“I have already given my word that I will.”
“There you are then. Forget the girl, dash it.”
“That,” said Denzell flatly, “is impossible.”
“Pooh! It is only because you can’t have her that you want her so badly. Mark my words. Within a month or two, you’ll be mooning over some other wench.”
“Osmond Ruishton! I don’t know how you can be so blind to your best friend’s deepest feelings.”
“Well, but —”
A commotion at the rear door interrupted them. There was a hubbub of raised voices within the room behind. Mayberry camethrough the open door, and was rudely shoved aside. Verena herself pushed past him, and stood glancing frantically about the garden.
Hatless, out of breath, and plainly distraught, she cast about until she spied the trio around the chestnut tree.
“Denzell!”she cried, and, lifting her muslin skirts, began to run towards him.
Denzell, for a moment blank with surprise, no sooner took in her distressed condition, than he leapt to his feet, disregarding the instant twinge to his head the sudden movement caused him. He took two strides before she reached him, and had only time to seize the hands she was holding out before words started tumbling from her mouth.
“Denzell, help me! Oh, pray help me! What am I to do? He has prevailed and it is all in vain. Mama has gone!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shock held all three silent for a moment, staring at the newcomer. For both Unice and Osmond had also risen, flanking Denzell. Not a trace of the mask remained in the lovely face, for Verena was looking up at the countenance above her as if her life depended upon his ability to handle this hideous turn of events.
Nor did Denzell fail her. His ailments were shrugged aside.
“Of course I will help you,” he said, collecting his wits and drawing her towards the chair lately vacated by Unice. “Sit down a moment.”
Verena held back. “No, no, I cannot. There is no time. I must —”
“You must be calm, Verena. Nothing will be resolved with panic.”
“Denzell is right, Verena,” said Unice. “We will all help you, never fear.”
“Come, sit,” Denzell urged.
He pushed her into the chair, and made to release her and turn to the others hovering behind him. But Verena’s hand clung to his fingers.
“Don’t leave me!”
“I won’t,” he assured her. His head turned to Osmond nevertheless. “Fetch some brandy, Ossie.”
“No, no, I want nothing.”
“You are in shock, Verena,” said Unice, leaning over her on the other side and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. She called out to her husband, who was already on the move. “Hart’s horn, Osmond! I think hart’s horn would be better, Denzell.”
“Brandy,” Denzell said, and reached out to pull one of the other chairs closer that he might sit beside Verena. When he turned back to her, he saw not only that her bosom under the wrap-overbodice of the white gown palpitated with her uneven breath, but her lips were quivering and he could feel the trembling of her fingers within his grasp. Unable to help himself, he lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it.
Verena stared at him. She was unable to think beyond what had happened, but she felt a little of her panic dying away, and wondered at the power he seemed to have to calm her.
“How do you do it?” she asked involuntarily.
“Do what?”
“Make me believe all is not as bad as it seemed only moments ago.”
He smiled. “It’s no special magic, Verena.”
