Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love Read online

  Drifting past the receiving line, the General made his way to the bookroom, where he found an old enemy, General Sir Nevin Smollet, engaged in quiet converse with Leith. Entering and closing the door behind him, Drummond was greeted by both gentlemen, and came right to the point. "Is't truth they've a Sanguinet here?" he asked. "If 'tis, there'll be hell to pay. I'd no' thought Devenish tae be sic a muckle fool—though he's never been very sonsy, y'ken—as tae spoil the wee lassie's party!"

  Leith, who had been discussing this same sticky problem with the Intelligence Officer, exchanged a glance with that rugged little man, and drawled, "He's one of us, sir. And you know I owe him my life. I don't see what—"

  "Well, I see what, blast it all! Fella should have changed his name. Lord knows we all begged him to do so!" Drummond, whose Scots accent came and went with his moods, swept on. "I fancy you know Geoffrey Harland is expected, and West-haven, neither of whom could abide Claude, and who know nothing of the real state of affairs. Why in the devil some explanation couldn't have been given out by the authorities is beyond me." He glared at Smollet, who met his gaze with equal ferocity, and silence.

  "It is—unfortunate," Leith agreed carefully, feeling like a man trapped between two barrels of dynamite.

  "Unfortunate, is it? Whisht, mon! T'will be a sight more than unfortunate, d'ye find ye've a full-scale exodus on y'r hands, and if ye dinna ken the likelihood, ye're a pair of muckle fools!"

  "One presumes you have the solution, Andy," said Smollet acidly.

  "Well, I dinna," returned Drummond, and reverting to his punctilious English, "Speaking of Sanguinet—why did he choose the name Cahill for that foundling of his?''

  Leith frowned. "It seems Guy said something of it years ago, when we all were suggesting possible names for the lad. I believe there was a Cahill in some way related to his mama—Guy's I mean."

  Smollet gave a short bark of laughter. "Not related, Leith. Her lover.''

  "Good God! Are you sure, sir? From what I've heard of Sanguinet Père, he was the fiend incarnate and not the type a woman would have dared make into a cuckold."

  "It's true," said Smollet. "How did you learn of it, Drummond?"

  "Fella named Monteil told me. Swiss chap—munitions. Hand in glove with Claude, I discovered later. We were staying at the same chalet near Domstadt. Got snowed in, and spent a few days huddling around the fire, trying to keep warm. He was friendly as a barracuda till we found some bottles of a pretty fair brandy. Monteil was a proper sot, and when the subject of Claude came up somehow, he starting laughing like a treacle-wit and told me about the old man and his second wife. She was a most beautiful lady from what he said, poor creature."

  "She died," Smollet said baldly.

  "Aye. Of grief, Monteil said, though if his tale of the lover was correct, I'd not have given much for her chances of living.''

  Intrigued, Leith asked, "What became of the lover?"

  "Just what you'd expect," Smollet muttered. "Found floating in the sea with a knife in his back."

  "Aye," said Drummond. "Monteil said the old man taunted his wife with the details of it. She was still weak from her confinement, and she collapsed and was dead within a week. Broken heart, he said. Awful thing."

  Leith nodded. "I wonder if Guy knows all this."

  "Likely not," said Smollet. "Would you wish to tell him, Leith?"

  "Lord—no! Thanks just the same, sir. He's got enough disasters!"

  Devenish was also encountering disasters. Small ones at first, such as Lady Godiva who, misliking the cold wind, strove with zeal and determination to slip into the house each time a door was opened. Several guests were understandably startled to find a pig among them, and the Dowager Duchess of Banbury, who had once suffered an embarrassment with a rat at the country seat of the Earl of Harland, emitted a shriek of fright when she bent to stroke what she presumed to be a household pet who had burrowed under her train, and found herself nose to snout with a pig. Devenish was obliged to tell Cornish to put the little animal in the stables, and Lady Godiva was borne off, complaining raucously.

  The next disaster was of greater proportions. The temperamental genius below stairs sent a minion for his vat of cream, only to discover that this indispensable commodity was soured. His wrath knew no bounds. Signor Devenish seldom gave the lavish entertainments, but tonight was the opportunity grand! Tonight Dukes and Duchesses would taste della Casa's creations! But how may he concoct his famous Creme a la Casa without the fine cream? What of his fabulous Della Snow Trifle? Or the Mocha Delia Surprise? Pronouncing himself ruined, his reputation 'tramped ina the duster,' he flung his apron from him and deserted the kitchens, weeping, leaving behind a crowd of witless cravens, and poor Wolfe considering the merits of a nervous breakdown.

  The recipient of a desperate summons, Devenish quickly stepped into the breach and sent grooms galloping to Cirencester, the Home Farm, and the villages to procure every last tea-spoonful of available cream. Returning to the kitchens, he was faced by a demoralized chef who had, he sobbed, been betrayed by envious assistants. He himself had tested the cream when it arrived, and it had been fresh and of an excellence. "It isa the vicious plot, Signor," he wailed, tearing at his already sparse hair. "I ama the finest of chefs. I ama of the great ones. So I makea the bad friends. Mya nerves, they are defrayed! I ama all in the fragrants!"

  " 'E means 'fragments' guv," Cornish translated helpfully.

  Devenish set his jaw, banished the other members of the staff, and closed the door. What he said to his devastated employee no one was ever to know. The door remained closed for several minutes. When it opened, della Casa's brown eyes were very round, his demeanour all but cringing as he bowed to his patron. Wolfe, aware of Devenish's hot temper, was later to remark in an awed voice that never had he seen so deadly a glint in the master's eyes, nor so grim a line to his mouth.

  Turning to the anxious group waiting in the hall, the chef announced with a grand gesture that he would save the day by returning to his tasks. "For," said he, "I shall be devoured by dormouses before I willa cause Missa Josie one small grieve!"

  The staff returned with much relief to the kitchens. Devenish took himself off, pausing at the foot of the stairs to wipe his brow and thank providence that he was finished with the kitchens.

  His gratitude was premature. Half an hour later he was again obliged to descend the stairs when three lackeys became very drunk in the wine cellar. They bad found their way to the rear of the stores and, well hidden, had indulged themselves to the point that they were singing uproariously and discordantly, despite all attempts to quiet them. Devenish ordered the celebrants hauled to the stables and tossed into the frigid horse troughs. While in the cellar, however, he was astounded by the quantities of fine champagne that he now possessed. Quite enough, he later informed Leith, to have kept the Light Division happy for a year!

  He demanded an accounting from his butler, and poor Wolfe, staggering in his remorse, admitted he must have made a mistake and ordered the wine twice. Viewing rank upon rank of stacked wine cases with a glassy eye, Devenish gasped, "Whatever do you mean to do with it all?"

  "I hope to persuade the merchant to take it away after the ball, sir. I was unable to get it through the heads of the drivers and, rather than cause a—a uproar, had it stored down here. Temporarily. I—I suppose"—he wrung his frail hands—"I must be getting old! I cannot blame you if you turn me off!"

  Steadying him, Devenish told him not to be a nitwit and that there was no real harm done. Twenty minutes later, however, it appeared that more harm had been done than they had suspected. Slipping quietly away from the party in response to a footman's whispered message, Devenish, groaning, retraced his now familiar path, and found a worried Mrs. Robinson ministering to the drunken lackeys in the servants' hall.

  "There's something very wrong here, sir," she told him. "Only see how they shake, and their innards is paining 'em cruel!"

  That the miscreants were in a bad way was all too o
bvious. Dr. Cahill was summoned, and Devenish, Wolfe, and Cornish returned to the wine cellar. Devenish sampled a few drops from one of the bottles that had been illicitly opened. It tasted a little flat and seemed to him to have an odd odour. He asked Wolfe to open another bottle, and again the same slightly musty odour could be detected, although the butler could not distinguish any variation.

  Cornish said, "Let me sniff it up me nose 'oles, mate." He sniffed the bottle Devenish handed him, and pulled a wry face. "Gone orf, guv. A few swallers of this 'ere and you're sick as a sloth in a skiff.''

  Wolfe gasped, "Oh, my! And we've a house full of guests!"

  "Lord!" exclaimed Devenish, appalled. "Have we served any of this stuff today?"

  The butler peered at labels. "I—I don't think we have, sir, though it's difficult to say. I fancy this is all from the first order, because when the second lot arrived, we just piled it in front. Those miserable lackeys crept to the back so they wouldn't be seen."

  Devenish muttered, "They may have saved us a real nightmare! Let's check the newer batch."

  Wolfe led them to the second consignment and Devenish sampled a few random bottles, none of which showed any sign of spoilage. He then put Cornish in charge of personally sniffing each bottle as it was opened. "Your nostrils are going to be considerably overworked by Sunday, poor fellow," he said with a grin. "But no sampling, understand! We cannot have you out of commission until the last guest has left us!"

  Cornish was not in the least dismayed, and said he'd be glad to be of service to Sir Guv. Devenish promised to repay him. And went upstairs again, brows knit, plagued by a deepening premonition that his troubles had only begun, and trying to recall if he'd ever heard of champagne having "gone off."

  Chapter 11

  At seven o'clock there was to be a light buffet supper, and by five most of the ladies were either changing their clothes or resting. Josie was able to slip away and change into the new pink velvet gown she had intended to wear on Christmas Eve. It was a charming style, the rich material falling in graceful folds over her many petticoats, the decollete neckline not so plunging as to offend her guardian, who could become very prim over such matters where she was concerned, and the soft pink colour enhancing her faultless skin and complemented nicely by the pretty braid she had found in the Burlington Arcade, and that edged the deep flounce at the hem.

  She was just applying a light dusting of powder to her straight nose, when a scratch at the door announced a lackey delivering a box tied with pink ribbon. Inside was a dainty corsage of small dark pink roses, charmingly arranged, and the holder set inside a bracelet of gold filigree sprinkled with pearls. The note was from Guy, and written in French: To the pure child who has too quickly grown into the beautiful young lady. Josie was still exclaiming over the gift, when another arrived, this being an exquisite fan of hand-painted silk with ivory sticks delicately carven, and a card reading: To our favourite debutante with love and admiration. This signed Tristram, Mitch, and an undecipherable jumble that was Jeremy Bolster's erratic hand. Her heart full, Josie laid the fan beside the corsage, and waited hopefully as Fletcher pinned a pink velvet flower among her curls. Another knock at the door. This gift was a flat box wrapped in silver paper, secured with a silver ribbon. The message on the card was brief and gave little indication of the hours Devenish had spent worrying at it. God bless you, Milady Elf. Dev. The box contained a single rope of perfectly matched pearls, their lustre rivalling the happy tears that shone in Josie's eyes as Fletcher fastened them about her throat. Jumping up, Josie ran to the standing mirror and gazed at a vision: The lady she had dreamed of becoming when she'd been a terrified, half-starved little girl, unloved, and without hope.

  Two more boxes were delivered just before she went downstairs. Both were corsages, one—of blue cornflowers and white daisies—was from John Drummond; the second was of tiny pinks and lily-of-the-valley and containing the calling card of Lord Fontaine.

  "Oh, dear," sighed Josie. "I fear I must disappoint poor John, but really I cannot wear the blue with this gown."

  "And if you was to choose between Lord Fontaine and Monsieur Guy, it'd be no race," grunted Fletcher, who did not admire his lordship.

  Josie smiled and selected Guy's flowers.

  Fletcher carefully affixed the corsage, watched her radiant charge trip lightly along the hall, and closed the door. Returning to the dressing table, she took up the pinks Fontaine had sent. "Now—I wonder how you knew," she murmured, touching one bloom thoughtfully. "I fancy you don't leave much to chance, me noble lord…"

  Josie, meanwhile, had come to the head of the staircase. Several gentlemen were waiting in the Great Hall, and she ran her eyes over them fondly. Guy was sitting on a bench against the wall, Lyon beside him, surprisingly elegant in his evening dress. Leith, Harry Redmond, and Jeremy Bolster had acceded to her request and wore their full dress regimentals. They presented an impressive sight; Leith, straight and splendidly built, his dark head towering over the others; Bolster, rather astonishingly poised and his yellow hair very neat for once; Sir Harry, slim, dark, and dashing, the epitome of Wellington's dauntless Captains, one hand lightly resting on Bolster's sturdy shoulder as he laughed at some remark Leith had made.

  As Josie watched, Devenish and John Drummond came from the east hall to join them. Her eyes held on the slighter figure, his carriage erect despite the limp—and thank goodness he had forgotten that silly cane tonight! The lamplight gleamed on his fair hair, the black long-tailed coat was as though moulded to his shoulders, the white brocade waistcoat impeccable, the black stockinet pantaloons, now accepted for evening wear, subtly emphasizing his well-shaped legs. As though he sensed her presence, he glanced up at her. His handsome features registered a stunned expression that made her heart turn over. She saw his lips form her name. The other men turned to look up. For a moment she basked in their admiration, then sped down the stairs, quite forgetting all Fletcher's stern instructions to move with leisurely grace.

  The buffet supper was as excellent as it was elegant. Small tables had been set up in the morning room, two ante rooms and the music room in the east wing; a trio wandered about playing light and pleasant airs to charm the diners, and there could be little doubt but that they were charmed. By half past eight, more guests were driving up along the access road that was fortunately flooded with moonlight, and also lit by the torches held by grooms and farmhands who were stationed all along to the main road.

  An hour later the ballroom was crowded, most of those expected had arrived, and Devenish and Josie were able to leave their positions inside the front doors and join their guests. Devenish had claimed only one of her dances, and when the music rang out in the lilting refrain of a country dance, he led her onto the floor. The dancers whirled and paced; the ladies' ringlets shone, their great skirts swung wide with a flutter of petticoats and lace; the gentlemen, manoeuvring with grace and sureness through the complicated measures, were variously jolly, grave, or flirtatious; and very elegant. Watching his ward's radiant little face, Devenish knew it had all been worthwhile. When the dance brought them together and he was able to hold her gloved hand, he murmured, "Happy, my Elf?" and her glowing smile was all the answer he needed.

  At the edges of the floor, the more mature guests gossiped happily, a few hopeful young ladies flirted with the unattached males, and in one corner the Duke of Vaille murmured, "I fancy Geoff Harland won't come now, Camille."

  His son nodded. "Just as well, perhaps, sir."

  The dance had barely ended, however, before Devenish was summoned with the word that more carriages were coming up the drive. He could not locate Josie, and made his way alone to the wide-open front doors.

  Geoffrey, Earl of Harland, accompanied by another gentleman, and preceded by Lord and Lady Westhaven, came gratefully into the warm hall.

  "How very good of you to venture all this way after dark," said Devenish, bowing over Lady Westhaven's plump fingers and shaking hands with his lordship.

&
nbsp; "We would not miss your ward's come-out for the world," declared the pleasant woman, and turned to smile at Josie who came hurrying along the hall to greet them.

  Harland, his aristocratic features always putting Devenish in mind of his son, Lucian St. Clair, apologized for his late arrival. "To say truth," he admitted, "I've a friend newly come from Paris—I knew you'd not object did I bring him along." He put a hand on the arm of the scholarly-looking grey-haired but oddly youthful gentleman at his side. "May I present the Chevalier Emile de Galin—Mr. Alain Devenish."

  "Couldn't be more pleased than to have you here, sir," said Devenish, taking the Frenchman's rather frail hand. And he thought, 'What a marvelous face—like the brass of a sainted martyr.'

  Josie came eagerly to greet Harland and be presented to the newcomer. The Earl had no sooner introduced his friend, however, than Devenish, who had been watching the Frenchman uneasily, sprang forward. White as death, the Chevalier sank limply into his arms. With a cry of shock, the Earl assisted Devenish to lower his friend to the floor. The two lackeys at the doors came running, and Josie sent one racing for brandy, and the other in search of Dr. Cahill.

  "How beautiful he is," she said, watching Devenish feel for the heartbeat. "Poor soul! He is not dead, surely?"

  "No, praise God! My lord, is the Chevalier subject to fainting fits?"

  Harland was aghast that his uninvited friend should be so stricken, and replied that he had never known the Chevalier to collapse. "He fought at Salamanca, was beside the Marshal when Marmont was hit, and was himself levelled a few seconds later. I think he has never quite regained his health, but he's truly a splendid chap."

  Josie, who had knelt and was chafing the Chevalier's limp hand, gave a sigh of relief as the long lashes fluttered and a pair of bewildered dark eyes blinked up at her. She said in French, "Do not be alarmed, dear sir. We have sent for a doctor."