Maggie MacKeever (27 page)

Once more, Neal was guilty of misjudgment: Caliban was, after a fashion, very well trained, that fashion being that he did not harry strangers, only prior acquaintances. Of this fact, Neal was made aware as soon as he stepped into the alleyway. Not only with Caliban was this gaudily dressed, villainous-looking female acquainted. Delilah was addressing her in terms of great, if irate, familiarity.

“It will do you no good to try and bamboozle me, Athalia!” Delilah said sternly. “Everything is at sixes and sevens, and you are at least partially to blame! You and that nodcock Johann! You might
as
well unbosom yourself, because until you do so I will not call Caliban to heel.”

With a wary eye on Caliban snapping at her ankles, Athalia sought to put forth a defense. Delilah should not hold it against her, she protested, that she had been very wishful to escape an existence the high points of which were sleeping under hedges, telling fortunes, begging for one’s bread in the streets. And furthermore, Athalia added, Gadje with Gadje, and Rom with Rom.

“You are welcome to him!” retorted Delilah. Neal said nothing, being fascinated by the deft manner in which Delilah handled her victim. “I should have realized before that you had your finger in the pie! Make a clean breast of it, Athalia, and I
may
forgive you. If not—” She paused, meaningfully.

Athalia required no further explanation; Caliban was barking and snarling energetically. Still, she hesitated. Stolen wood burned better for being stolen, she explained.

Miss Mannering was not to be diverted. “You and Johann pinched that baby from someone. I very strongly suspect that filching babies is a hanging offense.”

Athalia, who suspected similarly, disavowed all knowledge of the baby’s origin. Johann, she proclaimed, had grown very enterprising of late. Were she to tell them of his latest undertaking, Miss Mannering would be positively horrified. And speaking of pinching babies, Athalia suspected Miss Mannering was not entirely blameless in that line, in which case Miss Mannering should contemplate the possibility of having her own neck stretched. “Not that I’ll run rusty,” she added hastily, as the lieutenant took a furious step forward and Caliban’s bark took on a menacing note. “It’s no bread-and-butter of mine!”

“No?” By threats of hanging, Delilah was not swayed. “I should think, considering you are his accomplice, that Johann’s enterprises should be very much your concern. Don’t try again to throw me off the scent! You must know
something
about the baby. You had better tell me, Athalia, because if you do not, I shall turn you over to the nearest magistrate!”

In Athalia’s opinion, Delilah would not dare, being herself not above reproach. Delilah was very interested in that baby, which led Athalia to conclude that Delilah had been responsible for its disappearance from Johann’s wagon. What Delilah wanted with a baby Athalia could not imagine, but she wished Delilah joy of it. Miss Mannering was in need of good wishes, though she could not know it yet. Athalia figured Miss Mannering would discover the enormity other meddling soon enough. Athalia additionally figured that she’d best be clear of Brighton when the truth came out.

With that decision in mind, she sought to delay the denouement as long as possible. She disclaimed all knowledge of the identity of the child, vowed that Johann had only told her it was some great lady’s illegitimate offspring, put out to a female with a large number of offspring of her own. “He reckoned the lady’d pay him well for the return of the brat,” she concluded, and shrugged. “But you pinched it before Johann had a chance to put his plan into effect. He was in the devil of a temper. You’d best steer clear of Johann,
leicheen.”

“Rather,” murmured Delilah, “I think I should have a serious talk with him, if I am ever to learn who Toby’s parents are. Poor thing, to be put out to pasture like an old horse! But that’s neither here nor there! Tell me the nature of Johann’s latest enterprise.”

At that, Athalia balked. Eager as she was to cooperate with Miss Mannering, she averred, she dared not get on the wrong side of Johann. Already he was gravely out of temper with her, due to the disappearance of the babe, for which she had been unjustly blamed. Lest Delilah doubt the severity of Johann’s displeasure, Athalia displayed several bruises. “Damned near did for me!” she added, soulfully. “Never was I so mistook in a man! But I’ve made my bed and now I must sleep in it—of course, it’d be different if I had a
choice.”

“One always has a choice,” Delilah responded severely. “If you don’t wish to stay with Johann—and it is inconceivable to me why anyone should wish to stay with a perfect block like Johann!—you may simply leave. I contrived to do so, did I not? I would not have thought you so lacking in courage.”

“Damn your eyes!” cried Athalia. This remark was addressed not to Miss Mannering but to Miss Mannering’s hound, who had leaped up, paws on Athalia’s shoulders, to lick at her face. She shoved the dog away. Caliban was not so easily dissuaded from friendly exuberances. An energetic tussle ensued.

Though Neal was positively enthralled by these proceedings, and Delilah’s skilled handling thereof, the proceedings saw them little advanced. Toby’s parentage remained a mystery; Sandor still had to be found. Therefore Neal suggested that in exchange for Athalia’s cooperation she might be rewarded with sufficient money to remove herself out of the range of Johann’s wrath.

“You shouldn’t,” Delilah said repressively, “encourage her! But I see time is of the essence, and so it will have to do. Athalia, if you tell us what you know, this nice gentleman will give you some money, and I will give you back my mother’s wedding ring.”

Athalia was agreeable. ‘When you are given, eat; when you are beaten, run away.’ “I’ll tell you everything!” she gasped. “Just call off your hound!”

Delilah did so, then dangled the wedding ring in front of Athalia’s nose. “It will be yours to keep this time, I swear. And now, if you please? I will even make it easier for you! I have a very strong hunch that Johann is involved in the disappearance of the Duke of Knowles.”

“Damned if you ain’t a rum one!” Athalia snatched the ring. “Johann means to hold him for ransom. I told him it was a cursed paperskulled idea, but he’s set on getting hold of some rhino.”

“Paperskulled!” responded Delilah, in amazement. “I should think it is! The duke’s family is more likely to pay Johann for
keeping
him! Anyway, the duke is of so vicious a temper that he is like to cut up very stiff! If Johann values his skin, he’ll let the duke go.”

Athalia chuckled. “That one won’t be cutting up stiff for a while! Stretched out stiff as a corpse he is, on the wagon floor!”

“Aha!” said Delilah, triumphantly. “So that’s where Johann has taken him!” Neal, observing Athalia’s expression, guessed that she had not intended to let the cat so far out of the bag. He extended a handful of coins, without comment.

“Miss Delilah! Master Neal!” came a harried, breathless voice. Jem ran panting up to them. “I’ve been looking everywhere! And if not for the barking of the hound, I still would be! Miss Sibyl is very anxious to know what you’ve found out!”

Succinctly, Delilah informed Jem of their discoveries. Caliban, weary of teasing Athalia, turned his attention on the newcomer and washed the footman’s face. Athalia, no longer the center of attention, took immediate advantage of her opportunity and slipped down the alleyway. In a very short time she had shown the town of Brighton a singularly dirty pair of heels.

Meanwhile, Jem was rendered corpse-white by the intelligence that his employer was being held to ransom, a development for which he feared his employer would hold him to blame. “And so,” Delilah concluded, “matters draw rapidly to a crisis! Here is what we must do. You will take Caliban back to the house, Jem, and inform Miss Sibyl of what’s transpired. Neal and I will go and rescue the duke.”

“We will?” inquired Neal, stunned. “Don’t you think the matter might be better dealt with by the proper authorities?”

“Piffle!” Delilah retorted. “The odds are in our favor. You and I together are more than a match for Johann.” Neal did not look convinced. “What would the duke say, do you think, if all Brighton learned he had been kidnapped by a tinker? It could not help but come out. Your cousin would be a laughingstock.”

This argument, though not in the manner Delilah had intended, weighed strongly with Neal. He did not mind if a man whose gizzard he wished strongly to slit should become the object of rumor and speculation; but he minded very much that the lady whom he revered above all others should be subject of scandalous on-dits. Johann, brought to the attention of the authorities, was not likely to remain silent on the subject of Delilah’s sojourn in his camp; the authorities, made a present of such a titillating tidbit, were unlikely to keep it to themselves. Next they might expect to see blazoned in the newspapers Delilah’s entire history.

He must do his best to prevent that, no matter how reluctant his best might be. Delilah was regarding him hopefully. Neal forced a smile and for good measure tweaked her nose. “Why do we tarry here? Sandor awaits!” he said, a halfhearted hero indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jem hurried back, as instructed, to the duke’s bow-fronted house on the Royal Crescent, there to inform Miss Baskerville of the startling information brought to light by her protégée. He could not guess how Miss Baskerville would react, and thought perhaps he might have to deal with a hysterical female. As matters evolved, Jem was not reduced to such straits, at least not just then: Miss Baskerville believed not a word of his breathless account. She did not accuse Jem of spinning tarradiddles, merely of allowing himself to be gulled by an unconscionable humbugger. Then she left him to preside over the nursery while she put in a belated appearance in the morning room, where callers awaited. She did not sally forth, thought Jem, with any appreciable enthusiasm. Poor Jem was in a cleft stick. He could not leave Toby unattended, either to try further to persuade Miss Baskerville that a very real danger threatened the duke, or to set out himself as a backup force. Nor could he sit idly by while his idol walked boldly into the lion’s den. He regarded Toby, engaged in decapitating stuffed rabbit, and cursed in a manner strongly reminiscent of Miss Mannering.

As did Binnie, though not aloud, when she walked into the morning room. Awaiting her there were the man whom she had agreed to marry and Miss Choice-Pickerell.

“There you are!” said Edwina, who had been trying without great success to entertain the callers. “Wherever have you been? Miss Choice-Pickerell and Mr. Dennison have been waiting for you this age!”

“I’m sorry.” Binnie sank down upon a striped silk sofa and smiled weakly at Mark. “I came immediately I had word.”

In the opinion of Mr. Dennison, the onetime charmer of his heart and soul would have been better advised to take sufficient time to tidy herself first. Binnie wore a simple dress of white muslin, creased and stained; her hair was in a tangle; there were exhausted shadows beneath her eyes. He could not help but remark the difference between Binnie and Miss Choice-Pickerell—elegant in a pristine Spanish pelisse of shot sarcenet trimmed with Egyptian crape and antique cuffs trimmed with Chinese binding, lemon-colored kid gloves and slippers— to Binnie’s discredit. “My dear,” he murmured, “you are looking shockingly worn-down. How came you to allow yourself to be reduced to such a state?”

Quite naturally, this patent lack of appreciation roused no animation in Miss Baskerville. Still, she owed Mark some explanation for her seeming neglect of himself, and she had fallen into the habit of confiding in him. She cast a cautious glance at Miss Choice-Pickerell, deep in conversation with Edwina. “It is a long story. Suffice it to say that Sandor has accused me of being a marvel of indiscretion, of perseverance in loose morality.”

This information affected Mark most extremely: he started, then stared, then laughed outright. “Loose morality?
You?
Come now, Binnie—you can’t have taken him seriously.”

Oddly, this skeptical reaction caused Binnie to feel wholly out of charity with her most persistent suitor, who apparently considered her totally unfit to be a ladybird, and much more charitable toward the outspoken duke, who despite his myriad sins at least had sufficient good taste to find her desirable. “I bid him,” she retorted, “go and be damned. Not that I suppose it will answer the purpose. Things have come to a pretty pass! To think that I once fancied myself
smitten
with the brute!”

By this absentminded statement, Mark was rendered considerably less amused.
Sandor
had been the object of Binnie’s long-ago infatuation? He supposed he should have guessed as much. Because he had not, he felt very much a fool. “You might have told me,” he said irritably.

“Told you what?” Could Jem’s wild tale be true? Was Sandor being held to ransom? If so, what was she to do? Binnie tried very hard to concentrate her mind. “Oh. To own the, truth, I thought you had guessed.”

Mark wondered if this omission was sufficient grounds on which to honorably break off his betrothal, and decided it was not. “There is something
you
should know, Binnie,” he said quietly. “I made discreet inquiries—you were wrong about Sandor. He has not been trifling with your brother’s inheritance, but on your brother’s behalf investing in the ‘Change. And to very good effect, I might add! By the time Neal comes of age, he will be in a position to command every luxury.”

“You mean—” Binnie gasped.

“I mean,” Mark retorted sternly, “that Sandor is
not
a Monster of Depravity. I don’t know why I ever allowed you to convince me that he was. You owe your cousin an apology, Binnie.”

So she did, any number of them. Binnie felt as though she was being buffeted by a series of ill winds. She recalled her hateful accusations, in which it now appeared there had not been a single word of truth. Scant wonder Sandor had stormed out of the house! Apologize she must and would, and the sooner the better—but what if Sandor refused to listen? What if the evil Johann disposed of Sandor before Binnie had the chance to render her apology? She could only pray Neal and Delilah reached the duke in time. But Neal still labored under the delusions from which she had just been freed. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “Neal will murder him!”