The nostrils of the representative of law and order caught the essence of eau de jasmin; the quizzing glass was brought to bear on the rich soft swell of my lady’s snowy bosom, and the little beady eyes softened. “Poor fellow,” he murmured. “Poor fellow. I quite understand, my dear. You are to be commended for your loyalty. Take him away. As for you, sir,” the quizzing glass swung to Gideon’s angry face. “You are greatly blessed, and do not deserve it. I shall lower your fine to twenty guineas, and warn you not to waste the time of this court in future!”
Seeing Gideon’s expression, Naomi rested her hand on his arm. “Please pay his honour, my love. ’Tis time for you to go home and have your nap.”
Seething with frustrated fury, Gideon exchanged his evidence for twenty guineas, and retreated in disorder.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Never saw anything like it.” Viscount Horatio Glendenning sat at the table of the cheerful breakfast room in his father’s house, and gazed curiously at the miniature in the palm of his hand. “It’s a murky brew to be sure.” He looked up. “What d’you mean to do with the silly thing, Ross?”
Much restored by the delicious luncheon Lord Bowers-Malden’s chef had prepared for them, Rossiter said, “Try to find some expert who can tell me something of the figures. I’ve a mind to take them to Oxford and see if anyone at the Bodleian knows aught of their history. What do you say, my lady?”
Naomi put down her coffee cup and admitted that she could not understand what the tiny figures had to do with Sir Mark Rossiter’s troubles. “More to the point, dear Tio, is what will happen now. If Sir Louis Derrydene has Gideon arrested—”
Rossiter bent forward to place his long fingers over her hand and say with a reassuring grin that there was no cause to worry on that score. “’Twould draw attention to his crafty schemes, which is the last thing he wants.” He glanced at his friend. “I’m far more concerned with the probability that the bas—the rogue will slither out of the country.”
Naomi said soothingly, “Well, you have sent Tummet to watch his house, dear. He will let you know at once if there is any sign of that.”
“And if he does,” said Glendenning, “what shall you do?”
Rossiter scowled. “Everything in my power to prevent the treacherous cur escaping before he can be brought to book.”
“You may count on my help, dear boy. London’s been downright boring of late. I’d enjoy a lively scrap for a change.”
“That’s dashed good of you, Tio. I wonder, though—might your father help us, do you think? The backing of a man of influence would be invaluable, and he seems to have kept an open mind about the Rossiters. To an extent, at least.”
Glendenning gave him a rueful look. “Beastly luck, Ross, but Bowers-Malden is in Ireland. Went to have a look at a mare he’s been particularly interested in. He left yesterday morning, and I don’t expect him to return for at least three weeks.”
“Hell!” muttered Rossiter under his breath, and racking his brains, said, “Perhaps—Boudreaux…?”
Naomi said uneasily, “Surely Lord Boudreaux is out of favour, since his nephew was discovered to be a Jacobite sympathizer?”
Startled, Rossiter’s gaze shot to Glendenning. “Not Trevelyan de Villars? Good Lord! Did they execute him?”
“Tried to, dear boy. But he managed to get to France and I hear is now most happily married and soon to blessed by un petit pacquet. Still, your lady is quite correct, his uncle’s help, even were it given, might prove more an embarrassment than a blessing.”
Rossiter’s heart sank. Gordon Chandler’s sire would stand by them, he knew, but Sir Brian Chandler’s health was not good, and he seldom stirred far from his great estate near Dover. ‘Whatever is to be done,’ he thought, ‘I must do it.’ And he must do it fast, because Jamie had likely arrived by this time. He glanced at the clock uneasily. “I wish Gwendolyn and your sister would come home. How long have they been out shopping?”
“Oh, hours,” said Glendenning breezily. “When they have chattered their way through the bazaars and milliners, I believe they mean to visit every bookshop on London Bridge, and will likely not leave until the last one is closed. Matter of fact, Marguerite has invited Gwen to stay for a few days. Have we your permission, Ross, to keep your pretty sister with us?”
“Lord, yes!” Relieved for several reasons, Gideon said, “Gwen will be in alt! Thank you, Tio. You’re—er, sure Lady Bowers-Malden will not object?”
His lordship declared that his mama was exceeding fond of Gwendolyn, and would be delighted. Then, with a conspiratorial wink he excused himself to go and call up the carriage.
Thus left most improperly alone with his lady, Rossiter lost no time in taking her into his arms. Naomi was worried, and clung to him, anxious to know when and where they would meet again. He told her that he’d promised to ride with his father the following morning, and would be unable to meet her in the park. She accepted this falsehood without question, and they then devised a plan whereby either Tummet or Maggie would relay messages. Such hole-and-corner tactics were abhorrent to them both, but Gideon promised that the need for secrecy would soon be over. Despite the total inefficiency of the authorities, he was convinced his evidence would influence the lord chancellor’s committee. Once his father’s good name was restored, it should, he said cheerfully, be a simple matter to clear the way so that he could marry the lady he loved so deeply.
“One thing,” he warned, kissing the end of her dainty little nose. “Do not run off with Bracksby before I’ve the chance to formally offer for you again. He’s a jolly good man and I’d hate like the deuce to have to put a period to him.”
Trying to match his insouciance, Naomi said pertly that she was far more inclined to run off with Reggie Smythe. The price she had to pay for that piece of flippancy left her deliciously breathless, and she was able to leave Gideon with hope in her heart, and a smile on her lips.
* * *
The skies had darkened, and thunder was rolling down the sky by the time Gideon returned to Snow Hill. Lieutenant Morris had already arrived and was closeted in the book room with Sir Mark and Newby. They looked up from inspecting the ruby figure, and Morris said aggrievedly, “You send me off with instructions to make haste. Having risen at the crack of dawn and fought my way through numerous desperate encounters for your sake, I arrive to find you are gallivanting about somewhere!”
With a grin, Gideon wrung his outstretched hand. “An I know you, Jamie, your dawn cracked at ten o’clock, and your desperate encounters involved no more than fighting your way from the breakfast table! Still, you deserve a medal for bringing me this article!” He took up the ruby figure and looked at it curiously. “If only you could speak, little man…”
Sir Mark said, “I’d sooner hear from you, boy. What have you been about?”
“Quite a deal, sir. Has anyone come—er, looking for me?”
Newby drawled, “A messenger brought a letter for you.”
“I have it here.” Sir Mark handed Gideon a sealed paper. “And a Bow Street Runner came to enquire about the accident with the coach on Wednesday night. Very ponderous and painstaking. All wind and no worth.”
Gideon broke the seal, and read aloud:
Dear Captain Rossiter:
I understand that you are in possession of one of the pieces of the Jewelled Men collection. I also am a most ardent admirer of these works of art, and ’tis my hope to eventually own the entire set. In view of the antiquity of the figures, I will not insult your intelligence by offering a lesser sum than One Thousand Pounds for the piece you hold.
“God bless my soul!” gasped Sir Mark.
Newby whistled softly. “How can so small and unattractive an object be so valuable?”
Gideon exchanged a glance with Morris, and read on:
We have not met, but I stay at the Inn of The Blue Heron in Kensington Village, and should you be in the least interested in my proposition, you will be most eagerly welcomed by—
/> Your fellow collector,
Thomas Kendall-Parker
“One thousand pounds,” muttered Lieutenant Morris. “Jove, ’tis a vast sum!”
“He’ll have to double it, at least,” said Gideon, and setting aside the letter, took the blue figure from his coat pocket and laid it on the table.
“Stap me!” Newby leapt to his feet and snatched it up. “You’ve more sense than I credited you with, twin. These two together will command a princely sum! If this Kendall-Parker fellow offers a thousand, you may be sure they’re worth two or three times that much!”
Sir Mark said, “To judge from the graze on your forehead, I think you did not come by that easily, my boy.”
“Not exactly, sir.” Gideon related the day’s events as succinctly as possible, his story often interrupted by exclamations of excitement or anger. When he finished, Sir Mark was on his feet, his face flushed and eyes sparking wrath. “That treacherous hound! Not content with the betrayal of his trust, Derrydene has the bare-faced gall to threaten my son!”
“And I fancy is well on his way to France by this time,” muttered Newby.
“I doubt that,” said Gideon. “I’ve Tummet keeping watch on his house, and Glendenning has promised to send word at once should Derrydene attempt to run.” He added, “Do you see now, Papa, how these strange little figures are in some way bound up with the conspiracy ’gainst you?”
Sir Mark said triumphantly, “Then you own ’tis indeed a conspiracy?”
“I think we must all see that now, sir,” said Morris. “The thing is, we’ve to convince the Courts.”
“Those blockheads at Bow Street should have acted at once on what Gideon told them,” said Sir Mark angrily. “But my word carries some weight yet, I think. I shall go to the Horse Guards. I’ve an introduction to General Underhill, and with luck I’ll persuade him to—” He paused as an ear-splitting clap of thunder shook the windows.
The door opened, and Wilson announced, “A messenger from Lord Horatio Glendenning.”
A liveried lackey was shown in, raindrops gleaming on his cloak and tricorne. After a swift scan of the room, he went straight to Gideon. “His lordship’s compliments, sir, and I am to say that your man has been relieved for a few hours, but will go back on guard at ten tonight. His lordship don’t think there’s much danger of flight, because in accord with your instructions, two Watchmen has also been set outside the house.”
“Good!” exclaimed Gideon. “Then that rascal is laid by the heels for tonight, at least!”
“You suggested the Watch keep an eye on Derrydene’s house?” said Sir Mark. “I wonder they heeded you.”
“They would not have, if the suggestion had come from me, sir. I asked Tio to request it—in his father’s name.”
“Jolly good notion,” said Morris, laughing. “I fancy Sir Louis is biting his teeth with frustration.”
Gideon tipped the lackey and sent him off with a note of thanks to Lord Horatio. Glancing at the window, he said, “It looks to be a bad night, father. Perhaps you should postpone your call at the Horse Guards.”
Sir Mark did not enjoy negotiating the hill in wet weather, and he agreed to this, adding, “We’ll all go over there first thing in the morning.”
Gideon said apologetically, “I’m afraid ’twill have to be just you and my brother, sir.”
“Why, damme?” demanded Sir Mark, at once firing up. “I should like both my sons at my side, for once!”
Morris precipitated another uproar. “Gideon has a prior appointment in the morning, sir. With August Falcon.”
* * *
The skies were low-hanging and leaden, the air was chill, and in the jolting carriage Morris, not at his best before breakfast, grumbled. “Perry Cranford’s a good enough fellow, I give you that. But—Kadenworthy? Gad! Of course, one has to consider that Falcon’s not exactly surrounded by admiring cronies, but I hope he don’t have Kadenworthy for a second when I fight him. Cannot abide the man.”
Rossiter pulled his cloak tighter and said thoughtfully, “I think I don’t know the gentleman. Didn’t he go out with de Villars once?”
“Yes, and Treve almost told his tale for him! They’re friends now, I hear. Lord knows why. Kadenworthy’s tongue is every bit as acid as Falcon’s.”
“Your future brother-in-law,” said Gideon slyly.
Morris groaned. “One has to take the bitter with the better.”
Amused, Gideon asked, “Have you made any progress, Jamie?”
“She smiled on me”—a dreamy expression replaced Morris’ gloom—“and told me I was brave. And she bandaged my hand. Her touch was light as any feather.”
Rossiter peered at the bandage. “You should change that, y’know.”
“Never!” Morris touched the grey linen very gently. “Her little hand placed it there, and there it shall stay.”
“Gad, but you’re properly smitten! Lord knows, I wish you well, but—if the lady ever should accept you, would your father—er, be displeased?”
“What the deuce d’you mean by that? Miss Katrina is the loveliest creature in all England, and if you insinuate that my papa might object because some stupid bigoted fools say she’s a half-caste—”
“You think he would not, then?”
“Most definitely not! And—and if he did … Well, I’d win him over, be damned if I’d not.” He sighed and said ruefully, “You and I tread thorny paths to win our ladies, eh?”
Gideon’s slow smile dawned. “True. Speaking of paths, Jamie, do you go with me to see this collector fellow when my silly duel is out of the way?”
Morris said staunchly that he certainly meant to “trot along.” Inwardly, he was apprehensive as to the outcome of this meeting. Not quite two weeks ago the military surgeon had told Gideon to enjoy a good long rest and he would soon be as fit as ever. Far from resting, his life had since been one long riot. Oddly enough, he did look better; probably because he was so deep in love with the Lady Naomi. Still, the bruises on his side were more lurid than ever, and although he made light of it, he tended to move rather stiffly. If only Falcon wasn’t such a damned fine swordsman … Of course, if the ground was marshy that might even the odds a trifle. He peered out of the window hopefully.
The skies were a little brighter when they reached the site, which was located in the fields some half-mile beyond the end of the park. Viscount Glendenning and Falcon’s seconds, Peregrine Cranford and Lord Kadenworthy, were already looking over the ground. Gideon was acquainted with Cranford, a slim and handsome young man with intensely blue eyes, a ready smile, and a quick temper. Shaking hands, Gideon said, “How d’ye do, Perry? I see you’ve had a spot of trouble. Accident?”
“Prestonpans,” answered Cranford with a grin. “We’d a small war of our own whilst you was away, you know. My silly foot disputed the right of way with a gun carriage.” He saw Rossiter’s instinctive sympathetic wince and said cheerily, “But don’t be thinking this peg-leg a hindrance. I can hop about pretty well, as you’ll soon discover.”
Gideon clapped him on the back and turned to Kadenworthy. That tall and elegant gentleman gave him a nod and a cool stare and was apparently quite unable to see his outstretched hand. “I trust your man has webbed feet, Morris,” he drawled. “He has a fine bog to fight on.”
Morris stared at him in icy silence.
With so many matters preying on his mind, Rossiter had momentarily forgotten his disgrace, and he flushed a little as he turned to ask Glendenning whether Falcon had arrived.
“He’s in his carriage, playing cards with the doctor,” said the viscount, throwing an irked look at Kadenworthy.
The seconds conferred briefly. Since this was a matter in which blows had been struck and apologies were neither offered nor expected, there had been small effort to achieve a reconciliation between the principals. The swords, both hollow and well balanced, were compared for length, and approved. The seconds had agreed to obtain the services of only one surgeon, and that gentleman n
ow left the carriage, bag in one hand and an apple in the other. Minutes later, Rossiter and Falcon, having removed their coats and rolled back their ruffles, stood face-to-face with swords raised in the salute.
Falcon opened the offensive. He had an odd way of fighting, crouching slightly, his left arm held palm up but out to the side rather than extended behind him in the customary fashion. His thrust in carte followed the barest of exchanges after the initial salute, as though he had quickly taken the measure of his opponent. Rossiter, no mean swordsman, instantly parried with the heel of his blade, returned the thrust within the sword and returned to his guard. He was astonished to hear Falcon’s half-whispered “Good,” and saw the thin lips curve into a smile. No opening was allowed, however, and a second later Falcon’s sword darted for his chest in a powerful tierce thrust. Again, Rossiter parried successfully, and returned in tierce. Falcon shifted into sexte and increased the pace of his attack, and the swords rang together like rapidly erratic bell chimes, the duellists moving gracefully despite the fact that the condition of the ground had forbidden they remove their shoes.
From the outset Rossiter had known not only that he faced a magnificent swordsman but that as he’d suspected his bruises and the old wound in his leg were going to hinder him. He had not the slightest doubt but that although Falcon meant to enjoy himself, this would not be a killing matter. On the other hand, they had agreed on “first blood,” and to be disabled at this particular time did not at all suit his plans. His lips tightened determinedly, his eyes narrowed to an intent stare, and he bent every ounce of his concentration on the struggle.
Falcon, very fast, and obviously in his element, not only set a fierce pace, but covered a lot of ground, so that the seconds, each with sword drawn and ready, were obliged to be constantly on the move. Following a flurry of attacks, lightning swift, Falcon thrust in seconde. Rossiter parried with a prime parade and returned the thrust in prime, recovering in the nick of time as Falcon essayed a brilliant counter disengage.
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