The Mandarin of Mayfair (41 page)

"I demand to know what brought you here on such a wild goose chase," said Derek Furlong.

"Some blockhead playing a prank, I'll warrant," snorted the earl.

"Like the prank Viscount Glendenning played on Major Broadbent in June?" purred Fotheringay.

Bowers-Malden's eyes became veiled. In June his heir had barely avoided being arrested and charged with high treason. He had escaped execution so narrowly that just to remember it brought sweat starting onto the earl's brow. He said, "I fancy you've as much proof of this tom-foolery as you had then!"

Fotheringay bowed slightly. "When my men are finished searching this house, my lord, we'll see how—"

Very white, his lips twitching nervously, Neville Falcon hurried into the room. Sir Mark Rossiter turned on him in a fury, but before he could speak, Falcon exclaimed, "Thank God you've come, Colonel! It's this way, if you please."

They all stared at him for a frozen moment of bewilderment, then Fotheringay allowed himself to be ushered to the door, pausing only to instruct the lieutenant that no one was to leave the house.

A sergeant, clattering down the stairs with a jingling of spurs and the stamp of glossy boots, came to attention and saluted. "No sign of anyone, sir. 'Cepting the poor gent upstairs."

It was not what Fotheringay wanted, or had expected to hear. His thin lips tightened. He barked, "The estate runs down to the river. Make damned sure all boats were seized!"

Neville's heart bounced painfully. He said, "You look in the wrong place, Colonel. This way!"

Entering the main withdrawing room with his rapid springing stride, Fotheringay paused, frowning at the unrecognizable figure on the sofa. "What the deuce…" He bent above the limp form and the eyes opened and blinked at him dazedly. "My God! August? I thought you had more sense than to ally yourself with that Stuart—"

"No such thing, Mariner," muttered August. "No Stuarts. Trap. League of—of Jewelled Men."

"Rubbish! You'll not fob me off with some mud and that mystical League of yours! Come now, man, let's hear some truth for a—"

August managed to get an elbow under him and dragged himself up only to clutch his side and sink back, swearing feebly.

His father unbuttoned his shirt, and both men gasped when they saw the great blackened bruise across his ribs. "My God!" said Neville, horrified. "However did you manage to get here?"

August reached out and seized Fotheringay's hand in an icy grip. "Mariner, you
must
listen!"

"Aye, while your traitorous friends make their escape!" Fotheringay pulled away, but August clung desperately so that he was dragged from the sofa and sprawled, groaning, on the floor.

Neville rushed to take him in his arms. "For shame, Fotheringay! The boy's badly hurt! Have some compassion!"

Fotheringay liked August. He flushed darkly and bent to help lift him. "My apologies. You should have let go. Now I must—"

August gripped his swordbelt. "You'll have to—to kill me first! Mariner—I
beg
you! If you've any love for—for England… Give me two minutes—no more… And you may be a general 'fore the—the year's out!"

Fotheringay could not fail to be impressed. Clearly the man was in much pain, clearly he'd been very badly handled. Frowning, he hesitated.

August was so weary he could scarcely find the words, but he fought to stay awake and gasped out, "I've proof now. Know who they all are… can show you where their forts are… throughout… southland. This was to've been the signal…"

Five minutes later it was very silent in the big room. Neville Falcon looked down at his son in awe. August, who had improvised somewhat upon the true facts, had gone his length and could only lie very still and keep his failing gaze locked on the wavering blur that was the colonel's hawk face.

Fotheringay said harshly, "So to set this seditious ball rolling, I was to ride out with your father and friends under close arrest, eh? And what of the rogues who were—er, 'masquerading' as Prince Charles and his friends and supporters? How am I to arrest you if they cannot be found?"

There came the staccato cracks of a volley of distant gunfire.

Fotheringay sprinted from the room and along the corridor. When he reached the ground floor the front door burst open and a trooper ran in and reported breathlessly, "Big group of—men, sir! Dunno where they come—from! Boat slipped past in—in dark!"

"Dammitall! You fumble-fingers let them escape?"

"They—they must be on the river, sir! Mayhap we can catch—"

"By the time we get a frigate after 'em, they'll be half-way to France!" Fotheringay glared at the silent knot of gentlemen who watched from the door of the small withdrawing room. "
Sergeant
!" he shouted.

The sergeant leapt to his side. "Yessir!"

"Order the men back and into the house! Lieutenant, we will need some of those silken ropes we brought. These gentlemen are all under arrest!"

Gwendolyn awoke when she heard running footsteps on the stairs. It was still dark, and her heart began to pound wildly as she threw back the blankets and shrugged into the dressing gown she'd left lying on the foot of the bed. The door burst open, and the room brightened as Gideon came straight to her, a branch of candles in one hand.

He looked pale and haggard and she flew to embrace him, babbling, "You're back so soon! What happened? What is the hour? Did you find Papa?"

He put down the candelabrum and said gravely, " 'Tis past five o'clock. We must have passed them on the way. When we reached Ashleigh 'twas already in the hands of the Squire's men. At least a hundred of the bounders!"

Her knees seemed to melt, and she clung to him, searching his face distractedly. "And—and my father? August?"

Gently, he led her to a fireside chair and dropped to one knee beside it. "We couldn't get onto the grounds, love. A villager told us that a troop of dragoons went off with a baker's dozen fine gentlemen riding with their hands tied, and two who were allowed to travel in a carriage."

She felt faint, and said threadily, "Heaven help them! Then Colonel Fotheringay must have caught them with the Prince! Which—which means that August did not— Oh, Gideon! Are they in… the Tower?"

"I'm afraid they are." He pressed her hand as she gave a smothered sob, and said, "Courage, dearest! I am going there now. I thought— Well, if things look bad, I thought you might want to break the news to Katrina."

She said despairingly, "How can I when I don't know what to tell her? August… August may be… killed! And her father—"

"I know, love," he said, as her voice failed. "But you can at least warn her."

"I must come with you first. They're innocent, Gideon! And—and after all we've done! You and Johnny Armitage and the others finding out about those terrible men in Bristol, and bringing them back to London to stand trial!

'Twill prove everything you said about the cargoes being stolen and the ships scuttled—will it not?"

"Eventually, yes, dear. But—"

"And only think how much August discovered, so that I could warn Lord Hayes about the Prince and Princess of Wales, and the League's wicked plans. Surely, the Horse Guards will believe 'twas a trap? That Papa and—and the rest are not Jacobites? They
will
believe us, won't they Gideon?"

He smiled into her frightened eyes, and said reassuringly, "Of course they will, love. Come now, we must hasten. The others went straight to the Tower."

It was still dark when they hurried out to the waiting coach, but the city was already stirring. Farm waggons rumbled over the cobblestones to Covent Garden, cattle were being herded to market, servants hurried to assume their daily tasks, baker's shops sent mouth-watering aromas drifting on the chilly air, candles were brightening more and more windows, and smoke began to rise from thousands of chimney pots.

As the coach wound its way through the awakening streets, Gwendolyn was praying fervently for her father and for the man she loved. At length, she said in a very small voice, "If they really were caught with Prince Charles, will the King be merciful, do you think, Gideon? Because of—of all we've done, I mean."

He thought of the inexorable laws against high treason; of the panic that had gripped London in 'forty-five when the Jacobites had marched as far as Derby; and of the relentless slaughter of people who had done far less than conspire with the Scottish Prince. But he said quietly, "I hope he will, Gwen. We must pray that he will."

Minutes later a stern-faced Yeoman Warder conducted them across a cobbled courtyard in the mighty old Keep known as the Tower of London. Through a great frowning gate they went, and across another court. Gwendolyn's blood ran cold when she saw the dreaded Traitor's Gate and she wondered if her dear father had come here by that route, as had so many doomed aristocrats down through the centuries.

They were taken up worn steps and into a cold and gloomy building that Gideon whispered was the Beauchamp Tower. A lieutenant of dragoon guards took them in charge here, and conducted them to a door which he flung open, announcing, "Captain and Miss Rossiter, sir."

A general, Colonel Mariner Fotheringay, and four civilian gentlemen, all looking rumpled and owly-eyed, were gathered around a table, listening intently to the man seated there. A bowed figure, his dark head propped wearily on one hand, his voice halting and slurred. With a muffled sob, Gwendolyn flew to his side. "August! Oh, thank God!"

He looked up at her, joy coming into his drawn face.

Fotheringay performed some hurried introductions. Gwendolyn found that she was in the company of a distinguished cabinet minister, a renowned and powerful member of the House of Lords, an equally renowned Member of Parliament, and a distinguished diplomatist. General Early, a stocky and fierce-looking individual wearing an ill-fitting uniform, bowed over her hand. "We owe you a great vote of thanks, ma'am. Mr. Falcon has filled in many details for us, but we are well aware that had it not been for you, he'd not have lived to do so."

Gideon demanded harshly, "What of my father, sir? I trust you realize he had nothing to do with—"

Lord Tiberville interrupted in a high-pitched irritable voice, "Your father and his friends were brought here under close arrest, Captain." A twitching smile dawned. "Just as that damnable League had hoped."

Sir Jonas Holmesby, elegant despite an untidy wig and creased coat, said, "They've enjoyed a hearty meal and are comfortably abed, ma'am. At this stage of the game we don't want our treacherous Squire to know that, however."

Gwendolyn caught her breath. "Do you say you believe us at last?"

"We do, indeed, Miss Rossiter." Henry Church, M.P., who had a reputation for belligerence, barked, "Better late than never!"

"Shall you be able to stop the revolt, General?" asked Gideon. "If Falcon's right, there's very little time."

General Early growled, "You should be aware, Rossiter, that the Army can move fast when there's need. At this moment we have dispatched riders racing to every installation this curst seditious lot threatens. We'll have cavalry and dragoons ready for any attack in ample time, I promise you!"

"And what of the planned assassinations, sir?"

"Our agents will impersonate the Prince and Princess. We'll be on the alert to arrest four officers of the King's Guard—which they're not, of course—the instant they ride towards Leicester House. Our infamous Reginald Smythe will find he's shot his bolt, Captain! Thanks to you and Miss Rossiter, we—"

"And Mr. Falcon." Gwendolyn put her hand proudly on August's shoulder.

"Ar-humph," said the general gruffly. "Of course. Falcon. Quite so."

London awoke to a brisk Friday morning of blue skies, pale sunlight and the start of a shocking series of events that was to turn the great city into a maelstrom of excitement and alarm. The newspapers carried shocking accounts of a treasonable plot and of numerous aristocratic gentlemen having been arrested in Sussex and conveyed to the Tower under heavy guard. Names were conspicuous by their absence. When rumours began to circulate that they had included Prince Charles Edward Stuart and the Earl of Bowers-Malden, angry crowds formed on the streets, and a near-riot ensued when the word spread like wildfire that there had been an assassination attempt on the Prince and Princess of Wales.

Interest shifted to Leicester House, and
The Spectator
put out a late edition that unleashed more consternation. The front page was devoted to an article by Mr. Ramsey Talbot stating that a wide-spread plot to topple the government had been foiled by a courageous group of young patriots led by Captain Gideon Rossiter, heir to Sir Mark Rossiter. Thanks to prompt and efficient action by the Horse Guards, the would-be murderers of the Prince and Princess had been seized before they could carry out their wicked scheme, and during questioning they had incriminated many fellow conspirators. Furthermore, the traitors conveyed to the Tower the previous evening had not, it appeared, been the gentlemen first suspected. Rather, those actually incarcerated included Lord Hibbard Green, Mr.Rudolph Bracksby, and Mr. Joseph Montgomery. Warrants had been issued for the arrest of others suspected of involvement in the plot, including the alleged leader, a gentleman well known about Town, (and here
The Spectator
was obliged to use initials only,) Mr. R————S————, and two influential and highly born sisters, the Ladies J————Y————, and C————B————. According to Mr. Talbot's reliable sources, among those sought for questioning were the philanthropist Viscount R————E————; Lord K————M————of Cornwall; and Marshall J.J. B————of France.

The final name was a bombshell. To dislike the House of Hanover was one thing; to have the government brought down and the nation arbitrarily handed over to the French was quite another. The House of Lords and the House of Commons met in extraordinary session. Whitehall bustled with stern-faced cabinet ministers and high-ranking military and naval officers. His Majesty was said to be preparing to address Parliament. Diplomatic envoys were dispatched post-haste to Paris. Street corners, gin shops, taverns, and ordinaries were crowded; gentlemen gathered in the clubs and coffee houses; and the names of Gideon Rossiter and his Preservers were on everyone's lips. Scandalmongers had a field day. Several ladies were said to have fainted when they realized the identities of "the Ladies J————Y————and C————B————," and the
ton
was thrown into a delicious frenzy speculating as to the identities of the "many others" believed to be involved in the plot.