Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (45 page)

''
What?''
screamed Charity, spinning to
face him, her face shining with a great joyous light. "
What
did you say?"

''Jupiter!'' thought Sir Harry. ''To think I ever judged her
plain… !"

Mitchell really did not want to wake the third time. It was
all too wearying and painful, and he was so very hot and without hope.
But then a gentle hand was stroking his hair, a soft, broken, beloved
voice murmured, "Wretched, most odious rake, oh,
why
must you call for me by
that
name?"

His eyes shot open. He turned his head, not caring how
remorselessly the pain clawed through him. And she was there, her
tanned, beautifully boned face close to his, her great eyes liquid with
love, her cool hand touching his cheek.

It was all right, then.

He gave a deep sigh. "My little mouse," he whispered, and with
a faint but contented smile fell asleep.

Wellington said grimly, "We think we got 'em all, gentlemen.
Most of the ringleaders, at all events. Gad, but that murdering little
weasel had his web spun from Dinan to Paris to Vienna to the Hebrides
and points south to Brighton!" He leaned back in his chair in the
privacy of one of the visitor's apartments and looked from General
Smollet, whom he detested, to Leith, whom he had always thought a
splendid officer. "Had it not been for you and your friends—"

"One in particular," interjected Smollet, recklessly.

The Duke did not care to be interrupted and turned upon the
General a look that froze Leith's blood and had been known to make
men's knees knock like castanets.

Bristling, the sturdy little Smollet thought,"Devil fly away
with him!" and his grey eyes, fierce under their beetling brows, darted
sparks. "Had it not been for a very gallant gentleman named Diccon," he
persisted, "these fine young fellas would never have had their chance,
sir. Nor the Regent his life. For more than five years that poor devil—"

"I am well aware of Major Diccon Paisley's record,"
interpolated Wellington.

Surprised by the new name, Leith's dark brows twitched upwards.

His chin aloft and his eyes cold, Wellington continued, "He
knew the chances he took when he entered the Intelligence Service."

"He paid the price willingly," growled Smollet. "And got
precious little thanks for it."

"I doubt he asked any, sir!" But the Iron Duke liked an
officer who stood by his men, and he thought suddenly that Smollet put
him in mind of poor old Picton. The height in his manner vanished. With
a mischievous twinkle, he added,

''He'll likely continue to pay the price until he finds the
sense to enter a less nerve-racking business."

Leaning forward, Leith asked eagerly, "Then he
has
survived, sir?"

"Where that gentleman is concerned, it's a case of 'least
said, soonest mended.' " Wellington smiled. "As will be the case with
you, Colonel, and your magnificent efforts for England."

Smollet, who had found it necessary to blow his nose, now
exclaimed, "My lord! You cannot keep such a matter quiet!" He had said
"my lord" instead of "your grace!" Oh, well, too late now! He went on
rather feebly, "Too many knew of it."

''The people who knew of it have already taken an oath to keep
silent. Good God, man! Have a little sense. To publish such a desperate
affair can only inspire some other group of fanatics to try the same
thing! With England in the throes of this accursed economic shambles,
and the Regent as popular as—" He bit off that sentence, finishing
grimly, "It must
never
become public knowledge!
The best service one can render to those who would prevail by threat
and terror is to make their deeds known. Stifle 'em, and you destroy
'em!"

General Smollet nodded, but muttered,"Then poor young Redmond
will never receive the honours he deserves." He glanced to Leith. "How
is the boy?"

"Much better, sir. Since we brought his lady to his side, his
recovery has been remarkable. I doubt he will want to leave here,
though, he's been so pampered these last two weeks."

"You have
got
to get me away from here,
mon
sauvage
," said Mitchell imploringly, gazing at his brother's
amused countenance.

"Ungrateful clod." Harry stretched comfortably on the end of
the bed, his back against the carven bedpost. "Here's our poor Prinny
doing all he can to show his gratitude, and— "

"No, but he scares me to death! I woke up yesterday afternoon
and there he was again, peering at me for all the world like some
doting parent. The minute he saw my eyes open, he jumped up and started
babbling all sorts of rot, and then came at me with a sword that must
have been used in the Crusades! For a minute I thought my last hour had
come, I don't mind telling you!"

"The devil!" said Harry, straightening. "He never did!"

Bolster, straddling a nearby chair, chuckled. "So you're
knighted, are you, Mitch? That'll put you in your pl-place, Harry!"

Feigning indignation, Harry said, "Of all the impudent
mushrooms! I suppose you fancy yourself quite my equal now, halfling?"

"Er, not exactly," said Mitchell, staring very hard at the
coverlet.

"And what, dare I ask, may that mean?"

Slanting a glance up at this brother he had always loved and
admired, Mitchell said with the old gentle humility that was delighting
Harry, "I could never be that, you know."

"True," said Harry, winking at Bolster.

"And besides," said Mitchell, hesitantly, "Prinny did not name
me a baronet exactly."

Outraged, Harry snarled, "Why, that ungrateful—Then, why the
sword?"

"It seems I am now… the, er, first Baron Redmond of Moire…"

"
What
?" Leaping to his feet, Harry
howled, "Why, you damned insolent puppy! Do you mean to tell me that
flabby— that Prince George— Do you say you are a
Baron
and I a mere
Baronet
!"

Mitchell threw back his head and laughed so hard he wrenched
his shoulder. Harry and Bolster laughed with him.

Wandering around the book room, tapping his whip against one
gleaming topboot, Mitchell glanced at the crowded shelves, admired the
beautifully wrought reference table, and peered out of broad windows to
a sweep of lawns and the distant blue loom of the Surrey hills, bathed
in the sunlight of this warm July afternoon. "What d'you think of the
estate, m'dear?" he asked.

Charity, who had been watching him lovingly, said, "It seems
very large for a single man. Has Guy a lady somewhere, do you suppose?"

"Every man has a lady somewhere." He grinned. "Taking his time
about coming. Tris
did
say he was better, didn't
he?"

"He said Guy was sufficiently recovered for us to come and see
him. Mitch, I'm so glad he has decided to live down here close to us,
so that—" She stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

The doors had opened, and Guy Sanguinet was on the threshold.
A tall, angular, cross-looking woman pushed the invalid chair, and Guy,
a gaunt, white-faced shadow of himself, smiled gladly as he saw them,
extending a very thin right hand. "My dear friends," he said, pressing
Charity's hand to his pale lips, "how very good of you to come and see
me.
Merci
, madame. You can be so kind as to the
tea things bring."

Mitchell gripped Charity's hand steadyingly as Guy's dark head
turned to his attendant. She bit her lip and fought for self-control,
vexed because Leith had not prepared her.

Mrs. Nayland slanted a grim look of warning at Mitchell, then
stamped out, slamming the door behind her.

"How are you now, my dear fellow?" asked Mitchell, wheeling
the chair closer to the sofa and then seating himself beside Charity.

"Much better, I thank you. Leith have came to see me— did you
know it? Ah! And I have forget the thing
très importante
!
My congratulations! How happy I am for your marriage."

"You must come to our wedding," said Mitchell, grinning
broadly.

Guy stared.

Charity explained, "The announcement of our betrothal went to
the newspapers last week. We are to have a formal ceremony, you see,
Guy. Although I am sure the gossips are having a glorious time with all
the rumours."

"But you are secretly married—no? And thus I shall claim my
privilege."

Charity stood and bent down to be kissed.

Guy regarded her with fond concern. "You must not weep for me,
little one. Only look—'' He lifted that thin right hand again and
flexed the fingers. "I am fortunate, most. At first, they say I never
shall move either hand again. Now—see!''

She was quite unable to say anything sensible and tried
desperately to smile despite the painful constriction in her throat.

"And your legs?" asked Mitchell bluntly.

Guy shrugged. "Oh,
une chose si Petite
…
How much more pleasant is it to be wheeled about and—Ah, little one! Do
not! Do not!"

"Oh, Guy!" gasped Charity, disappearing into her handkerchief.
"Oh, my dear! You have known so very much… of sorrow! It is
not
fair
!"

Mitchell said with unwonted sternness, "Madame Mulot!"

She blinked, wiped her eyes, and said in a thready voice, "I
know. I am behaving very badly. I'm sorry."

"It is not 'bad' for this French fellow to know he is loved,''
said Guy, smiling steadily. "And marriage, my dear, have suit you very
well. You are the lucky man, Mitchell."

"I am, indeed." Squeezing his wife's trembling hand, Mitchell
asked, "Is there anything you wish to know, Guy? About Claude?"

Just for an instant, a bleak look came into the clear hazel
eyes. Guy said tersely, "No." Then he added, "Ah, here is my good
helper and our tea."

Charity poured, of course, and they enjoyed tea and little
cakes, while chattering about the Reverend Langridge's return to health
and Bolster's joyous reunion with his Amanda and of how furious Lisette
had been when she learned her beloved Justin had suffered a recurrence
of the malaria she fought so determinedly.

'' How fortunate he is, to have the lady to watch over him,''
said Guy, and because they all knew such a blessing could never be his,
he at once went on hurriedly, "Tell me of your so beautiful sister,
Charity. How is Rachel?"

"Very well. She fairly radiates health and happiness, thank
heaven."

"And, you will pardon, but there is the chance, perhaps… for
me to be told when the babe arrives?"

''Most assuredly,'' said Charity, then laughed. " I can only
hope poor Tristram's nerves will survive it all. You knew, of course,
that Major Tyndale came down and was presented to Prinny?"

"Yes. Is a fine gentleman, that one. And what of our young
hothead? How is the so intrepid Devenish? That leg was the big nuisance
during your wild ride,
n 'est-ce pas
?"

"You'll never get him to admit it," said Mitchell. "The boy
took care of him. Lion.''

"And Josie takes very good care of Dev," Charity put in. "She
is a most dutiful daughter. And bullies him dreadfully."

"
Bon
. But this boy, the Lion. He will be
placed in an orphanage, or working house, do you call it? This would
not be good.''

Charity sighed. "I have been worrying about him, I'll own. He
has been helping out in the stables at Silverings. Best says he's
willing, and a hard worker. But…" She hesitated, reluctant to speak of
the high ambition the boy had once confided to her. "I know you will
think me silly, but I cannot think that is the place for him.''

"I agree," said Mitchell, misunderstanding. "Lion is growing
like the proverbial weed. He's got a fine pair of shoulders. Might be
quite a fighting man some day."

"You men and your fighting!" scolded Charity. "Haven't we had
enough?"

"More than enough," Guy agreed, laughing. "I wonder now, do
you suppose this ferocious child might possibly be willing to come to
me? It, er, would be company for me, and I could see that he had some
sort of education… ?"

Charity clapped her hands with delight."How perfect that would
be! Mitchell, what do you think? He has no family, I know. This is such
a beautiful estate—is there any reason he should not be allowed to
come?"

Mitchell hesitated. The boy was crude and untutored.

However, Mrs. Nayland had not impressed him as being a model
of gentle concern either. He said slowly, "I should think it would be a
jolly good solution. Guy? Are we tiring you?"

Sanguinet, who had been looking rather furtively out of the
window, apologized at once. "I beg you will forgive my manners of the
most poor. And if that is the hint you must be upon your way—pray do
not. I had hoped you might stay at least overnight."

They assured him they would be delighted to do so, but the
grim look in the eyes of Mrs. Nayland had been properly interpreted,
and Mitchell pleaded an unbreakable prior engagement. Guy looked so
genuinely disappointed that Charity asked anxiously, "You are not alone
here, surely?"

"No, no. I have friends who come often to see me. Good
neighbours, you know. And a companion I had hoped would return so that
you might—Ah! Here she comes!"

A familiar shape sprang lightly in at the open window. A small
voice said a friendly, "Purrrttt?" And Little Patches ran to jump upon
Charity's lap, butt against her chin, submit to a few caresses, repeat
the process with Mitchell, and then race to occupy Guy's lap.

Watching the cat as she turned around and around preparatory
to settling herself, Charity exclaimed, "Oh, how she has
grown
!
Guy, you cannot call her Little Patches any longer!''

Guy stroked the cat, his eyes very soft as he watched her.
"She is my most faithful friend. How glad I am you have allow me to
keep her, Charity. So very much she brighten my days."