The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (19 page)

Herbert stammered, “It is—I was j-just getting my horse shod, Gervaise!”

“Ish this cross-grained fellow your coushin, then?” enquired Sir Harold.

“One might think you'd had every horse in Le Havre shod,” snorted Valerian, rendering Tueur ecstatic by scratching behind his ears. “I've had to abandon my—the ladies in that dismal pension while I wasted
hours
searching for you in the confounded rain! And what do I find? Here you lounge, cosy and warm, well on the way to being lushy and having a jolly time gaming with this—person!”

“I shay now,” protested Sir Harold, blinking at him. “Y'got no right t'call me a p-pershon! Have a droppa wine. Make y'feel better!”

“No, really, Gervaise,” said Herbert. “Not
hours,
surely? I can see why you're put out, and I apologise. But the smith was so slow, you see, and—Jupiter! I'm forgetting my manners! This is Sir Harold Walters—Mr. Gervaise Va—Newell.”

Valerian groaned and shot him a dagger glance and Herbert bit his lip in mortification.

“How de do, Mr. VaNewell,” mumbled Sir Harold affably. “Y'r coushin's right 'bout the smith. Slow's three shnails.”

“Well, he's long finished and waiting to be paid. And since I've much to do, you'll excuse if I drag my cousin away. Good evening, sir. Try if you can stir your stumps, Herbert!”

Flushed with embarrassment, Herbert shook hands with his new friend, murmured an apology and said his farewells.

Sir Harold leaned closer and although his eyes were reddened, once again his gaze was fixed on Herbert's face as he murmured with a grin, “Hot at hand f'la, ain't he! Never mind 'bout hish hoity-toity mannersh. I'd like another word or two with you, but—” He glanced at Valerian from the corner of his eye and amended hurriedly, “'Nother time, p'raps. Well met, Bert. Jolly fine shmile. Said it 'fore. Shay it 'gain. Charmin'.”

Outside the air was chill and a drizzling rain veiled the lights from scattered cottages. Valerian rode out at speed but was obliged to slow so as to find his way. Herbert spurred to come up with him and said humbly, “I'm truly glad you found me, Gervaise. I doubt I'd have remembered how to get back to the pension.”

“Since you again failed to remember that I travel under the name
Newell,
not
Nugent,
I doubt it also.”

They rode on side by side in silence until Valerian demanded abruptly, “Disguised, are you, coz?
He
was, surely!”

“The deuce! I'm no such thing! Sir Harold allowed me to share his wine is all, and I took very little.”

“Why? I mean, why did he share his bounty with you? Had you his prior acquaintance?”

“Not previously, no. I chanced to meet his little son and his dog, and then Sir Harold and I got to chatting. I know it may not have been quite the thing since we'd not been introduced, but—well, he—took a fancy to me, I think.” There was no comment and he added shyly, “He—he said he liked my smile.”

“Did he, by Gad! To judge from the way he gawked at you one might think he was eager to adopt you!”

Irritated, Herbert said with rare hauteur, “Is that so? I collect you'd think it more likely for him to have taken me in aversion. Not
everybody
does, you know!”

“True. Don't fly into a pucker. Have you a pistol handy?”

“In my pocket. Why? Trouble?”

“Just keep your eyes open. It's damnably dark—which may be as well. After I left the pension those two varmints we saw earlier followed me for a short while. I gave 'em the slip. Likely they were after my purse. I hope that's what they were after.”

“You think they were thieves?”

“Perhaps.”

“You're not convinced. Jove! You never fancy they were after Sir Simon? Lord forbid he should be taken at this stage of the game!”

“They weren't military. I'd swear to that. At least Skye's there. They could be after Miss Clayton. Though why?… and how anyone could know who she is…”

“True. And Lieutenant Skye's a good man. As you said, they were probably thieves, and—Hi! Hold up! Gervaise! Not at the gallop on this road, you madman! Slow down! Do you want to break your neck?”

His cousin's alarmed shouts faded as Valerian, narrowed eyes peering into the darkness, urged his horse to greater speed. In a remote fashion he knew that Herbert was right. It was reckless to ride at such a rate on a dark and unfamiliar road. But the unease that had gibbered at him since he'd left the pension had tightened its grip. His suspicions of the men who'd seemed to be following him had been lulled by the fact that they'd been well mounted. Now the thought kept recurring that they'd been too well mounted to be a couple of common thieves! What a fool not to have realised that fact before! In the event of real trouble Joel Skye and Sir Simon would acquit themselves well, of that he was sure. But—if they should be taken by surprise … his father was still weak … and Elspeth was much too beautiful! If she should be harmed …

He swore and snarled through gritted teeth, “I'll have their rotten hearts out! I swear it!”

10

“How very nice you look, Miss Clayton.” “Mrs. Newell” smiled as Elspeth came back into the cosy parlour of the pension, having, as she said, “tidied” herself. Sir Simon had a kind heart, and being sensitive to the feelings of others, he was very aware of the worry that lurked at the back of this young woman's beautiful eyes. “It never ceases to amaze me,” he said, “that after the most trying ordeal you ladies contrive to look refreshed and immaculate in the wink of an eye, whereas we hapless males continue to be rumpled and dishevelled for hours! Come and sit beside me, child. You must be tired.”

“And hungry,” she admitted, returning his smile but crossing to peer out of the front bow window. “But you look neither rumpled nor dishevelled—
ma'am.
” He groaned, and she added with a chuckle, “Quite the lady of fashion, in fact.”

“How you can endure all these frills and furbelows I shall never know.” His voice lowered and he said with earnest intensity, “Nor shall I ever be able to thank you for so bravely helping us in this chancy endeavour.”

Elspeth came to sit on the sofa near his Bath chair and he reached out to pat her hand. “Never look so troubled, my dear. Gervaise is a man of his word. And with Herbert and that fine young naval officer to help, why they'll win your brother free in jig time. Speaking of Mr. Skye, where is he?”

“In the stable, tending the horses. Joel is very particular about his cattle. And you're right; I know they'll do all they can to help Vance.” She was gripping her hands tightly and, seeing that he watched her, said apologetically, “I don't mean to fret, but—but surely your son must have come up with Herbert by now?”

“Perhaps Herbert missed his road, or they were delayed at the smithy. Whatever the case, Gervaise seldom fails at what he sets his hand to, I promise you. And you're worrying at something else, no?”

Stifling a sigh, she nodded. “My godmama, Madame Colbert, you know, has been only good to me and I ran off leaving her with a pack of lies!”

“You must have given her some explanation or she'd not have let you go. Will she have missed you already?”

“I pray not, else she'll be worried to death!”

He said kindly, “I feel sure the lady will understand you were desperate to help your brother.”

“If she knows that, yes. But—well, I thought I could arrange things and hire men to rescue Vance. I mean, this has been exciting, but I'd no intent to—to—”

“You mean you'd not anticipated being well-nigh kidnapped by my errant son and inveigled into helping me.”

“I don't begrudge that, sir. I just wish I could have got word to her, but I dared not send back a message with my coachman for fear of alarming Godmama perhaps needlessly, besides implicating Lieutenant Skye, and I clung to the hope I would be safe home again before she realised I'd not told her the truth. Do you think I am making mountains out of molehills? I don't mean to be silly, 'tis only that—the time is flying past and—and I dread to think what my poor Vance may be enduring.”

“From what I've heard of him, your brother is a high-couraged young fellow. If he's anything like his lovely sister, he must be! Now take that scared look from your pretty eyes, and have faith in my son. I know he must appear a foppish Dandy to you, but—”

“No, indeed!” she said with a vehemence that delighted him. “Mr. Valerian is not at all what he seems! I'll own that at first I thought him—well, I didn't much like him, but…”

He prompted gently, “But—you've changed your mind, I think.”

“Oh, yes. He pretends to be cynical and a care-for-nobody, but he's not really like that at all. I've seen him be very kind and considerate.”

“He has been so to me, certainly.”

“Of course. You are his papa and 'tis clear to see he idolizes you.”

Sir Simon smiled but was silent.

After a moment Elspeth murmured half to herself, “When he thinks no one is by there is quite a different light in his eyes. I only wish—” She broke off, embarrassed to realise she was saying more than she'd intended. Pixie came scampering in from the kitchen, and to hide her confusion Elspeth bent to stroke the little cat. “Here is a case in point: your son affects to dislike your pet, but he plays with her and I believe is quite fond of her.”

“'Twas Gervaise brought her to keep me company. And you're perfectly right, Miss Clayton. You're aware that for years he played a part so as to conceal the truth from the world?”

“The truth being that he was striving to bring you safely out of England, which the authorities would never suspect, since everyone believed you to be hopelessly estranged.”

“Almost everyone.” Sir Simon tightened his lips and murmured, “There is one very zealous officer in London…”

“Joshua Swift?”

He nodded. “A dangerous man.”

Troubled, Elspeth said, “Who is now Joel's superior officer, temporarily, at least.”

“So I understand.” Sir Simon shook his head. “Your young naval friend is taking a most desperate chance for your sake. Swift is relentless and has hunted me for so long that I think it has become a sort of obsession with him.”

With ready sympathy, Elspeth said, “It must have been a dreadful time for you—and for Mr. Valerian.”

“I'll own it has been a long and difficult struggle, with many setbacks. Sometimes we came so close to success only to be balked at the last minute. My son has railed so furiously 'gainst what he calls ‘our archaic laws and Pitiful Parliamentarians' that at times I've really feared for his safety. I also fear he has become rather hard and embittered. I can only pray that a real love will come into his life and warm his heart.”

Her cheeks rather pink, Elspeth avoided his eyes.

Pixie, who had been stalking an unwary twig, sprang onto his lap, and he said with a twinkle, “This little lady has quite won my own heart, but 'tis past time for Gervaise to make me a grandpapa, you know.”

“And past time for supper, ma'am,” said Freda, bustling into the room and bringing a welcome aroma of cooking with her. “The French lady and her cook can talk more'n any two ladies I ever heard, not that I understand a word of it. But she's a fine cook for all that, and—”

A piercing scream in the corridor cut her words short.

Sir Simon whipped his chair around and Pixie jumped to the floor and disappeared behind the sofa.

Elspeth sprang to her feet.

Joel Skye staggered into the room, obviously barely conscious, blood trickling down his face, while a burly individual with cold eyes and a mirthless grin held his right arm twisted up behind him.

“Oh,
lor'!
” wailed Freda, her eyes all but starting from her head.

The intruder gestured with the pistol he grasped in his free hand. In French he snarled, “No screeches. We want no more of the screeches! You do as we say, no one will be damaged.”

A second man with a scrawny wig and a red, confident face swaggered in. “Madame, she is bound and will be quiet, and the two servants are locked in a cupboard.” He looked at Elspeth curiously. “This is the one? You're sure of it? She is a servant, merely. She waits on the old woman.” He glanced at Freda. “These both are servants. It is my thought that we are led astray, Pepe.”

“If you have come for money,” said Sir Simon, his Mrs. Newell voice faint and trembling, “you risk your heads for very little.”

The large “Pepe” released his victim's arm and gave Skye a shove towards the sofa. Skye, who had appeared scarcely able to stand, spun around, his fist shot out and Pepe howled and reeled back, the pistol falling from his hand.

Skye lunged for the pistol but he was slowed and a third rogue ran from the kitchen to kick the pistol clear and flourish a wicked-looking knife under Skye's nose. A wiry fellow with a narrow ferrety face and savage eyes, he invited mockingly, “Well, come on, hero! You wouldn't let a few inches of steel postpone your gallantries?”

Skye had to jerk back to avoid the blade. Pepe picked up his pistol, eyed Skye murderously and started for him. “I do not like to be struck,” he growled.

Sir Simon quavered, “There is not the need for violence. Tell us what you want.”

“This,” said Pepe, and with a swipe of his pistol sent Skye to his knees.

Elspeth cried out and ran to him as he crumpled against the sofa.

Pepe pushed her away and drew back his boot.

Freda screamed shrilly.

“Stop, you horrid creature!” cried Elspeth.

The latest arrival said laughingly, “Have done, Pepe. We waste time and you frighten the women.”

“Yours is not the tooth that is now loose,” grumbled Pepe.