The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  Elspeth gave a gasp of fright.

  Madame took her hand and held it. “He was set upon late last evening. His man brought a note round whilst you was out. I’m afraid he is quite badly hurt, poor fellow. These dreadful Mohocks, I suppose. Here is the note—’tis addressed to you, my love.”

  Pale and trembling, Elspeth read the words inscribed in a neat hand that bore no resemblance to Nicky’s untidy scrawl.

  Ellie—

  Baxter is writing this for me and will have told you of my misfortune. Pray do not worry about me. I’ll recover, never fear, but the doctor insists I must keep to my bed for a week or two. Some maggot-witted idiots mistook me for a rich man, evidently.

  I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I must disappoint you and won’t be able to take you for the boat ride, as I’d promised. When you hear from the Boatman perhaps you should give Skye the opportunity of taking my place, after all. With the very deepest regret, I am,

  Yours, as ever,

  Nicholas

  3

  “I was indeed impressed by Mr. Drew,” declared Madame Colbert, eyeing herself critically in her dressing table mirror. “And that ringlet is too far forward, Hansen. Yes, I know you like it, but I do not. It looks like a sickly sausage hanging over my ear in that abandoned way! Pray retract it.”

  Hansen, Madame’s large, angular and opinionated abigail, pursed her lips and with a long-suffering glance at Elspeth attacked the offending ringlet.

  “And certainly we can drive to King Street to visit the poor fellow,” Madame continued. “But not today, my love. His man told me the doctor said—No! Not that far back, Hansen! It is with me, not following along behind! Don’t be so tiresome! The doctor said he was to have no visitors for the balance of the week, and ’twould be extreme thoughtless to weary him with company so soon after the attack. Is there anything more vexing, when one is ill, than to have a constant stream of visitors when all one longs to do is rest? Never look so tragic, dear child! Mr. Drew is tall and strong and will survive, I am assured. After all, he survived that dreadful sabre cut on his cheek, did he not? Which would have put a period to me, I am very sure. Now run along and write him a nice comforting note, and we’ll send it round to his rooms directly. Very well, Hansen, that will do nicely.”

  Elspeth did not “run along.” Her steps were slow and her heart heavy as lead as she went down to the escritoire in the morning room. How dreadful that poor dear Nicholas should have fallen victim to murderous thieves! There must have been several of the rogues, for Vance, who was a fine swordsman, had been envious of his friend’s skill with the sword and had once remarked laughingly that he pitied any hopeful Mohock who was so unwise as to select Nick for a victim. “Better the fool should throw himself in the Thames, and have done with it,” he’d said.

  Sitting at the little desk, Elspeth took up a pen. Typical of Geroux, the point was neatly trimmed, with ink ready in the Standish. Nicholas had written guardedly, but there could be no doubt of his meaning. Striving to be as cautious, she expressed her shock and sympathy and promised to come and see him as soon as his doctor permitted. As for the “boat trip,” she had not heard from the “Boatman” as yet, but would advise him of her decision when the time came. Meanwhile, he would be in her prayers, and he was to concentrate only upon getting better.

  She used the wax jack to seal her note and went into the front hall just as Geroux emerged from the corridor that led to the tradesmen’s entrance carrying a bandbox which had, he said, just arrived for her.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, taking the box and inspecting it curiously. “I have ordered nothing from Modeste Muguet.”

  He pointed out that the label bore her name and direction and said with a twinkle, “Might it perhaps be a gift from one of Mademoiselle’s admirers?”

  With belated perception and a nervous jump of the heart, Elspeth thought it might more possibly be the message she had so longed to receive. With a smile she requested that her note be delivered at once to Mr. Drew’s flat in King Street, and she carried the gaily decorated bandbox upstairs.

  Freda was gathering garments for the laundress but was at once agog to see what the bandbox contained. She was clearly disappointed when Elspeth told her to please take her cloak downstairs and attempt to remove the mud stains. “Aren’t you going to open it, miss?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Elspeth answered quietly, but with a lift of her brows and a steady look that sent the abigail in a flustered scamper for the door.

  Left alone, Elspeth removed the lid with hands that trembled. Inside was a charming mother-of-pearl hair-band, and underneath a note written in a fine copperplate.

  Dear Miss Clayton,

  I trust I have followed our mutual friend’s instructions in selecting this small gift for you. I expect you will be in touch with him. Would you be so good as to tell him I have contacted the owner of a vehicle such as he desires. He can investigate this at The High Tide, Fleetwell Village, near Worthing. He must not delay, as the owner of the vehicle will wait no longer than the 7th inst. Tell our friend that my clerical nephew’s name will identify him.

  I shall look forward to meeting you very soon, Miss Clayton.

  Very truly yrs.

  G.

  Stunned, Elspeth whispered, “The seventh! Today is the fourth! Who is ‘G’? And what is his clerical nephew’s name? Heaven aid me! Whatever am I to do?”

  * * *

  “Alas, mine is a very ordinary brain.” Adjusting the emerald pin that gleamed in his cravat, Sir Brian Beech looked from his hostess to the sofa, where his son chatted with Elspeth. “I think I am not too dense, however,” he went on, “to be aware that my pretty niece is nervous and upset. I wish I could make her see that, whatever the difficulty, Conrad and I are only too willing to help in any way we can.”

  “It is more than good of you to be so concerned.” Madame Colbert re-filled his teacup and handed it to him. “But I promise you, if dear Elspeth were troubled I would be the first to know. She is happy living here with me and is already creating quite a stir among gentlemen of the ton. Only last evening Lord Bottesdale remarked on her beauty and opined that she will become a toast in no time at all. I quite agree, do not you, sir?”

  “Oh, indeed, indeed.” Sir Brian dropped four lumps of sugar into his cup and stirred, his little finger extended daintily. “But just as we arrived, Elspeth was sending off your footman with a letter. I distinctly heard her tell him it was a matter of great urgency, and I could not fail to remark that she looked pale and anxious.”

  “Ah, well, that will be in the matter of poor Mr. Nicholas Drew. Perhaps you are acquainted?”

  “I do not recall the name. A relative of yours, ma’am?”

  “No. A lifelong friend of the Claytons. His family estate marches with—or marched with—theirs. In Buckinghamshire, you know. So lovely a spot it was. The Claytons’, I mean.” She proceeded to shock her guest with the news of the injury suffered by Mr. Drew and concluded by saying that she knew Elspeth had intended to send a note to her friend. “I’d thought she had already done so,” she said vaguely. “I shall have to ask her about it.”

  By the time her guests were taking their leave, however, Madame had forgotten the note and it was Sir Brian who drew Elspeth aside in the entry hall and commiserated with her about Mr. Drew’s injuries. “I have no acquaintance with the gentleman,” he said kindly. “But I’ve sensed that something was cutting up your peace.” Elspeth thanked him and wondered what he would think if he guessed just how worried she was, and why.

  The footman experienced some difficulty in arranging Sir Brian’s cloak about his shoulders, the gentleman demanding a precise set to the garment, which took some time to achieve. By the time he was satisfied the footman was flushed with mortification. On the threshold, Sir Brian turned back and again took his niece’s hand. “Do not forget, dear child,” he murmured throbbingly, “that I am your mama’s brother. I know we have been far away from you in the past, and that Va
nce is not here to come to your aid. But you are no longer without a male relation to turn to in any quandary. If you are troubled about something—anything, Conrad and I are here to support you however we may. I beg you, do not deny us the right to do so.”

  Flustered, Elspeth thanked him again and promised that she would call upon him should the need arise.

  He pressed her hand and gazed into her eyes so soulfully that she felt oddly embarrassed and was glad when he had gone with his mincing steps to join Conrad.

  They did not set out extra covers for guests this evening; a very light supper was served and Madame Colbert chattered gaily about the play they were to attend and the delights her godchild was to experience. Elspeth responded appropriately, while her mind struggled to find an answer to her problems.

  How simple it would be if she just accepted her long-lost uncle’s offer of assistance. And how willing he had seemed. Yet she could not dismiss the memory of how Papa had disliked him, and how even Mama had seemed to find it difficult to defend her brother on several occasions. Elspeth had never known exactly how her uncle had offended, but she had overheard some sharp quarrels and had later seen the very grim expression that so seldom darkened her father’s face. She had not dared to ask questions, but that the offence was so serious as to be past forgiving had been quite clear, even to someone of her tender years. Yet Sir Brian was family. And if she turned her back on his offer, who else was there? Joel, to whom she would normally appeal without hesitation, could no longer be approached; at least, not in good conscience. Nicholas, on whose strength she had counted, was now hurt and would be incapacitated for at least a week. She felt crushed and despairing, her beleaguered mind searching in vain for an answer.

  “… the owner of the vehicle will wait no longer than the 7th inst.…”

  She thought wretchedly, ‘Three days only! Each time I try to help my poor brother I fail, and I cannot fail the dear soul! He would risk everything were I in difficulties! Lord above, show me what I must do, please guide me to—’

  “And I dare swear you’ve heard not a single word I said!” Madame was leaning forward and watching her searchingly. “Elspeth! Wake up, child! Where are your wits gone a’begging?”

  “I ask your pardon, Godmama,” said Elspeth agitatedly. “I—I fear I have the headache.”

  “Poor creature.” Madame, who had often remarked that she could not understand people who complained of such afflictions, declared, “I am sure I have never suffered a headache in my life. Indeed, I would likely not recognize one if it should descend upon me. But I have to admit you are pale, my love. I hope you will feel able to join us at the theatre this evening. The Wisters are to take us up at a quarter to eight o’clock. You’ll remember them from the Bottesdale party. Such lovely people, and spoke of you most highly.”

  “I do indeed remember them,” replied Elspeth, with more tact than truthfulness. “Although I have to own, Godmama, that my memory for faces does not always serve me well. For instance, only yesterday when I was walking in the park with Lieutenant Skye he was telling me of a friend of his, a clergyman whom he judges to be a most worthy young gentleman. You very likely would know him if I could tell you his name, but all I can recall is that he is tall and has an uncle who is a famous peer. Lord … um—now whatever was the name…? It began with a ‘G,’ I think. I feel so stupid when I forget someone’s name!”

  “Lord ‘G,’” murmured Madame, toying with her cheese puff. “I love puzzles! Now let me think … a famous peer with a tall clerical nephew. So many younger sons enter the clergy … Hmm … There is Garland, you know—his nephew is a vicar somewhere—oh, but he is short and stout, as I recall, and Thomas Garland is a baronet, not a peer.” After several more abortive attempts, she said with a sigh that she could only call to mind Lord Geoffrey Boudreaux. “He has a young relative who is chaplain to somebody or other, but he is Geoffrey Boudreaux’s grandnephew, not—”

  “That sounds right,” said Elspeth eagerly. “Do you know what is the clergyman’s name, ma’am?”

  “He’s a Fitz, I believe … FitzMorley or—no! FitzWilliam! And, my goodness, yes! A tall, and very shy young man. Can that be the one?”

  “It is! Oh, it is!” Elspeth clapped her hands, and feeling very devious she trilled, “How clever you are, my dearest godmama! The Reverend Mr. FitzWilliam Boudreaux. I should have wracked my brains forever and never called it to mind!” And, astonished, she thought, ‘And now I even know what he looks like, for he must be the very bashful individual who was with that horrid Dandy in the park! What a coincidence that I have already been introduced to the gentleman!’

  “You are looking much better,” said Madame smilingly. “I am so glad, for I’ve heard the play is delightful and the Pirate is handsome as can be, so you will surely enjoy it.”

  As she went up to bed later that evening, however, it would have been difficult for Elspeth to call to mind either the actors or the plot of The Pirate and the Princess. She had managed to respond appropriately to the flattering kindness shown her by Mr. and Mrs. Wister as they drove to the theatre together, but throughout the performance her concentration had been upon the problem of how she was to get to the tavern in Fleetwell Village.

  Madame scanned her rather anxiously as she took up her candle at the foot of the stairs. “I think the Wisters were charmed, my love,” she said. “You were very quiet, which they thought was a becoming shyness. But I suspected your headache had returned. Does it still distress you? Or is it that you are anxious for Mr. Drew?”

  Elspeth, having formed a daring plan, said with a smile that she did have a touch of the headache still, probably because she had been for so long away from the noise and bustle of life in the great City. And with Madame’s fond assurances that a good night’s sleep would put things to rights, she climbed to her bedchamber.

  Her nightdress and wrapper were laid ready on the bed and Freda was nodding in the fireside chair. Elspeth crept over to the dainty escritoire and, having verified that stationery, ink and a quill pen were available, woke her maid and was readied for the night. She did not get into bed, however, but sent Freda off, saying that she was “much too excited” by the events of the evening to be able to sleep and would instead sit by the fire and read for a little while.

  The moment the door closed behind the yawning abigail, Elspeth hurried to the escritoire and took up the pen. Having spent most of the evening mentally composing this letter, there was no need for several efforts, the biggest obstacle being to disguise her own neat handwriting. She accomplished this by resorting to a rather flourishing printing and within half an hour had finished and sealed her letter. The direction presented a larger challenge, but by the time she had applied and blurred a “frank” and then creased the vital letter, she was quite pleased with her first attempt at forgery. An afterthought, calling for the application of the sole of her shoe, produced a grubby look that inspired a squeak of triumph, and having hidden her effort under the other stationery in the escritoire she was able to climb into bed with the satisfaction, however guilty, of a job well done.

  Freda found that her young mistress looked rather wan the next morning, and on learning that last night’s headache persisted, and that Miss Elspeth felt “a little stuffy,” she concluded that she had caught a nasty cold. Several sneezes and deep sighs confirmed this, and Elspeth went down to breakfast confident that the awareness of her “nasty cold” would be shared by every member of the staff before the meal ended.

  Madame Colbert had not yet come downstairs, but the postman had made his first delivery of the day and a small pile of correspondence lay beside her plate. Elspeth told the butler that she would wait a little while for Madame, and if he would just pour her coffee she might wander over to the buffet in a few minutes and serve herself. Geroux eyed her uneasily, but she sneezed, then gave him a brave smile, and he took his elegant self off, clearly thinking that poor Miss Elspeth was indeed a trifle down-pin this morning.

  The concer
ned gentleman would have been astonished had he witnessed the remarkable speed with which “poor Miss Elspeth” sprang up and raced around the table. The all-important forgery was slipped in amongst the other letters awaiting Madame’s attention and Elspeth retraced her steps at even greater speed as she heard her godmother approaching.

  She had barely sat down before the footman came in to stand behind Madame’s chair. Shocked to realize how narrowly she had succeeded in this first step of her plan, Elspeth stood once more, with a mental “Phew!”

  Madame accepted her good-morning kiss but, as she took her seat, remarked that her godchild seemed “a little flushed” and asked if she was still feeling poorly.

  It would not do to feel too “poorly,” so Elspeth declared that she was sure she would feel better after breakfast, and that at worst she might have contracted a slight cold. “The change of air, perhaps, ma’am,” she said, planting another seed.

  Madame looked relieved and entered at once into a rather one-sided discussion of The Pirate and the Princess while she enjoyed an egg on toast and two slices of cold ham. Elspeth settled for some haddock and bread and butter, and she strove to contain her impatience, but her godmother had listed her plans for the day and was drinking her third cup of tea before she excused herself. “Just for a moment, love, while I glance through all these silly letters.” She sorted through the pile and exclaimed, “Oh, here is one for you, Ellie. ’Tis franked by Lord somebody or other, I cannot read this dreadful scrawl.” She passed the letter to her godchild, saying with a guilty twinkle that perhaps she should not do so. “For it may very well be a love letter, in which case I must desire that you allow me to read it, dear.”

  Elspeth took the letter eagerly, immensely relieved that no trickery had as yet been detected, and with a mental plea for heavenly forgiveness she exclaimed, “Oh, Godmama! It is from my dearest friend Millicent Crossland! Her family used to spend the summers at their country seat, which was near to ours, as you know, and we swore eternal friendship.”