The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

by Patricia Veryan

  “Then you must know more than do I,” said Sir Gower, who had leaned heavily on his arm. “And I don’t need to be lifted, thank you very much! Now I want a word with this crazy fire-eater. Pray excuse us for a moment.”

  Manderville and Broderick exchanged an amused glance and walked out of earshot.

  The General demanded, “What did you say to Webber—at the end there?”

  “I accused him of having laid the trap to ruin me, sir. He denied it, and said I should look—closer to home for the man who plotted the ugly business.”

  “I see. So you still maintain your innocence, and now you mean to start accusing each of us! Starting with your Uncle Willoughby, no doubt!”

  Startled, Adair asked, “Why would you think that, sir?”

  “I know you went down there and found his home full of thieves, and that you jumped to the conclusion they were seeking out his stupid Lists! Oh, yes, I have spoken with your uncle, and listened—with very little patience—to his nonsensical account of the business. Let him be, Hastings. If he’s concealing something from you, it’s not—Well, whatever it is, it don’t have to do with your imbroglio.”

  “Your pardon, Grandfather, but I believe the Lists have a great deal to do with my ‘imbroglio,’ and I must—”

  “You must look elsewhere for your scapegoat, I tell you!”

  Adair stiffened. “I mean to find the rogue who has ruined Miss Alice Prior and me. I do not seek a scapegoat!”

  His icy response seemed to please rather than offend the General, who grinned and said, “Got back on your high horse and have the bit, ’twixt your teeth, have you. Well, I cannot blame you. But I won’t have Willoughby’s Lists made public. Mind me, now! The contents would most certainly land the fool—I mean your uncle—in Bedlam, and this family has had enough of notoriety.” He paused, and said as if the words were torn from him, “I’m told we have treated you unfairly. If that’s the case, I’m sorry for it.”

  Adair gazed at the large hand that was thrust at him. For so long he had prayed for such an admission, and in the misery of his ostracism and rejection had pictured the depth of his joy if it should come. Well, it had come. The old gentleman had humbled his pride and apologized. And perversely, he felt neither joy nor relief, but rather a surge of rageful resentment. It was an apology too long overdue. His family—especially this man, to whom he’d always been so close—should have never doubted him, or even if they did, they should have stood by him.

  Glancing back, Broderick saw the two motionless figures, the tall old man’s outstretched hand, the slim young man’s frozen hauteur. And he halted and stood very still, holding his breath, waiting.

  General Chatteris let his hand fall. He turned away, as erect and fierce as ever. And suddenly the broad shoulders slumped, the proud head was bowed. He mumbled hoarsely, “I cannot blame you if—if you cannot forgive. God knows, I—we all of us—let you down shamefully. I’d like you to—to believe, boy, that when I was first told, I denied the whole ugly business. I wouldn’t accept that you were guilty until—until that fellow Prior came and showed me the note his lost daughter had writ. And then…” He sighed heavily. “But you know about the ‘then,’ poor lad. I think—I know I shall never forgive myself for—”

  He was seized and whirled around, then crushed in two strong young arms.

  Holding him close, Adair said brokenly, “Of course I forgive you! What else were you to think in the face of—of such damning evidence? You cannot know what it means to me that … you cared enough to come today.”

  A short distance away, Manderville, who had also watched the emotional scene, exchanged a look with Broderick. “Phew!” he said.

  “Very phew!” agreed Broderick, and they walked on together.

  The General had stepped back and made a great show of blowing his nose, and Adair drew a hand quickly across eyes that were suddenly dim.

  “No—no matter what the evidence,” persisted the General, abject in his contrition, “I should have known—It is to my everlasting shame that I failed you at the start.”

  “Stop scourging yourself, sir,” said Adair bracingly. “The most important thing is that you believe me now, although I’ve still not cleared myself, you know.”

  General Chatteris put away his handkerchief and said with a return of his usual brusque manner, “You will, Hastings! And I shall be the proudest man in all England when you can prove your innocence to those blockheads in Whitehall! Oh, Gad! Enough of this! I despise maudlin sentimentality! Now what’s the time?” He groped in his waistcoat pocket.

  Adair pulled himself together and managed to impart that it was almost eight o’clock. “Sir, I am most anxious to talk to Nigel. Is he in Town still, do you know?”

  His grandfather scowled. “If he is, he’s damned well hidden. I’ve tried to corner him, but to all intents and purposes, he’s disappeared. I suppose he’s the one the Prior gel was meeting on the sly. Is that your thought?”

  “I’m afraid it is, sir. But Nigel’s not responsible for her abduction. Of that I’m very sure.”

  “Blasted young cub! He’s not up at Oxford, I can tell you. If his friends know where he is, they’re keeping his secret.”

  “Speaking of secrets, Grandfather, I gather that others in Town knew of this meeting. I had supposed it to be a well-kept secret.”

  “Not from the harridan who invaded my house last night! Gad! I didn’t recognize the woman, but after all these years her tongue is as tart as it always was! Put the fear of God into me, I don’t mind admitting.”

  Adair said incredulously, “You surely cannot mean Lady Abigail Prior?”

  “That is exactly who I mean! Dreadful termagant—and she was such a lovely young thing when we—” He coughed and broke off, his colour heightened. “What the deuce can I have done with my watch? I know I wore it last evening and I was sure I left it in this pocket. Must have mislaid it somewhere, I suppose.”

  His lip twitching, Adair said gravely, “Very likely, sir.”

  * * *

  Lady Abigail looked out of the window of the fast-moving carriage and said plaintively, “Why ever you should think I would be informed of such abominations as duels, when you know how I despise such murderous stupidity, is beyond me. And furthermore, to drag my poor old bones back into Sussex again in this frightful weather is not kind!”

  Under a cloak of scarlet velvet, her ladyship had chosen to wear a travelling-gown of bright orange wool, trimmed with red French beads. A necklace of elaborately scrolled gold and rubies was about her throat, and a bonnet with an enormous poke completed her costume.

  “Your poor old bones, indeed! Eyeing her grandmother’s finery with faint amusement, Cecily said, “It is neither snowing nor raining, and you are sprightly as many a lady half your age, so do not think I don’t know it. I believe you found out about the duel because Rufus brought Adair’s man out to your coach yesterday afternoon, and you were clearly bullying the poor—”

  “By thunder, miss! Have you been so impertinent as to spy on me?”

  “But of course. You refuse to tell me anything, so what other recourse have I? You did find out about the duel, didn’t you? And last evening you went out all by yourself and came home looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. When is it, Grandmama? Tonight? Tell me, I beg you!”

  Lady Abigail turned her head and frowned into the lovely eyes that watched her with such anxiety. “Assuming that I knew, child, I most assuredly would not tell you, for I can see you mean to worry yourself into a decline over this most ineligible young hussar.”

  Cecily drew back with a little growl of frustration and for a few moments the only sound in the carriage was the rumble of wheels and the clatter of hooves.

  “Don’t sulk,” said Lady Abigail.

  “I am not—And why—And besides, he is not ineligible, Grandmama. At least, he won’t be when he has cleared his name.”

  “And come into a nice fortune and a title and will leave the army—eh?”<
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  Cecily’s chin lifted. She said defiantly, “He has what he calls a comfortable competence, plus his army pay. And—and his grandmother has promised to leave him a very nice property in Gloucestershire, when she goes to her reward.”

  “His … grandmother,” mused her ladyship, taking a mental inventory of the elder ton dowagers. “That would be Lady Adair’s mama, who lives ‘out of the world’ in Gloucestershire as I recall.… Rondelay?” Her lips pursed and her brows lifted. “Oho! A ‘very nice property,’ indeed! But nothing to your own fortune, my love. And you may aim as high as you please.”

  “I have,” said Cecily, her eyes becoming very tender.

  Lady Abigail shook her head. “People who fall in love so quickly very often fall out of love just as quickly. It will pass, child. You are dazzled by a handsome young soldier who is the more romantical because the world has treated him cruelly.”

  “The world and his family,” muttered Cecily, frowning at a tree that had fallen by the side of the road.

  “Hmm,” said her ladyship smugly. “Well, I think I have put a spoke in that particular wheel.”

  Cecily’s face lit up. “You have? Is that where you went last evening? To talk to his father?”

  “His father—pish! I’ve no patience with the Viscount or that selfish wife of his. Don’t tug at me, child! Oh, very well—if you must know, I went to see the General. And you may believe I put a flea in his ear!”

  Awed, Cecily half-whispered, “You never did! How brave you are! Did he listen to you?”

  “If he hadn’t I’d have boxed his ears, as I should have done fifty years ago when he—But never mind about that. Now tell me why I am here, and what you mean to—Good gracious, has Peters lost his wits? Why do we turn into a nunnery?”

  “Because,” said Cecily conspiratorially, “I believe there is something very odd going on here—something that Hastings is trying to find out about.”

  “What possible connection—Here comes someone. Now that is a fine-looking woman!”

  The footman opened the carriage door and let down the steps.

  “But how nice that we shall have the visitors,” said the Mother Superior, coming gracefully towards them.

  “Heavens!” hissed Lady Abigail. “She is French! You never think…?”

  “We’ll try to find out,” said Cecily.

  14

  “I apologize for calling at the Hall, sir.” Hastings had not expected his father to be up at this early hour, and seated opposite him in the morning room he said, “I promise I won’t disturb you above a minute, but—”

  “I am disturbed to hear of one lurid escapade after another.” Lord Esterwood, immaculate in morning dress, laid aside The Times and asked coldly, “Is it truth that you are to meet Thorne Webber?”

  “Actually, sir, we—er, already met.”

  “Ah.” His lordship said drily, “Knowing your marksmanship, dare I hope that you refrained from killing the fellow? Or are you on the point of flying the country?”

  “Neither. Webber had choice of weapons, you see, and—”

  “He’d have been a fool to—” His lordship’s eyes widened. “Good God! Swords?”

  Adair nodded.

  “And you survived? You must have polished your skills considerably since the last time I saw you fence! But I could wish you’d come to tell me of it before the fact, rather than after.”

  “To say truth, father, I did not come to talk about the duel. I am most anxious to talk to Nigel. The General tells me he is from Town. Do you know if he has returned to Oxford?”

  “I think not. Nigel has not been seen for days. I sent a message to his Tutor, and he’s evidently not been in Oxford either.” His lordship hesitated, then said frowningly, “He may be drowning his sorrows in dissipation, I suppose. But my enquiries have turned up no trace of the tiresome boy.”

  Hastings rose. “I shall hope to have better luck, sir.”

  Standing also, Lord Esterwood said, “If I were you, I’d give him time to cool down. The General thinks he is enamoured of this poor Prior girl, and that he holds you responsible for her disappearance…”

  “He does, sir.” Hastings muttered, “If only he had confided in me…” He shrugged impatiently. “Well, he didn’t. The poor lad is probably searching for her. I must find him, so with your permission, I’ll take myself off.”

  “To go—where?” asked Lord Esterwood, accompanying him into the corridor.

  “First, to see my Uncle Willoughby.”

  “I doubt you’ll find Nigel there.”

  Adair doubted it, too. But he had other reasons for riding down to Woking.

  * * *

  Professor Anton Broderick was tall, thin, and stoop-shouldered. His luxuriant grey hair was worn short but contrived to curl despite his efforts, which were not very stringent, since Mrs. Broderick liked his curls. Behind his spectacles his pale blue eyes were shrewd. He was thought by many to be inflexible and autocratic, but his wife, to whom he was devoted, loved him, and, although he was a stern disciplinarian, his children respected and were fond of him. In one sense he was a rarity among learned gentlemen, for he was tidy and well organized and not in the least absent-minded. Seated at the neat desk in his study, poring over an account of the death of Socrates as recorded in the original Greek, he looked up when a familiar voice called a cheery “Good morning, sir. May I come in?”

  “Now there’s a damn-fool question!” The professor, who was famed for his salty language, set aside the manuscript and stood to welcome his son with a strong handshake. “Of course you may, Tobias. I thought you’d gone back to France. Never tell me the war is over?”

  Toby said with a grin that it was not, and that he was in England on detached service.

  “Ah, yes.” The professor walked around the desk and occupied one of the armchairs before the hearth. “That ugly business with Sir Kendrick Vespa, I take it? One might think that a bright fellow like Jack would do better than have a murderous traitor for his father. You have to testify, of course. Give that curst bell-rope a tug, will you? Now come and sit down, my boy, and we’ll have something to eat. Or would you prefer a flesh-and-blood or some less gut-rotting liquid libation?”

  Perfectly aware that his father would have been shocked had he asked for so potent a drink as gin and port at this time of the day, Toby laughed and when a housemaid bobbed a curtsy and asked their pleasure, he put in a bid for hot chocolate and toasted crumpets. His father’s eyebrows lifted, and he said by way of explanation, “Beastly cold out, sir. And it’s a long drive from Town.”

  “It is,” agreed the professor, lighting his clay pipe with a taper from the fire. “I wonder you essayed it. Seen your mama and the girls already, have you? So now it’s my turn. Are you here to tell me you’ve wangled your way closer to becoming a Don?”

  Tobias thought it best to evade that question and said he hoped his sire was not so disappointed in him that he was an unwelcome visitor. “Don’t mean to disown me because Oxford doesn’t want me, do you, Papa?”

  “As your friend Adair has been disowned? The hell I do! I expect great things from you, my boy. When you’ve matured sufficiently to listen to your brain cells.”

  In another rather desperate evasion, Toby said, “So you know about Hastings Adair.”

  His father shrugged. “I’d suppose all England knows. Some vindictive bastard has certainly gone to great lengths to ensure that fact.”

  “Jupiter! Guessed that, did you? I’m not surprised; you don’t miss much. It’s a strange business, sir. Hasty’s a good man and don’t deserve the trap he’s been caught in.”

  “You really believe him innocent, then?”

  “Oh, absolutely. He’d no more harm a young girl than you would!”

  “Your filial loyalty is touching,” said the professor drily. “I shall endeavour to live up to it. What do you want of me?”

  At this point the maid returned with a laden tray, and both men applied themselves to the contents.<
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  After a comfortable interval, Tobias said around a buttered crumpet, “I’d like your opinion, sir. If I lay it out before you, I’ll go bail you’ll solve the riddle in jig time!”

  This blind trust so pleased his parent that aside from a request that Tobias be as brief and succinct as possible he listened politely while the facts were made known to him. “The thing is,” his son finished, “Adair believed Thorne Webber was behind it all, only Webber laughed at him and said he’d had no part in it.”

  “And why in Hades would Adair pay heed to what a clod like Webber said?”

  “Oh—well, they were—er, engaged in a beast of a duel at the time, and Webber meant to despatch Hasty, and we think he’d have been more likely to crow at that point than—”

  “Adair fought Webber? I wonder Webber had time to say anything, much less have the slightest chance of putting a period to your friend. I have it on excellent authority that Colonel Hastings Adair is such a good shot that few men in London would care to face him.”

  “That’s quite true, sir, but Webber chose swords and Hasty’s at sixes and sevens with a small-sword.”

  “Good God! You were at this debacle, I take it? You’re bloody well fortunate that you weren’t all hauled off to the Watch House! Was Adair much hurt?”

  “No, very slightly,” Tobias said with enthusiasm. “We were sure he’d fall but he kept going like a dashed Trojan, and when we thought he was quite against the ropes, managed a Time Thrust! Gad! If you could have seen it—”

  “Had I known of it I’d have called in the Runners at once! Trojan, indeed! Of all the confounded ridiculous and outmoded exhibitions of male egotism, dueling is—” The professor took a deep breath, and said in a calmer tone, “But I’d best not get started down that road! Does Adair still hold Webber to be his secret enemy? If he does, he’s a fool. I observed Thorne Webber during his brief and deplorable sojourn at Queen’s. The fellow is a crudity who hides abysmal ignorance by charging through life like an angry bull, though with a deal less sense. He’d not come up with a devious plot like that in a million years!”