Between them, they related the violence that had marred their journey. Lady Bottesdale looked glum when Elspeth told her of Skye’s part in all this, and she muttered “Joshua Swift! That is bad! Your naval friend baits a tiger, Miss Clayton, and it does not do to twist the tail of a tiger!”
She made no further comment until she had the full account, and then said thoughtfully, “I think you are mistaken, Valerian, in supposing those intruders at Le Havre were not connected with this mission of yours. There is too much here for it to be a coincidence. It is all part of a pattern, though there would seem to be oddly conflicting efforts.”
Valerian asked curiously, “How so, ma’am? Do you know of the Le Havre bullies?”
“I know the methods of the rogues who hold Vance Clayton prisoner. The men who give the orders are shrewd and those who carry out their orders are professionals and would never attempt so crude a ploy as you describe. I’m afraid that there are other fingers in this pie, which will complicate matters.”
“In which case,” he said, “we’d best proceed as quickly as may be. What can you tell us of this chateau we must storm, ma’am?”
“It lies half a league from here. You may have caught a glimpse of it atop its hill. It is a large and formidable place, and well guarded. The ancestral home of the Comtes d’Ebroin.
“The deuce!” exclaimed Valerian.
Elspeth asked anxiously, “You know the gentleman?”
“I know of him. He has—” he paused. “He has a reputation for being ambitious.”
“An understatement,” said her ladyship dryly. “The man is power-mad and hates La Pompadour with a passion. My original plan was to create a diversion which would give you a chance to get to Mr. Clayton. A fire is often effective, but without the men I’d counted on…”
Elspeth said, “We will need a different diversion, perhaps?”
Lady Bottesdale smiled slowly. “I think we may have one, my dear. Depending on the extent of your pride.”
“Oh, my,” said Elspeth hollowly.
Twenty minutes later Freda Beck adjusted the scarf tied about her mistress’s head, then tightened her own brightly coloured sash. “Who’d ever have thought we’d dare do anything so wicked, miss,” she said. “Big skirts what shows our ankles! And sandals and no stockings at all! Dreadful!”
Despite the words, her eyes were sparkling and Elspeth was not deceived. Freda looked very pretty in the bright gypsy clothes Lady Elmira had provided, and she knew it. Surveying her image in the mirror that hung on the caravan wall, she shook her head, setting her golden earrings to swinging. She said with a giggle, “Whatever would Abraham Coachman say if he could see me now, I wonder?”
“I don’t think he’d recognise either of us,” said Elspeth. “When we are safely home, Freda, we must never breathe a word of this! I only pray Lady Bottesdale’s plan works.”
“A prayer I second,” said her ladyship, hurrying into the caravan. “How pretty you both look in your shocking disguises! Well, Lieutenant Skye, Valerian and his cousin are off to take up positions where they can watch the chateau and be ready to attack so soon as we’ve succeeded with our ‘diversion.’”
“Have they taken Pixie with them, ma’am?” asked Elspeth.
“No. The kitten is asleep in your coach, still. Now tell me, you play the spinet, I’m very sure, Miss Clayton. Any other musical talents?”
“I can manage the harp, a little. But poorly, I fear.”
“In that case take this tambourine. You can shake it to accompany me, and you may have to sing.”
“Oh dear,” said Elspeth ruefully. “I can carry a tune, but my voice is far from exceptional.”
“It probably won’t matter a button. You have other attributes that are sure to please a group of bored males. What about you, Beck?”
“I can play the mandola, milady.”
“Good! I’ve a lute, which is similar. And whatever you do—don’t call me ‘milady.’ Once we leave here I become Madame Granada! One ‘milady’ and we’re undone!”
She searched through the shelves without success and at last found the instruments in a large trunk half-concealed by the bedding. “Excelsior!” she exclaimed, brandishing the tambourine merrily. She opened the door and shouted, “All right, Marcel? Ah, I see you’ve got Fandango poled up, poor old fellow. You get along to the gentlemen and good luck, my friend!” She climbed through the small front door to the seat and took up the reins. “Giddap, Fandango! Hoist your hooves, lad!”
The caravan rocked and started to jolt along the lane. Lady Elmira called, “Try not to be anxious, Miss Clayton. We’ll have your brother in your arms quick as winking. We must make another change, however. Elspeth won’t do—don’t sound right for the part. You shall be ‘Tina.’ Beck can remain as Freda, and I’m Madame Granada, don’t forget.”
Steadying herself as she peered through the open door, Elspeth asked, “But what is our plan, La—Madame? What are we to do?”
“We’re to do our best to draw as many of the guards outside as we can. The rest we leave to your friends—plus I’ve a fellow on watch who knows exactly where your brother is held and will join them the instant he spots Marcel. Once we have your brother clear, you’ll make a dash for the coast and I shall disappear into the countryside, as I know very well how to do.” Watching Elspeth’s troubled face, she slapped the reins on the horse’s broad back and said kindly, “I fancy you think it not much of a plan, but sometimes, you know, ’tis the plans most loosely drawn that prove the most effective.”
Elspeth thought, ‘God grant this is one of them!’
13
The higher they climbed, the larger loomed the chateau. The setting sun nudged stray beams of amber light through the clouds to gleam fitfully on high Norman chimneys and reflect from mullioned window panes. Grey, tall and austere, its walls embellished with numerous stone gryphons and toothless grinning gnomes, it rose from tumbled boulders and sloping treeless lawns, the lack of softening flower beds adding to an impression of impregnable might.
Gazing at it, Elspeth murmured. “’Tis formidable, my—Madame.”
“And with formidable gates,” said her ladyship. “Which are, as you see, closed.”
“Oh, lawks,” exclaimed Freda. “If we can’t get inside, your plan can’t work, ma’am!”
The dowager grumbled, “Why is it, I wonder, that things never go quite as one expects? I’d fancied they would have opened the gates by now. Well, we shall just have to—” Interrupted by a harsh male voice, she smiled broadly. “Aha!”
A clatter of hooves and a heavy waggon was vying for the right of way.
The same voice bellowed, “Out of the way, worthless one!”
The caravan jerked and jolted its way off the road and came to a halt on the grassy verge. “A bully sans manners,” said the dowager softly, and smiled ingratiatingly at the large and scowling individual who sat his horse exuding hostility.
“There is a difficulty, perhaps, monsieur?” she called. “We were given permission to come and—”
“By whom?” demanded the man, who seemed unable to speak below a roar.
Madame waited until the large waggon had scraped past. Two more horsemen who’d ridden behind it now joined their companion beside the caravan. Uniformly muscular types, they were attired after the fashion of superior servants. The youngest among them, who appeared to be less than twenty years old, wore a scratch wig and affected an air of bravado; the second, a grim-looking individual with a scarred face and icy black eyes, had powdered his hair. The shouter’s massive shoulders strained at the seams of his well-cut brown coat, and his crinkly black locks, which looked as if many months had elapsed since last they’d been washed, were pulled back and tied behind his head.
“I asked you a question,” he boomed. “Answer me, woman! Who gave you permission? As if anyone would do so stupid a thing as to invite thieving gypsies onto his lands!”
“Monsieur le Comte summoned me a sennight since,”
said her ladyship blandly. “I am to tell his fortune and—”
“Monsieur le Comte is gone to Paris. So you may turn your lying face around and return to whichever gutter you crept from.”
Behind her back, “Madame Granada” gestured urgently.
Elspeth and Freda moved forward and peeped over her shoulder.
“What a pity,” sighed Madame. “I am loath to disappoint you when you young fellows would likely have been glad of a little music and song—eh?”
At the sight of the two girls, three sneering faces became wreathed in smiles.
“The old one is right, Dag,” declared the younger of them.
“I’m of a mind with Edmond,” urged the scarred rogue with the powdered hair. “’Twould be a real tragedy were these two lovesome creatures sent away.”
The shouter, whose name appeared to be Dag, chuckled and with reduced volume agreed that for once his comrades were perfectly correct. All but licking his lips, he commanded, “Go forwards then, woman. We’ll hold the gates for you.” His eyes lingered on Elspeth and his grin widened.
“Madame Granada” guided the caravan back onto the narrow road, escorted by the three guards who were so intrigued with its occupants that they failed to see a brief flash from a rocky formation at the brow of the hill.
Madame saw, however, and murmured, “Our companions have seen us and will be ready. We must play our parts well. Freda, since your French is execrable, if you are challenged I think you’d best hail from Spain.”
Freda said uneasily, “I didn’t like the way that big brute looked at my lady.”
“Nor did I,” said Elspeth. “I felt positively unclad when his eyes slithered over me.”
“We shall have to exercise great care,” warned the dowager. “These, they are animals and will surely demand a good deal more than singing and dancing. If we can hoodwink them for a little while, we’ll have them. Now, under that chair you will see a crate. Pull it more into the open, if you please, ladies.”
The crate was heavy and Elspeth said, “So many bottles, Madame. Do you mean to offer the wine as a bribe?”
“I don’t mean to offer it at all.” Her ladyship said with a wink, “Were I to offer it they’d likely be suspicious. So I am relying on their greed to work for me. We must all pray not one of them has a conscience.”
Elspeth asked in a half-whisper, “Is it poisoned, ma’am?”
“Acquit me of murder,” the old lady replied. “If they consume enough they will become very slow and silly and then drift into dreamland. By the time they awaken, with God’s help we’ll have your brother and our lads safe away!”
The caravan rattled through the now wide-open gates and bounced over a cobbled courtyard to halt at the foot of wide stone steps that led up to a terrace.
Dag wrenched the back door open. “Here we are, my pretties,” he boomed. “Come, I’ll help you out.”
“And I also!” declared the scarred man, meeting Dag’s challenging glare with defiance.
“Are we to go inside?” asked Madame Granada. “’Tis chilly out here.”
It was indeed colder atop the hill than it had seemed on lower ground.
With a leering grin he apparently judged beguiling but that would have beguiled many gentle ladies into a dead swoon, Dag said, “We’ll build a fire for you. Moret—go and summon a couple of those lazy lackeys to bring wood to us. Don’t look death at me, you great stupid. The sooner we’ve a fire and everything made comfortable, the sooner we can—enjoy these ladies.”
For a moment Moret stood motionless, slightly stooped, his jet eyes lit by a savage glow. Then he murmured, “Very well. But—one of these days my so dear Dag…! One of these days…”
Watching him walk to the house with a supple swinging stride, Madame shivered. “He did not like that, Monsieur Dag. It is well you know how to handle him.”
Elspeth said, “He gives me a cold chill!”
Dag eyed her young loveliness, his eyes glinting hungrily. “I think you will find we know how to—keep you warm, mademoiselle,” he declared.
Elspeth felt gooseflesh start on her skin that was, she knew, not induced by the lowered temperature.
Freda said boldly, “You’re a naughty rascal!”
Dag stiffened. “What kind of accent is that? Where do you hail from, little girl?”
“She is from Spain,” interposed Madame Granada swiftly, “and has very little French. We’ll need some assistance in getting our instruments out, if you please.”
“But we’ll be glad to assist,” said the young Edmond, springing past Dag and into the caravan.
“What d’you wish carried?” boomed Dag, elbowing his colleague out of the way and glancing curiously around the interior. “A cosy little nest you’ve made here, eh?”
“It serves,” said Madame, unobtrusively drawing a blanket across the crate of wine. “If one of you can carry this lute, and we’ll need cushions if you’re not allowed to bring chairs out of the chateau.”
“We’ll have no need of chairs,” he said, taking up the blanket she had dragged over the crate. “A blanket or two will serve—Hey! Only look at this, Edmond! Small wonder she tried to hide it. Wine! A fine wine and enough for us all! A gift from the gods, no less!”
“A good omen,” agreed Edmond with enthusiasm.
“But no!” wailed Madame Granada. “The wine is paid for by Monsieur Bernais in Duclair! I am to deliver it to him tomorrow! You cannot—”
He pushed her aside roughly and, lifting the crate, said, “You will be surprised, madame, at what I can do! Here, Edmond, take this, and if you drop it I’ll break your neck! Madame, I think our meeting you was a piece of great good fortune. Now, give me your musical instruments and we’ll have some of the entertainment you promised. If you’re a good gypsy dame I may even cross your palm with silver and let you read my fortune!” Laughing heartily at this witticism, he carried the lute and tambourine and Madame’s fiddle case outside and set them down beside the crate of wine.
Lady Elmira, Elspeth and Freda drew warm shawls about their shoulders and followed.
Freda whispered, “What horrid yobboes they is, miss! We’ll need our guardian angels tonight, surely.”
“Do you understand what he is saying?” asked Elspeth softly, as Dag roared a command for Moret to move his “lazy stumps.”
“It don’t take much understanding to know what that lump of evil has in mind,” answered Freda. “Mr. Valerian had best be quick, that’s all I got to say! Very quick!”
At that same instant, crouching beside the south wall of the chateau and watching the courtyard far below, Valerian was murmuring, “Once inside we’ll have to move fast. Marcel knows where Clayton is held. That is so, Marcel?”
The sturdy little Frenchman had made haste to join them and was out of breath. “In the north tower, monsieur,” he panted. One reaches it by a narrow servants’ staircase and—and thence up some spiral steps. It will, I fear, be well guarded.”
“I doubt that,” argued Valerian. “Of what need to guard a badly wounded man who has likely been weakened by torture and is locked inside a damned great fortress like this monstrosity? We’ll place our trust in that whatever guards are inside will hurry out when our brave ladies start their music.”
“They are a crude set of rabble-rousers,” said Marcel dubiously. “But well trained in the art of death and destruction. You’d do well not to underestimate them, my friend.”
Skye said grimly, “Valerian may, but I won’t, I’ve run up against that breed before.”
“I’ll not underestimate them,” said Valerian. “But, by heaven, if they harm Miss Clayton…!”
“And Freda Beck and her ladyship,” put in Herbert quietly.
“Well, of course,” grunted Valerian, shooting an exasperated glance at his cousin. “And what the deuce are you peering at so intently? Never say you’re still convinced that legendary blue coach has followed us here?”
Herbert flushed. “If we had a glass
I could prove it to you.”
“Prove it to me now. My eyesight is sufficient that I could see it—if it exists. Point me the right direction, Herbert. Just once I’d like to catch a glimpse of your persistent pursuers!”
Herbert narrowed his eyes, then grumbled, “Well, I can’t see it just at the moment, but—”
Valerian grinned.
“You choose to mock me, as usual,” his cousin flared in a rare burst of irritation. “But I have seen it, I tell you! Ever since we left that miserable pension!”
“You said you thought it was the same coach. And even if it is, it must be nothing more than coincidence. Had that lushy fellow—what did you say his name was?”
“Walters. Sir Harold Walters.”
“Had this Walters fellow been alone, it might make some sense. But for a stout middle-aged gentleman travelling with a small boy and a non-dog to follow us with such persistence makes no sense at all.”
Herbert said defiantly, “Not all of life is governed by sense!”
“That I will acknowledge,” said Valerian, with a long-suffering look.
“You are too harsh,” said Skye, amused. “Marcel, is the name Sir Harold Walters at all familiar? Have you heard of such a person being involved in this business in any way?”
Marcel tugged at his lower lip, then shook his head. “Alas, no, monsieur. And the English have such exceeding odd names. That one, I am certain I would recollect.”
“Look!” exclaimed Herbert, pointing down at the courtyard. “They’ve started a fire!”
“Aha! Then the word has gone out,” said Valerian. “And there go a couple of footmen to join the party!”
“How many more, I wonder?” muttered Skye uneasily. “Damme, but I hope the wine don’t run out!”
“From the look of those first cutthroats,” said Valerian, “they’ll not be generous with it.”
The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy Page 19
