Cherished Enemy (10 page)

The famous old inn was crowded and noisy, but Victor managed to acquire a room where the ladies could refresh themselves while he searched for a maid to clean his garments insofar as was possible. When this task was completed to his reluctant acceptance, if not to his satisfaction, he sought out the host. A parlour was not to be had, so they were obliged to take luncheon in the busy dining-room. Fortunately it was a quaint old chamber where comely, cheerful maids bustled about, and a small fire reduced the damp chill which had lingered on the inside air despite the afternoon sunshine. The doctor had ordered a delicious luncheon, but Rosamond, small of appetite, and knowing that to eat heartily while on a journey tended to upset her, partook sparingly of tender baked ham, a succulent roast of beef, some excellent cheeses, fresh Kentish fruit, and fragrant bread still warm from the oven. She refused the peach pie with clotted cream, but her aunt, who enjoyed her appetite and was sufficiently tall to be able to indulge it, ate heartily. As a result, Mrs. Porchester became drowsy soon after the meal was finished and decided to have a short nap while awaiting the readiness of the team, which Billy Coachman advised might take another half-hour.

Rosamond looked with longing at the bright afternoon and wished she might explore the old Cinque Port.

Watching her covertly, Victor drawled, “I fancy I am obliged to take the misnamed puppy for a walk. Can I persuade you to accompany me, Miss Albritton?”

She hesitated. She both despised the man and felt shy in his company, but she really did want to go for a walk, and at length, having obtained her aunt's permission, she accepted the doctor's invitation and went upstairs to put on her new cap.

When she returned, Victor was waiting in the vestibule, holding Trifle's leash and attempting to restrain the dog's delirious excitement. “This animal, madam,” he told her rather grimly, “needs a firm hand.” She offered no argument, and he opened the door, dragging back the straining dog so that she could pass. Outside, a rider was in the process of dismounting and handing the reins to a stableboy. Rosamond noted idly that the gentleman, who was exceeding elegant, was experiencing some difficulty in retrieving a bulky parcel which had been tied to the pommel of his saddle. Then Victor's hand was under her elbow, urging her along at such a rate that she was all but lifted down the steps. Indignant, she glanced up at him. His mouth looked rather tight, she thought.

He muttered, “Ridiculous animal!” and Trifle certainly was pulling at the leash with panting eagerness.

Just as they drew level with the horse, the rider turned about. His gaze rested on Rosamond and became admiring. She looked at him in her candid fashion, and met a pair of smiling eyes of tawny hazel set in a rather thin face that she liked at once. He was of similar build to The Arrogant Physician, but probably, she judged, a year or two older. His glance drifted to her escort and a remarkable metamorphosis occurred: his eyes became glazed, his jaw dropped, he gave an audible gasp and the parcel slipped from his hands to land upon the pave with the keening crunch of breaking glass. Amber fluid seeped from the parcel and ran into the kennel, and a strong smell of spirits pervaded the air.

“R-Robbie…! Oh, Jupiter!” he gasped feebly.

“Afternoon, Thad,” said Dr. Victor, and they were past.

Trifle found an interesting post and decided to endow it. He was dragged ruthlessly. Glancing over her shoulder, Rosamond saw that the gentleman still watched them, for all the world as if frozen to the spot.

“Don't encourage him,” said the doctor, primly decorous.

“Encourage him! You forget yourself, sir!”

“Perhaps. But I don't forget him. If you are provoked because I did not introduce you—”

“Nothing of the sort! Why should I wish—”

“The way you gazed at each other I thought it a case of
l'admiration réciproque.
”

Outraged, she pulled her arm free. “
Quelle sottise!
I was merely surprised because he looked so shocked. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Had he been a friend, or even a respectable acquaintance, I should have introduced you.”

“Well, he certainly knew you.”

“I said—‘respectable,' ma'am.”

“He looked perfectly respectable to me. And uncommon surprised. Why, he turned perfectly white. Whatever have you done to the poor man?”

Patently bored, he drawled, “Amputated his ill-gotten gains, evidently. Which is just as well.”

“Ill-gotten … oh my! Do you mean that the brandy he dropped had—”

“Had never seen an excise stamp, Miss Albritton. I make no doubt that is why he is here in Sussex.”

Her eyes very round, she said, “You mean—
he
is a Free Trader?”

“Notorious, ma'am. Got rich at the Trade. And I must say that your abhorrence of such evil actions does you credit.”

“Oh, I do not count smuggling so very evil,” she said with a shrug. “I am Sussex born, and everyone knows that Rye is a busy place for smugglers. Only—he did not seem that sort of—er, gentleman.”

“Why?” His lip curled disdainfully. “Did you fancy they all carried cutlasses 'twixt their teeth and wore dirty shirts open to the waist?”

“Well, of course I did not! But I'll own I did not dream they would dare to transact their business in broad daylight. I thought smuggling was done with tubs. And at the dark of the moon.”

“And you condone those illicit pursuits?”

There was a distinct note of censure in his voice and, irritated, she replied, “I do not say I condone it, exactly. Only the people are poor and the taxes unfairly high—exorbitant, my papa says.”

“I find it hard to believe your father holds any brief for those who break the law of the land, despite the heavy taxes,” he said, that one brow arching upward in the supercilious way she found infuriating.

“I did not imply any such thing,” she defended. “But I fail to see how impoverished men, perhaps with families going hungry, could be blamed for indulging in a little smuggling now and then!”

He clicked his tongue. “I confess myself much shocked by such overly lenient views, ma'am. I'd fancied you would have been shielded from all knowledge of such grimy pursuits, and certainly have been taught the difference between right and wrong.”

“Of course I know the difference between right and wrong,” she said, between gritted teeth.

“Yet because the wicked smuggler we just saw chanced to be young and attractive, you excuse him.” He shook his fair head at her. “What if he was a Jacobite fugitive—would you excuse that, also?”

“Most decidedly not! I deplore the breed, as you heard me say at my aunt's ball in Paris. In fact,” she went on, suddenly thoughtful, “now that I think of it, you appeared irked by my remarks.”

He watched her with amusement. “Now what do you seek to imply, ma'am? Come now, never hesitate to revile me! Does your over-active imagination picture me bedight in kilts and claymore, hacking away on Culloden Field?”

She tossed her head and replied with scorn, “My imagination is not
that
over-active, I assure you!” And then, piqued by something about the set of his chin, she asked contrarily, “
Were
you at Culloden?”

He laughed. “Had I admired Bonnie Charlie, I might have wished to be there. But when a man becomes a doctor, he takes an oath to save life—not take it. Which is not to say,” he added firmly, “that I am so witless as to find Free Traders romantical figures to be sighed over and admired.”

Witless, indeed! Flushing, she snapped, “I neither admire them, nor sigh over them! But whatever their faults, they do not carry the guilt for bringing about a cruel and senseless war!”

“They circumvent the bounds of the law, Miss Albritton, and should be regarded as criminals. I must have a word with Charles. He very likely hides illicit cargoes in his belfry when the riding officers are about, and has allowed you to be contaminated by his easy ways.”

“Oh!” she gasped, enraged by this calumny of her peerless brother. “That is not so! Charles is the most law-abiding boy in the— Now why do you look at me like that?”

The cynical grey eyes were lowered at once. “'Tis rather blinding,” he murmured.

“What is?” she asked, quite out of charity with the sanctimonious wretch.

“The sun. Shining so brightly on … er, your cap.”

Her cap was a very fetching creation of white satin, richly flounced at the edges, and threaded with a beige velvet riband to match her habit. The cap had been much admired in Paris, although never had the word “blinding” been employed to describe it. Nor did she believe he really had been dazzled by it. He had looked more amused than dazzled. Very likely he had been fighting the impulse to offer a compliment, for he was so proud a man that even if he did find something about her to admire he probably would be unable to bring himself to admit it. Which was perfectly satisfactory, for she certainly did not wish to be admired by a physician who made no attempt to help another doctor in need; who condemned so widely condoned a practice as smuggling; yet was not above doing—immoral things in ships' cabins!

“Indeed?” she said carelessly.

“Yes. And you look quite nice when you blush. You should do so more often.”

‘Contrary beast!' she thought and, elevating her pretty nose, started off at a faster pace. Unfortunately, the old paving stones were broken and uneven. Her heel caught on a jutting edge and she tripped. The doctor moved very fast and was able to steady her, but in the process his grip on the leash slackened momentarily. Trifle was not one to miss an opportunity; he made a bound for freedom, tore the leash from the doctor's hold, and raced down the hill at top speed.

*   *   *

The chariot lurched to a stop at last, and when Rosamond leaned out of the window, Billy Coachman called with a broad grin, “There 'e is, missus. Cor, if I was you, I'd pretend as 'ow we don't know the poor perisher!”

Ignoring this probably excellent advice, both ladies left the vehicle.

The cottage stood at the far western edge of the old town, set back from the lane behind high hedges so that even from his high perch Billy Coachman might not have seen the two men in the front garden save for the pitch of one voice.

“Oh dear,” murmured Mrs. Porchester, making her way through the open gate.

Trifle, who had been resting under an apple tree, got up and came to greet her, the picture of a docile and obedient dog—save for the mound of earth on the end of his nose.

It was a very pretty house, thought Rosamond, set in a charming garden. Charming, that is, except for several large holes that appeared to have been very recently excavated in several flower-beds, and the fact that the sundial, centred amid luxuriant rose-bushes, leaned drunkenly.

“… very reason I bought the place,” roared a stout man with a face as red as his voice was loud, “was to escape pests like that
worthless
hound, sir! And
you,
sir!”

“I appreciate the fact that you are a little upset—” began Victor.

“
UPSET
?” bellowed the stout man. “For three years I have slaved and hoed and weeded and toiled here, sir! For three long years I have striven to convert a neglected weed patch into a garden as fair as the house! And for the most part I have succeeded! I'll have you know that I
hate
dogs, with their barking and their destruction and their mess, and I keep 'em out! With a musket, if necessary! But along comes a foreign dog from a foreign country—”

“No, I assure you, he—”

“Do you stand there and tell me he is a Sussex dog, sir?”

“Well, I am sure if he had his choice, commodore, he—”

“Choice?”
howled the proud home owner. “That miserable damned mongrel wouldn't know choice from cheese, sir. Only see what he has done! In but a few moments whilst I was gone to the house for a glass of water, he has
ruined
my property!”

“No, really, there is very little damage, and—”

“
VERY LITTLE DAMAGE
? By Zeus, sir! By Beelzebub! Are you blind as well as daft? Look at my marigolds, sir! Shaped like a heart, that bed was! Now it looks as if someone fired a cannon through the poor thing! Look at my iris! Hand-pollinated, sir! Took me two years to get 'em all spaced and set just as I wanted. Your blasted four-legged destroyer chewed up half and tore out the rest! Look at my sundial, sir! Imported from Italy! I had the
devil
of a time resettling it after all the damned rain last winter. Heavy as hell! But your dear doggie
un
settled it with no difficulty!” His voice rose, his face purpling with choler. “And you say
VERY LITTLE DAMAGE
? You are a viper, sir! A spoiler! You
and
your foul hound!” And as Victor became aware that the ladies were coming up the path and glanced to them, the irate gentleman added, “Do you see that, sir?” He gestured to where a grim-looking blunderbuss was propped in an angle of the wall. “I keep that loaded and ready in case any murdering Scot should dare to show his bare knees in this vicinity, in which case I'd blow his filthy head off. But damme if I ain't tempted to—”

Victor intervened coldly, “Not all Jacobites are Scots, and if you—”

“You may believe I'd lower me aim for any skulking Englishman so treacherous as to turn his back on king and country,” roared the commodore, his colour deepening alarmingly. “These wild Scots are bad enough, but at least they fought for their own countryman and likely believed he was in the right of it. Any man who does battle for his own has the right to a quick and clean way out of his troubles. But—an English traitor? By Zeus and his blasted thunderbolts, I'd let him have the shot about two inches under his sword-belt—just to give him time to repent his sins before—” Here, his irate gaze belatedly encompassing a remarkably pretty girl, he gave a dismayed gasp, then recovered to growl, “If that shocked you, madam, you may console yourself with the knowledge that were you not trespassing, you'd not have heard it!”