Gay Cavalier

by Alex Stuart

  "Well, I don't know." Breathlessly, she told him what had happened. He listened in silence to her recital, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as she described the violence to which Lieutenant Nelson had been so unhappily subjected. But his expression was perfectly composed when he looked up to meet her anxious eyes.

  "Nelson, you say? Was he from Barminster?"

  "Yes, I think so. He said he was in the Air Corps and they're at Barminster, aren't they?"

  "They are, Miss Sheridan. I—would you permit me to intervene in this dispute?"

  "Intervene?" Deirdre stared at him, flushing. "I don't quite understand. It's very kind of you but—how can you intervene?"

  "It so happens," he said, his tone apologetic, "that I believe I can help. Only you don't like me to help, do you?"

  "I—" Deirdre avoided his gaze. "You must think me awfully ungrateful, Colonel Carmichael. It's just that I —well—"

  "You want to stand on your own two feet," he supplied, smiling at her, "and I keep coming along with unnecessary offers of assistance. Never mind, I promise not to do it again, if you'll let me do it this once. You see, I think I know the owner of that Cadillac—young Nelson's Commanding Officer. If he's the chap I think he is, he's a friend of mine, a very old friend."

  "Oh! Is he?" Deirdre could not hide her relief. "Is he really?"

  "It remains to be seen. But I tell you what—if you'll let me use your 'phone, I can very easily find out, whilst you're dealing with your policeman."

  Deirdre left him telephoning and went to join Constable Archer in the kitchen, where he was listening, with some difficulty, to Paddy's account of the accident. Paddy was excited and angry and barely intelligible but, with the restraint of Deirdre's presence, and some assistance from Terence, the police constable managed at last to commit his story to paper. Replacing his notebook once more, he expressed himself satisfied.

  Deirdre accompanied him back to the hall, where she found Alan Carmichael awaiting her. He was smiling.

  "Excellent news, Miss Sheridan. The Cadillac's owner has been traced. He's a Major Haines—not the chap I knew but they're in the same unit. He's coming over to see you tomorrow afternoon and bringing young Nelson with him, to apologize."

  "To—apologize? But—"

  Alan Carmichael's smile widened. "My friend," he explained, "is the Major's Commanding Officer, he's a full Colonel. I think he pulled his rank a little. Anyway, there was no argument and I think you'll find they'll be reasonable." He turned to Constable Archer. "Well, Officer, what about it? Will you need to be present when these gentlemen call here tomorrow afternoon?"

  Archer scratched his head. "I don't rightly know, sir, not till I've spoken to the Inspector. But I'll be up, if he says I should. If not, then p'raps Miss Deirdre will give me a ring, like when things is settled?"

  "I'm sure she will be glad to—eh, Miss Deirdre?"

  "I—oh, yes, of course I will." For some reason, Colonel Carmichael's use of her Christian name brought the colour rushing to Deirdre's cheeks. She said quickly: "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and change. I am so sorry to have given you all this trouble and to—to keep you waiting on top of it, Colonel Carmichael. But I honestly won't be more than five minutes. And there are drinks in the study, if you wouldn't mind helping yourself."

  He bowed. "I'll be delighted to. Thank you."

  Archer looked from his face to Deirdre's, grinned and bade them both a polite good-evening.

  There was a wealth of significance in his parting glance. They watched him mount his bicycle and pedal sedately down the drive and then Alan Carmichael said gravely:

  "I would seem to have compromised you in the eyes of the Law, Miss Sheridan."

  There was an amused gleam in his grey eyes and Deirdre, seeing it, replied stiffly: "Oh, I shouldn't think so. It's only because you're a stranger and Archer hasn't met you before."

  She led him back to the study and left him there, pouring himself a glass of her father's sherry and looking very much at home. Almost, she thought, surprised, as if he were a frequent visitor, instead of the stranger she had dubbed him.

  And found herself wondering, as she hurried upstairs to her own room, why it was that Sean disliked him so much…

  CHAPTER SIX

  The telephone rang as Deirdre descended to the hall. Bridget went, grumbling under her breath, to answer it, but her voice held a glad note a moment later when she realized who the caller was.

  "Miss Deirdre dear, 'tis Master Sean and he's asking to speak to you." She put the instrument into Deirdre's hand and added, in a penetrating whisper: "Tell him he should be coming down now for the weekend, will you not? Sure, we're needing him, with all this trouble. 'Tis only right that he should be here to help you, so it is."

  "All right," Deirdre agreed, "I'll ask him. But he's probably busy."

  Bridget snorted. "Busy! Busy, indade, when this is his home! And the Captain in hospital and all. Give me back the telephone then. Sure, I'll tell him meself."

  "Oh, Bridget, hush—he'll hear you!" Hastily, Deirdre lifted the receiver. "Sean? Are you there?"

  There was a faint crackling on the line and then she heard Sean's voice.

  "Well, hullo there!" He sounded cheerful, Deirdre thought, and her heart lifted. Dear Sean! She would tell him what had happened and about her awful discoveries concerning their financial state and the bills they owed. And he would come. Of course he would come. It was absurd of Bridget to imagine that he would need any persuasion…

  "Hullo, Sean," she answered eagerly, "I'm so glad you 'phoned. You see—"

  "Everything going all right?" Sean asked. "How's himself?"

  "Oh, he's improving, I think. I saw him this afternoon. But, Sean, there's something—"

  "Yes, child, what is there? You haven't run the Stud into bankruptcy already, have you?"

  "No. I haven't. But I would like to see you, if I could."

  "Would you now! Well, and wasn't it in order to announce me impending arrival that I 'phoned? I'll be down tonight, Deirdre—late though, after midnight, maybe. Don't wait up, just leave the back door key out for me in the usual place, will you?"

  "Yes, all right. But I will wait up—"

  "No, no, don't bother. Sure we'll have plenty of time to talk, I'll be staying till the weekend. Oh, and Deirdre—"

  "Yes?"

  Sean's tone was elaborately casual: "Look, you've got tickets for the Hunt Ball, haven't you?"

  "I've two. Daddy got them."

  "Ach, that's grand. Because I'll take you, shall I?"

  Deirdre tried not to sound too surprised. "I—oh, yes, that's a lovely idea. I'll look out the tickets. Sean—"

  She was about to tell him of her date with Colonel Carmichael but he cut in ruefully:

  "The pips. Sorry, I'll have to ring off. I've no more change on me. 'Bye, child—see you tomorrow at breakfast."

  "Good-bye, Sean," Deirdre echoed, wondering if he had imagined the pips, for it had been a short three minutes and she hadn't heard them. She replaced the receiver and, waiting only to tell Bridget that Sean was coming down that evening, she hurried into the study, where Colonel Carmichael rose to meet her.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "I am—at long last. I'm so awfully sorry. I was actually on my way earlier but my brother 'phoned."

  He smiled down at her from his impressive height. "Think nothing of it, I've been extremely comfortable, sitting here by the fire and drinking your excellent sherry. Oh, and I hope you don't mind, but I 'phoned through to the George whilst I was waiting, to make our reservation for half an hour later. So we shan't have to rush," He eyed her approvingly. "You look quite charming and well worth waiting for."

  "Do I?" Deirdre felt the tell-tale colour which flamed in her cheeks.

  "You do indeed. Well, shall we go?"

  He led her to his car, which he had turned and parked close to the steps leading to the front door and, as he had done on the day of her father's accident, handed her in and wr
apped a rug about her knees. "Comfortable?"

  "Oh, yes, thank you, Colonel Carmichael."

  "My name," he told her, as he climbed into the driving seat, "is Alan. Not a very exciting name, I admit. But, since we're going to hit up the high spots together, won't you stretch a point and call me by it?"

  "If—if you like… Alan."

  "Thanks." He patted her hand and added, as he put the car into gear. "To be addressed as 'Colonel Carmichael' by you, Deirdre, makes me feel like some sort of stuffed-shirt uncle."

  "Does it?" said Deirdre, laughing. She was suddenly at ease with him, conscious of enjoying herself. "I never thought of you as any sort of uncle."

  "I'm extremely glad of that, my dear." His hand moved from the steering wheel, sought for and found hers as it lay on her knee and held it lightly for a moment, before he returned his own to the wheel. "My feelings for you are not those experienced by the best brought-up uncles, I must confess. You're a charming girl and—you attract me very much, Deirdre."

  "I—" Deirdre was glad of the gathering dusk, for it hid her blushes. She glanced at him, seeing his profile in sharp relief and her heart began to beat very rapidly as he turned and met her gaze.

  "I've startled you?" he suggested.

  "N-no. Not exactly. But—"

  He smiled and his eyes were once more on the road ahead as he said: "Never mind, we needn't go into it now. But I just thought I'd warn you, because I—well, it doesn't matter. Only I thought if you understood that I enjoy your company enormously and that it gives me a great deal of satisfaction to do things for you—you'd perhaps find it easier to let me lend a hand, where and when I can."

  Deirdre stammered a little as she answered: "It—it's awfully kind of you, Colonel Car—Alan. I—I'm very grateful."

  "That," he returned bitterly, "is precisely what I don't want you to be! Because I'm not being kind, as you call it. Haven't I made myself clear? I like doing things for you! I wish you'd let me do more. This afternoon, for instance, when you had that trouble with the American pilot—you could have sent for me and I'd have been delighted to come. Don't try to manage everything on your own, Deirdre. Next time—"

  "I sincerely hope there won't be a next time," Deirdre said, with such fervour that they both laughed.

  "And so do I, for your sake." He changed the subject then, began to speak of Moonbeam and the show jumper, Lancer, left in his charge by David Maxwell, who was married to his sister. It was as they entered the outskirts of Carfield that he asked: "Oh, by the way, the Hunt Ball's next week, isn't it? Are you going?"

  "Yes, I am. Sean's taking me. He mentioned it this evening, when he 'phoned."

  "Good, I'm so glad. I'll see you there. I promised I'd go in the Hollises' party, but I've been rather regretting it since."

  "Have you?" asked Deirdre innocently. "But why?"

  "Because," he told her, swinging into the main street, "I wanted to ask you to come with me. I thought perhaps, with your father laid up and your brother away, you might have decided not to bother about it."

  "I almost had," Deirdre confessed, "but when Sean said he wanted me to go, of course I was awfully pleased."

  They halted at a set of traffic lights and Alan Carmichael turned in his seat to look at her. There was a curious glint in his eyes, a questioning note in his voice as he asked:

  "You're very fond of Sean, aren't you?"

  "Yes. Yes, I am—he's a darling. But—" Deirdre hesitated, trying to pluck up courage to ask him about his previous relations with Sean, but the lights changed at that moment and the George was just across the road. They turned in and Alan drew up outside the main entrance. A porter came to open the door of the car.

  "If you'll go in and wait for me, Deirdre, I'll get rid of the car," Alan suggested, "I won't be a moment."

  He had gone before she could answer him.

  Deirdre went into the warm, brightly-lit foyer, and by the time she had left her coat, her escort was waiting for her by the door of the lounge. "A drink," he invited, holding the door for her politely, "or shall we eat right away?"

  Deirdre was in the room before she noticed—and recognized—the couple seated at the far end of it.

  She drew back, startled. For Sean had telephoned, apparently from London, less than half an hour ago, had spoken as if his late arrival would be due to the fact that he had a drive of fifty miles still in front of him. Yet now he was sitting in the lounge of the George Hotel in Carfield, as if he had all the time in the world.

  And with him, smiling up into his face and quite unaware of anyone else in the room, was… Penelope Hollis!

  Penelope, Deirdre thought wildly, Penelope… of all people! And yet, hadn't she suspected Penelope's interest in Sean the other day, when they had driven from the hospital together? Hadn't she wondered a little, when Sean had mentioned the tickets for the Hunt Ball so casually?

  She spun round and Alan Carmichael asked, laughingly:

  "Well, have you changed your mind about that drink?"

  "I—" She thrust past him. "Yes, I have, if you don't mind. You see—"

  He took her hand in his. "I did see. We'll go into the dining-room, shall we? If they follow us in there, that's their look-out, isn't it? I'm not going to be done out of the pleasure of dining with you on Penelope's account." He looked down at her gravely. "Just for the record, though —was it on Penelope's account that you ran away? Didn't you want her to see you in my company?"

  Deirdre took a deep breath. "Sean was with her!"

  "Sean?" He looked puzzled for an instant. "I didn't recognize him. Do you mean you don't want your brother to know that I'm taking you out? Is that it?"

  "Well, no, not exactly." Deirdre reddened. "Sean didn't say he was here, when he rang up. I thought he was 'phoning from London. It—it was rather a shock, seeing him in there. And—and with Penelope. I'm afraid Sir Henry wouldn't approve. Of Sean, I mean."

  "Wouldn't he?"

  "No. Definitely not. He and my father don't like each other and—oh, well!" She sighed. "As far as Sir Henry's concerned we're—all of us—socially unacceptable. I mean, the Hollises wouldn't invite Sean or me to dine before the Hunt Ball."

  "I see." Her attitude amused Alan but he was careful not to show it, lest he offend her. He was aware of Sir Henry Hollis's opinion of Dennis Sheridan, for it had been expounded to him quite recently. But really, in this day and age…

  He led the way into the dining-room and said to the head waiter: "My name's Carmichael. I booked a table."

  "Oh, yes, sir. This way, if you please."

  When they were installed at their table, Alan asked curiously: "Has it been going on for long, this Romeo and Juliet affair between your brother and Penelope?"

  Deirdre shook her head. "I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure it hasn't. That was why I was so surprised to see them here together just now. And as Sean didn't tell me he was coming here, I thought he'd rather I didn't burst in on them. I don't think he saw me, do you?"

  "No," Alan assured her, "I'm sure he didn't."

  "He wouldn't expect me to be here, of course," Deirdre went on, "it's the last place he'd expect to find me."

  "But scarcely the best place to choose for a clandestine meeting," her companion suggested dryly, "if it's intended to be clandestine, that is."

  "No." Deirdre crumbled the bread on her plate, wondering how best to broach the subject of Sean. Because she would have to broach it, if Sean were coining down for the rest of the week. And besides, he and Penelope might be intending to dine here. Although it was late by Carfield standards and the dining-room almost deserted, so they might already have dined…

  She looked up to find Alan Carmichael's eyes fixed intently on her face.

  "Deirdre—"

  "Yes?"

  "Did you tell Sean you were coming out with me this evening?"

  Again she shook her head and added, flushing: "I was going to but the pips sounded and he rang off, so I couldn't. Though I did rather want to, actually. I
mean, Sean's going to be down here till Sunday and—"

  The waiter served their first course and Alan Carmichael was silent for a long moment. He, too, knew that the subject of Sean would have to be broached. Finally he prompted: "Go on, Deirdre. What has your brother told you about me?"

  Deirdre met his gaze unhappily. "He hasn't told me anything. Not anything definite, I mean. I asked him to but he wouldn't. He—well, he denied knowing you—that is, personally, I mean. I told him you said you'd met him in Korea and he said you hadn't, that you must have mistaken him for someone else. He was only a corporal, you see, and you were an officer, a—battalion commander. He said he just knew you by sight."

  "Oh, I see." He was very attentive, passing her salt, offering her another roll. "Did he suggest that I was not a suitable acquaintance for you?"

  "No. Not that. I—I can't explain his attitude, I couldn't understand it. But he didn't want me to ask you to the house."

  "And you? What did you say to that?"

  Deirdre's eyes were on her plate. "I told him he was being unreasonable, that you'd been awfully kind and I—I wasn't going to repay your kindness with—well, with discourtesy. I—" She pushed away her plate, scarcely touched. "Won't you tell me what it's all about and why Sean feels about you as he does? If I knew the reason for it, then—"

  "Well?" he urged, oddly tense. "Then?"

  "I—it would be easier to decide what to do. I—I love Sean and admire him. He was very badly wounded, you know, almost crippled, which meant he had to give up the one thing he loved—his riding. And his horses. He was so awfully good at it, I think it must nearly have broken his heart. He won the National, on Merry Marcus, just before he went to Korea. And he—since he came back, he's built up a new career for himself, a new life, really, as an artist. It hasn't been easy but he's never complained, never asked for help. It took a lot of courage to do that."

  "I'm sure it did." He faced her gravely. "Look, Deirdre, I think I'll have to try and talk to him, try to put matters on a better footing between us, before I see you again or visit your house. Do you mind?"

  "No. I think it would be a good thing," Deirdre said, grateful to him, "but I—that is, won't you tell me what happened to make Sean feel as he does—won't you explain?"