The Mandarin of Mayfair (11 page)

"And your memory abominably short." Rossiter stamped to a chair and straddled it, glaring at Falcon over the back. "You gave me your word, August!"

"Ah," said Falcon softly. "So you heard."

"I heard you went to The Madrigal last evening in search of a quarrel—"

"As is my wont? I feel sure that was added to the recital of my sins."

"—and that having failed to provoke Eckington into fighting you—"

"Well, but he is a dreadfully cautious fellow, you know."

"—you made such a fool of Rafe Green, although you must have seen he was well over the oar, that he had no choice but to call you out!"

"There is no justice," sighed Falcon. "You say nought of how gallantly I rescued poor dear Reggie Smythe."

"I know damned well you'd not lift a finger to rescue him! You loathe the reptile."

"An apt description." Laughing, Falcon threw up one hand. "No, Gideon. Do not rant. I gave you my word not to fight Morris; at least, till our struggle with the League is won."

"I'd not realized," said Rossiter bitterly, "that gave you
carte blanche
to annihilate the rest of the human race."

"But my dear fellow, Rafe Green is not of the human race."

"Damn you, August! You know how much we need you! This is no time to be calling out everyone who annoys you."

Inspecting his fingernails, Falcon murmured, "I presume your informant was Morris. Did he also tell you what Green said?"

"I've not seen Morris today. Kadenworthy told me that Green insulted your sister, but—"

Falcon's dark head jerked up. He snapped, "Had he done so, I'd have had his heart out there and then! Green uttered a crude remark about—" His eyes widened. He said in a half-whisper, "
Sacrebleu!
I never thought—"

Watching him uneasily, Rossiter saw one long hand clench hard. "My apologies that I misunderstood."

"You did." Falcon took a steadying breath, but he had paled. "And I shall have a talk with Kadenworthy. He should know better than to bandy Katrina's name about!"

"Oh, burn it! Kade meant no harm. He was trying to explain your crazy antics at The Madrigal. Nothing more, I promise you!" Falcon turned his head and looked straight at him and Rossiter was shocked by the glare in those deep eyes. "Good God, August! Green is a boor but—he was drunk, man! If you kill him you'll have to leave the country for six months, and—"

"But I have your permission to kill him at a more—ah, opportune time. Is that it?"

"No, blast you!"

"And I suppose had some great filthy oaf made a disparaging remark about Miss Gwendolyn in a gentlemen's club, you'd smile and kiss his foot? Hah! I wish I may see it!"

Rossiter frowned. "In that event, of course— But perchance Kade misinterpreted—"

"No. I think I am the one to have done so. Which will be dealt with." Falcon laughed suddenly. "Now, do stop behaving as if I were a lowly private and you a major-general! I'll honour my word about that blockhead, Morris. More I'll not—and never have—promised." He reached back and took up a grubby and wrinkled sheet of paper. "I'm glad you came, even though so dictatorially. See what you make of this."

Struggling with the crude printing, Rossiter read slowly: "Sum one follered Mr. Fowls lars nite. No one follered Mr. Falkon. Jos. L. (reporting As paid fer.)" Puzzled, he asked, "This Jos. L. is one of Tummet's people?"

"No." Falcon went back to his chair and the business of cleaning his pistol. "It seems that a shabby fellow gave it to the gardener's boy and claimed to have been hired by Bowers-Malden to keep an eye on 'Some Gents,' and report anything interesting. Sounds a bit havey-cavey, don't you think? Why not report to you?"

"Perhaps he was given several names and simply came to whomever chanced to be nearest. Certainly, my father and the earl have their spies out. Though they are concentrating on the shipping end of this ugly business."

"I doubt this report is of any significance." Falcon tilted the graceful pistol to the light and inspected the barrel. "Gil Fowles is a nasty insect and a member of the League, certainly. But I'd be surprised if he's one of the six leaders."

Rossiter muttered, "So should I, but I wonder…"

After a brief pause, Falcon glanced at him and prompted, "Well? Well? Wonder—what?"

"Cast your mind back a few weeks," said Rossiter, "to when you and Cranford and Morris were in Yerville Hall and had spoiled the scheme of Lady Julia Yerville and—"

"And that dragon of Society, my erstwhile devoted admirer, Lady Clara Buttershaw."

"Erstwhile?" enquired Rossiter.

Falcon grinned. "Considerably erstwhile. As you said, we spoiled their traitorous scheme. But I think we stray from the point."

"Not far. We know that the League has formed an alliance with some powerful French interests. During your—er, retreat from the Yerville house—"

"Retreat be damned! We had to blasted well fight our way out!"

"During which scuffle, Fowles learned of the French alliance. I think you said he was not enthusiastic."

"I said nothing so milky! What I said was that Fowles practically turned inside out!"

"From which one gathers he had no previous knowledge of the French involvement."

Falcon shrugged and looked bored. "I see nothing odd in that. He's scarcely the type to have risen to eminence in their ugly club. Perchance he's a relatively new member and they've not seen fit to familiarize him with their schemes."

"Yes, but what if they've familiarized none of the rank and file with this particular scheme? What if most of the men they've recruited joined believing the League meant to follow a certain course of action, and—"

"And now their trusted leaders have gone off at a tangent, and entered into a secret agreement with France?" Falcon whistled softly. "They'd be on very tricky ground indeed! You may be sure Fowles has been ordered to keep his mouth shut. Jupiter! I'd not care to be in his shoes!"

"Nor I. If we've guessed rightly and Fowles suspects that he's into something more than he'd bargained for, he may be very frightened, and with good cause. The League takes no chances. If they decide he knows too much and cannot be relied on to hold his tongue…" Rossiter drew a finger across his throat.

Falcon grinned. "One less, eh? Jupiter! I wish we could spread the word!" His eyes glinted. "We should, Gideon! Be dashed if I don't go to The Spectator this afternoon and take out an advertisement! That'll have the Squire chewing his teeth!"

Rossiter liked Falcon in this schoolboy mood. "I wish you well," he said smilingly. "Thus far, every time we try for a mention in the newspapers they say we are 'revolutionaries' or trying to embarrass the Horse Guards, or some such rubbish." He took the pistol and examined it. "This is a jolly fine piece. Do you carry it in your coach?"

"Carry a pair. Matter of fact, I mean to try some targets. Care to join me?"

"Where? I'm a trifle short on time."

"Here. We'll have Tummet load and—"

"Here?
You mean—in the garden?"

Falcon put up his brows. "Did you fancy I'd meant to practice in the ballroom?"

"But—you madman! You cannot fire off pistols in the heart of London!"

"Why not? 'Tis my own house and—"

"And you'd have the Watch here in two shakes of a lamb's tail!"

"Do not, Gideon!" Falcon shuddered. "You sound like Morris!"

Although London basked under pale sunshine, and the air lacked the penetrating chill of the past several days, there were few riders in Hyde Park at this early hour, and Lieutenant James Morris dared to guide his fiery chestnut thoroughbred closer to Katrina Falcon's dainty black mare. "Go—away?" he echoed, peering in horror at the lady he worshipped. "But—but—where? I—I mean… why?"

A vision in a pearl gray riding habit and a gray hat with a scarlet feather flaming against her black hair, Katrina stretched out a gloved hand to him. "Anywhere." She sighed unhappily. "So long as 'tis far from me."

To his chagrin, the handsome and flighty Windsong decided to be frightened by Katrina's glove and danced back the way they had come.

Morris applied a firmer hand than usual, and upon hearing a few facts about his probable future, Windsong pretended to be meek and did as he was told.

The sadness in his love's eyes had not diminished during this brief diversion, and, troubled, Morris led the way to a secluded area behind a clump of silver birches, and reached over to draw her mare to a halt.

"You may believe I know I'm not worthy of you, dearest girl," he said, trying to see her hurriedly averted face. "If you—I mean, I'll not be surprised if you've found—er, someone more—er, up to the mark, as 'twere. Is—er, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, through the longest pause in the world.

"Yes," said Katrina at last, but her voice shook betrayingly.

Encouraged, Morris made a cavalryman's easy dismount and went around to lift her down. He did not at once release her, but gazing lovingly at the feather of her hat, said, "I think you are fibbing. Just a ladylike fib, you know." Receiving only a smothered sob by way of response, he turned her cheek and, greatly daring, planted a kiss on that smooth warmth. "There!" he said flushed and triumphant. "Now we're betrothed! 'Tis of no use to try to send me away, beloved. You're too much of a lady to have let me do that unless you—er, cared for me." Still she turned her head from him, and, doubt returning, he said humbly, "Just a—er, tiny bit would be enough for me to be going on with, Katrina."

"Oh… Jamie… !" she wailed, melting into his arms. "You are so very dear!"

"God be thanked!" he whispered, holding her close to his thundering heart. "When may I approach your father? When may I tell my parents?" It didn't seem possible that he had the right to ask this, and he stammered nervously, "When—when will you m-marry me, most beautiful lady in all the world?"

"Oh… Jamie … !"

"Yes." He smiled fondly. "You said that already, love. And if you're worried about that silly duel, pray do not refine on it. When I tell August you've agreed to become Mrs. James Morris—"

She pushed him away and said almost fiercely, "No! Don't you see? You cannot!"

"But—but if you are so kind as to have become a little fond of me—"

Before he could stop her she had seized his gauntletted hand and kissed it. "I am not 'a little fond' of you, my dear, gentle, kind soldier," she said over his horrified protests at such a waste. "I love you! I always will love you! And—I shall never marry you, Jamie. Never!"

"But—but, my love, he will—"

"He will not. Ever. And—"

"That is stupid!" He took her hands and held them strongly, and said with rare eloquence, "Oh, I know there are very many gentlemen who adore you, and who could offer you so much more than I.I know I have no title, nor a great fortune to lay before you, but—"

"Do you think that would stop me? Oh, my dear, if only that were all!"

Some riders were approaching. He restored her to the saddle and, after a short tussle with Windsong, mounted up again.

His heart, that had been so exultant a few minutes ago, was thrown into despair when he noted the resolute tilt to Katrina's chin. He said, "I know what it is. You think August will say I'm a gazetted fortune hunter. But I'm not, my dear! I will gladly sign a statement relinquishing any claim on—"

" 'Twould make no difference. He knows you're no fortune hunter."

Grasping at straws, he asked, "Dearest, did you care for— for any of the gentlemen who fought him when he rejected their offers?"

She shook her head.

"Then I don't understand. Unless—if 'tis because my father's cousin—I mean, Lord Kenneth Morris is the head of my family, and to our shame seems to be involved with this wretched League, but—"

"It is," she interrupted sadly, "that I have been unforgiveably selfish and unkind. I am so sorry. I knew 'twas hopeless. I should have sent you away long ago, only… only—" Her voice broke. She turned from him, one hand brushing at her tears. "I am weak and… I could not… bear to."

"I think I'd not mind it so much," he said miserably,"if you found me repulsive."

"Oh… Jamie! As if I could!"

He frowned. "Then you do love me. And you would be my wife, if it weren't for that pepper-pot brother of yours!"

Startled by the unaccustomedly harsh tone, she said nervously, "Y-yes, but—"

"Then I will not go away, ma'am," he declared. "I'm not a clever one, but I can tell that you bid me go with your lips, while your eyes say 'please stay.' I will tell Lord Haughty-Snort that I mean to pay my addresses, and—"

"No! Oh, you must—"

"Exactly! I must! And I will go down to Ashleigh and ask your father for your hand. Whether August likes it or not! And—and be dashed to the silly fellow!"

Agitated, she seized his arm. "No! Jamie, no! Even if Papa should give us his blessing—and I am sure he would, for he likes you—I will never marry 'gainst August's wishes! He loves me, and I love him! I could not marry to disoblige him, and—and be cut off from him for the rest of my life! I just… couldn't!"

"But—he don't approve of anyone, dearest!"

"Well," she gulped, "perhaps… someday… If only… Oh—Jamie!"

He took her outstretched hand, and, holding it, muttered helplessly, "Deuce take me, what a pickle!"

They rode at a walk, hand in hand, silent, seeing nothing of the sparkle of sunlight on wet leaves and grasses, hearing nothing of the exuberance of the busy sparrows, both lost in contemplation of their apparently insurmountable problems. But it was impossible for Morris to be downcast for long, and after a few minutes he said, brightening, "Well, now at least I know you care for me, my dearest! Which is of itself a great miracle. And I know I shall never love another lady. So I shall simply have to try and force August to like me." He paused, then added, "I wish he did like me, you know. Just a little, perhaps."

She blinked, and asked, "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know." He said shyly, "I suppose—I mean— Well, the silly fellow has enough pride for a hundred, and he's as hot at hand as a Tartar with the toothache. But—I think he's… rather splendid."