“Thank you,” responded Valerian.
12
They delayed long enough to take a light luncheon at Le cheval de Trois. The food was surprisingly good but Valerian shocked the host, a dowdy little man with a mournful face, by ordering coffee and ale rather than wine. When Skye said he would enjoy a glass of wine, Valerian murmured that he’d as soon the Lieutenant didn’t fall asleep after lunch, and taking the hint, Skye settled for ale. Pixie was pleased by the offer of finely cut-up chicken giblets and a bowl of fresh water.
By the time their hasty meal was over the rain had drifted away, although the skies were gloomy and overcast. Valerian went out to inspect the team and confer with Coachman Marcel. He had delegated Herbert to see to it that the kitten’s “commode” was replenished with fresh earth, while Skye, watchful and alert, escorted Elspeth and Pixie on a stroll through the gardens and for a short distance along the lane and back. The little animal paced along in a more or less orderly fashion on her lead, until she paused to declare war on a torn piece of newspaper that fluttered in a shrub and, having won that battle, regarded with exaggerated suspicion an old broken boot abandoned in a ditch.
“I’m so glad she’s getting a little exercise,” said Elspeth. “She has to spend so much time cooped up, poor mite.”
Skye patted the hand that rested in his arm. “Perhaps she has sense enough to appreciate that she is fed and cared for. Do you suppose Valerian will return her to his father when this business is done?”
“He promised Sir Simon he would do so, though I think that will have to be after we’re safely on a packet bound for England.” Looking up into his ardent dark eyes, she said anxiously, “We will be in time, won’t we, Joel? Valerian will find Vance in time?”
“He certainly seems determined to keep his promise to you. I’ll own that surprises me.”
“Why? Do you judge him to be lacking in honour?”
“Say rather that I’ve always thought him a frippery sort of fellow, more interested in the whims of fashion and society than in a serious undertaking of this nature.”
She said with a smile, “He played a part these past three years, and played it well. Did you know him before that?”
“No. I was too busily occupied with my duties to cultivate new friends among the haut ton.” He paused, then, watching her, said slowly, “You like him, don’t you, Ellie?”
“Yes. I never dreamt I would, for I thoroughly despised him when first we met, if you recall.”
He said, as Sir Simon had observed earlier, “But you’ve changed your mind.” He pressed her hand. “Be careful, my dear. He has the reputation of being a dangerous man—in more ways than one. Don’t let him throw dust in your lovely eyes.”
“Good gracious, Joel!” With a little ripple of laughter, she said, “I cannot suppose he has the least intention of doing so. In fact, I think he finds me annoying rather than intriguing. Oh, look! What a fine team! Who’d ever have guessed we’d be able to hire such horses in this funny little place! Do you suppose Lord Boudreaux owns them?”
The Lieutenant stifled a sigh. He had tried, at least. “Probably. And if they move as well as they look, we should make good time. The question is—to where?”
The team was poled up and the horses stamping impatiently when they returned to the inn.
Swinging into the saddle, Skye asked, “Is our destination this side of Rouen, Valerian? Or are we to go through the city?”
“As I understand it our destination is a chateau between La Bouille and Rouen. More than that I know only that it has a fine view.” Valerian stooped to lift Pixie and hand her to Beck, who was already in the coach. “On a hill, no doubt,” he added.
“There are probably dozens of such chateaux,” said Skye indignantly. “How the deuce are we to know which one? Does our coachman know?”
Marcel looked down from his lofty perch and said in halting English, “These will you learn at the hour…” He hesitated, then finished triumphantly, “at the hour of establishments!”
Herbert grunted, “Which tells us nothing.”
“Except perhaps,” said Valerian, “to ask no questions.” He handed Elspeth up the carriage step. “Meanwhile, gentlemen, we draw near and, whatever our plan, we should have our weapons primed and ready. I trust you’ve seen to that important detail.”
They assured him the detail had been attended to. He warned them to stay alert, then waved to the coachman and climbed inside.
“Before you start,” he said as Elspeth opened her mouth to speak, “I don’t know what the fellow meant, but I’m sure he has worked for his lordship before and is perfectly reliable.”
“I was merely going to ask how much longer this will take,” she said. “No, I don’t mean to pinch at you. I know you are doing all you can, and I am more than grateful, but I’m so afraid we won’t get there in time.”
“I know.” He took her hand and she did not protest as he held it strongly. “’Tis natural that you’d be worried. Take heart, ma’am. You’ve been splendid through all our trials and setbacks. Most ladies would have had the vapours at the first sign of the attack we suffered today, but you go on, courageous as ever. I wonder—Ow!” He had been stroking her fingers gently and the kitten had pounced without warning. “Vicious brute,” he grumbled, rubbing his hand.
Undaunted, Pixie stood on her back feet and waved both front arms at him, then tumbled as the carriage lurched.
Elspeth laughed and retrieved the little animal. “I think ’twould have been kinder to let Sir Simon take her with him than to drag her about like this.”
“Kinder to her, but riskier for your brother.”
“We could certainly have found another black kitten, heaven knows there are plenty of the poor little things abandoned and starving.”
“True. But you are forgetting the admiration she attracted en route. That dashing lieutenant when we were leaving England—what was his name? Raines, I think—was most taken with her. As was the British Coast Guard officer at Le Havre—to say nothing of that irritating young French official I had to set down. Now he particularly noticed the white spot on Pixie’s tail, remember?”
“Yes, indeed. But we could quite safely have left her at the pension with Madame Bossuet, or even at the Trojan Horse, and collected her on our way back.”
“And would have been lucky to find her still there! At either hostelry they’d likely have let her wander off and she might have tried to find my father again! No, m’dear. Too risky by half!”
The conversation languished. Elspeth watched villages and pastures and farms appear and disappear, her mind’s eye conjuring up her beloved brother’s laughing, handsome face. Valerian’s thoughts alternated between his parents and their joyous reunion, and the girl sitting beside him. Watching her, he prayed he’d not have to disappoint her.
Freda murmured drowsily, “Some poor soul is in difficulty, sir.”
Looking out of the window, Valerian said, “The coachman is slowing. Be curst if it’s not a troupe of rascally gypsies! Why would the numbskull stop? This could be another ambush!” He swung the door open as the coach slowed, snapped, “Stay inside!” and jumped down the step.
The short winter afternoon was already fading, but the clouds had drifted away and the skies were clear. Off to the side of the road stood a gaily coloured gypsy caravan, ahead of which a fine berlin was drawn up, an outrider waiting beside it.
Joel Skye walked his mount to join Valerian, who demanded, “Why a’plague are we stopping?”
Skye said, “Our coachman seemed to think the berlin was in difficulties. It’s a magnificent coach. Your cousin has gone over to see if they need assistance. It would appear that a lady of rank is consulting the gypsy—a fortune-teller, likely.”
“One might suppose a lady of rank would travel with more than one outrider,” said Valerian, irritated. “Confound my cousin! I wish to hell he wouldn’t continually get himself into these—Well, never mind that. Stay with the coach if you please.
I’ll see what’s to do.”
He stalked across the muddy road and came up with his cousin, who had dismounted and stood holding his reins and watching the gypsy coach.
Herbert saw his frown and said quickly, “No cause to glower at me. The lady tripped in the mud, so I came across to help.”
“And was most gallant,” said a musical voice.
A lady emerged from the caravan. A little above average height and exquisitely robed, she wore an ermine-trimmed hood, one hand resided in a deep ermine muff, in the other she held up a mask which concealed most of what Valerian guessed to be a very pretty face; certainly the eyes were unusually brilliant. He experienced a brief sense of familiarity, but before he could speak she turned to Herbert.
“I am indebted to you, monsieur,” she said earnestly.
“No—I er, I mean—not at all,” he stammered.
“But—yes. I could have been injured, and see—the mud is all gone. The old gypsy woman was able to brush it out of my cloak.”
Watching her intently, Valerian said, “Your pardon, madame, but I think we have—”
The outrider had ridden closer and interrupted harshly, “You will stand away from my lady!”
She made a graceful restraining gesture and said, “There is no cause for alarm, Frederic. This gentleman is with Monsieur Turner. But at all events, I must go. Good day to you, messeurs.”
A warm smile for Herbert, a friendly nod to Valerian and she was gone, walking quickly to the berlin, where a liveried footman held the door open and handed her up the steps.
A moment later the beautifully matched white team had drawn the vehicle away.
Valerian looked after the departing coach thoughtfully. “No crest on the panel,” he muttered. “I wonder who she is. A beauty, and I’ve the feeling we’ve met somewhere. Did she give you her name?”
“No, and I didn’t dare to ask.” With a wistful sigh Herbert said, “Have you ever seen such eyes? Such a soft green.”
“Were they? I’d thought they looked blue, rather.” Glancing to the caravan Valerian saw that a small, plump and elderly gypsy woman stood in the open door watching them. “Give you good day, ma’am,” he said, raising his tricorne politely. “The lady who just left—could you tell me her name?”
“I could, but I won’t,” she replied in English.
Surprised by both the words and the cultured voice, he said with a smile, “An English gypsy, I see. But a gypsy nonetheless.” He took out his purse. “Were I to cross your palm with silver…”
“Do try not to be so ridiculous, Valerian,” she snapped, and, surprising him even more, added, “I’d not expected you to be with Marcel. You will have an explanation, I feel sure, but at all events, you’re late!” Her small dark eyes went past him to where the coachman was guiding the horses across the road to pull up where the berlin had stood.
Speechless, Valerian hurried to open the door of the coach and assist Elspeth down the step.
She looked at him enquiringly. “Another delay?”
“It appears,” he answered, “that we are expected.”
“Here?” Elspeth’s puzzled gaze turned to the caravan. “But I thought—”
“So did I. Come and meet a remarkable gypsy. You’d best wait here, Beck, and take care of Pixie.”
Walking beside him, Elspeth said, “I’m sorry if there is trouble here, but Gervaise—” She flushed at the slip, but the laughter in his eyes reassured her. “Mr. Valerian,” she corrected. “I do apologize.”
“So I should hope,” he teased.
“It is that I cannot fathom why we stop here. The time is going by so fast and—”
“As time tends to do,” said the gypsy woman briskly. “Wherefore I suggest that you stop wasting it and step inside!”
Valerian watched appreciatively as Elspeth’s lower lip sagged in a way he thought particularly delicious.
Staring in wide-eyed disbelief at this plump little gypsy clad in a head-scarf and shawl, a brilliant red blouse and a voluminous and very creased skirt of blue velvet, Elspeth could all but see the costly evening gown and jewels worn by this same lady at a dinner party in a luxurious London mansion. Astounded, she gasped, “Heavens above! It is you! Lady Elmira Bottesdale? What on—earth?”
The dowager gave Valerian a conspiratorial grin and bustled into the caravan.
Pausing only to exchange an incredulous glance with him, Elspeth followed. She seemed to enter another world. Bright curtains hung at windows in the front and rear of the caravan; there were numerous cluttered shelves, and an assortment of pots and pans hung from wall hooks. An oil lamp suspended from the ceiling cast a warm glow on the few items of furniture: a narrow bed piled with cushions and blankets, three small chairs, a chest of drawers also small, and a little table that held a round glass ball, some cards and numerous papers.
Waving her guests to chairs, Lady Bottesdale sat down at the table. “I can’t invite the others in,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “No room. But you’ll not be staying long.”
Valerian returned her smile but said, “I’ll own ’tis beyond me, ma’am, to know why we stay at all. Or how you come to be involved. Though I could hazard a guess, bizarre as it may be.”
She nodded. “Hazard away. I’ve always judged you to be more intelligent than you appear. You may get some of it right.”
“Three facts come to mind,” he said. “One—you’ve the reputation of being a strong-willed lady, not averse to acting on your convictions boldly, however unpopular such convictions may be. Two—you are a close friend of Lord Geoffrey Boudreaux, in fact, ’tis said you once were betrothed to him, and you are known to have strong loyalties. Three—the lady who just left here was masked to her very lovely eyes—famous eyes, and belonging I believe to a charming creature who also holds strong convictions, and is sometimes named La maitresse en titre.”
“Madame de Pompadour?” exclaimed Elspeth, her eyes wider than ever.
“From all of which,” said the dowager, nodding again, “you conclude—what, exactly, Valerian?”
“If I put it together with the fact that you know the name of our coachman and that you were clearly expecting him—if not me—I can only suppose you are here to help Miss Clayton rescue her brother. And jolly brave of you to do so!”
The dowager clapped her white little hands. “Very good! And you have surprised me, young man. It was long ago, and very few people know of my broken engagement to Geoffrey Boudreaux. I expect you had that from your father, and you’ve kept silent else the whole ton would be reminded of one of my more foolish faux pas—for which I thank you. Yes, you’ve guessed rightly. I am here to render what assistance I may to Miss Clayton’s unfortunate brother.”
Elspeth said, “Oh, how very good in you, ma’am.”
“Pish!” snorted the dowager. “Society gossip and intrigues bore me. I dote on excitement. Boudreaux knows this, and I’ve worked with him from time to time when he asked it. I only wish I had better news for you.”
Paling, Elspeth cried, “Dear God! Never say we are too late and my dear Vance is killed?”
“Be at ease, child. Your brother yet lives—though not for long, I fear. Fortunately, we were warned of a possible ambush, which is why we decided to move our rendezvous point.”
Valerian asked, “Since your man Marcel was unaware of this, am I right in assuming that is why the Pompadour was here? To warn you?”
“To warn me. But not of the ambush. I should explain that Reinette—as we used to call her in her youth—had a very lovely mama, poor Madame Poisson, who was judged very bad ton. I must own she was rather naughty—but even so I was most fond of her and I’ve known Reinette since she was a small and very sickly child. She has come a long way, little Mademoiselle Poisson; but even today, although she is the King’s favourite and despite her wealth and power, she is looked down upon as a bourgeoise by many of the aristocracy. On the other hand there are plenty of folk who adore her, for she has a very kind heart and is always
willing to lend a helping hand where she can. Unfortunately, she is also ambitious and much interested in politics, and she will persist in meddling, which has got her into trouble several times. She was greatly distressed to learn of your brother’s plight, Miss Clayton. She trusts him implicitly and is anxious to know what became of a letter he was carrying. She arranged in secret to send some of her servants to attempt his release. One of these was the guard who rode on Marcel’s coach, another was waylaid en route to meet you and guide you here. Meanwhile, those who oppose Reinette have let it be known—very subtly, you understand, but with deep malice—that they are close to finding proof of her involvement in a certain international intrigue, and once they have it Louis himself will be told of her scheming. At the very least it would lead to a scandal and the King very much dislikes scandal. At worst, he might be put in such a difficult position that he’d be forced to sever their relationship. He adores her, and she is madly in love with him. You comprehend? To be separated forever would destroy her. So…” She shrugged.
Elspeth said, “And you believe the proof her enemies seek is in the letter my brother carried?”
“I do.”
Valerian said gravely, “So—en effet we are on our own.”
“Not completely, but I’m relieved to see you have two strapping young fellows to assist you. Skye I know slightly. The other…?”
“My cousin, ma’am. And a fine fighting man—at need. What do we have in opposition?”
Her ladyship pursed her lips before answering, “A deal more than I’d expected. But you have not told me the whole, I think.”
“True. We were attacked soon after we landed. But that rascality had nothing to do with our attempt to free Clayton. Their aim was to steal his sister—to be sold to some eastern potentate, probably.”
“Hmm. No other criminal incidents?”
“Yes, indeed!” declared Elspeth. “My friend Nicholas Drew had intended to help, but he was badly wounded in London.”
“Word of that reached me only two days since,” muttered her ladyship. “I understood it was the work of Mohocks. I’d been sure he would be the one to come and help your brother. I certainly didn’t expect you, Miss Clayton—nor that you’d be in company with this rascal. I think there is a story there. You’d best paint me the complete picture. From the beginning.”
The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy Page 18