The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

  Adair kissed her and slanted a glance at the butler’s studiedly expressionless countenance, but before he could answer his cousin rushed on:

  “How is it that your face is so bruised? You’ve never ridden straight from Town? My goodness—you must be starving! Randall, we must have a tray for the Colonel, and tell Mrs. Sylvan to see that a fire is lit in the best guest-room, and—Oh, never mind! I’ll come. Mama is from home, Hasty dear, but go along to my uncle.”

  Warmed by such a greeting, he asked, “Are you sure, Minna? It’s past eleven o’clock, and I come without invitation.”

  “Stuff! He’s still in his study and will be eager to see you at once. You’re probably tired, so don’t let him keep you up much longer.” She hurried off beside the butler, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll talk with you in the morning, Hasty.”

  Adair nodded and walked down the corridor at the end of which was the large and cluttered chamber Willoughby Chatteris called his study. It was a long corridor, the floors of random-width oak covered by only a few nondescript rugs; the walls hung with rather faded prints and a scattering of oil paintings. Adair had not visited this house for over a year, during which time his entire way of life had been shattered. It was rather comforting to find that Blackbird Terrace had not changed. The furnishings still reflected the styles of the previous century, the walls and the low ceilings still bore mute evidences of smoking chimneys and the occasional intrusions of rain-water. On the air hung the faint mustiness of age and wood fires and pipe smoke.

  Viscountess Andrea had little patience with her erratic brother, and declared that Willoughby should have moved into the fine old dower house while the mansion was redecorated and modernized, instead of which he was letting the unoccupied dower house crumble away from neglect, while making not the least push to bring the great house he had inherited up to style. When he’d opened his doors to his widowed sister-in-law and her brood, Lady Andrea had cherished some hopes that Hilda Chatteris might persuade him to refurbish the old place, but the widow had been too grateful to be provided with a comfortable home to request improvements. And Minerva, thought Adair with a faint smile, was not the type to crave an elegant residence, her interests being focused on her loved ones and her dogs.

  He knocked on the door of the study and announced himself, but did not at once go inside. There came a muddled muttering, much rustling of papers and slamming of drawers, and then a somewhat breathless invitation to enter. ‘He’s at his Lists again,’ thought Adair, swinging the door wide.

  Mr. Willoughby Chatteris rose from behind the battered desk that was set before the now closed window curtains. His usually pale face was pink and wore a somewhat guilty expression, both of which might have been inspired by the brilliant scarlets and purples of the velvet dressing-gown he wore. “Hello, my boy,” he said, putting out his hand in his uncertain fashion. “Nice to—er, to see you. Didn’t know you would be—ah, down this way, but you mean to stay for a day or so at least, I—er, trust?”

  “You are very good, sir. Thank you, and if it doesn’t inconvenience Aunt Hilda, I’ll stay overnight, but I’m afraid I must be off tomorrow.”

  Relief dawned in the protuberant blue eyes. Returning to the big chair behind the desk, Mr. Chatteris said in a heartier tone, “That is our—er, loss. It won’t inconvenience my sister-in-law. Hilda is down at Brighton. Her young niece is—ah, lying in, you know. Have a seat, my boy, and tell me how you go on.”

  “I go on seeking to prove my innocence, sir.” Adair sat in the chair that faced the desk. “But I fear I’ve already inconvenienced you, and that you were peacefully at work on your—”

  “No such thing,” interrupted his uncle hurriedly.

  Adair glanced at a sheet of paper that had evidently fallen under the desk and lay beside his boot. Bending to retrieve it, he said, “I think you’ve dropped one of your Lists, sir.”

  He had a brief impression of neatly written columns, then a rush of displaced air and the sheet was snatched from his grasp. Uncle Willoughby must have moved like lightning. He looked up and for an instant saw rage in the usually meek eyes. Startled by such an unprecedented display of emotion, he said, “I beg pardon, sir. I’ve no intent to pry—though I’ll admit I’ve often wondered what your Lists—”

  Willoughby’s laugh, a shrill and forced cackle, cut off his nephew’s remark. “Just my little—ah, hobby. You would think it foolish, I’m very sure.” He went back to his chair and thrust the paper hurriedly into a drawer. His face was redder than Adair had ever seen it. He all but gabbled, “Now—now what have I missed? The General don’t—ah, keep me informed, you know. And unless your Uncle Roger rides this way, I’m left—left in the dark. As it—er, were.”

  ‘Good Lord, I properly sent him into the boughs,’ thought Adair. He was fond of Willoughby, and if he judged him a rather weak-kneed man, he also thought him very kind and good-hearted, and not for the world would he upset him. He launched into an account of his activities, therefore, and by the time the butler came to say that his room was ready and a tray had been carried up for him, Mr. Chatteris seemed quite at his ease.

  Adair said his good-nights and climbed the stairs. He was afire with impatience to talk to the housemaid, Burslem, and learn what her young man knew about Coachman Davis that he thought “funny.” But he could scarcely have rousted the woman from her bed at this hour. At least, he was here now, and could interview her first thing in the morning.

  In the quiet study, Willoughby Chatteris put his Lists in order. He kept out the sheet his nephew had picked up, and scanned it with almost frenzied anxiety. “How much did he see?” he whispered to himself. “He’s so damnably quick! How much did he see?” He restored the Lists to his drawer, and bowed his head into hands that shook.

  * * *

  Adair was standing at the library bow window, watching two puppies frisk about on the lawns when a gruff voice announced, “’Mornin’ Colonel, sir. Mrs. Sylvan says as I could come now.”

  He turned eagerly. “Good morning, Burslem. Sit down, please. How do you go on in my uncle’s establishment?”

  Square and plain and as uncompromisingly grim as ever, the maid perched on the edge of the chair he drew up for her. She said that she liked her new situation very well. And with an unexpected blush, added, “’Sides, it’s very agreeable fer my young man and me to be able to see each other more’n once a month.”

  “I’m glad it has worked out well for you.” Adair leaned back against the arm of the sofa. “And I thank you for the letter you left me.”

  “Why, you was kind t’me, sir. Else I wouldn’t never have been kept on at Adair Hall, an’ then, no matter what my young man done for Miss Minerva, they’d not have let me come here. That’s why I writ to you and hopes as I wasn’t steppin’ past me station.”

  “Certainly not. In point of fact, I’ve been most anxious to talk with you. You wrote that your young man knows Walter Davis, the Priors’ coachman.”

  “Yessir. That is ter say as he knowed him—at one time. My Henery—” Her blush deepened and she said shyly, “That’s his name, sir. Henery. He’ll tell you hisself all as he knows when he comes back. You jest missed him by a day. He’s drove Mrs. Chatteris down ter Brighton. I don’t know how long the mistress means ter stay. Not long, likely. Could ye come back?”

  ‘More time lost!’ thought Adair impatiently. “I can, of course. Or I can ride down to Brighton and see him. But this is rather urgent, and you may be able to help me if you will. Henry saw Davis recently, did he?”

  “Last week, sir, as ever was! All dressed up flash, he were, and with a nag as Henery says must’ve cost him a pretty penny, and trying to act the gent—which he ain’t and never will be! And talking about how he’d got his ‘just reward,’ and about—well, he carried on about you, sir.”

  “Did he, by Jove! Nothing to my credit, I’ll wager.”

  “Right you are, sir. Talking loud like he does when he’s put down a few tankards, Henery said. And sa
ying as how he’d knowed no good would come of Miss Alice slipping out on the sly to meet her beau—meaning you, Colonel. And how he was honour-bound to speak out at your trial the way any honest man oughter do. ‘Honest’ being just what Wally Davis ain’t, says Henery.”

  “Is that what he meant when he said that something about Davis was ‘funny’?”

  Burslem’s rather hard eyes became very round. She threw a nervous glance at the door, and leaning forward said in a dramatically lowered voice, “What it was, Davis kept on filling up of his tankard, sir, and bragging about how well he’d done fer hisself. And how a cove with a brain in his head could make proper use of his chances and come up in the world. And the more he drank, the louder and more cocksure he got, till everyone in the tap was tired of listening to him, and some of the other customers started poking fun about Davis being like one o’ them Indian nobbys—or whatever they is.”

  “A nabob? It sounds as if he’s come into money, certainly. It would be interesting to know how he earned this alleged ‘reward.’”

  “He tells my Henery as he got it ’cause he done a real service for his master.” Burslem tucked in her chin and nodded solemnly. “But Henery ain’t one as is easy gulled. ‘I don’t believe a word of it, lass,’ says he ter me. ‘Bin up ter no good, more like.’ The other gents in the tap, they felt the same, and they laughed. Davis started to get ugly, and they says as how he’d best hang on to his ‘reward,’ else sure as check it would all go ’fore he could wink a eye. On drink, they said, and fast women—if you’ll excuse the expression—and the races. And Davis says not no one needn’t worry about Wally Davis and his ‘reward’ ’cause there was plenty more where that come from. And he started mumbling about ‘someone’ who thought they’d seen the last of him, but they hadn’t.”

  Adair asked tensely, “Did Henry find out who is this ‘someone’?”

  “He were curious, he said, sir, and asked Davis who he meant. But Davis seemed as if he’d got scared, and wouldn’t say no more, and went off with a bottle, though he were already very well to live, as they say.” She shrugged and said apologetically, “It’s not much, sir, and it mayn’t be of no use, t’you, but my Henery knowed Wally Davis when they was boys, and wouldn’t trust him then as far as he could throw him. And he says as Wally ain’t changed; not a bit.”

  In which case this unsavoury coachman could scarcely have been trusted to tell the truth in court. And if—as seemed probable—for some inexplicable reason he’d been paid to lie, his sudden affluence would be accounted for.

  Encouraged, Adair said, “It is indeed of use. You’ve been a great help, Burslem, and I thank you. One last thing—will you tell me, please, where I can find the coachman’s family? I was told he planned to visit his mother, so he’s probably either with her or she can give me his direction.”

  Burslem said regretfully, “Now that’s what I can’t do, Colonel. When old Mr. Davis went to his reward, years ago, that were, the widow had to move out of their house. Henery said Wally only come this way again to crow over his old ’qaintances, but where his mum and kinfolks live now, Henery’s got no notion.”

  * * *

  “And that’s dished me again, Minna.” Adair threw a ball for the spaniel pup that had presented it hopefully. “Each time I think to find a promising clue, I run into a brick wall!”

  Walking beside him through the windswept gardens, Minerva said with ready sympathy, “How frustrating it must be when you have tried so hard. Do you mean to ride down to Brighton and talk to our groom?”

  “Perhaps. Though I think Burslem told me as much as her Henry knows. There’s another avenue that might be worth exploring. I learned that Mrs. Davis is a fine laundress. And that she takes in work for a castle somewhere in the southland.”

  His cousin looked dismayed. “Good gracious, Hasty! There are castles everywhere! How would you know where to begin?”

  “I don’t know, of course. But I’d think the poor woman would have wanted to be somewhere near to where she’d lived for so long. Don’t you agree?”

  “I expect she would.” Minerva looked dubious, however, and said hesitantly, “Farnham is nearby. And there is Herstmonceaux. And Parham, perhaps?”

  “I think we can eliminate the great houses. The fellow distinctly said a castle.”

  “Oh. Well, let me see … There’s Arundel, and Lewes, and Windsor, of course.”

  “True. And yet I cannot think washing would be sent out from such illustrious old piles. Surely they’d have laundry maids on their staff?”

  “Do you know, Hasty,” said Minerva gently, “I really think that would apply to any castle worthy of the name.”

  He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll just have to seek out some shabby old places that are unworthy of the name.”

  “How dauntless you are!” With a responsive smile she said, “You won’t fail. I know it!”

  He took her hand and held it. “I wish I could tell you how much your loyalty means to me. And I am much in debt to Julius, you know.”

  “What, because he has faith in you? Why should he not? I know some of the family don’t exactly approve of him as my betrothed, or hold him in high regard, but he has very strong principles and he stands by his friends.”

  “He certainly stood by me when Thorne Webber gave me this.” He touched his bruised cheek. “Despite the fact that it was in the middle of Town with many spectators. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Why—no. How very good of him. He said nothing of it.”

  “Nor of the fact that he was attacked on our doorstep? I see he did not, and I have frightened you.”

  She had turned pale and said falteringly, “He said he had slipped in the snow.”

  “If he did, it was with the aid of a rock thrown at him because he dared call upon the untouchable Adairs.” Bitterness shadowed his eyes. “You’ll have to keep him away from us, Minna. Or from me, at all events. I’ve no wish to bring disaster down upon you.”

  They had reached the fenced dog runs. Minerva opened the gate and the spaniels came rushing to them, barking and leaping about joyously. Surrounded, Adair bent to stroke silken coats and caress the heads that were eagerly presented.

  Watching him, Minerva breathed a sigh of relief that the exuberant animals had banished the grim expression she had never seen before.

  “You’ve some jolly fine pups,” he said laughingly, and failing to dodge a long tongue, exclaimed, “But I’ve already washed my face, you rascals—down with you!”

  Minerva was justly proud of her dogs and each one had to be presented to her cousin by name before she called to her kennelman to rescue Adair from his admirers.

  “You’ve done very well with this hobby,” he said, closing the gate behind them. “Or has it become a full-fledged business venture?”

  “It really has, you know. We call it Blackbird Kennels, and Uncle has had cards printed that I can give out. We seem to be earning quite a reputation, and I actually had two gentlemen bidding against each other at Christmas-time.”

  “Splendid! You deserve it. One of these days, when I’m a staid married man with a home of my own, I’m going to ask you to save the pick of a litter for me.”

  “Nothing would please me more than to see you happily wed,” she said fondly. “And you will be in deep disgrace if at least one of my dogs doesn’t dwell under your roof.”

  “You have my word on it. But for the present, m’dear, I must be off on my castle-quest, so I’d best go and say my farewells to my uncle.”

  Her smile faded. “I doubt Uncle will see you, but don’t worry. I’ll say farewell for you.”

  “Thank you. But why won’t he see me? Never say I really upset him last evening?”

  They had started back to the house but at this she halted and turned to look up at him in a worried fashion. “His man sent down word that Uncle had passed a restless night and would sleep late this morning. Why should you fear that you have upset him?”

  “I interrupted him while he wa
s working on his Lists, I’m afraid. He whisked them all out of sight, but one fell, and when I took it up, the poor old fellow practically had an apoplexy.”

  “Oh dear! That silly hobby of his! I vow it is becoming an obsession, and he is more and more secretive about it! None of us even dares ask what he lists. Or why. Mama says it’s his only toy.”

  Adair grinned, and as they walked on said, “Perhaps it is, poor old fellow.”

  “An engrossing one, certainly. But you know, Hasty, the more he keeps his precious Lists locked away, the more curious we all become. The boys think he is writing a book, and when they are here from school it’s all Mama and I can do to keep them from invading his study and spying on him, the scamps!”

  “Those wild brothers of yours! I can well imagine. Still, it’s good that my uncle has such an interest, Minna. If it keeps him happy and occupied, where’s the harm in it?”

  The words were no sooner spoken than icy fingers seemed to slide down his back.

  His slight shiver did not escape Minerva and she asked anxiously, “Are you cold? You should have brought a warmer cloak, dear.”

  He said that it was delightful to be mothered, which restored the smile to her pleasant face.

  But he knew that the sudden chill he’d felt had nothing to do with the weather.

  * * *

  The trouble with searching out less illustrious castles was, Adair soon discovered, that all too often they were either in ruins or depressingly dreary. On the second day of his quest he had made his way to the fourth historical edifice on his list, only to find that it had been turned into a foundling home where such luxuries as fine laundry were not likely to be indulged in.

  It had been a dull day of wind and fast-scurrying clouds, with not one glimpse of the sun. Adair was weary, and even Toreador was less spirited than usual. The next name on the “likely list” was Greyrock Castle. The pedlar who gave him directions was a frivolous sort with a pair of eyes that seemed to hold an amused twinkle. When Adair asked if anyone was in residence at the castle, he answered, “Oh, there’s folks there. Off and on,” then slapped the reins on his donkey’s back and drove away chuckling to himself.