by Fran Baker
“But get on with it, Archie! What happened?”
“It all started with a chit, Susannah Aylward as she was then. Both Vincent and Balstone, though, he wasn’t Viscount then, were in love with her. Or so I’ve been told. One night she and my brother were stopped in a chaise on the Great North Road—”
“Gretna Green!” a wide-eyed Antiqua exclaimed.
“Precisely. Well, though it was never spoken of openly, where it could be denied, Balstone spread the tale about that Jack had forced her to elope with him. The Aylwards married her off as quickly as possible to some filthy rich old cit named Jagger and the whole thing seemed destined to die out as a ten-days’ wonder, but then . . .”
“But then?” she prompted, riveting a stare upon him.
“A bit over a year ago Balstone was overheard in White’s telling a group of men that Mrs. Jagger was involved in an affaire d’amour with one of her grooms.”
“Overheard by Vincent?”
“Yes,” Archie confirmed with an unhappy nod. “And the next thing you know, Jack forced a duel upon the Viscount over the color of his coat. It was a sword-match and Balstone was wounded, though not severely. I was there when Jack turned up at the Abbey and m’father was outraged. ‘Still making a cake of yourself over that flighty bit of muslin,’ he stormed at Jack. And then, of course, my brother left for Europe, though no one expected him to stay away for over a twelvemonth.”
“He must still have loved this Susannah deeply to so defend her honor,” was Antiqua’s only toneless comment.
“Oh, lord, who’s to say? He’s had plenty of light-skirt company to—er, that is, I mean—”
Antiqua apparently did not notice his lordship’s discomfiture. She propped her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in a most unladylike fashion. Her brow furrowed as she appeared absorbed in the lacings of her kid slipper. The fire popped occasionally, the Marquis shifted in his seat several times, and the clock on the mantel chimed the half-hour before she straightened and spoke.
“I’m not precisely certain what it all means, but I must tell you of something most peculiar which occurred last night. I intended, in fact, to tax his lordship with it when he came this morning, but I begin to wonder if it would be wise to do so. If, as you say, he is practiced in the art of deceit and the telling of falsehoods, perhaps I was taken in.”
“Well, dash it, Antiqua, are you going to tell me or ain’t you? What the devil happened?”
“I almost missed it, too,” she said in a tone of wonderment. “I was so vastly angry at Vincent that I did not stop to think. But as I lay in bed last night, just about to fall asleep, I heard it so clearly, that of course I sat up wide awake.”
She looked at him with her head tilted to the side, as if she had fully explained herself. Lord Rosewarren was conscious of a sudden desire to shake Antiqua until her pretty teeth rattled. As calmly as he could, though tight lips, he demanded one last time, “Tell me what happened!”
“Oh, did I not tell you?” she asked, causing his lordship to clench his fists. “I’d told Balstone that Allen ‘gave into my keeping’—those were my exact words, Archie, and quite all I managed to say before Vincent came in on us. Yet when he took his leave of me, the Viscount whispered that we’d soon discuss more about ‘this packet my brother gave you.’ Those were his exact words.”
She waited. Archie stared, his brow wrinkled. Finally, she thumped her fist upon her knee. “Don’t you see? Balstone could not possibly have known what Thomas Allen gave me!”
A shrill whistle greeted her announcement. Rosewarren jumped up and paced a line before her. She watched him with anxious eyes, nearly leaping from her seat to join him. Suddenly, he stopped in front of her.
“I’ll tell you what I think, Antiqua. I think Balstone’s as dark a villain as you’re ever like to meet. I think he’s our traitor!”
Antiqua sat upright, catching his excitement. If this were true, if she could prove the Viscount guilty, then Vincent would be proved innocent! All barriers to her love would be crumbled!
“I’ll tell you something else rather odd, Archie,” she said, her voice rising. “When we first met, although it was in Calais, Balstone spoke English, not French to me. But he could not then have known I was English.”
“Unless he’d followed you from Amiens!” Archie burst out in triumph. “He was coming from Amiens, not going to!”
“There’s a way we can settle this matter all right and tight,” she said firmly. “Get me some writing materials.”
Casting a questioning look at her, Archie moved to the corner where a lattice-worked secretaire stood. He yanked open drawer after drawer, at last extracting some paper from one with a grunt of satisfaction. Grabbing a quill and a squat bottle of ink from atop the desk, he returned to Antiqua’s side.
As he thrust the articles unceremoniously at her, he asked, “What do you mean to do?”
“I mean to write the Viscount Balstone,” she replied vaguely as she took the proffered items.
Settling the paper on the sofa-table and dipping the pen in ink, Antiqua sat poised while she gathered her thoughts. At length, her quill scratched the surface of the vellum with a flourish. Archie impatiently paced up and down the room, returning to stand before her as she laid the quill aside.
“Well?” he demanded.
“My Lord,” she read aloud as she waved the paper to dry, “the information you seek is in my keeping. Meet me tonight in the spinney beyond the Rotunda at Vauxhall, at the time of the Spectacle of the Grand Cascade. Five hundred pounds and the information shall be yours.”
She peeked over the top of the sheet to find the young Marquis standing stock-still, his mouth rounded in admiration.
“A very neat trap, Antiqua, I must say!” Archie fell back onto a chair. “If he’s guilty, he’ll be there with five hundred in his pocket. And if he’s not, he’ll be round asking you what the devil your note meant. Either way, we shall know just how deeply my Lord Balstone is involved.”
Pleased with his reception of her scheme, she shyly confided, “I put the assignation at Vauxhall because I have been longing to see it.”
“We shan’t have time for the sights, m’girl,” he warned her. “If Balstone shows up with the blunt, we’ll promptly inform against him at the Home Office.”
“You realize, Archie, that even if the Viscount does respond to this billet, it still cannot explain the blank documents, nor Thomas Allen’s warning.”
“Such considerations were waved airily aside. “What can it matter, once we have entrapped the traitor who plots with Bonapartists?” He spoke with boyish eagerness, his youthful face aglow with anticipation.
It was upon this earnest scene that his sister chanced. Archie did not give Julianne an opportunity to exclaim her surprise at his presence, but greeted her immediately. “Hullo, Julianne! I’ve come round to see if Antiqua could go to Vauxhall with me tonight.”
“Oh?” queried Lady Julianne. Two pairs of anxious eyes followed her rustling progress to the Sheraton arm-chair and continued to watch nervously as she smoothed the folds of her cambric gown. “As to that, we had thought to attend the opera tonight, but I suppose, if you are so particularly resolved on Vauxhall, we could go to the opera another evening.”
It was as if she had released a spring under Lord Rosewarren. He fairly vaulted to his feet, objecting loudly, “No, Julianne!” Her look of bemazement brought him to his senses and he quieted. “That is, there’s no need to put yourself out. No need at all. You and Giles may attend the opera tonight whilst Antiqua and I join a party that—that Mrs. Humperdink is getting up.”
“Mrs. Humperdink? But how very odd,” his puzzled sister said. “Alice never said so much as a word to me about such an outing when we met last night at Lady Townsend’s.”
“Oh, er, that’s because—because the notion of going was only formed this very morning,” Archie hastily prevaricated. “Her son Melvin is a particular chum of mine, you know, and we got to talking a
nd the upshot of it all is we decided on an expedition to Vauxhall. So of course I invited Antiqua to go, to keep Emma Humperdink company and all that sort of thing.”
The pleading glance he sent Antiqua was not wasted. She jumped obediently into the fray. “Oh, please, Lady Julianne, say I may! To see the Grand Cascade has long been an ambition of mine!”
“I’ll take great care to see that she doesn’t get into any mischief,” Archie rashly promised.
The object of his solicitation looked affronted, but his sister’s response saved his lordship from Antiqua’s impending wrath. Raising her hands to ward off further argument, the Lady Julianne laughingly gave in. “All right, all right! But both of you must listen to Mrs. Humperdink, and mind you, Archie, don’t try playing off any of your tricks upon her!”
“Of course not, Julianne,” he promised. “Shouldn’t dream of it.”
“I shall make certain, Lady Julianne, that he does not,” Antiqua said sweetly, settling the score.
* * * *
Less than an hour later, Lord Balstone was informed that Miss Greybill was from home. Before he could turn away, however, Fillmore presented him with a note which the young miss desired his lordship to read upon receipt.
The slanted yellow eyes narrowed as the Viscount scanned the brief contents. He then refolded the missive, pocketed it, thanked Fillmore in a polite voice and departed, all of which the old servant dutifully recounted to the attentive twosome in the sitting room.
“Which tells us nothing,” Antiqua said glumly once Fillmore left them alone.
“It tells us he was not bewildered by your note. Fillmore said he didn’t evidence surprise or puzzlement, which an innocent man would have done.” Archie stabbed the air with an accusing finger as he spoke, his tone one of condemnation.
“All the same, it doesn’t prove him guilty of anything. He may be aware that his brother had such information—indeed, he has admitted as much to me—and means to wait to discuss it with me.”
“You are determined to find him faultless! You wish instead to believe my brother guilty! But tonight the truth of the matter will be known. I’ll collect you promptly at eight, so mind you do not keep me waiting.”
“Humph!” Antiqua snorted after his lordship’s vanishing form. “Mind you are not late!”
Chapter 15
In the event, neither was kept waiting. Precisely at eight, the Marquis of Rosewarren was ushered into the Winthrop’s blue salon to be met by an overly excited Miss Greybill. From beneath a pert, plumed bonnet, her large brown eyes greeted him with eager expectation. Their glitter was matched by the gleam within his lordship’s own blue gaze and the spark of their lively anticipation was a tangible entity.
“I’m persuaded Vauxhall will never have seen two more enthusiastic visitors,” Julianne said on a laugh. “You look like children about to receive a treat.”
The pair looked instantly guilty. Lady Julianne’s gaze passed one to the other, speculation overtaking her amusement. “Such a pair of geese! Whatever can you two be up to?”
Archie’s collar seemed suddenly too tight; his fingers tugged at its rim while he mumbled that he dared to say it had been an age since he’d been to the Gardens. Antiqua kept prudently silent, the fringe of the blue damask window hangings becoming an apparently overwhelming source of interest.
A tiny line crossed Julianne’s brow, the slightest of frowns caught at her lips. Prompted by an unexpected doubt, she inquired again, though this time in a somber tone, “What are you up to?”
The timely entrance of Sir Giles rescued them. The relief derived from this interruption was, however, of short duration. The sight of Jack Vincent strolling in behind Winthrop brought a fresh wave of alarm to the pair of schemers. Antiqua exchanged one horrified glance with Archie, then returned her gaze to the hangings. The over-vivid memory of her last meeting with Vincent kept her attention riveted there.
After greeting his sister with a slight bow, Vincent straightened and with great deliberation raised his quizzing glass to one eye. The glass traveled slowly from the casually disordered locks crowning his lordship’s head, over the bottle-green jacket and, with an imperceptible shudder, past the spotted waistcoat. Down the yellow pantaloons, his gaze came to rest upon the golden tassels hanging limply atop the glossy boots. The constriction of the Marquis’s collar noticeably worsened.
“Setting a new mode in evening fashion, Rosewarren?” Vincent queried at length.
“What? Eh-er-no,” Archie disclaimed, casting his eye from his brother’s satin knee breeches to Sir Giles’s, then landing on his own pantaloons. “No, of course not. I don’t go to the opera tonight.”
“No? You relieve me.” Vincent turned his scrutiny briefly upon Antiqua. Her long-sleeved pale pink walking dress as well as her pert chip bonnet plainly proclaimed her intended absence from the opera as well. He turned his gaze back to his brother. “You are, I collect, to escort Miss Greybill somewhere this evening.”
“Yes. We’re to join an outing to Vauxhall got up by Mrs. Humperdink,” his young brother explained rapidly. “In fact, we’d best be going if we don’t wish to be late.”
On this cue, Antiqua came instantly to her feet. “We don’t wish to make everyone wait upon us!”
“It has been quite some time since I last took advantage of the pleasures at Vauxhall,” Vincent murmured. “Perhaps I could accompany you—”
“No!” the two chorused vehemently.
Vincent fixed his eye on one, then the other. His jaw tightened subtlely. Seeing this, both felt an unpleasant sensation along their spines. They shifted nervously.
“That is—” Archie began.
“You’d quite spoil the balance, sir!” Antiqua exclaimed. “Mrs. Humperdink would never be able to find another female to add to the party at this late notice. Why, imagine the insult of being asked so hastily! And what would she do with an odd male?”
“I have my idiosyncrasies, Miss Greybill, I will own, but I have never conceived of myself as odd,” Vincent returned on a lazy drawl.
It was to be observed that the bright pink feather curling delightfully over her right ear was now but a shade darker than Antiqua’s cheeks.
Lady Julianne intervened, saving her from searching for a response. “Don’t tease her further, Jack, I beg of you. They cannot keep Mrs. Humperdink’s party waiting.”
“Nor can we wait, my love,” put in her husband. “We shall arrive mid-way through the performance if we delay any longer.”
“Just so,” she agreed with one of her tinkling laughs. “Let us all remove then. And you cannot desert us, Jack, in favor of the delights of Vauxhall. Giles and I have scarce had a chance to speak with you since your return and we mean to do so, don’t we, dearest?”
Her chatter had escorted them all into the wide hall where servants stood ready with their various wraps. Archie stepped forward to take Antiqua’s silk mantalet, but somehow Vincent was there before him. He held it wide; she hesitated only momentarily before accepting her fate. She stood quite still as he sheathed her shoulders with grey silk.
His hands lingered on her shoulders. With gentle force, he turned her to face him. Antiqua could not meet his look as he knotted the cloak’s silk cord. He drew the ends through the loop with tantalizing slowness. The tips of his fingers grazed her neck, burning her, forcing her at last to raise her eyes. The intensity of his sapphire gaze set her to trembling.
“I am disappointed you are not to attend the opera tonight, Brown-eyes,” he whispered into her ear. His breath airily fluttered the feather-wisps about her lobe.
Antiqua was conscious of the strength of the hands still lying lightly upon her shoulders. It occurred to her that Archie could not possibly wish to prove Jack Vincent’s innocence as much as she now desired to. It meant the world to her, the world of joy and love. She said in a faltering tone, “Perhaps another time, Mr. Vincent.”
“I’d rather thought, my dear, that I should call upon you again in the morning.
There are unfinished matters we need to discuss. Would you receive me?” He stepped back. His mouth was slightly curved, his brow briefly cocked.
Her heart thumped wildly. She knew his polite request was a veiled proposal. Perhaps by then she would be able to meet him without her dreadful suspicions looming between them. Clutching this hope to her erratic heart, she flashed him one of her most brilliant smiles. “Yes,” she answered happily.
Then quickly, she slipped through the door on Rosewarren’s arm.
* * * *
The purpose of their outing was forgotten for a time as Antiqua beheld the enchantment of Vauxhall. As they entered by the water gate, she leaned so far out of the scull, Archie feared she would fall into the water and he clutched at her mantalet as he begged loudly for her to sit still. It was, apparently, too much to ask. Antiqua’s head swiveled back and forth in a frantic effort to see everything at once.
The sight was indeed spectacular. Thousands of bright lamps lit the Gardens and cast thin ripples of light down each grove and colonnade. As she stepped from the scull and Archie paid their shilling admission, Antiqua heard a distant serenade from an orchestra playing in a giant kiosk hung with colored lights. Their reflections emblazoned the surrounding graveled paths, where all manner of people promenaded. Rich mingled with poor, demireps pranced beside ladies of the highest quality.
It was, Antiqua decided, the most delightful place.
Archie guided her to a spacious pavilion resplendent with glistening chandeliers and flashing mirrors. This, he informed her, was the principal supper room where he had hired a box for them to await the hour of the Grand Cascade. Dining on wafer thin ham slices, bread and wine, Antiqua stared wide-eyed at the passing kaleidoscope of people. Once, between bites, she pointed out a tall thin man walking with an exaggerated air of fashion and demanded loudly to be told who he was.
