The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  Apprehensive, Elspeth was releved when her assistance consisted mostly of gathering the tools of his trade with which, thanks to the youthful escapades of her reckless brother, she was familiar. When the existing bandages were cut through, however, Valerian clapped a hand over them and ordered her to wait outside.

  “Certainly not,” she said, perversely indignant. “I am quite capable—

  “You are quite capable of attending an elderly lady,” he said in a tone that brooked no interference. “But be dashed if I’ll have a female maudling over me! Into the waiting room with you, Nurse. At once!”

  She bit her lip to stifle the set-down she would have delighted to give him, but since she was supposedly in his employ she had no choice but to do as he said and wait, fuming, in the chilly waiting room.

  When the inner door opened at last, Valerian winked at her cheerfully and said that the apothecary had repaired him to the point that he would go on nicely until they reached England. He was very pale, however, with a sheen of perspiration on his brow and a pinched look about the mouth that frightened her. She threw a searching glance at the apothecary and he shook his head and looked stern.

  Dismayed, she asked, “Is that the case, sir?”

  “Have I not said it?” snapped Valerian, taking her arm. “Come, we must not keep my aunt waiting.”

  Elspeth shook off his hand. “As soon as I hear what this gentleman has to say. Your aunt will expect me to have instructions regarding your care, as you well know.”

  “My care?” he spluttered. “I’m not a small child in nankeens, ma’am!”

  “Then do not behave like one,” she said firmly. “Pray tell me, sir. Is Mr. Newell well enough to travel?”

  “By all means,” said the apothecary, smiling at her with new respect.

  Resisting Valerian’s tug at her elbow, she persisted, “But he is so white as any sheet. Are you sure?”

  “Well, it was necessary that I cauterize the wound, which is not pleasant, as you know, Nurse. But he is young and healthy and should go along without complications—provided he stays abed for a week or so.”

  “Stuff!” exploded Valerian rudely, and went on in English, “Did I not tell you, ma’am? They’re all alike, these quacks, whether they call themselves doctor or apothecary! Makes no difference, they’ll spout gloom and doom and are likely responsible for many a healthy fellow turning up his toes when had he steered clear of ’em he’d have made a fine recovery! Now I’ve paid this glummery twice what he warrants, and I’ve no more time to waste. Come!”

  All but dragged to the front door, Elspeth hissed, “What a rudesby you are! Suppose he speaks English?”

  “Suppose pigs can fly,” he said mockingly.

  Hurrying to open the door for them, the apothecary said in perfect English, “You’ve a stubborn patient, Nurse, and my sympathy. If you will accept the advice of this ‘glummery’ try to keep him quiet and he may not turn up his toes before his time!”

  Scarlet-faced, Elspeth stammered an apology.

  For once speechless, Valerian hurried her away.

  When they approached the inn a man ran past them at speed, shouting something excitedly and incoherently.

  Valerian recovered his voice. “Hello,” he muttered. “Now what’s to do?”

  Several people were gathered around the yard, a carriage was drawn up on the far side of the inn, and Marcel was bending over Joel Skye, who sat on a bale of hay, head down. A large lady wearing a voluminous and snowy apron, presumably the wife of the innkeeper, was running about in great consternation, shrilling conflicting orders at an ostler and stable-boy, having to do with an injured gentleman in the house.

  Elspeth’s heart began to pound with fear. She whispered, “Vance!”

  Valerian clasped her hand firmly and pushed his way through the small crowd. “Marcel! What’s happened here?”

  The coachman turned swiftly. He looked distraught. “Ah, monsieur,” he said. “It is that I go inside for a word with Monsieur the Lieutenant, and we call for some wine, then hear a great amount of confusion outside.”

  Managing to get a clear view of Skye, Elspeth exclaimed, “Joel! You are hurt!” She ran to his side. “Oh, your poor head is cut! Did you fall?”

  Skye blinked up at her with a twisted attempt at a smile. “Just a shade—damaged,” he admitted jerkily. “Nought for—for you to worry about. My—my own fault.”

  Valerian demanded, “Continue, Marcel!”

  “The Lieutenant, he run out to see,” the coachman explained, dabbing a wet cloth at a cut above Skye’s temple. “I follow, and I find this one lying with a broken head, and the other poor gentleman prostrate and—”

  Elspeth gave a gasp of fright.

  “My aunt?” snapped Valerian.

  The innkeeper’s wife, who had followed this conversation anxiously, burst out, “No, no, monsieur! Madame Newell, she rests in my parlour. It is not a lady who lay prostrate on my husband’s cobbles but, as your coachman have say, a gentleman, who has been most viciously attacked and robbed! Here! In the broadest of daylight! Here, in our fine house that is always peaceful and quiet until—”

  Marcel cut into this impassioned declaration to announce, “The gentleman is this—er, is—”

  Skye interrupted in turn, “It is Sir Brian Beech, Valerian.”

  Astonished, Elspeth exclaimed, “My uncle? What on earth—Is he badly injured? Where is he?”

  “Inside,” said Skye, holding his head painfully. “And I think he is not seriously hurt. His son is with him now and they’ve sent—for the apothecary.”

  With a shocked cry, Elspeth ran into the inn.

  Valerian bent over Skye and said in English, “Let me help you up, poor fellow. Now, take it slow and carefully, and tell me before we go inside, what the deuce is all this, and how come the Beeches to be here?”

  Skye was obviously dazed, but as he stumbled along with the aid of Valerian’s good arm he managed to convey that, as Marcel had said, they’d been taking a glass of wine when they’d heard shouting outside. “I thought ’twas a collision perhaps,” he said. “So like a fool I ran out, thinking to help. I had time only to see Beech lying in the dirt, and then a club or a brick or something properly levelled me.”

  Frowning, Valerian asked, “Did you catch sight of the rogue who hit you?”

  “No. He must have been behind the door and caught me fairly as I ran out.”

  “And nobody saw him—or them?”

  “Apparently not. By what I’ve been able to gather, Sir Brian’s son—Conrad—had waited in their coach, while his father went inside to make enquiries. He came running when I was knocked over and a housemaid started screaming, but by that time the thieves were well away and had robbed Sir Brian of his watch and a valuable jewelled pin.”

  “Was anything of yours taken?”

  “I think not. They likely hadn’t time.”

  Valerian grunted and helped him up the steps and into the rather dim interior, where the host hurried to assist the Lieutenant to a faded and worn but comfortable chair in his own parlour.

  Leaving the host and a maid caring for Skye, Valerian went in search of Elspeth. It was not necessary for him to ask where he would find the injured man. He followed the wailing outcries to a bedchamber where Elspeth sat on one side of a bed, holding her uncle’s hand, and Conrad stood on the other side, watching Sir Brian anxiously.

  “… no safety anywhere, for the innocent traveller!” Fingering his lace-trimmed cravat with trembling fingers, and with a coverlet spread over him, Sir Brian Beech lay propped by many pillows and gazed with varying degrees of tragedy and indignation from one to the other of his relatives. “This is a perilous and lawless land,” he declared, and catching sight of Valerian as the door opened, he added, “So you’re here are you, sir! And from the look of you another victim of the violence that threatens us all!”

  Valerian said with a slight shrug, “We can but play the cards as they are dealt, sir. I go along very wel
l, but I grieve to hear that you’ve suffered an attack. I suppose you are in this locality seeking us?”

  “We were, and glad I am of it, despite what it has cost me, for no sacrifice is too great if it enables us to find dear Elspeth at last! But,” he moaned distractedly, “my poor new coat, Valerian! Do you see it on the chair there? Such a rare and exceptional shade of green velvet! And the cut! Perfection! The shoulder is quite ruined! I did but have it from my Parisian tailor in February! And my cravat! Those varmints tore it when they wrenched my very favourite pin away! My emerald pin! A precious family heirloom of great sentimental value in addition to its monetary worth, which is incalculable for it is irreplaceable, and so much admired! Do you see my fine coat there? Only look at such wickedness!”

  Valerian looked, clicked his tongue, and agreed sympathetically that it was a wicked world.

  Conrad intervened at this point to remark that he was very glad they had come up with his cousin at last. “My father is perfectly right, Valerian. ’Tis a wicked world, and France of all places the most wicked! I take it you have been unsuccessful in freeing your poor brother, Elspeth, and will be eager to return home.”

  Elspeth’s face lit up and her lips parted, but Valerian intervened coolly, “Do you, Mr. Beech?”

  Elspeth started and turned to him questioningly.

  He met her eyes, his own unfathomable.

  “What’s that?” snapped Sir Brian, starting up from his pillows. “Why should my niece not wish to go home, sir?”

  Conrad said, “Do you say that you were successful, Mr. Valerian, and have brought Vance Clayton to safety, and unharmed?”

  “Oh, I’d not go so far as to say that,” Valerian replied.

  Elspeth declared eagerly, “They were simply wonderful, Conrad! Joel Skye and Mr. Valerian and his cousin! You’d never believe—”

  “Which reminds me,” Valerian interrupted, “Skye has a concussion, I fear, and is asking for you, Miss Elspeth.”

  “Oh, heavens!” Frightened, she jumped to her feet. “Forgive me, Uncle, but I must go to him at once! He has been so good!”

  Sir Brian reached out to her and said faintly, “Pray do not leave me so soon, dear niece.” He dabbed a lace-edged handkerchief at his eyes. “I have been cruelly upset and it eases my pain to have your gentle presence at my side while I am—alas, so weak and ill.”

  Torn, Elspeth hesitated.

  Conrad urged, “Stay with my sire, dear cousin. I’ll go down and see how Skye goes on.”

  “You are most kind,” said Valerian. “But, do you know, Mr. Beech, I really think poor Skye would so much more appreciate words of comfort from a lovely lady than from a man—even so noble a gentleman as yourself.”

  It was mildly said, but Conrad’s eyes glinted angrily. Before he could respond, Valerian had swung the door open and led Elspeth into the narrow passage.

  “Ellie…,” wailed Sir Brian pathetically.

  “She will be up again directly, sir,” said Valerian, pulling the door shut.

  Conrad jerked it open again. “See here, Valerian! I do not care for your high-handed interference in our—”

  “Ah, here is the apothecary,” said Valerian. “You will find your next patient in this bedchamber, sir!” And in a low-voiced aside to Conrad: “He’s a good man, Mr. Beech, and will, I feel sure, want Miss Clayton elsewhere so that he may give your unfortunate father a complete examination. I expect you will elect to stay by your sire. Should you wish me to tell your coachman to pull your vehicle into the barn?”

  Conrad stared at him. “How’s that?”

  “Oh, a relatively simple task, sir.” Valerian expounded kindly, “He merely has to guide the hacks into the yard and—”

  “I know how it’s done, confound you!” grated Conrad through his teeth.

  Puzzled, Elspeth said, “Gervaise, whatever are you talking about?”

  He answered with an apologetic smile, “A matter on which I am mistaken, apparently. You will think me wits to let, Mr. Beech, for I’d fancied the vehicle waiting in the side lane to be yours.”

  “Oh,” said Conrad, relieved. “Is that the case, then? In all the confusion I’ll own I had quite forgot, but it can wait. I’ll go down and give our coachman his orders in a minute or two. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “Not at all.” Valerian bowed politely. “We will meet again, sir.”

  “We will indeed,” agreed Conrad Beech.

  17

  Valerian bespoke a light luncheon to be served in the only private parlour the inn offered. Skye insisted he was sufficiently recovered to join them, but when the meal was over and the other two men left the table he lingered with Elspeth. She refilled his coffee cup and murmured worriedly, “I still cannot think who they can have been. Surely those horrid ruffians from the chateau lost us long since?”

  “And as surely will know our direction,” he pointed out wryly. “Though why they should attack your uncle is beyond me!”

  “Exactly my own thought! They could not have known of our relationship. The beasts at the chateau did not even know who I am. Joel, do you not want your coffee? You ate hardly any of the soup and the cheeses and hot bread.”

  He smiled at her fondly. “Never look so anxious for me, Ellie. ’Tis just the headache and will soon fade.” And in an effort to turn her thoughts, he asked, “Where is everyone gone? Valerian is seldom far from your side.”

  Aware that she was blushing, she poured a mug of coffee for herself and answered with what she hoped was nonchalance, “Oh, I fancy he is chatting with my cousin in the tap—or what passes for the tap. This is a very small inn, you know.”

  “True. At home it would be judged no more than a hedge tavern. I’m surprised to hear that Valerian and Mr. Beech are enjoying a convivial talk. I’d somehow gained the impression they were not exactly—er, kindred spirits.”

  Elspeth sighed, “I wish they could be friends. Mr. Valerian has been splendid, and it is so good of my uncle and Conrad to have come all this way trying to help me.”

  “Especially since your uncle was very much against your taking such chances to free Vance. But you’ve done it, Ellie! Just as you so bravely set out to do. It’s all over now! We’ll be back in England in a day or so and your life will go on as smoothly as it did before you embarked on this adventure.” Watching her intently, he saw her smile fade and his heart sank. He asked gently, “That is what you want, isn’t it, dear girl?”

  It had long since occurred to Elspeth that the future he painted was just what she did not want, and she suffered the same little pang that so often seemed to pierce her of late. Knowing how anxiously this devoted young man gazed at her, she summoned a smile. “Of course it is,” she lied. “But what of you, Joel? Whatever is to become of you when we get home? I couldn’t bear it if your career were—”

  He reached out to clasp her hand. “Let’s worry about that when the time comes. Meanwhile, where has Herbert got to? You know, I like that boy. He idolizes his cousin, and if Valerian could just be a little more patient with him I believe he’d be less apt to—er—”

  Elspeth chuckled and said, “To tumble into his little embarrassments? Perhaps. But Sir Simon told me that Valerian is more fond of him than he shows. Herbert has gone out to the stable. Marcel found something wrong with one of the coach wheels, and Herbert went to see if he could be of assistance.”

  “So that’s why we are tied by the heels here! I don’t care for these delays. The sooner you are safe home the better I shall like it.”

  “So shall we all. But at least it gives you and Vance a chance to rest for a while.”

  “A rest won’t hurt Valerian, either. Jupiter! What a sorry rescue party we are come to! The halt and the lame, no less!”

  “Say rather the brave and undaunted.” Elspeth smiled and stood. “Even so, I think I’ll go and see how my brother goes on. Try to sleep for a little while, Joel. I’ll let you know in plenty of time when the coach is ready.”

  Leaving him, she
closed the parlour door quietly and made her way to the stairs. The innkeeper’s wife hurried to meet her in the entrance hall and point out the door to her private parlour. “It is behind the curtain, beyond the tap,” she said, in the nervous flow of words that appeared to be her normal way of speech. “Madame Newell drank some soup and admires my brioche. Mademoiselle Nurse will pardon if I do not accompany her. It is that we have more guests arriving and must now make changes in the rooms, and the maids are in great excitement because of all the trouble. We are not accustomed to trouble in this quiet corner of France. But your patient, Madame Newell, she now sleeps quietly with her little cat. Please to go in, mademoiselle, and send a maid if anything is required.”

  Elspeth thanked her and hurried along the passageway. She heard laughter as she passed the tap and lifted her eyebrows slightly. ’Twould seem her cousin and Valerian were enjoying a more comfortable cose than she’d envisioned.

  Anyone observing the two gentlemen in the tap would have shared Elspeth’s opinion. They both lounged on settles, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table between them and their mirth decidedly raucous.

  Waving his glass with an abandon that sent the contents splashing, Valerian hiccuped, mumbled, “Y’r pardon, B-Beech, ol’ fella!” and asked a slurred, “S’what ha-happened then? Was th’ lady amen-amen—friendly? I’ve found these French lassies often … Hic! Le’s have ’nother bottle up! This wine’s dev’lish flat! Hey! Wench!” Rising, he weaved unsteadily and half-fell back into his chair again. “Deuce take’t…,” he exclaimed, laughingly. “You get it, Conr’d ol’ f’la. M’silly legs melted … be damned to ’em! Melted!”

  With a faint grin, Beech strolled over to the bar and leaned to the pretty serving maid.