The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake (29 page)

“Don't sulk,” said Lady Abigail.

“I am not—And why—And besides, he is
not
ineligible, Grandmama. At least, he won't be when he has cleared his name.”

“And come into a nice fortune and a title and will leave the army—eh?”

Cecily's chin lifted. She said defiantly, “He has what he calls a comfortable competence, plus his army pay. And—and his grandmother has promised to leave him a very nice property in Gloucestershire, when she goes to her reward.”

“His … grandmother,” mused her ladyship, taking a mental inventory of the elder
ton
dowagers. “That would be Lady Adair's mama, who lives ‘out of the world' in Gloucestershire as I recall.…
Rondelay?
” Her lips pursed and her brows lifted. “Oho! A ‘very nice property,' indeed! But nothing to your own fortune, my love. And you may aim as high as you please.”

“I have,” said Cecily, her eyes becoming very tender.

Lady Abigail shook her head. “People who fall in love so quickly very often fall out of love just as quickly. It will pass, child. You are dazzled by a handsome young soldier who is the more romantical because the world has treated him cruelly.”

“The world and his family,” muttered Cecily, frowning at a tree that had fallen by the side of the road.

“Hmm,” said her ladyship smugly. “Well, I think I have put a spoke in that particular wheel.”

Cecily's face lit up. “You have? Is that where you went last evening? To talk to his father?”

“His father—pish! I've no patience with the Viscount or that selfish wife of his. Don't
tug
at me, child! Oh, very well—if you must know, I went to see the General. And you may believe I put a flea in his ear!”

Awed, Cecily half-whispered, “You never did! How brave you are! Did he listen to you?”

“If he hadn't I'd have boxed his ears, as I should have done fifty years ago when he—But never mind about that. Now tell me why I am here, and what you mean to—Good gracious, has Peters lost his wits? Why do we turn into a nunnery?”

“Because,” said Cecily conspiratorially, “I believe there is something very odd going on here—something that Hastings is trying to find out about.”

“What possible connection—Here comes someone. Now that is a fine-looking woman!”

The footman opened the carriage door and let down the steps.

“But how nice that we shall have the visitors,” said the Mother Superior, coming gracefully towards them.

“Heavens!” hissed Lady Abigail. “She is French! You never think…?”

“We'll try to find out,” said Cecily.

14

“I apologize for calling at the Hall, sir.” Hastings had not expected his father to be up at this early hour, and seated opposite him in the morning room he said, “I promise I won't disturb you above a minute, but—”

“I am disturbed to hear of one lurid escapade after another.” Lord Esterwood, immaculate in morning dress, laid aside
The Times
and asked coldly, “Is it truth that you are to meet Thorne Webber?”

“Actually, sir, we—er, already met.”

“Ah.” His lordship said drily, “Knowing your marksmanship, dare I hope that you refrained from killing the fellow? Or are you on the point of flying the country?”

“Neither. Webber had choice of weapons, you see, and—”

“He'd have been a fool to—” His lordship's eyes widened. “Good God!
Swords?
”

Adair nodded.

“And you survived? You must have polished your skills considerably since the last time I saw you fence! But I could wish you'd come to tell me of it before the fact, rather than after.”

“To say truth, father, I did not come to talk about the duel. I am most anxious to talk to Nigel. The General tells me he is from Town. Do you know if he has returned to Oxford?”

“I think not. Nigel has not been seen for days. I sent a message to his Tutor, and he's evidently not been in Oxford either.” His lordship hesitated, then said frowningly, “He may be drowning his sorrows in dissipation, I suppose. But my enquiries have turned up no trace of the tiresome boy.”

Hastings rose. “I shall hope to have better luck, sir.”

Standing also, Lord Esterwood said, “If I were you, I'd give him time to cool down. The General thinks he is enamoured of this poor Prior girl, and that he holds you responsible for her disappearance…”

“He does, sir.” Hastings muttered, “If only he had confided in me…” He shrugged impatiently. “Well, he didn't. The poor lad is probably searching for her. I must find him, so with your permission, I'll take myself off.”

“To go—where?” asked Lord Esterwood, accompanying him into the corridor.

“First, to see my Uncle Willoughby.”

“I doubt you'll find Nigel there.”

Adair doubted it, too. But he had other reasons for riding down to Woking.

*   *   *

Professor Anton Broderick was tall, thin, and stoop-shouldered. His luxuriant grey hair was worn short but contrived to curl despite his efforts, which were not very stringent, since Mrs. Broderick liked his curls. Behind his spectacles his pale blue eyes were shrewd. He was thought by many to be inflexible and autocratic, but his wife, to whom he was devoted, loved him, and, although he was a stern disciplinarian, his children respected and were fond of him. In one sense he was a rarity among learned gentlemen, for he was tidy and well organized and not in the least absent-minded. Seated at the neat desk in his study, poring over an account of the death of Socrates as recorded in the original Greek, he looked up when a familiar voice called a cheery “Good morning, sir. May I come in?”

“Now there's a damn-fool question!” The professor, who was famed for his salty language, set aside the manuscript and stood to welcome his son with a strong handshake. “Of course you may, Tobias. I thought you'd gone back to France. Never tell me the war is over?”

Toby said with a grin that it was not, and that he was in England on detached service.

“Ah, yes.” The professor walked around the desk and occupied one of the armchairs before the hearth. “That ugly business with Sir Kendrick Vespa, I take it? One might think that a bright fellow like Jack would do better than have a murderous traitor for his father. You have to testify, of course. Give that curst bell-rope a tug, will you? Now come and sit down, my boy, and we'll have something to eat. Or would you prefer a flesh-and-blood or some less gut-rotting liquid libation?”

Perfectly aware that his father would have been shocked had he asked for so potent a drink as gin and port at this time of the day, Toby laughed and when a housemaid bobbed a curtsy and asked their pleasure, he put in a bid for hot chocolate and toasted crumpets. His father's eyebrows lifted, and he said by way of explanation, “Beastly cold out, sir. And it's a long drive from Town.”

“It is,” agreed the professor, lighting his clay pipe with a taper from the fire. “I wonder you essayed it. Seen your mama and the girls already, have you? So now it's my turn. Are you here to tell me you've wangled your way closer to becoming a Don?”

Tobias thought it best to evade that question and said he hoped his sire was not so disappointed in him that he was an unwelcome visitor. “Don't mean to disown me because Oxford doesn't want me, do you, Papa?”

“As your friend Adair has been disowned? The hell I do! I expect great things from you, my boy. When you've matured sufficiently to listen to your brain cells.”

In another rather desperate evasion, Toby said, “So you know about Hastings Adair.”

His father shrugged. “I'd suppose all England knows. Some vindictive bastard has certainly gone to great lengths to ensure that fact.”

“Jupiter! Guessed that, did you? I'm not surprised; you don't miss much. It's a strange business, sir. Hasty's a good man and don't deserve the trap he's been caught in.”

“You really believe him innocent, then?”

“Oh, absolutely. He'd no more harm a young girl than you would!”

“Your filial loyalty is touching,” said the professor drily. “I shall endeavour to live up to it. What do you want of me?”

At this point the maid returned with a laden tray, and both men applied themselves to the contents.

After a comfortable interval, Tobias said around a buttered crumpet, “I'd like your opinion, sir. If I lay it out before you, I'll go bail you'll solve the riddle in jig time!”

This blind trust so pleased his parent that aside from a request that Tobias be as brief and succinct as possible he listened politely while the facts were made known to him. “The thing is,” his son finished, “Adair believed Thorne Webber was behind it all, only Webber laughed at him and said he'd had no part in it.”

“And why in Hades would Adair pay heed to what a clod like Webber said?”

“Oh—well, they were—er, engaged in a beast of a duel at the time, and Webber meant to despatch Hasty, and we think he'd have been more likely to crow at that point than—”

“Adair fought
Webber?
I wonder Webber had time to say anything, much less have the slightest chance of putting a period to your friend. I have it on excellent authority that Colonel Hastings Adair is such a good shot that few men in London would care to face him.”

“That's quite true, sir, but Webber chose swords and Hasty's at sixes and sevens with a small-sword.”

“Good God! You were at this debacle, I take it? You're bloody well fortunate that you weren't all hauled off to the Watch House! Was Adair much hurt?”

“No, very slightly,” Tobias said with enthusiasm. “We were sure he'd fall but he kept going like a dashed Trojan, and when we thought he was quite against the ropes, managed a Time Thrust! Gad! If you could have seen it—”

“Had I known of it I'd have called in the Runners at once! Trojan, indeed! Of all the confounded ridiculous and outmoded exhibitions of male egotism, dueling is—” The professor took a deep breath, and said in a calmer tone, “But I'd best not get started down that road! Does Adair still hold Webber to be his secret enemy? If he does, he's a fool. I observed Thorne Webber during his brief and deplorable sojourn at Queen's. The fellow is a crudity who hides abysmal ignorance by charging through life like an angry bull, though with a deal less sense. He'd not come up with a devious plot like that in a million years!”

“He told Adair to look closer to home, and Adair now suspects—er, well, in strict confidence, sir, he's troubled because his Uncle Willoughby keeps all those Lists and—”

Professor Broderick gave a shout of laughter. “Balderdash! If ever I met a thimble-wit, it's Willoughby Chatteris! The fellow's head is full of maggots! The best one could say of him is that he rarely opens his mouth and is kind to his late brother's family—or whatever they are.” Toby looked at him sharply, but he went on, “No, no, my boy. Adair will find no fish to fry in that direction. I'm sorry for his boringly stiff-rumped diplomatist of a brother. Hudson Adair wanted that Cabinet appointment to distraction, and I must own he worked for it. Lost it now, of course.”

Surprised, Tobias said, “What, have they chose someone else?”

“I had it from Holland that there were three contenders.”

“You wouldn't know—er…?”

The professor reached for a tablet and pencil and wrote down three names, then handed the paper to his son.

“Dash it all!” exclaimed Tobias, deeply shocked. “Do you say this fellow atop the list is a favoured candidate? You can't be serious!”

“As I understand it, he may very well have been confirmed by this time. And why that should surprise you I cannot imagine.”

“But—but the holder of that position wields great influence in Whitehall! Hudson Adair may be stiff-rumped, as you say, sir, but he knows what international diplomacy and financing is all about. A few cork-brained mistakes in that quarter could affect the entire war effort!”

“But, of course! My poor boy, did you really expect a sound and sensible choice?”

Tobias whistled softly and repeated, “Dash it all!”

*   *   *

Adair reached Blackbird Terrace early in the afternoon only to be denied entry by the gatekeeper. Bailey apologized profusely; he couldn't guess what maggot had got into the master's head, but he had his orders.

Irritated, Adair turned Toreador aside and rode a quarter-mile to a lower part of the wall. The dapple-grey cleared it neatly and Adair cantered him across the park quite aware of the faint cheer that emanated from the gatekeeper. He left Toreador in the care of a scared-looking stable-boy and entered the house by the rear door. There were some squeaks from the kitchen maids, which he ignored, and he was glancing into the drawing room when Willoughby Chatteris came running down the stairs, waving his arms and shouting his resentment that Hastings dare defy his orders to keep away.

“I saw you jump our, ah, wall, and I know—er, why you're here,” he shrilled. “You mean to read my Lists! Well, you'll—you'll set eyes on them over my—er, dead body! Go, confound your impudence! Leave this house before I—er, fetch my pistols and—”

Still baffled by this militant stranger, Hastings said icily, “Then you had best get them, Uncle. I've every reason to believe your Lists are in some way a threat to this nation, and I mean to see for myself what treachery you've been about!”

Willoughby's jaw dropped. “You've lost your wits!” he gasped. “Mad! Stark-raving—”

“
Bonjour, mon cher
Will,” called a musical feminine voice.

Both men turned. Adair was taken aback to see the Mother Superior from the Nunnery of the Blessed Spirit standing in the open doorway, as poised and gracious as ever. She had said “Will”; he glanced at his uncle curiously.