Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (35 page)

 
          
 
"Please," she called. "What is
it?"

 
          
 
The big woman turned around. Her dark face was
concerned.

 
          
 
"You see?" she snapped over her
shoulder. "You done woke her up with your foolishment!"

 
          
 
But Gerrad Fowke pushed around her, came to
stand at the foot of the four-poster.

 
          
 
"Saranna, I hate to ask it of you—but—"
For the first time, she saw him without his customary air of authority. He ran
one hand through his hair, reducing that to even more disorder. "Damaris
is too young, and I've sent the Partons to their quarters. I have to have
someone to get to Honora. She's—she seems entirely distraught."

 
          
 
"She hates me," Saranna spoke what
she believed to be the truth. "What makes you think I can help—
"

 
          
 
"I don't know if you can. But there has
to be someone —“

 
          
 
His hand again went to his head. Saranna
wanted to say "no." The last thing she desired was to set foot within
Tiensin again. Surely by now, Gerrad knew what Honora had done. Was he
upholding her? Saranna could not believe that was true even at this moment.

 
          
 
"All right," she said flatly.
"I'll have to have some clothes—"

 
          
 
She was not going back to Tiensin in the
strange apparel provided by the Fox Lady. Tongues would wag enough about this
venture anyway.

 
          
 
She saw the relief in Gerrad Fowke's
expression and knew a pinch of misery in answer. In spite of everything he did
care about Honora. Saranna only hoped that he could control her once they were
married.

 
          
 
"That's all right. I brought your things.
And I would not ask you to go back except that I cannot get to her. She's
locked herself in her room and she's screaming all kinds of nonsense. She's
even threatened to destroy herself if I come near her—"

 
          
 
"Give me a chance to get dressed."
Saranna could no longer watch his distress. She was so tired—tired of all the
intrigue and troubles at Tiensin. Though that she would have any influence with
Honora was impossible.

 
          
 
Aunt Bet grumbled but she did help her dress,
shaking her head over the creases in the dress which Gerrad had apparently
caught up without much care. There was, also, a hasty collection of
underthiags, even stockings and slippers. And when Saranna looked into the
mirror as Aunt Bet braided her hair and wound it in a coronet fashion on top of
her head, she saw the dark bruise discoloring near half of her face. A pretty
sight and there was
no bonnet nor
veil to hide it
either. Gerrad had forgotten those.

 
          
 
She was not to go without some food in her.
Aunt Bet insisted on that. And produced such a wealth of eatables that Saranna
felt it was better sustenance for an army than one thin female. Only, as she
looked at the loaded plate, hunger did return and she did justice to as much as
she could.

 
          
 
"Where is Damaris?" she asked when
she joined Mr. Fowke outside. He had the Tiensin carriage waiting. But the
driver of that was a stranger to Saranna.

 
          
 
"At Tiensin.
Or rather with someone in the hidden garden.
We ran off
those toughs, took their leader prisoner. The sheriff is on his way to tidy up.
I've given the Partons notice, though I feel sorry for Collis; I don't think he
was a party to what has been going on. He's a slow thinker, but a good
overseer."

 
          
 
"And Rufus?"
Saranna asked as he took his place beside her and the coach rocked down the
drive.

 
          
 
"Rufus," his quarterdeck voice was
winter-cold, "has been given a choice. Though I would dearly love to break
his neck,"
a certain
warmth colored that,
"he has too much to say which would hurt other people. He was told to
light out here and now for the West, or
face
the
sheriff. It did not take him long to make up his mind."

 
          
 
Hurt other people—Saranna's thoughts seized on
that. Gerrad meant Honora, of course. He had to protect her from gossip, and
Rufus need only tell the sheriff of her plot to ruin Saranna.

 
          
 
"You need not fear him again,"
Gerrad Fowke was continuing. "I have sent a couple of my men to make sure he
makes it to the state border. But I think he is frightened enough of the
consequences of what he had done not to try to double back. There is nothing
for him here now anyway and he knows that very well."

 
          
 
Saranna's bruised face ached. She had a strong
desire to put her head in her hands and cry. She was not sure why, but the
tears pricked behind the eyes she tried to keep uncaring. Just as she hoped
that her face did not betray her present state of that unhappiness, the cause
of which she dared not explore.

 
          
 
So she stared straight ahead and asked no more
questions. The sooner they reached Tiensin and she did whatever Gerrad Fowke
asked of her, the sooner she would be free of all of them. Saranna did not
believe he would try to keep her here after what had happened. There were the
Sanderses; perhaps they would give her shelter for long enough to let her write
Pastor Willis to see if
Sussex
could present any haven.

 
          
 
The carriage rocked, it was plain that the
driver had been given instructions to make as good a pace as he dared. Saranna
swayed, held the strap at her side, eluding the arm Mr. Fowke half-advanced as
if to steady her.

 
          
 
Then they were in the driveway at Tiensin.
There were scars from trampling on the lawn. She knew that the garden which had
been breached must show even worse damage. But with Gerrad Fowke she went
inside. There was a scared huddle of servants in the hall, John at their head.
He turned to Mr. Fowke quickly with an expression of relief on his face.

 
          
 
"Mr. Fowke—Miss Honora, she do act like
she ain't right in the head no more—"

 
          
 
Mr. Fowke had taken Saranna's arm, was leading
her purposefully to the stairs. As they mounted, he said in a lower voice:

 
          
 
"She will not let me in. But if she will
open the door to you, I shall be with you. She has threatened to throw herself
from the window if we tried to break in. I do not know what has brought on this
terrible wild hysteria."

 
          
 
Saranna remembered that confrontation with the
Fox Lady's mirror—could that have been the cause of this? Then what had Honora
seen on that polished surface which had driven her to this state?

 
          
 
Honora's maid stood before the closed door.
She looked at the two who joined her and, though she was crying, her eyes were
also wide with fear. Mr. Fowke motioned her to one side, nodded imperatively to
Saranna.

 
          
 
With some hesitation, she stepped forward and
knocked at the closed panel.

 
          
 
"Honora—?"
Her voice was no longer a hoarse whisper, but neither could she use it without
being reminded of Rufus' brutal grip on her throat.

 
          
 
"Honora?" she called again.

 
          
 
"You—!"
There was a sharp sound to that single word.
Then—again—
"You—!"

 
          
 
Through the silence which followed that,
Saranna thought she could hear movement on the other side of the door. Mr.
Fowke had flattened himself to the right against the wall.

 
          
 
Now Saranna did catch the click of a key in
the lock. Mr. Fowke made a small signal with his hand and the girl guessed his
purpose. She would be the only one in plain view when that door swung open, but
Gerrad Fowke could move in from the side.

 
          
 
The door was opening now—jerked back as if
Honora had a purpose which she must accomplish. And Honora did confront her.
But this was not
an
Honora which Saranna had ever seen
before. Her dress was wildly disordered, torn lace hanging from the bodice as
if she had ripped madly at it with both hands.

 
          
 
Her hair hung down in witchlike, uneven
lengths, lank and sweaty. While the face so framed was strange. She constantly
worked her lips in
grimaces,
she might have been
chewing on some exceedingly bitter mouthful.

 
          
 
Saranna was transfixed. So startled that for a
second or two she did not glimpse the pistol in Honora's hand, the twin to the
one she had attempted to use against the Fox Lady.

 
          
 
"YOU
— !"
Honora's voice shrilled up crazily. Left hand joined right to steady the small
gun which wavered as she fought to point it straight at Saranna.

 
          
 
Gerrad sprang. Honora had had eyes for no one
but Saranna and he caught her easily, twisting the derringer from her, hurrling
the weapon out into the hall. She fought him wildly, crying out with sounds
like an aroused animal. But Fowke bore her backward, forced her to sit down on
the chair before her dressing table, the nearest seat.

 
          
 
The mirror there was smashed. But as Honora
faced where it had been she uttered an inhuman howl.

 
          
 
"No—no—I" Her struggles grew the
stronger. He looked to Saranna.

 
          
 
"Get me her robe—over there—!" He
pointed with his chin. Saranna at last found the ability to move. She grabbed
the garment and took it to him. Somehow he used it to bind Honora's arms to her
sides, to keep her captive.

 
          
 
"You kill that she-devil—" Honora
looked up at him, a vestige of sanity returning to her face. "See what she
has done to me. Monster—I have a monster's face!"

 
          
 
Gerrad looked to Saranna for an explanation.
Swiftly she told him of the meeting at which Honora had been shown the mirror.

 
          
 
"So that is it!
Some of
the Princess' work.
Well," he shrugged. "When one is fighting
for one's life any weapon will serve. But she," he looked down at Honora,
who had her face averted stiffly lest she face the ruined mirror, "is not
changed."

 
          
 
"The—the Fox Lady said Honora saw herself
as she really is," Saranna repeated. "But when she made their guns,
the guns of the men change, she said that was an illusion and she could not do
it again."

 
          
 
"There seems to be a more lasting
illusion here," he commented. "But for the sake of Honora's sanity,
we had better see if matters can be remedied. Come on!"

 
          
 
Muffled as she was in the prisoning garment,
he swung Honora up in his arms and headed toward the door, Saranna hurrying
after him. Honora buried her face against his shoulder as if she dared not let
anyone see her features.

 
          
 
Down the stairs they went, and not one of
those in the household followed them. Then outside, to that wreckage of the
wall and hedge which had protected the hidden garden. They had pushed on in
sight of the terrace before they saw anyone. There Damaris stood in the open,
one of the large white foxes on either side.