Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  “Oh,” said Naomi, relieved. “I fancy most people know the circumstances. Besides, Captain Rossiter is not to be blamed for his father’s predicament.” And she thought, ‘Good gracious! Why should I defend the creature?’

  “How like you to be so forgiving.” Admiration lit Bracksby’s dark eyes. “One can scarce wonder at Gideon’s dogged determination to escort you. Although I feel sure he realized he would be cut.”

  Naomi frowned a little and sipped her punch. She murmured, “’Tis not a greatly successful evening for either of us.”

  In a markedly deserted corner of the crowded ballroom, which everywhere else rang with talk and laughter, Rossiter had much the same thought. He had expected to be shunned, but he had found it difficult to keep his face impassive when several old friends had looked straight at him with no sign of recognition. Tio Glendenning had rushed to his side whenever he was able, but Tio was bedevilled with the numerous obligations of a host, and had time for only a few words before he was rushed away again. Bowers-Malden had been so gracious as to go out of his way to come up and chat briefly, which was good of the earl, all things considered. And when she left the reception line the countess had paused to remark kindly that Gideon looked quite “wrung out” and to urge that he sit down for a while. He yearned to follow her suggestion, but dare not. He would be less obvious were he seated, and he intended to give no one the opportunity to sneer that he was ashamed and trying to hide. Also, there was the fear that if he once sat down he might not be able to get up again, for his bruises seemed to become more stiff and painful by the minute.

  One benefit of his ostracism was that it gave him time for thought, and his mind struggled to make sense of the events of this long and busy day. Someone had gone to the trouble to ambush him and then warn him off. And if someone had a reason to want him to stop his investigation, then there must be something to be concealed.

  There was also the matter of Tummet’s recognition of one of the bullies who had broken into and searched Promontory Point. That the thief had gone to Sir Louis Derrydene’s house was both intriguing and baffling. Sir Louis was supposed to be in Russia. If he really had stayed in London, it was possible that he had some shady little business afoot and needed the services of a hired ruffian to accomplish it. Was it likely, though, that he had merely chanced to hire the same man who’d previously broken into the Point? ‘Pushing coincidence altogether too far,’ thought Rossiter. Yet if ’twas not coincidence, if there was a connection, what was it? How could a conspiracy, planned and carried out before his own return from the army, relate to this rash of thefts all apparently having to do with some object either he or Jamie Morris had picked up in Holland? It made no sense to—

  “…should not have been allowed to enter where there are decent people assembled! Are you gentlemen intimidated by a uniform?”

  The nasal tones were all too familiar. Rossiter discovered that he was no longer alone. Mr. Reginald Smythe and several other gentlemen stood nearby. There were several heated declarations of a willingness to “take action.” They were a motley crew, probably pot valiant, but some other gentlemen were wandering this way, looking grim. Rossiter tensed, wondering if they would dare eject him forcibly. The other guests would probably be willing enough to look the other way, in which case this situation could become dashed ugly. He turned to face them, meeting their hostile stares haughtily.

  Coming into the room on Bracksby’s arm, Naomi noticed the sudden hush, and saw heads turn. She glanced curiously in the same direction. There could be no doubt of what was happening. Rossiter looked proud and defiant, but he also looked terribly alone. Instinctively, she started forward.

  Bracksby caught at her hand. “’Twere best to stay clear, ma’am. They’ll likely do no more than ask him to leave.”

  Agitated, she said, “Reggie Smythe has hated him forever. Where is Tio, or Gordie Chandler, or Bowers-Malden?”

  “Likely manoeuvred out of the way. Oh, Gad! Here’s Crenshore! His father was ruined when the bank failed! Come, my lady. We must—”

  But Naomi was already hurrying towards the ominous little group.

  Cyril Crenshore, large, flushed, and aggressive, had stepped directly in front of Rossiter. “You’ve a choice, Captain,” he grated. “Leave quietly, or—”

  “La, Captain Rossiter,” said Naomi, strolling up beside Bracksby. “Do you not claim your dance, I shall have no alternative but to allow Mr. Bracksby to take your place, as he begs to do.” She stood there, plying her fan gracefully, and looking both enchanting and serenely unaware of the atmosphere of barely suppressed fury.

  “Take Rudi, lovely one,” said Mr. Crenshore, who adored her. “We’ve a matter of business to discuss with this fellow.”

  Rossiter bowed, wondering why the deuce Bracksby had brought Naomi into this mess. “I relinquish my claim, ma’am.”

  Naomi’s eyes flashed with vexation.

  Bracksby said, “Ah, but I do not care to win by default, Gideon. I feel sure that these gentlemen can chat with you at some more opportune time.”

  He spoke in his usual mild tones, but Crenshore was reminded of his manners. It would be exceedingly poor ton to create a fuss while in this house as a guest. Scowling, he stepped back. Several of the other gentlemen exchanged glances and retreated also.

  Irritated, and aware he was losing support, Smythe blustered, “You surprise me, Rudi. ’Pon rep, but y’do! I’d have said you’d be first to see the need for decent people to—”

  “To remember they are gentlemen and that ladies are present?” interposed Bracksby. “Then you would be perfectly right, my dear fellow.”

  Smythe flushed. “Perhaps you were not a victim of the alleged failure of Rossiter Bank, but I can assure you—”

  “Perhaps,” interpolated Rossiter icily, “you would wish a private meeting to discuss the matter, Smythe.”

  Naomi gritted her teeth.

  Bracksby said in a low voice, “Gideon, for the love of God! Do you mean to challenge all London?”

  “If need be,” snapped Rossiter.

  Smythe, however, had paled. It was well known that he fought with his tongue, and the thought of an actual duel evidently appalled him.

  “Come, Captain,” trilled Naomi. “You gentlemen can have your discussions whenever you please, but the orchestra will be striking up for a country dance at any second, and you know how I adore the Roger de Coverly.”

  Perforce, Rossiter extended his arm, and she rested her hand on it, fluttering her fan at him, and smiling her most bewitching smile.

  Reginald Smythe said with a titter, “Do you mean to change your slippers before—or after the dance, dear lady? I have it on excellent authority you have vowed to do so.”

  Rossiter felt the little hand tighten on his arm and from the corner of his eye saw that Naomi had lost all her colour. He said lightly, “Now there is a most excellent notion, ma’am.” Green eyes, wide and shocked, flashed to him. He shrugged. “’Tis the only kind thing to do, you will allow. The poor gabble merchants have nought to sustain ’em but gossip. You must put them out of their misery. Come, my lady. I will gladly escort you to Falcon House.”

  Accompanying him from the room, horribly conscious of the countless stares that followed them, Naomi was thinking numbly that this was how a gladiator must have felt who had rescued a Christian from the lions, only to be thrown into the arena in his stead!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The night air was chill but dry, the sky a moonless blue-black but lit by great low-hanging stars. Naomi shivered, drew her cloak tighter about her, then woke up. “My heavens!” she exclaimed, turning to Rossiter who stood tall and silent beside her. “Whatever are we doing?”

  “You came to my rescue,” he said urbanely. “Now I return the favour.”

  “I am in no need of rescue,” she lied. “So you had best tell the boy to cancel your carriage.”

  “But surely, ma’am, you do not mean to keep poor Smythe and his friends and Mrs. Go
lightly and her friends in such fearful suspense? ’Twill take but a few minutes at this hour to reach Falcon House. You can change your slippers and—Ah, here is my coach.”

  He took Naomi’s arm, and even as she argued she was somehow swept up the steps, Rossiter gave swift instructions to the coachman and climbed inside, the door was slammed shut, and they were rolling away.

  “For a man in his cups,” she said bitterly, “you move fast, Captain Rossiter. I had thought to have offered you a dance.”

  “You should be glad, ma’am, that I escort you to change your slippers rather than subject you to embarrassment on the dance floor.”

  She gave a small sound of impatience and he smiled into the dimness. “You—ah, do have at least one of the famous slippers, I trust?”

  “What?” With a surge of hope she asked eagerly, “Do you say you know where the other—” She heard his soft laugh then, and drew back. “Oh! Horrid! You tricked me!” Tears stung her eyes. “Well, you may gloat over your shabby victory, and instruct your coachman to turn back. You do but waste our time.”

  His hand came up to grasp her averted chin and turn her face. “You really judge me base, don’t you.” He saw the glitter on her cheeks then, and said in a gentler voice, “Now, whatever our differences, be a good girl and answer me. Have you the one slipper?”

  “Y-yes,” she gulped. “But what good is—” His fingers covered her lips.

  “When we reach Falcon House, run and get it. I will bring you the other, and—”

  Tingling with excitement, she pulled his hand away. “No! An you know where the other one is, I go with you to find it. Then we will get mine.”

  He frowned. “Very well. But on one condition. You must tell me—truthfully—how and where you lost it.”

  “Hah! As if you need to be told! In a bedchamber, of course. Where I was dallying with—with August Falcon!”

  He said contemptuously, “You cheapen yourself with such rubbish! Whatever else, Falcon is a gentleman. Besides, he was not there. And despite all I have heard of you, madam, I most certainly do not believe you were dallying in a bedchamber. With anyone! Now let us cry truce for this one night. Is it agreed?”

  She fought a sudden and infuriating need to burst into tears, and to conceal this weakness, said tartly, “Agreed. You acquit me of dalliance in one of Lady Dowling’s bedchambers. I acquit you of arriving to escort me when you were foxed.”

  Silence. Then he said, “As you have doubtless heard, my father is convinced his financial catastrophe was contrived. My efforts to prove it have evidently offended someone, because this morning I was, not very politely, requested to desist.”

  She gave a gasp. “How dreadful! And I imagined—”

  “Oh, I am aware. Your imagination is well developed, my lady. Will it stretch, I wonder, to an interesting account of the loss of your slipper?”

  “If that is your notion of a truce, Captain Rossiter—” she began stormily.

  He reached for the checkstring, and when the coachman opened the trap told him to disregard the first destination and proceed at once to the second. Settling back against the squabs, he said, “You are very right, my lady. Pray accept my humble apologies, and let us try again. How did you lose your pretty slipper?”

  She shrugged. “Very well, but I fear your sensibilities will be offended.”

  Five minutes later, Rossiter confirmed her fear. “By heaven!” he exclaimed, horrified. “I cannot believe that a well-bred lady would do so crazy a thing! You should have broke the window at once and cried for help! Did it not occur to you that the ton would be disgusted by such an escapade?”

  “It occurred to me,” she said, bristling, “that many prosy and prim individuals might regard it as such.”

  Swept by a searing wrath, he seized her shoulders and shook her. “Prosy and prim, my eye! You are a lady of Quality! I cannot credit that despite your upbringing you would take such mad risks only to—Yes, devil take it! I can! You were ever a tomboy despite your lovely fragility.”

  She closed her lips over the furious set-down she had been about to deal him. “Lovely fragility” was quite acceptable. “Perhaps you will be so good as to remove your hands from me at once, sir! And instead of censuring me as though you had the right—which you do not—tell me where in the world we are going.”

  Rossiter frowned at her for a minute, then released her.

  “To Snow Hill. And you may count yourself fortunate that the gentlemen had left that room before you reached the ledge.”

  “Which was not a bedchamber,” she pointed out. “And why Snow Hill? Oh, Lud! You live there now! Do you say ’twas you found my slipper and have kept it from me?”

  “But of course,” he sneered. “I had intended to blackmail you with it, as you suspected! Which you richly deserve in return for your assistance in finding me so—unique a valet!”

  He could all but see her mischievous little smile. Her voice was full of mirth as it came out of the darkness. “The Guttersnipe Domestic Registry. At your service, Captain.”

  A silence. Then he said, “I wish you will have the charity to forget I said that. It was very bad. And you did me a great service, indeed. I could not wish a finer valet.”

  “La, but I think you quiz me, sir! Besides denying me the satisfaction of hearing a litany of grievances.”

  “Then assurement you shall have them. He threw my brother into a state of paralysis; left my father at a loss for words, for the first time in living memory; has, I suspect, done battle with our few male servants so that although they despise him they are frigidly polite to him, and—above all, he infuriated August Falcon by addressing him as ‘mate.’ Ah, what would I not give to have seen it!” Smiling to hear her lilting laughter, he added quietly, “He also risked his neck to extricate me from a rather sticky corner this morning. So you see he is truly—”

  The carriage gave a lurch and he was flung back. Naomi squealed and reached out instinctively, and he grasped her hand and held it strongly.

  “This confounded toboggan ride,” he grumbled.

  She asked uneasily, “Can the horses climb to the top?”

  “They manage, poor brutes. But I doubt they like it any more than do I!”

  “I can readily apprehend you would not like it, for ’tis steep as any mountain!” With a chuckle, she said, “Do you recollect when we found the old tree house in the woods and you’d not admit you were afraid to climb up?”

  She saw the white gleam of his smile through the darkness. He said, “Yes. And having used the last of my courage to prove I was as bold as you, I was too scared to climb down! I thank you for reminding me of my intrepid boyhood!”

  She laughed. “Well, I thought it very gallant, for when my petticoats caught on that splintered branch, you overcame your fears and rescued me.”

  “Hmm. And then all but fainted! A fine hero!”

  “Far more heroic than had it been done by someone with no fear of heights.”

  Surprised by the kindness in her voice, he turned to her. The flambeaux outside a house they passed shone into the carriage. Naomi was leaning back her head, smiling at him, looking almost ethereally lovely …

  They were both startled when the door was flung open. The carriage had stopped, and the lackey had run from the house to assist them.

  Rossiter came back to reality. “I shall be but a moment, ma’am.” He climbed down the steps and called to the coachman to drive along to where the street became a little wider. “You can make your turn there.”

  The coachman nodded and whipped up his team, grumbling about mountains he’d take care never to go to again.

  Limping towards the house, Rossiter asked the lackey if Sir Mark was at home.

  “No, sir. He and Mr. Newby took Miss Gwendolyn to—”

  There came an odd sound like a tree branch splintering. A startled shout rang out. Rossiter swung around. The horses were rearing, neighing their fright. He saw the coachman leap from the box and had a brief bewilde
red thought that the man had lost his wits. In that fragmentary second, he realized that the coach was jolting oddly. It started to lurch backwards. ‘My God!’ he thought. ‘The pole has split!’

  He was sprinting even as that terrifying realization dawned. He drew level with the coach and the door was flung open, but before Naomi could get out there was a sharper crack. The pole snapped off short, and the coach began to roll backwards down the hill leaving driver and team behind. Racing in frenzied pursuit, Rossiter saw the coach hit one of the many ruts in the road and slew sideways. One wheel bumped up onto the flagway and sent a link boy leaping for his life. The carriage rocked and spun. Rossiter was sure it would overturn, but the splintered pole crashed against an iron fence and scraped along the rails with an ear-splitting clanging. The wild plunge was slowed. A small respite, but it gave Rossiter the chance to draw alongside. Sobbing for breath, he gasped, “Jump!”

  To do so was a physical impossibility. Clinging to the door frame, Naomi had all she could manage to prevent herself being flung back onto the seat again. The coach teetered crazily. Rossiter sprang at the door, grabbed Naomi’s arm and wrenched with the strength of desperation. She was torn from the coach. He caught her, staggered, and fell backwards.

  The carriage was rolling again, gathering speed. It thundered down the hill, barely missed a solitary horseman, crashed into a brick wall and overturned to lie upside down, one wheel flying off, and the remaining three spinning madly.

  Rossiter dragged himself up. Naomi sat beside him, looking dazed. He gasped, “Are you all right?”

  She said tremulously, “I think…’tis not safe to be nigh you, sir,” then threw herself into his arms. “Oh … Gideon…!”

  He held her very tight, whispering, “Thank God! Thank God!”

  * * *

  The bootblack had been sent to the stables to hire another carriage; Tummet and the butler were down the hill with the driver of the wrecked vehicle; Naomi had been ushered upstairs to be ministered to by the cook; and the lackey was brushing Gideon’s uniform coat. Having washed, put on a clean shirt, and tidied his disordered hair, Gideon donned his dressing gown and went slipper hunting.