Ask Me No Questions

by Patricia Veryan

  Chandler's response was cut short as the applause died away and the music began once more. This time, Nadia sang one of Mr. Arne's songs, "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind," and when she reached the line "Thou art not so unkind as love remembered not," she stretched out her rounded arms, her great dark eyes fixed pleadingly on Chandler, so that many envious smiles were turned to him. He gritted his teeth. She might as well have begged his forgiveness before them all! Angered by such tactics, he drifted back and back until at last he could quietly slip away.

  Half an hour later, he was at the door chatting with some guests who had to leave early when a footman hurried to him with a message that brought a black scowl to his face.

  He crossed the gardens to the main house, stamped along the hall, and flung open the door to his father's study. Lord Vincent and his sister sat with chairs close together, conversing earnestly.

  "What the deuce is all this nonsense?" demanded Chandler.

  My lady sprang to her feet. "I did not send for you! I told the footman to summon a constable."

  "Instead of which, he came to me as he very properly should have done. Why the— Why do you want a constable?"

  She had known very well that the footman would go to him, but she strove to look wounded. "If you must know, in spite of the way I have been treated, I am trying to protect my dear Sir Brian. I have discovered that a thief is hiding here right under your so moral nose."

  Chandler closed the door. "I think it far more likely, ma'am, that you mean to serve me out for having severed our connection."

  De Brette said, "If my dearest sister is grieved by your cruelty, as she has every right to be, it has nothing to say to the point. I trust you have sent for the constable." He stood. "If you have not—I shall."

  Leaning back against the door, Chandler said, "You will do nothing of the sort until I know what this is—"

  A knock sounded. He jerked upright and whipped the door open.

  Her eyes huge with fright, her comely face very pale, Grace Milford stood on the threshold. "Oh, sir," she said, breathless. "I come so fast as I could get dressed. The footman said 'twas a matter o'life and death. Is it poor—" She saw Lady de Brette then, and stopped with a yelp of fright.

  "Aha!" exclaimed my lady triumphantly. "You recognize me, I see! Wretched creature! Where is your thieving mistress?"

  Chandler had been watching Grace, but at these words he jerked his head around to direct a frowning stare at his ex-fiancee.

  Pale with terror, Grace mumbled, "What a—a awful thing to say! My mistress is not more a thief than—"

  My lady smiled. "We will see what the constable has to say after I bring charges 'gainst her!"

  Chandler lifted his hand in a haughtily commanding gesture that made my lady yearn to scratch him. His premonition of disaster deepened by Grace Milford's obvious terror, he said, "I feel sure you mean to explain your remarks, Lady de Brette."

  "You may believe I do!" The beauty stepped closer to Grace. "I knew I had seen your mistress somewhere before, but she was so cunning as to have changed her appearance, and how should one believe a lady of Quality would sink to do menial work? Had I laid eyes upon you, I would have had her! You will remember my telling you, Chandler, of how I was cheated when I sought to purchase a desk and some other furniture? Well, 'twas your precious artist who so wickedly choused me out of one hundred pounds!"

  Her voice breathless and quavering, Grace argued, "You were far from cheated, my lady! The pieces you selected were worth four times what you offered!"

  "I did not offer! I paid, you conscienceless wretch! And when my servants went to collect my purchases there was a bailiff in possession who would not give them what I'd bought. The pair of you had run off with my money, well knowing the furniture Mrs. Allington sold me no longer belonged to her!"

  Chandler felt the blood drain from his face, and heard as from a distance that shrill voice rant on. "Your mistress knew perfectly well her furnishings had all been confiscated for debt! 'Tis why the conniving thing gave me a false name! She said she was Mrs. Lingways!"

  "No!" Grace wrung her hands but faltered bravely, "That is—is not true, milady. The estate is called Lingways. You gave Mrs. Allington no chance to—"

  "Gave her no chance?" Contemptuous, Lady Nadia exclaimed, " 'Pon rep, how you lie, woman! She had every chance, for she kept me there forever, looking through all the sorry stuff she had the gall to offer me, while you were so brazen as to try to make her raise her already exorbitant prices. I told you of it, Chandler, so do not pretend you don't remember. I had planned to give the desk to your papa for his birthday. 'Tis what made it all the more distressing, for I know he would have liked it prodigiously."

  Struggling to gather his wits, he said, "But that must have been another purchase, surely? For you would not have selected his gift from goods you judged to be 'a sorry lot'?"

  She flushed, but said defiantly, "I do not propose to discuss the case with you! Vincent—find out whether the constable has been summoned!"

  Her brother marched forward resolutely, but again Chandler blocked the door, the glint in his eyes, the jut of his chin causing Lord Vincent to hesitate.

  Chandler said, "I will not have my father upset by more of your histrionics until I have heard the other side of this story."

  "I have given you no histrionics, sir, but a faithful accounting of what transpired," declared Lady Nadia angrily. "Why should we listen to the lies of a thief?"

  "There may be another explanation than theft, ma'am. Besides which, we chance to live in Britain, where a person accused of a crime has a right to be heard."

  "Yes, indeed," drawled Lord Vincent. "Heard by a judge—which you are not. And in a court of law—which this is not! After which thieves are hanged or transported. As such creatures deserve."

  He was quite correct. Suddenly, Chandler could see that terrible yard at Newgate Prison where people of morbid curiosity went to see convicted felons hanged. The theft of so large a sum as one hundred pounds was most definitely a capital crime, and to envision Ruth's gold and white daintiness being dragged to those hideous steps caused him to break into a cold sweat. Somehow, he controlled his terror and asked, "Miss Milford, can you explain this?"

  She attempted to answer, but her voice broke and she burst into tears. "My dear Mrs. A. did not know, sir!" she said between sobs. "Truly—she did not know! So hard her life has been since her poor brother died… And—and always she has managed somehow to… to keep us together. We knowed the estate was to be sold for debt, which like to broke her heart. But many of the furnishings were her own… handed down from her mama. She sold some, so as to pay the… servants and—and settle some debts." Through a haze of tears she pleaded, "Sir—may I be struck down if I lie! We thought that only the property was to be sold. We never dreamed—"

  "Never dreamed, indeed!" scoffed Lady Nadia. "Is that why you ran so fast, and so far? Is that why you went to such lengths to confuse anyone trying to discover your whereabouts that my agents could find no trace of you? What rubbish!"

  Grace sobbed louder and her voice was muffled as she sank her head into her hands. "That was my doing, milady. I found out the truth when I went into Shoe-Shoeburyness to pay off the grocer. And I couldn't bear to… tell Mrs.A., when she'd already give the servants their back pay and they'd gone. She couldn't of… got the money back, y'see. So I made her hurry, saying we'd miss the coach. 'Twas all my doing, Mr. Gordon! But—"she raised a ravaged, tear-stained face"—Mrs. A. didn't know, sir. She still doesn't know! I swear—"

  "What a farradiddle!" said Lady Nadia, impatient. "Save your swearing for the court, woman! Much good it may do you or your wicked mistress!"

  In desperation, Grace sank to her knees. "Ma'am—do not! I beg of you. I've no money, but—I'll work for you. For the rest of—of my days, I'll work to pay you back!"

  " 'Twould take more days than you have to repay one hundred guineas!"

  Chandler was very still and very white. Watching him
, De Brette drawled slyly, "Perchance Mrs. Allington would also be willing to work off her debt, m'dear."

  Chandler turned such a murderous glare on him that, involuntarily, he stepped back a pace.

  My lady said, "Thank you for nothing, brother. I had sooner have a woman of the streets in my service than take in a thief!"

  Grace shrank lower, a shaking hand pressed to her lips. They were lost, then. At the very least the boys would be put in a workhouse. At worst, they would go with her and her beloved mistress into the dreaded Newgate Prison. And if Mrs. A. was hanged… or transported… "Oh, God!" she moaned. "Oh, my dear Lord, help us!"

  Chandler met Lady Nadia's smug smile, and knew that his glimpse of heaven had been very brief.

  The morning dawned with a bluster of wind and rain. Low-hanging clouds had a yellowish tinge that caused Enoch Tummet to purse his lips. "Bad weather coming," he muttered, brushing his employer's thick black hair. "It were like this the one and only time I set me trotters on a boat. Cor! Couldn't get me on one never agin. Not if you paid me!"

  "I would pay a good deal to get you on one," said Falcon. "Pull it back tighter, you block!" He rolled his eyes at the ceiling and advised it that he was surrounded by clods, adding, as the door to his bedchamber opened, "And here's living proof of it! Are you acquainted with any sea captains, Morris? I need one to take this imitation valet off my hands."

  Tummet met the lieutenant's eyes and winked brashly. "Got outta bed on the wrong side, 'e done." And he added under his breath "as usual!"

  Morris grinned and replied that the only sea captain of his acquaintance was his sire. "Ain't been to sea for years now, of course," he added. "Curst glad of it, what with all this wrecking that's going on. Two more East Indiamen lost. Dreadful!"

  Falcon opened his jewel case and selected a great emerald ring. "They're very ready to blame wreckers," he said indifferently. "More likely poor navigation is the culprit. People of low intelligence delight to add drama to commonplace events."

  Morris was unconvinced. "D'ye call it commonplace when there have been at least a score of ships wrecked this past year or so? You'll recollect poor Johnny Armitage going down with most of his crew off the Cornish coast, and since then—"

  "Poor Johnny Armitage? The rogue was drunk in his cabin when he should've been on—" Falcon checked, frowning. "Now—why, I wonder, does the name Armitage ring a bell with me… ?"

  " 'Never send to know for whom the bell tolls,' " said Morris solemnly. He whooped, and made a run for the door, with Falcon in limping but rapid pursuit, and the rest of his quotation echoing after him, " '—it tolls… for thee!' "

  Tummet went over to listen for the sounds of bloody murder and, hearing only laughter and fast disappearing footsteps, closed the door. "Good thing the lieutenant set 'im orf, Tummet," he told himself thoughtfully. "That were a close call!"

  Falcon abandoned his bloodthirsty chase when the two men plunged into the stableyard and the wind sent dust and haystalks whirling into his face. His pained yowl brought Chandler hurrying to him. "Something in your eye, Falcon?"

  "Never mind about him," panted Morris. "You look a proper candidate for the undertaker, Gordie. I thought you'd shot the cat last night, but I'd not realized you were that bosky. Paying the price, are you?"

  Chandler's smile was rueful. " 'Fraid so. My father's brandy should be handled with caution." A sudden gust caused him to stagger, but he said, "I am at your disposal, gentlemen, if you'd care for a game of cards, or billiards. For some reason nobody seems to want to sail in this wind, but—"

  "God forbid!" Falcon extracted a haystalk from one eye. "Actually, I was about to look for my sire. 'Twould be advisable, I think, were I to offer him my escort to Sussex."

  Mr. Neville Falcon and his ladyfriend had been in excessively high spirits at the ball, and remembering some of their antics Chandler's lips quirked. "He said you might be of that opinion. Wherefore, he and his lady drove out an hour since."

  Falcon swore.

  Morris said, "I must get back to Town also. I thank you for a very nice party, Gordie." And he added experimentally, "Jove, but your—ah, lady can sing!"

  "Thank you. She can, indeed."

  Falcon's sly grin faded as he saw Chandler's enigmatic expression. Curious, he drawled, "Are we to expect an announcement of some kind, soon?"

  "Do you mean, have we set the date?" Chandler said blandly, "Yes. Lady Nadia would like a summer wedding, so we've settled on the twenty-fifth of August."

  "Have you, by Jove," said Morris, disappointed.

  "Idiot," said Falcon.

  "Your pardon?" Chandler's voice was cool, but his eyes spoke a warning.

  "I was talking to Morris," drawled Falcon. "Oh, Gad! It's coming on to rain. We'd best collect our ladies and be on our way."

  They started across the yard all together. Morris asked, "You've not found any trace of the missing crates and barrels, eh, Gordie?"

  "I wish to God we had! I'd give a deal to know what that whistling maniac was about!"

  As one man Falcon and Morris halted and turned to him.

  Morris said, "Whistling … ?"

  "What kind of whistling?" demanded Falcon. "Not an ancient marching song by any chance?"

  Mystified, Chandler said, "Yes, as a matter of fact. 'Tis called 'Lillibulero,' and—"

  "You unconscionable blockhead," snarled Falcon. "Why the deuce could you not have told us that before?" And not waiting for Chandler's astonished response, he went on, "Then they're after Lac Brillant! Ye gods! We've wasted a deal of time! Rossiter must know of this at once."

  "Know of what?" asked Chandler. "Who is after—Jupiter! Do you mean your League of Golden Men—or whatever 'tis called?"

  "Jewelled Men," corrected Morris. "If you're right, August, one of us should stay here—no?"

  "No. Chandler has an adequate staff. We've to get the ladies safe home and find Gideon. If the League thinks we're here because we've rumbled their scheme—" Falcon hesitated. "I'll leave my man, Tummet. If aught should go amiss, Chandler, send him to us."

  "But why do you think this League is after Lac Brillant?" persisted Chandler. "Only because some rascally Free Trader chanced to whistle an old song? That's not much to go on."

  Morris said, "A man who was in the habit of whistling 'Lillibulero' was one of those who broke my head and came within a whisper of sending Tio Glendenning and his family to the block."

  Chandler frowned. "He'd have a devilish task to send me to the executioner! My hare-brained brother is safe in France; I've had no dealings with Bonnie Charlie and his Cause; my father's past is sans reproche; and I'm perfectly sure that neither my betrothed nor Lord Vincent would knowingly come within a mile of a Jacobite sympathizer! There is nothing can be used 'gainst us!"

  The rain was getting heavier. Falcon said, "I'd not count on that, were I in your shoes. There's no telling what webs they may have already spun round you."

  Morris nodded and looked solemn. "Guard yourself, dear boy. These varmints have no mercy."

  "Morris is a dimwit," advised Falcon tersely. "But once in a great while he stumbles over the truth. Guard yourself!"

  Ruth glanced up as the wind sent leaves pattering against the chapel windows. She had awoken in the night to the sound of a gate slamming somewhere, and by morning it had become very clear that they were in for some bad weather. The guests still remaining at Lac Brillant were obviously anxious to get home. She had heard carriages rumbling down the drivepath several times since Katrina and Gwendolyn had come to say their good-byes at eleven o'clock. She had embraced them, warmed by the knowledge that she'd made two new friends. Gwendolyn had seemed to be troubled, but had renewed her invitation that they all visit her in Town, and had written down her direction, and insisted on a promise to send word when the fresco was nearing completion.

  As sorry as she was to see them go, nothing could depress Ruth's spirits this morning. Even Grace's melancholy gloom (the result, she said, of a horrid nightmare), had f
ailed to dim her happiness. Last evening her own dearest dream had come true, and the man she loved with all her heart had made it clear that he returned her affections. Actually, she had sensed for some time that he had a tendre for her. His eyes had told her that, even though as an honourable gentleman he had been powerless to speak. Last night, he had spoken. Well—as good as. And for him to have done so meant beyond doubting that he had found a way for them. Perhaps he had asked Lady Nadia to draw back from their betrothal. The woman was eaten up with pride, and would likely recoil from marriage to a man who loved somebody else. How heavenly, if eventually there could be a marriage planned between Mrs. Ruth Allington and Mr. Gordon Chandler…

  She realized that she had stopped working and was smiling at the fresco, and at once resumed her task, humming happily, her mind full of joyous speculation. When Gordon came, as he would certainly do very soon now, she would tell him about the twins, and confess that she had been Miss Ruth Armitage, sister of the infamous Captain Jonathan Armitage. He would likely be shocked—at first. But he loved her, and she would be forgiven. Sir Brian would probably not approve of her as a prospective daughter-in-law, especially since he so greatly admired Lady de Brette. But surely he would come to understand? And he already loved Jacob, little knowing that his affection went to two boys rather than one.

  She began to sing softly as she envisioned a golden future at this beautiful estate; a future with the man she loved beside her, and the boys happy and secure at last. And she thought of her father and dear Johnny, and of how delighted they would be to know she was to marry so fine a gentleman as Gordon Chandler.

  Lost in such rapturous imaginings she had not paid much heed to her work, but the emergence of a most unexpected colour brought her full attention to the fresco. Red? What on earth was that shade doing at the foot of the lighthouse? Intrigued, she began to concentrate on the area and it was not until another hour had slipped away that the pangs of hunger caused her to pause once more. It must be past one o'clock, and that was odd, for she had expected Sir Brian to come and see how much progress she had made, and the Reverend Mr. Aymer invariably dropped in to chat with her before noon. With guests to be entertained Gordon must be busy. He would come as soon as he could slip away, if only for a moment, but— Troubled, she glanced to the door, and as always her pulses quickened at the sight of him.