Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (27 page)

"D'ye hear that?" he demanded of Donald. " 'So would I, sir.'
Proper as you please! D'ye recall nothing, child? Nothing of your lady
mother, or a fine papa, belike?"

"I only remember Akim telling me I'd fetch a good price at the
Flash House," she said. And watching Mr. Donald choke on the tart he'd
just sunk his teeth into, went on, "Only Benjo said I might not, 'cause
I ain't pretty."

"Whatever is a—a Flash House?" enquired Mrs. Drummond naively.
"A place where they manufacture gunpowder, I suppose. Though," she
tilted her head dubiously, "why one should be pretty for that
occupation, I cannot understand."

Devenish gave a muffled chortle of amusement.

"Your supposition is incorrect," said the General, irritated.
"And never mind what it
does
mean!"

"Ladies," conveyed Mrs. Fraser grandly, "are not supposed to
know such things, my dear Arabella. Or so the gentlemen hold."

"Then that would certainly explain why it is I know nothing of
such a term." Mrs. Drummond replied with a smug smile. "For indeed, I
have been sheltered by gentlemen all my days. My late husband, God rest
his soul, would have flung up his hands in horror had any unsavoury
remark soiled my ears." She raised her brows, all arch innocence, and
enquired, "You, certainly, do not comprehend what the poor waif said,
do you, dear Caroline?"

Mrs. Fraser fixed her with a look of searing a contempt. "Ay,
I do.
My
late husband was not one to value a
widgeon."

The General, his thoughtful regard on the child, now daintily
wiping greasy fingers upon her petticoat, asked, "How would ye like to
stay at Steep Drummond, girl? My housekeeper could instruct you in the
ways of a parlourmaid, I don't doubt. 'Twould be a good life. A clean
life, y'ken. And ye'd not go hungry or abused—I'd see to that!"

Josie stared at him and wondered what Peattie would wish her
to say. Mr. Dev was gazing at an apple he held and gave no sign of
having heard the offer. She thought it a grand one, but sighed,
scrambled to her feet, and dropped the old gentleman a curtsy. "Thank
ye, sir General," said she. "But I'd liefer stay with Mr. Dev, if you
please."

"I do not please! And nor will Colonel Tyndale, let me tell
you. Ain't fitting! 'Tis a bachelor's dwelling, and they'll no be
needing a young female growing up there."

The child paled, and her lips trembled. "No, b-but—I will
soon
be growed! I won't be no trouble!"

"Mama may be able to help, sir," Yolande put in kindly.

His own heart touched, Mr. Donald suggested, "Or perhaps
Devenish will make her his ward."

The General slanted a glance at Devenish, who still tenderly
contemplated the apple in his hand, wholly unaware of this
conversation, torn between joy that he had secured his lady's promise
and unease because of his reaction to that blasted great castle wherein
he'd given his word to remain for a few days.

"Well?" fumed the General, eyebrows bristling. "Well, sir?'

Tyndale nudged his cousin and Devenish jumped, saw every eye
upon him, and gulped nervously. "Eh? What's to do?"

"God! What a block!" snorted Sir Andrew.

Laughing, Tyndale said, "General Drummond is interested in
Josie, Dev, and wants to know what you plan for her."

"Me? I have not the vaguest notion. Lady Louisa will have some
splendid scheme, I expect."

Close to tears, Josie pleaded, "But, I want to stay with you!"
And turning to the General, explained, "He don't mind if I'm not
pretty, do you, Mr. Dev?"

"Lord, no. I don't mind if you're plain as a mud fence," he
said, carelessly.

"Really, Dev!" scolded Yolande.

The General glared at him. "Insensitive puppy!"

These words exercised an extraordinary effect upon Mrs.
Drummond. Her eyes widened alarmingly, and she became rigid. She
squawked, "My sweet love has gone!"

"Been gone for twenty years at least, Arabella," the General
pointed out, viewing her askance. "Don't go into a funny turn, now!"

Ignoring this, the distraught dowager, her eyes searching
about frantically, wailed, "He was but now nibbling my fingers!"

"Nibbling… your fingers?" gasped Sir Andrew. He drew back a
little and glancing to Donald, muttered, "She's off the road! Suspected
it this twelvemonth and—"

Mrs. Drummond, lost in anxiety, shrieked, "My angel! Where are
you?"

"Good God!" whispered Drummond, goggling at her.

His daughter-in-law's cry rose shrilly "Soc-ra-
tees
—?
Oh! Surely he has not fallen over the cliff?"

The General cast her a look of both relief and disgust, and
muttered something about "unlikely blessings."

Tyndale stood. "I think he is in the castle, ma'am. I'll go
and find him."

Reaching out to be helped up, Yolande said, "Dev and I will
come with you."

He lifted her to her feet but when she attempted to pull away,
his grip tightened. He said a quiet, "Thank you. But Dev or Mr. Donald
will help."

"What's this?" asked Devenish, belatedly becoming aware that
something was brewing. "Who needs help?"

"Socrates!" wailed Mrs. Drummond. "My poor baby is lost, and
Mr. Winters just stands and talks. And you sit! Will
no one
help the poor darling?"

"Lord save us aw'!" The General snarled.

Devenish promptly joined the search party, and Yolande again
voiced her willingness to assist. "Famous!" Devenish nodded brightly,
ignoring his own unease. Noting Tyndale's dark frown, he added hastily,
"But it is dusty in there, m'dear. Might spoil your pretty frills and
furbelows."

"Pooh!" said Yolande.

Side by side, they walked up the steps and into the Great
Hall. As before, Devenish was seized by the same unreasoning terror. He
felt the blood drain from his face and, dreading lest he betray his
craven fears in front of the girl he loved, forced his rubbery knees to
obey him, and walked briskly to the rear door. The corridor stretched
out in a dim, chill menace. Clenching his teeth, he walked on and began
to call the missing dog.

In the Great Hall, Tyndale looked after his cousin, his lips a
thin line of vexation. Yolande, uneasily alone with this disturbing
gentleman, said brightly, "Why, it is not near so bad as I had feared."
She started forward. "Whilst we are here, we can find where the linens—"

A firm hand seized her elbow, drawing her to a halt. She swung
around, her heart thundering, her brows raised enquiringly.

Craig had a soft but determined, "No. I thank you."

He was very near, and yet the grey eyes were devoid of
expression, telling her nothing. Puzzled, she demanded, "But, why ever
not, sir? Do you fancy me thrown into a pucker by a little dust?'

"No, ma'am. But—I could not endure to see that very pretty
frock sullied. Castle Tyndale is—is not yet ready to receive you."
Brave words, spoken with the most honourable intention, but his heart
cried out to her, and he did not remove his hand from her arm.

Yolande knew that she should leave. Hastily. Instead, she
murmured a vague "Most… inhospitable… Major."

For Craig, all other matters and individuals had ceased to
exist. "Why must you be so unforgivably lovely?" he thought yearningly.
"I shall never see you again, my dearest, my darling girl…"

Yolande did not know that her lips were slightly parted, her
eyes dreamy, but she saw the emptiness in Craig's eyes change to an
expression of tender worship that took her breath away. It seemed to
her that he was bending to her, but she neither moved, nor experienced
the least desire to break this spell. The seconds slipped away and not
one word was spoken. But two hearts met and the message they exchanged
was as clear as though it had been shouted from the battlements.

And then, somewhere close by, Devenish whistled for Socrates.

Craig started. Dismayed by his shameful weakness, he said
brusquely, "You had best wait outside—cousin."

His words restored Yolande to reality. Equally shocked, she
turned from him and, without a word, walked across the Great Hall and
onto the steps.

Craig watched her go. He whispered, "Goodbye, my lovely one…"
and, sighing, went to assist in the search for Socrates.

The sky had become white. Yolande lifted a shielding hand
against the sudden glare and walked as slowly as she dared down the
steps and along the path. Her head was a whirl of confusion,
impressions chasing one another at such a rate she could scarce
comprehend them. She knew only that she was very unhappy, and that her
once neatly mapped-out life had become a chaotic muddle. But she also
knew that if she betrayed the slightest sign of discomposure, one of
her aunts was sure to notice. She must bring her rioting emotions under
control or there would be anxious enquiries with which she was in no
state to cope.

Luckily, however, Mrs. Drummond had other matters on her mind
and, before her niece had quite come up with them, was calling anxious
questions as to the whereabouts of her pet.

"I can be of no help, alas," Yolande answered. She summoned a
smile for Mr. Donald, who stood courteously to assist her to sit beside
her aunt. "I have been banished."

"Would not let you stay, eh?" The General chuckled. "Speaks
his mind, does Tyndale. Fine young fella, but he bears little
resemblance to his sire. You'll recollect Jonas Tyndale, Donald?"

"Aye," said Mr. Donald, laconically.

"Wild as any unbroke colt." Sir Andrew nodded. " 'Tis Devenish
takes after him, had ye noted that, Donald?"

"Aye," said Mr. Donald.

"He has nae a mean bone in his body," observed the General,
glancing covertly at Yolande. "But he's a feckless, reckless laddie,
just like his uncle was, and no good end will come to him does he not
bend his energies to something better than—er—"

"Than—murder?" interposed Mrs. Drummond, her anxious gaze on
the castle.

Yolande gave a gasp and dropped the lemon tart she'd just
taken up. Mr. Donald directed a fuming glance at the bereft dog lover,
and the General frowned, "Losh sakes, woman! What cockaleery nonsense
are ye blathering at?"

Alarmed, Mrs. Drummond prattled a defensive. "Why— why, what's
in the blood will out! And you yourself said that Alain takes after his
Uncle Jonas!"

"And what has that to say to anything? Jonas Tyndale may have
been wild, and fought him a duel or two. But he didnae murder!"

"I seed a duel once," Josie began, reminiscently. "It was—"

"Of course not," Yolande put in, fixing her aunt with a look
of desperate warning. "You must be thinking of someone else, Aunt
Arabella."

"No such thing!" retorted that lady huffily. "No one was
supposed
to know, of course, but I chanced to hear Mrs. Maclnnes speaking of it
to Sir John Gordon at the party last night. Jonas slaughtered poor
young Stuart Devenish in cold—"

"Aunt!" Yolande blurted, her heart hammering with dread. "You
really must not say such things!"

"Losh! What a prattle box!" Mrs. Fraser muttered scornfully.

Mrs. Drummond's gaze darted from Yolande's white face and
imploring eyes, to her sister-in-law, to the General's intent glare.
"Oh, dear! Have I… spoke out of turn?" she wailed.

"Now—by God!" breathed the General. "Have I been kept i' the
dark all these years? Damme, but I'll have the straight of it the noo!
Be
still
, Yolande!" He turned glittering eyes on his friend.
"Donald? D'ye ken aught o' this? Caroline… ?"

Mr. Donald scowled at his plate. Mrs. Fraser put up her chin,
pursed her lips, and finally announced that she was not, nor ever had
been a gabble-monger!

Walter Donald met Yolande's distraught gaze and shrugged
helplessly. " 'Tis nae use, lassie. The word's oot, I fear. Hamish
Maclnnes told me 'twas all over the county, yesterday, so—"

"You mean
it is truth
?" Drummond's voice
cut like a knife through those reluctant words. "Jonas Tyndale
murdered
his fine young brother-in-law? And 'twas put out as an accident?" His
face purpling, he sprang to his feet, Mr. Donald and the ladies
following suit. "Now—blast it all! Why was I not told? Am I held too
senile—too decrepit and irresponsible a gabble-monger to be trrrusted
wi' family secrets?"

"You were in India," Yolande said faintly. "
Nobody
knew— save a few servants. And—my mama, because she went to nurse poor
Aunt Esme, but—"

"Do ye tell me, girrrl, that my bliterhing idiot of a son
fancied I must nae be trusted wi' the truth?" raged the General,
beginning to pace up and down like a hungry tiger. "That puir wee
lassie! Her ain brother had murrdered her husband! 'Tis nae wonder she
lost her babe! My Lord! What infamy! Stuart was in every way a fine
gentleman, wherefore that wild creature Jonas hated him with a passion
and judged him unworthy! How did he do it? Shot? Steel? Poison? I'd nae
put it past the scoundrrrel! Well?
Answer
me,
someone! The cat's frae the bag—no use trying to wrap things in clean
linen at this stage!"

Josie had slunk away and was cowering behind the landaulette
with the two footmen who had speedily made themselves least in
sight—and were listening eagerly. Mrs. Drummond, cringing before her
father-in-law's wrath, mumbled, "Jonas p—pushed him from—from the
battlements! And old Mr. Tyndale banished him to the Colonies and
forbade him ever to use the family name, or return to England. Which is
the shameful reason his son used the name Winters!" Encountering
Yolande's seething glare, she wailed, "Now—never be cross, love! By
what Mr. Donald says, your grandfather must soon have heard it, at all
events. Better it should come from one of the family, than—"

"Aye," snarled the General. "And better yet had either of
those two alleged gentlemen had the decency to have owned to it!"

Mrs. Drummond gave a joyous cry as Socrates reappeared and
raced to fling himself, shivering, into her eager arms.