The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (28 page)

He said enigmatically, “I'm sure you are correct, ma'am. How do you go on, Clayton? Can you endure a long drive tonight?”

Vance said softly, “I could endure it if I had to crawl all the way!”

“Let us hope we won't come to that.” Valerian lowered his voice. “But the sooner we leave here the better I shall like it.”

Watching him, Skye said, “You're not impressed by our fellow diners, I see. Why? They look harmless enough.”

Elspeth glanced up and saw that the clergymen were seated at a nearby table. She said lightly, “He has a guilty conscience, Joel. He was rude to the elder priest.”

Herbert grinned. “Don't say an innocent cleric was so reckless as to flirt with you, ma'am?”

She was irritated to feel herself blushing again, but before she could respond, Valerian asked softly, “Why did you not ride ahead and join us as we planned, Skye?”

“I did,” answered the Lieutenant. “At least, I started out to do so. But the half-light is deceiving and I took the wrong road. There's no moon up. Not to excuse my faulty sense of direction, and I don't mean to be a gloom merchant, but I doubt you'll be able to travel far tonight.”

“Oh dear!” At once anxious, Elspeth reached out to take her brother's ready hand.

“Don't fly into the boughs,” said Valerian coolly.

Herbert put in, “I asked Marcel about it, and he assured me he could drive to Le Havre blindfold.”

“Don't doubt it in the least,” said Valerian. “So we'll let him be the judge of whether we can proceed. Besides, if 'tis too dark for us, it is likely also too dark for pursuit.”

“Will Lady Elmira come in?” asked Elspeth. “In the confusion of the moment I didn't thank her properly, and we owe her so much.”

“I thanked her,” said Vance. “And she told me that you and Freda were exceeding courageous and saved the day with your ‘performance.' Be warned, sister mine, I shall require to know more about that episode!”

With a mischievous twinkle Elspeth said, “I think you have never properly appreciated my skill as a musician, dear.”

“We certainly appreciated whichever of you was pounding away at that tambourine,” said Herbert. “The uproar quite covered any sounds we made!”

“It was well done,” acknowledged Skye, with an admiring smile at Elspeth. “And Madame Granada is a courageous lady!”

Valerian nodded. “Very courageous. And too wise to join us, Miss Elspeth. Were she seen in our company, Monsieur le Comte's rogues might well put two and two together, and it could jeopardise her ability to be of help to Lord Boudreaux in future.”

The maids hurried in with fragrant and laden trays, and conversation languished while the weary diners enjoyed a plain but satisfying supper. When the meal ended Skye sought out the host to pay their shot, Valerian went in search of Marcel and Freda, who had eaten together in a small parlour reserved for the servants of guests, and Herbert carried Pixie's commode outside to gather fresh earth.

Walking out to the stables with Marcel, Valerian took note of the dark skies and the coachman admitted that unless the moon could break through the clouds their journey would be difficult.

Valerian persisted, “But if the moon were to come out, even dimly, you could follow the river, no?”

“Our beautiful Seine, it wanders through this area like a coiling snake, monsieur,” answered Marcel dubiously. “And were we to follow all the twists and turns of it, we would be like to reach the port in time for break—” He checked to a whispered “Hush!” and Valerian's hand clamping onto his arm.

Two of the clergymen were strolling towards them. They murmured polite wishes for a good evening, Marcel removed his hat and bowed, and Valerian nodded in silence as they went to confer with two grooms who were tending their carriage horses.

Looking after them Marcel murmured, “They are but priests, monsieur.”

“You know them?”

“No. Never before have I seen them.”

“Are you sure? Might they be some of the ruffians from the chateau?”

The coachman's eyes goggled. “But—no, monsieur! They are
priests!
”

“Yes, yes. But suppose those ruffians were to put on clerical garb, might they not also appear to be men of God?”

Marcel shook his head decisively. “Me, I watched the chateau with milady for several days. My eyes they are of an excellence, and I would know any of those rogues in a trice, I promise you! Monsieur is quite mistaken.”

“I hope so,” muttered Valerian. “Let's have our team poled up, Marcel. We'll get as far as we can.”

He no sooner finished the remark than Herbert came running to them, out of breath and clearly agitated. “The blue coach!” he panted. “I s-saw it again, Gervaise!”

“Show me,” said Valerian.

“It's gone now. Drove past at—at the gallop while I was refilling Pixie's box!”

Valerian left Marcel to ready the carriage and strode across the yard beside his cousin.

Now that it was fully dark it was possible to see only a short distance, and there was no sign of coach lamps along the tree-lined road.

Herbert said in frustration, “I knew how it would be! You don't believe me!”

“You're quite sure it was the same coach?”

“Yes! Beyond all doubting!”

Valerian said thoughtfully, “If they're innocent travellers they follow a strange route!”

“Yes! You see? I
told
you they've been following us!”

“So you did … And if they
are
following us they may be after Vance Clayton. Though 'tis an odd sort of father would take his small son on such a quest.”

“Perhaps to lull any suspicions.”

“Perhaps. And if they're the ones pursuing us, then I may be wrong about … Tell me more of this Sir Henry—Jupiter! What's the fellow's name again?”

“Sir Harold Walters. You met him at the smith's forge, don't you remember?”

Valerian gritted his teeth. “Thank you! I'm aware of that much, but I paid him little heed. My impression was that he was more than a little up in the world, but of a mild disposition. Scarcely the type to engage in political intrigue, though one can be deceived, of course.”

“That coach was being driven at reckless speed on night roads.”

“True. And if they realise they've overshot us, they may come back! We'll collect Skye and the girls and be on our way!”

Side by side they returned to the inn. The dining room was deserted. A shiver of warning crept down Valerian's spine. He called to a maid who was clearing the tables and she ran to answer his question. A gentleman had called, she said, and the nurse had taken him to see the elderly invalid lady and her little cat.

Valerian, ice joining the shiver between his shoulder blades, demanded, “Taken him—where?”

His tone frightened the maid, who bobbed a curtsy and stammered, “To the p-parlour, milord, b-but I'm sure there was no—”

Not waiting to discover what she was sure of, Valerian sprinted to the parlour, Herbert following.

Flinging the door open, Valerian stood rigid for an instant, petrified by the scene before him.

Elspeth was huddled on her knees beside a sofa. Sir Harold Walters bent over her, and his son was punching Vance Clayton in the back.

15

With an inarticulate snarl of rage Valerian tore across the room, his sword whipping into his hand, his face livid.

“Damn your eyes!” he raged. “Stand away from her!”

The reactions were as immediate as they were unexpected.

Sir Harold Walters spun around, saw doom rushing upon him and, with remarkable agility for so large a man, shot behind a chair, yelping, “Hi! Hi, now!”

Elspeth straightened and exclaimed in a near scream, “Gervaise!
Whatever
are you about?”

The boy left “Mrs. Newell” and ran in front of his father crying, “Let be, you wicked man! Do not
dare
touch my papa!”

Clayton sat wheezing in the Bath chair, holding a handkerchief to his streaming eyes.

Barking shrilly, a small dog raced from behind the sofa and bit Valerian on the ankle.

“Ow!” said Valerian, confused but lowering his sword. “Get away, you brute!”

“Don't
kill
him!” wailed the child, snatching up his pet and retreating with him to a far corner. “Oh, please don't kill my Tueur!”

“It appears,” said Valerian, sheathing his sword and looking from one to the other of them in bafflement, “that I labour under a false impression. Perhaps someone will be so good as to tell me what is going on here.” He walked over to give a hand to Elspeth and restore her to her feet. “For instance, why were you on your knees, ma'am?”

Eyeing him anxiously, she said, “You're limping! Did he really bite?”

“To the bone,” he replied. “That great hound is well named! I will likely perish!”

“Then you should take to your bed at once, sir,” said Sir Harold, emerging cautiously from behind the chair. “Certainly, you need to cool your temper! If ever I saw a more hot-at-hand individual!”

“If you had harmed the lady,” said Valerian grimly, “you'd really have seen a hot-at-hand individual! No, don't pitch me your gammon, sir. I'll hear it from Nurse—er,” unable to recall the name he'd bestowed on Elspeth, he extemporized, “Nurse Muslin.” Meeting her startled and amused glance, he realised he had failed to name the correct fabric.

Sir Harold folded his arms and looked affronted.

Crossing to her brother to hide her twitching lips, Elspeth sat near to him and said, “Luke's dog frightened Pixie, sir, and I was trying to coax her from under the sofa. Are you better now, er, ma'am?”

In a strangled voice Clayton gasped that he would be the better for a glass of water, and Sir Harold sent his son in search of one.

“Do you encourage your boy to beat sick old ladies?” asked Valerian.

“No such thing!” declared Sir Harold, firing up. “Mrs. Newell laughed so much when the dog was chasing the cat around the room that she had a choking fit. Luke was patting her on the back—simply trying to help, you know.”

“Your son has a heavy hand,” said Valerian dryly. “And even if what you say is truth, it does not explain why you've been following us since we left Le Havre. We followed a circuitous route that makes it impossible for you to have taken the same roads by sheer chance. We've seen you on several occasions, so pray do not deny that you
have
followed us.”

“I was not following
you,
Van Newell,” argued Sir Harold, drawing himself up haughtily.

“Considering the fact that you were well over the oar when we were first introduced,” said Valerian, “your memory is good, but your facts are faulty. “My name is Newell. No Van—just plain Newell.”

“Well, whatever your name is don't signify. As I said before, I wasn't following
you.
I was following
him!
” Sir Harold indicated Herbert, who started and stepped back in obvious apprehension. “Although,” Sir Harold added, “had I known what a firebrand accompanied him, I doubt I'd have made him the lucrative offer I had in mind!”

Sitting on the end of the sofa and dangling one foot lazily, Valerian echoed, “Lucrative—offer?”

Sir Harold nodded, then glanced uneasily at the Bath chair. “It is by way of being a—a personal matter.” His colour considerably heightened, he requested gruffly, “Perhaps the ladies would be so good as to leave us.”

Uncertain, Elspeth looked at Valerian. He hesitated, then said, “Very well, pray take my aunt in search of that long-lost glass of water, Nurse. Lieutenant Skye's about somewhere. Stay with him and don't wander off. We'll be leaving directly.”

Elspeth said a meek “Yes, sir,” and took the handles of the Bath chair.

Herbert closed the door behind them, and Valerian said curtly, “Your offer, Walters? Pray be brief, we've been sufficiently delayed by this nonsense.”

“It is not at all nonsense!” declared Sir Harold. “Faith, sir, but your manners—” Given pause by the expression on the younger man's face, he amended hastily, “At all events, you may be assured that 'tis a matter of prime importance to me. It concerns my—um … ah—my … teeth, d'you see?”

Herbert's jaw dropped.

Valerian stared incredulously. “Your …
what?
I'd have sworn you said—”

“I said, as you know very well, my
teeth!
Oh, 'tis all well and good for a young fellow like you, still in possession of a fine set, to smirk and think it a trivial matter! It ain't, I promise you! I once had a splendid mouthful. My smile, in fact, was much admired by the fair sex! But—through a series of unhappy events, I lost several, and—”

“Ladies?” interposed Herbert, fascinated.

“
Teeth,
blast your dim wits! I lost several
teeth!
”

“Good God, sir!” exploded Valerian. “If you've followed us halfway across France and back to ask for a recommendation to a good dentist—”

Sir Harold interrupted huffily, “Of course I have not! I
have
a good dentist. At least, he's proud of his skill at pouring hot lead into cavities and tearing one's rotted fangs out with a pair of pincers! But when it comes to replacing 'em—Hah! Another story!”

Battling an urge to laugh, Valerian said, “You surely must have found a competent fellow to make you a—a plate, or whatever they're called.”

“Competent, sir!
Competent?
London's full of upstarts who dub themselves
Skilled Craftsmen
in the art. What they are is charlatans, sir!
Charlatans!
To the last man! I've had two sets made—at considerable expense! One set made me look like a goat! And t'other fits well enough but the teeth are
yellow,
sir! Furthermore, they are different
shades
of
yellow!
” He added sadly, “More'n I dare do to crack a smile! Would make me a laughing-stock!”