The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (11 page)

He pulled out his watch. It was after one o'clock, and he was hungry. Again rearranging his list of Things to Be Done, he turned Secrets westward. He had come to the boundary of his estates, and the village was conveniently close; just beyond the quarry hill.

At the Gallery Arms he was received with deference and delight. The ostler led Secrets away, and Corporal followed Mrs. Ditchfield and a beef bone to the kitchen garden. Vespa feasted on an excellent chicken pie, followed by fresh fruit and cheeses. Mr. Ditchfield hovered about him from time to time, and when the few customers had gone, accepted an invitation to join him in a glass of ale.

Vespa guided the conversation to the quaint little village church and its impressive stained-glass windows.

“Admire works of art, does ye, sir?” said Ditchfield. “P'raps you've a interest there your own self?”

“No, unfortunately. My brother had a considerable gift, but I'm a perfect dunce with a sketching-pad or palette. I've a great respect for those with talent, however. I hear that until recently quite a famous artist lived nearby.”

“Ye'll be meaning Mr. Preston Jones, I expect. Oh, he were a rare one, Captain.” Ditchfield glanced around the now empty dining room and gave an amused wink. “In more ways than one.”

“The ladies?” asked Vespa, lowering his voice.

“No, not that, sir. Fair devoted to his wife, till she died, poor lady, and doted on his daughter. But…” He lifted his glass suggestively.

“Ah. Was that the way of it? I've seen some of his work. His—er—failing doesn't appear to have interfered with his talent. But I do recall hearing that he was three sheets in the wind on the day he died.”

Ditchfield looked alarmed. “I can't be held responsible for what a growed man does in my house, sir. And if a gent chooses to live in the bottle, it ain't my fault!”

“Certainly not,” said Vespa soothingly. “I've had men like that under my command. Some of them the best and bravest fighters anyone could wish for. But let them get near a bottle, there was no reasoning with them. Of course, I could clap 'em into the stockade—if we had one—but a civilian's got no recourse. Save for the Law, I suppose, if a man becomes violent.”

“And that's just it, Captain,” said the host, his long face relaxing again. “Mr. Jones, he never knowed what violent meant, I dare swear. Gentle soul he were. Not as I didn't try to stop him often enough, for I liked the gentleman. But he'd just give me his quiet smile, pay for a bottle, and go wandering off with it. I'm glad, sir, as you see the way it was.”

Vespa was still thinking about “the way it was” when he went outside. The village drowsed in the afternoon sunlight. Several geese waddled towards the pond on the green, conversing in their guttural fashion. Sporadically, Young Tom's hammer rang from the smithy. Mrs. Blackham boomed, “Good-afternoon, Captain,” and Vespa raised his high-crowned hat as she passed by with a shopping basket on her arm.

Lost in thought, he wandered towards the grocer's and sat down on a nearby bench. The conversation with Ditchfield had confirmed his belief that Preston Jones' death had been accidental. The man had probably—

“You, sir, are a disgrace, and should hang your head in shame!”

Startled by the harshly voiced indictment, he looked up. A shabby coach had halted nearby and a footman was in the act of letting down the steps for the tall, large-framed, elderly man who scowled from the open door.

“Your pardon, sir?” said Vespa, coming to his feet.

“I knew your grandfather, and he was a rogue! Only good thing he ever did was to keep your father away. Had you a shred of decency you'd burn that damnable pile to the ground!” Having descended to street level this fierce individual stood glowering at Vespa, his deeply lined face distorted with passion, faded brown eyes glaring from under bristling grey brows, while he waved a cane about so agitatedly that his high-crowned hat was dislodged and tumbled to the cobblestones.

‘Another candidate for Bedlam,' thought Vespa. He said coolly, “I think we have not met, sir, but—”

“D'ye think I don't know it's thanks to you they swarm here? The scaff and raff of the roads! You encourage 'em to come seducing foolish females, stealing and poaching, trampling across my property night after night!”

“The devil I do!” protested Vespa. “I've not—”

“To say naught of that damn fool painter,” roared the old man. “Lurking and slithering about. Well, I warned him! Don't say I didn't! ‘We want no foreigners here,' I told him. Laughed at me, confound his insolence! ‘You'll pay,' I said. And he did, eh?” He grinned in a sudden and macabre gloating. “Him and his stupid dabbling. Ain't dabbling now, is—” The vengeful snarl rose to a scream, and the cane swung upwards again.

Corporal had arrived, and having discovered the fallen hat, was attempting to shake it, not too successfully, since it was almost as big as he was. The footman made a cautious attempt to retrieve the hat and yelped as the flying cane caught him, while his employer advised in a deafening howl that he was a fool and a blockhead.

Snatching up the dog, Vespa eluded the cane, retrieved the hat and offered it to its irate owner. “Whoever you are, you must know that some people believe Preston Jones was the victim of foul play,” he said curtly. “If you have something sensible to say about the tragedy, I will listen to you. Otherwise—”

“It ain't
my
tragedy,” growled the older man, snatching at his hat. “Yours, Vespa. And, by God, if you stay here, there'll be another ‘tragedy', as you call it! You've had enough of 'em in that curst pile, and rightly so, for it reeks of sin and— Oh …
Egad!
Your revolting mongrel has
bit
it! Look at the brim!
Tooth marks!
You owe me a new hat, confound you!”

“If my dog—”

“Dog? That miserable tuppence-worth of mange and fleas ain't a
dog!
A gentleman don't have a cur that's the size of a rat and twice as ugly! I want a new hat, Vespa!”

“I put it to you, sir, that what you want is the attention of a qualified physician. Good-day to you.”

“
Stop!
Damn your eyes and limbs, do not
dare
walk off till I'm done with you, else I'll lay my cane across your sides!”

Restoring Corporal to the path, Vespa started away, ignoring the gobbling rage of this vindictive individual, his back tingling in anticipation of the threatened blow. In which case, years or no years, he'd have to take away the old maggot-wit's cane.

He glanced around when there arose a sudden outburst of shrill barking. The old gentleman was dancing about trying to avoid Corporal, who darted and snapped at his ankles, while the footman looked variously aghast and hilarious.

Grinning, Vespa called: “Corporal! Come!” and was agreeably surprised when the little dog obeyed, scampering to him with tongue lolling and eyes bright with triumph.

A flood of vituperation followed, but Vespa ignored it and made his leisurely way to the grocer's shop.

Mrs. Davis stood in the open doorway, her nervous hands fluttering. “Oh, dear, oh, dear! What a pity! He has taken you in aversion, Captain Vespa!”

“Not surprising,” said Constable Blackham, strolling to join them. “But you want to be careful of his lordship, sir. He's a hard man, and carries a grudge.”

“His lordship?”

“Lord Alperson. The biggest landowner in these parts. Outside the county, lucky for all of us, but your nearest neighbour, sir.”

“And a mean, cruel old man,” said the widow,
sotto voce,
looking cautiously after the departing coach.

“Now you know you shouldn't say things like that, May,” scolded Blackham.

“And I wouldn't in front of anyone else. But I'll hold to it, Captain Vespa. I thought the world and all of his poor little granddaughter, and the way that cantankerous old miser cast her off was wicked!” Her eyes widened as if she'd frightened herself, and she scuttled into the shop saying there was a letter come for the captain.

The letter was a brief note from Lady Faith, which Vespa was not surprised to find consisted of a scold for his having left Richmond against her wishes. There was no mention of his long-overdue team and coaches.

Emerging into the golden afternoon once more, he found the constable waiting for him, and as they strolled along together, he asked bluntly, “Is Lord Alperson short of a sheet?”

Blackham grinned, then, obviously choosing his words with care, said, “I wouldn't go for to say that, sir. But there's too much talk for there to be no fire. He's got a—er—very ugly temper.”

“And he carries a grudge, you said. Against whom? Me? Or is he another thimble-wit who fancies Alabaster Royal to be inhabited by herds of spectres?”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but his lordship's got some grounds for complaint. There
are
poachers. And if someone catches 'em at it and takes after 'em, it often seems like they go to ground, as you might say, in your great house. Where no one dares chase the varmints. Strickley claims he never sees 'em, but…” He shrugged.

“And because of that, Alperson wants me to level the manor? Poppycock!” Vespa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Mrs. Davis spoke of his granddaughter. I don't mean to pry, but—Well, yes. I suppose I do.” The constable laughed, and Vespa said with the smile that never failed to win him friends, “But you mustn't feel obliged to tell me if it's a confidential matter.”

“God love ye, sir, it's a open secret, and his lordship not better loved because of it. Everyone knows he led the young lady a dog's life. He held she belonged to him 'cause he'd taken her in when her Ma died. A pretty little thing was Miss Robina and more'n one gent had a eye to courting of her. But the old lord chased 'em all off, till along come a fine-looking young naval officer what won her heart. When his lordship found out about it, he threw her out. Disowned the poor lass.”

“I'd say she was better off without the old curmudgeon. Did her sailor carry her off?”

The constable fixed Vespa with a steady stare. “No, sir. You might say, begging your pardon, as Alabaster Royal did.”

“The devil! You'll have to explain that.”

“Now don't go up in the boughs, please, sir. Miss Robina's young gentleman was aboard his ship in the Downs, and didn't know nothing about it till it was too late. Miss Robina was penniless and frightened, I expect. It was a horrid night, but the old skinfl—er—I mean, his lordship wouldn't even let her take a horse. So she walked in the rain till she come to Alabaster Royal and it appears as she took shelter there.” Blackham sighed and shook his head. “We might never have found her if a peddler-man hadn't of gone inside, not knowing about the legends, y'know.”

Aghast, Vespa said, “You mean the poor lady starved? But surely, she could have appealed to you, or to Mr. Castle, if no one else?”

“That she could, and probably meant to. Though his lordship's powerful, and folks be afraid to cross him. Anyway, Miss Robina didn't have time for any appeals. Fell down the stairs, poor creature. Broke her neck.”

“Good Lord! What a dreadful thing! Did you—er…?”

“I did, sir. And I wish I could say I hadn't.” Blackham shuddered. “I see her poor face to this day. I never saw such a look of terror. Like—like she'd been scared to death! By whatever, or
who
ever haunts Alabaster Royal. Which is why his lordship so hates the place, and—whoever owns it.”

“Nonsense! If what you say is truth, then the blame for the poor girl's death may be laid at his door. Not at mine.”

“Well, now,” said a mocking voice behind him. “There's a bold statement. Can I quote you, Captain, sir?”

Intent on their discussion, neither man had noticed Durward Cramer come up with them. Vespa turned to the big man and drawled contemptuously, “Eavesdropping's about what I'd expect of you, Cramer. Mean to run to your master with it, do you?”

“I call no man master, curse you! Sir Larson Gentry's my friend.” The beady eyes shifted. Cramer said with a smirk, “You want to be more careful who you slander, Blackham. His lordship won't like it. Not the least bit.”

“I spoke naught but the truth,” said the constable, who had become rather pale.

“I wonder why I'd thought you might have summoned sufficient courage to come here and challenge me,” said Vespa lazily. “I should have known an insult is only resented by a
gentleman!
” Despite his slim figure and apparent languor, he moved lightning fast, and the malacca cane that Cramer flailed at him hissed past his ear and splintered on a stone bench.

With a shout the constable sprang clear.

Cramer found his arm seized in a grip of iron and his enraged attempt to tear free resulted in a dazed but correct impression that he had flown through the air before he landed on the cobblestones.

“Oh, bravo, Captain!” cried Mrs. Davis, running into the street, clapping her hands.

Several villagers who had seen the confrontation echoed her sentiments, and Young Tom waved his hammer excitedly from the door of the smithy.

“Well done, sir!” exclaimed Constable Blackham, his eyes alight. “That is to say—ahem! I don't hold with fighting in public, Captain Vespa!”

“Mr. Cramer and I have a personal matter to settle, I grant you,” said Vespa, picking up his hat, which had been dislodged during the tussle. “But, as you saw, I was merely giving him a lesson in the art of self-defence.”

The constable's mouth twitched. “Ah. Well, that explains it, then. But I hope your ‘personal matter' won't come to no duelling, Captain. If that were to reach me ears, I'd have to put a stop to it.”

What reached their ears was a flood of breathless profanity from the recumbent Cramer.