Strange Capers (14 page)

“Why didn’t you send word to me at the inn as soon as it happened?” he demanded, rather sharply.

“In the first place, I didn’t think you were really at the inn!” I replied in the same explosive way.

“I was, and the fact that I’m stone-cold sober should alleviate your fears that I overindulge while there,” he pointed out.

“Rachel didn’t think you’d want the story about the gold to be circulated publicly.”

“Why not?”

“Because she thinks it’s yours, money you got for selling secrets to the French,” I answered unhesitatingly.

His lips pinched into a thin line. “You share this suspicion, I assume?”

“I don’t see why else so much money would be in your cellar.”

“You don’t even know that the black bag
did
contain money! One guinea rolled across the floor. The man could have dropped it out of his hand.”

“It sounded like money. It felt like money. If it was only some surgeon’s tools or something harmless, why did he scare me? I would never have seen him if he hadn’t growled and let me know he was there. It was as dark as night. He just wanted to get rid of me so that he could pick up his money and run away. You seemed to have gotten home from the White Hart in very good time, Aiglon,” I mentioned. “And sober, too. Are you sure you were ever there at all?”

“Now you’re saying
I
was the man in the cellar, frightening you!” he exclaimed. His expression was one of absolute astonishment. It almost absolved him as the culprit.

“For that matter, it could have been Beau Retchling,” I said then, thinking aloud.

“Yes, and it could have been an active imagination,” he retaliated.

“Meg has the guinea to prove it,” I reminded him.

“So she has. I forgot that. You know, it’s possible one of the servants is working with the Gentlemen. Mickey may have stashed his purchase money here.”

“No, they land at the Romney Marsh, miles away. Why would he leave it here in Rachel’s—your cellar.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m glad Retchling is here. We’ll mount a guard for the next few nights to see if our intruder returns.”

“He wouldn’t be fool enough to return to the same spot! If he’s using Thornbury at all, he’d go somewhere else. To the stables or ... I don’t know. The chapel, perhaps.” Any mention of the chapel was bound to remind me of Rachel. She admitted she had been there looking for treasure.

Had she found it? Not old treasure, but new. Why had she suddenly offered to show me the ancient book? Why had she admitted she’d been searching for gold chalices and monstrances? What had she learned that night she went down to the chapel in the rain? The only person I could think of in the whole neighborhood who had any reason to lug around a bag of gold was Mickey Dougherty. He’d have a lot of cash when he sold his brandy to whomever he sold it to, and he’d also have it when he had to pay off his Gentlemen. Leaving it at Lord Ware’s house might not appeal to him. The old lord was a bit high in the instep.

Had Rachel come upon him hiding his gold somewhere in the old ruined chapel? She wouldn’t give a tinker’s curse that he was doing it, but she would demand a share of the profit. She’d told me more than once to keep Aiglon away from that particular spot. Perhaps she was afraid we’d discover Mick’s secret. He’d be forced to find another hiding place, and she’d lose her cut of the profit. Perhaps it was Rachel herself who unlocked the cellar door for Mick, allowing him to use the cellar while Aiglon was here, as the chapel had proved of such interest to her cousin. That would explain why she wasn’t unduly concerned about our intruder and why she hadn’t sent for Aiglon at the inn.

“What is it? You’ve thought of something,” Aiglon said, peering closely at me. I wanted time to give my thoughts further study before revealing them to anyone.

Before he had time to quiz me, I diverted attack by launching an offensive of my own. “Sir Edward has been giving us a very odd idea of your character, Aiglon. He mentioned the reason for the duel with Kirkwell ...”

“The shaved cards weren’t mine, I assure you.”

“Was the lightskirt yours? He was naive enough to tell us the
truth,
you see.”

He scowled and muttered something into his collar. “What else did he tell you?”

“That he is
always
your second. That he knows better than to try to borrow money from you, as you are out of pocket. I believe he substantiated all the wicked things one hears of you except the one that you sold arms to the French.”

He took a deep, meditative breath and launched into a disjointed explanation. “The fact is, Constance, I’ve been a little less than frank with you.”

“No, Aiglon, you have been a
great deal
less than frank!”

“R-Retchling knows why I came down here. He was trying to do me a favor by blackening my character, to make it more likely that any disreputable person looking for a partner would approach me. He had no way of knowing I had revealed the truth to you. I shall tell him so tonight, but, for the present, don’t tell Rachel. She sees more of Dougherty than she tells us, and I don’t entirely trust
him
by any means. Did you know he was to call this afternoon while we were out? Shiftwell informed me.”

“No!” I gasped, and took it for confirmation of my suspicions regarding who was in the cellar. It would be just like Mickey not to strike a lady, only to frighten her with a growl. I could almost convince myself that I had recognized an Irish brogue in that sound.

“I thought it might surprise you. I hadn’t expected it to have this strong an impact!” Aiglon exclaimed. “Do you know what’s going on between them, Constance?”

“No!” I answered, and deemed it wise to retire then, before he weaseled it out of me. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. I’m fatigued after the exertions of this night. As though a bogeyman in the cellar weren’t enough, we have to be visited by a self-proclaimed genius as well.”

“Has Beau been telling you about his muscular
Pens
é
es?”
he asked, smiling. “No further excuses are needed to retire, Constance. I appreciate the tiring effect of those epigrams. They’ve sent me to bed with a Blaise-ing headache more than once. Too tired for a pun? Never mind, it will come to you soon,”

“Retchling beat you to that particular pun, Aiglon.”

“Ah, yes, he set Pascal a-Blaise for you, did he?”

“You two must be very close. You know each other’s very thoughts. I wouldn’t dream of saying
pens
é
es,”
I added.

“We see each other every day. Several times a day.”

“The best mirror, folks say, is an old friend. I hadn’t seen that much reflection of you in Retchling.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly. Beau’s not exactly as he seems on first acquaintance.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Nothing to do with you is as it seems,” I answered. Such a shifting image of Aiglon was reeling about in my head, I didn’t know whether I was looking at a traitor or a lover.

“One thing is, Constance,” he said, and leaned his head down to kiss my cheek. “That doesn’t change. And neither do our plans for tomorrow’s picnic. We’ll lock Beau up in the library to flirt with Homer and Virgil, and go gallivanting off into the wilds.”

I had to steel myself against this insidious promise and the soft light that shone in Aiglon’s eyes. “You have your cousin Rachel’s way of getting the most feathers from the goose with the least hissing, but pray don’t mistake me for a peagoose, Aiglon.”

“You disappoint me, Constance! A peagoose is exactly what a peacock like myself was hoping for. Mind you, I prefer your feathers intact,” he added softly, with one finger stroking my cheek till I twitched away.

He patted his pocket. I took the notion that he was eager to be reading his correspondence and said good night.

I had a great deal to think about before I went to sleep. I didn’t much care for Aiglon’s friend and wondered if Beau was one of the ones who had been leading Aiglon into bad conduct. Or had the whole charge of wrong conduct been claimed a lie?

The letter and the drinking were only inventions to let him come here in disgrace, but what of the duel? He hadn’t denied that. Yet, as I considered matters, I remembered the duel hinged on his having been drunk for two days. Doubts gnawed at the edges of my happiness, and I tried to calm them. All young bucks drank a little more than they should. They all gambled, too. Probably Aiglon’s involvement in these pastimes seemed normal to him.

In any case, his character in London couldn’t be totally ruined if a Lady Alice was bidding him to her ball. Then I had to allot a few moments to worrying over Lady Alice and how much competition she might be. Last of all, I worried about Rachel, wondering if she had inveigled her way into the smuggling ring. I am sorry to say that I didn’t put such a thing an inch past her. It wouldn’t have surprised me much if she ended up taking a more active role.

Aiglon’s visit had brought more excitement to Thornbury than I had ever anticipated, and more worries. The little matter of the unbuilt dovecote and new-old carpets and curtains had ceased to matter. They shrank to peccadilloes in light of such goings-on as smuggling and treason.

It was next to impossible to sleep with such a plethora of questions. It seemed the whole house was restless that night. I never did hear Aiglon come upstairs. I heard Rachel moving about in her room, then heard the bed squawk when she finally placed herself on it not too long before midnight. I heard someone—Willard, to judge by the dragging steps—traverse the upstairs corridor with some attempt at silence.

First I became curious, then thirsty, and after half an hour of lying in my bed thinking perfectly jumbled thoughts, I convinced myself that I was hungry. I arose, wrapped my dressing gown around me, and opened the door. There was utter darkness all around. No light came up from below, and I tiptoed quietly along the hall and down the stairs to go to the kitchen.

Below the kitchen door, a crack of light showed that someone was still up and about. I listened for a moment, telling myself that if it was Aiglon and/or Retchling, I would retire without entering. The only voice I heard was Rachel’s, but as she was demanding service, obviously Willard was with her.

“Not too hot, and not too much cocoa. Just enough to flavor the milk,” she said.

I welcomed the opportunity to talk to her and pushed the door open. Rachel jumped a foot from her chair and stared at me as though I were a ghost.

“What are you doing creeping about the house like a thief in the night?” she demanded sharply.

“I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t mind some of that cocoa, too, Willard.” I went to the table and sat down beside her.

Rachel was in her dressing gown, like myself. There was nothing to suggest that she’d been out of the house, which was my first suspicion.

“Sleep! Hah! Who can sleep with thieves and murderers for all we know under the roof?” she demanded, pulling her gown more closely over her shoulders.

“Are you talking about the man I saw in the cellar or Aiglon?” I asked.

“The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive,” she informed me, nodding her head sagely. “Though actually I don’t think it was Aiglon in the cellar. I’ve been giving this matter a good deal of thought, Constance. It wasn’t half an hour after you sounded the alarm that Retchling came pounding on the door. Who is to say it wasn’t Retchling you saw downstairs?”

I considered this for a moment and could offer no proof that it hadn’t been Beau. “If it was him, I don’t know where he could have gotten the bag of money” was all I had to say.

Willard served us cocoa and busied himself at the sink, tidying up, but with his ears stretched. “He brought it from London where he’s been hiding it for Aiglon, so the Runners or the army or whoever investigates such things wouldn’t find it when they searched his house,” she explained.

“No, it can’t be that. If Retchling brought it, it’s his own money,” I insisted.

“Where would that rattle get two pennies to rub together? Both he and Aiglon have got themselves in the suds, I tell you, and have taken to a life of crime.”

“Oh, Rachel, you’re imagining things,” I parried.

“Am I imagining that the pair of them are down at the ruined chapel this instant, having a secret rendezvous with Mickey Dougherty?” she asked,

I felt a wave of something very like nausea. I looked at Willard, and he nodded his head in confirmation. “What on earth were you doing out at this hour?” I asked him.

“I set him to follow the pair of them when they left the house half an hour ago,” Rachel told me. “And they’ve got the satchel of money with them,” she added importantly.

I refused to look truth in the face. “Maybe it only has to do with smuggling,” I suggested, but only halfheartedly. “Mickey
did
offer to take Aiglon to France when his
Mermaid
arrives.”

“And how, I ask you, would that involve Aiglon’s giving Mickey a bag of gold? They’re paying that scoundrel off to help them steal the new shipment and sell it to the Frenchies,” she declared firmly. “Retchling brought a part of the money from the first lot down to arrange the theft of the second. We’ll never be able to hold up our heads again. We’ve got to find out when the arms are arriving, Constance, and hold Retchling and Aiglon in the cellar, in chains if necessary, till the army has safely got its guns.”

I could only stare at such an outrageous scheme, and Rachel spoke on, lest I argue. “Pray don’t tell me it is my duty to report them. It is a Howell’s first duty to protect the family name. And you have got to help me. It’s your duty as an Englishwoman.”

“What about his servants? You said they offered to help?” I reminded her.

“They lied,” she said bluntly. “Aiglon put them up to it.They know perfectly well what is going on and are in on it. Aiglon’s groom reported to me this very evening that his lordship was at the inn, and Willard overheard Aiglon talking to Retchling about Madame Bieler. What was it he said, Willard?” she asked, looking toward the table.