The Mandarin of Mayfair (16 page)

Looking up into his set face and glittering eyes, Kadenworthy said, "You're all aflame, more like. Jove, but he's a magnificent creature. How do you call him?"

"Andante."

His lordship pursed his lips. "He don't look slow to me."

"So you know your music, do you? I call him Andante— because he's greased lightning, of course." Briefly, a grin touched Falcon's stern mouth. "Morris thinks it means the devil."

"It'll be the devil to pay with you if you took steel through your arm the day before yesterday, and ride that monster today. Appears to me he's only half broke. No, get down, August, for lord's sake! Just because Green played the coward is no reason for you to do yourself an injury."

"True. Stand clear!"

'The streets are wet, you madman! No—wait! Who was the lady? Miss Katrina?"

Falcon shouted, "A passer-by!" and was away.

Kadenworthy pulled his gaze from that thundering gallop and met the groom's troubled eyes. "That's no way to ride in the City. He'll break his neck!"

"The mood he's in today, I doubt he'd care, milord." The groom shook his head lugubriously. "He swore at Mr. Tummet something dreadful, and heaved a book at the butler. Leastways, he threw a book 'crost the hall and it nigh hit Mr. Pearsall."

"Did he, by Jove! I know he has a violent temper, but I thought he treated his people decently."

"So he does, milord. I been in his service for five years and I never seen him this put about. Mrs. Vanechurch has knowed him since he was a little shaver and I heard her tell Mr. Pearsall she's proper worried about the young master."

The object of their concern, meanwhile, was hurtling along Great Ormond Street, leaving chaos in his wake. Two chairmen leapt for their lives as they rounded a corner and came nose to nose with a great black horse and a rider with— so they later asserted—the face of a demon. A knife sharpener's barrow was almost overturned, reducing its owner to jumping up and down and screeching curses after the rapidly disappearing stallion. And two portly gentlemen riding at a sedate walk and taking up more than their share of the road uttered shouts of alarm as Andante shot between them causing their mounts to plunge and rear so that both riders were obliged to cling to the pommels or suffer the ignominy of a toss on a London street. Their shrill denunciations added to the uproar that faded behind Falcon as Andante raced on unchecked, leaving pave and cobbles behind and plunging into the open country beyond the Foundling Hospital.

It was tricky going here, for the ground was wet and uneven and the undergrowth a ragged mix of weeds and shrubs. There would be rabbit holes and mole runs very likely, and the area was said to harbour thieves and rank riders. The prospect of an encounter with a highwayman caused Falcon's lips to curve into a mirthless smile. He felt like murdering somebody; a thieving cutthroat would fit the bill nicely.

How
dare
she have subjected him to that fiasco last evening? How
dare
she—a guest in his house—egg Katrina on to defy him? For 'twas Miss Gwendolyn Rossiter, he was very sure, who was responsible for the fact that Katrina, who should have more sense, now looked with favour on that poor dupe Morris! He gritted his teeth, crouched lower in the saddle, and touched Andante's sides with the spurs so that the stallion's great muscles bunched and they all but flew across the turf. He had no one to blame but himself, of course. Against his better judgment he had allowed the chit to stay. And what did he get for his generosity? Pinched at, day and night—well, all day and evening anyway! Such joy she took in shooting out her snide little barbs! One might think she would tire of reminding him in her sly way of—of what he was. How
dare
she, who knew nothing of the matter, have all but invited that wretched dowager to unleash her venom? Betrayal is what it was! Downright
betrayal
! From someone he had come to trust; to feel at ease with. Of all people, he'd not expected the Smallest Rossiter to turn on him. And after he had—

Andante stumbled and almost went down. It was all Falcon could do to hold him together. Frightened, the stallion bucked and whirled. Falcon's hurt arm was wrenched painfully. He knew a fleeting moment of astonishment as his hat flew from his head. He was falling. The breath was knocked out of him…

"Pray what is meant by 'li'?…"

She had asked that… How like Fate to have turned her inquiring mind in the direction of Confucius… He was once again in the sunlit room with all the dusty books, and his tutor's earnest voice droning on about "li," that wise philosophy that spoke of the need to be in harmony with the universe and one's fellow man." 'Tis part of your heritage, Falcon, and you could do a great deal worse than embrace it." If he did so, it appeared he must be gentle, generous, and ever forgiving of the shortcomings of others. (A saint, no less!) A poised, affable, cautious man of integrity, showing respect for a properly ordered and stratified society. And (here came the
coup de gr
â
ce
!) he must never lose his temper, or show an angry face to the world! (Ha!) If the Smallest Rossiter ever read that— Lord above, he'd never hear the end of it!

"Confound the blasted book!" he groaned, and wished he'd had the sense to burn the thing, instead of merely hurling it across the hall and then having to apologize to poor Pearsall.

"Why do you sleep in the grass?"

He opened one eye. A head, most of it lost somewhere under his own tricorne, was hovering over him. He reached up and removed the tricorne, revealing a mop of tangled and greasy dark curls and a small dirty face with brown eyes that seemed too big for the thin features.

"Famous!" he thought disgustedly. He was sprawled on his back in the mud and weeds. Of Andante there was no sign. And if this child was a gypsy, which was very probable, he'd never see the stallion again. He started to sit up, but his left arm hurt so unpleasantly that he decided to rest for a minute.

"My horse was tired," he explained, summoning a grin.

The big eyes continued to regard him solemnly. "You're beautiful."

"Er—thank you," said Falcon, hiding his revulsion.

"On the outside," qualified the child. "But you said bad words."

Falcon chuckled and hauled himself to his right elbow. "I wouldn't have, had I known you were nearby. What's your name?"

"Ling. What's yours?"

"Falcon. Is Ling your surname?"

"I dunno. It's the back half."

"What's the—er, front half?"

"Found."

"Ah," he thought, "poor little waif," and then asked, "Where do you live?"

"Here, mostly. When I was a child a cove on the dubbing lay found me, but Silas looks after me now. Do you hurt?"

"If I do, 'tis my own bl—er, my own fault. Where is this Silas?"

"Gone to earn our grub. I'm seven." Ling sighed. "Silas says I eat too much, even if I'm little for seven." The sad brown eyes fixed on the man's face anxiously. "D'you think I'm little?"

Falcon, who had supposed him to be about five, was aghast. "They say 'the best things are wrapped up in small packages.' " He sat up, adding a mental, "And that's what I get for consorting with Morris!"

"Oh. Why were you so cross? Don't you got no one, neither?"

He seemed remarkably self-composed for such a small boy, and there was a rather touching wistfulness in the little face. Falcon said gently, "Yes. I am fortunate enough to have a father and a sister."

"Do they love you?"

"I—believe so."

"Oh. Is that all you got?"

With the impression that he'd been found wanting, Falcon sought for additional references. "No. I—er have aunts and cousins and so forth dotted about."

"Oh." A heavy sigh. Then, "Don't you got no mama?"

"I had one, of course. She has—er, gone up to heaven." And it was odd, he thought, that this dirty, unhappy little waif should have said "Mama" instead of "Ma," or "Mum."

"Oh. I 'spect you got lots 'n' lots of friends, though. A flash cove like you. So you're not never
really
alone."

Falcon was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Have you no friends, Ling? Would you like to find some?"

His hand was seized and clutched hard against the dirty cheek. It felt damp, and when that tousled little head lifted the eyes were gemmed with tears.

Ling said scratchily, "I don't mind so much about—about the friends, y'know. But—but if I could just have a mama… A lady to… take care of me, and—and love me." A muffled sob, and the boy was clinging tight to Falcon and weeping into his cravat. " I wouldn't mind if I got beat sometimes. Honest, I wouldn't. Why did she… go 'way? I miss her… very bad."

Aside from a dutiful pat or two at birthdays or christenings, it was the first time Falcon had actually been embraced by a child. He drew back instinctively, but somehow his arms went about that frail body, and he was patting the small shoulder and saying, "There, there," as if he knew the approved procedure.

Ling pulled away and dragged a muddy hand across his eyes. "A—a man shouldn't oughta cry," he gulped gruffly.

"It seems to me," said Falcon, casting an unwilling look back across the years, "that I did. Just now and then, when I was your age."

The boy sniffed, accepted the loan of a snow-white handkerchief, and blew his nose. Looking up, he said, "I 'spect they made fun of you. Account o' them funny eyes you got."

It never failed, thought Falcon. Just when you felt safe, someone slammed a claymore across your breadbasket and down you went again. He stared at the child coldly, preparing to teach him a lesson in manners.

The muddy hand shot out to stroke his cheek. "They was just jealous," said Ling kindly. "Don't you never mind. What if they are funny! They're the bluest blue I ever see. I 'spect those boys what made fun wished they'd got 'em. You're awful old, so I 'spect you've got a married wife."

Again this odd child had thrown him off-balance. Falcon began to brush grass and dirt from his coat. "No."

"Why? Won't no lady have you?"

Falcon smiled faintly and got to his feet. "Something like that."

"Oh. I was hoping, y'know, if you had a married wife but didn't have no boys, she might take me."

"What about Silas? Or is he the one who beats you?"

"Only when I been bad." The boy frowned and his foot in an ill-fitting shoe kicked at a clump of grass. "Your married wife would have to take Silas too. He'd be lonely without me, y'know." He sighed. "But you don't got one, so she won't take us. I put your horse over here," he added, slipping his hand into Falcon's. "His reins was hanging down, so I tied 'em up."

They walked toward a small copse of denuded birches. Andante was secured to a low branch, and grazing contentedly.

Falcon mounted up, and the child came over and gripped his stirrup, gazing up at him with those great sad eyes. He thought "Blast it all!" and leaned forward keeping a tight hold on the reins. "Not too close, boy. He's half wild yet."

"He's very fine. Sir,
must
you go?"

"Yes, I'm afraid—"

"Hey! Wotcher a'doing of wiv my boy? Get orf it!"

A large and shabbily dressed individual wearing a scratch wig that looked as if it hadn't seen a comb for several years was approaching at a shambling ran.

"An ugly customer," thought Falcon.

"He's not doing nothing," shouted Ling. "He just fell off his horse."

The man slowed, and came up with suspicion in every line of his red, unlovely face and craft gleaming in the hard, bloodshot eyes that in one measuring look had sized Falcon up as a flash cove, rolling in rhino. "You helped the gentleman, didya, Ling?" he asked in a wheedling tone.

"Save your breath," said Falcon contemptuously. "I'll give the boy nothing you can spend at the gin shop."

"Ow! Wotta unkind thing ter say, sir! I never touch the—-"

"Where did you steal this child? And don't tell me he's your own, for he knows how to speak, which is more than I can say for you."

Silas crouched, his eyes narrowing. "What right you got callin' me a thief? You 'ristocrats is all the same! I reckon you bleed just like—" He sprang forward and almost banged his nose on the muzzle of the pistol that somehow was an inch from his face. With a shriek, he drew back, and broke into a farrago of protest.

Falcon said icily, "Will you stop that? Or shall I? Permanently."

"Please don't hurt him, sir," said Ling. "He's all I got."

Silas stopped his tirade, and pulled the boy to him not unkindly. "That's right, son. Stick up fer yer old pal."

Falcon looked at the pair thoughtfully. "He's all I got…" This was the boy's life, belike, and if he interfered, he might be doing him no favour.

Silas said in a sullen growl, "I never stole the boy, mister. I took him orf Tyburn Tree!"

"Good God! But he's just a child! You mean they'd—"

"Nah, nah! The cove what found him had been topped, and the little shaver was blubberin' under the gallows where he was swingin'. It were a bad night, comin' down cats and dogs, sir, and perishin' cold. So I took him, and I won't hand you no whiskers, I meant ter sell him fer a climbin' boy."

Intrigued, Falcon dismounted and tethered Andante to a branch once more. "But you didn't."

"Nah." Silas ruffled the child's thick curls. "Couldn't do it, mate. He's not a bad little 'un. But a few weeks ago a cove told me the man who'd first taken the boy had found him wanderin' about on t'other side of St. James's Park. Like the fool he was, he'd sold his duds—his clothes, sir—'cause they was flash. And after he'd got rid of everythin' that mighta helped tell who he was, it broke through his brainbox that the boy might be worth somethin' to them what had lost him. Before he could bring Found back to try and find his kinfolks, he got took and topped fer being on the dubbing lay."

"You mean the fellow who took the boy was a pickpocket and was hanged before he could trace Ling's family, is that it?"

"Yussir."

"But you don't know his real name? Or anything about him?"

"Bin too long, I reckon. And you don't re'clect nothin', does yer, Found?"

The child shook his curls.