The Mandarin of Mayfair (37 page)

His knees were bruised and stiff and he held his ribs as he went to the credenza and bent closer to the incense box. He'd made a small hole in the top to form a makeshift holder for the sticks. The little spark was still bright, and there was an inch or so left on this one. Whatever happened, he must not let it burn out before he used it to kindle its successor. Once before he'd fallen asleep, and the rats had awoken him— providentially in time to prevent that precious spark from dying altogether. There were only two sticks left now. When they were gone…

He wouldn't think about that. He must get back to work. Smythe had taken his spurs and the small pocket knife he carried, which would have been invaluable. The diamond pin in his cravat had served for an hour or so, but then had snapped and he'd been unable to find it. He had despaired until he thought of his boot buckle. He'd had quite a battle to tear it off, but once in his hand it had proven a fairly efficient tool. It must have fallen when he dozed off, and he groped about anxiously.

His questing fingers touched a cold wormlike thing and he gave a shuddering cry as the long tail whipped away and the rodent scampered across his hand. He huddled against the wall, eyes closed, shaking convulsively and whispering Gwendolyn's name… concentrating on her laughing, mischievous little face.

And after a while, he summoned the courage to grope about again until he found the precious buckle and could fight on.

Mimosa Lodge was gloomy and hushed, the only signs of life emanating from the wainscotted study. Here, a single branch of candles shone on the gentleman seated at the desk, his quill pen scratching rapidly across a sheet of paper. The slim, well-manicured hand paused and the gentleman glanced over what he had written. "I, Hector Chauncy Jefferies, Lord Kadenworthy, being of sound mind—" He gave a derisive snort, and muttered cynically, "Extremely
un
-sound mind, if truth be told!" He read on, "—sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last—"

The candles flickered. He glanced up, then leapt to his feet. "How the devil did you get in here?"

"We broke in," said Gwendolyn Rossiter coolly, limping from the open door.

His lordship scowled at her, then his crooked smile dawned. "I am flattered." He stifled a hiccup and offered a rather wobbly bow. "And here I'd fancied you did not care for me overmuch."

"Do not be flattered, my lord." He was obviously half drunk, and she prayed that condition might aid her.

Tummet drifted in from the corridor, and stood watching stoically, arms folded, but with a horse pistol in one hand.

"Aha!" Kadenworthy hiccupped again, and apologized. "So your visit is not of a—er, social nature, ma'am."

"I do not socialize with traitors."

He stiffened. The high flush vanished from his saturnine features, and he sat down abruptly. " 'Twould be interesting to know what—"

"Nor have I the time to bandy words with you, sir." Gwendolyn advanced to sit, uninvited, in a deep chair facing the desk. "We have proof that you are a member of the League of Jewelled Men. We know you are planning to leave the country." His faint bitter grin caused her to add hurriedly, "Or take what is termed the 'honourable way out.' One gathers you can stand no more of the Squire's methods, or perhaps he distrusts you, and you know what happens to his people in that event."

Kadenworthy drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He looked older suddenly; bitter and drawn and defeated. " 'Pon my soul but you do know a lot, m'dear. Does it not occur to you that 'twas foolish in the extreme for you to have come here—even with the—er, fabled, cockney valet standing guard?"

"No. For I knew you had turned off all your servants. I have spoken with your aunt, you see, and—"

His face contorted and he leaned forward to interrupt harshly, "You've not told her of your suspicions?"

So this conscienceless man cared for the lady at least. Gwendolyn replied, "She knows nothing. As yet."

"Which means—you may feel obliged to tell her. To do so will serve you no purpose, madam, save to break the heart of a gentle woman."

"An unhappy result, which may be averted, sir, if you will tell us where to find August Falcon."

His reaction was startling. He flinched and actually shrank back in the chair. Briefly, his eyes closed. Then he appeared to recover himself and sat straighten "You really judge me a villain! You not only believe me a traitor to my king and country, but you expect me to betray the men you judge to be my fellow-conspirators. Are there no limits to my infamy, ma'am?"

Gwendolyn considered him thoughtfully. Despite the sardonic words, his lips twitched and a little nerve pulsed beside one eye. Trying not to panic, she said, "I do not know. Are there? I had thought you a hard man, my lord. I would never have judged you capable of treason; or of the heartless murders of hundreds of innocents aboard the ships you have sunk; the fine men you have ruined, the families you have destroyed only to—"

"Have done! Have done!" He wrenched from his chair and paced to the window. After a brief silence, he slumped down on the window-seat and stared at the polished floor muttering, "I've not the heart to put up an impassioned denial. We were engaged in a war. An undeclared war, perhaps, but a war nonetheless. And in war one fights with whatever weapons come to hand. I have nothing to lose by withholding the truth; and nothing to tell you that could in any way help you to reach Falcon." He glanced up, and smiled without mirth as Tummet raised the pistol and trained it on him steadily. "Shoot, friend, and you likely do me a favour. I swear to you, Miss Rossiter, that were it the dearest wish of my heart to help Falcon, there is no possible way to do so."

Gwendolyn had pinned all her hopes on this man, and her heart convulsed. She dashed a hand across her eyes, and said, her voice trembling, "I can only beg you, sir. 'Twould be a—a blot removed from your heavenly accounting."

He watched her curiously. "By Jupiter! You care for the rascal!"

"Yes." She said with pride, "I love him."

"Poor child. I cannot help you. Even if I pointed you in the right direction, 'twould avail you nothing. It is too late, you see."

She gave a little anguished cry.

Tummet growled, "D'you say me guv'nor's dead?"

"For his sake—I hope so."

Tummet swore softly.

Gwendolyn's clenched fists pressed at her lips.

As if very weary, Kadenworthy stood, strolled back to his desk, and poured a large portion of brandy. He drank deep, then sat down, muttering, "The time is long past when anything might be done. The time was past two years ago and more, when I performed one of my—my few acts of kindness, and helped a man escape execution." He laughed loudly, and poured more brandy into the glass.

Enraged, Tummet started for him, but Gwendolyn waved him back. "I think none of us is wholly evil, sir. Perchance you fell into bad company, but—"

"
Fell
into?" His lordship laughed again, a harsh, bitter sound. "I did not fall, dear lady. I was pushed. A fine young officer found out I'd helped Treve de Villars escape to France when half Britain's military might was after him."

Tummet, who had admired the dashing Trevelyan de Villars, started.

Gwendolyn exclaimed, "Good heavens! Do you say someone
blackmailed
you into becoming a traitor?"

"He could have ruined me," Kadenworthy muttered broodingly. "Just when I was getting the new Race Meeting organized. 'Twas my life—my passion, to see it a success. A few words only would have brought my world tumbling down. Already, that devil Fotheringay suspected me. I'd have been condemned, past doubting. I'd have lost everything. Including my head." He smiled that bitter, twisted smile. "You see what happens when a bad man does a good deed, m'dear? Disaster! I was enraged, and then the invitation to attend a meeting of the League was sent to me. I'd no love for German George. To see the Stuarts back on the throne would not have distressed me. So I decided I'd as well be hung for a wolf as a lamb." He twirled the brandy in his glass and stared at it. "For a long time I was a very minor member, but I was protected from Lambert, the swine who blackmailed me. How, I do not know. But I was grateful, you may be sure. I did what I might and eventually became a member of the Ruling Council. I'll own to suffering some qualms when I discovered the full breadth of their activities, but"—he shrugged—"it was too late to repine."

"Then—why have you left the League now? Is it because of—of what they have done to…" Gwendolyn's voice broke. "… to—August?"

"He deserved better, poor devil. I think, perhaps 'twas one of the—last straws, as they say." He scowled and said in sudden fury, "But mostly it was that they lied to all of us, damn them! Their plan is not to rid Britain of the monarchy and establish a republic! Rather, 'tis the scheme of a group of ambitious madmen on both sides of the Channel to seize power for themselves! To turn this England into a slave state benefitting only a few!"

"And among them, Marshal Jean-Jacques Barthelemy," muttered Gwendolyn numbly.

Astounded, Kadenworthy exclaimed, "Where you get your information, I do not know, ma'am. Are the authorities also aware?"

Tummet growled, "They bin told."

"And would not believe, I'll warrant! Typical of Whitehall! And the Squire has agents everywhere, of course, to stifle and twist the truth." He grunted disgustedly, then said, "You hold there is good in every man, Miss Rossiter. Perhaps he is kind to his mother—or to his horses. I believe he is a stranger to compassion otherwise. Certainly, his hatred for Falcon borders on madness and Smythe will show no mercy to—"

"Smythe!" she gasped, incredulous. "
Reginald Smythe
is the Squire?"

"Now snap me gaiter!" exclaimed Tummet, equally incredulous. "That shrivelled-up worm?"

"You do worms an injustice," said Kadenworthy.

Gwendolyn sprang up and ran to his side. 'Then if you so despise him, tell us what we ask, and before you go, write a full confession, naming names and—"

"And breaking the heart of the only lady who ever truly loved me? Never!"

She bit her lip. "Then—only let me know where I may find August, and I swear on my immortal soul I will never tell your aunt you were involved in treason!"

Kadenworthy glanced at Tummet, who crossed his heart with the pistol muzzle and said, "Me own soul, ditto."

His lordship was silent. Then, he said slowly, "He is shut in a sealed room under Sundial—" He stopped, his head flinging up as another draught rippled the candles. "Someone has entered the house," he whispered. "Have you a carriage waiting?"

Tummet nodded. "Behind your stables, milor'."

"Then get out the window. Quickly! Quickly! If they think I've told you anything, your lives aren't worth a farthing! Go! I'll try and delay them!"

"But—" began Gwendolyn.

Tummet snatched up the brandy decanter, thrust it at Gwendolyn, grasped her elbow and ran lightly to the window.

It was full dark now, and they made their way silently across the rear lawns, seeing and hearing nothing untoward. They were breathless when they reached their carriage.

As they drove into the quiet country night, they heard the distant but distinct bark of a pistol shot.

It was too dark to journey any farther on this crowded day, and Tummet found a modest little inn a mile or so west of Epsom. Fortunately, he had borrowed ample funds from Falcon's cash-box, and he was able to procure rooms for them. They had stopped en route to purchase a few overnight necessities and valises for respectability, but the proprietor clearly thought it odd for a young lady to travel escorted only by her coachman. There could be no doubt but that she was of the Quality, however, and that, together with the luxurious coach and the high-bred team, lulled his fears. Apollo presented another difficulty, but when Tummet nobly volunteered to sleep in the stables with the hound, the host relented.

Gwendolyn took a light supper in her tiny room and went early to bed. She was wracked by anxiety and expected to lie awake all night, but the feather bed was comfortable and she slept soundly until the maid brought her hot chocolate at six o'clock. She washed and dressed quickly and after a hurried breakfast they set forth once again.

The sky had lightened to a pewter gray. It had rained steadily through the night and there were deep puddles and potholes to worsen the poor state of the roads. Longing to set the team to a stretching gallop, Tummet was obliged to proceed with caution. To the distracted Gwendolyn, the miles seemed to be covered at a snail's pace, but shortly before ten o'clock they reached a pretty hamlet east of Woking, and stopped to change horses and inquire the way to Sundial Abbey. The host of the solitary inn was a taciturn individual, but he jerked a thumb to the southwest and gave them terse directions, ending with, "You can't miss it, though why you'd want to go there is beyond me. Terrible bad road. Ugly old pile. And haunted into the bargain!"

They could, and did miss it. He had neglected to tell them there was a fork in the lane, and they emerged from a copse of trees to find themselves in a field of surprised cows and under attack by a scarlet-faced farmer who roared his intention to call in the constable and charge them with unlawful trespass and with having frightened his cattle half to death. His accusations were unwarranted, Tummet became incensed and a bout of fisticuffs was only averted by Gwendolyn's offer to pay the exorbitant damages demanded by the pugnacious man. They drove back to the crossroads and in this instance the innkeeper proved to have been right. The lane deteriorated into a track resembling an obstacle course that worsened until it was a sea of mud. After several attempts to drive around it, the coach lurched and was stuck fast. Gwendolyn could barely keep back tears of frustration and was all for striking off across the fields on foot, but Tummet pointed out that the innkeeper's directions had not been too clear, besides which the stiffening breeze was cold. "It won't do us no manner of good, Miss Gwen, if it turns out to be ten miles 'stead of four, and you get yer feet soaked and take a chill. 'Sides, we might need the coach when we find me guv'nor." Bowing to that sobering thought, she helped him collect brush to set under the wheels, and with the aid of a passing shepherd they were able to extricate the coach and go on.