The Mandarin of Mayfair

by Patricia Veryan

  "You must not name such a great gift 'foolish,' for God has given you very lovely eyes. And how could I manage without you arranging for the chair and helping me to slip out by the back stairs, and pretend I was gone to bed?" Gwendolyn squeezed her hand and said thoughtfully, "Besides, I did learn something. Though whether 'tis important or not, I don't know."

  Katrina asked eagerly, "Tell me! No—do not. Begin at the beginning. Did you sell any posies? Did the gentlemen question your speech?"

  "I spoke just as we rehearsed, and I think no one suspected. And I did sell some posies, though I was like to swooning when August came and—"

  Katrina gave a hurriedly smothered shriek. "August? Oh, my heavens! Did he see you?"

  "Oh, yes." Gwendolyn was warmer now, and she removed the blanket from her shoulders. "He tugged my chin up and looked at me." She giggled at the memory. "You should only have seen how quickly he drew back."

  Awed, Katrina half-whispered, "You must have been terrified!"

  "Well, I was rather frightened for a minute. But as you said, it was dark and foggy, and how should he suspect the poor little flower-girl was me?" She smiled faintly. "He bought one of my nosegays."

  "He never did! You're teasing!"

  "No. I swear it. In fact, he gave me that guinea."

  Katrina frowned at the coin that lay on the dressing table. "The wicked rogue!"

  "No. That was not his thought."

  "It wasn't?" Katrina scanned the rather pensive smile curiously. "Then—whatever did he say?"

  For a moment Gwendolyn did not answer. Then she said, "He was rather amazingly kind. He told me to go home." She took up the coin. " 'Twas a side of Mr. August Falcon I've not seen before."

  "You'll see another side if ever he learns of this! And so will I. Lud, but I dare not think of it! Did anyone else buy posies?"

  "Yes. An older gentleman I did not know. And one other." She frowned. "He was drunk I think, and rather horrid. But luckily, my chairmen came around the corner then, and I ran and he went reeling off."

  "Oh! What an adventure! Did you see any rioters?"

  Gwendolyn shook her head, and drew a little silver-chased pistol from the pocket of her ragged skirt. "But I was prepared."

  Staring at the weapon, Katrina shivered. "Do you really think you would be able to use it? I am very sure I could not pull the trigger."

  "I think if I just brandished it about, I'd not have to shoot. Gentlemen are always terrified to see a pistol in the hand of a female."

  "Yes, but you might not be faced by a gentleman. Some of the rioters I've seen look more like savages."

  "Well… in that event, I suppose I might really have to use the horrid thing."

  Awed by such resolution, Katrina said, "Tell me what it is that you learned."

  "Well, you know that they suspect Gilbert Fowles of being a member of the League?"

  "Yes. Such a silly creature, too. Was he there?"

  "He left soon after your brother arrived. And do you know, Trina, I thought it rather odd. No one seemed to be following August. But when Mr. Fowles left, I distinctly saw a man come out of the fog and slink after him."

  They looked at each other uncertainly.

  Katrina said, "It might have been one of Tummet's spies, I suppose. Or perhaps a pickpocket. Or even some ruffian Mr. Fowles had hired as a guard, with the streets so unsafe as they are."

  "Hmm. Somehow, he didn't look like a pickpocket. And if he was a guard I cannot think he would have ducked into a doorway when Mr. Fowles glanced back, as he did once."

  "That does sound odd. Do you think he was supposed to follow my brother and made a mistake?"

  "Good gracious, no! Anyone who could mistake that scrawny Gilbert Fowles for August would have to be half blind! He has no grace when he walks, and the set of his shoulders is a far cry from—" Gwendolyn checked abruptly, then said, "I think I must tell Tummet about it."

  Katrina's eyes opened wide. "How ever can you do that? He would be as horrified as my brother to know what you are about, and would tell him at once!"

  "Oh dear, I suppose that is true. But if we ever do learn anything important, we shall have to pass the information along somehow. Gracious! I had not stopped to think of that. How very tiresome it is that the gentlemen are so selfish and always want to keep their adventures to themselves!"

  Chapter 4

  It was peaceful in the book room on this unseasonably bright morning, and Gwendolyn hummed to herself as she perched on the ladder, riffling through the pages of a slim volume. She heard a familiar and loved voice, and glanced up, disquieted by the brusque tone.

  "Yes, indeed, Pearsall. A relief to be rid of rain and fog for a change. I must see Mr. August at once… No, do not announce me, I'll go straight up."

  There came the polite murmur of the butler's voice, then a shadow crossed the open door. "Gideon!" called Gwendolyn, setting her book atop the other volumes on the shelf.

  Her brother's tall figure was briefly silhouetted against the pale sunlight that flooded through the dining room windows across the corridor, then he came striding in, smiling, and reaching up to lift her down.

  "Cheerful sparrow!" he exclaimed, swinging her around and giving her a smacking kiss. "You're early abroad, and in search of knowledge, I see."

  She clung to his arm, looking up lovingly into the face of this brother who was closest to her heart. "I wanted a book. And if August sees me in here he takes it for granted I am preparing to tease him about China again."

  His laugh was a trifle forced. "And are you, scamp? You really should not, you know. 'Tis not as if he was family, and he has enough to bear on that suit."

  "Most of which he brings on himself by being so impossibly proud and—Oh, never mind." She sat on the sofa. "Will you reach down the book for me, please, love? 'Tis so good to see you. Did Papa send you to fetch me home?"

  "No. He's off to the shipyards." He retrieved her book and glanced at it curiously as he wandered over to sit beside her. "Cornwall? Has Falcon been telling you of his exploits out there? Or has Mrs. Armitage piqued your interest in her birthplace?"

  "I've only met Jennifer Armitage twice. She is the sweetest creature. Jonathan must be very happy to have won her. As for August, he is close-mouthed as any oyster, and says only that the wind blew most of the hair from his head, and that Johnny almost got him killed, and that 'twas a great bore, except for when Johnny sailed an ark down the face of a sheer cliff!" She asked an amused, "Is there any least vestige of truth in it, Gideon?"

  "Oh, yes. Though not quite in the way Falcon would tell it. 'Tis a long story, Gwen, but from what I hear, he did jolly well—for such a confirmed cynic. In fact"—he glanced to the open door and lowered his voice—"don't tell him I told you, but he saved Jamie's life."

  Her voice squeaked with pleased surprise. "August did?"

  Rossiter nodded. "Morris told me that he'd have been knifed in the back had not Falcon pushed him aside and dashed near taken the blade himself." His lips tightened. "As you may guess, Falcon says the only reason he did it was to make sure Jamie keeps alive long enough for their much delayed duel."

  "You believe that?"

  He said thoughtfully, "Its hard to guess what goes on in his head. He's a law unto himself, in many ways. Each time I think I know him a little better, he does or says something outrageous, and I am all at sea again."

  "Yes, I know. But one cannot judge by what he says. Only by what he does. And—you do like him a little, Gideon?"

  She was looking at him anxiously. He felt a stirring of unease. Falcon was such a damnably handsome fellow, but none of the ladies who had been so unwise as to give their hearts to him had for very long held his affection, and two were said to have gone into a most serious decline. He gave himself a mental shake. Falcon's conquests were without fail poised and dashing beauties, either married or widowed. The single maidens of Quality who had fallen under his spell had done so with small encouragement from him, and he likely viewed dear little
Gwen only as his sister's rather irritating friend. Besides, Gwen herself had often said she'd no least interest in a romantical attachment. Poor mite.

  Reassured, he smiled and answered, "Cautiously—yes, I have come to like him. Mayhap his loyalty to us has lasted only because he loves the excitement and danger of the game. At times his arrogance and cynicism make me yearn to strangle him. But he is high couraged and loyal, and has served us well, and I cannot but be grateful for that. Here." He passed the book to her. "I fancy this will tell you about the weather and some of the history of Cornwall. 'Tis a wild coast, I've heard."

  "Yes." She looked at the book rather blankly, then said, "I was more interested in the people. They say many of the old superstitions still flourish down there. Do you know aught of them, Gideon?"

  "Very little. Tio does, though. He has quite an interest in that sort of mumbo-jumbo. If you really want to know about it, you should probably talk to Jennifer Armitage when Johnny next brings her to Town. Now tell me about yourself." He touched her cheek. "You look a trifle wan. Too many late nights, naughty girl? Perhaps I should take you home!"

  "Foolish boy. You know I seldom go to ton parties. Must I come home? Mrs. Dudley chaperones us, you know." He granted and looked dubious, and she went on quickly, "Katrina is very kind and presses me to stay here. She misses Naomi, I think, since you bewitched her into marrying you. And how thoughtless I am! How is my new sister?"

  His gray eyes brightened. "Much better, thank goodness, and able to eat breakfast! I'd hoped to move her to Emerald Farm, but—well, the fire put an end to that, for now, at least. Still, I mean to get her out of London after you become an aunt, m'dear."

  She said with real enthusiasm, "I can hardly wait!"

  They both stood, and, hugging her, he said fondly, "Don't stay away too long, little Gwen. We miss you."

  "And I you, dearest. Why are you cross?"

  He was seething, but said blandly, "I had thought I was at my charming best. Alas, there is no pleasing—"

  "There is no hoaxing me where you are concerned. You are properly into the boughs. Pray do not call him out for whatever he has done!"

  He looked searchingly into her sweet face. "Would it distress you if I did, Gwen?"

  "You know it would," she said pertly, but with an odd twist of the heart. "I value my brother."

  "Oho! So you fancy me no match for him, do you? A fine family loyalty!"

  Abruptly grave, she said, "You are more than a match for August Falcon on every suit but one, Gideon. If rumour speaks truly, he is one of the finest swordsmen in England. And you, my dearest, have a beautiful lady and a new little life to live for."

  "And one or two other people I chance to care about," he said, laughingly. "But never fret, I've no intention to challenge the mighty warrior."

  "Good," said Gwendolyn, walking to the door with him. "Then be so kind as to detain him for as long as you can."

  He turned back, eyebrows raised. "Why? Gwen? I know that pixie look! What—"And with sudden suspicion, "Where is Katrina?"

  "At the moment? I have no notion." She added with a twinkle, "Save that she is out riding. With Jamie."

  "Lord save us all," muttered Gideon, and went up the stairs.

  Tummet was gathering up newspapers in Falcon's private parlour, and when he saw Rossiter walk in, he said with a grin, " 'Morning, yer Guv-ship! I was just—er…" He knew that set to the firm jaw, and left the sentence unfinished.

  Rossiter smiled, but jerked his head to the door, and Tummet said under his breath, "What a fright! Goodnight!" and took himself off.

  Still wearing a dressing gown of quilted purple satin, Falcon sat at the mahogany desk in his great bedchamber, busily engaged in cleaning a fine holster pistol. He set the gun down and stood, smiling a welcome. "Just the man I need."

  "What the devil d'you think you're doing?" demanded Rossiter, his voice clipped and angry.

  Falcon's chin lifted and his eyes became bleak. He leaned back against the desk and folded his arms. "Is your eyesight failing? My occupation, I would think perfectly obvious."

  "And your memory abominably short." Rossiter stamped to a chair and straddled it, glaring at Falcon over the back. "You gave me your word, August!"

  "Ah," said Falcon softly. "So you heard."

  "I heard you went to The Madrigal last evening in search of a quarrel—"

  "As is my wont? I feel sure that was added to the recital of my sins."

  "—and that having failed to provoke Eckington into fighting you—"

  "Well, but he is a dreadfully cautious fellow, you know."

  "—you made such a fool of Rafe Green, although you must have seen he was well over the oar, that he had no choice but to call you out!"

  "There is no justice," sighed Falcon. "You say nought of how gallantly I rescued poor dear Reggie Smythe."

  "I know damned well you'd not lift a finger to rescue him! You loathe the reptile."

  "An apt description." Laughing, Falcon threw up one hand. "No, Gideon. Do not rant. I gave you my word not to fight Morris; at least, till our struggle with the League is won."

  "I'd not realized," said Rossiter bitterly, "that gave you carte blanche to annihilate the rest of the human race."

  "But my dear fellow, Rafe Green is not of the human race."

  "Damn you, August! You know how much we need you! This is no time to be calling out everyone who annoys you."

  Inspecting his fingernails, Falcon murmured, "I presume your informant was Morris. Did he also tell you what Green said?"

  "I've not seen Morris today. Kadenworthy told me that Green insulted your sister, but—"

  Falcon's dark head jerked up. He snapped, "Had he done so, I'd have had his heart out there and then! Green uttered a crude remark about—" His eyes widened. He said in a half-whisper, "Sacrebleu! I never thought—"

  Watching him uneasily, Rossiter saw one long hand clench hard. "My apologies that I misunderstood."

  "You did." Falcon took a steadying breath, but he had paled. "And I shall have a talk with Kadenworthy. He should know better than to bandy Katrina's name about!"

  "Oh, burn it! Kade meant no harm. He was trying to explain your crazy antics at The Madrigal. Nothing more, I promise you!" Falcon turned his head and looked straight at him and Rossiter was shocked by the glare in those deep eyes. "Good God, August! Green is a boor but—he was drunk, man! If you kill him you'll have to leave the country for six months, and—"

  "But I have your permission to kill him at a more—ah, opportune time. Is that it?"

  "No, blast you!"

  "And I suppose had some great filthy oaf made a disparaging remark about Miss Gwendolyn in a gentlemen's club, you'd smile and kiss his foot? Hah! I wish I may see it!"

  Rossiter frowned. "In that event, of course— But perchance Kade misinterpreted—"

  "No. I think I am the one to have done so. Which will be dealt with." Falcon laughed suddenly. "Now, do stop behaving as if I were a lowly private and you a major-general! I'll honour my word about that blockhead, Morris. More I'll not—and never have—promised." He reached back and took up a grubby and wrinkled sheet of paper. "I'm glad you came, even though so dictatorially. See what you make of this."

  Struggling with the crude printing, Rossiter read slowly: "Sum one follered Mr. Fowls lars nite. No one follered Mr. Falkon. Jos. L. (reporting As paid fer.)" Puzzled, he asked, "This Jos. L. is one of Tummet's people?"

  "No." Falcon went back to his chair and the business of cleaning his pistol. "It seems that a shabby fellow gave it to the gardener's boy and claimed to have been hired by Bowers-Malden to keep an eye on 'Some Gents,' and report anything interesting. Sounds a bit havey-cavey, don't you think? Why not report to you?"

  "Perhaps he was given several names and simply came to whomever chanced to be nearest. Certainly, my father and the earl have their spies out. Though they are concentrating on the shipping end of this ugly business."

  "I doubt this report is of any significan
ce." Falcon tilted the graceful pistol to the light and inspected the barrel. "Gil Fowles is a nasty insect and a member of the League, certainly. But I'd be surprised if he's one of the six leaders."

  Rossiter muttered, "So should I, but I wonder…"

  After a brief pause, Falcon glanced at him and prompted, "Well? Well? Wonder—what?"

  "Cast your mind back a few weeks," said Rossiter, "to when you and Cranford and Morris were in Yerville Hall and had spoiled the scheme of Lady Julia Yerville and—"

  "And that dragon of Society, my erstwhile devoted admirer, Lady Clara Buttershaw."

  "Erstwhile?" enquired Rossiter.

  Falcon grinned. "Considerably erstwhile. As you said, we spoiled their traitorous scheme. But I think we stray from the point."

  "Not far. We know that the League has formed an alliance with some powerful French interests. During your—er, retreat from the Yerville house—"

  "Retreat be damned! We had to blasted well fight our way out!"

  "During which scuffle, Fowles learned of the French alliance. I think you said he was not enthusiastic."

  "I said nothing so milky! What I said was that Fowles practically turned inside out!"

  "From which one gathers he had no previous knowledge of the French involvement."

  Falcon shrugged and looked bored. "I see nothing odd in that. He's scarcely the type to have risen to eminence in their ugly club. Perchance he's a relatively new member and they've not seen fit to familiarize him with their schemes."

  "Yes, but what if they've familiarized none of the rank and file with this particular scheme? What if most of the men they've recruited joined believing the League meant to follow a certain course of action, and—"

  "And now their trusted leaders have gone off at a tangent, and entered into a secret agreement with France?" Falcon whistled softly. "They'd be on very tricky ground indeed! You may be sure Fowles has been ordered to keep his mouth shut. Jupiter! I'd not care to be in his shoes!"

  "Nor I. If we've guessed rightly and Fowles suspects that he's into something more than he'd bargained for, he may be very frightened, and with good cause. The League takes no chances. If they decide he knows too much and cannot be relied on to hold his tongue…" Rossiter drew a finger across his throat.