The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (2 page)

The baronet not only loved animals but seemed to possess the ability to awaken an answering affection in any canine he encountered. His bloodhounds, Solomon and Barrister, were seldom far from his side, and today was no exception. They took up their flanking positions and watched the younger man, so that when Jack glanced up it appeared to him that three pairs of eyes were regarding him sternly. He slipped the notes into his purse and pushed away the hurt that accompanied any mention of Sherry—the brother so loved; so missed. “Oh, I don't think it was ever that desperate, sir,” he said. “I can still ride, and—”

“And limp like an old man! And do not be telling me that gouge down your temple adds to your appeal, 'cause it don't! You never were a beauty, John!”

“Lord, no. Sherry had all the looks.” Striving for a lighter note, he managed a grin. “I got the brains.”

Sir Kendrick was not to be diverted. “Oh, did you? One would never guess it! To move into that desolate, draughty old pile is scarce an indication of mental acuity. You've a home here and another in Town that most young fellows would be proud of. If you don't choose to share my company—”

“How can you say that, sir? You know I've always felt … I mean—I could not be more grateful and—and proud to be your son, but—”

“But not sufficiently grateful to allow that I keep you by me for a spell! John, you
must
know how I—we've worried, your mother and I. You did but now get out of hospital. Old Rickaby warned us that you'll be subject to extremely violent headaches, and perhaps hallucinations, for months to come. It is the height of folly to choose this of all times to go off and live miles from anywhere. You are
ill,
boy! You need rest and care. You'll get both at Richmond.”

Jack avoided his eyes. It was ironic really. All his life he'd been in awe of this splendid gentleman. He'd pitied other boys because their fathers were dull and ordinary and fell far short of Sir Kendrick, the very model of what a British diplomatist should be. He'd said as much once to Sherry, who had laughed and argued teasingly, “Silly gudgeon! How are you qualified to judge? You scarcely know the guv'nor.” It was true that Sir Kendrick's duties kept him away from Richmond for much of the year, but absence had not dimmed Jack's affection. As a boy he had dreamt of performing some deed of valour that would win the approval of his idol; saving him from a runaway coach, perhaps, or leaping between him and a would-be assassin, or plunging into a raging torrent and dragging him safely to shore. And now he must refuse one of the few requests ever made of him. Nor could he put his reasons into words. He knew only that he could not endure this house. Not yet. And the London mansion would be as bad.

In Spain he'd been too busy to have much time for reflection, but here, everywhere he looked brought memories of his brother: some childish prank, or youthful endeavour, or one of their furious battles that had so quickly dissolved in laughter. He could hear an echo of that laughter still; see the blaze of mischief in those magnificent near-black eyes. Sherry … tall and graceful and as darkly handsome as their famous sire. So different from himself, with his average height and nondescript light brown hair and hazel eyes. Sherry, who should have been the one to inherit the title. Sherry, a careless scamp and hothead, who hadn't given a button for rank or property; whose quick wits and endearing smile could extricate him from the most flagrant violations of academic, civic or paternal authority, and behind whose merry insouciance had dwelt the warmest heart and the deepest loyalty any brother could wish for. Given time, he would have mellowed and acquitted himself with dignity, as a Vespa must. But the time had been denied. Afire with patriotic zeal, he had rushed off to join his hero, Lord Wellington, and his precious young life had been snuffed out during the terrible third siege of Badajoz. Sherry …

As if sensing his distress, Solomon padded over and pushed a cold nose under his hand, and Jack stroked the great head absently.

“I see that it
is
too much to ask,” said Sir Kendrick, irritated by the long pause. “Well, if you're too damned high-in-the-instep to dwell under my roof, you can at least stay in Town. Take up residence in that scruffy club of yours. No need to retreat to the wilderness and lick your wounds!”

Bristling, Jack stood, and leaning heavily on his cane, said, “I do not care to reside in Town, sir. Either at the Madrigal or under
any
roof! As for retreating—” He broke off and took a deep breath. “I think I'd best do so, Papa, before I say something I'll be sorry for!”

The steel in voice and eyes was unfamiliar. The thin, scarred face was grimly set. Disconcerted, Sir Kendrick stared at this unfamiliar stranger, then said with his brilliant smile, “Longing to give me a set-down, are you, my boy? Well, and I deserve one. I shouldn't have said that. I ask your pardon. Now say I'm forgiven, and sit down, do.”

Jack's stiff shoulders relaxed. He sat down again, his answering grin banishing the resentment from his face. “Of course I forgive you, sir. And I respect your opinions. But you'll not change my mind.”

“Just remember that I tried.” Sir Kendrick pulled Solomon's ear and was obliged to repeat the caress for Barrister. He murmured, “I—er, don't suppose a certain Miss Warrington could have anything to do with your decision?”

Again, Jack tensed. Like any healthy young man, he enjoyed feminine companionship. During his undergraduate days he'd entered the ‘petticoat line' and for several months had been favoured with the affections of a vivacious little opera dancer. But while finding a seat at a musicale one evening, he'd accidentally stepped on someone's toe, and turning to apologize, had looked into the loveliest face he'd ever seen. From that moment, Miss Marietta Warrington had been the lady of his dreams. Mama had not approved of his choice, and Sherry, himself as good as betrothed, had teased that there were so many ‘fish in the sea' and it would be years before Jack must confine himself to only one. His devotion had not faded, however, and the passing years had served only to deepen his love. He'd lost Marietta, and he had accepted that sad fact. He said quietly, “So Mama told you of my hopes in that direction.”

“She did. And I'll confess I was tempted to take my horse-whip when I called on Warrington.”

“Good Lord! You didn't—”

“Call on him? Yes. The man's a fool. He's whistled most of his fortune down the wind since his wife's death, and I've no doubt the rest will follow. If he's to send his boys to University and provide for his daughters, he'll likely have to sell up. Or—Miss Marietta Warrington will have to find herself a rich and indulgent husband.”

Jack stared at his papers and said nothing.

“Have you called on her since you came home?”

“No, sir.”

“But you did offer, I understand.”

“Five times.”

“Indeed! You must be extreme fond! Does the lovely Miss Warrington return your affection?”

“I—I believe she does. Perhaps not as fully as— But we have both accepted that it is hopeless. Marietta is still under age, but even if she were not, she has a strong sense of duty, and Sir Lionel will have none of me. He has no choice, I suppose. Certainly, I couldn't provide for the whole family.”

“No more could I. As you know, my fortune is comfortable, but while it enables us to enjoy the luxuries of life, it would not stretch to support that brood!”

“I am aware, sir. And the responsibility would be mine—not yours.”

“Well said! Then so soon as you're fully recovered, you must start to look about. There are plenty of sensible females who will not be put off by a limp and a few scars. Find a well-dowered wife and we can all live here together very comfortably.”

‘Heaven forbid!' thought Jack. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I've a fancy—for a while at least—to just live quietly.”

“Very quietly! That blasted great barracks of a house would cost a fortune to repair and bring up to style, and another fortune to maintain. You'd need a staff of twenty inside servants at a bare minimum, to say nothing of gardeners, gamekeepers— Now why do you laugh?”

“Your pardon, Father, but I'll only require a kitchen and one bedchamber, and I can—”

“
One
bedchamber? You'll take your man and a groom with you, surely?”

“No, sir. Pence has no taste for country living. At least, that's what he says. I suspect there's a pretty parlour-maid lurking in the picture somewhere.”

“Hmm. I wonder.” Sir Kendrick pursed his lips. “Very well, I'll send one of the grooms along with you. Don't be too proud to admit you're in no condition to care for your hacks.”

“No, I'll own that.” Jack took up his cane and limped towards the door, his father and the dogs accompanying him. “But I prefer to hire a local man to serve as groom or major domo. Someone who can acquaint me with the area. And, have no fear, sir. I don't mean to be a recluse, if that's what troubles you.”

“What troubles me,” said Sir Kendrick gravely, “is that you may have no choice. Now go on up and see your mother. She's waiting for you.”

*   *   *

“I lay the entire horrid business at your brother's door.” Reclining on a white velvet chaise-lounge in her private parlour, Faith, Lady Vespa, took a scrap of cambric and lace from the bosom of her pink satin negligée and dabbed it at her large blue eyes. She waved her other hand to silence her son's response and went on, “No, pray do not at once leap to his defence as you always do. Sherborne was my first-born, and I loved him. But he was selfish and inconsiderate and never gave one single thought to the inevitable consequences of his ridiculous escapades. With a fine future ahead of him, he chose to throw it away! When I think of how many disasters he dragged you into…”

Seated beside the chaise, Vespa argued gently, “Now, Mama, you must not hold Sherry's patriotism against him. He died bravely, for his country. And as for his pranks, you know he never intended—”

“Oh, but of
course!
He never
intended
that my horse should bolt that day in Hyde Park when he came thundering out of the trees for all the world like one of those dreadful Tartans or whatever they're called. Had you not ridden to rescue me, I dread to think what might have happened! He never
intended
that we should lose tutor after tutor because of his silly practical jokes, and reduce my delicate nerves to shreds. He never
intended
…”

Jack resigned himself to the inevitable recital of Sherry's faults, and watched his mother patiently. She really was a fine-looking woman, he thought, and had managed to keep her figure. It was unfortunate that her nature was so pessimistic. She doubtless couldn't help it, but it was her maudlin tendency to whine, and to dwell upon tragic events and the shortcomings of others, that had long since driven her husband into less tiresome arms. The knowledge that her famous spouse had a mistress only a year or two younger than herself exacerbated Lady Faith's sense of ill usage. She complained to all who would listen that Sir Kendrick seldom visited his Richmond house, but when he did come she sniped at and reproached him, with the result that his visits became less and less frequent.

When she removed to Town for the Season, Sir Kendrick was unfailingly sent on ‘a diplomatic mission' elsewhere. The efforts of friends and family to support her dwindled when they were regaled with long and tearful accounts of the ills of her situation, and even the reminder that she had two fine sons could not alleviate her gloom. Sherborne's strong resemblance to his father irritated her, and although she would grudgingly admit that her younger son favoured her own side of the family, Jack's efforts to cheer her usually ended in failure, just as an amused Sherry predicted.

Bringing her grievances up to date, Lady Faith wailed, “But for Sherborne, you would never have got into the war, you know you would not.” She stretched out a hand to him pleadingly. He had been holding his cane, and discarding it hurriedly, he brushed against a bowl of sweet peas on the table beside her, sending it tumbling to the floor. “Oh, no!” she wailed, ringing the bell for her abigail. “My new bowl! Is it chipped? I so seldom receive gifts any more! Oh, my poor nerves!”

He rescued the heavy and charmingly enamelled bowl, and scooping the blossoms inside, told her soothingly that it appeared to be undamaged. “It's a pretty thing,” he said, attempting to turn her thoughts. “From Papa, or one of your cisisbeos, love?”

“Cisisbeos, indeed! At my age?” Despite the dismissing tone, she looked pleased. Her maid hurried in and brought a towel to wipe up the floor. Jack limped aside and the abigail gave him a sympathetic glance that was not lost upon Lady Faith so that before the door had closed behind the woman she moaned, “My poor boy! Barely able to totter about, and—your
face!
Whatever will my friends say when they see you?”

“I hope they won't faint,” he said with a whimsical grin. “Cheer up, it's not that bad, surely? And this scar will fade, so the doctors tell me.”

“Doctors! Who can believe one word those quacks utter? You are thin as a rail and will never regain your full health. Only to think”—the tears started to flow—“of how proud I was when you were small and I would go with Nurse into the park. All the ladies would so admire your curls, and say how much you took after me. And you did, for you have always had beautiful eyes, John, even if they are that unfortunate tawny colour. Sherborne cast everyone into the shade, of course. But you grew into such a good-looking boy. And now…!” Her voice almost suspended, she sobbed, “I can scarce bear to—to look at you!”

He took a deep breath and said lightly, “Well, you will not be obliged to do so for very long, Mama. I have decided to live down at Alabaster Royal for a while, and—” He drew back, his ears ringing to her horrified shriek.