The Black Mask (6 page)

“And having named his son for his brother, he is afraid the same fate will befall the boy. Superstitious, but intelligible.”

“Unfortunately, Rupert can’t see it that way.” Rose caught herself. She shouldn’t be so frank with a stranger. “Forgive me for rattling on so, Colonel. I’m sure you wish to be amusing yourself.”

“I can think of nothing I wish to do just now, Miss Spenser, except to offer you whatever help lies in my power should your brother choose to take up the service upon his majority. He’s almost old enough now, isn’t he?”

“
Yes,
he is. And thank you for your kind offer, but until my father relents, Rupert will not act against his wishes.”

“Every word you say convinces me more that he’s good officer material. But I can see you wish to talk to him alone, so I’ll leave you with him.” He bowed to Rose, smartly including Rupert with a click of his heels.

Rupert handed Rose a glass of pink punch, and she lost her sense of being in the ballroom as she recalled Sir Niles’s taking her glass away. Had his fingers trembled the merest bit as he touched her hand? Drat her gloves! Now she couldn’t be certain.

As though a flame passed over her skin, Rose suddenly found herself breathless and shaken and much, much too warm. What if Sir Niles could have fallen in love with her? Wouldn’t she then be forced to ask herself whether she really despised him or whether there were some deeper feelings at work?

But no, she bore no such tender emotions in her breast for him. She was certain of it. Farthest thing from her mind. No question.

She drew a long, slow breath. There. All was well. Whatever strange excitement she felt was merely natural female triumph at the prospect of having the great Sir Niles a humble supplicant at her feet for all the fashionable world to see.

“Who was that jackanapes?” Rupert asked irritably.

“Who? Oh, Colonel Wapton. A very amusing gentleman.”

“Is he? Lucky dog, anyway. He has the chance of getting out of this damned hothouse.”

“You don’t care for Lady Fitzmonroe’s ideas?” Rose said, feeling her heart sink. She recognized Rupert’s mood as one of reckless despair fueled by too much alcohol.

“What?” He glanced around, and she realized he hadn’t even noticed the profusion of flowers. “I meant society. The
ton.
All that rot.”

His voice had risen. Rose laid her hand on his arm. “I’m tired, Rupert. Would you take me home?”

“What about Aunt Paige? I should do my duty by her.”

“She’s having much too good a time flirting with generals to mind either of us.”

“Eh? She dashed well should mind you. You’re in her charge, and I don’t like finding you with coxcomb officers, wandering about on your own.”

“Such heat,” she said, laughing artificially and turning him aside with such adroitness that he found himself taking her arm rather than reaching for another glass of wine. “We cannot criticize our good aunt. She enjoys her life, and after two husbands she has the right.”

Chattering lightly, she escorted her brother to the door, accepted her cloak, and saw him into their carriage. The last person she saw as the footman closed the door was Sir Niles Alardyce leaving the house. He did not look in her direction.

“How much?” Rose sat frozen against the cushions as their carriage rolled over the cobbles.

Rupert told her the figure again. He seemed to be smiling, as if pleased by her reaction. It was as if he had lost a thousand pounds only to give her a delightful surprise.

“That’s in total,” Rose said hopefully.

“No. That’s tonight.”

Her voice gone to nothing but a squeaky thread, Rose tried twice to speak before achieving sound. ‘Tonight? You lost a thou-thousand pounds tonight? But all your IOUs ... Sir Niles must hold ...”

“Another thousand, perhaps. Most other fellows hold notes for two or three hundred each.”

“Each?”

“About that.”

All thought of romance or happiness disappeared, crushed under the weight of this news. “What is your total of indebtedness, Rupert? Do you know the full figure?”

“Of course,” he snapped. “Or at least, I would if I thought about it for a bit.”

Her head throbbed in time to the horses’ clattering hooves. “Two or three thousand no doubt.”

“Something on that order, yes. But I won’t go to Father so don’t trouble yourself on that score. Not after the things he said to me last year.”

She had not been present on that occasion. Not that she’d needed to be. Her father’s voice had a peculiar carrying quality left over from the days when he’d studied for the clergy, and whatever she’d not heard then, Rupert had told her later. The interview had been shattering for both parties. Rupert had threatened to run away, and her father had been so white and sweating that her mother had sent for the apothecary.

“What will you do?” Rose asked.

He shrugged pettishly. “Recovering the smaller chits isn’t a difficulty. Most of them are good fellows and won’t mind waiting for quarter-day, though I shall be on deuced short commons after I pay ‘em. They’ve all been in the same condition one time or another, and I’ve let them run on tick ‘til their allowances come due.”

“Then there’s no difficulty,” Rose said, sighing with relief.

“Not with my special friends, no. But there’s Crawford. He’s a cash-down man who wasn’t happy to take paper anyway. He’ll cut up stiff if I don’t pay him first.”

‘Then pay him. I’ll gladly give you what I have left from my pin money.”

He looked a trifle hangdog at that, but didn’t refuse her offer. ‘You’re the best sister a fellow could have. I only wish that ruby had been worthy of a queen. Then I would have figured it came to the correct hand.”

“Save your compliments for those who want them,” Rose said, mimicking their nursery maid, the only female in three counties not charmed by Rupert from his cradle.

He laughed shortly, but the worry lines didn’t fade from his forehead. They disturbed Rose, for they made her younger brother look old before his time. Old and dissolute, like the men who congregated in the card rooms at parties, their faces still painted in the style of thirty years ago to cover the ravages of debauchery and disease.

Perhaps it was just the flicker of the widely spaced lamps that gave him that unhealthy look, but Rose didn’t like it. She vowed privately to write to her mother tonight, pleading with her to use her influence to get their father to relent. It was this kicking of heels when he longed to be up and doing that caused Rupert to waste his time and his substance at the gaming hells of London.

“What’s truly troubling you?” she asked softly.

“It’s the paper Alardyce holds. Besides tonight’s thousand, I owe him at least another five hundred. It’s a wonder he hasn’t come dunning me yet, though everyone knows he’s rich beyond telling. What good’s my measly fifteen hundred to him? Why can’t he just tear up the papers? It’s nothing to him, and it’s life or death to me.” He paused and seemed to sober, though tears dripped from his cheeks. “Life or death,” he repeated, staring out the window at the chill night.

Rose gripped his arm tightly through the thinness of his sleeve. She could feel the strength of his forearm muscles, honed by years of neck-or-nothing riding, wasted now on holding cards or squiring fat matrons through dances. “There must be a way. Perhaps if I went to him ...”

“No,” he said, jerking his arm free. “It’s a debt of honor. I either pay it or blow out my brains. There’s no other path.”

Chilled, Rose tried to calm him. “Don’t be hasty,” she said. ‘Just... don’t be hasty.”

Seeing him into his valet’s hands, Rose let her maid undress her and help her into an undyed cashmere dressing gown before dismissing her to brush out her gown. She sat down at her vanity and drew forward a little pot of ink. The letter to her mother took only a few minutes. After sealing it, she took another piece of paper, then sat there biting the end of the feather until the ink dried on the tip.

“Well,” she said aloud, “the beginning is easy enough.”

Dear Sir Niles,
she wrote in a small, sloping hand. Then the ink dried again as she tried to write plainly, yet without giving anything away, and neatly.

Do please join me at Lady Marlton’s house between the hours of eleven and noon tomorrow. I shall be quite alone. I wish to discuss matters of a serious nature regarding your activities on this evening and previous evenings.

Yours faithfully, Rose Spenser.

She studied it critically, finding it cold, businesslike, and clear. If it were true, as Aunt Paige suspected, that he had deeper and warmer feelings for her, he’d come merely to see her again. If not, he’d come out of curiosity—or so Rose hoped.

Once the letter was sealed, she rang for her maid and gave instructions that the letter was to be delivered as soon as someone could be found to carry it. Giggling, Lucy promised to hand it to the footman herself, obviously thinking my lady’s country cousin had a love affair on hand.

Sighing, Rose climbed into bed at last. Now she had only to sleep and to wait. But sleep came hard, for over and over she experimented with what she would say. Everything depended on his mood. If he had retreated again behind his mask of irony and indifference, she would not be balked, but she would find her task so much more difficult than if he were still gentle as he’d been tonight. She fell asleep thinking of him.

* * * *

“Sir Miles,” Mr. Beringer said jovially, opening the door himself. “I’m so happy you decided to call on me.”

‘You’ve hardly left me any choice.”

“Come. Don’t be like that. We have a mutual interest, and you must consider me a friend.”

“A friend? Hardly. I choose my friends with care.”

“I can’t blame you for being hostile. So many people have difficulty seeing on which side their bread is buttered at first. But only at first. Soon you’ll see what a good friend I can be.”

Like a sheepdog running circles round a belligerent ram, Mr. Beringer escorted Sir Niles into his well-appointed library.

‘You live very well,” Sir Niles grudgingly admitted, admiring despite himself the faux paneling and rows of leather-bound books. The red and blue carpet under his feet had the gleam of real silk, while the few candles that lit this splendor were of the finest, whitest wax. The fire that roared in the stone fireplace was perhaps too much for so late in the year, but it gave forth the scent of applewood to perfume the air.

“That is praise indeed, for I know your reputation as a man of taste. A little brandy?”

“Thank you.”

“There, you see. We shall be very good friends ere long.”

Sir Niles made no answer, but seated himself, his posture easy. Beringer gave him his snifter and took one himself behind the massively carved desk at one end of the room. He adjusted a candle stand with reflector that stood at his elbow to cast more light onto Sir Niles than onto himself.

“Is it to your liking?” he asked, like any eager-to-please host.

“Excellent. Better than what they serve at my club.”

“Again you honor me.” His chuckles spread outward, setting his great stomach to shaking. If one stuck an olive on a toothpick into the point of a turnip and then gave the turnip thin legs, the result would be very like Mr. Beringer. He obviously enjoyed the finer things of life, for in addition to his elegant home, his clothes were quite well made, considering the technical difficulties involved in clothing a turnip.

Niles drained the glass, grateful for the warmth it created. He’d walked from Lady Fitzmonroe’s, hoping the air would drive Rose from his head. He saw she could easily make a fool of him, bringing him to break his resolutions, now on the point of their completion. He had not thought himself so weak when it came to temptation, but seeing her there alone, he’d been unable to resist talking to her. It would have been pleasant to kiss her, but her aunt’s timely arrival had prevented it.

Just as well. One did not kiss girls of Rose Spenser’s respectability unless marriage was in one’s mind. And nothing could be farther from his thoughts, no matter what his attorney thought.

“Enough of compliments,” he said. “Let’s to business.”

“Good.” Beringer finished his wine as well. “As I indicated in my note, certain facts have come to my attention. Facts which, as a friend, I am happy to hold my tongue about.”

“I accept.”

Beringer held up his hand. “I like all my clients to know a few things before they accept my friendship.”

“All your clients?”

The heavyset man looked a trifle embarrassed. “Many people have secrets, Sir Niles. No one is perfect. Frequently, as with yourself, these are secrets better kept from society’s ears.”

“And so you keep the proof secure.”

“Precisely.”

“For a price.”

He spread wide his hands. “What would you? A man must live, and I, unfortunately, did not receive those gifts which enable me to live as I please. I like to live well, as you can see.”

“I am yearning to know what part you envision for me in your life of leisure.”

“A few hundred a year. You won’t even miss it. Surely keeping your secret is worth that. Imagine what you would lose if it became known your dearest friend and closest relation died so ignominiously and under such a black cloud.”

“True. Very well. I shall send you a check in the morning.”

“Excellent. Now, as to the rest of my... reward?”

“What else?” Niles sank down again in his chair.

“Among intimate friends, many secrets are exchanged. Perhaps you know some things I should also know. For instance, why Felicia Sanderling had to retire so suddenly from the Season last year. Dale Sanderling is one of your friends, I believe. And the question of the Countess of Danforth’s pearls has long been exercising my mind. Does her husband know they were exchanged for fakes?”

“I don’t know those things, and if I did, I shouldn’t tell you. I wouldn’t deliver my friends to your bloodsucking ways.”

Beringer didn’t flush or show any sensitivity to the insult. He simply went on in the most natural style. “But that is part of the price. Didn’t you understand me? Two secrets a year and five hundred pounds. Then no one need know of Christian’s little fault.”