The Mandarin of Mayfair (7 page)

As if this inventory had brought home to them the chilling scope and menace of the League's connivings, there was a moment of quiet.

Gordon Chandler said broodingly, "They really must be insane, you know. To think they can succeed at such an undertaking."

"They have amassed enormous wealth," Rossiter pointed out. "They've been planning this for three years that we know of, and they now have hundreds of well-trained and well-equipped mercenaries concentrated at key points through the southland."

"Which is more than you could say for our own defenses." Glendenning looked grim. "England never learns the lesson that she
must
keep an effective standing army. From what I've seen of our military lately, we'd be in sorry condition to withstand a series of determined and well-planned assaults."

Falcon nodded. "Worse, were they all launched simultaneously! One of Bonnie Prince Charlie's main problems was his inability to get his troops to England. The Squire's troops have been drifting in through Cornwall for months! They're here! And I think half
our
military men aren't even fully armed.In September, when a troop of dragoons was after us near Plymouth, I'd swear many of the poor sapskulls carried carved wooden muskets! D'you recall, Morris? Jamie… ?"

Morris had dropped off to sleep in his chair. Cranford reached out to shake him.

"Do not!" said Falcon sharply. "He's worn to a shade." Several surprised looks came his way, and he flushed and grunted, "It's as I said."

Cheered by this betrayal of concern, Rossiter said, "In that case, we must pray that we can present our evidence to Whitehall before the League makes its move."

"What about all this damnable wrecking?" asked Glendenning. "Have we learned anything new on that front? Another East India man was sunk last week."

Falcon said disgustedly, "And I fancy they're already claiming the insurance on her cargo, which they stole before she sailed!"

Shaking his head, Cranford muttered, "What a curst devil's trick that is! And never a thought for the innocent lives sacrificed to their greed!"

"We can thank Johnny Armitage that we learned what they're about," said Rossiter. "What we need to know is how and where the thefts take place. Johnny's gathered some sailormen about him and they're haunting the docks here and in Bristol, hoping to uncover some of that skullduggery.

Meanwhile, we will investigate each of the areas where we've defeated the League, and determine if they've managed to get their claws on another nearby estate. And we must guard our loved ones lest they be targetted."

Chandler said, "Tall orders, and we're spread dashed thin now, Ross, keeping an eye on the movements of the rogues we know are League members."

Cranford suggested eagerly, "Why not hire more men to follow them? Tummet's rascals seem to have done well thus far."

Rossiter pursed his lips dubiously. "Not in all instances, Perry. Some of the reports brought back by our makeshift spies have turned out to be no more than Canterbury tales invented to account for hours they'd actually spent in the nearest tavern."

"Besides, they cannot always follow where our aristocratic League members go," said Chandler. "They know we're watching, and they're extremely adept at vanishing while attending some crowded social event."

Falcon said thoughtfully, "If we could but discover where they rendezvous."

"We've tried, Lord knows," said Glendenning. "Almost certainly they meet at one of their homes, or country seats."

Rossiter nodded. "They probably begin the evening at some party, as Gordie said, then slip away to their meetings. The pity is that we've never caught 'em at it."

"I seem to recall that there is to be a winter fete at Overlake Park," murmured Falcon. "On the sixteenth, I believe. When is that?"

"Saturday, you caper-wit," said Rossiter. "What of it?"

"I believe I shall attend."

Except for Morris, who was snoring softly, they all stared at him.

Sir Owen broke the stunned silence to ask incredulously, "You've been invited?"

Falcon's chin tossed upward. He said with quelling hauteur, "Astounding as it may seem to you, Furlong, I am considered socially acceptable by many
ton
hostesses."

Sir Owen flushed. "I—I never meant—"

"He knows what you meant," said Rossiter. "Are you forgetting, August, that Rudi Bracksby owns Overlake Park?"

"Oh, no," said Falcon.

Awed, Cranford observed, "You're mad!"

"Use some sense, man," urged Rossiter. "We know Bracksby is a member of the League. He may very well be one of the six founders."

"And since he's damned sure you're one of us," said Gordon Chandler, "I share Owen's astonishment that you were invited."

Falcon confessed, "Well, I wasn't. Not specifically that is. Actually, I have a sort of—standing invitation." His lips quirked. "Though that is perhaps an—ah, inappropriate adjective." Over the hoots and laughter he went on, "Dear Rudi's widowed sister, Lady Dunscroft, has a
tendre
for me." He grinned in response to another derisive chorus, and added, "And I am very sure her ladyship has not the remotest knowledge of the League of Jewelled Men."

"Perhaps not, but Pamela Dunscroft is a tigress!" said Glendenning, half amused, half dismayed.

Not in the least amused, Rossiter said, "No! You'd be walking into the lion's den, you fool."

"Life in the jungle…" Falcon's eyes glittered with anticipation. "It should be interesting."

The male sex is ridiculous!" declared Gwendolyn unequivocally, closing the morning-room door behind her. "Absolutely! I do not know why we—" She checked, then stepped over Apollo and hurried to her friend. "Dearest! Why are you weeping?"

Katrina Falcon stood at the window. She had jerked her head away when Gwendolyn came in, and was dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. "I—am not." Managing a tremulous smile, she sniffed and added, "Well, not very much."

"One weeps, or one does not weep." Gwendolyn took her hand, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Are you anxious for your papa? August said Mr. Falcon is quite recovered of his fall."

"Yes. But—oh, who knows what may happen next? This horrid League, and—and all the violence in the streets, and—" The rush of words ceased. Katrina faltered, "How glad I am that your papa allows you to stay with me, Gwen. Of late, I am always… so afraid."

"I know." Gwendolyn pressed the cold hand she held. "But your fear is not of the League, I think. We have known about their wickedness for months, and I have never before seen you give way to tears."

Katrina withdrew her hand, and blew her nose daintily. "No. But—but they have never before deliberately attacked my own father."

"Whom you love deeply. I can understand how you must have worried. But I think your fear now is for—someone else you love."

Avoiding her eyes, Katrina mumbled, "Well—well, you know how I adore August."

"And knowing how much he loves you I confess I have often wondered why you so fear him."

"I do not!"

"Then why are you afraid to tell him that you care for Jamie?"

The magnificent eyes that were so like her brother's widened, and Katrina said threadily, "What a thing to say."

"I say it because you are my dear friend. I believe Jamie gave you his heart the first time he saw you. 'Tis an honest and very faithful heart, Trina. If I were so fortunate as to be offered such a wondrous gift, I think—I
know
I would fight tooth and nail 'gainst anyone who tried to make me throw it away."

At this, Katrina burst into tears. Gwendolyn hugged her close and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "You have come to love him," she said gently. "I've seen it this month and more, and I could not be more pleased. Jamie is such a fine man. He may not be as wealthy as some of your other suitors, but—"

"Much I… care for that!" sobbed Katrina. "He is the kindest… most gentle… most br-brave and honourable of…of men!"

Gwendolyn drew back, smiling into the woebegone face and marvelling that even with teardrops gemming the long thick lashes, and a pinkish tint to the delicate nose, Katrina was still exquisitely lovely. "Then tell that tyrannical brother of yours that you are of age; that you will no longer allow him to bully you; that your papa likes Jamie; and that Mr. August Falcon is not the head of his house and has no right—"

With a muffled wail, Katrina bowed her head into her hands.

Troubled, Gwendolyn watched in silence until her friend recovered herself, dried her tears, and sat straight again to say in a steadier voice, "August does not bully me and—and he may be a little… managing, but he is not a tyrant. 'Tis just… Oh, you do not understand!"

"Perchance I might, if you would tell me, but—if I am too pushing—"

"As if you could be such a thing—my sweet Gwen! I know you are only concerned for my happiness. But—'tis hopeless. Quite hopeless. I will not marry to disoblige August. I shall… never be able to wed Jamie."

"Oh, pish and posh! If you are afraid of their silly duel, I'd not give it another thought."

"You have never seen my brother fight." Katrina sighed. "I did once. I chanced to overhear the arrangements for a meeting. I was thirteen years old then, and didn't understand what kind of meeting the men were talking about. I was full of curiosity, so I stayed up half the night, took my pony, and followed them."

Gwendolyn loved Katrina dearly, but sometimes thought her rather too conformable and lacking in spirit. Astonished by this glimpse of real intrepidity, she gasped, "You never did! What was it like?"

"It was horrible." Katrina stared into the fire for a moment, saying nothing. Then she went on, "August was only nineteen, but he seemed to delight in taking the most dreadful chances. I was sure he would be killed. I heard the seconds say that the other man was a good fencer and should never have called out a boy who was not yet of age. I suppose he never dreamt he would face a brilliant swordsman. It was so fast, Gwen! So fierce and terrible. Then—" She shuddered. "None of them could believe August had survived. I was so thankful, but… I crept away and was sick."

"August told me of it. He didn't mean to kill the poor man, Trina. And you certainly cannot think he would hurt Jamie? However he frets and fumes, I think he has become fond of him."

"But—that makes it worse, do you see? And Jamie teases him so."

Gwendolyn exclaimed angrily, "You wrong August! He dotes on you, and if they ever do fight, which I doubt, he would die sooner than harm a hair of Jamie's head if he thought—" She realized that Katrina was staring at her wonderingly. Her face burned. She said rather feebly, "But— but there is not the need for it to come to that. 'Tis very clear that Jamie would walk through fire for you, so all you've to do is forbid him to fight. Tell August that you
are
going to marry Jamie, and that if he ever threatens him again, you will never talk to him for as long as—"

Katrina swooped to kiss her. "How good you are. And how glad I am that you came back upstairs. I wondered what had become of you. Why were you so angry when you came in? Is Gideon's hurt very painful? They should neither of them have stayed for the meeting."

A door had been closed. There was sadness but resignation in Katrina's eyes. With an inner sigh, Gwendolyn thought, "I really had no right to say as much as I did. Well, I tried." She said simply, "I was listening to their meeting."

"Gwen! How could you?"

Deliberately misinterpreting that shocked exclamation, Gwendolyn explained, "Well, there is that little cupboard in the red parlour, you know, and I was rummaging about in there one day, looking for a slipper Apollo had taken from your aunt. I could hear Mrs. Vanechurch talking to Pearsall, and I was most surprised when I realized they were not in the corridor as I'd supposed, but in the book room. So today I—"

"Went into the parlour cupboard to eavesdrop?"

"Yes, I did. And I know 'twas naughty. But I will tell you, Trina, that if we are not very careful those silly creatures are going to run themselves into a proper bog with this wretched League." She paused, and murmured, "I wonder why it is that little girls grow up, but that men—nice men especially—are always little boys?" She shook her head. "Oh, well, so 'tis, and we must do all that we can to help the poor dears."

Fascinated, Katrina asked, "How? We are ladies. What can we do?"

"Queen Maud was a lady! And so was Boadicea, and—and the Queen of Sheba!
They
managed to get things done, and—"

"But were not Queen Maud and Boadicea put to death?"

"Oh, dear! Were they?" Gwendolyn wrinkled her brow. "You may be in the right of it. But, after all, in those days everybody who was anybody seems to have been put to death, so perhaps 'tis all of a piece. The thing is—we must do
something
, Trina! Before August—"

"And your dear brother and the rest of them," Katrina put in softly.

"What? Oh. Well, of course. You know what I mean." Katrina nodded, and thought, "Yes, my dear. I know exactly what you mean."

Fog settled down over the City the following day, making of it a hushed, spectral place, slowing traffic, and causing shopkeepers to look glum as business lagged. By evening the vapours were less dense, but it was penetratingly chill, and the fire in the small dining room at Falcon House was banked high.

Gwendolyn was the only guest to join the family for dinner. Mrs. Dudley Falcon was in her usual merry humour and invited both girls to join the card party she was giving later that evening. She was a kind and gregarious lady, and had been the wife of Neville Falcon's younger brother. When she was widowed suddenly by a hunting accident, Neville had installed her in his great house, happy in the belief that he'd provided his daughter with a proper chaperone. He had not. Mrs. Dudley, as she was known, was on the light side of fifty and on the heavy side of plump. She was pretty, amiable, lazy, and dedicated to comfort. Her own. She doted on her niece— and was perfectly willing to play chaperone, so long as it did not interrupt her daily ritual. This consisted of keeping to her bed until noon while enjoying breakfast and her voluminous correspondence; spending an hour or so on her toilette and another on luncheon; sallying forth in mid-afternoon for a drive or shopping, or to visit friends; and returning to rest and change clothes before going out to dine or attend the opera or the play, or some social function. The arrangement suited three of the parties concerned, and although August thought it deplorable and was constantly threatening to engage "a conscientious chaperone" for his sister, he had as yet failed to do so, and the arrangement continued.