Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (4 page)

"And he fled—incontinent? You should have been with us at the
Rhune!"

"Oh,
I
did not chase him off," she said
demurely. "Rather, I set the dogs on the fellow."

"What, those two ancient Danes? They can scarce totter about."

"No, but they do bark and growl so beautifully." She laughed
outright. 'The villain turned as white as the child was black, and ran
like a hare!"

"How I should love to have seen it! But I'll lay odds our
Roger was most perturbed."

"Yes. So I apologized, listened attentively to his advice to
put the boy in a foundling home, and instead brought him here. That was
only ten days before you came home. I sent him down to Surrey hoping we
could get some meat on his poor bones, and also because he had become
almost doglike in his devotion to me. I'd hoped it would…" She
hesitated.

"Enlarge his horizons? Ain't. He looks at you as if you was
the Goddess of the Dawn." Buchanan's blue eyes twinkled. "And he's not
the only one. I—"

"I intend to teach him to read and write," Euphemia interposed
hurriedly. "You can see he's already made progress, and he is so eager
to learn. How sad that the poor boy is quite unable to speak."

"So, what are my orders? A tiger? Good old Ted Ridgley might—"

"No! I have seen Lord Ridgley drive! If you do not object,
dear, I mean to keep him here, and perhaps educate him sufficiently
that he could train for a valet."

Buchanan pursed his lips. "Lofty aspirations for a lad without
a name."

Her brows lifted at this, as did her firm chin, but before she
could speak, he threw up one hand and conceded, "I surrender! I know
that look too well! Unless I mistake it, our Kent is already fated to
valet Prinny someday. At the very least!"

Buchanan withdrew his gaze from the wintry scene beyond the
carriage windows and his thoughts from the 52nd, and turned to his
sister, muffled in her fur-lined pelisse, the hood drawn up even inside
the luxurious vehicle. "I beg your pardon? What cannot you like?"

"Kent sitting up there on the box with Neeley," repeated
Euphemia. "He must be utterly chilled and is so very frail."

"Frail? Devil a bit of it! The boy's all sinewy steel. I vow,
Mia, after a day with him at the Exeter Exchange, I thought I'd be
obliged to take myself to the nearest surgeon! Even Old Hookey don't
run us that hard! Why, damme if I ever had a chance to get cool, let
alone cold! And it was freezing!"

Since her brother had returned from that expedition with
Kent's hand confidently tucked in his, and the pair of them with eyes
aglow and cheeks rosy, she was undismayed and said smilingly, "You have
worked wonders with him." She thought, And how we shall miss you when
you go back… But pushing that grim spectre away, asked, "How old is he,
would you suppose?"

"Who knows? Climbing boys are usually so stunted it would be
difficult to hazard a guess. To judge from his size, had he not been
working long in the chimneys, he might be six or seven. Otherwise, he
could be as old as twelve." They were silent for a moment, occupied
with their thoughts. Then he said, "I'm glad you kept him, Mia. I like
the boy. He's surprisingly mannerly. Have you remarked how he eats?
Almost finicking, he is so dainty about it."

"Yes, and never pushes himself forward, or behaves in a crude
way. There is good blood in him, I do believe."

"I fancy you have tried to question him about his past?"

"Many times. But it is quite hopeless, except—I went to visit
Sir Giles Breckenridge in Town. Sir Giles and Deirdre and I fell into a
discussion of the war, and I suddenly realized that Kent had wandered
off and was staring at the big canvas of the gypsy encampment. You
recall it, I've no doubt." Her brother, no art lover, merely wrinkled
his brow dubiously, and she went on. "Well, at all events, Kent held my
hand very tightly and kept pointing up at the painting. He seemed so
agitated, poor mite, I can only think that at one time he may have
lived with gypsies."

"Stolen, beyond doubting," he nodded soberly. "And they sold
him for a climbing boy." A gust of wind rocked the carriage, and,
glancing out at the starkly unclad trees and bleak countryside, he
muttered, "Jove, it's a good thing I decided to leave yesterday! Had we
tried to journey next week, I doubt we would have reached Bath in time
for Easter! Looks like it is about to snow, drat it!"

He quite expected this observation to trigger a request that
Kent be brought inside, which he had begun to think would be justified.
To his surprise, however, his sister asked absently, "Where is Dominer?"

"Domino?" He stared at her. "Does Aunt Lucasta plan a
masquerade, then? Good lord, I cannot abide such frippery—"

"I said
Dominer
, silly! The estate."

"Oh, you mean Hawkhurst's place. About ten miles this side of
Bath." Curious, he asked, "Why?"

"Have you ever seen it?"

"Papa took me there once, when I was a boy. There was a fete
or some such thing. As I recall, it is absolutely magnificent.
Everything they say of it." He frowned and, a chill light dawning in
his eyes, asked, "
You
have not been there, I
trust?"

The unfamiliar tone brought her head around to him. "Good
gracious, if it is as lovely as you say, I'd think you would want me to
see it."

"I had best not catch you within ten miles of the place!" he
growled. "Fellow's got the worst reputation I ever heard of! Downright
shocking!"

"A rake?" Her eyes sparkled, but, noting that his mouth had
settled into the grim line that came so seldom to his pleasant
countenance despite his personal troubles, she was intrigued and said
chidingly, "Now, Simon, I never knew you to be strait-laced. And you
must certainly be aware I am perfectly capable of taking care of
myself."

"More than a rake, Mia."

"A traitor? A-a bluebeard? Oh,
pray
do
not be fusty! Tell me! Has he murdered seven wives and tossed their
bodies to the dogs? Or—Good gracious, dearest! I spoke in jest, merely."

"It is no jest. But I collect I had best tell you what I know
of it, before you decide you may rearrange
his
life for him!" Buchanan's frown lingered, and, waiting with interest,
Euphemia forgot the frigid temperatures and decided that Hawkhurst must
be a real scoundrel.

"You will not remember Blanche Spaulding, I fancy," he began
slowly. "Devilish pretty girl. Fair as an angel, with great green eyes,
and the softest, sweetest voice you might ever wish to hear. She was
the undisputed Toast about… Well, it was when I was still up at
Cambridge—must be seven or eight years ago. At all events, every Buck
in Town was after her, although she was practically portionless. Why
she chose Hawkhurst none of us could understand. Oh, he was popular
enough, then, and I'll admit, a fine sportsman. But never much for
looks, and Blanche was not the type to marry a man's wealth. Still, he
wooed and won her and took her to Dominer, and she was seldom in Town
after that. A year later, I heard she had presented him with an heir.
I'd have thought no more about it, but one night I dined with Timothy
van Lindsay—one of your more ardent beaux!" He grinned as Euphemia
smiled archly, and went on, "Tim chanced to mention that rumours were
rife about the Hawkhursts. Ugly little whispers that he ill-treated
her; certainly, he was known to have taken a very highflyer under his
protection. I thought it most sad, for Blanche had been such a lovely
little creature, but it soon slipped my mind again. The whole thing
broke like a mine blast at the time I came home with that fever. I can
only think Hawkhurst had become ripe for Bedlam. From what I gather, he
had been conducting a running feud with a neighbour, a jolly good chap,
Lord Gains, who was used to be one of his oldest friends. One night,
Gains rode over to Dominer to demand an accounting. They quarrelled
fiercely, and instead of calling the fellow out like a gentleman,
Hawkhurst tossed some kind of acid in his face!"

Euphemia gave a gasp. "How despicable!"

"Wasn't it! Blinded Gains in one eye."

"Good heavens! They went out, of course?"

"Can't say…" His brows furrowed thoughtfully. "I never heard
of it."

"Even so, how did this affect your lovely Blanche?"

"From what I heard, when she ventured to reproach her husband
for such revolting behaviour, he knocked her down. The poor girl
probably thought him quite crazed, for she fled the house that very
night, with her child and her maid. It's said Hawkhurst chased her half
across the Continent. Nobody really knows what happened, save that
catch her he did, in the south of France. And that very day her chaise
went off the road and into the sea."

Appalled, Euphemia asked, "Was she killed?"

Buchanan nodded glumly. "And her little boy. Hawkhurst came
home. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but everyone knows. The chaise,
you see, had been tampered with. The Préfet de Police of the area made
it known that he was sure foul play had been done, and they say
Hawkhurst got away barely ahead of a mob eager to exact justice for the
little lady."

Euphemia was silent for a moment, her lively imagination
re-creating the tragic episode. "I can scarce believe," she muttered,
"that such monsters walk the earth. Why, he should have been hanged!
Though, were it up to me, I'd have ordered him drawn and quartered,
besides! That poor girl… how utterly terrified she must have been for
her baby!"

"What vexes me so," growled Buchanan, "is that no one would
help her. Since she died Hawkhurst has become a positively slavering
rake, though he never goes near Town, of course. Likely be ran out on a
rail, did he try it! So now you can see why I will not have you near
that place."

"Yes. Though… we could see the house from a distance, could we
not?"

He said a grudging, "I suppose so. It is on a hill, as I
recall. Why? Have you an insatiable craving to see what a monster looks
like?"

"Heavens—no! But, well, Kent so loves to look through my
Guide
to the West Country
, and he especially admires Dominer. It
would be so nice for him to see the actual estate." She watched Simon's
disapproving frown anxiously. "Is Hawkhurst
always
in residence? Might he not have gone away for the holidays?"

"Matter of fact, by the oddest coincidence, I saw his curricle
in Reading last night. Drives fine cattle, I'll say that for him."

"
Curricle
! In this weather? His poor
groom!"

'Told you he belongs in Bedlam. Even so, Mia, he owns the land
for miles around. I cannot like you to set foot on it!"

'Then I promise not to leave the carriage! Oh, I should so
like to see the house, and it would take us only a little way from our
road. Please, dear?"

Buchanan argued, fumed, and struggled. And in the end, of
course, he pulled on the check string and lowered the window to call to
Neeley. Settling back again, his teeth chattering with cold, he
murmured a disgusted, "W-W-Women!"

"Oh, but the countryside is heavenly!" exclaimed Euphemia,
admiring rolling hills that fringed a patchwork of neatly hedged
meadows spread out below them. "How unjust that so evil a man should
own it all."

Buchanan, his cheek pressed against the window, said, "And
more unjust that we are followed! If it is your Bluebeard, my girl…"

"You do not really think so? Heavens! Tell Neeley to turn
around!"

"What, on this blasted narrow track, with a sheer drop three
feet from the wheels? Devil I will! Besides…" He opened the window and,
squinting into the icy air, hurriedly drew back. "Perhaps I was
mistaken. He may have turned off, for there is no one in sight now,
and—"

There came a sudden thunderous roar. Euphemia's eyes widened
in fright and Neeley's voice rang out in a shriek. Buchanan glanced to
the left, snatched his sister into his arms, then they were flung down
as a great shock hit the coach. The breath smashed from her lungs,
Euphemia did not even have time to scream…

Papa's batman had left the tent flap open again, most
assuredly he had, for the air was full of dust, and the endless Spanish
wind… was… Euphemia opened her eyes. For an instant nothing was clearly
distinguishable. Then she saw a light floating above her. She frowned
at it in puzzlement, and gradually it resolved itself into a window.
But what in the world was the carriage window doing up there… ? Her
head hurt, and dust was everywhere. It was hard to think, and harder to
breathe. But that was not because of the dust. Something was across her
throat. She reached up and pulling away an arm, turned to discover
Simon, huddled and unconscious beside her, his white face resting on
the right-hand windows. With a sob of fear, she remembered. There must
have been a landslide—or perhaps a tree had fallen. "Simon!" she
choked. Her brother gave no sign of life. Her head throbbing, she
struggled to sit up, and the carriage rocked alarmingly. What was it he
had said just before the accident? "… a sheer drop three feet from the
wheels…" My God! she thought. Are we hanging over the edge? Moving
cautiously, she managed to touch his face. It was warm. He was alive
still, but perhaps his shoulder was hurt again. She tried to kneel and
gave a little gasp of terror as once more the carriage lurched. Why did
Neeley not come to help them? Oh, if only Simon had not sent her maids
and his valet on ahead of them! And—

"This is no time to essay a quadrille, ma'am."

Her heart jumped despite that calm and lazy drawl. A man was
looking down at her through the left-hand window that now was so
crazily situated in the air. An arresting face, lean, and with deep
clefts between the brows and beside the thin nostrils. He was very
dark, the loosely curling hair touched at the temples with grey, and
Euphemia had a brief impression of kind eyes, a high-bridged nose, a
well-shaped mouth just now curving to a smile, and a strong chin.