Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (19 page)

"And those yokels gave you more rough handling. What in the
world did you do to rate such treatment?"

Leaning on him, despite his reluctance to do so, Tyndale
tottered on and said wryly, "Well, it was raining, and I came upon a
snug toolshed by the road and made myself comfortable. Woke up to find
a dashed blunderbuss aimed at my head, and the farmer and his sons mad
as fire because I'd trespassed."

"Mad as fire! It was likely a trap. I was once caught in just
such a shabby scheme. They put you to work, I collect?"

"I never worked so hard in my life! That mean old curmudgeon
even berated his daughter for bringing me a drink of water. This
afternoon, old Nimms, the farmer, came out and watched me, guzzling at
a tankard of ale, and laughing while I dug every weed and rock from the
most miserable field you ever saw."

"What—did they not even give you a crust, or a hunk of cheese?"

"No, and there was all the time the most mouth-watering smell
of the stew his poor wife was cooking. When I asked him if there was
some way I could work for a meal, he thought it hilarious, but I
finally talked him into allowing me to instruct his sons in fencing."

Devenish said a surprised "You fence?"

"A… er, a little. I told old Nimms I was accounted not paltry
in the art, and he said in his crude way that he thought there was
little of art in a man's protecting himself. At all events, I was
allowed to go into the kitchen and eat, after which largesse I
commenced my first lesson." He was feeling steadier and relinquished
his grip on his cousin. "Thank you. I can go on now."

"Good. How did your lesson go on? From the look of those louts
I'd have thought they'd scarcely know point from grip!"

"Very shrewd of you. They didn't." Tyndale drawled wryly, "Our
problem, it developed, was with communication rather than skill. My
fine farmer had apparently not thought I referred to fencing with
foils."

"With swords? A first lesson? Fella must be queer in his
attic!"

"Not with swords."

Devenish frowned. "Then—what the deuce else could—"
Comprehension dawned. "
Fencing
?" He grinned, in
huge delight. "No, not really! With—
wood
?"

"My good Nimms," Tyndale sighed, "had once seen a picture of
an Italian villa surrounded by an ornate fence he particularly admired.
He thought I would know of some simple and inexpensive way to build it,
and—Now, blast you, Dev!"

"Sorry," wheezed Devenish, wiping his eyes. "So—so when he
discovered you'd hoodwinked him, he was—put out, eh?"

"
Hoodwinked
him? I didn't hoodwink the
clod! At least, not intentionally. Much chance I had of convincing him
of it!"

"So I should think. What did he say?"

"That he was going to push my face in the dirt and step on it."

"Whereupon," said Devenish, his hilarity fading, "you
attempted to show him the error of his ways?"

"Correct. The trouble was he had three stalwart sons. No
brains, you understand, but muscles—and to spare."

"And so… ?"

"And so—they pushed my face into the dirt, and Nimms demanded
I admit to being a lying, cheating Captain Sharp. My response, alas,
did not please; besides which I had managed to deal him a bloody nose
during our little tussle. His sons proceeded to pick me up and run my
head against a fence post a few times. So I would know what a fence
was, they said. You saw the last act."

"Well, I think it was plain horrid!" Josie said indignantly.
"Four to one! They was cowards, sir!"

"Dashed unsporting!" Devenish frowned from his cousin's rueful
smile to the blood that slowly crept down to stain the handkerchief
about his head. "They must have known you was already hurt."

"From what I saw of the Nimms clan, coz, I rather fancy that
would have added spice to their enjoyment."

"Would it! Well, it occurs to me that the family honour has
been sullied. And we cannot have that, now can we?" Devenish halted,
lost in thought, while his companions watched him wonderingly. "Nothing
for it," he said, looking up with a grin. "We must go back."

"Back!" echoed Tyndale. "But—why? Even together we couldn't
hope to—"

"Oh, I do not propose to take on the Nimmses. Not—ah, exactly.
After all, they did not play fair, so we have a little more—er—scope."

He looked, thought Tyndale, like a small, mischievous boy.
"What do you mean to do?" he asked.

Devenish regretfully inspected his last remaining silver
button. "Part with this." He wrenched it off. "I had meant to use it to
bribe a carter. Still, honour must be served. Josie, my elf, do you
recall that last village we trudged through? Do you fancy we can reach
it by nightfall?"

She nodded. "If Mr. Craig can walk so far. Oh, what fun it
would be! I wonder if the man with the performing bear be there still."

Tyndale, whose eyes had widened during this innocent
revelation, turned to his cousin. "Devenish, you never mean to… ?" he
breathed in awe.

Devenish chuckled. "Don't I just"

It was very cold that night and, although it did not rain, the
men of the Nimms family were not without optimism as they advanced in a
roseate dawn towards the toolshed.

Edgar, the eldest, was inclined to temper hope with reason,
however. "It ain't likely as we'd catch another noddicock this quick,"
he pointed out in a hoarse whisper. "We should've never let that big
cove go, Pa. He could've finished the west field by now."

"Ar," the patriarch agreed. "I were a sight rash there, son.
Still, by the time we was done, he wasn't good fer much. And ye can
never tell. With all this ragtag soldiery creeping about the roads, we
might— Hey! Look there! The door be shut so tight as any drum. What'd I
tell'ee? We do have hired ourselves another volunteer!"

Exultant, the four big men bore down upon their cunning trap,
never dreaming that they were watched by four pairs of eyes, each
alight with anticipation.

Farmer Nimms tightened his grip on the serviceable cudgel he
carried. "Ready, lads?" he hissed, one hand on the door. His sons
grinned and nodded. Movement could be heard from within the toolshed.
"Sounds like another big'un," gloated the good farmer, and his sons
brandished their clubs, eager for the fray.

Swinging the door wide, Farmer Nimms stepped inside. "You
worthless scum!" he roared. "Get—"

The movements in the shed became more pronounced. A strange
voice rose in irate protest. The voice of Farmer Nimms also rose. To a
shriek. He left his shed far more hurriedly than he had entered it. So
hurriedly, in fact, that he ploughed into the three stalwart offspring
who pressed in behind him. The fame of the Nimmses had spread far and
wide, and it would have been difficult to determine whether they were
best known for their truculence, their dishonest dealings, or the
brutality they visited upon the unfortunates they caught in their
strategically placed toolshed. They took care never to engage in a fair
fight, with the result that it had been many a day since they had been
bested. They were bested now. The trespasser looming in the doorway was
enough to strike fear into the heart of any reasonable man. The bear
was extremely large, brown, and annoyed. It reared onto its hind legs,
toppling the toolshed in the process, and letting out another roar of
displeasure.

Filial affection went by the board. Trapped by the burly
figures of his nearest and dearest, Fanner Nimms damned them for
knock-in-the-cradles and fought tooth and nail for freedom. Hurled
back, the brothers caught sight of the monster looming above them. None
of them could seem to move quite fast enough and in their frenzy they
collided. Their shrieking profanities did little to improve the temper
of the bear, who had taken a very dim view of the toolshed, but had
been mollified by the pot of honey Devenish had had the foresight to
provide, and into which the good farmer had been so unwise as to put
his foot. Since Nimms did not seem inclined to stop and remove the
honey pot from his boot, the bear saw his prize being made off with,
and sprang in hot pursuit.

Thus it was that Harry Oakes, the apothecary, driving his pony
and trap on an early call, beheld such a cavalcade as was to delight
the patrons of The Duck and Drake for months to come. Farmer Nimms was
well out in front, head and elbows back, legs pumping vigorously,
albeit the handicap of a strange pot wrapped around one foot. Behind
him, racing at a good rate of speed, were his three boys, their squeals
of terror rivalling his own. Next came a large and angry bear (causing
Mr. Oakes to turn hurriedly into the trees), and bringing up the rear,
a lean individual who waved a long chain while imploring Brain to stop
"like a good boy!"

Not until the procession was fading into the morning mists did
Mr. Oaks discover that others had witnessed it. Two young men and a
little girl lay in the ditch beside the toppled Nimms toolshed. He was
unable to get any sense from them, however, for they were equally
overcome, their howls and sobs of laughter having reduced them to
near-imbecility and a complete inability to either stand or converse
intelligently.

Mr. Oaks abandoned his attempts to communicate and joined in
their hilarity.

Despite the relatively fair weather, the progress of Yolande's
party was slow. This was in part due to the habits of Socrates, and in
part due to the habits of his owner, who could never be convinced of
the benefits to be derived from an early start. Mrs. Drummond was of
the opinion that none but commoners ventured abroad before noon, and it
was only by dint of long and patient representations that Yolande was
able to prevail upon the lady to take her breakfast at "the heathen
hour" of nine o'clock.

Two days after leaving St. Albans, Mr. Garvey was still
escorting them, a circumstance for which Yolande could only be
grateful. All her protests that they delayed him were waved aside, and
when she again pointed out that he should be travelling eastwards to
Stirling, he said he merely altered his plans so as to take the
westerly loop on his way north instead of on the way back down to
London. "For I have an aged pensioner dwelling in Kilmarnock," he
averred suavely. "A devoted old fellow I am promised to visit. I can
deliver you and your aunt to Castle Drummond, continue to Kilmarnock
and take the Glasgow road east to Stirling. I gave my friends no
definite date for my arrival, so you see, dear lady, your worries are
quite without foundation."

If Yolande's concerns were unjustified in that sense, they
also appeared unwarranted in another. Mr. Garvey was charming, and his
assistance of real value, yet there was something about the gentleman
she could not like. She had made up her mind therefore, that if she saw
signs of his having developed a
tendre
for her,
she would be firm in refusing his escort. It soon became obvious,
however, to herself if not to her aunt, that he actually derived much
more pleasure from the company of the elder lady than from that of her
niece. Since the two of them shared both a wide acquaintanceship among
the
ton
, and an inclination to gossip, they were
in no time at all the very best of friends, chattering away the miles
in convivial, if scandalous, fashion, and thus allowing Yolande to
indulge her own thoughts in peace.

Those thoughts were far from peaceful, however. Try as she
would, she could not banish her anxiety concerning her cousins. However
irresponsible Devenish might be judged, she had never had the slightest
doubt of his devotion and, while it was true that she had been very
cross with him in St. Albans, he was scarcely the man to be easily
daunted. As for Craig… Her heart gave that odd little jolt that any
thought of him seemed to precipitate. She glanced guiltily at her aunt,
sitting beside her in the carriage, and was startled to find that
lady's enquiring gaze fixed upon her.

"My apologies, dear ma'am," she said hastily, having a vague
recollection of some half-heard remark. "I fear I was wool-gathering."

"So I imagined, dear child," her aunt agreed in a faintly
martyred voice. "I was urging dear Mr. Garvey to instruct the coachman
to make a small detour. I should so much like to see the new
construction at the school, should not you? And since we pass this way
so seldom…"

Yolande blinked, striving to gather her scattered thoughts.
"School?"

"We are coming into Rugby, ma'am," volunteered Mr. Garvey with
a kindly smile.

Yolande glanced out at the lush, rolling countryside. "Oh—
yes, indeed. So we are. But why should we detour? We have no relations
at the school, Aunt Bella, have we?"

"Not presently, but you know that all four of your Aunt
Cecily's boys came here. I have not seen the new structure Hakewill
designed. The school was rebuilt about seven years ago, Mr. Garvey,"
she added, turning a warm smile upon their companion, "and my
brother-in-law tells me the work was most attractively accomplished."

"I am sure you are right, dear," said Yolande. "But perhaps we
might stop here on the way home. I am eager to reach Steep Drummond."

"Oh, but this rushing and tearing about is so exhausting,"
panted Mrs. Drummond. "I do not complain, for it is not my place. But
Mr. Garvey
told
you that Devenish and that
Canadian person had turned back, so you need not worry so."

Yolande blushed to think that her distress had been so
shrewdly noted and interpreted, but she persisted, "Perhaps they did,
at first. But Dev is a very stubborn young man, as you should certainly
be aware, Aunt. And Craig is eager to see his inheritance, besides
which—"

"Besides which, he was behaving like any love-struck moonling
from the moment he saw
you
!" Arabella gave a
shrill little titter. "You would scarce credit the impertinence of the
fellow, dear Mr. Garvey. No sooner had he all but put us in our graves,
then he must come to Park Parapine, trying to ingratiate himself with
Sir Martin! I wonder my brother did not at once show the door to the
presumptuous upstart, rather than—"