The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (36 page)

“Good God! About—what? My father is well?”

“Your father—” Lady Antonia's lips tightened. She gave a little sniff. “I always said Kendrick was too handsome for his own good. Or for
her
good! Yes, I know you are devoted, and I should probably not say— I can only be grateful that my beloved Derek was only passably good-looking, and never—”

With an obvious effort she cut off the improper remarks.

Vespa suppressed a smile. So that was it. Mama must have heard some more gossip about Sir Kendrick and Mrs. Omberleigh. Colonel Omberleigh had allegedly perished while serving on the Indian frontier. No one had ever met him or knew the family, and some uncharitable people went so far as to doubt the colonel's existence. There were no doubts about his ‘widow', however. A pretty and light-hearted lady, it was an open secret that she had been Sir Kendrick Vespa's mistress for at least ten years. Lady Faith, mortified, would never allow her name to be mentioned, and referred to her obliquely as “that Person”.

Vespa's amusement died abruptly, therefore, when his aunt murmured from behind her fan, “All I will say, John, is that Mrs. Omberleigh has called upon your poor Mama.”

“The devil she has! Oh, your pardon, ma'am. But—do you say my mother, er, actually
received
the lady?”

His aunt nodded, dislodging the silk rose her woman had placed in her hair. Vespa retrieved it, and as he gave it to her she seized his hand and said urgently, “Truly, Jack, poor Faith is in a terrible state, and told me she had sent word for you to attend her. When I saw you, I thought perhaps you were on your way to Richmond. You must go to her, my dear.”

“You may be sure I mean to do so, ma'am. By your leave, I'll tell your grooms to have my team ready first thing in the morning.”

*   *   *

“It was dreadful! Just dreadful!” Lady Faith Vespa sobbed into her son's cravat as he shared the sofa in her private parlour and tried to comfort her. “All these years … a devoted wife … and he has neglected me shamefully, as you must know, Jack, though I try never to lay my burdens on your shoulders. Heaven knows, he has treated you badly also.… He could not have made it more clear that Sherry was his favourite. Which was nothing but hurt pride because … because your brother took after him, and you do not!”

“Now, Mama,” said Jack, tightening his arm about her, “I'm sure Papa did not mean—”

“Not mean?” She pulled back and sat up straight, dabbing a wisp of cambric and lace at her eyes and regarding him indignantly. “How can you say he did not
mean
it? You weren't here to see him rant and … and rave like a—a mad
beast!
Indeed, I thought you would never come, and I needed you so!”

“I know, dear. I'm sorry, but I was in Tunbridge Wells, as I told you, and if it hadn't been for Aunt Antonia—”

“Yes, yes. Antonia has felt the sting of his tongue also, and I expect she purred like a great smug cat and extolled the virtues of her angelic Derek, who was the most
boring
man I ever met! She arrived just after poor Mrs. Omberleigh left, and took advantage of my distress to lead me into saying more than I should have. Which is not to be wondered at, under the circumstances. I am not disloyal, Jack. Just bewildered and hurt. And
shocked
that he should cast the poor creature off without a sou! After all her years of—of what I suppose one must call devotion. It is not
done,
Jack! A gentleman does not abandon his—his—”

“Peculiar?” he offered, struggling to conceal his amazement at having heard his father's mistress referred to by name.

“Just so. He should have
provided
for her. You know it. But he is selfish as ever. Not giving a button for anyone but himself. She was not young enough any more, or pretty enough, so he has cast her off, and found someone else! Disgusting! And if you had but
heard
him!
Accusing
me! Raging!”

Sir Kendrick's impatience with his wife was often barely concealed, but Jack had never known his father to shout at the lady. Frowning, he asked, “Of what did he accuse you, Mama? What sins had you committed to make him behave with such violence?”

“Well you may ask! I had done
nothing!
Well—not in a
meaning
way. Rennett brought it up to me, and I opened it, naturally enough. And the card said: ‘I thought you would enjoy to have this.' So I thought that he had been kind.” She sniffed, and said resentfully, “Though there was a time when if he had been—er—flirting with another lady, I would be given rubies or diamonds as a guilt-offering.”

Trying to sort the wheat from the chaff, he said, “Papa sent you a gift and you were not pleased, is that it?”

“No, that is not
‘it'
at all! How can you be so slow to comprehend? It was a simple misunderstanding, and if he had set foot in my private parlour any time this past six months and more, he would have
seen
it and need not have made such a fuss! One might have thought I had deliberately
stolen
the stupid thing, and kept it hidden!”

“You mean—the gift was not for you after all, ma'am?”

“Have I not said it! He had it commissioned for
you,
he said!”

“For
me?
Papa had something made for me?”

“Yes. And he was so angry because it never came—or at least, he
thought
it never came. And when he marched in here demanding to know why his—his mistress had come to me, he saw the bowl, and I vow he went—
berserk
because it was scratched, and he said if he'd seen it at once he could have returned it and insisted that the artist do it properly, only now he's dead, and—and he blames
me!
”

Jack stared at her blankly, seeing instead his first day at Richmond after he'd left the hospital; this room, and the bright colours of the sweetpeas as he'd rescued them from the rug. Scarcely able to comprehend this incredible development, he said in an awed half-whisper. “The … enamelled bowl! My God! You said it was a gift?”

“Yes, and you were so clumsy as to knock it over. If I'd known Kendrick meant it for you, I would never have—”

“No, of course you wouldn't. Mama, forgive me, but this is very important. Where is it now?”

“How should I know? Sir Kendrick went storming out, saying the most dreadful things about bacon-brained females—which I am
not,
Jack! You know I'm not! If truth be told, this young creature he's found has addled
his
middle-aged brain! Well, I hope she is pleased with herself, the hussy! He's betrayed his poor wife,
and
his faithful—Mrs. Omberleigh. And you may be sure he'll serve the new chit in exactly the same fashion, when—”

“Yes—but,
please
Mama! Did my father say anything about what he meant to
do
with the bowl? Anything at all?”

“No. Or if he did, I cannot recollect. And you are being very rude to keep interrupting, as if it says anything to the matter. It is just a silly old enamel bowl with scratches all over it. Only it was pretty, and they were just little scratches, and I supposed they were part of the design. How was I to know the artist had made a mistake and— Oh,
now
I remember! Your father said he was going down to that horrid house where you will persist in living now. And that you could both take the bowl to the artist's family and demand they make restitution. Though, if the man is dead, I wish you well of the effort, for they'll likely not—
Jack!
Where are you going?”

He bent and kissed her. “Sorry, dearest. I must leave at once. Papa may be stepping onto a very sticky wicket!”

*   *   *

“You ain't a 'preciative cove, is you, Josiah?” The thin man with the thin smile poured another inch of whisky into Hawes' mug and said in his thin voice, “Here I come to your very door, and on such a nasty wet arternoon, bringing me own bottle o'cheer just so as to be friendly-like, and do I get a—”

The part of Hawes' face not covered by beard was flushed, and his eyes were bloodshot. He peered at his visitor blearily, and taking up the mug demanded, “Why? You ain't never been a friend t'me, Bert Ryan. You're what they call a toad-eater. Allus was. I see how you bows and scrapes to his lordship. Well,
I
don't bow an' scrape. Not to no man!”

“I gotta wife and three brats to think of,” protested Ryan, injured. “But I'm a working cove, just like you is!”

“Ho, yes you ain't!” Hawes' massive hand shot out, and fast as his visitor ducked back, the front of his plum-coloured livery was seized and he was jerked forward. Hawes snarled, “Look at
my
coat, Bert Ryan! All frayed and n-nigh wore out, ain't it! But look at yourn—fine cloth an'—an' silver buttons, an' good linen in yer shirt, and strong shiny leather on yer feet. Just like me? Hah! What
you
is”—he hiccupped—“is a slave! That's what you is! A slave wearin' of yer master's u-uniform.”

Ryan disengaged the big man's grip cautiously, and said with his persistent grin, “True enough, Josiah. I got these flash clothes and I eats good, and I takes care of his lordship's cattle and his coaches. But if you knowed how that wicked old man treats his servants—us grooms 'special—cor! You'd understand why I hates the Quality. Just like you does. So slippery as serpents, they be. Evil, through and through.”

Hawes grunted, and glowered at the stove in the small chamber that served as both kitchen and parlour.

Watching him, Ryan said softly, “I were s'prised, Josiah, that you'd let your poor li'l gal be so friendly-like with that there Cap'n Ves—”

“She ain't friendly wi' him!” shouted Hawes, jerking up straight in his chair, his flush darker than ever. “I told him straight not t'come round here no more!”

“Then I'm sorry as can be,” said Ryan. “I bin lied to. That's what I gets for paying heed to gossip. Here I was told as your Molly had took a gift from that young 'ristocrat. A jar, I heard.” He jumped back in the nick of time as Hawes' fist crashed onto the table, sending the whisky sloshing in bottle and mugs.

“I
paid
for that there flower-pot, Bert Ryan! An' if any man do say diff'rent, I'll wring his greasy neck like—like a chicken's!”

“I commend you, Josiah,” said Ryan, drawing away from those great menacing hands. “Here! A toast t'your noble princ'ples! Drink up, man! You d'serve it. I reckon that dandy Cap'n made you pay through the nose for one of his—er—flower-pots. That must've bin hard on you, Josiah, you not being no rich man.”

“It were only a groat,” mumbled Hawes.

Ryan laughed shrilly. “A
groat!
Oh my! A groat for a 'namelled snuff jar? Oh, he's a downy cove is that Cap'n Vespa!”

“He ain't so bad as some. It were a pretty thing, for all it were a bit scratched, but he come back and give Molly a better one.” Hawes' belligerent expression softened. “The little lass says as it be crystal, and she likes the way it sparkles.”

“And
he
likes the easy way he got it back, I betcha,” said Ryan with a giggle. “Was you here when he come, Josiah?”

“No.” Hawes frowned again. “If I had been—” His hand tightened into a fist that made Ryan's cunning eyes widen. “I told him never to come back no more. But Molly says he didn't even get down outta his coach and weren't here above five minutes.”

“I'll lay odds he wasn't!” Ryan laughed again. “Druv right off with his prize, I betcha! My, but they're sly, them 'ristocrats! He found out, Josiah, that's what it is! He'd never of give your gal that there vase if he'd knowed it was—solid gold!”

Hawes stared at him, his jaw dropping. “You got maggots in yer cock-loft, Bert Ryan. Gold, indeed! It were just 'namel, is all!”

“Yus, mate. But enamel over gold! Why, that there jar woulda bought you a new cottage, Josiah. And paid for your li'l gal to see a doctor, I 'spect. No wonder he waited till you was gone 'fore he come slipping round and tricked your Molly into trading gold for a piece o' glass! You been proper hornswoggled, Josiah. He's likely still laughing atcha!”

“Laughin'… at me?” Hawes' red-rimmed eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and said softly, “Laughin' at me? That dirty … thievin'…
varmint!
” His chair went over with a crash, and Ryan jumped up and scuttled like a scared rabbit to a corner of the room.

Ignoring him, Hawes tore his shabby coat from a hook on the wall and took up a heavy club, muttering, “Cheated my Molly, did he?… And—and laughed at me … Y'see this here?” He turned on Ryan, waving the ugly weapon in the air.

“I—I see it, Josiah,” quavered Ryan, easing towards the outer door, his smile quite gone.

“You see them nails in the top?”

“Yus, yus! I—I see 'em, indeed I do, Josiah.”

“I driv 'em in,” said Hawes in that deadly hissing growl. “I made this here club for the murderin' hell-born devil as run down me dear wife and crippled me li'l gal an' didn't even slow his bloody horses! I warned that Cap'n Vespa! I told him
plain
to keep 'way! Didn't I?”

“Yes, indeed, Josiah. You wasn't to know as he'd come slipping round your little gal while your back was—” Ryan squeaked and fled back to his corner. “Josiah? What you going to do?”

“Find him,” growled Hawes. “The rotten slippery weasel! To cheat a crippled li'l child…!”

“But—he ain't at the manor,” called Ryan, venturing from his corner as Hawes flung open the door. “He's in London, I heard.”