Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (13 page)

Her voice quivering a little, Rachel answered,"I have very
often thought of you, Major, and wondered how our England might be
going on, were it not for devoted patriots such as yourself."

At this, his assured poise deserted him. He all but shrank
from her, his lean face flaming. "No, no, ma'am! It is, after all, only
a—a job of work. Could I find a l-less taxing one, I'd have backed away
long since. Assure you."

"You've properly panicked him, Rachel," said Devenish
gleefully. "Lord, but I'd not have thought it possible our famous
Diccon would show yellow! Speaking of which, is Diccon really your
name?"

With a shaken grin, Diccon said, "One of 'em." He made his way
around the group, shaking hands and nodding to each man in a terse way,
as though begrudging the time spent in such formalities. His greetings
completed, he moved to stand with his back to the fireplace. Leith took
him a glass of brandy, and he accepted it gratefully, raised it in a
brief salute to them all, and took a healthy swallow. "My thanks," he
said. "I needed something to restore me. Claude's ran me the deuce of a
chase. We started out four. Where the others are, Lord only knows. I
can only pray they're alive."

The Reverend asked diffidently, "Had you far to come, Major
Diccon?"

"From the Essex coast, sir. Though it was a wild goose chase,
as I'd suspected. And time running out, blast it!" He sipped the brandy
again and ran his eyes around the intent circle of faces. "You know why
you are here, I take it? Dear Claude has been very busy, and I am
outwitted and outmanoeuvred, as usual."

"Do you know what he plans?" asked Leith.

"Or when he means to strike?" said Devenish.

Dismayed, Lord Bolster asked, "Have you no backing at all?"

"None, my lord," returned Diccon, answering the last question
first.

Leith said, "What of Smollet? He knows the truth, and he told
me Wellington knew also and thought we'd done not too badly."

"The General has been packed off to St. Petersburg. As for
Wellington…" He sighed. "To be brief, Claude baited a trap, as a result
of which I convinced Smollet and the Duke that we had pinpointed
Claude's headquarters. A great deal of money was spent in staging an
immediate military strike at one of the Channel Islands." He leaned
forward and said intently, "Gentlemen, I was
on
that island. I
saw
Claude's men drilling. I
saw
vast supplies of weapons. Yet on the night our forces landed they were
opposed only by a confused citizenry who'd been told France was
invading. They put up a small but gallant resistance."

"Good God!" exclaimed Devenish.

"It didn't take long to get things more or less sorted out,"
said Diccon. "But when the smoke cleared there was not a sign—not a
whisper—of Sanguinet's men or supplies."

"Jove, what a bumblebroth," muttered Sir Harry. "Casualties?"

"Thirty-nine wounded, including two young boys not yet in
their teens, and two cows. One damned costly boat lost in the surf, and
a small fortune wasted in ammunition. To say nothing of repairing
shattered cottages and paying for trampled crops. The miracle is that
no one was killed. You can well imagine the reaction in London. Prinny
was raging; Whitehall was apoplectic; Smollet was disgraced; Wellington
was embarrassed, to say the least. I am
decidedly persona
non grata
in Whitehall."

There was a stunned silence. Devenish broke it. "That damned
cunning bastard! But surely Wellington must know you were hoodwinked?"

"It was essential we move very fast. We'd been waiting for
just such a chance. My word was trusted—and acted upon. It has all been
hushed up, of course, but when Wellington finished with me… I can only
wonder he did not rend me limb from limb." He gave a wry shrug. "Not
that I'd have blamed him."

Leith, who had seen the Duke enraged, shuddered.

''Do you say that because of this, er, unfortunate
mis-mis-mis- fiasco the entire matter has been relegated to the
st-status of fantasy?" asked Bolster.

Diccon shook his head. "Smollet still believes me. Wellington…
I don't know. He requested that in future before I invite a disaster I
at least produce proof of my findings. Proof!" He swore softly. "Small
chance of that!" With an impatient movement he straightened his
shoulders, the sense of restrained urgency that so often characterized
him radiating from him as he went on briskly, "Of one thing I am very
sure. Sanguinet is mustering a ragtag army of dissidents, traitors,
soldiers of fortune, malcontents. And he has top military men from all
over Europe whipping them into a well-armed, well-trained force that
will all too soon be capable of rolling over any resistance our
ill-equipped depleted garrisons might drum up to meet them."

"Capital," muttered Sir Harry, cynically. "Is that all?"

"I'm afraid not." Diccon paused. "As a prelude to his little
venture, Claude means to do away with the Regent!"

Through the following stunned silence, the Reverend Lang-ridge
gasped, "
Do… away with
—? Good heavens, man! You
cannot be serious! Do you tell us that—that miserable conniver means to
murder Prince George? But—but he's the heir-apparent!"

Mitchell said scornfully, "Why go to the trouble? Prinny's an
ineffectual, bungling fool. What threat could he be to Sanguinet?"

The remark provoked several frowns, and Diccon turned a gaze
of ice onto the younger man. "Your personal, and unfortunately
expressed views, sir," he said in a tone as cold as his look, "do not
alter the fact that our Prince could become King at any moment. Were he
to die just now—"

"There would be widespread rejoicing," drawled Mitchell acidly.

"By God!" Devenish sprang to his feet, eyes ablaze. "I'll be
damned
if I will stand here and listen to—"

"Enough!" Angry, Leith also stood. "Mr. Redmond, I take leave
to remind you that you are a guest in my home and that both your words
and manner are offensive to the rest of us! Also, that my wife is
present."

Mitchell had the grace to redden. With his brother's glare
transfixing him, he said, "I apologize, Mrs. Leith. Not for my views,
but for having voiced them in your presence. I shall hold my tongue."
He moved to a chair at the rear of the room and sat down, having
apparently lost interest in the proceedings.

"As I was saying, gentlemen," Diccon resumed, "for the Regent
to be slain would be disastrous. The Princess is beloved, but she is in
the family way and it would be some time before she could be expected
to function capably. Prince Leopold is foreign and with little power.
More than this, the aftermath of our long war has resulted in
widespread public unrest and dissatisfaction with the status quo. Only
look at the uproar in January when the Regent drove to open Parliament.
A near riot. Hostile crowds, rocks thrown, the possibility even of a
shot having been fired at his coach. Our national debt is staggering
and cripples our economic policies. The death of the Regent would be
the final straw to throw the nation into anarchy. What a perfect time
for Sanguinet to strike! Our army has been largely disbanded and it
would take more time than we would have to conscript sufficient men or
weld them into efficient regiments." He bent forward slightly and,
looking at them in turn from under his bushy eyebrows, said with slow
emphasis, "This nation, gentlemen, would be at the mercy of a soulless
fanatic and a well-equipped army of murderous rabble!''

They eyed one another, appalled, while the midday sun slanted
in pleasant golden gleams through the tall windows, and distantly,
Brutus could be heard barking in a desultory way.

"But you must have
some
idea of where
Sanguinet is headquartered," said Leith. "Certainly so large an
operation cannot have gone unnoticed."

"One would think not. But"—Diccon spread his long bony hands
expressively—"I had my first hint of Claude's new plan a year since and
am little the wiser today. Six weeks ago I had what seemed a second
glimmer of hope, and I went into Essex to sniff around. But it was
another red herring. I dare risk no more precious time. The men loyal
to me are being whittled down, either by violence or by their need for
regular meals. Thus, gentlemen, I now call upon you who have good cause
to loathe the Sanguinets. For the sake of our England, I ask your—"

Imperceptibly, the bulldog's barking had drawn nearer, and it
became increasingly difficult to distinguish Diccon's grim words as a
disturbance in the hall grew to a small uproar. Abruptly, the doors
were flung open. The butler and a footman came in, supporting between
them Best's sagging form. The groom's head and face were streaked with
blood, one coat sleeve hung in shreds, and the visible areas of his
face were deathly white.

Leaping to his feet, Leith cried, "Best! What on earth-Over
here, Fisher. Lay him on the sofa."

Pushing through the men who crowded around the stricken groom,
Mitchell exclaimed harshly, "I
knew
it! Best,
where is Miss Strand?"

A faint, horrified cry broke from Rachel, and Leith turned to
throw an arm about her. Turning a taut face to Redmond, he demanded,
"What the devil do you mean?"

Mitchell ignored him."Best? Try to tell us, man. Has Miss
Strand come to any harm?"

The groom tried valiantly to answer, but his words were
inaudible. Diccon came up with a glass of brandy and handed it to
Fisher.

Rachel quickly came between them, took the glass, and dropped
to her knees beside the sofa. "Hold his head up," she urged and, as
Fisher obliged, held the glass to Best's lips. He took a few sips,
coughed, and waved the brandy away. "Colonel," he gasped out, "I tried!
As—as God be my judge…
I tried
!"

Leith dropped one hand on his wife's shoulder."Of course you
did, poor fellow. Just try to tell us what happened. Where is Miss
Charity?"

"Gawd knows, sir. Mr. Redmond is right. He made me go with
her. She didn't… want me, but… then this great big black coach come
and… and they was just too many on 'em, sir. I told her to run
quick…and I tried…to hold 'em, but… Oh, I
do
be
that sorry, Colonel! They got her! They took Miss Charity… they
took
her…"

Uproar followed his words. Leith, terrified for his
ashen-faced wife, picked her up bodily and deposited her in a deep
chair. Mrs. Hayward hurried into the room, followed by two of her maids
bearing medical supplies and a bowl of hot water. Even as they
ministered to the injured man, Diccon continued to question him
relentlessly.

Devenish meanwhile caught Mitchell by the arm and spun him
around. "What the devil do you know of all this?" he demanded angrily.

"It was the very thing I was hastening to take up with Leith
when you saw fit to delay me in the stables," Mitchell answered, a
miserable sense of guilt gnawing at him.

Leith, who had sent the footman running to make hot tea for
his wife, now left her and came up, his face pale and taut. "Explain,
if you please."

Mitchell said, "I was appalled to find that Miss Strand was in
the habit of wandering about the countryside unescorted. From the
moment we first met I made every effort to convince her not to do so."

His handsome features contorted with fury, Devenish snarled,
"You
thought
this might happen? And you said
nothing to Leith here? Or to me? Why, you—"

Leith threw up a restraining arm. "Dev, not now. Had you
previously seen that coach in this neighbourhood, Redmond?"

"No, dammit! Of course I had not! And how could I say anything
about Sanguinet when I had no way of knowing who else knew what was—"

"It was Claude's doing," Diccon intervened briskly, turning
from the sofa. "No doubt of it. Black coach, livery, horses, the whole
ugly article. Your groom thinks they headed west. You shall have to get
your men after them, Leith. Fast. Before that swine gets your sister to
Dinan. I doubt you could broach his fortress chateau a second time."

Leith thought, "God forbid!" He looked to the men who watched
him. "Gentlemen, are you with me?"

Diccon's voice cut through the immediate chorus of
affirmation. "No, by God! They are not!"

Stunned, they turned to him.

"Heaven forbid that I should not sympathize with Miss Strand's
predicament," he said. "But
England
has first
claim on you."

His dark brows drawing together, Leith argued, "You want
Sanguinet, no? Our ways then take the same path."

"Not if you mean to follow your sister to the coast. You would
play right into Claude's hands. I now believe his fortress must lie
northward."

Devenish said keenly, "Scotland? Then you
did
pay some heed to what I told Smollet last year!"

"Of course. We have had your cousin's castle watched ever
since your confrontation with the smugglers, but there has been no sign
of free trading, nor any apparent link to Sanguinet. Even so, there are
parts of Scotland that would provide more than enough privacy for
Claude's activities, and 'tis there I mean to search next. My
apologies, Leith. Get your men away at once, but I must ask that you
and these other gentlemen go with me."

Leith looked at his wife's imploring face. Tears crept slowly
down her cheeks, and her hands were gripped so tightly that the
knuckles gleamed white. But she said nothing, leaving the decision to
him, trusting in him. When he turned back to Diccon, his eyes were
implacable. "My regrets, Major. My first duty must be to my sister."

"Aye! And we're with you to a man," declared Devenish stoutly.

Mitchell contradicted, "Not quite. My regrets, Leith, but I'm
with Diccon."

Devenish's lip curled. Impatient, he said, "Come
on
,
Tris! They gain on us every second that we stand about jawing!"