Time's Fool (45 page)

She thought briefly that there must indeed have been a fight, and that one of them had been slain. She moaned distractedly, and tottered back to climb up on the chair. Her hands were shaking as she grasped her ladder. Taking careful aim, she threw. The loop slipped over the plank, and she held her breath, but when she tugged, down it came again. The air in the room was already growing blue with smoke, the smell of it strong and acrid, and her eyes began to smart. She knew with a sob of terror that she would have time for only one or two more tries and then she might not even be able to see the plank.

“Please dear God,” she whispered. “Help me!” She tossed, blinking tears away as she gazed upward. The mug swung down at her, but then stopped, and dangled far above. The loop had gone over the plank! With a little cry of joy and gratitude, she tugged gently, then less gently. It did not come down. She hoist the skirts of her habit, gripped the sides of the ladder—oh, how frail and fragile they felt!—and put her foot in the first rung. If it broke, or if the plank was loose and came down, she was surely doomed. But although the ladder twisted and became very narrow, it didn't break. In her ears was a low and terrible roaring, and the air was getting warm. Praying frantically, she had to struggle to force her boot into the next twisting rung. The ladder swayed, the plank creaked. Her heart seemed to stop. Peering, it seemed to her that the plank was slanting downward. Was it going to break? Dear God in heaven—was she going to fall back?

“Naomi! Naomi! Are you in there?”

Gideon's voice!

She was so overjoyed she almost fainted. Her throat seemed to swell shut so that her answer was a barely audible croak.

Incredibly, wonderfully, she saw his face, dirty, bloodied, and beloved, peering down at her.

“Praise God!” he shouted. “Hold on tight, brave girl, and I'll pull you up.”

Weak with relief her courage faltered, but she must not give way. Gideon had come and found her. She would not fail now.

He was heaving at the ladder. It twisted, and she clung desperately as he looped a rung over the plank, then heaved again.

An ear-splitting roar. A great surge of heat. The section of the floor by the stairs had given way. Naomi cried out in terror.

Looking down at her, it seemed to Gideon that she swung over a sea of smoke shot with fire. She looked so small, so terrified. If she didn't faint from the heat and smoke it would of itself be a miracle. The boards he lay on were cracked and half-rotted and creaked ominously with his slightest movement. If they gave way, he would die with her, at least. Coughing, blinded by the smoke, he pulled mightily.

Naomi did not see the blazing ember that floated up and set fire to the trailing end of her ladder, but Gideon did. One more rung and then he leaned until he could reach her wrists. She felt the iron grip of his strong hands and she was wrenched upward. His arm was tight about her and she was lying on the crude loft flooring, wheezing and sobbing for breath. Sparks and blazing pieces of debris were flying upward; she screamed as the lace on her petticoat began to burn. Gideon tore at the garment and she wriggled out of it. The planks seemed to move, to slant down towards the inferno below.

Gideon was dragging her, shouting something lost in the uproar. With one hand clamped bruisingly about her wrist, he climbed through a tiny square window and guided her after him. She had a momentary and bemused thought that she was glad she wasn't wearing hoops.

Clinging to the waterwheel with one hand, and to her with the other, Gideon shouted, “Come to me!”

The waterwheel seemed a mile away, but she reached out bravely. His arm clamped around her, and she threw her arms around his neck. Other shouts rang out. Through the billowing smoke below came the anxious face of Lieutenant Morris, suddenly breaking into a beaming grin. “Here they are,” he bellowed, waving frantically. “This way!”

Glendenning and Hector Kadenworthy raced up, carrying a long ladder. It was propped against the side of the wheel. Gideon guided Naomi to it, and Morris climbed up and helped her down. She was on solid ground, but between the dense smoke and the fact that her eyes smarted so, she could scarcely see.

A battered and dishevelled Falcon ran to join her. “Well, don't hang about, you silly chit,” he said with oddly reassuring irritability. “The whole lot will come down at any second!”

Frantic, Naomi cried, “Where is he? Is he safe?”

Gideon was beside her, his face a mask of soot and blood, but his eyes worshipping her.

She sobbed, “Oh … Gideon…!” and was swept into his arms.

“Good
God
!” howled Falcon. “Not
now,
you fool!”

Gideon laughed shakily, and carried Naomi through the smoke.

They were halfway across the moat when the flames roared through the loft window. They all turned to watch.

A moment later the roof crashed down, and with a great gout of fire the old mill collapsed in upon itself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

By two o'clock the excitement had died down and the house on Snow Hill was quiet again. The men from Bow Street had departed; Lord Kadenworthy and Peregrine Cranford had taken Katrina and a fast-asleep Lady Naomi back to Falcon House, with Horatio Glendenning and Falcon riding escort. Sir Mark Rossiter and Gwendolyn had long since retired, and all the windows were dark save for one. In the book room a branch of candles still flickered to the intrusive fingers of the wind, and smoke from the small fire occasionally puffed into the room.

Comfortably settled on the sofa to the right of the fireplace, James Morris stirred, yawned, and blinked sleepily. Opposite him, sprawled low in his chair, chin propped on bandaged hands, long legs stretched toward the hearth, Gideon gazed blindly into the flames.

Morris peered at the clock on the mantel. Stifling another yawn, he muttered, “Must you make a decision tonight, dear boy? Appears to me you'd do better to get a bit of rest. D'you hear someone—?” He glanced to the hall. “Oh, it's you, Falcon. Come back, did you?”

“No,” said Falcon pithily. “You behold my shade, Morris.” He waved a reassuring hand at Gideon, who had started up anxiously “Be
à l'aise.
She is perfectly safe, and fast asleep in bed at my father's house. Am I to be offered a glass of brandy?”

Morris shrugged. “Ross is all fingers and thumbs, and I ain't inclined to wait on you. Serve yourself, Lord Haughty-Snort. You can see the decanter.”

Falcon considered him grimly, but containing his instincts, went over to the credenza. Returning, glass in hand, he said casually, “I dropped in at Collington's.”

Both men sprang to their feet.

“The devil you did!” exclaimed Gideon.

“I wonder he did not put a hole in you,” said Morris.

“Likely he would have done, had he been at home.” Sitting on the edge of the reference table, one foot swinging, Falcon said ironically, “The butler informed me that his lordship had been called back to Italy on a matter of great urgency. Can you believe that the heartless villain did not even wait to learn whether his daughter had been rescued?” He sipped his brandy and snorted. “Faugh!”

Morris was shocked. “It's jolly good cognac, and it ain't polite to criticize—”

Falcon groaned. “I was referring to his lordship, my blithering dolt.”

“He need not have fled the country had I perished,” Gideon pointed out. “He must know I survived, and likely knows Naomi did also.”

“No thanks to him, the merciless hound,” growled Morris.

Gideon sat down again. “'Tis very good of you, Falcon, to come all the way back here to tell me. You—er, did not mention Collington's part in it to the others?”

“I said nothing, as you desired.”

“Well, if you ask me,” said Morris, “the bastard should have been reported to the authorities at once! Why on earth—”

“That is your considered opinion, is it?” sneered Falcon. “And with what does Rossiter charge our noble peer?”

“You know blasted well! Kidnapping for a start, and—”

“Kidnapping his own child?”

“Oh, do try to use your famous nous! Lady Naomi is of age. She was imprisoned 'gainst her will and damn near slain! And Collington tried to force Ross to hand over the jewelled men as ransom.”

“Did he really? Pray where is your evidence? Who witnessed Rossiter's confrontation with the earl in that damnable mill? No one. Who even
saw
Collington in the vicinity? Only those rogues we apprehended, and they are obviously too terrified to speak. One gathers transportation is less to be feared than the wrath of their legendary Squire. Where are these allegedly so valuable jewelled figures? No one knows.”

“The ransom note!” exclaimed Morris triumphantly. “You can give 'em that, Ross!”

“I might, had I not stupidly allowed the earl to take it back when we were at his house.”

“Very stupidly,” murmured Falcon.

Irritated, Morris snapped, “At such a moment, only an insensate block of ice—”

“Or a Mandarin?” put in Falcon sweetly.

“Or a Mandarin—would be capable of rational thought!”

“And being
such
a notable judge of rational thought, Lieutenant, do pray favour us with your next edifying suggestion.”

“Well, I will! You read that blasted letter, and I saw the jewelled men. We could testify under oath that—”

“Rubbish,” exclaimed Falcon impatiently. “Even did they not judge you a silly fribble—and I ain't saying they wouldn't!—
you
served with Rossiter in the Low Countries and are known to be his good friend, and thus prejudiced.
I
am scarcely acknowledged to exist at all, and was I graciously permitted to speak, my testimony would be disregarded. And at the moment,
Rossiter
is even worse
ton
than I am. Without some tangible evidence the authorities would either laugh at us, or clap us up in the Gatehouse on a charge of slander and malicious mischief 'gainst a peer of the realm.”

Persisting stubbornly, Morris argued, “We all know Naomi was kidnapped. She herself will—”

“She does not know her father is involved,” interposed Rossiter quietly.

“And you don't mean to tell her, do you?” said Falcon.

“I hope she will never learn of his part in it.” Rossiter looked at him steadily. “She has been hurt enough.”

Falcon smiled his mocking smile. “What you mean is, you're afraid of losing her. She'd never wed you an she knew
her
father was instrumental in the ruin of yours.”

“Blister it!” exclaimed Morris. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Never mind,” said Falcon. “We are aware of your limitations.”

Ignoring this barbed condescension, Morris asked, “Do you really mean to let him go unpunished, Ross? It don't seem right. The truth should be told.”

“The truth!” Falcon gave a derisive snort. “I doubt we've come near to it.”

Morris said, “Near enough to know that Collington held some peculiar grudge against Sir Mark and tried to ruin him. And that Derrydene was a party to it.”

“Well, well. Our sage
can
think! If only for a short distance. Mayhap you can take us the rest of the way, Rossiter.”

Gideon stood and went over to pick up the decanter. “In confidence, a little way, perhaps.”

“Make an earnest effort to follow this, dear dolt,” said Falcon.

“I'd like to follow
him,
” said Morris,
sotto voce,
as Rossiter crossed the room to rather clumsily refill his glass. “Closely. With a lance in my hand!” Falcon glanced over at him suspiciously, and he added, “Tell us first, Ross. Which of them is this all-powerful Squire? Derrydene, or Collington?”

“I think neither. Those louts at the mill
knew
Collington, and one of them told Naomi no one has ever seen the Squire. Also, Camber, Naomi's groom, was with the ruffians who searched Promontory Point and beat Tummet; and we know that Camber called at Derrydene's house. For which piece of bungling Collington appeared to think Derrydene would be punished; presumably by the Squire.”

Morris groaned. “You mean there are more of the swine lurking about?”

“Two or three at the least,” put in Falcon. “You agree, Rossiter?”

Gideon nodded. “When Naomi overheard the pair who plotted in the Dowling ante room, they spoke of everyone being different. She thought they referred to the differences in people. To my mind, they spoke of the icons, and meant not
everyone,
but that
every one
of
those
objects is different.”

“Aye. And if you recollect,” Falcon put in, “they also said they couldn't have a meeting because ‘six' was lost. So the figures are very likely numbered.”

“Very likely,” agreed Gideon. “And each member of their little club, or whatever it is, has a number of his own and an icon for—identification, mayhap.”

“Stap me!” exclaimed Morris. “Six of the villains? All that planning and organization to ruin your father?”

“As a first step,” said Gideon thoughtfully.

Falcon and Morris exchanged startled glances. Falcon echoed, “
First
step? You think they plan more mischief?”

“I think 'twas indeed a conspiracy 'gainst my father. But when Collington had me trapped in the mill and thought I was as good as dead and could not repeat what I knew, he told me there was more to it. Besides, if you remember, the soiree plotters said that all their lives were at stake.” Gideon put down the decanter, and stood staring at it. “I know of only two crimes by which the life of a nobleman could be placed at risk.”

Morris said in awe, “Murder. Or—
treason
! Oh egad!”

Leaning forward, Falcon asked intently, “Do you say you suspect a plot 'gainst England?”