The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (35 page)

Vespa snarled, “Oh, for lord's sake, stop flirting with her, Paige! You know it's not safe for her to be frippering about over here in the daylight, much less after dark.”

“Well, before I take the lady home, she shall have some sustenance.” Manderville hurried to the kitchen. “Harper, you rogue! Leave some of that for Miss Jones.”

Consuela settled herself before the fire, holding out her hands to the flames. “Brrr. Autumn really is upon us. It will rain all night by the look of things. And you will not have to rouse your lazy self and escort me, Captain John Wansdyke Vespa. Watts drove me here in the carriage. And that is a great waste of a good scowl. I knew by the way you rushed off this afternoon that you have found out something, and you are
not
going to shut me out! What has happened? You'll have no peace until you tell me, I warn you.”

Broderick glanced at Vespa uneasily. “Well, er—”

“Your friend da Lentino is dead,” said Vespa, not mincing words. “We believe it may have been murder.”

Consuela came to her feet. Her face paper white, she gasped, “No! Oh—never say so! He is—was such a dear, kind … old…”

Vespa sprang forward, and caught her as she swayed.

Coming back into the room with a laden plate held high, Manderville said, “A supper fit for a princess, if I say— Jupiter! What have you done to her?”

“Frightened the poor girl half to death,” said Broderick, flapping his napkin at Consuela's face. “Really, Jack! Of all the clumsy chawbacons!”

“Monster!” cried Manderville, putting down the plate and rushing forward. “Let me take her! What did you do to so upset the lady?”

Aghast, Vespa held Consuela close and guided her back into the chair, then dropped to one knee beside it. “Let be! I have her! I never meant to—”

“Yes, you did,” accused Broderick. “You were cross because she came here, so you tried to frighten her away!”

“I only meant to—”

“Give her a heart seizure,” said Manderville, kneeling by Consuela's chair and chafing her hand. “Villian! And after all she's done!”

Remorseful, Vespa patted Consuela's head, and stammered, “I'm truly very sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize—”

“That I have any feelings, no?” Consuela opened tear-wet eyes and blinked at him. “You think you are the only one who may grieve! Did it not occur to you that Signor da Lentino was my good friend? That now I must blame myself because—because, perhaps…” She gulped into silence.

“No, no. You're not in the least to blame.” Vespa wiped away the tear that crept down her cheek. “Forgive. I'm a clumsy clod, just as Paige said.”

“I said it, not him!” argued Broderick.

“Please don't cry,” begged Vespa. “We'll tell you everything, if only you'll promise not to go running yourself into danger again.”

Consuela sniffed and said unsteadily, “Very well … I—I promise not to run into danger.”

*   *   *

Vespa guided his curricle through the rainy afternoon towards his aunt's large house overlooking Tunbridge Wells. His thoughts were on his friends and what success they might have had. Two nights ago they'd decided on their plan of action: Broderick would race up to Shrewsbury and see if he could trace Sir Montmorency Gridden, the violent-tempered gentleman who had been so disappointed when he was unable to purchase Preston Jones' paintings. Manderville was to go to Salisbury and learn all he could of the gallery owner's tragic death, and also see if there was any more news of Esmeralda Stokely. He himself was to investigate the gentleman who had actually purchased the paintings: Mr. Leonard Harrison of Partridge Towers.

His search through Tunbridge Wells had been unsuccessful. There was no Partridge Towers to be found. After much enquiry he had at last located a Mr. Leonard Harrison; a very jolly fat man, the proprietor of a fish market, who had never heard of Signor da Lentino and knew nothing of art. He gladly listed numerous male relatives, but there were no other Leonards, nor did he know of a Partridge Towers in the locality. He could however, he said by way of consolation, offer Captain Vespa some fine lobsters at a bargain price.

At first declining this generous offer, Vespa had then decided to accept it. The afternoon was chill and wet, the horses were tired, he was tired, and the headache that had plagued him all day gave every indication of developing into one of the vicious attacks he dreaded and that made the slightest movement unbearable. He knew his aunt would be pleased to see him, and he could rack up at her house for the night and get an early start back to Dorsetshire tomorrow morning, hopefully
sans
the confounded anvil in his head.

The most logical course would have been for him to first question his aunt, who was well acquainted in the town. But Lady Antonia Wansdyke, blessed with an amiable temper and a merry sense of humour, could suddenly become extremely lachrymose. She had adored Sherry and the sight of Jack invariably sent her into an orgy of sorrowful nostalgia, culminating in floods of tears. Even so, with the lobsters for companions, he eventually turned his team up the hill and barely missed a high-perch phaeton that came tearing around the corner on the wrong side of the road.

“Imbecile!” shouted Vespa, reining in his animals and brandishing his whip at the phaeton.

He was answered by a flood of indignation; the phaeton swung around and pulled up alongside, a scant two inches from his wheels. “Are you daft?” roared the infuriated young army officer who glared down at him. “If I—Good Gad!
Jack?
You old makebait!” A delighted grin lit the ‘imbecile's' handsome features, and he reached out a gauntletted hand. “By Jove, you're still alive after all!”

Equally pleased, Vespa slid across the seat and wrung the outstretched hand. “Leith! What the deuce are you doing on this side of the stream? Despatches again?”

Colonel the Honourable Tristram Leith nodded. “A flying visit, you might say. But never mind about me. I'd heard you were knocked down at Vitoria. I must say you look pretty spry for a corpse!”

“Then say it somewhere else, sir!” roared a red-faced and irate gentleman, leaning from the window of his ponderous travelling coach. “Be damned if you confounded Hyde Park soldiers don't behave as though you owned the whole blasted country! You're taking up the whole blasted road, curse you! Move, sir! Move, I say!”

“Jove!” muttered Leith,
sotto voce.
“Very sorry, sir! At once, sir!”

The two young men guided their vehicles to a grassy spot at the side of the road and the big coach rumbled past, its owner glaring at them from the window.

Leith climbed down, tethered his horses and swung into the curricle.

“That'll teach you to call me a corpse, Hyde Park soldier,” said Vespa laughingly.

Leith, who had seen more than his share of action, grinned, but his dark eyes scanned this good friend's face with obvious anxiety. To Vespa's relief, there was no comment as to his altered appearance. Instead, they exchanged polite enquiries as to their various family members, then Leith asked, “Are you at your town house, or do you stay in Richmond?”

“Neither, actually. I came into a small estate not far from Salisbury, and am enjoying country air untainted by smoke, shell or shot.”

“The quiet life, eh? I'll likely do the same when Boney's tale is told.”

Vespa laughed. “I wish I may see it! London's
beau idéal,
wrenched away from the fascinations of Town? Gad, how would Almack's survive?” He glanced around and asked softly, “How does his lordship go on, Tris? Bristly, as usual?”

“More so,” groaned Leith, who was on Wellington's staff and idolized the general. “He stamped and swore uphill and down because some of the fellows stabled their horses in a churchyard, and I wonder that peculiar barometer he hauls about hasn't melted, the way he glares at it. Stupid thing always points to ‘Rain'.”

“How he must hate it for proving right. If rumour speaks truth, he's to have Peacocke to replace poor Cadogan. He'll love that!”

“The sparks fly, my boy! Be grateful you're no longer wearing the blue uniform. Nor is he in alt. over that other business. Remember the heated exchange when you and I stood by, trembling, while old Picton ranted and raved because Whitehall was convinced Boney was about to invade England?”

“How could I forget? Picton said that if the great minds at home were so sure we'd fail, they'd best start preparing, before there was fighting in the streets of London. There was some talk of”—Vespa glanced around again—“a subsidiary arsenal in case Woolwich fell into French hands. I take it that notion was tabled.”

“Not so.” Leith met his eyes steadily. “Strictest confidence, Jack. And his lordship don't like it above half.”

“Why? Have they opted for the Scottish Highlands or somewhere equally remote?”

“No. The West Country, in fact. He just thinks it indicates a complete lack of confidence in his ability to put Boney to rout. He has his full quota of pride, you know.”

“Doesn't he just! And justified, God bless his irascibility. Any chance of your coming down to my old house for a day or two, Tris?”

“Old, is it?”

“Ancient. And haunted into the bargain.”

Leith, who had a fondness for historical houses, groaned. “What a temptation! But alas, I can't. I'm promised to Garret Hawkhurst, and I've to be back in Spain next week.”

“Confound it, you'll be passing within a few miles of my house! I could have put you up for one night, anyway. You never hope to drive straight through to Bath?”

“I'm not so stalwart—or stupid! But with luck if I nudge my cattle along I can reach Basingstoke, and I'll overnight there. Wish I didn't have to rush off, Jack. Keep that invitation open for me, will you?”

Vespa assured him it would always be open, and watched the young colonel send his phaeton off, then pull up his horses, turn back, stand, and offer him a sharp salute. He returned the gesture, thinking what a good fellow was the dashing Leith. They had shared some hectic experiences before and during their army days. When he turned his weary team through the gates a few minutes later and waved to the gatekeeper, his thoughts were still with Leith and the hope that he would come home safely when the war was won, and take up his invitation.

Lady Antonia, the relict of his mother's only brother, was a large, untidy woman, who, as Sir Kendrick was wont to remark, always looked as if she had not quite finished dressing. Despite a tendency to absent-mindedness which sometimes resulted in guests arriving to find they were not expected, she had a wide circle of friends, for she liked to have people around her, and exuded warmth and affection. She received Vespa as though he was the answer to her prayers, thanked him profusely for the lobsters, which would be “so welcome” since they were to sit down twenty to dinner tonight, scolded him for not having come straight to her, and hovered over him with barely concealed anxiety.

His assurances that he was feeling “very fit” were received with obvious scepticism. Her two youngest boys were at home, and learning that their magnificent cousin had arrived, rushed to welcome him, their howls of joy augmented by the barking of their three fox terriers. Vespa was fond of the pair, and returned their affectionate greetings, but the uproar seemed to split his head. Lady Antonia had watched him carefully, and five minutes later he was stretched out on a chaise-longue in a quiet bedchamber, a fire licking cosily up the chimney and the window curtains closed.

He awoke some three hours later, when a footman crept in to announce that his dinner would be carried up on a tray. He felt refreshed, however; mercifully, his headache was gone, and having washed and put on a clean shirt, he hurried downstairs to join the dinner guests. His aunt welcomed him, and he was not greatly surprised to find that they were to dine alone, the lady having, as usual, confused the dates, so that her party was actually scheduled for the following evening.

“I am so glad, Jack,” she confided, when they were seated at the table enjoying an excellent dinner, “that you have come to me. Though it was such a surprise, I could scarce believe my eyes when you walked in!”

He laughed. “No, Aunt, do not roast me. I am not
that
remiss in my attentions, am I?”

“Never, darling boy.” She leant to pat his hand fondly. “Indeed, from the time you and Sherry went off to school…” She paused, looking wistful, and Vespa's nerves tightened as he prepared for the recollections of his brother that were so hard to bear. He was relieved when she said briskly, “But never mind about that. The thing is that I saw your poor dear Mama only yesterday, and”—she glanced at the butler and the maid who hovered about the table, and closed her lips suggestively—“well, we can discuss it after dinner.”

“But—you said ‘poor' Mama. My mother is not ill, I hope?”

Her laugh was a trifle too shrill. “No, no. Though you know how the dear soul does carry on. Now, tell me what brings you to the Wells, for I don't flatter myself you came to see your old aunt. A charming young damsel, perchance?”

Uneasy, he deferred to her wishes and asked her about Partridge Towers and Mr. Leonard Harrison. Lady Antonia searched her memory, but could recall neither house nor gentleman, and her butler and maid having been applied to were no more helpful.

Since he was the only guest, Vespa did not stay in the dining room alone, but took his port in the drawing room with his aunt, and the moment the door had closed behind the servants, asked about her reference to his mother.

“Well,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and lowering her voice dramatically, “I was in Town yesterday, my love, and called in upon dear Faith, of course. I found her—devastated!” She leant back and nodded at him, her eyes bright and her chin tucked in as she reiterated solemnly, “Devastated!”