Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (43 page)

"Idiot!" raged Monteil. "Kill the swine!"

Susan was struggling in Trent's hands; Lyddford was downed.
Monteil's unlovely crew made themselves comfortable and watched in
amusement as Ti Chiu lumbered in again, scowlingly eager for the kill.
There was, Valentine knew, no chance. Breathing hard, he crouched,
fists clenched, grimly resolved to sell his life dearly.

"Tally ho!" shouted a familiar voice from the stairs.

"A mill!" howled another equally familiar voice with
enthusiasm if not accuracy.

Valentine caught a glimpse of the two vagrants sailing into
action. The big Scot grabbed Seth's bushy hair and it came away in his
hand, revealing flattened fair curls. "
Dev
!"
howled Montclair joyously. Dicky, alias Jocelyn Vaughan, took on Trent,
shouting a bracing "Jolly good work, Val!"

So his friends had been here, all the time! He thought
gratefully 'I might have known!'

Bo'sun Dodman plunged down the stairs, followed by Deemer, in
his dressing gown, clutching an enormous and probably inoperable
blunderbuss; and Mrs. Starr, clad in an orange satin dressing gown,
hair in curling papers, and rolling pin in hand.

Ti Chiu came on single-mindedly. Immeasurably heartened,
Valentine braced himself and drove his fist at the rugged jaw. He had
as well have struck a wall of granite. The Chinese launched his great
paw in a murderous swipe. Valentine ducked and struck again, then was
smashed back as by a battering ram. Dimly, he heard a piercing screech,
and saw Angelo fly through the air to land on Ti Chiu's back and beat
at his head with verve and determination. The big man did not even seem
aware he was there, and lumbered forward.

Clambering to his knees, Valentine knew in a detached way that
he was in the middle of a raging battle. The Frenchman kicked at him
savagely. Valentine seized the flying boot, brought the Frenchman
crashing down, sat on him, and silenced his curses with a left jab.

Gasping for breath, he regained his feet in time to see Susan
break a priceless vase over the head of a man wearing a red stocking
cap. Imre Monteil was nowhere to be seen. Bewilderingly, the lazy
gardener, Diccon, was now fighting Junius for possession of a pistol.
Ti Chiu, emitting infuriated grunts, flung Senor Angelo off his back,
and the Spaniard landed in the open crate and sank from view. Bo'sun
Dodman was knocked down by the cockney's pistol butt. With a squeak of
fury, Mrs. Starr cast to the winds all her concepts on the use of
violence and bounced her rolling pin off the cockney's head. His eyes
crossed, and he lost interest in the fight. The Chinese made a grab for
Valentine, who dodged aside and rammed his fist into the big man's
midsection. Ti Chiu grunted and advanced inexorably. Vaughan and
Devenish ran to Valentine's aid. With one mighty flail of his arm, Ti
Chiu sent all three flying. Deemer collected a bloody nose and dropped
the blunderbuss. It went off with a deafening roar. The fair man, who
was kneeling over Devenish with a glittering dagger upraised, howled
and flew backwards, knocking over the lamp. The cellar was plunged into
darkness. Gradually, the groans, grunts, thuds, and crashes diminished.
Someone scraped at a tinder box and the small circle of light expanded
as a branch of candles was lit.

The cellar looked like a small battlefield, with damaged
fighting men scattered all about the floor in varying degrees of
consciousness.

Alain Devenish hauled himself to a sitting position and
explored a back tooth cautiously. Jocelyn Vaughan, flat on his back,
lifted his head, his nose streaming crimson, and groaned thickly, "Did
we—win, old boy?"

"I'm not altogether… sure," panted Devenish, handing down his
handkerchief. "That Chinese fella outnumbered the lot of us."

"What?" said Vaughan, plying the handkerchief. "Has he got
away, then?"

"Must have. Don't see him, my tulip. And he… ain't an easy one
to overlook!"

"
Aye… ! Mamacita…
!" sighed a feeble
voice from within the crate, and Senor Angelo's rumpled head hove into
view.

Diccon, his pistol trained on three battered-looking rogues,
called in a brisk, business-like voice, "You people all right?"

They were, Vaughan acknowledged breathlessly, all right.

Both eyes almost swollen shut, and with Susan propping him,
Lyddford peered from behind a crate and gasped that he was "perfectly
fit," then enquired after Monteil.

"He slid away like the slippery article he is," said Diccon
grimly. "A couple of my fellows are hot after him and his big
destroyer."

Lyddford asked, "Who are you, by the way?"

Diccon vouchsafed a terse "Military Intelligence. I don't see
your friend Montclair."

"Mices fren," sighed Angelo, fingering a split lip, "after
goings nasty personable foreign yentlemans."

"No," said Susan quietly. "I rather think Valentine has gone
after somebody else."

Bent low in the saddle, Valentine did not feel his bruises or
the cold driving rain. He had seen Monteil and Ti Chiu go tearing off
in a sleek high-perch phaeton, but the Swiss was not his primary
target, and he followed his predatory cousin, his rage drowning out all
other sensations. Junius had a good head start, and since he had
appropriated Allegro, he maintained his lead and was soon out of sight,
but Valentine had no doubt of where he was headed.

Lights were still burning in the great house as he galloped
the hack straight across Longhills' velvety rear lawns, reined up
behind the great hall, and effected a sliding dismount. He took the
terrace steps two at a time. The doors were locked. He kicked savagely
and they burst open with a shattering of glass.

Sir Selby and his wife had been walking towards the east hall.
They stopped, and swung around. Lady Trent gave a small scream as
Valentine ran into the room. His bruised face was further marred by a
long welt that angled from his right temple to the point of his chin;
his hair was wildly dishevelled, and his clothes were rent and dirty.

Glancing about ferociously, he snarled, "Where is he?"

"Good God!" gasped Sir Selby. "What on earth has happened to
you, dear boy?"

Valentine halted, staring at him. "You wicked old humbug," he
said between his teeth.

Sir Selby was suddenly very still and watchful.

"How
dare
you! You horrid boy!" shrilled
Lady Trent, outraged.

Jimson, the third footman, who had hurried up followed by a
lackey, checked, and watched hopefully.

"What kind of murderous thing are you," went on Valentine,
pacing towards his uncle, his narrowed eyes savage with rage, "that you
could call me your
dear boy
— even while you did
your level best to poison me?"

Lady Trent turned white and threw both hands to her mouth.

Jimson and the lackey uttered simultaneous gasps and exchanged
shocked glances.

"You are
mad
," declared Trent,
blenching, and backing away a step.

Junius ran in from the hall, loading a pistol. "Father." he
panted, "Montclair knows—" He saw his cousin then, and froze.

"By God, but I do!" roared Montclair, leaping at him.

Junius levelled the pistol and fired. At the same instant,
Jimson jumped forward and struck the weapon up, and the ball whammed
into the ceiling.

Cursing, Junius whipped the footman into the path of the
onrushing Montclair, and fled towards the Gallery.

Jimson stumbled and fell. Valentine leapt over him and tore
after Junius.

Lady Trent gave a piercing shriek.

"Don't be a fool, boy!" cried Sir Selby. "You men—Mr.
Montclair has gone stark raving mad! Stop him!"

Jimson required the lackey to help him up, and they walked
sedately after the combatants.

Glancing over his shoulder, Junius saw Montclair gaining on
him, snatched up a lamp, and hurled it. Valentine fielded it with an
upflung arm, and ran on. Down the steps and across the gallery went
Junius, toppling plant stands, strewing small tables and stools in his
wake. Valentine was tripped when an aspidistra crashed at his feet, and
went down hard, but he rolled and was up again as his cousin leapt down
the steps and disappeared along the side hall and into the South Wing.

There were few servants about at this hour, and the corridor
past the ballroom was deserted. Valentine started up the main
staircase, and narrowly escaped being brained by a flying bust of the
Emperor Vespasian. "Stand… and fight, you cowardly dog," he gasped out.

He was tiring, but knew suddenly where Junius was going, and
made a mighty effort to catch up. He heard glass shatter as he plunged
into Selby's study, and ducked frantically as Junius snatched a heavy
Sumatran kris from the display case and sent it whizzing at him. The
razor-sharp blade sliced across his upper arm and thudded into the
wall. Barely conscious of the sharp burn of pain, Valentine flung
himself at his cousin. Junius crashed into the cabinet and it toppled,
sending weapons flying. Valentine followed up with a hard left to the
jaw, and Junius went to his knees and buried his face in his arms,
cowering. "Don't…" he whimpered. "Please—don't hit me… again!"
Valentine stood over him, fists clenched. "Get—up, you—slimy murdering
coward!" he panted. Junius moaned and began to struggle up, then
pounced to grab a heavy teak sword-stand carved in the shape of deer
horns. He spun, and slammed it at Valentine's ribs. Valentine doubled
up, gasping. Junius laughed gloatingly, and bent to snatch up a
double-edged Khanjar knife. Valentine summoned the last dregs of his
strength, locked his hands together and swung them up, connecting
solidly under his cousin's chin. Junius was straightened out and went
over backwards. He gave an odd, strangled squawk, tried convulsively to
rise, then slumped down.

Sagging to his knees again, panting, Valentine saw many legs
run in, and heard shocked exclamations. For a minute the room was an
echoing blur. Devenish's voice came through the mists. "Gad Val, but
you're a bloody mess!" Ragged and battered, his friend knelt,
supporting him. Valentine said with breathless indignation, "Talk
about… pot calling kettle… black!"

"Oh, what a lovely brawl," said Vaughan, reeling to join them.
"Hey! Diccon! We need a doctor here!"

Valentine gasped, "Dev… is she—all right?"

"If you mean the Glorious Henley—yes, dear old boy. The lady
is quite safe, but—"

"One of you men," said Diccon sharply, "ride for a doctor.
Fast."

"I'm—all right," Valentine muttered. "The Bo'sun will—"

"I think we'll need a proper doctor," said the Intelligence
Officer, holding up the sword-stand. "I'm afraid your cousin landed on
this unpleasant article."

Valentine peered at Junius. "Is he… dead?"

Working busily over the huddled figure, Diccon said dryly,
"Not yet. I think he won't cheat the hangman, my lord."

The title made Valentine wince. "I will press… no charges."

"I understand your desire to preserve your family honour,"
said Diccon, a note of irritation in his voice. "But this is too large
a matter for you to suppress. If Trent was deeply involved with the
Masterpiece Gang—"

"He wasn't," said Valentine.

"We'll see that, sir," said Diccon.

Four hectic days later, Susan received Lord Montclair in the
withdrawing room at Highperch. She was sure she would be able to
control herself, but the shock of seeing him wearing blacks, relieved
only by the white neckcloth, almost overset her. He looked less
battered than the last time she'd seen him, but the welt was still a
livid line across his face, and there was a dulled look to the dark
eyes that made it difficult for her to meet them. "I had not expected
you to call, my lord," she said, sitting on the sofa and waving him to
a chair.

"I had to come." He sat down and gazed at her pleadingly.
"Sue—I—"

"I must ask that you address me properly, sir." So she hadn't
forgiven him. Who could blame her? "Yes," he said. "Er—Mrs. Henley, I
have come to most humbly apologize for—for what I—"

"For believing we plotted to murder you."

"I—suppose I had come to—to expect it," he murmured. "It seems
to have become the national pastime."

She looked at him sharply. A wry smile hovered about his lips.
She frowned and he said hurriedly, "I'm sorry. I seem to be handling
this badly."

"Is there a good way to handle such an accusation?"

He flushed. "Sue—for the love of God—forgive me! I—must have
been mad to have suspected such a thing of you. I had once overheard
you talking with Starry, and I thought— But I was a fool! You saved my
life all over again when you denied me that medicine. I should have
known— How did
you
know, by the way?"

"I had not the least idea," she admitted. "I merely thought
Sheswell a stupid man, and the Bo'sun didn't admire his instructions or
the effect of the medicine, so we abandoned both and followed our own
methods."

"How can I ever thank you? Won't you please be charitable, and
ascribe my own stupidity to the concussion Ti dealt me?"

"In view of my reputation, my lord—"

"Must you keep throwing that title at me?"

"It is as well, sir, to keep one's place."

He groaned and threw an irked look at the ceiling.

Her hand went out to him, but was quickly withdrawn. She said
in a kinder voice, "I was very sorry to hear of your brother's death. I
know he meant a great deal to you."

"Yes. He did. Thank you." He still couldn't accept the fact
that dear old Geoff was gone, and his voice shook a little. He
recovered himself and said quickly, "I want you to know that I am
renouncing all claim to this house, and I—"

"We do not want your charity, Montclair," said Andrew,
stalking into the room. "Thank you very much."

"It isn't—" began Valentine, standing to face him.