" 'Pon my soul!" exclaimed an indignant voice behind her. " 'Tis nothing more than bread!"
She whirled around. Gordon Chandler must have come in very quietly, and he'd gathered a handful of fallen crumbs and was scowling up at her as though she'd committed a heinous crime.
"What a take-in," he said, tossing the crumbs down again. "And you'd have had me believe 'twas some magical mixture!"
She was annoyed, partly because she'd been quite foolishly glad to see him, and partly because he must immediately place her at fault.
"I'd have had you believe nothing of the kind," she responded, too indignant to remember her position in this household. "And if your papa had hired an Italian restorer you would not dare interfere with him whilst he worked!"
That did not seem to come out exactly as she'd intended, and she saw by Chandler's lowering brows that it had not pleased him.
He said tartly, "I have not—interfered—with you, Miss Allington! Nor have I the least interest in doing so!"
Perversely stung by this declaration, which was scarcely less foolish than her own had been, she remarked, "I'faith, but I rejoice to hear it! Perhaps you will be so good as to allow me to continue with my work and earn the wages Sir Brian pays me."
"What—with a piece of bread and a rag? Any fool—I mean, anyone could do that!"
" 'Tis but one step in the process, sir. And any
fool
would likely ruin the fresco, as I have told you before. By all means, prove my point." She gathered her skirts, and stepped aside.
Chandler scowled up at her. How haughty she looked with her. little nose stuck up in the air. Anger fairly radiated from her. Suddenly, he was amused and a lurking smile eased the stern line of his mouth. "What a splendid set-down, ma'am! And likely I deserved it."
At once remorseful, Ruth said, "No, for you are the employer and may say what you will. As a hireling I have no right to—"
'To defend the secrets of your trade? Or to submit to tyranny? A fine rogue you think me!"
"Were I you, Miss Ruth," said Sir Brian, strolling into the chapel at that moment, "I'd refrain from commenting upon that remark. I apologize for my son. He lacks finesse at times."
She saw Chandler's face redden, and in an attempt to mend matters she said with a smile, "I think Mr. Gordon does not always mean what he says."
"I have sometimes reached that same conclusion," murmured Sir Brian, who had an axe of his own to grind.
"You are mistaken, sir," said Chandler, irritated. "I dislike deception."
Sir Brian chose to misinterpret. "Why, Miss Allington," he said chidingly. "Have you been deceiving me?"
It was a home question and for an instant Ruth was so guilt-ridden that she could not find an answer.
She was quite pale and looked stricken. Chandler could not but feel sorry for the poor creature; she must really be in desperate need of this commission. He said, "I was teasing the lady, sir, because she sought to protect her methods. I believe all restorers guard their secrets. Miss Allington"—he offered a small bow—"I promise not to pry. In fact, I shall take my father away and leave you in peace."
"You will do no such thing," said Sir Brian indignantly. "This is taxing work for so slender a young lady. Miss Allington shall have a rest and accompany me on a stroll in the garden. Besides, 'tis Saturday you know, ma'am, and I do not expect you to labour all day long."
Pleased, she felt obliged to say, "But 'tis slow work, sir, for I am often obliged to pause. I would not wish you to fear you'll not see the fresco in—this decade." She glanced obliquely at Gordon, who grinned in acknowledgment of the hit.
Unaware of the double entendre, Sir Brian laughed. "I have no such fears, dear lady. It goes along very well, I think. And how magical to see the colours appear from under that pall of dirt. I thought at first it might be a Biblical scene, Gordon. But the grass is too green for the desert, do you not think?"
"It looks to me," said Gordon, narrowing his eyes, "as though it might be some historical depiction. If that ship were more visible it would help us place the period."
"At all events, I am far from dissatisfied." Sir Brian took Ruth's hand as she came down the steps. "Your immediate duties, Miss Allington, are to brighten my walk."
Chandler's lips tightened. He said nothing, but followed them to the door.
Sir Brian paused, and looked at him with brows upraised.
"By your leave, sir," said Chandler, "I shall accompany you."
"You have not my leave, you rogue! Do you think me so old as to be willing to share a lovely young woman with another gentleman? You have your own lady. Be off with you!"
Chandler smiled, and halted, but Ruth saw that his eyes were bleak. His father's words, she thought, had undoubtedly reinforced his conviction that she had designs upon the old gentleman.
The sun was pleasantly warm today, the sky blue and clear, and the flower beds a blaze of colour. Strolling beside Sir Brian along the meandering little paths, Ruth said impulsively, "How you must love this beautiful estate, sir."
"I do. And your admiration of it is heart-warming. Are you country bred, Miss Ruth?"
Here was dangerous ground. "My father had a nice home, but it was lost with all the rest, alas. Your sons are very fortunate to have grown up in such idyllic surroundings."
"So I think. And they are fully appreciative of it, I promise you. If he had his way, Gordon would live here the year round. As for my other son…" Sir Brian sighed. "Quentin was always dashing off somewhere, following the lure of adventure and excitement. Much good it did him."
"He was in great trouble, I heard. That must have been monstrous worrying for you."
"It was, and is. I'd give all I have to see the boy safe back in England." He looked so sad that she was moved to squeeze his arm sympathetically. He smiled at once, and patted her hand. "But there, I must not repine. Quentin is alive and well, and Gordon also, though I came perilously close to losing them both."
Shocked, she exclaimed, "How dreadful! I'd no idea Mr. Gordon was of the Jacobite persuasion."
"Nor is he! He's too long-headed for that. But he is devoted to his brother and was willing to put his life on the line for him. Had it not been for Gordon, Quentin might not now be safe and happily wed, and soon to make a grandpapa of me."
So she had been wrong and, far from resenting his brother, Gordon had saved his life. She felt inordinately pleased and experienced also a stirring of pride, which puzzled her. Probably, she thought, it was because she placed a very high value on family loyalties and affection, and her own family had been so sadly broken. Sir Brian glanced at her curiously, and she made haste to offer congratulations on the coming blessed event. "Shall you journey to France to see the babe, sir?"
"I hope to do so. If my health permits." He halted, looking down the hill towards the sea and the distant shadow along the horizon that was France. "Faith," he muttered, "but I miss the boy…"
She said bracingly, "You are soon to gain a daughter, I hear. Are you fond of Mr. Gordon's bride, Sir Brian?"
"More than fond!" He brightened. "Her father was my dearest friend, and we arranged the match years since. The lady is a delight. Her nature as sweet as her beauty is striking."
"Your son must count himself fortunate to have won such a lovely bride."
His lips pursed and he said a rather dubious, "Hmm… Now, tell me what you think of our chapel."
"That it is wondrously well preserved considering its age. Have there been many renovations?"
"From time to time, down through the years. It was much damaged by gunfire when Puritans destroyed the main building, and eight or nine years ago the tower was blown down by high winds. When those repairs were effected I also had the rose window installed there." He chuckled suddenly. "Within a month, 'twas shattered."
"Was it poor workmanship, sir?"
"Tomfoolery, rather. Quentin and a friend decided to climb the tower. Quentin slipped and would have been killed, save that his friend was able to break his fall, whereupon both young scamps crashed through my beautiful new window!"
He was off again, reminiscing about his younger son while Ruth listened and made the comments he obviously wanted to hear. They came at length to a little summer house offering a fine view of the Strait, very blue and calm this morning. Here, Sir Brian decided to stay, saying he liked to sit and watch the ships go by. Ruth offered to keep him company, but was given strict instructions to go back and pack up her tools and stop work for the day. "You will join us for morning service tomorrow, I trust," he said. "At eleven o'clock, my dear. And by all means bring your poor cousin."
Ruth thanked him, and walked back to the chapel deep in thought. It was quite clear that Sir Brian was breaking his heart for the son so far away. Knowing men, she suspected that he was proud of Gordon and at once pleased and a trifle irritated by his shrewd handling of the business of the estate. But it was the reckless firebrand who had barely escaped the executioner's axe who held the greater share of his love. Heaven knows, it was a very human failing to have favourites among one's children, but it said much for Gordon's character that such partiality had not soured him, and that his love for his father was—
She had entered the cool dimness of the chapel and now gave a gasp of indignation. "Whatever are you about, sir?" she demanded.
Before the second word of her question rang out, Chandler had uttered a shocked cry and whipped around. The cloth fell from his hand, scattering bread crumbs. "I just—" he gasped, "I didn't think—I mean—"
His grey eyes, usually so enigmatic, were wide with fright; he had actually paled, and looked so much like a small boy caught red-handed in a prank that Ruth had to fight back a chuckle.
"You have interfered with my work," she accused. "And have likely ruined everything!"
"No, no! I promise you, ma'am." He hurried to the steps as she came up them and declared with almost frantic earnestness, "Truly, I have not hurt a thing, and was but— I—er thought I'd just try a little work myself. To—er, to help you."
"I think it more likely, Mr. Chandler, that you were curious, and could scarce wait till my back was turned so as to try the game yourself. 'Tis despicable to be so sly!"
He watched anxiously as she moved closer to inspect the fresco.
She said in her sternest voice, "This is
not
a game, sir. This work of art is my responsibility."
"I know 'tis not a game. And I did not mean to be sly, but—" He broke off, then admitted with a wry grin, "Well—yes, I suppose I did. But truly, I shall take the blame if any harm has been done. It hasn't—has it?"
Relenting, she smiled. "No, sir. But you really were very naughty."
"Mea culpa. I could not resist. Do you see, ma'am? I've uncovered a little patch of blue. Down here. It cannot be the sky, so I think it must be part of a gown—no?"
"Very likely. 'Tis fascinating work, do you agree?"
"Fascinating, but tiring. I did but work for a short while, and my arm aches. Surely, this is too taxing for you?"
She began to gather her tools together. "Not so taxing now. I am become used to it. The first few days!" She made a face.
He frowned and offered to carry the basket back to the cottage for her. As they walked out into the sunshine, he said, "It seems wrong that a well-bred lady should be reduced to performing such labour."
"These are not easy times for a woman alone, sir. Many ladies in reduced circumstances are obliged to accept positions as governesses or companions, or some such thing. Often with people who treat them unkindly."
He thought with a twinge of guilt. 'As I have done,' and glanced with new curiosity at the young woman who walked beside him. She seemed so slight and delicate, but her chin was firm and there was determination in the tilt of her fair head.
She turned to look at him smilingly, and he said, "Forgive. I do not mean to pry, but—have you no family at all?"
Her smile died. "There is an uncle. But he lives in the north, and his wife, who might take me in, will have nothing of poor Grace." She added a mental, 'Or the boys.'
"And you will not abandon her."
"Grace would never abandon me, were our situations reversed. From what Sir Brian said, you stood by your brother when he was in a fix."
He grunted disparagingly. "I suspect my intellect of tottering at times. Certainly, there is no reason why I should support that ruffian, for he has caused me nothing but trouble since I was in short coats."
"Oh, yes," she said, amused. "I am very sure that the next time he gets into a fix, you will abandon him to it."
His eyes became grim. "If there is a next time I'm more like to break his neck."
"Because of your father?"
"Why do you say that?"
" 'Tis very clear that Sir Brian is dear to your heart, sir. And that you worry for him."
He did not at once respond, continuing to watch her. Then, he said, "My father was very ill a few years ago. It has left him frail. But I think he would be much better physically was he not constantly bedevilled by anxiety. And he misses my brother a good deal. Quentin is a fine conversationalist and he and papa used to talk about anything and everything for hours. I—" He shrugged ruefully. "I've not the gift of a silver tongue."
"I see. And Mr. Quentin cannot come home, of course."
He frowned. "My father has told you a good deal, I see."
"And you are thinking I've been prying into your private affairs?" She turned her head to look up at him. "I have not, Mr. Chandler."
"No! I did not mean—Egad, madam, but you take one up so!"
Ruth chuckled.
He said, "Since you are evidently aware of my brother's unfortunate political persuasions, you likely know also that he is devilish reckless. The bond between him and my father is strong. My fear is…" He paused, looking sombre.
"Your fear is that if your papa should become ill again, Mr. Quentin would dare to come home, however great the risk."
He nodded.
"That would be dreadful, indeed. Cannot Sir Brian live in France for a while? Certainly, he knows that his estates and tenants will be well cared for by you."