A Shadow's Bliss (24 page)

Jonathan's eyes fell and he was silent.

Vastly intrigued, Morris said, “D'you know, I've the feeling we've met somewhere.”

“Oddly enough, I've the same impression. I've an excellent memory, but be damned if I can call to mind what I know of him. Well, Mr. Coachman? Make up your mind. Do you lurk about to hide your guilty self, or is there more to it?”

Jonathan put the sword aside and pressed his handkerchief to the cut on his back. “My name is Jonathan. My family name I cannot recall. You are perfectly right, Mr. Falcon. I am disgraced and—and dishonoured. I was destitute when I arrived at Roselley, and with no other reason for being there than an attempt to survive. But now, I think something damnably havey-cavey is going on out at the mine. Miss— The Britewells have been kind to me. I'll not stand by and see them hurt.”

Falcon and Morris exchanged a sober glance. Falcon walked over to close the window, then pocketed the pistol and propped his shoulders against the mantel.

“Don't know that you should've put up your pistol, August,” said Morris, crossing to peer into the birdcage once more. “Our remarkable coachman has brought a most odd creature with him. Could be what they call a ‘familiar,' y'know.”

The notion of poor Duster being the daemoniac companion to a witch drew a shout of laughter from Jonathan.

Always ready to be amused, Morris grinned at him, and asked, “What is it?”

“'Tis called a parakeet. A sailor brought it back from India.”

Falcon said dryly, “How fortunate that it survived the journey. 'Tis become curst chancy to sail the high seas these days.”

The smile died from Jonathan's eyes. Watching him, Falcon asked, “What makes you think something is amiss at the mine?”

“I'll tell you nothing more till I know what your game is,” said Jonathan. “Turn me in to the authorities by all means. I'll let them handle the matter.”

Morris grunted derisively. “Much good it may do you! They won't believe
us!
Small heed they'd pay to a man said to be all about in his head!”

“Keep your voice down,” snapped Falcon.

Stung, Morris said, “I fancy I am safe from traitors in my kinsman's house.”

“Traitors!” exclaimed Jonathan. “My God! Is that it, then?”

Falcon said, “What the deuce did you think it was?”

“Why, I—I fancied free-traders, perhaps. Though it seemed unlikely that a man like Hibbard Green would find rum running worth his while.”

“You think Green is involved?” asked Morris eagerly.

Jonathan looked at each of them, and took the chance. He retrieved the sketch from the drawer, and held it out. “Would the fact that he owns this have any—”

His words were cut off as Morris gave a whoop and tossed his tricorne into the air.

Less demonstrative, Falcon's deep eyes none the less blazed with excitement. He stood straight. “By God, but it would! Does he? How d'you know?”

“He does! I know because he—er, dropped it, and—”

Falcon's lip curled. “Never. You shall have to do better than that, friend.”

“Well, he had—fallen.” Jonathan saw suspicion returning, and said reluctantly, “Oh, very well. The clumsy fellow tripped over the cliff, and I was obliged to hoist him up again.”

“So it was you!” Morris shook his head chidingly. “Showed a sad lack of discrimination there, m'boy.”

“And that is how he came to drop the icon?” asked Falcon.

Jonathan nodded. “I picked it up. He was—not pleased.”

“Rumour has it that the hound turned his whip on the man who saved his dirty hide!” Morris said. “Now I see why!”

“He evidently thought I meant to steal the stupid object.”

“Stuff!” said Morris. “He knew you'd
seen
it! You're damned lucky he thinks you're short of a sheet, else you'd likely be dead by now!”

“One can but hope you levelled the bastard,” murmured Falcon ironically.

Jonathan flushed scarlet. “He is—is a peer of the realm, and I—”

“You are a gentleman,” said Morris indignantly.

“Or—were,” qualified Falcon.

“Pay him no heed,” said Morris. “He ‘flutters in many directions and flies in none.'”

Falcon closed his eyes and swore blisteringly. “Why, oh
why,
must I be forever saddled with you and your putrid homilies?”

“Because you needed an observation point,” said Morris, grinning. “And I am the only one among us with connections in Cornwall.”

Sighing, Falcon sat on the bed. “Tell us about Green's figure.”

“He's very tall, shockingly obese, and foul-mouthed,” said Morris, looking angelically innocent. “I'd have thought even you would've noticed—”

Falcon hurled a pillow at him, and Morris staggered and sat on the floor laughing.

“The icon, Mr. Jonathan,” snarled Falcon. “The jewelled figurine you were so ill-advised as to take up.”

Hugging the pillow to him, Morris said, “You may be seated, Jack. Lord Haughty-Snort allows us peasants some privileges.”

Jonathan smiled and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed. “It was a small piece, much like your sketch, and fashioned from a clear rock—quartz I'd guess. The face was as shown, and two fine opals formed the eyes. If 'tis as old as it looks, I'd guess it to be of considerable value. Has it some significance in all this?”

Falcon evaded, “Tell us how you came to suspect something was afoot at the castle.”

“Not at the castle,” corrected Jonathan swiftly. “At the Blue Rose Mine. There were several things, though I didn't connect them at first. I saw a great many footprints in the sand very early one morning. The tide was out, and the prints came from the sea and went northward across the beach. I could learn nothing of a large party at the castle, or of guests having arrived overnight. Later, I overheard Lord Green having a most odd conversation with a Frenchman on the high moor, near the mine. The Frenchman was roasting Green because an unwanted visitor was coming. He said the Squire would be vexed, and would blame Green for having allowed himself to be followed.”

Morris drove a fist into his palm. “Hi!” he exclaimed. “There can be no more doubt, then! Ross was right as usual. Green's a member of the League and he found out I was coming here!”

Intrigued, Jonathan echoed, “League?”

“Go on, if you please,” said Falcon. “We'll explain when you've done, I promise. What else?”

Jonathan frowned, but added, “It seemed odd that a man like Green would want to reopen and restore the mine. He's a disgusting creature, but he's no fool, and to be willing to pour all that lettuce into building docks and—”

Morris sat up straight.

Falcon leaned forward, and interrupted harshly, “
Docks?
Devil you say! Where? Why?”

“On the beach, below the castle. So that ships can unload supplies for the mine renovations. Sir Vinson Britewell will have no part of it, but Green keeps at him.”

“I'll wager he does,” muttered Falcon grimly.

“They kept it damnably close,” said Morris. “We've heard not a whisper of docks.”

“It's not generally known,” said Jonathan. “I've been doing some work for one of his sons, and he told me of it. I only hope that if something comes of it all, that unlovely lot in the mine are not to be employed rather than local people.”

“You may be
à l'aise,
” grunted Falcon.

Morris nodded soberly. “They've not been brought in for that kind of labour!”

Jonathan said firmly, “Gentlemen, I've done as you asked. Now I want to know what is going forward.”

Morris said, “'Tis a desperate business, Jack, and not for a man who is, er—”

“You mean not for the village idiot. I think I am not that, sir. I—was ill, and—”

“That's one word for it,” interposed Falcon with brutal candour. “When first we met you told me you could not remember much of your past. In other words, your mind plays you tricks.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Furthermore, when you were attacked by a slimy toad of a fellow, you hadn't the gumption to defend yourself.”

“I—I do not see what that has—”

“We risk our lives in this game,” said Falcon. “And sometimes our lives depend on those who play on our side. We've no use for either half-wits, or poltroons.”

Jonathan's fists clenched and he said in a voice that shook with anger, “Damn you, I'm not a poltroon!”

“S'right, Guv.” Enoch Tummet came into the room and closed the door. “This 'ere Johnny Coachman can fight. 'E levelled a groom neat and proper, when the cove made a grab fer that there unnatural bird.”

Jonathan was mildly surprised when neither man objected to a valet entering their conversation. Tummet grinned at him as though he'd read his thoughts, and began to lay out Falcon's evening clothes.

“And to haul Hibbard Green up the cliff,” said Morris, “must've been a touch chancy. Sooner hoist an elephant, m'self. If there were any about, that is. Rather scarce in England. Pity. Elephants are—”

Falcon looked at Jonathan speculatively, and over-rode, “Yet when you are attacked yourself…” His eyes narrowed. He snapped his fingers, and said, “Jove, but I have it! You said you were disgraced. Have you by chance taken a vow of non-violence, or some such thing?”

“Burn me, but that's it!” exclaimed Morris, regarding Jonathan in awe. “What a devilish fix! You must really have wallowed in the mire!”

Jonathan flushed. “Which is not to say I am of no use. I'm—I'm allowed to act in protection of others, you see.”

“And 'e's knowed at the castle, Guv,” put in Tummet, selecting a pair of lilac silk stockings from a drawer. “Might be useful. 'Specially if they all take 'im fer a looney.”

Falcon glanced at Morris, who said, “I'm for it. Risky, though. If they rumble him, I mean. You'll have to let him know what he's up against, dear boy. Only fair.”

Jonathan said, “I can hazard a guess. The Stuarts again?”

Falcon scowled, hesitating. “That's possible. But if Bonnie Prince Charlie is up to mischief, he's using very different tactics this time.”

“Well, he'd have to,” said Morris reasonably. “Made mice feet of it last time. ‘If at first you don't succeed, try—'”

“So far as we can judge,” resumed Falcon, cutting off the maxim with grim determination, “a group of six gentlemen have formed a secret society that has created a most damnable lot of mischief. We mean to stop them. You'd as well know there's only a handful of us, and Lord only knows how many of them. We call them the League of Jewelled Men, because they each carry a small jewelled token, or figurine, similar to the one Hibbard Green dropped.”

“Why?” asked Jonathan. “Surely, if they were caught with such a figure, 'twould be an instant indictment.”

Morris said solemnly, “‘You can't catch water with a fork.'”

“Oh,
Zounds!
” howled Falcon.

Tummet interposed soothingly, “Now, now, Guv. Fur down, fur down!” Falcon's rageful glare shot to him, and he went on hurriedly, “What the lieutenant means, Mr. Jack, is that the folk what oughta be catching the varmints—ain't.”

“And they carry the figurines,” put in Morris, “because they don't know who they are.”

Falcon said sourly, “And any man who can make sense of that bumblebroth, is most
certainly
not a dimwit!”

Jonathan asked frowningly, “Do you say that this—er society, is so secret the members don't know each others' identities?”

Morris shrugged. “Can't blame 'em for being careful. It very likely is treason, do you see? Apt to turn a man's head. Right off.”

“Is this—Squire fellow the leader? Do you know what they plan?”

Falcon said, “Yes, to the first question. We have learned that much. Would that we knew
who
he is. As to what they plan—at the moment they concoct fiendishly devious schemes to dishonour and ruin public figures, and then acquire their estates. They choose aristocrats of power and prestige, and they stop at nothing to achieve their ends. Forgery, robbery, blackmail, even murder. They've been responsible for several tragedies we know of, and heaven knows how many we don't. Apparently, they're selective in the properties they want.”

“Always estates?” asked Jonathan. “Country homes?”

“Almost always,” said Morris. “And, thus far at least, all located in the southland.”

“Around London?”

Falcon said, “Not necessarily. They damn near got their hands on Lac Brillant, near Dover, and Glendenning Abbey, which is outside Windsor.”

“But—surely both those properties are entailed and cannot be sold.”

“Exactly so. Luckily, we were able to put a spoke in their wheel on those occasions, but the intent was most certainly to send both families to the block for high treason.”

“Which would break the entails, you see,” said Morris. “For the estates would then be seized by the Crown and sold at auction, and the League could buy 'em.”

“Good God!” said Jonathan, appalled. “It scarce seems possible that anyone would destroy an entire family only so as to purchase an estate!”

Morris said, “Only way they could snabble it, if it's entailed. Besides which, if high-ranking aristocrats keep getting themselves packed off to Newgate or the Tower, public confidence in the government starts to totter.”

Jonathan whistled softly. “So
that's
what you think they're up to! Undermining the status quo so as to sway the public in favour of the Jacobites!”

“'Twould be one explanation.” Falcon pursed his lips. “But it might be a little flurry inspired by Pitt, who is so eager for more war 'gainst France.”