Regency Sting (14 page)

“Le'
go
o' me! Why did y' put the advertisemint in the paper, if y'r not wantin' to 'ire no one?”

Jason, listening to the commotion from his seat at the chessboard, found his interest caught. “Don't make a ruckus out there in the hallway, Coyne,” he called out. “Bring the fellow in here and close the door.”

Without releasing his grip on the man's lapel, the butler pulled the man into the library. Peter followed, shut the door and leaned against it in order to observe in unobtrusive comfort the unfolding of what promised to be an amusing scene. The intruder, before even glancing round the room, thrust Coyne's hand from his coat, smoothed the injured lapel carefully, favored Jason with a measuring stare and bowed deeply. “Are
you
'is lordship?” he asked.

“I am. The question is, who are
you
, and what do you want with me?”

“Me name's Orkle, me lord. Benjamin Orkle. An' I'd be 'appy to acquaint yer lordship wi' all the fac's, if y' gi' me a chance to tell yer …”

“I'm
giving
you the chance, Mr. Orkle, so get on with it,” Jason said impatiently.

“Yes, me lord, I will.” Mr. Orkle cleared his throat in the manner of a musician tuning up his instrument and began. “Y'see, me lord, I'm in the employ o' a fine gentleman, a Mr. Tylerman by name, but in matters o' dress, 'e ain't no Pink o' the Ton, I can tell yer. 'E's too clutch-fisted by 'alf, an' 'e don't know nesh from dash—”

“
Nesh
from
dash
?” Jason asked, looking bewilderedly from Coyne to Peter. Peter, equally puzzled, shrugged, grinned and shook his head. Coyne, frowning in distaste, explained. “I believe he means that his employer is overnice in his taste—that he doesn't know the
timid
from the
stylish
.”

Mr. Orkle nodded at Coyne approvingly. “That's it exac'ly. 'E 'as no sense o' style at all, which is, I can tell yer, very mortifyin' to such as meself, who 'as a very remarkable talent for style in gentlemen's apparel, which is to say a good eye for color an' a good sense for puttin' on'y the right things together. Besides which 'e pays me on'y ten pounds per annum, out o' which I finds me own tea and sugar. So this mornin' when I takes 'im 'is breakfast, I takes a peep at 'is paper—I always takes a look when I stops on the landin' for a bit o' relaxation—”

Jason and Peter were attending to Mr. Orkle's account with fascination, but Coyne observed it all with an expression of extreme distaste. At this point he could bear it no longer. “Can't you get on with it, man? I'm sure his lordship is not interested in how you spend your time.”

Mr. Orkle stared coldly at the butler, turned back to face Lord Mainwaring and calmly continued. “As I was sayin', I takes a peep at the paper and sees this 'ere advertisemint for a gentleman's gentleman. Soon as I sees it, I makes up me mind to apply, and I axes Mr. Tylerman for the day out. I can tell yer that it ain't a simple thing to get Mr. Tylerman to agree. But I finally manages it, and then dresses meself up in me best—which as y' can see ain't very good, but what can y' expect on ten pounds per?—an' I takes meself all the way 'ere on shanks' mare. An' what do I get for me pains when I gets 'ere but a snub from that there whopstraw—”

“Now,
see here
!” Coyne sputtered in exasperation.

“I'll say it again—
whopstraw
! Tellin' me I ain't qualified! I axes yer, me lord, when I been a gentleman's gentleman since the eighties, 'ow can 'e say I ain't qualified? What
I
say is that this is all a
'oax
!”

“A what?” Jason asked, looking with strangled amusement at Peter.

Peter fought back a grin and merely shrugged again.

“A 'oax,” Mr. Orkle repeated. “If a man comes to yer door 'ere and says to yer butler—in 'is engagin'est manner, mind!—that 'e's been a valet for more 'n twen'y years, and the butler don't ax 'im nothin' but tells 'im to take hisself off 'cause 'e's not qualified, well, I axes yer, wouldn't
you
think it was a 'oax?”

Coyne drew himself up in proud disdain. “I am not obliged to ask you anything. I could tell
immediately
that you were not qualified, no matter
how
long you've been in service. The advertisement, my good man, is no hoax!”

“It sounds like a 'oax to me,” Orkle declared stubbornly, “else how could y' tell so ‘immediately' that I ain't qualified?”

“From the way you
speak
,” Coyne answered promptly, taking great pleasure in playing his trump card. “My instructions are to hire someone who looks and
talks
like a
gentleman.”

Momentarily daunted, Mr. Orkle blinked. But it took no longer than a moment before he recovered. He waved his newspaper in Coyne's face. “Then where, can y' tell me, does it say so in the advertisemint, eh? Does it say
anywheres
that I'd 'ave to talk like a gentleman? No, it don't. Not anywheres in this advertisement. I axes you, me lord, is it fair to expec' me to know that? If I'd a' know'd, would I ‘ave come all this way for nothin'?”

“I … suppose not,” Jason admitted in spellbound amusement.

“O' course not!” Mr. Orkle said vigorously. “So, as far as I'm concerned, this is as good as a 'oax!”

“I reckon it is,” Jason agreed.

“Then what 'ave yer to say for yersel's, eh?
What
, I axes yer?”

Jason, his eyes brimming with suppressed mirth, looked up at the butler. “Well, Coyne,
have
we anything to say for ourselves?”

“If you are speaking of the advertisement, my lord, all I can say is that it is not necessary to list all the qualifications. If Mr. Orkle has been inconvenienced, I'm sure I'm very sorry, but—”

“Sorry! What good's
sorry
?” the valet cried. “That don't pay be back for me trouble and me day's pay. I oughta summons yer!”

“Summons?” Jason asked. “Do you mean
sue
us?”

“Yes, me lord. I oughta take meself to a lawyer and see if I can't summons yer. But I won't.”

Jason, who had been ready to offer the valet a guinea (which would be the equivalent of more than a month's wages) in appreciation of the fellow's histrionic talents, looked at him with some surprise. “You won't?” he asked. “Why not?”

“Because,” Mr. Orkle said proudly, “I am a man o' dignity. A man o' dignity don't stoop so low. An' I don't blame
you
, me lord, 'cause you 'ad no thin' to do wi' this. But as for yer man 'ere, that's another tale.”

“Oh?” Jason asked. “Do you intend to … er … summons
him
?”

“No, me lord. I on'y intends to turn me back on 'im, like this, an' take me leave like the man o' dignity which I am, me message to 'im bein' expressed by me posture.” And he put his nose in the air, brushed by the butler with a marked sniff and marched to the door.

Peter bit his lip and choked. Jason, laughter brimming in his eyes, nevertheless managed to keep his countenance. “
What
message is expressed by your posture, Mr. Orkle?” he asked, enthralled.

“Couldn't y' tell, me lord? That was
silent contempt
!”

With the natural sense of timing of a comedic actor, Mr. Orkle closed the door behind him just as he completed his last words. The effect was devastating on both Peter and Jason, who promptly succumbed to their long-suppressed urge to roar with laughter. Coyne, who saw nothing funny in the entire scene, headed for the door wrapped in his
own
sense of dignity, but he was arrested by the sight of Lord Mainwaring making peculiar hand signals. Jason, doubled over with laughter, was unable to speak, but he was evidently trying to convey to Coyne by hand signals that the butler was to remain.

With the air of superiority which the unamused adopt when observing people made helpless by untrammeled merriment, Coyne shook his head. “Did you want something, my lord?” he asked disdainfully.

Lord Mainwaring nodded and tried to catch his breath. But a renewed paroxysm from Peter sent him off again, and it was some time before he was able to convey his wishes to the disapproving butler. “Catch him!” Jason said breathlessly. “Catch him, quickly. I want you to hire him.”

Coyne gasped. “
Orkle
, your lordship? You can't mean it! You want him as your
valet
?”

“Jason, you're a great gun!” Peter exclaimed.

But Coyne would not budge. “Miss Anne will not approve, my lord,” he cautioned. “Her instructions on the qualities of the man I was to engage were quite specific.”

“Don't worry about Miss Hartley, Coyne. Just hurry and catch Mr. Orkle before he gets away!”

Coyne had no choice but to do as he was bid, even though he found the task utterly repugnant. Not only had he taken Orkle in extreme dislike, but he knew that Miss Anne would take him to task for permitting his lordship to so much as
glimpse
the fellow. But, the milk being spilt, there was nothing he could do but go after Orkle as Lord Mainwaring had ordered. When he peered out-of-doors, there was no sign of the fellow on the street. Coyne had to run a considerable distance to catch up with the volatile valet. Placing his hand restrainingly on Orkle's arm, Coyne stood puffing and heaving until he could catch his breath. Then he informed the valet coldly that Lord Mainwaring had decided to make use of his services.

Orkle's delight was boundless. He hooted, gave a little dancing step, turned himself around, jumped up and down and clapped his hands in delight. His exuberance was so infectious that even Coyne felt a surprising softening toward the fellow. In untrammeled enthusiasm, Orkle offered to run all the way back to his present abode, promptly resign from his position, find a replacement and return to the Mainwarings all within the next two hours. “No need to run, Mr. Orkle,” Coyne informed him magisterially. “You are now in the employ of a nobleman. A carriage will be provided to convey you.”

“A
carriage
? For
me
?” The full realization of his rise in the world seemed suddenly to burst upon him. “
Blimey
!” he breathed, awed at last.

Peter and Jason had returned to the chess table, but before they resumed their game, Peter felt obliged to add his warning to the dire prediction Coyne had made before he left. “Anne won't like your man a bit, Jason. If you really intend to make that fellow your valet, you'd better prepare yourself to face her wrath.”

“And how do I do that,” Jason asked wryly, “your sister's tempers bein' what they are?” He looked across at Peter with a mock-suspicious scowl. “Or, you slyboots, have you brought the matter up just to put me off my game? You know that the prospect of your sister's temper has me quaking like a rabbit.”

Peter laughed. “Yes, you're in a terrible fright, I can see. Really, Jason, you're the most complete hand. Stop pulling my leg and pay attention to my move. I'm about to castle.”

They turned their attention to the chessboard. Since chess strategy requires single-minded, serious concentration, they soon forgot the entire matter of the valet. By the time they neared the completion of their second game, a couple of hours later, they were taken by complete surprise when a furious Anne burst in on them. “Have you lost your
mind
, my lord?” she demanded curtly.

Jason blinked up at her innocently. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Then how, sir, do you account for the presence in this house of that mustachioed creature who claims to be your valet?”

“Oh, is Orkle here already? Good. I'm glad you've seen him. I knew you wanted me to have someone—”

“Stop playing the innocent! You know perfectly well that I wanted you to have someone of taste, of refinement, someone appropriate to a gentleman of your rank, not a … a poor
parody
of a gentleman's—”

“Come now, Anne,” Peter put in fairly, “the fellow's not so bad. In fact, he has a remarkable talent for style in gentlemen's apparel.”

The mischievous glint sparkled in Jason's eyes. “A good eye for color, I think he said, didn't he, Peter?”

Peter, trying to suppress his laughter, gurgled. “And a good sense for putting the right coat and waistcoat together, too.”

“Now, what more could one want from one's valet?” Jason asked her reasonably.

Anne glared at her brother and Jason in turn. “I can see that you refuse to take this matter seriously. I wonder, Lord Mainwaring, why you sought my advice on these matters in the first place, since you seem to take a perverse delight in scorning whatever counsel I offer. Very well, sir, have your own way, if you must. If you insist on taking as a valet a person who would be more fittingly employed in a Soho tavern, dispensing quips and grog to the regulars,
you
will pay the consequences, not I!”

“But at least I will not be more
nesh
than
dash
,” Jason offered placatingly.

Anne had turned on her heel and started out, but this stopped her. “What?” she asked, completely bemused.

“True,” Peter agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully at his sister, “and Jason won't be ‘summonsed' either.”

She glowered. “I don't know what you two are talking about!”

Jason and Peter exchanged laughing glances. “No, Peter, you're out there. Orkle said he wouldn't summons me in any case,” Jason reminded Peter.

“Right,” Peter said. “Too much dignity.”

The two men nodded knowingly and, ignoring Anne, turned back to the chessboard.

“How delightful that you two are thick as thieves,” Anne said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and she turned back to the door.