Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (38 page)

"By God!" Harry exclaimed exuberantly. "So that's how it was
done! We—"'

A branch crashed against the windows and glass shredded into
the room. The draperies billowed inward, the wind blowing out all the
candles. Nanette gave an involuntary cry of shock, and Harry's anxious
glance flashed to her. Untroubled by a concern for any but himself,
Sanguinet snatched up a candelabrum and with a savage swipe, smashed
the pistol from Harry's hand. In an instantaneous reaction, Harry's
left hand clamped around that flailing wrist and twisted; the
candelabrum went clattering down. Sanguinet wrenched away and darted
for the long library table. A smallsword lay on that table, the
jewelled hilt winking in the fire light. He whipped the blade from the
scabbard and spun about, the steel whistling through the air in a
deadly arc that forced the pursuing Harry to leap desperately aside.

"
En garde.'"
cried Sanguinet, and
advanced, the sword circling.

Harry retreated, his eyes probing the dimness for something
with which to defend himself.

"Papa! I beg of you!" Nanette implored. "He has no weapon!"

Her stepfather stopped at once and, slanting a teasing glance
at her, asked, "You will wed me, then, do I spare this one?"

"Yes…" she said in anguished helplessness. "Anything! Only—"

"Only—
hell
!" grated Harry and, vaulting
the sofa, snatched a poker from the hearth, then flung himself clear of
the blade that flashed not an inch from his ribs.

"
Sottise, man petit chou
!" cried
Sanguinet gleefully. "You will wed me irregardless!" Even as he spoke
he was swaying away from Harry's powerful thrust. "How sad—is it not
sad, Anabelle? His weapon is ill chosen—it is too short.
Voila
!"

Like a streak of white fire his point shot for Harry's chest.
Harry twisted with lithe ease, and if the sword ripped through his
sleeve, his poker struck home also, slamming down across Sanguinet's
out-flung left hand so that a shout of pain was drawn from the
Frenchman.

A thunderous barrage rang out. The door to the hall shook, and
anxious voices cried, "Monseigneur! M. Guy has been beaten!
Monseigneur!"

"Break down the door!" shouted Sanguinet. The amusement had
vanished from his face, for what he had imagined a comfortably
one-sided game had lost its charm. His hand hurt, and M. Parnell
Sanguinet did not like to be hurt. "I have deal with your papa," he
snarled, "and your so-foolish impertinence of a brother. With you,
Monsieur
le Capitaine
, I shall be less kind!"

He was no mean swordsman and his fierce attack sent Harry
reeling back, deflecting the flurry of thrusts as best he might. A
sustained pounding from the doors rivalled the occasional peals of
thunder, but those doors were old and solid… With luck they might hold
until he triumphed—for triumph he would, by God! He was at a slight
disadvantage, perhaps, but he
must
win, for Papa,
and Mitch, and to free his beloved from this insane satyr!

Appalled by the ferocity of the fast-moving struggle, Nanette
disregarded both the cacophony of the mounting storm and the assault
upon the doors, her entire concentration on that murderous smallsword
and Harry's hopelessly ineffectual poker. She marvelled at his skill,
his sure and agile movements, his unyielding defence and occasional
attack. Time and again he eluded death by a whisper. Time and again the
sword was beaten aside, the fierce lunges evaded. She pressed her hand
to her mouth, praying the outcome was nor inevitable, and running clear
when the deadly battle swept towards her.

Sanguinet fought mostly in
sexte
, only
occasionally switching into
quatre
. He was very
skilled, but had they been equally armed, Harry felt he would have had
a good chance. He soon discovered, however, that his opponent possessed
one inestimable advantage: He could see in the dark! The strange eyes
that had been so narrowed by day were wide now, the movements swiftly
unerring, whereas Harry-was unfamiliar with the new furniture
placement, and the flickering light of the fire cast deep shadows,
which added to his peril. Again Parnell was attacking, the thrust
almost catching his side. At the last instant he struck the blade
upward but, leaping in for what might have been a telling blow, tripped
over an unseen footstool, tumbled heavily, and only saved himself by a
frantic roll to the side. He sprang up on the instant, but he was
panting; and scanning his face, Sanguinet laughed softly. "You have
hurt your arm, yes? And only look at how the hand it is swollen. I
wonder,
mon ami
—could it, do you think, have…
mortified . . ?"

Thunder shook the house and a new barrage rattled the doors.
Sanguinet's lunge was blindingly fast, and a long rent appeared in the
side of Harry's jacket, his jump back having been just a shade too
slow. Nanette thought frenziedly, "My dear God! He is getting tired!"

The flash of lightning was very close and a vivid blue-white;
Sanguinet blinked, his eyes squinting. Harry jumped forward; his poker
smashed the blade down, then rammed hard under the Frenchman's ribs.
Sanguinet's mouth flew open, his eyes started out, and he doubled up
and went to his knees, the sword tumbling from his hand.

With a cry of triumph, Harry tossed the poker away and scooped
up the smallsword. He was breathing hard, sweat streaked his face, and
his arm throbbed mercilessly. But he was elated, and as Nanette ran to
him, sobbing her relief, he swept her into a brief, fierce hug.

Both arms folded across his middle, choking for breath,
Sanguinet straightened slowly, to find the point of his own blade at
his throat and beyond it the pale, grim face of a man who had every
reason to kill without mercy. "Please!" he gasped. "Please… do
not!
I will . . pay you . . !"

"Fool! What price would you put on my father's life? My
brother's self-respect? You are a murdering, slimy apology for a human
being—
say
it!"

Sanguinet wet dry lips. "I am… a murdering… slimy apology
for…a human being!
Anything
! What do you want?
Name it! I do not wish… to be dead."

Harry had not expected such a craven display and said with a
curl of the lip, "You whining cur! My brother has more courage in his
little finger than—" He checked as a shot roared above the howl of the
wind and the wood of the door splintered, but the bolt held. "Devil
take you," he gritted. "I would dearly love to watch you hang, but—I'd
just as lief kill you by my own hand! And I will— does that door fall!"

Death glared in his eyes, and Sanguinet yowled a frantic
command so that at once his men ceased their efforts.

"Paper and pen, little one," said Harry. "Quickly, now." She
ran to obey, and he went on, "I want a written confession, Sanguinet.
Everything! My father, and Schofield— How
did
you
entrap Barney?"

"He w-was devoted to his wife… May I please get up now?"

Harry said inexorably, "We were, I believe, discussing Grace
Schofield."

Sanguinet whimpered, "She—she adores that… miserable weakling
of a son."

"Yes. Probably even more now that he is blind—poor devil."

"He—m-misappropriated funds… from the Officers Club.—No! Do
not! I have help… Schofield! I swear, by
le bon Dieu
.I
help him keep it quiet!"

"And your price was my father's life!" snarled Harry. "You
damned nail! That scandal would have destroyed Grace, and Barney
worshipped her! I
knew
it had to be something
like that! By thunder, but you don't deserve to live!"

Sanguinet cringed back, but was reprieved as Nanette brought a
Standish and paper. "Up—foulness!" Harry gave the kneeling man a hard
prod. "We—"

The lightning this time lit every corner of the room with an
unearthly blue glare. There was an ear-splitting explosion. The house
shuddered to a tremendous shock, and the entire front wall burst
inward. Harry was conscious of a heavy odour of sulphur, and glass and
bricks raining down. In that split second he knew that the great oak
had been struck and was crashing into the room. His reaction was
instinctive. He grasped Nanette and pulled her away from the hail of
branches and debris. In an equally instinctive reaction, Sanguinet
whipped a small pistol from a desk drawer, only to be sent sprawling as
the room became a ravening chaos.

With arms tight about his love, Harry saw a dark mass hurtling
at them and shoved her violently away. Icy wet leaves whipped about
him; twigs raked down his face. A staggering shock; a great weight
driving the breath from his lungs. The darkness became absolute.

The smell of smoke was heavy in the room, and Sanguinet's
voice, shrill and hysterical, keened through the darkness. "You
cannot
escape me! This I swear!" Dazed, Harry muttered, "Are we… in your realm
then? Don't seem… hot enough…"

"Harry!" A soft hand slapped gently at his cheek. "Oh, Harry…
please… I cannot move it.
Please
, wake up!"

He responded at once to the note of panic in that dear voice
and strove to rise, but in vain. A branch across his shoulder pinned
him on his left side and something was grinding into his back so that
he could scarcely breathe. The lightning's next flare revealed Nanette
bending over him, her hair tumbled and thick with dust, the dirt on her
face channelled by tears. He also caught a glimpse of Sanguinet digging
himself from under a pile of rubble and the sheer disaster that was his
papa's so-loved library, with books and furniture scattered and buried
under branches, splintered wood, and bricks. When the thunderclap died
away, he commanded, "Nanette, go quickly! Is the door clear?"

"No. They tried to get in, but it is quite blocked. And I will
not
leave you!" She tugged at the branch
desperately.

After a wracking effort, Harry panted, "It is—no… use. If
they've half the brains… God gave 'em, they'll come in through… the
wall. Nanette—stop! Can you not understand? If we are both caught, we
are both doomed. If
you
get away, he will not
dare—

"I won't! I won't! Harry—try! I beg you! Try!"

"He will but waste the time!" yowled Sanguinet, scrabbling
frantically about. "Do not imagine, Redmond, that you live to boast of
tricking me into having kneel at your feet! For that you die slowly—by
my soul, I swear it!"

A muffled sob escaped Nanette. "There! It gave a little, I
think! Push!"

Harry's back was commencing to regain some feeling, which was
miserably unfortunate, but he strove until the sweat ran into his eyes.
"For the love of God—go!" he gasped out. "We're fairly at Point
Non-Plus, little shrew. Get to Cancrizans Priory—it's near a village
called Pudding Park, in Dorset. I have… good friends there. They'll
know what to do."

She put one hand to her brow, weeping in so distraught a
fashion that he forced a harsh, "Blast it all! Do you
want
him to murder me? With you safely away, he won't dare! Go!" She bent
above him and he caught a faint vestige of perfume as her lips brushed
his cheek; then she was gone. But the next flash revealed Sanguinet
staggering to his feet and beginning to search about, and knowing for
what he sought, Harry gritted his teeth and fought madly to escape.

"Do not so distress yourself…" A lurid glare was beginning to
flicker through the darkness, and by that glow Sanguinet looked quite
crazed, covered with grime, hair awry, lips drawn back from grinning
teeth, eyes gleaming redly. And in his hand, a small black pistol.

Harry abandoned his futile efforts. "Another—perfect crime?"

"More, shall I say—'tidy' at the least. Permit that I tell
you, Redmond. To the very last I think your papa he will elude me. My
scheme, he is
meticuleux
, but almost I am foiled!
At the finish, I have him, though! He was, dear my friend, quite aware
when I aim the pistol. Just as I now do. He is paralyze from the drug,
but he have watch me and see what is coming…" His giggle sent a blazing
rage through Harry, but sensing that such an emotion would gratify his
tormentor, he said with cool aplomb, "Poor chap. Your loft is really
full of maggots, isn't it."

The hand holding that black and deadly pistol jerked.
Sanguinet said purringly, "
Insouciant
—how
admirable. But think on this while you lie here and wish to be dead—I
shall find my Annabelle… Ah, that take away your smile, no?" His finger
tightened on the trigger. "In the spine, I think, will give you
sufficient time to repent…" He took careful aim. Harry felt sick; he
had seen men die from such a wound and could only pray he'd not make
too much of a cake of himself.

The explosion was sharp and deafening.

Sweating, his teeth gritted tight, Harry felt nothing more
than the misery he presently endured.

An expression of unspeakable dread was on Sanguinet's face. He
coughed and, striving to raise the sagging pistol, choked horribly,
sank to his knees, and pitched forward.

For a long moment Harry gazed disbelievingly at his huddled
shape. Then he looked up. Nanette stood very still amid the wreckage,
Guy Sanguinet's silver pistol dangling from her hand.

The wind howled, the rain drummed, and from somewhere outside,
fire sent an ever brighter glare filtering through the smashed wall to
play upon three people who moved not at all.

A crash and a flurry of distant shouts roused Harry. Nanette
must not be found here! He called her name, but she made no response,
continuing to gaze with that awful concentration at her stepfather.
"Nanette!" he pleaded. "little one… my shrew!" The last term drew her
wide gaze to him, the horror in the big eyes giving way to an agony of
despair that wrung his heart. "My brave girl! Never look so—he was not
worth one instant of your grief!" But her expression was unchanged,
save that now she shuddered violently. "Help me," he cried urgently.
"Little one—I need you!"