The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

“Monster!” shrieked Lady Abigail, coming up to flail her reticule at his back. “You stole our horses! You are a very bad man!”

  “No, but I left you a note and they were where your grandson could find them easily enough,” said Adair, fending her off as best he might. “I’d not have done it save that I simply had to have an uninterrupted hour or so in which to—”

  “To do—what? Knock my cousin down again?” said Cecily Hall with disgust.

  “Brute!” screamed Lady Abigail. “Bullying ruffian!”

  “Ow!” said Adair as her small fist connected squarely with his ear. “If you will have done, ma’am, I’ll—”

  She kicked him hard, and losing patience, he picked her up and tucked her under his arm.

  “Don’t hurt her! Oh, don’t hurt her!” cried Miss Hall, coming to her feet.

  “He’s not hurting me, dear,” said Lady Abigail, suspended, but ceasing to make swimming movements.

  “You’re the one who is hurt, Miss Cecily,” said Adair, thinking that she was even more beautiful than he remembered. “I’ve been trying to get this idiot to come and help you, but—”

  “But this ‘idjut’ is just about to blow your head off!” The apothecary, who had left the scene, now returned aiming a bell-mouthed blunderbuss at Adair. “Coming into my surgery with your hoity-toity airs! Throwing my clients about! Unhand Lady Abigail this minute! If ever I heard of such a thing!”

  Her ladyship said shrilly, “Put that hideous weapon down at once, Jedidiah Bright! Miss Cecily and I are in the line of fire, you fool!”

  “Gad!” muttered Adair, setting her down hurriedly and stepping aside.

  “Now I gotcha!” said Apothecary Bright with a triumphant grin.

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Abigail, her cheeks rather pink as she straightened her garments. “There is no need for gunfire.”

  “You never wants me to let him go, marm?” asked the apothecary, bewildered. “He’s liable to do for the lot of us!”

  “Stop being so ridiculous and tend to Miss Hall.” Ignoring the wavering blunderbuss, Adair crossed to bend over Rufus Prior, who was beginning to sit up, holding his jaw and muttering to himself.

  “If someone will help Miss Hall into my surgery, I’ll be only too glad to tend to her.” The apothecary marched into an adjoining room, calling over his shoulder, “Nor I don’t need to be ordered about by ill-tempered strangers what has no appreciation of the importance of a gentleman’s hat!”

  Adair reached down a hand. “Come on, Prior. Your cousin needs your help.”

  Miss Hall gave him a caustic look. “You are all consideration, Colonel.”

  Prior blinked at him stupidly.

  Her ladyship said, “You’re to blame for all this, Adair. You carry her.”

  “I would sooner crawl than have him touch me,” declared Miss Hall with loathing.

  “Well, I cannot carry you, child,” pointed out Lady Abigail reasonably. “And Rufus is—indisposed. Come along, Colonel.” She looked at him with an unexpected gleam in her eyes. “You’ve mauled two of us today, might as well try for a trois.”

  “No, I tell you,” cried Miss Hall, coming shakily to her feet.

  “Oh, be still,” said Adair, and with a deft and sudden movement had her in his arms. He caught a breath of a fresh sweet scent, then saw her boot fly out. Tightening his grip on her distinctly feminine form, he said sternly, “One kick, madam, and I might very well drop you, which would do that arm no good!”

  The neat boot hesitated, then was lowered.

  “That’s a good girl,” said her grandmother. “He is very strong, as you see.”

  Adair followed Apothecary Bright into the surgery and lowered his burden very gently onto an examination table. Miss Hall lay and glared at him. The apothecary went off muttering about getting some hot water. Adair said, “You’ll want your grand-mama here, Miss Hall. I’ll leave you now.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Lady Abigail, taking hold of his cloak. “I had thought you would have left at dawn, sir. You must know our menfolk are searching for us. Why did you stay in the area?”

  “So as to search your house, ma’am.”

  “Search Singletree?” exclaimed Miss Hall, taken aback. “Of all the brazen effrontery! I’ll wager you got short shrift from my uncle!”

  Lady Abigail said in an odd voice, “I cannot think you will still claim you were seeking poor Alice.”

  “Believe it, ma’am. I was sure you had her hidden there.”

  “Rubbish,” said Cecily. “Of all people, you know Alice is not at her home.”

  “I know it now.” Adair detached her ladyship’s clutch from his cloak, and on an impulse pressed a kiss on her small gloved hand. “But I’ll find her and clear my name however you may try to stop me.”

  He was gone, the swirl of his cloak and the jingle of spurs followed by a shout of protest from Rufus, and the rapid pound of hooves on the lane.

  Lady Abigail looked after him thoughtfully. “Now, I wonder why he would take so desperate a risk as to show his face at Singletree if he really has my sweet little Alice hidden away somewhere.” She turned to the apothecary, who came back into the room carrying a steaming bowl. “Why was he here, Bright?”

  “He said as how Miss Cecily had been hurt, marm, and sorry I was to hear it. But there was no cause for him to order me about the way he did.” The apothecary opened several drawers and investigated the contents apparently without success. “Now I’ve mislaid my scissors, drat it!” he muttered, and went out again.

  Lady Abigail said musingly, “So Adair took another risk—and for your sake, child.”

  “Better late than never!”

  “True. But it was chancy. He must know that if your uncle had confronted him, he’d very likely have been shot.”

  “What a very great pity Uncle Alfred missed his chance,” said Cecily in a fretful voice.

  “But you will admit, my love, that it is strange.”

  “I think it a deal more strange that you would give such a rogue the benefit of the doubt, Grandmama!”

  Lady Abigail hurried to bend and kiss her. “That arm is paining you, and you are worn out, my poor lamb. But—I know men, Cecily. The Colonel may be a rascal, but he is a charming rascal, and—”

  “And you rather enjoyed being swept up and held so ruthlessly, did you not, ma’am?”

  “Now you are being saucy.” Lady Abigail added rather wistfully, “He was really very gentle with me.”

  “And kissed your hand with such an air, no?”

  “Don’t sneer, my pet. It may be that he is indeed a calculating and conscienceless libertine. But—how dreadful it would be if he really is not the villain who has taken our dear Alice. He is quite ruined, you know, and I think—”

  Apothecary Bright returned at that point, followed by Rufus Prior, who looked sheepish and untidy.

  Cecily whispered, “And I think you are a naughty flirt, Grandmama!”

  * * *

  The snow was almost gone now, but Broderick’s search around the cottage had yielded no sign of Adair’s emerald pin. “Well, I tried, old boy,” he murmured, poking about the roots of a rosebush.

  A hard jab in his back told him he had been overheard. He turned quickly and came nose-to-muzzle with a hunting rifle aimed by a ferocious-looking gentleman with bristling red eyebrows. “I say now,” protested Broderick. “No need for hostilities, sir! I’m only looking—”

  “What you are is trespassing,” growled the ferocious gentleman. “Who in the devil are you? And what are you looking at on my son’s property?”

  There were six of them. Not fighting men, but well able to make things uncomfortable for him; noting which, Broderick said with his engaging smile, “Ah, then you will be Mr. Alfred Prior. I’ve heard of you, sir, and—”

  “All England has heard of me since my child was stolen,” snapped Prior. “Why are you lurking about? If I thought you were involved in the business—”

  “Not lurking, sir,” sa
id Broderick earnestly. “Looking. At the birds, sir.”

  Grins were exchanged by the members of the search party.

  Prior said incredulously, “Looking—at the birds? Are you daft, man?”

  “I am a Professor of Ornithology,” lied Broderick. “I am bird-watching, Mr. Prior. I’m dashed certain that is a fieldfare. Do you see the little chap in that tree?”

  “He were lookin’ down—not up, sir,” offered one of the men, with what Broderick judged a vindictive smirk.

  “Just so. Thought I saw an egg. I know that sounds unlikely, at this time of the year, but the entire business is unlikely. That a pair of fieldfares should be here all alone, I mean. They usually travel in flocks, you see. Large flocks, which are very talkative. Shy little brutes around people, though, and why—”

  “Why should I believe one word of that gibberish?” demanded Mr. Prior. “What’s more, you don’t look like a professor to me. Where are your notebooks, or your glass?”

  “At my home. In Oxford. I did not come here to look for fieldfares, I do assure you, but when I spotted the little fellow, I was bound to—”

  Prior’s expression was extremely ominous and Broderick said hurriedly, “Actually, I had a theory about—about your daughter, sir. It occurred to me, you see, that if Colonel Adair spoke the truth and he did not abduct the lady, she might be still in the…” He began to back away uneasily. “… in the vicinity, or—or there might be some—er, sign … as it were.”

  “What it is—you’re one of those triple-curst busybody newspaper writers,” roared Mr. Prior, swinging up the rifle, which had sagged during this exchange. “Get him, men!”

  Relying heavily on the unlikelihood that even so belligerent an individual would actually shoot a newspaper writer, Tobias Broderick took to his heels and ran like a deer. Coming in sight of his big bay horse, he could hear hoofbeats close behind him and he vaulted into the saddle. Quadrille had been named for what Broderick termed “his many fancy steps,” but his caperings were the product of temper rather than grace. To be sprung upon irked him so that he went into a spin, a buck, and several savage kicks. Luckily, his antics alarmed the mounts of Mr. Prior’s retainers, and once he started to run, there was no coming up with him.

  As the uproar faded behind him, Broderick bowed low in the saddle, muttering bitterly about heartless rascals who sent their friends into harm’s way while they themselves lounged about Tenterden probably enjoying a satisfying breakfast.

  When he reached the White Ram Inn, he lost no time in conveying these sentiments to Adair, whom he found at the desk, settling his account. “Since you almost caused me to be murdered,” he declared, “you owe me at the very least a hearty breakfast.”

  The prospect appealed to Adair, but he proposed that they put some distance between themselves and Mr. Alfred Prior before satisfying their hunger.

  They delayed only to collect Broderick’s valise from the Woolpack before heading back towards London. Their progress was annoyingly slow, for snow still lingered on some of the country lanes, and to Broderick’s chagrin they did not come upon another inn and were frequently obliged to detour, being halted at length by a large beech tree that had fallen across the road. A countryman with a cart drawn up and two small boys helping him was sawing branches for firewood. He was a cheerful individual and gladly imparted the information that there was a fine inn not more than a mile to the west. “Best cook in these parts, gents,” he said, “even if the owner be a foreign lady.”

  “I don’t care if she can only speak Chinese,” said Broderick, reining Quadrille around the obstruction. “Just so as she knows what to do with an egg!”

  They had no trouble locating the Castle and Keg, and found it to be a charming old whitewashed structure that sparkled with cleanliness. An ostler hurried to take their horses, and they were welcomed into the inn by the proprietor, a plump little lady with keen black eyes and a Welsh accent. Mrs. Rhys showed them into a cozy coffee room and a table set before the hearth where a fire blazed fragrantly. They were soon enjoying a breakfast that Broderick declared gratefully was “fit for a King!” While they ate he gave Adair an account of his introduction to Mr. Prior, and expressed his regret that he’d been unable to find the emerald pin. “This whole journey has been a lost cause for you, Hasty. Better luck next time, eh?”

  “I don’t count it a complete loss,” said Adair. “The fire-boy at Singletree claimed that in the middle of the night that Miss Prior disappeared, he heard a coach pull up to the side door, and a gentleman speaking softly.”

  “Did he, by Jove! Don’t recall hearing of that before, but I don’t see how it can help you—unless the boy recognized the fellow’s voice.”

  “It wasn’t brought out at the trial, but it could certainly help if it could be proven that the coach carried Miss Prior off, and that it happened whilst I was in a cell in Whitehall.”

  “By Jupiter, but that’s truth! We must get word to the Horse Guards at once! Is that where we’re bound?”

  “It’s where I’m hoping you’ll go for me. I want to see if I can find out where Mr. Prior’s coachman has got to. Evidently he used to work for a gentleman—now dead—named Rickett.”

  “If the old boy’s stuck his spoon in the wall, you’re not likely to learn anything from him. Unless there’s family living there.”

  “According to your friend, Mrs. Heath, Rickett had no family. Still, there may be friends or long-time servants still in the area who could give me some information on the vanishing coachman. Worth a try, Toby.”

  “Might be, at that. Where did this Rickett fellow live?”

  “That’s the first thing I have to find out. Shouldn’t be too difficult, though.”

  Broderick agreed blithely that it should be a simple task, and kept to himself the reflection that the late Mr. Rickett might have lived anywhere from Land’s End to John o’Groats.

  6

  Before leaving the Castle and Keg, Adair asked Mrs. Rhys if she knew of a deceased gentleman named Rickett, or his erstwhile coachman, Walter Davis. The little widow eyed him curiously. “I do not know a Rickett. There was a fellow named Davis who worked at a nearby estate called Singletree, but I cannot think he would be a friend of yours, sir.”

  “The thing is,” he evaded, “I was sent down from London to tell him he has come into a small inheritance, but he appears to have left Singletree without giving notice and told no one where he was bound. So far, I’ve been quite unable to trace him.”

  “Ah. Well, I cannot say I am surprised.” She pursed her lips. “Cantankerous, I always thought he were. Used to come into my tap sometimes on his day off and often as not would end up quarrelling with my regulars. You’ll be one of them solicitors, eh, sir? Which puts me in the wrong, for I’d have taken yourself for a military gentleman.”

  “Actually, my brother is in the legal profession,” said Adair, not altogether untruthfully. “Since I was coming this way, he charged me to find Davis for him.”

  “And ye don’t want to disappoint him, naturally, being family. Surely, I wish as I could help ye, sir. But … Wait a bit! Here’s my head ostler. He used to throw darts with Davis. Frank! Come and see if you can help this gentleman!”

  The ostler was a slow-talking, amiable sort of man who had expressed a great admiration for Toreador. He allowed that he knew Walter Davis, adding a qualifying, “Not well, mind.” And in response to Adair’s questions said that from something Davis had once told him, he’d supposed the man had previously worked near a big school. “I asked him, joking-like, if he put his money down to go to any of they lecturings, and he laughed fit to bust and said when he put his money down it were at the races.”

  Adair’s heart gave a leap. A “big school” and “the races” could mean Cambridge and Newmarket. “Jove, but that’s a great help,” he said, and having rewarded Frank generously, was soon in the saddle again, and riding to the northeast with hope as his companion.

  Three days later, hope had almost di
ed. He had not dared pursue his enquiries with the Watch or the local Constable, and the several vicars and curates he’d approached had been willing but unable to provide the information he sought. For a whole day he haunted the area around the Jockey Club; there were no meetings at this time of year, of course, but the various “coffee rooms” were almost always patronized by a few sportsmen, owners, professional jockeys, or stewards. Mingling with these devotees of the sport proved unproductive, although Toreador attracted much interest and Adair received and rejected three offers to buy the animal. He turned his attention to the patrons of taverns and alehouses, but although his generosity in replenishing tankards won him popularity and offers of assistance, he learned no more of the whereabouts of the Rickett estate, or Walter Davis.

  Disheartened, he was preparing to return to London one chilly morning when a maid brought word that he was wanted downstairs. He had registered at this small inn as Mr. Chatteris and spread his enquiries under that name. Twice in these few days he’d had the sense that he was being watched. On neither occasion had he seen anyone following, but if he had been recognized there could be trouble. Therefore, he went down by the back stairs, alert and poised for action.

  The proprietor was alone at the desk. A gaunt and taciturn man, he said, “Outside, sir. Waiting in the stables.”

  Adair eyed him keenly. He was no more truculent than usual, nor was the contempt evident that might be expected if he knew his guest was “a notorious libertine.”

  “Who is?” he asked. “And what does he want of me?”

  “Old Bill Oxshott. And whatever he wants will lighten your purse if you don’t take care, sir. He’s likely heard about the questions you been asking and the tankards you’ve kept filled. Slippery as a snake is Old Bill and nowhere near as honest. I don’t usually allow him on my property, but he were insistent as he knowed something you’d want to hear.”

  Adair thanked him for this less than glowing recommendation and made his way to the stables.

  A small, wizened individual, well past middle age, was talking to Toreador, who watched him warily over the rail of his stall. As Adair approached, the man gave a sudden shrill cackle of laughter, and the big grey tossed his head and drew back.