Time's Fool (31 page)

He moved nearer and stood looking down at her.

“I hope you are recovered,” she said coolly. “I should have realized last night that you were close to exhaustion, and—”

“Stop it,” he interrupted, his voice stern. “We've more important things to say to each other.”

Naomi stood. “We have nothing to say to each other, unless 'tis—”

She was seized in hands of steel and wrenched to him. With a gasp, she tried to break free, but he jerked her closer and bent his head. His lips found hers, hard and bruisingly. Long years of yearning went into that kiss. Fighting him, struggling, furious, Naomi was unable to break free. He was too strong, and her silly heart was thundering so madly that her mind spun. A wave of ecstasy drowned indignation, propriety, caution, and brought a dizzying need to respond. She seemed to melt against him. Her hands crept up to his shoulders, then slid around his neck, and she was kissing him back with a passion that left her breathless, so that when he at last released her she lay limp and spent in his embrace and hid her heated face against his cravat.

“Oh, Lud!” she gasped feebly. “I fancy everyone in the house saw that.”

He smiled. “Good. Beloved,” he lifted one of her clutching little hands to his lips, “do you not see that we cannot fight the inevitable? You always were meant to be mine. And I always will adore—”

“You forget,” she whispered, striving to be sensible, while her every nerve quivered with love and desire for this ruthless man whose arm held her so wonderfully tight.

“My Holland family?” He sighed. “I should have told you—”

“No. No—pray do not.” She found the strength somehow to pull back and stand erect. “It is no use, Gideon.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I am a rake and a libertine. You are a wanton. But I love you, and you love me. No, never deny it. Just now—”

“That was a moment of weakness.” She bit her lip. “We are farther apart than ever, for now, to add to all else, you suspect my father of heaven knows what infamy. And he has already forbidden me to see you.”

“As has mine,” he said quietly, and nodded as her startled gaze shot to his face. “Sir Mark feels that your sire turned his back when most he was needed.”

Her eyes fell. She said sadly, “So what hope is there for us? We must say goodbye and—”

“When I die, perhaps,” he interposed, seizing her hand again. “What we must do now, my dearest girl, is come at the root of this business. Likely we will find your papa had nought to do with any of it, and—”

“You are too generous,” she said, angry again. “What of
your
papa and the charges brought 'gainst him, not by vague and unfounded suspicions, but by the government and the—”

“So here you are, Gideon.” Majestic in a fine coat of brown velvet embellished with gold braid, Sir Mark had come up unnoticed, and his strident voice cut off Naomi's words.

She jumped and turned very red.

Gideon swung around to meet his father's irate glare. “Good morning, sir. You are early abroad.”

“Aye! Searching for you! While you allowed yourself to be captivated into remaining here, did it never occur to you that your brother, your sister, and I might be anxious for your sake?”

“Your pardon, Sir Mark, but I did not captivate Gideon into remaining here,” said Naomi, irked. “He was completely exhausted by the time we arrived last night, and quite unable to—”

“Well, that is a relief, at least,” declared another voice. The Earl of Collington paced gracefully across the damp grass, the picture of aristocratic elegance in a claret-coloured habit, a jewelled quizzing glass swinging from one white hand, and disdain clearly written on his handsome features. “I think you must have forgot, my lady, but I gave you quite explicit instructions with regard to your future—ah, associations.”

Before Naomi could respond, Sir Mark snarled, “An your instructions had to do with my son, Collington, they were redundant. I have long since ordered Gideon to keep away from your daughter.”

The earl's quizzing glass was raised. Through it, he surveyed first a rebellious beauty, then an icy-eyed young soldier. He smiled faintly. “The captain does not appear to take orders very well. Come, my lady. Your visit here is at an end.”

Gideon said sharply, “My lord, 'tis only fair to warn you—”

“No!” cried Naomi, afraid of what he might say.

Falcon marched across the lawn. He looked dashing, although his dark face was murderous. “My lord … Sir Mark…” His bow was extravagant. “My father will be shattered to have been absent on so
momentous
an occasion. I collect you were unaware he is presently in Sussex.”

Sir Mark had the grace to flush before that cynicism.

“How unfortunate,” murmured the earl.

“Most unfortunate.” Falcon added nastily, “Unless 'twas Rossiter you came to find? Connected with … a meeting, perchance?”

“A damned good notion,” growled Sir Mark, scowling at Collington.

Gideon murmured, “Or a missing chess piece?”

Naomi gave a gasp. Falcon looked puzzled. Sir Mark swore under his breath.

Collington drawled, “Fascinating as is this conversation, alas, I cannot linger. Your servant, messieurs. If you please, Naomi…?”

Keeping her eyes downcast, she put her hand on his arm and he led her away.

*   *   *

“I tell you,” said Gideon earnestly, “that blasted chess piece is bound up in it somehow! I wish to God I knew how!” Clinging to the strap as the coach raced through the late morning, he waited for a response and, receiving none, turned to his friend.

Morris leaned back against the squabs, smiling vacantly at the postilion's back.

“Hey!” said Gideon.

Sighing, Morris murmured, “M'father will adore her. So will the family.”

“Did you hear one word I said, you star-crossed dolt?”

“Ain't star-crossed! I've found the most wonderful girl ever created, and I intend to wed her. What has star-crossed to do with that?”

“Oh, nothing at all. Save perhaps that her brother swears to blow a hole through you, and if you instead blow another hole through him there is some slight possibility he would object to your marrying his sister. In either case you haven't exactly won his esteem, Jamie.”

Blinking, Morris returned to reality. “Who are you to talk of winning esteem? If ever I heard of people living in glass houses and flinging stones! To judge from that scorching scold he dealt you, your honoured sire ain't delighted with you, my Tulip.”

“No,” acknowledged Gideon rather grimly. “My apologies that you were present through it all. He's really not such a bad old fellow. At least, I got you away.”

“So you did.” Morris looked around, frowning. “Away to where, might I ask? And what am I doing in this coach? I was reduced to blancmange after hearing Sir Mark comb you out, and you took advantage of it to kidnap me, damme if you didn't!”

Gideon laughed. “You agreed to come, and I thought it very good of you. But an you wish to be put down…” He reached for the window.

“In this wilderness? What are you about, you villain? I'll have no more of your minor wars, and so I tell you!”

“We're coming into Canterbury, as you'd know did your eyes see aught but Miss Falcon. As to what I'm about—Jamie, I am in a fair way to being convinced that the chess piece Naomi lost is in some way connected with my sire's troubles.”

Morris stared at him. “My idea exactly! The ringleader is that curst chessman. I felt when he was in my pocket that actually,
I
was in
his,
and—” He threw up one arm to protect himself, and having begged for mercy, settled back, laughing. “No, really, dear boy. You must allow 'tis far-fetched. But you'd Collington facing you an hour ago. Why didn't you ask him? An he knew something, he'd likely tell you. Good man, the earl.” Gideon's speculative gaze turned to him, and Morris added reinforcingly, “M'father says so.”

“And how if your sire is mistaken, and Collington is the man behind my father's downfall? A fine figure I should cut asking him for information!”

“Collington?”
Morris groaned and drew a hand across his eyes. “Poor lad, you've a proper rat's nest 'twixt your ears! Why do you not accuse the Archbishop of Canterbury? Or the Lord Mayor of London? We might have as much fun with them.”

Gideon said quietly, “I'll hire another coach in Canterbury, and you can go on to Sevenoaks. I shouldn't involve you, at all events.”

“No, you shouldn't. Mind you, I'd be glad of a brawl did you point me the villain, and say ‘There he stands! Tally ho!' But you're tilting your lance 'gainst every windmill in sight, and each more unlikely than the last! I wonder why I had it fixed in my foolish head 'twas Derrydene you suspected?”

“I do suspect him.” Gideon frowned. “And perhaps I am tilting 'gainst windmills. The devil's in it that I don't know who I'm fighting, Jamie. Dammitall! 'Tis like trying to grapple a shadow.”

“And what shadows do we grapple in Canterbury?”

With a faint grateful smile, Gideon said, “'Tis my hope that the jeweller who repaired that confounded chessman may be able to tell me something.”

“If he ain't connected with the murky business, he'll know nothing. And if he
is
connected with it, we'll likely wind up with our throats cut! Besides, how d'you know which jeweller? There are likely a dozen or so in Canterbury.”

“When Lady Naomi came to Promontory Point that first day, she mentioned a jeweller's shop in Stour Street. It shouldn't be hard to find, surely?”

His optimism proved well founded, and an hour later, the two young men stood on the flagway, gazing at Shumaker's Jeweller's Shoppe.

Morris sighed. “Well, you were right, dear boy. 'Twasn't hard to find.”

A tug at his boot roused Gideon. He glanced down. A tiny monkey with a red shako strapped to his head blinked up at him and waved a tin cup. Mechanically, Gideon took out his purse and dropped a groat into the cup, and the monkey scampered, chattering, to the organ-grinder. That large individual, wearing an ill-fitting scratch wig, and with a purple kerchief knotted around his throat, beamed, and turned the wheel, and the piercing notes of some unidentifiable melody shattered the quiet. Gideon raised one hand, and the organ-grinder stopped, his soulful dark eyes scanning the customer questioningly. “You no like-a da music, signor?”

Stepping into the kennel, Gideon lied, “Very much. But I'd liefer have information. Can you tell me what happened here?”

The big man gave him a pitying look. “It burn-a down.”

“So I see. Do you know when?”

A crafty expression dawned. Twirling his fine moustachios the organ-grinder said, “Might.”

Gideon extracted a florin from his purse, and held it up. “Try. And you need not trouble with the accent.”

The man grinned. “I knowed you was a downy file, Guv'nor. Right y'are, then. The shop catched fire Tuesday night. Poor old Doc was workin' late. The constable says as he fell asleep while he was meltin' dahn some gold, or summat and woke up makin' his excuses to Saint Peter. Funny.”

Much shocked, Morris said, “You've a dashed strange notion of what's amusing! If you want to know, it ain't in the least funny to be burned. I've never burned to death, mind you, but I burned my hand once, and—”

“No disrespeck intended, sir,” interposed the organ-grinder hurriedly.

Gideon asked, “Did you mean that there was something odd about the fire, perhaps?”

“Ar. You got it right, sir! We called Mr. Shumaker ‘Doc,' 'cause he were school eddicated. And—clever? Cor! You shoulda seen the way he could put broke things back tergether. Funny, though, that with a name like Shumaker he were a clockmaker!”

Morris gave a shout of laughter in which the organ-grinder joined heartily. “Now that
is
funny, begad,” Morris agreed. “Blister me, but the fella should better have been called Mr. Time, eh?” The two men howled anew and the monkey jumped up and down chattering excitedly.

When the uproar quieted, Rossiter said, “Is that all you have to tell me, Mr. Organ-grinder?”

The big man wiped his eyes with an end of the purple kerchief, and said breathlessly that Doc had been a very tidy worker. “You'd never a thunk he'd cause no fire. He'd a good trade, poor chap. The gentry useter come wi' their timepieces from miles around, they did. Workin' on summat o'yourn, was he, Guv?”

“I'd heard of his work. I pity his widow. Does she live nearby?”

“Useter. Gone now, poor creeter.”

Morris inserted, “I say! Was she killed too?”

“No, sir. Moved away, she did. Yestiday. Her brother come and helped her pack up. Poor old mort. I 'spect she couldn't stand bein' all alone. So she upped and went to live wi' her brother. Not that he was no bargain, by the look of him.”

“Had she no friends hereabouts who would have stood by her?”

The organ-grinder fingered his chins, pondering the matter. “Yus and no. Doc had. But his missus—a queer sorta woman, she was, if ever I see one. 'Course, they all is, ain't they? Women I mean. All touched in the upper works, one way or t'other. But that Mrs. Shumaker—Cor! I dunno how Doc coulda stood her! Nervous as two cats in a thunderstorm, she were. I come up behind her once. Bright as terday it was, and bein' a kind-hearted soul and meanin' no harm, I says, ‘Mornin', ma'am.' That's all. Jest—‘Mornin', ma'am.' And she goes straight up in the air and gives a screech like a ungreased wheel, then gallops orf dahn the road so that everyone's a-starin' at me and wonderin' if I give her a pinch where I shouldn't oughter. Me face was that red it pretty nigh catched light all by itself it did! No tellin' what a woman like that'll do next, is there?”