Farrar slowed his own steps and kept an eye on his companion. Cranford was pluck to the backbone, but he’d been pushed to the limit tonight.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
Little feathers of ice seemed to shiver down Farrar’s spine. He heard Peregrine draw a hissing breath and, looking up, saw the tall, erect military figure, the cold disdainful face. He glanced swiftly to Leonard, who gave a wry shrug.
“You must not blame your butler, Farrar,” said the colonel. “Your servants were instructed not to warn you that we were here.”
Over the red-uniformed shoulder Farrar saw his aunt and Dimity standing watching, their faces pale and strained.
“Not another search, surely?” he drawled, allowing the squirming kitten to drop to the floor. “This becomes monotonous, Colonel.”
Fotheringay shrugged. “I believe it was Euripides who said that a man is known by the company he keeps.”
“Such as the crippled fellow,” said Lambert, coming up the steps behind them, pistol in hand. “By an extraordinary coincidence, sir, we encountered him while we were searching the North Downs!”
Wondering how on earth they were to get out of this, Peregrine gave a snort of indignation and his eyes shot to Dimity. “Are you all right, Mitten? I’ve seen this fellow work before!”
“In which case we can forego introductions,” said the colonel smoothly. “In view of the fact that you and your brother served with Sir Anthony in Scotland, Cranford, I suppose it is not remarkable that you should visit The Palfreys. I would be interested, however, in knowing why you both rode one horse.”
It was odd, thought Farrar, that he could detect no hint of scorn in the demeanour of a man he’d have expected to hold him in abhorrence. He said, “Cranford experienced some slight misunderstanding with his mount, Colonel. Is it really necessary that we be held at gunpoint?”
Fotheringay’s eyes flickered to Lambert’s pistol. “Are either of you armed, Farrar?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I think it unlikely that these two gentlemen pose a threat, Captain.”
Lambert stared at the colonel with obvious incredulity. “You would take his word, sir?”
The colonel answered acidly, “It has been my experience—until now, at all events—that the word of an officer in His Majesty’s service is to be trusted.”
Lambert saw the grin that was swiftly erased from his sergeant’s broad visage and knew this little episode would give the men a good laugh at his expense. He flushed and holstered his weapon, promising himself that someday he would repay Anthony Farrar for the amused twinkle he saw in the green eyes.
“I must now ask you,” said Fotheringay, “where are the rest of your guests? I believe Piers Cranford stays with you, and Gordon Chandler also?”
Was it a guess, or did he know? And did he also know Glendenning was here? Farrar decided to risk it having been a guess. “I am involved in an affaire-d’honneur, and Cranford and Chandler are conferring with the other fellow’s seconds.”
“I see. Then you’d best not tell me whom you are to fight, or I’ll be obliged to put a stop to it. Meanwhile, you and Mr. Cranford here must be searched. I presume you have no objection, Farrar? Sergeant, take the gentlemen into another room. I feel sure Sir Anthony can find one that will answer the purpose.”
Farrar nodded, and as the sergeant crossed towards them, he turned away and hissed one soft word.
Seemingly unable to move or speak, so terrified was she, Dimity watched as her brother and Farrar were escorted across the lower hall by the sergeant and a trooper. If Sir Anthony had the cypher, he was sure to be arrested. And from the ashen pallor of dear Perry’s thin face, she rather suspected he had. There was nothing to be done. Yet, how could they all be so calm, when those two fine young men were about to be dragged to torment and execution? She began to feel sick, and gave a cry of anxiety when Peregrine, who had been labouring along painfully, suddenly stumbled, fell headlong, and let out such an agonized wail as she’d never heard him utter even in those dreadful days when first he had been sent home. To her unspeakable horror, he lay doubled up and writhing on the floor. Every eye turned to him, even the colonel looking aghast. But despite her closeness to her brother, Dimity’s shocked gaze flashed to Farrar.
He was the only person in the room not looking at the convulsed man on the floor. His piercing gaze instead was fixed on her. The moment their eyes met, he looked meaningfully to where Swimmer, curled into an agitated ball on the rug, pedalled furiously at the wide scarlet ribbon about her neck. Bewildered, Dimity followed his gaze, then looked back at him, but he was now bending over Peregrine.
Dimity started to her brother, crying a distraught, “My poor dear! Are you—”
“Stay back, ma’am!” snapped Fotheringay.
“My—my curst … foot…” groaned Peregrine, clutching his leg.
Dimity, whose steps had carried her nearer to Swimmer, stooped and took up the kitten. Anthony had been trying to tell her something. He wanted her to do something with the kitten—but, what? “Is he all right? Oh, is he all right?” she cried, frantic.
Swimmer, still biting furiously at the abhorred ribbon, caught it between her sharp little teeth and gave a mighty tug.
“Sergeant, and you Trooper, assist Mr. Cranford,” said Fotheringay, unrelenting. Something about this was worrying him. He knew the feeling and it seldom played him false. Cranford looked very bad, and certainly was not the type to make such a fuss for nothing. In point of fact, he looked the kind of high-couraged young fellow who would hide his pain behind tight-locked teeth and allow not a sound to escape him. It was this atypical behaviour that disturbed! The colonel frowned and thought shrewdly that if it had been a hoax, whatever they’d hoped to achieve had failed. He’d made damned sure that no one had come near them save for his own men. What such a display would have availed them if there was something fishy afoot, he could not think. Unless Farrar hoped to so play on his sympathy that Cranford would be spared from being searched, in which case, by heaven, he’d find he had chosen the wrong man!
He put Lambert in charge of the search, and then ushered the ladies back to their seats. “I feel sure that your brother will be quite all right in a minute, Miss Cranford,” he assured the white-faced girl. “He likely has done too much, riding about like that. These amputations can be devilish tricky for a while. My goodness! Only look at this ferocious creature. May I?” He took the kitten from Dimity’s reluctant hands. He was fond of cats and put Swimmer on his knee as he sat down.
Dimity’s attention was diverted by a movement on the spiral staircase. Horatio Glendenning had started down. He glanced towards the little group, froze, backed up the steps silently, and disappeared from view. Dimity drew a breath of relief and returned her fearful gaze to the long fingers that caressed Swimmer.
* * *
Colonel Fotheringay tapped his whip against his gleaming top-boot and looked from Farrar to the drooping figure beside him. “You were very thorough, Lambert?” he asked, still unconvinced.
Fuming over the unnecessary roughness to which he and Peregrine had been subjected, Farrar adjusted his cravat and answered tersely. “The captain was so thorough I should be pleased to discuss his thoroughness with him at some time in the near future.”
Lambert gave a mocking bow.
The colonel looked from one to the other. There could be little doubt but that they shared a mutual dislike. Lambert was by nature vindictive and would have been only too pleased to have discovered something to cause trouble for these men. Once again, thought Fotheringay, he had been given false information. He was irritated, for he did not enjoy frightening the innocent, especially a crippled ex-soldier, and poor Cranford looked totally spent. “My apologies, Sir Anthony,” he said, making his mind up quickly as was his wont. “Mr. Cranford, you will do well to get to your bed.” Stalking out of the library, he paused, one hand on the latch. “A word of advice, Farrar. Be very careful with whom you associate
in future.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” said Farrar, yearning to plant his knuckles in Lambert’s sneer.
Fotheringay lifted his whip in a gesture of salute and led his men out.
Peregrine straightened as the door closed. “Lord save us all! That was—”
“Hush!” Farrar hurried to listen intently, then open the door a crack.
In a minute or two the impatient dance of many hoofs could be heard on the drivepath.
Leonard hurried along the hall. Farrar said softly, “Make sure they are all gone, if you please.”
The butler nodded and retraced his steps.
Farrar closed the door and turned back to Peregrine. “You were saying?”
“Strip and stap me, Tony! What the devil did you do with it? I know it was in your waistcoat pocket when we walked up the steps!”
“I think you do not appreciate that I have a magician’s blood in my veins.” Farrar chuckled. “Come. I’ll tell you, but first let’s set your wonderful sister’s mind at ease. She was fairly beside herself with worry for her suffering brother. Will you fly into a rage an I offer my arm?”
Peregrine was too tired for pride and accepted the offered aid gratefully, but hobbled along, grumbling, because Farrar was so uncommunicative.
As they entered the music hall, Leonard hurried in to confirm that the soldiers were out of sight.
“Then I want the candles left burning and curtains open in the kitchens and library, but draw all the other downstairs curtains,” said Farrar. “And lock all the doors and windows. We want no more uninvited guests tonight!”
Leonard hurried away. Dimity had run to Peregrine meanwhile, and now sat holding his hand solicitously as he sprawled on the sofa.
Farrar glanced at them, then went to his aunt. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are they gone?” Horatio Glendenning came hurrying down the stairs. “What the deuce has been—”
Lady Helen stood, holding up one hand. “No, no, I beg you! I have no least wish to know what is going on and am only grateful that we seem to have survived our unpleasant invasion. I must ask you all to excuse me, for I am very tired, and shall go to bed. Miss Cranford, do you care to come up?”
Dimity indicating that she would prefer to wait until Piers and Chandler came home, my lady bade them all good night, and Farrar ushered her to the stairs. She took the candle he lit for her but did not at once leave him, standing on the bottom step and staring sombrely at the small flame.
“I am sorry you were subjected to such an ordeal,” he said gently. “Were you very much frightened when Colonel Fotheringay came?”
“Not at first. I was grateful, for that handsome young captain is a bullying creature—loud and violent. And violent people always frighten me. I dread to think what might have happened had the colonel not come when he did, for Miss Cranford had smacked the captain very hard, and—”
Farrar tensed. “What? Why? What did he do to her?”
She saw rage in his eyes and said thoughtfully, “He tried to prevent her going to poor Leonard, who had been tripped. He was rough and crude, but the colonel put a quick stop to it. Farrar, I do not ask any details, you understand, but—is poor Glendenning in terrible trouble?”
His blazing wrath cooled. “He is over the worst of it, I believe.”
“Thanks to you.”
“No, no. I did very little.”
“I think that is not so, but I am glad you were able to help. He is a splendid young man.”
“Yes.”
“And deeply in love with Miss Cranford, I suspect.”
His thick lashes lowered, concealing his eyes. “Yes.”
“She is a delightful girl,” my lady went on gravely. “It would be very sad if … grief were to spoil her life.”
He looked up at that and said with his wry smile, “It will not come to her by any of my doing, I promise you.”
She watched him steadily for another moment, then started up the stairs.
“Aunt.”
“Yes?” she asked, over her shoulder.
“Do you still mean to leave me?”
She hesitated. “Not while Miss Cranford is here, certainly.”
“Thank you. Why did you never ask me whether—whether I killed Harding.”
She turned her head away and the hand holding the candle shook a little.
Not turning, she answered almost in a whisper, “I think because—because I was so very afraid of … of what would be your answer.”
“And so judged me on hearsay.” He reached up to clasp her arm and said wistfully, “Oh, my dear, how could you think it of me? Harding and I had our differences, but—”
“Differences!” She whirled at that. A flame lighting her eyes and her voice low and fierce, she said, “Do you take me for a blind fool, Farrar? Harding hated you! And to my sorrow I know you fully reciprocated his feelings!” And she turned before he could say another word and went swiftly up the stairs.
For a moment Farrar stared after her, then, rather heavily, he went back across the long room to join his guests.
Leonard had returned with a tray and was handing glasses around, wherefore conversation was restricted and Peregrine, looking ready to explode, was necessarily silent.
The butler assured his employer that his orders were being carried out and that only one maid had succumbed to hysterics. Farrar thanked him, apologized for the rough handling he had received, and sent him off to bed.
When the man’s footsteps had died away, Peregrine uttered an exasperated, “At last! Mitten won’t say anything, and Glendenning don’t know anything! For Lord’s sake—”
Farrar stood, holding up his glass and looking at Dimity with an admiring smile. “Gentlemen, I give you a toast.”
“Toast, is it,” groaned Peregrine, struggling to his feet again. “Burn it, Farrar, if you ain’t the most infuriating—”
“Two toasts,” Farrar corrected, his smile broadening. “To a consummate actor!” He bowed to Peregrine.
“Too consummate,” said Dimity, sipping her wine. “Though I might have known it was not like you to give way, dearest.”
“I was good, wasn’t I?” said Peregrine with schoolboy pride. “Always thought I’d like to have a crack at treading the boards.”
“To Perry,” said Glendenning, bewildered as he drank the toast. “What did he do?”
“Oh, that’s right, you missed it, Tio. Well, Farrar whispered—’Diversion!’—so I went into a death scene would have made Garrick envious!”
“Why?” asked Glendenning.
Peregrine frowned. “You’ve a point. Why, Tony?”
“Which brings me to my second toast,” said Farrar. “To a lady who is as brave as she is beautiful, and without whose quick wit, you and I, Cranford, would most assuredly be en route to our deaths tonight!”
Dimity blushed as all three men toasted her, but Peregrine said a disgruntled, “Mitten’s a good girl, but be dashed if I can see what she’d to do with it.”
“Your truly magnificent ‘death scene’ gave me the chance to get a message to her,” said Farrar.
“What a rasper!” exclaimed Peregrine. “You were nowhere near her!”
“He looked at me,” said Dimity.
Peregrine’s jaw dropped. “He … looked at you? Oh, come now, Mitten! I’ve heard of speaking looks, but—”
“’Twas a very speaking look,” she said with a twinkle. “And then he looked at Swimmer in such a way that I knew he wanted me to do something with her, but I could not think—”
“Swimmer!” interpolated Peregrine excitedly. “You were holding her when we come in, Farrar! Did you shove the cypher down her little gullet, then?”
Farrar laughed. “No, you fiend!”
“Cypher?” Glendenning who had been looking downcast for several reasons, brightened and cried, “Never say you were able to find it?”
“By Jove, but we were,” declared Peregrine. “Or at
least, Farrar was. Though where the dratted thing is at this moment I’ve not the faintest notion.”
Dimity turned away and reached into her bodice. “Here it is,” she said, holding the cypher on the palm of her hand.
“Be damned!” Peregrine took the fateful piece of parchment. “It is! Then—where had you hid it, Farrar?”
“In Swimmer’s riband.”
“But—when? ’Twas in your pocket when we come up the steps. How could you possibly…?”
Farrar chuckled. “You’ll recollect you remarked on my stableboy’s having been so prompt when we rid in? It struck me as odd, and he seemed stiff. He’s usually a garrulous brat but he said not a word. When he took Poli’s reins, his hands were like ice, though the night is not cold. I realized then that he was very afraid. And when Leonard let us in and was so solemn, I knew something was wrong. I think he has never opened that door to me without a smile. So I wound the cypher into the riband as we stepped inside.”
“Jolly good,” said Peregrine. “Thank God we have it safe again!”
“Amen!” said Dimity. “How I have worried! An it was lost, t’would have been my fault.”
Ever loyal, Glendenning exclaimed, “Fiddlesticks! You have been wonderful, as always, Mitten, and I’m more obliged to you than I can say.”
The tenderness in his face when he looked at Dimity was betraying. Farrar thought of his aunt’s words, “…he is a splendid young man … and deeply in love with Miss Cranford…” There could be little doubt but that she had been right. He stifled a sigh. Tio, he told himself, heavy-hearted, would be a very good husband for her.
“For the life of me,” muttered Peregrine, frowning over the poem, “I do not see why this silly thing could not have been committed to memory. So much simpler.”
“But quite impossible, apparently. Treve was adamant that it is to be destroyed only in the event of imminent death or arrest.” Taking the parchment, Glendenning added, “Farrar must have thought very fast.”
Farrar explained, “I daren’t take the chance of waiting, you see—”
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