The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  He swore and snarled through gritted teeth, “I’ll have their rotten hearts out! I swear it!”

  10

  “How very nice you look, Miss Clayton.” “Mrs. Newell” smiled as Elspeth came back into the cosy parlour of the pension, having, as she said, “tidied” herself. Sir Simon had a kind heart, and being sensitive to the feelings of others, he was very aware of the worry that lurked at the back of this young woman’s beautiful eyes. “It never ceases to amaze me,” he said, “that after the most trying ordeal you ladies contrive to look refreshed and immaculate in the wink of an eye, whereas we hapless males continue to be rumpled and dishevelled for hours! Come and sit beside me, child. You must be tired.”

  “And hungry,” she admitted, returning his smile but crossing to peer out of the front bow window. “But you look neither rumpled nor dishevelled—ma’am.” He groaned, and she added with a chuckle, “Quite the lady of fashion, in fact.”

  “How you can endure all these frills and furbelows I shall never know.” His voice lowered and he said with earnest intensity, “Nor shall I ever be able to thank you for so bravely helping us in this chancy endeavour.”

  Elspeth came to sit on the sofa near his Bath chair and he reached out to pat her hand. “Never look so troubled, my dear. Gervaise is a man of his word. And with Herbert and that fine young naval officer to help, why they’ll win your brother free in jig time. Speaking of Mr. Skye, where is he?”

  “In the stable, tending the horses. Joel is very particular about his cattle. And you’re right; I know they’ll do all they can to help Vance.” She was gripping her hands tightly and, seeing that he watched her, said apologetically, “I don’t mean to fret, but—but surely your son must have come up with Herbert by now?”

  “Perhaps Herbert missed his road, or they were delayed at the smithy. Whatever the case, Gervaise seldom fails at what he sets his hand to, I promise you. And you’re worrying at something else, no?”

  Stifling a sigh, she nodded. “My godmama, Madame Colbert, you know, has been only good to me and I ran off leaving her with a pack of lies!”

  “You must have given her some explanation or she’d not have let you go. Will she have missed you already?”

  “I pray not, else she’ll be worried to death!”

  He said kindly, “I feel sure the lady will understand you were desperate to help your brother.”

  “If she knows that, yes. But—well, I thought I could arrange things and hire men to rescue Vance. I mean, this has been exciting, but I’d no intent to—to—”

  “You mean you’d not anticipated being well-nigh kidnapped by my errant son and inveigled into helping me.”

  “I don’t begrudge that, sir. I just wish I could have got word to her, but I dared not send back a message with my coachman for fear of alarming Godmama perhaps needlessly, besides implicating Lieutenant Skye, and I clung to the hope I would be safe home again before she realised I’d not told her the truth. Do you think I am making mountains out of molehills? I don’t mean to be silly, ’tis only that—the time is flying past and—and I dread to think what my poor Vance may be enduring.”

  “From what I’ve heard of him, your brother is a high-couraged young fellow. If he’s anything like his lovely sister, he must be! Now take that scared look from your pretty eyes, and have faith in my son. I know he must appear a foppish Dandy to you, but—”

  “No, indeed!” she said with a vehemence that delighted him. “Mr. Valerian is not at all what he seems! I’ll own that at first I thought him—well, I didn’t much like him, but…”

  He prompted gently, “But—you’ve changed your mind, I think.”

  “Oh, yes. He pretends to be cynical and a care-for-nobody, but he’s not really like that at all. I’ve seen him be very kind and considerate.”

  “He has been so to me, certainly.”

  “Of course. You are his papa and ’tis clear to see he idolizes you.”

  Sir Simon smiled but was silent.

  After a moment Elspeth murmured half to herself, “When he thinks no one is by there is quite a different light in his eyes. I only wish—” She broke off, embarrassed to realise she was saying more than she’d intended. Pixie came scampering in from the kitchen, and to hide her confusion Elspeth bent to stroke the little cat. “Here is a case in point: your son affects to dislike your pet, but he plays with her and I believe is quite fond of her.”

  “’Twas Gervaise brought her to keep me company. And you’re perfectly right, Miss Clayton. You’re aware that for years he played a part so as to conceal the truth from the world?”

  “The truth being that he was striving to bring you safely out of England, which the authorities would never suspect, since everyone believed you to be hopelessly estranged.”

  “Almost everyone.” Sir Simon tightened his lips and murmured, “There is one very zealous officer in London…”

  “Joshua Swift?”

  He nodded. “A dangerous man.”

  Troubled, Elspeth said, “Who is now Joel’s superior officer, temporarily, at least.”

  “So I understand.” Sir Simon shook his head. “Your young naval friend is taking a most desperate chance for your sake. Swift is relentless and has hunted me for so long that I think it has become a sort of obsession with him.”

  With ready sympathy, Elspeth said, “It must have been a dreadful time for you—and for Mr. Valerian.”

  “I’ll own it has been a long and difficult struggle, with many setbacks. Sometimes we came so close to success only to be balked at the last minute. My son has railed so furiously ’gainst what he calls ‘our archaic laws and Pitiful Parliamentarians’ that at times I’ve really feared for his safety. I also fear he has become rather hard and embittered. I can only pray that a real love will come into his life and warm his heart.”

  Her cheeks rather pink, Elspeth avoided his eyes.

  Pixie, who had been stalking an unwary twig, sprang onto his lap, and he said with a twinkle, “This little lady has quite won my own heart, but ’tis past time for Gervaise to make me a grandpapa, you know.”

  “And past time for supper, ma’am,” said Freda, bustling into the room and bringing a welcome aroma of cooking with her. “The French lady and her cook can talk more’n any two ladies I ever heard, not that I understand a word of it. But she’s a fine cook for all that, and—”

  A piercing scream in the corridor cut her words short.

  Sir Simon whipped his chair around and Pixie jumped to the floor and disappeared behind the sofa.

  Elspeth sprang to her feet.

  Joel Skye staggered into the room, obviously barely conscious, blood trickling down his face, while a burly individual with cold eyes and a mirthless grin held his right arm twisted up behind him.

  “Oh, lor’!” wailed Freda, her eyes all but starting from her head.

  The intruder gestured with the pistol he grasped in his free hand. In French he snarled, “No screeches. We want no more of the screeches! You do as we say, no one will be damaged.”

  A second man with a scrawny wig and a red, confident face swaggered in. “Madame, she is bound and will be quiet, and the two servants are locked in a cupboard.” He looked at Elspeth curiously. “This is the one? You’re sure of it? She is a servant, merely. She waits on the old woman.” He glanced at Freda. “These both are servants. It is my thought that we are led astray, Pepe.”

  “If you have come for money,” said Sir Simon, his Mrs. Newell voice faint and trembling, “you risk your heads for very little.”

  The large “Pepe” released his victim’s arm and gave Skye a shove towards the sofa. Skye, who had appeared scarcely able to stand, spun around, his fist shot out and Pepe howled and reeled back, the pistol falling from his hand.

  Skye lunged for the pistol but he was slowed and a third rogue ran from the kitchen to kick the pistol clear and flourish a wicked-looking knife under Skye’s nose. A wiry fellow with a narrow ferrety face and savage eyes, he invited mockingly, “
Well, come on, hero! You wouldn’t let a few inches of steel postpone your gallantries?”

  Skye had to jerk back to avoid the blade. Pepe picked up his pistol, eyed Skye murderously and started for him. “I do not like to be struck,” he growled.

  Sir Simon quavered, “There is not the need for violence. Tell us what you want.”

  “This,” said Pepe, and with a swipe of his pistol sent Skye to his knees.

  Elspeth cried out and ran to him as he crumpled against the sofa.

  Pepe pushed her away and drew back his boot.

  Freda screamed shrilly.

  “Stop, you horrid creature!” cried Elspeth.

  The latest arrival said laughingly, “Have done, Pepe. We waste time and you frighten the women.”

  “Yours is not the tooth that is now loose,” grumbled Pepe.

  “But Georges he is right,” said the red-faced bully. “That one”—he pointed at Elspeth—“speaks like the Quality and she has with it the English way. Let us take her and go before the others they come.”

  Elspeth shrank back, and although unaware of what had been said, Freda was further alarmed and ran to cling to her.

  Sir Simon wheeled his chair forward. “Now you just listen to me—”

  The ferrety Georges who was evidently the leader of this unlovely trio said contemptuously, “Keep your mouth closed, hag!”

  Pepe jerked the Bath chair aside roughly. “Out of the way, Grandma!” he brayed. His jaw dropped then, and he stared in stupefaction as “Grandma” sprang from the chair and whirled about, skirts flying. A well-aimed fist whizzed at him, his sagging jaw was closed with efficiency if not kindness and he measured his length on the floor.

  The red-faced man stared in disbelief at this militant “old lady.”

  Georges, made of sterner stuff, swung up his knife.

  Elspeth seized the Bath chair and with all her strength sent it hurtling at Georges, who skipped aside to avoid it.

  Recovering his wits, the red-faced man snatched up Pepe’s pistol and held it steadily on Sir Simon. “This one, I think, is not what she seems,” he remarked.

  “But can be dealt with,” said Georges. There was no trace of amusement in his face now. He added curtly, “Give the pistol to me. Now—get that fat idiot on his feet. As for you, madame”—he stared at Sir Simon who had returned to the Bath chair—“or is it monsieur? There is a story here, and one that I feel is in my best interests to know. You will of a certainty be willing to share it with us.”

  “I perceive that you are a considerable optimist,” drawled Sir Simon.

  Georges said sharply, “Armand!” and tossed his knife to the red-faced man. “I think a little persuasion with this, and the so strange ‘lady’ will confess his sins to—No—not him, you fool!” He jerked his head towards Freda. “The little servant is a good screamer, as we have heard.”

  “My Gawd!” wailed Freda, as Armand, leering menacingly, started towards her, knife in hand.

  Wrapping her arms about the terrified girl, Elspeth cried, “We have nothing you can want. Why—”

  Armand seized Freda’s arm.

  Elspeth promptly boxed his ears.

  He cursed and slapped her hard even as the front door flew open.

  Entering, Valerian’s eyes widened. “Be damned!” he gasped.

  Several things happened very fast. It seemed to Elspeth that he crossed the room in a blur and a glitter of steel. Holding her stinging cheek, scarcely daring to breathe, she heard the man who had struck her howl louder than Freda had done and saw him stagger towards the kitchen, hugging his middle.

  She screamed a warning as Georges swung up his pistol and fired at Valerian, who ducked swiftly.

  Sir Simon sprang at Georges from the Bath chair. It was a valiant effort, but the sick man was no match for this healthy rogue and Valerian leapt to his defence.

  The big Pepe snatched up a chair and whipped it at Valerian’s back.

  Skye, dragging himself up onto the sofa, stuck out his foot and Pepe went down with a crash that rocked the room and flattened the chair.

  Snarling like the ferret he so resembled, Georges wrenched Sir Simon into a shield in front of him, one arm hooked around his throat. “If you do not wish to watch me break the neck of whatever this is, you will surrender,” he shouted.

  Valerian hesitated.

  Sir Simon kicked back. “Mrs. Newell’s” high Spanish heel ground into Georges’s shin, and as his grip slackened Sir Simon flung himself clear.

  Sword levelled, Valerian sprang to the attack.

  The front door burst open again, slamming against Valerian and sending the sword spinning from his hand.

  Stamping inside, Herbert stared around that violent room and stammered a bewildered “What—the deuce…?”

  Georges decided that enough was enough. With an incoherent shout to his accomplices, he raced for the kitchen.

  Leaping to retrieve his sword, Valerian collided with Pepe, who had struggled to his feet. The big man struck out in panic, and caught off-balance, Valerian reeled.

  Belatedly comprehending, Herbert ran to steady him. “Hey!” he exclaimed, stepping on the fallen sword.

  “Oh, get away!” snarled Valerian, tugging at his sword with one hand and exasperatedly pushing his disastrous cousin aside with the other.

  There came the sound of pounding hooves in the lane.

  Sir Simon panted, “They’re off, lad. Just as well.”

  “Like hell!” Valerian spun to face Elspeth, his eyes frantic. “Are you all right? That bastard—my apologies, but he is!—struck you!”

  “I’m all right,” she assured him, managing a shaken smile. “And you were splendid—as usual.”

  “Splendid,” agreed Sir Simon. “But not quite ‘as usual,’ eh, lad?”

  His gaze still fixed on Elspeth, Valerian shrugged. “Nought to matter, sir.”

  Herbert said contritely, “I’m dashed sorry. I didn’t mean to rush in and spoil everything.”

  “We know that,” said Sir Simon. “You’d best go and see to our proprietor, and her servants, they’re likely overset by this uproar. And perhaps Mistress Freda can find water and some linen, since my son persists in bleeding all over her rug!”

  Freda moaned but went with Herbert to the kitchen regions at once.

  Whitening, Elspeth cried, “Heavens! You’re hurt! Where?” Scanning Valerian anxiously, she saw the tear in his sleeve and commanded, “Take off your coat!”

  Joel Skye helped him remove the coat and Elspeth gasped to see that the ruffle of his left shirt-sleeve was wet and crimson. “Oh my! We must get you to bed!”

  “Stuff. It’s a scrape, merely.” He sat on the arm of the sofa and glanced at his father. “I didn’t jump far enough, I’m afraid. Or perhaps that wart with the pistol had such poor aim I’d have been wiser not to have dodged at all!”

  Skye said, “Let me do that, Elspeth.” He ripped the torn ruffle and, examining the wound, said, “A deep graze, no worse, fortunately.”

  Sir Simon had left his chair so as to inspect the injury. He said calmly, “I think you’re right, Lieutenant. But I am unfortunately acquainted with bullet wounds. It must be properly dealt with.”

  Freda came back carrying a tray with a bowl of water and medical supplies, and Herbert escorted the pension’s hostess to join them. A tall woman of late middle age, Madame Bossuet had kept her figure; she was neatly gowned and wore a fashionable wig which just now was rather lopsided on her head. Catching sight of Valerian’s bloodied sleeve, she threw up her arms, wailing tearfully that never had such violence been perpetrated in her pension; that her cook had nigh suffered a spasm, and her maid would probably desert her! Her voice rose to near hysteria.

  Herbert drew back in alarm.

  Valerian said soothingly, “They were thieves, madame, but they have fled and I promise you they won’t come back now they know we are armed and ready for them. I am only sorry you have suffered such a distressing experience. As for me, have
no fear, this trifling hurt will not even require the attention of an apothecary.”

  She dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes and smiled at him uncertainly. “Mrs. Newell” leaned forward to take her hand and pat it while talking to her with warm sympathy.

  Valerian turned to his cousin and said in English, “Don’t stand there taking root, Herbert! Help the poor lady back to the kitchen and give her some wine.”

  “Your sire is taking better care of her than I could,” Herbert protested. “I tried to calm her down, but you know very well my French ain’t fluent.”

  “I also know that my father is tired. She won’t mind your incoherencies. Just hold her hand and smile kindly and the poor creature will accept you as a native son.”

  His cousin looked dubious but was glad enough to do something to redeem himself and led their hostess back into the kitchen. Pixie emerged from behind the sofa and with tail held high darted after them in pursuit of the enticing smells of cooking.

  Skye had cut away Valerian’s torn shirt-sleeve and Elspeth began to bathe the gash.

  Valerian flinched a little. She lifted anxious eyes to his face and he said lightly, “You’re doing very nicely, ma’am. Had some experience with that hare-brained brother of yours, eh?”

  She smiled, but she was still very pale and the sight of the darkening bruise on her cheekbone infuriated him.

  Frowning, he said, “You must think me a poor champion. I should have cut that filthy swine’s heart out! I’d meant to, you know.”

  “From the way you looked,” said Skye with a grin, “I believe you!”

  With his gaze steady on Elspeth, Valerian growled, “When I think that he dared—he dared to strike you! By God! I hope he comes my way again!”