The Riddle of the Lost Lover (32 page)

“It isn't a quarrel at all, Paige,” said Vespa sharply. “I've merely been trying to persuade his lordship to come back to England with us.”

“Jolly good,” said Manderville. “The only sensible thing to do. And I think we shouldn't delay. Those are thunderheads unless I mistake 'em.”

One glance at the threatening skies and Kincraig scurried for the tent saying in that odd, shrill voice so different from his usual manner, “I must strike camp! If we get much rain it will be difficult … very difficult!”

Vespa looked after him uneasily.

Manderville said, “I wonder you convinced him, he seems so determined to go his own way.”

“I didn't convince him. Dammitall, he's stubborn as any mule!”

“You resemble him in more than looks, I see,” said Manderville with a grin.

“I'm glad you find it so blasted amusing. You won't object to taking Consuela home.”

Manderville's response was pithy and profane.

Vespa said intensely, “Paige, you
must!
I daren't leave him—not with that unholy crew at his heels!”

“It appears to me they're at
your
heels. And he has gone on very well by himself these many years, from what I can gather. Come now, own he's dished you. You've done what you could, and he'll have none of it. You cannot compel him to your way of thinking, and if he's given his word of honour—”

“To do—what? Meet some cloth-head who fancies he's found a piece of that confounded ancient rug? It's not
possible,
you know that as well as I!”

“Lord Kincraig don't appear to know it.”

Vespa muttered, “Small wonder they call him crazy. I've a damned good mind to take him home by force, if only to protect the dear man.”

“You'd catch cold at that, I think.” With rare austerity Manderville said, “I for one would have no part in such a scheme, I promise you.”

“Confound you,” exclaimed Vespa, turning on him angrily. “Then why did you come if you meant to refuse your help when most I need you? If Toby were here, I'll warrant he'd—” He broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “No—forgive me. I don't mean that. You've been very good, Paige. It's just that—I'm at my wits' end. I
must
get Consuela safe home, and I cannot abandon my—my father to his probable death!
Please!
If you will just—”

“Do what?” interposed Consuela, who had come up unnoticed. “Bundle me off again? Paige won't try it, for he knows very well I'd get away and follow you.”

“Not if I tied you up and threw you in the coach.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Jack! You wouldn't!”

“To protect you from yourself? Oh, my dearest girl, be sure I would!”

“Then it would be a coach you'd have to drive,” said Manderville.

Lord Kincraig screamed, “Why do you all stand there? Can you not see there is going to be a storm? Tend to your horses, quickly!”

The clouds were heavier and ominously dark. Even as they all looked up great cold drops began to patter down. His lordship was carrying crates and blankets to the waggon, Vespa ran to help him and Manderville hurried to harness his own borrowed pair.

Jumping up and down, Pierre shouted, “What about Bruine?”

Vespa was reminded that the little mare must be reshod. He called, “Hold up, sir. I'll get Manderville on his way, then ride with you till I can find a smithy.”

Lord Kincraig nodded and proceeded to strike the tent. The rain threatened to become a deluge. Consuela pulled up her hood and retreated to the carriage with Pierre. As soon as de Coligny's animals were harnessed and poled up, Vespa went to Bruine who was grazing farther down the slope. He started to saddle her, hearing in his mind Kincraig's words, ‘A scant three leagues away…' Three leagues; nine or ten more miles of enemy territory for Consuela to risk, and they were not a great distance from the war zone. No, it would not do! She and Pierre must be returned to the chateau immediately. He frowned, thinking that if Manderville refused to help, he'd resort to his army rank and
order
the thimble-wit to take her back. He himself would accompany Kincraig on what appeared to be this last lap, and that was all. His lordship had promised to go home after he met up with his friend, and by heaven, but he'd see that promise was kept, even if he had to resort to dragging the old gentleman back to England by force!

Deep in thought he finished saddling Bruine, and led her up to the camp. It was deserted. Both waggon and carriage were gone. Knowing he would not ride the mare, they'd slithered off and left him to manage as best he could! It was Consuela's doing, of course. The little minx knew he would follow Lord Kincraig and she had no doubt persuaded Manderville to drive out before he could insist that she and Pierre be sent back to the chateau. That blasted weak-kneed Paige! The silly block should have known better, but he was like putty in her hands!

It was as well his beloved was not within earshot as Captain John Wansdyke Vespa voiced his reaction to such dastardly conniving in furious and unrestrained barracks-room language.

He had trudged less than a mile through the now-driving rain when he came upon a commotion. A goose girl hurrying to shelter with her flock had incurred the wrath of a farmer whose load of apples had shifted when he swerved his waggon to avoid the geese. The farmer was bellowing, further frightening the geese; the dray horses were stamping about agitatedly; the girl was in tears as she ran about trying to gather her flock together; and apples were strewn across the muddy road. Vespa stopped to help pick up the apples, and managed in the process to calm the distraught girl and placate the farmer by buying a bag of his fruit. The girl left him with a tearful smile and a blessing, and the grateful farmer directed him to a forge located in a lane “just a scant distance to the south—two hundred meters at most.”

For once the directions proved reliable, Bruine was soon being shod by a gregarious blacksmith who had no objection to a foreign accent and in no time Vespa was able to ride out in pursuit of the dastardly conspirators. He came up with them a quarter of an hour later. The carriage was pulled off to the side of the road and barely discernible through the grey curtain of the rain. Manderville had climbed down from the box and was blowing his nose and peering despondently at the right rear wheel.

As Vespa rode up, he said unrepentantly, “Well, it's past time you arrived!”

“No thanks to you, my good and loyal friend! You succumbed to the signorina's blandishments again, didn't you!”

Manderville gave him a resentful look. “You try and gainsay her! I wish—I wish…” he sneezed, groaned and finished, “I wish you joy of it!”

He looked quite haggard and was getting thoroughly soaked. Vespa thought ‘I'll have him down with the pneumonia if I'm not careful!' He said in a kinder tone, “What's the difficulty now?”

“A damn great blade from a broken pair of scissors or something of the sort has stuck itself in the wheel. I'm afraid it'll split if I don't get it out, so—”

Consuela called from the open window, “Jack! I am so sorry, but we have lost his lordship again!”

He stared at her then asked Manderville, “
Lost
him? How the deuce could you lose him in bright daylight?”

“It ain't all that bright. He drove around a bend in the road and when we came up, there was no sign of him. He's slippery as any eel, and could have hidden himself in any of a dozen spinneys we passed.”

“Stay here,” said Vespa tersely. “I doubt you'll be noticed in this deluge. I'll come back as soon as I can.”

Manderville grunted, and from behind his handkerchief enquired, “What does that mean? A sennight from Wednesday?”

Ignoring him, Vespa reined Bruine around. Consuela watched him penitently from the open window. “I know you are cross, dear Jack. Have you decided to abandon me?”

“Yes,” he said, fighting the urge to kiss her rosy but drooping lips.

She giggled and clapped her hands. “Your eyes give you away! I am very naughty, but you still love me. Where are you going?”

He had remembered that when he'd left the forge he'd noticed some deep ruts in the lane. Lord Kincraig's waggon left just such marks. He said, “I passed a lane where his lordship might have turned off. Keep out of sight, and do please try to be good.”

“For a change?” she prompted mischievously.

He nodded. “For a change.”

“Be careful,” she called after him.

He rode fast but not so fast as to draw attention to himself. Traffic was lighter in the rain but he scanned each coach and rider going south, alert for a fine black horse, or two dapple greys, or Duncan Keith's unlovely trio. The wheel tracks were still visible when he reached the lane and he turned Bruine down it. Paige had been right about his lordship hiding; there was a spinney ahead and the tracks led right in amongst the trees. It was rough going for Bruine; for the big cart-horses to haul the heavy waggon over such muddy and rock-strewn terrain must be downright murderous. Why on earth his lordship would come this way was—

Vespa's irritation was banished abruptly. The waggon was just ahead, balanced on the two left wheels and tilting crazily against a tree. His first dismayed glance told him that Kincraig had been driving along a narrow track when the weight had caused the ground to give way under one wheel: probably a rabbit warren or some such thing. The horses did not appear to be harmed and were standing patiently, but there was no sign of Kincraig. Vespa rode up quickly, calling his father's name. He thought he heard a faint response from under the waggon and he threw himself from the saddle to peer underneath. His lordship lay sprawled a few feet from the tilting side. Vespa raced around the horses, his eyes flashing to the tree that was the only thing keeping the waggon from toppling. It was a young birch and it was leaning perilously. At any instant it might snap under the weight, or be uprooted, and Kincraig would be crushed. He fell to one knee beside the inert figure. “Sir—I must get you out of here! Are you hurt?”

Kincraig blinked up at him, then smiled weakly. “Found me, did you? Found me … in a pickle. No, don't move me. I was thrown clear. Not—not hurt, but I think I'll—just rest here for a—”

A root of the tree was torn from the earth. The waggon jerked with an ear-splitting creak.

“I think you won't, sir,” said Vespa and, gripping Kincraig by the shoulders, dragged him clear and propped him against a boulder. “Now you can rest,” he panted. “I'll get the horses unhitched in case the waggon goes down.”

It looked to be in imminent danger of doing just that. He worked feverishly to get the team un-poled and led them off to the side. Securing the harness straps to a low branch, he ran back to the waggon. It was even more tilted now. He knew how heavy it was and that to venture onto the far side and try to push it up would be not only useless but likely suicidal. Even if he found a sturdy fallen branch and tried to lever it erect, he'd never prevail. The ground to the right of the track sloped down a little but it wasn't impossible. He led the two leaders to the waggon and tied their harness straps to the two right-hand wheels, then guided the horses down the slope. They were fine big animals, but their combined strength failed to do more than shake the waggon. Frustrated, Vespa thought, ‘The wheels are too low, dammit!'

An idea occurred to him; the kind of crazy idea that his army comrades would have expected of him. He tore open the rear doors of the waggon, praying Kincraig would be carrying what he needed. His prayers were answered; on one wall hung a neatly coiled length of rope. “Excelsior!” he exclaimed and appropriating it, tied the end to the harness of one animal. Holding the rest of the rope, he climbed cautiously onto the driver's seat. The waggon let out a sound like a groan, and shifted. He hung on, watching the tree and holding his breath. The birch was young and supple and held firm. Moving cautiously, he clambered onto the roof, trying not to notice how the waggon lurched under him. The surface was wet and slippery, and too slanted for him to stand upright, so he lay down and fed the rope around the back of the tree trunk.

Climbing down again, he secured the free end of the rope to the harness of the second horse and set the pair in motion again. He had to stop them twice while he adjusted the length of the rope so that the pull on the tree would equal that of the harness straps secured to the wheels. The third time he started off again, the horses leaned into their collars and strained their powerful muscles with, at first, little apparent effect. Suddenly, there was a jolt. The waggon had shifted slightly. Elated, Vespa urged the pair on. The waggon jerked. He could only pray the tree would not snap. The waggon swayed and began to tip. Gradually, the roof moved upward, the tree straightened. Then, with a crash, the right wheels hit the ground and the waggon bounced upright. “Whoa!” cried Vespa, and the cart-horses halted.

There came a burst of applause. Lord Kincraig, still lying against the boulder, exclaimed admiringly, “Jolly well done!

Flushing with pleasure, Vespa praised and petted the pair, then poled up the team again. “You've got some splendid cattle here, sir. Now, what may I do to help you? You said you weren't hurt?”

“No. Not at all. The wheel went down into a pothole I suppose, and I was hurled from the seat when the waggon tipped. Must have knocked the wind out of me for a minute or two.”

Despite his cheery manner he was pale, and made no attempt to get up. Vespa asked anxiously, “Why did you go off like that? It's too dangerous for you to jaunter about alone. You could have been badly hurt and with no one near to help.”

“Pish! I'm as fine as fivepence. If I could—er, just have my medicine.”

“Oh, egad! Of course, sir.”

Vespa hurried to the waggon, Kincraig calling instructions as to where his medicine could be found. The accident had resulted in the contents of the interior being scattered about haphazardly. Vespa righted two crates before he found the bottle and reached for it, relieved that it wasn't broken. Something cold touched the back of his neck. He stood rigidly still, thinking that it was either a pistol muzzle or a knife. He was struck lightly, this time on the head. There followed an odd chinking sound.