The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy

by Patricia Veryan

  Following them while lending Herbert his arm, Joel Skye overheard the remark and said, bristling, “Miss Clayton has nothing to fear on that score, Valerian! I would be more than proud if she would consent to take my name! Nor am I the only one!”

  Elspeth said with a trill of mirth, “Thank you, dear Joel, for coming to my defence! You are most gallant!”

  Amused, Herbert asked innocently, “What did you say, Gervaise?”

  Valerian grunted, “Nothing gallant, I promise you,” and stamped off to say good-bye and reward their faithful coachman.

  Elspeth hurried to join him and also express her thanks to Marcel, who snatched off his tricorne and blushed fierily when she pressed a grateful kiss on his cheek. He was clearly saddened to part with these new friends, but his sorrow was alleviated by the generous douceur Valerian slipped into his ready hand.

  A sailor came up to urge that they make haste to board the Belle of Sussex and murmured a warning that it would not do were they to be subjected to a close inspection by the Le Havre Port authorities. Nothing would do, however, but that Valerian delay long enough to bid a fond farewell to the little mare who had borne him so devotedly. She seemed equally affected by their parting, and he was discussing with Marcel the possibility that he could buy the animal when an urgent hail and the flourishing of a rope gave notice that the fishing boat was about to set sail without him.

  Completing his scrambling arrival on deck, he was indignant to be met by Freda Beck, who advised that Miss Elspeth was tending the “poor gentlemen” who most needed her care. “Then lead me to her at once,” he demanded, clutching his arm. “For I am in far worse case then either my cousin or her brother!”

  Freda knew him well enough by this time to comprehend that he spoke in jest. She was inclined to suspect, however, that there was more truth than fiction to his words and she lost no time in conducting him to a cramped and stuffy cabin belowdecks. Inside, Clayton watched Joel Skye assist Elspeth in her efforts to make Herbert as comfortable as possible.

  She looked up with a smile as Valerian entered. “Were you able to arrange for the mare to be shipped?” she asked, but before he could answer she exclaimed, “That is just right, Joel! Thank you! You would make a first-rate surgeon!”

  Valerian sat on the opposite bunk beside Clayton and muttered that he wondered “Mrs. Newell” did not put a stop to Skye’s constant attempts to ingratiate himself with Miss Elspeth.

  “Why ever should I do so?” replied Clayton, regarding him with innocently upraised brows. “You are probably not aware of it, but they have been close friends since nursery days. For years he has nourished a tendre for her, as have several other gentlemen.”

  With a curl of the lip Valerian drawled rudely, “All of whom have asked your permission to pay their addresses?”

  “Several have. Nicholas Drew, for one.”

  “A sterling candidate,” sneered Valerian, who actually admired Drew.

  “I agree,” said Clayton, deliberately misinterpreting the sarcasm. “Did you suppose Skye to be her only suitor?”

  “Of course not. I only thought—” Floundering, and quite aware he had no right to voice any criticisms, he continued, “I mean—That is—I’d not have, er, judged him—”

  “To be worthy? Why? I consider Joel to be a thoroughly acceptable aspirant to my sister’s hand, and I believe our mother shares my views.”

  “Oh, Skye’s a good enough fellow, I grant you,” said Valerian grudgingly. “But I’d fancied you would aim higher for your sister. She is, after all, a diamond of the first water!”

  “I agree absolutely. Elspeth rates a fine gentleman of rank and fortune. Have you such a fellow in mind?”

  Valerian tightened his lips and was silent.

  Gently applying the coup de grace, Clayton murmured, “Of course, the situation is now somewhat changed.”

  “How so?” asked Valerian.

  “Why, it appears I may be the heir to a considerable fortune, and since whatever I possess will be shared with my family, it is unlikely that anyone of lesser prospects would court Elspeth. Fearing, you know, to be dubbed a fortune-hunter. Save in the case of a long-term attachment, of course.”

  “Of course,” muttered Valerian hollowly.

  Watching him from the corners of his eyes, Clayton said, “You are very flushed. I wonder if that wound is making you feverish.”

  Valerian jerked away from the enquiring hand placed on his brow and said irritably, “Oh, have done! Deuce take you, if you think to have put me in my—”

  “Gad, but you’re burning up!” exclaimed Clayton, genuinely concerned. “Elspeth, this silly fellow is not going along very—”

  “Go to the devil!” snapped Valerian, and stalked from the cabin.

  He was sitting on a coil of rope on the deck when Freda sought him out a little later.

  “Whatever be you doing out here in the cold, sir?” she scolded mildly.

  “Thinking. I’ve a lot to think on, and need peace and quiet to concentrate.”

  Refusing to take the hint, she argued, “Well, it bean’t peaceful nor quiet out here with the wind coming up the way ’tis. And Miss Elspeth wants as you should come inside so she can tend to your arm.”

  “Convey her my thanks, but my arm does not require attention.”

  Freda continuing to peer at him through the darkness, he said, “Run along now, like a good girl.”

  She giggled and said she would never dare to run on the deck of a ship. “I’d likely slip and tumble overboard. And Miss Elspeth said to say as if you said no, but preferred to sit up here and sulk she would have to come out to you. Which she’d as soon not do, on account of the poor lady being tired, d’ye see, sir?”

  Valerian scrambled to his feet, which hurt the arm he knew very well required attention. He swore under his breath all the way to the cabin and had difficulty restraining some more vehement oaths when Elspeth gently removed the last bandage.

  “Oh, my,” she murmured. “Surely you must have realised how inflamed this was becoming? Gervaise, why on earth did you not tell me?”

  “You were busy,” he muttered.

  Touching his forehead, she said, “And so you are feverish and small wonder! Well, if you insist upon behaving like a foolish child, you must pay the consequence! More hot water, if you please, Freda. Thank you. Now, try to hold still, Gervaise.”

  He managed to hold still by concentrating on her lovely face, the gentle touch of her hands, the way she tilted her head slightly when she feared she was hurting him. “I wonder,” he murmured breathlessly after an especially trying interval, “whatever your godmama will have to say when you return to London.”

  “I doubt she will be anything but pleased that my brother is safe,” she answered, and reaching for the salve, she added: “I am far more concerned about what will happen to poor Joel.”

  “I’m sure you are,” he said dryly, and it occurred to him that while he had previously judged the outward-bound journey to have been a catalogue of disasters, the journey home was going to be even less pleasant.

  It was certainly not as eventful; the wind was strong but far from being a gale; the Belle of Sussex, guided by expert hands, rode the waves serenely; and several of the passengers were able to snatch a few hours of sleep, although one only slept fitfully, and another slept not at all.

  When the sun brightened a cloudy sky the following morning, the fishing boat was tacking along England’s south coast. The Captain, a wily individual, mindful of certain instructions given him by Lieutenant Skye, avoided Dover’s tidal basin, anchoring his craft instead in a quiet cove a few miles southwest of the port. The matron lady and her kitten, the two young women, and the three gentlemen were rowed ashore and directed to a nearby hedge tavern where a coach could be hired to transport them on the final leg of their journey.

  Huffing and puffing as he manoeuvred the Bath chair across the pebbly beach, Skye panted, “’Twould seem we had no need to keep Clayton in his petticoats
after all. I see no sign of any minions of the law.”

  “Thanks be for small mercies,” muttered Valerian, finding the ground oddly unstable under his feet as he attempted to steady his cousin’s wavering steps.

  “Thanks be, indeed!” declared Elspeth. “We have restored my dearest brother to England and safety at last!”

  “And here is the tavern,” said Herbert breathlessly. “With luck and a halfway decent coach and four we’ll be in London before evening!”

  “I cannot see a coach,” said Skye, as they trod the more even surface of a lane that ran along the edge of the beach.

  “There’s a barn,” said Valerian. “And I think I see a coach and—Oh Jupiter!”

  The coach he had glimpsed left the barn at speed and drove towards them. It was a black coach with an all too familar crest on the panel.

  “We are to be greeted by Whitehall,” said Herbert glumly, as the carriage pulled up before them.

  “And only look who is come to greet us,” murmured Valerian, watching the sturdy, rather nondescript individual who climbed from the coach.

  “Joshua Swift,” groaned Skye. “Oh, egad!”

  “Oh—no!” cried Elspeth.

  “Dammitall,” said Vance Clayton.

  Striding to face them, a trooper on either side of him, Joshua Swift called triumphantly, “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome home! You may all consider yourselves under arrest!”

  19

  Thin wisps of vapour were eddying around the city streets and the daylight was fading fast when the two carriages made their lumbering way through heavy traffic towards Whitehall. London could scarcely have been said to be at her best, but to Vance Clayton this city of his birth appeared lovelier than he had ever beheld her, and in spite of exhaustion and the discomfort of barely healed injuries he experienced a great surge of gratitude that he had been spared to reach home again. He was also grateful to Joshua Swift, who had, despite his gruff manner, unbent sufficiently to permit “Mrs. Newell” to go into the tavern before they set out and change into male garments.

  At the moment there were four of them in the coach; Elspeth sat beside her brother, with Freda and Valerian opposite. Joel Skye and Herbert rode with Major Swift in the lead carriage, and both vehicles had a military escort. Elspeth had been alarmed by the Intelligence officer’s grim demeanour, but Valerian had made light of her fears, insisting that Swift enjoyed “puffing off his consequence” and that they had broken no laws and could not be charged for having freed a British subject held hostage in a foreign land. “Pay the silly fellow no heed,” he’d said carelessly. “He’ll likely want to question us if only to convince himself of his importance, and then he’ll send us off to our various homes.”

  It had been a tedious and lengthy drive, this last stage of their journey, and they all had dozed off and on. Now that they were only a short distance from the Horse Guards, Elspeth was plagued by misgivings and she murmured uneasily, “Major Swift said we all are under arrest. How long do you suppose we shall have to stay?”

  “He may keep us unfortunate males for an hour or so,” answered Valerian. “But I doubt he’ll dare detain a lady of Quality.”

  With her hand securely tucked in her brother’s arm, Elspeth said, “Perhaps not. But he will dare detain poor Joel!”

  “Skye will know how to defend himself, dear,” Vance assured her. “Never worry so. After all, he rescued this valuable British citizen!”

  “Yes, for which I shall always be grateful,” she said, squeezing his arm fondly. “But only think how flagrantly he disobeyed orders. He was told to arrest Sir Simon, instead of which he helped him escape.”

  “What a piece of work you make of it,” drawled Valerian, bored. “Swift cannot prove my father was ever with us. All we have to do is claim we held Skye captive because he followed us and behaved strangely.”

  Elspeth nodded. “I suppose we could say that,” she murmured dubiously.

  “Not unless you want to risk being charged with interfering with an officer in pursuit of his duties,” said Vance, with an irked glance at Valerian.

  “I will re-word,” said Valerian. “You can claim that I held Skye at gunpoint. You, Clayton, are obviously in no condition to have bested Skye, and Miss Elspeth will scarcely be judged responsible.”

  “As if we would throw you to the wolves only to protect ourselves,” said Elspeth indignantly. “Besides, I doubt the scenario you sketch would help Joel’s career.”

  “Help it! More like to end it!” exclaimed Vance.

  “That’s what worries me so,” said Elspeth. “You never think they will charge poor Joel with something really dreadful? Like desertion?”

  Valerian sighed. “Heigh-ho, but there’s no satisfying you people! For a while it appeared none of us would survive at all! Here we are, home and alive, and you’re still grumbling! Since you value your friend so highly, have some confidence in him. Skye may not be brilliant, but he seems to have an adequate head on his shoulders and will doubtless contrive. Certainly, worry is so much waste of time. My advice is to get some more sleep.” Closing his eyes, he proceeded to do so.

  But Elspeth did worry. Even were Joel able to satisfy the military on the grounds that Vance had been rescued, he had disobeyed his orders to arrest Sir Simon. She had gained the impression that Joshua Swift was a ruthless and inflexible officer whose pursuit of Sir Simon Valerian had indeed become an obsession. Further, she considered that he was quite aware of Gervaise’s determination to spirit his father out of England. Because of his love for her, Joel Skye had played a part in frustrating the Major’s ambitions, and Swift was Joel’s superior officer. She scarcely dared contemplate what the result would be, and when she thought of Joel’s irascible sire her fears were magnified.

  At long last the carriage slowed and trundled between two sentry boxes, with their apparently frozen occupants, and into the yard of the Horse Guards. The carriage doors were flung open, Valerian and Vance Clayton stepped out, then Elspeth and Freda were handed down. At once surrounded by guardsmen who seemed as menacing as they were tall, they were hurried into the large and forbidding building. They entered a busy world populated almost entirely by uniformed officers of the Army and Navy, each of whom had some apparently vital opinion to voice. Spurs jingled, boots stamped, scabbards rapped against the walls as men drew aside to allow the ladies to pass. The target of a score of admiring stares, Elspeth tried to catch sight of Joel, but he had been whisked away almost immediately and her attempts were futile. She and her brother, Freda and Valerian were taken to a cheerless room by yet another very large sergeant of dragoon guards whose eyes rested always at some point above their heads as he barked a request that they “Be so good as to wait yurr.”

  Wait they did, while the clock on the wall ticked and the hands jerked their way around the dial, and from the corridor outside came the muted sounds of boots and spurs and voices.

  Elspeth was seated at a long table, with Vance beside her. Valerian prowled about restlessly and at length pulled the door open to be confronted by the grim-faced sergeant, who said tonelessly that he was sorry, but no one was permitted to leave this room.

  “Deuce take you,” snarled Valerian. “We’ve been driving all day, the lady is tired and it’s blasted cold in this charming little dungeon! Send in some hot tea at once or Lord Holland shall hear of the insensitive treatment you deal out to people of Quality!”

  The sergeant clicked his booted heels together, offered a stiff bow and frightened Elspeth half out of her wits by suddenly roaring, “Corporal!”

  The door was slammed shut. Valerian staggered to a nearby chair and sat down. “Jove,” he muttered. “Battlefield lungs!”

  “I wonder he didn’t shatter the windows,” said Clayton.

  Valerian grinned. “Let’s hope he woke up someone in authority.”

  “Tea sounds heavenly,” sighed Elspeth.

  “Of course it does, poor girl,” said Valerian. “You must be worn to a shade.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, no.” She forced a smile. “I’m just so worried for poor Joel.”

  Valerian’s lip curled, but he said nothing. It was typical, he thought. What with one thing and another they had really contrived very well. Their most important accomplishment was that Sir Simon was safe away and by tomorrow would probably be reunited with Mama … Dear pretty Mama, who had waited so long and patiently for the return of the husband she adored … Then there was the business of Vance Clayton, who had been snatched from the very jaws of death (which the silly fellow had brought upon himself if one came right down to it). Herbert had taken some deuced hard knocks and acquitted himself splendidly, and he himself was feeling—well, never mind about that. But all the lady could think of was “Poor Joel.” Confound “Poor Joel,” anyway!

  The door opened again and a young trooper carried in a tray with tea paraphernalia. “Compliments of Major Swift,” he announced, and fled.

  “My apologies to the galloping Major,” murmured Valerian, as Elspeth manipulated teacups, milk jug and sugar bowl, “he has a heart, after all!”

  Major Swift entered as they were finishing the tea and before he could say a word, Valerian waved his teacup at him and declared, “Miss Clayton has had a very trying journey, sir. I trust you will see your way clear to at once restoring her to Madame Colbert.”

  Eyeing him keenly, Swift said, “You look as if you stand in need of a physician, Mr. Valerian. Perhaps one of our Army doctors should look at you before—”

  “I have my own physician, I thank you,” said Valerian, refusing to acknowledge that he would be most grateful to be allowed to lie down.

  Elspeth glanced at him anxiously. “I expect Lieutenant Skye will have informed you of what happened, Major Swift. I must tell you that he behaved with the greatest gallantry and—”

  “He has told me a lot of poppycock, ma’am,” he interrupted, his heavy eyebrows bristling, “and will be held to face charges of dereliction of duty!”