Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 02] - Feather Castles Read online

  "Bravely?" her brother snorted. "Blithely might be a better word!"

  Much shocked, Euphemia cried, "Simon!"

  "The man's intellect has become disordered!" Buchanan persisted.

  "My heavens!" Horrified, Euphemia searched her husband's face. "Garret, has it so affected the poor soul?"

  "No, no," he said comfortingly. "You know Leith. He simply refuses to believe that Tristram is killed. God grant he has the right of it. His optimism is fairly astounding, and even should it prove unjustified, may give him the time to more easily adjust to—"

  Again, the door opened. His lordship rushed in, looking utterly distraught. Euphemia shrank against her husband's strong arm, and Buchanan gave the appearance of thoroughly regretting his earlier indictment.

  "Do you know, Hawk," Leith demanded with great indignation, "who it will be?"

  The three young people stared at him speechlessly.

  "Glick!" he uttered "Glick! Glick!"

  Buchanan took an uneasy step backward.

  "No, by God!" exclaimed Leith. "I'll not have that whelp here!"

  Understanding returned the smile to Hawkhurst's fine eyes. "Herbert Glick?" he mused. "See your point, sir. Dreadful slowtop!"

  The light dawning, Euphemia said sympathetically, "Is Sir Herbert next in line, then?"

  "He is! Revolting little Macaroni! I'll not have it!" Fire in his eye, Leith started for the door again, but returned to take Euphemia's hand and kiss it gracefully. "Your pardon, child. I've not expressed my very deep thanks for your kindness in coming here. But you see it is not so sad a duty as you had feared. My son is missing, but not slain. I am sure of it!"

  Holding his hand in both hers, Euphemia, her warm heart aching, said, "But—dear sir, forgive me—what if it is so?"

  For an instant his eyes held an unspeakable desolation. Then he said in an awed tone, "By Jove! Then, I collect I would at once prepare myself. If—if it is indeed truth, I shall have no choice." He looked at them one by one in the manner of a faithful hound fearing to be put out on a stormy night. "I should have to—to settle down; take myself a wife, and get another heir." His voice sank almost to a whisper. "Egad."

  They were all regarding him with frank incredulity, and he asked, "Do you not think anyone will have me?"

  Finding his voice, Hawkhurst stammered, "Wh-why, dear sir, you've never had the least difficulty in finding—ah— fair companions."

  "No," Leith agreed. "But—this will be different, don't y'see? Marriage. A lady young enough to—" His shoulders drew back and the light was in his eyes once more. "Well, if I must—I must! None shall say Kingston Leith failed what was due his name! Glick? No, by God! Tristram will come home— never doubt it. But, just in case, I mean to start looking around." He shook his head and his voice dropped. "Marriage. Good God!"

  Rachel's progress along the companionway was erratic, and as she reached the door to the soldier's cabin, the vessel gave such a lurch that she was compelled to seize the handle to keep from being swept past. Righting herself, she dragged the door open, and went inside.

  The soldier lay on his back, eyes closed and brows knit in a deep frown. The cuts on his cheek had begun to heal, and although he still looked pale and ill, the grey tinge was gone from his skin. Rachel closed the door and moved to stand beside him. As if he sensed her presence, he looked up. The frown was banished by the smile that came into his dark eyes, but she had seen a dulled look of pain and speaking his native French, scolded gently, "You have been trying to remember again!"

  "No, no," he protested, brightly if inaccurately. "I have been resting here, just as your physician instructed, mademoiselle. If I was thinking of anything at all, it was of your kindness in allowing me to sail with you."

  Undeceived, she observed, "I must be less kind, do such deeds cause you to break out with perspiration, sir."

  "To tell you the truth," he said with an irrepressible twinkle, "it has been something of a tussle to stay in the bunk."

  She laughed softly. "I quite believe you. Our Captain was certain it would be only a little rough, yet here is my poor Agatha laid down upon her bunk, convinced she will never see England again. Thus, assuming her duties, I am come to see how her patient goes on."

  The soldier had become quite fond of the plump little abigail. She had fussed over him very kindly during the interminable carriage ride to Ostend and confided that she dreaded the sea voyage. Despite her fears, she had boarded the yacht without complaint and remained dutifully beside him until they left the dock. No sooner had they started across the open sea, however, than she had begun to look miserably unwell and had finally all but galloped from the cabin. He was grateful to the comely woman and had no wish for her to endure the evils of mal de mer, but he could not totally regret her indisposition since it had resulted in this visit from the enchanting Miss Strand.

  "How very fortunate for me that you are not similarly afflicted," he said, watching that vivid little face and wondering if any lady in his past could possibly have been half as lovely. Her eyes flashed to him. Fearing he had offended, he hastened to add, "I hope your little sister is not made ill?"

  "Have you met Charity, then?" she asked, surprised. "I do not seem to recall."

  "She was so kind as to come and see me for a moment while we were in Brussels. I could not but notice how frail she is."

  Almost it was an apology, thought Rachel. As though he felt he'd overstepped the bounds and been called to account. She had not intended to imply disapproval and said lightly, "And so you worry about her? But how kind in you. She is the dearest girl with the sweetest nature imaginable."

  "She seemed a very gentle lady. Forgive me if I presume, but—has she always been confined to an invalid chair?"

  Rachel sighed regretfully. "No. You would not guess it to see my sister as she is now, but when she was younger she was a dreadful tomboy. Three years ago, her pony fell with her. She almost died and, when she recovered, was unable to walk." She checked, her face bleak, then went on, "She had such a terrible time, but at last, thanks to a friend, we found a fine surgeon who was able to help her."

  "And does he think she will walk again?"

  "He says it is possible." She clasped her hands and said intensely, "How I pray she will! But even if that cannot be, I am beyond words grateful that she is at last freed from suffering. She is so brave, and never complained, but until she had the operation I don't think she knew a day without pain. To see her now, happy and laughing again…" She blinked and smiled rather unsteadily. "She is on the bridge at this very moment, doubtless to the delight of the Captain. One of the advantages, you see, of travelling on a private yacht."

  "Yes. Er—do you often sail in her?"

  "Only when we bring my sister to see the surgeon. M. Sanguinet has been so good as to allow us to travel in this way.It is very much more comfortable for Charity."

  "M. Sanguinet." early, she was, at the very least, fond of that gentleman. Understandable, thought the soldier, glumly. On their first evening in Brussels, he had awoken to find himself in a luxurious bedchamber and had been puzzling at that circumstance when the dynamic young Frenchman had come in to grip his hand and say a fervent, "I am greatly in your debt, M. le Capitaine, and if there is—" He had interrupted, involuntarily, "But, I am not a Captain, sir," only to be at once devastated by a siege of pain so intense as to preclude any further conversation. The snatches of memory that were granted him were always costly, but this particular punishment had been exceptionally frustrating because he'd been most anxious to have a few words with Guy Sanguinet, and had not seen him since. It was apparent, however, that whatever the man's relationship to the sisters, it must be a close one. Perhaps Rachel was his betrothed. He was certainly a fine-looking fellow and if he was also rich enough to maintain so large a yacht, must be a good catch. Stifling a sigh, he said, "I see. Then M. Sanguinet is the gentleman I've to thank for my passage."

  "Yes," nodded Rachel, a dimple peeping by reason of the dejection i
n his eyes. Standing, she amended, "But not this M. Sanguinet. Guy's elder brother, Claude, owns La Hautemant. He sent Guy to escort us to Brussels, since he was unable to come himself, but I know he will want to thank you personally, because—"

  The yacht rolled into a deep trough. Rachel's hold on the end of the bunk had relaxed. Taken off balance, she was thrown forward, and would have fallen had not the soldier grabbed for and caught her.

  Gradually, the vessel righted herself, though every board in her seemed to creak a protest. The wind howled through the rigging. From the hold came muffled crashes that spoke of cargo broken loose and tossed about by the violent movements of the yacht. Yet the uproar seemed remote, the cabin suddenly very quiet as blue eyes met eyes of brown. The soldier made no move to loosen his grip on Rachel's arms, nor did she seek to pull away. For a timeless space they regarded one another, he, leaning on one elbow, holding her so closely that he could breathe the sweet fragrance of her; she, astonished by the power of the hands that had caught her, and hypnotized by the ardent admiration so plain to read in the long, deep eyes.

  He became aware suddenly, that his weight rested on his injured arm. He caught his breath and released Rachel hurriedly.

  Recovering her scattered wits, she exclaimed, "Oh, my goodness! Again, you have hurt yourself while coming to my rescue!" She took a small bottle from the drawer of the washstand and peered at it uncertainly. "I wonder how much laudanum Agatha was giving you…"

  "It is of peu d' importance" he smiled. "I shall not swallow the beastly brew."

  She frowned on him deliciously. "I'll have you know, monsieur soldier, that I am accustomed to nursing invalids, and do not permit that my orders are questioned."

  A large, surprisingly authoritative hand reached to remove the bottle from her fingers. He said in a very gentle voice, "No, but you see—I have no wish to sleep, just at this particular moment. I am almost well, and a surer cure would be for you to stay and talk to me."

  During her short existence Rachel had faced the bitter tragedy of her adored father's sudden death and, having been left with utter chaos and her brother half a world away, had managed somehow to pull together the remnants of her life and so order it as to provide a pleasant home for her sister. Neither hard-hearted nor inflexible, she had learned to be self-sufficient and not easily swayed. Now, however, knowing she should leave, she said hesitantly, "At all events, I must go and—"

  "No," he gripped her wrist. "Please do not leave me. I— There are things—er, just a few moments, I beg you!"

  He released her hand but looked so desperate she could not refuse him. "Very well. But only for a few moments."

  "I thank you. Indeed, I have so much for which to thank you. Your bravery in refusing to abandon me on the battlefield was—simply incredible. You nursed me when I must have been a wretched nuisance, and to have transported me to Brussels and persuaded your—er, M. Sanguinet to allow me to travel to England on his yacht—there are no words to—"

  "Well, I do hope not!" she interrupted smilingly. "You were most gallant, sir, and it was the least I could do by way of repayment. I do not doubt but that you will find your fears regarding your—your past history, to be groundless. Still," her eyes sparkled mischievously, "you did not exactly aid my attempt to smuggle you out of the country, you know."

  "Did I not?" He grinned, but then sobered and exclaimed in horror, "Mon Dieu! I'd not had the brains to consider it! You may very well have incriminated yourself by allowing me to travel in your company!"

  "I wish you will not fly into the boughs. I assure you that if you are discovered, I shall claim you deceived me, and I had no knowledge of what a great villain you are. There. Is that sufficient to calm your conscience?"

  He smiled wryly, some of the anxiety leaving his eyes, and Rachel sat down on the opposite bunk and added, "I merely meant that in addition to being such a rogue, you are a confirmed marplot. Do you recall informing Monsieur Sanguinet that you are not a Captain? Infamy!"

  "Yes, and I thank you for the attempt to lend me some dignity. Had I known my promotion was of your making I'd have accepted it with better grace."

  "How do you know it was a promotion? You might very well be a Major."

  He chuckled at this. "So long as we are indulging in fancy, I will be a Colonel, at the very least, if you please."

  She was slightly stunned by the effect of mirth on that lean face and groped for something to say that was even moderately sensible. "I wonder now if I served you a bad turn. We are not sure if you are French, despite the fact that you speak it as though it were your native tongue."

  "As do you, ma'am."

  "Yes, but I had a fiendish French governess who browbeat me from nursery days until I went to the Seminary."

  "And perhaps I had a similar experience," he nodded. "Is that what you mean?"

  "I suppose it is not impossible," she said demurely. "Though I would have supposed you to have had a tutor and to have gone to Oxford rather."

  He was unable to repress a laugh and Rachel exclaimed, "Ah! Now you do sound almost well again."

  "If I am, it is purely thanks to you."

  She scanned him thoughtfully. He did look better and seemed much more comfortable than he'd been during those first bad days. His expression was remote again, as if his mind wrestled with some knotty problem. She waited, marvelling at how completely at ease she felt in his company; more as though he were some very dear friend, or even a brother to replace her absent and so-loved Justin.

  In his turn, the soldier was pondering her kindnesses. How sweetly protective of her to have invented his captaincy. Was it possible that he was indeed an officer? Perhaps of lesser rank? An officer, surely, would not be likely to have committed murder. He smiled, cynically amused by such a hopeful and ridiculous thought. "What stuff !"

  He'd not realized he spoke aloud until Rachel uttered a startled, "What did you say?"

  "Oh—er, nothing of import, mademoiselle."

  "Nothing of import!" She rose, her hands clasped, her eyes alight with excitement. "But—you spoke English! And with no trace of an accent!"

  He blinked at her stupidly. "I… did?"

  "And still are!" Continuing in the same language, she cried, "Oh, sir! Can it be possible that you are English?"

  "I remember speaking French." He pressed a hand to his temple in bewilderment. "So—I thought—that is, I was sure…"

  He looked mystified and distressed, and fearing his struggle for recollection might precipitate another of his exhausting attacks, she said hurriedly, "Do not worry at it now. You must be very tired." She walked to the door, becoming aware that La Hautemant was behaving in a less violent fashion, and that the storm must be drifting away. Pausing, she turned back. "I will ask just one more question, if I may. Sir—do you think in English? Or in French?"

  He considered for only a second. His eyes widened and he exclaimed, "In English! I do, by George! I think in English!"

  "Our mystery is quite definitely solved!" she laughed. "None but an Englishman could say 'by George!' in just that way!"

  Chapter 3

  From the depths of the bolted-down armchair in her stateroom, Sister Maria Evangeline wailed, "Come in, child," and as Rachel closed the door and hurried to her, she went on in that voice of affliction, "Can you understand it? The flowers and beasts and birds; the wonders of sunshine and moonlight; so many lovely things. But—why a storm at sea? I ask and ask, but am granted no answer!"

  Smiling fondly, Rachel crossed to dampen a towel at the washbasin and returned to dab it at the good sister's greenishly clammy features. "Why disease?" she contributed. "Why famine and flood; or flies; or such savageries as the Spanish Inquisition, wrought in the name of religion?"

  The nun raised a drooping hand. "One thing at a time, my Rachel. I am still arguing with Him over a storm at sea, and must not confuse the issue by inserting all these other matters."

  "Your arguments must have been well taken, dear one," Rachel laughed. "We h
ave passed through the storm and are even now standing off the Dover Tidal Basin."

  "What?" Hope lit the pale face. "Have I truly lived through this unspeakable ordeal? Father—I thank You! When shall we land, child?"

  "The Captain seems to have been told we may have to wait for some while. There are so many ships bearing wounded from the battle. They are calling it the Battle of Waterloo—did you know?"

  "I had heard La Belle Alliance." The nun waved away the towel and, tottering to the porthole, expressed her profound sympathy for the tortures the wounded must have endured on so frightful a crossing, interrupting herself to cry ecstatically that she could see the cliffs. "Oh, for solid ground under my feet! Did the Captain—" She turned about, and said in startled accents, "The Captain! You never went up to the bridge alone, Rachel?"

  "Oh, it was safe enough, I assure you. I am a good sailor, and—"

  "I had not thought of it in just that way." The nun returned to her chair. "Sit down, child. I am feeling more the thing now, and we should talk. But, first—who is with our gallant murderer?"

  Rachel seated herself obediently, experiencing the nervousness that had gripped her in years past when she had been sent to Sister Maria Evangeline's tiny office at the Seminary and had stood with quaking knees before the old desk, dreading the reprimand about to be dealt her. "He is alone, ma'am. But I looked in on him for a few minutes, and—"

  "How few?"

  So that was it. Vexed because she knew that she was blushing, she answered, "Perhaps ten. No longer. Do you brand me a scarlet woman for such? He is—"

  "What I brand you is of little account, my dear. It is what others may think that matters."

  "I am not a girl straight from the schoolroom, Sister. I have had to fend for myself—and Charity—ever since Papa died. Much I care what gossips may make of so trite a thing!"

  "You are a lady of Quality, and must care."

  Her eyes very bright, Rachel argued fiercely, "I am very poor ton, ma'am. As well you know! When my dear father was driven by desperation to—" she bit her lip, her hands clenching, "—to cheat at cards, we were dropped as though we had never existed. That scorn—that merciless disdain killed Papa!"