The Moonless Night (34 page)

“When did you begin taking objection?” she asked with interest.

“Along about the time you knocked me off the door at Steele’s barn—very early on in the game, you see. Nothing attracts a perverse gentleman like poor treatment. Or maybe it was when you so generously offered to run for the makings of the posset. No, really I think upon reconsidering that it was the evening I saw you two in the rose garden, all oblivious to the storm gathering, but very much aware of each other. Jealousy is another strong inducement, of course. It is at that point the attraction became bothersome, in any case.”

She blushed at the memory, but rushed in to defend herself. “I didn’t know he was married!”

“
He
knew it. I’m not blaming you. He is not at all a bad looking chap, and as a connection—tenuous I hope?—of your family, there was no reason you should mistrust him.”

“He is bad looking,” Marie decided. “With that ugly old mole. You’re sure he’s not the one who is Cicero? Why should she call herself Cicero? She has no wart or mole.”

“She’s Cicero. She has a wart actually, but not on her nose.”

“Where is it?” Marie asked, instantly suspicious.

“On her—ankle. I happened to see it once when she was climbing into my carriage.

“You’re lying!” she charged, looking at him closely.

“Maybe it was her wrist.”

“Adrian! Tell me the truth.”

“You won’t like it.” he cautioned.

“Tell me at once!”

“Oh, very well then, she said she has one on her knee. Naturally, I haven’t seen it.”

“You’re still lying!” she declared, but was not quite ready to push the wart any higher. “And another thing, why were you so unpleasant to everyone when you first arrived?”

“Unpleasant?” he asked, offended. “No, merely I had to show Sir Henry who was boss. He proved incapable of learning, however.”

“That was no excuse for being on your high ropes with David and me.”

“I refrained from exerting my dangerous charms so I wouldn’t have David tagging at my heels, getting in my way. I could see Benson wished him at Jericho, and I was afraid you’d go throwing your cap at me.”

“You have the gall to sit there and tell me you thought yourself so irresistible I’d be running after you! You needn’t have worried.”

“I know. You have very bad taste. As soon as I saw you preferred Benson, I felt it permissible to let some small measure of my natural...” He intercepted a look of animosity and came to a halt. “My natural character emerge,” he finished humbly.

“Let me tell you, your natural character is such that no woman with a pittance of mind would wipe her feet on you.”

“Nor on anyone else, surely? But you mean just the opposite from what you say, very likely. Women so often do.”

David was soon back with the constable, and the others were free to leave. As they went to retrieve their mounts, David said, “I must cook up some story to Papa about the chain, Ade. He won’t like your having cut it.”

“Let me handle it. There are many things about this night’s proceedings he won’t like, but he’ll like Boney’s not being rescued well enough, and if we can lay it at his door, he’ll swallow the rest.”

“How can we do that? He was knocked cold through it all.”

“We shall contrive. Fear not.”

“The thing I can’t understand,” David went on, “is why Papa lied to me. And why didn’t he let you cut the chain, anyway, knowing you was an official spy?”

“Agent is actually the word we use,” Adrian said with a smile that went undetected in the darkness. “As to not telling you and not allowing me to cut the chain, it all amounts to the same thing. Had he told you who I was, you would have put pressure to bear on him to give in, and that was the one thing he would not allow. The Bolt Hall chain has stood since 1380, guarding…”

“Yes, I know the lecture by heart,” David reminded him, to avoid hearing it again, “but I still think he should have told me. I suspected, of course, right from the start. Asked him outright once, and he said no. Said I shouldn’t help you… Well, I daresay that’s what he was afraid of, all right,” David admitted.

“I shall undo the damage as soon as possible. Make sure the chain’s back in working order to withstand the next invasion before I leave.”

“Dash it, you ain’t going to be leaving soon, are you, Ade?” David asked. He felt there was still much glory to be wrung from having an agent friend. He looked forward to long talks, preferably late at night, when he would be introduced, over champagne, to the arcana of becoming an agent, which ordinary Johnnie Trots would be calling a spy. He was eager to try his hand at this métier.

“Are you not looking forward to coming to Wight with us?” Sanford asked, to remind him of this treat.

“Yes, certainly, but we’ll be heroes here for a week or so. No point in passing up all the fun, now we’ve had the work and danger of it all.”

“We’ll wait a few days till the cream of the glory runs thin, but people soon forget, David. I am eager to get to Wight. Mama is waiting for those leeches.”

Chapter 23

By the time they got back to Bolt Hall, refreshed their toilettes and went belowstairs, the hall had turned from a dance to a general state of pandemonium. There was no pretense at music or dancing, but clusters of guests standing in circles asking questions of each other, with some of the more inventive fabricating answers out of thin air. There was not a single Boltwood in the room at this most prestigious ball ever tossed. David was known to be the real source of information, and his arrival was treated with all the yelling, shouting and questions he could wish.

With an air of bestowing a favor on loyal subjects, he raised his hands, requesting silence, that he might explain the state of affairs to everyone. One of the servants ran to Biddy and Sir Henry to report that the family and Sanford were back, and Sir Henry, leaning on Biddy’s arm and on the blackthorn stick hobbled to the ballroom to learn like the others what had happened.

He was pleased to see it was David, a Boltwood, who was the center of attention, and not Lord Sanford, as he had feared. He was even more charmed when David was led to the bandstand to allow one and all to hear and see him. What a fine figure the lad had, shoulders like the Tower of London, and how modestly he conducted himself in all his glory. A very modest smile on his face.

“Now, I know you’re all curious to hear what happened, and I’ll tell you all about it,” he began. “The thing is, there was a plan to free Bonaparte tonight, and it was thwarted.” Sir Henry felt there was just a little more modesty than he could like in this speech. “It was thwarted” should better have been “I” or at least “we” thwarted it. Then, too, it was
Seadog
and not
Fury
that had done the thwarting. David’s next speech threw him into complete frustration. “Lord Sanford discovered…” he began.

Sir Henry elbowed his way forward, using the blackthorn stick without concern for protruding hips or limbs. “Make way. Make way!” he commanded in a peremptory voice. Way was made, and soon he stood beside his son on the platform, without a single word to say. What had happened? He had no idea, but whatever it was, it was over and done.

“There is no need to alarm yourselves. Bolt Hall has once again served its duty in defending England. Napoleon has not been got off
Bellerophon
, and you may go on with the dance,” he finished up, to forestall bothersome questions. Still, it did not serve the purpose. People would inquire who had tried to rescue Napoleon, and who had discovered it, and how it had been prevented.

“It was this way,” Sir Henry said, improvising wildly. “I discovered the plan, and went to the winch room to protect the Bolt chain from sabotage. I was attacked by one of the plotters, and this bandage I wear on my head gives you an idea what occurred.”

Ripples of still unanswered questions ran through the room, swelling in volume as they circulated. The word “who” was most often heard. “Rawlins. Rear Admiral Rawlins is your traitor,” Sir Henry announced. He had learned this much from Sinclair and Hopkins.

Then he walked away and left his son to fill in the few omitted details. David made such a mishmash of this, turning so often to Lord Sanford, that eventually Sanford arose and spoke very briefly.

“As I understand it, Sir Henry and Mr. David Boltwood, working with the Admiralty from London, discovered a plan to free Bonaparte. In order to outwit the plotters, Sir Henry Boltwood gave the order that the chain be cut. It was a hard decision to take, the Bolt chain having stood guard on England’s shore since 1380, but a safeguard can operate in more than one way. Sir Henry wished the
Phoebe
to be allowed to leave the harbor and make its attempt, that the plotters be caught actually pursuing their aim. It was the plan of the outlaws that the Bolt chain be raised to prevent any rescue operation being launched, and with this fact known to him, Sir Henry had his chain cut, to outwit them. David Boltwood, with the help of his neighbors, gave chase and prevented the rescue. Shall we give three cheers for the Boltwoods?”

Amidst the lusty ringing of “hip hip hooray,” Sir Henry smiled in satisfaction. Not a word of Admiral Lord Keith, not a word of
Seadog
, and discreetly, no mention of Mr. Benson, Sir Henry’s wife’s connection. He was near to being in perfect charity with Sanford. There was but one link missing in the chain to prevent it, and he was fast coming to accept that broken link.

The question period that followed was sufficiently confusing that no real addition of fact was necessary. Sir Henry described in detail how he had been attacked in the dark in the winch room, but did not feel it necessary to reveal Marie had been so foolish as to expose herself. A woman, after all, she wouldn’t want the scandal of being a heroine attached to herself.

When some pesky person, Sinclair, to be sure, asked why he had gone to the chain, knowing it was already cut, he said wisely, “They didn’t know that, and it was a chance to eliminate one of them.” The impertinent question, “Which one of them was it?” was fobbed off with the answer, “One of the ringleaders.” Then he had the inspiration of serving more food, to put a stop to conjecture till he had had a good cose with Sanford.

Biddy was desperate to provide yet another meal, with every dish and glass in the house dirty, and the food reduced to crumbs. It was a very indifferent repast, but gave Sir Henry an opportunity to learn from Sanford that Madame and Benson had been arrested. He heard with equanimity as well that the agent preferred always to remain in the background as much as possible. David heard it with less equanimity, but as he was already so well to the fore in this story, he accepted stoically there was no avoiding it this time. Nor would it hamper his future secret career, as the whole desperate affair had taken place on his own doorstep, where he had every right to be, apart from being a secret agent.

After dinner Madame Monet’s part in the plot was let out, which proved so diverting that it kept dancing pretty well to a minimum while all the guests, particularly the males who had been grinning at her for weeks, assured each other they had suspected as much all along. The crowd had to go out to the rampart to see the heroic yachts dancing quietly at anchor. A few daring bucks took the notion of luring some intrepid ladies into the winch room, with a good many candelabra, of course, while the more sedate chaperones and squires were led to Sir Henry’s office to hear the inside story, and be shown a peek at the original letter informing Sir Henry of the whole. Mr. Hopkins, who made the error of taking up a chair, heard as well the history of the inkwell, the Prince's miniature and the Peninsular campaign.

During the mêlée, Sanford and Marie were tended by Biddy in the morning parlor, where some approximation of the truth was disseminated. “I never did like Benson above half,” Biddy reminded her niece. “To be using one’s family connections so shabbily is not what a gentleman would do. And as to dangling after Marie when he was already married!”

“It was not the dangling I minded so much as the slap,” Marie pointed out.

“A bruise! Certainly you will have a discoloration on that cheek,” Biddy prophesied, sending off for chipped ice to lessen this ill effect.

“And that French hussy, trying to get into the house,” Biddy continued her tirade.

“She’d have been easier to keep an eye on if you’d let her,” Sanford mentioned.

“Cheaper, too,” Biddy added practically. “But then I suppose you will be repaid for any expense you had in the matter. With a prize of ten thousand pounds to be dealt with, the Admiralty will not be clutch-fisted. Where did you hide the gold, Sanford?”

Marie turned to regard his answer with interest. “It’s buried outdoors,” he replied. “I’ll dig it up tomorrow and turn it over to the authorities.”

“Where did you bury it?” Biddy asked.

“Out in the stables.”

“What a good idea! Always stablehands there to prevent Benson getting at it.”

“Yes, I had my own groom bury it late one night.”

Marie could not see that any damage would have been done by this means of hiding, and doubted she had heard the truth yet.

“Benson won’t get his money back, will he?” Biddy asked. “Will they give it back to him? He should buy Oakhurst back if they do.”

“The price of Oakhurst has risen considerably since he sold it, has it not, Sanford?” Marie asked with a knowing smile.

“It has had considerable repairs made to it. It is worth more now. But in any case, the Aldridges would not be interested in selling it back. They are very happy there.”

“The Aldridges?” Marie asked. “It was yourself who bought Oakhurst, was it not?”

“I? What the devil would I want with it?” Sanford replied. “Aldridge did sell me ten acres for pasture at the back of his lot. He is retired and keeps no cattle. It was from him I learned Benson had sold out. I knew nothing about it till the deal was closed.”

“That’s not what Benson told us. He said you had bought up  his mortgage while he was in Vienna and wouldn’t sell it back.”

“The place wasn’t mortgaged. He sold it to finance Bonaparte’s rescue. Madame must have been the first woman in Europe to know what was coming. Oakhurst was sold before Boney handed himself over. But he was eager to turn you against me, and a lie would be nothing to him.”