The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  Skye hugged her tight and over her curls his steady gaze challenged Valerian’s scowl.

  “Very well,” said Sir Simon. “I accept, unless you object, dear boy.”

  Gervaise grunted and lowered the pistol. “I do object. But I believe he’ll honour his word.” With a wry grin he added, “Whatever else, it saves us the bother of doing away with the curst nuisance.”

  * * *

  “But I am sure ’twas Sir Brian,” said Elspeth, peering eagerly at the crowded quay below them.

  Valerian muttered, “Do try to restrain your exuberance, Nurse Cotton. We have no desire to attract attention and if you don’t attend to where you’re going you’ll wheel your patient into the sea!”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.” Elspeth straightened the Bath chair and sent a guilty glance at “Mrs. Newell.”

  The wind had eased at last, but the entrance to the estuary was clearly a difficult one. Skye and Valerian had exchanged low-voiced remarks about pilots and unusual tides and “basins” and then been so cheerful that Elspeth guessed they were trying not to alarm her. Despite their obvious concern, however, and as a result of what Valerian had said was some very skilled navigation, the Sea Lassie had been manoeuvred safely into port at half-past three o’clock. Elspeth was surprised by the number of vessels riding at anchor or tied up at the quay. Clearly, Le Havre was a much busier port than she’d anticipated. Confirming this, there had ensued an immediate and increasingly confused welter of howled orders, darting sailors, passengers hurrying to and fro and making their way to join those waiting at the rail for the gangplank to be lowered. On the quay people who had come to meet disembarking family members or friends mingled with stevedores and hopeful vendors of pastries, apples, sweets and assorted items few people were likely to need, all shouting their wares at the tops of their lungs. It was among this bevy of humanity that Elspeth had thought to catch sight of her uncle.

  They made their way slowly along the deck, Skye in the lead as if travelling alone. Behind him, Herbert carried two valises. Freda, a bandbox in one hand and a dressing case in the other, walked close beside the Bath chair in which “Mrs. Newell” was settled under a warm rug with Pixie curled up on her lap. Elspeth pushed the chair, and Valerian brought up the rear followed by a husky cabin boy laden with the rest of their luggage.

  As they neared the gangplank Skye dropped back. Without appearing to address Valerian, he said softly, “More than a customary collection of military down there, have you noticed?”

  “I have. Ours.”

  “And theirs, besides the occasional garde-cote.”

  Elspeth’s heart gave its familiar leap into her throat. She gasped, “Oh, my heavens! Coast Guard?”

  Valerian nodded. “I’m glad you speak French, Nurse. You’ll need it. They appear to be looking for someone. Have a care, Aunt Geraldine.”

  Elspeth’s nerves tightened.

  Sir Simon raised an acknowledging hand.

  “Oh, I knew we should have sailed with free traders,” moaned Elspeth.

  Valerian growled, “In which case we’d likely have been apprehended long since!”

  Edging forward once more Skye drew level with Elspeth and urged, “It’s not too late for you to change your mind, dear soul. I can arrange—”

  “You are very good,” she said with a dismissing gesture, “but—I cannot. Joel, I saw Sir Brian down there on the quay just now. I’m sure of it!”

  “Your uncle? Did you, by Jove! Was he on the packet, then? Or might he have come to meet you?”

  “He didn’t know I was sailing. Nobody did. But he and Conrad lived abroad for years. Perhaps he had to return to France on some matter of business. If you should see him, do please tell me.”

  Skye said hesitantly. “I cannot think he would approve of this escapade. He might try to put a stop to it. Likely he could, you know.”

  Without turning, Elspeth pictured the jut of Valerian’s chin and smiled faintly. “In London I think my uncle guessed that Vance is in difficulties. He seemed to sense that I was worrying and urged me to let him help.”

  Skye said sharply, “Then why did you not? This is man’s business and he is a close relation. He has the right—”

  “I know he has, and I decided to accept his offer, but when I sent a message to him he and Conrad had suddenly left Town.”

  Their steps had slowed. Valerian saw the cabin boy eyeing Elspeth and the Lieutenant curiously. Irked, he stamped to them and snapped, “Tend to your business, Nurse! And you, sir, be so good as to stop pestering my servants!”

  Skye glared at him, then raised his tricorne politely to Elspeth and strode off towards the group waiting at the rail.

  Elspeth said, “He meant no harm and was only trying to—”

  “I know what he was ‘trying to,’ and if you don’t try to remember your present station in life, my girl, you’ll have small chance of seeing your brother again!”

  His brows were pulled into a daunting frown and his eyes seemed to shoot sparks at her, but what he said was all too true, aware of which, Elspeth quailed and murmured, “I’m sorry. Sir.”

  “Well there’s no call to fall into a despondency,” he said in a kinder tone. “But the next few minutes will be chancy enough without our inviting unwelcome attention.”

  When they at last reached the rail Valerian removed Pixie from his father’s lap and handed her to Elspeth. “I’ll take the chair down the gangplank. You take this. And for heaven’s sake don’t lose it!”

  Despite his brusque manner Elspeth noticed that he handled the little cat very gently and that she showed no sign of fear.

  Valerian shouted, “Herbert! Where the deuce are you? Come and help the ladies!” Belatedly he saw that Herbert was already on the quay. He cursed under his breath and ordered the cabin boy to assist Nurse Cotton and his aunt’s maid if they needed help. The cabin boy, juggling luggage, muttered an indignant response which it was as well the Dandy did not hear.

  Sir Simon took possession of the dressing case, allowing Freda to cling nervously to Elspeth’s cloak as they stepped onto the gangplank, but her fears were unwarranted; the wind had dropped, the packet rocked gently to the pull of the tide and their disembarking was easy by comparison with the perils of their boarding.

  Dry land felt strangely unsteady under Elspeth’s shoes, but she could only be grateful that they were safely ashore. Her gratitude was tempered, however, when they were directed to a roped-off enclosure where several passengers were being questioned by uniformed officials.

  Valerian leaned to her ear and muttered, “Do try not to look so alarmed.”

  “But—Joel said those men are Coast Guard officers! Will we be stopped, do you think?”

  “Very likely.” He took Pixie and deposited the little cat in Mrs. Newell’s lap once more. His eyes very stern, he said, “Take the chair again, Nurse, and bear in mind that those fellows are not nearly so much to be feared—at this stage of the game—as the British Intelligence people with whom your dear friend is so merrily chatting!”

  Dismayed, Elspeth craned her neck and over his shoulder saw that Skye was indeed in deep discussion with two soberly clad men who at once seemed to her to be ineffably menacing. Handing the dressing case to Freda, she reiterated, “Joel will not betray you, never fear.”

  “If he does,” said Valerian grimly, “’twill be the last time he betrays anyone! Mistress Beck! Don’t stare at people!”

  Freda protested, “If ever I heard so many folks jabbering Frenchy-talk!”

  Exasperated, Valerian exclaimed, “You’re in France, you silly creature! What would you expect?”

  “Why I’d think they could talk sensible-like, sir, but only listen to ’em! Nineteen to the dozen, and at that rate they couldn’t never understand one single word of it!”

  “Lord give me strength!” moaned Valerian.

  Sir Simon called softly, “Gervaise…”

  One of the men who’d been chatting with Skye was approaching. A tall, thin
individual, his face was scarred by smallpox and his pallor was accentuated by the fact that he had no visible brows or lashes. He raised his tricorne politely to Mrs. Newell, drew a small notebook from the deep pocket of his coat and said in English, “My apologies, ma’am, that you are delayed.”

  Valerian demanded autocratically, “Your name, sir?”

  A pair of pale shrewd eyes flickered over him. “My name is Ballard. I am here on detached service from Britain’s Coast Guard.” Consulting his notebook, he murmured, “You, I take it, sir, are a Mr.—er. Dear me! There appears to be some confusion.” He smiled and said mildly, “Your cousin gave your name as Nugent, but you are on the passenger list as Mr. Newell…”

  9

  Elspeth was sure that her heartbeat was so loud as to drown out all other sounds, and she was faintly surprised when she heard Sir Simon declare in his soft “Mrs. Newell” voice: “Did I not tell you to correct that idiotic error, Gervaise?”

  Ballard had bent lower over the Bath chair so as to hear the remark, and slanting a frightened glance at Valerian, Elspeth saw the brief and murderous glare he directed at his cousin. It was gone at once and he replied coolly, “So you did, Aunt. I fear, Mr. Ballard, that I tend to be short of tolerance for stupidity. My unfortunate cousin is besotted over Miss Gertrude Nugent and his few wits are so fixed upon the lady that he gave her name to the ship’s purser. I corrected the mistake when we boarded, of course, but I doubt the thimble-wit who confirmed our booking could spell his own name—much less mine. I lacked the patience to do his spelling for him.”

  “You are arrogant as usual,” scolded his “aunt.” “And now see the trouble you’ve caused!”

  With a wry smile he admitted, “Mea culpa. And you are right as usual, m’dear. I trust you can prevail upon this zealous officer to spare me from being guillotined out of hand.”

  “No fear of that, sir,” said Ballard. “Especially since Lieutenant Skye vouches for you.”

  Elspeth felt numb. Wracked with guilt, she didn’t hear Valerian’s response and dared not glance towards Joel.

  Again consulting his notebook, Ballard said, “It is my understanding that you convey your aunt to a physician in Paris. Shall you be returning shortly?”

  Valerian answered that he expected to be in Paris for only a few days and, if all went well, would leave as soon as his aunt had consulted with the Specialist. His voice hardening, he said, “By your leave, Ballard, we’ll be on our way now. Mrs. Newell is very tired.”

  “Afraid you shall have to deal with the French authorities first,” said the Coast Guard officer. “And I’d clear up the misunderstanding over your name, were I you.”

  Valerian nodded and directed “Nurse Cotton” to “move along.”

  Relieved, Elspeth guided the Bath chair forward, thinking, ‘Another danger overcome, thank goodness!’

  A large hand closed over her own, halting the chair.

  Ballard said, “One moment, Nurse! I’ll have a closer look at your patient if you don’t mind!”

  Freda uttered an audible yelp.

  Valerian snapped irascibly, “The devil! Now what?”

  Elspeth froze and, perfectly sure that she had lost all her colour, gazed blankly at the small flowers that were sewn in amongst the lace fringing Mrs. Newell’s cap.

  “How,” demanded the Coast Guard officer, “do you account for this, sir?”

  Time seemed to stand still. What it was, thought Elspeth, was one long series of nightmares. If this horrid creature had discovered Sir Simon’s imposture, they were all doomed … She would never be able to help her so loved brother … She and Valerian and Herbert and Sir Simon would be tried for treason and executed, as would dear Joel, who had risked so much to try and help them … even poor Freda might be accused … ‘Oh, Lord,’ she prayed desperately, ‘help us! Please—help us!’

  Mr. Ballard leaned down to “Mrs. Newell” and reached out.

  From the corner of her eye Elspeth saw Valerian stiffen, then crouch slightly. She recognised that deadly posture and nerved herself to see him whip out his sword. How he could hope to prevail against such odds she couldn’t imagine, but she was quite sure he would try to fight his way through if they were threatened with arrest. Tense with fear, she stifled a gasp as he said mockingly, “Jove, but you fellows are all alike! It belongs to my aunt. A wretched object, I grant you, but scarcely grounds for criminal charges!”

  Ballard straightened. “What have you to say for yourself, ma’am?” he demanded, holding up the “wretched object.”

  Dizzied with relief, Elspeth breathed, “Pixie!”

  Valerian said with a chuckle, “You won’t get much out of her. A preventive tried to appropriate her just before we sailed and got his ears boxed for his pains. My aunt is very fond of Miss Pixie and takes her wherever we go.”

  “Miss Pixie, is it?” Ballard stroked the little animal and remarked that he appreciated cats. “Much more clever than most folks realise,” he said, restoring Pixie to her owner’s lap. “D’you mean to take her back with you?”

  “Most definitely,” said Mrs. Newell sharply.

  Ballard grinned. “Then you’d best keep her close, ma’am. Some of the folks here have ’em for supper!”

  Mrs. Newell emitted a shocked cry. The Coast Guard officer lifted his tricorne politely, and they moved on.

  Freda moaned softly, “Happen I don’t faint ’twill be a miracle, Miss Elspeth! What a nasty man!”

  “Nonsense,” said Valerian. “He was just doing what he’s paid to do. Nor did he appear to reduce you to blancmange, Nurse.”

  “I suppose I may live through this,” said Elspeth, her knees feeling very wobbly. “We seem to attract attention wherever we go, which is the last thing we want.”

  “To the contrary,” he argued, “It may stand us in good stead when we come back. I warrant they’ll remember the invalid lady with the black cat. Though”—his tone hardened—“I shall likely strangle my blockhead of a cousin!”

  “It was a natural enough mistake,” argued Elspeth. “You had originally chosen the name Nugent, after all, and in the stress of the moment I suppose your cousin became confused.”

  “A confusion that could have resulted in your unnatural death! And what’s more—”

  The sentence was abandoned as they were summoned by the French Port Authorities. These minions of the law were self-important and much less amiable. Questions were thrown at Valerian in rapid succession. A dashing young fellow clad in a splendid uniform demanded to know what was the English monsieur’s business in France? For how long did he intend to remain? Where would his party be staying? What was the name of the physician he intended to consult?

  Valerian answered in impeccable French and with a cool hauteur that awed Elspeth and seemed to impress the officials. Breaking off in the midst of naming a physician who probably, she thought, did not exist, he raised his quizzing glass, scanned the Frenchman from head to toe and demanded irately, “And what a ‘God’s name have my affairs to do with you, sir? I’ve visited your beautiful capital many times and never been subjected to such an inquisition! I’ve a mind to register a complaint with Charles Fouquet, be damned if I—”

  The dashing young officer lost considerable of his dash. His jaw dropping, he stammered, “Monsieur is—is perhaps acquainted with the Duc de Belle-Isle?”

  “There is no perhaps about it,” said Valerian with perfect if oblique honesty. “Be so good as to furnish me with your name and unit, and—”

  “Ah, but there is not the need, monsieur.” All but gabbling in his eagerness to make amends, the dashing gentleman declared, “It is that we are warned to be on the alert. Some dangerous spies they will seek to enter France. Only there is believed to be a beautiful young lady of Quality in their party, whereas you are accompanied only by your servants, who can scarce be described in such terms! You will please not be offended, monsieur, and as you see, you are delayed not one further instant! Your carriage awaits, no doubt? Then by al
l means, monsieur, convey your so charming aunt and her delightful little cat—is of a blackness that one, no? And Pierre, do but remark the so pretty little whiteness on the tail!—Do proceed, Monsieur Newell, without the further embarrassments! Au revoir, monsieur! A pleasant journey to you!”

  They were clear at last! Elspeth guided the Bath chair in shaken silence.

  Sir Simon murmured, “Gervaise, you rogue! I’d not known you were acquainted with Charles Fouquet?”

  “No more had I, sir. No, never name me rogue. Did I actually make such a claim? If the silly fellow chose to misinterpret my remark…” Valerian shrugged.

  Sir Simon chuckled and said low-voiced, “And that slippery play on words won our freedom, did it not! Well done, my dear boy. But is there really a coach?”

  “Aye, together with a pair of reliable mounts and a suite reserved at a comfortable nearby pension, so Boudreaux advised.”

  “Bless old Geoffrey’s generous heart for all the lives he has saved! Here comes our Herbert. Only see how remorseful he looks. Never glower at him so, Gervaise, you’ll frighten him into a spasm.”

  “I ought to strangle the thimble-wit,” growled Valerian. “Much good his remorse would serve had we all been arrested and put to the question! At the very least he’ll get a flea in his ear from me! We can’t have his careless tongue placing us all at risk! Don’t forget, we’re responsible for the safety of the ladies, sir.”

  Herbert came up, looking pale and distressed, to advise that the carriage was waiting to convey them all to the pension. “I am so sorry, sir,” he murmured to Sir Simon. “I knew as soon as I said it that I’d used the wrong name!”

  “What a very great pity that you didn’t know it before you said it,” growled Valerian. “Try to bear in mind that you carry all our lives in your empty brainbox and make an effort to keep your few wits about you! What ever possessed me to allow you to come with us is past understanding!” He continued to grumble as they made their way to the carriage, Herbert quailing under the lash of his words, and the others maintaining an uncomfortable silence.