Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  Monsieur Delatouche was snoring by the fire in Newby’s parlour while awaiting the return of his employer. When Gideon marched in without benefit of a knock, went straight into the bedchamber and appropriated the dainty slipper from atop the chest of drawers, the valet started up and launched into an anguished protest. Gideon instructed him to refer Monsieur Newby to Captain Gideon, and left the man wailing.

  The lackey had worked wonders with his coat, and in no time he was downstairs again. He went into the withdrawing room, poured himself a glass of cognac, and stretched out in a chair, reliving the moments when two soft arms had clung about his neck and a warm and shapely little body had been pressed tight against him. Magical moments, made the more precious by the awareness that Naomi had escaped almost certain death. He closed his eyes for a second. Suppose he’d not been in time? Suppose she had been swept down that hill? How would he be feeling at this moment? And he knew, and trembled. What a fool to ever have thought he could forget her! How could he have been so stupid as to envision life without her? She was his, and always would be, no matter what had come between them, for without her there would be no life.

  He heard the whisper of feminine draperies then, and came at once to his feet, turning to her eagerly.

  She came into the room looking a little pale but otherwise none the worse for her ordeal. There seemed, in fact, to be a glow about her that enhanced her beauty, so that he was awed, and stared at her speechlessly.

  Gazing at him in turn, she thought that he looked haggard and tired, with dark smudges under his eyes. But the tenderness in those eyes set her heart to pounding wildly, and she blushed and hurried to give him both her hands. “Well, sir,” she said rather shakily. “On your first day home you rescued me from highwaymen, and tonight you have saved my life once again. I trust you do not mean to make a habit of such behaviour? Faith, but I doubt I could support any more of these exciting episodes!”

  “’Tis said things always happen in sequences of three,” he answered, smiling, and bending to kiss her fingertips. He stepped closer, still holding her hands, enchanted by the sudden shyness in her eyes. “Naomi, are you really all right? My God, but I was scared!”

  “And I,” she confessed. “I thought I was doomed. Had it not been for you coming up so fast … For a man who could scarce walk, you fairly flew, Gideon.”

  He said whimsically, “For a moment I feared I would pass you by and be unable to stop! A fine figure I would have cut!”

  She put a cool finger across his lips. “No. We must not make light of it. I have to thank you for—”

  “For hiring that stupid coach?” he interrupted, frowning. “I should have made certain it was safe before I entrusted your precious self to it!”

  They were still standing very close together and the old magic was at work, so that the lost years and all her bitter griefs melted away. Looking up at him, she half-whispered, “Am I really precious to you, Gideon?”

  She was more than precious; she was his dear and delicate perfection. He murmured huskily, “You are my—”

  “I fetched a cup of tea for my lady,” said Cook, coming briskly into the room and directing a censuring frown at Gideon.

  The two young people fairly sprang apart and turned guilty faces to the motherly woman.

  Cook put the cup and saucer on a side table, looked from one to the other, and made no move to depart. The wife of Sir Mark’s coachman, she had been assistant to the chef until the scandal had caused that highly excitable French gentleman to remove to a less notorious household, whereupon she had taken over as ruler of the kitchens. She had only known Gideon for two years prior to his departure for the army, but she considered him part of “her family” and thus subject to correction where needed. She folded brawny arms across a massive bosom and fixed him with a steady stare.

  Naomi murmured that she was most kind, and Gideon, flushing to the roots of his hair, felt like a small boy caught in some prank, and stammered, “Oh. Er—yes. You are very good. Thank you.”

  “The young lady’s had a awful experience, sir,” said Cook. “Likely you’d want me to keep with her.”

  ‘Oh, God!’ thought Gideon. “I—er—I was just—Just—er…” Inspired, he said, “Returning her slipper! Here—here ’tis, Lady Naomi.” He whipped the slipper from the floor beside his chair, and offered it triumphantly.

  “Oh!” cried Naomi, overjoyed. “You really did find it for me! Thank you so much!”

  Beaming at Cook, Gideon said foolishly, “So you see, ’tis quite all right.”

  Naomi sat down, dimples peeping, and sipped her tea.

  Cook relented. She would have a word with the captain later, on the impropriety of being alone with an unwed damsel in his father’s withdrawing room. But recollecting that she must put a hot brick in Miss Gwendolyn’s bed, she rustled her way to the door, said a reluctant, “Very well, then…” And having made a great show of opening the door as wide as it would go, gave Gideon a look that spoke volumes, and rustled off.

  “Oh, Lord!” he gasped, sinking into a chair and taking out his handkerchief. “I am sunk far beneath reproach!”

  Naomi gave a little ripple of laughter. “Rakeshame,” she whispered.

  “No—do not!” he pleaded, mopping his brow. “Truly, I had no thought to compromise you. What a ghastly thing!”

  “Ruined for a slipper,” she said, waving it merrily. “Gideon, if you knew how grateful I am that you were able to restore this to me!” And, drawing a bow at random, “I rather fancy Newby wanted to give it me himself.”

  Watching him obliquely, she saw the sudden steely look and knew she had guessed rightly. His brother had found her slipper and had cherished far different plans for its return.

  Gideon smiled then. “’Twas the least I could do, since I was unable to return the other object you—er lost.”

  “The other…?” she echoed, her attention on the whimsical smile she had missed so terribly. Remembering then, she started. “Oh! The chess piece! Which reminds me, Gideon. ’Tis the strangest thing.”

  Misunderstanding, he kept one wary eye on the doorway, and pointed out, “I never saw it, but your papa evidently valued it highly.”

  “Yes. But that is not what I meant, exactly. You see, I didn’t quite finish telling you what happened at the Dowling Soiree. The chessman I lost is an antique piece, and papa thinks he can never replace it because there is not another set like it. But, Gideon, there is! The gentlemen in that room had one!”

  He frowned and sat straighter. “What gentlemen? I thought they were gone by the time you reached the other ledge.”

  “No. I had to wait outside until they went away. La, but I thought they would quarrel forever! And then I saw that there was a chessman on the table—almost identical to the one I lost, save that it was green, not red, and looked to be set with emeralds.”

  Intrigued, he said, “It must indeed be valuable. Were you able to discover where ’twas purchased?”

  “But of course,” she teased, setting her cup aside. “I tripped through the open door in all my filth, and they fancied me an angel who’d flown down from heaven!”

  He laughed. “Touché! You little wretch, I deserved that. I wish I might have seen their faces had you done so. Who were they, by the way?”

  “I’ve no notion. I could only see the back of one gentleman, and the hand of another. They were behaving in so odd a way. Whispering almost, though they were alone in the room. And then they became angry, or at least, one did, and he said he was perfectly sure about something, and that everyone is different. Which seemed a foolish thing to remark.”

  “Hmm. Is that all?”

  “No. ’Twas then I really became frightened, for the other man said that somebody was a menace. ‘On both counts,’ he said. And that this menace person must be silenced. Does not that sound grim? And there was something about a meeting that could not be held until six were recovered, and that all their lives were at risk.”

  “By Jove!�
�� exclaimed Rossiter. “It sounds grim indeed, and as if you’d stumbled into a proper barrel of hornets. Thank heaven you were not detected! So they finished their game and left, did they?”

  “They left, but they had not been playing chess, for there was just the one piece, and no board.”

  “And they said no more?”

  “No. Only— Wait!” She frowned a little, trying to remember. “There was something … Oh, yes! The second man was grumbling about a delay. And the first man said something about ‘One more try,’ and that then it would be his plan.”

  Rossiter muttered, “There’s a deal more here than meets the eye! I wonder if…” He sprang to his feet and paced to the window, his tired mind grappling with possibilities. “’Twas not ’til you lost the chess piece that the robberies began,” he muttered. “It never dawned on me there could be any connection, but—”

  Naomi stiffened. “Robberies? What robberies?”

  He limped back to her, his eyes alight with excitement. “Why, a whole string of ’em, Naomi. My saddlebags were taken the very first morning I arrived in Town. Then Promontory Point was broken into and ransacked—no, wait! That was before I reached Town, come to think on it! Just after you came, in fact! Then, the man we sent down to the Red Pheasant was attacked, and Jamie’s home was broken into. And—yes, burn it!—the louts who ambushed me this morning—”

  He stopped, because Naomi had come to her feet and was staring at him.

  In a rather odd voice she said, “But the men who attacked you were, you said, retaliating ’gainst your enquiries about the bank failure.”

  “Yes. But they also were searching for something, and they used the very same expression as all the others! They called their employer ‘the Squire’! Don’t you see, Naomi? It may all be connected!”

  She said slowly, “I see. Then you believe this man called the Squire could be responsible for all your father’s troubles.”

  “There’s a link somewhere! I’d swear to it! And your plotters in the Dowling ante room are in it up to their aristocratic eyebrows!”

  “And it all started when I lost my father’s chessman.” Her voice was ice, her whole demeanour one of frigid hauteur.

  “Well—yes, but—”

  “Do you, by some chance, mean to imply that my papa is this evil and mysterious ‘Squire’ of yours?”

  “Good … God!” whispered Gideon. “’Twould make sense, except—”

  “Except that it makes no sense at all!” Anger sparked in her eyes. “La, but I think your father’s obsession has overcome your power of reason, sir!”

  “I shall hope that my son retains sufficient of that commodity to offer me a good reason for your presence in my house, madam!”

  The acid voice brought Gideon’s head jerking around.

  Sir Mark, a proud and commanding figure, stood in the doorway, with Newby smiling beside him, and a troubled Gwendolyn peeping between them.

  “There was an accident, sir,” said Gideon. “Lady Lutonville is—”

  “Is much beholden to you, Captain Rossiter,” she intervened glacially. “Despite your mental aberrations, I owe you my life.”

  “Why you are here at all, ma’am,” said Sir Mark with contempt, “is more than I can fathom.”

  “I will explain later, Father,” said Gideon tersely. “Naomi, if you—”

  His father’s resonant tones overrode his effort. “We saw the wrecked coach, and I regret you were shaken up, ma’am. But if you are sufficiently recovered, I expect your noble father would not wish that you linger here.”

  “No more I shall, sir,” she riposted, very pale, but with her little head high. “I bid you good even.”

  Sir Mark stood aside and she swept through the doorway with the poise and pride of a queen.

  Gideon was after her in a flash. “Naomi! Wait! You’ve no carriage!”

  Sir Mark caught his arm and snapped, “I ordered my coachman to wait. He will convey her ladyship to her destination.”

  “Not without my escort, sir,” said Gideon, meeting his father’s enraged glare with a flashing look of his own.

  “You are worn to the bone. Newby will see the lady home.”

  Newby bowed low. “With the greatest delight.”

  “Thank you. No,” said Naomi. The footman placed her cloak about her shoulders, and contriving to keep the slipper hidden in the folds of her gown she started away.

  Gideon moved quickly to open the door. As Naomi swept past, she declared haughtily, “I will not occupy the same coach with you, Captain.”

  “Naomi—for the love of God!”

  “Let be, dammit,” cried Sir Mark, his face brick red with rage. “Newby!”

  Fearing lest this ghastly quarrel should deteriorate into an exchange of blows, Gwendolyn cried in her clear little voice, “Perhaps you could take Newby’s horse and ride escort, Gideon.”

  He threw her a grateful glance.

  “Certainly not!” Newby stood firm until Gideon was level with him, then he shrugged nonchalantly and stepped back.

  Tummet hurried to the foot of the steps. “I bin talking with the jervey, Guv. Proper aside of ’isself, ’e is!”

  “So he should be! Does he know this lady was nigh killed in that disgraceful accident?”

  “Likely not, Cap’n. Seein’ as there wasn’t one.”

  Halfway down the steps, Naomi paused, and stared at him. “Do you say I imagined this whole horrid business, Tummet?”

  He touched his brow to her respectfully. “I says as it wasn’t no accident, melady.” With a sober glance at Gideon he said, “That pole was near sawed through, Guv. If it ’adn’t of been good English oak, it’d likely ’ave snapped orf afore you got out, and we’d be planning two funerals this very minute.”

  “The devil!” whispered Gideon.

  “Dear me,” murmured Newby.

  “Another villainous act to credit to my father’s account,” said Naomi with a curl of the lip. “I am very sure he would plan his own daughter’s murder!” The footman handed her into the carriage, and she sat back against the squabs, suddenly unutterably weary; unutterably sad.

  Gideon limped to the groom who stood holding Newby’s horse.

  “No!” roared Sir Mark. “You damned young fool! You’ll fall out of the saddle!”

  “The devil I will,” said Gideon under his breath, but he was dismayed by the effort required to mount up.

  The jervey ran to his stirrup, wringing a greasy hat in his work-roughened hands, his eyes frantic. “Melor’—I gotta a wife and five babbies. Me coach was all I ’ad, melor’! We’ll starve, fer sure, melor’! Please, melor’!”

  His face seemed to ripple. Gideon gripped the pommel with one hand, and knew he was very tired indeed. “I’m sorry about your coach,” he said. “Tummet—arrange for repairs, and see what you can find out about all this.”

  The jervey mumbled incoherent thanks. Tummet nodded, and Gideon urged Newby’s grey down the hill.

  * * *

  “I cannot think what you imply, ma’am.” Katrina Falcon’s cheeks were a trifle flushed, her eyes sparkling with rare anger as she faced Mrs. Golightly at the side of the dance floor.

  “But not a thing, my dear.” Mrs. Golightly’s fan fluttered, and above it her black eyes glittered with triumph. “I never credited that even Naomi Lutonville could be so daring as to lose her shoe in such vulgar fashion. I have done all in my power to scotch the scandal, but—”

  “I was unaware there was a scandal,” said Katrina.

  Reginald Smythe murmured with a small smile, “And i’faith, we all know how gentle and generous a heart is yours, dear lady.”

  A laugh went up, and Mrs. Golightly said, “How very true, and is there anything more touching than blind loyalty among friends?”

  More people were joining the little group, and Mr. Harrier lisped, “Is the divine Lutonville come, or has Rossiter kidnapped her away from us?”

  “Ain’t back yet, dash it all,” said Mr. Crensho
re, sighing. “Missed my dance, begad!”

  “That naughty, naughty boy,” gurgled Mrs. Golightly. “I wonder what he can be thinking of to keep her away so long.”

  “Perhaps the lovely lady has mislaid her other shoe,” said Mr. Smythe with a titter.

  “Well, I ain’t mislaid mine, and will be only too glad to use ’em on any filthy-minded gabblemonger in need of a good kick!”

  The cold words cut like a knife through the ripple of laughter, and heads turned.

  August Falcon, striking in a habit of dark blue velvet, the pocket flaps and great cuffs of his coat sleeves rich with embroidery, sauntered up with Lady Naomi on his arm. My lady looked a little pale, but her smile was brilliant and she plied her fan with exquisite grace.

  All eyes shot to her feet. Two dainty jewelled slippers sparkled in the light from countless candles.

  “Oh—my…” whispered Samantha Golightly, her face falling.

  Reginald Smythe raised his brows, thought ‘Be damned!’ and said admiringly, “But how clever of you, dear lady.”

  Falcon’s dark gaze was fixed on the dandy. “What a pity about your mouth, dear Reginald.”

  Smythe lifted a questing hand. The halfmoon patch his man had applied still seemed in place. “How so?” he asked anxiously.

  “It annoys me,” purred Falcon.

  Katrina took Naomi’s hand. “I am so glad you are back, dearest. Oh, you did change your slippers!” She looked steadily at Mrs. Golightly. “I wonder you bothered.”

  Rudolph Bracksby wandered up. “Where is Captain Rossiter?”

  “Falcon likely shot him,” said Crenshore with a grin.

  “Not yet,” drawled Falcon. “I would purely dislike to deprive our dauntless Reginald of that pleasure.”

  A laugh went up, and people glanced about for the “dauntless” Reginald. Mr. Smythe’s sense of self-preservation was strong, however, and he had already slipped quietly away.

  Naomi’s admirers closed in around her, pleading for the next dance.

  Katrina took her brother’s arm. “Why are you come?” she asked softly. “I’d thought you already laid down upon your bed. You have not really come to cuffs with Gideon Rossiter?”