Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (4 page)

"You
promised!"
wailed the boy.

"Dearest, I did! I am so sorry. But I'll just go for a short
ride and then come straight back."

"You said I'd be Merlin an' you'd be the wicked witch when I
waked up and we'd go broomsticking an' find goblins in the wild wood!
You
promised,
Etta!"

"Never mind," said Fanny quickly. "I'll be a witch for you,
Arthur."

A shriek rang out from somewhere in the house. "Fanny! The
muffins!"

Fanny gave a gasp, and flew.

"You get ready, Arthur," called Marietta. "I'll be home quick
as quick!"

The boy drew back from the window, looking rebellious.

"Oh, dear," she said. "I did promise the little fellow.
Perhaps—"

Coville said firmly, "No, ma'am. Arthur has you all day and
every day. We won't be long away, and it will not hurt him to wait a
little while. You need a rest from your labours, Miss Marietta. And I
need your kind and gentle company."

He smiled at her blindingly, then led the way along the
drivepath. Hesitating, Marietta glanced back. Her aunt came to the
door and waved to her. Aunty Dova was so good with the child; she'd
soon restore his spirits, and, as Mr. Coville had said, they wouldn't
be out long. Marietta urged the mare to a canter and joined Coville,
her sense of guilt fading as they rode side-by-side through the golden
afternoon.

He headed north into the Weald, maintaining a steady pace.
They skirted picturesque Cloud Village, passed thatched cottages and
occasional farms where labourers would pause to wave to them. And as
they went they chatted idly of Princess Charlotte's sad death, of the
scramble of the royal dukes to marry and produce a new heir, of London
and people they both knew. Time slid past, unnoticed. They were
following a lane shaded by great beeches when a big black stallion
galloped to the fence of his field, and cantered along beside them.

"He wants to join us," said Coville.

"Yes," agreed Marietta. "But not at this speed."

He grinned. "I'd thought this was the rate at which you ladies
like to ride in Town."

"It is the rate at which we are
obliged
to ride, rather. But we are not in Town, are we?"

Coville had a glimpse of her laughing face, then she was away.

"Hi!" he cried gaily, and was after her at the gallop.

Neck and neck they rode; along a river-bank, thundering over a
rustic wooden bridge, up a rise, and down again, to follow a lush
shallow valley, the wind sending the ribbons of Marietta's hat flying
out behind her and rippling the skirts of her riding habit. They passed
a field of cows, brown and white, chewing placidly, great mild eyes
turning to them as they raced by. Marietta crouched lower, exhilarated
by their speed and by the smooth gait of the little mare, until at
length they approached a field bathed in sunlight where two haystacks
rose in golden dignity.

Coville shouted for a halt.

"Oh!" gasped Marietta buoyantly. "How grand that was! Thank
you so much!"

He smiled at her, admiring the becoming flush on her cheeks,
and the sparkle in the clear green eyes. "It is I who should thank you,
ma'am. Shall we rest the hacks for a space?" He led the way through the
open five-barred gate and towards the haystacks and, dismounting,
lifted Marietta from the saddle. She sat on a hay bale while he
loosened saddle girths and straps and secured the reins to a fence post.

Returning to throw himself down beside her, he said, "You're a
fine rider, ma'am. But I hope you never venture such speed in Hyde
Park."

"I would be in deep disgrace, no? Oh, how lovely it is. Look
at those great woods over there. Where are we, sir? Are we liable to
have someone's keepers after us with pitchforks?"

He chuckled. "Never fear, I'll defend you. That is the
Ashdown Forest. And I believe this is one of several farms owned by a
friend of your father—a Mr. Innes Williard—so I doubt we're in great
danger of being taken for trespass."

Marietta's smile faded.

Quick to notice, he said, "Am I mistaken? Do they not cry
friends? Oh, egad, one can never trust the word of a gossip!"

"I did not say they are not friends. Though I cannot think why
people should gossip about such a matter."

"When a gentleman has a sister who is a handsome and wealthy
widow, people will always find cause for gossip, ma'am."

"Thank you, sir," said Marietta demurely. "I'll own my aunt is
handsome, but I'd not thought her name was being bandied about."

Coville gave a shout of laughter, saw the faint pucker of her
brows, and choked back his hilarity. "Oh, forgive me, I pray. I feel
sure your aunt has—er, her share of admirers. But I must confess I
referred to Mrs. Isolde Maitland. I was told she has publicly expressed
her admiration for a certain… neighbour."

Marietta's lips tightened. 'Or for any man who will bring her
the title she covets,' she thought, and said coolly, "My father, in
fact."

Leaning on one elbow and looking up at her, his eyes still
dancing with laughter, he said teasingly, "Aha! And you do not care for
the lady."

"I said no such thing!"

"You got all starched up and said it silently. Do you not wish
to see Sir Lionel remarry?"

"No! I mean— Oh, it is not that at all!"

"Then it is that the widow is lovely, but a fortune hunter.
Or—a shrew, perhaps?"

"If the lady were a fortune hunter, Mr. Coville, I think she
would not choose my father to admire." Irritated, Marietta took up her
riding crop. "Could we start back now? I must—"

"Whoops," he said teasingly. "I am desolate! I have made you
cross with my nonsense. I shall win back into your good graces by
offering my services."

She stared at him.

"No, I mean it, Miss Marietta. You will need help. A lady who
is lovely and determined and clever can be very dangerous, you know."

"I don't," she said tartly. "But I suspect you have had
experience along those lines, sir."

Unabashed, he nodded. "Oh, yes, indeed. Sufficient that I can
be a powerful ally." He leaned closer and said in a sinister
half-whisper, "I shall give you some hints that will enable you to
quite defeat the widow's machinations. Unless, of course," he added
irrepressibly, "your sire has a raging passion for the lady."

The picture of her shy and gentle father nourishing a raging
passion, wrung a spurt of laughter from Marietta.

Coville gave an exclamation of relief. "I think I am forgiven!"

"And I think you are very naughty!" She tried to look stern.
"And have made me speak of something I should not."

"You are much too kind and sweetly natured to be anything
but delicious. And I am yearning to change
the subject to one
that really interests me. Tell me about the most lovely and fascinating
lady I have ever met. Your likes, dislikes, friends, foes, where you
grew up, whether you enjoy country life or miss Town, if there are
other Warringtons in the neighbourhood, what you think of Lanterns,
who—"

"Mercy!" she cried, amused and touched, but throwing up her
hands. "How can I answer so many questions?"

"Then answer one for today, and I shall ask you another when I
call to take you riding tomorrow morning, and another the next day, and
so on."

He was lying on his side, head propped on one elbow, long legs
stretched out, all lithe grace. With that warm smile lurking in his
blue eyes, he seemed very sincere, but was she really the most
fascinating and lovely lady he had ever met? She doubted it, but it was
nice to hear and it was some time since any gentleman had told her such
things. She had ceased to be fascinating and lovely, it appeared, when
Papa ceased to be a wealthy man. The handsome Mr. Coville was an
accomplished flirt, but he made her feel pretty and desirable again,
and she would have been less of a woman not to enjoy his attentions.
She said lightly, "You surprise me, sir! I had not supposed that you
and your papa were in the district for a long stay."

He sighed. "Sadly, that is true. But I will be riding this way
as often as I can, regardless of our present—problems. Still, perhaps
we should condense my list a little. Let us have the first and the
last. What are your likes—your especial likes—and what do you think of
Lanterns?"

"Hmm," she said, wrinkling her brow. "My first especial
'like,' of course, is my family. I think you've not met my two
brothers, Eric and Arnold, for Eric stays at Cambridge, and Arnold has
just left us to spend the rest of the summer with friends. As for your
second question, I do not know Lanterns. I've seen it, of course, but
it looks so big and gloomy, and as if it might tumble down the cliffs
at any moment."

"Part of the moat has already done so. Have you never gone
there?"

"Goodness, no! The ghost stories might just be true, and I
would purely dislike to meet one."

"Should you? I'd love it! But say truth now. You must have
some curiosity. I'd thought everyone in the county had poked about down
there. Haven't you seen any treasure hunters?"

"No! Is there supposed to be buried treasure, then? How
exciting! Do tell me. I'd not heard that tale."

"You've not missed anything worthwhile, for it is so much
fustian. If there were a whisper of truth to the legend the treasure
would have been found ages ago. That's how old it is. Some ancestor of
my step-mama is supposed to have brought it back from the Crusades."

"What, exactly? A chest full of gems? I'd think that would be
difficult to stow away. Especially for so long a time."

"I agree. No, it's supposed to be a picture. Something that
belonged to—"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in triumph. "Excuse
me, but I do remember! It is called
The Sigh of Saladin,
no?"

"Jolly good. Not a large piece of art, so they say. But all
worked in gold and gems. Worth the proverbial king's ransom."

"No wonder everyone tried to find it. Why was it called
The
Sigh of Saladin?"

"Lord knows. If my rascally step-brother ever shows his nose
hereabouts, you can ask him. He likely knows all about it, since it was
his ancestor who won the thing."

Marietta said, "Perhaps we should start for home, Mr. Coville.
I'm afraid my little brother will be thinking I have quite forgotten
about him."

He sighed. "Why ever is it, I wonder, that beautiful young
ladies are always overly endowed with pestiferous little brothers… !"

"It sounds as though you have suffered from that restraint
very often, sir," she said merrily. "But I promise you I would not for
one instant be without my own little brother, although—" She paused,
tilting her head as, faint with distance, a church bell sent out its
mellow announcement.
"Three?"
Startled, her eyes
opened wide. "No, surely it cannot be?"

He pulled out his pocket watch, and nodded. "It is. You have
made the moments fly past. But the sun won't go down for hours yet. We
still have time to ride as far as the forest and—"

"No! I must go back at once. I'd not dreamed we had been out
so long. And only look, the sky is beginning to be hazy. If fog rolls
in from the sea—oh, dear! I will be properly in Arthur's black books,
poor mite!"

Coville helped her to her feet and said kindly, "You should
not fuss over him too much, Miss Marietta. You love him, of course, but
he is a boy after all. And if he's like most small boys he has quite
forgotten your plans and is by now deeply involved in some scheme of
his own."

To an extent, Mr. Coville was correct. At that same moment
Arthur had abandoned his Merlin role, but he had not at all forgotten
the original program.

"It's 'cause she's a girl, I 'spect," he said mournfully.
"Eric says they're all 'like. You 'member him saying that? It was when
his Everlasting Love gave him back his lock of hair, an' it was tied up
with a piece of string, 'stead of in the locket he gave her." He took
off the wizard's hat and looked at it forlornly. "Etta promised she'd
come back quick. 'N that was hours an' hours ago." Shedding the long
robe with the half moon and the stars sewn on it, he said, "We gived
her lots of chances, Friar. We waited an' waited, din't we?"

Friar Tuck paused with one back leg flung over his shoulder,
and peered up at the child's wistful face, but he made no comment and
resumed the business of tidying his nether regions.

"Fanny said she'd play," went on Arthur, "but she goed down to
help Papa 'stead. An' Aunty Dova forgot and went to her caravan." He
sighed heavily. "You can't blame them, I 'spect. They're all so old,
an' I'm just a little boy, an' I'm not 'portant.Even when I tell them
reelly
'portant
things, they won't listen. If I was 'portant, they'd listen. An they'd
have time to play. But I'm not. So I'm goin' to run away an' find
another boy."

He opened his cupboard and dragged out his Running Away Sack.
Merlin's robe was the first thing to go in. Then came Robin Hood's
doublet and cloak, his picture book of stories, his pirate flag with
the skull-and-crossbones, and his black eye-patch. The suit of chain
mail that Aunty Dova had fashioned out of some long chains they'd found
in an abandoned cowshed followed. He took his nightshirt and the pair
of bedsocks Fanny had knitted for him for Christmas, and in case it
rained he added his Sunday hat. The sword, bow and arrows, and wooden
pistol stuck up a bit at the top, but they wouldn't fit any other way.
Next, to the larder to commandeer a wedge of cheese and the end of a
loaf. A tray of jam tarts demanded instant attention and he lingered
over these forbidden fruits, half hoping Fanny would come in and catch
him, but he heard her laughing down in the basement with Papa, and he
went back upstairs, feeling scorned and unwanted.

He was gathering up his sack when he remembered the helmet.
Eric had made it for him out of an old saucepan, and Aunty Dova had
found some very tall plumey feathers in a trunk in the attic and stuck
them on top. It was a fine helmet, but when it was added to the rest
the Running Away Sack seemed much heavier than it had been when he'd
set off for London last year to find Harry Rogers, the gardener's boy.
It was because of the chain mail, prob'ly, he thought, which was new
since last year. Still, he was bigger now, and should be able to get
there, 'stead of having Etta and Papa come and fetch him home. With a
considerable effort, he succeeded in throwing the sack over his
shoulder.