The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake (19 page)

The chestnut tossed his head suddenly, and went off at the gallop.

Adair became aware of the scent of violets. Without turning, he said, “What do you think of him, Miss Hall?”

Her musical voice answered, “He's a pretty sight. Rather too fidgety for my taste. Is he the animal who…?”

“So I am told.”

“You sound dubious.”

“Not about the horse.” He turned and said gravely, “I was wondering if your pistol was at my back.”

“Not just at the moment.” A dimple peeped beside her mouth. “I have to curb my murderous tendencies under the present circumstances. These people have sufficient grief. Though I think few of them cared very much for poor Walter.”

Her hostility seemed lessened. He probed cautiously, “Are you getting tired of pursuing me, ma'am?”

She fired up at once. “We followed you
only
because we thought you would lead us to wherever you had hidden Alice.”

“Whereas I was searching for your ex-coachman. I'm very sure he lied at my trial, and that he knew what really happened. You said Lady Abigail wanted to talk to him. Will you tell me why?”

“She will tell you herself when she arrives. The apothecary was to drive her from the church. But I—well, I believe Grandmama has come to think we may have judged you unfairly.” Her beautifully shaped lips drooped. She said sadly, “If that is so, we are back to where we started in our search for my dear cousin. You were our best hope.”

He bowed and said ironically, “And I, alas, am due to be arrested at any moment. My search for the real culprit may be cut short, because someone has now set it about that I've done away with the lady.”

She gave him a quick glance. “It is a rumour we did not originate, I promise you. We have gone beyond vengeance or—or pride, and pray only to know that Alice is safe.”

“If we were to pool our knowledge, ma'am, and work together, we might both achieve our gaol.”

“Grandmama had the same thought. But—even were I to trust you—”

“Which you are not sure you do.”

“Even then, there is nothing I could tell you.”

“You could tell me what your cousin said after she was brought home.”

“She spoke to no one. She was not conscious from the time you were—found, till the night she vanished.”

“While I was in gaol.”

“You could have arranged—”

“Oh, for heaven's sake! You cannot still believe that I would spend all this time in futile searching. If I were so enamoured of the lady as to have abducted her, is it not more likely that I'd wish to be with her?”

“How can I know what you might do? I scarcely know you.”

He bowed and said formally, “Then allow me to introduce myself. You know of my family. My full name is Hastings Chatteris Adair. I am nine and twenty, and a younger son. I attended Eton briefly before entering the Royal Military Academy. My regimental rank is major, my army rank is lieutenant-colonel—or it was, I should say. At present I have no rank, and my best prospect is to escape the hangman's noose.”

“Thank you for the summary. But as to your relationship with my cousin, who is lovely and sweetly natured and—”

“And little more than a child. I do not pursue children, ma'am.”

She scanned him searchingly. The very blue eyes met hers without wavering, the lips were rather thin but well-shaped, the firm chin high-held. The wind had blown his dark hair into a charming untidiness about the bruised but finely cut features. She saw pride in that face, and determination, but not ruthlessness; indeed she had several times been struck by the lurking smile that could creep into his eyes. But she had learned early in life to mistrust good-looking men, and this young colonel was very good-looking indeed.

“There,” he said. “I have told you of myself. Will you respond by telling me whatever you know of your ex-coachman? His friends, his acquaintances, his lady love, if there was one.”

He was answered by a new voice.

“There was not—so far as we could tell.” Impressive in a gown of stiff black bombazine, and with a black lace veil over her powdered hair, Lady Abigail Prior joined them and extended a hand regally. “You should be careful of nuns, Colonel. They can be as inflexible as they are pious.”

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He bowed over her thin-gloved fingers. “Will you give me your opinion of your late coachman?”

She considered for a moment, then said, “To utter pleasant platitudes because someone has gone to their reward is, to my mind, hypocritical nonsense. Walter Davis was an ill-natured man with a slippery eye. The other servants did not care for him. No more did I. My son valued him because he had a way with horses, and had driven, ridden, handled, and trained them for most of his life. Is that of any use to you, Adair?”

“Insofar as it reinforces my suspicions, ma'am.”

They both stared at him.

He said with a shrug, “I cannot find it logical that such an expert would have allowed a half-trained animal to corner him and smash his skull.”

Cecily Hall pointed out, “Davis was fond of the bottle, you know.”

“And had likely been so for years. However foxed, he would have known better than to enter a stall with a nervous horse. Further, if the animal was so scared as to have trampled a man to death, wouldn't you expect that there would have been considerable damage to the stall while it plunged about?”

“There probably was,” said her ladyship.

Adair shook his head. “I just inspected that stall, ma'am. There are one or two small gouges merely. Horses are big animals, shod with iron. One or two I've had to deal with have been nervous and have kicked holes in barn walls with little effort.”

“Oh … good gracious,” said Cecily in a half-whisper.

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?” asked Lady Abigail intently.

“I am saying that I believe Walter Davis was murdered,” said Adair.

10

Briefly, Adair's dramatic announcement rendered both his hearers mute. Cecily's lower lip sagged in a way he found tantalizing, then she exclaimed in that same breathless fashion, “Heavens above! How dreadful!”

“You think he was killed deliberately, and it was made to seem an accident?” asked Lady Abigail. “Why? Only to keep him from talking to you?”

“To kidnap a lady is a hanging offence, ma'am, Quite apart from what he must guess I will do to the rogue who brought all this misery upon us—when I find him.”

Cecily wrinkled her brow and murmured, “But why would anyone do such a wicked thing in the first place? Surely if the kidnapper is madly in love with Alice and knows himself ineligible, he could have lured her to a run-away marriage at Gretna Green. It would be shameful, I grant you, but without the need to implicate you, Colonel.”

“Unless Adair has some extreme vindictive enemies, my love,” argued Lady Abigail.

“Vindictive enough to want him dead, and to now do away with the only witness who might have cleared his name?” Cecily paled to an afterthought. “Such a villain would not hesitate to murder our dear Alice!”

Driven by a need to banish the fear from her eyes, Adair said, “If he meant only to murder her, there would have been no cause to lure her away,”

Lady Abigail nodded. “And, do you know, Cecily, I find it very hard to believe that any man would be so evil as to take the life of that sweet child.”

‘Except to protect himself,' thought Adair, but not voicing that qualification, he said, “I dare to hope that you both are beginning to change your minds about my part in this sad business. I can't tell you what that means to me.”

“It means that you may add our names to the list of people who believe you,” said Cecily, smiling at him.

“In addition to your family.” Lady Prior added keenly, “They
do
support you, I trust?” Before he could respond she gave a snort and threw up her hands. “I might have known! A fine set of knock-in-the-cradles!”

Cecily looked appalled, but as usual, the old lady's use of cant terms amused Adair. He said, “No, but they will come around, ma'am, I promise you. It was a very great shock to them all.” Lady Prior's lips parted and he went on quickly, “I have some loyal friends who are trying to help; my Uncle Willoughby Chatteris is on my side, and most of my family hold me innocent of harming Miss Prior at least—even if they're not convinced I didn't make off with the poor lady.”

“Willoughby Chatteris…” said Lady Prior musingly. “Now why is that name so familiar to me, child?”

“I cannot think, Grandmama. A friend of Rufus, perhaps?”

“Hmm. I shall ask him, so I must go and wrench him away from the little village beauty who has enchanted the tiresome boy.”

Cecily said, “Colonel Adair suggested that if we pool our knowledge, Grandmama, we will have a better chance for success.”

“Just so. I had the very same thought, you will remember.”

“In which case, ma'am,” said Adair, “may I ask if you learned anything from the apothecary? You drove with him so as to ask questions, I presume.”

“Correct. But the man had little to tell me that I did not already know. He confirmed the fact that our unfortunate coachman was slain by a blow to the back of the head.”

“The
back
of the head?” said Cecily. “I was told he was trampled to death.”

Adair said, “He could have been trying to escape the stall, I suppose. Forgive an unpleasant question, but—were there numerous wounds, my lady?”

“The one fatal blow,” she answered. “And some bruises.”

“No bones broken, for instance?”

“Apparently not. Is that something the constable should have noted, Adair?”

“I'd think he would find it odd that a horse's hooves flailed about in a frenzy inflicted only bruises—apart from the fatal blow.”

“It certainly doesn't sound as if Davis was trampled,” agreed Cecily. “What do you mean to do next?”

“Seek out your late coachman's grandpapa and try to discover if any strangers have been lurking about the farm of late.”

“Very good. I shall do the same. I'll start with Walter's brother, poor man.”

Adair said with a grin, “You are not likely to hear him complain, I think. He has scarce been able to take his eyes from you all afternoon.”

“Which you would only know if you had been watching her also!” Lady Abigail frowned at Adair's red-faced confusion and turned to her granddaughter. “Never waste that demure look on me, miss. And take care not to bewitch young Davis. Meanwhile, I will weave my webs around that nice curate who is so eager to know everybody.”

They parted then, Adair striding off to the stables and the two ladies returning to the house.

Cecily said, “Well, Grandmama, are you really convinced of his innocence?”

Lady Abigail paused to glance after Adair's tall figure. “So convinced that I could weep for my part in this. He is no Tragedy Jack, and keeps himself well in hand, but it is a tragedy for all that.”

They walked on in silence for a moment, then Cecily said, “Did you see his eyes when you asked if his family supported him?”

“I did, and knowing that prideful cat of a mother of his, I am not surprised, but I'd have credited old Gower Chatteris with more kindness! Still, we were as gullible. We were all so sure.”

“In the face of the evidence and our own coachman's sworn testimony—what were we to think?”

“I hold us excused to that extent. And we did not know him, after all. But for his own
family
to have turned their backs on him while he almost was hanged! Unforgivable! Well, child, perhaps we can help set things to rights.” With an oblique glance at her granddaughter, she added: “You would like that—no?”

Cecily blushed but said firmly, “I cannot like
anyone
to be falsely accused and persecuted, ma'am, so do not be thinking of names for prospective great-grandchildren!”

*   *   *

The light was fading when Lady Prior's coach rumbled away from the Davis farm with Adair riding inside and Toreador tied on behind. Rufus Prior was on the box, having growled that the colonel may have hornswoggled his female relations but he was not so easily gulled and would prefer the company of Coachman Peters.

“Rufus doesn't really believe you guilty,” said Miss Hall, seated beside her grandmother.

Lady Prior agreed. “What it is, he's embarrassed because you will keep knocking him down.”

Amused, Adair promised to mend his ways. “Now, may we compare notes? Did anyone uncover a significant clue?”

“Since I am the eldest, I will speak first,” declared Lady Prior. “My curate—goodness, what a social climber!—said that Walter had boasted about ‘his fine gentleman.' No name given, but the curate gathered this was a person of wealth and rank who had previously employed Walter in a matter of great delicacy.”

“Did your coachman say what the ‘delicate matter' was, ma'am?”

“Only that it was quite recent, and because he was such a clever fellow and kept his eyes open, he was now entrusted to find something.”

“He said the same to his brother,” put in Cecily eagerly. “And he said he would soon be a rich man whether his fine gentleman liked it or not.”

“That sounds like prospective blackmail,” said Adair. “When and where did this interesting conversation take place, do you know?”

“The afternoon of his death. Eddie Davis said that they were walking along the lane together but Walter suddenly stopped speaking and stared into the trees they were passing as if he'd seen someone there. Evidently he was very frightened and all but ran back to the house. Eddie put it down to strong spirits. He said Walter was out of sorts after that and decided to leave the farm next day. Had you any better luck, Colonel?”