Practice to Deceive (30 page)

Great tears welled up in Daffy's eyes. She tore frantically at her apron and shrank behind Quentin.

Mr. Philpott, who carried with him a pronounced aroma of brandy, blinked in belated dismay. “Oh—egad! Have I let the cat out of the bag? Look, Daffy love, if I've—”

With a smothered wail Daffy fled, followed by a little ripple of amusement.

Philpott turned to Quentin. “I say, sir. Deuced sorry. Didn't know the girl was—ah, reformed.”

“I rather fancy you mistook her for her sister,” said Quentin gravely. “Twins, y'know. My niece's abigail is deeply religious, and any mention of Daffy reduces her to utter mortification. She tried very hard to persuade her sister to give up her ruinous way of life, but failed.”

“Is that … so…?” Eyeing Quentin dubiously, Philpott said, “Jove, I'd not have believed … Twins, you say? Amazing resemblance.” A gleam came into his eye. “I'd best go and comfort the poor lass.”

“Not at all. We shall be glad to convey your apologies. Thank you, sir. And—good day.”

There was no defying the old gentleman's chill hauteur. Mr. Philpott bowed. Quentin bowed, and led Penelope into the vestibule.

For a moment, Captain Holt stood gazing thoughtfully after the pair he had already discovered were a Mr. Martin and Miss Anne Martin. Then he sat down and returned his attention to his dinner.

*   *   *

When Quentin entered his bedchamber, Killiam was polishing the hilt of a fine small sword and another lay on the bed beside him.

“Hear you've opened a proper box of worms,” said the Corporal with his habitual air of profound gloom.

Quentin frowned. “Help me out of this coat, if you please.”

The Corporal stood, eased Quentin out of the coat and carried it to the clothes press. “No use telling him how bacon-brained it is,” he muttered audibly. “You want to try a pass or two, Major?” He walked back to retrieve a sword and, not waiting for an answer, tossed it.

Quentin caught the weapon deftly, but he winced, swore, and then said fervently, “Thank God we were able to retrieve this article from Highview.”

With a scornful grunt, the Corporal took back the sword and resumed his seat on the bed. “Much chance you'll have with it—or any other.”

“Damn you,” muttered Quentin, sitting beside him and gripping his right arm.

“I wonder what it'll be like,” the Corporal said musingly, “to work for a gent as leads a nice, quiet life.”

“Got one all picked out, have you?”

“Seems like it's past time I was looking around.”

“Indeed? I trust you will at least wait until they bury me.”

“Tomorrow,” said the Corporal heavily. “Unless that nice young Mr. Tiele has a touch o' conscience.”

Quentin sighed. “I wish I was such a fool.” And with a sudden wry smile, he added, “I'm not, you know.”

“You only want the young lady to think so—eh, sir?”

For a moment Quentin made no comment. Then, staring at his boots he said wearily, “Life's a jest, Rob. And Fate the Jester. You either laugh at it all—or wind up in Bedlam. I choose to laugh.”

“And you love to meet Fate head-on and give his nose a pull, don'tcha, sir? Still, may I be boiled if I see something comical in this here sittyation.”

“Then think how relieved poor Tiele will be when Sir John Macauley Somerville Martin Martin don't present himself in the meadow at dawn. I've no doubt the poor fellow is reproaching himself for having called out an old man.”

With perverse disappointment, the Corporal sighed, “It'll be the first time as
you
ever backed away from a fight.…”

Quentin flushed. “I've no choice. My first concern must be to deliver my message.”

Killiam was silent, but regarded him with a faintly knowing grin, and Quentin's colour deepened around the edges of his paint. He said sharply, “Blast you! I mean it!”

“I didn't say nothing, sir. I only—er, wondered if that wasn't now your—ah, second … concern.…”

For a moment they stared at each other; the one all innocent speculation, the other as resentful as he was troubled. At length Quentin said crisply, “There are too many lives at stake for me to reassign my loyalties, Corporal. Even if I could. I cannot. My word was given.”

It was the Major speaking, not the friend, and the Corporal responded instinctively. “Yessir. As you say, sir. What we going to do, then?”

“I think,” said Quentin, “the time has come for the old gentleman to depart.”

*   *   *

“I wasn't never a bad girl, M-miss Penny,” wept Daffy, her words rather indistinct by reason of the apron.

“I am very sure of that,” said Penelope kindly, sitting beside her on the comfortable loveseat and patting her hand. “I suppose you learned all your skills with cosmetics in the—er, ballet?”

Daffy's shrouded head nodded convulsively. “I had a knack, miss. And I—I was a uncommon good dancer, too.” One reddened eye peeped fearfully around the edge of the apron. “Only—the gentlemen was always at us.”

“So I've heard.” Marvelling that this strait-laced girl had actually been one of Covent Garden's notorious opera dancers, Penelope said, “I fancy the temptations are—overwhelming.”

“Oh, no, they ain't!” Daffy mopped at her eyes and lowered the damp apron, blinking down at it as she rolled it between nervous fingers. “It's not what you might think—not by a mile, Miss Penny. Me mum told me to keep 'em off till a really fine gent should come around and make me a decent offer.” She sniffed. “The closest I come to a decent offer was a fat old banker, and his last ladybird used to say he was as clutchfisted as a clam! I wasn't going to settle for
that!
”

“I should … think not…” agreed Penelope, faintly.

“Some of the girls struck lucky,” Daffy went on. “One was took under the protection of a Duke! And one found a chef who started his own gentlemen's club. Bought her a dear little 'stablishment what she called the Salon Satin.” Daffy sighed. “I saw what happened to the girls who started to lose their looks, or their figures.… So I told me mum it was get out now, or start down that trail. I never thought I'd get a respectable position, but Mum used to be a lady's maid, and she told me how to go on and how to act.” She stole a timid glance at Penelope's face and read amazement there. “Oh, miss! Please don't turn me off! I'm begging, Miss Penny! Don't!”

“Good gracious, Daffy—why should I do such a thing? It was thanks to your skill with the paints and powder that Major Chandler was enabled to get away from Highview. I shall never be able to thank you enough!” She gave the girl a grateful hug. “Now—we shall say no more about it. Unless”—a twinkle coming into her eyes—“unless Corporal Killiam chances to hear of it.”

Daffy gave a squawk and grabbed at her apron. Very pale, she faltered, “You—you never think the Major would tell him?”

“Would it really matter so much, dear Daffy?”

The girl became scarlet, then disappeared into her apron, from whence came a muffled, “Oh … yes, miss.”

Patting the spot that seemed most likely to be her head, Penelope said, “I am very sure Major Chandler would never be so unchivalrous. However, I had best warn you that he told that gentleman—Mr.—er—”

“Philpott,” groaned the apron.

“Yes. The Major told him he'd mistaken you for your twin sister.”

With a squeak of laughter, Daffy reappeared. “What a bouncer! Don't say as Mr. Philpott believed it? He must've been proper foxed.”

“Well, do you know—I believe he was. But the Major can be so grave and dignified sometimes. He told Mr. Philpott you had tried to reform your sister, but that ‘poor Daffy' had gone her own wicked way. Mr. Philpott was so impressed he wanted to come up and apologize to you.”

“I don't doubt
that!
” Daffy's indignant expression eased to a reminiscent smile. “Fancy! Mr. Philpott, of all people.
Such
a naughty gentleman! And him with a wife and six fine children! Oh, but the Major's a rare one, ain't he, Miss Penny?”

Penelope's thoughts turned to the averted duel. “Yes,” she said with a grateful sigh. “He's a rare one, all right.”

*   *   *

“Mr. Tiele?” drawled Quentin, surveying the other man through his quizzing glass as Tiele opened the door.

Tiele, looking slightly flustered, nodded, his brows lifting enquiringly.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Adam Somerville. I am nephew to the gentleman with whom you were to—ah, meet in the morning.”

Tiele stared. Now that he came to notice it, the resemblance was marked. This man, of course, was young and very good-looking with a fine head of auburn hair worn tied back and unpowdered, and thick dark brows which arched over eyes of the same brilliant green as his uncle's. The fine-boned face, the not very straight, but slim, nose, the humorous mouth and firm chin might well have been those of Mr. Martin in his youth, thought Tiele. And there was something else … something elusive that stirred at the back of his memory and that he could not quite place. He saw curiosity come into his caller's face and said hurriedly, “Your pardon, sir. Did you say the gentleman I—
was
to meet tomorrow? I trust Sir John is not indisposed?”

Quentin smiled at him in a way that made Mr. Tiele flush. “Gad, what a clunch you must think me,” he apologized. “Do pray come in.”

He ushered Quentin to a chair beside the unlit fire and provided him with a glass of sherry before drawing up another chair and occupying it.

“Well—he is, I'm afraid,” said Quentin.

Mr. Tiele thought back.

“Indisposed,” Quentin provided.

“Oh.” Much relieved, Mr. Tiele lied, “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Are you?” murmured Quentin, quite unable to resist this delicious farce.

Mr. Tiele stared.

“I'll own,” remarked Quentin, holding up his glass and watching the candle flame through the rich gold of the wine, “I was rather surprised that a man of Uncle John's years…”

His smile was very gentle but Tiele flushed scarlet. “There were—circumstances,” he said stiffly.

“He's a wicked old rogue. I fancy there were circumstances, well enough.”

Tiele relaxed. He said with a rueful smile, “To own the truth, Somerville, I'm glad you've come here. Miss Montgomery should not be in the care of so—amorous an old gentleman.”

“True. Is that why you called him out? I'd fancied
you
were the amorous party, and that my uncle had run you off.” He grinned engagingly into Tiele's angry eyes.

His colour much heightened again, Mr. Tiele said, “I'll admit I find Miss Montgomery a most delightful lady. And that your uncle did not approve of my—er—”

“Flirting?”

“Admiration!”

“I see. So you decided to put the poor old fellow out of the way, did you?”

Tiele, who had just taken a sip of his wine, snorted and choked. Eager to be of help, Quentin pounded him so heavily on the back that Tiele was obliged to duck away from that heavy hand. “By Gad, Somerville,” he wheezed, dashing tears from his eyes. “I—mislike your choice of—of words. Damme if I don't!”

“My apologies. I have rather an annoying tendency to come straight to the point, as it were.”

“Devil you do! I'd no intention of running your uncle through! Well—that is to say … Well, what I mean is…” Tiele found it most difficult to meet his caller's steady and faintly amused gaze. His own eyes falling away, he paused, shrugged, and admitted, “To tell you the truth, I've been trying to think of a way to get out of it. I'll own I didn't care for the way your uncle— I—er— Well, I dashed well kept forgetting his age. He's a—most remarkably spry old chap.”

“Thank you,” said Quentin. “I hope you do not mean to ask me to take his place. I'm not the swordsman the old gentleman is, I fear.”

“Good, is he?” said Tiele, all interest.

“Superb,” said Quentin modestly.

“Lord! I need not have felt so badly.”

“You might have felt a good deal worse, my dear chap. Unless you are a very fine swordsman.”

“Who's a fine swordsman?” Captain Holt had opened the door unobserved and now strolled into the room, nodding to his friend and eyeing Quentin with mild curiosity.

Quentin stood and smiled easily through the introductions. Holt had a grip of iron, and Quentin felt it in every nerve of his arm. Every instinct warned that this soldier was a formidable antagonist, and despite his carefree manner, he was very much on guard.

“Have we met somewhere, Mr. Somerville?” asked the Captain.

“I fancy I remind you of my uncle,” Quentin replied and then realized with a tightening of his muscles that Tiele knew the ‘old gentleman' as Somerville, but that he was registered as Martin Martin. “You may have seen him at dinner,” he went on easily. “He escorted my cousin Anne—a most delightful lass in a pink brocade gown.”

Holt took the glass Tiele offered and sat on the end of the bed as the other two men returned to their chairs. “Thank you, Duncan. Your health, gentlemen.”

“Quite a resemblance, ain't there, Jacob?” said Tiele.

“Remarkable,” Holt agreed, watching Quentin levelly over his glass. “You should be abed, my dear Tiele. You've to be up early in the morning. And thanks to your hot-headedness, so do I.”

“Well, you're reprieved, old fellow. Won't have to second me after all. My adversary has been taken ill, unfortunately.”

“My sympathy, sir.” Holt's icy blue eyes remained steadily on Quentin's face. “Would you wish that I send the apothecary up to his room?”

“You are too kind, but it is no more than a bad cold. He took a violent dislike to this inn, and his coachman has taken him off somewhere. I tried to persuade him to stay but—as well talk to the wind. You know how these old martinets are. I only aggravate his gout, I fear.”