The Riddle of the Lost Lover

by Patricia Veryan

  Not since early summer had John Vespa set foot in this house, and no one could have been happier than the butler when the captain’s post-chaise pulled onto the drivepath and he came limping up the front steps. He was unaccompanied, which meant this would be a brief visit. Rennett, who had served the family for most of his life, stifled a sigh and ordered a lackey to collect the Captain’s valise, while the first footman was sent scurrying upstairs to serve as temporary valet.

  Mr. Rennett had been fond of both sons of the house, and had often marvelled at their mutual devotion, for they were in his opinion very different articles. Mr. Sherborne had been the heir, of course, as handsome as his sire, full of fun and always ready for any prank or escapade no matter how outrageous. It could not be denied that there had been the trace of a ‘wild kick in his gallop,’ as the saying went, which had displeased Sir Kendrick Vespa, yet a more unaffected and good-natured youth would have been hard to find.

  When Sherborne had bought a pair of colours and dazzled everyone with his splendid uniform before rushing off to join a crack Hussar regiment, Rennett had wished him well, and prayed his brother would not follow, for despite the affection in which he held Sherborne, it was Master John for whom the butler would have put his hand in the fire. John had followed, however, and the butler, waiting and worrying, had scanned every edition of the newspapers and trembled over the casualty lists. It had grieved his faithful heart when Sherborne had fallen, and he had grieved even more deeply when John had been brought home a year later, such a shadow of his former self.

  It had been a bitter disappointment when the young soldier had elected to live not in London or Richmond, but in the lonely old ruin he’d inherited in Dorsetshire. Today, after one look at Master John’s face (he must think of him as Sir John now!) the butler guessed the reason behind the prolonged absence, and the lack of mourning dress. The devoted young man was obviously clinging to the hope that Sir Kendrick had managed to survive and would be miraculously found alive somewhere downriver.

  ‘A forlorn hope, poor lad,’ thought Mr. Rennett, carrying a tray of decanters and glasses into the drawing room. He glanced about to see if everything was in readiness and swung around when he heard the door close behind him.

  Corporal bounced across the thick rug, wagged his tail at the butler and took possession of the warmest spot before the hearth.

  Vespa said with a smile, “Everything to your satisfaction, Rennett?”

  “We all want to please you, Sir John, and—” There was a slight flinch and an involuntary movement of the master’s hand, and Rennett knew he had not pleased. He wouldn’t make that mistake again! He said hesitantly, “The staff and I— That is, I am sure you will know, Captain, how deeply we all sympathize with your loss.”

  “Yes. And I am most grateful.” Vespa selected a fireside chair, trying not to see Sir Kendrick sitting in it. “Be so good as to pour me a cognac. Thank you. And now pour one for yourself and come and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Rennett’s heart sank. Captain John was going to close this house. He was about to be told to dismiss the staff. He poured a small measure of Madeira and walked to a straight-backed chair.

  “No, not there. Over here, man. And for mercy’s sake don’t sit on the edge as if you cringed before a tyrannical despot.” The familiar and endearing smile was slanted at him, and his employer asked, “I’m not one—am I?”

  “By no means, sir.” Rennett leaned back and waited.

  “This—chat must be of a most confidential nature, Obadiah.”

  ‘Obadiah!’ Mr. Rennett’s troubled heart gave a leap. “Of course, sir. If there is any way in which I may be of help? Is it about Sir Kendrick’s death?”

  “Yes. The authorities suspect that there was a—a sort of conspiracy. And I am trying to discover if my—father had any enemies.”

  The butler’s honest eyes widened.

  Vespa said hurriedly, “I know there may have been resentments, especially of late years, connected with his various romantic—er, entanglements. But we believe it goes farther back than that. Much farther back.”

  Thinking a great deal, the butler said with marked hesitation, “Sir—it is not my place to—Perhaps Lady Faith, or Sir Reginald Wansdyke…”

  “I’m asking you to compromise your high principles, I know. But you see we cannot wait for my mother to come home. To say truth, we’ve not even heard from her as yet. Sir Reginald was—disturbed by my questions and I’m afraid he’s of the opinion I am more than a touch cork-brained.” Vespa smiled ruefully. “So I’ve come to you. I think we have always been friends?”

  “I would not presume to—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” His patience wearing thin, Vespa exclaimed, “You’re a man and I’m a man, and only an accident of birth prevents you being the master of this house and me the butler! Speaking of which, you’ll never know how much I needed you in Dorsetshire, Obadiah. I apprehend it’s the last place you would want to live, but—”

  In an unprecedented interruption, Rennett said fervently, “I would go anywhere with you, Master John!” For just an instant the enigmatic eyes lit up, and the face of this man Sherry had laughingly referred to as ‘Mr. Aloof’ betrayed a depth of affection that astonished his employer. The butler looked down and a shy flush stained his cheeks.

  Touched, Vespa said, “How very good of you. Then will you help me? I understand and commend your reticence, but this is of the utmost importance, and it is vital to me that you speak frankly.”

  “In that case, sir, yes, I know Sir Kendrick made enemies. As you say, he was very popular with the ladies, and there were gentlemen—several gentlemen—who resented his—ah, conquests. But none I’d judge so distressed as to resort to violence.”

  “Then let’s try another tack. Do you recall anyone whom Sir Kendrick particularly disliked? I mean really disliked. Perhaps long before I was born.”

  The butler blinked. “I’m afraid I’ll be of small help there, Master John— Oh, your pardon! I keep calling you that, when I should say—”

  “It’s quite all right. You called me that for years. Just don’t fling my title at me, if you please. I imagine it is difficult for you to remember what took place a quarter century ago.”

  “It’s not that I cannot recall, sir. The thing is that I wasn’t the butler in those days. Mr. Clipstone was still alive, and I was an under-footman, in which position I wasn’t privy to—er—”

  “To family secrets? Come now, Obadiah. Surely you’d have heard a few pieces of gossip; in the Hall, at least.”

  The butler met the whimsical grin that was levelled at him, and grinned in return. “Well, I’ll have to think back, sir. Let me see now.… When Sir Kendrick and Lady Faith first married there were—there always are, you know—those who didn’t exactly—ah, smile on the union. One gentleman I do recall was a Mr.… now what was his name…? Dilworth! That’s it. Very much enamoured of Lady Faith, he was, and even after the wedding he would send her odes and tragic poems and great bouquets of flowers. Sir Kendrick thought it hilarious.”

  “Whatever became of him, do you know?”

  “Yes, indeed. He acceded to his uncle’s dignities and became Lord somebody or other. I don’t recall the exact title. Perhaps because he enjoyed it for so short a time. He bought himself a yacht. It sank on its maiden voyage, alas.”

  “With the new lord?”

  “Unfortunately so.”

  Persevering, Vespa coaxed from the butler the identities of several other gallants who had aspired to Lady Faith’s hand. One had since passed away, another had been killed during the retreat from Corunna. Rennett was aware of none who had suffered a broken heart or harboured a particular grudge, and to the best of his knowledge most had eventually married other ladies.

  Stifling his disappointment, Vespa asked, “What about different forms of enmity? Political or economic strife, for instance. Do you remember anything of that nature? Anyone who might have seriously crossed swords wit
h Sir Kendrick?”

  Rennett racked his brains, but without success. Vespa called for their glasses to be refilled and changed the subject, and for an hour the two men chatted like old friends. The afternoon was fading to dusk when the butler stood and began to light candles. “I do wish I could be of more help, sir,” he said regretfully. “I’m afraid, if you’ll forgive my saying so, Sir Kendrick had such charm, he could win over the most angry men.” He paused, frowning at the taper in his hand. “When he really cared to,” he added slowly.

  There was no more to be had from him; at least, for the moment. Vespa tried not to be downcast, enjoyed an excellent meal, sent his compliments to the Chef and, having leafed through several newspapers, went up to bed.

  It had been a long day and he was tired, but Corporal was obviously uneasy in these strange surroundings, so he allowed the dog to come into the room and having commanded sternly that he stay on the bedside rug, fell asleep almost at once. He was awoken by a warning bark and a knock at the door. After the fashion of men who have slept under constant threat of attack, he was at once wide awake.

  In answer to his call, a night-capped head, lit by the glow of a candle, loomed around the door. Corporal wagged his tail and accepted a caress.

  Rennett said eagerly, “Sir, forgive, but I have remembered something. It’s just a small thing, and likely of no help, but I thought I should tell you for fear I forget it by morning.”

  “Come in, man,” commanded Vespa, sitting up. “You’ve remembered one of my mother’s admirers, is that the case?”

  The butler hurried in and closed the door. “No, sir,” he said, advancing to stand beside the bed. “And, alas, my poor brain won’t give me the gentleman’s name. He may be dead now. But I remember being awed at the time, because our chef said that if ever there was a man Sir Kendrick detested, it was him, and that sure as check it would someday come to pistols at dawn for them! I never saw the gentleman, and I’d have forgot all about him, except that Mr. Clipstone was such a great one for fussy little details, and he asked Chef if he’d noticed that the gentleman’s name had an interesting feature.”

  Vespa asked intensely, “You mean he was foreign?”

  Rennett hesitated. “He may have been, sir. Mr. Clipstone pointed out that the gentleman had the same two letters in both his first and last names. Next to each other, if you take my meaning.”

  “You mean, if, for instance, his first name was Philip, and his surname Milbank—the ‘il’ would be in sequence in both cases?”

  “That’s it, sir. I only wish I’d paid more heed, but—it was so long ago, and I was young and empty-headed.”

  Vespa said he’d done splendidly, and might have provided an important clue, and the butler left, beaming.

  Disappointed, Vespa lay back and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, he’d really entertained high hopes, but for all his efforts he seemed to be getting nowhere. Perhaps he never would discover his real identity, which would surely spell the ruin of his hopes. He sighed, which was a mistake because it alarmed Corporal who at once jumped onto the bed to console him. It was several minutes before Vespa was able to reassure the consoler and when he at last fell asleep it was with Corporal—having taken flagrant advantage of the situation—snuggled close against his feet.

  * * *

  Lady Francesca surveyed the magnificent tapestry that hung on one wall of the large drawing room, and nodded her approval. She proceeded to wander from the massive and elaborately carven stone chimney-piece, to the great bow windows that overlooked the back gardens of Vespa House. The marble statue of Venus and the jade collection on an inlaid table were viewed critically.

  Consuela asked, “Well, Grandmama?”

  “Is a fine casa, this.” The duchess turned to Vespa who hurried to join them. “You will be foolish not to dwell here when you are in London, my Captain.”

  He bowed over her hand. “You know I cannot, ma’am.” Crossing to Consuela, his eyes were a caress. “Forgive. The roads are all mud, and my coach was delayed.”

  Consuela surrendered her hand and said softly, “I am only glad you’ve come home, but I was surprised that you wished to meet here. This is difficult for you.”

  Difficult … Every room, every piece of furniture, even the smell of beeswax and burning coal, held memories of the brother he’d loved and the father who had made devotion into a savage mockery. He said quietly, “Yes. But we have things to discuss, and we must be private. Have Toby and Paige been here?”

  “We are now, my pippin!” Tobias Broderick came briskly into the room, bowed to the ladies and went over to the hearth to make a fuss of Corporal, while complaining of the ‘beastly cold wind.’

  Paige Manderville followed, paying his respects with his customary easy grace and stunning them all with the splendour of a dark purple coat and lavender pantaloons that would have been vulgar on anyone else, but merely enhanced his good looks.

  Under the supervision of Rennett, who had accompanied his master from Richmond, two laden trays were carried in. Corporal’s attempt to investigate this feast was circumvented, and with a ceremony that amused them all the butler produced a likely looking bone and lured the dog to the kitchens.

  “Well,” said Vespa hopefully, as plates and mugs of hot chocolate were distributed. “Has anyone been lucky?”

  Manderville exclaimed, “Custard tarts! Egad, but I adore custard tarts! You go first, Toby.”

  Shaking his head, Broderick looked glum and begged that his news come last.

  Consuela sprang up, clapping her hands and almost oversetting a tray. “Oh, I cannot wait! Grandmama has been so clever, and has found out—”

  “These tells they are my tellings!” protested the duchess indignantly. “Sit down, bambina, and try to behaving correttamente! So. Now, we proceed. I, Captain Jack, upon your behoofs, have visit my sometimes friend, Mrs. Monica Hughes-Dering, the queen of gossip, who has, I will say it, become gross! How this woman she can allow herself such a great stomach— But—that is neither heres nor theres. She knows everything, my dears, about everyone!”

  Laughing, Manderville said, “Quite true. You went to the proper fountain, my lady, obese or no.”

  Broderick protested, “No, really, Paige! You cannot scramble syntax in so haphazard a way! I think you mean a well, not a fountain. And how could either be obese?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, old lad. I’ve heard there’s a fall of waters in the New World that is enormously wide, much like the duchess’ friend, so—”

  Vespa interrupted impatiently, “Do you say, ma’am, that the lady remembers someone who was particularly enamoured of my mother?”

  “No. But—from her I have one little thing learned. If we put it with another little thing, and then some other little thing … Who can say?”

  “You can,” said Consuela, frustrated.

  “It is,” resumed the duchess with a lofty gesture, “that this grande dame of the ton have boast and brag of her so eccelente memory, but when we put it to the test, pouff! Away it has go!”

  “Memory is a fascinating area of study.” The learned Broderick appropriated a custard tart and waved it about to emphasize his remarks. “Actually, even today little is known about it, though Aristotle was most interested in concepts formed by reason evolving from sensations which produce memory, and—”

  “Unfair!” cried Manderville. “Unfair! We gave you first chance to take the floor, and you refused. So have the goodness to cease your lecturing!”

  Vespa said through gritted teeth, “In about one second I’ll strangle the pair of you! My lady, are we to understand that the—er, ‘Queen of Gossip’ had none to impart?”

  “But of course she did! She was fairly bubbling over with it! To sort the ‘meat from the staff’ or whatever this saying is, I learned only one item that is of interest to us. Your Papa—and I mean Sir Kendrick, dear Captain Jack—he had the enemy. The bitter enemy.”

  “Rennett said as much.” Vespa leaned forward. “Was thi
s to do with my mother? Could Mrs. Hughes-Dering name the man?”

  “No, and no. It was to do with behaviours. Politics. Ideals—or the lack of them!”

  “Ah! Rennett said matters between Sir Kendrick and one gentleman were so strained that a duel was imminent. This sounds a likely customer. Could the lady tell you nothing at all of him? Is he still alive?”

  “This she did not know, for the person was outside of England a good deal. Mrs. Hughes-Dering say he had an estate—in Suffolk, she thought, and a castle somewhere, but not in England. And that he lived in those places, when he was not hunting.”

  “Jove, ma’am!” said Vespa, delighted. “You’ve done wonderfully!”

  Manderville dusted crumbs from his knee and murmured, “What does he hunt? Fox? Wild boar? Stag?”

  “Let me tell them, please, Grandmama!” begged Consuela. “For it is not important, and so very funny.” Receiving a resigned nod from the duchess, she said, her eyes sparkling, “He hunts—rugs! Is it not the strangest hobby?”

  “Rugs?” Manderville shook his head. “Sounds as if he has a vacancy in the upper storey, Jack!”

  “Some rugs can be valuable,” pointed out Broderick. “In fact—”

  “Desist, for mercy’s sake,” groaned Manderville. “A lecture on rug-making we do not need. What we’ve to do now is try to put it all together as Lady Francesca said, and see what we’ve got—do you agree, Captain, sir?”

  “I do, but I must tell you first how grateful I am for all the time you’ve spent, trying to help me.”

  “Why not?” said Manderville. “We enjoy your hospitality.”

  Broderick declared, “I don’t. Not for much longer, at all events. Been recalled. I was at the Horse Guards this morning, and the doctors say I’m perfectly fit again.”