Читать книгу Night of a Thousand Stars - Deanna Raybourn, Deanna Raybourn - Страница 10

Two

It was dark by the time we reached Sidmouth, and darker still by the time we turned off the main road to the small byway leading to the village of Abbots Burton. I had provided him with an imperfect address, but Sebastian had an excellent sense of direction and the wit to stop twice and ask the locals. A garage mechanic put him on the right road to carry us to the end of the village, and an avidly curious woman walking her Pomeranians pointed out the cottage.

“That’s it, Cowslip Cottage. There’s an artist that lives there,” she told him, edging around to get a proper look at me—the girl in the wedding dress sitting silently in the fancy motorcar.

Sebastian thanked the woman and nipped back into the vehicle, slamming the door sharply to put an end to the conversation. The woman tutted to her dogs as I smothered a laugh.

“Laugh now,” Sebastian told me dryly. “It will be all over the village by morning that your father has a visitor. If you wanted to keep your whereabouts a secret, I’m afraid you’d have been better off hiding out in London.”

I shrugged. Now that we were actually here the fight seemed to have gone out of me, and the look Sebastian gave me was decidedly worried.

“Damn, I’m a brute. I didn’t even think to feed you,” he muttered.

I smiled. “It doesn’t matter,” I assured him. “I couldn’t have eaten a bite.”

Just then my stomach rumbled loudly, as if to prove me a liar, and Sebastian grinned. “I’m sure your father will be more than happy to feed you up. Now, are you ready?”

I nodded, taking his hand as he helped me out of the motorcar. I’d come too far to turn back now, and I made a point of striding purposefully through the little gate at the front of the cottage and straight up to the door.

It wasn’t until I raised my hand to the knocker that I hesitated. But Sebastian was behind me, solid and reassuring, and I felt better for having him there. I suddenly realised I had never actually felt better for having Gerald around.

“I did the right thing in running away,” I murmured to myself. But still I did not knock.

“Allow me,” Sebastian said. He didn’t give me time to think. He simply lifted the knocker and dropped it into place with two sharp taps.

I barely had time to take a breath before the door opened. A man in a canvas apron stood on the threshold, scowling.

“What the devil do you want? Do you have any idea what time it is?” he barked.

I felt myself wilt, and Sebastian stepped forward, his expression livid.

“I say, that’s no way to talk to the young lady,” he began.

But before he could finish, the man in the apron was prodded aside by the business end of a walking stick. It was wielded by a tall gentleman with a head of thick silver hair and a primrose-striped smoking jacket. Father.

“Shut up, George. That isn’t how we welcome guests,” Father said. He came forward, rather slowly but with a very straight back. He peered at us and drew in his breath sharply.

“Poppy,” he breathed, and it sounded like a prayer. “Are you a mirage, child?” He put out his hand, a gnarled old hand with traces of rose madder across the knuckles. The skin on the hand was wrinkled and the fingers were twisted like the roots of an oak. An old hand, but still a graceful one.

I caught it in my own. “Yes, Father. It’s Poppy.”

He coughed hard, smothering what might have been an involuntary sound of emotion. He glanced sharply away, but when he looked back, he had recovered himself.

“Come in, child. You must be chilled to the bone. George, fetch tea and whisky. And sandwiches while you’re at it. I suspect our guests haven’t eaten,” he added.

He had not released my hand, and with it still grasped in his, he drew me into the sitting room of the cottage, where a bright fire burned upon the hearth. A pair of comfortable chairs had been arranged by the fire, but we did not sit.

“Father, I am sorry for just landing on you like this, and I will explain everything.”

“I already know,” he said mildly. “I get the newspapers even buried down here. You’re married.” He turned to Sebastian with a bland look. “I suppose I ought to offer you congratulations, young man. The heir to the Viscount Madderley, is it?”

I gave a strangled sound of horror, but Sebastian rose smoothly to the occasion. “I am afraid I do not have that honour, sir. I am Sebastian Cantrip.”

“Ah, yes. I see the dog collar now.”

I cut in before things could get entirely out of hand, muddling the introductions. “Mr. Cantrip, this is my father, Eglamour March, third son of the late Earl March, known to his friends and familiars as Plum. Father, Mr. Cantrip was the means by which I—that is to say—” I faltered, and turned pleading eyes to Sebastian.

He rose smoothly to the occasion. “Miss March, perhaps you would like to excuse yourself to wash your hands after the journey. I can explain matters to your father.”

Father gave Sebastian an assessing look, then flicked me a glance. “Back through the hall and up the stairs, my dear.”

I slipped out, hesitating outside the door. I could just hear them from my vantage point, Sebastian’s firm baritone underscored by Father’s rather more demanding aristocratic tone.

“Well, young man?” Father asked.

Sebastian hesitated, and I wished I could see their expressions.

“I’m afraid Miss March found herself disinclined to go through with the marriage. She was seeking a place of refuge,” he said solemnly. “I hope I have done right to bring her here.”

To my surprise, Father’s voice was tight with something that sounded like anger. “I suppose you didn’t think you had a choice.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sebastian countered, his own voice amused. “I daresay there will be a hue and cry and all sorts of bother before it’s all sorted, but these things can’t be helped.”

“What do you think you’re doing eavesdropping?” I jumped to find the manservant George lurking behind me, a laden tray in his hands.

“I dropped my handkerchief,” I lied coolly.

“I see no handkerchief,” he retorted.

“That’s because I haven’t found it yet,” I replied. I swept past him before he could make heads or tails of that answer, and fled up the stairs. I returned a few minutes later, face washed and hands clean, and smoothed out the crushed skirts of the wedding gown, wishing desperately that I had something—anything—else to put on.

“Next time I run away, I’ll plan better,” I muttered. I hurried into the sitting room to find Father and Sebastian sitting companionably. Food and drink had appeared in my absence but had not been touched. As soon as I took a chair the sandwiches and cakes were passed. I loaded my plate and dived in, scarcely breathing between bites. The sandwiches were dainty but stuffed with perfectly roasted ham, and the cake was light as a feather.

“George is quite something in the kitchen,” Father said, eyeing my rapidly emptying plate.

I swallowed and shot Sebastian a dark look as he helped himself to the last of the cherry tarts. The cherries had been brandied and glazed to look like jewels and the first two had melted in my mouth.

“He’s an interesting fellow,” I said politely.

Father arched a brow. “By that you mean he’s a boor, and you’re entirely correct. But he’s a devilishly good manservant and his company suits me. He frightens away all of the casual callers, and I am left to my work.”

His tone was light, but I felt the sting of loneliness in his words. I put my plate down, the cake suddenly ashes in my mouth.

“I don’t blame you,” he said softly.

I looked up into green eyes that were very like my own. Father was smiling. “It was your wretched mother’s doing. She’s the one I blame.”

A sharp blow sounded at the front door, and I started. Sebastian jumped to his feet, but Father sat serenely. “That will be the harpy now,” he said mildly.

“Most likely,” Sebastian agreed. “I drove fast, but I suspect they saw us getting away, and Mr. Hammond has a beauty of a Lagonda. I glimpsed it a few times on the road behind us.”

I threw Sebastian a horrified glance, and he stepped in front of me as if to act as my shield. From his seat, Father gave us a curious glance and was watching us still when George appeared.

“Shall I answer that, sir, or send them to Coventry?”

“By all means, answer it,” Father said, waving an airy hand. “Might as well get it done with now. I have too much experience of Araminta’s temper to think it will sweeten by morning.”

I rose to my feet, my hand sliding neatly into Sebastian’s. At the warm touch of his skin, I jumped, pulling free and thrusting both of my hands behind my back. All proper behaviour seemed to have flown out of my head, and I found myself wishing I could faint or fall into a fit, anything to avoid the next few minutes.

“She’ll be frightfully angry,” I warned Sebastian. “This is far worse than the time I kept a pet frog in the bidet at the Ritz.”

“Courage,” Sebastian murmured.

I nodded and took a deep breath as George returned. “Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, sir. And I didn’t get the names of all the rest of them. There were too many,” he added nastily. He stepped aside to let Mother and Reginald into the room, and behind them came an avalanche of people.

“Good God,” Father pronounced. “Am I to be invaded by a whole tribe of Americans?”

“It’s just the family,” I assured him. “That’s my stepfather, Mr. Hammond, and of course, you know Mother, and those are the twins, Petunia and Pansy, and I think those must be the boys back there, Reginald Junior and Stephen. There’s my maid, Masterman—she’s the one looking disapproving. And oh, yes, there’s Gerald. Hello, Gerald,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “You haven’t met my father, Eglamour March. Father, Gerald Madderley.”

Father took a deep breath and rose slowly from his chair. He greeted Gerald, then put out his hand to my stepfather. “How do you do, Mr. Hammond. I believe we have something in common,” he said, his voice acid on the last word as he glanced at Mother.

She was not pleased. Her tone was just as cold as his as she watched her two husbands shake hands. “Yes, let’s all be marvelously polite about this, shall we? In the meanwhile—”

“In the meanwhile, Araminta, you’ve had entirely too many children for my sitting room to accommodate,” Father said firmly. “Now, those boys will have to go as well as the girls with the appalling flower names. Madderley, I suppose you have a dog in this fight, so you may stay. Hammond, since you paid for the affair, you are welcome to stay, as well. And let’s have the maid in case anyone decides to succumb to the vapours. Araminta, you will stay only so long as you can keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Mother opened her mouth to reply then snapped it closed. “Very well,” she said through gritted teeth. “Children, out to the car. And mind you don’t get out and go walking about. These English villages are full of typhoid. They have very bad drains.”

Father gave a short laugh. “Good God, how could I have forgot your obsession with drains?”

“I think we have more important matters to discuss,” she told him, her voice icy. She turned to me. “Poppy, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I looked from my enraged mother to Gerald’s mild face and back again. “Only that I am very sorry for behaving quite so badly. I ought to have said something sooner—”

“Sooner!” Mother’s voice rose on a shriek. “You mean, you knew? You knew you had no intention of marrying Gerald and you let this all play out like some sort of Elizabethan tragedy—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Araminta, a pair of people who probably weren’t terribly suited didn’t get married. I would hardly call that a tragedy,” Father put in.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she replied. “You are the very last person who would understand about keeping one’s sacred promises.”

He raised a silver brow. “A hit. A palpable hit,” he said, his tone amused. “I was waiting for that, and I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint.” He turned to Reginald with an appraising gaze. “You must have the patience of Job, good sir. I salute you.” He raised a glass of whisky in Reginald’s direction.

“I play a good bit of golf,” my stepfather told him. “It teaches patience like nothing else.”

Mother opened her mouth, no doubt to blast Father again, but she suddenly seemed to catch sight of Sebastian. “Who are you? I recognise you. You were at the church today. Do you mean to say—” She broke off, her expression one of mounting horror. “Oh, my dear God. I cannot believe it. Not even you, Penelope, would be heartless enough to elope on your wedding day with another man.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, but before he could get out a word, Gerald stepped up and clipped him under the chin with one good punch, snapping his head back smartly. Sebastian kept his feet for a moment, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he slid slowly to the floor.

Gerald stood over him, shaking out his hand while Father called for George to bring cold cloths, and the children, hearing the uproar, dashed in from outside. As they crowded into the sitting room, Reginald attempted to calm Mother as she hysterically berated me while I stared in horror at Sebastian’s closed eyes.

Father threw up his hands. “It seems we must surrender to pandemonium,” he said to no one.

George brought the cloths as I shoved Gerald out of the way to kneel over Sebastian. Father guided Gerald to the fire and gave him a glass of whisky while I held a cold, wet cloth to Sebastian’s jaw. His eyes fluttered open, wide and very dark. I leaned over him, one hand on his chest, and he reached up to clasp my hand as my face hovered inches from his.

“Can you hear me?” I pleaded. “Are you all right?”

His mouth curved into a smile.

“Lovely,” he murmured. “Just a bit closer.”

I gasped. “You fraud!” I muttered just loudly enough for him to hear. “He didn’t knock you out at all.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “No, but I wasn’t about to give him the chance to try again. This way he keeps his pride, and I don’t make a mess of your father’s sitting room carpet by shedding Madderley blood all over it.”

I pushed off his chest, sitting upright and handing him the cloth. “You can hold your own compress,” I told him tartly. I didn’t even bother to explain to him that Gerald had been the boxing champion of his year at Harrow. There was something rather endearing about Sebastian’s faith that he could trounce Gerald, and I had learned enough about men to let him keep his illusions, although I had to admit the chest under my palm had been very firmly muscled.

A quarter of an hour later, order had been restored. Sebastian was sitting upright in one of the chairs, nursing a large whisky and making a show of holding a cold compress to his jaw. Mother had ordered the younger children to return to the motorcar, which they did under violent protest, and Father had opened a bottle of his best single malt to share with Reginald—a sort of reward for the job he had done soothing Mother’s hysteria. Masterman the maid simply stood out of the fray, her expression inscrutable as a Buddha as she watched the chaos unfold.

I sipped at my own whisky as Mother regarded me coldly.

“I do not approve of young ladies drinking spirits,” she said.

“Considering the circumstances, it’s a wonder she isn’t sniffing cocaine,” Father put in. He poured another measure for an appreciative Reginald and settled himself back into his chair.

“Now, I think we can all agree that physical violence is not called for under the circumstances and that we ought to discuss matters like adults,” Father began with a dark look to where Gerald sat nursing his sore knuckles in the corner. Gerald flushed but said nothing.

“Too bloody late for that,” Sebastian muttered.

“Yes, well,” Father said, trailing off with a vague smile. “Now, I think it is quite clear that Poppy did not in fact elope with Mr. Cantrip. He obviously thought he was carrying out some act of chivalry, for which his only payment has been a rather lucky blow from Mr. Madderley.”

Sebastian glowered at Gerald, who studied the carpet with rapt fascination.

Father went on. “Now, there are many things to be settled, but the first is one of the law. Mr. Cantrip, you are entitled to bring charges against Mr. Madderley for the assault to which we have all been witness. Do you wish me to send for the police so that you may do so?”

There were shocked gasps from around the room, but Gerald lifted his chin, ready to do his duty manfully.

All eyes were fixed on Sebastian. “God, no,” he moaned.

“Very well,” Father said, his expression one of grudging admiration. “Now, Poppy, your former fiancé has travelled down here, clearly with an eye to carrying you back to London and into the bonds of holy wedlock. Do you wish to go with him?”

“God, no,” I said, echoing Sebastian as I dropped my head into my hands.

“Very well. Mr. Madderley, you are excused.”

Gerald bolted to his feet. “Now, see here—”

“No,” Father said pleasantly. “I don’t have to see anything. What you must see is that you have intruded upon the peace and tranquility of my house by bringing violence into it. The young man you assaulted is good enough to overlook your bullying, and my daughter wishes to have nothing to do with you. Therefore, you have no further business here. Go away. And next time, choose a girl who actually loves you. My daughter clearly does not.”

I raised my head to watch as Gerald opened his mouth a few times, but no words came. He turned wordlessly on his heel and left.

Father gave me an appraising look. “If that’s the sort of man you chose of your own free will, your mother has done a far more tragic job of bringing you up than I would have credited.”

“Oh, that is like you, Eglamour,” Mother began.

Father lifted an elegant hand. “I’m sure you did your best, Araminta. But it is quite clear that you’ve raised a daughter who has absolutely no idea how to speak to you, otherwise she would have told you ages ago she had doubts about this wedding.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know she had doubts about this wedding?”

Father’s look to me was kindly. “Because she went to the trouble to find out my address some weeks back. I’m sorry, child, but your Aunt Portia has never been particularly good at keeping secrets. She told me you asked for my address, and I hoped you would come to me if you needed me.”

“Thank you, Father,” I said, almost inaudibly.

“Now, I know you want to abuse her further, Araminta, and I won’t say she hasn’t acted quite badly. I’m sure you, Mr. Hammond, are out quite a few of your American dollars on this wedding that almost was,” Father said.

Reginald looked uncomfortable as he always did where money was concerned. “Well, if it made her happy,” he said, trailing off.

“Yes, well, I think we can all agree it did not make her happy. In fact, I daresay the child doesn’t know what will. But she needs rest and time to discover that.”

Mother gathered up her resolve and opened her mouth, but Father lifted his hand again.

“No, Minty. I will give you full credit for raising a lovely girl. She’s audacious and brave and passably clever, I’d say, and, like all Americans, beautifully groomed. But she’s also limp with exhaustion, and a scene with you is the last thing she needs. Leave her here with me. For one month. At the end of that time, I will deliver her to London myself to face the consequences of her actions.”

The fight seemed suddenly to go out of Mother and I stared, rapt. I had never known anyone, not even Reginald, to handle her so deftly. I could see him paying close attention—I only hoped he was taking notes. Mother sniffled a little, capitulating under Father’s masterful handling. “I don’t know what to do with her, Plum. I never did. She’s exhausting, always asking questions and never satisfied just to be. There’s always something new she wants to do, some new scheme to try. Cookery classes and psychology courses and driving lessons, and none of them ever finished. It’s one mad idea after another and so much...she’s just so...so March.”

Father smiled thinly. “Blood will out, dear Minty. Now, go back to London with your appallingly healthy and boisterous brood of Americans and let me sort this out. Perhaps you could send down some clothes for her if you think about it. She can’t totter about like Miss Havisham in her wedding finery.”

Mother rose. “Naturally, I’ve already thought of that. Her trousseau trunk is in the car.” She turned to my maid. “Masterman, we cannot expect you to continue in service with Miss Hammond after today’s debacle. We will naturally give you an excellent reference, a month’s wages, and a ride back to London. It was good of you to come this far.”

Masterman stirred. “On the contrary, madam, I should like to remain with Miss Hammond.”

Mother blinked. “Whatever for?”

Masterman’s expression did not change, but I had the strangest feeling Mother might have more easily shifted the Pyramids than moved Masterman from her decision. “Because it suits me, madam,” she replied quietly.

Mother shrugged. “Very well, but do not be surprised if you find you can’t stick it after all. Miss Hammond can be extremely trying to one’s nerves.” Mother turned and gave me a long look. “One month, Penelope. You have one month to figure out what it is that you want. This is the last time I will clear up a mess you’ve left behind.”

She turned on her heel and swept from the room. Reginald stepped forward, putting a kindly hand on my shoulder as I stared after her in dismay.

“Don’t fret, honey. I’ll settle her down. You just rest and don’t worry about anything. And I’ll put some money into your account,” he added softly. Dear Reginald, always solving everyone’s problems by throwing cash at them.

I summoned a smile and rose on tiptoe to press a kiss to his smoothly shaven cheek. “You really are a very nice man, Reginald.”

He ducked his head and shook hands with Father before following Mother out the door. Father sat back in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

“That man ought to be sainted,” he mused. “For miraculous fortitude.”

“Mother isn’t so bad,” I began automatically.

“She’s a nightmare,” Sebastian observed in a dry voice.

“Dear God, I almost forgot you were still here,” Father said, perking up. “It’s grown late. I suppose we shall have to offer you a place to sleep tonight. George can show you over to the inn. They’ve always a room in reserve for one of my guests, and they’ll be happy to accommodate you. As for you—Masterman, was it? There is an extra bed in the guest room upstairs. Help your mistress, there’s a good girl. I think Poppy is half-asleep on her feet.”

I started to protest that I could very easily make my own way upstairs, but Masterman had taken charge of the situation. I didn’t know if she was more put out at having to share a room or Father calling her a girl, but she pushed me firmly up the stairs and put me to bed with ruthless efficiency. I gave myself up to it, letting her bully me a little since it suited us both. She turned out the light and undressed swiftly, settling herself into the narrow extra bed.

“You didn’t have to stay on,” I told her sulkily. There had been a certain guilty glee in ridding myself of Gerald, but it was a little blunted with Masterman still there to make certain I didn’t do anything interesting.

“Yes, I did,” she said, her voice almost fierce in the darkness.

“But why?”

“My reasons belong to me, miss. Now go to sleep or you’ll look a fright in the morning,” she said.

So I did.