Time's Fool (11 page)

“Indeed? And the highwaymen stole it from you, ma'am?”

“No. They got nothing. Only, it is gone from my reticule, and—”

Rossiter's head tossed an inch higher. “But of course. You thought I had stolen it.” His eyes narrowed with rage. “A logical assumption when dealing with so dastardly a villain.”

“No, no. We do not believe you would stoop to—
small
knaveries, Captain Rossiter.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and for an instant his stare became a blazing glare that frightened her. Then he bowed mockingly, and she went on, “I merely hoped you might have seen it. My father's men found the wrappings near the spot where your friend shot Mr. Falcon.”

“So that is why James shot him.” His smile contemptuous, he drawled, “I'd no idea he was so ardent a player as to kill for a chess piece. Though most men—”

Angered by his sarcasm, she flared, “Most men are despicable!”

He bowed again. “Before—or after they suffer a reversal of fortunes, madam?”

Naomi's riding whip swung up but her wrist was caught in a grip of iron.

“Temper, temper,” chided Rossiter. “With all his vaunted shrewdness, 'tis remarkable that your papa has failed to teach you that a lady of Quality should not behave like a guttersnipe.”

She was shaking with anger, but when she wrenched free, he was not treated to the blistering denunciation he anticipated. Instead, she demanded loftily, “Am I to understand you did not see the piece? It is quite small, and fashioned of pink jade and rubies.”

“But—dear lady, surely you must apprehend there is no point in asking me. An I had seen it, I certainly would never tell the truth of the matter. And since one is judged by the company one keeps, you will appreciate that to question my friend would be as pointless.”

He strode past her, swung the front door wide, and proffered her hat. “Speaking as an accomplished cheat, lecher, and—liar, I have no hesitation in saying—to have met you again, my lady, has been … a pleasure.”

She should be able to find an answer to that barb, surely? But there was something about the haggard face and sardonic smile that made her feel cheapened and oddly disturbed. Words eluded her, and taking up the train of her habit, she snatched her hat, and swept past him regally, but in silence.

Hearing the door close, Lieutenant Morris paced to the stairs and started down once more, only to hesitate yet again. Rossiter stood facing the door, his head bowed against it. He had heard Morris' steps and turned quickly. The lieutenant caught a glimpse of a despair that appalled him. Then, a flush stained the gaunt cheeks, and Rossiter asked quietly, “How long have you been there, Jamie?”

“Longer than I liked, blister it! Stumbled on your—ah, conversation before I realized you were there, and then your blasted creaking stairs trapped me. Took me the deuce of a time to escape. Damned embarrassing, I don't mind telling you.”

Rossiter sighed as if he was very weary. “Yes. I'm sorry.”

“So am I.”

There was sympathy in the freckled face. Rossiter shrank from it. “Thank you. But—'tis as well to know where I stand, I suppose.”

“Do you?” Morris came down the rest of the stairs. “Not my bread and butter, of course, but—Bless it, Gideon! Why in Hades didn't you tell the poor girl the truth? If her ladyship knew you'd come damned near to cocking up your toes this past year and more—”

Crossing the hall to join him, Rossiter said bleakly, “Do you really fancy I would work on a woman's sympathy to win her? Even did I still wish to do so? Thank you—no!”

They started to walk towards the kitchen hall, and Morris said, “Of all the high-in-the-instep—”

Rossiter cut him off impatiently. “I cannot be too surprised, Jamie. She was little more than a child when we plighted our troth. She likely found quite soon that she had mistaken her heart. Certainly, I mistook mine, and I am free now to do what I may to help my family. You will be eager to get on your way, no? Never worry about our belongings. As soon as I reach Town I'll send one of my father's people down to the Red Pheasant to collect 'em.”

Morris checked his stride, and said sternly, “You are indulging your perishing pride again, and I tell you, Ross, that pride is worth—”

“Very little, I know,” interrupted Rossiter coolly. “Whereas time is of the essence, and the sooner we're away the better.”

Their departure was not as prompt as he had hoped, but at last Tummet, the richer by two guineas, had wished his captors a blithe farewell, the horses were saddled, and the two men rode from the stableyard and started across the wide expanse of the park. With a great effort of will Rossiter did not once look back at his birthplace. Morris could all too well imagine his state of mind, however, and remained discreetly silent.

They were passing through the lodge gates before Rossiter said, “May I ask when you learned of my father's trouble?”

“My mama writ to me. I collect there was quite a—I mean, it caused somewhat of a stir.”

Rossiter asked expressionlessly, “Did everybody else know? At the hospital, I mean.”

“Really couldn't say, old lad.”

Rossiter turned his head and looked at him levelly, and Morris added a hurried, “My mama writes dashed
enormous
letters. Shouldn't think any other fella's parent would scribble so much. Always crossed and both sides of the page covered. Makes it hard as the deuce to decipher.”

“I scarce remember my mother,” said Rossiter absently. “She died when Gwendolyn was born…” His mind felt bruised, but he wrenched it from a cruel and lovely face to deal with the here and now. “So your mama told you that my father's bank had failed, and that there were charges of”—he had to force himself to utter that awful word—“of embezzlement?”

“No, no, dear boy! Merely that 'twas a—er, nasty sort of business and there was bad feeling 'gainst your papa. Because so many were ruined, y'see. Never used the term ‘embezzlement.'” He grinned. “Probably couldn't spell it.” Then, realizing he had blundered again, his comely face reddened.

“Falcon used the term.”

“Falcon! Who pays heed to anything that frizzle brain says? He's so curst hot at hand I'm surprised he didn't catch fire, only because I made a little mistake.”

Rossiter managed a fairly creditable laugh. “I hope you never make a large one!”

When they turned onto the Maidstone Road they at once began to encounter traffic. Guiding his mount past a lumbering hay wain, Rossiter was caught up in the sounds and sights and smells of the Down country. England was so beautiful, and for a while he'd thought he might never see her again. He could not but experience a surge of gratitude that he was safely back in his own land, and although still mentally reeling from the hammer blows Fate had dealt him, he began instinctively to try and pull the pieces back together again. The great estate where so much of his youth had been spent was gone, and if his father's disaster had been as extensive as Tummet said, they were likely pockets to let. As for Naomi … He realized that Morris was chattering on about something. It had been blasted good of the man to come, in view of what he'd heard of the Rossiter family. He said, “My apologies, Jamie. I fear my mind was woolgathering.”

“Better than gathering nuts in May—what?”

Rossiter grinned. “That was a jolly good ploy. Your capering saved the day.”

“
And
my fine baritone, do not forget.”

“Truly, you were superb. And Tummet turned out to be a good fellow after all. I hope he'll not find himself in a bobbery over this.”

They rode on in silence for a while, then Morris said, “It rather worries me, now that I come to think on it.”

“Tummet does?”

“Eh? Oh, he'll land on his feet, never fear. Finagle his way out of anything, that fellow.
Booberkin!
” This last was directed with great indignation at a carter whose wheels had come uncomfortably close. “No, I was thinking 'twas probably a Saturday. More likely, don't you agree?”

“More likely for what?”

“Good Gad, man! Where are your wits? It wouldn't be proper to go gathering nuts on a
Sunday.
I'd think you'd have realized that!”

“Gudgeon,” said Rossiter laughing at him. “Are you still puzzling over that old nursery song?”

“I like to keep things tidy,” said Morris primly. “Speaking of which”—he waited while Rossiter's mount took violent exception to a flock of geese, then finished—“Falcon has a neatish country seat, I hear.”

Resettling his tricorne, Rossiter panted, “Ashleigh. Does it occur to you, Jamie, that the roads have become a deal worse since we left England?”

“Most decidedly. In—ah, Middlesex, ain't it?”

“What? Oh—Ashleigh. No, Sussex.” Rossiter glanced at him. “Why?”

“Why would you think, my lad?” Morris winked mischievously. “Falcon may be a cod's head, but his sister—horse of a different colour entirely.”

“You not only mix your metaphors, my good fool, but you are properly addlebrained. Falcon warns off every man who dares come near the lady, even the more eligible bachelors. And you committed what you refer to as a ‘little mistake,' but what he doubtless considers an excuse for bloody murder! He's an extreme dangerous man with all the instincts of a scorpion. Stay clear, and enjoy a good long life.”

Morris sighed. “But—she is so very glorious, do you see?”

“The lovelier they are,” said Rossiter bitterly, “the more spoiled and flighty.”

“Aye. You've the right of it, I fancy.”

This meek capitulation brought a suspicious glint to Rossiter's eyes, but he was diverted by a stentorian blast as a stagecoach driver demanded and seized the right of way.

“Curst mountebank,” grumbled Morris, urging his hack onto the road once more. “The riffraff they allow to tool the coaches nowadays are little better than rank riders! I shall talk to my guv'nor about it. A good old boy is my guv'nor.” He went on at some length enumerating the virtues of his worthy sire, while contriving to avoid Rossiter's thoughtful gaze until they came to a bustling crossroad where they drew clear of the stream of traffic, and reined to a halt.

Morris stretched out his hand. “Here we part company. Good hunting, Ross, and—er, all that kind of fustian. I shall expect you to come down and meet my guv'nor. Soon, dear boy.”

Their handshake was firm, their smiles holding the warmth of true friendship.

“I would like that very much,” said Rossiter. “When do you fancy you'll get back from Sussex?”

“Oh, I likely won't leave till—” Morris broke off, flushing, then said a rueful, “Devil!”

Rossiter reached over to seize his bridle. “For once in your life, Jamie, use some of the wits God gave you! Falcon's a shark!”

Morris laughed heartily, and breaking away from Rossiter's hold, exclaimed, “And you accused
me
of mixing my metaphors! Is the fellow a shark, or a scorpion?”

“Both, you idiot! I fancy he'll demand satisfaction of each of us sooner or later, but—”

“But in the meantime,” said Morris, “I may contrive to at least rest these old orbs upon the incomparable Miss Katrina! Farewell, dear boy. And God speed!” With a wave and a grin, he drove home his spurs and galloped off on the road that led westward to Maidstone and Sevenoaks.

Frowning after his rapidly diminishing figure, Rossiter shook his head worriedly. Jamie was a fair shot at best, and as for swords—he shuddered. Still, Falcon would be unable to fight anyone until that arm healed, which would require at least two weeks. He would call on the fellow and arrange a meeting. If he could disable Falcon, it might be a considerable time before Morris would have to face him. At the moment, however, his first duty must be to his father.

He reined around and joined the ever-increasing traffic following the London Road. He missed Jamie's cheerful presence. Naomi's lovely face came into his mind's eye, bringing with it that terrible ache of grief for something that had been very beautiful and was now destroyed. All these years—all this wasted time! He had been a proper fool … Shakespeare had said something about time and a fool … How did it go? “Love's not Time's fool…?” something of the kind. Perhaps it was not love, but the lover who was time's fool. Certainly he must be a classic example of such folly.

Well, the time for foolishness was done, and he must start again. First, he would make a push to set things to rights insofar as Papa's difficulties were concerned. If worst came to worst, they could all live at the country house his grandmama had bequeathed to him. Emerald Farm was a lovely and peaceful old place, and although Newby could be counted upon to despise it, little Gwendolyn would likely be happy there.

Dear little Gwen … He found himself very eager to see his sister again, and spurred his horse to a faster gait.

*   *   *

Naomi walked into Collington Manor with eyes that saw nothing of the arched entrance hall, the grand sweep of the central staircase in the second hall, or the fine ceiling paintings. She felt crushed and dispirited and dreaded facing her father. Pawson admitted her, his dark eyes blank as usual. Relieved when her enquiry elicited the information that his lordship was closeted with “a gentleman,” her spirits picked up even more when Pawson added mournfully, “Miss Falcon has called, and is waiting in your ladyship's private parlour.”

Miss Falcon, a picture in pink and white, was sitting in the window seat engrossed in the
London Gazette.
She looked up, smiling in response to her friend's delighted welcome, and said absently, “Hello, love. They say there will be a treaty signed to end this ridiculous Austrian war. I have never understood it, have you?”