The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  Before he could protest, Elspeth put the kitten in his lap and beamed into his startled eyes. “There. Only see how she is settling down.”

  “She is kneading me!”

  “I told you she needs you. Ah, look, she’s curling up happily. Perhaps she thinks you are Sir Simon. Truly, you are a kind gentleman, sir.”

  He said gruffly, “If you spread that rumour around London my reputation will be ruined!”

  Freda woke up and, glancing to the windows, exclaimed, “Oh, my! The sun has gone away already! Wherever are we, Miss Elspeth?”

  “In the middle of nowhere,” she answered. “And it’s starting to rain.”

  “This area is famous for rain,” muttered Valerian.

  “Is that what you are watching so closely?”

  “I am hoping that our gallant outriders are keeping their eyes open even while they chatter like a pair of magpies.”

  It seemed to Elspeth that his gaze scanned the adjacent fields and clumps of trees rather than dwelling upon Herbert and Skye, who had indeed joined forces and were riding side by side.

  The light rain became heavier, and Elspeth said, “Oh, my. The poor creatures will be soaked!”

  “They’re hardy men and not like to be washed away like two dainty schoolroom misses,” sneered Valerian, adding, “And here is the coachman’s ‘fine inn.’ My God!” He peered at the faded sign that swung from a post and depicted a very stiff animal with a proudly arched neck and one front leg held high. “Now what in the world are you supposed to be, I wonder? A lion or a camelopard?”

  Elspeth pointed out, “The sign says Le cheval de Trois.”

  “Trojan Horse, indeed! It looks to be more of a thieves’ den! But at least you ladies will be able to stretch your—er, limbs, if you’ll forgive me the crude expression.”

  “Why?” asked Elspeth, raising her brows at him. “We do have them, you know.”

  “Crude expressions? Miss Clayton! I am shocked!”

  Freda giggled.

  Elspeth sighed with exaggerated patience. “I suppose you are so crusty because your wound troubles you. I am very sorry for it, sir. Is there aught I may do to make you more comfortable?”

  “Many things,” he said, leering at her suggestively. “But for the moment put up your hoods, ladies, else your prettily powdered locks will be turned into glue!”

  The carriage rattled its way into the yard of a small and rather forlorn-looking inn set back from the road under a fine old beech tree. The many-gabled building was sadly in need of paint; a few hens scratched about, seemingly undaunted by the rain, and a solitary coach waited.

  Herbert dismounted and swung the carriage door open. “You will want to alight, Miss Elspeth,” he said with his ingenuous smile.

  “Why should you suppose she would wish to get wet?” asked Valerian, all innocence.

  The youth’s face flushed darkly. He stammered, “I—er, I only meant—Well, it’s a long drive, and—and—”

  “Be so good as to give me your hand, Herbert,” said Elspeth kindly. “Your cousin tells me I need to stretch my—er, limbs and I try to obey his commands.”

  “And that properly drives me to the ropes,” murmured Valerian. “But I suggest you wait in the coach for a minute or two, ma’am.”

  “Well done, Ellie!” said Skye, leaving his mount in the care of an ostler and walking over to them, grinning broadly.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For whatever you said to drive our mighty leader to the ropes! Allow me to take you inside.”

  “After you’ve first inspected the premises,” said Valerian.

  Skye asked sharply, “What do you expect to find? Possible marauders?”

  “Or anything that strikes you as suspicious.” He added caustically, “And the sooner you accomplish it, the sooner Miss Clayton can go in.”

  Skye gritted his teeth but hurried after Herbert, who was already entering the arched door to the inn, and Valerian went off, saying he wished to have a word with Coachman Marcel.

  Freda moaned, “Oh, miss! I thought we was safe now!”

  Elspeth sat back against the squabs and tried to stifle her own unease. “I think we are, Freda. We are well protected with Mr. Valerian and the Lieutenant and—”

  A loud gunshot cut off her words. Freda screamed and flung herself down between the seats. Elspeth made a dive for the window and struggled unsuccessfully to lower it.

  Horses squealed and stamped, and the coach rocked.

  There came a flurry of shots, sharp and ear-splitting.

  Valerian ran to the window. Smoke curled up from the horse pistol in his hand, and he shouted angrily, “Get down, woman! For the love of God—Get down!”

  Her heart pounding, Elspeth drew back.

  Several men wearing head masks were running at Valerian who faced them, the pistol in one hand and his sword in the other. Terrified, she thought, ‘He can’t fight them alone! Why aren’t Joel and Herbert helping?’

  The thieves, however, ran to the front of the carriage. One of them clambered onto the box, shouting, “Whip ’em up, Coachman, or die here. You may take your choice!”

  The coach lurched.

  “Not again!” whispered Elspeth. “Oh, please, God! Not again!”

  Valerian roared, “Get down from there, you filthy varmint!” and raced forwards.

  Two of the thieves turned on him, pistols levelled.

  Scarcely daring to look, Elspeth heard Freda sobbing frenziedly. She heard also the thunder of fast-approaching hooves. “Thank the Lord,” she cried. “Somebody’s coming!”

  She shrank as more shots blasted the air.

  Two horsemen galloped into the yard. Both were firing pistols. The horses squealed in fright and the coach rocked wildly as Valerian flung himself onto the box. Elspeth heard a shout and saw a body plummet down past the window. Someone howled, “Away! Away!” She caught a glimpse of flashing steel, then came more shouts, running footsteps, and hoofbeats rapidly diminishing.

  “Freda,” she cried, “for heaven’s sake, get up! I think Mr. Valerian fell and—I can’t get this wretched door open!”

  “Don’t never, miss!” wailed Freda. “It’s likely them same wicked men! You’ll be stole, surely!”

  “Oh, you stupid girl! Get up!”

  Freda knelt and, weeping, dragged herself onto the seat.

  Tearing at the door, Elspeth broke a nail as it was flung open. Valerian, looking frantic and dishevelled, sword in hand, stared up at her and demanded hoarsely, “You’re all right, then?”

  “Yes. And you?”

  “I’m well, but they’ve put our extra guard out of commission. The poor fellow managed to get to the house.” He handed her out and Pixie darted down the steps and tore towards the inn. “Blast!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “You’d best wait here while I find out what’s become of Herbert and Skye.”

  She paused but called after him, “Where are the gentlemen who came to help?”

  Over his shoulder he shouted, “They went haring off after those rank riders.” He was gone then, running through the inn doorway.

  Suddenly weak in the knees, Elspeth sat down inelegantly on the carriage step, heedless of the rain.

  Hooves sounded on the cobblestones and two men rode into the yard.

  Sighing, Elspeth blinked up at them gratefully.

  The older of the pair demanded curtly, “Where is your mistress, girl?”

  Speechless, she stared at a gentleman of middle age, richly clad, with large dark eyes in a painted and somewhat puffy face.

  Behind her, Freda squeaked an astonished “Sir Brian! Oh, thank Gawd!”

  Conrad Beech, coming up beside his father, exclaimed in English, “Beck? What in the name of—”

  Elspeth found her voice. “Sir! This is incredible! You cannot know how glad I am to see you!”

  “Elspeth?” His eyes fairly goggling, Sir Brian gasped, “How on earth come you to be here? And in that—that dreadful gown, and your hair all a
nyhow—Is Madame Colbert with you? I’d not known you planned to journey to France.”

  Valerian came out of the inn, unfolding an umbrella. “Those varmints held Skye and Herbert at gunpoint,” he began, then paused.

  “You!” gasped Conrad.

  “Elspeth,” said his father, very stiff and stern. “Do you travel in this gentleman’s company?”

  “Among others,” drawled Valerian. “And we are deeply indebted to you, sir, for your very timely assistance with those murderous—”

  “Never mind about that,” said Conrad, glaring. “What the devil d’you mean—‘among others’?”

  ‘Oh dear,’ thought Elspeth.

  Sir Brian dismounted awkwardly and carefully straightened his tricorne and adjusted the lace at his wrists. “I think I must demand an explanation, Mr. Valerian. This lady is my niece!”

  “I’m aware, sir.” Valerian glanced at the coachman, who stood at the heads of the horses. “I’ve sent a man off for an apothecary, Marcel. He’ll take care of the guard. Have the team changed as soon as may be. We must get on our way.”

  “Not so!” snapped Sir Brian, “An explanation, if you please!”

  “Yes, of course,” said Valerian rather wearily. “But I suggest we talk inside.”

  ‘Whatever,’ thought Elspeth, ‘are we to tell him?’

  * * *

  “God bless my soul!” Half an hour later, seated in a faded wing chair in the shabby parlour that had been reserved for them at Le cheval de Trois, Sir Brian fanned himself with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief, his large brown eyes holding a glazed look. “I find it past comprehension, Elspeth,” he said feebly, “that you are journeying, unchaperoned, with not one but three bachelor gentlemen!”

  Valerian had gone out with the apothecary to attend to the injured guard, but he returned to the parlour in time to hear this remark and his dark brows drew into a frown. “Would you find it more convenable, sir, had Miss Clayton been travelling with only one bachelor gentleman? Myself, for instance?”

  “Under these circumstances your levity is out of place, sir!” said Conrad, his chin jutting as he moved his chair closer to Elspeth.

  “Most decidedly out of place,” agreed his father. “Miss Clayton is my niece! I appreciate the fact that she is anxious for her brother—though it is wounding to think that my own offer of assistance was rejected—but how it comes about that Madame Colbert permitted her to embark on a venture that will leave her with not a shred of reputation—not one shred!—is quite beyond me! I cannot believe that her dear mama would countenance that she snap her fingers in the face of convention. Indeed, I suspect the poor lady would swoon away did she learn of her daughter’s reckless folly! Madame Colbert has much explaining to do!”

  Watching Valerian, Elspeth asked, “What of the guard, Mr. Valerian? Will he recover?”

  “Oh, I think so,” he answered, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her. “But he won’t be able to go on with us.”

  “Go on? Where?” demanded Sir Brian, pausing in the act of adjusting the pearl that shone in one ear.

  “Your pardon, Uncle,” Elspeth interposed determinedly. “Can the poor man stay here, Gervaise? What is to become of him?”

  “All arranged, never fear,” he answered, smiling at her. “He’ll be cared for at the apothecary’s clinic until his employer sends for him, so do not be—”

  “I see, cousin, that you are on a first-name basis with your abductor,” interrupted Conrad.

  Startled, Elspeth felt her cheeks burn. “Oh, my! Did I use such an address? I must have been wool-gathering!”

  With a gesture of impatience, Valerian said, “Oh, have done! I told you the way of it, sir. Miss Clayton is willing to endanger her own life to help her brother. I call that courage, not folly.”

  “Nor did Mr. Valerian abduct me, Uncle,” said Elspeth.

  “He evidently persuaded you that your participation was needed in a rescue attempt that should be attempted only by your male relatives,” said Sir Brian. “I am appalled, sir, that anyone held to be a gentleman—”

  “Oh, but I’m not held to be a gentleman! I am rather described as a Dandy.” Valerian slanted a mischievous glance at Elspeth. “In some quarters, alas, a Deplorable Dandy!”

  Flushed and angry, Conrad leant forward in his chair.

  Before he could voice the response that Elspeth guessed would not be conciliating, she said, “My abigail is with me, sir. And Lieutenant Skye and Mr. Herbert Turner have most gallantly escorted us.”

  “From here on my son and I will escort you, poor misguided child,” declared Sir Brian. “Back to England, where we can only pray this most improper escapade will not become public knowledge.”

  Valerian said thoughtfully, “Are you then anxious to see Vance Clayton go to his death, gentlemen?”

  The response was explosive. Sir Brian sprang to his feet and his son jumped up so suddenly that his chair went over with a crash.

  “How dare you, Valerian?” shouted Sir Brian, his countenance purpling alarmingly.

  “You’ll answer to me for that insult!” roared Conrad, as pale suddenly as his father was flushed.

  Herbert and Skye, who had prudently absented themselves from this discussion, burst into the room.

  Looking from Elspeth’s distressed face to the fury of the Beeches and the bored disdain on Valerian’s handsome features, Skye demanded, “What’s to do, gentlemen?”

  “You three—fellows,” sputtered Sir Brian, “have compromised my niece, is what’s to do! The poor child is ruined!”

  “My uncle wants to take me back to England,” said Elspeth miserably.

  “And Valerian had the damned gall to imply that we wish my cousin Vance dead!” raged Conrad.

  “As he assuredly will be do we waste much more time,” said Skye.

  Valerian gave him an appreciative grin.

  Wringing her hands, Elspeth said, “That is all too true. Uncle Brian, Conrad, I am so very grateful—we all are grateful—that you came to our aid. But Ger—Mr. Valerian explained my brother’s terrible danger. We dare not delay. He must be won to freedom—before they take his dear life!”

  “A task for men,” growled Conrad, still glaring fiercely at Valerian. “And not for you, my dear Elspeth.”

  “Ah,” murmured Valerian. “Then you are willing to join us? Very good! With two more in our rescue party, the odds improve. Especially two such intrepid fighting men.”

  Dismayed, Elspeth searched his face, and although it was solemn, she knew him well enough by this time to recognize the dance of wicked laughter in his eyes.

  Conrad snapped, “We will gladly assist in attempting a rescue.”

  “After we have escorted my niece home,” qualified Sir Brian firmly.

  “No!” exclaimed Elspeth. “’Tis more than kind, sir. But I gave my word of honour to help Mr. Valerian! And he has a plan—”

  “The promise he obtained was not an honourable one,” said Conrad icily. “And your best hope—perhaps your only hope—of preserving your good name is that we convey you back to London before any of the ton hear of this disgraceful episode.”

  “Certainly, to take my niece into Paris would be disastrous,” put in Sir Brian. “There are many English there, as usual. She would be sure to be recognized.”

  “Not where we are going,” said Valerian.

  “Which is—where, exactly?” demanded Conrad.

  Valerian stood. “We do not have the exact location. Friends are arranging matters for us. Miss Clayton spoke truly, however. Time is of the essence. If you can leave now, gentlemen, we’d best get mounted.” The Beeches exchanged troubled glances. He went on blandly, “You did say you were willing to help?”

  “Of course we will help,” said Sir Brian. “But we also have a task we’re sworn to complete. A desperate task, though not one that would endanger my niece. The moment that is done, we’ll be at your disposal.”

  Valerian bowed. “You are all conciliation, sir,”
he drawled mockingly. “Alas, but we have already waited over-long. Miss Clayton, if you’re ready to proceed…”

  Pale with fury, Conrad shouted, “She is not ready to go she knows not where, on a hare-brained scheme that has little chance of succeeding! Elspeth, I know how dearly you love Vance, but you must see the folly of going with these—these thrill-seekers! Come. We’ll see you safe home to your godmama and then, I swear it, we’ll rush back to help Valerian!”

  “Which will be much too late.” Reaching her hands to her uncle and cousin, she said resolutely, “I am more grateful than I can say for your concern. But I am a grown woman, and I’ll not change my mind.”

  Sir Brian groaned and swept her into a hug. Conrad took up her hand and kissed it gently. “God aid you, my poor foolish little cousin.”

  Snatching up his hat and cloak, Sir Brian stamped to the door, then turned back to scowl at the three young men who watched him expressionlessly. “And may God forgive you all,” he cried. “If anything happens to my niece I shall hold you personally to blame!” His gaze shifted. “You in particular, Valerian! I know you’re behind this dastardly plot!” He swung his cloak about his shoulders and adjusted the great cuffs of his coat fastidiously, saying a condemning “I hope you’re proud of yourself, sir! Rather, you should hang your head in shame!”

  Valerian offered another deep and flourishing bow.

  Elspeth hurried to the door to say her good-byes.

  Valerian started to follow but checked as Herbert tugged at his sleeve, murmuring, “A word, coz.”

  Watching Skye follow Elspeth, Valerian said irritably, “What now?”

  Herbert half-whispered, “I saw it again, Ger!”

  “Saw—what? Oh, your phantom coach? Are, you sure?”

  “Quite sure. It ain’t a phantom coach. ’Tis a blue coach. And I’m curst sure it follows!”

  “This is a well-travelled road. Likely someone chances to be taking the same route is all. Did Skye see it?”

  “He says not, but I did!”

  “Yes. Well, next time you spot the dastardly villains, be sure to tell me and we’ll call them to account and split their gizzards!” Valerian stamped outside.

  Watching him resentfully, Herbert called, “You may laugh, but—”