Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (28 page)

Unconvinced, Lion grunted.

Guy glanced around, saw Redmond standing there, his face
expressionless, and was dismayed.

"Your Captain says there's a cove below the castle, Guy,''
said Redmond. "He will drop anchor there, and have us taken ashore.
Then he means to return to Tordarroch. He asks that we prepare to land."

Dogs began to bay frantically as Charity, holding Guy's arm,
followed Lion and Redmond along the winding path that led up the cliffs
to Castle Tyndale. She heard a door slam and thought with relief that
someone was here, even if the Tyndales were from home. Panting, she
paused at the top of the path, looking back to the cove far below, but
La
Hautemant
was already disappearing into the southern mists.

A howl of excitement rang out. "
Mitch
! By
God! It's my brother! And he's got
Miss Strand
!"

Charity's heart leapt with joy. "They're
here
!"
she cried wildly. "Oh, thank God!"

She began to run, and heard whoops and shouts, distant at
first, but coming closer as they rounded the side of the great
structure. She had a brief impression of broad lawns and fine old trees
and flowerbeds, but then the wide steps at the front of the castle were
suddenly full of men.

Redmond drawled, "Our reinforcements have arrived, certainly."

Guy drew back, but Charity saw her brother leap down the steps
and she gave a shriek and ran joyously to meet him. With an answering
shout, Justin Strand galloped to grab and hug her so hard she thought
her ribs would crack. "You're safe!" he cried emotionally, swinging her
around. "Now— thank God! Thank God!"

She kissed him wholeheartedly, saw the glint of thankful tears
in his blue eyes, and then was torn from his arms, swung higher and
soundly kissed by her brother-in-law, Leith's deep voice ringing with
gladness. Again, she was wrenched away, and Alain Devenish was adding
his own salutes to her radiant face.

Everyone was shouting at once. An exuberant Sir Harry Redmond
pounded his quiet brother on the back, and the little clerical
gentleman, Reverend Langridge, wrung and wrung at Mitchell's hand,
while beaming upon them all.

Charity was grateful to see Tristram go and grip Guy
Sanguinet's hand and say something to him that brought a smile to Guy's
face. Devenish turned to Lion, who looked scared and ill-at-ease.

"Look!" shouted Devenish, laughingly, holding Little Patches
aloft. "Another prisoner rescued!"

There was a sudden silence. "Jupiter!" gasped Leith, staring
at the kitten. "She was with
you
, Charity? But—"

"H-hey!" shouted Jeremy Bolster, running from the castle,
pulling on his jacket and minus one boot. He came up with the happy
crowd, halted, and threw out his arms. Charity ran into them gladly,
was hugged once more, and a shy kiss planted on her cheek.

The air rang with questions, laughter, and badinage. And
Charity stood there, weeping happy tears, her heart too full for words
while these dear friends and loved ones she had feared never to see
again closed in around her.

A tall, fair-haired man she had never met came out onto the
steps and stood watching. Over the uproar, Leith shouted, "It's my
sister, Tyndale. Mitchell Redmond found her for us!"

Strand asked anxiously, "My dearest girl, you
are
all right? They didn't harm you?"

"They frightened me very badly, Justin. And made me horribly
drugged. But, oh, I am
home
! Thanks to Mr.
Redmond, and Guy—and Lion!"

Strand's rumpled fair head jerked around to stare at the
youth. "
Lion…
? By Jove—it
is
!
But, you're Garvey's tiger!''

Afraid, and his conscience extremely uneasy, Lion stammered,
"I—I ain't not—no more, I ain't."

"Oh," said Strand. "Well, I shouldn't wonder! What the deuce
have you done to your hair?"

And suddenly it seemed so hilarious that Charity began to
laugh and couldn't stop, her peals of mirth so infectious that they all
were drawn in until the castle rang with the sound of it. "Oh," gasped
Charity, wiping her eyes. "If that isn't just like you, Justin!
Here—here we are… just this minute escaped from that wretched man… and
you must worry because Lion was made to dye his hair!''

"Well, it looks awful." Strand grinned. "Come along now, and
meet our host!"

They proceeded to the steps, where Major Craig Tyndale was
presented. His hair was a few shades darker than that of his cousin
Alain Devenish, and his pleasant features showed small trace of that
ebullient young man's famed good looks. He bowed over Charity's hand
and begged that she come inside. "My wife is away, ma'am, but I know
she would wish you to borrow whatsoever you might need. I'll send a
maid upstairs with you do you wish to refresh yourself and change your
dress."

Charity thanked him as he led the way into the lofty Great
Hall and thence to a large and comfortable drawing room, since she told
him she could not bear to be parted just yet from her loved ones. She
had been determined to dislike this man who had stolen away the girl
Devenish loved so devotedly, but she found that despite herself she
warmed to him for his quiet manner, his grave smile, and his pleasant
Canadian accent. His grey eyes were not perhaps as fine, but much more
friendly than those of Mr. Redmond, she decided.

Devenish said brightly, "Welcome to the haunted castle."

Tyndale glanced at him, but said nothing.

"If you could only know how glad I am to be here,'' Charity
said fervently. "I have so much to ask you—and so much to tell."

Tyndale led her to a comfortable chair and went over to tug on
the embroidered bell-pull. Strand and Leith seated themselves on a
sofa, Devenish perched on the arm, Bolster, Sir Harry, and the Reverend
Langridge pulled chairs closer, and Lion sat on the jut of the hearth,
watching Little Patches creep about, making a dramatic stalk of this
new place.

"My poor girl," said Leith kindly, "you have had a dreadful
time. You know, of course, that we failed you miserably."

"Followed the wr-wrong coach," Bolster said with a wry nod.
"Lot of silly g-g-gudgeons!"

"Just so soon as we realized what had happened," put in Sir
Harry, "we rushed up here, because—"

"Because I'd told them what transpired here with good old
Claude last year," Devenish interposed. "We was expecting to find
Diccon here…" He glanced curiously at Mitchell.

"It looks," said the Reverend in his mild voice, "as though my
nephew was luckier than us all."

Mitchell, who had drifted away to stand quiet and aloof beside
a side window, met his brother's curious stare. "Diccon's dead, I
think," he said flatly.

Sir Harry's face twisted. "Oh, never say so!"

"Are you perfectly sure?" Leith asked, his own face paling.

"Then you've not heard from diLoretto?" Mitchell countered.

"Your man?" Puzzled, Sir Harry shook his head. "What has he to
do with Diccon, bantling?"

Mitchell's lips tightened. "It's a long story. I'm not sure
we've the time." He turned to Leith. "I don't mean to be melodramatic,
but could you send a man up to the battlements to keep watch?"

"By Jove!" Devenish exclaimed, his handsome face brightening.
"Old Claude?"

Mitchell nodded. "Very likely, I'm afraid."

A rather rumpled butler hurried in and crossed to receive
Tyndale's orders. He looked astonished and left quickly.

Mitchell glanced at the clock as it chimed the quarter hour.
"I'll be as brief as possible," he said, and embarked on a very
abbreviated version of his journey to Birkenhead and the fight at the
bridge. "If Diccon was not killed," he added, "he showed no sign of
life. I knew diLoretto had apparently escaped detection. I fancied he'd
have contacted you by this time."

The butler and a maid came in at this point with trays of
coffee and cakes. Mitchell drew up a chair and continued his tale,
pausing only to ascertain that a footman had been sent to the roof to
warn of any approaching vessel. He spoke tersely until he reached the
point of their final confrontation with Claude. Hesitating, he finished
abruptly, "There was a bit of a tussle in the war room, but thanks to
Guy we were able to get away and—"

Indignant protests interrupted him. Devenish said, "Come on
now, Redmond. You can't fob us off like that. What
kind
of tussle? And
how
did you escape?"

His face as expressionless as his voice, Mitchell said, "I
escaped because Miss Strand wields a fearsome spear. And because Guy
rescued me." When the shouts of excitement died down, he added, "Excuse
me, gentlemen. I shall let someone else finish the story." He stood
amid a flat silence and sauntered from the room.

Bolster and Harry exchanged mystified glances.

Guy said quickly, "Perhaps I may tell you …?" Urged to do so,
he described the battle with typical modesty, so that Charity often
felt called upon to interrupt. No mention was made of Mitchell's
ordeal, but between them they painted so graphic a picture of that
struggle that cheers rang out when they finished.

As soon as he could make himself heard, Leith asked, "Do you
know when the crown is to be delivered? Is there a definite time?"

Leaning in the doorway, Mitchell said, "It is to be taken to
the Pavilion at Brighton. There will be a dinner party before the ball
to commemorate the Battle of Waterloo, and Claude has sent Prinny a
note saying that the crown is presented to him in honour of the
occasion.''

His news was greeted with dismay.

"Wednesday?"

"And today's Saturday! Egad!"

"Can we reach London in less than five days?" the Reverend
wailed.

"Not London, sir, Brighton," corrected Leith. "And we
must
!''

"If we ride like hell," said Devenish, ever the optimist, "we
could do it in half the time. Certainly by the eighteenth!"

Leith said thoughtfully, "If we could just get some backing."

Tyndale nodded. "Someone will have to go to the authorities."

"Authorities!" Devenish regarded him with scorn. "Just like
you, Craig, to want to bring in a lot of pompous officials."

"Doubt they'd listen, old f-fellow," said Bolster.

"They wouldn't listen to me," Leith agreed. "Or even to poor
Diccon. The only other man who could help us is in Russia. We're on our
own, gentlemen. Dev's right. If we appeal for help, we not only invite
endless delays and the prolific red tape of officialdom, but we're more
than likely to be clapped up as dangerous lunatics."

Charity intervened hopefully, "But Mr. Redmond said your wife
has a relation living nearby, Major. Her grandpapa?"

"Very true, ma'am. General Drummond. And the old fellow is a
fighter—he'll move heaven and earth to help."

Automatically assuming command, Leith said, "Then you must go
to him at once, Tyndale."

"I'd sooner go with you, Colonel. At all events, I doubt the
General could find us help in time."

"Perhaps not. But if we fail, somebody in authority must
attempt to make the truth known."

Tyndale looked downcast, but he strode over to tug on the
bell-rope once more, and when the butler ran in with an immediacy that
betrayed the fact he'd been close by, he said, "Send word to the
stables, if you please. We shall need six"—he scanned the tense
group—"no, forgot Mr. Redmond—
seven
fast horses,
and a coach and four. Quickly, man!"

The butler flew.

Also taking inventory, Guy said, "Major Tyndale, you have also
forget me, I think?"

Tyndale glanced questioningly to Leith.

Tristram said, "Guy, under the circumstances, I think it best
you stay clear. You can help us most by going with the Major and
providing any needed details."

"And what about me?" demanded Charity, as they all stood.
"I'll not be left, Tris!"

He smiled at her fondly. "My dear girl, you have done
splendidly, but you surely do not intend to gallop down Scotland and
the length of England with a bunch of wild men who—"

"Of course she don't," Strand interjected. "My sister will
ride with you, Tyndale."

"Precisely why I ordered up the coach and four," said the
Major.

Her eyes blazing with indignation, Charity declared, "Well,
I'll not! I have been kidnapped and bullied and petrified these two
weeks and more! I'll not now be abandoned miles from home. Besides, I
want to see how Rachel goes on."

"For heaven's sake, do not talk such rubbish, child," said
Strand in his impatient fashion. "A fine sight you'd present in your
muslin gown, riding at the gallop!"

Mitchell drawled, "Do you mean to argue about it much longer,
we'd as well start preparing our blacks."

Tyndale said briskly, "We'd best arm ourselves, gentlemen. The
gun room is this way."

As they hurried into the hall, Strand seized Charity's elbow.
"Find yourself a cloak, love. The wind's coming up."

Overhearing, Tyndale said, "You will find whatever you need in
my wife's room, ma'am." He walked beside her and gestured to a hovering
lackey.

The brothers were alone. Mitchell regarded Harry without
expression. A faint smile curving his lips, Harry went over and tilted
his brother's chin up. "Caught one here, I see," he murmured, lightly
touching the bruised mouth. He dropped his hand onto Mitchell's
shoulder. "Well done, halfling! Gad, but I'm proud of you."

Mitchell met his eyes squarely. "Only because Guy and Miss
Strand did not tell you the whole. I was listening outside." He saw
Harry's smile fade into a look of consternation but nerving himself,
ploughed on. "Do you know what Claude said? He said I'd spent these
last thirteen months trying to prove my manhood."

Harry had thought the same. Shocked, he managed to say with
relative calm, "Is that so? Well, if it was truth, you've certainly
proved it."