"Then I must arrange a special occasion." There was a faint wistfulness to the smile that curved his mouth. "And very soon."
Caught in a trap from which she never wished to escape, Ruth experienced a brief sense of dreamy contentment. Then, Chandler's hands clenched hard, his head jerked upward, and, as if suddenly short of breath, he said, "It was small payment for your kindness, Mrs. Ruth. You are a very brave lady."
She felt dazed, but managed somehow to turn away and scrub blindly at the fresco. "Oh no," she said, struggling to control her foolish weakness. " 'Twas just more of my scheming. A fiendish plot to curry favour in Sir Brian's eyes."
"As I suspected." He gazed at the back of her head. A bright strand of hair had escaped the plait and was curling onto her snowy neck. He groped in his pocket. "But you are properly served for your fiendishness," he went on, lying glibly. "For there is a small beetle has become entangled in your hair."
"Ugh!"
Her hand flew up. He restrained it. "Keep still, intrepid one, and I shall remove the intruder. Bow your head a trifle."
She obeyed, shaken by an involuntary shiver when his fingers touched her neck lightly.
"There." Having completed his theft, he tossed the imaginary "offender" to the floor. "Now I have rescued you and evened the score. Do you acknowledge my valour?"
'Truly, you were superb." She stepped to the edge of the platform and peered at the floor. "Where is it? Was it very large?"
Chandler sneezed, and emerging from his handkerchief, declared, "Enormous." He folded his handkerchief meticulously over his small prize, and replaced it in his pocket. "Eighteen legs and sharp pincers to give you a good nip. There it goes, galloping under the pew. What, did you not see? Well certainly you could not fail to have heard the thunder of its hoofs."
She laughed. "And certainly, Sir Valour, you could not fail to see what is right under your nose."
His head whipped up and he stared at her.
"Only look," she said hurriedly, and stepped aside.
The restored area of the fresco was much larger now. The surface was cracked and in places the paint was gone, but the scene was recognizable.
"Be dashed!" he exclaimed. " 'Tis our own estate! There's the old lighthouse! The top half anyway."
"Yes, so I thought. Only it was new when this was painted."
"In which case the fresco cannot be above three or four hundred years old!"
"My goodness! Was it in use that long ago?"
"Oh yes, and long before that. The Romans put up lights all around the coast, you know. I believe their name for 'em was 'pharos.' They almost all were wrecked by our charming English weather, but promptly put up again. We think our old tower was restored in the fourteenth century. It was more sturdy than its predecessors and would likely still be in service save that Cromwell's forces riddled it with shot when two of my ancestors hid there. The varmints did so much damage the tower became unsafe. That's why the new light was put up on the headland five miles to the north of us." He said enthusiastically, "Gad, but my father will be pleased to find the painting is part of Lac Brillant's history! What's this down here? Another house?"
"I cannot quite tell. I think the artist changed the shape of the rocks a little."
"The cliffs have changed, certainly. The sea is relentless, you know."
She sighed. "Very true."
"Now what have I said to make you sad? Was your husband lost at sea, Mrs. Ruth?"
Her thoughts had flown to Jonathan. She said brightly, "Did I look sad? I was only wondering what we will find when I have cleaned to the foot of the lighthouse."
"No, you weren't. Do you think that by now I cannot read your moods? Do you think I don't know that sometimes you are worried?" He gripped her hands and held them strongly. "You are not to worry for your future. Do you hear me? Devil take it! When is your confounded major coming home to take care of you?"
Scarcely knowing whether to laugh or cry, she said, "He is not confounded!"
"He is neglecting you shamefully! I've a damned good mind to trace the fellow down and see what he means by it!"
Desperate, she declared, "There is not the need, sir. He—he may be coming home very soon."
He released her hands but still watched her narrowly. "You've heard from him, then? How?"
She racked her brains. "Mr, Tummet brought me a letter. My fiance wrote there was a chance he might get a leave. If it was granted he is already on his way home and will be here in—in the autumn."
"I see." Still watching her, he said, "Why will you not tell me his name? I know only that—"
"Good morning, Mr. Chandler."
In their preoccupation, neither of them had heard the door open.
Jacob stood smiling shyly up at them.
"Hello, young sir," said Chandler, returning the smile. "Come to see how your aunt goes on?"
"No, sir. Well, I have a'course, but Miss Tate sent me to tell you that Mr. Aymer is fetchin' your cousin, the Hon'rable Horace."
"He would!" Chandler looked at Ruth and gave a rueful grin. "I must escape the family prattlebox! Come, lad. You shall go with me to the Home Farm. Is that agreeable?"
Jacob gave a small leap of excitement, and Ruth watched fondly as, hand in hand, they fled.
At the stables the head groom was amused by Chandler's request for a nice quiet mount for Master Jacob. He pointed out with a grin that neither Mr. Gordon nor his brother had gone in much for "nice quiet mounts," and that Sir Brian's horses were all too large for a small boy.
"I c'n ride a real horse," declared Jacob with dignity.
"I am very sure you can," agreed Chandler. "Oakworth, we will take Carefree and Miss Nymph."
Oakworth, a nimble raw-boned man who had worked his way up from stableboy, looked dismayed, and protested, "But—that be Lady Nadia's mare, sir. I doubt her la'ship will—"
"Her ladyship will be glad to have the mare exercised. Make haste, man!"
Oakworth shouted orders, and very shortly the two horses were led out. Jacob was delighted with the pretty chestnut mare and, boosting him up, Chandler was relieved to see that the boy did not seem frightened, although he looked alarmingly small in the full-sized saddle.
They started off at an easy pace. Miss Nymph was well behaved and Chandler held Carefree in, much to her indignation. Overjoyed, Jacob concentrated on keeping his seat. Chandler slipped a hand into his pocket. His handkerchief was still tightly folded over its treasure. He smiled faintly, and his thoughts wandered to Ruth and the man who was likely even now on his way to claim her.
"Does your head still hurt, sir?"
Jacob was watching him anxiously.
"No, I thank you. As you see, I've taken off the last of the tape."
"Yes. Is that why your hair's not tidy?"
Chandler grinned. "Look a fright, do I?"
"Oh, no. You look younger. And not so cross."
'Gad!' thought Chandler. "Do you find me to be cross, Jacob?"
"Not always. Jus'—sometimes you look cross. Or—not so much cross, p'raps. More like you was thinkin' serious thoughts. Gran'papa made a picture once of a man what looked like that."
"Do you recall who was the gentleman?"
The smooth brow puckered. "He was a king, I 'member."
"Charles, perhaps?"
"No. Older ago than that. He had a funny table, or somethin'."
"
Arthur
?" said Chandler, incredulous.
"That's the one! He wasn't so good looking as you. But his eyes was—sort of lonely. Like yours are sometimes."
Shocked, Chandler quickly turned the subject to games, but it developed that Jacob was far more interested in books than in sports, and Chandler was mildly surprised to learn that the boy was already a proficient reader. He was also devoted to animals, and wriggled with delight when Chandler said, "You will enjoy seeing the farm then. Lots of animals there."
"Oh, yes, sir! I shall have a farm some day. When I've got lots of prize money."
"Ah, you mean to go to sea, do you?"
The fair curls nodded. "It's in the family, y'know."
Chandler said he hadn't known, and waited hopefully, but nothing more was vouchsafed, and to worm information out of a child would be despicable.
They rode on through the rather dull morning, the boy full of eager anticipation, and Chandler lost in thought once more. He had, he was sure, seen a painting of King Arthur, the fabled monarch depicted as gazing at the distant figures of Guinevere and Sir Launcelot. It was likely not the same painting, because he seemed to recall that the artist had been some giant of the world of art. If he could just remember the fellow's name…
The sound of angry voices caused Mr. Aymer's steps to slow as he approached Sir Brian's study. One voice rose to a bellow. 'Poulsborough,' thought the clergyman, and stood aside as the door burst open and a very tall big-boned man with a very red face erupted into the hall.
"Damme, sir!" he roared, turning back into the room. "I see no reason for y'curst stubborn attitude! Durwood never objected!"
Gordon Chandler walked around the desk to face his fiery and departing visitor. "Which is one reason," he said coolly, "why Durwood is no longer my father's steward."
"What y'are, sir," raved the large Mr. Poulsborough, shaking his fist for emphasis, "is a dog in the manger. A damned dog in the manger! Y'don't use the cove y'self but once or twice a year. But y'r too damned mean-spirited t'let others benefit. No reason 'tall why m'captain has t'haul m'cargoes five extra miles overland, when he could unload—"
"Your captain," drawled Chandler, advancing to the door, "fouled our beach with his refuse, abandoned an overworked donkey to expire in our wilderness area, and allowed his rascally crew to trample and destroy the plants and shrubs our gardeners had set out to prevent any more falling-away of the cliffs. Had my father taken my advice, Poulsborough, we'd have brought an action 'gainst you for restitution."
"Top-lofty," bellowed his irate neighbour. "That's y'r trouble, Chandler! Y'aint
liked
! I'll talk to y'r sire, and—"
"Not whilst I can prevent it! Do you show your face here again, and we
will
bring an action 'gainst you! Good day."
Mr. Poulsborough snorted and swore and stamped down the hall, all but flattening Mr. Aymer against the wall, and imparting with a snarl that Gordon Chandler was a damnably hot-at-hand and uppity young pup, and that 'twas a great pity the poachers, or whatever they were, hadn't put a period to the bastard.
Shocked, Aymer called a blessing after the thunderous retreat and was more shocked when Poulsborough advised him exactly what to do with his "confounded blessing."
"I think you'll not save that sinner, Nathaniel." Returning to the chair behind the desk Chandler sat down and took up a letter directed to "Jos. Durwood, Esq."
"My regrets that you were caught in the crossfire," he added, running his eyes down a lengthy and misspelled demand for payment for "five and twenty crates and barrels—LONG OVERDUE!" Becoming aware that the cleric had followed him inside, he asked absently, "Had you wished to speak to my father?"
The reverend gentleman settled himself into a chair. "No. To you, Mr. Gordon." He coughed behind his hand, as he did at the start of his sermons. "I have noticed, an I dare remark it, that since you were so viciously attacked, you do not seem quite—That is to say you look very tired. You have been working rather heavily of late—no?"
Chandler put down the letter and summoned a smile. "Heavily
and
late. The work must get done, and till my father settles on a steward…" He shrugged. "Thank you for your interest." His took up the letter again. "Was that all?"
Despite his efforts, there was a note of impatience in his voice that was not lost upon Mr. Aymer. Poulsborough, he reflected, had been right to an extent: Gordon Chandler was considerably short on common courtesy and respect. He sighed. "No, as a matter of fact. 'Tis… about the boy."
Chandler's attention snapped from crates and barrels. "What about him?"
"I…" Aymer sighed again and said with his fine sense of drama, "Almost, I hesitate to mention it."
Unimpressed by the sonorously lowered voice, Chandler said curtly, "As you will. Then pray excuse me. I have much to do."
Aymer folded his hands. "However, it may indicate a serious problem, so—"
Suspecting what was troubling the chaplain, Chandler fixed him with a level stare. "What kind of problem? He's a grand little fellow and has quite captivated Sir Brian. I've not seen my father so light-hearted since—" He checked that remark.
"Since your poor brother was obliged to flee the country." Mr. Aymer shook his handsome head and sighed heavily. "A sad day for your father, Mr. Gordon. A sorry time for us all, and—"
Slamming down the letter, Chandler flared, "Oh, for Lord's sake, man! Say whatever is hiding behind your tongue and have done with it!"
A sad smile. A hesitantly uttered, "It is that… I begin to fear the child is… not quite—I mean— There seems a mental instability that—"
"A—
what
?" His eyes a blaze of wrath, Chandler leaned forward. "I feel sure you mean to explain that ugly implication!"
Alarmed, Aymer jerked upright in his chair. "I beg you will not be put about. Surely, you must have noticed? The boy is quite charming, I admit, but there is a major, even a sinister flaw in his character, for his personality shifts with each wind that blows."
Chandler's response was concise and to the point, but not calculated to please a clergyman, and Aymer drew back, spreading his white hands as if to ward off such vulgarity. "Mr. Gordon! Alas, I have caused you to lose your temper. Had I dreamed you felt so strongly in the matter…" Bright and unmistakable now, there was malice in Aymer's blue eyes.
Battling the urge to demand that this man of God take himself elsewhere, Chandler gritted his teeth and managed a curt apology. "You may be sure I feel strongly. Jacob is not yet six years old. We can scarce expect him to behave with the decision of a grown man."
"We can expect that his preferences be consistent from day to day! Do you fancy, sir, that I would speak thus out of unkindness? Especially towards the nephew of so charming a lady?" Aymer said earnestly, "Let me give you an example. On Monday, I was pleased to find Jacob in the library. He was fascinated by a book of engravings, so I took him to my own quarters and showed him an illustrated text that I prize highly. He was enchanted. Truly enchanted. I asked him if he had any interest in becoming a man of the cloth, and pointed out that many gentlemen of my calling are fine scholars and write learned papers upon worthwhile subjects."