by Joan Smith
“Yes, only eight,” he agreed. “But you must not think I mean to be a burden to your people. I brought my own grooms and valet and footmen to attend to my needs. I shall be very little bother to you, Cousin.” He smiled blandly at the end of this awful revelation.
“How many? Grooms and footmen, I mean?” Rachel asked, her face blanching.
“Just a couple of grooms and two or three footmen. I hadn’t realized Thornbury was so small, or I could have made do with one groom.”
“Yes, it is very small,” she told him, hinting that he might still return the excess staff to London.
His next speech showed me that Rachel had met her match. “Then I shall write to Riddell and tell him not to come. I don’t want to be any trouble to you at all.”
His expectant face said as clearly as words that he anticipated praise for his consideration, perhaps even a polite insistence that Riddell come by all means.
“Unless your man of business enjoys sleeping in the cellar, you had best not ask him to come” was Rachel’s reply. It was delivered in faint accents. The fight had been shocked out of her for the moment.
There was a little edge returning to her voice when she continued speaking. “I don’t want to rush you, Aiglon, but dinner has been waiting an age. We keep country hours here.”
“Dinner? I couldn’t eat a bite. I am fagged after the trip and shall retire now for the night. Perhaps a cup of broth in my room in about an hour. I could eat no more. Tomorrow I shall look forward to trying some of the local seafood.”
“Just as you like, Aiglon,” Rachel replied, perfectly livid around the mouth from her efforts to control her spleen.
“Thank you so much. I don’t want you to go to any special trouble for me. Will you have the servants bring me up plenty of hot water for a bath now? Oh, and there is just one other thing. I am rather a light sleeper. If you could keep the noise down tonight and in the early morning, I would appreciate it. You don’t keep a rooster, I hope?”
“Of course we keep a rooster! How shall we have any increase in the henhouse without a rooster?” She was vexed into replying.
“Pity.”
“You won’t hear it if you keep your window closed,” she said through thin lips.
“I always sleep with my window open. I came for the sea breezes.” He arose languidly and sauntered toward the door. “Ah, there is just one other thing,” he exclaimed, turning back to Rachel.
She stiffened in preparation for some new outrage but said nothing, and Aiglon spoke on. “I have a small favor to request. It won’t cost you a penny,” he added, unable to quite control some little unsteadiness of his lips. “I would prefer you not tell anyone I am here. If I am seen driving about the countryside, as I probably shall be, you might say that your cousin, Lance Howell, is visiting you for a month or so.”
“A month!” she asked, staring, and forgot to be angry at the bizarre request he had made.
“More or less.”
“But why do you want to use your name rather than your title?”
“Why, to tell the truth, Cousin, my visit here is a secret,” he answered reasonably.
“A secret from whom?”
“From the law. There is a little matter of murder that I am currently involved in,” he explained calmly.
“You are wanted for murder?” she asked, nonplussed, as I was myself.
“I am wanted in that regard, yes.”
“Aiglon, are you brazenly standing there and telling me you killed a man in cold blood?” she asked, her voice trembling. It takes a good deal to make Rachel tremble.
“No, no, of course not. It was done in hot blood—a duel,” he explained as though that were justification enough.
Then he made a graceful bow to his cousin, another to me, and sauntered out of the room and toward the stairs. Within seconds there was a loud thumping as his foot became entangled in the newly laid carpeting. A curse rent the air.
Rachel jumped up to go to his aid, and I followed her. Aiglon was pushing at the bellied carpet with his toe. “There is something amiss here,” he said, frowning.
“It is newly laid—the workmen did shoddy work. I shall call them back to fix it,” Rachel said hastily.
“Newly laid? But why did you have a spotty old carpet put down?” he asked. “You should have bought a new piece while you were about it.”
She rushed on to distract him, no doubt relieved that he hadn’t taken the time to glance at her note to Riddell. “Aiglon, about this secrecy business you mentioned. I have already told a few people you are coming. The fact will be well known in the countryside by now. You should have told me it was a secret when you wrote to me. I really think the best thing would be for you to dart on to Westleigh immediately.”
“That’s the first place they’ll look for me,” he answered. “No one knows I even own this little place. It’s a pity you announced my arrival, but you can always claim I didn’t get here after all. If the Bow Street Runners show up, I may have to leave, but I wouldn’t expect to see them for a few days yet.”
As he spoke, his eyes went from her dangling pendant earrings to the lamps in the hall, comparing the design. “You will rehang those crystals when you’re through with them, won’t you, Cousin? I know you take excellent care of Thornbury for me. I look forward to touring the house tomorrow and seeing all the pretty new carpets and curtains and things you’ve had put in. And now I bid you good night once more. And you, Miss Pethel,” he added, with a bow in my direction and an impish eye that told me he knew a good deal more about Rachel’s housekeeping than he let on.
Rachel was struck mute. She nodded and dragged her feet slowly back to the saloon.
“Let’s eat,” I suggested,
Rachel plopped down on the sofa and took up her glass of wine. She looked quite dazed. “You eat, Constance. I have a little planning to do before I retire,” she said.
* * *
Chapter 3
I knew Rachel wouldn’t really pass up all the delicacies that we had prepared to tempt Aiglon into a good humor. Before I had half finished my turbot, she came and joined me at the table.
“Did you speak to the servants about Aiglon’s hot water, Rachel, or do you want me to do it?” I asked.
“I told Willard,” she answered grumpily. ‘‘Hot water—that is exactly what we are in, Constance.”
“Let’s enjoy this lovely dinner before we start to worry,” I suggested. “It would be a pity to waste it.”
“Waste it? Fat chance of that with all of Aiglon’s servants stuffing their faces belowstairs! I hope he means to share the expenses while he is here. Eight horses! Have you any idea how much one horse eats?”
“A great deal, I’m sure, but it is only hay and oats after all,” I pointed out, trying to cheer her.
“We must get rid of him, Constance, at once! Now, I have been thinking...”
“I was sure you would be,” I replied innocently.
“You shall see a Bow Street Runner in Folkestone tomorrow morning. He will be inquiring for Lord Aiglon. You will make a quick dash home, and that will be the end of him. He’ll leave.”
This settled, she helped herself to a plate of turbot, for the servants were all belowstairs in hands with Aiglon’s bathwater, and began to eat.
“That man has eyes like a hawk,” she lamented as she reached for the peas. “How did he see the grease spots on the carpet? It was dark as pitch, and the bit at the bottom of the stairs was clean. And the crystal pendants! How did he notice where they came from? Those quick eyes of his see too much. We must be rid of him.”
Rachel has a way of accomplishing what she wants to accomplish, and I had a strong feeling that she’d get Aiglon rooted out of his own house within a day or two, but till he left life would be interesting. The first item of interest was her order to Willard to wake the rooster half an hour before usual and remove it to a spot beneath Aiglon’s window. Willard was further commanded to prod it with a stick for maximum crowing.
Willard agreed without so much as a question. Before she took fork to fowl, she had also told Willard to order several hundred pounds of hay and present the bill to Aiglon before he left. And, if all else failed, she meant to inundate the house with guests, since he obviously wished to be left alone.
“We shall see who is in charge here,” she announced after Willard left.
I found it strange that she didn’t once refer to the trifling matter of Aiglon’s having killed a man. Any pleasure I had been anticipating in a flirtation with him dissipated when I learned that.
“I wonder who it is that he killed,” I said during one of Rachel’s respites from talking.
“Someone like him that the world is well rid of,” she told me firmly.
After dinner she removed her earrings and hung them back on the lamp. We were just at the doorway doing this when the knocker sounded. As Willard was belowstairs, I answered the door. Expecting to see a Bow Street Runner, Rachel wore a hopeful face, but it was only Mickey Dougherty. He came to call occasionally but seldom in the evening unless there was good reason, such as the delivery of a bottle of brandy from Madame Bieler. Rachel’s purchases were rare, however, and she had just made one, so I was curious to learn why he had come.
“Why, good evening, Mickey. Come in,” I said, and looked over my shoulder to tell Rachel who had arrived. I was astonished at the angry, almost frightened expression she wore.
“Good evening to you, ladies,” Mickey said, making a bow. “I’ve just left my mount in the stable, and I see by the quantity of horseflesh there that you’ve got company. Lord Aiglon, is it?” he asked, darting a bold smile to Rachel.
“It is my cousin Mr. Lance Howell who is visiting,” she replied stiffly. “Did you want anything in particular, Mickey, or is this a social call?” she asked. She didn’t invite him into the saloon. We were usually grateful to anyone who went to the inconvenience of paying us a visit and ordinarily treated them civilly.
“I’m only here for the pleasure of seeing you. Is Aiglon traveling incognito?” Mickey asked, apparently quite aware of his lordship’s family name. “That’s surely odd. What could be the reason for it?”
“No special reason,” she said vaguely.
I kept looking toward the saloon, mutely reminding Rachel that our guest was still standing in the hallway. Finally she relented and asked him in. I’m usually a few paces behind Rachel in my thinking, but at about that time I figured out that she meant for Mickey to spread the news of her cousin’s arrival. The Wares were the likeliest people in the neighborhood to get word back to London, for Lord Ware often went there. He was assembling statuary for his park.
“I thought maybe it had something to do with—
“No, no, there’s no special reason for his visit,” she interrupted swiftly.
“I thought that, too, Mickey,” I said. “I was sure his coming had something to do with Napoleon’s possible invasion, but if it has, he didn’t mention it. We must ask him tomorrow.”
Mickey gave me a surprised look, but when he spoke, he said only, “Why don’t you ask him tonight?”
“He’s gone to bed,” Rachel replied.
“Has he now? And who’s the gentleman out walking along the beach then? He has a lordly look about him. I made sure it was Aiglon.”
“A man on the beach?” I asked, and went to the window. The beach isn’t actually visible from the saloon, but a man walking on the beach might take the road up to Thornbury. Our house is a little isolated from the others, and we take proprietary interest in anyone who is nearby on foot, providing he looks like a gentleman.
Indeed there was a gentleman strolling toward the house.
“It is Lord Aiglon!” I exclaimed, looking a question to Rachel. “What’s he doing out there? He asked for hot bathwater and broth.”
“He was just taking a breath of air, it looked like,” Mickey said, and walked to the window. “Yes, that’s the same man right enough.”
I made small talk with Mickey while Rachel prepared her setdown for Aiglon. I expected Aiglon would sneak in by the back door, through which he had apparently left, but he strolled nonchalantly to the front door and let himself in.
Rachel came to attention to do battle with him. “You shouldn’t be walking outdoors right after a hot bath, Aiglon,” she said.
“Aiglon?” he asked, as though he’d never heard the name before.
“He knows,” Rachel replied, tossing her head toward Mickey.
“I see. Well, to put your mind at rest, Cousin, I haven’t yet had my bath. There wasn’t sufficient water. While my footmen prepared some, I decided to walk away the cricks and cramps of travel.” He turned his attention to Mickey and continued speaking. “I don’t believe I have the pleasure of your guest’s acquaintance, despite his knowing who I am.”
Mickey arose and pumped Aiglon’s hand. He introduced himself before Rachel had the opportunity to do it for him. I poured wine for the company, and we all settled in to chat while Aiglon’s water was readied.
“Is it Boney that brings you down from London?” Mickey inquired. “You’re with the F.O., I believe I’ve heard my stepfather say.’’
“Bonaparte?” Aiglon asked, his fine eyebrows lifting. “No, on the contrary, I hesitated to come to the east coast at this time because of the possibility of invasion, but then I don’t expect anything will come of it.”
“You are quite mistaken there, Aiglon,” Rachel said. “We expect to hear the roar of guns any day now,” Her hope, of course, was to frighten him away.
“Surely precautions have been taken?” he said. “The military has installations on the coast, and there is the militia as well.”
“I personally wouldn’t expect a bunch of farmers with turnip hoes and rakes and shovels to defend me,” Rachel pointed out. “We shall be in a fine pickle if the French come.”
“You are too kind to worry about me,” Aiglon said, “but, in the unlikely event of an attack, I have packed my French grammar and shall introduce myself as Monsieur Aigle.”
This pusillanimous course earned him three rebukeful stares. Mickey shook his head and said, “You’re all welcome to a berth on my boat if we see the fleet coming. I can outrun anything the French have in the water. We’ll nip down the channel and scoot over to the ould sod–Ireland.”
“You’re in shipping, are you, Mr. Dougherty?” Aiglon inquired with some show of interest. “Does the invasion scare interfere with your business?”
“Shipping is a bit too grand to describe what I do,” Mickey answered. “What I have is a nifty three-masted lugger. I use her for fishing or a bit of short-distance hauling, and for pleasure.”
“What pleasure do you find in sharing your space with a cargo of aromatic fish?” Aiglon inquired.
“ ‘Tis a bit of a problem,” Mickey admitted readily. “But a good dose of bleach does wonders for the stench.”
It was, of course, the smell of brandy that necessitated these occasional rinsings out with bleach. I believe it was another of his ploys to dump a load of bass or gray mullets on top of his real cargo. He never sold any fish but ones that liked the estuaries and those he bought from local fishermen to lend an aura of legality to what he did.
“I’ll sprinkle her with attar of roses if you’d do me the honor of joining me some fine afternoon. Lord Aiglon,” he added, smiling blandly.
“We shall see. My own yacht will be coming forward in a day or two.” An invitation for Mickey to join Aiglon was not offered, but Mickey took no offense. He was really the best-natured man in the county.
There was a little more general conversation, after which Mickey said, “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, Lady Savage? Business,” he added for Aiglon’s and my benefit.
“Certainly. We’ll go to the study. Excuse us, Aiglon.”
They left, and Aiglon smiled at me. I was extremely uncomfortable at being abandoned to the sole company of a murderer and sought for any excuse to escape. “I’ll see if your b
athwater is ready yet,” I said, and arose.
“No, stay,” he said, rather imperiously. I sat down again and waited to hear what he had to say.
“What business would Mr. Dougherty have with my cousin?” he asked.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t usually have any business with her. I was quite curious myself.”
“Surely her fishmonger doesn’t visit her to be entertained in her saloon?” he prodded.
“Good gracious, no! Mickey’s not a fishmonger. He’s a smuggler, but Rachel bought a bottle just a day ago, so it can’t be that. He might have a new load of silk he’s telling her about. She usually gets it directly from Madame Bieler. That’s who handles the silk and small orders of brandy for Mickey,” I explained.
All this is as well known as a ballad in our area, so I was surprised when Aiglon broke out into a sardonic laugh at hearing it.
“It’s comforting to know I have such law-abiding citizens keeping house for me,” he said.
“At least we haven’t murdered anyone!” I shot back.
He leaned forward and smiled softly. “I may have overstated the case. I hit my man, but whether it was a fatal shot is not certain. I felt it wise to leave before the doctor was called,” he explained.
“Who did you shoot?”
“A Mr. Kirkwell.”
“Why did you do it?” I stared in fascination. I had never seen a murderer before, and wasn’t likely to do so again, but somehow I never thought a murderer would look as refined and civilized as Aiglon.
“Because I was drunk,” he answered bluntly. There was no air of apology in the speech though perhaps a little embarrassment.
“But you must have had time to sober up between the challenge and the duel. There is the business of seconds and of arranging a meeting place ...”
“I was drunk for two days,” he assured me.
He didn’t look as dissipated as all that. Men who are habitually drunk have ravaged faces and bleary eyes. Aiglon had about the sharpest pair of eyes I had ever encountered, and his flesh was firm.
“I hope this has taught you a lesson,” I said, and looked at the study door. Rachel had closed it behind her. I wished she would finish her business with Mickey and return, for I could think of nothing more to say to Lord Aiglon.
