“How nice, dear,” murmured Madame, engrossed in her own letter. “What has she to say?”
“That she is betrothed, and longs to see me, and—oh, gracious! I am invited down to Worthing where they are spending several weeks! How lovely! Only—oh, dear! This letter must have been delayed! I was to have driven down yesterday, and Millicent begs that I be allowed to stay for several days. And tonight there is to be a betrothal party which she especially wishes me to attend! Oh—Godmama! What a disappointment!”
Glancing up and meeting tragic blue eyes, Madame was touched, and since her own letter contained an enticing invitation which did not include her protégé, she asked to see the letter. Having struggled through it, she said kindly, “My poor sweet! It is a pretty letter, but Miss Crossland should have given us more time, and I should really have first corresponded with her mama.”
“Yes,” said Elspeth, with a forlorn little sniff. “But you will remember my father always held that Lady Crossland was something of a widgeon, however well bred.”
Madame could not even remember Lady Crossland, but since the late Mr. Clayton had frequently advised her that she herself was similarly afflicted, she felt an affinity with the lady and said, “True. But—never look so sad, love. You do seem to have taken a little cold, and it might be as well for you to escape the city air for a space.”
Elspeth gazed at her hopefully. “Do you say I may go, ma’am? Is there time?”
“’Tis rather a scrambling business, and I doubt your dear mama would approve … Still, with your cold … Let me see. Miss Crossland says that if our coachman could bring you as far as this posting house in Fleetwell Village one of their ostlers would guide you to the estate her papa has hired. I wonder why on earth he would hire an estate in Worthing with the London Season hovering on the horizon.”
Improvising desperately, Elspeth declared that Millicent had always loved the seaside, and that the young lady was extremely pretty and very petted and indulged by her doting parents.
“So they allowed that she have her betrothal ball in Worthing … Hmm. They are eccentric, to say the least. But—then, who isn’t? Well, where are we? It is early yet and I have reason to be proud of my bay team. If you were to leave within the hour, Abraham Coachman could drive you down in the new coach and tomorrow bring back word of when you will return. You will take your woman, of course, if she can get you packed up quickly…”
There was no doubt, declared Elspeth joyously, that Freda would be as quick as winking!
Forty minutes later, Abraham Hines, Madame Colbert’s coachman, was less joyous as he loaded Miss Elspeth’s portmanteau into the boot of the coach. “If ever I heard of such a scramblement,” he grumbled to Freda. “With less’n a hour’s warning I’m to go galloping fer a posting house as I never heard tell on and get the young lady there afore dark! I grant yer madame’s bays is sixteen mile a hour tits, but I’ll have to change teams twice at least, seeing as Madame don’t keep changes along any post roads, so no one can’t blame me if we end up with two slugs what won’t move fer figs!”
“As if you’d be took in by slugs,” said Freda. “If ever a coachman knows his horses, it’s Mr. Abraham Hines!”
Only slightly mollified, he grumbled, “It ain’t decent, it ain’t. Does the missus know these here Crosslands, even?”
Freda smiled into his narrow, glum countenance and allowed as how the missus wouldn’t never do nothing she thought was havey-cavey. Handing him her own valise, she added, “Fairly dotes on my young lady, she do, and likely thinks the sea air will do her good, since she’s come down with this nasty cold.”
“More likely since Colonel Ritchie’s come back from France,” observed Coachman Hines with a cynical sniff.
“Ooh!” Freda squealed, and dug him in the ribs. “You are naughty!”
“I ain’t,” he argued. “But I wouldn’t put it past the missus to kick up her heels with the Colonel whilst the coast is clear!”
Shocked, Freda pursed her lips and said righteously, “It not being my place to criticize me betters, I will say nought.”
The coachman grunted and scowled after her as she hurried back into the house. “Say nought, indeed,” he grumbled. “She’ll have plenty to say if I can’t find the blasted place!” He glanced up at the pale sky. Not sunny, exactly, but at least there was no sign of ugly weather. It would be a drive of at least six hours, and by the time he got Miss Elspeth to her friend’s house it would likely be dusk. Not much doubt but that he’d be given dinner and a bed, of course. With luck, this here Lord Crossland would have a good cook and on the way back to the City tomorrow there’d be no call to race his cattle.
Securing the boot, he brightened. This scrambling journey might not turn out too bad after all.
4
Vance Clayton had once boasted to have driven his light coach from London to Worthing in only five hours, but although Madame’s horses were spirited beasts and Abraham Coachman knew his trade, by mid-afternoon they were still a long way from the coast. Elspeth and Freda had enjoyed the drive at first, but the constant pounding of hooves and jolting of the coach had become tedious, and as the hours passed Freda began to be convinced that they could not reach their destination until morning. She had said as much to her young mistress forty minutes ago, but Miss Elspeth was lost in thought and had made no response.
The weather, at least, had continued fair. They’d stopped twice to change horses and once to take an indifferent meal at a large and noisy inn. They had been leaving the yard of that establishment when a splendid blue carriage and four beautifully matched black horses had arrived at a reckless rate of speed and almost collided with them. Abraham Coachman had howled his indignation. The occupant of the blue carriage had given them a scornful glance, revealing a haughty and darkly handsome countenance, and Elspeth, who’d been so quiet all day, had roused to look out of the window and exclaim heatedly, “Oh! It’s him again!”
Intrigued, Freda had remarked, “Such a fine gentleman! Who is he, miss?”
“The most intolerable creature in London. At least, I hope there is no other like him! He seems to make a habit of annoying people.”
Freda had attempted to continue the conversation, but Elspeth had lapsed into her anxieties once more. She’d decided that once they reached the High Tide tavern she would somehow slip away from Freda and Abraham Coachman and find some likely person of whom to enquire for the Reverend Mr. FitzWilliam Boudreaux. If all went well, that gentleman would be able to hire men willing to attempt the rescue of her beloved brother; he might, in fact, already have done so. She acknowledged with a sinking heart that she did not know where Vance was held, or how to reach him, much less how to win his freedom, and she could only trust that Lord Boudreaux did have this knowledge. Faith, but it all sounded frighteningly vague and a far from well-conceived plan! Her fervent prayer was that the clergyman would be able to advise her. How she was to explain her actions to Godmama was another problem, but that could be worked out on the return journey to London … somehow …
The coach jolted, and she awoke, surprised to realize that despite all the distractions and worries of this endless journey she had fallen into a doze. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “The sun is going down already! Do you know where we are, Freda?”
The abigail imparted plaintively that she knew they had passed Shoreham. “And tired I am of all this rocking and jolting about! It’s almost dark, and Abraham Coachman says—”
Elspeth was never to know what her coachman had to say. There arose sudden shouts, the shrill neighing of frightened horses, and a splintering crash. Elspeth was tossed to one side and Freda screamed as the coach rocked wildly, then lurched to a halt.
Outside, Abraham Coachman was in full cry, and an impassioned voice was accusing him of being a stupid dolt and a blockhead.
Struggling to sit up straight, Elspeth pushed back the hood that had fallen over her eyes and asked anxiously, “Are you all right, Freda?”
�
��No, I bean’t all right, miss,” wailed Freda, picking herself up from the floor and rubbing her hip. “Scared witless, I do be, and that’s a fact! Whatever happened is what I should like to know?”
“As would I!” Elspeth reached for the door, only to have it swung open.
She was less than astonished to be confronted by Gervaise Valerian’s flashing grey eyes. “Nobody seriously damaged, I trust,” he snapped brusquely.
Wondering if he ever was amiable, she replied, “Not that you would give a button if we were! I might have known that you were the cause of the collision!”
“Nonsense. And it’s more than a collision, ma’am. A full-fledged disaster, more like!”
Abraham Coachman peered over the shoulder of the Dandy’s peerlessly tailored driving coat. “The gentleman’s coach were trying to pass, Miss Clayton. There weren’t room, as I tried to tell—”
“Water under the bridge,” interrupted Valerian impatiently. “And I’ve no time to waste. Be so good as to alight, ma’am.”
Elspeth stared at him. “Get out? Why? Is our coach out of commission, Abraham?”
“No,” said Valerian. “But mine is. I must borrow yours. I’ll send another carriage for you as soon as I—”
Outraged, she argued, “No such thing! Faith, but you bear off the palm for arrogance, sir! I am already late for an appointment, and since this accident was your doing—” She drew back with a little squeal of alarm as his gauntletted hand made a grab for her arm.
Freda shrieked.
Valerian snapped, “Have done! Regardless of where the fault lies, my coach wheel is smashed. The lady who was to have—” He paused, then went on, “My friend has, I fear, sprained her ankle and is quite unable to walk. I must convey her to a physician at once.” He frowned and muttered, “Lord knows how I am to find someone to take her place!”
‘The wretched libertine can scarce wait to provide himself with a substitute for the poor jade,’ thought Elspeth, and offered scornfully, “By all means bring the unfortunate woman here. We will take her as far as the village at least, and since you are so desperate to find a replacement, there may be—”
“Here,” he interrupted, his narrowed gaze searching her face. “What village? Where are you bound, ma’am?”
“That is no concern of yours. But I am in a hurry and it’s getting dark. Carry your—er, friend over here, and we will be on our way.”
Freda emitted another shriek as Valerian instead sprang up the step.
Abraham Coachman, brandishing a large horse-pistol, shouted, “Now, then, sir! You can’t go frightening of my ladies like this. I must ask you to get out of there.”
“Ask whatever you like, and I’ll ask you to stop waving that damned pistol about,” retorted the Dandy. “You can’t fire it with the women in here, you fool. Put it up at once!” Turning his back on the coachman, he went on harshly, “Your destination is assuredly my concern, madam, since you will carry my friend with you, and there are a number of villages in the vicinity.”
“Oh.” Bowing to the logic of this, Elspeth said, “We go to Fleetwell Village.”
Obviously taken aback, he exclaimed, “Good God! Whatever for?”
“For my own personal reasons,” she said angrily. “Which are most decidedly none of your affair, Mr. Valerian. Be so good as to remove yourself from my coach at once. I can delay no longer!”
“Nor I.” Turning to the wide-eyed Freda, he commanded, “You. Out!”
“Ow! Miss!” wailed the abigail.
“Do not move, Freda!” Her heart beginning to beat very fast, Elspeth called, “Abraham!”
The coachman, who had drawn back during this argument, came up again, his pistol ready. “I can’t nowise stand by and let you kidnap my ladies, sir,” he growled.
“If I thought ’twould serve, by Jupiter, I would. As it is—” Valerian whipped around and his fist flew out in what Elspeth recognized as a sizzling right jab.
Abraham Coachman howled and reeled back, dropping his pistol and clapping a hand to his nose.
“Oh! You wicked brute!” cried Elspeth. “You have hurt him!”
Valerian looked at Freda and jerked his head. “Don’t make me say it again!”
“Not without me lady,” sobbed the maid, clinging to Elspeth’s hand.
“Exactly so,” he agreed, and without ceremony pulled Elspeth from the coach, Freda scrambling after her.
Infuriated, Elspeth raged, “You are no gentleman! Faith, but you’re no better than a highwayman! A common criminal! I shall lay an information ’gainst you for—”
“Very likely.” He shouted, “Hey! Herbert! Stir your stumps, man!”
Elspeth saw that his coach stood beside the road, leaning at a crazy angle, one wheel buckled. The coachman was beside the vehicle, talking with someone inside who now hurried to join Valerian. She recognized him for the same young man who had been with the Dandy when she and Joel Skye had encountered them in the park. With a troubled glance he raised his tricorne to her respectfully, then asked, “What’s to do, coz?”
“I’m borrowing this coach,” said Valerian. “Fetch Mistress Hoylake.”
“If you do so,” advised Elspeth angrily, “you will be aiding in a kidnapping, and just as guilty as this insufferable creature.”
The new arrival gave a gasp. “Gervaise? You cannot—”
“Oh, for Lord’s sake! Will you move? Pay no attention to Milady Huff-n-Puff here. I’ll send a coach for her and the rest of these people as soon as we reach the village. Come on, Herbert! He’ll not wait!”
Herbert gave Elspeth an apologetic glance, then ran back to the other coach.
“It makes no never mind to you, Mr. Valerian, that the world does not revolve around you!” cried Elspeth. “Or that my own case is desperate, and I am far more pressed for time than you are. ’Tis a matter of life and death that—”
“She won’t let me carry her, coz,” called Herbert.
“Women!” snarled Valerian, taking the leader’s bridle and walking the team over to his own coach.
Elspeth exclaimed, “My reticule! I dropped it when that villain dragged me from the coach. Run and get it, Freda. Quickly!”
Her eyes wide with fright, the abigail whimpered, “I dassen’t! Oh, miss, I just dassen’t go near that gentleman! Clear to see, he’s mad as a mangle!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl!” Starting forward, Elspeth said, “Then I’ll go.”
Freda caught at her arm. “Do not, miss. I beg you! No telling what violence he will visit upon you!”
Wrenching free, Elspeth said, “The wretch is stealing our coach, but he’ll not steal my reticule! It contains all my funds. Stay with Abraham.”
Valerian and the young man called Herbert, who was his cousin apparently, were busied with the other vehicle. Picking up her skirts, Elspeth ran to her carriage and climbed the steps. The reticule was not to be seen on the seats, and the fading light made it difficult to get a clear view of the floor. Bending to feel about, she heard the door slam behind her.
Valerian shouted, “Poor Bertha’s ankle may be broke and I think we had best not move her. I’ll drive. I’ve told the Clayton woman’s coachman to wait here till I can send an apothecary to them! Jupiter! Listen to that silly chit screech. Move, you pretty brutes!”
The crack of a whip was augmented by Freda’s hysterical outcries.
Appalled by the realization that Valerian must not know she was inside, Elspeth cried, “Oh, no!” She clambered up but was flung down, falling between the seats as the coach jolted and started off, the Deplorable Dandy urging the team on so that they came almost at once to a headlong gallop.
Having grown up with a healthy older brother who delighted in athletic and often risky pursuits, Elspeth was not unfamiliar with coaches driven at reckless speeds, but never had she been subjected to such a wild ride as this. She had scarcely got to her feet than she was tossed to the side as Valerian took a bend in the road on what she was sure were only the two
left wheels, and her outraged demand that he stop was choked off before it was properly uttered. She managed to reach the opposite seat and pounded frantically on the panelled wall, but her efforts were drowned by pounding hooves, creaking harness, and the grind and rumble of the flying wheels.
Over the uproar she could hear the two men shouting to each other and was revolted by Valerian’s howled: “… must have a woman, I tell you! I must! And tonight!”
Herbert’s barely intelligible response, “Doubt … can find one … suitable … tonight,” won a ragefully shouted, “Must be tonight! Dammitall, I cannot wait till tomorrow!”
“Disgusting lecher!” gasped Elspeth, clinging to the side strap. “Your greedy lust will likely overturn us all!” No sooner had she voiced this unhappy prediction than she shrieked as the wheels encountered some obstacle and the coach leapt into the air. She was hurled to the far side, bounced off the seat, and down she went onto the floor once more. Her hood flew over her face, she clawed at the squabs, convinced that she was sadly bruised in several unfortunate areas—which did not much matter, since it appeared she would be slain at any second.
Struggling to get back onto the seat, she was not surprised to find that her hair had come down and was an untidy tangle over her eyes. Pushing it back, she embarked on an impassioned assessment of Mr. Gervaise Valerian’s libertine propensities and was not nearly finished with her denunciation when it dawned on her that the coach was slowing. She was still alive! Light flashed past the window. Peering out eagerly, she caught a fleeting glimpse of sails and a large vessel riding at achor. Then they had swept past and were pulling into an inn yard. Now! Now, she would confront the obnoxious Dandy and give him a piece of her mind, though what he really rated was at the least a strong box on the ear, and if Vance were only—
She gave a gasp and her vengeful rage faded into disbelief. An ostler was running up, brandishing a flaming torch. The glow illuminated a sign that swung on the wind; not a large or pretentious sign, and the painting rather amateurish, but the scene it depicted was quite recognizably a foaming wave breaking on a rocky shore. Above this work of art the name, printed in bold black letters, proclaimed, THE HIGH TIDE.
The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy Page 6