Time's Fool (24 page)

Ducking frantically, and racked with laughter, Rossiter pleaded, “
Par pitie! Par pitie!
I could not resist it! No, really, Jamie, spare me! Everyone stares.”

Indeed, many amused faces were turned their way, and a lady wearing a great deal of paint and far too many jewels leaned from her sedan chair, shaking her fan at them in laughing reproof.

Morris flushed scarlet. “Well, I trust you enjoyed your fun,” he said huffily. “I am very sure that as usual, gullible Morris provides a perfect foil for his clever friends. And you, sir, would be the better for a companion as quick witted as yourself. Good day to you!”

He drove home his spurs and was away. Rossiter was after him like a flash. A glance over his shoulder and Morris' ready grin dawned. He bent lower in the saddle and it was a race, the two young men galloping at reckless speed through the heavy traffic, leaving behind a trail of cursing coachmen, profane riders, and hooting boys.

At the corner of Gray's Inn Road Rossiter caught up, leaned from the saddle and seized Morris' rein. “Wait up, Jamie!” he panted. “I've but now realized what you said.”

“What did I say? And I want no more of weeds and winkles, damn your eyes!”

“Thieves who go in terror of ‘the Squire.' 'Tis exactly what Tummet said! That the louts who attacked him were desperate to find something for—‘the Squire.'”

Morris looked dubious. “Don't see anything remarkable in that, dear boy. Lots of servants refer to their employer as the Squire.”

“Perhaps. But surely, some would tend to say, ‘the master,' or ‘the governor' or something of the sort? Does it not seem odd that in both these instances the same phrase was used, the same sense of desperation conveyed?”

“You say that the robberies were not coincidences, eh?”

“Consider, Jamie. The ransacking of Promontory Point, your thieves, the attack on Byrd—By heavens! Perhaps my stolen saddlebags as well! There
must
be some connection!”

Deep in thought, they rode on slowly, turning at length onto Great Ormond Street, where the distant roofs of the Foundling Hospital could be seen, with open countryside beyond.

“But a'God's name, why?” said Morris baffled. “It makes no sense unless somebody wants something we brought back from Holland. I brought nothing to inspire such frenzy. No more did—Oh, what luck!”

Glancing up, Rossiter's reaction was slightly different.

Three ladies strolled towards them, followed by a footman. Two were startlingly lovely and clad in the height of fashion. The third had a fine-boned face and a mischievous look, and walked with the aid of a cane.

The two men dismounted at once. Very aware of the aloof hauteur in Lady Naomi's eyes, and the frown on Miss Falcon's beautiful face, Rossiter bowed and paid his respects.

Miss Falcon, a vision in a walking dress of light rose, nodded to him with cool disapproval. Lady Naomi wore a pale green toilette and a cream damask cape richly embroidered in the same green as her gown. A broad-brimmed hat of cream straw with green ribands hanging down the back was set
à la bergère
atop the belaced cap perched on her lightly powdered curls. She bowed politely but there was a sparkle of vexation in her green eyes.

“I am so glad we fell in with you, Gideon,” said Gwendolyn merrily. “Are you come to fetch me?”

Rossiter started and wrenched his gaze from the lady who had been for so long the embodiment of his every dream. “Er, no. I thought you had gone out for a drive, under Tummet's escort.” An elbow was in his ribs. He ignored it, but the succeeding jab almost made him stagger.

It was quite apparent that two of the ladies wanted nothing so much as to terminate this encounter. Gritting his teeth, Rossiter introduced the persistent lieutenant, and Miss Falcon's chilly demeanour was replaced by an expression of horrified accusation. “You are the man shot my brother!” she exclaimed, drawing back.

“Pray do not take me in deep aversion,” pleaded Morris earnestly. “I'd not have done so had I not thought he was a rank rider. 'Twas a perfectly natural mistake.”

“'Twas nothing of the kind…,” she began indignantly.

Morris attempted a gabbling and involved explanation, during which Rossiter turned aside and said quietly, “I'd not realized you and my sister were still—ah, acquainted, ma'am.”

Lady Naomi turned her cool gaze to him. “You object, Captain Rossiter?”

“Of course he does not,” said Gwendolyn. “We have had such a lovely cose, Gideon. Mr. Falcon has the finest dog, and let me throw a stick for him, only he took a little tumble. Mr. Falcon did, I mean, and was in such a humour we decided to leave him alone with it, didn't we, Naomi?”

My lady smiled at her. “He was rather cross, but you must not regard it.”

“Just so,” agreed Rossiter. “August Falcon is renowned for several traits, but a conciliating manner is not among them.”

“True. It has in fact become a rare quality in a gentleman,” sighed Naomi regretfully.

Rossiter gritted his teeth. “Am I obliged to offer him an apology, Gwen?”

“No, no,” said Naomi. “You must not trouble yourself with the niceties.”

“Still, Apollo
did
break a vase when I was playing with him,” admitted Gwendolyn with a sparkling look.

“Then I shall most certainly replace it.”

“Thank you, dearest. That would be nice.”

“If a trifle difficult,” murmured Naomi, watching a sparrow hop along the iron railings beside them.

“How so, ma'am?” asked Rossiter. “Do you infer this vase to have been the only one of its kind in the entire world?”

“Not at all. I imagine there must be others. In China. His grandmama brought it with her, I believe.”

Gwendolyn halted with a distressed cry. “Oh, how dreadful! I could see he was terribly angry, but I thought 'twas because—Oh—Gideon!”

“Never worry so, Gwen,” said Naomi, relenting. “I doubt Mr. Falcon ever looked at the silly thing.”

“Of course he did. Clearly, he worships his grandmother's memory.”

Naomi patted her hand kindly. “Then we shall find another vase. My father is quite expert on antiquities. I'll ask him to—” Glancing up, she stepped aside hastily.

They were blocking the flagway, and the two large matrons now approaching did not propose to share the right of way. Rossiter guided Gwendolyn away from their aggressive advance. Still striving to win a kindlier attitude from his goddess, Morris was lost to all else and became the recipient of a sharp prod from a parasol. He uttered an involuntary yelp. The matron who had folded her weapon so as to attack him, now snapped it open again. It was of brightly hued purple and white silk with a scarlet fringe, and it turned Morris' Windsong into the whirligig Rossiter had named him. Neighing his terror, the big horse reared and spun. Morris tried to pull him down, but was sent reeling. He collided with Katrina and knocked the dainty reticule from her hand. Gwendolyn was well clear of the debacle, and Rossiter sprang forward, swept Naomi into his arms, and whirled her around.

“Oh! Put me down at once!” cried Naomi angrily.

An iron-shod hoof flailed down about four feet from her cheek.

Katrina gave a cry of alarm.

“Oh, Gad! I am so very sorry,” groaned Morris, belatedly succeeding in controlling his rambunctious animal.

Katrina's footman, who had been engaged in conversation with a shabby individual, now came running up, and he and Morris bent simultaneously to retrieve Katrina's reticule. Gideon heard the thump as their heads collided. The footman gave a shocked cry and his wig and tricorne fell off. Gasping, Morris snatched determinedly for the reticule. Unhappily, he retrieved it upside down. Coins rolled in all directions; a pencil, notepad, card case, chain purse, handkerchief, a brush, an advertisement for cucumber lotion, a small pair of scissors, a brooch, two letters, a pot of rouge, a scone wrapped in paper, a flea comb, and a carrot were scattered about the flagway. A hand mirror shattered as did a vial of scent, the latter splashing Miss Falcon with cloying fragrance that was customarily applied by the drop. She uttered a wail of embarrassment. The footman knelt and started to retrieve the numerous casualties, and Morris groaned dismally.

Passers-by had found the incident highly amusing, and a big man accompanied by a very fat and hilarious lady, shouted that it was “as good as any farce.”

Naomi pulled away from Rossiter's arms and fixed him with a stern frown.

He enquired blandly, “Are you all right, ma'am?”

“I was
perfectly
all right, and nowhere near—”

He made a gesture of dismissal. “There is not the need for thanks,” he said, with somewhat questionable magnanimity. “A gentleman must always stand ready to protect a helpless damsel.”

“Hmm,” said Naomi. “Katrina, you are not harmed?”

Miss Falcon might be unharmed but she was close to tears of mortification. In a shaken voice she urged that they return home at once, for they must have a nap this afternoon.

The three ladies embraced and said hurried farewells. Rossiter engaged to call for Lady Naomi at half past nine o'clock, and poor Morris, hanging his head in shame, wished the earth might open and swallow him.

Turning back towards Falcon House, Katrina all but sobbed, “I reek! Oh, I shall smell of Camellia Caprice forever! I have
never
been so humiliated! Whatever must they have thought?”

“That you carry a vast amount in your reticule, love.” Her eyes alight with mischief, Naomi said, “Never fret. Your laundress will get the scent out, I am persuaded. But in truth, you carry some unexpected articles when you go out for a stroll.”

“I took the scone to feed the ducks in the park yesterday, and quite forgot! And the carrot was for my mare. But—the
flea
comb, Naomi! 'Twas for Apollo, but—What if—Oh, how awful!”

Naomi chuckled. “No, really. Even those two would never think 'twas for your own lovely head, dearest.”

“I do hope not,” sniffed Katrina. “Faith, but I marvel Lieutenant Morris survived the war. He is a perpetual disaster!”

“And so terribly smitten, poor fellow. He could scarce have played his cards worse! He must first shoot August, then come nigh to trampling you with his half-broke horse, next engage in the fiasco with your footman, and compound his offenses by emptying your reticule. Truly, I could not but feel sorry for him. He looked ready to sink!”

“And I was of a mind to sink him! Bad enough he must make me a figure of fun, but had it not been for Captain Rossiter—Naomi, I was sure that wild animal's hoof was going to strike your face!”

Naomi said tartly, “He would certainly have done so—had he the legs of a camelopard, or whatever 'tis they call them now.”

“Giraffe, I believe. No, was the horse that far from you? Then I wonder why Captain Rossiter must snatch you up like that?”

Naomi gave her a level look. “Do you, indeed.”

Momentarily forgetting her own humiliation, Katrina said with saintly innocence, “I suppose it must have been very dreadful to be crushed and swept up in his arms like that. In view of—er, everything.”

Infuriatingly, Naomi felt her cheeks burn. She said, “I vow I purely
dread
this evening! Whatever has become of your footman?”

The footman in question, having collected all the contents of the reticule and restored his own dignity, was presenting Rossiter with a folded paper. “A h'individual h'asked me to put this in your 'and, sir,” he said. “Jest before”—he flashed an aggrieved glance at the glum Morris—“the h'incident with the 'orse.”

Rossiter thanked him and soothed his ruffled feelings by sending him after his ladies with a florin in his palm.

“And now, Miss Gwendolyn,” Rossiter turned to his sister. “I'll have an explanation, if you please. What were you thinking of to drive out with Tummet? How came you to be in this part of town? And where the deuce
is
the dimwit?”

“'Twas such a lovely day,” she began airily.

“It was drizzling!”

“Well, yes it was—earlier. But I was sure it would clear up. As it did, for that very aggressive lady had need of her parasol, did you not notice?”

“Gad, but I did,” sighed Morris.

“I longed to go out for a drive,” explained Gwendolyn, “and since we are so short of servants just now, Mr. Tummet said he would be happy to serve as footman—”

“A fine footman! The slippery fellow abandoned you—or did you send him off?”

“I suppose it must have been a misunderstanding. I had thought he was to wait, but—Oh, how fortuitous! Here he comes now!”

The approaching carriage slowed and stopped. Tummet called, “Whatcher, Cap'n!”

Rossiter handed his reins to Morris and stalked to the window from which his valet's bewigged head protruded. “Where the devil have you been? And how
dare
you abandon Miss Rossiter?”

“Cor!” said Tummet, wounded. “As if I'd do such a 'orrid thing! Snug as a bug, yer sister was. Wiv the friends of 'er bosom!” He leaned farther from the window, and said in a hissing croak, “Lend us yer ear 'oles.”

“I'm more like to lend you my boot,” declared Gideon wrathfully. “What rascality have you been about now?”

“Comes a time, Guv, when a man's faced with one o' them there not-so-nice's.” Tummet nodded lugubriously.

“I—am—in—no—mood—” began Gideon through his teeth.

Tummet had already noted the glint in his employer's eyes, however, and he translated hurriedly, “That is ter say—crisis, Cap'n. And
that's
what E. Tummet faced. Not fer 'imself, mindya. But fer the gent what took 'im on. Loyalty. That's me motter. So seein's 'ow a decision was gotta be made, I made it.”