Time's Fool (19 page)

Newby covered his eyes and groaned.

Gideon turned back. “I was able to discover the direction of two of the men who had worked up at Merseyside. They both—
both,
Newby!—said they were convinced the fire was arson, and that the foreman was of the same mind.”

“Which the official investigators say is nonsensical and cannot be proved.”

“It could be proven were we to find the men who set the fire!”

“Dearest,” put in Gwendolyn. “Do you really
believe
a conspiracy?”

“Not exactly, love. Yet—I cannot but wonder why so many people I have tried to talk with are so frightened.”

“Heaven protect us all,” moaned Newby. “My dear clod, they are not
frightened
of you! They
despise
you! They do not wish to be seen conversing with you! Can you not understand yet? We are—
untouchables
! All of us!”

“I did not say they were frightened of
me.
I said they were frightened. Lady Norberly, for instance.”

“Good Gad! You called on that dragon? She did not receive you, I'll warrant!”

“I think she would not have done, save that I chanced to arrive just as she was leaving the house. She vowed she has no least notion where his lordship may be, only that he travels in Scotland. Or perhaps Wales. She was trembling. And when I tried to speak again, she became loudly abusive. Her servants all but knocked me down.”

With an exclamation of impatience Newby sprang to his feet. “Which has nothing to say to the purpose! Plague take it, where's the use in raking over old coals now? Shall we be any less ruined an you do track down that embezzling rogue, Davies? Are we any less to blame because we had overextended ourselves on what proved fraudulent foreign investments? 'Twas my father's
responsibility,
no matter how you seek to wrap it in clean linen! Since the enquiries, I have done all in my power to quiet things down! Now,
you
must come home and start stirring coals and throwing everyone into an uproar again! The last thing we need is for the whole beastly mess to flare up once more. Let be! 'Tis done and over with and nothing can undo it. Let it
alone,
I say, else there is no telling where it may end!”

Gideon looked into that flushed and angry face and persisted, “You were here, twin, and I was not. Is there
nothing
you judge to have been peculiar? Nothing that struck you as contrived or that might be worth looking into?”

Breathing hard, Newby answered, “Yes, there is something worth looking into! The conserving of what resources we have left. My father is, even now, not without some friends. We could ship our belongings quietly and be out of the country ere anyone could detain us. He and his men of the law have been able to stave off the Courts for the time, but how long can we hope to delay the inevitable? If you have any influence at all, my valiant captain, you had best exert it to convince him to emigrate. Do you
yearn
to see my sister living in Newgate? Well, I do not! Nor do I mean to stand idly by while you compound his blunders! Conspiracy, indeed! My God—what folly!”

He strode rapidly to the door, then turned about. “I forgot. You've a caller, I believe. Best see him. Such events are rare in this house.”

*   *   *

Viscount Horatio Glendenning was seated in Gideon's small parlour, in close converse with Tummet. A very different Tummet this, his wig sleek, his person immaculate in a neat black habit that lent him a dignity somewhat at variance with his craggy face and discoloured eye.

“How good of you to come, Tio,” said Gideon, walking into the room and shaking hands with his friend. “What has this rogue been telling you?”

“Incidents from his extreme checkered career,” said the viscount with a grin. “If all else fails, Ross, you can write 'em down, put your sheets between marble covers, and make a fortune!”

“Oh, yes. I could entitle it, ‘Diary of a Skinner of Whales.'” And as his lordship stared uncertainly, Rossiter smiled and translated, “That's ‘Spinner of Tales' to you, old lad. What, has he not favoured you with his rhyming cant yet? Sometimes, 'tis the only way I can be sure he's my man, and not some bishop who has chanced to wander into my rooms.”

The fledgling valet said an amused, “Garn! You staying 'ere fer a bit, Cap'n?”

“Yes. Bring cognac to the balcony if you please. One thing this house offers is a view, Tio. And 'tis a pretty day.”

“Pretty rare,” said Glendenning. “You'll not need an umbrella do you plan to accompany me to the Dowling Soiree this evening.”

Rossiter glanced at him in surprise. “My thanks, but I've no least wish to do so. You cannot have thought I had been invited?”

“No, but I have, my Tulip. And you've been complaining that you're unable to come up with Bracksby. I chance to know he'll be there.”

Lowering himself into one of the wooden chairs on the small balcony, Rossiter said quizzically, “My presence would not help your standing with the
ton,
you know. Any more than will my attendance at your ball.”

“Very true. You're a dirty dish if ever there was one. But I shall contrive to bear it. Yea, or nay, Ross?”

“Yea! And most gratefully. I've been trying to see Rudi since I came home. He and Derrydene were friends and he may be able to tell me where to find the man. But he's elusive as a shadow in November!”

“Very fast on 'is stampers,” agreed Tummet, brashly entering the conversation as he set down the tray and unstoppered a decanter of cognac. “And a real top o'the trees. A quality gent to 'is toenails. Which is more'n I can say fer some.”

Fascinated by Rossiter's unorthodox servant, Glendenning accepted a glass and asked, “Such as?”

“You ever bin to Falcon 'Ouse, me lord?” enquired Tummet, wiping a glass on his sleeve and eyeing it suspiciously before measuring cognac into it.

“Yes, I have. What has that to say to the matter?”

“Mr. August Falcon's got a 'ound o' the devil in that there 'ouse. Black as pitch, big as a bear, and twice as ugly. Come at me like 'e 'ad 'ider—ranger, or whatever it's called.”

“Hydrophobia,” supplied Rossiter with a quirk of the lips.

“Ar. Tore the knee clean outta me new unmentionables, 'e done! And that there rosy-and-rare—”

For his lordship's benefit, Rossiter interjected, “Nose in the air.”

“—of a butler, 'e says as Apollo is a very fine dawg! Very fine dawg me eye and Cleo-Patria!” Tummet thrust the glass at his employer. “'Ere, Guv. Sluice that over yer ivories.”

Glendenning could not hold back a laugh.

Rossiter groaned, then asked, “Do you, with all this roundaboutation, say that Mr. August Falcon is
not
a fine gentleman?”

“'Oo—
me
?” Tummet blinked and said piously, “Why, I'd never presoom to criticize me betters. All I'm a'saying of is, 'e's better looking than 'is dawg. But twice as nasty.” Ignoring his lordship's renewed hilarity, he fixed Rossiter with a minatory stare. “And not no one fer a gent t'be coming to cuffs with when said gent just come 'ome fulla 'oles!”

“Thank you,” said Rossiter, trying to be stern. “That will be all.”

“It'll be all, all right,” said Tummet grimly.

“Damn your impudence! Go!”

Tummet looked aggrieved, and took himself off.

Still chuckling, Glendenning asked, “Where
ever
did you find him, Ross? Whitechapel? Westminster? Covent Garden?”

“Impertinent ruffian, isn't he?”

“As the deuce! He was taking me to task when you arrived. In no uncertain terms.”

“Gad! What had you done to incur my fine valet's displeasure?”

“Your fine valet! Your fine fishmonger more like! No, really, you cannot keep the fellow!”

“Why? D'you fancy he will lower my consequence? I have none. And to say truth, he amuses me. Now tell me how you have displeased him.”

“Simple. For all his—ah, peculiarities, he appears devoted to you, and he guessed why I came here.”

“Aha! You've word?”

“Falcon named Kadenworthy and Perry Cranford. They all are agreed that the choice of weapons is yours.” Rossiter raised his brows, and his lordship shrugged. “You struck him, after all.”

“
Au contraire.
I throttled him. And I believe I challenged him also.”

“Can't do both, my pippin. Ain't done. You attack. He challenges. You've choice of weapons, being the challenged. Pistols? You're a damned good shot.”

Rossiter pursed his lips. “D'you think he's up to swords? I don't want to kill the silly fellow.”

Glendenning pointed out, “You ain't terribly good with a sword, Ross.”

“Is he?”

“Good with everything. Had lots of practice.”

“He'll likely be somewhat slowed if we set an early date, which may even the odds. Swords, Tio. Preferably in the next day or so.” His lordship was clearly preparing to enter a caveat, and Rossiter forestalled him by calling, “Tummet!”

The valet appeared, as innocent as though he'd not listened to every word. “Yus, Cap'n?”

“Lay out my new burgundy coat, and the white satin waistcoat with the pink clocks. I attend a soiree this evening. And tell Wilson to put out another cover. You will join us for dinner, Tio?”

“No, no, dear boy. My thanks but—that beast of a hill! To negotiate it after dining would ruin my digestion for the rest of the evening. You shall dine with me, rather.”

“Capital notion! In that event, I'll change now. Oh, and Tummet—I shall wear the dress sword with the ruby in the hilt.”

“Right, guv. But we won't be 'aving no ship-yer-oars—that's to say ‘little wars,' melord—will we now, Cap'n? You ain't proper recovered o' all them 'oles in—”

“No wars, you hedgebird,” promised Rossiter, touched but exasperated. “Go and put out my clothes, as I told you!”

Mr. Enoch Tummet was not reassured, and made his way into the bedchamber grumbling audibly about high-in-the-instep young fire-eaters.

*   *   *

“But I assure you 'twas so.” Mr. Rudolph Bracksby bowed as the stately dance ended. “Certainly you must know that any gentleman once having met you counts the moments 'til he does so again?”

The great skirts of Naomi's white satin gown swirled as she sank into the curtsy. Her green eyes laughed at Bracksby as he raised her, but his admiration was plain, and she was pleased by the awareness that she looked well tonight. The swansdown-trimmed stomacher emphasized her tiny waist; the overskirts of her gown looped back to reveal the pink embroidered underdress. Her hair was swept up from her face and arranged into loose curls at the sides with a pink silk flower pinned above her left ear. About her white throat was a golden chain from which hung a pendant of pearls and rubies, and jewelled slippers glittered on her little feet.

She had been surprised to find this charming but rather quiet gentleman at the Dowling Soiree, and more surprised when he had prevailed upon Lady Dowling to “properly introduce” him. Naomi was not inclined to simper or pretend she did not at once recognize him from their encounter in the cathedral. She had assumed, however, that he would soon leave her to go upstairs where many gentlemen sat at card tables, or to the large saloon where guests were gathering to hear Signor Guido Lambini read from and discuss his new book of poems. Instead, almost before Naomi knew what he was about, Mr. Bracksby had deftly appropriated her dance card, scrawled his name, and swept her from under the outraged noses of the eager group of young gallants surrounding her and into the quadrille.

Now, as he led her from the floor, she murmured, “You've a silver tongue, sir.”

“Then I shall hope it wags to your pleasure and my benefit. For example, may I call for you in the morning? An early ride, perhaps?”

She laughed a little. “La, but it's a determined gentleman.”

“Be assured of that, ma'am. Shall we say—seven o'clock?”

“I should be pleased to say seven o'clock. But—my regrets. I am engaged tomorrow.”

“Then in the after—”

But her admirers had regrouped and now crowded in about her. Mr. Bracksby, a decade older than most of them, was smiled on politely, stepped past gently, and gradually closed out by ardent youth. He took it in good part, wandered from the crowded room and made his way up the graceful curve of the main staircase. In the first-floor hall he was hailed by a familiar voice. Horatio Glendenning was bearing down on him, accompanied by a tall young man whose grey eyes sparked anger, and whose gaunt cheeks were slightly flushed. For just an instant Bracksby stood very still. Then, he said, “Good evening, Tio,” and extended his hand. “Hello, Gideon. How glad I am to see you safely home.”

Rossiter said sardonically, “Then you are in the minority, Rudi. I am very much
persona non grata,
you know. I doubt Lady Dowling will ever speak to Tio again, for having brought me.”

“Oh, Tio can bring all the ladies round his thumb,” said Bracksby, smiling as they exchanged a firm grip.

Heads were turning in that crowded hallway, and several quizzing glasses were brought to bear to further emphasize the affronted stares of their owners. Apparently oblivious of this by-play, Bracksby went on, “What a beast of a homecoming you have had, poor fellow. I wish—”

“I do not want sympathy,” interrupted Rossiter savagely. “What I need is help.”

“And some privacy,” said Glendenning, noting that several gentlemen had halted and were muttering together. He swept open a nearby door, peeped into an unoccupied ante room, and ushered his friends inside. Lady Dowling's breeding had not failed her when he'd greeted her with Rossiter at his side, but the look of stricken horror she had directed at him as he walked away could not be ignored. He left the two men alone, therefore, and with the determination to make his peace with their hostess, went in search of her.