Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (41 page)

As it turned out, they went only a short way. She was about
ten yards behind them, well screened by the undergrowth, when she heard
a crash that made her jump almost out of her skin. She shrank against
the nearest tree, clinging to it, her heart in her mouth. What on
earth… ?

She forced her trembling knees to bear her closer and peeped
through the branches.

Eerily illumined by the moonlight, and with the wind moaning
through the branches, the Montclair Folly looked bizarre indeed. The
men were gathered at the pit, the lantern throwing their shadows across
the small clearing. Even as Susan watched, a sturdy fellow dragged his
box to the very edge. '"Ere we goes, you stupid blocks," he wheezed. To
her utter astonishment, he uptilted the box over the pit and another
crash split the night. The other men followed his example. It might
almost have been a ritual, but if it was, it was weird indeed. The man
had spoken truly when he told his companions they were "stupid blocks"
for— The light dawned then. He hadn't been referring to his cronies at
all! "Bricks!" she whispered, her eyes very wide. Then the boxes being
emptied into the Folly were the ones from the cellar at Highperch
Cottage, and these men had broken in and stolen them! But why would any
thief in his right mind steal boxes of bricks, drive them several
miles, then toss them into a pit? Unless these were Monteil's
employees—in which case the question still applied.

In another minute they were carrying the empty boxes back
again. Baffled, Susan crept after them. A large waggon stood at the
edge of the meadow, and several horses were tethered nearby. Her heart
sank when she saw a sixth man slouching on the driver's seat, smoking a
long clay pipe. If he stayed she would have no chance to cross the
meadow without being seen. To her relief, the square-set and powerfully
built individual who appeared to be the leader grunted that there was
no need for a guard, and that this "lazy peasant" could help with the
boxes. The "lazy peasant" protested half-heartedly, but the rest of
them shouted him down, the Frenchman, Jacques, saying with a flood of
gutter language that there were no troops of riding officers in "thees
God-forsaken desolation" and that the sooner they got this done, the
better.

Susan watched while they heaved and strained and at last went
staggering off once more, each man carrying another box. When their
quarrelsome voices were out of earshot she crept from the trees. What
it was all about she could not imagine, but she didn't like the look of
it, and she daren't take the time to walk home. She must get back to
the house before them, and make sure that all was well. Her heart was
pounding with nervousness as she crept to the tethered horses and
appropriated a mild-looking black mare. The men would come back soon,
for there were still more boxes to be unloaded, but if they should
notice that one of the horses was gone, she hoped they'd assume it had
got loose and wandered off.

She used one of the boxes for a mounting block, and rode
across the meadow at a trot, then at a canter, then at a gallop, the
wind blowing her hair and sending her cloak billowing out behind her.
She reached Highperch with no sign of pursuit, and slowed the mare on
the drivepath. Lights were burning in the house. When she'd left, only
the lamp in the lower hall had been lit.

The front door was flung open, and her heart gave a leap as
Andrew came onto the steps in his shirtsleeves.

"Oh, thank heaven!" she exclaimed, sliding from the saddle
into his arms.

"I should jolly well think you might," he cried angrily. "Here
I come home a day early and go up to have a word with you, and you're
jauntering off somewhere, in the middle of the night, Lord knows where!"

"Yes, yes, but come inside quickly, there's no time to—"

"Here," he interrupted, looking narrowly at the mare. "This
ain't one of our hacks, is it? Susan, if you've been creeping about
after that damnable Montclair—"

She threw the reins over the pommel, slapped the mare on the
rump and sent her trotting off, then seized her astonished brother by
the hand and tugged it imperatively. "
Will
you
come in!"

Montclair let Allegro have his head and the big bay thundered
through the darkness undeterred by the blustering wind. All doubts were
gone now. Montclair knew exactly what he would find at Highperch. He
was astounded, in fact, that he'd not seen what was all about him.
Lord, but one might suppose he'd worn blinkers! The big painting in the
withdrawing room, for example; he should have realized at once that—

Allegro snorted and broke his stride. A horse was grazing up
ahead. A saddled horse, but riderless. Montclair slowed the stallion
and looked about searchingly. The turf stretched out quiet and empty.
No sign of anyone for as far as he could see. He dismounted. The black
mare fretted a little, but he patted her and spoke soothingly, and she
stood docilely enough as he gathered up the reins. She wasn't from the
Highperch stables, unless she was a recent acquisition. But she must
have come from somewhere nearby, and as a general rule saddled horses
were not left to wander about with reins trailing. Montclair swung into
the saddle, and leading the mare, sent Allegro on at the canter, his
eyes alert for a fallen rider.

"I saw the strangest thing, Andy," said Susan, leading him
into the bright kitchen.

"That don't surprise me," he said with a short laugh.
"Longhills fairly swarms with strange things!"

"Is Monsieur Monteil here?"

"What, at this hour? Of course not. Why should he be?"

She put off her cloak and laid it over a chair. "Well," she
began, "I went out for a walk—"

"And rode home on a strange hack? Mrs. H., have you—"

She put her hand over his lips. "
Listen
!"
she hissed.

Two minutes later, Andrew frowned at his sister's worried
face, and agreed that it sounded a dashed havey-cavey business. "Tell
you what, Sue. Go up and wake Angelo. I'll roust out the Bo'sun and
those two louts you took on, and—"

"Good evening, my dearest friends."

Susan whirled around with a shocked gasp.

Imre Monteil smiled at them from the doorway. "
Pardonnez-moi
,"
he said apologetically. "The front door it was open, and I took the
liberty to enter, since I have rather troublesome news, I fear. A
Revenue cutter is at this very moment en route here."

Susan turned deathly pale and gave a frightened little cry.

Lyddford put his arm around her and said hoarsely, "Gad! Have
they rumbled us, then?"

"Not so much—er, rumbled, as been informed,
mon cher
.
I fear you have a powerful and relentless enemy."

"Montclair!" said Lyddford through his teeth. "Why, that
worthless—"

"No!" cried Susan. "Whatever else, I cannot believe that of
him! He wouldn't—if only for Priscilla's sake!"

The Swiss gave her a tolerant smile.

Lyddford asked, "How much time have we?"

"With luck, enough. I have contrived, you see, to— divert
these zealous gentlemen of the law."

"Jolly good," said Lyddford. "Then your men
were
here tonight?"

Monteil blinked at him. "You heard them? I told them they were
not to disturb you! There was no answer when we knocked on the door,
so— Ah, but we waste time, and time it is of the essence. Come!" He
turned away.

Susan caught her brother's hand nervously, and whispered,
"Andy—should we not wake the others?"

Monteil heard, and paused. "I would advise against it, madame.
The fewer who know of this, the better." A sadness came into his black
eyes. "And you entertain doubts, I think. Have I given you cause to
mistrust me, lovely lady? It is but natural, I suppose."

Scarlet, she faltered, "No—you have been nothing but good.
Only—"

"Only I am not, alas, of a handsome countenance, and probably
seem a thorough villain. Here—" He drew a pistol from his pocket and
put it into her hand, ignoring her embarrassed protestations. "Just in
case," he said with a twinkle. "Only I beg you will be cautious, dear
Mrs. Henley. It is loaded."

Lyddford chuckled. Susan felt very foolish, and held the heavy
pistol gingerly as they walked quietly along the hall.

Lanterns glowed in the second cellar when Lyddford swung open
the door, and two men who had been nailing up a large crate jerked
around and stared up at them.

Again, Susan experienced a twinge of unease. They were big,
and roughly dressed, and she had the distinct impression that they were
prepared for violent action.

"
Vous pouuez être tranquille
," Monteil
told them, closing the door. "These are my good partners." He offered
Susan his arm. "I thought it necessary you see, my dear lady, to move
some cargo, and I have instructed my men to prepare for shipment
anything that might be—ah, shall we say—of an incriminating nature."

Susan allowed him to usher her down the steps. The cellar
seemed bigger somehow, and less cluttered.

Lyddford asked curiously, "But why were your men unloading
bricks into the Longhills Folly?"

For an instant the Swiss was as one carven from stone. Then he
said gently, "Bricks…
mon cher
?"

"My sister—" began Lyddford, but broke off as the upper door
burst open again.

Valentine Montclair stood at the top of the steps, looking
wild and wind-blown, his eyes glittering unpleasantly, and a
long-barrelled duelling pistol aimed steadily at Imre Monteil.

"Well, well," he drawled. "A regular thieves' picnic. How
lucky that I found you at home."

For a moment they all stood like so many statues, no one
saying a word. Then Monteil smiled his strange dead smile. "My dear
boy, I—"

"Too late for that fustian," interrupted Valentine. "I know
what's in those crates."

"And you informed on us, you ungrateful spy," growled
Lyddford, starting forward.

It had been borne in upon Valentine that his hot temper had
plunged him into a tricky situation once more. He'd been prepared to
tackle Lyddford, man to man. He hadn't expected to face not one man,
who would play fair, but four, three of whom he suspected would not
balk at murder. Ruefully aware that he should have sent for Devenish
and Vaughan sooner, he said coolly, "Better call him off, monsieur,
since you're the one my pistol is pointing at."

"But my dear," said Monteil blandly, "even assuming you have
found us out—whatever do you propose to do about it?"

"I propose to hand you over to the Runners, sir." One of
Monteil's men stood up. "He ain't handing me over to no traps," he
growled. "If we was all to rush him at once…"

Valentine smiled and tightened his finger on the trigger.
"Your decision, dear Imre."

"No!" Monteil's voice squeaked slightly. "Wait, you imbeciles!"

"He won't shoot," snarled the second man.

"If he does," cried Monteil, "you know what Ti will do to the
man who caused it!"

This threat evidently gave them pause, and they stood
motionless.

Watching numbly, torn by conflicting emotions, Susan saw a
stealthy movement on the landing. Several men were creeping in behind
Valentine. The men she'd seen at the Folly. She gave a frantic little
sob, her hand flying to her throat.

Valentine saw her reaction and guessed at the cause. "You
fellows behind me," he said, "should know this is a hair trigger. The
least jog of my arm and it is sure to go off. If you value your master,
you'd best throw down your weapons."

The newcomers hesitated, looking at each other.

Valentine took careful aim.

"Do as he says!" shouted Monteil. "
Mon Dieu! He will
shoot me
!"

Lyddford cried, "Well, he won't shoot me!" and sprang in front
of Monteil.

For a split second Valentine hesitated. It was enough. A
savage swipe smashed the pistol from his hand. He ducked, and a large
fist whizzed over his head, but another, more powerful one rammed into
his back and sent him hurtling down the stairs. He landed hard, struck
his chin, and saw stars as he sprawled, breathless.

Susan did not seem to move, but found herself kneeling beside
Valentine. He blinked up at her, his eyes dazed, and she said angrily,
"Was it necessary to push him downstairs? You might have killed him!"

The Oriental who had pushed Valentine, and who looked almost
as broad as he was tall, grinned at her.

The Scotsman strolled down the stairs and laughed. "Aye. We
might at that, lassie!"

She glared at him, then asked, "Are you hurt, Mr. Montclair?"

He managed to get an elbow under him. His vision was blurred,
but he gasped out, "No. You shall have to… try harder."

A tall dark man bent and seized Valentine by the hair. "
Regarde
qui est la, monsieur
!"

Monteil gave a rather shaky laugh. "Bravo, Jacques!"

Susan slapped the Frenchman's wrist hard. "Stop it, you beast!"

"Oh, but madame she frighten me," he mocked, but he stepped
back.

"You came very opportunely," said Monteil. "Surely you cannot
have finished your task so soon?"

The fair-haired man answered in a cultured voice, "Bolton's
mare wandered off—or so we thought. I didn't like the smell of it, so
we left Sam with the waggon and the rest of us went looking for her. We
saw Montclair leading her, and followed him here."

"It was well done. You all shall be rewarded." The Swiss
tapped the handle of his amber cane against his lips. "But this," he
frowned at Valentine, "is a nuisance."

"Nuisance!" snorted Lyddford. "It's damned disgusting is what
it is!" He put a hand under Susan's elbow and pulled her to her feet.
"Had you not come creeping around like a filthy Excise spy, Montclair,
you'd merely have been tossed down the front steps instead of—"