The Royal Scamp (4 page)

“It doesn’t sound like Captain Johnnie. He makes the men crawl under the carriage. Did he harm Lady Higgins at all?”
Esther asked.

“Not really,”
Joshua said. “He pulled her out of the carriage pretty roughly and shoved her aside when he took the reticule from her, but he didn’t strike her. At least he did not add insult to injury by kissing her, as he has the reputation of doing.”

“I take issue with that!”
Esther objected. “Robbing Lady Higgins of her kiss was the worst insult he could have devised. I daresay her age, not much below sixty, might account for it.”

“It’s a wretched mistake to glorify villains,”
Mr. Meecham declared.

As Esther studied him, she noticed that despite his handsome face and flashing brown eyes, he had something of Joshua’s stiff and authoritative manner. “Was the highwayman alone?”
she asked. “They say he travels alone—foolish of him, if he does.”

“There was no one but himself,”
Meecham told her. “He has it down to a fine art.”

There wasn’t much to add to the story. The constable had been called and waited till daylight before venturing on the heath to look for clues.

“The carriage had been relieved of its luggage during the night,”
Joshua said, “but no one holds the Royal Scamp responsible for such low pilfering. He is not the only robber on the heath by any means. The team was gone, too. It was an expensive night for Sir Charles. I’m going into London to pester Townsend to set up a heavier patrol on the heath. There should be notices in the press as well, for travelers not to tackle the spot unguarded. England has come to a fine pass when the only recourse is to limit the freedom of the innocent.”

“Be sure to add a line in that notice as to where travelers can find a good meal en route, Joshua,”
Esther said.

“If you call stone-dry beef a good meal,”
he riposted.

“I most particularly hinted you away from the beef! How exactly like you to order the one dish I told you not to.”

The visit was brief, but before it was over, one item of interest was accomplished. It happened right after Joshua mentioned that Mr. Meecham was taking lunch with him at the Abbey. Mr. Meecham was cordially asked by Lady Brown how long he was putting up at the inn, and when he mentioned a few weeks, he was invited to call on them.

“Why, thank you, ma’am. Now that we are no longer strangers, I shall avail myself of your kind invitation.”
He bowed and shot a triumphant, laughing smile at Esther. It was a look that spoke volumes. It revealed to her that Mr. Meecham possessed that necessary item, a sense of humor after all. Best of all, it hinted at an interest in getting to know her better. And though the smile didn’t convey it, the fact that he was putting up at the inn revealed him to have some money.

“A little holiday, is it?”
Lady Brown inquired, her nose quivering for news.

“More than that. I am doing a little business on the side, if I can persuade Joshua to indulge me.”

The ladies were naturally interested to hear more. Joshua gave a quelling look to Meecham, who was looking at Esther, and remained oblivious. He continued, “We are going to have a look at the Pilchener place this afternoon.”

Before Lady Brown could phrase a question, Joshua rose and said, “We’d best be going now, Meecham.”

The only person left with whom she could discuss the mystery was her niece. “What business could Joshua and Meecham have in common? Pilchener’s place is up for sale, but it’s huge,”
Lady Brown said. “Joshua could never afford to buy it. Perhaps Mr. Meecham is more interesting than we thought. He does not look rich,”
she added, revealing what caused the new interest. “I wonder if he will buy Pilchener’s estate.”

After a fruitless discussion Esther decided to take a stroll by the Thames, with her prettiest parasol to protect her face from the sun, a shawl against the cool breezes, and her best morning gown in case she chanced to meet Beau Fletcher. It was there that she finally made his acquaintance.

She became aware he was following her as soon as she began her turn along the gravel path that edged the river. When she stopped to look across at the far side, where a pleasure craft was being put into the water, he stopped a few feet behind her. When she progressed to admire the swans, he did likewise. When she continued her stroll, he was not more than two steps behind her. There was a barge in the water, towing some abandoned craft. It made an excuse to stop and let him pass, for she was curious to observe him, as he had been observing her.

Instead of passing, he stopped and raised a telescope to look at the barge. That was unusual enough that it seemed natural to look at him. Before he had it at his eye for two seconds, he took it down and looked at her, then held up the telescope, as though to offer her a look.

“She seems to be listing to starboard,”
he said, in the casual way of strangers who had met by chance.

“I wonder what’s the matter with it,”
Esther answered with mild interest. Of course there was more than mild interest in her bosom.

Mr. Fletcher proved very handsome on close examination and seen head-on. If a talented young lady sat down with paint and brush to put her dream lover on canvas, she would come up with something very much like Mr. Fletcher. He was tall and dark, his complexion weathered to tan from the elements. Knowing him for a retired sailor, Esther credited his interesting shade to the wind of stormy seas and the sun of tropical climes. His eyes were a bright blue, glowing with health and animal energy, and with perhaps a hint of flirtation to add the coup de grace.

Even his tailoring improved on closer inspection. His superfine jacket fit like paper on the wall, an effect achieved by only the best London tailors. His shirt was immaculate, starched to a T; a waistcoat of finely striped blue and yellow covered his chest. He was tall and rather slender—elegant was the word that occurred to her. If his lips opened to reveal a gap-toothed smile, it would be a crime.

“Her!”
he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We call ships her, not it. They are temperamental, hard to command, yet worth every effort—obviously feminine.”
He smiled. No gap marred his perfect smile.

“You sound like a sailor,”
Esther replied innocently.

“Mr. Fletcher, formerly captain of the HMS Glory.”
He made a military bow, but with more grace than most military men could muster. Even his voice was unexceptionable—deeply resonant, with the ring of authority in it.

Such sticklers as Joshua Ramsay would raise a brow to see the introduction being carried out without the presence of a mutual acquaintance. Esther assuaged her conscience that the name of Lady Brown would soon be in the air between them to lend propriety.

She smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of his speech, but did not return the compliment. Undeterred, he pressed on with trying to discover her name. “Would you like to have a look through this?”
he asked, proffering the telescope and using it as an excuse to come closer.

She said, “Thank you,”
and raised it to look at the barge, which was of no more interest to either of them than a leaf hanging on a tree. “I can’t see very well,”
she said, and handed it back.

“You have to adjust the lens,”
he explained, and  pulled off his York-tan gloves. His gloves were lovely, his hands more so, the fingers long and tapered, well-manicured. He fiddled with the protruding rings and handed the telescope back. Their fingers brushed, lending an unexpected tinge of intimacy to the endeavor. Esther’s parasol was in the way, and he took it from her with another smile. She looked at the barge long enough to denote some interest before handing the glass back to him.

He looked out on the water with his unaided eyes now. “They’re hauling her to dry dock to be re-rigged, I fancy.”

“Very likely,’
she agreed, and turned to leave, but she knew the meeting was not over.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What? Oh, my parasol! Foolish of me.”

“Will you allow me to carry it for you?”
he asked, and took a step, assuming that the answer, though tacit, was affirmative.

They proceeded past the end of Lowden Arms territory, and Esther decided to tease him a little. “Are you in the habit of trespassing, Mr. Fletcher?”

“On your time, do you mean, ma’am, or on your property."

“On my property.”

“But I am a guest at the hotel,”
he answered, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

“This particular stretch of the river walk does not belong to the hotel. It belongs to that brick house up there," she said, and indicated the dower house, up several yards from the river. “And the house belongs to me.”

“You must be Miss Lowden!”
he exclaimed. “Where there is a will, there is a way, you see. I noticed you didn’t offer your name when I so civilly gave you mine. Now I possess it without your help. Your umbrella, your name—next I shall be stealing your heart,”
he cautioned, in a joking way.

“Are you a mind reader as well as a thief?”
she asked, in the same spirit.

“Neither one nor the other, I promise you. We have a mutual friend, Miss Lowden. I had the pleasure of meeting your aunt yesterday morning during my stroll.”

As Mr. Fletcher was proving an unexceptionable flirt, Esther decided to let the acquaintance continue. “I hope you are finding everything satisfactory at the inn,”
she said.

“I like it excessively. I had an excellent dinner there last night.”

“Last night?”
she asked swiftly.

“No, I’m mistaken. Last night I dined at Windsor. It was the night before last.”

“I happened to dine at the inn myself last night,”
she explained, lest he take the notion she already knew his itinerary.

“I understand more exciting things transpired at the inn last evening, I heard at breakfast there was a robbery.”

“Not at my inn! It happened out on the heath. The couple came here on foot. I wonder how poor Lady Higgins goes on.”

“She was full of vinegar at breakfast. The center of attention, all the guests commiserating with her. No, that’s not quite true. The younger ladies were jealous as green cows. It was the infamous Captain Johnnie who robbed her, they say. I don’t know how people can be so foolish as to cross Hounslow Heath alone at night.”

“It was ill-advised. They must have been in a great hurry to get somewhere, I suppose.”

“They’re going to be mighty late. Sir Charles has just gone to the hiring stables to rent a team. That was gratuitous infamy on the Scamp’s part, to cut the team loose and make those poor old folks walk five miles in the dark of night.”

“Hardly what one would expect of an officer,”
she agreed. “They say Captain Johnnie is an ex-army man, you know.”

“It’s hard to believe an ex-officer was responsible for last night’s escapade.”

“You don’t think it was Captain Johnnie, then? I tend to agree with you.”

“That was not my meaning. No doubt he is responsible. What I meant to say was that he never was an officer. He is a cowardly knave, a thief, and a robber.”

“I stick to my guns. Captain Johnnie would never treat a lady so shabbily,”
she argued. “No doubt he is given credit for more robberies than he commits. That’s what is turning him into a legend. By the time Lady Higgins gets to her destination, she will be convinced not only that it was the Royal Scamp, but that she is in love with the rogue—be boasting of having attached him.”

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised. With my own ears I heard her story change three times over breakfast—and I’m a fast eater, too. First he was a scoundrel who roughed her up; then he was at least not so ungentlemanly as to have touched her; then, as I paid for my coffee, he had kissed her, just before he darted into the night, cape flying. She'll have had an offer of marriage before she gets home, certainly. That is how these legends spread.”

“Like so many of the world’s wrongs, it is the fault of ladies, in fact!”

“You are stuffing words in my mouth. A wish to cut a dash is a human failing, not restricted to the ladies. We seem to have reached the end of the gravel walk, Miss Lowden. Do we turn around and go back, or may I escort you home?”

“And rob me of a chance of being waylaid by the Royal Scamp?”
she asked.

Mr. Fletcher gave a dashing smile and replied, “If it’s only a kiss you’re after, we don’t require a highwayman for that! On the other hand, I cannot undertake to relieve you of your gold. I draw the line at stealing hearts.”

Esther was surprised to see how swiftly an accomplished flirt could forward an acquaintance. She knew, however, that Mr. Fletcher’s conversation infringed on the borders of fast behavior and gave him a haughty stare. “I suggest you draw your line somewhat closer to the realm of propriety, Mr. Fletcher,”
she advised.

“Hmm,”
he said, smiling from the corners of his flashing eyes. “Your reprimand is in order, ma’am. I shall withdraw to higher ground.”

Esther hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether to stomp off in a huff or leave the door open to further dalliance. His startling blue eyes were a strong inducement to the latter course. They continued walking, and after a moment she said, “Higher ground sounds more like an army term than a naval one. I should have thought a sailor would retire to safer waters.”

Mr. Fletcher’s reaction was peculiar. He gave a conscious start but soon recovered. “I was mixing my metaphors, ma’am. I am half a layman by now, you see. All we stuffy gentlemen take high ground on propriety between the sexes. I daresay it would be too forward of me to suggest we go for a drive this afternoon. Sticking strictly to high ground, of course. I have a spanking team of bays.”
His bold smile proved more tempting than the team of bays.

He saw her waver. “Such a lovely day,”
he continued. “It cries out for a turn along the river. Twickenham is not far away. We could visit Strawberry Hill.”

“What a rare treat! I haven’t been there above a dozen times.”

He laughed lightly. “I should have known better. I’ve only been here a day, and already I have visited the Gothic wonder. It’s the first spot folks go, I should think.”

“One is allowed to visit either Windsor or Strawberry Hill first without offending the proprieties. You are a fast worker. You did both the first day.”