Time's Fool (35 page)

“He is not ill, I trust?”

“Sick at heart, poor old fellow. He is to appear before the committee again on Tuesday.”

Her hand flew to caress his cheek. “Oh, Gideon! I am so sorry.”

“And I, love.” He kissed her palm gratefully. “Which is why I must make my move today.”

At once alarmed, she exclaimed, “Move? What move? Oh, Lud! You are at your scheming again!”

“Be calm, little sprite. Now tell me quickly. You are troubled, I think. I have worried lest your father might have been angered when you returned. You were late, I am assured.”

“Yes, but he was not as provoked as I'd feared.” She hesitated. “Mr. Bracksby was to dine with us, and he is so entertaining a gentleman.”

“He is. A splendid fellow. I'd not realized he was acquainted with Collington.”

“I was rather surprised also, but they must be good friends, I think, because … Mr. Bracksby asked for my hand.”

“The
devil
he did!” His grey eyes flashing, Gideon exclaimed hotly, “Of all the unmitigated gall! I judge him my friend, and he slithers into an offer behind my back! By God, I've a mind to call him out!”

Naomi chuckled. “And this from the man who complains that August Falcon is hot-at-hand! My dearest, how was Bracksby to know we are still—er, I mean—”

“You mean that you still love me,” he prompted.

“A little bit, perhaps,” she said, with a bewitching dimple and a saucy flirt of her shoulders.

This time, there was no approaching groom to terminate their embrace, and after a while, Gideon said huskily. “Only a ‘little bit,' my lady?”

Breathless, she straightened her hair. “Sufficiently that I refused poor Mr. Bracksby.”

“So I should hope. Did you give him a reason?”

“I told him I shall never marry, and— Gideon—no! Wicked one!”

“Then tell the truth, my beautiful imp.”

She gave her little rippling laugh. “I told him that our betrothal should never have been broken, and was to be reinstated.”

‘Collington will be in a flame,' he thought, and asked, “Was your Papa very displeased?”

“He was livid, but Mr. Bracksby interceded for me. With great firmness. He turned the conversation to the lost chess piece and its strange return, and Papa became calmer. I retired before Mr. Bracksby left, but I was sure Papa would come to my room and scold me. Thank heaven he did not.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“No. I left before he came downstairs.”

“My dear brave lady. All the more reason for me to get to work.”

“Do you mean by inspecting the little ruby chessman?”

“No. I suspect the indomitable Jamie still lies snoring. I mean to get into Derrydene's house and have a look about.”

Naomi gave a cry of alarm. “How? What do you hope to find?”

“I've no least idea, but he was one of my father's major stockholders, and saw the crash coming in time to withdraw all his funds. I have been unable to talk to him, but I'd give a deal to know from whence came his advance knowledge. I hope to find some correspondence, or a ledger, or
any
least evidence of wrongdoing.”

“But—but if there
is
such evidence he will surely have it well hid! It would take you too long! Oh, my love! You will be discovered!”

“Not an I am careful. Derrydene is in Russia, and his nervous lady is at their country seat.”

“No! She is not! I saw her but yesterday when I was driving out of Town.”

“Do you know her well?”

“Not at all well, for my papa despises her husband and will have nothing to do with them. But I've met her at social functions, of course. That horrid Reggie Smythe was out riding and he stopped to chat with a lady in a carriage. I glanced to see who was suffering from his attentions, and caught a glimpse of the captivating Lady Ada.”

“Are you quite sure, dear girl? That will make things a trifle more chancy.”

“I am very sure. I think she did not wish to be seen, for she drew back at once, but I saw that way she has of fluttering her hands. 'Twas Ada Derrydene, past doubting.”

“Hmm. I thank you for the warning.”

“But you mean to proceed nonetheless. You are prodigious exasperating, sir! Pray tell what I am to do when you have got yourself shot for a robber?”

He grinned. “I'll have you know, Lady Cheerful, that I am a skilled miller of kens, as Tummet would say, and have in fact considered taking up the trade so as to restore my fortune. You cannot object, ma'am, since I'm well aware that your great-grandsire was a successful pirate.”

“I shall ignore that wicked libel,” said Naomi, and added thoughtfully, “what you need, dearest, is a diversion.” She brightened. “And I do believe the pirate's great-granddaughter knows the very thing!”

“See here, lovely one,” he said uneasily. “I'll not have—”

Naomi's eyes grew round with excitement. “La, but 'twill be famous! I must first change my dress, and then…”

*   *   *

“The thing is, dear ma'am,” cooed Naomi, handing the butler her umbrella as she walked into the entrance hall with Lady Derrydene, “I have for so long been fairly yearning to look at your husband's collection of bells, and knowing you must be lonely whilst he is away, I thought I would pay a call, and perhaps persuade you to let me see some of them.”

“Ye-es.” Lady Louis Derrydene had been a great beauty in her youth, and was still a very handsome woman. On the far side of forty, she had a voluptuous figure, a girlishly coy manner, and long graceful hands of which she was most proud. Her doelike brown eyes surveyed her beautiful caller uncertainly, and she said in a high-pitched fluttery voice, “I was just going out. You see, most of the servants are in Bedfordshire during Sir Louis' absence.”

“Ah, then I have called at an inopportune time?”

“Oh, no. I am sure my husband would not wish— Pray do come in, Lady Lutonville. I am not definitely— That is to say … I will be glad to show you some of the bells.”

“You are too kind. I must instruct my groom—”

“Quinn will do that.” Allowing the footman to take their bonnets and cloaks, Lady Derrydene turned to the butler. “Quinn, bring tea to the green saloon, and pray tell Camber to drive the team around to the stables.”

Naomi was divested of her cloak, and followed her reluctant hostess along a chilly hall where occasional tables and wall recesses held bells of all shapes and sizes. Gideon should be at the rear by now, surely … “Oh, ma'am,” she trilled excitedly, seizing a large hanging bell, “I cannot resist! May I try this one?”

Even as she spoke she was swinging the bell vigorously.

The resultant clamour was gratifying. Lady Derrydene gave a shriek and clapped her hands over her ears; two cats raced up the stairs in search of sanctuary, and Gideon had ample time to open a rear window and climb into the book room.

During his loitering about the alley he had made sure that there was no one in the back garden, and that most of the curtains were drawn over the tall, narrow windows. There was still the possibility, however, that his unconventional entrance might have been witnessed from the upper windows, or that a neighbour's servant might have chanced to see him stroll across the lawn. He waited, listening intently, ready to make a run for it in case of a hullabaloo. A second deafening peal of bells almost shocked him out of his boots. Instinctively swinging around, he sent a fine old carven globe tottering, grabbed for it, and swore softly as it crashed to the floor and split in half, the twin sides spinning off in different directions. Fortunately, Naomi's vigorous effort drowned the sounds of his clumsiness, and he gave a sigh of relief when there was no sound of a following investigation.

He ran a keen glance around the room. The crowded untidy bookcases spoke of usage; there were a few comfortable chairs, and a long reference table with three drawers. He went swiftly to the latter. The drawers held the accumulation of years: torn book covers awaiting repair; reference sheets; several magazine articles on great country houses; yellowing pages from
The Spectator
with encircled political articles having to do with the recent tragic Uprising; some childish sketches; broken quill pens; crayons; pencils; rulers. He rifled through the drawers hurriedly, finding nothing to lend any substance to his suspicions. Convinced he was in the wrong room, he moved softly to the door and eased it open.

Distantly, he could hear Naomi talking at full pitch and with scarce a stop for air. He grinned. Lady Derrydene must think she'd taken leave of her senses. The long hall stretched off gloomy and deserted. Most of the doors were closed. To the left was the entrance hall. Probably, the dining rooms were at the same end of the house. Derrydene's study was most likely to be in this area. He turned to his right, and moved quickly and quietly along, wishing he'd had the foresight to remove his spurs, and trying to keep them from jingling. The next door loomed up and he raised the latch carefully, opened the door a crack and peeped into a shuttered morning room. To his horror, it was occupied. A footman and a housemaid were wrapped in a passionate embrace. Stifling a gasp, Rossiter pulled the door to and gingerly lowered the latch. Another bell was chiming merrily, and he called down blessings on the head of his industrious co-spy as the faint click of the latch was drowned in the uproar. The door across the hall was the last, and if this did not turn out to be the study, that chamber must be on the first floor. If he was to attempt it, he must move fast. He crossed the hall, listened at the door, and went inside.

“Aha!” he whispered.

The study had the tidy look that spoke of an absent owner. It was a pleasant room, with rugs of warm colours, red velvet hangings, and deep chairs. Rossiter fairly sprang for the large desk. Disdaining the many papers and unopened letters on the top, he attacked the drawers. One after another yielded only untidiness and clutter. There were old, apparently unpaid bills; reports from Derrydene's tenants in Bedfordshire; indecipherable letters from the Dowager Lady Derrydene; reports from a Tutor at Eton (seeming to indicate despair).

Abandoning the drawers, Rossiter skimmed through the papers on the top of the desk. More reports; more letters; more bills. And then, a single sheet, the direction, in block letters: TO—SIR LOUIS DERRYDENE. And the letter itself consisting of just four printed words. “Six absent. No meeting.” Staring at that message blankly, Rossiter could all but hear Naomi telling him of the two gentlemen at the Dowling Soiree and that they had said “something about a meeting that could not be held until six were recovered.” One of those same gentlemen had held a green chessman that Naomi said was similar to the one she had lost. The chessman again! Each time he sought to discover what was behind his father's trouble, he seemed to run headlong against those confounded little figures. “'Tis too much,” he muttered. “It
cannot
be pure coincidence!” He folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket, then went on searching.

There was nothing in the pile of newspapers and correspondence, but an engagement book lay open on the desk. He turned back to the beginning of the year, and turned the pages swiftly. Most of the scrawled notes referred to meetings and appointments. Impatient, he riffled the pages hurriedly, then checked. The date was Tuesday, thirteenth of February, 1748. The notation read: “Do not forget Five!” His pulses beginning to race, Gideon flipped more pages. On February twenty-seventh, his hand checked once more. 7:00
P.M
. Davies.

He gasped out,
“Davies!”
The same Davies who had embezzled over a hundred thousand pounds from Rossiter Bank? It was a fairly common name—it could be another man, but intuition told him it was not. A week before the crash, Sir Louis Derrydene had seen Davies privately. Why?

Taut with excitement, he flipped the pages. Thursday, March seventh. “Withdraw.” His fist crashed onto the desk. He snarled, “
Withdraw!
Yes, you withdrew—you filthy, treacherous hound!”

Footsteps sounded in the hall. The engagement book still in his hand, he made a dive for the door and pressed back against the wall beside it. He held his breath as the latch was raised. Thrusting the book into one pocket, he reached into the other for his pistol.

A hand gripped the edge of the door and held it open. A man's London voice said reassuringly, “There y'are, me little duck. Did I not tell yer? Empty as a bishop's purse.”

A girl sounded scared. “I tell you I heered
summat,
Alfred. A man what was very cross, and bein's the master's back, I thought—If he should catch us…!”

“He's got more important things ter think on than you and me, never you fear. Come on, now. We'd best not get Cook into a uproar, wondering where you is. Be a good little gal, and we'll go fer a row on the river Sunday.”

The door closed on an ecstatic, “Oooo!”

Rossiter slipped the pistol back into his pocket.

“… the master's back…” Was that simply Derrydene? Or was Derrydene also the mysterious Squire to whom the bullies had referred? Either way, thought Rossiter, there was some proof now. He had the engagement book, and the succinct letter. Surely the lord chancellor's committee must pay some attention when he explained it all? But if Sir Louis had indeed returned from Russia (if he ever
went
!) every minute's delay here increased the danger of discovery. He eased the door open. The amorous footman and his lass had vanished and the hall was hushed and empty.

Moving swiftly, Rossiter returned to the book room. He started for the window. His boot sent something scuttling across the floor and he glanced down to discover one half of the globe he'd knocked over earlier. The drizzle had stopped and a weak sun sent an enquiring beam slanting across the rug. It awoke a blue sparkle from inside the globe. Curious, Rossiter bent lower. His breath was snatched away. He took up the half globe and removed an object that had lain concealed inside. A small figure carven from what he thought to be lapis lazuli, the beautiful blue stone so much admired by Marco Polo. There could be no doubt but that this little fellow was related to the figure Naomi had sketched. It was of the same size and shape, but the “face” had an oddly humorous expression. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, and was set with no fewer than six fine sapphires.