"No, Miss Gwen! That I do not! But I seen men as is. And I know the signs. And Mr. August had 'em all! Only I were too thick 'twixt me ear holes to see what were right in front o' me orbs, or glims, as y'might say."
Her heart began to beat faster, and she gripped her hands tightly. "Tell me."
Encouraged, he said,"Well, Miss, you'll remember as Mr. August didn't seem to know what day 'twas arter the accident? Nat'ral enough, sez you. No, sez I. On-nat'ral! There wasn't hardly a bump on his noggin, but he slept the clock 'round like a man in one o' them commas, or whatever they call 'em! Burning hot, he were, too, but I thought 'twas all on account o' that bad arm. And—quarrelsome? Cor! Fairly panting ter go out and chop someone inter gobbets, he were. Talking fast and sorta wild. And still I never put two and two tergether! Not till I thunk back when it were too late, and recollected that his eyes had looked strange, and he didn't wanta eat nothing. Strike me blue and pink stripes if I wasn't blind like a bat! But—it never come inter me head, y'know."
Trying to find her way through the maze, Gwendolyn whispered, "Do you say that someone deliberately drugged Mr. August?"
Tummet nodded vehemently. "So I do b'lieve, Miss Gwen. And them as done it like as not kept at him, sly-like, talking ugly 'bout the poor lieutenant and Miss Katrina. Egging him on. D'you remember how he kept complaining arter the doo-ell 'bout the fog? There weren't no fog that night! 'Cept inside his head, maybe!"
"And he said that he was knee deep in mud," she muttered. "I thought he was making it up! Trying to excuse what he'd done."
"If I'm right, Miss Gwen, me guv'nor was telling the honest truth—as it seemed to him. I knowed a sailorman once as got took with the poppy—opium, I mean. But then they give him other kindsa things, and he couldn't never get orf 'em, poor cove. And he told me that when he tried ter walk sometimes, that's what it felt like: as if his arms and legs wus very heavy, and he were wading through treacle! Don't y'see, Miss Gwen? It all fits! That there wicked League writ the guv a pome—a horrid thing it were—warning they meant to—to punish him."
"Châtiment quatre!" she whispered. Tummet looked puzzled and she said, "It means the fourth punishment. The League threatened to strike at my brother and his friends again. And—what better way than to twist August's mind? To confuse and maneuver him into fighting, and losing a duel to the death with— Oh! How horrid! How could anyone be so sly and wicked and evil?'
"And clever, Miss Gwen," he said, his face very grim. "They could've got rid of two o' their enemies with one blow, 'cause if Mr. August were killed the lieutenant would've had to get outta England quick-like. 'Sides which, them slow-tops at the Horse Guards would be sure to say just what they is saying now! That Cap'n Rossiter's Preservers is nothing but a wild lotta bored young 'ristocrats trying to stir up trouble."
Gwendolyn stood and wandered about, wringing her hands. "If we're right, their plan went awry, and yet they still won! August must be distracted with remorse! There's no telling what he may do!"
"I know jest what he'll do, Miss. Go arter 'em! And blaming of hisself fer the poor lieutenant, it'd be jest like him to charge 'em like there was a troop of heavy dragoons follering, 'stead of being all by hisself!"
Gwendolyn gazed at him, her eyes big and frightened in her pale face.
He said somberly, "A grand fighting man is me guv, Miss Gwen. But St. George, he ain't! And the man don't live what could take on that lot singlehanded and live to tell abaht it!"
She dare not dwell on the ramifications of that remark and tried not to give way to panic. "There's no use going to my brother. He and Lord Horatio and Mr. Armitage went to Bristol because of the information Mrs. Quimby gave them. And goodness knows if we could persuade the others to believe us, even if we could find them! 'Twould mean more time lost, and four days have been wasted already! Have you any idea at all where Mr. August may be?"
He hesitated. "I know he was sure that the League did their meetings out at the country house of that crazy lady what were so mad fer him. Lady Buttershaw, I mean, and her sister wot creeps around dressed in white and smiles so sad all the time." He shivered. "Gives me gooseflesh, she do!"
"Lady Julia Yerville? Yes, they're a strange pair." Gwendolyn wrinkled her brow. "Sundial Abbey is the country seat of the earls of Yerville. It's in… Surrey, I think. But I heard my brother say that the estate has been watched for months, and nobody we know to be connected with the League ever goes there."
"Ar." Tummet said dolefully, "Well then, that's that, as they say. Who else we got as we're sure of?"
"Mr. Rudolph Bracksby is almost certainly one of the leaders. But again, his estate has been closely watched, with never the least sign of nocturnal activities. Besides, Overlake Lodge marches with my father's country seat, and if the League has been using it as a meeting-place for several years some of our keepers or tenants, or—somebody would surely have noticed any late-night activities by this time."
"Hum. Wot abaht that nasty baron who nigh put a period to Cap'n Johnny Armitage in Cornwall? Now there's a gent I'd think were ripe fer secret meetings and all kindsa sticky business."
"Yes, indeed! And we have proof that Lord Hibbard Green is a member of the League. But I thought you had people keeping watch at his estate?"
"We have, mate—er, Miss. And a horrid place it is, that there Buckler Castle, but me spies couldn't find nothing funny going on. On the other hand…" He looked thoughtful. "It's old, Miss Gwen. Awful old. I wouldn't wonder if it's fair riddled with secret passages and crafty ways of going in and out. We know there's dungeons underneath, 'cause his lor'ship kept poor Sir Anthony Farrar dahn there a year or so ago, and treated him very unkind. Another thing we got to take inter account, is that Mr. August cannot abide neither of them Greens. Not his lor'ship, nor Mr. Rafe!"
They looked at each other. Gwendolyn said intensely, "It sounds the most likely place for him to have gone, doesn't it?"
"It do, Miss Gwen! But—four days is four days. Lord Green and Mr. Rafe Green, they got a score to settle wiv Mr. August. What's got me worried is—they might've settled it!"
She gave a gasp. "Oh, Tummet! We must do something!"
"Yus. I were thinking that p'raps if you was to go to Lord Hayes at East India—"
"I've a better plan! First thing in the morning, we will go and find him!"
He stared at her. "Lord Hayes, Miss Gwen?"
"No, you great silly! Mr. August! Now that Miss Katrina has the lieutenant's sister here to stay with her, I dare leave for a little while." Deep in thought, she pressed her folded hands to her mouth, then said, "Now—this is what I want you to do…"
If it was a dream, it was a very unpleasant one. Falcon had a vague sense of having been hauled about a great deal and of having failed most damnably at a vital task… Something icy cold splashed into his face, and he gasped and opened his eyes. And with a hideous sinking feeling knew that it was not a dream.
He was still in that ghastly, foul-smelling room, half-sitting, half-lying in a chair. Four members of the League of Jewelled Men were gathered on the other side of the table, blurry but identifiable; three seated, one standing, and all watching him, like some hellish jury. Hector, Lord Kadenworthy, sat shivering nearby, wigless, wet, and bedraggled, with Topaz dabbing a bloodied handkerchief at a cut on his head.
The Squire murmured, "Ah, that's better. But you really should make an effort to sit straight, dear August. Like a proper British hero, you know."
Falcon's side felt as if he'd been hit with an ax; and his hurt arm was throbbing again. He managed to haul himself upright, and drawled, "Anything to please you, dear Reggie."
There was a chorus of gasps. Every head jerked to the Squire.
"Never!" exclaimed Lord Green.
"The devil!" whispered Sapphire, clearly aghast.
The Squire leapt up and drove the back of his hand hard across Falcon's mouth. "Damn you!" he snarled furiously. "You always were a marplot!" He wrenched off his mask, revealing the undistinguished fea
tures of the man London considered to be a dandified weakling.
Kadenworthy, who had lifted his head, muttered an awed "By God! It really is Smythe!"
The room was spinning slowly about Falcon. With an odd sense of detachment he knew that the Squire was saying something, the words echoing and unintelligible. As though ordered, Bracksby stood and removed his head mask. There were a few startled exclamations. Smythe glanced at Falcon. "One shock after another, eh, poor fellow?"
"Oh, no." Falcon could taste blood but his head was clearing, and although his voice was unsteady he made an effort to speak plainly. "We know you all."
"Lying 'breed!" snarled Green.
"And good day to you, dear Hibbard," said Falcon.
At this there was stupefaction. Green lurched to his feet and tore off the hood. His fists clenching, he howled, "Pox on you, Squire! If they know us they're very likely outside at this very minute!"
On a note of hysteria Sapphire shouted, "How 'a God's name did they find this place?"
"Fools!" said Smythe in the icy and inflexible voice that seemed so incongruous coming from him. " 'Tis of peu d'importance."
"The devil it is!" argued Green furiously. "I value my head!"
"Then use it! Were Lord Hayes, all Rossiter's patriotic idiots, and a full regiment of dragoons surrounding the abbey, they could search forever and not find this room. 'Tis why I chose it!"
"They could find the outer room," Topaz snapped. "And I've no desire to explain my presence here—have you?"
Falcon glanced to the alcove and his heart sank. It was tight shut now.
Kadenworthy put in rather wearily, "They could prove nothing, unless Falcon was with us."
"Precisely," said the Squire. "Which he will not be, of course. Still, I'll own I've no love for this chamber, myself. Though it has served us well." He paused, and smiled at Falcon. "Very well, indeed." He held up his head mask. "We're done with these ugly things. Off with 'em, my friends, or shall we indulge poor Falcon and let him name us?"
"Oh, have done." Topaz reached up to remove the hood. "He already knows I'm a member."
In point of fact, Falcon was astonished as the small "man" with the husky voice became Lady Julia Yerville. They had known she was involved, of course, but he'd not dreamed she was on the ruling committee. Nor, it became evident, had the rest of the group.
Sapphire muttered, "A woman? Zounds!"
"Your predecessor, Lord Derrydene, didn't care for it, either," said Smythe. "But Lady Julia has been of great help to us."
"Not to me," said Falcon. "Your cats brought about my downfall, I think, ma'am."
Her smile was brittle. " 'Tis always the little things in life that trip us, eh, Falcon? Were I not fond of cats, you'd not have sneezed and now be—"
"Obliged to fulfil the curse," finished Smythe. "As you said, m'dear—the small things. Such as—a bag of feathers."
"Nonsense," said Falcon, trying not to think of his probable fate.
Sapphire pulled off his mask disclosing a pudgy, florid face, a small mouth and hard little brown eyes. It was not a face Falcon knew well, but memory stirred. "Jupiter!" he thought. "Be dashed if you ain't Geoff Delavale's scheming uncle Joseph Montgomery!"
Sapphire jeered, "Surprised you, didn't I, Mr. Mandarin?"
"Not at all," lied Falcon. "You're one of the cowardly swine who tormented poor Quentin Chandler when he fell into your greedy hands! We knew Smythe had been driven to scour the kennels for recruits!"
The Squire moved very fast to intercept the big man's infuriated lunge at Falcon. "Patience, Montgomery. He has very little time, you know. We'd not want him too battered to appreciate—everything."
Lady Julia sat down in the nearest chair. "And we've little time, Reginald. With the door closed the air in here grows ever more foul. The sooner we're out of it, the better."
Bracksby dragged over an extra chair, and they arranged themselves around the table again.
Bracksby asked, "May we hear the whole now, Squire?"
"You may indeed." Smythe proceeded to list their bases and the reports that had been received from the commanders. He spoke at length and with force, referring to the map frequently. Clearly, he had all the facts at his fingertips, and despite his discomfort Falcon listened intently. He very much wanted to hear what Smythe had to say, even if the chance of using his knowledge was slight.
"As I said, gentlemen, our forces already surround the last objective, awaiting only the signal to attack. The first move in the final campaign will take place tomorrow." Smythe grinned and added, "Thanks to your sire's most valued assistance, August."
Falcon's attempt at a laugh was cut off by the immediate stab of pain through his ribs, but he managed a breathless, "Rubbish! My father may not admire the king, but he'd never join a traitorous group like this!"
"Your sire," purred Smythe, "is at this very moment waiting with eager expectancy to play host to—Charles Stuart, the Young Pretender."
Falcon stared at him. Was it possible? Was that why the old gentleman had been so reluctant to come back to Town? He'd always despised the Hanoverian succession, but surely— There was laughter. He realized that he must look as dismayed as he felt. He said scornfully, "I always thought you were short of a sheet, Reggie."
"The Bonnie Prince," said Smythe, "is in England even now, under the escort of several gallant and loyal gentlemen, including his friend Henry Goring, of course, and—your friend, Gordon Chandler's Jacobite brother."
Quentin? 'Twould be just like that reckless madcap to risk returning to England!
Smythe chuckled. "No comment? Then allow me to advise you that there is to be a very secret party at Ashleigh on Thursday evening. Among the guests will be," he paused and listed slowly, "Sir Brian Chandler—the Earl of Bowers-Malden—Sir Mark Rossiter—Mr. Fletcher Morris—Captain Derek Furlong—Mr. Piers Cranford—" He broke off and said apologetically, "Unfortunately, we had to substitute brothers in those last two instances, Sir Owen Furlong's sire being in India, and Peregrine Cranford's parents both deceased. But, all things considered, we did fairly well, I think."
Chilled, Falcon said, "If you expect me to believe that any of those good men would support another Uprising—"
"But not for the world, my poor fellow, would I so mislead you! They were invited to a party that don't exist. Your father will be at his wit's end trying to cope with them while enemies of the Crown stay in his house. The invitations, you see, were sent by us, asking that the 'guests' attend a surprise party to honour Gideon Rossiter's brave little band for their efforts 'gainst the wicked League of Jewelled Men!" There was laughter at this. "How could they refuse?" he continued. "The day after tomorrow they'll troop down there. And after they're all arrived, a second troop will call—led by your friend, Colonel Mariner Fotheringay. Oh, 'tis most precisely timed, I do assure you. We've had our fellows packed like sardines into Larchwoods. Directly Fotheringay sets off to the Tower with his famous prisoners, our men make their move, and Ashleigh is ours!"
If what this Bedlamite said was truth, thought Falcon numbly, every one of those fine men would be charged with High Treason! Poor Mr. Fletcher Morris would not attend, of course, for he would by now be grieving his son. But the others would be fairly trapped. He could envision his father facing the horrors of public disgrace and execution. And as for the fate of his beloved and his dear sister… He felt frantic.
Watching his face, Smythe laughed exultantly. "But my dear Mandarin, how very pale you are become! 'Faith! I almost said—'white.' "
Green and Montgomery shouted with mirth.
Kadenworthy looked scornful.
Falcon made an effort to conceal his emotions. "I have never admired you, Smythe, but when I was a boy I'll own I sometimes wondered just what I did to arouse such animosity in you."
"You know perfectly well what you did!" Suddenly, it was as if they were alone here, reliving that undying animosity, and Smythe leaned nearer, his voice charged with loathing. "You dared to bring
your Oriental eyes, your half-breed self to my school! And instead of behaving with respectful humility as you should have done, you had the gall to pretend to be an English gentleman!"
Falcon grinned. "As, for instance, to captain the cricket team?"
"The crowning insult! That they would award that honour to a mongrel who should never have been allowed to be enrolled, and who behaved with such filthy damned arrogance! Gad!" Smythe's fist slammed on the tabletop. He was flushed, his eyes glittering with the passion of the fanatic. He spat out, " 'Twas unbearable! A deliberate affront to the entire school! I vowed then that someday I'd make you pay—"
"And so you did." Falcon's lip curled. "With words and unspeakable viciousness. For which, as I recall, I—er, paid you!"
"Ah, but now 'tis my turn! The last laugh, eh, Mandarin? If you but knew how I long to stay here. To watch you die by inches and laugh at your agony is my right, you cur!"
Somebody coughed in embarrassment.
Smythe realized that he was leaning across the table toward his hated enemy, and that they were all staring, and he drew back.
Lady Julia frowned uneasily.
Kadenworthy drawled, "But how vitriolic, Reginald. Did you tie cans to kittens' tails when you were a lad?"
"I did not!" Smythe said slyly, "I will admit that I once put a dead rat on the pillow of this impudent upstart." His grin widened. "He woke up, nose to nose with it."
A haze blurred Falcon's vision. He launched himself across the table so fast that his hands were on Smythe's throat before the others could restrain him. "Filth!" he snarled, but they had him then; and he was torn away and slammed back in the chair and, briefly, out of awareness.
After a while, he could hear Kadenworthy arguing, "… how the arrest of a clutch of traitorous aristocrats will do the thing."
"Of itself, it will not," answered Smythe. "But 'twill create a sensation, you'll own. And while the public is reading of that great scandal in Friday's newspapers, we strike again. On that very day, Prince Frederick and his Princess are to attend a luncheon party with Pitt, which—"
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