The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

  “Yes, I know.” Harrington sighed. “And she loves me, poor girl. One thing, though, she’ll have too much to think about, if she survives this night, to worry about me, especially when she learns I have wed another lady.”

  Infuriated, Adair started for him, but checked as Droitwich lunged forward. “No, you don’t! Stay back, Droitwich! I’d as soon shoot that miserable traitor on the stairs as step on a cockroach. Come down, Harrington. Over there. That’s right. Now you follow, Miss Alice, but keep well clear of the creature!”

  A little nerve throbbed beside Harrington’s jaw, but as he stepped aside obediently, he said, “Your advice is rather belated, Adair. The lady has lived with me for several weeks, you know.

  With tears streaking her cheeks, Alice mumbled, “I am—I am quite ruined, Colonel Adair.”

  Shocked by the glare in Adair’s eyes, Harrington raised a hand and said, “No, before you shoot me, please be at ease. Tonight, I mean to make an honest woman of her. Miss Alice will become Mrs. Julius Harrington.”

  Adair’s pistol jolted. He stared at Harrington, speechless, even as he stretched out one hand to the frightened girl.

  A shattering crash. A billow of icy soot-laden fog. Sprinting along the passage, Nigel Adair saw his brother, pistol in one hand, the other reaching out to the lady he adored. He gulped an anguished “So you did take her!” and levelled his pistol.

  Hastings kept his Manton trained on Harrington, and shouted urgently, “Nigel, wait! I’m not—”

  “Oh, are you not! Am I to disbelieve my own eyes? Worthless villain! Lying cheat! You deserve—” Maddened with rage, he pulled back the trigger, but the powder was damp and there was no following shot.

  Harrington screamed, “Save her, Nigel! Save the poor lady!”

  Nigel uttered a strangled sob and flailed the heavy pistol savagely. Hastings, struck squarely on his injured right arm, reeled, and the Manton fell from his nerveless hand. For a minute the scene before him was an echoing distortion. He heard a scream and a lot of shouting. When his vision cleared he was slumped against the wall, Harrington had an arm about Alice, and Droitwich was training a pistol on a white-faced, bewildered-looking Nigel. The tallest of the cutthroats, with a face Adair had confronted in Bedfordshire and at Blackbird Terrace, was stamping towards him, grinning hungrily, one large fist drawn back.

  Alice sobbed, “Don’t! Please don’t! He’s hurt. Julius—”

  Harrington glanced at Adair. “No need for that, Mel. I think we’ve drawn the persistent Colonel’s fangs. He won’t bother us any more.”

  “Are you gone daft?” Droitwich snarled, “You know damned well how hard we tried to be rid of the pest. D’you fancy he’ll give up now that he knows it all? We can’t leave witnesses littered about all over Town. We have to finish him. I owe him. I’ll do it.”

  “No,” begged Alice. “Please, Julius. You—you could have Colonel Adair pressed aboard ship, or—or something. And I won’t give you away—I swear!”

  “But of course you won’t, my sweet.” Amused, Harrington drew her closer in his arm. “By then you will be my wife.”

  “Oh, God!” Nigel groaned. “And a wife cannot testify ’gainst her husband!” He looked at his brother and said wretchedly, “What a fool I am! Hasty—I am so very sorry.”

  Trying to gather his wits, Adair said breathlessly, “I know, lad. How … could you guess any man would be so treacherous? I was … taken in also. Like a fool I—I introduced him to poor Minna.”

  Droitwich laughed and said in fluent French, “You played your part to perfection, Cabinet Minister.”

  Harrington said, “I really am fond of you, Adair. But—c’est la guerre, you know.” He shrugged apologetically. “Alas, but the life of a spy is not easy.”

  “It certainly won’t be easy to explain away a wife,” said Hastings contemptuously, “when you are … already betrothed to my cousin.”

  “Ah, but keep in mind, Colonel, that the betrothal has never been published. And when I rescue poor Alice—”

  “Rescue her?” cried Nigel. “You damned nail! You’ve ruined her!”

  “Well, actually, your brother here did that.” Harrington glanced at Droitwich. “As we shall prove, eh, Talbot?”

  “Decidedly.” Droitwich chuckled. “And ain’t it obliging of the gallant Colonel to have visited his own house. Save us the bother of collecting him.”

  Nigel tore his gaze from Alice’s pale tragic face. “You won’t get that kite to fly, Harrington. My brother doesn’t own this filthy hovel.”

  “To the contrary,” said Droitwich, grinning broadly. “The records will show that it was leased in the name of Colonel Hastings Chatteris Adair.”

  “And it was in this—er, ‘filthy hovel’—though actually it has been completely refurbished, you know—that he held Miss Prior captive.” Harrington pulled on the gloves one of his hirelings brought him. “These last few weeks a man riding a dapple-grey horse has come here repeatedly, after dark. Many people will attest to your identity, Adair.”

  Droitwich tugged at his lower lip and said frowningly, “Still, we shall have to change our plan, now that the halfling has arrived. You surely don’t mean to claim you overpowered the pair of ’em?”

  For a moment Harrington pondered, looking thoughtful. “Do you know,” he said, “it will be better this way. You saw how young Nigel came charging in here. All London knows he has a tendre for the lady and holds the Colonel responsible for her abduction. Now, if Nigel followed his brother and caught him with poor Alice, is it not likely he would shoot him out of hand? Indeed, he tried that very thing, so—”

  Nigel sprang for Harrington, only to be wrenched back by Droitwich and one of the guards. “You slimy toad,” he raged, struggling fiercely. “I might be stupid enough to shoot my brother, but Hasty would never fire back! Everyone knows—”

  “Everyone knows you for a hot-headed young fool,” said Harrington. “We can arrange the details satisfactorily, eh, Talbot?”

  Looking far from satisfied, Droitwich muttered, “I collect that you arrived in time to despatch the murderer and carry the lady to safety. Is that your scheme?”

  “To safety and to the man who will wed us. I become a hero for not only having rescued Miss Prior but offering her the protection of my name despite her—er, sullied purity. My cloak, Stark.”

  The unlovely ruffian who had stood holding the cloak came at once to offer it. Pulling the warm garment close about his throat and fastening the three top buttons, Harrington murmured, “Yes. It will serve nicely.”

  “It will serve you nicely.” Droitwich glared at Alice, who had sat down on the stairs and watched them with dull resignation. “She may not be able to testify against you in a court of law, but she can implicate me, by God! And what’s to prevent her from telling the whole to her family?”

  “The sure knowledge that whoever she confided in would have to be silenced. You do understand that, don’t you, my love?”

  Alice nodded. Her tearful eyes were full of fear, but it seemed to Adair that Harrington’s eyes held a deep tenderness. He thought, ‘By Jove, but the swine really cares for her!’

  “There you are, Talbot,” said Harrington blithely. “As I said—it will serve.”

  Adair said, “It will serve to send you both through Traitor’s Gate. I’m not the only one to suspect you, Harrington. I’ve sent a message to my friends who will bring the Runners here at any minute. You’d do well to make a run for the coast before—”

  “This message?” Harrington held up the note Adair had given to Billy New. “Another disappointment for you, alas. I think you were not quite aware at that moment, but when my fellows removed your brother’s pistol, they also found your message. It appears that your messenger was intercepted.”

  His heart sinking, Adair slanted a glance at Nigel. The boy looked anguished and met his eyes in a silent pleading for forgiveness.

  Harrington chuckled and called, “Mel! Get the hacks put to. And one of you, fe
tch Miss Prior’s cloak and gloves.”

  Alice asked in a voice that shook piteously, “What—what are you going to do with me?”

  “Convey you to your bridal ceremony, my love.”

  Hastings said, “You’re forgetting, I think, that the lady is under age—or do you mean to make a dash for the Border?”

  “I forget nothing. An obliging Justice of the Peace agreed to wed us when I told him her sad story—with a few embellishments, of course. And the Special License in my pocket obviates the need for a trip to Gretna Green.” Harrington turned to Alice. “Afterwards, I must tidy up some unpleasant business, but it won’t delay us for very long, and then it’s off to see your father and explain your rescue and my gallant offer of marriage. I doubt he will object; more likely he’ll fall on my neck with gratitude.”

  Frowning, Droitwich grumbled, “You said midnight. Our fellows have likely got things under way by now.”

  “Yes. I must get down there.”

  “In this blasted fog you’ll be lucky to reach there in time, let alone delay for your foolish nuptials. Why not stay with our original plan and—”

  Harrington turned on him like a striking snake, the smile wiped from his face, his expression one of livid fury. “Damn you! No one will harm her! I told you—”

  It was the opportunity Hastings had waited for. “Mel,” who appeared to be a trusted aide, had gone to pole up the horses; another of the ruffians was above-stairs collecting Miss Alice’s cloak. That left only the bully named Stark to cope with while Harrington’s attention was on his rebellious cohort.

  Adair sprang. One hand fastened in the collar of the cloak Harrington had just secured around his neck, and Harrington was jerked back, then hurled at the wall, barely missing Alice.

  With a shout, Stark plunged for Adair and received a flashing uppercut that stretched him on the floor. Nigel had also entered the fray, but turning to him, Adair saw that Droitwich stood behind the boy, an arm across his throat and his pistol pressed to Nigel’s temple.

  “Now—or a half-hour from now,” said Droitwich silkily. “It’s all one to me, Colonel.”

  “Shoot, then,” gasped Nigel. “And—he’ll have no other weapon, Hasty!”

  “No. But—I will.” Harrington had clambered to his feet. There was a reddening patch on his forehead from his collision with the wall, and he walked forward, dabbing a handkerchief at his mouth. “So now,” he said bitterly, “I must have a swollen lip on my wedding night. I was sportsman enough to stop my fellows from mauling you, Adair. But for this you must pay.”

  He swung his gloved hand back and smashed it hard across Adair’s face.

  17

  “Move your lazy arse!” Straddling a wooden chair that had been brought into the passage, Talbot Droitwich bellowed, “I want all my belongings and Mr. Harrington’s belongings packed up and ready to be loaded in the coach within the hour. Be warned, all of you—I’ll inspect every drawer and cupboard before we go, and if I find anything has been left—Lord help you!”

  The balding savage they called Stark grumbled, “We’re doin’ as best we can, Guv’nor. If we’d knowed earlier—”

  “Nobody knew earlier, gallows-bait. We didn’t expect the Adairs to crash in here so that we must change our plans.”

  “Lob,” stout and dim-witted, came down the stairs, balancing several coats against a large box. “All as I could find up there, sir,” he declared, making a futile snatch for the razor that toppled from the box.

  “Well, don’t drop ’em, idiot!”

  “Sorry, sir. The rest is her things. What about them two, sir?”

  Droitwich glanced to where Adair lay propped against the stairs with Nigel kneeling beside him holding a gory handkerchief to the side of his head. “I’m watching them,” he growled. “Tend to what you’re about.”

  “Aye, sir. But if I was to tie ’em up—”

  “Our gallant Colonel’s going nowhere. When I hit a man he don’t get up. His brain-box is likely stove in.”

  Nigel looked up and said with loathing, “How proud you must be that you had the courage to kick my brother when he was down. Your reputation speaks truly.”

  “So it does,” Droitwich agreed complacently. “I don’t hold with all that rubbishing stuff about ‘playing the game’ and mollycoddling the enemy. I’m French, and this is war, my lad. And in war it’s the man who hits quickest and hardest who’s the victor and to hell with so called ‘good sportsmanship.’”

  The words came dimly to Adair’s ears as he drifted back to consciousness. He had a confused memory of crashing into the stair railing when Harrington had hit him, and of trying to get up. Harrington had been saying something about Blackbird Terrace, and “what a pity” it was that Willoughby had guarded his damned Lists so fiercely. But then something had slammed against the side of his head. One phrase. “… fuel for the fire” had echoed and re-echoed in his ears before sight and sound had melted away for what seemed a very long time.

  Nigel spoke, then Droitwich was braying again, his harsh voice hurting Adair’s throbbing head.

  “… not my master, damn your eyes! Watch that insolent tongue, else I’ll give you a taste of what your brother got! Take that stuff out to the cart, Lob, and tell Stark to saddle up my hack.”

  Hastings made a supreme effort and said feebly, “If Harrington’s not—not your master, how is it that … he commands and—and you obey?”

  Droitwich sneered, “Well, well, if our war hero ain’t awake again. You’ve a hard head, Colonel. Pity it’s so full of maggots. Julius Harrington don’t command me, I promise you. We’d worked out a good plan between us.” He scowled and muttered broodingly, “A plan that would’ve worked, if he’d listened to me…”

  “But he didn’t,” mocked Nigel, taking his cue from his brother.

  “Harrington’s not such—a fool,” managed Hastings, wishing he could see clearly.

  “He’s played the fool over that damned chit,” said Droitwich broodingly. “We had it all going along smooth as silk. He’d cleared the way to his blasted Cabinet appointment. The girl was here. You were the secret owner of the house, and he followed you—”

  “And rescued the poor lady?” Nigel laughed. “What stuff! It wouldn’t have worked, because—”

  Droitwich took the bait and interrupted with a triumphant grin, “It would have worked when our Minister found Miss Alice had killed herself from shame, and he shot down the man who’d driven her to her death. Aye, you may stare, but find fault with it, if you can! Neat and tidy, and no one the wiser!”

  All the colour drained from Nigel’s face and he was stunned into silence.

  Horrified, Adair exclaimed, “I judged him ruthless, but he was bred up a gentleman. I can’t believe he would have murdered that innocent child!”

  “Can you not?” Droitwich laughed. “Then wake up, soldier boy! You live by your antiquated Code of Honour, I’ll warrant—which has killed more fools than I could guess. Harrington has a different code. Oh, very different! He’s a fanatic, is what! In his view Napoleon Bonaparte is a saint, and there’s nothing he won’t do for the bloody little Corsican! Pretty Miss Alice wouldn’t have been the first he’s done for. And she ain’t so innocent now, is she, Colonel, sir? He had the stupid chit, but what must our almighty Minister do but fall in love! So now he’s off making her his wife. Much good may it do him! I never knew a woman yet could keep her mouth shut, and he’s not going to play fast and loose with my head at stake. When we’re done with tonight’s work—not too soon, mind—there’ll be a sad case of a new bride surprising a thief and getting her pretty neck wrung!”

  Enraged, Hastings sprang to his feet, but his battered head betrayed him and he staggered.

  Droitwich chuckled and levelled the pistol at him.

  Maddened by such callous plans for the lady he adored, Nigel leapt to the attack.

  There was a flash, a sharp explosion and a puff of smoke.

  Nigel’s slim body jolted violently; h
e reeled back and fell.

  A blazing fury seared away pain and weakness, and uttering an incoherent snarl, Hastings lunged forward.

  Droitwich saw his face, but his attempt to retreat was not fast enough and Hastings’ fist struck his jaw with such force that his feet left the floor.

  Hastings didn’t wait to see him crash down, but turned to kneel beside his brother. Nigel’s eyes were closed and his face was without a vestige of colour. He looked dead and Hastings whispered a fervent “Thank God!” when he found a pulse; faint but steady. A moment later fear was a lance transfixing him and causing his hands to tremble as he unbuttoned the waistcoat and saw the spreading stain on the white linen of the shirt.

  From outside came shouts and running footsteps. The other ruffians would have heard the shot, of course. He relegated that awareness to the back of his mind, and concentrated solely on helping this brother he loved, knowing that the ball had probably torn its way through a lung.

  “Hasty! Are you—Oh, my Lord!” Toby Broderick’s voice.

  Not looking up, Adair reached out. “Your handkerchief or a neckcloth. Quickly! And I need water and something for bandages.”

  A neckcloth was handed him. Manderville said, “We’ve a coach outside. York has my pistol on the scoundrels, and says he knows how to use it.”

  Broderick hurried away and came back tearing a tablecloth into strips. “Who shot him?”

  “That carrion over there. I think I’ve broken his jaw, but he should be tied up. He’s an accomplice in treason and murder.”

  Paige carried in a bowl. “Luckily, there was some hot water in a kettle.” He stepped over Talbot Droitwich and peered down at him curiously. “The things you see when you haven’t got a stick,” he muttered, setting the bowl down beside Adair.

  Watching his crude surgery, Broderick shuddered. “Lord knows what’s happened here, but it looks as if you’ve been put through the wringer. We’ll get you both to a doctor as soon as you’re finished.”