The Mandarin of Mayfair

by Patricia Veryan

  Chandler glanced at Cranford. "Perry, you were pitchforked into this mess in a rather scrambling way, I believe. If you've questions as we go along, pray shout, and we'll explain."

  "The devil!" exclaimed Falcon indignantly. "We did explain! Clearly. Only a blockhead would not have understood. Acquit us, Perry!"

  Cranford said with a grin, "If I have it correctly, when first you encountered those scoundrels, you thought they were out to discredit and ruin gentlemen of wealth, power, and influence, and to undermine public trust in government. But you later discovered there was more to the plot and that the League was also after the country estates owned by those same gentlemen."

  Chandler nodded. "Their purpose being to use the estates as training or storage facilities."

  "Yes, I got that much through my head. I don't quite know how long it took you to realize that the properties were close to strategic military or naval sites."

  "Oh, a great time," drawled Falcon ironically. "But our feeble minds at long last contrived to put two and two together. The League was killing two birds with one stone: destroying famous men, and at the same time acquiring sites from which attacks will be launched on vital installations."

  "Not if we can prevent it!" Rossiter stood and went to prop his shoulders against the mantel from where he could watch them all. "As you know, we've been successful in stopping three of their attempted estate snatchings. Notably, Glendenning Abbey, near Windsor; Lac Brillant, near Dover; and the Blue Rose Mine at Castle Triad, on the northern coast of Cornwall."

  Cranford said hotly, "I think it damnable that the authorities refuse to believe there is anything to connect those events, or that they have anything to do with the League!"

  "Why should they?" drawled Falcon, "when they do not believe in the existence of our wretched Squire and his cronies?"

  "Well, it occurred to me," Rossiter went on, "that if the League really did mean to use those estates as bases from which they'll launch their attacks, they're not likely to change their plans only because we beat them at their ugly game."

  "Burn it!" exclaimed Morris. "D'you think they'll make another try for 'em? We'd best warn old Tio. He nigh lost his head when the League went after Glendenning Abbey!"

  Chandler said, "I'd think it more likely for the Squire to set about acquiring other large properties in the same general area."

  "I agree!" Falcon's eyes glittered with excitement. "And if we could prove that to be a fact, the dunderheads in Whitehall might at last sit up and take notice, eh?"

  Rossiter said, "We can but hope. Now, if you will, give us your report, Perry."

  "Ross sent me to Dover," said Cranford, "to sniff about and see what I could learn."

  Chandler interposed frowningly, "Why not send me, Gideon? I know the Dover area better than Perry."

  "Yes, and would be recognized at once," said Rossiter.

  "Perry was able to wander about and make his enquiries without attracting attention."

  "A notable achievement for a man with a peg-leg," murmured Falcon.

  "Had you any interest in your fellow man," snapped Cranford, who had a temper, "you might have noticed there are very many ex-soldiers and sailors who lost limbs during the war."

  Falcon stood and offered a deep and flourishing bow. "I stand corrected. And apologize for my error. 'Twas not a notable achievement."

  They all laughed, and Gordon Chandler threw a handful of nutshells at him. "Addleplot! Have done!"

  "But with the best will in the world." Falcon sat down. "Are the results of Perry's wanderings a secret, or are we at some time in the future to learn them?"

  Rousing himself, Morris said, " 'He that hath patience, hath fat thrushes for a farthing.' "

  The amused gleam vanished from Falcon's eyes. "Why in the name of creation would I want thrushes, be they skeletal or obese, you silly block?"

  "You may not want 'em, but I'll wager you've got some," argued Morris reasonably. "Down at Ashleigh, at all events, and I'd not wonder—"

  Falcon clutched at his thick hair and swore in exasperation.

  The other men exchanged grins, and Cranford said, "Well, I found something that sounds extreme suspicious. A fine estate a short distance inland from Folkstone changed hands a couple of months back. The owner was a man in his prime who had not the least intention of selling his lands and was in fact annoyed by several offers, all of which he refused."

  "Whereupon," murmured Gordon Chandler, poring over Rossiter's map, "I'll wager he suffered a fatal accident of some kind."

  Cranford nodded. "Right you are. His widow was so grieved by her loss that she retired from the world and has entered a nunnery, poor lady. The heir appears to be a wild young Buck. He fell into bad company, took to drink and gaming, and within a month lost the property."

  His kind heart touched, Morris shook his head, then held it painfully. "Jove, what a tragedy. So now the League has it?"

  "I was unable to get near enough to find out, I'm afraid." Cranford said wryly, "The house itself is remote, and guarded by grim-looking fellows. Each time I tried to gain admission, I was denied. Politely, at first, when I claimed to be a friend of the former owner. Less politely, when I persisted."

  Falcon said, " 'Twould certainly seem to confirm your theory, Gideon."

  "Yes, but we'll need more than one instance."

  Chandler asked, "Is that what Tio's about, Ross?"

  "More or less. I sent him down to Bosham on a rather different search, but—"

  "But, behold! I am safely come back again!" Viscount Horatio Glendenning had flung open the door and paused on the threshold, a smile on his lips, but a touch of defiance in his green eyes. "And only see who I've brought along."

  Sir Owen Furlong was a shadow of the dashing ex-army officer they'd known, with dark shadows under his blue eyes, and a sunken look to the fine features that were marked by the pallor of illness. He leaned heavily on the viscount's strong arm, watching the silenced group apprehensively. "Hold up, Tio," he said. "I shall quite understand if you don't want me, gentlemen. If I hadn't been so—er—"

  "Besotted?" supplied Falcon dryly.

  Sir Owen's gaunt cheeks flushed, but he admitted, "And gullible. I held in my hand the Agreement between the League and their new French allies, and I let Miss… Barthelemy… take it from me. Thanks to my stupidity we lost our chance not only to prove the existence of the League of Jewelled Men, but—but also to destroy the murderous traitors."

  "And the Frenchman. Your lady's famous brother," said Falcon, relentless.

  Sir Owen winced, and his voice was not quite steady when he acknowledged, "And Marshal Barthelemy."

  Despite his aching head, Morris had been annoyed by this exchange. He had a deep sympathy for the grief Sir Owen had suffered when the lady he loved had shot him down. "Have done, August!" he exclaimed. " 'Milk the cow, but don't pull off the udder!' "

  Shouts of laughter broke the tension in the room, and Gideon Rossiter crossed to shake Sir Owen's eagerly extended hand. "Did you really suppose we'd hold you to blame for getting yourself shot trying to take back the Agreement? Lord, but you're a dunce, Owen!"

  The other men crowded around, full of reassurances and anxiety that the tall soldier had defied his doctors in going out so soon after being wounded, and in such bitter weather. He was settled into the most comfortable chair, Chandler sketched the attack on Rossiter and Morris, and Falcon came over to offer a glass. "Sherry," he said unsmilingly. "Is that allowed?"

  Taking it in an unsteady hand, Sir Owen met those cold blue eyes and said humbly, "I quite agree with you, you know. For your opinion of me."

  Falcon shrugged. "I'll not deny I don't admire you." He ignored some irritated murmurs, and carried another glass to the viscount, adding, "Still, I respect courage, and it took plenty of that to bring you here today."

  Chandler asked curiously, "Now may we know why you were sent to Bosham, Tio? The League already has Larchwoods, which is close by."

  "Aye," answe
red Lord Glendenning. "But 'tis a comparatively small estate. If the League arms it with a view to attacking Portsmouth, Gideon thinks they must have a much larger base in the area. Which," he added, "they don't, so far as I was able to ascertain."

  The map had reached Morris. Peering at it, he muttered, "I can see your reasoning on most of these, Ross. But be dashed if I can understand why the League went to all the trouble to ruin poor Admiral Albertson."

  Owen Furlong said quietly, "Peasant Poplars was Albertson's country seat. A large and beautiful estate. The League wanted it, and took it."

  Morris said, "And destroyed him, the merciless bastards. But 'tis near Welwyn. Ain't nothing vital or strategic up there."

  Falcon looked at his tired face and said gently, "Your brains have fallen asleep, Jamie. Think what runs through Welwyn."

  Morris blinked up at him. "Let's see now… Is it the—um, the River Ash?"

  "Right," said Gideon. "But more important is the Great North Road. A key artery from London to the north, and would create chaos were it blocked."

  Horatio Glendenning took the map. "I see your own country seat is still on here, Gideon. No luck reclaiming it whilst I was away?"

  Rossiter's lips tightened. "No, unfortunately." Promontory Point was one of the showplaces of the southland. The League had spun its webs well and Sir Mark Rossiter had been ruined, discredited, and disgraced, his bankruptcy creating a major disaster for hundreds of investors. Gideon and his friends had helped Sir Mark establish his innocence and his financial empire was now well on the way to recovery, but Gideon said bitterly, "Rudi Bracksby, who so generously bought the Point to hold it for us till we could afford to buy it back, continues to find legal stumbling blocks to prevent us doing that very thing."

  "What would you expect?" drawled Falcon. "Bracksby is one of the Squire's merry men, past doubting. And the League would be stupid to give up a great house and an enormous property located close to the Thames Estuary, and near the Downs, where the fleets gather offshore; to say nought of the naval station at Chatham!"

  As if this inventory had brought home to them the chilling scope and menace of the League's connivings, there was a moment of quiet.

  Gordon Chandler said broodingly, "They really must be insane, you know. To think they can succeed at such an undertaking."

  "They have amassed enormous wealth," Rossiter pointed out. "They've been planning this for three years that we know of, and they now have hundreds of well-trained and well-equipped mercenaries concentrated at key points through the southland."

  "Which is more than you could say for our own defenses." Glendenning looked grim. "England never learns the lesson that she must keep an effective standing army. From what I've seen of our military lately, we'd be in sorry condition to withstand a series of determined and well-planned assaults."

  Falcon nodded. "Worse, were they all launched simultaneously! One of Bonnie Prince Charlie's main problems was his inability to get his troops to England. The Squire's troops have been drifting in through Cornwall for months! They're here! And I think half our military men aren't even fully armed.In September, when a troop of dragoons was after us near Plymouth, I'd swear many of the poor sapskulls carried carved wooden muskets! D'you recall, Morris? Jamie… ?"

  Morris had dropped off to sleep in his chair. Cranford reached out to shake him.

  "Do not!" said Falcon sharply. "He's worn to a shade." Several surprised looks came his way, and he flushed and grunted, "It's as I said."

  Cheered by this betrayal of concern, Rossiter said, "In that case, we must pray that we can present our evidence to Whitehall before the League makes its move."

  "What about all this damnable wrecking?" asked Glendenning. "Have we learned anything new on that front? Another East India man was sunk last week."

  Falcon said disgustedly, "And I fancy they're already claiming the insurance on her cargo, which they stole before she sailed!"

  Shaking his head, Cranford muttered, "What a curst devil's trick that is! And never a thought for the innocent lives sacrificed to their greed!"

  "We can thank Johnny Armitage that we learned what they're about," said Rossiter. "What we need to know is how and where the thefts take place. Johnny's gathered some sailormen about him and they're haunting the docks here and in Bristol, hoping to uncover some of that skullduggery.

  Meanwhile, we will investigate each of the areas where we've defeated the League, and determine if they've managed to get their claws on another nearby estate. And we must guard our loved ones lest they be targetted."

  Chandler said, "Tall orders, and we're spread dashed thin now, Ross, keeping an eye on the movements of the rogues we know are League members."

  Cranford suggested eagerly, "Why not hire more men to follow them? Tummet's rascals seem to have done well thus far."

  Rossiter pursed his lips dubiously. "Not in all instances, Perry. Some of the reports brought back by our makeshift spies have turned out to be no more than Canterbury tales invented to account for hours they'd actually spent in the nearest tavern."

  "Besides, they cannot always follow where our aristocratic League members go," said Chandler. "They know we're watching, and they're extremely adept at vanishing while attending some crowded social event."

  Falcon said thoughtfully, "If we could but discover where they rendezvous."

  "We've tried, Lord knows," said Glendenning. "Almost certainly they meet at one of their homes, or country seats."

  Rossiter nodded. "They probably begin the evening at some party, as Gordie said, then slip away to their meetings. The pity is that we've never caught 'em at it."

  "I seem to recall that there is to be a winter fete at Overlake Park," murmured Falcon. "On the sixteenth, I believe. When is that?"

  "Saturday, you caper-wit," said Rossiter. "What of it?"

  "I believe I shall attend."

  Except for Morris, who was snoring softly, they all stared at him.

  Sir Owen broke the stunned silence to ask incredulously, "You've been invited?"

  Falcon's chin tossed upward. He said with quelling hauteur, "Astounding as it may seem to you, Furlong, I am considered socially acceptable by many ton hostesses."

  Sir Owen flushed. "I—I never meant—"

  "He knows what you meant," said Rossiter. "Are you forgetting, August, that Rudi Bracksby owns Overlake Park?"

  "Oh, no," said Falcon.

  Awed, Cranford observed, "You're mad!"

  "Use some sense, man," urged Rossiter. "We know Bracksby is a member of the League. He may very well be one of the six founders."

  "And since he's damned sure you're one of us," said Gordon Chandler, "I share Owen's astonishment that you were invited."

  Falcon confessed, "Well, I wasn't. Not specifically that is. Actually, I have a sort of—standing invitation." His lips quirked. "Though that is perhaps an—ah, inappropriate adjective." Over the hoots and laughter he went on, "Dear Rudi's widowed sister, Lady Dunscroft, has a tendre for me." He grinned in response to another derisive chorus, and added, "And I am very sure her ladyship has not the remotest knowledge of the League of Jewelled Men."

  "Perhaps not, but Pamela Dunscroft is a tigress!" said Glendenning, half amused, half dismayed.

  Not in the least amused, Rossiter said, "No! You'd be walking into the lion's den, you fool."

  "Life in the jungle…" Falcon's eyes glittered with anticipation. "It should be interesting."

  The male sex is ridiculous!" declared Gwendolyn unequivocally, closing the morning-room door behind her. "Absolutely! I do not know why we—" She checked, then stepped over Apollo and hurried to her friend. "Dearest! Why are you weeping?"

  Katrina Falcon stood at the window. She had jerked her head away when Gwendolyn came in, and was dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. "I—am not." Managing a tremulous smile, she sniffed and added, "Well, not very much."

  "One weeps, or one does not weep." Gwendolyn took her hand, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Are you anxio
us for your papa? August said Mr. Falcon is quite recovered of his fall."

  "Yes. But—oh, who knows what may happen next? This horrid League, and—and all the violence in the streets, and—" The rush of words ceased. Katrina faltered, "How glad I am that your papa allows you to stay with me, Gwen. Of late, I am always… so afraid."

  "I know." Gwendolyn pressed the cold hand she held. "But your fear is not of the League, I think. We have known about their wickedness for months, and I have never before seen you give way to tears."

  Katrina withdrew her hand, and blew her nose daintily. "No. But—but they have never before deliberately attacked my own father."

  "Whom you love deeply. I can understand how you must have worried. But I think your fear now is for—someone else you love."

  Avoiding her eyes, Katrina mumbled, "Well—well, you know how I adore August."

  "And knowing how much he loves you I confess I have often wondered why you so fear him."

  "I do not!"

  "Then why are you afraid to tell him that you care for Jamie?"

  The magnificent eyes that were so like her brother's widened, and Katrina said threadily, "What a thing to say."

  "I say it because you are my dear friend. I believe Jamie gave you his heart the first time he saw you. 'Tis an honest and very faithful heart, Trina. If I were so fortunate as to be offered such a wondrous gift, I think—I know I would fight tooth and nail 'gainst anyone who tried to make me throw it away."

  At this, Katrina burst into tears. Gwendolyn hugged her close and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "You have come to love him," she said gently. "I've seen it this month and more, and I could not be more pleased. Jamie is such a fine man. He may not be as wealthy as some of your other suitors, but—"

  "Much I… care for that!" sobbed Katrina. "He is the kindest… most gentle… most br-brave and honourable of…of men!"

  Gwendolyn drew back, smiling into the woebegone face and marvelling that even with teardrops gemming the long thick lashes, and a pinkish tint to the delicate nose, Katrina was still exquisitely lovely. "Then tell that tyrannical brother of yours that you are of age; that you will no longer allow him to bully you; that your papa likes Jamie; and that Mr. August Falcon is not the head of his house and has no right—"