The Mandarin of Mayfair

by Patricia Veryan

  "Dammitall! You fumble-fingers let them escape?"

  "They—they must be on the river, sir! Mayhap we can catch—"

  "By the time we get a frigate after 'em, they'll be half-way to France!" Fotheringay glared at the silent knot of gentlemen who watched from the door of the small withdrawing room. "Sergeant!" he shouted.

  The sergeant leapt to his side. "Yessir!"

  "Order the men back and into the house! Lieutenant, we will need some of those silken ropes we brought. These gentlemen are all under arrest!"

  Gwendolyn awoke when she heard running footsteps on the stairs. It was still dark, and her heart began to pound wildly as she threw back the blankets and shrugged into the dressing gown she'd left lying on the foot of the bed. The door burst open, and the room brightened as Gideon came straight to her, a branch of candles in one hand.

  He looked pale and haggard and she flew to embrace him, babbling, "You're back so soon! What happened? What is the hour? Did you find Papa?"

  He put down the candelabrum and said gravely, " 'Tis past five o'clock. We must have passed them on the way. When we reached Ashleigh 'twas already in the hands of the Squire's men. At least a hundred of the bounders!"

  Her knees seemed to melt, and she clung to him, searching his face distractedly. "And—and my father? August?"

  Gently, he led her to a fireside chair and dropped to one knee beside it. "We couldn't get onto the grounds, love. A villager told us that a troop of dragoons went off with a baker's dozen fine gentlemen riding with their hands tied, and two who were allowed to travel in a carriage."

  She felt faint, and said threadily, "Heaven help them! Then Colonel Fotheringay must have caught them with the Prince! Which—which means that August did not— Oh, Gideon! Are they in… the Tower?"

  "I'm afraid they are." He pressed her hand as she gave a smothered sob, and said, "Courage, dearest! I am going there now. I thought— Well, if things look bad, I thought you might want to break the news to Katrina."

  She said despairingly, "How can I when I don't know what to tell her? August… August may be… killed! And her father—"

  "I know, love," he said, as her voice failed. "But you can at least warn her."

  "I must come with you first. They're innocent, Gideon! And—and after all we've done! You and Johnny Armitage and the others finding out about those terrible men in Bristol, and bringing them back to London to stand trial!

  'Twill prove everything you said about the cargoes being stolen and the ships scuttled—will it not?"

  "Eventually, yes, dear. But—"

  "And only think how much August discovered, so that I could warn Lord Hayes about the Prince and Princess of Wales, and the League's wicked plans. Surely, the Horse Guards will believe 'twas a trap? That Papa and—and the rest are not Jacobites? They will believe us, won't they Gideon?"

  He smiled into her frightened eyes, and said reassuringly, "Of course they will, love. Come now, we must hasten. The others went straight to the Tower."

  It was still dark when they hurried out to the waiting coach, but the city was already stirring. Farm waggons rumbled over the cobblestones to Covent Garden, cattle were being herded to market, servants hurried to assume their daily tasks, baker's shops sent mouth-watering aromas drifting on the chilly air, candles were brightening more and more windows, and smoke began to rise from thousands of chimney pots.

  As the coach wound its way through the awakening streets, Gwendolyn was praying fervently for her father and for the man she loved. At length, she said in a very small voice, "If they really were caught with Prince Charles, will the King be merciful, do you think, Gideon? Because of—of all we've done, I mean."

  He thought of the inexorable laws against high treason; of the panic that had gripped London in 'forty-five when the Jacobites had marched as far as Derby; and of the relentless slaughter of people who had done far less than conspire with the Scottish Prince. But he said quietly, "I hope he will, Gwen. We must pray that he will."

  Minutes later a stern-faced Yeoman Warder conducted them across a cobbled courtyard in the mighty old Keep known as the Tower of London. Through a great frowning gate they went, and across another court. Gwendolyn's blood ran cold when she saw the dreaded Traitor's Gate and she wondered if her dear father had come here by that route, as had so many doomed aristocrats down through the centuries.

  They were taken up worn steps and into a cold and gloomy building that Gideon whispered was the Beauchamp Tower. A lieutenant of dragoon guards took them in charge here, and conducted them to a door which he flung open, announcing, "Captain and Miss Rossiter, sir."

  A general, Colonel Mariner Fotheringay, and four civilian gentlemen, all looking rumpled and owly-eyed, were gathered around a table, listening intently to the man seated there. A bowed figure, his dark head propped wearily on one hand, his voice halting and slurred. With a muffled sob, Gwendolyn flew to his side. "August! Oh, thank God!"

  He looked up at her, joy coming into his drawn face.

  Fotheringay performed some hurried introductions. Gwendolyn found that she was in the company of a distinguished cabinet minister, a renowned and powerful member of the House of Lords, an equally renowned Member of Parliament, and a distinguished diplomatist. General Early, a stocky and fierce-looking individual wearing an ill-fitting uniform, bowed over her hand. "We owe you a great vote of thanks, ma'am. Mr. Falcon has filled in many details for us, but we are well aware that had it not been for you, he'd not have lived to do so."

  Gideon demanded harshly, "What of my father, sir? I trust you realize he had nothing to do with—"

  Lord Tiberville interrupted in a high-pitched irritable voice, "Your father and his friends were brought here under close arrest, Captain." A twitching smile dawned. "Just as that damnable League had hoped."

  Sir Jonas Holmesby, elegant despite an untidy wig and creased coat, said, "They've enjoyed a hearty meal and are comfortably abed, ma'am. At this stage of the game we don't want our treacherous Squire to know that, however."

  Gwendolyn caught her breath. "Do you say you believe us at last?"

  "We do, indeed, Miss Rossiter." Henry Church, M.P., who had a reputation for belligerence, barked, "Better late than never!"

  "Shall you be able to stop the revolt, General?" asked Gideon. "If Falcon's right, there's very little time."

  General Early growled, "You should be aware, Rossiter, that the Army can move fast when there's need. At this moment we have dispatched riders racing to every installation this curst seditious lot threatens. We'll have cavalry and dragoons ready for any attack in ample time, I promise you!"

  "And what of the planned assassinations, sir?"

  "Our agents will impersonate the Prince and Princess. We'll be on the alert to arrest four officers of the King's Guard—which they're not, of course—the instant they ride towards Leicester House. Our infamous Reginald Smythe will find he's shot his bolt, Captain! Thanks to you and Miss Rossiter, we—"

  "And Mr. Falcon." Gwendolyn put her hand proudly on August's shoulder.

  "Ar-humph," said the general gruffly. "Of course. Falcon. Quite so."

  Chapter 18

  London awoke to a brisk Friday morning of blue skies, pale sunlight and the start of a shocking series of events that was to turn the great city into a maelstrom of excitement and alarm. The newspapers carried shocking accounts of a treasonable plot and of numerous aristocratic gentlemen having been arrested in Sussex and conveyed to the Tower under heavy guard. Names were conspicuous by their absence. When rumours began to circulate that they had included Prince Charles Edward Stuart and the Earl of Bowers-Malden, angry crowds formed on the streets, and a near-riot ensued when the word spread like wildfire that there had been an assassination attempt on the Prince and Princess of Wales.

  Interest shifted to Leicester House, and The Spectator put out a late edition that unleashed more consternation. The front page was devoted to an article by Mr. Ramsey Talbot stating that a wide-spread plot to toppl
e the government had been foiled by a courageous group of young patriots led by Captain Gideon Rossiter, heir to Sir Mark Rossiter. Thanks to prompt and efficient action by the Horse Guards, the would-be murderers of the Prince and Princess had been seized before they could carry out their wicked scheme, and during questioning they had incriminated many fellow conspirators. Furthermore, the traitors conveyed to the Tower the previous evening had not, it appeared, been the gentlemen first suspected. Rather, those actually incarcerated included Lord Hibbard Green, Mr.Rudolph Bracksby, and Mr. Joseph Montgomery. Warrants had been issued for the arrest of others suspected of involvement in the plot, including the alleged leader, a gentleman well known about Town, (and here The Spectator was obliged to use initials only,) Mr. R————S————, and two influential and highly born sisters, the Ladies J————Y————, and C————B————. According to Mr. Talbot's reliable sources, among those sought for questioning were the philanthropist Viscount R————E————; Lord K————M————of Cornwall; and Marshall J.J. B————of France.

  The final name was a bombshell. To dislike the House of Hanover was one thing; to have the government brought down and the nation arbitrarily handed over to the French was quite another. The House of Lords and the House of Commons met in extraordinary session. Whitehall bustled with stern-faced cabinet ministers and high-ranking military and naval officers. His Majesty was said to be preparing to address Parliament. Diplomatic envoys were dispatched post-haste to Paris. Street corners, gin shops, taverns, and ordinaries were crowded; gentlemen gathered in the clubs and coffee houses; and the names of Gideon Rossiter and his Preservers were on everyone's lips. Scandalmongers had a field day. Several ladies were said to have fainted when they realized the identities of "the Ladies J————Y————and C————B————," and the ton was thrown into a delicious frenzy speculating as to the identities of the "many others" believed to be involved in the plot.

  On Saturday morning, the city was again staggered to learn that Lord Hector Kadenworthy was definitely implicated, but had disappeared; it was rumoured that his large financial holdings had been liquidated, and the proceeds had also disappeared. Mr. Reginald Smythe, now known to be the ringleader, was still at large, and when exhaustive searches of his various homes and all known haunts failed, it was theorized that he'd had an escape route ready for just such a disaster. That he'd fled without bothering to alert his lieutenants became obvious that afternoon, when large numbers of mercenaries attacked military and naval installations. To their surprise they met not feeble and undermanned defenders but alerted and well-armed opposition. Many attacks were quickly abandoned. Perhaps out of desperation determined fights were waged at Windsor, Portsmouth, and Dover, but were overborne, the survivors fleeing for their lives.

  August Falcon awoke late Saturday afternoon. When he found he had missed all the excitement, he was infuriated and came near to shouting at Tummet for not having woken him. In the nick of time he remembered the nightmare he had so narrowly escaped. Pale sunlight was streaming in at the windows. He was stiff and his side still hurt, but he felt rather astonishingly well. It was the first day of a new lease on life. And he was a new man. He thanked Tummet once again for his loyalty and devotion, and humbly begged to be put in possession of all the facts. He was not, however, sufficient of a new man to heed Dr. Knight's demand that he stay abed and rest for a week, especially after the doctor, exasperated, told him that Morris was out of danger but would never walk again.

  Gwendolyn called and requested that Tummet come down and speak to her. He presented himself with such a glum face that her heart sank.

  "Whatever is it?" she demanded anxiously. "Dr. Knight told me that Mr. August's ribs are not broke, and that he is recovering nicely."

  "Nicely! Ar, well I 'spect you could say that, Miss Gwen. As fer me—I dunno if I can be-a-bandit."

  "Stand it?" she translated. "Stand what?"

  He gave her a look of stark tragedy, and lowering his voice confided, "He's took to calling me 'Enoch'! Even said 'me dear fella' once when I said I was sorry fer dropping the jam in his shoe. Only time he swore, Miss, was when Doc Sir Jim was examining his side."

  Relieved, she said, "Is that all! I fancy he is not quite himself. 'Twill likely take a little time for him to adjust to being alive and out of that—that hideous place."

  "He says he's a new man, Miss. A new man, he says. Cor!" He went off, shaking his head as his reborn employer came into the room, fully dressed and shooting the lace at his cuffs.

  Having paused to pat Tummet on the back as he passed, Falcon said, "Smallest Rossiter!" and held out both hands to her, a fond smile on his battered face but with veiled, inscrutable eyes.

  "My dear," she murmured, avoiding his hands and slipping closer to caress the healing cuts around his mouth. He jerked his head away. He was not bowing forward today, probably because his ribs were tightly bandaged, and, apart from the marks the Jewelled Men had left on him, he appeared cheerful and his old poised self. But—different, somehow. She was aghast to realize that the difference consisted of a gleam of silver in the thick dark hair at his right temple. Her throat constricted at the sight of this mute testimony to his ordeal, and she struggled to hide her consternation. "Dr. Knight said—"

  "The man's a professional marplot!" He led her to a chair by the fire and ignoring the one beside it, which she patted invitingly, occupied another across the hearth while remarking that the doctor had terrorized Tummet and Katrina with his gloom-mongering. "I can only be grateful that you have been so kind as to pay me a sick call."

  Startled, she thought, "A sick call? Is that what this is?" It was so smoothly said, his smile so bland and assured. There had been not a word or gesture or the slightest hint of love, and he had deliberately avoided being close to her. She sighed, but sensed that he was far less recovered than he appeared to be, and so refrained from really teasing him, beyond saying, "I have been so anxious for you, my love." His hand tightened on the chair arm when she used the term of endearment, but he made no comment, and she went on: "I expect Tummet will have told you all that has happened?"

  "I hope he has. Is there any new word? Any word of that wart—Smythe, for instance?"

  "Not that I'm aware. Gideon and Tio seem almost to have moved into the Horse Guards, and Johnny Armitage and Perry are at East India House. Gordie has escorted Sir Brian back to Lac Brillant—he was concerned for the old gentleman after the shock of seeing Quentin here."

  He nodded frowningly.

  The thought of how narrowly they had all escaped disaster made her shiver, and she said quickly, "You know that Lord Kadenworthy helped us to find you?"

  "So Tummet said. But what of the shot you heard?"

  "There was a paragraph in The Spectator saying that a robbery had evidently been attempted at Mimosa Lodge, the country seat of Lord Kadenworthy, during his lordship's absence. And that one of the thieves had been found in an expired condition on the premises."

  Falcon leaned back in his chair and said a quiet, "Aha. Then Kade is safe away."

  "Do you mind that very much?"

  He shook his head. "I like to think he was sorry for the fate Smythe planned for me. I wonder why such a good man as Kade should have joined that loathsome crew."

  She told him what Hector Kadenworthy had said of his involvement with the League. Falcon looked grave but made no comment, and after a moment she added, "I collect you know that your father has gone abroad? He was here for an hour or two. And most anxious for you."

  "Yes. I wish I'd seen him. But he has always wanted to spend the winters in Italy. 'Tis—as well. Under the… circumstances."

  She had expected him to be furious, but he looked more downcast than angry, and she said kindly, "Thanks to you, there was no proof he'd entertained the Prince, and he was not charged with—anything."

  "Was he not?" His lips tightened. "I fancy your father, among others, may have some thoughts along those lines. Is
that why you have left us and gone back to Rossiter Court?"

  "Papa wanted me to come home. But, I think he bears you no—er, real animosity." The recollection of her father's thundering tirade against Neville Falcon caused her to add hurriedly, "Of course, as you may guess, the Earl was rather—er, put about, but—"

  "Was he, indeed?" A familiar blue flame lit Falcon's eyes. "With a ramshackle hothead like Tio for a son, one might think he'd be the last to—" He closed his lips on that impassioned retort, and in a moment said with a sigh, "But who could blame him? Indeed, I think we Falcons have much to answer for."

  She looked at him sharply. "And I think that is more than enough for you, sir. Shall I go away? Or should you like me to read to you, perhaps?"

  He responded instinctively, "Some tome dealing with the Orient, no doubt?"

  Pleased by another glimpse of the man she knew, her eyes glinted laughter. She said, "But of course. Unless you feel that you would do very well without my—disturbing presence."

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment, then said with quiet intensity, "I think the only reason I—survived that—that hellish place was the thought of your 'disturbing presence,' Gwen."

  Deeply moved, she ran to him, and he stood and hugged her but to her disappointment it was a very brief hug and he almost pushed her away. "Values become rather—out of focus in times of danger and upheaval," he said gravely. "But I am sure that now, more than ever, your family cannot like you to be in this house. You must go home, my dear. Where you belong. And to say truth, I've a sick call of my own to make."

  She was being dismissed by this courteous stranger who looked like August Falcon, but was not. Troubled, she followed as he crossed to open the door for her. But it was early days yet, after all. She thought, "There's no need to worry. He's afraid of facing Jamie and Katrina, so he's stiff and nervous. He'll soon realize we all have forgiven him, and in a day or two he'll be his old self again."