The Riddle of the Lost Lover (31 page)

“You must be worn to a shade, my boy,” said his lordship kindly. “Are you sure you're not too tired to talk tonight?”

Vespa assured him that he was not at all tired. “I've waited a long time for this moment, sir.”

“In that case, we will not delay it.” Kincraig gestured to a nearby crate. “Pull up one of our elegant ‘chairs' and we'll try to discover each other.”

Their ‘discoveries' were at first superficial, both reluctant to put the more harrowing events of their lives into words. Kincraig spoke of his home in Suffolk and his Scottish castle, of which he appeared extremely fond. He was very ready to laugh at some recountings of the youthful exploits of Jack and Sherborne. Soon, however, the conversation turned down a path Vespa dreaded to follow. Despite his denial, he was very tired, but it occurred to him that for all his eccentricities, his lordship possessed a remarkably keen mind. He wanted to know the details of the final tragedy in the quarry at Alabaster Royal. Vespa took refuge in evasions, but it was no use. Always, however gently, Lord Kincraig brought him back to the subject, and at length he capitulated. He kept a tight rein on his emotions, but his brief account and the clipped restrained words painted a clearer picture than he guessed. Kincraig, who had pushed for the truth, had suspected fraud and skullduggery; he had not expected brutality and murder. He saw the sheen of perspiration on the grim young face and for a moment was too horrified to comment.

Vespa slanted a glance at him and said haltingly, “You likely think me a blind fool, but Sir Kendrick was a consummate actor. All those years, and I had not the slightest suspicion that he wasn't really my father. We didn't see him often at Richmond, but when he was there he could scarcely have been more kind—to both of us, although everyone knew he favoured Sherry.”

Recovering his voice, Kincraig asked, “You did not resent that fact?”

“Was I jealous? Oh, yes. Of course. But … well, you'd have to have known my brother—I expect I should now call him my half-brother. Sherry was such a—a splendid fellow. We were—very attached.”

The rain had stopped and the clouds had drifted away. The air was cold and clear, and the moon had come up, throwing its soft radiance over the hills and dappling the ground with the shadows of the trees. Lord Kincraig stood and wandered to where he could watch the horses still cropping at the grass. Seeing none of the pastoral scene, he said in a voice that trembled slightly, “I can scarce credit that even such a one as Kendrick Vespa could have shot you down so callously. It was because he hated me, I've no doubt.”

“Not entirely, sir. Quite unintentionally I had discovered his scheme. I didn't know it was his at the time. But I did know I couldn't allow it to go on, and so—well, I stood between him and a great deal of money.”

“So you implied. But you don't say how he expected to make such a fortune.”

“No.” A pause, and Vespa said, “I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that.”

Kincraig swung around. “Good God! Do you say you've been
ordered
not to speak of it? Then it must be a matter of national security! Is Lady Faith aware of all this?”

“She knew nothing of it. But if she has received the letter my great-uncle sent off she may be on her way home, and I must be there when she arrives. And now, my lord, it occurs to me that you've very adroitly fished out a great deal of my life history, but have told me very little of yours. Fair play, you know.”

His mind still on the appalling events this newly found son had survived, Kincraig hesitated, then sat down again and said with a forced smile, “I've told you most of it. You know that I loved your beautiful mother, and that my own marriage was disastrous. I suppose it was my unhappy home life that drove me to plunge deeper into research concerning my hobby. Eventually, my fascination with rugs and carpets induced me to spend much of the year seeking out rare specimens.”

Vespa said carefully, “But you're not really hoping to find a—er,
flying
carpet, are you, sir?”

“That would be a find, to be sure!” Kincraig chuckled. “No, Jack. But it's a useful ploy. When I began my wanderings the news got about that a rich collector was searching for fine rugs. I was besieged by would-be sellers bringing me everything from small mats to very large carpets, and most at ridiculously inflated prices. Since I've spread the rumour that the rich collector is seeking a flying carpet, most of the opportunists have decided I am demented and they certainly have no such item to offer. Thus, I am less overwhelmed with merchandise that is useless to me.”

“What about the Spring Carpet of Khusraw? Is that why you continue your search?”

Gazing into the flames, his lordship said dreamily, “Who knows? As I recall it was Robert Herrick who wrote: ‘Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt. Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.'”

“You certainly seem to have found many fine specimens. The waggon cannot take much more weight, I'd think. You must be ready to go home.”

“Home. A beautiful word, Jack.”

“And you've a beautiful home, sir. Yes, I've seen Lambent Grove. I went there seeking you.”

“Did you now.” Kincraig turned his head and looked at him thoughtfully. “You likely found the place closed up, which is a pity. It's a nice house.”

“Very nice. Your butler was kind enough to show me a few rooms.”

His voice expressionless, Kincraig said, “If Barnard was still there, I fancy my son Duncan was in residence.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn't see eye to eye. Not surprising. I suppose Duncan noticed the family resemblance?”

“Yes.”

His lordship's smile was brittle. “You can say a lot with one word, Jack. The boy was offensive, I gather.”

“I'm afraid we had a—er, a small turn-up, sir.”

“Which you won, of course.” Kincraig shook his head and said with a sigh, “Poor lad. Poor lad. It's not his fault. His mother…” He shrugged and the words trailed off.

Vespa waited through another silence then said, “You will think this vulgar, my lord, but—I have a small inheritance from my mother's parents. I won't touch the Vespa funds or properties, but I've an old house in Dorsetshire I'm fond of, and I have no need— That is to say— I mean—I am not a pauper.”

“Duncan accused you of being a fortune-hunter, did he? What nonsense. I've more than enough for both of you.”

“But I don't want anything from you, sir. Except, perhaps, your affection and—and acceptance. If your son could be made to see that—”

“I'm afraid he cannot. To an extent I understand his resentment. You see, when my wife died, I was involved in a rather chancy business. I made a new will, under the terms of which, upon my demise everything would go to my legal heir—Duncan. Although you cannot be named a legal heir, I mean to acknowledge you as my son, and make suitable provision for you. No! Please do not argue. It is my wish, and my right. Duncan knows me. He knows what I will do. His nature is such that—Well, I'm afraid he won't like it!”

No, Duncan Keith wouldn't like it, thought Vespa. Unless perhaps his man with the crossbow shot straighter next time.

*   *   *

The morning dawned bright but cold. Vespa rose early, started a fire and carried a bowl of hot water to the tent. Consuela answered his call drowsily but then demanded that he wait, and next instant her tousled head appeared through the tent flap, and her eager eyes were searching his face.

“What did he say? What did he say? I tried to keep awake so that you could tell me, but I was too tired, and you must have talked the night away! Is he willing to acknowledge you?”

He tugged on an errant curl. “He doesn't seem averse to the notion.”

She squeaked and gave a little leap of excitement, causing the tent to rock ominously. “Oh, how splendid!
Nonna
will give us her blessing then, I am sure! Now why must you look troubled? Ah! You think his lordship may not approve of
me,
is that the case? Well, let me tell you, Captain John Wansdyke Vespa, I have done
nothing
of which I am ashamed, and in fact—”

He laughed and tweaked her little nose. “Get dressed, Signorina Fiero! It should not take you above an hour, do you think?”

“Monstrous man! I shall be cooking breakfast in ten minutes!”

A quarter of an hour to complete a lady's toilette, he told her, would break all known records. Her indignant vow to make him eat his words followed him as he went down to look at Bruine, his heart light and his hopes high.

He had ascertained that there were no pebbles or stone bruises on the mare's hoof and was preparing to feed the horses when Manderville joined him, looking flushed and sleepy and speaking in the stuffy voice that accompanies a cold. Scooping oats into a nosebag he said, “Well? Well? Are you the acknowledged son and heir?”

Vespa grinned at him happily. “I am. One of 'em, at all events. Do you know, Paige, the dear old fellow really seems pleased to welcome me to the family.”

Manderville slapped him on the back and said he couldn't be more pleased. “This means your path to the altar is clear, at last. Have you persuaded Lord Kincraig to turn for home now?”

“He says he cannot: that he's to meet a fellow who really may have a scrap of this fabulous Khusraw carpet. It's nonsense, of course, but I must tread carefully. Still, I hope to persuade him to change his mind.”

While the men shaved, Pierre was assigned the task of being their lookout in case any strangers approached, and Consuela prepared a breakfast of coffee, rolls and omelettes. She was timid with Lord Kincraig until he bowed and kissed her hand with stately gallantry, and told her his ‘son' had explained matters. “I gather it is thanks to you that Jack found me, my dear,” he said. “I can only hope that my future daughter-in-law will forgive me for my hasty judgment.”

She was overjoyed and, to his great delight, his lordship was hugged and a kiss pressed on his cheek. She was, he told Vespa when the two men were poling up the cart-horses, a darling of a girl, sunny natured and full of spirit. “To see the way you look at each other is heart-warming. I think you have found a love that is not given to many. It reminds me of when your dear Mama and I—” He broke off, then finished quickly, “Don't let it slip away, Jack. Guard her well.”

“I mean to, sir. And in that connection, I want her back in England as fast as may be.”

“Excellent! She can say what she likes about being protected by her Italian ancestry, but she is at high risk here. You must leave at once.”

“Very good. Do you think it safe for us to all travel together? Or shall you lead the way while we follow?”

Lord Kincraig chuckled. “Blandly said. But as I told you last night—”

Vespa raised a delaying hand. “Your pardon—father.” The word came unbidden to his tongue, and for a minute he was too moved to continue. Then he asked shyly, “Do I—presume too much, sir?”

Kincraig also was overcome, and stretched out an unsteady hand which Vespa took and held strongly. “If you
knew,
” said his lordship. “Of course, you cannot know, but— Consider your little signorina and how deeply you love her.”

“More than my life, sir.”

“That is how I felt about your mother. To discover that she bore me such a fine son … There are no words, my dear boy! I shall be proud to have you name me so!”

Such a display of emotion was an embarrassment to both British hearts, wherefore they avoided each other's eyes and became very much occupied with straps and buckles and harness. As soon as he could master his voice, Vespa said, “Thank you. But—you must know that Consuela refuses to go home unless I do. And I have no intention of leaving until you come also.”

Kincraig turned and looked at him squarely. “So soon, you challenge me,” he said with a faint wistful smile.

“I have been pursued, shot at and beaten, since I commenced to search for you,” said Vespa, meeting his gaze steadily. “It's very obvious that several groups think you have found your jewelled carpet and mean to have it. With all due respect, my lord, I have had the deuce of a time finding you, and I will be damned if I will now run the risk of losing you!”

Kincraig gave a shout of laughter. “I see how it will be. So long as I behave myself I will be ‘father,' but if we don't see eye to eye, I am doomed to exist as ‘my lord'!”

Vespa reddened. “No, really, sir! My apologies if I spoke harshly. I've no thought to challenge your authority, but—”

“But you demand that I do as you wish.”

“Not demand—never that! Only—I do beg of you to reconsider. No carpet ever woven is worth your life—or worth risking Consuela's life. How you've managed to wander about Europe like this in time of war is beyond me, but no man's luck holds forever. It's long past time that you were safe home in Suffolk—or Scotland.”

Kincraig looked worried. “The girl presents a problem, no doubt of that,” he muttered. And you're quite right. I shall go home. Just as soon as I've met my friend. No—don't argue with me, Jack. I have no alternative, you see. He waits a scant three leagues away. I gave my word to meet him, and I've never broken my word yet.”

Vespa's jaw tightened. “Then you leave me no choice but to accompany you, sir.”

“Nonsense! Your first thought must be for your lady. Take her home, lad. Take her home.”

And so it went, the young staff officer using every wile and stratagem at his command, the nobleman smiling and genial and immovable, until Manderville came to join them with Pierre leaping along behind him. “Is this a private quarrel?” he enquired with a grin.

“May I have my sweet?” cried Pierre.

“One only,” said Kincraig. “You know where they are.” Pierre jumped onto the tail of the waggon and clambered over the rugs to a crate at the far end.