Jacob edged forward uneasily. "It was the only time we could go out, sir. After the gardeners had finished work, an' no one would see us."
"Us… ?" probed Sir Brian in a deceptively gentle voice.
Jacob slanted a troubled glance at Ruth's tense face. "Me—an' Being."
"Being what?" asked Sir Brian.
"That's his name. My pet. Aunty said I couldn't have a proper one. Like a dog. Or even a cat. So when I found Being, I took care of him. He'd got a bad paw an' I think he would've slipped his wind if—"
"Jacob!" protested Ruth, as intrigued as Sir Brian by these revelations.
"I'm sorry, Aunty. But—he said 'man to man.' "
Sir Brian's lips quirked. "True. But a gentleman does not use cant terms in front of ladies. Be so good as to tell me what kind of—ah, creature is Being."
"He's a hedgehog, sir. Just a little one. An' he's no trouble."
"I see. So you take him for walks after dark?"
"Not in a reg'lar way, sir, 'cause he don't like to be put on a lead. But we heard Mr. Chandler. He was nasty to Aunty Ruth. An' when he knocked her down—"
"When he—
what
?' thundered Sir Brian, jerking bolt upright in his chair.
Jacob gulped and jumped back a pace.
Ruth said hurriedly, "He didn't really knock me down, Jacob. I tripped. Your son was cross, sir, because he'd found out I am a widow."
"Had he! What a great pity he did not see fit to inform me of that fact! But I am still confused. What has this to do with your going into the woods, Jacob?"
"We was goin' to punish Mr. Chandler." Memory brought a surge of joy and Jacob beamed, not even noticing Sir Brian's astonished expression. "I took the rabbits out of his game bag an' popped Being in." He gave an involuntary chortle. "You should've seen his face when he put his hand inside! He yelled. Very loud. An' he swore something drefful an' comed after me, so I ran. An' then—" He paused, the mischief fading from his face.
Sir Brian, who had been trying not to grin, sobered also. "Go on, you young ruffian. Did he catch you? Gad, but he said naught of all this! No, don't be afraid. You sound to me like a fine fellow to so defend your aunt."
Taking courage from this, Jacob said in a lower voice, "That's when I heard the whistling man again. An' I hid, quick. But—I's'pose Mr. Chandler didn't hear them as soon as I did, 'cause he was makin' so much noise. When he did see them, he stopped running and asked, very fierce, what they was doin' on your lands. And then they all started to fight him." He drew himself up, his eyes blazing with excitement. "He didn't run away or anything, 'spite of there was so many! Oh, but he's a good fighter, sir! He popped one on the beak, and knocked another one down, and then
he
got knocked down but he snabbled one more, even when he wasn't up! Only—then they hit him from behind with a club. Like cowards an' sneaks! An'…" His voice trailed off and the scared look was back in his eyes.
Sir Brian said kindly, "Yes. Well, I think I know the rest. You were brave enough to go and fetch help. You did very well, young fella. Very well indeed, and I am so much in your debt for going to Mr. Chandler's rescue that I shall allow you to stay here with your Aunty Ruth for a day or two. Provided you don't get into mischief. Now, what d'you say to that?"
His eyes brightening, Jacob asked, "Does that mean I won't have to keep inside, sir?"
Sir Brian nodded.
"Oooh!" breathed Jacob. "How sp'endid!" He gripped his hands so hard that Ruth thought the frail bones would snap, and for an instant it seemed that Sir Brian was going to be hugged. But then the boy offered a jerky bow and said solemnly, "You're mos' kind. Thank you, sir."
"Bless my soul!" murmured Sir Brian.
Ruth said, "I promise faithfully that Jacob will cause you no trouble, sir."
"And no more disciplining of Mr. Chandler either, boy," said Sir Brian sternly. "I'll own he needs it at times, but that's for me to tend to."
"I think Jacob must apologize to your son," said Ruth. "How is he today, sir?"
"Oh, perfectly fit, I thank you. Solid steel is Gordon. Now, ma'am, the constables are waiting to hear your story, so if you will please to come this way…"
"What in the name of perdition is—
that
?" Sir Brian, who had gone to his son's apartments to apprise him of the latest developments, paused on the threshold of the small parlour, an expression of abhorrence on his face.
Wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, and seated in a chair before the open casement, Chandler lowered one hand to calm the little dog that cowered against his foot. "Hercules, Papa," he answered gravely. "I found him in Town."
"You'd have done better to leave him there!" Sir Brian closed the door and crossed to sit in the window-seat. "That's not a dog, it's a shiver! And not a fitting animal for a gentleman!"
Chandler sighed, put back his bandaged head, and closed his eyes.
Sir Brian looked at him anxiously. "Giving you pepper, is it lad?" he enquired in a gentler tone. "I shouldn't pinch at you when you're in queer stirrups. But
that"
—his kindling eye rested on Hercules again—"must—"
" 'Tis none so bad, sir," said Chandler, with a faint smile. "Seems to have put me off my stride a trifle. But I'll be up and about in no—" Here, attempting to rise, he swayed artistically and sank back again.
"For Lord's sake, stay there," cried his sire, alarmed. "You're properly wrung out, and small wonder. That's a devilish cut, and your side is a grisly mess. I wonder that fool Keasden let you out of your bed."
'To say truth, he didn't. But I don't care to languish like a schoolroom miss, only because I took a rap on the nob." From under his lashes he saw that he had successfully diverted Sir Brian's attention from his abominable pet, and he asked, "Have there been any new developments?"
"You may believe there have! I've set every available man to scour the grounds for the rogues who attacked you. Not a sign thus far, burn it! Mrs. Allington is—Why the deuce did you not tell me that she is a widow?"
"May I ask who did?"
"The lady herself. Just now. And the boy with her. Most damnable thing! You know I cannot abide untruths!"
"I'll admit I was most shocked. I had fully intended to tell you. But you knew I'd been set against your taking her on in the first place, and I was reluctant to seem to—er, gloat."
"The devil! Gloat about what? You fancy I made a mistake, eh? No such thing! She does her work well enough." Sir Brian's eyes darkened. "If it weren't for all her fabrications—"
"Just so. But we should not find it too difficult to replace her. I shall handle the interviews this time, and—"
"I think I did not say I had turned her off," put in Sir Brian testily. " 'Twould be a pretty thanks to the lady for having helped you. Not many women would've ventured into the woods at night, especially knowing there were murderous ruffians lurking about. And then to find you in the state you'd come to! Why, most females would have swooned on the spot and been worse than useless, for there's few of 'em can stomach the sight of blood." He frowned. "Still, I'll own I
cannot
abide deception."
Watching him from under his lashes, Chandler said with emphatic righteousness, "You are very right, sir. The fact that Mrs. Allington has some backbone don't excuse her disgraceful behaviour. She has deceived you on more than one count. I'd be willing to swear that repellant brat is hers. Surely, you have marked the likeness?"
"Well, I did, of course. D'ye think I'm blind? And as for deceiving me, if the boy is her own, one can scarce wonder she'd have gone to any lengths to keep him with her. Any mother worth her salt would do the same." He paused, and added musingly, "He's a quaint child…"
"Quaint! That's not the word I'd have used!"
Sir Brian grinned. "Aye. He told me how you swore when you found his hedgehog in your game bag."
"So it
was
his doing! Little hellion! Really, sir, you must not allow your obsession with that fresco to overwhelm your good judgment! The brat—"
"I am aware it has pleased you always to sneer at my fresco. The day may come when you laugh on t'other side of your face. However, 'the brat' did not seem so repulsive last evening when he came to your aid, I'll warrant. I do not scruple to tell you, Gordon, that you want for a proper sense of gratitude."
"And you, sir," said Chandler with his warm smile, "have the kindest heart in Christendom. I bow to your wisdom, and own myself at fault. The lady, whatever else, is a fine artist; the boy is courageous; and you are perfectly correct in that we stand indebted to them both." From the corner of his eye, he saw Stonygate in the open door of the dressing room, shaking his head in amused rebuke. Ignoring his upright valet's high principles, he went on, "I shall raise no further objections to your allowing 'em to stay here till the fresco is finished, I give you my word."
"Hum," said Sir Brian, pleased to have bested his strong-willed son.
"Now, pray tell me, sir, what has our upright constable to say?"
"A lot of balderdash, as you might suppose. The big fellow who questioned you last evening came back this morning with an assistant who writ down everything. Not that Mrs. Allington could tell them much. The boy could not recognize anyone in the dark, but he heard one of 'em whistling some song or other. Much that has to say to anything."
" 'Lillibulero.' Yes, I heard it also."
"By God, but it makes my blood boil, to think of you being set upon in your own home! We must have more keepers about at night from now on. What the devil d'ye suppose the bastards were about?"
"Reconnoitering, I should think. With an eye to robbery. Is the constable finished with Mrs. Allington?"
"Yes. I sent her back to the cottage. She'll need to rest after such a shocking experience." Sir Brian added with faint amusement, "Aymer's escorting her."
Chandler looked at him curiously. "You cannot think he has a genuine interest in the lady?"
"Why not? Because you've caught yourself so beautiful a bride, you can see no other, but Mrs. Allington's a fine-looking young woman, and has been properly bred up, there's no doubting. Not every man can find a diamond of the first water like Lady Nadia, you know."
Chandler lowered his eyes to the softly snoring Hercules, and said nothing at all.
For several days Lac Brillant was a maelstrom of activity. The shocking news that a highly born gentleman had been attacked and nigh killed on his family estate was printed in every newspaper in the land, each account more lurid than the last. Bow Street Runners arrived from London, repeated all the questions asked by the local minions of the law, and departed looking ponderous, having succeeded only in irritating Chandler and infuriating the village constable and the law officers from Dover. Concerned relatives and friends came calling, their well-meant solicitude eventually proving to be so wearying that Chandler formed the habit of bolting from the house whenever the rumble of wheels was heard on the drivepath. Often, he would seek refuge in the chapel, and Ruth was able to gauge to a nicety how long it would be from the time she heard an approaching carriage or riders, until the fugitive would burst through the door and shut it tightly behind him.
She was counting the seconds while at work one overcast morning, and turned with a smile as he came, panting, to the platform. "Two minutes, precisely," she said, waving a piece of bread at him. "You must have been delayed."
"I was," he panted. "That fool—Aymer."
She clicked her tongue reprovingly. He had removed the tape from his head, and his dark hair was more loosely arranged than usual, probably to conceal where it had been cut away from the wound. She thought the less severe style charming, but said only, "For shame to speak so of a man of God. Mr Aymer is far from a fool, sir."
"Aha!" He sprawled in the front pew, looking up at her.
"So my father was right, as usual. Are we soon to hear an announcement?"
Ruth had gone back to work, but at this she spun around and said, startled, "You cannot be serious?"
He chuckled. "To say truth, I thought it hilarious."
"Indeed?" Perversely affronted, her chin tilted upward. "Do you think it a disgrace that he might find a—a hired worker attractive?"
"Say rather that I think it ludicrous for Aymer to turn his eyes in your direction. You would not suit, you know."
"How can
you
know whether or not we would suit? Faith, but I'd not realized Mr. Gordon Chandler is so expert in
affaires de coeur
."
He unwound his long length from the pew and wandered to the foot of the platform steps. "He is far from that, Mrs. Ruth. But—"
"But one must keep to one's class, eh?" Flushed and angry, she said with scornful pride, "Mr. Nathaniel Aymer is socially above a poor widow! Well, I'll have you know, sir, that I am—" She retreated then, her heart giving a nervous little jump as he came up the steps. "I am every bit as well born as your precious chaplain! Nor," she added defiantly, "is he the only gentleman ever to have found me attractive!"
Very close to her now, he said quietly, "I know."
With the door closed not a sound penetrated the thick chapel walls. As though touched by some enchantment, Ruth was quite unable to tear her gaze from the grave grey eyes that looked so steadily into her own. Her heart began to thunder. She said a decidedly feeble, "Oh."
He took another step. "I think I have never properly thanked you for coming to help me."
"But indeed you have, sir. You sent me that beautiful gown." The box, from one of Dover's most exclusive modistes, had been delivered to the cottage two days ago, and had contained a delicately simple gown of blue silk to be worn over a white chemise with frilled sleeves. "You have most excellent taste, Mr. Gordon," she added with a twinkle.
"I must confess that Mrs. Tate was my aide-de-camp on that expedition. Although I can claim to have specified the colour, which I'd fancied would look very well on you. I wish you did not dislike it."
"How could I dislike it? Ah—you think I should have worn it. 'Tis much too fine to work in, you know. I shall save it for a special occasion."