The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (18 page)

Vespa, who was feeling a trifle unsteady, forced a smile. “Come now, Thornhill. I'm not above taking an occasional toss. Don't look so funereal.”

“Of all
times,
Captain,” wailed the valet, wringing his hands and lowering his voice dramatically. “We have—
company
!”

“Never mind about me,” began Broderick.

“I don't, sir,” interrupted Thornhill.

Vespa's eyebrows went up, but before he could comment a new voice was heard.

“John? So you're back at last!” Elegant, poised, but with an irked expression in his dark eyes, and Corporal frisking about his heels, Sir Kendrick Vespa strolled into the hall, only to check abruptly. “Good Lord! What on earth…?”

“Father!” Jack limped forward and put out his hand. Sir Kendrick scanned it through his quizzing glass. Jack pulled off his muddied glove hurriedly. “Welcome, welcome! How glad I am to see you!”

“I wish I might say the same.” Sir Kendrick shook his hand gingerly. “Since I cannot think you have sunk to going about in such an appallingly dishevelled state, I must assume you've been thrown. You are in no condition, my poor boy, to be jauntering about in this wilderness.”

Jack reached out to grip Broderick's arm as that craven individual started to slip away. “Your pardon, sir, but I'll tell you about it later. May I now present my friend?” He performed the introductions. Sir Kendrick was much too well-bred to betray a resentment of the visitor's presence, but his manner was so polite that Broderick wilted and muttering a plea to be excused, fled.

“I'm acquainted with his grandfather,” murmured Sir Kendrick, watching the retreat critically. “Poor fellow.” He bent to stroke the dog and said with a smile, “But this is a jolly little chap. I'm told his name is Corporal. Named him after O'Malley, did you?”

“Yes. And Toby's a very good man, sir. He served in Spain with great gallantry, and has a most extraordinary mind that—”

“What a pity he did not use it to better purpose. His achievements in England are not enviable. One hopes his stay here will be brief.”

“That's a hope I cannot share. Toby only just arrived. I'm very glad of his company.”

“Yes. I fancy you've not had much in that line. I believe there are several good families in the locality, however. Have any of them called on you? What about the gentleman Mrs. Tidwell spoke of?”

“I haven't been here a full two weeks yet, sir,” said Jack evasively. “Will you excuse me while I remove some of this dirt? I presume Thornhill has put you into a suite, and I can promise you an excellent dinner.”

“My regrets, but I can't stay long. I'm promised to the Haverleys this evening.”

Disappointed, Jack protested, “But I see you so seldom. Can't I persuade you at least to dine with me?”

“I wish you could, my dear boy.” Sir Kendrick shrugged ruefully. “Lord Felix is a dull dog at best. But it's a case of business mixed with pleasure, I'm afraid. I fancy you're glad to have your coaches at last. That's a dashed fine team of greys. You did well to buy them from poor McNeese.”

Ushering him back into the drawing room, Jack said, “So I thought. Suffield was hot after them. Luckily I got my bid in first, or he'd have snapped 'em up.”

“I don't doubt that. Now I've something to tell you.” He glanced around the great room and shook his head despondently. “No, really, my boy, you
cannot
stay in this rotting ruin! As for that alleged ‘man' of yours—” He checked as Thornhill came in with decanters and glasses. Watching him pour the drinks, Sir Kendrick said, “I've seen you somewhere, haven't I? What was your last situation?”

“With Mr. Thatchett, sir.” Handing him a glass, Thornhill expanded, “A most demanding individual, if I dare say so, but taught me a—”

“Thatchett? Thatchett?” Frowning, Sir Kendrick exclaimed, “Egad! You never mean Jasper Merridew Thatchett? The actor fellow?”

“The very same, sir, I'm proud to say.”

“Proud! You might better be ashamed! I saw him perform at a bachelor party last year. Disgraceful behaviour! Why he's half a step above a procurer!”

“True, sir.” Thornhill placed a hand over his heart and sighed. “I tried to warn him, Sir Kendrick, for he was born a gentleman. I strove mightily to guide his faltering steps, but—” He shrugged with great tragedy. “Alas, after I left his service, poor Mr. Thatchett fell from grace.”

“After you left his service, my eye! That's where I saw you! You were the one who tossed that abandoned Turkish dancing baggage over your shoulder and carried her off! I wonder the lot of you weren't arrested for lewd conduct. And this fellow is your
butler,
John? My heavens! I know you're far from well, but I'd have thought you retained some measure of discrimination. How come you to have been taken in by such a mountebank?”

“I take leave to remark—” began Thornhill, red-faced and indignant.

“Just take your leave,” snapped Sir Kendrick.

Vespa jerked his head and Thornhill walked to the door, his back a silent exclamation point.

“No, really, Father,” said Vespa with a rueful smile. “You must not rake me down in front of my servants, you know.”

“Servants! He's not a servant. A rank-rider is more his line of work!”

“Oh, very likely. But at present he serves me well, and I'm lucky to have him. As you warned me, nobody is willing to work here.”

“I thought that ruffian who calls himself your steward was the outside of enough, but if you're reduced to allowing the likes of this hedgebird to serve you—”

“Why is Thorny huffing all over my kitchen, Captain?”

Jack groaned inwardly as the duchess swept in, a ladle in one hand, flour on the end of her nose, and her apron flapping about her.

“My cheese soufflé it will sink with the thud if there is rage in the air.” She waved her ladle at Sir Kendrick. “Who is this? Another dinner guest? How many more, I ask? If you expecting to eat a meal of decency, you must let me know those things. Why does he stare at me? If your mouth you will close, sir, the Captain may present you.”

Sir Kendrick rose. From the corner of his eye Vespa saw his parent's sagging jaw snap shut. ‘As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,' he thought helplessly. “Sir Kendrick Vespa, ma'am. My father. Sir, this is Lady Francesca Celestina of Ottavio. My—er—housekeeper.”

“And the Duchess of Ottavio,” she said, extending her hand regally.

Sir Kendrick was too stunned to do anything but kiss it, flour and all.

“What I cannot understand,” he said a few minutes later, “is why the poor woman would agree to work for you. And why she doesn't appear to be afraid of the legends surrounding this unhappy old pile.”

Jack added to his sins by declaring that the lady had called and upon discovering him to be without a chef had volunteered to help out. “On a temporary basis, of course. And I doubt she pays much heed to legends.”

Sir Kendrick stared at him, his eyes still somewhat glazed. “A duchess,” he muttered.

“So she says. But, er, well, the lady is Italian, and—”

“Mad as a hatter, very obviously. It appears that you've managed to surround yourself with a collection of oddities.” Sir Kendrick took another generous sample of his Cognac and appeared to pull himself together. “Well, don't say I didn't warn you.” He scanned his son worriedly. “I can't see that your stay here has done anything to improve your health.”

“Actually, I'm feeling much better, sir.”

“Are you now! That's good, then. Unless you're just trying to ease my mind. Have you had any—er—supernatural visitors?”

“Oh, I don't believe in such stuff. It's mostly delusion, don't you think?”

“Hmm. It certainly deluded your Grandmama, and your mother—who is very cross with you, by the way. She wants you home, John. Why not humour the lady?”

“Perhaps I will, eventually. But not just yet.”

Sir Kendrick shook his head. “Well, I'll tell her I tried. You're a grown man, and must make your own decisions, but— Good Lord! What's that caterwauling?”

Somewhere, Consuela was singing with enthusiasm.

Jack said feebly, “It's the—parlour-maid.”

“So
that's
the way of it!” Sir Kendrick brightened. “She let me in. A tasty morsel, and with not the faintest notion of how to behave like a parlour-maid. Never mind trying to hoax me any more, you young scalliwag! I understand these little
affaires,
and if she'll help you forget your infatuation with the Warrington girl, so much the better.” He threw up a hand as his son attempted to speak. “No, no! I don't want to hear any involved fabrications, if you please. None of my bread and butter, anyway. But I see why you hired such a rascal for your man! I hope you pay him enough to ensure his discretion.”

“Sir, you quite mistake the matter. The lady is—”

“A lady! I knew it! Got you there, m'boy!”

“But, if you'll just—”

“Oh, enough, enough! We've more important matters to discuss. I'm pleased to say that I've some very good news for you, John. The fellow I mentioned in my letter—the looby who's interested in buying this disaster—has again called on Felton and made what appears to be a bona fide offer of a thousand pounds for the place!” He laughed triumphantly. “Can you credit the luck? Since I was coming into the west anyway, I detoured to tell you of it. Felton says he's some sort of scatter-witted philanthropist. Trying to buy himself a place in heaven by building a country orphanage for abandoned London children. If you ask me, he should be committed, but, his folly—your gain, eh? Well? What d'you say to that, my boy?”

Jack twirled the brandy in his glass and stared at it unseeingly. “He hasn't approached me, sir. I'd think he would at least want to see Alabaster before—”

Sir Kendrick's elation faded. He said irritably, “Apparently he sent his man of business down. Gad, but you're a cold fish! Here I rush all this blasted way thinking how pleased you'll be that I bring you a fine offer for this white elephant, and you display not one whit of gratitude or enthusiasm!”

Jack flushed. “My apologies if I seem ungrateful. I know how busy you are, and I appreciate your taking the time to negotiate in my behalf. But—well, I don't think of Alabaster as being a white elephant, you see.”

Sir Kendrick stared at him, then grinned. “Aha! You've more horse-sense than I give you credit for! Playing a cagey game, are you? Want him to bring the price up. Very good! We'll try it, at least. I've as good as told Felton we'll accept his offer, and frankly I doubt we'll get a better one, but you'd best give me a figure that will satisfy you.”

Jack set his glass aside and looked at his father squarely. “I don't wish to sell Alabaster, sir.”

The next few minutes were uncomfortable. Unable to comprehend what he considered to be a foolish and unrealistic attitude, Sir Kendrick was alternately bewildered and impatient, and it took all his son's powers of persuasion to keep him from thoroughly losing his temper. When the baronet stood to leave, however, he was restored to good spirits. In a rare display of affection he embraced his son and said that he was becoming an interfering old curmudgeon, and that if Alabaster Royal pleased John, he must certainly not give it up. “I'll own I was distressed to see you still looking so poorly, but you know best what makes you happy.” He added with a chuckle, “If you're sprightly enough to have set up a mistress, you
must
be improving! I fancy both the woman and this place will pall soon enough, but— No! I'll say no more. Let me know when you're ready to come back to civilization, my dear boy. I hope it won't be too long. We miss you. I wish I could stay longer, but it's as well I leave you young rascals to your—er, frolics. Don't worry—I won't tell your mother there's a bird of paradise keeping her son in the wilderness!”

It would be useless, Jack realized, to try and convince him of the true state of affairs. Sir Kendrick would only be annoyed and suspect an attempt was being made to dupe him with “involved fabrications”. Besides, if he was believed, the truth might prove even less palatable.

He walked out onto the steps with his father, and as they waited for the coach to be driven round, he asked carefully if Sir Kendrick knew of any antique or object of great value that might be in the manor. The answer was scornful and unequivocal. The only thing of value about Alabaster Royal was the land on which it stood, and as soon as John tired of his
chère amie
and of mildew, dry rot, woodworms, rats and whatever else lurked within its chilly walls, he'd be well advised to tear the manor down and realize whatever profit he could then make from the sale of the property. Having said which, Sir Kendrick asked curiously, “Why? Has some local busybody been telling you tales of buried treasure or such fustian?”

“Not tales, sir. But we've had a couple of attempted break-ins, and one determined effort to make off with some of the furniture.”

“
This
furniture? You jest, surely? Who the deuce would want it?”

“Sir Larson Gentry. A most obnoxious fellow who claims Grandfather Wansdyke loaned him a desk and he'd come to replace it. Without bothering to ask my permission. I believe he was in fact stealing the desk.”

The carriage rumbled to a halt. Sir Kendrick waved a delaying hand to the footman who climbed down to open the door. Staring at his son, he said, “Larson Gentry? Not the fellow who owns Larson Chase? Why it's a showplace! What the deuce would he want with— Tell me what he had to say for himself.”

Jack sketched the episode. When he finished, Sir Kendrick gazed at him in silence, saying at length, “I see. And did you report the matter to the Law—or whatever passes for the Law down here?”