Simply Scandalous (11 page)

The faint chuckle that escaped the Honorable Mr.
Alexander Devize at this point did nothing to improve
Swale's temper.

The dining room at White's was full to capacity, but
Sir Benedict commanded a table at the bow window
without difficulty. The conversation in the room fell
away, and startled looks greeted Swale and Devize as
they entered the room on Sir Benedict's heels.

Apparently oblivious to the attention, Sir Benedict sat
down and ordered dinner for himself and his guests.
He then asked the attendant for the betting book.

"What do you want the betting book for?" asked
Swale, curiosity overcoming his annoyance.

"It seems to me a good place to start," Benedict
replied, "if I am to discover who is behind this attack
upon my brother."

Swale blinked in surprise. "You mean to say you
don't think I did it?"

"You, my lord?" said Benedict. "Do you mean to say
you did do it?"

Swale glowered at him. "Are you accusing me?"

"Ought I to accuse you, my lord?" Benedict asked
patiently.

"No!"

"Very well then," said Benedict. "And yet it seems
undeniable that someone has plotted to harm my
brother. Cary's attackers spoke of being sent on their
errand by your lordship. To me, that is the most curious fact of the business. Apparently, our man hates
my brother enough to wish him harm, but he also
went to the trouble of blaming Lord Swale. I should
not have thought this last part necessary if Cary's missing the race was all that mattered to him. Cary
would have been forced to forfeit the race, but there
it would have ended. Does it not strike you as curious
that this was done in your name, my lord?"

"No," Swale retorted. "It strikes me as bloody
impertinent! "

At White's, Swale's tastes were well-known. While the
others were brought watercress soup, his lordship
received his customary steak and kidney pie. He did
not touch it, however. Now that Sir Benedict had
laid the facts out, it did seem rather curious that his
name had been brought into it.

"Needlessly elaborate," he postulated, "in addition
to being bloody impertinent."

Sir Benedict, meanwhile, surveyed the ledger the
attendant had brought along with the soup. "There
are no less than eight bets recorded here concerning
the race between Lord Swale and Mr. Wayborn," he
said. "I expect any one of the parties might be cherishing a grudge against my brother."

Swale's astonishment showed plainly on his face.
"But your brother is universally admired! He is the favorite of all London."

"Is that so?" said Benedict, smiling faintly. "It seems
to me he has made fools of half of London with
those pretty chestnuts of his. Yet you tell me he has
no

"He hasn't," said Swale. "Everyone likes him."

"Cary can be impetuous," said Sir Benedict. "He
does not always guard his tongue."

Swale looked over the list of bets, frowning thoughtfully. `Kosher and Leighton-that's bound to be all
right. I have known Bosher my whole life, and
Leighton is his cousin. Devize and Calverstock. Obviously all right. Lord Alastair Hungerford and Lord Meadowsweet. Lord Alastair is the Duke of Ramfurline's son, you know. Charlie and Mr. Cammerleigh. Lord Redfylde and Lord Dulwich. Myself and
Mr. Wayborn, obviously. Sir Adam Osbert and Lord
Emsworth. Budgie St. John Jones and Old PartridgeBudgie wouldn't dare pull a mean trick like that. I
rather think he's afraid of Mr. Wayborn. I know he's
afraid of me."

"An excellent reason for hiring proxies," Sir Benedict pointed out.

Swale's eyes bulged. "Budgie! Are you mad? Besides,
he bet on Wayborn-your brother, I mean. Budgie
can't afford to lose even the trifling sum of five hundred pounds."

Devize said, "Really, Sir Benedict, there is no one
at White's capable of such a thing. Why, it would be
cheating! "

"It is possible our quarry placed no bet on the
race," Sir Benedict agreed thoughtfully.

"But if he did, he would have put his money on me,"
said Swale, his brow wrinkled with concentration,
"knowing that Mr. Wayborn would be forced to forfeit."

"You assume his motive was simple greed," Benedict
pointed out. "But if he merely wished to collect on a
bet, why implicate my Lord Swale? Why not simply let
it be known that my brother was attacked by footpads? Such attacks are woefully commonplace."

Swale attacked his pie. "I would dearly like to know
how my name came to be in the mouths of these
criminals."

"Perhaps our man impersonated you when he hired
his thugs," said Alex.

"The bloody cheek of him," said Swale. "I'll teach
him to impersonate me."

"Forgive me, my lord," said Benedict, "but if I meant to impersonate a Peer, you would not be my
first choice. Why then were you his?"

Swale frowned. "Eh?"

"He did not pluck your name from thin air. The
attack on my brother may have been motivated by
greed, but the attack on you must be personal, I think."

"But I was not attacked," said Swale, puzzled.

"Not physically," Benedict said patiently. "But your
good name has been attacked, if you see what I
mean.

"I don't care a damn about that," said Swale. "But
my father is sick as a cat. And my sister ..." He
pushed his plate away. "Maria's a little high-strung
when it comes to me. Like a mother lioness with her
cub. This will cause her pain."

"It is difficult," Benedict agreed, "to see one's sister
afflicted. "

Swale blew out his breath. "Do you mean to say, Sir
Benedict, that while this fellow broke your brother's
arm, his true target was ... was my good name?
Bloody devious! Bloody convoluted, if that's the word
I want. If he wants to harm me, why don't he say so,
like a man? Why go after Mr. Wayborn?"

"It is possible he dislikes both of you," Benedict
pointed out. "My brother's injuries do not begin and
end with his arm. He was nearly killed. I was quite
shocked when I saw him. That was not the work of a
disinterested man. Can you think of anyone who
might hate you, my lord?"

"Why should anyone hate me?" Swale demanded,
scowling.

"I myself find it difficult to like you, my lord," said
Sir Benedict apologetically. "Forgive me, but yours is
a personality that seems almost to invite animosity."

"But anyone who hated Swale would want your
brother to humiliate him," Alex pointed out.

"I tell you no one hates me," said Swale, considerably
annoyed by Sir Benedict's reflections on his personality.

"Redfylde hates you, Swale," said Alex thoughtfully, consulting the ledger.

"Nonsense," said Swale. "Why should he?"

"When we were at school together, Redfylde tried
calling you Ginger," said Alex. "You may recall knocking him to the ground. He's hated you ever since."

"He deserved it," said Swale, shrugging. "In the
end, he admitted as much, and we shook hands. My
name," he explained to Sir Benedict, "is not Ginger,
but Geoffrey."

"Quite," said Benedict, hiding a smile. "I should say
Lord Redfylde hates you more than the average man
who is acquainted with you, and what is more, Lord
Redfylde placed rather a large wager on Lord Swale
to win."

"Did he?" Swale was flattered. "Good old Reddy.
School ties and all that."

"Rather suspicious, wouldn't you say?" said Alex slyly.

"What do you mean? Oh, you mean to imply that
Redfylde knew Mr. Wayborn would not be able to
drive that day?" Swale snorted. "Perhaps he thought
I had a chance."

"My dear Geoffrey," said Alex, "I am your friend,
and I bet only five hundred pounds. My Lord Redfylde
bet ten thousand pounds. He is very rich, I know, but
he doesn't throw money away."

"I tell you, I had as good a chance as anyone else,"
Swale snarled. "My grays-"

"Never mind your grays," said Sir Benedict. "Had
Lord Redfylde any reason to hate my brother?"

"Redfylde took it rather hard when Mr. Wayborn
beat him," Alex told him.

"Another race?" Benedict guessed.

Alex nodded. "Redfylde overturned, and, as I recall,
Wayborn teased him about it."

Benedict sighed. "I would say that Lord Redfylde
makes an excellent suspect."

"If Reddy has done this," said Swale, "I will flatten him
again, and this time, he won't get up to shake hands."

"My dear Swale," said Alex mildly, "we shall never
be able to prove it."

"I daresay you are right, Mr. Devize," said Sir Benedict. "And even if we could, what would it cost us to
prosecute a Peer of the Realm? A nasty business. No
good can come of it and a great deal of harm. We have
only just managed to return the King of France to his
throne. We should do nothing to undermine our
own British nobility. Think of the scandal. We must
satisfy ourselves that my brother will recover and that
no lasting harm has come to Lord Swale's honor."

"That's the lump sum of it," said Alex gloomily.
"Reddy gets away with it."

"You've already convicted him then?" said Benedict.
"Now that is hardly fair, Mr. Devize."

"There's one good thing," said Swale. "It must be
killing Lord Redfylde not to collect his ten thousand
pounds. But, thanks to your sister, Sir Benedict, no
one is collecting on their wagers."

"Quite," Benedict murmured. "And now, my lord,
I must ask you to step outside with me. There is
something particular I wish to say to you, and it is of
an intensely private nature."

Swale looked up, surprised. Sir Benedict was on
his feet.

"You don't mean you want me to step outside with you," he said. "We were having such a pleasant time.
I was starting to like you."

"I should be obliged to you, my lord," replied Benedict, moving smoothly away.

"He don't mean to fight you, Geoffrey," Alex
explained.

"What does he want then?"

"Go and find out," Alex advised. "I confess, I am curious myself."

Geoffrey tore the napkin from his neck and stood
up. "Tiresome fellow," he observed. "Stiff-necked
and shirty, if you see what I mean."

Outside, he found Sir Benedict in conference with
that ass, Eustace Calverstock. His temper boiled over
at the sight. So the stiff-necked Sir Benedict was not
above trying two on one, was he? Well, they would find
Lord Swale equal to both of them.

"Ah," Benedict said mildly as he advanced on them,
his fists clenched and murder in his eye. "There you are,
my lord. I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Calverstock? Mr. Calverstock, would you be good enough to
leave us? I would speak to his lordship in private."

"I heard," said Stacy, his thin face-red-with anger.
"I heard but did not believe that you were dining with
the fellow, Sir Benedict! I should not have thought you
capable of such toadeating as this. You know what his
lordship did to Cary! Your own brother, man!"

"I am properly addressed as Sir Benedict, Mr. Calverstock," the baronet said icily.

"You mean to accuse me?" cried Swale, his face
mottled. "You insolent puppy!"

"Mean to?" cried Stacy, his own mild face contorting. "I do accuse you, sir! You are a coward and a villain. If you were not the Duke of Auckland's heir, you
would have been barred from White's long ago. You are unfit for respectable society! I advise you to take
yourself to America where your madness will go unnoticed amongst the savages."

Lord Swale did not even think of honoring Mr.
Calverstock with an invitation to a dawn meeting.
Instead, he planted his fist in the man's face. There
was a sickening crunch of bone, and Stacy doubled
over in pain, his fingers clutching his nose. Blood spattered the cobbles outside of White's.

"You hit me! " Stacy exclaimed in disbelief.

"If you prefer to be shot," Swale replied, "you have
only to name your second."

Such an event could not escape the notice of White's
members. They came pouring out of the club, and to
a man, they sided with Calverstock. Whatever transpires between two gentlemen, it is never excusable for
one to bludgeon the other with his fists. Even Alexander Devize shook his head at the sight.

Benedict turned away with a sigh. He seemed to
regard the unpleasant incident as closed. So did
Swale until Stacy Calverstock flung up his head. "The
only gentleman whom I would care to name as my
second lies in his bed with a broken arm, thanks to
you, my lord. You, sir, are an uncivilized baboon!"

A cool man such as Sir Benedict or even Mr. Devize
might have pointed out that there is no such thing as
a civilized baboon. Lord Swale was not a cool man.
Before no less than fifty members of his club, he
kicked Mr. Calverstock in the ribs. He would have
done it again if Sir Benedict had not intervened by
stepping into the fray.

The baronet's empty sleeve worked on Swale like
the Medusa's gaze, which turns men to stone. "That
is quite enough of that, my lord!" Benedict said sharply. "I beg you to remember that this gentleman
is half your size."

Swale was breathing heavily. "He should have
grown," he said through gritted teeth. "He should
have grown before he called me a coward!"

"The man has no conduct," said someone in the
crowd. "No more conduct than a fishmonger."

"You insult the fishmongers," someone else replied.

Swale angrily jammed his fists in his pockets and
strode away at a sharp clip.

"My lord."

He turned and saw that Sir Benedict was attempting to keep up. "You had better see to your friend's
nose," he growled at the baronet.

"There is something I wish to say to you," Benedict
called to him. "It concerns the letter I received this
morning from my lord Duke, his Grace of Auckland."

Swale stopped in his tracks. "Are you acquainted
with my father, sir?"

"Not at all," Benedict replied. "Indeed, I was all astonishment when I realized his Grace was proposing
an alliance between my family and his. It seemed
rather too spontaneous."