Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  Surprised, Naomi turned to face the newcomer. The great panniers of her skirts were as cumbersome as they were fashionable, but she handled them expertly, and dropped a graceful curtsy. “Papa! I had thought you meant to remain in Kent.”

  Resplendent in purple and gold, the earl smiled and bent to kiss her forehead. “I don’t tell you all my secrets, child. Do you enjoy a pleasant stay with your friends?”

  He looked amiable enough, but Naomi watched him warily. “Thank you, yes. And you, sir?”

  “I was obliged to come into Town, and guessed I might find you here. Come—I’ll have a word with you.”

  “No, really, Collington,” protested the short-sighted duke. “Your lovely daughter has not yet chosen her escort for the Glendenning Ball. Come now, my lady. You know Falcon is too ill to attend. Spare our torment.”

  “Really, I cannot,” Naomi answered with a smile. “But—an I find Mr. Falcon unimproved when I return this evening, I will choose my escort—tomorrow.”

  Another concerted groan. Chandler called, “When, Lady Naomi? Where?”

  The earl was leading her away. Over her shoulder she called, “At the Dowling Soiree. I shall throw my flowers, and the gentleman who catches them may escort me to the ball.”

  This pleased them with its suggestion of sport, and a babble of comment arose.

  Amused, the earl guided her through the crowded room. “You are quite the Toast, child. I dare swear you may take your pick among ’em.”

  “Oh, they are silly boys,” she said lightly. They turned into the wide corridor, and she added, “I am surprised to find you here, sir.”

  “Truth to tell, I was surprised when you left Collington so—ah, precipitately.” He smiled down at her and opened the door to an ante room. “Did I frighten you away with my bad humours?”

  Naomi made her way to a loveseat and sat amid billows of taffeta, wondering why he was really here, and dreading lest he demand that she return to Collington Manor and meet the “fine gentleman” who was “slavering” to lay his riches at her feet. “I do not frighten easily, Papa,” she declared bravely. “But I’ll own you seemed somewhat overset.”

  He wandered to the hearth and inspected the Grecian urn placed before the empty grate. “If I was, m’dear, ’twas not by reason of a lost chess piece.” He turned to face her, his eyes grave. “That was vexing, I’ll own, but ’tis not every day one’s child is attacked by rascally rank riders. I have writ to Captain Rossiter expressing my gratitude for his intervention—however clumsily achieved. I—er, trust this was appropriate…?”

  “I do not follow you, sir. How could it be inappropriate? Because of the injury to August Falcon?”

  “Not at all. However, your footman believed you to have been upset when you left Promontory Point on Tuesday. If young Rossiter dared annoy you…”

  Her colour rising, Naomi said, “He did not annoy me, sir. He infuriated me!”

  “Did he now,” murmured the earl. “You will favour me by having nothing more to do with him. As to his friend, besides shooting down Falcon, for which I really cannot fault him, would you say he was of some assistance to you?”

  “Besides shooting down Falcon, for which I shall not forgive him,” she said, her angry eyes challenging his mocking ones, “I suppose he helped—yes.”

  “Escorted you home, I understand. Which was likely quite out of his path. Any soldier returning to England desires to reach home as soon as maybe.”

  She shrugged. “I did not ask such a sacrifice of him.”

  “Even so, I collect I must send him a note also. You said his name was—Moore?”

  “Morris, Papa. Lieutenant James Morris.”

  “Alas, memory fails me. Morris … I believe there is a prominent Cornwall family of that name. I wonder…?”

  “I seem to recall Rossiter mentioned something about the lieutenant going on to Sevenoaks.”

  “Is that so? Then I shall have no difficulty in learning his direction. Now tell me of young Falcon. He will recover?”

  Naomi looked at him steadily. “His death would grieve you, sir?”

  “Not in the least. Save that I’d prefer not to be involved in the way of it.”

  “Then you may be at ease. August took a ball in his arm. A flesh wound merely. He would be recovered by now, save that he stubbornly persisted in returning to London before he was able to withstand the journey, and the following day must ride with me, whereby he took a fever.”

  “Typical. And since the fair Katrina is devoted to her firebrand brother, you mean to stay by her through this—ordeal, eh?”

  “For the time being, sir.”

  Collington smiled. “You do not ask if I approve. You know what my answer would be. They are indeed fortunate that a lady of your position recognizes them in public.”

  “Pon rep, sir! Did you not remark the number of highly born gentlemen who appear to have no difficulty recognizing Miss Falcon?”

  “Ah, yes. But with entirely different motives, I suspect. And much as I enjoy sparring with you, I must take my leave. Farewell, child. Pray embrace no further disasters.”

  Naomi’s taut nerves relaxed. Thank heaven! He meant to go without taxing her about marriage. Walking with him to the door, she said, “Truly, I am sorry about your loss, Papa. ’Twas vastly careless in me.”

  He looked at her with upraised brows. “Loss?”

  “Your chess piece.”

  “Ah, yes. I think that is best forgot. Is provoking to think that some uncouth rank rider, or a yokel with no appreciation of its antiquity, likely found it. But there. What use to cry over spilt milk? Adieu. Do not stay too long from Kent. We miss you.”

  He patted her cheek, smiled with rare warmth, and was gone.

  * * *

  There was a haze in the air on this Tuesday morning, and the sunlight was diffused so that her beams fell softly upon London’s countless chimney pots, towers, and domes. Gideon stood at the window of the book room, contemplating the scene thoughtfully. A warm little hand crept into his own. He turned, smiling down at Gwendolyn’s bright face.

  “Are you thinking how different is the prospect?” she asked. “From that of Rossiter Court, I mean? The hill gives us a fine view, Gideon.”

  He bent to press a kiss on her forehead. “Which is one thing to be said for it, eh little one? No, I was thinking of my father’s—er—”

  “Obsession?” Newby closed the door behind him and sauntered across the room. “I wonder you waste your time with such balderdash.” He embraced his sister and said smilingly, “Do not encourage him, my poppet.”

  Gideon pulled out a chair for her, and Gwendolyn sat down and said with a sigh, “I wish I might offer some encouragement. ’Twould be passing wonderful to find we were not really responsible for so much grief and tragedy.”

  “We are not, love.” Newby disposed himself languidly against the edge of the reference table. “Our inept old gentleman is. And my heroic brother would do well to employ his mind to the avoidance of prosecution rather than try to sniff out a non-existent band of dastardly conspirators. No—use your wits do, Gideon! Why in the devil would anyone go to so much trouble and expense? ’Tis not as if there were vast fortunes to be made from this catastrophe.”

  “I would call one hundred thousand pounds a vast fortune,” interposed Gwendolyn indignantly.

  “Yes, dear,” said Gideon. “But that was stolen by one rascal. Most expertly. Where was the need for all the rest of it? I think that’s what Newby means.”

  “Your brilliance, dear twin, is dazzling,” sneered Newby.

  “And your filial loyalty non-existent. My father is not a blockhead—”

  “Just an exceeding maladroit Chairman of the Board? Oh, never give me your pious looks or pretend a devotion you do not feel. Six years ago you could scarce wait to buy yourself a pair of colours so as to get away from him.”

  “From his policies, rather.”

  “Time proved you right in that, at least.”


  “Even so, I never held him to be a fool, and there is a deal too much of coincidence in all this for us to laugh at his suspicions.”

  Newby said contemptuously, “As I do? Is that what you say? Then pray tell, dear twin, what you with your superior understanding have discovered whilst you puttered about asking questions. You must have succeeded in stirring up somebody. Papa tells me his solicitor is already imploring him to keep you from his door!”

  “I called on him, certainly, and learned how much a man may say while saying nothing. I also called on many others. Hiat, for instance—”

  “Ah, yes. Our worthy ex-bank manager. Who is ill, or so one is told, and can see nobody.”

  “He must have improved, for he saw me. He’s a nervous wreck, poor fellow, but said he’d advised against making such large loans when there were rumours the trading company investment was shaky.”

  “Upon which our revered sire undoubtedly behaved as though Hiat had spat in a cathedral, since the largest loans were made to his school mates—fine gentlemen of title et sans reproche. Unhappily, my father judges men by lineage and schooling instead of by their knowledge and ability. Did you ask the worthy Hiat what the vanishing stockholders had to say?”

  “Both Lord Norberly and Sir Louis Derrydene concurred in the loans. I also asked him if he had any suspicion that the failure of the bank and the investment company, the embezzlement, the trading company swindle, and the fire at the shipyards were in some way connected.”

  Newby laughed softly. “But how fascinating. We await Hiat’s answer with bated breath, do we not, my Gwen?”

  “Do not be horrid, Newby,” she said, gently tapping his hand. “Gideon has been trying so hard.”

  “I believe he thought I was raving mad,” said Gideon slowly.

  “Sensible man. And are you now convinced, twin?”

  Frowning, Gideon hesitated. “I’ll own that at first I thought Papa’s nerves were overset and he was at the brink of a breakdown. But now…” He wandered to the window again, and muttered, “Jupiter, but there’s something, I think.”

  Newby covered his eyes and groaned.

  Gideon turned back. “I was able to discover the direction of two of the men who had worked up at Merseyside. They both—both, Newby!—said they were convinced the fire was arson, and that the foreman was of the same mind.”

  “Which the official investigators say is nonsensical and cannot be proved.”

  “It could be proven were we to find the men who set the fire!”

  “Dearest,” put in Gwendolyn. “Do you really believe a conspiracy?”

  “Not exactly, love. Yet—I cannot but wonder why so many people I have tried to talk with are so frightened.”

  “Heaven protect us all,” moaned Newby. “My dear clod, they are not frightened of you! They despise you! They do not wish to be seen conversing with you! Can you not understand yet? We are—untouchables! All of us!”

  “I did not say they were frightened of me. I said they were frightened. Lady Norberly, for instance.”

  “Good Gad! You called on that dragon? She did not receive you, I’ll warrant!”

  “I think she would not have done, save that I chanced to arrive just as she was leaving the house. She vowed she has no least notion where his lordship may be, only that he travels in Scotland. Or perhaps Wales. She was trembling. And when I tried to speak again, she became loudly abusive. Her servants all but knocked me down.”

  With an exclamation of impatience Newby sprang to his feet. “Which has nothing to say to the purpose! Plague take it, where’s the use in raking over old coals now? Shall we be any less ruined an you do track down that embezzling rogue, Davies? Are we any less to blame because we had overextended ourselves on what proved fraudulent foreign investments? ’Twas my father’s responsibility, no matter how you seek to wrap it in clean linen! Since the enquiries, I have done all in my power to quiet things down! Now, you must come home and start stirring coals and throwing everyone into an uproar again! The last thing we need is for the whole beastly mess to flare up once more. Let be! ’Tis done and over with and nothing can undo it. Let it alone, I say, else there is no telling where it may end!”

  Gideon looked into that flushed and angry face and persisted, “You were here, twin, and I was not. Is there nothing you judge to have been peculiar? Nothing that struck you as contrived or that might be worth looking into?”

  Breathing hard, Newby answered, “Yes, there is something worth looking into! The conserving of what resources we have left. My father is, even now, not without some friends. We could ship our belongings quietly and be out of the country ere anyone could detain us. He and his men of the law have been able to stave off the Courts for the time, but how long can we hope to delay the inevitable? If you have any influence at all, my valiant captain, you had best exert it to convince him to emigrate. Do you yearn to see my sister living in Newgate? Well, I do not! Nor do I mean to stand idly by while you compound his blunders! Conspiracy, indeed! My God—what folly!”

  He strode rapidly to the door, then turned about. “I forgot. You’ve a caller, I believe. Best see him. Such events are rare in this house.”

  * * *

  Viscount Horatio Glendenning was seated in Gideon’s small parlour, in close converse with Tummet. A very different Tummet this, his wig sleek, his person immaculate in a neat black habit that lent him a dignity somewhat at variance with his craggy face and discoloured eye.

  “How good of you to come, Tio,” said Gideon, walking into the room and shaking hands with his friend. “What has this rogue been telling you?”

  “Incidents from his extreme checkered career,” said the viscount with a grin. “If all else fails, Ross, you can write ’em down, put your sheets between marble covers, and make a fortune!”

  “Oh, yes. I could entitle it, ‘Diary of a Skinner of Whales.’” And as his lordship stared uncertainly, Rossiter smiled and translated, “That’s ‘Spinner of Tales’ to you, old lad. What, has he not favoured you with his rhyming cant yet? Sometimes, ’tis the only way I can be sure he’s my man, and not some bishop who has chanced to wander into my rooms.”

  The fledgling valet said an amused, “Garn! You staying ’ere fer a bit, Cap’n?”

  “Yes. Bring cognac to the balcony if you please. One thing this house offers is a view, Tio. And ’tis a pretty day.”

  “Pretty rare,” said Glendenning. “You’ll not need an umbrella do you plan to accompany me to the Dowling Soiree this evening.”

  Rossiter glanced at him in surprise. “My thanks, but I’ve no least wish to do so. You cannot have thought I had been invited?”

  “No, but I have, my Tulip. And you’ve been complaining that you’re unable to come up with Bracksby. I chance to know he’ll be there.”

  Lowering himself into one of the wooden chairs on the small balcony, Rossiter said quizzically, “My presence would not help your standing with the ton, you know. Any more than will my attendance at your ball.”

  “Very true. You’re a dirty dish if ever there was one. But I shall contrive to bear it. Yea, or nay, Ross?”

  “Yea! And most gratefully. I’ve been trying to see Rudi since I came home. He and Derrydene were friends and he may be able to tell me where to find the man. But he’s elusive as a shadow in November!”

  “Very fast on ’is stampers,” agreed Tummet, brashly entering the conversation as he set down the tray and unstoppered a decanter of cognac. “And a real top o’the trees. A quality gent to ’is toenails. Which is more’n I can say fer some.”

  Fascinated by Rossiter’s unorthodox servant, Glendenning accepted a glass and asked, “Such as?”

  “You ever bin to Falcon ’Ouse, me lord?” enquired Tummet, wiping a glass on his sleeve and eyeing it suspiciously before measuring cognac into it.

  “Yes, I have. What has that to say to the matter?”

  “Mr. August Falcon’s got a ’ound o’ the devil in that there ’ouse. Black as pitch, big as a bear, and twi
ce as ugly. Come at me like ’e ’ad ’ider—ranger, or whatever it’s called.”

  “Hydrophobia,” supplied Rossiter with a quirk of the lips.

  “Ar. Tore the knee clean outta me new unmentionables, ’e done! And that there rosy-and-rare—”

  For his lordship’s benefit, Rossiter interjected, “Nose in the air.”

  “—of a butler, ’e says as Apollo is a very fine dawg! Very fine dawg me eye and Cleo-Patria!” Tummet thrust the glass at his employer. “’Ere, Guv. Sluice that over yer ivories.”

  Glendenning could not hold back a laugh.

  Rossiter groaned, then asked, “Do you, with all this roundaboutation, say that Mr. August Falcon is not a fine gentleman?”

  “’Oo—me?” Tummet blinked and said piously, “Why, I’d never presoom to criticize me betters. All I’m a’saying of is, ’e’s better looking than ’is dawg. But twice as nasty.” Ignoring his lordship’s renewed hilarity, he fixed Rossiter with a minatory stare. “And not no one fer a gent t’be coming to cuffs with when said gent just come ’ome fulla ’oles!”

  “Thank you,” said Rossiter, trying to be stern. “That will be all.”

  “It’ll be all, all right,” said Tummet grimly.

  “Damn your impudence! Go!”

  Tummet looked aggrieved, and took himself off.

  Still chuckling, Glendenning asked, “Where ever did you find him, Ross? Whitechapel? Westminster? Covent Garden?”

  “Impertinent ruffian, isn’t he?”

  “As the deuce! He was taking me to task when you arrived. In no uncertain terms.”

  “Gad! What had you done to incur my fine valet’s displeasure?”

  “Your fine valet! Your fine fishmonger more like! No, really, you cannot keep the fellow!”

  “Why? D’you fancy he will lower my consequence? I have none. And to say truth, he amuses me. Now tell me how you have displeased him.”

  “Simple. For all his—ah, peculiarities, he appears devoted to you, and he guessed why I came here.”

  “Aha! You’ve word?”

  “Falcon named Kadenworthy and Perry Cranford. They all are agreed that the choice of weapons is yours.” Rossiter raised his brows, and his lordship shrugged. “You struck him, after all.”