Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (23 page)

Why that gesture of affection should bring a little pang of
irritation to Lisette, she could not have said, but looking at them she
was shocked by two things that she would have noted before had she not
been walking in a dream these past days, by reason of a certain letter
in her bodice. Firstly, Judith was growing very pretty; and, secondly,
the sling was gone from Strand's arm! That last was such a shock that
she stood still and mute for a moment. Judith saw her and cried
merrily, "Come and chastise your evil spouse, dearest!
What
a villain!"

Laughing still, Strand turned towards her. The smile died from
his
eyes. Lisette wore the new habit she had ordered in London and that had
only yesterday arrived. It was of primrose cloth, with large
mother-of-pearl buttons and foaming lace at cuffs and throat; her hat
was new also, a chic little straw cap with short yellow feathers
curling all along the narrow crown, and longer ones swooping at the
back. He bowed. "My compliments, madam wife. A very pretty habit."

"Thank you, sir. My congratulations also—your arm is healed, I
see."
But having learned something of his impatience with infirmity, she
added anxiously, "You
did
speak with Dr. Bellows
before the splints were removed?"

"I did indeed. I have no wish to prolong my handicap, m'dear."

His eyes twinkled at her. Lisette blushed and trembled, and
Judith called, "Never mind your husband, dearest. Look at
me!"

She flung her arms wide. She had become quite slender.
Marvelling,
Lisette said, "You look charmingly. But, why did I not notice, I
wonder?"

Norman came up, growled a greeting and swung into the saddle,
watching Judith as she tugged at the waist of her habit, replying
merrily, "Your evil spouse, Mrs. Strand! I
wondered
why he set such a wretched table!"

Lisette stared in astonishment at her husband's amused face,
and he
patted his own trim middle and said gravely that he had to be careful
not to get fat. "You—did it deliberately?" gasped Lisette.

"What a filthy trick!" glowered Norman.

Judith chuckled. "No, but I think it delicious, and so kind.
See, Norman, how slender I am become!"

He saw and, withholding his instinctive congratulations, said
grudgingly, "Aye, well, I am not. My clothes fit so snug as ever,
though I've starved since first we set foot here."

"Of course they do. Only look at yourself, Norman! You are
positively svelte!"

Bewildered, he looked down. "I am? But—that cannot be. My coat
is—"

"Strand asked Lisette's dresser to alter our clothes, so we
would
not notice when first we began to shed pounds," Judith laughed. "Are
you not pleased?"

A grin trembled on Norman's lips, but he recovered and said
gruffly,
"I think it a foul trick! Much confidence you place in our willpower,
Strand, that you must serve us so!" And he rode out of the yard.

"Pay him no heed," urged Lisette. "It was very well done,
though I
could wish you had let me in on the secret. No wonder we have set no
covers for guests."

He laughed. "For that, I do apologize and will admit I had
many
trays carried to me in secret. But the boy, looks well, do not you
think? And our Judith will win hearts when we return to Town."

"Town?" Judith put in, eagerly. "Are we going back, Strand?"

"I've some business that takes me to London next week, and I'd
thought you ladies might wish to shop at one of the bazaars— Bennet's
this time, since I'm told it is the more elegant."

Judith's excitement was somewhat marred when they came up with
Norman, and he grunted moodily that at least he did not have to go.
Knowing better than to attempt to reason with him when he was in such a
temper, Lisette was nonetheless irked, for Strand seemed to be going
out of his way to be kind, and she could not but be grateful.

"We all shall go," Strand ruled. "You would enjoy a visit to
London, I fancy, madam wife?"

"Oh, I would! Especially since it has not been a hot Spring."

This understatement provoked them all to laughter. They were
riding along the Downs when Strand said, "Cheer up, Master Gruff and
Glum. I believe you may enjoy the gentleman I want
you to meet."

"Some crusty old tutor, I suppose," sneered Norman.

"He's crusty all right, but not a tutor. As a matter of fact,
he's an old sea dog."

Norman's eyes shot to Strand eagerly. "A sailor?"

"Yes. I've noticed your preoccupation with ships. I think John
Hawkhurst might—"

Norman all but fell from his horse and, reining up, gasped,
"Hawkhurst?
You never mean—you
cannot
mean Lord Wetherby?"

"I can, and do. Admiral Lord Jonathan Wetherby. He is— Do you
know these fellows?"

Four rough-appearing young men were striding towards them.
Norman took them in at a glance and said, "Let's go home. Quickly!"

Strand reached over to pull back on his reins and they all
halted.
"I do not retreat on my own lands, Norman. Lisette, you will please
take Judith back to the house." And as she hesitated, he snapped, "At
once!" in a tone that brooked no argument.

Frightened, the sisters turned their mounts and trotted back
the way they had come.

"If it comes to a turn-up," Strand said coolly, "stay close
and keep
back to back. It's the safest way when outnumbered, and these look
hefty fellows."

Norman looked at him remorsefully. Strand had not asked what
was the
trouble, but it was very clear that he was willing to share it.

"Hey!" cried one of the approaching bullies. "You wi' the red
dicer! We want a word wi' you."

Surprised by the London accent, Strand said, "Since I am not
wearing a hat, I presume you address my brother."

This announcement brought consternation to the new arrivals.
They
conferred briefly, then the apparent spokesman, a burly young man with
a mop of curly brown hair and belligerent dark eyes, said, "Ee didn't
say as 'e was yer bruvver. I's'pose we ain't goin' ter be give the
right ter perfect ourselves."

Strand refrained from pointing out that they were trespassing.
"I
was not aware," he answered mildly, "that I was attacking you. If
you've some complaint you should speak to my steward. But if you can
state your grievance courteously I can give you
a minute or two. What's your name?"

"Jem Shell," said the spokesman, and jerking his thumb toward
Norman, added, "'Ee owes us. A borde."

"Your pardon." Strand turned to the miserable Norman. "Did you
gamble with these men?"

Shouts of laughter went up. Reddening, Norman stammered,
"N-no, sir."

'"Ee bought me sister!" said Shell. "Then 'e wouldn't pay up!"

Astounded, Strand said feebly, "Bought… your
sister?
For a shilling?"

"Just a kiss, sir," Norman mumbled. "Only once we were in the
barn,
she ran—and they wouldn't believe when I said I did not get my kiss."

"I would say the girl showed good sense."

"And I'd say 'e's a liar!" snarled Shell.

"If you weren't four to one, I'd thrash you for that!" blazed
Norman.

With an exaggerated shudder, Shell retaliated, "Lor'! I'm all
of a
quiver. You best run back 'ome wi' yer dainty bruwer wot hides a'hind
bein' Quality so 'e don't 'ave ter face up ter the likes of us."

Strand regarded him thoughtfully.

"Ar," put in another youth with protruding teeth and a bitter
expression. "Run orf an' 'ide—like y'been doin' all week. Scared't'set
foot off'n yer big brother's land, ain'cha!" He spat perilously close
to Strand's arm. "Quality!" he jeered, and donated a profane assessment
of the aristocracy.

A little light began to dance in Strand's eyes. He dismounted
and
walked over to tie Brandy's reins to a branch. "You will recall," he
reminded them, "that I said I would hear you out were you courteous.
You are not courteous. Norman, d'you think we can beat some manners
into the heads of these clods?"

To their credit, not one of them attempted to rush him until
Norman
had fairly leapt from the saddle. Then, the four toughs sprang into the
attack.

It seemed, for a while, an uneven battle, heavily balanced in
favour
of the trespassers. Strand, however, had an odd way of fighting, for he
sprang in and out, blocking and feinting with his left, unleashing his
right only occasionally, but to astonishing purpose. Shell was the
first to feel the power of that deadly right, and he soared backwards
to lie groaning on the turf. Norman's stringent diet, taxing walks, and
early rides stood him in such good stead that he was inwardly amazed.
So were his opponents, and as another man reeled from the fray, Strand
laughed cheerily. "Even odds, Norm. Good work!" Even as he spoke, his
boot slipped on the wet turf, and he staggered, momentarily off
balance. Unversed in the rules of The Game, the burly young man in the
tattered brocaded waistcoat rammed home a solid left that smashed
Strand to his knees. With a cry of rage Norman jumped forward, decked
the waistcoat, turned back to his own challenger, and was in turn
levelled by a flush hit to the jaw. As Norman went down, Strand got up,
and the last survivor was neatly folded in half by the edge of Strand's
left hand whipping across his midsection. His right cheekbone lurid,
Strand bent over Norman. "You all right, old chap?"

Panting, Norman tried to sit up and fell back again. "Jove…"he
gasped happily. "What a—jolly good—scrap."

"Wasn't it?" Strand manipulated his jaw carefully, decided it
was
intact, and went over to the sprawled Shell. "Your trouble, friend," he
vouchsafed, "is drink. Too much of it. You'd do quite well, otherwise."
He extended a hand. Shell took it and pulled himself to a sitting
position.

"Guv'nor," he groaned. "Where'd you learn to 'it like that? A
skinny gent like you?"

"Harrow," Strand grinned. "You would be surprised how
miserable life
can be for a boy who's not all brawn. If you're to survive, you learn
fast."

"That last 'un," moaned Strand's final opponent, massaging his
painful middle, "didn't come from no 'arrow! More like a chap I see in
Singapore once."

"I say!" cried Norman."Was you in the Navy, Bill?"

Bill allowed as he had been, but had been demobilized. "
Is
that where you learned that trick, sir?" he asked, eyeing Strand in awe.

"No. India. Are you all ex-servicemen?"

Shell got to his feet. "I was a rifleman, sir. Jim and Bob was
artillery." Still rubbing his chin, he muttered bitterly, "Kicked us
out, they did. No pension. No work. Can't even afford ter get 'itched
up—wot girl'd 'ave us?"

Strand said, "I cannot answer for the girls, but it happens
that I need some men. What kind of work can you do?"

At once they were crowding around him, their previous
hostility
forgotten, their eyes eager at this new hope. In very short order
Strand had taken on four new men, who were instructed to report to Mr.
Connaught at nine o'clock next morning. "One thing," he cautioned,
mounting up and wheeling his horse, "I'll not tolerate a drunkard. Do
your drinking in the time you do not work, if you must. But let me
catch you gin-raddled on my property, and you'll never work for me
again. Norman, have you anything to say to these men?"

Norman said earnestly, "I honestly did not get that buss,
Shell."

The big man grinned. "Know y'didn't, Mr. Van Lindsay. We was
just tryin'. A man gets a bit desprit when 'e's allus 'ungry."

Riding off beside his brother-in-law, Norman said fervently,
"I know just what he means!"

Dinner
that night was the merriest meal
they'd yet enjoyed
together. The battle had melted away all barriers between Strand and
Norman and, rather typically, the admiration the boy had been fighting
for some time now sprang to full flower and he became so enthused in
his description of Strand's prowess in the noble art of fisticuffs that
his exasperated brother-in-law was at last compelled to warn him to
desist else he'd take him out to the barn next morning and demonstrate
some of the "art" he'd held back from employing today. The girls, who
had watched the fight from a stand of trees, were also full of
admiration for the warriors, and, Lisette approving, Strand had
permitted his frustrated chef to prepare an excellent meal, requiring
only that Norman and Judith deal with it sparingly.

Afterwards, they played jackstraws in the lounge, Strand's
thin
fingers proving amazingly nimble at the game, although Judith won, her
steadier hand prevailing in the last taut moments. It had been a close
match, taking longer than they'd anticipated. By the time it was done,
the teatray was brought in and within half an hour Strand was lighting
Lisette's candle for her while one of the maids assisted Fisher to
extinguish the lamps and lock up for the night.

Humming as she went into her bedchamber, Lisette was abruptly
silenced. A great red rose lay on her pillow. Her heart seemed to leap
into her throat as she stared blindly at the glowing bloom. Behind her,
Denise giggled and spread her prettiest negligee on the bed.

By the time the maid left her, Lisette was gratified by the
knowledge that she looked charmingly in the pink nightgown, her dark
hair waving softly beside the dainty lace cap. Denise had extinguished
all the candles and the flickering light from the fire played softly
about the great room. Lisette leaned back against her pillows, hands
clasped as they had been once before when she awaited her unwanted
husband. She was not quite so nervous tonight. Strand had been more
than kind—more than patient. Although, she thought defensively, he had
only himself to blame both for having left her on their wedding night,
and for rushing into her boudoir in such a rage he'd tripped and broken
his hand. She smiled faintly and glanced to the side. Brutus was
noticeable by his absence.