An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5)

by Shirley Marks

  If not today perhaps tomorrow or the day after or the day after that?

  Bah! He never claimed he understood females.

  David glanced over his shoulder at the members of the expedition. Peter the stable boy led Lucy aboard Hercules, followed by a fine young second footman, George, in charge of Apollo, whom young Davy sat astride.

  They headed out from the Willows to the southwest copse and followed the creek, with all its elevation changes and bends, around an outcrop of rocks and trees that led to the meadow. After crossing through the meadow and hedging around the small orchard, they would find the rocky path to climb to their destination of Beacon Hill.

  “Come on, now!” Peter would urge Apollo every ten or so minutes. At these times, David glanced over his shoulder and checked, ensuring his party stayed together.

  “Why is this donkey’s name Hercules?” Lucy asked Peter, who did not seem to have near the difficulty with his charge as George had with Apollo. “I think his name should be Bernard or Reginald.”

  “Those is fine names, miss, but Madam—Mrs. Cavanaugh—gave them names, she did,” he replied.

  “They’re the same names the ponies had when I was young,” David commented, knowing Peter had no knowledge of those animals. “I have to admit, using the same names does make it easier to remember.”

  “She asks about them all the time. Only I can’t say she knows they’re donkeys or not, but they ain’t ponies, they’s donkeys.” Peter rubbed his face with his free hand. “Madam says they were the perfect names for them, and she dunna want to call them anything else.”

  As far as he could tell, David thought these beasts shaggy, stubborn, and cantankerous. Ponies were fun-loving and more adaptable than these sad replacements. If Gran had ever hoped to host David’s children, if he ever had them, in the future, she’d best acquire some real ponies.

  In many ways this journey would not be the same as the first. David had learned from their last outing and planned for a footman and kitchen staff to meet them at Beacon Hill with a hamper, where he and the children would enjoy a nuncheon before returning home.

  The party’s path would soon veer to the right where the earth rose, and the gently flowing water separated the foot traffic from the rocky shore of the creek. There was a goodly amount of water flowing in the creek, more than David remembered. As he recalled, it was sometimes dry during this time of year. No matter, this was the correct path, and onward they went.

  And they went on for a good half hour before Hercules stopped, not for any reason David could detect. The blasted donkey stood right there in the middle of the trail and refused to move. Apparently, he did not wish to be the lead donkey any longer. Apollo was brought forward, and he was more than amenable to blazing the path before them. Thank goodness Hercules was happy to follow.

  This was not how David remembered the area. He had traveled this path more times than he could count, and the surrounding landscape did not look at all familiar. First, the trail was devilishly narrow. The brush had grown and would occasionally snag at the arm of his jacket or a low-hanging tree branch would try and remove his hat.

  Second, there were puddles. They weren’t even that. Every ten feet of so there were spots where water had collected, leaving dampened areas. That in itself wasn’t much of a problem until the humans understood that the donkeys shied badly from the small bodies of water, or any amount of dampness, afraid a hoof, the attached donkey leg, followed by its entire body would be pulled into the depths of the puddle.

  And finally, donkeys were not ponies. They may have resembled the smaller equines in the manner of having four legs, two ears, and a tail, but these were stubborn, ill-tempered beasts.

  Another half hour passed before Apollo stopped, refusing to move.

  “Move on, you deuced wretch!” David hated these donkeys. Hated.

  “Wretch!” Davy cried out.

  That creature in front simply stopped and refused to cross a dampened area that nearly reached the center of the path.

  “Back him up, will you, George?” David moved between the beasts. The footman circled Lucy’s animal, guiding him away from Apollo.

  David gently encouraged the beast by patting him on the hind end. The beast did nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but swiveling one large hairy ear in his direction was not the desired response.

  “Give ’im a kick, Master Davy.” George now pulled on the lead. “Use both feet!”

  “Go! Go, ’pollo!” Davy held on tightly to the straggly mane and did a fine job of balancing while urging the beast on with his short legs.

  “Pull him forward, will you, George?” David called out to the footman.

  “I am trying my best, sir.” The servant was not to blame. He gave up on the rope and gripped the halter with both hands to lead the beast past the dampened plot. He dug in his heels and leaned backward using his entire body weight.

  Did Apollo think the water would bubble from the ground and surge across the trail to swallow him if he tried to pass on the dry side? The wretched creatures!

  Why did his grandmother stable these? David hated to think what it cost him to feed and house the nasty things.

  “Enough!” David saw the futility in attempting physical force. Even two men could not succeed. “We’ll see who’s the smarter,” he muttered, refusing to be bested by a donkey. He stepped back to acquire a better perspective on what needed to be done.

  David stepped from the path and snapped a sturdy branch off a shrub. He ripped off the leaves and other extraneous bits, thinking there would be some amount of satisfaction when he motivated that stubborn beast from standing idle to wishing he could move as far away and as fast as he could.

  “We shall try again!” he called out to the footman. David made no bold move, only urged the donkey with a cluck, and said, “Walk on there.”

  Nothing.

  David neared the beast’s side, and with a second command and the flick of his wrist, he quickly and smartly touched the hind end of the animal with the switch.

  The donkey’s reaction was immediate. He kicked out against the attack and gathered his legs under him in a dance of hooves across the path and lunged forward, bypassing the moistened dirt.

  Moving by instinct more than direct thought, David dropped the switch and took hold of Davy’s sleeve, pulling the lad off the animal’s back as it swung away from him.

  Not two seconds later, the beast raised his head, jerked the lead from the footman’s grasp, and ran off in the original intended direction.

  George immediately followed, scampering off after the beast.

  “’pollo!” Davy called out, stretching out his arm as if he could reclaim the donkey by voice alone.

  David held the boy tightly in his arms while Peter had hold of Hercules’s halter in case he should take the notion to bolt. David did not need to worry. This placid creature had not cared a fig for the excitement taking place before him. He stood there completely uninterested in his fellow donkey.

  “Wot’s George running off for? Can’t catch him no-ways,” Peter commented. Being a stable boy, he would know better than a footman there would be no catching up to Apollo.

  “If Apollo were a horse, he’d run back to the stables,” David commented. “I don’t think that jackanapes is smart enough to do that.”

  “—napes!” Davy shouted at the top of his lungs, repeating best he could. “Jack-a-napes!”

  “Well, you’d better go fetch him.” David hadn’t exactly ordered Peter to do so but had hoped he would take the initiative.

  “The footman or the donkey, sir?”

  “Either. Both?” David wasn’t certain. Didn’t really care.

  “Yes, sir.” Peter’s feet began to move before he actually departed. “I’ll go right now, sir. Right away. I’ll find them, I will.” He turned and ran off in the direction of Peter and Ap
ollo.

  David gave some thought regarding this new circumstance. The two children and one quadruped remained. “You sit behind your sister, here, my good man.” David swung Davy up and around, seating him gently behind Lucy. “I suppose we should head home.”

  “But what about Apollo? What if they cannot find him? What if he’s lost?” Lucy had the kindest of hearts. Only she would voice concern for such a creature.

  “He’ll get lost . . .” Davy mimicked.

  “I have every confidence George will find Apollo, and if not George, then I am sure Peter will find them both,” David reassured the children. “However, I do think it best we return. We can attempt this journey another day.”

  David retrieved the lead and started out in the opposite direction. Hercules did not move. His neck craned around a bit, but he had not taken one single step to follow.

  The wretched beast.

  Where was that switch? David glanced about feeling his temper rise, and he resisted the urge to let out another string of unflattering names that would be repeated by Davy, and for which David would surely be reprimanded by their aunt.

  “Come now, Hercules.” David took hold of the lead a bit more firmly and urged with a gentle tug. “We are returning home—the stable. Come on . . .” As if applying reason would gain his cooperation.

  “Go on, Hercules.” Lucy rocked forward repeatedly as if her momentum would impel the donkey forward. Davy mimicked his sister while applying his legs to the upper side of the animal with no results.

  Devil take this confounded beast!

  David wrapped the lead around one gloved hand and grasped it with all his might, vowing not to allow this wretched creature to have its way. The donkey raised his head in full protest.

  The lead pulled through David’s hands. He felt the heat of the friction against his flesh, tearing the palm of his gloves. David was pulled off his feet, pitching him forward into a great patch of moistened earth.

  Hercules lowered his back end with a great plop! He now sat upon the ground as if he were a dog.

  Lucy and Davy squealed, giggling with the effort of hanging on. Lucy had wrapped her small arm around the donkey’s wide neck and had grasped a handful of the sparse mane with her other hand. Davy had his arms around his sister’s waist, trying to hold himself in place. Gravity proved to be a formidable opponent, and both children promptly slid down the beast’s back, landing squarely on their backsides.

  This was just another example of why David was not meant for life in the country.

  As if he had not been thoroughly humiliated, David’s spirit, his clothing, his very essence had been struck a mighty blow. One look at him and Hendricks would have a nervous breakdown. Mrs. Parker would give him such a dressing down, he was not altogether certain he could bear it. Feeling completely defeated, David confessed, if only silently to himself, that he could not feel any lower than at this very moment.

  Then the wholly uncooperative, wretched animal, who now sat in the middle of the path, and who had put a period to their afternoon of fun and adventure, had the audacity to bray for a good five minutes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dr. Harding has given us very good news indeed, do you not think so, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” Mrs. Sutton could not contain her enthusiasm when she returned to Grandmother Cavanaugh’s bedchamber after seeing the guest to the front door.

  “We could not have hoped for better.” Penny adjusted the pillows around Madam to make her more comfortable and wished that David could be present to hear the doctor’s prognosis for himself. “I only worry that before long we shall find her attempting to race up and down the corridor.”

  “How very careless I should be. I promise you I will do no such thing.” Grandmother Cavanaugh waved to her companion to make haste in retrieving her pet. “Come on, Pug, here!” she called and patted the space next to her on the sofa. “Let’s have him right here.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot. This came for you.” Mrs. Sutton handed Penny an envelope before helping the dog onto the sofa, and Penny took a moment to think what was to happen today.

  “Thank you.” Penny recognized the handwriting as the very same that also labeled many of the jars originating from Manfred Place. Whether the message was written by Miss Lemmon or Lady Pelfry made no difference, Penny suspected the content would be the same.

  “Fetch my cane, would you, Sutton?” Mrs. Cavanaugh pointed toward her dressing room, where her companion headed as directed.

  “Your cane, ma’am?” Penny had no notion to scold her, but her reaction could not be helped. “I thought you just said—”

  “I only wish to polish the handle when I have the time, my dear,” the older woman tutted. “It so happens I am fully occupied this afternoon, I can assure you. You and my Davy are to visit my dear Mrs. Halifax and hear Mrs. Dunhurst sing, are you not?”

  “Yes, we are.” With the sudden departure of David and the children early that morning and the subsequent call from the doctor, Penny had forgotten.

  “I intend to host a little party of my own with Lucy and Davy.”

  Madam waved at Mrs. Sutton, and the companion, familiar with her employer’s whims, arrived at her side with a small notepad and pencil, ready to take notes. “I have it on good authority they have several drawings for me. So we shall construct an art exhibit. I think they shall like that. Then we shall play draughts and jackstraws, perhaps cards.”

  David had warned her about his grandmother teaching the children card games. Although Penny rather doubted there was any chance she would instruct them on the finer points of how to wager.

  “And there will be a nuncheon,” Madam informed them. “Cold meats, nice cheeses, and some fruit cut in small pieces for the children.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton wrote on the notepad.

  “And tell Cook to bake some of those soft, small, round muffins. You know the kind I like.” She rubbed Pug behind his ear. “And you like those as well, don’t you, Pug?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Exactly . . . the ones you like. I am sure Cook will be more than happy to oblige you.”

  “I’d also like some nice biscuits and those small strawberry tarts. We still have strawberries, do we not?”

  Mrs. Sutton, who did not seem to recall, glanced from her notepad. “I will check with Cook to make certain.”

  “Very well.” Grandmother Cavanaugh continued with further instructions. Mrs. Sutton must have known there would be more than an afternoon menu, thus the need for a notepad.

  Penny heard a faint but distinct, familiar-sounding squeal, and her quick glance to the two other ladies told her neither of them had noticed. She moved to the window to peer outside, where she saw Lucy and Davy scampering to and fro, making their way toward the house. It was Davy she had heard.

  Where were the others? Penny had thought they were to ride. Then what had happened to the donkeys? Moments later she spotted David trailing, at some distance, with far less gaiety in his step.

  She did not wish to concern the two ladies with her discovery. Since Grandmother Cavanaugh was having such a wonderful time planning out her afternoon, Penny merely excused herself with, “I beg your pardon, there is something I must see to.”

  Mrs. Sutton glanced up from her notepad at Penny. Mrs. Cavanaugh broke from her string of dictation to reply, “Of course, my dear. You go right ahead.”

  The flow of instructions continued, and Penny sailed out of the room, down the staircase, and toward the back of the house to welcome the adventurers.

  Before starting the journey that morning, David had hoped it would be pleasant, but somehow, he simply had the feeling the adventure would not be. He did not quite think the end would come to this. He felt a complete and utter failure.

  The wide-brimmed hat he wore had been crushed when driven into the ground. From the ends of the hair on his head to the tips of his boots, h
e had been encrusted with mud. The carefully crafted cravat had been nearly ripped from his throat. The sleeves of his jacket had pulled apart at the shoulder of the garment, and he feared the seams in the seat of the buckskins had certainly split. He had heard the ghastly sound of the rent, not to mention the sudden brush of cool air encountering his—

  Worst of all, he concluded, the blasted donkey had bested him.

  After Hercules deposited the children onto the ground, there was no moving the creature. Try as any of them might, there was no budging that wretched ass!

  The three of them waited a good half hour, but neither Peter nor George returned, and David had no idea how much longer it might be before their reappearance, if they ever had it in mind to head back to the stables. There was nothing for it but to leave stubborn Hercules where he was quite determined he should remain and return to the Willows.

  “We can’t just leave him here, Da,” Lucy had complained.

  “’lees will be lonely,” Davy added.

  “Rubbish.” David placed his hand upon Davy’s shoulder to lead the lad away, hoping he would not need to pry the child’s fingers from the straggly fur. “Never you worry, Hercules will come home when he wants our company. Besides, he knows where to find his feed bucket, and to an animal, that is the most important thing.” The donkey, David was certain, did not need help from any of them.

  On their way home, as they had on the berry outing, Lucy and Davy ran wild along the path, crossing to and fro, gazing at all the wonders of the outdoors. On their return trip they managed to catch sight of a few deer and frightened away rabbits hiding in the underbrush. Despite the horrible muddle that was supposed to be their outing, the children appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, thank goodness. Perhaps the morning had not been a total loss.

  The shrieks of the children caught his attention. David looked up and watched Lucy and Davy running toward the house, and toward Penny, who had emerged.

  How David dreaded facing her. It wasn’t merely his most recent circumstance or his present condition, but he very much regretted last night. During his slow strolling return journey, he’d had ample time to reflect upon his actions and her reprimand.