When Falcon slipped quietly into Morris' bedchamber he had nerved himself to confront a skeletal and bedridden invalid. He was considerably taken aback to find his victim seated in an armchair before the fire, a blanket tucked around his leg: and Katrina sitting close by, reading the newspaper aloud. She glanced up and saw him and stopped reading.
Morris turned his head. He was thin and pale and ill-looking, but his smile was as cheerful as ever, and he said quite firmly, "Hello, August. About time you came to call on your hapless victim."
Falcon found himself momentarily voiceless, and his eyes unaccountably dim. He fought quivering nerves, and stammered, "J-Jamie, I'd thought— I mean, I'm so glad you're not— Er, what I mean is—"
Katrina put the newspaper aside and came to him. He drew back instinctively, and she said, "I am glad also—that I did not lose my brother. For a while, I thought I had."
He reached out, then again drew back. She touched his cheek and scanning his face said gently, "My poor dear, you had a dreadful time, and were so very brave. Papa gave me a letter for you. I'll go and get it."
He caught her hand and pleaded, "Trina—have you—can you forgive me?"
"I am trying. I know you were drugged, but—" She stopped, looked at the man she loved, then said, "Jamie wants me to forgive you."
"I think," he said, low-voiced, "I shall never be able to forgive myself. But I mean to do everything in my power to make amends, Trina. I'm going to be a much better man, I hope, than I was. Only give me a chance, my dearest."
Morris said, "You can start making amends, Lord Haughty-Snort, by coming over here and answering the several hundred questions I mean to ask. Starting with—how in the devil did you find where the League met, and how did you manage to cope with all those rats when you can't stand the sight of a mouse, and who is this Tom fellow who Tummet insists is your new groom? Be dashed if he don't put me in mind of a rank rider who held me up on Hounslow Heath last year!"
Falcon clenched his hands tight. He had tried very hard not to think of Sundial Abbey, and even the name sent fingers of ice down his spine. But he must live up to his resolutions. He went to the chair Katrina had vacated, pausing to rest a hand on Morris' shoulder in a shy and brief gesture. "I'll do whatever you wish, old fellow," he said huskily. "Whenever you wish it." He sat down, and added, "And I'll put no more obstacles in the way of your happiness, I promise you."
Morris looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you mean you'll not object to me as a brother-in-law?"
"I mean exactly that."
"That's good of you, dear boy." Morris gave a wry smile, then shattered him by saying, "But you see, now—I cannot ask her."
The days that followed were full of excitements and alarms. Defying his parent's enraged demands that he and Gwendolyn have nothing more to do with "any of those damnable Falcons," Gideon was almost as frequent a visitor at Falcon House as was his sister. The other members of the Preservers also called, and between them contrived to let August know he was forgiven. He accepted their renewed friendship humbly, but when they attempted any praise of his gallantry in circumventing the League, he withdrew, so clearly shaken that they ceased to speak of it in his presence. When they gathered at The Madrigal a few days later, however, they marveled at the change in him.
"He's a new man, all right," said Peregrine Cranford ruefully. "Be damned if I know what to say to him any more, for fear of bruising his feelings."
"He's so blasted humble," agreed Horatio Glendenning. "And the way he waits hand and foot on Jamie is pathetic. How can we blame August for a duel in which he was meant to be the victim? Or hold him responsible for his sire's silly nonsense? Had it not been for him, I shudder to think where we all might be today. He did splendidly."
"And was put through hell," said Gideon. "I think the experience has left him rather adrift. He'll soon get over this 'new man' business."
But Falcon's resolution did not waver. Day and night he was at Morris' beck and call. He made the rounds of the clubs each morning, then hurried home to relay the latest gossip. In the afternoons he lifted Morris into his invalid chair, bundled him up and took him out walking or driving in all weathers. He read to him by the hour, was enraged if the suite was not provided with fresh fruits and flowers daily, and hovered anxiously over the two brawny footmen who carried the invalid downstairs for dinner each evening. At first embarrassed by such solicitude, Morris began to enjoy it, and Katrina complained to Gwendolyn that each time she thought of something to do that would cheer her beloved, August had already done it.
"He is truly repentant," said Gwendolyn with a faint smile. "I believe Jamie is touched."
"Touched! He is becoming downright spoiled! Have you noticed how he has taken to ordering August about? He would not dream of talking to the servants in so demanding a way! No, how can you laugh? I'll warrant my brother never has a moment to spend with you!"
"Oh, no," agreed Gwendolyn. "He is making it very clear that he has no intention of ruining my life by offering for me. But you know his feelings on that subject, dearest."
"I know 'tis stuff," said Katrina with unusual vehemence. "Ruining your life, indeed! He is madly in love with you! When you are looking elsewhere his eyes fairly devour you! 'Tis so senseless, Gwen! I vow that sometimes he looks so despairing, I could weep for the silly creature! Do you mean to do nothing?"
Gwendolyn did not at once reply. Reginald Smythe was still at large, and although she told herself that the curse of the bag of feathers was superstitious nonsense, she suspected that August would continue to avoid her company at least until Christmas Eve was safely past. After that… "I mean to wait," she said, "until he tires of martyrdom."
Mr. Fletcher Morris had been obliged to journey into Cornwall on a family emergency when his cousin, Lord Kenneth Morris, fled the country. Returning to Town, Mr. Morris proceeded at once to Falcon House. He was enraged to discover that his son was still in residence, and demanded that he remove at once from the house of the man who had wounded him, and whose sire had almost caused he himself to be named a traitor. His heir protested. Mr. Morris flushed angrily and his voice rose. Jamie pleaded that he was too weak to be moved, and, besides, the lady he loved was here. Mr. Morris flew into a passion and left no doubt of his absolute prohibition of such a match. His son began to look pale and shaken.
August, who had remained in the window-seat, now stepped forward. "Enough," he said with a resumption of his former hauteur. "Pray forgive me for reminding you, sir, that your son is an adult with several years of military service behind him. He is fully capable of making up his own mind, and"—he raised a hand to silence the older gentleman's furious attempt to intervene—"and I cannot allow that you cause him to suffer a relapse."
"You cannot allow?" gobbled Mr. Morris, purple in the face. "Why, damn your eyes, you are the one put him in that confounded chair!"
If Falcon winced inwardly, he did not show it. "Precisely so," he agreed. "I endangered Jamie's life, wherefore I now mean to devote my own life to his care." In a sudden relaxing of his stern manner, he said with his most beguiling smile, "No, really, sir, you are as devoted to him as he is to you, and I know you have his welfare at heart. Will you not allow him to choose his own path? And permit me to do what little I may to make amends?"
Mr. Morris huffed and puffed and eventually, considerably baffled, went back to his country home and advised his wife that the heir to his worldly goods was making a fine recovery but was gone out of his mind.
The next day Jonathan Armitage was called to the Admiralty, where he was awarded a full pardon and his back pay restored to him. They celebrated at Falcon House so that Morris could participate. Apart from the invalid, who was permitted no more than a small glass of sherry, August was the only man to remain sober.
A few days later, Gwendolyn received a letter from Italy. It was from Hector Kadenworthy, who wrote that he had managed to escape England, and had persuaded his aunt to follow and accompany him to the New World. "I hear the
re are some very tolerable estates in the Virginia colony, and some fine horseflesh. I hope to be able to start anew and build myself a comfortable life out there. Pray believe I was most relieved to hear that Falcon got out of that pest hole. He is too good a man to have expired in so wretched a way. If all goes well, and you should ever come so far, you must both be my guests."
Gwendolyn ordered a chair called up and went at once to share this news with August. Katrina met her in the entrance hall and imparted with a twinkle that her brother was in the book room searching for a work by Martin Luther.
"My goodness!" said Gwendolyn. "He has really mended his ways. I'd never have guessed he would be interested in theology."
"Jamie wants it read to him. And I will warn you, dearest, that my brother is rather a grump today, even for a new man."
"Trina," said Gwendolyn reproachfully. "Do not tease him. The poor dear is trying so hard."
"Yes. To stay awake."
"What? Could he not sleep? Oh, I do hope he is not kept awake by remembering—"
"He was kept awake because Jamie summoned him at two o'clock in the morning, complaining that he could not sleep. I told Jamie he should let his man help, but he has come to think August is the only one he can really rely on."
"Oh," said Gwendolyn, her eyes very wide. "And was August able to help?"
"He read to Jamie until he fell asleep; at four. He is being very patient, but, oh Gwen!" Katrina giggled. "The maxims have been thick on the ground!"
They repaired to the red and gold parlour where a fire blazed up the chimney and Morris sat in a deep armchair before it, nodding drowsily. "At last!" he said, not looking around. " 'Tarry-long brings little home,' August. I'd think you would try to— Miss Gwen!" Pleased, he stretched out a hand. "How good of you to come to see me on such a beast of a day!"
She put her cold hand into his warm one. "I am delighted to see you looking so much better, Jamie."
Falcon opened the door. "I found it, but—" He checked. He looked wan, but his tired eyes lit up when he saw Gwendolyn.
"Good morning, ma'am. Have you come to cheer our invalid?"
"Well, of course she has," said Morris briskly. "Ring for some hot chocolate for the poor frozen creature. And then you can read to us. You'll like this, Gwen."
"Yes, I'm very sure I shall. But I've brought a letter August will like to see, if—"
"Oh, he can read a letter at any time. Now sit down and be comfortable. Hurry up, Lord Haughty-Snort! Don't stand there like a statue! 'As good have no time, as make no good use of it!'"
It seemed to her that August's hands on the book gripped very hard, but he rang for a footman and ordered hot chocolate and cakes for them all before he took a seat close to Morris and began to read. The subject had to do with Whether Soldiers Can Also Be in a State of Grace. The condition of the pages was not good, and Falcon stumbled, striving to decipher the faded words. His efforts did not seem to be greatly appreciated, as Morris whispered to Katrina until the hot chocolate was brought in, and afterward had to ask that August re-read a page as he'd not been attending. Falcon looked rather stern, but repeated the page, and although Morris took to whispering again, persisted doggedly. " 'The mad mob does not ask how it could be better, only that it be different. And when it then becomes worse, it must change again. Thus they get bees for flies, and at last hornets for bees.' "
Morris, who had been chuckling over something Katrina had murmured, turned and observed solemnly, "Yes, indeed, 'A lie today leads to two tomorrow.' "
"What?" Falcon stared at him. "The word was flies not 'lies'!"
Gwendolyn was unable to resist remarking innocently, "Perchance Jamie is referring to 'li,' August."
"The passage refers to nothing of the sort," he snapped, his eyes darting indignation at her. "And if you don't want to hear this Jamie, why—"
"Oh—li," said Morris brightly. "Trina was telling me about it. Now there's a really interesting philosophy, though I'll own I didn't expect you to mention it."
Through his teeth Falcon said, "I did not mention it! If you wish—"
"You know, Miss Gwen," Morris went on, "you are absolutely correct. Those old Chinese Pages had some jolly good—"
"Sages," corrected Falcon in a strangled voice.
Morris peered at him anxiously. "My poor fellow. I am being a selfish dolt and taking too much of your precious time, besides boring you to death. I should have known how 'twould be. Now, you go and—"
"No, no." Falcon took a deep breath, and repented. "I'm the one being selfish. Pay me no heed. If you're ready, I'll continue with this."
"You are too good. But let's have a change, dear boy. Do pray find the book about this 'li' business Miss Gwen spoke of. I'd like to hear more of your ancestors. Some of 'em seem to have been quite bright."
Falcon's face was a frozen mask, and Gwendolyn held her breath. She was inexpressibly relieved when the door opened and the butler brought in a large covered basket.
"A gift for you, sir," he said, carrying it to the invalid.
Morris said eagerly, "Is that so? Looks like something in the food line. From whom, Pearsall?"
The butler offered a folded note.
Morris read aloud, "My dear Lieutenant Morris. This is just a little farewell present from someone to whom you were all so kind. I leave tomorrow to join my nephew in Italy and then we sail for the Americas. I was so sorry to hear of your illness, and I hope you will enjoy this small token of my esteem and that it may sometimes remind you of someone who is far away, but with you in spirit." He looked up, exclaiming, "Be dashed! 'Tis from Mrs. Millicent Haverley. I say, how jolly nice of her. Let's have it open."
Pearsall deposited the basket in his lap, and Morris lifted the lid. A small gray head shot up, and a miniature mouth emitted a piercing cry.
Katrina uttered a stifled squeak.
Gwendolyn pressed a hand to her lips.
Falcon grabbed for a handkerchief.
"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Morris, lifting the little creature from its temporary home. "See here, August! I shall have a pet to keep me busy so that I won't have to put upon you so much! May I keep it, old fellow? You won't mind, will you Trina? 'Tis such a little thing. I'll call it—Millie. Unless 'tis a boy cat." He held out the kitten. "Do look and see, August. Is it a boy cat?"
With a roaring sneeze, August fled.
Late the next morning Sir Owen Furlong called, a radiant Maria Barthelemy on his arm. Pearsall showed them to the book room, where Gwendolyn and Katrina had their heads together over a collection of patterns for wedding gowns, and Peregrine Cranford was watching Morris and Falcon, who concentrated on a game of chess.
Sir Owen stared in astonishment at the kitten that purred on the invalid's lap. "Jove!" he exclaimed. "I wonder Apollo don't savage it!"
"Oh, Apollo don't mind Millie," said Morris. "August does, but he's being kind enough to tolerate her."
"I ab all heart." With a heavy sigh Falcon dabbed a handkerchief at his tearful eyes.
"Speaking of hearts," said Gwendolyn. "You are looking very light-hearted, Sir Owen."
He was, he told them proudly, walking on air, because Maria had consented to become his wife. It would have been hard to tell which of them was the happier. When the congratulations were over, Falcon asked whether they planned to make their home at Sir Owen's beautiful farm near Tunbridge Wells. Furlong said quietly, "No. We cannot, you know. Derek is ready to settle down and look after the farm, and fortunately Maria's grandmama has a large estate outside Lucerne. We are invited to live there—for a few years, at least, until there is no danger of Maria being charged with spying."
Maria took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Because of me, my dearest Owen must abandon his lovely old house and—and everything he cares for."
"Without you," he said fervently, "I can care for nothing."
The room hushed as they all watched the two who were so deeply in love.
Falcon rose abruptly and went to add more coal
to the fire, then stood looking down, apparently engrossed by the dance of the flames.
He claimed a kiss from the bride-to-be when they left, however, and took two, a privilege both Cranford and Morris were too shy to demand.
When the farewells had been said, the hands wrung, and the ladies had embraced, the happy pair departed.
Perry Cranford said with a show of indignation, "I wonder Owen did not knock you down, you rogue! Two kisses stolen, and they're not even wed yet!"
Very aware that Gwendolyn watched him steadily, Falcon shrugged. "She is a lovely woman. And 'tis said opportunity knocks but once. Carpe diem, Perry!"
Cranford grinned. "Were I to go about carpe-ing those kinds of diem-s, Zoe would box my ears! I am most shocked, August! I'd understood you were turning over a new leaf!"
" 'Tis hard to turn tack on a narrow bridge,' " observed Morris solemnly.
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," said Falcon irritably. "Can't they let us alone? What the devil do they want now?"
Braving the bitter cold of the winter afternoon he had taken Morris for a walk. Many people were out, for shoppers were busy. Morris had expressed a desire for some roasted chestnuts and they'd been waiting at a vendor's barrow on the corner of Queen Square when Tummet had run to them with a message from Gideon. "The Cap'n's fireboy brung it, Guv," he'd panted. "You've all bin sent fer by—by the King! Cap'n wants you to meet him at the house on Snow Hill, and you'll all go on from there tergether."
"Majesty wants to give old Gideon a medal, I'll wager," said Morris. "He jolly well deserves one!"
"Lord above," grumbled Falcon, paying for the chestnuts and putting the bag into Morris' lap. "Say you couldn't find me, Tummet."
"Certainly not," countermanded Morris. "But I wonder why Gideon wants you to meet at Snow Hill. I thought Sir Mark meant to sell the place now they've reclaimed Rossiter Court. Gideon never liked that queer old house, and he has a dreadful head for heights. You're sure about this, Tummet?"
"Cross me heart and hope to die! I gotta find Mr. Cranford. You best get on, Guv."
The Mandarin of Mayfair Page 33
