Had We Never Loved (20 page)

“'Tis my affair because Katrina is my friend. And were you not entirely too high-in-the-instep”—his angry gasp caused her to rush on before he could voice his indignation,—“you would stop making it your life's work to offend everyone, besides bullying Katrina. But for you, she would be happily wed by now.”

“Yes, to some stupid clod like—” He frowned to a sudden suspicion. “Speaking of which, an you came to see my sister, why are you not with her?”

She had been anticipating this question, and said demurely, “Because she went into the house. For a moment.”

“Oh.” He looked mildly embarrassed, but he had learned not to underestimate this frail-seeming girl, and asked, “Did Ross—I mean, did your brother drive you here?”

She said mischievously, “You have my permission to call him Ross, sir. Many of his
friends
do so. No—do not fly into the boughs. Jamie brought me.”

At once inflamed, he sprang to his feet.

“Wait!” Starting up also, she moved too fast and, lacking the support of her cane, she stumbled and fell.

Perforce, he had to help her, but said, seething, “You did that deliberately!”

She fastened a death grip on his arm. “Now, August, for mercy's sake! Give Jamie a moment with her. She has a kindness for him, I do believe. And he adores her, and is such a good man. What harm—”

“A
good man
is it? He is an idiot, madam! He has not two brains to rub together, his family is of mediocre background, and his prospects are insignificant! When I find a man worthy of Katrina—”

“You never will,” she gasped, clinging like a limpet as he tried to break free. “In your bitterness and pride, you will demand a prince of the blood. And—and even did you ever find one, he'd likely prove to be the very man to make her
un
happy!”

“If any man—ever—makes Katrina unhappy—” he began through gritted teeth, then paused as her eyes slipped past him.

Mr. Neville Falcon, glorious in green and mauve, was hurrying towards them. “'Pon my soul, August,” he panted, mopping his heated brow. “How you peck at me because I love the pretties, and here you are, fondling Miss Gwendolyn where all the servants can goggle. How de do, m'dear?”

His son's finely chiseled jaw sagged. Releasing Miss Rossiter as though she were white hot, he uttered faintly, “Fondling…?”

It was too much for Gwendolyn. She went into such whoops of laughter that Apollo became alarmed and, rushing to her side, began to growl at the most likely culprit.

Neville retreated at speed, calling over his shoulder, “I cannot deal with it, m'boy. Weeping women! Ghastly! I'm a coward, I know, but … there you are.” And he vanished through the gate and into the alley.

Two words broke through August's stupefaction.
Weeping women.
“Katrina!” he whispered, and sprinted to the house.

He entered through the large dining room, and at once heard Morris' voice, an odd note to it, coming from the red saloon. “Damn the swine,” growled August, and racing on with murder in his heart, plunged into the room and stopped abruptly.

The Countess of Bowers-Malden was seated on the gold velvet chaise-longue, handkerchief in hand, and head bowed. A pallid Lieutenant James Morris hovered over her, holding a wineglass and looking petrified.

“But he was not at the Cranfords,” the countess was explaining in a quavering voice. “So I went up that dreadful Snow Hill to Sir Mark Rossiter's house, but … they had not seen him. I could not speak to—to Newby, you know.” She looked up at Morris pathetically.

“No, no,” he gulped, shoving the wine at her. “All straw and no grain, what?”

Grinning, Falcon backed away.

Gwendolyn hurried up to peep around him, and gave him a little shove. “Well, go on! Go on!”

“Devil I will,” he whispered, ducking into the hall and easing the door to. “It's that awful Bowers-Malden dowager.”

Indignant, she argued, “But the poor lady sounds distressed.”

“So would I be an I went in there!”

“Lieutenant Morris is likely terrified, but at least
he's
trying to help.” The Crusading Look came into her blue eyes and her lips pursed up.

Unmoved, he hissed, “'Tis what comes of being a fatuous and noble block. But you, of course, will be eager to offer him your equally fatuous support.
En avant, mes enfant!
”

Pleased with that snide little speech, he started off.

Gwendolyn grabbed the skirts of his coat. “So here you are, Mr. Falcon,” she shrilled at the top of her lungs. “Lady Bowers-Malden has come to see you!”

At once Morris could be heard galloping across the room. Falcon turned a bared-teeth snarl on Gwendolyn, who put one finger under her chin and curtsied.

Morris flung open the door. “Thank G-God!” he stammered, seizing Falcon by the arm with the desperation of a drowning man. “Here he is, my lady!”

“Damn you,” hissed Falcon, tearing free. “An that treacherous Glendenning ever appears for our duel, you'll pay for this!”

Her ladyship had risen, and she reached out appealingly. Falcon had no recourse but to himself
‘en avant,'
and bow over her hand.

“I would not have come to you,” she said, her face haggard with strain, “for I know you are not a—a close friend of Horatio's but—”

Gwendolyn ran to put an arm about her. “Poor dear lady,” she said, all tender sympathy. “Of course you should have come. My brother will be so sorry he was not in London when you needed him, but he has taken Naomi down to Devonshire for a few days. How fortunate that the lieutenant and Mr. Falcon are here, for you know they are only too glad to assist any lady in distress.”

Yearning to wring her neck, Falcon said nothing.

Of a far more gallant nature, Morris took up the wineglass once more, and muttered staunchly that he would “be honoured.”

Falcon led Lady Nola back to the chaise-longue. “Perhaps you will tell us the nature of your difficulty, ma'am,” he said, very obviously bored. “I have obligations, alas, which may forbid I be of service, but I feel sure that my father—”

“Pray do not be foolish, August,” said her ladyship, too distraught to temper her notorious tendency towards outspokenness. “Neville is a dear soul, but 'twould be as well to pit a mouse 'gainst the Minotaur.”

Morris stared at her uncertainly.

Falcon's chin went up and his eyelids drooped. “You must tell us which Cretan has offended,” he drawled, watching the swing of his quizzing glass.

Gwendolyn gave him a sizzling glare, relieved Morris of the wine, and carried it to Lady Nola.

My lady took a sip, the glass trembling in her hand. “A man—came to see me,” she said. “He is—is called … Burton Farrier.”

“Oh! Great jumping Jupiter!” exclaimed Lieutenant Morris.

CHAPTER VIII

Sitting at the kitchen table beside Glendenning, Amy said worriedly, “But he says they wasn't
chals,
Ab!”

Absalom glowered down at the sketch in his hands, and gave a scornful grunt. “'Course they was. Been after us since I got you outta the tribe, ain't they? 'Sides, they likely want to get their hands on young Florian and that donkey and cart they say he stole, and they'd think as he might be along of us. Don't be listening to what any Quality cove tells ye, my lass.” He shot Glendenning a look of burning resentment. “Tricky as a barrel o' monkeys, every last one. Oughta be done away with, says I, or put where they can't—”

“Have done!” Glendenning's voice fairly cracked across that bitter flow. Amy jumped, and Absalom's mouth hung open with surprise. “An I am right,” Glendenning went on grimly, “you and Amy are in real peril. And not from
chals.
I have heard more than enough of your rantings, Consett, and I've held my tongue because you've been kind to Amy. And also because I respect genius, and 'tis very clear that you are a brilliant artist whom the world has ignored for too long.”

Amy gave a squeal of excitement and hugged her uncle impulsively.

Absalom flushed brick red. Dumbfounded, he tore off his scruffy wig and wiped a purple kerchief over his shaven head. “Be jiggered,” he muttered.

“We may all be jiggered unless you answer my questions,” said Glendenning.

“Ask then. But be danged if I can see what—”

“When you took Amy away from the tribe, did the
chals
follow you here?”

“What, d'ye take me for a flat? They follered, but I give 'em the slip, proper.”

“Then nobody in the tribe knew you had moved in here?”

“Not nohow. For why? 'Cause we hadn't found it. Not for half a year, about, eh lass?”

Amy nodded, her gaze anxious again, and fixed on Glendenning's stern face. “And they didn't find us fer a long time after that, Tio,” she explained. “They must've seen us at one of the fairs, or when we was on the roads, and follered us. But when we set the ghost after 'em, I thought we'd frightened 'em off for good.”

“I rather suspect you had.” Glendenning lifted a hand as they both began to talk at once. “Consett, I want you to be very sure about this. You say that you had made some small repairs for a jeweller in Canterbury, and that you were in his shop one day when two gentlemen brought in a little figure”—he took the sketch from Absalom's hand—“like this.”

“Aye. 'Twas very old, and valuable, they said. But some fool had dropped it and a piece broke off, and two of the stones had fallen out.”

“Did you speak to these gentlemen?”

“Lor'—no! More'n I'd dare do! Mr. Shumaker—he was the jeweller, dead now, poor cove—he didn't want none of his customers to know he didn't do all the work hisself. No, mate. I was hid away in the back.”

“And when they'd gone, the jeweller asked you to repair the figure?”

“Right ye are. Poor old Shumaker was afraid of 'em, and didn't dare offend, but he says he couldn't get the work done so soon as they wanted. It was a tricky business, mind yer, and took time, and he had some other gents already complaining 'cause they was having to wait. Rich folk,” said Absalom, fixing Glendenning with a hard stare, “allus think their work should be done first.”

“Were you able to complete it in time?”

“By the skin o' me teeth.” Reminded, Absalom shook his head glumly. “Me poor teeth, what hates me! Still, I got it done at last, and a funny little thing it was, eh, Amy?”

“Yes, in fact—
Now
what's the matter?”

Glendenning steadied himself. “
You
saw this figure, Amy?”

“'Course she did. I done the work right here, mate.”

“Yes … You said that the jade was broken.”

“So 'twas, but—Hey! It don't say nothing here 'bout it being jade. How'd you know that?”

“I held it in my hands, sometime after you repaired it, I believe.” They both stared at him, and the viscount added, “It didn't look to have been broken.”

Amy said proudly, “When Uncle Ab does a job, it's done right.”

“Thankee, lass. But that were a funny sorta job. Pink jade's rare, but the gents found some. And
particular?
I never see the like of it. They'd got one of the rubies what was lost, but Shumaker had to find another just the right size, and, what with the repair to the jade—cor! I wasn't sure I could do it. Not so exact as they wanted.”

Glendenning asked intently, “How exact?”

“To measure the same, to the last fraction of a inch, as it was before it was broke. And to weigh not a featherweight more nor less than what they'd writ down. Phew! When I took it back to poor Mr. Shumaker, we neither of us dared hope I got it right. But 'twixt his giving me three rubies to choose among, and me allowing for the weight of the glue—well, we done it. Though what in the world that's got to do with them bullies what grabbed you in the woods, is more'n I can see.”

“I think,” said Glendenning, frowning, “it may have everything to do with it. Tell me now, and think carefully, when was the last time you scared the
chals
away?”

They looked at each other, and finally agreed it had been about two years.

“We thought 'twas over at last,” said Amy ruefully. “But just recent they started creeping about at night, so we knowed—knew we'd have to get our ghost out again soon.”

“And this new outbreak of searching for you began before, or after, you worked on the little figure?”

Absalom gasped. “Why—'twere after. You'll mind, Amy? About the same time we heard poor Mr. Shumaker's shop had burned down and him in it, rest his soul!”

She nodded. “Early in April, Tio. But—why?”

General Underhill had warned them all, Rossiter, Falcon, Morris, and himself, that they were not to speak of the conspiracy they suspected. Glendenning chose his words with care. “I believe they think you know something, and they want you dead, so you'll not speak of it.”

Amy sprang up and clung to Absalom, and he slipped an arm about her. “You're frightening my girl,” he said severely. “If this be some kind of joke, I don't like it.”

“Good God! D'you think I would joke about such a thing? Now—one more question, if you please. You said two gentlemen brought the figure to Shumaker's shop. Did you see them? Even from the back?”

“No, sir.” Absalom checked, biting his lip in chagrin that the courtesy title had escaped him. Glendenning gave no sign of having noticed the slip, and Absalom went on quickly, “I see their shadows, and that's all. They was both tall men. Taller'n you. One bigger built than t'other.”

“What about their speech? Any lisp, or accent—or something of the kind?”

Absalom shook his head. “Gents. Talked fancy—like you.” He considered, then added, “Only other thing I recollect was that one of 'em hummed all the time.” He looked sheepish. “Silly thing to even mention, but—”