The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake (32 page)

“No, sir.” Cecily met the General's eyes gravely, and waving a slice of toast to emphasize her remarks, said, “It must not wait. I'll tell you as quickly as I can, and then I must find Hastings!”

Ten minutes later the house of General Sir Gower Chatteris was a busy place as the footman raced to the stables, the General went to his room to summon his valet and dress for travel, and Cecily scribbled a note to her grandmother and another to be delivered to Adair's flat. Very soon afterwards a fine coach and four was being tooled through the traffic that thronged London Bridge. The coachman paid little heed to the thickening mists that drifted about the great City. His thoughts were all on the relationship between his rigidly proper master and the beautiful young woman who now sat beside him in the carriage.

*   *   *

“I thought she'd never leave us,” muttered Broderick, returning from having closed the drawing-room door behind Minerva.

Paige Manderville fixed him with a frosty stare. “Well, that's a charming remark to make, I must say. This happens to be the lady's home. You're the intruder!”

“So are you, for that matter.” Broderick sank into a fireside chair and accepted the mug of hot cider Adair handed him. “Why are you cluttering up the place, anyway?”

Adair intervened quietly, “Have you ridden from Town, Toby? You must have set out early. It's not yet eleven o'clock.”

“Actually, I came from Thames Abingdon. I'd have arrived sooner, but I'd to contend with this devilish mist all the way.”

“Visiting your papa?” enquired Manderville.

Broderick nodded and gave Adair a sober look. “Needle-witted is my sire. He gave me some news I thought you should know about, but I couldn't tell you while your cousin was present.”

“Sounds intriguing,” said Manderville, amused. “But if your combined great brains have led you to believe that Mr. Chatteris is our murderous abductor, you're far off the mark, old lad.”

“It would be fun to know what your own ‘great brain' has deduced. No doubt you have solved the entire puzzle, thus making my small discovery worthless.”

“Not that, perhaps, but I've helped. We found a clue. Tell him, Hasty. Better yet—show him.”

Staring blankly at the fire, Adair was silent.

Paige and Toby exchanged glances. Broderick mouthed a soundless “More trouble?” Paige shrugged and half-whispered, “Something has him in the hips.”

The quiet words broke through Adair's dismal introspection. He forced a smile and said, “Gad, but I'm a clunch! My apologies. You were saying, Paige?”

“We were wondering what has you looking so Friday-faced. I'd thought we were making progress.”

Broderick said soberly, “Perhaps we progress in a direction Hasty don't want to follow.”

Darting a keen glance at him, Adair said, “You've turned up something, Toby?”

“I have, but lest you're inclined to kill the messenger, I'd like first to see whatever it is Paige wants you to show me.”

Adair looked at him steadily, then took the button from his waistcoat pocket and handed it over.

Disappointed, Broderick said, “This is your clue?”

“The mystery of the purloined button,” said Manderville lightly. “Miss Prior evidently ‘collected' it. There's a crest or escutcheon or whatever engraved on the front—see, here.”

“So there is.” Broderick peered near-sightedly at it. “An anchor.”

Adair started and caught his breath in a faint hiss.

“It's an
umbrella,
you cloth-head,” exclaimed Manderville, exasperated. “Which ties the button directly to Thorne Webber and the fact that he must be acquainted with Miss Prior. Lord save us all, you're holding the stupid thing upside down; no wonder you can't see straight! Look, here's his initial—
T.
You really should buy yourself a pair of spectacles! When we go back to France, be damned if I want you riding behind me with a musket in your fist!”

“It don't look like an umbrella to me,” argued Broderick doggedly. “It's an anchor plain as day. Nor does that look like a
T.
I'd say rather—”

“Spectacles,” decreed Manderville firmly.

Adair asked, “You said you brought some news, Toby?”

Broderick nodded. “My father seems to have some private source of information on behind-the-scenes frolics at Whitehall. He found out that three gentlemen are being considered for the Cabinet post your brother Hudson hoped to win.” He handed Adair a slip of paper. “The first name is apparently all but confirmed. My congratulations. I'm sorry that your brother must be disappointed, but you'll keep it in the family at least. I didn't want to say anything in front of Miss Minerva, because her betrothed will likely want to give her that piece of good news himself.”

Adair gazed at the printed name.

“You never mean—
Harrington?
” Springing up, Manderville snatched the paper. His eyes widened. He gave a sudden shout of laughter. “I
knew
they were all bacon-brained in Whitehall!” Becoming aware that Broderick looked censorious and that Adair was remarkably white about the mouth, he added uncertainly, “I say—I don't mean no offence. It's—it's a feather in his cap to win such a dashed important position.”

Broderick said, “His lady will surely be very pleased. D'you think the General will sanction the match now, Hasty?”

Adair stood and paced to the window. Looking out at the misted air unseeingly, he did not at once answer. Then he said slowly, “I'll ask him. I must be getting back to Town at all events, and since my uncle has allowed me to read his Lists—”

“Good Lord!” cried Broderick, taken aback. “He has?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, Toby. I forgot you weren't here at the time.”

“Hasty says they were not at all as he'd expected,” said Manderville. “And that they were more after the style of a London diary and in no sense treasonable. Correct, Colonel, sir?”

“More or less. Do either of you ride with me?”

“What d'you mean—‘more or less'?” demanded Broderick. “And where's the rush? I'll tell you what, Hasty, my mama has charged me to deliver a parcel to my eldest sister. She lives near Farnborough. I'll be lucky if I can break away inside an hour. There's a new little niece to be admired and I'll have to relay all the Society gossip. If you'll ride down there with me, it'll give me an excuse not to linger. Then I'll go back to Town with you.” He added with an air of tragedy, “But I had hoped to be offered a crust of bread here, at least!”

“Of course. I'm a poor host. I'm sorry.” Adair tugged on the bell-rope. “You stay and enjoy your ‘crust,' Toby, but forgive if I don't visit your sister. I really must get to Town. What about you, Paige? Do you go with me?”

Manderville said lazily that he wouldn't mind a “crust” himself, and that he'd then keep Toby company on his errand.

Within minutes, Adair rode out alone.

In the house he'd left, Manderville toured the breakfast parlour, then returned to the drawing room. “They've brought our ‘crusts,' Toby. Some jolly nice cold roast pork, fried potatoes, asparagus, and scones with honey. I'm not going to await your pleasure, so you'd best come.”

“Mmm.”

“Succinct and to the point, I suppose. If one knew what you are mulling.”

Broderick turned from the window. “I've not cried friends with Adair for a great time,” he said thoughtfully. “But I saw him often on the Peninsula, of course, and I've always fancied him to be well-bred.”

“Have you now. Pray tell how he has fallen from grace.”

“Didn't you notice? The lad he sent for Toreador was running.”

Manderville clapped a hand to his brow with theatrical drama. “Infamous behaviour to demand such an effort! He was in a hurry, you great gudgeon.”

“In so much of a hurry that he couldn't spare the time to say his farewells to his uncle, or to Miss Minerva? Simple courtesy, Paige.”

“How the devil d'you know he didn't see them? Been watching him?”

“Yes. I'd swear he deliberately avoided Minerva, and he rode out as though the devil himself was perched on his shoulder.”

“Not like old Hasty,” agreed Manderville uneasily. “What d'you think we should do?”

Broderick hesitated. “Think on it while we eat our ‘crusts'?”

“Jolly good tactics, dear boy!”

*   *   *

Adair set a steady pace and wasn't sorry that his friends had not accompanied him. He had much to think about, and besides, he would travel faster alone.

Yet he was not alone. Beside him, all through that mist-shrouded early afternoon, rode the Daemon Suspicion.

He tried not to heed the sly whispers. It was, he told himself, despicable to think for a moment that a close friend might be capable of treachery. Harrington had proved his loyalty in countless ways. “He stands by his friends…” Minna had said that. Certainly, Harrington had not hesitated to side him when Webber had attacked him in front of that hostile London crowd. He'd risked condemnation by championing the Adairs while the rest of the
haut ton
turned their backs on the family. And even after the man had been injured when calling at Adair Hall, he'd appeared to be as staunchly supportive as ever. He was in love with Minna, and she with him. Adair thought wretchedly that if his half-formed conclusions proved to be fact—Lord! It would break Minna's heart!

Rounding a bend, he had to rein Toreador onto the grassy verge as a heavy-laden waggon pulled out from a misty farm gate. The cart-horses snorted and reared with fright and Toreador shied. Adair swore and urged the dapple-grey onward again, and with a thunder of hooves they swept past, leaving behind eddying swirls of grey vapour and the angry shouts of the waggoner. But the Daemon was not left behind.

“… Be sure of your sources, Colonel!”

Another voice invading his thoughts; this time the strident tones of Field Marshal Lord Wellington. The remark had been made after an incident in Spain when, during a perilous advance through enemy territory, Adair had begun to question their guide's loyalties. He had acted on his suspicions at once, which had spared them from what would have been a deadly ambush. Not expecting praise from Wellington, he'd been somewhat taken aback when the General had fixed him with a stern stare and warned, “You were lucky this time, Colonel. But you should always be sure of your sources before rushing off half-cocked.” Since he was not responsible for having hired the guide and had, in fact, been instrumental in averting disaster, the scold had seemed unjustified. Might it apply today?

The truth was that he had precious little evidence against Harrington. A battered old button; Uncle Willoughby's possibly prejudiced Lists; and now the Cabinet appointment that had been so completely unexpected.

He could all but hear the Field Marshal; sneering …

Very well. He would not “rush off half-cocked” but would consider his sources.

To judge Harrington guilty must be to assume that he was capable of betraying the lady who loved him, and whom he professed to love; to hold him responsible for the seduction of an innocent young girl and to have cunningly contrived that another man would be accused of the crime. Could Harrington have so convincingly feigned grief and sympathy when—thanks to his own scheming—his “good friend” and future cousin faced ruin and disgrace and a shameful execution? Surely no man could be so sly?

He'd inspected the button again while waiting for Toreador to be saddled up, and he'd seen that Toby had been right, as usual: Battered as it was, the “umbrella” was, in fact, an anchor, and the initial he'd taken for a
T
became a
J
with the loop almost obliterated and the second initial so unreadable it could have been an
H,
an
M
or a
W.
If he'd not been so ready to believe the worst of Thorne Webber, he would have recalled a similar crest on Harrington's cane. Which raised the question of how a sheltered damsel like Alice Prior had come by the button. Harrington had said he was not acquainted with the Prior family, so it was unlikely that he'd ever called at their home. Besides, when he himself had told Cecily and her grandmother that Minna was betrothed to Harrington, Lady Abigail had said that she'd “never heard of him.” Alice would certainly not have picked up the button in the street, or at some Society function. Even more unlikely was the possibility that an acquaintance, aware of her “gleaning” habits, would have given her so trite an object. Logic said that she
must
have met Harrington somewhere, in which case why had he denied it?

Next, and far more damning, was the matter of Uncle Willoughby's notes. Most of the famous Lists were concerned with illicit romantic liaisons or the amusing personal idiosyncrasies of members of the
ton.
Some of the caustic comments on various social entertainments had made him laugh aloud. But there were also a number of more sober accounts of cheating at cards, poor sportsmanship, or underhanded business dealings. Included in this sorry group were several highly respected names that had caused Adair's brows to lift in shock. This was volatile material indeed. If the details were accurate and the information should fall into dishonest hands, it could provide a lucrative source for blackmail, and if those items were ever made public, the results could be devastating. Envisioning famous families disgraced, suicides, marriages destroyed, charges of libel, court proceedings and notoriety, Adair could well understand why his uncle had guarded the Lists so zealously.

The summary on Harrington was involved and of an even darker nature. There were several entries, none favourable. One concerned the competition for the Parliamentary seat to which Harrington had aspired. His opponent, a popular banker, was widely held to be most likely to win, until he had been accused of embezzlement. He'd denied the charge under oath, but had been unable to prove his innocence. When missing bonds had been discovered in his home, the scandal had so wrought upon him that he had shot himself. Here, Uncle Willoughby had penned a comment at the side: (“Or did he?”) that had caused Adair to utter a startled exclamation. Rumours of fraudulent vote-counting had faded away and Harrington had won the election. Willoughby had noted: