The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  “Yes, indeed,” said Elspeth. “His papa’s country estate is in Buckinghamshire and marched with ours—before we lost it, you know. I believe his family spends much of the year down there. You will like him, I feel sure, ma’am.”

  When Nicholas Drew was shown into the parlour, however, Madame Martha’s first reaction was shock rather than liking. She was faced by a tall man she would have guessed to be on the far side of thirty rather than eight and twenty. He came into the parlour briskly; almost, she thought, as though he marched in, and there was about him an air of urgency that made her nervous. He was on the thin side but his bearing was proud and his head held high, reinforcing her impression that he was, or had once been, a military man. He wore neither wig nor powder, his hair of a dark auburn was tied back neatly, a pair of fine blue eyes were set under rather heavy dark brows, and his features were even and would have been unremarkable save for the scar of a sabre cut that marred his left cheek.

  She was staring at that scar wonderingly as he straightened from bowing over her hand after Elspeth’s introduction. A whimsical twinkle came into his eyes. He said, “You have found me out, ma’am. Yes, it was a duel.”

  Madame blushed and stammered, but Elspeth laughed and gave him both her hands, saying he was a rogue to embarrass her dear godmother when she had been trying to convince the lady he was “a very nice boy.”

  He winced at that description, but pressed a kiss on each of the hands he held and apologized if he had put Madame to the blush. “Though I have to say you blush very charmingly, ma’am.”

  This kind of light flirtation was more to Madame Martha’s taste. She said teasingly that she suspected her goddaughter was correct in having named him a rogue, and as he took the chair she indicated, she added that she would forgive him, since her dear late husband had been more than a little bit of a rogue himself.

  The conversation went along easily. The footman and a maid arrived with a tray of hot tea and small cakes. Drew apologized for having called at such an hour. He was obliged, he explained, to leave town for a few days and had been anxious to visit Elspeth before departing.

  “I understand you were with Vance Clayton in Paris,” said Madame.

  “Occasionally, ma’am. We sailed on the same packet, but afterwards went our separate ways, having different tasks to accomplish.”

  Elspeth asked anxiously, “Do you say you have not seen my brother? I had hoped you might have word of him.”

  Madame was adding milk to her tea and thus missed the quick warning glance Drew slanted at the girl.

  “Oh, I saw him,” he said. “In fact, Vance sends you his love and—”

  “And does he also say when he will come home?”

  “He cannot say with any certainty, Elspeth. It will depend on his work.”

  Madame helped herself to another cake and asked, “What might his work be, Mr. Drew?”

  Very aware of Elspeth’s anxious gaze, he replied smoothly, “Why, at present he is a courier, ma’am. And very much in—er, in demand.”

  “Really?” Curious, the widow said, “It sounds exciting. For whom does he work?”

  He answered apologetically, “I think, ma’am, I am not allowed to say. Save only, he is employed by a person of some fame in a matter that is of—great import.”

  “La, but how intriguing! It sounds as though young Vance has risen to a position of trust. In government, perhaps, sir?”

  Drew smiled and spread his hands with a regretful shrug.

  Madame pouted prettily. “More tea, Elspeth? Your mama will be so pleased. But I suppose we must not press Mr. Drew to betray a trust. So instead you must tell us of yourself, sir, and what you were about in La Belle France, or is that a state secret also?”

  “Not unless shipping is a state secret, madame. I was there in behalf of my father, who is in the import trade.”

  Madame Martha recoiled from the word “trade” but she expressed interest. She was growing sleepy as she tended to do after luncheon, and she was relieved when Drew enquired after a proper interval if he might be allowed to take Miss Clayton for a drive. Madame looked at the window and the flying clouds dubiously, but Elspeth pleaded that she would so enjoy a breath of fresh air, and reflecting that her goddaughter’s absence would give her the opportunity for a comfortable nap, Madame gave her consent.

  Within ten minutes Drew was handing Elspeth into his light coach and directing his groom to follow a leisurely path up to Tyburn Road and thence along Oxford Street and down Drury Lane.

  Climbing in beside Elspeth, he said, “Your godmama is a delightful lady, But I had to talk to you in private. I hope I was not too obvious.”

  “No, no,” she said. “You charmed her neatly. Nicholas, I’ve been beside myself, for I sensed that you have something to tell me. Is Vance in trouble?”

  He looked into her sweet face and wished he had not to be the one to break such terrible news. Taking her gloved hand, he said gently, “You know that your brother has been engaged in a risky business of late?”

  “Yes, of course, for when he left England he confided to me that he had become what they call a—a soldier of fortune. It was only for our sakes, Nick. Mama’s and mine. Since my poor father died we have lost just about everything we had. Vance tried so hard to bring us about. I suppose he must have felt this was his only hope. He has sent funds home, which has been a relief to poor Mama. I worried so at first, but he scolded me for doubting his ability, and indeed, he is such a fine swordsman, I hoped…” She searched the grave face beside her and her voice trembled as she uttered the question she dreaded to ask. “My brother is not—is not—dead?”

  “I pray not.” He saw her face whiten, and tightening his clasp on her hand he said quickly, “He entered the service of La Belle Pompadour. Vance is a good looking fellow and she—” He cut off the remark and added, “You will know how the lady interferes in political matters?”

  “Yes. And that she has powerful enemies. Oh, Nicholas! Has she persuaded Vance to do something dreadful?”

  Trying to keep his voice calm, he answered, “He was caught with one of her letters.”

  “Oh, my Lord!” A hand flew to her throat. She exclaimed in a voice that fluttered, “They will execute him for treason!”

  “For spying, rather. He is not in the Bastille, at least. Madame Pompadour is powerful and it does not do to cross her without proof. Vance is imprisoned in a private chateau.”

  “Then all he has to do is give them her beastly letter! What value can it have compared to his life?”

  He said gently, “I fancy several lives depend on the contents of the letter remaining secret. Vance gave his word to destroy it if he was caught. I have learned it was not found when he was arrested, but—”

  Elspeth gave a stifled sob and closed her eyes briefly. “I think you are trying to tell me he is being—questioned. Then—then he is very likely dead already.”

  Drew sighed and leaned back against the squabs, still holding her hand. “The only hope I can offer will not be of great comfort, alas. Vance fought for his life, as you may guess. He was wounded, Ellie. Yes, I know that terrifies you, but I learned that the minister who has him is most anxious that he not be questioned till he has to an extent recovered.”

  Elspeth burst into tears and groped for her handkerchief.

  Putting his arm around her and holding her close, Nicholas patted her shoulder and waited out the storm. As he had guessed, it was brief.

  Impatient with her weakness, she dried her tears, sat straight and said rather huskily, “Vance would never break his given word unless—unless he were forced. So we may have a little t-time in which to do something, is that what you think?”

  Drew thought, ‘It is what I hope,’ but he said, “Yes.”

  “Then we must go to Whitehall at once! The Horse Guards will intervene if they know a British subject is being held prisoner in … France…” Her words trailed off as he shook his head. “Why not?”

  “I went to our Emb
assy in Paris straightaway. I was listened to politely and assured that steps would be taken, but as you know, I’m not a stranger to diplomacy and I refused to be fobbed off. It was a struggle, but eventually I wrung the truth from them. It seems Whitehall is particularly anxious that Versailles not be upset at this particular time.”

  She protested indignantly, “How should an injured British gentleman upset almighty Versailles?”

  “Because your British gentleman is known to be a soldier of fortune, m’dear, and is in the pay of La Marquise de Pompadour, the King’s favourite, who is also a much too busy political plotter. A tangled skein at best, which could lead to the kind of involvement Whitehall would move heaven and earth to avoid. I could see I would get nowhere at the embassy, so I came home and went to the Horse Guards and to some, er—individuals of influence whom I chance to know.”

  Watching his stern face, Elspeth said, “Could they offer no hope at all?”

  He met her eyes squarely. “I have been warned very plainly to stay clear of the business.”

  “But you will not?” Clasping his hand again, she said in desperation, “Nicky! Vance is your best friend. Surely, you will not just stand by and do nothing to help him?”

  “Of course not. I will do whatever I may. Firstly, I must hire men and a boat.”

  Awed, she said breathlessly, “You mean to try a rescue yourself?”

  “Since I cannot achieve it legally, I must strive to accomplish it illegally.”

  Her eyes lit up. She exclaimed, “Dear Nicky! How splendid! What can I do to help?”

  He asked with a smile, “Have you the acquaintance of any gentlemen of power and influence?”

  Casting about in her mind for such rare commodities, she said worriedly, “Godmama may, but … Wait! Yes, I do! In fact, I was to ride with him in the park this afternoon!” She peered out of the window. “I had intended to send a note to postpone our ride, but I do think the wind is dying down, so I shall be able to go.” She turned a radiant face. “He will help us, I know it!”

  Amused as always by her swift changes of mood, Drew asked, “Does this reliable paragon chance to be known to me?”

  “Oh, I am sure he must be. His uncle is a power in the East India Company. I’ve known Joel since we were in the nursery.”

  Drew’s smile faded. “You never mean Skye? Lord Hayes’s nephew?”

  “Yes. Lieutenant Joel Skye. He would do anything I asked! Now why must you look so glum? Do you think Joel is too young to help? He has a quick mind and is as brave as he can stare, and—”

  “And has always adored you. I know that, certainly. But Lord Hayes is no longer a power in the East India Company. His health has reduced him to an invalid and forced him to retire.”

  Elspeth’s brow wrinkled. “I did not know,” she said uneasily. “I am indeed sorry to hear it. Lord Hayes is such a nice gentleman.”

  “A nicer gentleman than Joel was granted in his sire,” said Drew with uncharacteristic acerbity.

  “Good gracious! Does their feud continue after all these years?”

  “Colonel Sir Walter Skye is as crusty as ever. I think he will never forgive his brother-in-law for influencing Joel to choose the Navy rather than the Army as he had wished.”

  “Joel had every right to make his choice, and I am proud of him for sticking to his guns.” She added thoughtfully, “I wonder what will become of him now. I mean, whether he will continue to be attached to the East India Company?”

  “He’ll likely be able to tell you during your ride this afternoon. Jupiter! We’ve reached Drury Lane already! I’d thought to take you into the Bedford for a cup of chocolate or tea, but perhaps you will want to get ready for your ride.”

  Elspeth agreed that she had better go home, and Drew called to the coachman to return by way of Piccadilly and the side streets. Closing the window once more, he stressed the need for caution. “If Skye can be of help, you shall have to warn him that we don’t want the Horse Guards getting wind of our plans. If they do, we will surely be shut down or clapped up, to say the least of it!”

  * * *

  At the same moment that Nicholas Drew’s coach made the turn onto Piccadilly, Lieutenant Joel Skye stood in his father’s study enduring an impassioned assessment of the “opportunities” he had allowed to slip past him. Dark haired, of average height and slim build, Skye fell short of being named handsome, his best features being a pair of brilliant dark eyes and the thin nervous hands that were at present tightly gripped behind him. He bore little resemblance to his sire, and Colonel Sir Walter Skye’s large frame appeared even more massive as it towered over him; that very lack of resemblance serving as a constant reminder to the Colonel that his firstborn son had the poor taste to take after his wife’s side of the family and the brother-in-law he had always detested.

  Brandishing a letter in the air, Sir Walter roared angrily that he hoped “the Lieutenant’s” feet had been restored to the ground at last. “I warned you that the Navy would take you nowhere,” he reminded. “Had you listened to your father you might have had a promising career in the Army. But the saints forbid you should pay heed to me! I am only a colonel! You preferred to soak up the nonsense your almighty lordship of an uncle whispered in your ear! A great man at the East India Company! A director, no less! With everyone fawning and grovelling before him, and you toad-eating him so that he got you appointed his aide, and promised you Lord knows what in the—”

  “That is not so, Father!” interrupted Joel, his pale face lit by a flush of resentment. “Uncle Clifford valued—”

  “Do not dare interrupt me, you disrespectful serpent’s tooth!” thundered the Colonel. “Do you fancy me to have been blind all these years? He liked you best because you favoured him—God help you!—and were scrawny-built like him! While your brother, who is worth ten of you and chances to resemble his father, was passed over and ignored!”

  “I believe Henry has no leaning towards a military career, sir.”

  The Colonel was deeply fond of his younger son, who had inherited his sire’s large frame and heavy features, and while having scant affection for Sir Walter, catered to his every whim. “Henry is only two and twenty,” growled the Colonel defensively, “and has plenty of time to decide on a career. Whereas you are—what? Eight and twenty?”

  Joel said coolly, “I am twenty-six, sir.”

  “Humph! Then belike there’s still time for you to mend your ways! Aye, you may stare, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.” The Colonel’s lip curled contemptuously as he glanced down at the letter he still held. “This vital communique is from your beloved uncle, advising me that poor health has forced him into retirement, but that he will—‘bend every effort’ is the expression he uses—to see that you are given an appointment worthy of your abilities.” Cutting off his son’s attempt to comment, he barked, “In other words, Lieutenant, sir, your so admired uncle has been cut down in his prime and you—an inept planner at best—are to be thrown to the wolves! Oh, never argue about it! You’ve lost your guide and protector and are on your own. And if my judgment of you is correct you will go precisely nowhere! If—if, I say, you remain in the Navy!”

  Astonished, Joel stared at him. “You want me to—to resign my commission, sir?”

  “Never wanted you to take it on in the first place! I have some influence in Whitehall and have you the sense to enter a career worthy of a man I may be able to pull a string here and there. You damned well don’t deserve I should, but sooner than see you sink into naval obscurity…” The Colonel tossed his brother-in-law’s letter onto the desk and waited, glowering, for his son’s appreciation of this magnificent opportunity.

  A moment later, his roar of wrath rattled the windows.

  * * *

  “I am only delighted that you agreed to come!” Joel Skye’s dark eyes turned to the lady who rode beside him through this chilly afternoon. The cold air had put roses into Elspeth’s cheeks, and the claret-coloured habit and wide-brimm
ed hat with its curling feather became her admirably, so that he thought her lovelier than ever.

  They were approaching Hyde Park Corner. The sun had ventured out timidly, a pale sun offering little warmth save to the heart.

  “To say truth, Joel,” Elspeth admitted with a smile, “I almost sent our page with a note asking to postpone our ride, but then the wind died down, and—well, there is something I would like to discuss with you, if I may.”

  “Of course. But if it is too cold for you, I can call up my mother’s coach. She is perfectly willing for me to use it, you know.”

  “I am sure she would offer, she is such a sweet person. How does she go on? I fancy she must be distressed by her brother’s illness.”

  “It is indeed a great worry. They’ve always been very attached, as you know. The doctors had warned him that if he would just live at a slower pace—” Skye hesitated, then went on, “The problem is that he has little respect for their advice. He is so highly strung and energetic, or he was.”

  Elspeth watched him and thought that he and his uncle were much alike. They both were clever, ambitious men who drove themselves mercilessly and never knew when to rest. ‘If he doesn’t wed a lady who will take very good care of him, he’ll work himself to a shade, as his poor uncle has done,’ she thought regretfully. The faint look of strain in his eyes had not escaped her, and because she was deeply fond of him, she said carefully, “I know Lord Hayes had great plans for you. Will you be able to stay on as an aide to his successor in the East India Company?”

  Briefly, Skye seemed not to hear the question, a rare frown lingering. Then he answered rather too hurriedly that he expected to be reassigned shortly, and before she could comment, he said, “Now never mind about me, Miss Clayton, ma’am. What is this matter you wish to discuss?”

  He hid his feelings well, but having known him since childhood, Elspeth suspected that something was really disturbing him. He had skirted her enquiry about his mother, whom he loved dearly, and it was quite probable that his father had frightened that frail lady again. Deciding to probe a little before she broached the subject of her own troubles, she asked that they adjourn to a nearby bench where they could talk more comfortably.