The Mandarin of Mayfair

by Patricia Veryan

  "—and found him pale and wan, dear boy. But so kind, Gwendolyn, for he had this lovely box of sweetmeats for me, and tied with a riband, so prettily. Now why should you look astonished? August is the most generous of men, and said this delicious gift was a token of his regret for having scared me with his naughty target practice yesterday."

  "Took the blame, did he?" barked Lady Hester, fixing Gwendolyn with a stern stare. "Decent. For once."

  "Come now, ma'am," protested Falcon, strolling to join them; "you'll give Miss Rossiter a bad opinion of me." He bent over the dowager's hand and touched it to his lips. "Here I've been striving to convince her of what a fine fellow I am."

  She gave a bark of laughter. "If you have, you rascal, 'tis the first time in living memory you've done so! And there was not the need for you to leave your bed only to say your 'good evenings' to a neighbour!"

  He chuckled and sat beside her, entering the conversation lightheartedly. No one would have guessed, thought Gwendolyn, that only yesterday morning he had taken a wound. If his arm pained him, he hid it admirably, and only the shadows under his eyes told her that he was not quite up to par.

  Mrs. Dudley scolded him. He should not be jauntering about, she said, when the doctor had left firm orders he was to stay abed for at least five days.

  "But I have to jaunter about," he argued with a smile. "Papa remains in Sussex, and do I not stand guard over my ladies," he glanced at his sister, "there is no knowing what mischief they may get up to."

  Katrina's eyes fell and she blushed faintly.

  Scanning her curiously, Lady Mount-Durward's lips parted.

  Gwendolyn rushed into the breach in an attempt to turn attention from her friend. "I am so glad you feel well enough to join us, Mr. Falcon. I found a book in your library this morning that I have so wanted to show you. 'Tis the account of a Jesuit priest who was allowed to visit inside China, and he writes at length of the wonders he saw there, particularly with regard to their advances in medicine. I was sure you would find it interesting."

  She knew that Katrina was staring at her, and that Mrs. Dudley had dropped the sugarplum she'd been about to pop into her mouth. August's eyes blazed, and the familiar tightening of his jaw told her he was angry. She thought defiantly, "Good! You deserved a set-down for sniping at your poor sister, wretched man!"

  Before he could respond, Lady Mount-Durward said heartily, "Is that so, Falcon? Lud, but I'd not suspected you was interested in China. I must tell you I've a diary kept by my late great-uncle, who was a seafaring man. He was taken by Chinese pirates and has some tales you shall read! I'd have showed it to you long since, but I'd the impression you did not care to be reminded of that rather unfortunate part of your lineage—which would be understandable enough, heaven knows. Though I have never held it 'gainst you, as so many do. I knew your grandmama, you will be aware. Not that we were friends, of course, but…" Undaunted by a peal of thunder, she embarked on a long and patronizing monologue and for the next five minutes nobody else was able to say a word.

  Mrs. Dudley looked increasingly nervous and shot anxious glances at her nephew's set smile.

  Perfectly aware that a pair of glittering eyes from time to time hurled lances of fury in her direction, Gwendolyn maintained an expression of saintly innocence and appeared to hang on Lady Mount-Durward's every word. Actually, she was mortified. August had deserved the set-down she'd dealt him, but she had never intended to expose either him or Katrina to such lengthy and barbed condescension.

  When Lady Hester was briefly silenced by a particularly ear-splitting peal of thunder, Falcon stood and bowed, shutting off her obvious intention to continue. "Jupiter, ma'am," he drawled, "but you have missed your calling. Your knowledge of my family would, I feel sure, qualify you as a lecturer, and likely enthrall anyone who had an interest in the subject." He stifled a yawn, and went on outrageously, "And I might have known you would appreciate our situation, since you have suffered another—ah, embarrassment in your own family."

  Lady Mount-Durward glared at him, her countenance becoming alarmingly pink. She said in a voice that had reduced many a strong man to jelly, "I think I fail to take your meaning, Falcon."

  Ignoring the imploring glances of his aunt and his sister, he raised his brows and said with exaggerated innocence, "No, have I perhaps been fobbed off with silly gossip? Alas, so many of the haut ton have not learned the simple good manners of keeping their noses in their own pockets. I was informed, ma'am, that your grandson, Thaddeus Briley, had earned your extreme displeasure by wedding a nobody, and a Scots nobody, at that." Unmoved by the lady's gobbling incoherencies, he lifted a hand and said sleepily, "I fancy most families have a cross to bear, but heaven forfend I should stamp where angels fear to tread. I will instead beg that you hold me excused, for I vow I'm quite fatigued by all this—er, excitement. Pray do not feel you must cease to enlighten Miss Rossiter, who will enjoy to hear any more snippets of—ah, information you can give her. As for me, I bid you goodnight, ma'am… ladies."

  Another bow and he was gone, soon to be followed by her ladyship, flushed with wrath and unappeased by Mrs. Dudley's twittering attempts to pour oil on troubled waters.

  "I will tell you to your head, ma'am," she declared loudly as she stamped to the door, "that your nephew is a rudesby, and deserves all that is said of him!" Her fury intensified by the awareness that she had been a good deal less than kind to her grandson's despised bride, she turned and added waspishly, "Handsome is as handsome does, but however August Falcon may try to ignore his heritage and pose as the complete British gentleman, he will never outrun his face, ma'am! Never!"

  Mrs. Dudley threw an anguished glance at Katrina and fluttered after her infuriated and influential friend.

  Gwendolyn and Katrina, who had stood politely, looked at each other. Gwendolyn said remorsefully, "Trina, I am so sorry! I was cross because he threw that sly scold at you, but I am only a guest in your house and I should not have spoken so. My wretched tongue! Will you please forgive?"

  "Of course, dearest." Katrina sighed. "You were not to know the horrid woman would pounce on it so. August and Thad, her grandson, are friends, but she has never forgiven my brother because her silly niece went into a decline over him. She knows perfectly well what his feelings are about—about our mixed blood, but I suppose she could not resist her tabby impulses."

  "Perhaps, but she might not have scratched had I not given her the opening."

  "You were only trying to defend me. August knows that, I am very sure, and will likely admire you for your loyalty, rather than blame you for her ladyship's unkind remarks."

  Gwendolyn smiled, but before she could respond Mrs. Dudley came back into the room with agitated hands and a long and unflattering assessment of her nephew, who quite "bears off the palm" she declared, "for arrogance and a lack of consideration." Fortunately, the arrival of several of her friends lightened her mood. It was clear that the matrons were eager to gossip, and after a decent interval Katrina and Gwendolyn asked to be excused and left the ladies to enjoy the tale of August's vexatious behaviour.

  Gwendolyn half expected to find the culprit lurking about on the stairs, ax in hand. There was no sign of him however, and after wishing Katrina a goodnight, she was only too glad to go early to her own bed.

  Her abigail, a faded middle-aged French émigré named Paulette, fussed over her anxiously, recommending as she left that her "little mademoiselle enjoy the good sleep." Gwendolyn would have been pleased to do so; unfortunately, memories of yesterday's attack and of August's brilliant fight for life crowded her mind and when at last she was able to dismiss those thoughts there came others to plague her. He had been so pleased with her when she'd shot Mr. Green. She could only hope he would bear that in mind when next they met, for despite Katrina's reassurances she was very sure there would come a moment of retribution. She sighed and wished she could dismiss the recollection of the strong grip of his arms as he had swung her around, and the little blue flames that ha
d danced in his eyes when he'd laughed down into her face… As she fell asleep she was bewildered to find that for no reason she could think of, she felt very tearful.

  Hector Kadenworthy blinked and said mildly, "I understand your chagrin, August, but there's no call to snap my head off. Green is willing to reschedule your meeting."

  Falcon jerked his whip savagely through his gloved hand and strode down the front steps toward the groom who was struggling to hold Andante. The morning was gray and there was a cold wind blowing. He glanced at the scurrying clouds and determined to be home before the rain started. "What excuse did he offer?"

  "Seems to have fallen and suffered a sprained wrist. Can't expect the lout to fight with—"

  "With a pistol ball in his arm?" Falcon gave a scornful bark of laughter then shouted, "Don't damage his mouth, fool!"

  Kadenworthy stared at him. "What the devil's this? Green's man said—"

  "Green's man lied. Dear Rafe and two bullies he scoured from the sewer did their damndest to put a period to me on Wednesday morning."

  "And you shot him? Good Lord! Never say that was the incident in Bloomsbury Square? Everyone's talking of it, but there's been no clear description of the gentleman involved, and I'd heard the ruffian was shot by a lady."

  "As you wish," said Falcon curtly, taking the reins and stroking the stallion's nose.

  "He'll take your arm off if you're not careful," warned Kadenworthy, eyeing the big horse admiringly, but stepping back. "What d'you mean—As I wish?"

  "You asked me not to say 'twas the incident in Bloomsbury Square." Falcon mounted in a lithe swing and held the black in with a sure hand. "I am all obedience."

  Looking up into his set face and glittering eyes, Kadenworthy said, "You're all aflame, more like. Jove, but he's a magnificent creature. How do you call him?"

  "Andante."

  His lordship pursed his lips. "He don't look slow to me."

  "So you know your music, do you? I call him Andante— because he's greased lightning, of course." Briefly, a grin touched Falcon's stern mouth. "Morris thinks it means the devil."

  "It'll be the devil to pay with you if you took steel through your arm the day before yesterday, and ride that monster today. Appears to me he's only half broke. No, get down, August, for lord's sake! Just because Green played the coward is no reason for you to do yourself an injury."

  "True. Stand clear!"

  'The streets are wet, you madman! No—wait! Who was the lady? Miss Katrina?"

  Falcon shouted, "A passer-by!" and was away.

  Kadenworthy pulled his gaze from that thundering gallop and met the groom's troubled eyes. "That's no way to ride in the City. He'll break his neck!"

  "The mood he's in today, I doubt he'd care, milord." The groom shook his head lugubriously. "He swore at Mr. Tummet something dreadful, and heaved a book at the butler. Leastways, he threw a book 'crost the hall and it nigh hit Mr. Pearsall."

  "Did he, by Jove! I know he has a violent temper, but I thought he treated his people decently."

  "So he does, milord. I been in his service for five years and I never seen him this put about. Mrs. Vanechurch has knowed him since he was a little shaver and I heard her tell Mr. Pearsall she's proper worried about the young master."

  The object of their concern, meanwhile, was hurtling along Great Ormond Street, leaving chaos in his wake. Two chairmen leapt for their lives as they rounded a corner and came nose to nose with a great black horse and a rider with— so they later asserted—the face of a demon. A knife sharpener's barrow was almost overturned, reducing its owner to jumping up and down and screeching curses after the rapidly disappearing stallion. And two portly gentlemen riding at a sedate walk and taking up more than their share of the road uttered shouts of alarm as Andante shot between them causing their mounts to plunge and rear so that both riders were obliged to cling to the pommels or suffer the ignominy of a toss on a London street. Their shrill denunciations added to the uproar that faded behind Falcon as Andante raced on unchecked, leaving pave and cobbles behind and plunging into the open country beyond the Foundling Hospital.

  It was tricky going here, for the ground was wet and uneven and the undergrowth a ragged mix of weeds and shrubs. There would be rabbit holes and mole runs very likely, and the area was said to harbour thieves and rank riders. The prospect of an encounter with a highwayman caused Falcon's lips to curve into a mirthless smile. He felt like murdering somebody; a thieving cutthroat would fit the bill nicely.

  How dare she have subjected him to that fiasco last evening? How dare she—a guest in his house—egg Katrina on to defy him? For 'twas Miss Gwendolyn Rossiter, he was very sure, who was responsible for the fact that Katrina, who should have more sense, now looked with favour on that poor dupe Morris! He gritted his teeth, crouched lower in the saddle, and touched Andante's sides with the spurs so that the stallion's great muscles bunched and they all but flew across the turf. He had no one to blame but himself, of course. Against his better judgment he had allowed the chit to stay. And what did he get for his generosity? Pinched at, day and night—well, all day and evening anyway! Such joy she took in shooting out her snide little barbs! One might think she would tire of reminding him in her sly way of—of what he was. How dare she, who knew nothing of the matter, have all but invited that wretched dowager to unleash her venom? Betrayal is what it was! Downright betrayal! From someone he had come to trust; to feel at ease with. Of all people, he'd not expected the Smallest Rossiter to turn on him. And after he had—

  Andante stumbled and almost went down. It was all Falcon could do to hold him together. Frightened, the stallion bucked and whirled. Falcon's hurt arm was wrenched painfully. He knew a fleeting moment of astonishment as his hat flew from his head. He was falling. The breath was knocked out of him…

  "Pray what is meant by 'li'?…"

  She had asked that… How like Fate to have turned her inquiring mind in the direction of Confucius… He was once again in the sunlit room with all the dusty books, and his tutor's earnest voice droning on about "li," that wise philosophy that spoke of the need to be in harmony with the universe and one's fellow man." 'Tis part of your heritage, Falcon, and you could do a great deal worse than embrace it." If he did so, it appeared he must be gentle, generous, and ever forgiving of the shortcomings of others. (A saint, no less!) A poised, affable, cautious man of integrity, showing respect for a properly ordered and stratified society. And (here came the coup de grâce!) he must never lose his temper, or show an angry face to the world! (Ha!) If the Smallest Rossiter ever read that— Lord above, he'd never hear the end of it!

  "Confound the blasted book!" he groaned, and wished he'd had the sense to burn the thing, instead of merely hurling it across the hall and then having to apologize to poor Pearsall.

  "Why do you sleep in the grass?"

  He opened one eye. A head, most of it lost somewhere under his own tricorne, was hovering over him. He reached up and removed the tricorne, revealing a mop of tangled and greasy dark curls and a small dirty face with brown eyes that seemed too big for the thin features.

  "Famous!" he thought disgustedly. He was sprawled on his back in the mud and weeds. Of Andante there was no sign. And if this child was a gypsy, which was very probable, he'd never see the stallion again. He started to sit up, but his left arm hurt so unpleasantly that he decided to rest for a minute.

  "My horse was tired," he explained, summoning a grin.

  The big eyes continued to regard him solemnly. "You're beautiful."

  "Er—thank you," said Falcon, hiding his revulsion.

  "On the outside," qualified the child. "But you said bad words."

  Falcon chuckled and hauled himself to his right elbow. "I wouldn't have, had I known you were nearby. What's your name?"

  "Ling. What's yours?"

  "Falcon. Is Ling your surname?"

  "I dunno. It's the back half."

  "What's the—er, front half?"

  "Found."

 
"Ah," he thought, "poor little waif," and then asked, "Where do you live?"

  "Here, mostly. When I was a child a cove on the dubbing lay found me, but Silas looks after me now. Do you hurt?"

  "If I do, 'tis my own bl—er, my own fault. Where is this Silas?"

  "Gone to earn our grub. I'm seven." Ling sighed. "Silas says I eat too much, even if I'm little for seven." The sad brown eyes fixed on the man's face anxiously. "D'you think I'm little?"

  Falcon, who had supposed him to be about five, was aghast. "They say 'the best things are wrapped up in small packages.' " He sat up, adding a mental, "And that's what I get for consorting with Morris!"

  "Oh. Why were you so cross? Don't you got no one, neither?"

  He seemed remarkably self-composed for such a small boy, and there was a rather touching wistfulness in the little face. Falcon said gently, "Yes. I am fortunate enough to have a father and a sister."

  "Do they love you?"

  "I—believe so."

  "Oh. Is that all you got?"

  With the impression that he'd been found wanting, Falcon sought for additional references. "No. I—er have aunts and cousins and so forth dotted about."

  "Oh." A heavy sigh. Then, "Don't you got no mama?"

  "I had one, of course. She has—er, gone up to heaven." And it was odd, he thought, that this dirty, unhappy little waif should have said "Mama" instead of "Ma," or "Mum."

  "Oh. I 'spect you got lots 'n' lots of friends, though. A flash cove like you. So you're not never really alone."

  Falcon was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Have you no friends, Ling? Would you like to find some?"

  His hand was seized and clutched hard against the dirty cheek. It felt damp, and when that tousled little head lifted the eyes were gemmed with tears.

  Ling said scratchily, "I don't mind so much about—about the friends, y'know. But—but if I could just have a mama… A lady to… take care of me, and—and love me." A muffled sob, and the boy was clinging tight to Falcon and weeping into his cravat. " I wouldn't mind if I got beat sometimes. Honest, I wouldn't. Why did she… go 'way? I miss her… very bad."