Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (33 page)

Devenish paled at the reminder and all but leapt back. "Then
let us go inside at once so I can punch your smug head!"

Tyndale moved away from the sheer drop behind him and caught
his cousin's arm. "Don't be such a fool! Can you seriously judge me so
base as to serve you so vile a turn? I thought
someone
had been racking up in the castle, but I fancied them vagrants merely,
or homeless soldiery. Nothing more. This sheds a new light on it."

"Vagrants, indeed! And where did you think these poor starving
soldiers hid themselves so that we never saw them—or their belongings?
You have inspected every inch of your ancestral home!"

"Why, in the secret rooms and passages, of course. I thought
you had guessed that when you quizzed me about pacing off and measuring
all the rooms."

"Secret… rooms… ?" breathed Devenish, his eyes kindling. "By
thunder, but you're right! I recall Uncle Alastair once telling me that
the old place is fairly riddled with them. But—what did your sketches
and measurements prove?"

"That there is a wide discrepancy between interior and
exterior dimensions. When we were locked out in the rain and prowling
about trying to find a way in, I paced off the exterior measurements,
and—"

The elation that had begun to dawn in Devenish's face
vanished. "Then—you knew
very
early in the game!
When
exactly
, Major Tyndale, sir?"

Tyndale stifled exasperation. "The first time we went inside I
noticed that although there was dust everywhere, one end of the dining
table was free of it. I surmised that the table had been in use. No,
Dev! Hear me out! I really thought they were demobilized soldiers, and
I suspect you have little use for the military. Some of the poor devils
have had such a bitter time since the war ended. It seems every man's
hand is against them, so I thought—"

"You thought I would have them hanged for trespassing!"
snarled Devenish.

Tyndale reddened and his eyes fell. "I—don't know… but they
seemed to be causing no trouble. I thought they would either leave, or
show themselves and we—I—could offer them work. I even said as much
once, when I was alone in the book room." He shrugged, embarrassed.
"Perhaps no one was listening."

"Likely not! They were all too busy 'haunting' me!"

"Well, dammit, I did not know of any of it! I knew you were a
trifle shaken that first night, but it seemed perfectly
understandable—in the circumstances. When you said no more of it, I
thought you had adjusted, and—"

"Adjusted! My God! To what? Bedlam?"

"No, really, Dev. You seemed calm most of the time, so I—"

"Thunderation, man! I came near to losing my mind!"

Tyndale hung his head, looking and feeling like a chastened
schoolboy. "What an unobservant fool I am." He looked up with his
crooked, apologetic grin. "I never even suspected what was going on
right under my nose. Poor Dev. A harrowing week you have had!"

Touched, Devenish cleared his throat and grunted, "Gad,
there's no call to be so damned patronizing. I'm near as old as you,
you know!"

Scanning him, Tyndale thought, "Not really. You are just a
boy; a likeable, warm-hearted, but rather too impulsive boy." And aloud
he said, "Oh, but I was born a greybeard."

"I'll agree with you on that point." Devenish chuckled and
went on, "So tell me, O Ancient Sage, what is it all about, think you?"

Tyndale knit his brows for a moment. "I had thought," he
answered carefully, "it was a relatively minor problem. It is not, very
obviously. That portrait business took not only scheming, but either
the talent to create such an atrocity, or the funds to commission it
done. It could, I suppose, prove an excellent means of frightening away
curious children or occasional vagrants, but…"

"I wonder," Devenish mused. "By daylight, only those who have
seen the original painting, or who remember my mother would be really
scared by it. Strangers might merely fancy it an excessive ugly
painting—of which there are many, God knows. And I rather doubt many
people wold wander to so lonely a spot after dark, so as to get the
full effect." He frowned. "How the deuce did they manage it, d'you
suppose? How could they have switched 'em so fast?"

"A hidden panel, perhaps."

"What—in a rock wall?"

Tyndale argued, "Well, perhaps it isn't rock. Perhaps there is
a wooden section, carven and painted to resemble rock, that can be slid
aside—lots of priest's holes have steps leading from a chimney, you
know. Someone could have opened the panel while you slept, substituted
the changed portrait, and then contrived to wake you. The night you
said you tripped over something in the dark, obstacles could easily
have been moved into unexpected spots just in case you did have the
gumption to charge before they had a chance to switch portraits."

Gratified by this small compliment, Devenish nodded. "It fits,
all right."

They began to pace slowly towards the door to the stairs, each
deep in thought. "It was planned from the start," muttered Tyndale,
"with one end in view. I was to be scared off. So terrified that I
decided to live anywhere but here."

"If they wanted to scare
you
," Devenish
protested indignantly, "why am
I
the one to have
been victimized? The picture was in the room intended for
me
!"

"Not necessarily. Perhaps I was meant to choose that room.

"Hmmn. Perhaps… No! The voices, coz! They called '
Alain
!'
and begged I 'avenge' them." And recalling the anguish he had suffered
because of that trickery, he fumed, "Those miserable blasted vermin!"

"True," Tyndale acknowledged. "Unless they planned to
thoroughly panic you, so that you would leave. And then—go to work on
me. They certainly have succeeded in frightening the local people away."

"And Montelongo… But—why? Regardless of
how
they went about it, why go to so much trouble? All this skulduggery,
when there ain't nothing hereabouts save for hills and cows and sheep
and such."

"And… the sea," murmured Tyndale.

Devenish caught his breath. "Jove!" he breathed, awed. "You
have it! The sea! Free Traders! Of course, but—no, surely this is the
wrong coast?"

"Sometimes the longest way is the quickest. And the safest. I
believe there is at least one large cellar here I have been unable to
find. If it has been stocked by smugglers, only think how perfect this
is for them. They could sail from France, around Land's End, up through
the Irish Sea, slip through the channel, and land here any night
there's moon enough, secure in the knowledge that no one would be the
wiser."

Devenish eyed him askance. "It may not seem far to someone
who's done as much travelling as you, old boy, but it seems a devilish
roundaboutation to me!"

"It is a bit of a haul, I grant you. But—only think, they
could offload into wagons with perfect safety, for no locals would dare
venture near the castle by night, and be well on their way before dawn.
Why, they could likely even hire Pickford's in Kilmarnock, or Glasgow
perhaps, and have their smuggled goods shipped to London, free as air.
'Twould be worth the long journey, I'd say. And unless I'm fair and far
off, there is an entrance to the castle somewhere down among the
cliffs. A cave, perhaps!" His eyes bright with triumph, he exclaimed,
"That
has
to be the answer! No wonder they're so
desperate to drive us away, Dev! They've the ideal hideaway and do not
mean to give it up!"

Devenish swung the door open and, lowering his voice,
murmured, "If you
are
right, we're likely to find
ourselves nose to nose with some very irate gents! At any moment!"

"Yes," Craig acknowledged with his slow smile. "In which case,
I should not have been so irked with Monty today. He was convinced we
were going to wake some morning with our throats cut. Advised me, just
as he was riding out, that he meant to report our uninvited guests to
the Constable at Kilmarnock. He means to bring reinforcements this
evening!"

"Good old Monty!" said Devenish blithely. "By George! And to
think I fancied this would be a dull journey! With a little bit of
luck, my bonnie Colonial, we shall land ourselves a jolly good scrap
before your reinforcements arrive!"

Even as one part of his mind marvelled at his cousin's
transformation from a brooding man of mercurial temper to a cheerful,
high-couraged youth, Tyndale still pondered the one detail that plagued
him. He had the uneasy feeling that the substitute portrait did not fit
into his solution of their puzzle.

The wind was brisk this morning, hurrying the clouds across
the pale blue sky, and setting the heather to whipping about beneath
the hooves of the horses. Their habits fluttering, the two ladies urged
their mounts up the hill beside the pass road, from the top of which
eminence Castle Tyndale could be seen, a distant, darkly powerful
thrust against the encompassing slate of the sea. The eyes of both
riders were fixed upon the fortress, and in green eyes and brown was
longing and a measure of hopelessness.

Heaving a deep sigh, the smaller of the pair murmured,
"Whatever will I do if he don't never come back?"

Yolande pushed her own dreary reflections aside and, forcing a
smile, said reassuringly, "Of course he will come back. And very soon."

By mutual accord they stopped the horses. "I'd like him to see
me new have-it," said Josie.

"I know you would, dear." The child looked quite ladylike in
her pink velvet, a demure little bonnet tied over her dark curls.
Watching her, Yolande pointed out gently, "But the word is 'habit,'
Josie."

"It is? I thought a habit was something you did when you
shouldn't ought to have."

"Yes. But it is also a riding dress. And you look very pretty
in yours. Mr. Devenish will be pleased."

"I hope so." Josie sighed again.

Yolande suggested bracingly, "Only think of the future. We
shall all drive back to England together. Will you not like that?"

"Not Mr. Craig. He cannot go. Not if you marriages Mr. Dev."
Josie turned to look up at this beautiful vision beside her and ask
hopefully, "I don't 'spect as you would sooner marriage with Mr. Craig,
would you?"

Yolande's heart gave a terrifying jolt, and she stared-at the
child speechlessly.

Alarm came into the small, pointed face. "You ain't never
going to have a bad turn, is you, Miss Yolande?" cried Josie. "Old Ruby
used to have 'em, and stagger about carrying on something drefful 'bout
her poor old eyes and limbs. But Benjo said it was the gin, and I ain't
never seed you swig blue ruin. Your face is awful red, though, so
p'raps—"

With a shaken laugh, Yolande denied an addiction to blue ruin.
"What—whatever," she asked, "would cause you to think I might wish to
marry Mr. Tyndale?"

A third sigh was torn from the child. "I didn't really think
it. I knowed there wasn't much hope. What lady would want Mr. Craig
when Mr. Dev is there? Only I knows how bad Mr. Craig wants
you
,
and—"

Her breathing becoming highly erratic, Yolande intervened,
"Good—gracious, what an imagination! I—I thank you, dear Josie,
but—there are lots of ladies much prettier than I for— for Mr. Craig
to—er, choose."

"Are there? I never see one." A gleam coming into her dark
eyes, Josie asked thoughtfully, "Is there one up here? Like— in
Drumdownie, p'raps? I like Mr. Craig. He's kind, and he has scrumptious
eyes." She thought for a moment, then said sadly, "It'd be
so
much easier if you would just marriage Mr. Craig, ma'am." And with a
rather pathetic desperation, she enquired, "Are you
quite
sure as you wants Mr. Dev?"

"Are you
quite
sure as you wants Mr.
Dev… ?" For an aching moment, Yolande saw a strong, lean, rather pale
face, with steadfast grey eyes and a wide, humorous mouth. Her own eyes
dimmed. Wracked by anguish, she thought, "Dear God! Is there never to
be an end to it?" And afraid her misery might be seen and understood by
the discerning small woman beside her, she spurred her horse forward.
"Come dear, I'll race you back to the house!"

Josie gazed remorsefully after the graceful retreating figure.
She'd really gone and done it now. She'd made Miss Yolande cross, and
Miss Yolande was good and gentle, and had promised to help, just in
case Mr. Dev didn't take her to live with him. Starting her pony and
following the chestnut mare, Josie could not wonder that Miss Yolande
had not bothered to answer such a silly question. No lady could resist
Mr. Dev, with his beautiful face and happy nature. Just to think of the
smile that could so suddenly warm his blue eyes was enough to give her
goose bumps, and she was only a little girl. As from a very great
distance came the echo of a soft voice, "
Aide-toi, le ciel
t'aidera
." Her small chin set. It was possible. If she
helped herself, heaven might indeed help her! She touched one heel to
her pony's sleek side and began to weave plans. Lost in her own
introspection, Yolande did not notice how quiet the little girl had
become, and two subdued ladies made their way back to Steep Drummond.

When they arrived they found the grooms all agog because young
Mr. Maclnnes had come to show off the paces of his fine new hunter.
Yolande went at once to join the small crowd gathered in the meadow,
but Josie stayed to watch as the mare and the pony were unsaddled,
rubbed down, and turned out to graze. She declined the offer of Mr.
Laing, the head groom, for a piggyback ride to the meadow, saying that
she wanted to play with Molly-My-Lass's foal for a little while, and
watched as the genial man hurried off to join his colleagues in the
meadow. They would be busied there for a good half hour, she knew.
Ample time, surely, for her to get to Castle Tyndale and dear Mr. Dev.
How she was to plead her case did not concern her. Time enough for that
when she faced her god. She went over to Molly-My-Lass, and the
Clydesdale nuzzled her affectionately. Molly wouldn't mind helping,
though it was unfortunate, Josie admitted, that she did not herself
possess the Rat Paws, and did dear Mr. Dev. Nonetheless, it was the
work of a few seconds only, to climb up the first few rungs of the
fence and hop onto that broad back. A kick of heels, a tug at the thick
mane, and they were off, Molly-My-Lass perfectly willing to get some
moderate exercise.