The Riddle of the Lost Lover (10 page)

Consuela asked, “Well, Grandmama?”

“Is a fine
casa,
this.” The duchess turned to Vespa who hurried to join them. “You will be foolish not to dwell here when you are in London, my Captain.”

He bowed over her hand. “You know I cannot, ma'am.” Crossing to Consuela, his eyes were a caress. “Forgive. The roads are all mud, and my coach was delayed.”

Consuela surrendered her hand and said softly, “I am only glad you've come home, but I was surprised that you wished to meet here. This is difficult for you.”

Difficult … Every room, every piece of furniture, even the smell of beeswax and burning coal, held memories of the brother he'd loved and the father who had made devotion into a savage mockery. He said quietly, “Yes. But we have things to discuss, and we must be private. Have Toby and Paige been here?”

“We are now, my pippin!” Tobias Broderick came briskly into the room, bowed to the ladies and went over to the hearth to make a fuss of Corporal, while complaining of the ‘beastly cold wind.'

Paige Manderville followed, paying his respects with his customary easy grace and stunning them all with the splendour of a dark purple coat and lavender pantaloons that would have been vulgar on anyone else, but merely enhanced his good looks.

Under the supervision of Rennett, who had accompanied his master from Richmond, two laden trays were carried in. Corporal's attempt to investigate this feast was circumvented, and with a ceremony that amused them all the butler produced a likely looking bone and lured the dog to the kitchens.

“Well,” said Vespa hopefully, as plates and mugs of hot chocolate were distributed. “Has anyone been lucky?”

Manderville exclaimed, “Custard tarts! Egad, but I adore custard tarts! You go first, Toby.”

Shaking his head, Broderick looked glum and begged that his news come last.

Consuela sprang up, clapping her hands and almost oversetting a tray. “Oh, I cannot wait! Grandmama has been so clever, and has found out—”

“These tells they are
my
tellings!” protested the duchess indignantly. “Sit down,
bambina,
and try to behaving
correttamente!
So.
Now,
we proceed. I, Captain Jack, upon your behoofs, have visit my sometimes friend, Mrs. Monica Hughes-Dering, the queen of gossip, who has, I will say it, become
gross!
How this woman she can allow herself such a great stomach— But—that is neither heres nor theres. She knows
everything,
my dears, about
everyone!
”

Laughing, Manderville said, “Quite true. You went to the proper fountain, my lady, obese or no.”

Broderick protested, “No, really, Paige! You cannot scramble syntax in so haphazard a way! I think you mean a well, not a fountain. And how could either be obese?”

“Oh, I don't know, old lad. I've heard there's a fall of waters in the New World that is enormously wide, much like the duchess' friend, so—”

Vespa interrupted impatiently, “Do you say, ma'am, that the lady remembers someone who was particularly enamoured of my mother?”

“No. But—from her I have one little thing learned. If we put it with another little thing, and then some other little thing … Who can say?”

“You can,” said Consuela, frustrated.

“It is,” resumed the duchess with a lofty gesture, “that this
grande dame
of the
ton
have boast and brag of her so
eccelente
memory, but when we put it to the test, pouff! Away it has go!”

“Memory is a fascinating area of study.” The learned Broderick appropriated a custard tart and waved it about to emphasize his remarks. “Actually, even today little is known about it, though Aristotle was most interested in concepts formed by reason evolving from sensations which produce memory, and—”

“Unfair!” cried Manderville. “Unfair! We gave you first chance to take the floor, and you refused. So have the goodness to cease your lecturing!”

Vespa said through gritted teeth, “In about one second I'll strangle the pair of you! My lady, are we to understand that the—er, ‘Queen of Gossip' had none to impart?”

“But of course she did! She was fairly bubbling over with it! To sort the ‘meat from the staff' or whatever this saying is, I learned only one item that is of interest to us. Your Papa—and I mean Sir Kendrick, dear Captain Jack—he had the enemy. The bitter enemy.”

“Rennett said as much.” Vespa leaned forward. “Was this to do with my mother? Could Mrs. Hughes-Dering name the man?”

“No, and no. It was to do with behaviours. Politics. Ideals—or the lack of them!”

“Ah! Rennett said matters between Sir Kendrick and one gentleman were so strained that a duel was imminent. This sounds a likely customer. Could the lady tell you nothing at all of him? Is he still alive?”

“This she did not know, for the person was outside of England a good deal. Mrs. Hughes-Dering say he had an estate—in Suffolk, she thought, and a castle somewhere, but not in England. And that he lived in those places, when he was not hunting.”

“Jove, ma'am!” said Vespa, delighted. “You've done wonderfully!”

Manderville dusted crumbs from his knee and murmured, “What does he hunt? Fox? Wild boar? Stag?”

“Let me tell them,
please,
Grandmama!” begged Consuela. “For it is not important, and so very funny.” Receiving a resigned nod from the duchess, she said, her eyes sparkling, “He hunts—
rugs!
Is it not the strangest hobby?”

“Rugs?”
Manderville shook his head. “Sounds as if he has a vacancy in the upper storey, Jack!”

“Some rugs can be valuable,” pointed out Broderick. “In fact—”

“Desist, for mercy's sake,” groaned Manderville. “A lecture on rug-making we do not need. What we've to do now is try to put it all together as Lady Francesca said, and see what we've got—do you agree, Captain, sir?”

“I do, but I must tell you first how grateful I am for all the time you've spent, trying to help me.”

“Why not?” said Manderville. “We enjoy your hospitality.”

Broderick declared, “I don't. Not for much longer, at all events. Been recalled. I was at the Horse Guards this morning, and the doctors say I'm perfectly fit again.”

Consuela and the duchess greeted this news with mixed feelings, but Vespa said heartily, “Congratulations! That's good news indeed. Are you for France, then?”

“Next week. I'm pleased, of course, but I don't much like leaving you in the middle of this bog.”

“You may be
à l'aise,
” said Manderville. “I shall stand by Jack, staunch and true, as ever. The Army won't have me yet.” He moved his arm tentatively. “Shoulder. Still stiff, y'know. And I shall now contribute my
soupçon
of information, which really tells us nothing, yet says a good deal, I think. While Toby was ensconced with the medical monsters, I called in at Bow Street again. You will be interested to learn, Jack, that there is no record of any street brawl the night before last involving your esteemed self; that there was no murder done in London Town; and that Colonel the Honourable Hastings Adair has not set foot on British soil for the last six weeks, at least. In other words, friends, Romans and so forth, something very sticky is afoot, and Consuela's colonel is up to his ears in the glue.”

Vespa nodded. “Not much doubt of that. Certainly, they don't want us sticking our noses in whatever it is. Well, at least we tried to help Adair.”

“Who is not
my
colonel,” murmured Consuela pertly.

Vespa smiled at her, and went on: “Then we shall leave him to his own devices and do as Paige suggested. Please interrupt if you think of something I've overlooked. It seems to me that the most likely candidate we've found thus far is a gentleman much disliked by Sir Kendrick, and who is out of the country a good deal of the time. We have several clues as to his identity. One is that both his first and last names contain the same two letters in succession. Also, we believe he may have an estate in Suffolk. And, lastly, his hobby is to hunt—rugs. Not a great deal, I admit. But it's a start.”

Broderick pointed out, “Your surest route would be to sail at once for South America and try to wheedle the truth out of Lady Faith.”

“Oh, absolutely. But the courier my great-uncle despatched must surely reach my mother long before I could get there, and she may well decide to return at once. There is the risk that if I now sail, our ships may pass each other in mid-ocean, and—” he met Consuela's eyes steadily “it would take a year, at least. I think I do not want to wait that long.”

Consuela blushed, and there was a small silence.

Lady Francesca, who had been frowning at Manderville's purple coat, said suddenly, “I cannot like that colour, and I have find something we forget, Captain Jack. It is the castle. Did not your man tell you this same gentleman have a castle somewhere?”

“Yes. But he didn't know where, save that it was not in England.”

“Still, it's a help,” said Broderick. “We can go into Suffolk and enquire for a landed local gentleman who also owns a castle that may or may not be in the British Isles.”

“Oh, oh!” cried Consuela happily. “We
are
making progress! And if the castle chances to be
somewhere
in Britain: Wales, for instance, or Scotland, it would…” She stopped suddenly, her widening eyes flying to Vespa's face.

Lady Francesca demanded, “What is it? What is it? Never become mute and stiff like the stockfish! If you have thinking of somethings, speak up, Meadowlark!”

Consuela moved hesitantly to stand before Vespa. He stood at once, and she touched his arm and murmured, “I am sorry to speak of that terrible time. I know you don't like to think of it.”

His nerves tightened into knots, but he put a hand over hers and said, “Do you mean when we were down in the quarry? It's all right, Consuela. Tell me, please.”

She closed her eyes for a second and could see again that dismal mine tunnel, and Sir Kendrick, pistol in hand, so cruelly taunting his son. She shivered, and looked up quickly. “He said,” she blurted out in a rush, “Sir Kendrick said something about your having a stubborn Scots streak in your make-up.”

Vespa muttered, “‘Miserably dogged Scots streak' were his words, as I recall.”

“He
did
say it?” Broderick asked intensely, “You're sure?”

With a travesty of a smile, Vespa said, “Do you suppose I could ever forget that moment?”

“I have to admit he was right,” said Manderville. “No offence, dear boy, but you
are
stubborn, you know, and—”

“Very true,” agreed Broderick. “Thing is—have you also—”

“Or have the Wansydykes—” interrupted the duchess.

“Any Scots on the family tree?” finished Consuela, breathless with excitement.

Vespa stared from one expectant face to the next. “I know there are no Scots among the Vespa's. I'm not … not sure—” He gave an exultant shout. “
No!
I
am
sure! My grandfather, Sir Rupert Wansdyke, was a great one for tradition. Several times when Sherry and I were schoolboys he dragged us through the picture gallery in Wansdyke House and gave us a small lecture on each ancestor. We thought it deadly dull. But I remember that he said they all were of Saxon heritage, most having been born and bred in the Southland, and that not until his daughter—my mother—married a man of Norman origins had anyone from so far afield been brought into the family!” Jubilant, he seized Consuela and swung her around. “Clever, clever one! You've found the best clue of all! My father must have been a Scot!” He gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Lady Francesca screamed and pounded him with her little fists, demanding that he ‘unhand' her granddaughter at once, and when he did so, threw her arms around him and collected a kiss of her own.

Manderville and Broderick came to clap him on the back and share his triumph.

Broderick said enthusiastically, “Your puzzle is as good as solved, old fellow! We'll go up to Suffolk at once, and if we can't track down a gentleman who owns an estate somewhere in the county, besides having a castle in Scotland—why, I'm a Dutchman!”

“This, it is so?” asked the duchess, misunderstanding, but beaming at him. “And I am the Italian, and my Consuela is a bit of this and a bit of that, and Jack may be half of a Scot.” She turned to Manderville. “You, dear Lieutenant Paige, it looks like is the only true Englishman of us all!”

He laughed. “And my many greats-Grandpapa ran afoul of Charles of Anjou in 1257 and had to leave Marseilles or lose his head, so I'm likely as mixed as the rest of you!”

His heart lighter than it had been for weeks, Vespa summoned Rennett and ordered champagne, and they all drank to Suffolk and success.

And never dreamed that Suffolk was just the beginning.

5

Although a pale winter sun broke through the clouds, the wind that swept in from the North Sea had an icy bite. Vespa drew the collar of his riding coat higher, glanced back along the winding lane, and whistled. Bright-eyed and ears flying, mud on the end of his nose, Corporal scampered from investigating a burrow.

“Keep up, you little scoundrel,” called Vespa, and turned his hired grey horse to the west once more.

He had spent three fruitless days scouring the Ipswich area. Friendly inn-keepers, waiters, parlour-maids, blacksmiths, shopkeepers, a cobbler, two muffin-men, a pedlar, a fisherman and a constable had each been only too willing to pass the time of day over a tankard of ale or a cup of tea, but no one knew of any local land-owner who also owned a Scottish castle and was away a good deal of the time. He could only hope that Toby Broderick, investigating Bury St. Edmunds, and Manderville, prowling the area around Stowmarket, had been more successful.