The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (32 page)

The air stirred behind Vespa. He'd gambled. Perhaps he was about to be struck down for his pains. He gambled again. “Let's say it has to do with the quarry.” At this her eyes became so empty that he knew he'd touched a nerve, and he swept on, “I know you're not in the scheme alone, and I know there's a fortune to be—” Interrupting himself, he leapt to the side and the man who'd aimed a cudgel at his head missed and staggered, blundering against his mistress.

“Stop him, you clumsy imbecile!” she shrieked. “He mustn't get away!”

Vespa snatched up one of the small tables and tossed it at a man charging him and the jade incense-burner hurtled to the floor. At the same moment somewhere nearby a shot rang out and there was a chorus of excited shouts.

The door burst open.

A tiny, veiled old lady ran into the room, screeching at the top of her lungs: “So here you are! You wicked,
wicked
boy! I thought you'd been
murdered!
Might have known you'd run off instead with some
doxy
in a fancy house!” She began to belabour the astonished Vespa with her parasol. “How
dared
you leave your poor old great-aunt to fend for herself? I've got half the constables in Dorsetshire following me,
searching
for you! Out, you libertine!
Out!
I'll teach you to abandon your kin-folk!”

Two exotically clad individuals who appeared to be footmen jumped clear of the door as Vespa dodged through it, the old lady in hot pursuit, her parasol flailing in all directions.

“Stop—” began Mrs. Nilima, recovering from her stupefaction.

His eyes alight with laughter, Vespa glanced back. “Your rug's on fire,” he advised.

It was.

Neither he nor his ‘great-aunt' stayed to help put it out.

15

“It was
my
adventure!” Consuela leant forward on the seat of the rocking coach and removed her veil and bonnet. “It all went
marvellously
well,” she declared triumphantly. “Now own it, Captain Jack!”

“How can I deny it?” he said, trying to stop laughing. “But it could have been ugly, you little madcap! Gad! To think that a lady would run herself into such danger, only to help me, is—”

“Stop! I command it! You were there for no other reason than that you have been so kind as to interest yourself in my troubles. And also I do not want my thrilling adventure spoilt by silly lectures about gentle ladies and risks and such dull stuff, when I'm fairly
dying
of curiosity to hear all about it.”

Vespa watched in fascination as the snowy wig came off and she started to remove the amazing quantities of hairpins which had confined her own thick locks. “Well, I won't lecture you,” he said, knowing he should be more stern. “Though if I was your brother—”

“My—
brother?
” There was an odd note to her voice as she turned her head to stare at him.

“Well—your father, then. I'd take you over my knee and—” He laughed. “No, it's no use! I keep remembering how you scattered those bullies with your parasol, and how you sent them all rushing back into that strange house with your screechings of ‘Fire!' I wonder I didn't have a seizure when I realized who was my great-aunt! Oh, Consuela, you little rogue! I've a thousand questions. The first being, how ever did you persuade the duchess to permit such a reckless masquerade?”

“Don't be silly. I told her I was going to the Flower Show. Nothing more.”

“But, if that's what you thought, why bother with your great-aunt disguise?”

“Oh. Well, I wanted to see”—she scowled at an apparently offensive hairpin, and stammered—“I mean, that is—if I'd gone as Miss Consuela Jones, I'd have been obliged to endure Manning trailing after me all day long, and whining about her feet. You know a
young
lady cannot go out without a chaperone. Besides, Grand-mama was upset by that horrid business last night, and I couldn't leave her alone.”

“But why go to all the trouble of disguising yourself? If you'd told me you wanted to go to the Flower Show, I'd have taken you.”

“But how charming,” she said mockingly. “And I could have spent the day watching you simper and sigh over Esmeralda Stokely?”

“I did no such— Jupiter! Esme must think I deserted her!”

“Well, she won't, for she left directly after you went into that little arbour. I—er, chanced to see her drive off, and I thought you must have quarrelled, which is why I hurried to—”

Frowning, he interrupted, “A moment, if you please. Do you say Mrs. Stokely did not go back to her exhibit? That she left the grounds?”

“That is exactly what I said. She rushed off in such a hurry I was sure you'd offended her, and I went to the arbour to find out what had happened. I got there just in time to see those … those dreadful men drag you away. For a minute, I thought…” Her voice shook, and was suspended.

Vespa took her hand and held it strongly. “But you followed, is that it? How brave of you. But why didn't you try to get help?”

“Because it would have taken too long to convince anyone to follow you. All they were concerned with were their flowers. They'd probably have thought I was just a confused old lady. And even if I had convinced them, by the time we'd set out, we would have lost you completely. I wanted to find out who was behind it all, and why. And I'm
still
waiting! For mercy's sake,
tell
me!”

“I will, but—didn't old Watts raise a fuss about tearing off in pursuit with you in the coach?”

“No, for I didn't tell him until we were well after you, and then he had no choice but to keep going. He is so loyal to me, bless him, and thought my disguise was great fun at first, but— Oh, Jack, it
is
all connected with my father in some way, isn't it? You have found the lady he sketched!”

“She found me, rather,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose she had me followed, and hoped to lure me away without causing an uproar.”

“Her people bungled that. You must have put up a grand fight.”

“Which might not have answered had you not come at just the right moment.” He took up her hand and kissed it. “For which I humbly thank you, Miss Jones.”

Consuela's cheeks flamed. She said in a shaken voice, “Well, well, that's—er, better than being scolded for a ‘reckless masquerade'.”

“I won't scold, but—had you any idea what you were walking into?”

“None. To say truth, I fully expected to face Lord Alperson, or Larson Gentry. I never dreamt a woman was responsible. Do you see what I meant about my father's talent? He had her to the life.”

“Yes, indeed. A remarkable likeness of an exquisite and deadly creature. One can but hope she is the only one of her kind!”

“I thought she was lovely in Papa's sketch, but—my goodness! In person, she is incredibly beautiful! When I saw her in that magnificent room, I was so overawed I almost forgot to be your great-aunt.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “But you great-aunted perfectly. And you're right about the connection to your father's work. She is after that sketch. And the cloisonné. Though, why—”

“What cloisonné?”

“Oh, that's right. You don't know. We found—well, Toby found—And—Good God! My curricle is still at the Flower Show! We must go there at once!”

“But—but it has been closed for hours. Your horses will be cared for, I'm sure, and you can send Hezekiah for them in the morning. Let's go home now, please. You've had a terrible time, Jack, and must be exhausted.”

“What about you, dauntless one? I'm truly sorry to drag you all that way again, but it's devilish—I mean, it's very important! I
must
locate my curricle tonight!”

“But what has your coach to do with cloisonné?”

“I'd given the snuff jar to little Molly Hawes for a vase, and—Excuse me.” He let down the window, and shouted, “Watts! Hey, Watts! I don't know where we are, but there's a moon. Can you find your way back to Coombe Hall? Yes—now!… Good man!”

Sitting down again, his arm was gripped by two small but strong hands, and Consuela hissed, “If you do not wish to be strangled by a maddened female, Captain Jack Wansdyke Vespa, speak!”

He had no wish to be strangled.

*   *   *

“By Gad, but Miss Consuela's a spunky little lady,” said Broderick admiringly.

“Too much so for her own good.” Vespa nodded to Thornhill, who hurried over to refill his coffee cup. He was trying to wake up, and wished his impatient friends had waited a little longer before forcibly removing him from his bed at half past nine o'clock and demanding to know what kind of Flower Show lasted until almost two in the morning. His moans of a need for more sleep had been ruthlessly ignored, and he'd been dragged down to the breakfast parlour and plied with strong coffee to, as Broderick said, restore him to consciousness. “I'm grateful to her, of course,” he went on, selecting a steaming buttered crumpet from the dish Thornhill offered. “But, dashitall, there's no telling what the little scamp will get up to next! And these people, whoever they may be…” He paused, not finishing the sentence.

“They mean business,” finished Broderick. “See your point, old fellow. Must keep Courageous Consuela clear of 'em, what?”

Manderville, who had been inspecting the cloisonné vase, shook his head and observed that he could find nothing in the least remarkable about the design. “Save that besides being so cracked, it's a view of your western meadow, mine host.”

Vespa looked up sharply. “It is? How can you know that?”

“By this unlovely object.” Manderville handed the vase to him and pointed out a stunted tree, meticulously detailed. “See how twisted it is? When I rode over to the village for you yesterday, the sun threw its shadow on the grass and my foolish hack was properly spooked. I damn near took a toss.”

“You're right, by George,” muttered Vespa. “Mrs. Nilima spoke the truth to that extent. Mr. Jones used the estate for his subject. It's a pretty thing, but I don't think that's why she was so desperate to have it. What do you say, Toby?”

Broderick, who seemed preoccupied this morning, stared at him blankly.

“Hey!” cried Manderville. “Where are you, Toby?”

Broderick started. “What? Oh, sorry. Let me have a look.”

Vespa passed the vase to him. “I take it there were no further incidents at the Jones cottage, Paige?”

“None.” Manderville grinned. “Your faithful watchman reported all serene, and informed me he is a ‘downy bird'. I shouldn't wonder if he's good at watching, if nothing else. Came out of the bushes like a shadow when I rode up. He says he'll report here to collect further orders from ‘his Captain'. Leered at me sideways as if we shared some very naughty secret, poor chap. Now suppose you spill the beans, Jack. You must have spent some hours with the fabled Stokely before you launched into that derring-do with the Maharajah's daughter, or whatever she is.”

Vespa said thoughtfully, “You know everyone who is anyone in the
ton,
Paige. What do you know of Esmeralda Stokely?”

“You ask
me?
” Manderville laughed. “I'd think your brother would have—” He paused as Broderick slanted an oblique glance at him. “Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry, Jack. No offence. How can I help?”

“By finding out where the pretty widow went after she left the Flower Show yesterday afternoon. When we reached that wisteria arbour, she told me she must check on her roses for a minute and would come back at once. Consuela said that instead she drove away in a great hurry.”

Manderville said, “And you want to know why? By the lord Harry! You don't think she led you into an ambush?”

“Of course I don't, bird-wit,” said Vespa, mildly irritated because Consuela had also jumped to that ridiculous conclusion. “We've been friends for years, and the lady was as good as betrothed to Sherry. She'd never do such a thing. I just wonder if something is wrong. She has a country house near Salisbury. You'll have no trouble finding it.”

“This isn't scratched,” declared Broderick, holding up the vase. “Those little lines are part of the design.”

Closer inspection confirmed his remark. Manderville said curiously, “Now why on earth would Preston Jones do such an odd thing? D'you think it's some kind of code, Toby?”

“It's possible.” Broderick hesitated. “Or Mr. Jones may have been trying some new technique. Artists are always experimenting with this or that. On the other hand … there's an effect that can occur in old paintings, called
pentimento.
I don't know too much about it, but I think it has to do with changes that take place in the lacquer causing something that was painted over to begin to—sort of reappear, in a ghostly kind of way.” He tugged at his earlobe and muttered uncertainly, “But—I wouldn't think that would apply to enamelling.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Manderville. “The sage is baffled! Our Don Toby don't have the answer for once!”

“No, but Miss Jones might,” said Broderick. “Or more likely that art gallery chap you went to see, Jack.”

“Signor da Lentino.” Vespa nodded. “Jolly good idea. Perhaps you wouldn't mind dropping in to have a word with him while you're up there, Paige? His shop is called La Galleria, and—”

“Am I become a maid of all work?” protested Manderville indignantly. “What are you going to be doing while I toil and slave?”

“Taking a bath,” said Vespa. “I must go and see how Consuela is faring after her adventure. The duchess had retired, of course, by the time we got back, but is likely enraged with the poor girl and thinking her hopelessly compromised. I'll have to try and rescue her, and I still smell of Mrs. Nilima's incense.”