Strange Capers (16 page)

And just before I finally dozed off, I found a moment to wonder who Beau Retchling really was. Aiglon called him Beau, even when they were alone. Was it possibly the great Beau Brummell who had come amongst us? But, no, Aiglon spoke to him as one speaks to an employee. Riddell was the first name that popped into my mind. Aiglon had mentioned Riddell’s coming the very night he arrived. Hadn’t there been some stammering over his R’s, too, a few times? I seemed to remember hearing him say “R-Retchling.” But why would Riddell come incognito? It was too much to conjure with, and at last I slept.

In the morning, I was curious to learn whether his picnic with me or his visit to Madame Bieler would be the first item on Aiglon’s agenda. As things turned out, a haircut took precedence over both. Aiglon and Retchling both jogged into Folkestone, with Jeremy skulking behind them. When Jeremy reported to Rachel later, the only item of any interest whatsoever was that Mickey Dougherty had also gone for a haircut. Obviously it had been prearranged, but Jeremy wasn’t artful enough to discover any manner in which he could overhear their conversation from outside the window. They had talked “thirteen to the dozen” for half an hour, and not a single word of it all was brought home to us!

“They’ve arranged the whole thing, Rachel, and we are none the wiser,” I pointed out..

“Arranging is one thing; doing is another” was her elucidating comment.

The weather was not conducive to a picnic. I was sure it would be proffered as an excuse to cancel or, at least, to delay my outing with Aiglon, but it was no such a thing. It only changed the nature of the trip. We were to go for a drive in his closed carriage. It was agreed that I was to monitor any suspicious actions, leaving Jake and Jeremy free to follow Mickey and Retchling.

I suggested a drive to Dover for our destination as we had already been to Folkestone once.

“We’ll do that another time, if you don’t mind,” Aiglon countered. “I have a little business in Folkestone, which I hope to mix with the pleasure of this outing.”

“You were there this morning. Why didn’t you tend to your business then?” I asked, but I was interested to learn what business he might have in mind all the same. “Has it something to do with the
Mermaid?”

“No, it’s only a bit of shopping.”

“Dover’s shops are as fine.”

“I daresay what I want is equally available in Dover, but I don’t know the shops there. I know exactly where to find good silks in Folkestone. They’re difficult to get a hold of in London, you know. I want to surprise Mama by bringing her a few ells,” he explained. His face was as innocent as a newborn babe’s. A pair of guileless eyes were turned to me.

“I can’t think you’ll object,” he continued blandly. “Most ladies of my acquaintance consider it an accomplishment when they can persuade their gallant to go on the strut with them. Till now I have been immovable in my resistance. But you can talk me into anything, Constance. ‘‘

“Without even trying!” I said sharply, for I was not pleased to share my bit of time with Aiglon with his other flirt.

He turned his laughing eyes on me and replied, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lack of effort to lead me. And don’t think it hasn’t been appreciated, too, but there comes a time, you know, when a little proprietary interest from a lady is not taken amiss.”

I had to remind myself that Retchling was termed an ass for suggesting Aiglon’s interest in me might be serious. This sort of conversation had no excuse except “honorable intentions” on the gentleman’s part. “I try to restrain myself from displaying any proprietary interest in things that aren’t my property,” I replied.

“Strange how little of Cousin Rachel’s ways have rubbed off on you. I’ve noticed it more than once. The crystal pendants would look better on you than on her, too,” he added, using this speech as an excuse to scrutinize my face in a frank way that was extremely disconcerting. “Don’t feel obliged to restrain yourself quite so hard, my flower,” he added, taking my hand in his.

This was fairly uncomfortable, for we sat on opposite benches, and before long Aiglon used it as an excuse to move over to my seat. I promptly turned my head to look at the scenery, as though unaware that my fingers were firmly clutched in his. The sea was a cold, green-gray sheet of rumpled metal, dotted with dark splotches of boats, above which sails ballooned in the wind. It was pretty, but could hardly claim more than a few minutes of observation. Next I looked out the other window, where hillocks rose up from the coast road. The horizon was interrupted here and there by the Martello towers and furze stacks.

Suddenly I felt Aiglon lurch forward and followed the line of his gaze. A man was galloping across the hills, but this was hardly unusual enough to have caused his lurch. The guards were changed at regular intervals. Soon I noticed that a second mounted figure dogged the first, following behind him, but careful not to be seen. He would change his course to keep himself behind a tree or a furze stack.

I think it was the first rider whom Aiglon recognized. I soon discerned the shape of Jeremy in the follower and deduced that Retchling was the followee. Without a word, Aiglon reached into the side pocket of the carriage and pulled out a telescope. He knelt on the floor at the window, adjusted it to his eye, and stared at the riders for about a minute.

It was hard to keep up any appearance of unconcern, but I tried. “What is it, Aiglon?” I asked in a casual way.

“I don’t know. Someone’s following that man up there. I wonder if he plans to do him a mischief. He has a secretive air about him.”

“In broad daylight? I shouldn’t think so.” I laughed.

“But look at the way he goes on, dodging behind stacks, always keeping out of sight!” he insisted. “Here, you have a look. You might recognize the man following. I think that’s Retchling he’s after.”

I put the glass to my eye and soon confirmed my suspicions. As Aiglon hadn’t recognized Jeremy, however, I had no notion of giving him away. “Yes, it looks like Retchling, all right. What do you suppose he’s doing up there? Look, he’s stopped to talk to the guards at the tower!’’

Aiglon lifted the glass from my fingers and confirmed this news. Jeremy’s orders were to remain unseen, so he cantered on. He would take up the chase when Retchling moved on, but his not stopping seemed to ease Aiglon’s fears.

“Any visitor to the coast at this time takes an interest in the preparations to thwart Napoleon,” Aiglon answered.

“Most do, but somehow I had the impression your genius friend meant to spend his days in the library. Was that not what he said?”

“He’s just taking a breath of air,” Aiglon decided, and went on to distract me with the most foolish conversation about the doings of the ton in London. I listened with apparent interest, but I didn’t forget Aiglon’s worry that someone was following Retchling. Why should it matter a groat if Retchling was only out for a breath of air? Of course, Retchling’s duty was really to arrange for a ship. The harbor seemed a more likely place to do it, but that was quite public. It was possible some of the men guarding the stacks might possess a boat, for the fishermen were active in the militia.

When we reached town, Aiglon had the carriage taken to the inn and we alit to walk down to the fishing village. It wasn’t necessary for me to direct Aiglon’s steps toward Madame’s shop. He was perfectly familiar with the route. But before we got there, he said, “Why don’t you stroll along and do whatever it is you do when you come to town, Constance, and I’ll meet you in, say, a quarter of an hour?”

My suspicions soared to new heights, and I determined that I would accompany him to Madame Bieler’s place if I had to break his bones to do it, but first I’d try a polite approach. “I have nothing special to do; I’ll be happy to go with you.”

“It will be boring for you when you’re not buying anything from her today,” he claimed, pretending it was me he was thinking of. “I’ll meet you at the ‘everything’ store. I know ladies can’t come to town without dallying there for an age.”

“As it happens, I’m looking for material for a new gown myself. I’ll look today and buy another time,” I persisted.

His smile was still pleasant but less so than before. “Now that’s a pity. I promised my valet I’d pick up some shoe blacking and thought you might get it, while I speak to Madame.”

“You should have brought some with you, Aiglon!” I declared. “They don’t carry it in Folkestone. Lord Ware is always lamenting the fact. But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting you have some, if you’ve run out.”

The smile had quite vanished, but frustration hadn’t taken over yet. “I expect Retchling has some with him,” he said, while pondering his next pretext.

“I’m sure he has. Shall we continue? Madame’s shop is just along here—the one with the blue door.”

“I know where it is,” he said, becoming a bit curt now.

“I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it by daylight. You more usually visit Madame in the evening, do you not?” The shorter his temper became, the more I poured the honey on my words.

He made one last effort to ditch me. He looked up and down the street and spotted the used-book shop. “I wonder if they have any copies of
The Anatomie of Melancholy
there. I’ve been trying to find one this age in London. Would you mind terribly, Constance—”

“They don’t have one. I asked just a week ago. Strange how similar our tastes are.” I smiled firmly.

“They might have got one in since!”

“There’s one in the library at home,” I lied hastily, losing track of the discussion but not of my purpose.

“Then why did you want to buy another?”

“Because that one is yours, Aiglon. And you know how reluctant I am to claim what is not mine. But, as you hinted, there comes a time when a lady should stake a proprietary claim on a gentleman. I don’t plan to let Madame get you all to herself.” I tried a fluttering smile, feeling like a fool the whole while.

I was vastly relieved when Aiglon gave in. His knowing look accepted defeat and acknowledged as well that he had some notion why I was sticking like a burr. “I believe I’ve met my match in stubbornness,” he said, relaxing back into a real smile.

“No, you’ve met your better, Aiglon. Let’s go.”

“Onward to the blue door,” he agreed, and without further ado, we proceeded to the shop.

Madame’s appearance was typically French in style, though above the norm in beauty. She had dark hair, flashing eyes, a nose a trifle pointy for my own taste, and a very winsome smile. It was her figure, however, for which she was more famous. She was on the petite side in height, but full-bosomed, wasp-waisted, and well-dimpled at the elbow. As clothing is her trade, she is always well dressed. That day, she wore an elegant golden gown, got up with a lot of lace and ribbons. Her manner is customarily vivacious, but I found her closer to hysterical that morning. Oh, she was polite enough, but her eyes had a febrile glow, and her white fingers twitched nervously.

“Bonjour, mam’selle, monsieur,”
she said, curtsying gracefully. She was pretending not to recognize Aiglon by not using his title, but as I was already aware of their acquaintance, that formality soon disappeared.

“Good morning, Madame Bieler,” Aiglon said. “I’ve come about that silk you mentioned the other night.”

Madame turned a startled eye at his plain speaking, but I walked over to look at her new bonnets. I picked up a leghorn, for which I had no use in the world, and tried it on at the mirror, to encourage them to speak freely.

“Ah, yes, for the countess,” Madame said, and went to lift down an ell of shocking red that no lady his mother’s age would be caught dead in.

After that speech, she lowered her voice. I walked away to the farther end of the shop, in hopes that they’d think I wasn’t listening. I remained there a moment, picking up a couple of bonnets to try on, and when I returned to the mirror, I could just overhear their words. Madame had become Yvette by that time.

They were still discussing silk. She had Aiglon climbing up on a chair to retrieve a green piece from a top shelf. I began to think the visit was entirely innocent of anything but flirtation, for there was plenty of that going on. Madame had to hold every bolt up to her own face to show him how the color would look “on.”

“Marvelous, you bring it to life, but somehow I don’t think it would suit Mama quite so well,” Aiglon was saying. I recognized his accents as those used for serious flirtation.

“Ah, I bring nothing to life today,” she said in doleful tones.

“Why, is something the matter, Yvette?” he asked, concern throbbing in his lying voice.

“A little trouble last night, monsieur. Just shortly after you left, I discovered it.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“I was robbed,” she told him. Her whisper carried across the room so loudly that I feared they’d realize I could hear it. I took a quick peek at them and saw her gazing up into his face while he gazed back. They weren’t aware of anything but each other. It was hard to credit, from his sympathetic face, that less than twelve hours before he’d been discussing her with Retchling in quite a different way.

“How much did you lose?” Aiglon asked.

“I had three hundred pounds in the shop. A whole week’s income. And it was higher than usual, too, as I had gotten some fine silks in recently. I don’t know what I shall do.”

“I wish I could help. You’ll think it paltry of me not to offer some assistance, Yvette, but the fact is, I’m just about in the basket myself at the moment. Why, if Mama hadn’t given me the money to pay for these silks, I’d have to put them on tick. I wish I knew some way we could both recoup our losses.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Madame’s dark head turn slowly in my direction. I opened my reticule and took out my brush to arrange my hair, as though unaware that she was looking at me. The silence in the shop stretched until my nerves were on edge.

“Ah, well,” she said in a low voice. “Honest money is hard to make.
C’est dommage.
Now about the green
peau de soie,
Lord Aiglon, do you think the countess would care for it?”