The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (36 page)

At long last the carriage slowed and trundled between two sentry boxes, with their apparently frozen occupants, and into the yard of the Horse Guards. The carriage doors were flung open, Valerian and Vance Clayton stepped out, then Elspeth and Freda were handed down. At once surrounded by guardsmen who seemed as menacing as they were tall, they were hurried into the large and forbidding building. They entered a busy world populated almost entirely by uniformed officers of the Army and Navy, each of whom had some apparently vital opinion to voice. Spurs jingled, boots stamped, scabbards rapped against the walls as men drew aside to allow the ladies to pass. The target of a score of admiring stares, Elspeth tried to catch sight of Joel, but he had been whisked away almost immediately and her attempts were futile. She and her brother, Freda and Valerian were taken to a cheerless room by yet another very large sergeant of dragoon guards whose eyes rested always at some point above their heads as he barked a request that they “Be so good as to wait yurr.”

Wait they did, while the clock on the wall ticked and the hands jerked their way around the dial, and from the corridor outside came the muted sounds of boots and spurs and voices.

Elspeth was seated at a long table, with Vance beside her. Valerian prowled about restlessly and at length pulled the door open to be confronted by the grim-faced sergeant, who said tonelessly that he was sorry, but no one was permitted to leave this room.

“Deuce take you,” snarled Valerian. “We've been driving all day, the lady is tired and it's blasted cold in this charming little dungeon! Send in some hot tea at once or Lord Holland shall hear of the insensitive treatment you deal out to people of Quality!”

The sergeant clicked his booted heels together, offered a stiff bow and frightened Elspeth half out of her wits by suddenly roaring, “Corporal!”

The door was slammed shut. Valerian staggered to a nearby chair and sat down. “Jove,” he muttered. “Battlefield lungs!”

“I wonder he didn't shatter the windows,” said Clayton.

Valerian grinned. “Let's hope he woke up someone in authority.”

“Tea sounds heavenly,” sighed Elspeth.

“Of course it does, poor girl,” said Valerian. “You must be worn to a shade.”

“Oh, no.” She forced a smile. “I'm just so worried for poor Joel.”

Valerian's lip curled, but he said nothing. It was typical, he thought. What with one thing and another they had really contrived very well. Their most important accomplishment was that Sir Simon was safe away and by tomorrow would probably be reunited with Mama … Dear pretty Mama, who had waited so long and patiently for the return of the husband she adored … Then there was the business of Vance Clayton, who had been snatched from the very jaws of death (which the silly fellow had brought upon himself if one came right down to it). Herbert had taken some deuced hard knocks and acquitted himself splendidly, and he himself was feeling—well, never mind about that. But all the lady could think of was “Poor Joel.” Confound “Poor Joel,” anyway!

The door opened again and a young trooper carried in a tray with tea paraphernalia. “Compliments of Major Swift,” he announced, and fled.

“My apologies to the galloping Major,” murmured Valerian, as Elspeth manipulated teacups, milk jug and sugar bowl, “he has a heart, after all!”

Major Swift entered as they were finishing the tea and before he could say a word, Valerian waved his teacup at him and declared, “Miss Clayton has had a very trying journey, sir. I trust you will see your way clear to at once restoring her to Madame Colbert.”

Eyeing him keenly, Swift said, “You look as if you stand in need of a physician, Mr. Valerian. Perhaps one of our Army doctors should look at you before—”

“I have my own physician, I thank you,” said Valerian, refusing to acknowledge that he would be most grateful to be allowed to lie down.

Elspeth glanced at him anxiously. “I expect Lieutenant Skye will have informed you of what happened, Major Swift. I must tell you that he behaved with the greatest gallantry and—”

“He has told me a lot of poppycock, ma'am,” he interrupted, his heavy eyebrows bristling, “and will be held to face charges of dereliction of duty!”

Elspeth paled and gasped a distressed “Oh, surely not! If you would but listen to—”

“You will have your chance to make a statement, Miss Clayton. As Mr. Valerian has said, we must not detain you. I have already called up a coach and you will be conveyed home directly.”

“Very good,” said Valerian.

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Elspeth. “I go nowhere, Major, until I am satisfied that Lieutenant Skye is being treated fairly!”

“Give me strength,” muttered Valerian, irked. “Order your sister to go home, Clayton!”

His lips twitching, Clayton said mildly, “Go home, Elspeth.”

“Do not imagine I'm unwilling,” she answered. “We are all very tired, Major Swift. My brother has been handled cruelly and is still weakened; Mr. Valerian took a nasty wound and is in a deal of pain, though he'll not admit it; Lieutenant Skye was brutally beaten, and Mr. Turner—”

“Such a litany of disaster,” said the Major, shaking his head sympathetically. “The more reason, ma'am, for you to obey your brother and allow us to take you to Madame Colbert's home.” His voice rose. “Sergeant…!”

The large dragoon marched into the room, shook the floor as he sprang to attention and barked, “Sir!”

“Escort Miss Clayton to the home of Madame Colbert on South Audley Street!”

Elspeth drew back.

The sergeant stamped towards her.

“Take one more step,” she warned, “and I shall scream at the top of my lungs all the way to the carriage!”

The big dragoon quailed and cast a terrified look at his Major.

Valerian gave a hoot of laughter. “She'll do it, too,” he declared. “Never cross a lady in love, Swift! Only think of the picture you'll paint for the people in the street!”

Elspeth turned her head and stared at him.

Swift said in a near purr, “I was thinking more along the lines of having Miss Clayton confined to a cell, or gagged and—”

Valerian said as softly, “Do—not—dare…”

*   *   *

In years to come Elspeth would remember the two hours that followed as an unending nightmare. They were conducted to a bleak and dim room wherein a few candles cast light on their various faces so they seemed to loom against a spectrally dark background.

Major Swift commenced what he called an “interview,” but which Elspeth considered to be a merciless inquisition. Lieutenant Skye was required to stand as questions were hurled at him in an endless stream. Time after time he offered his version of the train of events and time after time Swift would repeat his question in a slightly different way, then insist that the answer differed from that given previously. Occasionally, one or other of the rest of them was “interviewed,” and although Elspeth was spared, Freda was reduced to tears when her replies were judged “contradictory.”

Infuriated, Elspeth's protests were stilled when Valerian bent to her ear and murmured, “You would have this, ma'am. Take care; Swift is an extreme dangerous man. The more you antagonize him the harder it will be for Skye!”

It was all too clear that Skye was tiring and that his defense was not impressing the Major or the two other officers who had entered and stood in the shadows behind them.

Elspeth was startled when a harsh voice from the back of the room exclaimed, “For the love of God, sir! You must have more sensible reasons than you have offered for disregarding your orders! If the woman entrapped you—say so!”

‘Joel's horrid papa!' she thought, her heart sinking. It was an ominous development. She was well aware that Colonel Sir Walter Skye had always intimidated his son and his presence here could only add to Joel's misery.

Skye had jerked around at the sound of his father's voice. He looked strained and haggard, but he said firmly, “If by ‘the woman' you refer to Miss Clayton, sir, there was no attempt at entrapment. Her brother, to whom she is devoted, was held by force at the chateau of—”

He was interrupted by a muffled groan, and Valerian sank to his knees and bowed forward, clutching his injured arm.

Dismayed, Elspeth exclaimed, “Oh, my heavens!” And bending over him, she said angrily, “Now see what you have done by forcing a wounded gentleman to endure this inquisition!”

Swift looked momentarily alarmed and motioned to the sergeant to pull up a chair, Herbert half-lifted his cousin into it and Valerian slumped weakly, murmuring apologies for being “such a Milquetoast.”

“You are nothing of the sort,” stormed Elspeth. “Your wound is badly inflamed and should have had treatment long since! Only look how pale he is become, Major Swift. You should be ashamed! I insist that you have Mr. Valerian conveyed to his flat, where his physician can attend him!”

Colonel Skye barked, “Certainly not! Valerian was the instigator of this conspiracy as well you know, Swift!
He
is the one whose scheming resulted in your quarry slipping through your fingers! You will be wise to have him clapped up at—”

Herbert threw his arm around his cousin as Valerian sagged in the chair clearly near complete collapse. “Fiend seize it,” exclaimed Herbert in an unprecedented outburst of wrath. “Your pardon, ladies, but this is past permission! My cousin's wound is bleeding again! I demand—”

“What you demand pays no toll,” roared Colonel Skye. “Valerian is as good as a traitor, and must be held accountable for—”

He had gone too far, and resenting this usurpation of his authority, Major Swift interrupted harshly, “I think, Colonel, that
I
am quite aware of Mr. Valerian's schemes, but I hope the British Army has not sunk to such a level of barbarism as to refuse aid to a wounded gentleman!” Ignoring the Colonel's purpling countenance and menacing glare, he said, “If Mr. Valerian will give me his word of honour to hold himself available for questioning and not leave the City…”

Valerian lifted his left hand in a weak gesture of acquiescence and said faintly, “You … have my word … Major.”

“In that case,” said Swift, “call up a coach, Sergeant. You are free to take him to his home, Mr. Turner.”

Herbert helped his cousin to stand and Elspeth moved closer to peer into the stricken man's drawn face and asked anxiously, “Will you be all right, Gervaise? I'll call on you as soon as—”

Valerian lifted his drooping head and looked squarely at her. “Not at all the thing, ma'am,” he muttered, with cutting sarcasm. “My debt to you is paid in full, I believe you will agree. I bid you farewell and wish you a happy future unencumbered by—Deplorable Dandies.”

Pale and stunned, she stepped back. Herbert avoided her eyes and supported his cousin's uncertain progress from the room.

Colonel Skye snarled, “If I do not ask the impossible, perhaps we may
now
try to come at the truth of this farrago of nonsense!”

“If you care to take a seat, Colonel,” said Swift icily, “I will pursue
my
investigation—without further interruption! By all means be seated, Miss Clayton. Now, if I understand you, Lieutenant Skye, you were attempting to apprehend Sir Simon Valerian aboard the packet—um,” he consulted his notes, “the
Sea Lassie,
when you were attacked by his son and nephew. You claim you had not laid eyes on Sir Simon at this point…”

On and on it went. Elspeth thought wearily that they had already gone all over this, but she was no longer afraid of the “very dangerous” Major Joshua Swift. She was instead prey to an aching grief. Gervaise had spoken to her with such biting scorn—he had as well have struck her. He had looked terribly ill and worn, yet he'd made not the least attempt to persuade her to accompany him. Not that she could have done so, of course; not and abandon Joel to face this terrible ordeal alone. But Gervaise should have known how deeply she was indebted to this dear and faithful friend who had risked his career, his very life, to help save her beloved brother. She'd been so sure Gervaise
had
understood, and had sensed how much her feelings towards the Deplorable Dandy had changed. She'd even fancied that of late a tenderness had crept into those very expressive grey eyes when they rested on her. That he might even … But she'd been mistaken, quite mistaken. She could hear again the contempt in his voice when he'd said so softly, so acidly, “My debt to you is paid in full … I bid you farewell … and wish you a happy future unencumbered by Deplorable Dandies.”

Suddenly unable to see clearly, she blinked away scalding tears. She had been a fool. He'd only used her to help his father escape. At least he hadn't deserted her then, but like an honourable man had kept his promise and rescued Vance. Whatever else, she must always be grateful for that. But a door she'd thought open had been slammed in her face. His cold “farewell” had clearly said that it was over now, and whatever
tendre
he might have felt towards her had been a transitory thing and was also over. It was his right, certainly, and—

Vance's hand closed over hers and he scanned her face anxiously.

Major Swift thundered, “I shall ask you again, Miss Clayton. I find it extraordinarily difficult to comprehend that, however clever the disguise, any woman would have failed to realise that the ‘lady' she was hired to assist on the voyage was actually a man; probably Sir Simon Valerian, a traitorous fugitive! Exactly how long
did
it take you, ma'am?”

‘What, again?' she thought wearily. “Major, I have answered that question at least three times before. I cannot think—”

“That is all too apparent, ma'am!” interrupted Colonel Skye explosively. “'Pon my soul, but
I
cannot think why a lady of your birth and breeding should—”