Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  “Blister it!” exclaimed Sir Mark. “Then you were right all the time, Gideon! That confounded chess piece really was connected with my troubles!”

  The general said kindly, “And your troubles are over, Rossiter. I make no doubt the Lord Chancellor’s committee will exonerate you of all blame!”

  * * *

  General Underhill’s predictions about the meeting of the Lord Chancellor’s committee proved entirely accurate. The meeting became chaotic when Derrydene’s suicide was made known and his confession was read aloud. Sir Mark Rossiter was acquitted, and commended for his desperate efforts to rectify matters. He stood up, impressive as always, even in a sober habit of brown and gold. With the help of the Horse Guards, he announced, Samuel Davies, the embezzler, had been traced to an island off the coast of Spain and there was every hope that a large part of the funds would be recovered. There were cheers at this, and more cheers when he declared his intention of using the money to repay his investors at seventeen shillings to the guinea, and that the remainder would go towards reopening the shipyard.

  At the impromptu celebration that followed the meeting, Newby, somewhat subdued but still trying, had several suggestions by which his father might better use the funds, if they were indeed recovered. Rossiter Court on Conduit Street must be reclaimed. Promontory Point must be renovated and improved and the ornamental water—

  Sir Mark interrupted brusquely, “I have sold Promontory Point.”

  As stunned as his brother, Gideon stammered, “But—but, sir, it has been in our family for centuries!”

  “Aye. And as my heir, you doubtless feel I should have consulted you.” Sir Mark clapped him on the back. “My boy, you’ve done well, and I’ll not again make the mistake of supposing you’ve no head for business. However, Bracksby has made a most generous offer for the Point, and with the funds we can restore the shipyard and put our people back to work. I believe Bracksby only makes the purchase to oblige me, and the good-hearted fellow promises to sell back the estate should I feel able to take it on again—which I certainly shall do. With the help of you two young rascals.”

  He smiled kindly at his younger son. “You are agreeable, I presume?”

  “Oh—as you say, sir,” said Newby, hollowly.

  “Meanwhile,” Sir Mark added with a twinkle, “I am not such a dunce as to be unaware of your hopes, Gideon. You mean to wed your beautiful lady and spend as much time as possible down at Emerald Farm. Shall she object, do you fancy?”

  “I sincerely hope not, sir.”

  “Well,” said Sir Mark expansively, “you have my blessing. I doubt Collington can object, in view of all you’ve done for him, but you shall wish to seek him out and get his approval, of course.”

  Plagued by the guilty awareness of how differently his father would react if he knew the whole story, Gideon mumbled, “Yes—er, of course, sir.”

  “Only look at him,” laughed Sir Mark. “Blushing like a schoolboy!”

  * * *

  General Underhill looked up from the small pile of papers on his desk, then passed them to the stocky major who was his aide. The major began to leaf through the documents. Underhill scrutinized the young officer who stood at rigid attention before his desk, shoulders pulled back, head high and proud, eyes steady but unreadable.

  “’Twas my thought,” murmured the general, “that you planned to wed Lady Lutonville.”

  Gideon answered, “Such is my intention, sir.”

  “And is she aware of this report you have handed me?”

  “It is my hope, General, that she may never be aware of the matter in its entirety.”

  The general put up his brows, but made no comment, turning his attention to the three young men who stood just behind Captain Rossiter. Dispensing with the first two, he said, “Glendenning, I have been acquainted with your father any time these thirty years. Is Bowers-Malden party to your—suspicions?”

  Lord Horatio shook his head. “Captain Rossiter has asked that we keep it as close as possible, sir.”

  “He has reason, belike.” The general’s eyes flickered over Falcon and settled on Morris. “You served with distinction, Lieutenant. Are you by chance of the Cornwall Morrises?”

  “My father’s cousin, sir.”

  Underhill nodded, left his chair, and took a turn about the room. Three of the men exchanged grim glances; Falcon merely looked bored.

  “You will permit that I make quite sure I’ve a correct understanding of Captain Rossiter’s report,” said Underhill, hands loosely clasped behind him. “’Tis your—ah, shared belief that a group of conspirators, led by some nebulous person called the Squire, threatens England. Unhappily, you do not know the precise nature of this alleged threat, nor when or where it is to be realised. Nor do you know the identity of this—ah, Squire person. Am I correct thus far?”

  Gideon said, “Quite correct, General.”

  “Thank you. You base your suspicions upon two jewelled miniature figures, now vanished; some references to—ah, the letter S; and the number—six. We know that the late Sir Louis Derrydene used such miniatures for identification purposes while engaging in his intrigues. But you tell me this sinister individual called the Squire also uses these miniatures for some—ah, unknown, but presumably diabolical purpose. Derrydene, you say, is not the Squire.” He paused with an apologetic smile. “Pray interrupt me an I make a mis-step while trying to find a way through all these—ah, tangled threads?”

  Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Yes, sir.”

  The general nodded. “To continue then: As if all this were not sufficient, you charge that Lord Collington, an exceeding wealthy man, was so ruthless as to kidnap his own daughter and demand the miniature figures in exchange for her safety. Truly, a most reprehensible act! Am I then to infer that Lord Collington is this dastardly Squire?”

  “If he is not the ringleader, he is most assuredly deeply involved, sir. And his Christian name is Simon.”

  “Ah. The S figure.” Smiling faintly, Underhill said, “Do you know, I rather hesitate to mention it, but—er, my first name is Samuel.”

  Gideon flushed, and one hand clenched. “I certainly do not imply—”

  “And mine,” put in the major, “is Stephen.”

  The general said genially, “I trust you do not look upon us with disfavour by reason of that circumstance, Rossiter?”

  “We might,” snapped Falcon, “an we considered this a joking matter.”

  Underhill’s mild gaze turned to meet a scorching glare from eyes of midnight blue. There was a brief but excruciating silence, while four men held their collective breath. The general disdained a direct response, however, and returned his attention to Rossiter. “In the event we do not consider this a joking matter, Captain, what are we to consider it? Attempted murder? A treasonable plot? I trust you do realize what you imply? And what the possible results of such implications could be?”

  “Unfortunately—I do, sir.”

  Underhill nodded and went back to his chair. He snapped his fingers and held out one hand. His aide rose immediately and gave him the papers, and for some minutes Underhill scanned them frowningly. When he looked up, Falcon was making no great effort to stifle a yawn. A glint came into the general’s mild eyes, but if he was irritated, he concealed it. Leaning back, he looked at them thoughtfully, one after the other.

  A slow smile dawned. “Gentlemen,” he said, “my congratulations. You have done exceeding well. Not only have you exposed a treacherous scheme, but you have rescued a lady of birth and breeding from a horrible fate. Now, you place before me a warning that well may stand our England in good stead. The nature of your suspicions, however, renders it vital that we proceed with great caution. To accuse a gentleman of rank and fortune of kidnapping his own daughter might plunge us all into very hot water indeed. I fancy you realize that we have nothing tangible with which to prosecute the Earl of Collington. Captain Rossiter was the sole witness to his—depravity. ’Tis very obvious that the ruffians you
apprehended fear their ‘Squire’ more than they fear deportation or the gallows. Whoever hired them likely holds a threat over their families. We shall get nothing from them, and even if we did, the statements of such commoners would scarce influence any jury sitting in judgment on a peer of the realm.”

  He leaned forward, linking his hands and looking at Gideon earnestly. “We must have proof not only of Collington’s part in the kidnapping, but of the further plot you believe he hatches. And in order to obtain such proof he must be given plenty of rope and watched day and night. I do not mean to charge you with such a task, Captain. Not only would it place you in a most unenviable position because of your personal involvement with his family, but you have done your share—and done it magnificently. Rest assured that I shall put my very best men on the case. Meanwhile, I must have your word, gentlemen, that you will discuss this matter with no one. It is to remain a closely guarded secret that goes no farther than this room. You will oblige me?”

  They all swore to keep silent, whereupon the general stood once more, and came around the desk. “Captain Rossiter, you are a fine gentleman and a credit to your family and to your country. Will you do me the honour to shake my hand?”

  Very red in the face, Gideon shared a firm handclasp.

  General Underhill proceeded to shake the hands of Lord Horatio, Lieutenant Morris, and Mr. Falcon. He hesitated for the fraction of a second prior to that final handclasp, and Falcon’s lip curled as he permitted his fingers barely to brush the general’s outstretched hand.

  Sufficiently embarrassed, Gideon refused the offer of a glass of sherry before departing, and with smiles and more words of praise, the colonel ushered them from the building.

  In silence, they began to stroll along Whitehall.

  After a minute or two, Morris said, “Well, that’s done, thank the Lord!”

  Rossiter muttered, “I wish I did not feel such a treacherous cur.”

  “Why should you?” drawled Falcon. “The old dodderer believed not a word you said.”

  “What the devil d’you mean by that?” demanded Gideon.

  “He don’t know what he means,” said Morris. “Pay him no heed.”

  Falcon shrugged. “As you wish.” He started to cross the street.

  Glendenning caught his arm and hauled him back. “Oh, no you don’t! Why did Underhill praise us, an he thinks we lied? And for that matter, why should he think so?”

  Morris threw out his arms, bringing their stroll to an abrupt halt. “Every man at attention to hear the genius among us,” he commanded.

  Falcon tapped his chin with his quizzing glass and said thoughtfully, “Is time you owned it. Very well. I judge our general to be convinced Rossiter has pigeons in his loft. Morris, I fancy he justifiably deems a dense clod blinded by loyalty to a friend. You, my poor Tio, he undoubtedly believes to be supporting this drama only so as to throw smoke in the eyes of those looking into your evil past. And as for me,” he finished, smiling his cynical twisted smile as they all broke into laughter, “my reasons were not even considered, since I am beneath contempt and of no consequence.”

  “An you were right,” said Gideon, grinning broadly, “a man such as Underhill would scarce have let us off so easy. More likely I would be transferred to Bedlam, Tio would rusticate in the Tower, and Morris could revel in a promotion to corporal!”

  Chuckling, Glendenning asked, “You did not really believe any of that stuff, did you, August?”

  A rare twinkle lit Falcon’s dark eyes. He said with a grin, “Does your sense of self-preservation nag you, perchance? Pay it heed whilst you can! As for the rest, my assessment served to banish the self-satisfaction in which you all wallowed. Besides, who can explain so devious a mind as that of a general?”

  “You certainly cannot,” said Morris, all righteous indignation. “If ever I met a fellow so eager to slip a cockroach into the pudding bag!” The others laughed, but Morris went on, “Deuce take you, Lord Haughty-Snort, I wish you’d not come with us.”

  “Not so do I,” said Gideon. “The general petrifies me and I was in sore need of you all. Truly, I thank you for standing by me today.”

  “I should think so,” said Falcon.

  “If you thought, you wouldn’t,” grunted Morris.

  Falcon groaned. “Another profundity? Lord save us all, I wonder what this one may mean! And speaking of saving us, do you mean to flee the country, Glendenning?”

  “I do not,” declared Lord Horatio. “But I am resolved to henceforth associate only with people who are above reproach and will not further endanger my—ah, reputation.”

  “Very wise,” said Gideon. “And I’ve to thank you, Tio, for allowing my sister to stay with you these past few days.”

  Glendenning bowed. “Miss Gwendolyn is always a delight.”

  “And the antithesis,” drawled Falcon, “of your new resolution.”

  Gideon stiffened. “I think you must explain that, sir. Do you say my sister is not above reproach?”

  “Were she my sister she would be reproached, I promise you,” said Falcon, impervious to the steely glint in Gideon’s eyes. “I’ll remind you that she came to call on me, ostensibly to beseech me not to run you through. I put it to you that a single lady does not in propriety call upon a bachelor, and that I did not invite her! Not content with this breach of etiquette, in presenting what should have been a humble request, she contrived to knock me down, break my grandmama’s vase, and ruin my dog! And to add insult to injury,” he went on, warming to his theme, “she danced on my best Colichemarde and bent the damn foible!”

  Weak with laughter, Morris collapsed onto Glendenning’s shoulder.

  Rossiter made a great effort to keep his mouth stern and said he would at once go home and beat Gwendolyn within an inch of her life.

  “I will lend you my spiked cudgel,” offered Glendenning, greatly amused.

  “No, but seriously,” said Gideon, “I do apologize, Falcon. We have treated you shabbily from start to finish. I shall certainly replace your vase, and—” He paused, knitting his brows. “Ruined your dog, you say? How the deuce did she manage that?”

  “She threw her cane for the brute,” said Falcon gloomily. “He used to be a fair watchdog. Now he offers a stick to everyone who calls. I vow an army of stick-wielding burglars could invade my home in perfect safety since she reformed him! And if you do not cease howling, Lieutenant Block…!”

  Glendenning intervened, “Well, you have done your possible, Ross. Restored your father’s good name, and won the thanks and praise of the King’s General. What d’you mean to do now?”

  Gideon took a deep breath. “Now, by heaven, I am going to get on with my own life!”

  “Speaking of getting on with things,” drawled Falcon. “Morris owes me a duel.”

  Morris wiped tears from his eyes. “So I do, by Jove! Will you second me, Ross?”

  “After my honeymoon,” said Gideon.

  “But that is so … inchoate, my dear fellow,” complained Morris.

  * * *

  Inside the quiet office, General Underhill stood at the window, and watched the merry group out of sight. He said quietly, “Well, Stephen? What do you make of it?”

  The major pursed his lips. “A terrible thing, sir.”

  “Terrible, indeed.” Underhill turned back into the room, and sighed. “A fine young officer like that. Splendid background, and a magnificent battle record. What a pity.”

  His aide asked, “What do you suppose caused it, sir? A mental collapse as a result of his wounds?”

  “Something of the sort.”

  “You—er, do not think he should be—er—”

  “Placed under restraint? No. And God help me do I err!”

  “I wonder why the others support him?”

  “Belike they have their reasons. Friendship. A love of notoriety, mayhap. Young Glendenning I fancy would be pleased to turn our attention from his questionable loyalties. And as for that devil, Falcon! Stap me—what
insolence! One might think someone of his background—” He made an impatient gesture and did not finish the sentence.

  After a while, the major asked, “Do you mean to warn Lord Collington, sir?”

  “I fancy I should. But ’twould surely ruin young Rossiter’s chance for happiness. And the boy has been put through sufficient hell.”

  “True. But … that lovely lady, sir…!”

  They looked at each other, both faces troubled.

  General Underhill said heavily, “Damme, but war can be a wretched business, Steve.”

  “It can indeed, sir!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Raindrops pattered softly against the windows of the luxurious carriage that splashed along the Dover road. Kissing the top of the curly head which nestled just below his chin, Gideon murmured, “Are you disappointed, love, that it must rain on our bridal day?”

  Naomi leaned her head back against his shoulder and smiled up at him. “Nothing could disappoint me this afternoon. I am, at long last, Mrs. Gideon Rossiter.”

  He bent to kiss her rosy lips. “My father judged it a proper scramblement of a ceremony.”

  She chuckled. “Rushed into by special licence and with only two weeks’ notice. Dreadful!”

  “Two weeks, indeed! I have waited and yearned for you these past six years at the least, Mrs. Rossiter, and feared this day would never dawn! For which I have no one to blame but myself. And I do not ask that you give up your title, dearest girl.”

  “I know,” she said tenderly. “But ’tis what I wish. That chapter of my existence is closed. The best part of my life begins now—as your wife.”