The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

  Opening the cellar door, Adair asked, “Is that what you meant by ‘judgments,’ ma’am?”

  She glanced behind her, walked with him to the top of the downward flight of steps, and half-whispered, “There’s things goes on in this house, sir, what is—not respectable! If it weren’t that I’m so fond of poor little Miss Alice—may she rest in peace, and her brother, Mr. Rufus—who is proper heart-broke, I’d have packed my bags long since, that I would! There is strong spirits served here, and too often, I say! And the gambling when there’s guests come! Even the ladies wagering, sir! Dreadful!”

  Adair had encountered her type before: people so devout that they saw “sin” everywhere. He thanked the pious lady for her confidences, assured her they would not be repeated, and said that he would have to question the Priors’ coachman, although he believed the people from Bow Street had already done so. “A James—um—be dashed if I can recall! James … Grove—is it?”

  Mrs. Heath shook her head. The Major, she said, must be thinking of another person. “Our coachman was Walter Davis, sir.”

  “Was?”

  “Then, he was. And what with all the upset and uproar, Mr. Prior has not got round to taking on a new man. Not but what I expect the head groom will get the position. Undeserving as that one may be!”

  So it was true that the coachman had left the Singletree estate. Adair persisted sharply, “I refer to the man who drove Miss Alice Prior home from the ball. Is he no longer employed here?”

  “No, sir. Proper uppity he became after the sad doings. He was called to testify at that wicked Colonel Adair’s trial, and the day after he came back he ups and says as he don’t care to work in a house where such things go on, and he packs up his carpetbag and off he goes without giving one day’s notice! The impudence of it I can scarce believe, and where he expects to find another situation, with the master roaring that he won’t give him a good character, I cannot imagine.”

  “Impudence, indeed,” agreed Adair. “It is imperative that I question him. Where may he be found, Mrs. Heath?”

  “Now that I could not say, Major, no more I could when the Runners come from Bow Street. If he had family, he never spoke of them. Could have sailed off to the Americas, for all we know!”

  Chilled by that possibility, Adair persisted, “He must have come from somewhere. What was his previous situation?”

  “He was a groom at the estate of a very wealthy gentleman—a Mr. Rickett. I don’t know whereabouts, but when his old gentleman went to his reward, Davis came to Singletree. That were nigh ten years since.”

  “You have a most remarkable memory, ma’am. I don’t suppose you know if this Mr. Rickett left an heir?”

  “I know as he didn’t, Major. He had never married.”

  Frustrated though he was, Adair smiled at her so admiringly that the good housekeeper blushed and admitted with a girlish giggle that she wouldn’t have known all this save that she was present when the men from Bow Street had questioned Mr. Prior.

  A bell rang somewhere.

  Adair tensed, and Mrs. Heath moaned that she did pray it was not more of “those horrid busybodies from the newspapers!” Murmuring excuses, she hurried away.

  Adair prepared to make a dash for freedom. He heard no loud voices or hurrying footsteps, however, and disregarding the fact that he was cutting things very fine, he cut them finer and ran down the cellar stairs. Just this one last area, and he could be sure that Alice Prior was not being hidden here from a censorious world.

  The cellars ran the length of the house and were more cluttered than any he’d ever encountered. He rummaged about amongst old trunks, discarded pieces of furniture, handle-less saucepans, dressmakers’ figures, boxes of outmoded shoes and the like, with no success. There were several half-windows so that the area was not completely dark, but if there was a concealed room or a trapdoor, he was unable to detect either. His spirits lifted when he saw a tall screen blocking off a far corner of the room. Starting towards it eagerly, he heard a sound behind him, and whirled around.

  A tall shape hove up against the light and a male voice demanded irately, “What the devil are you doing down here?”

  5

  “Confound you, Toby!” gasped Adair. “You near gave me a heart seizure! What would you think I’m doing, but searching this house? And how the deuce do you come to be here?”

  Broderick replied airily, “Thought you might need a helping hand. I knew you’d be reckless enough to prance down here in spite of all my good advice. And what have you to show for it—beside that nasty welt on your face?”

  Adair flushed. “Thorne Webber decided to play the defender of virtue, but this was before I left Town.”

  “Much Webber knows of virtue! So what must you do next but rush in where angels fear to tread, and clump about like a bull in a china shop!” He kicked a lampshade from his path, then swore as his boot went through the rotted silk and he was obliged to tear the offending article away. “Gad! What a collection of rubbish!”

  Adair grinned. “Speaking of bulls in china shops…”

  “If that’s all the thanks I get…!”

  “No, it isn’t, of course. I’m truly grateful for your help, Toby. Especially that you would be so noble as to arrive at this hour of the morning. You surely didn’t drive straight from Town?”

  “I reached Tenterden late yesterday in the middle of that miserable blizzard. I was dashed sure you were lurking about the vicinity, but there was no searching for you then, so I rented a room at the Woolpack and—”

  “At the—what?” asked Adair, edging behind the screen.

  “The Woolpack. An inn. Splendid old hostelry. It’s fifteenth century. I’d think you would have heard of it. The whole town is full of history. Legend has it that the tower of Saint Mildred’s Church is so high it broke the Goodwin Sands.” Broderick took up a small box and examined it curiously.

  Adair called, “How on earth could a church steeple cause the break in the Sands?”

  “Eh? Oh, well, some abbott or other commandeered the stones that were supposed to be used to repair the sea-wall, and used them to build the church tower.” He shook the box in his hand. “This is an interesting little piece, Hasty, and full of—something, if I could just get the lid off … which I curst well cannot seem—by Jove! That’s a jolly fine screen you found. I wonder if the old boy would let me buy it.”

  Adair emerged from behind the screen and said sharply, “You’ve met Mr. Prior?”

  Still admiring the screen, Broderick replied, “From a distance, perhaps. I saw some men rushing about hither and yon, and a big fellow took off his hat and waved it at me. Demanded to know if I’d seen two ladies and a young fellow, who seem to have got themselves lost. I shouted that I hadn’t and before I could finish, off they went. Rather rude old duck, but one glance at his fiery nob and I guessed who he must be. So I thought I’d best nip along here in case you’d—er, carpe diemed as it were, whilst they were absent.”

  Adair sighed. “That’s all I seized, unfortunately. And now my ‘moment’ is gone and it’s past time for us to leave.”

  They started towards the steps, picking their way over the debris.

  “No sign of your quarry, I take it?” asked Broderick sympathetically.

  “None. Miss Prior’s not in this house. Not at present, anyway. I’m sure of it.”

  “Hmm. Mrs. Heath was right then.”

  “I wonder she let you in. You didn’t enquire for me by my real name, surely?”

  “D’you take me for a flat? Told her I was to meet a military friend here. Fast thinking, what? She piped up with “You must mean Major Newton?” So I agreed, just in case you were using an alias, and she said you were down here. Wish I could open this little box. No telling what might be inside.… Nice woman, Mrs. Heath. And brews a rather good cup of coffee. In fact—”

  Starting up the steps, Adair said, “Coffee?”

  “Yes. The lady asked if I’d breakfasted, which of course I hadn�
�t. So she kindly brought me coffee and a muffin, and showed me around a bit. There’s a portrait of your friend Miss Alice in the drawing room, did you notice?” He halted, saying dreamily, “I vow I never saw a sweeter face. Does she really look like—”

  Exasperated, Adair seized him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs at speed. “Chawbacon! Prior and his crew may stroll in here at any minute! Come on!”

  Fortunately, there was no sign of Mr. Alfred Prior or his party when the two men reached the upper corridor, but Mrs. Heath came bustling to offer refreshments, saying she was sure the master would wish them to await his return. Adair managed to refuse her offer without offending the kindly woman, claiming he must report at once to Lord Holland. He risked taking the time to ask if she had any idea of the location of the vanished coachman’s previous employment, but she could not recall and again suggested he wait and talk to Mr. Alfred Prior, who might be able to help. Having a very fair idea of the help that would come to him from Mr. Prior, Adair said it was not of great importance and they went in search of Broderick, who had wandered off. He was discovered in the drawing room, gazing raptly at Alice Prior’s portrait. Adair apologized to the amused housekeeper and dragged him away.

  Outside, the sun was pale but bright and the temperature had risen markedly. Large patches of green were breaking through the white blanket on the lawns, and clumps of snow dropped with soft squelching sounds from the trees. They waited on the terrace for their horses to be brought round and Adair muttered, “If ever I saw a man so captivated!”

  Broderick reddened. “Miss Prior has a dashed sweet face.”

  “Oh, I agree. But if you must fall in love with a portrait, friend, I’d advise that you choose another! We don’t even know if the poor lady yet lives!”

  The stable-boy came running with their mounts. There was still no sign of the search party and as they rode out, Broderick said a relieved “I think we squeaked through that action fairly. What next? Back to Town?”

  “No.” Adair turned aside into the concealment offered by a dense grove of sycamores. “You can do me a great service, if you will, Toby. I seem to have lost my emerald pin.”

  “Oh, bad luck! Not that beauty your sire gave you?”

  “My Grandfather, actually. I’m fairly sure it fell while I was at Rufus Prior’s cottage, and—”

  “Hold up! You were—where? What’s all this?”

  Adair offered a considerably edited version of his encounter with Miss Cecily Hall and company. He knew Broderick was staring at him, and finished hurriedly, “I tried to search about, but it was dark and if my pin was there, it was probably covered by the snow. I can’t venture back there, but you might be able to. I’d be everlastingly grateful.”

  “So I should think! Cavorting about all night in lonely cottages with young spinsters—”

  “And her cousin and grandmama!”

  “—And trying to slither by with not a word to me! If ever I heard of such naughty conduct—if I’ve heard the whole, which I doubt!”

  “You know very well I’m a black-hearted villain. What would you expect?”

  “I’d expect you to have realized you’ve now added two more ladies to your Victim List, and that you’d have run like hell back to Town.”

  “In which case I’d never have been able to search Singletree, would I? Still, you’re perfectly right. I mustn’t involve you in my troubles, so—”

  “No you don’t! You promised me your gratitude, which I will hold over you forever, you realize. While I’m earning it, what shall you be doing, dare I ask?”

  Adair replied that he must go into Tenterden at once, and cut off Broderick’s further questions by giving him directions to the cottage. Not waiting for a response, he sent Toreador cantering off.

  “Hey!” howled Broderick.

  Adair waved, called his thanks and urged Toreador to a gallop, too ashamed to admit to his friend that he had deserted a damaged young lady shamefully, and must now find a doctor to attend her.

  * * *

  Tenterden was a pretty sight on this brilliant winter morning, the roofs of its tile-hung Tudor cottages and red brick Georgian houses still wearing snow’s white mantle. The High Street of the old market town was bustling. It was unlikely that he would be recognized here, but Adair reined Toreador to a sedate walk to avoid drawing attention to himself.

  A chimney-sweep, already covered with the fruits of his labours, hurried from an alley and his long brushes missed Adair by a whisper. Toreador shied, Adair swore, and the sweep jumped back, causing a well-dressed matron to emit a piercing shriek and warn her two children against touching “the dirty man.”

  The sweep grinned cheerfully and apologized “to all concerned.”

  The matron sniffed and turned her ire on Adair, exclaiming indignantly on the evils of sullying the ears of innocence with strong language.

  Several passers-by halted and watched in amusement.

  ‘So much,’ thought Adair, ‘for not attracting attention!’ He bowed and tendered his own humble apology, and with a fierce “Hah!” the lady led her small innocents away.

  The two criminals exchanged wry grins. Leaning from the saddle, Adair reached down. “I stand in need of some luck,” he said, as they shook hands. “And information.”

  The sweep was only too willing to oblige. He was not a local resident, he admitted, but often plied his trade here, and thus was able to direct Adair to the house of the apothecary. His reward caused him to declare that he could “allus tell a true blue gent” and they parted, each well satisfied with the other.

  The apothecary dwelt in a sizeable house located at the north edge of the town. A gig was drawn up outside, a liveried coachman waiting beside it. Adair tied Toreador’s reins to the picket fence and walked up the path. As he approached, the front door opened and a short grey-haired man ushered a very large lady onto the steps.

  Adair stood aside politely.

  The lady’s voice was far from feeble, and she apparently felt that her complaints should be communicated to everyone within earshot. She was evidently of some consequence, for her maid clung to one arm and murmured comfortingly, while the apothecary supported her other arm and agreed with her every wail. Despite the litany of ills she recited, her eyes flickered over Adair with appreciation and she slowed her steps, gazing at him pleadingly. He bowed, but it was very clear that one word of sympathy would draw him into a discussion of her woes, and he did not speak. She sighed, but went on her way in full cry and at a pace that caused Adair to grit his teeth. To ease his frustration he turned away from the noisy trio and went into the house. He entered a large and immaculate waiting room. None of the chairs ranged around the walls was occupied, which was a relief, but as the minutes passed, his impatience mounted. He stalked over to the window and was glancing out when the apothecary hurried inside, closing the front door behind him.

  “Well now, sir,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly. “I regret having delayed you, but—”

  “I can delay no longer,” said Adair. “A lady has been hurt, and you must go to her at once.”

  “Go—where?” said the apothecary, his smile fading. “What lady?”

  “I believe her name is Miss Hall, and—”

  “By Jupiter, sir! Miss Cecily hurt, is she? Well, I don’t wonder, the way she rides! If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a hundred times—”

  “You may tell her again. The sooner the better,” urged Adair.

  “Yes, yes. Well, don’t fly into a pucker. Not a case of life and death, I trust?”

  “Probably not, but I’m not familiar with the neighbourhood and it took time for me to find you. The lady suffered a nasty cut and has had a long wait.”

  “Well, I shall go with you, but first I must get my bag, and my hat and coat.” He rummaged about in a cupboard, moving aside various coats and searching among a collection of hats and umbrellas. “Dreadful cold snap we’ve had, eh?” He wound a thick scarf about his throat and put on a hat which
he promptly tossed aside. “Now instead of scowling at me, young man, tell me where we are to go. Is Miss Hall at Singletree?” Another hat was tried on and discarded. “This won’t do. I must not take cold, else—”

  “Will you hasten?” growled Adair. “The lady is at a cottage, I believe owned by Mr. Rufus Prior. You know the way, I expect? I must be off.”

  The apothecary leapt back from the cupboard. “What d’ye mean, you must be off? You brought your coach for me, I presume?”

  “No, I did not bring my coach! I am a passer-by merely, and promised to send help. Heavens above, man! That hat looks very well.”

  “The brim is bent,” argued the apothecary, peering at himself in a small wall mirror.

  Seething, Adair snarled, “You’re not going to a Carlton House ball! Hurry up!”

  “You are rude, sir.” The apothecary put his hands on his hips and said with an injured air, “I do not scruple to tell you so! If you expect me to walk to Rufus Prior’s cottage, sir, you had best—”

  “Good Lord above! Find yourself a hat, and I’ll go and pole up your hack to your gig, or cart, or whatever you jaunter about in!” Striding to the door, Adair wrenched it open.

  Two shrieks and an oath rent the air.

  Rufus Prior, one arm about Miss Hall, had taken hold of the door handle and was jerked inside, Miss Hall being pulled in willy-nilly.

  “You!” Abandoning his charge, Prior jumped at Adair, his fists flying.

  From the corner of his eye, Adair saw the girl more or less flung into the nearest chair. He also saw that she looked pale, which troubled him. This was no time to reason with young Prior. He sidestepped the hothead’s whizzing fist, decked him neatly, and turned to bend over Miss Hall.

  “I am most dreadfully sorry,” he began, scanning her anxiously.