Appalled by this litany of mismanagement, Gideon contrived to keep his voice calm. “You said you’d authorized large loans to some old friends. Could they not have helped, sir?”
“Oh, they could! Undeniably! But”—his mouth twisting into a sneer, Sir Mark said—“’twould seem they’d been called out of the country. Suddenly. On urgent business.”
“I see. And my lord Norberly? Sir Louis Derrydene? Your other investors and stockholders?”
“Many of ’em managed by one means or another to quietly withdraw their funds.”
“Good God! At the time of the run on the bank?”
“The day before.” Avoiding his son’s eyes, the baronet muttered, “I was down at the Point with—” He broke off, and looked down, reddening. “And unaware of it ’til ’twas much too late.”
“Of all the damnable tricks!”
Sir Mark’s abased head swung upward again. “Tricks, you say? Tricks? No! That ain’t the word, deuce take me if it is! Conspiracy, rather!”
Gideon’s jaw dropped. Staring at his father’s convulsed face, he echoed, “Conspiracy? Sir—what in heaven’s name…?”
“Aye, you may stare! Think me mad, do you? You’re not alone, burn it! But conspiracy I say, and conspiracy I mean! To the fullest extent of the word!” Sir Mark dragged a chair to face Gideon and sat down, leaning forward and speaking with passionate intensity. “I could accept it as coincidence that some major investments failed; that some large loans were in default. But that Davies should embezzle so gigantic a sum—and vanish from the face of the earth? That my shipyard should have chanced to catch fire; my principal stockholders should withdraw their funds; and all within two weeks? No, by God!”
Stunned, Gideon stared at his father in silence. Then, he said slowly, “You mentioned that the guards at the shipyard were drunk. You said, ‘As we then thought.’ What did you mean?”
“That I now believe them to have been drugged! Do you see? Do you see? ’Twas a conspiracy, I tell you! A deliberate and merciless plan to ruin me! That is why I need you, Gideon! To prove me innocent. To restore my good name, even if my fortune, my estates, are lost!”
It was very clear that the poor old boy had cracked under the strain. Small wonder. Gideon said carefully, “Er—have you any suspicions, sir? Do you guess who is behind it?”
“Would that I did!” Sir Mark sprang to his feet again and set his glass on a table. “I’ve appealed to my friends, argued with Bow Street, hired investigators—in vain. Behind my back they all laugh at me and—damn their ears!—they think I will not accept the responsibility for my failure. That I seek to cloud the truth!”
“I see … Well, ’tis said that if murder is done, find first the man who has most to gain.”
“They all gained! The promoters of that damnable trading company. The men who took out loans, and then left the country! The treacherous bastard who embezzled.” Sir Mark muttered broodingly, “All in league against me, fiend seize ’em!”
“But—sir, they were your friends! Besides, they all are independently wealthy. I’d think their reputations are lost also. Surely such an involved plot as you envision must be extreme costly, as well as a very great risk. Besides, who gained from burning your shipyard? I cannot—”
“You are saying you do not believe me, I think?”
Shocked by the savage fury in his father’s face, Gideon said hurriedly, “I certainly do not rule out the possibility of such a conspiracy, sir. You’ll recollect that I never had any use for Norberly and Derrydene! And as for that slimy wart Murchison—”
His cheeks flushing, Sir Mark snarled, “You warned me, is that what you say? By heaven, if you’ve come home to gloat over me—to say ‘I told you so’—I’ll not have it! You may take yourself back to your confounded regiment and—”
Gideon sprang up and went to throw his arm about his father’s shoulders. “No, sir. How can you think it of me? We’ll come at the root of this somehow. We must, if we’re to keep Promontory Point and—”
“So you know about that, do you, twin?” Newby wandered into the room, his eyes narrowing when he saw Gideon’s arm about Sir Mark. “How did you learn that item of gossip, pray? From your ex-light o’love, perhaps? I heard you’d called on her.”
Sir Mark stiffened and stepped back. “You’ve never been to Collington, Gideon?”
“I have, sir.”
“Do not—ever—do so again! That ungrateful swine was in the forefront of those naming me … embezzeler—thief. Me! He could scarce wait to cry off from your betrothal to his daughter. As though that young woman had not won her share of notoriety with her disgraceful behaviour both here and on the Continent!” His face dark with anger, he went on, “Why the devil did you have to go crawling there? You should have come to me first! Not to that little jade!”
Gideon’s jaw tightened. He said, “I was not aware the betrothal was terminated, sir. And when I went to the Point—”
“Gad, did you?” Amused, Newby asked, “Yesterday? You must have just missed her. That would have been a jolly meeting, I declare!”
Gideon demanded sharply, “What d’you mean? Was Naomi at the Point?”
“Yes, indeed. She came driving in, all airy-fairy innocence, pretending she’d supposed us all away. I fancy she came to have a look at you, twin.”
“Confounded gall!” raged Sir Mark.
“One must be objective, Papa.” Newby swung his quizzing glass and smiled at his brother’s expressionless face. “My lady is a tasty morsel—even if she has been … ah, tasted—by numerous gentlemen of—”
Gideon was on him in a pantherish leap. The quizzing glass was seized and jerked up to be twisted about Newby’s throat. An impassioned voice growled, “Your lying mouth is as full of the gutter as ever! You’d best control it whilst I’m within hearing, brother, for a very little time spent in your company inspires me with the desire to throw you through the nearest window!”
Sir Mark ran to tear Gideon’s grip from the riband that was choking Newby, and thrust him away. “Let him be, you young savage!”
Gideon reeled back. With every breath now, his head seemed to split apart then clap back together. He began to feel sick, and grasped a chair for support.
“Damn … you…,” uttered Newby hoarsely, clutching his throat. “If it ain’t typical you’d … cuddle up to—m’father’s enemies!”
Sir Mark stamped to the bell pull and gave it a series of tugs which galvanized those in the lower regions of the house. “You are very obviously ill, so I shall excuse you—this time,” he said, his voice quivering with anger. “But know this, Gideon. Your betrothal to the Lady Naomi Lutonville is at an end. If you ever have anything to say to that wanton, or her ungrateful wretch of a father—you may remove yourself from my house! I cannot disinherit you. I can make sure that for the duration of my life you cease to be a son of mine!”
Gideon’s attempt to respond was foiled. His bones felt like water, and the scene was becoming blurred and indistinct. He was vaguely aware that someone had come into the room, that his father was giving orders, and that he was being gently led out and half-carried up the stairs. As from a great distance he heard Newby’s bray of a laugh and heard him say, “Quite like old times, eh, Papa?”
Another voice was echoing in his ears—Tio Glendenning’s easy drawl. “… If ever I heard of so wretched a homecoming!”
The footman supporting Captain Rossiter’s wavering figure glanced up. “What’d he say?”
Sir Mark’s valet answered, “Something about ‘tea’ being very right.”
The footman grunted. “Well, we all knows that, don’t we!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“’Tis very kind of Miss Falcon,” agreed Naomi, making her way along the crowded aisle of the Bloomsbury Bazaar. “But I’ve a notion she intended to wear that particular shawl herself. Besides, I really would like one trimmed with swansdown to match my gown.”
Maggie, following in the wake of her employer, sa
id repentantly, “I be that sorry, milady. How I come to not pack it I cannot think.”
“Oh, pish. We left in such a scramble ’twas no more your fault than mine own. Ah! See—on that table over there; the zephyr gauze! It looks to be just the pale pink of the embroidery on the underskirt, and can we but find an ell or two of white swansdown ’twill look divinely.”
Maggie, slightly nearsighted, peered uncertainly. “Oh, does you mean by the crippled lady?”
“Hush! She’ll hear you!” Naomi slipped through the throng in the popular bazaar. The young lady Maggie had referred to was inspecting an ell of fine lace, and Naomi waited politely for a chance to reach the gauze.
Leaning on a walking cane, the crippled girl moved awkwardly, collided with Naomi, and glanced up, smiling in shy apology. She was not a beauty, but the fine-boned face with its high forehead and generous mouth had a rare sweetness of expression, and her short powdered ringlets were charmingly arranged under the dainty laced cap. She gave a gasp and her blue eyes lit up. “Naomi!”
One mittened hand went out instinctively, then was withdrawn. Blushing, she stammered in confusion, “Oh! Your pardon. I should not—”
“Gwen…? Is it—Gwendolyn?”
“Yes. But I should not have spoken. Pray—”
Her attempt to escape was hampered by her necessarily slow movements, and she was swept into a warm embrace and a kiss pressed on her cheek before she could evade it.
“My dear little Gwen!” exclaimed Naomi, the years that had separated them quite forgotten. “I’ve not seen you in an age! How are—”
“If you please, madam,” said an irate female voice, and a middle-aged lady very sharp of eyes and elbows pushed her way between them.
“Oh, dear,” murmured Naomi. “We block the way, I fear. Gwen, do come next door with me. The lending library has a charming little teashop, and we can have a nice cose.”
“B-but…,” protested Gwendolyn Rossiter in dismay. “Under the—the circumstances—”
A sharp elbow and an indignant glare came her way, and she recoiled. Naomi giggled, gripped her free hand, and they made their way into the sunny street where more bustling crowds forbade conversation until they were seated at a table in the relative peace of the lending library.
“Now tell me about yourself,” urged Naomi. “Oh, heavens! I have mislaid my maid!”
Gwendolyn smiled. “Maggie and my footman have taken a table over there.”
Naomi glanced at the pair. The footman was a well set up young man with a fine pair of bold brown eyes. “That saucy minx,” she said, amused, then ordered tea and currant cakes for two, and told the serving maid to provide similar fare to her abigail’s table and add the bill to her own. Turning back to her companion, she was forestalled.
“Naomi, you should not be speaking to me. Your papa—”
“My father is still in Kent. Besides, our friendship has nothing to do with our families. Or”—she added hurriedly, seeing Gwendolyn’s lips part for a comment—“let us pretend it does not. Tell me how you go on. I had thought you were to have an operation on your”—she glanced around and whispered—“on your knee. Did you not?”
“I did. But,” Gwendolyn sighed a little, “it was unsuccessful. I’m afraid nothing can be done. I shall always limp.”
“My dear, I am so sorry.”
The expressive little face clouded very briefly. “The worst of it was the disappointment for poor Papa. He was so hopeful…”
“Nonsense! The worst part was your suffering, which you are so brave as to disregard. But you know, Gwen, I think most of your friends do not even notice your small affliction. You have such a warm and sunny nature it renders so trite a thing quite unimportant.”
Gwendolyn leaned to press Naomi’s hand gratefully. “How kind you are. Oh, I do so wish—” She broke off in embarrassment, and drew back. “Indeed, I wonder you dare to be seen with me.”
Naomi said with a twinkle, “I give not a button for public opinion, as you should know.”
“Yet you terminated your betrothal to my brother.”
Startled, Naomi met the candid blue eyes, then gave a rueful smile. “That gave me back my own! Lud, but I had forgot how outspoken you are.”
“’Tis a great fault, I know,” admitted Gwendolyn, with a sigh. “Most ladies have always to say just the right thing, for fear of offending the gentlemen. But since I shall never marry, there is not the need for me to guard my words.”
The serving maid brought their tea and cake, and Naomi busied herself with cups and saucers. “What a blessing, to be so at ease,” she said merrily. “But I would not refine too much upon your remaining a spinster, Gwen. You are very pretty and will make some lucky gentleman a delightful wife.”
Accepting a piece of cake, Gwendolyn said thoughtfully. “Thank you. But it must be a rare gentleman, I think, who would be willing to overlook my many faults. Despite your kindness, I am really not very pretty. Gideon used to say I was, bless him. But Newby is more honest. He says I have countenance…” She made a face. “And worse than that—I am a bluestocking. Furthermore, did my husband deny me the right to read, or to entertain opinions on books, or politics, I should very likely murder him. So you see it is much better I remain a spinster than wind up hanged on Tyburn Tree.”
This ingenuous little speech, so gravely rendered, sent Naomi into whoops of laughter. “Oh, Gwen!” she gasped. “How delightful you are! I wish I could spend more time with you so that we could talk about old times, but friends are waiting and I cannot stay. We must meet again. Can you come and see me? I stay with the Falcons at the moment. Katrina and August are there, and Mrs. Dudley Falcon—do you recall their aunt? Such a quaint lady. You know where Falcon House is, on Great Ormond Street? Or perhaps I shall see you at the Glendenning Ball?”
“Er—no, I fear not,” said Gwendolyn, concentrating upon stirring her tea, and looking miserable.
“Oh!” exclaimed Naomi, staring at her in belated comprehension. “What a ninny I am!” She paused, then said rather sadly, “There is a wall between us now. Because of Gideon we can no longer be friends.”
Irked by any criticism of her favourite brother, Gwendolyn’s little chin came up. “An we cannot be friends ’tis because you chose to believe all the rumours about—about the lady he is said to er, call upon.”
“And his children.” Naomi jabbed her fork rather savagely into the cake.
“What?” Gwendolyn flushed and her eyes sparked with anger. “Now that is the outside of enough! If ever I heard such vicious gossip!”
“So I thought,” said Naomi. “And like a fool, closed my ears to it—for months! But now I have had it straight from the horse’s mouth, as they say.”
Frowning, Gwendolyn asked with cold hauteur, “You have been to Holland, ma’am?”
“Holland? Why—no. Gwen? Have you not seen your brother?”
The ice between them was banished. With breathless eagerness Gwendolyn asked, “Do you mean—Gideon? He is home? You—you have spoken with him?”
“Yes. I thought you would know by this time.”
“Oh! Thank God! I was sure—” For an instant it seemed she would burst into tears, then she asked in a voice that shook, “He is well? Is he much changed? Oh, heavens! He will not know where to find us!” Taking up her cane, she said, “I must go home at once. Pray forgive me! Lud, but I am forgetting! Thank you so much for the tea.” She stood. “Good—good day to you, my lady.”
Her footman came hurrying to usher her out, and Naomi was left staring after her.
* * *
“If ever I saw such a start!” Reining down his rambunctious grey stallion, August Falcon had to ride out two whirligigs before he could continue with his tirade, but he did so, in spite of the irrepressible dance of mischief in Naomi’s eyes. “Not content,” he said, avoiding a heavily laden baker’s cart with an inch to spare, “with drawing half the gentlemen in London to your side—”
“Come now, August. Few of Lo
ndon’s gentlemen have left their beds by seven o’clock in the morning. I may have met one or two acquaintances, perhaps, but—”
“One or two score! ’Twas like a blasted parade! And then you’ve to go off at the gallop with Tio Glendenning and that starched-up Chandler!”
“’Twas a fast trot, merely,” she protested demurely. “And Gordie Chandler is not starched up, August. A little reserved, perhaps.”
The great city was relatively quiet at this early hour, the air clean and brisk, the work-bound throngs not yet crowding the flagways, and as they turned into Great Ormond Street, Naomi said cajolingly, “’Tis such a glorious morning. Only see how the sun shines on those pretty geraniums. How can you be so grumpy? Smile, my dear friend, before that handsome face of yours forgets how!”
He directed an irked glance at her, but she was a sight to banish vexation, dimples peeping as she easily controlled the spirited bay mare, the sunlight gleaming on her powdered curls, the wine-coloured riding habit accentuating the shapely curves of her figure. With a reluctant grin, Falcon prepared to be less stern with this lively creature, but his forbearance fled when another irritant met his eye. “Smile, is it!” he exclaimed. “I’m more like to laugh aloud. Only look what you’ve attracted now, you siren!”
Startled, Naomi turned her head.
A man was running along behind them. A most disreputable figure, his clothing old and shabby, his scratch wig dishevelled, a battered hat flourished in his hand, and one eye decidedly blackened. “Poor thing,” she said with ready sympathy. “’Tis just a beggar. Have you a florin, August?”
“A florin my eye! He’ll take a sixpence and like it!” He spun the coin at their pursuer. “Now be off with you!”
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