The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

The door was swung open. The guard called a curt, “Time’s up, Lieutenant.”

  Not trusting himself to speak, Broderick left without a word. He was sweating, and he wiped his face and felt drained as he strode along the narrow passage.

  Adair’s words echoed and re-echoed in his ears. “If you were in my shoes…”

  With a murmur of thanks he took the cloak and hat a sergeant handed him and a moment later was outside and in the cold rain.

  “If you were in my shoes…”

  “I’d choose the pistol,” he muttered. “Poor fellow. Most decidedly, I’d choose the pistol!”

  * * *

  Two days later a pale winter sun broke through the early-morning clouds to gleam upon steel breastplates, shining helmets, and fixed bayonets. A light but very cold breeze stirred the horses’ manes and tails and ruffled the plumes on the helmets of the men of the Household Cavalry. Row upon row, those military units still in or near London were drawn up on the parade ground. Silent and stern and unmoving.

  To one side, a group of officers and high-ranking government officials waited almost as silently, but there was a slight stir among them when the prisoner was escorted out.

  The steady beat of the drum began, and Hastings Adair clenched his fists until the nails bit into his palms.

  For as long as he lived, every detail of that scene would haunt his dreams. He tried not to see faces as he was marched in front of the assembled officers and men, some of whom he had fought beside. Their scorn was an almost palpable thing. Among the spectators he caught a glimpse of red hair that glowed like a flame in the sun. Rufus Prior. So poor little Alice’s brother was here. He could only pray that no member of his own family would witness his disgrace.

  The interminable march ended at last.

  The beat of the drum was loud in the hushed silence.

  Now came the ultimate degradation.

  Despite the cold, he was sweating. Who would have dreamed when Grandfather bought him a pair of colours that his military career would end like this? He’d always wanted to be a soldier. Always hoped to distinguish himself; to serve his country and bring pride to the old gentleman. He’d risen rapidly until he attained the regimental rank of major with a battlefield rank of lieutenant-colonel, and Grandfather had been proud. Now … Lord above!

  A colonel was standing before him. He couldn’t see the man’s features clearly, but he knew he was what they’d unkindly referred to in Spain as a “Hyde Park soldier”—one of the Whitehall crowd.

  He fought against shrinking back as the colonel reached out and grasped the epaulette on his left shoulder. It refused to tear. The drumbeat kept on … rhythmical … remorseless … The colonel tugged again. It would be nice, thought Adair, to faint. Mustn’t faint. He’d brought enough shame on his family … The colonel had a little knife now; the left epaulette was wrenched away, and then the right. The buttons on his tunic were next. One at a time, while he kept his head high somehow, and the drumbeat never faltered, and the sun shone, and the breeze blew … and it was such a ghastly nightmare.

  And they were wrong, damn them! He had done none of it! Not knowingly, at all events. Did his record count for nothing? Didn’t they know he was an honourable man…? ‘Lord God, why are you letting this happen?’

  The last button fell. His sabre was removed from its scabbard and snapped across the colonel’s knee. He was turned and marched in front of the rows of scornful faces again, with his jacket hanging open, the shoulders torn, the buttons gone, his knees threatening to buckle under him, and that demoniacal drumbeat following his every step.

  An eternity later he was being escorted from the parade ground, the drummer following.

  The ordeal was over.

  He was a ruined and disgraced man.

  He would never be able to serve in the military again; never be allowed to hold any kind of governmental post; never be able to run for public office. He’d be lucky to find work as a ditch digger. His only logical course was to get out of the country, and as fast as possible, before Miss Prior’s family, or an outraged citizenry, visited their own brand of justice on him.

  Suddenly, a searing rage burned through him. Leave England? Leave this cold and damp and proud little island that he so loved? Never!

  Toby was right. He had a chance now to find out who had done this, and for what possible reason. If it took the rest of his days, he’d track down the damnable blackguard who’d destroyed him, ruined a gentle and innocent girl, and broken an old man’s heart.

  ‘Before God,’ he vowed savagely, ‘I swear it!’

  2

  Toby Broderick had been kind enough to bring Adair a coat to replace his shredded jacket and drive him to Adair Hall off Grosvenor Street. There had been little talk between the two young men during the journey, Adair feeling too wrung out to make conversation, and Broderick guessing at and respecting his state of mind. As the jarvey pulled up his hack, the front door of the mansion was opened.

  Adair said, “I am more than grateful to you, Toby. So I won’t ask you to come in.”

  “No, by Jove!” said Broderick vehemently. “Thank you. Er, what I mean is, er—quite.”

  The jarvey cracked his whip and the coach scurried around the corner before Adair reached the top of the steps.

  The butler admitted him with polite dignity but without the smile he had always received in the past. He had given up his London flat when he joined Lord Wellington’s Peninsular Campaign, and he went straight up to the second-floor suite he occupied on the rare occasions when he was in England. A maid who was dusting industriously on the first-floor landing bent lower at her task and gave him not a glance, but he knew she had seen him, and a muffled giggle from somewhere close by strengthened his conviction that every servant in the house was aware he had come home.

  He rang for a footman and requested hot water and a light luncheon. The man’s eyes were hostile, and he said with wooden impudence that the family was taking their lunch in the breakfast parlour. Adair turned from his wardrobe and stared at him. “Perhaps,” he said icily, “I did not make myself clear.”

  The footman fled and returned in a very few minutes with a ewer of steaming water, and a maid who carried a tray of cold sliced chicken and ham, a wedge of cheese, warm bread, a mince tart and a tankard of ale.

  Adair washed, and ate while he changed clothes. He would have to move his belongings; his parents wouldn’t want him here. No doubt of that. Nor would he be welcome at his club. He scanned himself in the cheval-glass. A pale and haggard face stared back at him; a stranger with sunken and shadowed eyes who looked ill at ease in the civilian garments, although they had been tailored by a master and were a perfect fit.

  The passage was empty when he left his suite, but as he went down the stairs he heard a rustling that spoke of a feminine gown. With remarkable boldness a woman said, “Shameful, I calls it!” Adair’s hand tightened on the banister rail, but he knew that if he turned there would be no sign of whichever maid had dared make the insolent remark.

  Other ears had heard, however. On the landing below him a lady said sharply, “Whoever just spoke so rudely had best leave this house before I discover her identity—as you may be sure I shall do!”

  Adair heard a dismayed gasp, then he was on the landing and the eldest of his female cousins was hurling her plump self into his arms. He was mildly surprised. Firstly, because of this demonstration of affection, and secondly because the rather shy girl had made such a martial declaration. He was fond of most of his cousins, but there had never been a particularly strong bond between him and Minerva Chatteris. The daughter of his mother’s brother Jerome, a Major of Artillery who had fallen at the Battle of Corunna, Minerva’s best feature was a pair of deep-set grey eyes. Her many friends were wont to describe her as having a “kind” face. This, she certainly had, but one of her brothers had remarked that the trouble with Minna was that everything about her was “too” for her to be judged pretty. She was a touch too plump; her nose was
too snub, her mouth too wide, her hair, which was luxuriant, was too mousy, and she was far and away too tender-hearted, the slightest set-back for anyone she knew turning her into “a watering pot!” Obsessively fond of dogs, she had established quite a name for herself by breeding beautiful King Charles spaniels. She had appeared quite contented to make this her life’s work, and nobody judged it remarkable when she remained “on the shelf” long after two younger sisters had made gratifying alliances. Nor could anyone have been more surprised than her mama when the daughter she had come to think of as being doomed to spinsterhood had attracted the interest of so fine a prize as Julius Harrington, M.P.

  Adair put his cousin from him and looked down at her wonderingly. “It is very good of you to have come, Minna. Did my Aunt Hilda bring you up from Woking?”

  “Julius—Mr. Harrington—did. Oh, but you look dreadful, Hastings! Poor dear! What a ghastly time you have had.”

  His eyes became veiled. “Were you at the Horse Guards today, then?”

  “Goodness, no!” She shuddered. “I could not have borne it. Especially since we know you are not guilty! As if you could ever do such—frightful things!”

  He hugged her and managed to mumble his gratitude, and true to form, she wept copiously all over his cravat.

  His nerves were already taut and this kind demonstration quite unmanned him. It was all he could do to take out his handkerchief and dab at her tears, and he was dismayed to see how his hand shook. Minerva smiled up at him mistily, then glanced down to the first floor landing where her fiancé waited, his round face troubled.

  Adair ushered his cousin to the lower hall and put out his hand uncertainly. Julius Harrington seized and wrung it hard. He was some seven years Adair’s senior, and although they were not close friends they knew and liked one another. The scion of a family that had become wealthy in shipbuilding, then gone on to greater successes in maritime trading ventures, Harrington had shown an interest in politics and had mounted a brisk campaign to become Member of Parliament for his small north-country district. Having won the election with a comfortable majority, he had at once removed to London, and returned to his district as seldom as possible. Of barely average height, inclining to portliness, his curling brown hair beginning to thin on top, he was no more handsome than Minerva was beautiful. But he had a fine pair of green eyes, a ready smile, and a cheerful and amiable disposition that had soon made him popular in both social circles and the House of Commons. He never embarked on long and boring speeches, he was a sympathetic listener, and always ready to work on a committee or lend a hand in time of trouble. Some unkind colleagues had been heard to remark that Harrington could rise to the highest office simply by having lacked the gumption to offend anyone or take a stand on any controversial issue.

  He now said huskily, “My poor fellow! They have treated you vilely.”

  “Thank you,” said Adair, amazed that this man should risk public censure by associating with him. “You are very good to have come, but you should not have brought her, you know.”

  “If Julius had been unwilling, I would have come alone,” declared Minerva stoutly. “Someone in the family must stand by you, Hasty!”

  “We want you to know that we’re with you,” said Harrington as they walked slowly along the wide corridor. “Both of us. Even if the others—”

  “Others?” The muscles under Adair’s ribs tightened painfully. “Who else is here, Minna?”

  She hesitated, and Harrington said, “The whole lot, I’m afraid, my dear fellow. Your parents, of course; the General; both your brothers—”

  “Nigel came down?” interrupted Adair sharply.

  “He said it was too—ah, uncomfortable at Oxford,” said Harrington.

  The door to the drawing room opened and the butler hurried to them. “His lordship requests that you join the family, sir.”

  Adair nodded. “Take her away, Harrington. No, Minna! I am more grateful than I can say that you and Julius have faith in me, but there’s no need for you to be exposed to—to any more of this nasty business.”

  She hugged him and said anxiously, “You won’t go away or—or do anything silly, will you, my dear?”

  “At the moment, I have no plans beyond the next hour.” Adair smiled, dropped a kiss on her brow and shook hands again with her devoted suitor. Then he took a deep breath and followed the butler to the drawing room.

  It was a large and luxurious room, the décor reflecting his mother’s excellent taste, although he always found it rather oppressively formal. The murmur of conversation ceased as he entered. It seemed to him that the air vibrated with hostility, and Harrington had been right—or almost right. A quick scan of the company revealed that two of his uncles on his father’s side were present—both scowling at him; Captain Sir Joseph Adair, who commanded an East Indiaman, was absent, although his ship had returned to Bristol a week ago. Three of Mama’s brothers had come, and also scowled at him. His elder brother, the Honourable Hudson Adair, a handsome and usually elegant man who now looked rumpled and distracted, darted a rageful glance at him. He suffered a shock when his younger brother, Nigel, met his eyes with a glare that could only be judged hate-filled. The boy had always put him on a pedestal; the idol had fallen, understandably. Lady Caroline Shand, every bit as proud as her parents, was the only one of his three sisters to have come, and looked ready to strangle him.

  Joshua Adair, Viscount Esterwood, had taken up a position by the fireplace. A tall man who had kept himself trim, his thinning brown hair only slightly touched with grey, he was as distinguished as ever, but he had been wounded in his most vulnerable area—his pride, and there was rage in every line of him.

  Hastings gathered his courage, walked forward, and bowed. “I have brought you grief, Father. I am sorry for it.”

  “By God, but you have,” snapped his lordship.

  Samuel Chatteris, his puffy features an even brighter red than usual, roared, “I wonder you dared show your face, Hastings! I won’t name you ‘nephew,’ since I refuse to acknowledge you!”

  “As do we all!” Major Roger Adair had served for many years in India and thoroughly enjoyed recounting one or another of his hair-raising experiences to long-suffering friends. “Buried us in shame, be damned if you ain’t!” he shouted. “Not worthy of our fine old name! Ain’t that the case, Will? I haven’t dared set foot in my club, by Gad, have I, Will?”

  Thus appealed to, Willoughby Chatteris, the youngest of the General’s surviving sons, murmured, “Right-o, old fellow.” He glanced in embarrassment at Hastings, and added apologetically, “He hasn’t, y’know, Hasty. Sorry.”

  Samuel Chatteris rolled his eyes at the ceiling and muttered something about “sapskulls.”

  Willoughby reddened and retreated to a far corner of the room. A diffident, withdrawn individual, who lacked both the physique and the good looks of most Chatteris men, he seemed, rather, a washed-out copy of them, for he was thin and stoop-shouldered, his colouring pale, his rather protuberant eyes a watery blue, and the straight hair that sprang from his low forehead a light nondescript brown. He had never married and was generally believed to be “a little strange.” His mission in life appeared to be to make “lists,” though of what and for what conceivable purpose no one had ever been able to determine. He had inherited a sizeable fortune and a large country estate from a maternal aunt who believed that Fate had dealt harshly with “poor Willoughby.” When his brother had been slain at Corunna, Willoughby had opened his lonely house to his bereaved sister-in-law and her brood. His friends had been sceptical, but it had proven to be a success. Mrs. Hilda Chatteris ran the house and held the accounts nicely in balance. Willoughby was fond of his nephews and nieces, and enjoyed having a family around him. His niece, Minerva, had beguiled him into sharing her canine interests, so that when he was not busied over his Lists, he could usually be found at the kennels. His was not a gregarious nature, and that he and the volatile Major Roger Adair should have struck up a friendship baffl
ed the rest of the family, but friends they were and whenever the Major desired support, he called on Willoughby.

  The Reverend Mr. Taylor Chatteris, learned, handsome and soft-hearted, now fixed his gentle blue gaze on his nephew and said sadly, “Whatever were you thinking of, Hasty?”

  Several of the assembled gentlemen immediately informed the clergyman exactly what Hastings had been “thinking of”; Mr. Fergus Adair, a very stout man of small means, questionable ethics, and a large thirst became so ribald, in fact, that the Viscount was obliged to remind him there were ladies present.

  “Have you come here to confess your guilt?”

  The querulous voice was that of his mother, and Hastings turned to her at once. In his youth Lady Esterwood had seemed an omnipotent being; seldom seen, but always gracious and awesomely beautiful. Vanity decreed that she eat sparingly, which the General often declared had caused her to be “scratchy,” and her perpetually haughty expression had given her mouth a permanent disdainful droop. But at five and fifty she was one of the foremost ton hostesses, and still a remarkably handsome woman, blessed with a pair of dark blue eyes, beautiful white hands, and a fine soprano voice. She had been proud of her soldier son’s rapid rise to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and overjoyed when he’d been “mentioned in despatches.” He had been her “darling boy” then. Today, striking in a gown of powder blue velvet, with a blue and white shawl draped across her shoulders, she leaned back in her chair and regarded him as she might have viewed a slug that had crawled across her slipper.

  Adair said, “I came only to remove my things, Mama, and to make my apologies to you all for—”

  “For making me the target of every gossip-monger in Town?” she interposed shrilly. “I dare not venture out on the streets! Do you realize I had planned a ball in honour of your brother’s Cabinet appointment? Even had I the courage to hold it, no one would come!”

  “You couldn’t hold it now at all events, ma’am,” drawled Hudson Adair, his bitter gaze on his brother. “Any hopes I entertained along those lines were dashed, thanks to our gallant Colonel! Ten years of work! Ten years of guarding my tongue and catering to the powerful ministers whose backing I needed! And they were ready to back me! I had the appointment! Or as good as. But you bowled me out, didn’t you, Hastings? I hope—”