The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

  Hastings flushed. “I have been in—”

  “Tenterden,” murmured Hudson. “And points east.”

  Hastings stared at him.

  Interpreting his astonishment more or less correctly, the General said gruffly, “No, your brother did not have you followed. Between us, we have sources. Well?”

  So at least they cared enough to be interested. Pulling his wits back together, he said, “I learned some details that were not brought out at my trial, sir. I hoped to trace the coachman who testified against me, but he left the Priors’ service and appears to have vanished.”

  “Convenient,” snorted Major Adair.

  “That is not charitable in you, Roger,” murmured the Reverend Mr. Taylor Chatteris in his gentle way.

  “I ain’t here to be charitable,” bellowed the Major, irritated. “I’ve only to show my nose outside my door and I’m damned well besieged by the scandalmongers and—”

  “As are we all,” interrupted Lord Esterwood.

  “May I know why I am here?” asked Hastings. “And why Nigel implied that Julius Harrington has cause to ‘forgive’ me?”

  “Harrington was struck down on our doorstep two days ago,” answered Lord Esterwood.

  “Having risked coming here so as to declare his faith in you,” added General Chatteris.

  Dismayed, Hastings exclaimed, “Oh, egad! He’s not badly hurt, I trust?”

  “Your trust is misplaced,” growled the Major sourly.

  Hudson elaborated, “A fellow don’t benefit from a rock aimed at his head.”

  “A fine state of affairs when our friends must take their lives in their hands if they dare to approach our door,” said Lord Esterwood. “Need I add, Hastings, that your mother is outraged?”

  “No, you do not need to add that scintillating observation,” interposed the General tartly. “Hastings must certainly be familiar with his mama’s silly starts! Yes, I said ‘silly starts,’ Taylor! Lady Andrea is my daughter and I shall not keep my tongue between my teeth only to win your saintly approval!”

  Hudson put a hand across his mouth to hide a grin, and Major Adair guffawed while the unfortunate clergyman turned red to the roots of his hair.

  “Harrington was not seriously damaged, and that is not why you have been summoned.” The General marched closer to Hastings and said deliberately, “Rumour has it that you are a womanizing rascal, Colonel Hastings Chatteris Adair. So you may be, although I never saw evidence of it. But you were born and bred up a gentleman. I’ll not believe you could ever harm a lady—much less murder one!”

  His breath snatched away, Hastings stammered, “Then—then you believe I am innocent?”

  “Innocent of murder, at least,” qualified the Major.

  “And on that charge we will fight them to a standstill,” declared Lord Esterwood.

  “Just so,” said the General, his eyebrows bristling. “Well? What have you to say, boy?”

  “I am—most grateful to you all. But—” Hastings paused. “Are you all agreed on this point?”

  Hudson and his father exchanged a swift glance. Lord Esterwood said, “Not—er, exactly.”

  “Your Uncle Fergus ain’t convinced,” said the Major. “But I doubt he’s been sober long enough to think on it.”

  Hastings said slowly, “And—Nigel?”

  “This wretched affair has been a great shock to the boy,” said Lord Esterwood, his face very grave. “To us all.”

  “Nonsense!” said the General explosively. “You’d have to have been blind as a bat, Joshua, not to see that two of your sons fell victim to the gel’s charms!”

  Hudson flushed darkly and exclaimed, “If you refer to me, sir, you have been misinformed! I don’t even know Miss Alice Prior!”

  “Nigel knows her,” declared the General.

  “Nigel?” Indignant, the Viscount protested, “He’s just a boy!”

  “I doubt he’s as old as Miss Prior,” said Hudson, reinforcingly.

  “Who is frequently described as a child,” argued the General, “although she is eighteen. By which age my own mother was wed and I was in the nursery!”

  “Besides,” put in the clergyman, looking shocked, “Nigel is away at Oxford for most of the year. You surely do not imply, sir, that he—”

  “Of course I don’t! Nor do I walk around with my head in a sand bucket! The boy danced with her at the Harvest Festival Ball last year. I saw his face. He’s too young to do more than dream, but I’d wager he’s been dreaming of her ever since. Which should tell you why this has been more than a shock to him.”

  Major Adair said grimly, “It would explain his disgust of Hastings, certainly.”

  * * *

  Walking slowly down the stairs, Hastings was still astonished by his grandfather’s revelation. That he himself should have failed to realize that Nigel was in love was understandable, since he was so often out of the country. But with Nigel up at Oxford, and Alice Prior closely chaperoned, it was remarkable that such a deep attachment could have developed. More remarkable that only the General appeared to have been aware of it. They must have been very careful. A sly inner voice whispered, ‘What if Nigel is the one who spirited Miss Prior away? What if he—’

  “Colonel!”

  The low-voiced call broke into his introspection, and dismissing such disloyal thoughts, he hurried to join Mrs. Redditch, who awaited him at the foot of the stairs. The devoted housekeeper begged that he accompany her to what she called her “business room,” to which few visitors were admitted.

  Adair teased her as usual, calling her a “wild woman,” which always gave her an attack of the giggles. As they passed the kitchen, delicious smells heralded preparations for dinner.

  Mrs. Redditch closed the door to her little office and hurried to pour her guest a glass of Madeira, and with a guilty grin poured a small portion for herself.

  Adair raised his glass. “To you, my dearest Reddy, with my thanks for permitting my notorious self to enter your ‘sanctum sanctorum.’”

  She smiled, and occupying the chair he pulled out for her, said, “As though you’d not been in here time and time again, Master Hastings!”

  “True.” He moved another chair from her small desk, and sitting beside her said wryly, “You were always kind to me, even when I was a scruffy schoolboy and lusted after your lemon-curd tarts. But I was not notorious then.”

  “No more are you now—in my eyes at least, sir. And—I think there are others in this house…” She hesitated.

  “D’you mean my family? Yes, I suspect they’re starting to believe me.” Nigel’s glowering countenance flashed before his mind’s eye, and he muttered, “Some of ’em, at all events.”

  Watching his face, she said gently, “Don’t take it so hard, sir. He’ll come round. First love is often intense, you know, and Mr. Nigel such a sensitive boy. Fairly daft for the lady, he is.”

  He looked at her sharply. “I should have guessed that of all people, he would have come to you with his troubles.”

  “He did not give himself away for a long time, but I knew he’d fallen in love. When he came home at Christmas-time he was walking about as if he were six inches off the ground, and smiling at nothing, if you know what I mean. I didn’t say anything, and I don’t think anyone else noticed. It’s just that—I know him so well, you see.”

  His father and mama knew their son, also, or should do. He thought with a sudden pang of resentment, ‘Damnation! Why was he so secretive? Skulking about as though he were ashamed?’ But Nigel was a younger son and had not yet found a promising career. He’d probably judged that a man of Mr. Alfred Prior’s stamp would find him rankly ineligible as a suitor for his daughter’s hand. He said slowly, “What I cannot fathom is how they were able to meet.”

  “I have sometimes suspected that Mr. Nigel was in London more often than the family knew. When the word came about—about that dreadful ball and—and that you were accused of—Well, he was quite beside himself. No, don’t look so dis
tressed, Master Hastings. He did talk to me about it then. He wouldn’t believe it at first. He kept saying you’d never do so wicked a thing. But then—the trial…” She shrugged helplessly. “He’ll sort things out, you’ll see, and he’ll be so ashamed that he didn’t stand by you as Mr. Harrington has.”

  “Poor fellow. He paid a high price for his loyalty. Was he badly injured?”

  “He took a nasty bump, but declared he was not about to be scared off by a lot of rabble-rousing hooligans.”

  “He’s a friend worth the having. I’d call and tell him so, but I suppose I’d best send a note round rather than tarnish his reputation by appearing on his doorstep.”

  “The General and his lordship thanked him profusely, I promise you.”

  “So I should think,” said Adair, and wondered if his grandfather would now feel obliged to admit that Julius Harrington was an acceptable parti for Minerva. The old gentleman would probably be grinding his teeth and claiming his hand had been forced.

  The housekeeper said thoughtfully, “You know, Master Hastings, I always believed you were very well liked. Who in the world would have gone to such lengths to disgrace you? It must have been so, do not you think?”

  “I do. And bless you for your faith in me. I mean to get to the root of it, Reddy, and as soon as may be!”

  “So you will, sir, I know it. But to think that those dense officers at the Horse Guards came so near to—” The threat of this fine young man ending his life on the gallows still made her blood run cold. She took a deep breath, cast a quick glance at Adair’s expressionless face, and said quickly, “But—never mind that, eh, sir? We’ve turned the corner! Very soon now we’ll know what wicked villain was really responsible for—”

  She was interrupted by a scratch at the door. A rosy-cheeked housemaid came in, bobbed a curtsy, and enquired if Mrs. Redditch desired that tea be served.

  “Goodness, is it that time already?” The housekeeper stood. “Yes. Her ladyship likes a tray taken up at five. Hurry and get started.”

  The maid said a meek “Yes, ma’am,” slanted a coquettish glance at Adair, and whisked herself away.

  “Saucy baggage,” muttered the housekeeper.

  “A new girl, isn’t she?”

  “We hired her after Burslem left, and—Oh, my! I all but forgot!” She opened a drawer in the desk, and started to search about in it. “The very reason I asked you to come here! I vow I must be getting old and my wits are to let! You’ll remember Burslem, Master Hastings? The maid you allowed to stay on after she was so rude. Just before you left Town, it was.”

  “Ah, yes. Did you have to turn her off after all?”

  “Not that, sir.” The housekeeper took up a rather rumpled letter and clasped it to her bosom. “It’s such a nice story! It seems Burslem has been walking out for over a year with one of the grooms on the estate of Mr. Willoughby Chatteris.

  Adair said with a smile, “Reddy, I think you have a romantical heart. But your lovers must not have walked out very often, since my Uncle Willoughby’s home is near Woking.”

  “True. And it was a sadness for them, until the young man was able to save one of Miss Minerva’s dogs when it got itself caught in a poacher’s trap.”

  “The plot thickens!” Walking to the door beside her, Adair said, “If I know my cousin, that lucky fellow was able to name his own reward.”

  “That’s exactly what he did, sir. And Burslem was offered a very nice position down there. She was so excited there was no living with her, so I let her go right away. An upstairs maid she is. And I’d not be surprised to hear wedding bells in the future!”

  “A nice story, indeed. Is that what your letter is about?”

  “Eh? Oh, no, sir! Here, it’s for you. Burslem was very grateful, and I expect she wanted to thank you. I only hope you are able to read it. Her writing is very poor.”

  Adair excused himself and deciphered the painfully printed message with little difficulty:

  “Yu wuz kind to me sir, thank yu sir I told my Yung Man and he noze the koachman what workt fer Mister Pryor and he sez its Funny and yu mite want to no, respekful yors, Burslem.”

  Adair gave a whoop, seized the housekeeper and whirled her around in triumph.

  Restored to her feet, Mrs. Redditch gasped, “Oh, mercy! Whatever did she say, sir?”

  “Something terribly important! And if that isn’t typical! Here am I searching high and low, and all the time the answer is here, under my nose!”

  He gave the beaming housekeeper a strong hug. “Once again, you come to my rescue. Thank you! And forgive me, but I must leave you.”

  “Oh, no, sir! Why such urgency? Can you not stay for dinner? Where are you rushing off to this time?”

  “Woking,” he answered gaily. “To see a maid about a groom!”

  8

  “You may have trotted in here without being stopped, mon colonel,” said Lieutenant Paige Manderville, strolling into the drawing room with a tankard of ale in one hand, “But you’ll have the devil of a time trotting out again.”

  Adair had returned to Vespa House to reclaim Toreador and to let his friends know of his progress. He was standing by the glowing hearth listening to Broderick discourse on blackbirds while waiting for his horse to be brought round, but he now turned to look at Manderville questioningly.

  “Two of ’em,” drawled Manderville, sinking gracefully into a deep fireside chair.

  “Bow Street?”

  Manderville hesitated. “I’m not sure. They don’t quite look constable-ish.”

  “But you’re sure they’re watching for Hasty?” asked Broderick, nobly overlooking the grammatical lapse.

  “I suppose they could be students of architecture, but … No, they don’t look the student type, either. You won’t be able to leave tonight, my pippin.”

  “Devil I won’t,” argued Adair. “The skies are clear, and there’s a fine full moon—”

  Broderick said, “Which will make it all the easier for ’em to spot you.”

  “If I wait for the moon to set, it’ll be too dark for me to find my way, and I want to reach my uncle’s house tonight.”

  “Why the hurry?” asked Manderville curiously. “You can as well leave at first light.”

  It was not an easy thing to explain, this sensation that he occasionally experienced. A sort of tightening of the nerves; an increasing anxiety; an almost tangible warning of impending disaster. A gift, perhaps, but a gift he would gladly have rejected, although it had probably saved his life once in Spain when a group of Polish lancers had come up behind him while he’d been reconnoitering an enemy position. He answered rather lamely, “I just have the feeling I mustn’t let any grass grow under my feet.”

  “Is that so?” said Broderick, at once interested. “Premonition, I’ll be bound! Now there’s a most interesting field of—”

  Manderville put a hand over his eyes. “Don’t start,” he groaned. “If our intrepid colonel insists on this very unwise course, we must find a way to confuse the opposition.”

  “Jolly good notion,” agreed Broderick. “Let us devise a plan of action, gentlemen!”

  As a result of their “devising,” some half-hour later a man who leaned in a shadowed nearby doorway jerked himself upright and hissed, “There he goes, mate!”

  His companion, who’d been gainfully employed in trimming his fingernails with his teeth, looked after the departing solitary horseman and pointed out, “That ain’t Adair’s hack. He rides a big dapple-grey.”

  “Ar, and he knows as we knows it, so he ain’t likely to ride it now, is he. Use yer wits fer once! He’s headin’ east. Means to make fer the docks and take ship, I shouldn’t wonder. Come on!”

  They sprinted to the corner, where a street urchin was walking their horses, but the doubter entered another caveat: “What if we both goes and it ain’t him? What then, Charlie boy? We’ll lose our pay, is what!”

  “All right, all right! Gawd, what a blockhead! You stay and keep watch. I�
��ll go arter the slippery cove!” So saying, “Charlie boy” was off at the gallop, leaving his partner to chew at his nails worriedly and return to his surveillance of the Vespa mansion.

  Five minutes later, his caution was justified. A second horseman, muffled to the eyes, emerged from the side alley, rode rapidly to the corner, then turned northward.

  “Aha!” exclaimed the remaining watcher. “He were too slippery fer you, Charlie know-it-all!” He ran to toss a coin to the urchin, mount up and race after the “slippery cove,” muttering a triumphant, “Din’t I tell yer?”

  Scarcely was he out of sight than a fine dapple-grey left the side alley, to be guided by his cloaked and well-muffled rider towards London Bridge, and thence to the southwest.

  * * *

  Unlike Singletree, Blackbird Terrace was true to its name. There was a terrace, and there were many blackbirds, though by the time Adair reached his Uncle Willoughby’s estate, the former was barely visible through the thickening mists, and the latter were all presumably tucked into their nests for the night.

  Adair’s shouts were at first unavailing, but a window in the gatehouse at length glowed to candle-light, and the gatekeeper emerged, yawning and pulling a heavy coat closed over his nightshirt. He held up a lantern and observed sleepily, “Oh, it do be you, Colonel.”

  “Yes. My apologies for knocking you up at this hour, Bailey. Is my uncle in residence?”

  “Aye. Jest like ’e allus is, sir.” The gatekeeper opened one of the high wrought-iron gates and advised that they was “all likely fast asleep up at the great house.”

  He was mistaken, however, for when Adair had left his horse in the care of a drowsy groom and been admitted to the mansion, the butler relieved him of his hat and cloak and said that the master had not yet retired.

  There came a rush of flying feet on the stairs, and an anxious “Whoever has come calling at this hour?” Minerva Chatteris gave a squeak of joy, and heedless of papered curls and the fact that she wore her night-rail, flung herself into Adair’s arms.

  “How lovely that you have come to us! Did my grandfather throw you into the street, poor dear?”