Maggie MacKeever (23 page)

“Aha!” crowed Lady Katherine. “I knew there was something dishonest about that chit!”

Lord Parrington was growing very wearied of his mother’s vaporings. “We are not talking about Lady Amabel. Rather,
we
are, but this fellow is not.
He
persists under the delusion that I know more than I have said about the jewels.”

Thus referred to, Jakes felt obliged to speak. “Aye!” he said.

“I am a suspicious and dangerous character,” explained Fergus to his dumbfounded parent. “And as such am about to be detained—or whatever is done to such characters. It will make a dreadful scandal, I daresay.”

“Scandal?” Lady Katherine thought it might. She would never live down the disgrace, in fact. If only it might be prevented! Feeling very frustrated, she gripped her cane.

“Scandal!” repeated Lord Parrington to underscore the point; Fergus understood the workings of his parent’s mind very well. “The pity is it
could
be avoided, if only this fellow could be persuaded of his error, and permit me to return to where I left March. As it is—” He shrugged. “We are likely to lose both March and the jewels.
I
would not care to be responsible for such a blunder, I think.”

Nor, for that matter, would Jakes, who had more than a passing acquaintance with the acerbic tongue of his Chief Magistrate. But he dared not approach that worthy with such a queer tale as this. What to do? It was as Jakes pondered this weighty question that Lady Katherine made her move. She threw her arms up in the air, thrust out her feet before her, and uttered a pathetic croak.

“Begod!” uttered Jakes, astonished. Pleased by the success of her dramatic debut, Lady Katherine promptly lolled out her tongue, rolled back her eyes, and allowed her head to fall forward on her chest.

“It’s a seizure!” explained Lord Parrington to his appalled companion. “She has them frequently, alas. Her sensibilities are very delicate. You should not have arrested me in front of her.”

“How was I to know, sir? Shouldn’t we do something?” Jakes was smitten with guilt.

With raised eyebrows. Lord Parrington indicated the pistol that was still pointed at his chest. Abashed, Jakes lowered it—and then things happened so quickly that he was never able to explain afterward just what had come about. To one thing, however, Jakes readily attested: Lord Parrington was very handy with his fists.

“Come along, Mama!” Fergus demanded impatiently, having with expert application of said fists laid his captor out cold on the floor. Then he appropriated Jakes’s pistol. Fergus already had the walking sword, of course; but it paid to be prepared. “There is no time to waste. I’d leave you behind if I didn’t think this fool would arrest you upon awakening—but if you cannot keep up with me, I’ll leave you to make your own way.”

“Make my own way
where?”
inquired Lady Katherine, who had made a remarkable recovery from her fit. Briskly, she heaved herself erect. ‘The carriage is outside, waiting to convey me—us!—home.”

“Excellent!” Lord Parrington peered cautiously into the hallway and deemed it safe. “But we are not going immediately home. Come along. Mama!”

At a faster pace than was her habit, Lady Katherine obeyed. “
Not
home?” she quavered. “Then where? I am already exhausted by the exigencies of this day. Fergus, you do not mean to try and rescue March yourself? Let the authorities deal with it!”

“I would like to very much, Mama; but you’ve seen for yourself that the authorities will
not.”
Having safely attained the street, and discovered the carriage, Fergus bundled his parent inside. “I’m afraid I must commandeer your carriage, but then I’ll send you home.”

“You
will send
me
home?” As result of this cavalier attitude, Lady Katherine was stricken with a palpitation in her heart. She clutched herself in the general vicinity of that organ. “Ungrateful whelp! How like a serpent’s tooth!” The implications of his disrespect dawned. “You would take your own mother to a
bawdy house?”

Fergus was discovering the joys of rebellion. “Don’t worry, Mama!” he said cheerfully. “I won’t insist you go in!”

“You won’t insist—oh!” Bereft of words. Lady Katherine fell back against her seat. She did not long remain speechless, of course, and uttered countless additional words concerning selfless maternal sacrifice; but since those plaintive comments did not sway their target, they need not be presented in their entirety.

In very little time, despite the inclement weather, their destination was reached. Lady March’s coachman waited where he had been instructed, and welcomed the opportunity to voice his disapproval of man and beasts left an unconscionable long time to shiver in the fog. Leaving his mama’s coachman to commiserate, and his mama to indulge in a temper tantrum, Lord Parrington strode purposefully across the street.

No one sought to deny him entrance to the house, and probably would not have done so even had not he held walking sword and pistol in his hands. Fergus was a well set-up young man, after all, and obviously plump in the pocket. Of the contents of those pockets, several persons sought to relieve him, but Fergus stood steadfast. A cursory inspection of the downstairs, whilst greatly edifying, afforded him no glimpse of a familiar face. Grimly, Fergus assayed the stairs. Thereupon, he did meet someone not a stranger, a stout gentleman with a ruddy complexion and a shock of white hair— the last gentleman, in fact, Fergus had expected to see. “Good God! Sir Osbert!” he cried.

The squire, though no less surprised to happen upon his daughter’s favored suitor in such exceptional surroundings, was in a much more mellow mood. Too, he had the advantage, having posted to London for the express purpose of meeting this young sprig. That the meeting should take place in a bawdy house did not disconcert him. “Zounds! You
ain’t
a popinjay!” said Mab’s papa genially.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lord March gazed with displeasure at the pistol that was trained upon the bed. “This is a trifle unfriendly, Jane. After all we have been to one another, as you yourself pointed out. Having prevented me turning up my toes prematurely, do you now mean to stick my spoon in the wall?”

With a grimace, Jane kicked the door shut, “I’m sure I’m civil as a nun’s hen!” she snapped. “Or
would
be was you to tell me what has become of that as which I’m very wishful to get my dabbers on!”

“Wishful to—ah!” His lordship simulated enlightenment. “You refer to the gems.”

“You think you’ve put one over on me.” Wearing a grim expression, Jane approached the bed. “You and your ladies. Oh yes, I see who they are! They must have been mad as Bedlam, to follow you in here. But that’s no bread-and-butter of mine! You’ve been behaving very scaly, and I’m very much afraid that you’ve come to your just deserts.”

Lord March’s position was not so ominous as Jane made out, and well he knew it. “But not before I reveal to you where I have hidden the gems, I think. Which I do not intend to do! You must concede that the game is up, Jane.”

What Jane conceded, without hesitation, was that his lordship was up to all the rigs. However, so was Jane. She glanced away from Marriot to his companions on the narrow bed. Lady Amabel was attempting unsuccessfully to heave Henrietta’s inert body from atop her own. Eleanor was huddled as close as humanly possible to her husband, looking tearful and terrified. “She don’t
look
like a tempersome female!” Jane remarked. “Or was that more of your taradiddles, sir?”

Lord March glanced fondly down upon his wife. “I told Jane it was because you hit me over the head that my memory was regained. You were made very angry by the intimation that Jane and I have been more than friends.”

“I was?” Briefly Nell forgot her terror. “What a clanker, Marriot! As if I would ever abuse you, no matter
how
many women—don’t dare to laugh at me, you wretch! You know what I mean!”

Could he have, Lord March would have embraced his wife, so delightful was her dirty face. As it was, he could only strain impotently at his bonds. “I know that I adore you, Nell!” he proclaimed, as result of which his wife embraced him.

“Not only Marriot has been telling clankers!” Mab achieved a sitting position, Henrietta sprawled across her lap. “You have been telling a fair amount of your own, Jane! We know the robberies were not Marriot’s idea, as you hinted—and we know also that he didn’t leave anyone floating facedown in the Thames!” She nudged his lordship. “Don’t we, Marriot?”

“Eh? We do!” agreed Lord March. “Your cohorts served me a good turn when they set upon me, Jane. My memory
has
returned. You meant me to take the blame for your misdeeds, I conjecture; but I tumbled to your scheme and absconded with the gems.”

“There’s no flies on you, sir!” Jane’s pistol did not waver. “And now if you please I’ll just have those sparklers.”

“But I do
not
please.” For a gentleman in his extremely unfortunate position, Marriot was very confident. “I thought I had made that clear. You are at point-non-plus. Give it up, Jane.”

“It ain’t me as has any number of people fit to murder me!” retorted Jane. A glance at the occupants of the bed caused her to reconsider. “Or at least not so many as
you
have! I wasn’t bamming you when I said the lads was wishful of carving out your liver—and I’m feeling fit to blow your brains out myself.” Her unfriendly gaze moved from Marriot to his companions.

“Maybe you won’t talk, but I fancy the lads can persuade your ladies otherwise!”

Mab fancied they might also. “Oh!” she cried. “We
have
landed in the briars, and it is all my fault!”

This lament roused Lady March from preoccupation with her mate. “Nonsense! If anyone is at fault, it is Marriot, because had he not gone to White’s, and been set upon by footpads, none of us would be in this dreadful fix!” It occurred to Nell that her words smacked of censure. “Not that you must blame yourself, Marriot! You cannot be held accountable for your unfortunate memory! Oh, I did not mean
that
either. But Mab’s intentions were the best.”

Though she had lain supine—despite Lady Amabel’s energetic efforts to dislodge her—through the proceedings, and had every intention of continuing inert until this abominable dilemma was resolved, Nell’s assertion of Mab’s innocence caused Henrietta to change her mind. “Lady Amabel’s intentions were to tumble us into a bumblebath, and she has succeeded very well!” proclaimed Henrietta, heaving herself upright and glowering at Jane. “Sleepwalking, is it? You are as bad as Mab!”

“As bad as—oh!” Lady Amabel glared. “You are a devilish disagreeable female, Henrietta Dougharty! And if Fergus no longer wishes to marry me, it is largely
your
doing! He
did
wish very much to tie the knot before you told him all those fibs about me and Marriot—as if I’d set my cap at a married gentleman, and one moreover who is married to my very dear friend!”

“That’s as may be.” Henrietta returned Mab’s hostile regard. “If Parrington had wished to marry you so badly, I doubt anything I might have said would make a difference. But you may be sure of one thing, miss! Lady Katherine will never permit her son to marry a female who has been held prisoner in a bagnio!”

Lady Amabel did not doubt the veracity of this assertion, which endeared its utterer to her not one bit. “The devil fly with Lady Katherine!” she snapped.

The devil might fly away with the entire population of this room, herself excluded, decided Jane, who was not accustomed to having her trusty little pistol paid so little heed. Despite the fact that a gun was trained on them, Lord and Lady March gazed rapt upon one another, while Henrietta and Mab also exchanged meaningful looks—hostile and belligerent, like two pugilists preparing to square off, nose to nose. “I want to know where the sparklers are, March!”

Himself, Marriot wanted nothing more than to turn those items over at long last to Bow Street. “So you have said before. And as I have said before, I do not mean to tell you. Ergo—stalemate!”

“Stalemate, is it? I think not!” Jane’s expression was very ominous, her pistol trained on Lady March. Her fell intent was obvious. Eleanor shrank back against her husband, and even Henrietta roused from her hostile contemplation of Mab. Said Henrietta, “Do something, Marriot!”

What Henrietta thought Marriot might do, trussed up like a chicken as he was, Mab could not imagine; nor in fact how anyone else might ease their peril. The situation was truly desperate. Therefore, Mab took recourse to the only remaining source of salvation. She clasped her hands together, raised her eyes heavenward, and prayed. “Lawks!” said Jane in a voice rich with scorn. And then she emitted a startled squawk, having felt in the small of her back the tip of a very sharp sword.

“Drop your pistol!” ordered Fergus, who’d entered unnoticed. “And put down that valise. For your information, I still want to marry you, Mab!”

“You do?” Mab hopped off the crowded bed, snatched the pistol from Jane’s hand. “Are you quite sure, Fergus? Your mama cannot think I would be the proper wife for you, and I’m not sure but what she has a point. I am
not
a very biddable female.”

Lord Parrington dared look briefly away from Jane, who was giving voice to an amazing string of colorful oaths. His glance fell on the altered décolletage of Mab’s pretty yellow gown. With difficulty he swallowed. “I’m positive!” he said.

“Then I am very glad of it!” Mab’s own gaze moved to the doorway. “Good gracious! Papa! What are you
doing here?”

With fascination, the baronet stared upon the scene. On the bed were huddled Lord and Lady March and Henrietta Dougharty, while Fergus held at swordpoint an extremely irate female. As for his daughter—Sir Osbert also noted her plunging neckline and her dirty face. “You
are
a little zany!” he said, with disapproval. “I know you didn’t like me saying you were acting like a loony, but here’s the proof.”

“Piffle!” retorted Mab, unperturbed. “Here, Papa, take this pistol and help Fergus to guard Jane—she is very dangerous, I promise!—while I cut poor Marriot loose.” So saying she snatched away the walking sword.