The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (15 page)

“In other words, Gentry could deny the whole thing, and my version of the business would very likely cause me to be put under strong restraint. As I suspected. No, don't look so distressed. I understand your predicament. If it happens again, I'll deal with the fellow myself.”

“Now I wouldn't want as you should do that, sir. Nor I don't—er—doubt your word. Exactly. But like you said, it does sound a bit— Well, might I ask what was the upshot of the business?”

The poor man was trying to believe him. Appreciating that generosity, Vespa said in a calmer tone, “We persuaded them to replace my desk, and Sir Larson rode off in a rage, threatening dire reprisals. Even so, I cannot think he'd have his bullies break in again at night. It's a hanging offence.”

“That it is.” The constable glanced around and lowered his voice. “Just 'tween you and me, sir, I have heard, though I don't know it for fact, mind, that Sir Larson's, er, under the hatches, as they say. And a man deep in debt—'specially a gent what's trying to keep up appearances—why there's no telling what he
might
do, being desp'rit like.”

“True. But how would an old desk, or other pieces of my furniture, keep him out of Debtor's Prison?”

“Wouldn't. Not nohow. Unless—might there be perhaps some antique in the manor that you wouldn't think was valleyble? Like a chair as was sat on by poor Anne Boleyn? Or a very old book, maybe? It sounds foolish, I know, but I've heard as some old hand-writ books is worth thousands. Have you searched all through the manor, sir?”

Vespa admitted he'd not as yet had time to do so, and decided to rectify that omission when he returned home. Leaving Blackham, he walked over to the grocer's, exchanging a few shouts en route with the village cobbler, Samuel Carl, who was elderly and very deaf. In the fragrant little shop Mrs. Davis fluttered at him excitedly and trotted to the Post Office side of her establishment, where two letters awaited him: one addressed in Sir Kendrick's bold hand, and the other from the friend in Bristol to whom he'd appealed for help in hiring servants.

As usual, the widow was eager to chat, and he gratified her curiosity about his bruised jaw by telling her of the attempted robbery. She was horrified, declared she was about to swoon and flapped a handkerchief rapidly at her face, but when he apologized for having frightened her and expressed his intention to leave her in peace, she made a rapid recovery and was full of questions about the incident. Yes, she had indeed seen strangers in the neighbourhood. “In fact,” she said, leaning over the counter and whispering dramatically, “there is some very strange folks what comes and goes from Larson Chase.
Very
strange! As I'd not trust so far as I could see them!”

Vespa's ears perked up. “Did they impress you as being criminal types, ma'am?”

“I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Captain. But nor was they Quality folk. Not what you'd expect a baronet to cry friends with.”

She had seen the men on several occasions, she declared, when she was out gathering herbs. Her grandmother had been a great believer in the benefits to be gained from a regular consumption of such things as parsley, thyme and garlic. In fact, the old lady had never suffered from gout or the ague in all her days, though she'd lived to be ninety-nine and would have reached her century had she not taken a glass too much of wine and tumbled from her bath chair. The widow launched happily into a detailed account of her grandmother's wisdom and it was only the arrival of another customer that enabled Vespa to escape.

He went out onto the street deep in thought. The widow's remarks bore out what Consuela had said, and if the rough characters she'd described were in the pay of Larson Gentry, there must indeed be something at Alabaster Royal that was of great value. Possibly, Gentry hadn't sought it out while the manor had been abandoned to Strickley's rather erratic care because he'd only recently become aware of the value of the object, whatever it was. It wasn't very convincing, but even less credible was Consuela's belief that she had been the intended victim of the intruders. The poor girl was clearly obsessed—

At this point he collided with a lady who was just leaving the church, causing her to drop her reticule. With a hurried apology, he restored her property and found himself facing the lovely Miss Ariadne Gentry. She stammered in a confused fashion that she was not at all hurt and that she would have seen someone approaching had she not turned to close the gate.

“I was talking with Mr. Castle about the flowers for Sunday, you see,” she explained.

“Do you provide them, ma'am?”

“Oh, yes. Sometimes. Well,
I
do not, you know. Our gardener cuts them, but he likes to be given notice of what will be needed, and he is rather testy now that we have had to let his helper go. Oh, dear!” she put a hand to her cheek and her big blue eyes widened. “I should not have said that. My brother doesn't like people to know— I mean—”

“I quite understand, ma'am. Lots of us have had to draw the bustle in these difficult times.”

“Yes. And poor Larson does hate it, for we was used to live so differently. He holds that it is all because of this silly war, and that Lord Wellington is spending too much money chasing Napoleon all over Spain when we might better let him have it and be done. After all, Spain was our enemy for centuries. Do you not agree, sir?”

Vespa's jaw had tightened during this artless speech. His eyes glinting, he said, “I'm afraid I don't, Miss Gentry. Your brother would feel differently were Bonaparte to invade Britain, as he has boasted he means to do. Lord Wellington fights to keep the wolf from our doors as much as to protect Spain.”

Peeping up at him, she said, “Oh, dear. Now I have made you cross. I forget that you were a soldier. I always supposed that his lordship's staff officers would be great big fierce men, whereas you are not very brawny, are you? Indeed, you are rather thin. They say his temper is extreme uncertain. Did you like him?”

Looking into those guileless eyes, Vespa could not hold irritation. Clearly, Miss Gentry was a lovely bird-wit, but there was not a shred of malice in her, and she would very likely die sooner than advise him (as another lady had done) that he was “foolish, hoity and toity”. He said with a smile, “I have never met a man who so inspired admiration and respect. We all would have followed him straight to—er, anywhere, without question. Indeed, our one fear was that
he
was fearless and persisted in exposing himself to enemy fire so as to keep up the spirits of the men. Admittedly, one treads lightly around his temper. But his lordship is a splendid soldier, and a very remarkable man.”

“His poor wife thinks so, too. But then Kitty so dotes on him. She is unhappy while he is away, and she is as bad as my brother at holding household, which you would think he might take into account.”

“You are acquainted with Lady Wellington, ma'am?”

“Oh, yes. She is older than me, of course, but we have known the Pakenhams forever. I last saw Kitty at Brighton. She doesn't like the Regent's Pavilion, and told me she never saw a less inviting house. I thought it very fine, but, alas, I am not a very good judge of such things. Or, indeed, of any thing. Ah, here is my carriage.” She put out her hand, and, dimpling prettily, said, “I am glad to have met you again, Captain Vespa. Perhaps you would—But, no, you had better not.” And with a dazzling smile she tripped off to where a liveried footman waited to hand her reverently into the waiting coach.

Waving farewell, Vespa thought her as sweetly natured as she was lovely. Certainly, any gentleman would be proud to play escort to such a Fair. But remembering the calm common sense of his beloved Marietta Warrington, or even the fiery obstinacy of Miss Consuela Jones, he knew that the beautiful Ariadne would drive him to distraction in a week.

He was delighted to return to Alabaster Royal and find that his father's grooms had delivered his team of matched greys, his curricle and the new phaeton, together with several large trunks. Strickley was overjoyed to have some “real blood hacks” to care for, and lost in admiration of the coaches. Thornhill was just as pleased by the contents of the trunks, and was already busily unpacking. The large portrait of Sir Kendrick that had hung in Vespa's Richmond bedchamber had been carefully crated, in accordance with his wishes, and he insisted that Strickley leave horses and coaches to help with the proper placement of the painting. His first thought, to give it the place of honour in the entrance hall, was abandoned, and he decided instead that it must be hung above the drawing-room fireplace.

Lady Francesca came in during this procedure, and approved the selected location, “for you will be able to visit him more comfortably in this room. What a splendid handsomeness! You are right to be proud of him. It is good for the son to be proud of his Papa.”

Jack smiled up at that beloved face. Every day the manor had seemed less cold and formidable. Now, especially, it really felt like home.

He sought out Thornhill to help in his investigation of the upper floor. His new man was busied with lining the drawers in his bureau and highboy and arranging his personal linens, and looked so tragic when faced with the prospect of abandoning these vital pursuits that Vespa told him to carry on, and went alone into the long corridor.

He had removed dusty holland covers and thoroughly inspected two bedchambers, even to the extent of pulling out drawers and looking to see if any secret documents were attached to the undersides, when the busy patter of four small paws announced the arrival of Corporal. Vespa had missed the constant companionship of the little dog, but the animal that bounded joyously into his arms was a far cry from the shaggy creature he'd carried up from the cellar last night.

“Only look at you, my fine-feathered friend,” he said, stroking a coat that was now sleek and shining. “Why, you are positively elegant. It would seem that I may have been mistaken in naming you a mongrel!”

“You were indeed.” Consuela came into the room attired in her ‘housemaid uniform'—a large apron tied over her gown. “He was a diamond in the rough, is all.”

“He's had a rough time of it, certainly, poor chap. Did you bathe him?”

“Yes. Manning and I were soaked through, but after we'd dried and brushed him, it was very clear that he felt so much nicer. Which is more than I can say for you, sir! Only look at your shirt! Filthy!”

Vespa restored Corporal to the floor and was taken aback to see that his once snowy shirt had indeed been reduced to shades of grey and his coat was liberally decorated with cobwebs. “Gad! And I've only just started. Well, never mind that. How are you feeling this morning, ma'am?”

Consuela said she was much better, thank you, and stayed to watch as he struggled to pull a reluctant drawer from a chest, then turn it upside down. A shower of shredded paper, dust and debris cascaded out, and Vespa sneezed. Corporal barked and began to race about, nose to the floor.

“Why is all that paper in shreds?” asked Consuela, uneasily.

“From the look of the other contents,” Vespa answered, dabbing a handkerchief at his eyes, “I'd say mice had taken up residence in here.”

She gave a squeal and gathered her skirts tight around her ankles, which were, he noted, very trim. “I'd thought you would have left by this time,” he said, trying not to stare. “Before another murderous crew came to do you in.”

“I'm not so easily frightened off. I carry my little pistol everywhere now, and it will be under my pillow at night, so I shall be perfectly safe. Why do you turn the drawer upside down? Whatever do you expect to find underneath?”

“I wish I knew. But I'm convinced that Larson Gentry is after something in this house. Besides you, of course.”

“Oh, you may mock, sir! But you'll be sorry when my bloody corpse is stretched out at your feet!”

“Sorry, and extremely surprised. But if you persist in pretending to be my housemaid, I mean to exercise my rights and ask you to give a hand here.”

She hesitated, then edged forward, still holding her skirts close. “I suppose that is only fair, but you must pull out the drawers and if there are rodents inside, I shall scream.”

For the next hour there were no screams. They worked steadily together and cleared two more large bedchambers and an adjoining parlour and dressing room. Corporal thought the project great fun and would retreat, barking excitedly whenever Vespa up-ended a drawer, then dash to investigate the contents. Consuela was alternately revolted by the dirt and neglect, and ecstatic over a fine example of chimneypiece carving, the frame of an old print, and the elaborate bedposts. The way she had of clapping her hands and squeaking with delight when she discovered something she admired amused Vespa, and when they were investigating a well-furnished parlour and she suddenly began to jump up and down in excitement, he could not restrain a laugh.

In a lightning change of mood, she scowled at him. “I am too exuberant, you are thinking. I am very far from being a perfect English lady—like Ariadne Gentry—is that not so? Oh, I know you have met her, and I suppose you will now go mooning about all over the house, and sigh into your dinner, and write silly poems to her beautiful eyes or her golden hair and dainty ways!”

“I was thinking nothing of the sort, Signorina Scratchy! But I agree that Miss Gentry is very beautiful. I suppose it is only natural that other ladies should be jealous—”

“Jealous? Pish and a fiddlestick! As if I would care to be meek and mild and so stupid as any sheep!”

“Some men, Miss Consuela,” he said, hiding his mirth and shaking his head at her, “place a higher value on kindness than on a quick mind.”

She flushed, but riposted angrily, “You might better say
all
men, for they cannot bear to admit that any female may have a brain in her head. Mama used to say that gentlemen so dislike sensible women that they make up nasty names, like ‘bluestockings', to mock us.”