The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (33 page)

Conrad whirled around with a horrified gasp, releasing Valerian, who sank weakly to his knees, clutching his wounded arm.

The expression of maddened rage on Sir Brian's face was wiped away as he turned, smiling, but Elspeth had seen it.

“My poor child,” he purred, strolling towards her and fanning himself daintily with his lacy handkerchief. “This unscrupulous wretch has deceived you, just as I suspected. He holds your poor brother captive somewhere, and refuses—”

“Get away from me!” cried Elspeth, drawing back.

With a great effort Valerian pulled his head up and choked a warning, “Run…! Get—”

Sir Brian's face convulsed with fury and he kicked out, sending Valerian sprawling.

A rage such as she had never before known wiped away all restraints. With a muffled cry, Elspeth resorted to her only weapon, and as her uncle stamped towards her she hurled the contents of the commode directly into his face.

His scream was ear-splitting. Spitting and swearing, tearing frantically at his face, ripping off his wig, running about blindly, he gave every indication of a man gone completely demented.

The door burst open and Herbert rushed in with the host beside him.

Conrad slipped quietly from the room.

Herbert exclaimed, “Gervaise!” and running to drop to one knee beside his cousin, he put an arm about him and lifted him gently. “My God! What on earth has—” He stopped speaking and looked up, appalled, as a panicked Elspeth rushed to his side.

“My dear Lord!” she gulped. “Is he—”

Awed, Herbert whispered, “He's crying!”

“No, he's not.” Smiling through tears, Elspeth said brokenly, “He's laughing!”

*   *   *

Their small parlour was quite crowded when they had gathered there. Only Joel Skye was absent as he related a considerably edited account of events to the pompous local agent of the law whom the landlord had summoned.

“How I should love to have seen it,” mourned Vance Clayton after yet another burst of merriment. “My dainty dandified uncle, adorned with the—er, contents of Pixie's commode!”

Wiping tearful eyes, Valerian said, “Shall I ever forget it? Truly, you could not have devised a more devastating punishment, my demure little Nurse Cotton!”

“For a moment,” said Herbert, sighfully reminiscent, “when I first arrived and saw him dancing about, I really thought he had gone berserk.”

“And you may have been correct,” agreed Valerian. “Certainly, whatever wits he had were thoroughly scrambled!”

Watching him, Elspeth was relieved to see that the savage interrogation he'd endured had left his spirits undaunted. The cut beside his mouth and the bruises on his jaw and temple she judged to be relatively minor, but she was a little worried by the glitter of his eyes and the faint flush high on his cheekbones. The wound in his arm, she decided, was not so minor. At this point she became aware that Vance was smiling at her, probably expecting her to comment, and she said hurriedly, “Even so, he is a very bad man and should not have been allowed to escape.”

Joining them in time to hear her remark, Joel Skye tossed his tricorne onto a credenza and, pouring himself a glass of wine, said, “I rather suspect he and his son will waste no time in leaving the area. It seems they are suspected of involvement in several unsavoury matters and there have been notices sent from Paris instructing the authorities to detain them should they come this way.”

Valerian said, “Small wonder we were so beset with disasters throughout our travels. Those supposed Mohocks who attacked Nicholas Drew in Town were undoubtedly hired by Beech, as were the bravos who broke into the pension outside Le Havre. You'll remember, Elspeth, that they knew who you were.”

“So they did,” she exclaimed. “My goodness! So all the time it was my uncle's hirelings who meant to stop us!”

“And when my uncle and Conrad so gallantly came to our rescue at the Trojan Horse, they had actually arranged the attack themselves,” said Vance wonderingly. “What dogged persistence!”

Herbert said, “Then those pseudo-priests were in their pay also! And some of the bravos at at the Chateau d'Ebroin. But I think most of that ugly crew belonged to the fine gentlemen who want to bring down La Pompadour.”

“Yes, but somehow the Beeches had learned who was holding Vance,” said Valerian. “Just think how well it would have suited their plans had he died at the hands of La Pompadour's enemies. They would have been rid of the threat he posed and could be held blameless for his untimely demise. They were likely happily preparing to shed tears at your funeral, Clayton!”

Skye said thoughtfully, “They took a chance, though. Suppose he'd survived, or told what he knew and been released?”

“I suspect they'd prepared for just such an unlikely development,” said Valerian. “They may have paid one of the chateau guards to murder Clayton. Certainly, they had no intention of allowing him to escape alive.”

“And how extreme glad I am that you were able to elude my uncle's traps and rescue me from that loathsome hole,” said Vance fervently.

Amused, Valerian observed, “Gratitude you possess in abundance, Clayton. But your lack of curiosity amazes me. Have you no least interest in learning about this mysterious inheritance?”

Elspeth said, “Valerian is right, Vance! Who on earth can have made you heir to what would appear to be a large fortune?”

Her brother shook his head. “I've no least notion. Didn't think anyone in our family had a feather to fly with, but—”

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Elspeth. “Speaking of flying—Gervaise, with all the violence and excitement I quite forgot! What was it my uncle said about dragoons? Remember? When he was threatening you.”

They all waited uneasily.

Puzzled, Valerian said, “I've no idea. I don't recall him saying anything of that nature.”

She wrung her hands agitatedly. “Likely you were in no condition to hear him. But he did! I know it!”

Skye walked closer to her and said gently, “Try to remember, Ellie. Was this after you emptied Pixie's box over him?”

“No, no! It was when I first walked into that dreadful room! Sir Brian was trying to force Gervaise to tell him where we were hiding Vance.” She put a hand to her brow and went on, “I was so horrified that at first I couldn't even move, but I heard him say something about … about Gervaise answering quickly because—Oh! Now I recollect! Because, he said, dragoons were on their way to arrest us all!” She reached up to Skye frantically, and he took her hand and held it. “Joel! We must go! At once!”

Frowning, Valerian stood. “Yes, indeed! We cannot fail now! We're almost to Le Havre!”

He sent Herbert running to the stables to find Marcel and have the team poled up and the horses saddled; Skye went to gather their belongings; Elspeth hurried in search of Freda, and he himself sought out the host and paid their bill. Over Elspeth's protests he chose to ride for this last stage of their journey. He claimed that he felt the need for some fresh evening air. The truth was that he was very tired and had a nagging presentiment that he must keep awake in case of more trouble.

Within minutes he had ushered the girls and Vance into the coach, Marcel was on the box, and Skye was climbing up beside him, having loaded the Bath chair into the boot. The ostler brought up their extra horse. Valerian's swing into the saddle was stiff and awkward. His arm was miserably painful, his head pounded and his bruises ached. It was as well, he thought wearily, that he'd insisted on riding. Had he been comfortably installed in the warm, coach, he'd have been asleep in jig time.

Herbert, who had ridden to nearby high ground to get a good view of the road, returned at the gallop, shouting, “Sir Brian didn't lie about this, Gervaise! There's a fair-sized troop coming this way!”

So his apprehensions had been justified! He called, “
En avant,
Marcel!” only to exclaim, “Hi! Stop! Jupiter! Where are my wits flown? Who has our Pixie?”

There was consternation. In the rush to depart they had all forgotten the little cat that was so necessary to their plans. Comparing notes, it was clear that no one had seen her since the confrontation with the Beeches in the tap.

Herbert drew near and called urgently, “Make haste! They're almost here!”

“When did you last see Pixie?” shouted Valerian.

At once dismayed, Herbert answered, “Not since we took Skye inside after he was knocked down. Jove! Is she not in the coach?”

“No, and we must find her!” Dismounting, Valerian called, “Marcel—drive out! And spring 'em! Herbert, you ride escort!”

Leaning from the window as the coach jolted on its way, Elspeth cried, “No! Gervaise, don't—”

“Go on,” he ordered harshly, and ran back to the inn.

A frantic search was instituted. Valerian, the host and his lady, the maids and even two of the guests looked everywhere, but there was no sign of Pixie. Realizing that they dare delay no longer, Valerian sprinted into the yard. He encountered his cousin, whom he'd thought was riding beside the now vanished coach, and yelled, “Herbert! What the deuce…! Come on, man! We'll find another black kitten!”

Herbert spun about and ran to the horses. Mounting up and starting across the yard, Valerian saw that the coach had turned back also. Voicing some heart-felt oaths, he galloped towards it, gesturing imperatively, and the team was wheeled and began to move forward again.

From the box Skye shouted, “Did you find her?”

“No,” answered Valerian.

Leaning from the open window, Elspeth said, “Oh, Gervaise! Your father will be so disappointed. She's such an affectionate little creature.”

He guided his mount close to the coach. “True. But she's only a cat and your brother's life must take precedence! My cousin saw the dragoons almost upon us. We'll have to find another black kitten is all. It's sad, but—” Glancing around, he discovered that Herbert was nowhere in sight. “Now blast that idiot!” he raged. “I told him to give it up! Of all the stupid—Well, he'll just have to take his chances!”

Elspeth said agitatedly, “We cannot just abandon him!”

“I think we have no choice. He's a grown man and has at least a particle of common sense. He'll likely hide and come up with us later. Lord knows, I warned the cloth-head!” His lips tightened into a thin, hard line. He called harshly, “Spring 'em, Marcel!”

Gathering speed, the coach rattled and jolted through the gathering dusk. Riding beside it, fuming, Valerian glanced back frequently. There was no sign of Herbert, but distantly a fugitive ray of sunlight shone on breastplates. “Here they come,” he groaned. “Curse you for a ramshackle court-card, Herbert Turner! Do you
never
do anything right?”

The staccato bark of gunshots reached his ears. He swore bitterly and, reining his horse around, tore at a headlong gallop back towards the inn.

18

All too soon Valerian could see the flashes of another burst of gunfire, but strain his eyes as he might he could discern no sign of a rider. Furthermore, the shots seemed to be off to his right instead of straight ahead. He realised then that the dragoons had left the Le Havre road and turned inland. He grinned in appreciation. Herbert was leading them in the wrong direction! “Bravo, coz!” he muttered, and reined around to head them off.

Cutting across country was risky business in the half-light of early evening, and twice he had to gather his mount together so as to make a last-minute leap; once over a fallen tree trunk, and once a barely completed jump across a fast-running stream, culminating in a wild scramble up the far bank. He patted the neck of his hired mare and told her she was “a jolly good girl!”

The dragoons, undoubtedly mounted on heavier steeds than his sleek mare, were riding cautiously, but when he judged them to be less than a mile away he still could not distinguish another rider ahead of him. He leaned forward in the saddle, his eyes straining to pierce the gathering darkness. A solitary farmhouse loomed up, and by the faint candlelight from a downstairs window he glimpsed the silhouette of his cousin at last. Small wonder the dragoons had located their target whereas he had been unable to do so: he'd been looking for a horseman; Herbert was on foot, limping badly and looking to be far spent. He lurched around as Valerian galloped towards him and stood swaying, as though acknowledging that he was trapped.

“Hi!” Valerian reined to a sliding halt. “Why resort to shank's mare, chawbacon?”

“Praise … God!” gasped Herbert. “Horse shot out … from under me! You shouldn't have come—”

As if to echo his words, another shot rang out and they heard the hum of the musket ball.

“Very true,” agreed Valerian, reaching down with his good arm. “And they're getting too close, so I'll retreat posthaste. Can you mount up behind me? For Lord's sake don't stand there chewing your teeth! Placate your conscience with the knowledge that with you at my back if they shoot straight they'll hit you, not me!”

Herbert stuffed something into the capacious pocket of his cloak, took his cousin's hand, put one foot over Valerian's in the stirrup and swung up behind him.

The mare sidled nervously but took the added weight and steadied herself.

Touching his spurs to the mare's side, Valerian heard a muffled groan. “Winged you, did they?” he shouted.

“Just—my leg,” replied Herbert, gasping as the animal plunged forward.

“Hang on tight, lad! Our mount is a prime little lady. I'm going to pop into that copse ahead and then, with luck, we'll leave these clods to search the trees while we get back to the road.”

Once they were in amongst the trees it was very dark, but luck was with them. Valerian turned the mare in the direction of the road and let her choose her own path, and she picked her way unerringly through the roots and underbrush. Behind them arose crashings, tramplings and grumbling curses that fortunately drowned the sounds of their own progress. Very soon they left the dragoons behind and as the uproar faded Valerian heard another sound. He tilted his head, listening, then exclaimed a delighted “You found her!”