“In the Bath chair.”
“In the Bath chair.”
“While sitting on all her worldly and illicit gains.”
He snarled softly. “Do you want me to hasten or are you going to enter a caveat to everything I say?”
Elspeth sighed and was silent.
The Reverend Mr. Boudreaux said soothingly, “The thing is that when we arrive in France, you will be guiding the chair, Miss Clayton, with the—lady and the—er, little black kitty, do you see? And when we have conveyed Georgiana—”
“Geraldine!” corrected Valerian, with a long-suffering look at Elspeth.
“Righto!” resumed the clergyman, uttering an embarrassed laugh. “Once the lady is safe—”
“We will proceed to untangle your brother from whatever foolish scrape he has fallen into,” interjected Valerian impatiently, “and whisk him to the coast. You, Madam Nurse, will guide the same chair, complete with lady and black kitten. Therefore, should we be recognized by the authorities, no one will suspect we have switched ‘ladies’ for the return journey.”
Her eyes very wide, Elspeth said an awed, “You mean to disguise Vance as—as a lady? You’re mad! My brother is tall and—and muscular, and—”
“If he’s been in the hands of the French military for very long, he might not be so muscular as you remember,” said Valerian bluntly. “But pray tell if you’ve a better scheme, ma’am.”
Elspeth whitened and closed her eyes.
Turning to the quiet clergyman, Valerian asked, “What’s the fellow done, Fitz? I take it your uncle is aware?”
“He is aware because Nicholas Drew was with Clayton at the time of his arrest. It was Drew who asked for my great-uncle’s aid in the business.”
“Drew … Hmm … Why didn’t he appeal to the Horse Guards?”
“Couldn’t in this matter, Ger. Vance Clayton served as courier for La Pompadour. Got himself fairly caught.”
“By?”
Boudreaux shrugged. “No telling who’s at the root of it. The woman is ambitious. She has made enemies in high places and there are those who fear she now means to encourage an alliance with Austria.”
Valerian whistled softly. “Which would not please many messieurs in—as you say, Fitz—‘high places.’ So our British gentlemen in their own high places ain’t likely to step in to save Clayton’s hide, I take it?”
“Whitehall don’t fancy that kind of sticky wicket at this particular time, dear boy.”
“So my brother, who sought only to provide for Mama and me, is to be abandoned to Madame Guillotine.” Elspeth turned suddenly tear-wet eyes on Valerian. “Vance is wounded and at their mercy, sir. Mr. Drew said they would wait only for him to recover sufficiently to be—to be…” Her voice a thread, she whispered, “… questioned.”
She had, noted Valerian inconsequently, quite lovely eyes. He said thoughtfully, “Is Drew planning to take a hand in this business, Fitz?”
“If he were, he would be handling all this for me,” said Elspeth, dabbing a tiny handkerchief at her eyes. “Two nights since he was attacked by Mohocks and badly injured.”
“You surprise me,” drawled Valerian, frowning. “I should have supposed a fellow like Drew well able to take care of himself. You’re—ah, sure it was Mohocks attacked him?”
She stared at him. “How can I be sure who…? Oh! My goodness! You think it was the people who hold Vance prisoner?”
“I’ve no least idea, save that it seems the greatest coincidence that your brother’s closest friend should have been incapacitated just at this particular time. Still, we do no good by theorizing. Fitz—can you tell me where Clayton is being held?”
The clergyman nodded. “Give you a map. A very secluded chateau not far west of Rouen. Likely heavily guarded. Is your—” He glanced at Elspeth and his guileless face reddened. “Is Geraldine prepared to leave?”
‘He was going to say “your bird of Paradise,”’ thought Elspeth, but her cynicism was forgotten when Valerian answered briskly, “Packed and ready to sail at a moment’s notice.”
Shocked, she exclaimed, “You do not mean—You cannot mean—not tonight?”
“But of course not.” One of Valerian’s dark brows arched upward as he fixed her with a sardonic stare. “Would a week from Wednesday afford you sufficient time to make up your mind, ma’am? You must pardon me if I had thought you judged your brother’s days to be numbered!”
“You are a horrid man,” she said through her teeth. “You know very well I am eager to send help to him, but—”
“But you’d no intent to risk your own skin—is that the case?”
“Oooh! How dare you—I would be—”
The clergyman interpolated gently, “Don’t tease the lady, Gervaise. You ask a great deal of a gently bred-up girl. There must be other, more worldly-wise people we could hire to—”
“Aye,” snapped Valerian. “An actress with courage and capable of carrying off the imposture—had we a week or two! We have not! Every minute we waste is as full of danger for Georgiana as for Vance—”
“You mean ‘Geraldine,’” corrected Elspeth sweetly.
“What? Oh—” Valerian gave an impatient gesture. “Small wonder my wits are adrift with all this backing and filling! If dear Bertha Hoylake had not been so badly hurt—thanks to Miss Clayton’s inept coachman—we would be already aboard. Bertha knows the situation and the risks and is ready and willing to undertake the voyage. To ask a stranger to run such a gauntlet for someone she doesn’t even know—” He broke off, scowling at Elspeth. “But Miss Clayton has as much at stake as have I, so the sacrifice is less.”
Elspeth drew a deep breath. What this callous Dandy said was true enough. Suddenly she was very cold and had the feeling that all the colour had left her face. Striving not to tremble, she said, “You are perfectly correct, Mr. Valerian. Fortunately, my maid packed sufficient of my wardrobe for a stay of several days, so—”
“Then you may leave it,” he interrupted peremptorily. “No nurse would own the elegant gowns you affect, ma’am.” He met the clergyman’s eye and said with defiance, “She’ll have to wear Bertha’s things.”
Boudreaux stammered, “But—but they’re not at all similar. I mean, Miss Clayton’s—er, figure is—”
“Less well endowed?” jeered Valerian, his gaze flickering over Elspeth in a way she thought deliberately insulting.
“I mean—she is—is taller, for one thing,” persisted the clergyman, his colour deepening as he avoided Elspeth’s eyes.
Valerian chuckled. “Yes, well, you’d best not list the other things, Fitz. The lady is ready to box your ears!”
Judging another pair of ears far more deserving of being boxed, Elspeth contained her mortification and said coolly, “I am sure I shall manage, gentlemen. Though what I am to tell my servants is beyond me.”
“It ain’t beyond Fitz,” declared Valerian, and ignoring his friend’s panicked expression, he added, “Now you’d best meet Mrs. Geraldine, ma’am. And after that, Fitz, we’ll have a look at your map and try to come at a way to get Vance Clayton out of his pickle barrel.”
* * *
“A visitor to see you, Geraldine, my love!” With that softly uttered call, Valerian opened the door and ushered Elspeth into a small bedroom dimly lit by two candles and the flickering flames of the fire.
The only occupant was a lady seated in an invalid chair, her back to the door as she gazed pensively at the hearth.
Elspeth’s nerves tightened, but she had prepared herself to meet Valerian’s mistress, who would certainly be a beauty, and (whatever else) must be well bred (however abandoned).
The Bath chair turned, and Elspeth all but reeled with shock.
The lady was far from young; indeed, the first impression gained was that she must be several years older than the Dandy’s mama. She was not unhandsome, but the features were strong rather than delicate and showed haggard despite a liberal application of paint. The eyes, deep-set and a fi
ne grey, reflected weariness but were her best feature, for the nose and chin, although well cut, were too pronounced to be judged dainty. She was clad in a travelling gown of blue wool buttoned high to the throat. Her figure was thin, but even seated it was evident that she was a tall lady. A shawl was about her shoulders, and as if to emphasize the fact that she was no longer young, a lace-trimmed cap was tied over a modest but charmingly curled wig.
Speechless with astonishment, Elspeth blinked at the Dandy.
His narrowed gaze was intent on her. He said, “Make your curtsy, ma’am, to Mrs. Geraldine Newell.” Mirth blazed suddenly in his eyes. He added: “My aunt.”
“Oh,” said Elspeth feebly, as she dropped a curtsy and yearned to scratch him.
“Miss Clayton meant to say how do you do, Aunt Gerry,” he explained. “But she is quite off-stride. You see, ma’am, her nature is suspicious and she fancied you to be my—er, chere amie.”
Elspeth’s cheeks flamed, but before she could speak, Mrs. Newell uttered a throaty chuckle and said in a soft, deep voice, “A fancy I am very sure you encouraged, rascal!” A thin, long-fingered hand was extended. “He is wicked but I hope you will not take his mischief too much to heart. How do you do, my dear?”
Holding the frail fingers briefly, Elspeth managed a disjointed response. Valerian grinned and drew up a chair for her, then sat on the bed beside a sleek black kitten. The little animal rolled over, stretched and yawned enormously, then took possession of his lap.
Mrs. Newell said, “Gervaise tells me your brother is in some difficulty and that you have between you contrived a plan to smuggle me out of England and on your way home to smuggle Mr. Clayton out of France. Your courage is admirable, but you are a well-born young lady. Have you really faced the fact that both your safety and your reputation will be terribly at risk?”
“Heaven aid me!” Valerian looked up from scratching behind the kitten’s ears and exclaimed irritably, “I’d not have asked it of Miss Clayton, had not her gapeseed of a coachman forced us off the road and ruined poor Bertha’s ankle! It has taken me forever to persuade her! For mercy’s sake do not undo what—”
Mrs. Newell’s hand raised only slightly, but to Elspeth’s surprise Valerian was at once silenced, although he watched his aunt tight-lipped and frowning.
“It will not do, Gervaise,” the lady said with quiet gravity. “I do not know what Canterbury tales you’ve told her, and I quite comprehend why my name was changed, but Miss Clayton must not attempt this venture without a full understanding of the facts.”
“Your nephew has explained your circumstances, ma’am,” said Elspeth. “And I am willing to risk danger to help my dear brother. It is true that I didn’t know you were his aunt, nor that you have been ill, but—”
“But any further explanations will only confuse the lady,” interrupted Valerian, “besides which, Aunt, you are looking very tired and should be resting in preparation for the voyage. We sail with the tide.”
“Nonsense!” snapped Mrs. Newell, a note of steel coming into her husky voice. “Miss Clayton must have a chaperon, I insist upon it!”
“You will be her chaperon, ma’am,” said Valerian, his own voice stern. “Who ever heard of a nurse having a—”
Mrs. Newell shook her head. “I know how hard you have worked to arrange this, dear lad. But I will not have a young lady of Quality ruined only for my sake!”
Valerian flushed and his eyes seemed to Elspeth to dart sparks. She interposed hurriedly, “I think perhaps you forget, ma’am, that this ‘venture,’ as you call it, is as much a rescue for my brother. He is very dear to me, and his life is at dreadful risk. Besides—” She broke off as the door opened and Freda Beck ran in unceremoniously, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Boudreaux.
The abigail darted a glance from Valerian to Mrs. Newell, then rushed to seize Elspeth’s arm, crying frantically, “You cannot do it, miss! This parson gentleman tried to pull the wool over my eyes, saying you was sailing along of a old friend, but I weren’t born yesterday! If you ever met this lady, I never heard aught of it. I suspicion the true facts is that you never was meeting your friends here for no wedding, but you meant to give Abraham and me the slip all along!”
“If ever I heard such impertinence,” exploded Valerian wrathfully. “How dare you come bursting in here with all this nonsense! Take your babblement off at once, my good girl! Your mistress is under my protection and—”
“And there is a poor choice of words, sir,” exclaimed Elspeth, eyeing him with indignation.
“Well, I don’t believe him, miss, begging his pardon, I’m sure,” swept on Freda, fired with crusading zeal. “Mr. Valerian might be a top o’ the trees around London Town, but I know you never liked him above half, and wouldn’t run off with him so as to help a stranger, however good and kind your heart is! It’s Mr. Vance is in another of his bumble-broths, I’ll be bound! It’s him as you’re going to find, and well I knows it! But you’re not setting foot on no packet and sailing off to mingle with them naughty Frenchies without me by your side! Whatever your dear mama would have to say to me I dare not think! No, miss! I knows me duty and I won’t leave you!” Turning with her back to Elspeth and both arms flung out as though to shield her from the other occupants of the room, she fixed Valerian with an impassioned glare and said shrilly, “Not though they cut me into gobbets and feed me to them nasty frogs what they eats!”
“Oh, my saints, listen to it,” moaned Valerian, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “The silly creature takes us for white slavers!”
Touched by her maid’s devotion, Elspeth stepped aside and said, “How can you expect her to understand what is going on? Mrs. Newell, I do apologize, but Beck has been my abigail for years and is—”
“Is loyal and devoted, that is plain to see,” put in Mrs. Newell, watching her nephew’s stormy countenance. “The woman has every right to fear for her mistress, Gervaise. Besides, this is as well. Beck can serve as the chaperon Miss Clayton should have by her. And do not protest again that I can be her chaperon, for anyone can see I am in no case to chaperon anyone.”
Valerian groaned again. “So we are to add another to our desperate sortie! If this keeps up we shall need the hire of an entire packet to transport us! One can but trust that the martyred Mistress Beck will survive the vagaries of the English Channel!”
Freda paled and muttered uneasily, “What’s vague-rees. Miss Elspeth?”
“You will find out all too soon,” jeered Valerian. “From the look of the sky, we’re unlikely to enjoy a smooth crossing.”
“Then how fortunate we are to have the escort of an experienced sailor, such as yourself, sir, who is well able to take care of us,” said Elspeth coldly.
A twinkle brightened Mrs. Newell’s tired eyes.
Valerian’s chin lifted. “Exactly so,” he said.
With a twinge of apprehension, Elspeth saw that the Reverend Mr. Boudreaux was grinning broadly.
* * *
There was nothing really remarkable about this individual, thought Joel Skye. The Army Major seated at the table before him was sturdy rather than athletic, his features were good but not striking; the hair, now powdered, showed no sign of thinning despite the fact that he looked to be on the far side of forty, but, to judge from the heavy brows, it was an undistinguished brown. Ordinary, if not nondescript, was how one might have described him. Yet rumours were whispered about Joshua Swift; rumours of extraordinary successes in the field of Military Intelligence; of outstanding achievements in apprehending spies and enemies of the Crown; of a relentless persistence that, once engaged, never gave up, much to the grief of those he pursued. An awesome record that had made him a power to be reckoned with at Bow Street or in Whitehall. What the Intelligence officer was about in this unpretentious inn outside the quiet village of Little Hampton, and why he himself had been sent down here at such breakneck speed, was a puzzle.
Swift looked up from the papers he was reading and scanned the
younger man thoughtfully. First impressions had not inspired much confidence. That Lieutenant Joel Skye was intelligent was unquestionable; on the other hand, most of his commendations had come while he served as aide to Lord Hayes of the East India Company, who also chanced to be his uncle. Family prejudice there, to some extent, no doubt. A good-looking young fellow, the intense kind, and those brilliant dark eyes certainly spoke of energy. But there was nervousness too, as betrayed by the slim, restless hands. All in all, the lad was too thin—too finely drawn. For himself, he preferred the strong and steady type; the plodders who succeeded through dogged determination rather than flashes of inspiration or an application of that too often flawed science: logic. Why in the world Skye had been tossed into his dish was baffling. Someone must think highly of him. Unless it was a case of testing the fellow’s mettle now that he was no longer protected by his once prestigious uncle. ‘Blast!’ thought Swift, and threw the papers onto the table between them.
“How much of it d’you know?” he asked shortly.
Responding instinctively to the note of command, Joel sat straighter in his chair. “I know you’ve been on the trail of a socially prominent gentleman for several years, sir, and that I’m to be attached to you on temporary duty—‘on loan’ from the Navy, as it were—to render whatever assistance I may.”
“Correct. Do you know who I’m after? And why?”
“No, sir. Only that you believe him to be a traitor.”
“I damned well know him to be a traitor, but after three years I haven’t one blasted grain of proof! You have doubtless heard that I loathe and abominate the breed, above all others. I do!” Swift picked up the papers again and held them out. “It’s all here. Run your eyes over these.”
Skye leant forward and took the papers. He glanced at the first page briefly and exclaimed, “Jupiter!”
“Know him, do you?” said Swift dryly. “Thought you might. How well?”
“Not well. Enough to be astonished. Are you sure, sir? I’d never have thought—”
The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy Page 8
