The Mandarin of Mayfair (22 page)

Most troublesome of all, was the other matter; an unwelcome and unwise complication that persisted in hovering around the fringes of his mind however firmly he fought to ignore it. Sooner or later, he knew, he would have to deal with—

"Wot's knowed as a 'brown study,' is it, Guv?" Tummet was performing one of his unconventional acrobatic feats; clinging to the box seat with one hand while balancing on the rim of the wheel and leering in at the partly open carriage window.

"Zounds!" Falcon thought. "I'd not even realized we stopped!" He said sharply, "I presume you know what you're about. Be damned if I do."

"Jest wanted to make sure you was deprived in-hell," explained Tummet with his broad grin.

"If that translates to 'alive and well,' I am. So you may cease your impersonation of a demented ape and open the door."

Tummet winked cheerily and disappeared.

Checking the priming of his small pocket pistol, Falcon reflected that he had probably offended George Coachman beyond forgiveness by insisting that Tummet drive him today. He was well aware that his servants were exceptional and it did not please him to upset them, but his "imitation valet" knew about the League, and—just in case things should get warm—was a splendid man in a fight. When notified of then-destination, Tummet's shrewd brown eyes had become rounder than usual. He'd said solemnly, "If you wants my opinion, mate—" but when such a desire was forcefully denied, he'd muttered something to the effect that "Peter-and-Paul's-orf-on-a-crawl" and gone away to collect two large horse pistols, apparently preparing for the "brawl" his rhyming slang indicated.

The door was swung open and the step let down. Alighting, Falcon saw that they had halted outside the large barn in the stable area where many other coaches were already closely positioned, poles up, the teams turned out in the big paddock or being attended to by busy grooms and stable boys.

A neat groom hurried toward them.

Tummet said softly, "Orders, Guv?"

"Try if you can get the coach and our team placed where we can break away fast—if we're obliged to. Then stay close and keep your ears and eyes open."

"Ar. No wars, please, mate—Sir Mate, I mean!"

"Insolent hedgebird. I suppose you think you've a right to eat!"

Despite the gruff words there was a twinkle in Falcon's eyes and several silver coins were pressed into the valet's hand. Tummet grinned and looked after his employer's tall figure, reflecting fondly that few gents would have considered their servants' appetites, much less offered so generous a sum.

The fragrant air rang with talk and laughter as the merry crowd pushed and jostled about the stalls and barrows edging the drive-path. Mingling with them, Falcon saw that all classes and conditions were represented here, as evidenced by the costly French wigs, scratch wigs, or powdered hair of the gentlemen, and the varying types of caps worn by the ladies. Amid the babble of talk he heard the soft speech of Kent and Sussex, the affected drawl of Bond Street beaux, well-modulated Oxford accents, the sing-song voices of Wales, the brisk clipped speech of Londoners. Two Frenchmen, evidently believing nobody here would be able to understand them, were discussing the barbarous English habit of cooking meat with smoke, and of preparing atrocious puddings of suet and dough by dropping them into boiling water.

Falcon murmured, "Alas, messieurs, you will find no
colima
ç
ons
at this party. Unless, perhaps, you choose to search about under the weeds."

Affronted, they turned to chastise him for his impudence, but recognition was almost immediate, whereupon they flushed and hurried off.

Falcon chuckled and was about to walk on when another voice halted him.

"Buy a nosegay fer yer lidy, yer lor'ship! Only a groat! Come on, me fine—"

The solicitation ended in a shrill yelp as he jerked around and looked down at a small, dirty face, framed by untidy dark hair. He had a fleeting impression that the sadly crossed eyes reflected not only recognition but stark shock. "What the devil," he demanded, "are
you
doing all the way down here?"

The little flower-girl cowered, pulling her forest green shawl closer about her face as if to try and hide under it "I ain't doin' nothin' wrong, yer worship," she whimpered. "Don't 'ave me took up! Please, me fine 'andsome gent!"

He gripped her elbow. "Stop that dreadful whining, and tell me how you come to be here!"

She whined louder than ever and tried to pull free, but he jerked her closer, struck by the sense of something incongruous about the poor creature.

"I'll give yer a free bunch," she wailed. " 'Ere, mate! Not's'much as a farden it won't cost yer!"

"After the ladies again, eh?" Lord Hector Kadenworthy strolled up, swinging an amber cane and grinning broadly. " 'Pon my soul, but you've catholic tastes!" He turned to the frightened girl. "Driving a hard bargain, is he, m'dear? Best be on your way. I doubt Mr. Bracksby's keepers will allow you to do business here." He tossed her a shilling, and ignoring her ecstatic moans of gratitude, slipped a hand through Falcon's arm. "Going up to the house, August? Be dashed if I expected to find you here. Didn't think you and our Rudi were exactly—ah, bosom bows."

"True." Walking beside him, Falcon said lightly, "But the gentleman has a sister, you see."

Kadenworthy laughed. "I might have known. The luscious Lady Pamela. I thought that jolly little
affaire
was over."

"The world is full of surprises, Kade."

"Take care she doesn't give you one, dear boy. 'Tis said she don't take kindly to being—ah, discarded."

"Now whatever gave you the impression I had done so unkind a thing?"

"Be dashed if I can recall. Gossip, I expect. As usual, it rages 'round you like a whirlpool."

"How fortunate that I'm a good swimmer. Speaking of gossip, I've a bone to pick with you. Why did you deem it necessary to tell Rossiter that Green had insulted my sister?"

His lordship stiffened. He said coldly, "Only think, I had not dreamt I was indulging in gossip, and had instead supposed I was defending you. Ross was irked because that hasty temper of yours had been unleashed on poor dear Rafe Green in The Madrigal. I sought to pour oil on troubled waters by pointing out your justification." He halted and offered a short, dismissing bow. "My apologies an that offends your—"

"Mea culpa! Mea culpa!"
Falcon seized his arm and detained him with force. "No, don't go off in a huff, Kade. You must try not to look so stiff-rumped. People are sure to say you caught it from me."

Only slightly mollified, Kadenworthy grunted, but allowed himself to be drawn along again.

"Your intervention was well meant," allowed Falcon. "As I should have guessed. But I do not like my sister's name to be bandied about the clubs. No, don't fly into the boughs again! Would you have taken such an insult?"

"Perhaps not," admitted Kadenworthy grudgingly. "But nor would I be so quick to accuse my friends. Ross and I spoke of the matter privately. Even did you suspect
me
of gossip, you should know better than to think he'd be a party to it. The trouble with you, August, is that you expend a sight too much charm on the ladies and a damn sight too little on the men!"

Falcon purred, "Would you suggest I reverse the procedure?"

"No!" With a reluctant laugh Kadenworthy said, "Be curst if I would! What a fellow you are!"

"I stand corrected, and will admit that you likely did me a favour. I was too dense, you see, to realize Green was speaking of Katrina in that—unspeakable way. I thought he referred to me. Had I realized at the time what he implied…"

Kadenworthy glanced at him obliquely and read a chilling menace in the grim set of the mouth and the narrowed eyes.

"Jupiter, I do believe you'd have slain him on the spot! Justified, I own, but 'twould not have enhanced your reputation, August."

"I think that is past enhancing."

"So do I!" Kadenworthy clapped him on the back, his grin taking the sting from the words.

They had reached the steps to the square gray house and two flunkeys swung the doors wide to admit them.

Lord Hector hailed a friend and went inside, calling over his shoulder, "I'm for the card rooms. If you fancy a fling at the tables, join me, August."

Falcon waved a farewell, but instead of following, he paused atop the steps to glance back at the busy crowds on the drive-path.

It was quite possible that the little flower-girl had been given a ride on some carter's wagon or a farm wain leaving the city. Tinkers and the unfortunates who lived on the "padding lay" carried their wares to the various fairs and fetes, and this was one of the last such gatherings of the autumn. There was no real reason for thinking it strange to find the girl here, nor for this ridiculous sense of familiarity. He shrugged, and strolled into the wide entrance hall.

Once divested of cloak and tricorne he was plunged into a chattering crowd as young damsels, matrons, and dowagers vied with each other in the eager search for bargains; and gentlemen, with the approach of Christmas in mind, levelled their quizzing glasses hopefully at tables piled with their neighbours' discards. Even in this crush Falcon was an immediate center of attention. Feminine eyelashes fluttered at him over their fans, male faces became stern, and strong hands tightened their clasp on the arms of their ladies. His own eyes roved the assemblage without finding his hostess, or anyone suspected of being a member of the League. He drifted to a quiet corner beside a large potted palm and observed the gathering patiently.

"If you're looking for Lady Pamela, she's outside," said a brisk and somewhat nasal voice at his ear.

He turned and gave his hand and a smile to the colonel who had come up unnoticed. "Mariner Fotheringay, as I live and breathe! You always did move like a cat!"

"And you despise cats, as I recall." Tall and lean, with a pair of hard dark eyes, and a ruthless mouth, the army officer's lips curved into a rare smile. "How do you go on, Falcon? And how is that beautiful sister of yours? If rumour speaks true, you've finally given your approval to some lucky fellow. An Army man if—"

Falcon snapped, "Rumour lies, as usual!" He added in a calmer tone, "My sister is very well, I thank you. And I do not at all despise cats. They are admirably aloof, and they serve a very useful function in this world—getting rid of rodents, which are creatures I
very
much dislike! Is that why you're here, Mariner?"

Fotheringay blinked. "Do I look like the local rat-catcher?"

"You've caught a few in your time, no? And since they've promoted you to full colonel again, I thought perhaps—"

"Then you err, my dear fellow. I am here purely to support a worthy charity and perchance find a marvelously costly gift for a—er, lady."

"At a bargain price," said Falcon with a grin. "For shame, Mariner!"

"Can't afford shame. But I'd best get on with my search before the best things are snabbled. Glad to have seen you again." Fotheringay nodded amiably and started off, then enquired as if in afterthought, "How is your father, by the way?"

"August!"
Lady Barrett pushed past the colonel to thrust her hand at Falcon. She was acquainted with his aunt, and demanded to know all about her "dearest friend." Well aware that the two ladies had detested each other since their come-out, he responded with polite brevity, and escaped at the first possible opportunity. Fotheringay had disappeared into the crowd of those who were surrendering to the mouth-watering smells wafting from the dining room. Reminded that he had taken only a light breakfast, Falcon offered his arm to a very fat widow who was stigmatized by the
ton
for having married a wealthy merchant. Mrs. Quimby had been resigned to going in to dine with her reluctant brother. She was delighted to accept the escort of the best-looking man in the room and accompanied him, glowing.

Falcon had not chosen idly. He liked the lady for her good-humoured indifference to snobbery and for her often salty view of the world. Moreover, she was a talker and would ramble happily on with very little encouragement, thus leaving him free to, as Tummet would have said, "keep his peepers open." When he had filled her plate, at her direction, with sufficient food for three men and a boy, he seated her at a table in a corner of the room and went off to gather his own supper. Returning, he found that he had judged correctly. Between attending to the systematic reduction of the delicacies before her, Mrs. Quimby chattered. She was "awed" by his magnificent coat of blue brocade threaded with silver, and declared that the patch would be copied everywhere. She liked to see a gentleman dress well. Her dear late husband had always been neat, if not what one might call a fashion-plate. On she went, while Falcon responded attentively but kept a careful check of comings and goings. His full attention snapped to his companion when she allowed a hovering waiter to refill her wineglass and said, "… and almost too suspicious a turn of mind, I used to think. My Edgar was always insisting the crews conspired and stole him blind."

"Crews, ma'am? Forgive, but I'd thought Mr. Quimby was in the timber trade."

"Very right. But his ruling passion in life was the sea, Mr. Falcon. A warm man was my Edgar." She waved a chicken leg at him and said with a saucy wink, "In more ways than one! Else how should I have got so fat from bearing nine sons! But not a one of 'em has the eye for business his father had."

He smiled and asked, "Do you say Mr. Quimby imported timber? I'd have thought there were plenty of trees here in Britain."

"So there are! But there's trees and trees, my dear. Edgar used to bring in a cedar from the Americas that's used to build dinghies and little boxes. There's a green tree, though I cannot tell you the name, that grows in South America and is prized for making dock pilings and fishing rods. Edgar was specially partial to a black ebony that he shipped from Africa, and a grand mahogany from the West Indies. He liked teak, as well, which he got from somewhere in India."

"But—surely none of this would be easy to steal?"