failed to wring her heart. She turned her head from him slightly. “Yes. When I was eight, I think. And when you were ten you contrived to bring it home from school and pass it on to three of the maids and—and Harding.”

He heard the break in her voice and said bracingly, “We must hope Carlton's case is not as lurid and lengthy as was mine. Though, if it has rescued him from that harpy…”

She raised anxious eyes to his. “An her claims prove false, whatever is to become of the boy? He is terrified of her.”

He asked, smiling, “What would you, ma'am? If he truly is her nephew, we cannot very well wrest him away.”

“Nor abandon the poor child to her tender mercies!” She frowned worriedly. “How I wish poor Major Rhodes yet lived. He would know just what to do. But perhaps Dr. Steel may have some suggestions.”

“
Roger
Steel? Why, he is so in awe of you he fairly trembles do you wish him good day!”

“I have scarce done so since your recovery, but I believe he has a fine understanding and is a most shrewd gentleman. We must have him out to look at the boy at all events, if he has measles.”

“I don't, Lady He'n,” a small voice sighed.

Carlton was coming up the steps holding Swimmer. He was very pale and looked scared, the spots more lurid than ever. He said wryly, “It is—stinging nettles.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Farrar. “You never did!”

The fair curls nodded. “I saw her coming. She don't like it when I'm sick, and if I just brush past a nettle I get spots all over, so I ran through that patch down by the woodshed.”

“Why, you Trojan,” said Farrar, touched.

Lady Helen said kindly, “Poor little fellow. You must feel dreadful. Come—” she stretched forth her hand, and with considerably less than his usual vigour, Carlton went to her. “You shall be bathed in salts, which will make you feel very much better,” she promised.

“You'd best not take Swimmer,” advised Farrar. “She's not fond of tubs.”

Carlton looked back at him with a quivering grin.

Farrar's smile faded as they climbed the stairs, and he walked across the hall, his steps as slow as his heart was heavy.

He entered the breakfast room to find that Piers had come back and that he and Glendenning were bemoaning the fact that they had not witnessed the duel, and marvelling at the part Roland Otton had played.

Chandler said grudgingly, “That mercenary hound was born a gentleman. I suppose once in a great while some vestige of chivalry surfaces. Of a certainty, his defection played hob with Green's plans for you, Tony.”

“What I cannot fathom,” said Glendenning, “is why they should be willing to take such risks. The gudgeons surely—”

“You spoke of gudgeons?” Peregrine limped into the room, leaning on his cane. He was pale, the lump on his forehead dark and angry looking, but a spark lit his blue eyes. “I arrive prompt to my call.”

Piers hid his concern and said, “Well, don't you look horrid. I take my eyes off you for five minutes and you get your brains knocked out! You were likely fair game for that thieving gypsy.”

Peregrine essayed a bow, thought better of it, and occupied the chair a lackey pulled out for him. “Much you know of it, twin. Fact is, that young varmint showed me one of the finest stallions I ever saw.”

At once, they were all attention, and in response to a battery of eager questions, Peregrine imparted that it was a sixteen-hand bay with good straight legs, a deep barrel, and splendid hindquarters. “A goer, if ever I saw one!”

“You lucky dog,” exclaimed Piers, envious. “How much?”

“Twenty pounds.”

There was a stunned silence.

“You
did
buy him?” asked Glendenning, awed.

“Certainly not! There was a—er, feature I could not like.”

“The deuce,” snorted Piers. “What feature?”

“The price was too high,” said Peregrine and, laughter dancing into his blue eyes as he viewed their stupefaction, he added, “Since I already own him! That wicked young reprobate tried to sell me Odin!”

After an uproarious few minutes, Piers wiped tears from his eyes and gasped, “I hope you had him clapped up!”

“Ah—er, well…” mumbled Peregrine.

Piers shook his head. “Where is he, you great block?”

“I was ready to floor the sly little reprobate, let me tell you. But—blest if he didn't go and faint dead away. It seems he'd scarce eaten for two days. So I—er, took him to a hedge tavern and bought him breakfast. I—well, I began to think—if
I
was nigh starved and living in a cart…” He shrugged.

“‘But for the grace of God, there go I,'” nodded Farrar. “Have you brought him back with you, then?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Rather red in the face, Peregrine added defiantly, “And you may all cease to sneer. I've set him to carving me a peg leg. Does it fit better than this confounded foot, I shall feel well justified.”

The laughter and the teasing quieted. Farrar gripped his hands tightly under the table and thought, ‘Now!' and as if from a distance heard himself speak the words he had so dreaded to utter. “I am sorry to have to tell you this.” He saw Glendenning catch his breath and the Cranford twins exchange dismayed glances and, knowing what they feared he was about to say, his mouth twisted cynically. “I have very much enjoyed having you as my guests,” he went on, “but you must leave here at once.”