The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (25 page)

Vespa stared at him, then mounted up, his anger subsiding. “What stuff! As if an unwed lady of breeding would pose in that fashion. You know perfectly well that Jones would have hired a professional model.”

“Why should he, when his own daughter is so well—er, endowed? And where's the harm? His little meadowlark wasn't the first lady to pose
à la naturelle,
and she won't be the last, I'll warrant. Gad, what a shape!”

Amused, Vespa said warningly, “I shouldn't tell her that if I were you. She'd probably shoot you dead!”

12

Josiah Hawes was a giant of a man, well over six feet tall and massively built, with an untidy mop of brown hair, a thickly curling beard and hot brown eyes that glittered from under tangled bushy brows. Standing on the worn step, he made the cottage look too small to hold him as he blocked the doorway and glared belligerently at the snuff bottle in Vespa's hand. “Never did hold wi' folks like us mixin' wi' folks like you lot.” His beard thrust outward as he pushed the bottle away. “Nor us don't want no charity! Not from Wansdykes or Vespas nor no one else o' your breed!”

For the child's sake Vespa kept his temper in check. “How can you call this poor gift charity? It's only something I found at the manor and that has probably gone unused for decades. Molly likes flowers and I thought she'd enjoy to—”

“D'ye think I can't give me lass a better thing than that there tin pot? If she wants a—a pot, she'll have a pot, and none o' your castoffs!”

Persevering, Vespa said, “It's enamel, not tin. I'll admit she's a very kind little girl and deserves better, but I thought the painting rather pretty, and—”

“Oh, it
is
pretty!” Molly squeezed past her father and reached for the snuff bottle. “Is it fer me, Cap'n Jack?”

Hawes shouted, “No, it ain't! And you keep away from him!”

The child looked frightened, and drew back.

Vespa said gently, “I brought it to show your father, Molly, and to talk to him because I know how he must love you, and want the best for—”

“She don't need you tellin' her I loves her! Now you get on your way, Sir Vespa or whatever ye calls yourself! Take that ugly pot and leave us be!”

“No! Oh, Pa,
please
!” Tears came into Molly's eyes and she pleaded, “Cap'n Jack's house is so old and ugly, not nice and cozy like ourn. And he's sad there. P'raps he
needs
to sell a few things! How much you want fer it, Cap'n?”

“
Sell
it?” Hawes' bellow of laughter rattled the windows. “He don't wanta—”

“A groat,” said Vespa promptly.

Hawes' laugh was cut off. He stared at Vespa, his eyes narrowing. “Now see here—”

“I got it,” shrieked Molly, wriggling with excitement. “I
got
a groat saved from Christmas, Pa. You said as I could buy summat wi' it. You
promised,
Pa! I could put it by me bed, and stick some flowers in it, and—oh, it'd be so
pretty,
Pa!”

Without shifting his gaze from Vespa, the big man growled, “Never mind your groat. Fetch me purse, Moll. It's in me grey coat.”

Squealing with joy, she was gone in a flash.

Hawes stepped very close to Vespa and said with soft but deadly menace, “Now you jest say straight out, me fine fancy gent—what d'ye want with my little gal? Why're ye slipping round her wi' your fancy talk and fancy ways? If I was to think—for one minute—”

Vespa met that enraged glare steadily. “Then you would have a very ugly mind, Mr. Hawes. Molly took pity on me because she knows what it's like to be crippled, and—”

Hawes gave a snarl and as much of his face as was visible grew near purple. The great hands clenched and started to lift.

Startled, Vespa thought, ‘Jove, but he's an ugly customer!' but he said in the same cool tone, “She has the type of gentleness that is very rare, and a heart that is quick to sense pain in others and want to help. Now
she
needs help, and—”

“Not from the likes o' you, she don't!”

Unable to restrain his irritation, Vespa said, “Be proud for yourself, if you must, man, but—think of the child. I know of a fine surgeon. He might not be able to help her, but he was able to help me, and if you'd allow—”

“Help
you?
I seen you walk. Ye're nigh as crippled as what—”

“Here 'tis, Pa! Oh, is ye sure? Can we 'ford—”

Hawes rummaged about in the worn purse his daughter offered, thrust a groat at Vespa, and snatched the vase. “There. Now run along, Moll. Find some flowers for yourself, lass.”

In a transport of joy, the child took the vase and held it as though it were the greatest treasure in the realm. “Ooh,
thank
you, Pa!” She tugged at his breeches until he bent and a smacking kiss was planted on his beard.

“Thank
you,
Cap'n Jack!” She beamed up at Vespa, and when he smiled, but didn't lower his cheek for his own kiss, she whispered, “I
knows
as it's reely worth much more'n a groat!”

Starry-eyed, she went off with her treasure in search of flowers.

Watching that painful progress, Vespa was suddenly wrenched around. A hand of iron clamped on his wrist; a hate-filled countenance was thrust within inches of his own.

Josiah Hawes rumbled, “I be a poor man, and I knows as ye could have me transported jest for holdin' ye—like this.”

His grip tightened. Vespa knew beyond doubting that with little effort Hawes could crush his wrist. He asked jerkily, “Why the devil do you—so dislike me?”

“I hates all rich folks! Every last one o' the thievin' worthless scum! It was one o' yourn what crippled my gal and—and killed her Ma. Don't pretend as ye didn't know! Comin' round here wi' your smiles and posh ways and yer fancy bleedin' pots. Feelin' guilty, be ye,
Captain?
Well, it's too late. You so much as look at my Moll again, and I'll tear your wicked heart out!”

Despite himself, Vespa winced as the pressure of the brutal grip increased. “You must think I'm worth hanging for. And what would happen to your little girl then?”

“There'd be one less o' your kind in the world,” snarled Hawes. “It'd be worth it, I reckon!”

“I've been patient with you,” said Vespa, “But I'd advise you to let go. Now.”

He had not raised his voice, but in the tilt of the head, the glinting eyes, the jut of the chin, Hawes caught a glimpse of steel and knew he'd misread his man.

For a few taut seconds hot brown eyes challenged cold hazel ones. Then Vespa was released with a force that made him stagger. Josiah Hawes ducked his head and stepped back into the cottage. The door slammed behind him.

Later that afternoon, watching Thornhill inspect the dark bruises on Vespa's wrist, Broderick lounged comfortably on the great bed and said, “What I can't understand is why you didn't haul off and level the insolent lout. Is anything broke, Thornhill?”

“I think not, sir.” Elegant in his new and well-cut habit, the valet looked shocked. “But surely we must keep in mind that the Captain has been very ill. In his present state of health no one could expect him to engage in fisticuffs, and his station in life would forbid an encounter with the likes of Josiah Hawes.”

Vespa said meekly, “Exactly so, and he's such a big fellow, Toby. If you'd seen—”

“I've seen you fight, which is more to the point. You may not be in exactly plump currant, but you had your cane and if necessary your pistol. You could have handled him. So don't try and hornswoggle me with your meek and milquetoast!”

Vespa laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But the child was there, you see, and if it had come to a real turn-up, things might have become rather ugly.”

“It sounds to me as if things became
dashed
ugly! I vow, Jack, Town is fairly cluttered with your friends, but down here in the country you collect enemies like a dog collects fleas! It was more peaceful at Vitoria! This Hawes fella sounds like an exceeding ugly customer. Your Constable needs to give him a good sound warning.”

“Speaking of which,” said Vespa, easing into the dark blue coat the valet held for him, “do you know what happened to Molly Hawes, Thornhill? It was an accident of some kind, I gather.”

“So I understand, sir. I was not in the area at the time, but it is still talked of at the Gallery Arms. May I be allowed to brush your hair, Captain? The ‘Brutus' would become you far more than the simple style you affect, and it is well to stay in fashion even in the country.”

“No, no,” said Vespa hastily. “Thanks, but I can manage. What kind of accident?”

Thornhill began to gather up the discarded garments. “A really dreadful tragedy. It was dusk of a November afternoon. Mrs. Hawes was fetching Molly home from a birthday party when a coach and four came around the bend at the gallop. I suppose, in the dim light the coachman must not have seen them in time.”

“Jove!” exclaimed Broderick, sitting up. “They were run down?”

“Yes, sir. The lady was killed outright, and the child—I believe she was three years old at the time—almost died, and has since been, er, as she is now, poor little creature. There was a great fuss over it at the time, so they say.”

Vespa put down the hairbrush and asked, “Was the coachman held to blame?”

“Oh, most decidedly, sir. Shall I go and see if I may be of assistance to Lieutenant Manderville?”

“By all means. But first tell me, did the coachman receive a heavy sentence?”

With his hand on the door-latch, Thornhill paused. “I expect he would have, if they'd been able to find him.”

Aghast, Broderick said, “Do you say the fellow didn't stop?”

“As I understand it, sir, he didn't even slow his cattle.”

“If ever I heard of such a thing!” exclaimed Vespa. “Was every man in the village asleep? Did nobody follow the murdering brute?”

“I believe that Sir Larson Gentry chanced to ride in just after the accident. He gave chase, but the coach had too good a start and got clean away.”

“Away,” qualified Vespa with a grim look, “but scarcely clean. Did anyone recognize the coach?”

“Not that I know of, sir. There was a crest on the door-panel, but it was apparently too dark for it to be identified.”

“Could it have been Lord Alperson?”

“A possibility, Captain. Although it would be difficult to imagine his lordship's carriage travelling at high speed. If you've seen it, you'll know what I mean.” With a bow he went out and closed the door behind him.

“I know one thing,” said Vespa slowly. “If it had been my wife and child—by heaven, I'd have followed that coach to the end of the earth! I surely cannot blame poor Hawes for his bitterness.”

“You don't have to blame him, old lad,” said Broderick. “Just keep clear of him. Now why that enigmatic look? You
are
going to call on him again!”

“Who's going to call on whom?” The personification of sartorial splendour, Manderville sauntered in and scanned them lazily through his jewelled quizzing glass.

“Jack's trying to get himself murdered,” said Broderick. “He needs a twenty-four-hour guard to protect him from himself, is what it is. You're a fine shot, Paige. I nominate you!”

“You are too good.” Manderville bowed low. “But my days of military service are done. I am a weary, wounded veteran, and desire only the quiet life. Nominate yourself, old lad. You have nothing better to do with your time.”

Vespa said with a grin, “Oh, yes he has! His time is fully occupied. Haven't you noticed that he vanishes for hours at a time, and returns looking properly moonstruck?”

Very red in the face, Broderick exclaimed, “Now, deuce take you, Jack! Because I've been good enough to survey your estate—”

“In the company of the enchanting Miss Ariadne Gentry,” put in Manderville.

“So you did notice,” said Vespa. “Confess, Toby! The naked cherub landed one of his arrows right on target!”

Manderville leant against a bedpost and proclaimed laughingly, “The don is done! Long live the lover!”

“I trust you're quite finished with your low mockery and your silly alliterations,” said Broderick, standing very straight. “But I forget. With your limited mental powers, neither of you clodpoles will know what an alliteration is. I will explain. It is a noun referring to several words used in immediate succession and commencing with the same letter. Simple minds, such as yours, would probably assume this to be a recent literary fashion, but if you were conversant with Latin you'd discover that, to Cicero's displeasure, Ennius wrote:
O Tite tute, Tati, tibi tanta—”

“I know what ‘tibby' means,” interjected Manderville proudly. “It's cant for ‘head'.”

“Jolly good!” said Vespa. “And
tante
is French for ‘aunt'.”

“I shall ignore such uncouth interruptions,” said Broderick loftily. “As I was about to say, even the Bard used the form, not that you would be aware of it. He wrote: ‘Full fathom five thy father lies,' and—”

“Not deep enough,” said Vespa, snatching up a pillow and advancing on the almost-don.

Manderville snatched up another pillow. “No, by Jove! Not nearly!”

“Now … you chaps…” said Broderick, retreating.

He was too late.

For a few minutes their various concerns and worries were forgotten and they were carefree youths again. Whoops of laughter, shouts of indignation, flying feathers and the crash of a falling chair were interspersed with Corporal's excited barks.

Thornhill returned and had to shout his request for instructions about dinner.