The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (17 page)

Moving piles of books aside, he said, “There are more. Jove, but they really are splendid! More of your father's work, do you think?”

She said this was unlikely, although it was possible that having found the wooden miniatures, Preston Jones had decided to paint them. They had found six more coaches, of differing styles and periods, by the time Thornhill came to advise that a work crew had arrived and the men were starting to clear the drivepath.

Consuela gathered up the miniatures in her apron and announced her intention to clean them properly, and Vespa went out to see what kind of crew Strickley had assembled.

Four men were hard at work down by the gatehouse, and Vespa moved among them, having a word with each individual and finding them a cheerful enough lot, apparently quite willing to toil on his property.

“They seem good fellows,” he said, when he and Strickley were out of earshot. “How did you persuade them to risk working at Alabaster?”

“Promised they could leave well before dusk, Captain.” The steward sniffed, and added glumly, “Be interesting to see how many of 'em keep coming when we gets closer to the house.”

“Let's hope their spines will stiffen. It's to your credit you were able to lure them here.” Vespa took the sketch from his pocket and held it out. “Have you ever seen this lady?”

The steward peered at the likeness curiously. “Cor! I never see no one like her. Who is she? Some sorta princess from foreign parts?”

“From India, I would guess.” Vespa replaced the sketch in his pocket. “As to her rank, I've no idea, but the lady seems to be of high position.”

“I reckon Mr. Preston Jones drawed that,” said Strickley. “Always drawing or painting something, he were. Some folks didn't like what he done. His lordship, f'r instance.”

“Did Lord Alperson sit for Jones? You surprise me.”

The steward grinned. “He'd a bin surprised too, I 'spect. It weren't a drawing of his lordship. Miss Robina, it were, poor little lady, and a very nice picture, I heard. Mr. Jones give it to her for a birthday present. After she died, her young gent wanted it. Very desp'rit he were. He went to Redways and offered his lordship every penny he could put together, if he'd just let him buy it. Lord Alperson come out on the steps—he wouldn't let the young gent in the house. He held out the picture, and when the young gent made as to take it, he snatched it back, set it on fire and burnt it in front o' the chap's eyes. Proper mean, I call it!”

Touched by the sad tale, Vespa said frowningly, “I wonder the poor fellow didn't take it by force.”

“Couldn't, sir. Two of his lordship's grooms held him, then drove him off. Fair raving he was, so the story goes. Swore he'd come back and get vengeance on them as killed his lady. Went right orf his tibby. 'Least, that's what folks say. Mad as a hatter. They'd oughta lock him away. Never can tell what loobies is going to do, eh, Captain? Not as you needs to worry about him, even though his lady died here.”

“Thank you, Job's comforter. Now come and saddle up Secrets. It's turned out to be a nice afternoon, and I'm going for a ride.”

Although the clouds had dissipated, the sun was starting its westward journey and there was a nip to the air as Vespa rode towards the quarry. He decided to follow a short-cut through a little vale that Consuela had said would bring him out near what remained of the quarry hill. The vale, a long velvety depression dotted with wild flowers, gradually narrowed as she had told him, the banks rising steeply in places. It was peaceful and remote. Consuela had said she often rode this way so as to stay out of sight until she arrived at a point where she could watch the quarry unobserved. He could not feel easy about a lady riding alone in so secluded a spot, and made a mental resolve to talk sternly to his fiery ‘housemaid'.

The wind was strengthening and with typical autumnal perversity the clouds were banking again. He urged Secrets to a canter, and she responded eagerly. The turf was smooth and level, with only a few small trees ahead. The mare was moving faster, her silken gait a joy as always. Exhilarated, Vespa did not check her. They raced between the trees, and in that moment a mighty hand smashed him from the saddle. Briefly, he was astonished.…

Somebody was talking, the words puzzling, but the voice vaguely familiar. “… that's all very well, but the fact remains, dear boy, that every time we meet you seem to be flat on your back and holding forth about horticulture. Tumbled clean out of the saddle, did you? Not surprised, in view of your bent brain-box. Concussion's like that, so I've heard. They said you had a concussion, remember? Old Rickaby said it. Might need surgery, he said. Nothing new, so don't fret. They've known about it since the cavemen were toddling hither and yon—pretty near, anyway. There's a papyrus dating back to about three thousand five hundred
B.C.
describing how it's done. They drill a hole in your skull, but—”

“Toby—Broderick!” Vespa looked up into the slightly myopic but earnest blue eyes bent above him. “What … the deuce are you doing here?”

“Long story, old lad. Tell you after we get you home.”

With the aid of his friend's supporting arm, Vespa managed to sit up, and gasped dizzily, “I'm—perfectly fine.”

“But of course. You always take a nap in the grass in the middle of nowhere, and babble about leaves and cats. I'll own you look better than the last time I saw you. But a fellow don't fall out of the saddle on level ground for no reason, and that mare of yours is a beauty, but don't seem the flighty kind.”

“She's not.” Vespa felt his side experimentally. Aside from being winded and a little shaky, he didn't seem to be badly damaged. “Is she all right?”

“Oh, jolly good. All present and correct. As for you, my buck—”

“I didn't fall out of the saddle, Toby.”

“Jumped, eh? Rather rash under the circ—”

“Dolt! Lend me a hand, would you?”

At once Broderick's arm was about him. “Upsy-daisy! All right, Jack? What is it now? Did you lose something?”

“A tree,” Vespa muttered. “Or rocks, perhaps.”

The supporting arm tightened. “You've lost … a tree. Yes. Well—er—why not? Certainly, a tree. Any particular breed,
mon capitaine?
There are some nice little silver birches yonder, and I'm sure we can find some rocks. I believe there's a quarry hereabouts if you can ride—”

Vespa said frowningly, “But—there are no rocks just here. And I don't see a fallen tree. Do you?”

“No, I'll—er, have to own I don't. But we can have one knocked down for you, if you so desire, m'dear old pippin. Let's just get you home, and—”

Glancing at him, Vespa saw the anxiety in his eyes and said with a smile, “Think I've gone off the road again, do you? And small wonder. What a reception I've given you!” He was delighted by the arrival of Broderick, whom he judged the very best type of man, in spite of his tendency to act as a walking encyclopaedia. Seizing his hand, he wrung it hard. “My poor fellow, I do apologize. How very good of you to come all this way to see me. You'll stay, of course, though you might be better served at the village inn than at my great ruin.”

Broderick clapped him on the back. “Actually, I already left my luggage at your house, if— Where are you going? Your mare's over here.”

“Yes, I see she is. I want to find what knocked me out of the saddle.”

“Was that the way of it, then!” Broderick strode along beside him. “Are you saying someone meant to put a period to you?”

“I'm saying I was riding at the gallop one minute, and dozing in the grass the next. I thought a tree had come down on me; or a branch, perhaps.”

“Did you hear a shot?” Broderick jerked him to a halt and inspected him closely. “Sure you're not hit anywhere, Jack?”

“
Something
hit me! I'd swear it. And it feels as if…” He unbuttoned his shirt and peered downward.

“The deuce!” exclaimed Broderick, spreading the shirt wider to reveal a scarlet abrasion across the upper chest. “You rode right into an
emboscada,
old lad! It's marvellous you didn't break your neck! Anyone would think we were back in Spain, by Jove! What's to do here?”

Vespa buttoned his shirt again. “Let's have a look at those pretty little birch trees, Toby. Then I'll tell you all about it.”

Their inspection of the trees didn't take long. Holding up the frayed end of a length of fine rope, Broderick's usually mild eyes were stern. “Stretched between the trees, waiting to welcome you. This was attempted murder, Jack!”

“Yes. But I wonder—” Vespa gave an impatient gesture. “Let's get back to the house.”

Broderick's mount was a tall and raw-boned bay with a nasty temper. He made it clear that he didn't want to be ridden, but after a tussle Broderick swung into the saddle. He said apologetically that he wouldn't tolerate the brute save that when he went he was such a grand goer. “But never mind about that. Who wants you dead, dear boy?”

“Any number of people hold a grudge, apparently. What worries me is that I may not have been the intended victim. But I'm putting the cart before the horse. Prepare yourself for a tale that makes no sense, and I'll quite understand if when I'm done you return to Town at the gallop!”

They proceeded at a walk, and Vespa gave a brief sketch of the state of affairs. When put into words, the whole business sounded increasingly unlikely to him, and he slanted several embarrassed glances at his friend, half expecting to find him laughing. Broderick's face still held that unfamiliarly stern expression, however. Finishing his account, Vespa said quietly, “So there it is, Toby. At first I thought it as stupid as you likely do now. But I'm bound to admit there is
something
going on in that house, and I mean to find out what it is.”

“Ghosts,” mused Broderick. “It's an intriguing subject, and has been studied for a long time. It's world-wide, did you know? The Maoris in Australia have a deep-rooted belief in hauntings; the Celtic peoples have their banshees; Germans their poltergeists; and heaven only knows how many allegedly ‘haunted' houses litter the British countryside. There's a nunnery in Lincolnshire where some really remarkable manifestations have been pretty well authenticated. And I knew a young sprout at school who had some fascinating theories about mediums and séances. A very bright fellow, and he means to study the subject in depth. You'd best not dismiss it all too lightly, Jack.”

“You mean you actually believe that Alabaster Royal is haunted? By a
moggy?
”

“I'll own I ain't heard of that one before, but I do believe ‘there are more things in heaven and earth,' and so forth. And I'd be very glad if you'd let me lend a hand in your—er—spot of bother.”

“It may be a very sticky wicket, Toby. You saw that. But if you're sure the legends don't worry you.…”

“Say rather, they enchant me! I'd be overjoyed to meet one of your phantoms. Could write a jolly good paper on 'em, probably. Besides, to say truth, civilian life was beginning to be a bore. A little adventure is just what I need.”

Leaving the vale, they started across the park towards the manor. Vespa said gratefully. “It's dashed good of you. I'm glad you came. Which reminds me—why
are
you here? I thought you were in the way of becoming an Oxford don.”

With a rueful shrug, Broderick said, “That all sort of frippered away. Seems they can do without me. For a while, at least.”

“They must be mad! In a revolting way, you're brilliant.” Vespa laughed at Broderick's indignation. “No, seriously. I never met a man with such a wealth of facts tucked away in his head!”

“One such fact is that I—er—incurred the wrath of my tutor in my misspent undergraduate days. Nothing serious, you know. But he brooded over the silly prank, and it turns out he's now brother-in-law to the Provost.” Broderick shrugged his broad shoulders. “So that was that. The esteemed parent was mad as fire and decreed I must find myself a place in the world without his assistance. Couldn't decide what place I wanted, so I thought I'd find a wealthy friend and poach on his preserves whilst deciding what to do. I remembered you speaking of your inheritance, so—here I am.”

“Alabaster Royal must have been a great shock,” said Vespa, amused. “I wonder you stayed.”

“It is a bit of a let-down. But I'd already heard a few things, so it wasn't a complete surprise. And it's interesting, y'know. What really surprised me was … forgive if I jump in where angels fear to tread, but—isn't it a trifle, ah, soon, Jack?”

“For you to pay a visit? Not so! I couldn't be more pleased of some company.”

“Be dashed! I'd have thought that, under the circumstances, company would be the last thing you'd want. But—in your state of health … Well, she's jolly attractive, and what a shape!”

“My impossible block, whatever are you babbling at?”

“Your—ah—
chère amie,
dear boy. She pretended to be a parlour-maid, which was funny, but I'm not easily hornswoggled, y'know.”

“Consuela?”
Vespa said laughingly, “She's not my
chère amie!
The saints forfend!” Broderick looked at him from the corner of his eye, and he amended hurriedly. “Gad! Where are my manners gone? That was rude and ungrateful. The truth is— Oh, the devil! It's coming on to rain. Let's get back to the house. I didn't tell you everything, Toby. I'll lay the missing pieces before you over a glass of my grandfather's excellent brandy, and that superior brain of yours will be able to solve my small riddle.”

9

Thornhill was at the door to receive them. His shocked eyes took note of his employer's creased, grass-stained, and slightly torn coat, and widened with horror as they rested upon the splendid pair of Hoby's boots that he'd sent out that morning with a mirror-like sheen and were now scuffed and even
scratched!
He said tearfully, “Oh … sir!”