The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (15 page)

“Without having had the simple courtesy to first ask what I would like,” she snapped, momentarily forgetting “poor Herbert.”

“Gad, what a turnip-brain!” He clutched his brow. “Our valiant Cap'n Rinalldo will order me keel-hauled for such stupidity! I should have guessed that like all ladies with an eye to keeping their lovely shapeliness, you would prefer no more than tea and a crust of bread!” He pushed back his bench. “Hey! Christopher Columbus!”

“What are you doing?” demanded Elspeth in alarm.

“Why, changing our order, of course. Bad enough that you and I should be seen eating breakfast together, ma'am, let alone that I must undermine your dietary reso—”

“Have done!” she cried, so imperiously that the morose passenger who was half asleep started up and almost dropped his mug. Flushing hotly and lowering her voice, Elspeth pointed out, “The sailor is coming back. I shall ask him to escort—”

“Poor Herbert is merely a victim of mal-de-mer,” said Valerian quickly, then asked the Honest Sailorman to see that trays be conveyed to Mrs. Newell and his cousin and to his aunt's maid, who was sharing Nurse Cotton's cabin.

The sailor nodded and went away again.

Elspeth eyed Valerian with suspicion. “I do not see how a simple fall would have bruised your face on one side and cut your lip on the other. I think it more likely that you lost your temper with poor Herbert and did away with him, just as you claimed to have done.”

“'Twas a foolish whim to have said such a thing,” he admitted. “But you look charmingly when your eyes get so round and I couldn't resist temptation. Besides, I really was ah, taken off-balance, just as I said. There, now, I have done as you asked and here comes our breakfast. I apologize for my presumption in having ordered such a gargantuan meal for you. Do not feel obliged to eat it all, for I quite understand that you are wise to guard against putting on more flesh and—
Now
what have I said? Mercy, but you're hot at hand, Nurse Cotton! Pray be so good as to control your emotions. I believe you have already quite overset our fellow diner.”

Elspeth ignored him and smiled upon the Honest Sailorman, who managed to serve them without spilling too much of Valerian's ale. Conversation lagged during the meal. Elspeth was hungrier than she had realised; perhaps the sea air had whetted her appetite, but whatever the cause she found the food delicious and her resolve to eat sparingly was forgotten. Noting belatedly the emptiness of her plate, she threw a guilty glance at the Dandy. He was leaning back against the bench, holding his tankard in one hand and watching her with his sly grin. She felt her face get hot and lowered her eyes.

He asked innocently, “Did you enjoy your breakfast, Nurse Cotton?”

It would be foolish to deny that she had enjoyed it. Flustered, she said, “Yes, I thank you, though—What happened to your hand?”

He shifted the tankard to his left hand at once but she had seen the skinned knuckles, and, triumphant, she said, “You
were
in a turn-up!”

His brows lifted ironically.

“As my brother would say,” she added hurriedly. “And—”

“And now”—he rose and pulled back her bench—“now you shall come and visit Poor Herbert and see that there is not a mark on him.”

The waves looked even darker and more mountainous as they made their way back to the cabin, their progress slowed by the wind and the gyrations of the vessel. Holding Elspeth's arm securely, Valerian shouted something in her ear.

She asked, “No—what?”

“No seagulls. They go inland during a storm, you know.”

“I wish we could do the same. I worry so about Vance. Every hour that passes…”

He tightened his hold on her arm and said comfortingly, “I looked over the papers Fitz gave me. His uncle has managed to arrange help for us. And so soon as we have my aunt safely disposed I shall keep my part of our bargain, unless…”

He didn't finish the sentence, and peering up at him, Elspeth thought he looked unusually stern. She felt a pang of apprehension but found herself reluctant to ask what disturbed him.

He pounded on the cabin door before entering. “So as not to catch my aunt
en deshabille,
” he said.

Herbert let them in. Mrs. Newell, fully dressed, was sitting in the lower bunk, reading a newspaper. Elspeth's concern for Herbert appeared to have been well founded, though in not quite the way she'd supposed. As Valerian had claimed, the young man showed no sign of a violent encounter, but his face had a greenish tinge, and after a mumbled attempt at civility, he retired to another bunk, apologizing faintly as he lay down.

Valerian said with his twisted grin, “There, you see what ails him, m'dear.”

“What did you call me?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Gervaise—really,” scolded Mrs. Newell.

“A slip of the tongue merely,” he declared, and as a faint moan was heard he warned, “Unless you're ready to hold the basin, Nurse Cotton, I would earnestly recommend that you leave us. At once.”

Elspeth hesitated. “Ma'am, I am here to care for you. Is there nothing I may do to make you more comfortable?”

“I am comfortable, dear child,” said Mrs. Newell. “Comparatively. And my nephew is quite right, you know. If I were you—”

Herbert moaned loudly.

Valerian took Elspeth's elbow. “Abandon your noble heroics, Miss Cotton,” he advised, urging her towards the door.

Even as she ceased to resist there came another sound as of someone knocking, only it seemed to her that the sound did not emanate from the outer door. She paused, glancing curiously at the single wardrobe cupboard against the wall. “What on earth…?” she muttered.

“Someone outside,” said Valerian, swinging the cabin door open and sticking his head outside. “Very well,” he called, then turned back to say, “'Twas the cabin boy to say we're putting in to port at last. Come along now, ma'am. You should be packing your frills and furbelows so as to—”

“But it was not from outside,” argued Elspeth, drawing back. “I feel sure it came from in here.”

“That is because we have the haunted cabin,” he said, tugging at her arm. “Did I not tell you?”

“Really, Gervaise,” scolded his aunt. “'Twas but poor Herbert, my dear. He is so wretched, and—”

With a crash the wardrobe door burst open. A dishevelled figure leapt out and sprang towards Valerian, who at once pushed Elspeth away from him.

“Murderous traitor!” shouted the newcomer, drawing back his fist.

Herbert jumped from the bunk and reeled forward and the blow intended for Valerian sent him sprawling.

“Joel!” cried Elspeth, recovering from her momentary stupefaction.

Equally astonished, Skye halted as if turned to stone. “Elspeth,” he gasped. “What—on earth…?”

Valerian's powerful left jab caught him under the ear and he went down as if shot.

“Oh! You horrid, horrid brute!” exclaimed Elspeth, and snatching up Mrs. Newell's reticule from the wash-stand, she swung it with all her strength at the head of the Dandy. It occurred to her even as she did so that the reticule was much heavier than she had anticipated and there came a brief half-formed thought that perhaps it did contain the jewels Valerian had listed. Whatever the case, the impact brought a smothered cry from him. He went to his knees, then sagged and lay inert on the floor.

8

For an instant the cabin was very still. Elspeth stood staring numbly at the three young men spread out at her feet, fully expecting that Valerian, whom she had begun to believe was indestructible, would get up at any second. He made no move, however. She thought, horrified, ‘God forgive me! I've killed him!'

The murder weapon fell from her nerveless hand and landed with a heavy thud.

As if restored by the sound, Mrs. Newell left the bunk and ran to kneel beside Valerian, whispering his name in a distraught fashion that struck Elspeth to the heart. She half-sobbed, “Oh! I didn't think—I didn't mean—I am so sorry!”

Valerian moaned faintly and moved his head.

Elspeth drew a steadying breath and said defiantly, “No, I'm not! He deserved it!” She bent over Skye, who was still motionless. “Joel, dear, please wake up!”

Mrs. Newell commanded authoritatively, “Get some water and a rag, Miss Clayton! Quickly!”

Elspeth went at once to the wash-stand. She soaked a towel in the water jug, took up the jug and, turning back, saw that Herbert was stirring. She poured a little water on his face and, as he spluttered and coughed, proceeded to pour a much larger amount of water over the Dandy.

Valerian jerked up, swore and clutched his head.

Elspeth knelt at Skye's side and bathed his pale face gently with the dripping towel. “My poor dear,” she said sympathetically. “Are you feeling better?”

He blinked up at her and muttered, “I must be … dreaming…”

“How are you, Herbert?” asked Mrs. Newell. Her voice sounded odd. Glancing at her, Elspeth gained an impression of unladylike abandonment. But even as she wondered that her mind could hold such a prim and nonsensical thought at so tense a moment, she compounded the felony by a vague awareness that the lady had rather big feet.

Herbert said a muddled, “Very—good … thank you, sir.”

“You little—wretch!” On one elbow and with his aunt's arm still about his shoulders, Valerian was holding the reticule that had struck him down. He sounded faintly admiring rather than enraged, but there was a streak of blood on his temple and he was very white. “Never had so many men at your feet at one time, I'll warrant,” he said ironically.

Elspeth felt a pang of remorse, but said a defiant, “I'm sorry if I hit you harder than I'd meant, but you had no business to knock down Lieutenant Skye so viciously!”

“Oh, had I not!” Coming to his feet with the assistance of his aunt, he swayed slightly, then drew a long pistol from the reticule.

Taken aback to discover that so gentle a creature as Mrs. Newell should bravely carry a weapon that she almost certainly would not know how to fire, Elspeth exclaimed, “Good gracious!”

Valerian rasped, “Stand away from him!”

“No! I will not! Are you gone mad, sir? Lieutenant Skye has very kindly come to help me, and there is no—”

“Nonsense! He hadn't the vaguest notion you were here, nor has he come to help your foolish brother, if that's the melodrama you're concocting!” His eyes were narrowed painfully, and he allowed his aunt to guide him to sit on a bunk, but kept the pistol trained on Skye as he called, “How do you go on, Herbert?”

“Better, I thank you.” Herbert's voice was still shaken, but he was on his feet and clinging to a bunk. “What're we going to do, Gervaise?”

Skye struggled to sit up and Elspeth helped him lean back against the wall. Bewildered, she said, “Joel, I don't understand. Does Mr. Valerian mean that you've been sent to arrest his poor aunt?”

Valerian uttered a snort of mirthless laughter, then ducked his head, wincing.

Glancing at Mrs. Newell, Skye said coldly, “No, m'dear. I am assigned to arrest an enemy of the Crown we've been chasing these three years! And what in heaven's name you are doing on this packet, and with this unholy trio, is what I cannot fathom! Unless—are you perchance travelling under the protection of Sir Conrad Beech?”

“By no chance! The lady travels under
my
protection,” declared Valerian with deliberate double entendre.

“You—lie!” Skye dragged himself to his feet. “You filthy-mouthed swine! Miss Clayton wouldn't cross—cross the street with you! Elspeth, if he has involved you—”

“I'm afraid that is not the way of it,” faltered Elspeth miserably. “The truth is—”

“You've no need to explain anything to him,” snapped Valerian.

“You prefer to ‘explain matters' to my Commanding Officer,” Skye flung at him.

Herbert said wearily, “He's right about one thing, Gervaise. We have involved the lady. She will likely be judged an accomplice.”

“For Mrs. Newell to claim her own jewellery is scarcely treasonable,” said Elspeth.

Skye frowned and asked a perplexed, “What jewellery? Elspeth, what jiggery-pokery Canterbury tale have they hoaxed you with? You surely must be aware that this person is not Mrs. Newell?”

Elspeth said uncertainly, “Perhaps the lady had to use a false name whilst we were still in England, but—”

“Enough!” The firm command came from Mrs. Newell, though the voice was harsher than her usual soft tones. Standing, she declared, “I think our charade is done!”

Valerian argued, “Not necessarily. We shall have to be rid of Skye is all. He knows—”

Horrified, Elspeth interposed, “What do you mean—‘be
rid
of' him?”

“He means I'm to be thrown overboard,” said Skye grimly. “Or murdered and my corpse stowed away somewhere.”

Valerian sneered, “Jolly good thinking!”

“How can you be so wicked?” cried Elspeth. “I know that I promised to help you, ma'am, but no jewels ever bought are worth the sacrifice of a human life!”

Skye demanded tersely, “Why would you have made such a promise, Elspeth? Never say you are betrothed to this villain?”

“Of course I am not,” declared Elspeth.

Valerian grinned and muttered something
sotto voce.

Ignoring him and the sensation that, stupidly, her face was red, Elspeth went on: “Mr. Valerian has agreed to help me get Vance home safely, Joel. He has been arrested for acting as courier for Madame de Pompadour. He is wounded and imprisoned somewhere near Rouen, and I am—I am so terribly afraid he will be sent to the guillotine before we can rescue him!”

Skye growled angrily, “And you turned to this traitor for assistance instead of to me?”