Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (22 page)

On this grey spring morning, smoke curled from several
chimneys, one of which led from the morning room where the fire blazed
merrily. Standing before the hearth, hands clasped behind his back,
General Sir Andrew Drummond's craggy face did not, however, look in the
least merry. As was the way of his house, he was a tall man, and his
well-built frame was as lean and erect as ever, although the thick,
once-red hair was now iron-grey. He had the Drummond chin, which had
lost not one whit of its belligerence and was, at the moment, decidedly
aggressive. "Yon wee hoond," he proclaimed, "has seen fit tae sink his
fangs intae ma mon, and nip twa o' the hoosemaids! I've held ma peace
the noo, Arrrabella, but enough's as guid as a feast! 'Tis a chancy
business tae lure a decent chef up here, forbye. I'll nae hae him run
off by an scrrruffy mongrel! Do I make m'sel' clearrr, ma'am?"

The question was debatable. Blinking at him, his
daughter-in-law asked uncertainly, "Yolande, what did your grandfather
say?"

Exasperated, the General's fierce green eyes rolled at the
ceiling, his moustache bristled, and he uttered a sound midway between
snort and groan—a sort of "och-unnh!"—while reflecting that from among
all the women in the world, his eldest boy had seen fit to choose
this
silly widgeon!

Regarding him with fond amusement, Yolande said, "I see you
still become pure Scots when irked, sir."

"All Scots are puir!" he asserted.

"Their whisky, at least," his irreverent granddaughter
chuckled, winning an immediate answering grin. "It would seem, Aunt
Bella, that Socrates had been partaking of the servants, and
Grandpapa's chef has threatened to leave. You really will have to
muzzle him, if—"

"Muzzle him!" exploded the General. "I'd a sight sooner shoot
the wretched pest oot o' hand!"

This, it developed, Mrs. Drummond did understand, for she
uttered a shriek and clapped handkerchief to tearless eyes. "Oh! How
could you be so—so unkind?" she sobbed. "My d-dear little Socrates! All—
all
I have left in the… whole, wide world!"

The wiles that worked so well with Lady Louisa did not so much
as check the General. "Then," he said dourly, suddenly becoming
punctiliously English, "do you wish your worldly goods to remain
intact, madam, I would suggest you confine your pestilent pet to a
leash!"

"Cruel!" wept Mrs. Drummond. "Cruel!" And wailing, departed.

"Whisht!" the General erupted as the door closed behind her.
"How do you abide that caper wit, Yolande? I'd have thought you could
have delayed your visit until one of your brothers could escort you. Or
at least, that young scapegrace, Devenish—though I canna abide the boy!"

A frown shadowing Yolande's eyes, she said, "Papa would have
come, save that poor Rosemary is miserably ill with measles and Mama
draws so much support from him at such times, you know. As to Aunt
Arabella, why, I suppose the poor soul needs to be needed. And I needed
a chaperon."

"At your age?" he snorted, tactlessly. "Gammon! Besides, you'd
that fella Garvey to escort you, in addition to the outriders and your
abigail. I'd have thought 'twas an ample sufficiency."

"We met Mr. Garvey quite by accident, sir, and it was indeed
good of him to stay with us for the rest of the journey. Although he
denied it, I suspect we took him out of his way."

"Very likely. Young Hamish Maclnnes told me he saw the man
bowling along north of Kilmarnock, so he canna have stayed long with
his retired servant, if indeed there is such a creature. He probably
told you he was to visit there purely to set your mind at ease. He
seemed a well-bred sort of man, for all he cries friends with that
Germanic clod who'll next usurp the throne."

Yolande threw up her hands in mock horror. "Heavens! Treason!"

"Fiddlesticks! Well, miss? Well?" He glared ferociously at
her, even while thinking how pretty she was, gracefully disposed on the
green damask sofa, wearing a morning dress of palest lime muslin, and
with her hair arranged into glossy curls, soft about her face. "I
suppose I'll next be forced to play host to your would-be spouse, eh?
Chances are he's hot after you, as usual!"

"Perhaps not, sir," Yolande answered quietly. "We had a
small—er, difference of opinion and Dev seems to have gone off in a
huff."

"Good! You're well rid of him. He's no more ready to settle
down than Brummel would be to wear Petersham trousers!"

She smiled. "You make it all sound very simple, Grandpapa."

"Aye. Well, so it is. If ye dinna care for the laddie, ye
shouldna wed him. And—if ye
do
care for him, ye
shouldna wed him. Hoot-toot, whar's the hair-tearing in that?"

Laughing, Yolande reached out her hand to him and, as he came
to take it and sit beside her, scolded, "Alain is truly a fine young
man, dearest. Why do you so dislike him?"

A frown tugged at his bushy brows. "Partly," he said softly,
"because he is all frivolity and foolishness, and has never stuck to,
nor accomplished aught in his ne'er-do-well life."

"I shall be so bold as to pull caps with you on that score,"
she argued in her gentle fashion. "Alain is, and I know this for a
fact, a brave and fearless fighter, who stood by Tristram Leith when
they were hopelessly outnumbered in Brittany last year. When he was
hurt, he endured a great deal of misery with no complaint, so Leith
told me. He is full of spirit, and if he has not yet settled down to
managing his estates and— and setting up his nursery, why, it is for no
worse reason than that I have made him wait so long."

Watching her narrowly, he said, "Which brings me to my other
reason. I collect you must care for him very deeply, lass. And I'll own
I've heard a few things of late to his credit. Yet, I've a wee
suspicion that you have been pushed into this promise because my son
and Louisa wish it. And that is an utter folly that I'll no—" He
checked, glancing with irritation at the door as it opened and his
stocky little butler entered to announce, "Mr. Devenish, Mr. Tyndale,
and Mistress Storm, General."

Yolande started, and her heart began to pound in a most
ridiculous way. "
Mistress Storm
… ?" She turned,
gave a gasp, and came instinctively to her feet as she saw the signs of
battle on the faces of the two young men.

Standing also, General Drummond welcomed Devenish with cool
dignity. Upon being introduced to Tyndale, he stared, frowned, and
said, "Tyndale? Strange, I'd not even known of your existence until my
granddaughter told me of you. Yet I feel we've met before. Gad, but I
know we have! Wasn't it—"

"At the Horse Guards, I believe, sir. Though I was presented
to you as—"

"Winters! Major Craig Winters! Right you are!" The General
extended his hand. "Heard great things of you, young fella, but never
dreamt you was a Tyndale! Don't use the family name, eh?"

Tyndale smiled, his eyes very empty, and moved to shake hands
with Yolande.

Quite bewildered by these disclosures, she said, "Why cousin!
I'd not the faintest notion you were in the army."

"And at Waterloo, m'dear," said Devenish, coming up jealously
to claim her hand and press it to his lips. "I was fairly bowled over
when Montclair told me of it. Never heard such wicked deceit!"

Sir Andrew's sharp glance at the Major surprised a wistfulness
in the lean face. "Oho!" he thought. "So that's the way the land lies!"

Yolande was still striving to recover from the all too
familiar lightning bolt that had again struck her the instant Tyndale
touched her hand. She said in pretty confusion, "Well, well— never mind
that now. How glad I am to see you both! But how naughty of you,
firstly to have vanished, and now to come here!"

"You never thought to keep me away?" Devenish grinned,
squeezing the hand he still held. "The fact is, Tyndale and I were set
upon. Robbed, carried off, and dumped miles from anywhere!"

"By Jove!" fumed the General, his whiskers bristling
alarmingly. "Do not just stand there, laddie! Set ye doon. You too,
Major. Yolande, never loiter about with your mouth at half-cock! Pour
these fellows some cognac! Now, Alain, tell us of it!"

Devenish obliged in his usual exuberant fashion, Tyndale
inserting an occasional quiet remark of his own. Listening with
indignant incredulity, Sir Andrew variously smothered oaths, snorted
his outrage, or applauded the cousins' resourcefulness. Just as intent,
Yolande was soon very pale, her horrified gaze darting from one young
gentleman to the other. Devenish was only halfway through his tale,
however, when the General suddenly flung up a hand. "Lord! Where is my
mind? Devenish—do we not neglect someone?"

Devenish blinked. "Eh? Who?"

"The child!" Tyndale exclaimed in dismay. "By gad! What's
become of her?"

"I be here," came a scared little voice, and Josie, her eyes
huge and fearful, peeped from around the back of a tall wing chair.

"Jupiter, but I forgot her," cried Devenish. "Come here, elf,
and make your curtsy to Miss Yolande Drummond and General Sir Andrew
Drummond."

Trembling with nervousness, Josie crept out and essayed two
clumsy curtsies.

"Really, Dev!" Yolande scolded. "You could at least tell us
the poor child's name."

"Enderby announced her," he said defensively.

Josie flushed. "I be Josie Storm now," she piped. "I was
Tabby, but Mr. Dev found me and when I grow up I going to be his—"

"Housekeeper!" Devenish inserted, in the nick of time.

Tyndale chuckled, and a corner of the General's stem mouth
twitched appreciatively.

"
Found
you?" echoed Yolande, much
intrigued. "Dev, whatever have you been about? You've never kidnapped
the child?"

" 'Course he hasn't!" said Josie scornfully. "I followed Mr.
Dev because I don't want to be sold to no Flash House. He didn't want
me, but he's going to train me for a abigail if
he
don't want me when I be growed."

Devenish sank his head into his hands. The General gasped.
Tyndale turned away, smothering a grin. Yolande, her warm heart
touched, stroked the child's dusky curls and, not deigning to pretend
unawareness of such horrors as Flash Houses, said gently, "Poor little
girl, what a dreadful time you have had. Are you parents living?"

Kindness was a blessing Josie had known but seldom, and at
this, tears blinded her. Dashing them away, she blinked up at this
fairy princess of a lady and divulged huskily that she had been stole
and didn't, if you please, know who her parents had been.

"The devil!" muttered Drummond. "You did perfectly right,
Devenish. What d'you mean to do with her?"

"I was hoping Yolande or Lady Louisa could advise me, sir."

Yolande, whose grave regard had not left the child, said, "Did
you and Cousin Craig buy her this dress, Dev?"

"Yes," he answered proudly. "Jolly good—what?"

Yolande shook her head at him in the time-honoured sympathy of
a woman for a helpless male, and asked, "Josie, would you really like
to be an abigail?"

"I'd like to be a lady, like you." The child sighed wistfully.
"But I'd a sight liefer be an abigail than be sold to some bloody Flash
House!"

Tyndale and the General dissolved into mutual mirth. Devenish
groaned and clutched his locks. Yolande, her face scarlet, was
momentarily struck dumb. Horrified, Josie threw both hands to paling
cheeks, and her gaze darted to her god. "Oh," she wailed, "I said
something drefful again! Don't ye be cross with Josie, now! Don't ye!"

"Of—of course he will not," stammered Yolande. "It is only,
er—you will soon learn. Dev, excuse me, please. I will hear the rest of
your tale later. Come, Josie, we will see what we can do about
that—dress."

She extended one dainty and exquisitely manicured hand.
Staring from it to Devenish, Josie demurred, "If you please, ma'am, I'd
like to stay with Mr. Dev."

"Castle Tyndale," cautioned the General softly, "is no place
for a child, Devenish."

"No, sir," Devenish agreed. "And what's more, my elf, you'll
be a sight better off with Miss Drummond than jauntering about the
countryside with two rogues like Tyndale and me." He threw up one hand,
silencing the forlorn attempt at a plea. "Do as you're told! Lord, but
I am surer than ever that I should have left you in Cricklade! Which
reminds me— Yolande, where is that reptile, Garvey? Still trying to fix
his interest with you?"

She frowned. "Oh, never start that again! Mr. Garvey was the
essence of courtesy, which is more than could be said for you, Dev!
Only see how you have made the child weep! Truly, you should be
spanked!"

"Don't you never cut up stiff with him!" sobbed Josie, turning
on her in a flame. "He can make me cry if he wants. He don't mean it.
It's just—he don't want me. And why should he? I ain't got a pretty
face, and I'm just—just a nuisance to… to him…" Her voice broke, and
she stood there in choked silence, the tears coursing down her gaunt
little face.

With a muffled cry, Yolande pulled the child into her arms.
"Of course he wants you! We all want you!" Over Josie's shoulder, she
flashed a fuming glare at the hapless Devenish, then murmured, "Come,
dear. We'll visit the kitchen first, for I'm sure you would like a
glass of milk and there may be some cheese tarts left. Then I'll take
you down to see our new filly—should you like that?"

Her woes forgotten, Josie dragged one skinny arm across her
eyes, and said eagerly that she would like that very much, adding an
anxious, "Providing Mr. Dev do not go off without me."

Devenish, his own eyes rather inexplicably moist, promised
gruffly that he would not desert her.

"All right," said Josie sunnily, accepting Yolande's hand.
"I'll go with you, miss. I loves animals. Though I ain't got the way
with 'em like what Mr. Dev has. Did you know," she went on chattily,
"that he's got the Rat Paws?"