by Amanda Scott
Manningford stared at the money. “Where the devil—”
“Races,” Mr. Lasenby said. “Knew instantly—highest race course, High Flier—couldn’t miss, could he? Decided days ago. But thirty to one!” He sighed appreciatively. “And now Miss Wembly to wed Cardhall. Astonishing how everything can come right once Fate takes a hand in one’s affairs, ain’t it?”
“You put that whole monkey on the Regent’s sorry nag? By God, Sep, I ought to thrash some sense into you. I never heard of such a thing!”
“Don’t suppose you have,” Mr. Lasenby agreed. “Vision, that’s what it was, sure as check. I’ll have that wine now. Daresay after that, I’ll put up my feet and count my money.”
The other two gentlemen quickly disabused him of that notion by explaining that that very night they meant, one way or another, to discover the truth about the wager and Nigel’s duel.
After hearing all they had to say, Mr. Lasenby nodded and said, “Well, I daresay you’ll need me along to see it all comes right. Angel on my shoulder today, dashed if there ain’t!”
Shaking their heads at him, the other two bore him off to the dining room to fortify themselves for the ordeal ahead, and it was dark by the time they left the house. They encountered their first obstacle, however, when Manningford’s phaeton was brought around from the stable with Max perched on the seat next to the groom. The dog flatly refused to comprehend that his master desired him to remain behind.
“Daresay we’d better walk, after all,” Mr. Lasenby said.
“Not on your life,” Manningford retorted. “You, for one, won’t want to be walking about where those bailiffs can see you, for it won’t matter to them that you can pay your debts. They’ve got orders to collect you, and that’s all they’ll care about.”
“Doubt they know my face, but if they do, can see me just as well in your phaeton. Sooner with that hound up between us.”
“No, they won’t, and we’ll need the phaeton to go ’round to the inns afterward to find Jarvis and confront him with whatever we discover at the club. Nell didn’t say where he is putting up, but I daresay it will be the York House or the Swan. You won’t want to be walking from Kingsmeade Square all that distance and back to the crescent, and if you think we shall find chairs for three of us anywhere near Avon Street, you’re wrong.”
“Don’t suppose we shall. But, dash it, we don’t want the dog. Here, groom, take him.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but he’s got no lead, and he don’t want ter come.”
“Never mind,” Manningford said. “He’ll stay under the seat, and if I tell him to stay in the phaeton when we go in, he will.”
Nigel looked on in amusement, offering no comment, but Mr. Lasenby protested. “Dash it, Bran, he’ll create a ruckus in the street, is what he’ll do.”
“No, he won’t, Sep. You must not have noticed, but he hasn’t done so for some time now. He’ll behave, won’t you, boy? Smartest hunting dog in all England, remember, Sep?”
But Mr. Lasenby only shook his head. Max was agreeable, however, to curling up under their feet, and the three gentlemen made themselves as comfortable as they might on a seat built to accommodate two persons. When they reached Kingsmeade Square, Manningford looked about unsuccessfully for a linkboy to hold the horses, but there didn’t seem to be one about.
Chuckling, Nigel said, “Perhaps it’s as well you brought the damned dog. He’ll at least deter would-be thieves. Or should one of us stay with the rig?”
“No,” Manningford decided. “Best if we all go in. This pair will stand readily enough if I tie a line to the area railing. Impedes the flagway somewhat, but we’ll not heed that. There are times, though, when one wishes this city were more accommodating to carriages.”
The porter, opening the door to them, recognized Manningford and Mr. Lasenby if not Nigel, and let them in without comment, although he did look askance at the phaeton. “Like me to send a lad to take that rig round to the stables, sir?”
“No, I don’t,” Manningford said. “We’ll not be long.”
The porter nodded and moved back to his chair, and the three went up the broad stair at the far end of the entrance hall to the floor above, where Manningford knew an office was located. They passed the supper room, closed now, and moved on past a card room where four elderly gentlemen sat over a game of whist. A short distance farther, they came upon a door that was shut.
“This is it,” Manningford said. He tapped on the door, and a voice from within bade them enter.
When he opened the door, they found themselves confronting the club secretary, a heavyset, well-dressed man, who sat behind a large desk in the spacious office. “Name’s Wolsey,” he said, getting to his feet, “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
They stepped inside and let the door swing to behind them before another voice was heard. “An excellent question, Wolsey,” Jarvis Bradbourne said, stepping out from behind the door and smiling as the three turned sharply to face him. “Good God,” he added, the smile vanishing, “is that you, Nigel? How very foolish, dear boy!” He gestured meaningfully with the pistol he held. “Put your hands in the air, all of you.”
Nigel glared at him. “I’m very glad to see you, Jarvis.”
“Are you? And here I thought your sister was to have kept me away from here tonight. Unfortunately, she reckoned without the extreme curiosity of the lower classes to gawk at their betters. Not a single ticket to be had, nor a box. Indeed, she ought not to have suggested the latter, for it was bound to arouse my suspicions, you know. And if it had not, her spirited attempt to keep me at her side must have done so. She insisted that I accompany them all the way to the theater, but that is only a few blocks from here, so I did not mind in the least. Now, please do as I ask and put up your hands, all of you. I should very much dislike having to shoot anyone.”
“It would do you no good,” Nigel said. “Your game is up, for you cannot possibly think I would sign over Highgate to you now, and no court in the land will honor a wager set down in this club’s betting book once it’s known that some if not all of the contents have been falsified.”
“Do you know,” Jarvis said, “I doubt his highness would willingly present himself in a chancery court to testify on your behalf, but it really does not signify, for I believe I hold all the cards at the moment, and you will do just as I ask.”
“I won’t,” Nigel said, “and you can hardly think that shooting me will change that.”
“Ah,” Jarvis replied, “but will you be so sanguine about my shooting, say, first Lasenby and then Manningford? I think not.”
Mr. Lasenby said indignantly, “Well, I should think not, as well. What a thing to suggest! You must be mad, man.”
“If I am,” Jarvis said, shifting the pistol in his direction, “it will make no difference to you.”
XV
NELL, HAVING FAILED IN her determination to keep Jarvis at her side, found it impossible to fix her attention on the play, and so, before the first act was over, she and Lady Flavia hired a pair of chairs and left the theater. There was a brief discussion about the route they would take back to Laura Place, Lady Flavia pointing out that to go by way of Beauford Square and the Borough Wall, though a hilly route not beloved of chairmen, was perhaps safer than Monmouth Street which passed through the northeast corner of Kingsmeade Square at the top of Avon Street.
“Now, ma’am,” Nell said. “You know ’tis the route you usually take. You are perhaps afraid of what we might find in Kingsmeade Square, but ’tis early yet, and I promise you, I mean only to see if there is anything to be seen, nothing more.”
She was sincere in making her promise, but when they reached that part of the square opposite the Bees-Waxers’ to see, tied to the area railing across the way, a phaeton with a large familiar-looking hound perched on the driver’s seat, looking for all the world as though it meant to gather up the reins and drive away, Nell called to the bearers to set down their chairs.
“Aunt Flavi
a,” she said as soon as this had been done and the men dismissed, “that is Max. They are still here, and I cannot help but feel that Jarvis must be here too, which cannot be a good thing for Nigel or anyone else. We must do something.”
“But what can we do, my dear?” she demanded, casting a suspicious glance at a pair of loafers leaning against an area rail across the square. “Ladies do not enter gentlemen’s clubs.”
“I shall not let such a trifle as that dissuade me,” Nell said resolutely. “Only think how we should feel if anyone were hurt merely because we refused to conquer some silly scruple!”
“But, really, Nell—”
“Will you abandon me, ma’am?”
“No, certainly not, but how shall we gain entrance? I daresay there is a porter, you know, and if he bars the door to us, that will be that. We could not threaten him at the point of a gun, after all.”
“Not even if we had my pistol,” Nell agreed, smiling at her.
“Well, we do have it,” Lady Flavia said, hefting her reticule. “I took the precaution of bringing it because of Maria Prudham’s having had that most distressing experience.”
“My pistol?”
“Well, yes. Botten knew where you kept it, you see. I should have mentioned it to you, perhaps, but I did not want you to fret. I have borrowed it once or twice before when I have gone out to pay calls. So sensible, I thought. Such a comfort, knowing it is there in one’s reticule.”
“But, ma’am, you do not even know how to fire it!”
Lady Flavia shrugged. “One points and pulls the trigger, does one not? I confess, I did not know if you had loaded it.”
“I did,” Nell said with a chuckle. “You are the most complete hand, ma’am. You must keep it, too. My bag is too small to conceal it. I suppose I ought to have wondered why you were carrying that great cloth thing. But come, we must try what we can do to gain entrance to that place, and without, I think, flourishing the pistol. We will make enough stir as it is.”
Mounting the steps, she pulled the bell, and when the door was opened, she said with an agitated manner, “Sorry to trouble you, but I must find my brother, and I believe he is within.”
“No females,” the porter said staunchly. “What is his name, madam? I’ll send someone to fetch him out to you.”
“No, no, that will not do! I cannot be standing here upon your step. It is not at all the thing, my good man. This area is not safe. Only look at those two ruffians across the way! You cannot leave two ladies standing here like this.”
“Ladies oughtn’t to come here at all,” he said, looking where she pointed. “Them men be harmless. Came and wanted to look over the place, they did, but we don’t allow just anyone in, you know. Didn’t know ’em at all, and the fellow they be asking about ain’t a member here. Still and all, been a-standing there this past twenty minutes and more, they have, just a-watching.”
“Well, you cannot leave us standing out here.”
He showed no sign of giving way, however, and the argument might have lasted a good deal longer, had another party not been heard from. But Max, recognizing a familiar voice, accepted it as an invitation to leap down from the phaeton and, baying in delight, came bounding up the steps to greet Nell.
“Oh, Max! Down sir!” she cried as the dog tried to jump up to lick her face.
At the same time, the porter snapped, “Here, get that hound out of here! Fine goings-on. Scat, you!”
Not liking his tone, Max turned toward him and growled, and when the man stiffened with alarm and stepped back away from him, Max took the movement as a sign of encouragement and growled louder, showing teeth.
“Here! Hold that dog! Looks vicious to me.”
“Well, he is,” Nell said instantly, “and I cannot hold him. As you see, he has no lead, and he is much too strong for me, in any case. You will simply have to let us in.”
“Oh, no, I will not,” he said, beginning to shut the door.
Seeing the prey about to disappear, Max leapt at the door, pushed it open, and sent the porter sprawling. Making no further effort to defend the place, the man scrambled out of his way, and the two ladies passed unmolested the hall.
“Find the master, Max,” Nell said urgently. “Find him!”
Max pricked up his ears, wagged his tail, and turned toward the stairs with Nell and Lady Flavia following in his wake. Until he reached the landing and turned down a corridor, he moved at no more than a trot, sniffing the air as though casting about for a scent, but when he had passed the card room, a sound from farther up the corridor galvanized him suddenly into action. Racing ahead, he flung himself at a half-open door.
His entrance was greeted by an uproar of male voices, but Manningford’s was heard above all the others when he roared, “To heel, Max! Now, sir!”
Nell, having passed the card room without drawing so much as a glance from its four murmuring inhabitants, reached the doorway in time to hear next her cousin’s soft voice, saying, “Very wise, Manningford. I should have disliked killing him. Really, the porter was very careless to have let him in. But now, Nigel, I do hope you will get on with signing those papers. My patience is wearing a trifle thin.”
From where Nell stood, she had an oblique view of the room and could now see Manningford and Mr. Lasenby, but not Jarvis or Nigel. Then, as she stepped forward, she caught a glimpse of another, unknown man, seated at a desk, and stepped hastily back. She knew Manningford had seen her but thought Mr. Lasenby had not. Glancing at Lady Flavia, she hesitated uncertainly.
Lady Flavia looked up and down the empty corridor, tiptoed back to peep into the card room, nodded in satisfaction, and came back, silently taking the pistol from her reticule.
Nell’s eyes widened and, frantically, she shook her head.
Putting a finger to her lips, Lady Flavia moved up beside her, close to the doorway. Nigel’s voice could be heard now.
“Before I sign anything, Jarvis, I want to know the truth about that damned duel. I am quite certain now that that affair did not proceed as you described it to me.”
“Perhaps it did not, dear boy, but if you expect me to say anything different at this late date, much less before witnesses, you are quite beside the bridge.”
“It is my belief you shot Bygrave yourself in order to keep him from telling the truth about the wager.”
“And what—just out of curiosity, you understand—does your fertile imagination suggest might be this truth you speak of?”
“That your father, knowing the betting book had already been falsified—and he must have known since he was one of the owners of the place—decided to falsify it again to serve his own end, by bribing Bygrave to change the wording, either to cheat my father, or merely as a joke. You took advantage of it after Reginald died and then decided you had to shut up Bygrave rather than chance his revealing the truth later.”
Jarvis shrugged. “If I made a mistake that night, it was in getting you out of the country. You can have no notion what a deal of trouble that caused me. I’d no idea your father would shoot himself, and afterward there was probate to be got through before anything could be done about the wager, and I hadn’t a notion where you were and no real wish to try my luck with a Chancery Court, though I did think that threat would encourage Nell to look favorably upon my suit. If she had, I might have bided my time, knowing it would all come to me in the end.”
“I might have married,” Nigel said.
“Oh, my dear boy, surely not with a cloud over your head. Careless you have always been, but you know as well as I what is due to your name, just as I fancy you know you must honor your father’s wager, for it was quite real. If your irresponsible parent did not read the thing before signing it, that does not make it any the less binding, between gentlemen.”
Manningford said sharply, “Hardly a gentlemanly thing to try to cheat a member of your own family out of his birthright.”
Coldly, Jarvis said, “I think I will shoot you first, Manningford. You have been som
ething of a thorn in my side.”
Impulsively, Nell stepped forward, but even as she did, she was shoved aside by Lady Flavia, who pushed past her into the room, brandishing the pistol wildly in Jarvis’s direction as she snapped, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!”
Involuntarily, he swung his weapon toward her; whereupon, startled by the movement, she pressed her trigger, discharging the pistol and sending a bullet whistling past his right ear. Wolsey, still seated behind the desk, yanked open a drawer and reached inside; and Manningford leapt into action. Flinging a nearby small chair at Wolsey, he did not so much as pause to see if it struck him before turning his attention to Jarvis.
One quick stride closed the distance between them. Then, grabbing Jarvis’s pistol hand before the astonished man had recovered from the shock of Lady Flavia’s shot, Manningford gave it a twist. To everyone’s amazement, Jarvis seemed to turn a somersault in mid-air before crashing to the floor, where, since his head hit with rather a bang, he lay like one dead.
Taking advantage of Wolsey’s surprise at having a chair flung at him, Nigel had dealt roughly but effectively with the man, while Max, teeth bared and clearly believing he was helping, held a furious Mr. Lasenby quite motionless.
Into the sudden silence that fell, Manningford, gently taking the pistol from Lady Flavia’s hand, said, “You never cease to astonish me, ma’am.”
“But I didn’t really do a thing,” she protested. “It simply went off! And what on earth did you do to Jarvis? Is he dead?”
“No, he seems to be breathing well enough,” he said, gazing dispassionately down at his victim. “It was a little trick I learned from Sydney Saint-Denis, but I still haven’t quite got it right. When Sydney or that man of his does it, whoever goes flying always gets up again straightaway. I shall have to ask them what I did wrong.”