The Accidental Highwayman (16 page)

The baboon, as you have probably guessed, was my old friend Fred, late of Trombonio's Traveling Wonder Show. He had fallen to Lily's care after the troupe was disbanded, and when the white-faced and black-hearted clown had (inevitably) joined the crowded ranks of Lily's faithless ex-suitors, she had taken the creature with her.

“Me and Fred, we've been a-tramping since. 'E's such a comfort, holdin' of my hand and offerin' me dead mice, but it's no use. I can't stop my misery up.”

After this latest heartbreak, she had decided she could endure no more of life upon the road, and had determined to fall upon the mercy of her only living relative, an uncle. This person, of advanced age and sharp opinions, made his home at the margin of the very hamlet to which we had come. He had once been the master of a show that played at the hippodrome outside Finchley for fifteen years, and toured Europe. Disaster ended the show, but the uncle had cannily put away sufficient fortune for the rest of his years.

The reason we found Lily sitting irresolute in the rain was because all was not well between her and the uncle. Truth to tell, it could scarcely have been worse. Lily's decision to take up performing, which her uncle denounced vehemently since his forced retirement, had driven a wedge between them. He was her only relative by that time, but had no kinship to offer her unless she abandoned the trade. In defiance, she toured as a high-rope dancer, having vowed never to give up performing—and never to return.

“But this latest romance done me in,” she said, slurring her words a trifle. “That d____ Pierrot with his lovely big eyes and strong hands, I thought he was the one to make a honest woman of me. Things went grand for nearly a year—four months at least. Or anyway it was a number of weeks. But then he strayed, and strayed again, and ere I knows it, it's me he's straying with, and him affianced to somebody else!”

With this, she broke down sobbing, and Morgana, moved to tears by sympathy and a Faerie inability to command whisky, also wept. So when the landlord entered to see if I wanted a doctor for them, in desperation I told him to bring some cheese and fruit for us, and oats for Midnight. Fred and I shared the meal, and by the time we were done, the women had regained their composure.

“Anyroads,” continued Lily, refreshed after the crying, “here I am at his doorstep, and haven't the courage to knock upon the door. My uncle hated me, said he. Never wanted to set eyes on me again, said he. I'd come to ruin, said he as well. Here I am, ruined just like he said I'd be, and between my pride and his, I'm afraid to say hello.”

She managed not to weep, but dabbed at her eyes continuously. Morgana was all sighs, with one hand pressed to her bosom, eyes rolled heavenward. You'd think she'd never heard such a sorry tale, to look at her. In any case, I looked at Fred, and he at me, and neither of us had any idea what to say. Fred outlasted me, so eventually I spoke.

“Dearest Lily,” said I. “Since ever I've known you, you have suffered these reversals. Every man to whom you attach your affections is, as you inevitably discover, a cad of the lowest sort. And yet there is always another, and always much the same. Perhaps your uncle is a different sort of man, who will have changed his heart for better, not worse? Such men are made, you know. We are not only rakes and rapscallions.”

“Oh, Kit,” she cried, and threw her arms about my neck. “You're the only true gent I ever knew, but only a boy before. Now that you're a proper fellow, have you not grown callous like all the other men of my acquaintance?”

“I should hope not,” said I, thrown into disarray by her pretty speech. “That is to say, I haven't tried it.”

“He will, you know,” Lily said to Morgana. “They all do. Wait and see: My uncle will cast me off his door-stoop without a kind word. Our Kit will be rid of me as quickly as he can, because he's got designs on
you,
my dearie. Then I'll be alone, except for Fred, and he's not a gentleman, he's a
Papio anubis.
I can't marry
him.
”

About halfway through this statement Morgana suddenly became alert, and her eyes were bent upon me with singular intensity, like the rays of a dark lantern with a green lens
*
. I did wish to be rid of Lily as quickly as I could, so she was half right. But I didn't have designs on the princess. Or did I? The word
designs
was simply too general. I found Morgana charming and interesting, yes. And of course she was bewitchingly beautiful. But that hardly constituted a design. Now here was Morgana with her eyes blazing like emeralds on a fire, and me with no idea what to say. Because all things being equal, I could see having designs on her, if I didn't precisely have designs
yet.
So I didn't want to deny it more than was absolutely necessary.

But,
thought I, and all but shook my head, like a drugged man,
this is her magic working on me.
For all I knew, I wasn't even fond of her. It could just be an unknown comprimaunt of hers. Some magic was done with gestures, and some with but a glance. Of the most subtle magic, there was no outward sign at all.

Thus reminded, I found my tongue: “Lily, I assure you, I am at this young lady's service, but I have no unspoken designs upon her. My intentions precisely match her own.”

“Oooh,” cried Lily, now delighted, “are you and her engaged for to be married?”

I felt flames rise up my cheeks and chap them red, and blustered, “I didn't say that! We are on the same business, that's all.” Morgana's eyes drilled into me like gimlets.

“Oh.” Lily was disappointed. Our story obviously wasn't as tragically romantic as hers.

“But,” I added, “My friend here is fleeing an unwanted engagement herself. It's quite the opposite of your problem, which is suitors fleeing you.”

Lily began weeping again, and I realized she had every right to be upset. I hadn't spoken in quite the most politic way. “That is to say, what I mean,” I gabbled, “is—”

“That's quite enough, Mr. Bristol,” Morgana said in what must have been her best royal court princess voice—it was so haughty, it struck me dumb—and then she addressed Lily, as kind as could be: “Let's go up to your uncle's house and
make
him take you in, shall we? I think he owes thee an apology.”

And with that, she rose, helped Lily to her feet, and guided her to the front door of the public house. Fred and I exchanged mute glances, then rushed out after them.

 

Chapter 17

THE THREE QUESTIONS

L
ILY'S UNCLE
must have put away a good deal of money, because his house was nearly as large as the Rattle Manse and in immaculate condition. The rain drummed down on a roof of firm slates, the windows were shut tight against the spray, and a red door with golden flowers painted upon it stood fast before us. There hung the knocker, and there stood Lily, but nothing happened for a very long time. Fred, Midnight, and I sheltered under a mulberry tree while Morgana and Lily bravely faced the door.

At last, it was Morgana who took up the knocker and clapped it thrice upon the plate. We could hear the
rap-rap-rap
echo through the house. Someone was at home; there was a fire in the parlor and lamps lit elsewhere at windows.

A maid of about Lily's age opened the door. She looked strikingly like Lily, in fact, with yellow hair, although her figure was more plenitudinous abaft, due to a less active career. “Good afternoon,” she said, sternly. “Can I help you?”

Lily started weeping again, so Morgana explained the situation over Lily's shoulder to the puzzled maid. “This is Lily, the niece of Mr.— What's his name?”

“Cornelius Puggle,” said Lily, through her tears.

“This is Mr. Puggle's niece,” Morgana continued. “She's been cruelly abandoned, and Mr. Puggle was the first to do it, though not the last. It is time he made some reparation for his coldhearted behavior, and take her in.”

The maid took a long time about it, but eventually said, “You'd better come in, then. The monkey can stay in the barn with the horse.”

The maid, whose name was Prudence, took us into the parlor once we'd wrung ourselves out somewhat. Morgana retained her cloak, which by some trick was dry not only inside but outside, too, the moment she entered the house. Lily and I stood and tanned our backsides by the fire until we might have outshone Willum. Morgana and Prudence seated themselves decorously in chairs. I observed that Morgana's features and costume had changed in some subtle way that made her look more English and less Romany, without any particular alteration I could identify.

Then Prudence revealed she was not a maid.

“I am Mr. Puggle's nurse and caretaker,” she said. “You are not the first person to come here making claim upon his avuncular affections; I have interviewed no fewer than twenty-three nieces in the last five years. In each case, the young ladies proved to be mistaken about the relationship.”

“But—but why would anyone lay claim to be me?” cried Lily. “Uncle Cornelius
hates
me.”

“He hated his niece ten years ago when she ran away. But as every girl with an eye to his fortune knows, Cornelius Puggle underwent a change of heart almost the minute she left. Since then he has tirelessly sought the girl out, and his agents have even located her for brief periods, but always she evaded them. And during all these years, never once did she come to his door. It was his greatest wish to beg her forgiveness. Tragically, he has succumbed to senility, and so that interview can never be fulfilled. But while he still retained some of his wits, he entrusted me with three secrets that only his true niece could know. No one has correctly answered these questions since ever I came to this house.”

“How could you not have known about this change of heart?” I asked Lily, incredulous as I was.

“I'm ashamed to tell,” said Lily, and I think she really was.

“You'd better out with it, then,” I cried, “for your ignorance doesn't sound very likely.”

Lily shook her head. “Any time anyone would mention my uncle, I would do this”—here she thrust her fingers into her ears—“and say, ‘Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb,' over and over again until they stopped speaking. I wouldn't hear a word about him. It drove my last fiancé mad. That's the truth, and I'm very ashamed of it.”

“Well,” said Prudence, “perhaps you would be so kind as to answer the questions with which Mr. Puggle entrusted me, and we can see you on your way.”

Morgana and I were fairly craning our necks with curiosity. Our eyes met several times, and her earlier fury at me was gone. Now she looked altogether swept up in the excitement of this unexpected drama.

“First,” said Prudence, standing grandly by the door with one hand on a spinning chart-globe of the known world, “what was the name of Mr. Puggle's pet goldfish?”

Lily laughed. “It didn't have a name. He didn't believe animals ought to have names as they hadn't any souls.”