The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  “Yes, yes,” she answered, her frantic gaze on Valerian. “Stop that wicked priest, Vance! Please! Gervaise is hurt!”

  Watching the two men as they struggled and plunged about, Clayton smiled faintly and called without much force, “Let be, Valerian! I have his pistol and if you’ll just step clear I’ll blow the swine’s brains out.”

  Valerian scarcely heard him. Blinded to everything but his overmastering fury, he tightened his grip on the throat of this scheming murderer who had dared lay brutal hands on a gentle lady. He was vaguely aware that his victim’s countenance was distorted and turning blue, the beady dark eyes were starting out, the mouth gaped wide, and the attempts to escape had ceased. Clayton was shouting something. A door opened, then hands were pulling him. He swore at them savagely, demanding that they let be. A faint and delicate scent drifted to him and a beloved voice pleaded, “Gervaise, I’m quite all right, truly. Please stop. You’re hurting yourself. Please, Gervaise. Don’t kill the horrid creature!”

  The words penetrated the red mists that clouded his brain. His fingers were as if frozen and he had to force them open, whereupon his assailant fell to the floor with a thud. He turned his head to find Elspeth beside him, smiling but tearful and with crimson splotches on her gown. Rage seized him again. He snarled, “He did injure you!” Bending over his crumpled adversary, he gripped him by the stock and hauled mightily. “Get up, filth, so I can kill you!”

  “It’s not my blood,” cried Elspeth shrilly. “Herbert, for pity’s sake, stop him!”

  With the combined efforts of his cousin and Skye, Valerian was restrained and at length convinced that Elspeth was unharmed. Breathing hard, he blinked down at her uncertainly. “You’re really all right?”

  “Yes, I promise you. But you are not.”

  “Eh?” He peered down at his crimson hand and muttered a bewildered “How was I so clumsy as to do that? Ah!” He raised his head and scowled at his cousin.

  “That’s better,” said Elspeth. “I was beginning to worry, but I see you are your usual amiable self. Now come into the kitchen.”

  The host plunged into the room, pale and distraught. “Another priest?” he moaned. “Mon Dieu! Have you perhaps a loathing for the clergy, monsieur?”

  “They’re not clergy,” said Skye briskly. “You must lock them up, host, and summon your constable. These men are hired assassins come to kidnap the lady!”

  Drawing Valerian away from the excitable discussion that followed, Elspeth persisted, “Do you mean to stand here and bleed to death? I won’t allow it! We must tend your wound.”

  “On one condition,” he murmured, leaning on her as she slipped an arm about him.

  “Nonsense!” She led him into the hall where curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “One condition, indeed! What, for instance?”

  A frightened maid came hurrying to help.

  Valerian lowered his voice as if faint, and Elspeth turned to him anxiously.

  He whispered in her ear, “Promise not to replace that pin you stabbed him with.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Elspeth, her cheeks flaming, but a relieved gleam in her eye. “You are outrageous!”

  He prompted, “As well as deplorable?”

  “As well as deplorable!”

  * * *

  “We were completely taken by surprise.” Joel Skye poured brandy into a glass and set it on the table in front of Valerian.

  Elspeth came into the parlour and sat in the chair Herbert pulled out for her. “The host’s lady says she will have your shirt washed and dry before we leave, Gervaise. It’s fortunate that you brought another in your valise.” Scanning his face she thought he looked haggard and said, “I suppose ’tis useless to ask how you go on, for you’d feel obliged to declare that you are perfectly fit.”

  “Most of me is just so,” he answered with a slightly uncertain smile. “And thanks to your excellent bandaging my arm will heal rapidly. I have to own they were formidable fighting men, our ungentle priests!”

  Herbert said stoutly, “They’d have to be to have succeeded in knocking you down, cousin. I’d have said few men could best you in swordplay.”

  Looking into his earnest face, Valerian gritted his teeth but managed to hold back his indignant response and say an immodest “So would I.”

  “Likely they caught you by surprise,” said Skye excusingly, “even as they surprised us. And who the deuce would have suspected those three pious frauds?

  Elspeth said, “Valerian did, I believe from the beginning. Didn’t you?”

  He was feeling considerably wrung out and the wound which had not been very painful at first was making up for lost time, but he said lightly, “But of course. Their impersonation was not quite perfect.”

  Herbert selected a biscuit from a bowl on the table and, waving it at his cousin, asked, “In what way?”

  “In two ways,” said Valerian thoughtfully. “There were probably more, but I only counted two. Firstly, when their nasty leader gave you his blessing, Clayton, you’ll recall he rested his hand on your pretty cap?” Clayton made a face, and Valerian grinned and said, “His fingernails were very dirty. Perhaps there is no ecclesiastical canon that says a man of God must keep clean fingernails, but it struck me as being somewhat incongruous. Secondly, they had no Bibles. Not that I expect a priest to haul one about at all hours of the day and night, but with three of ’em travelling together, you’d think there’d be a Good Book in evidence somewhere—especially when they were lounging about in the coffee room or the parlour.”

  Elspeth nodded. “I thought there must be a reason why you were so rude to them.”

  “If you suspected the bounders, why a’plague could you not have warned the rest of us?” demanded Skye irately.

  “Because I was so foolish as to fancy my suspicions unfounded,” Valerian admitted. “When Herbert’s legendary blue coach hove into view I thought the threat came from that direction and abandoned my impressions of our priestly trio. I should have realized sooner that the unhappy Walters in his covetous pursuit of my cousin’s teeth actually had nought to do with the infamous Comte d’Ebroin. I let you down. I’m sorry for it.”

  Elspeth said, “What fustian you do talk, sir! And small wonder. I’m very sure that arm is exceeding painful. We’re safe now and there’s time for you to rest as my brother is doing before we go on. To bed with you, Mr. Valerian!”

  “Your brother is in far worse case than am I,” he argued. “And as lovely as you look, there are shadows under your eyes, Nurse—What the deuce is your name? I keep forgetting.”

  “Brocade,” she said pertly.

  They all laughed, Valerian said Herbert would assist him up the stairs in a minute or two, and having extracted his promise to rest for an hour or so, Elspeth, who ached with weariness, allowed Herbert to light her way up the stairs to the room where Freda awaited her.

  Hurrying back to the parlour, Herbert interrupted a low-voiced discussion. Closing the door, he sat down again and looked from his cousin to Skye suspiciously. “Very well. What did I miss? You have something more to say, I think, Gervaise?”

  Skye said, “He thinks our imitation priests were not from the chateau.”

  Puzzled, Herbert asked, “Why?”

  Valerian said, “For one thing, they were a cut above Monsieur le Comte’s bravos.”

  “More to the point,” inserted Skye slowly, “they knew Nurse—ah, ‘Brocade’s’ true identity, which the fellows at the chateau did not know.”

  “And also,” said Valerian wearily, “they wanted to know where Elspeth was to meet her brother. The men from the chateau would know she has already met him and guess he was either here with us, or with Lady Bottesdale.”

  “Egad!” exclaimed Herbert, dismayed. “If the clerical trio did not come from the chateau…”

  Skye nodded and finished the sentence. “From where else could they have come?”

  16

  “Do stop shaking me, Freda! I’m awake.” Elspeth stre
tched sleepily. “Good gracious! You’re up and dressed already! Whatever is the hour?”

  “Nigh seven o’clock, Miss Elspeth.”

  “It seems we just went to bed!”

  “Yes, miss. But Mr. Valerian says as we must press on. There’s hot water ready, Mr. Herbert is changing the bandages on Mr. Valerian’s arm, and the Lieutenant is arranging for breakfast.”

  “I must see how my brother goes on. He is improved, or so I think, but still far from well.”

  “Mr. Herbert means to help him be Mrs. Newell so soon as he finishes with Mr. Valerian, he said, which means as Mr. Vance must first be shaved very close. Mr. Herbert says as he’s grateful Mr. Vance is a fair gentleman and not one with a dark beard as grows fast. They will meet you in the dining parlour and he’s likely done with Mr. Valerian by this time, so we’d best be quick, miss.”

  “Very well.” Hurrying through the ritual of washing and dressing, Elspeth said, “I thought there was no great need for haste now. But I expect I’m being thoughtless. Mr. Herbert is anxious for his cousin to be seen by an apothecary, which is very right. Oh, you managed to iron this poor gown! Thank you, Freda! It looks so much better!”

  “T’weren’t none of my doing, miss. I planned to get up early and press it for you, but Mr. Valerian sent up a housemaid last night just after you fell asleep, with strict orders as she were to iron it for you. I said as I could do it in the morning, but he’d told her I’d had a long day and must get some sleep. Kind, I thought it were. Very kind.”

  Elspeth agreed warmly that it had been a thoughtful gesture and Freda murmured pertly, “P’raps the gentleman mayn’t be quite so deplorable as what you fancied, miss.”

  Very aware that she had reached the same conclusion, Elspeth smiled and, leaving the maid to gather their belongings together, went downstairs, pondering the enigma that was Gervaise Valerian.

  He soon joined her in the dining room. There were dark shadows under his eyes and she thought he looked pale and more haggard than he had the previous evening, but he greeted her cheerfully and in response to her enquiry assured her he was feeling “much more the thing.”

  “You do not look at all ‘the thing,’” she said, scanning him uneasily. “Before we go on we must find an apothecary and have that arm properly tended.”

  “You are very good.” He pulled out a chair awkwardly and sat beside her. “But you know doctors and quacks of that ilk love to warn with ponderous solemnity that you’ve one foot in the grave when you consult them for no more than a hangnail. Gives ’em a chance to demand a larger fee.”

  “You do not require care for a hangnail,” she argued. “That is a very nasty wound. You could scarce pull out that chair—oh, never deny it, I have sharp eyes, sir!”

  “And very lovely they are, Nurse Brocade, but—”

  “Never mind the pretty compliments, Mr. Valerian! Better you should keep in mind that you named me Nurse ‘Cotton.’”

  “Brocade has more of a ring to it.”

  “Oh, I agree—No! I will pour your coffee, the pot is heavy. Since you are convinced the authorities both here and in England will remember Pixie, they will likely remember my name, so—Now what is the trouble?”

  He said meekly but with a glint of laughter in his eyes, “I’m not sure if I can lift this cup. Perhaps you would be so kind as to help me.”

  “If you will stop being foolish I will help you into carrying your arm in a sling.” She made an effort to speak sternly, but her treacherous dimples betrayed her.

  He said absently, “How sad for your brother that he was not blessed with such charming dimples, poor fellow.”

  Ignoring this provocation, she thanked the maid who carried in a platter of eggs and buttered toast but then said, “No, no! This will never do! Mr. Newell and his aunt must have bowls of gruel!”

  The maid responded nervously that Lieutenant Skye had ordered gruel, “but Monsieur Newell changed the order, mademoiselle.”

  “And Monsieur Newell will throw through the window the first bowl of gruel that comes his way,” said the culprit, taking up knife and fork. “Begone, fair maid—and no gruel as you value your life!”

  Giggling, the maid fled.

  Elspeth sighed and helped him to one egg and a slice of toast. “’Tis not yet sun-up,” she said, passing him a dish of preserves. “I thought you were going to sleep late. You were still up when I retired, arranging for my gown to be ironed, no doubt, for which I thank you.”

  “Purely selfish,” he said. “I’ve my reputation to consider and cannot be seen jauntering about France with a nurse who wears a rumpled gown.”

  “How could the shocking conduct of ‘Mr. Newell’ damage the reputation of that famous beau, Gervaise Valerian?”

  “You said it yourself, Miss Elspeth Cotton! I am famous. At any instant I expect to meet someone who knows me!” She chuckled and he went on: “Besides, we had to wait for the local forces of law and order to arrive and take our prisoners into custody. From the looks of ’em, I’ve no great confidence those three villains will be confined for long.”

  “Ah. So that’s why you want to hasten.”

  “To rest on one’s laurels can be a chancy business, and—Good morning, Aunt Geraldine! You look better every day!”

  “I wish I might say the same for you, nephew,” said Clayton, as a red-faced Herbert guided the Bath chair to join them at table. “You look thoroughly pulled, and Herbert says—”

  “Now is that kind?” said Valerian aggrievedly.

  “What does Herbert say?” asked Elspeth, blowing a kiss to her brother.

  “That my cousin’s arm is inflamed and he should see a surgeon,” said Herbert, mopping his brow. “Those stairs are the devil!”

  Clayton said, “Oh, I don’t know. I floated down on the aroma of breakfast. Jove, but those eggs look fine! I’ll take three if you please, Ellie!”

  “You will take one,” she said, passing his plate. “Which is more than you should! Were I a proper nurse—”

  Valerian broke into a loud fit of coughing and behind his napkin slanted a warning glance at her.

  The host had wandered into the room and, looking dolefully around the table, imparted the news that Monsieur l’agent, the local policeman, had locked up the vicious criminals securely but desired that Monsieur Newell call upon him at his convenience to fill out a report of the crime.

  Valerian glanced at Elspeth, and rising to the occasion, she said that as a nurse she must urge that Monsieur l’agent be patient. “Monsieur Newell needs rest,” she declared. “In fact, his wound is proving so troublesome that I intend to fashion a sling for his arm.”

  “Perhaps a little later in the day I will be better able to see him,” murmured Valerian, drooping in his chair and darting an irked glance at her.

  A little later in the day, however, Monsieur l’agent was still waiting for Monsieur Newell to call, and the coach was bowling along the Le Havre road with Monsieur Newell, Elspeth, and Clayton inside. Freda had voiced a desire to ride on the box next to Marcel, so Herbert rode escort with Skye.

  A lingering morning mist hung over the Seine, but it was a bright day that offered a hope for some afternoon sunshine. Clayton, who had become fond of Pixie, was dangling a knotted piece of string which she pounced at and pedalled fiercely. Valerian was quiet and irritable, due to the fact, thought Elspeth, that she had outmanoeuvred him in the matter of carrying his arm in a sling.

  In this she wronged him, however; his arm throbbed with wearying persistence, and although he complained of looking like a proper figure of fun, he was inwardly glad of the support the sling offered. His irritability stemmed from the fact that Elspeth had clapped her hands when they’d driven away from Le cheval de Trois and declared with joyful triumph that they left their troubles behind them and were “Safe, at last!” For her sake, he wished with all his heart that were so, but he knew he would not count them safe until they were back on British soil. Elspeth appeared to have forgotten the brown coach
she’d thought was following them. He had taken Skye aside before they left and warned him quietly to be on the alert if such a vehicle should appear, and several times along the way he’d leaned closer to the window, peering at the road behind them.

  Clayton asked him shrewdly, “Do you agree that we’re safe away?”

  Valerian was tempted to voice his inner misgivings, but the sight of Elspeth’s happy face prompted him to summon a grin and say lightly, “Your sister will tell you I’m a disagreeable man, Clayton.”

  Elspeth laughed at him and told him to cheer up and not borrow trouble. “Only look at the countryside this morning. It was dusk when we travelled this road before and now I see that it is much prettier than the Le Havre area, which was so marshy and flat. Here there are little green hills and copses of trees everywhere, and so many boats on the river. Do you see the chalk cliffs, Vance? Just like our Dover!”

  The miles slipped away; Pixie and Clayton dozed, and Valerian watched Elspeth, who was still fascinated by the changing scene. He was thinking that they soon must rest the team when the coach slowed and Herbert rode up to the window to announce that they were approaching a village where Marcel knew of a reputable apothecary.

  Secretly disturbed when Valerian raised only a token protest, Elspeth said, “’Tis nicely timed, and if you do not appreciate it, sir, I shall be glad to escape from the coach for a while.”

  Marcel gave them directions, then turned the team into the yard of a humble little wayside inn. Skye helped Clayton down the step and wheeled him into the building, and Herbert said he would give the kitten a little exercise and led her into the back garden secured to her ribbon.

  Elspeth accompanied Valerian to the cottage of the apothecary, which was only a short distance from the inn.

  The apothecary was a big man with a scrawny and ineptly powdered wig, a startlingly high-pitched voice and an abrupt manner. There were no other patients in the tiny and immaculate waiting room into which he ushered them. He looked at Elspeth curiously and Valerian explained that “Nurse Cotton” was attending his invalid aunt and had graciously taken him under her wing also. The apothecary grinned and in a low-voiced aside told Valerian that he would be happy to have such a wing at his disposal. The cold stare he received banished his grin, and with a nervous cough he led them into his surgery, remarking in a gruff and businesslike manner that Nurse Cotton could assist him.