Time's Fool (17 page)

“Naomi?” His voice harsh, he demanded, “Did she call here?”

“No. I chanced to meet her in Bloomsbury and nothing would do but that I take tea with her. I've not seen her in an age. She is more beautiful than I had recollected, though I thought her rather sad, but—Oh!” Horrified, she exclaimed, “My heavens! You
did
know? About the betrothal?”

He said grimly, “I do now. I went to Collington and was sent off with a flea in my ear. Later, I met my betrothed, and she handed me a proper set-down.”

“I am so sorry. But, do you know, I think she was not so wild 'til—”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the footman advised that Sir Mark sent his compliments, and was waiting for Captain Rossiter in the study. Promising that they would have a long chat later in the day, Gideon ushered his sister into the hall, then watched rather sadly as she made her way towards her own room, leaning on her cane. One of the few letters he'd received had advised that the hopefully anticipated surgery to correct her knee, damaged at birth, had failed. Her limp seemed, if anything, more pronounced. She could have been such a little beauty, if only—He cut off such disloyalty. Gwen
was
a little beauty, limp or no. The people to be pitied were the stupid idiots who did not see what a darling she was.

On the stairs he encountered Newby, resplendent in shades of puce and wearing a bag wig with three curls that Gideon thought appalling. Newby leaned back against the banister scanning his brother through a jewelled quizzing glass. “Unimaginative,” he said in his supercilious way. “But at least you begin to resemble something human.”

Gideon closed his lips over an instinctive retort and went past without a word.

“I fancy you know that my father awaits your valiant presence,” called Newby. “Be careful what you say, twin.” Gideon turned and looked at him, and after a swift glance around, Newby went on softly, “I believe the old fool cherishes the hope that you have come riding home on your trusty charger to slay his ridiculous dragon called Conspiracy. One trusts your armour is polished and your lance sharpened.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in voice and look, Gideon said, “You do judge it ridiculous, then?”

Newby shrugged. “I judge his wits are properly addled. The fault is his own, and needed no embroidering by fiendish conspirators. I wonder you doubt it. As I recall, the main cause of your so frequent disagreements was that you felt he relied too heavily on ill-chosen subordinates—no?”

“I do not recollect your backing me on those issues at the time.”

With a deprecatory wave of his quizzing glass, Newby said, “But my dear twin, you beat me into this world by five and twenty minutes.
You
are the heir apparent to this sorry kingdom.” He smiled sweetly. “And its indebtedness.”

“Yet I fancy you mean to enlighten me as to the best way to proceed.”

“There is but one way.” Newby straightened, his voice losing its sneering drawl to become sharp with urgency. “The old man must gather whatever assets still are left to us, and emigrate. In the New World we can start again. I hear there are quite charming estates to be had in some of the colonies, and—”

“I might have known,” interrupted Gideon in disgust. “You advocate a full retreat. To run away and leave our name sunk in dishonour. Brave advice, 'pon my word!”

Flushing darkly, Newby leaned nearer. “Don't look down your haughty nose at me! Will our name be any less dishonoured does he stay to face trial, conviction, and deportation? Rather, we will come out of it pauperized
and
dishonoured!”

“Not an we prove him innocent of wrongdoing. Perhaps—”

“Gammon! Do you fancy we have not tried? Whilst you were cavorting with your plump little paramours, Papa and I have wrestled with irate creditors and solicitors. We've fended off the set of ghouls who write for the newspapers. We've battled Bow Street and government enquiries and were able to prove only that he made mice feet of the whole and deserved exactly what he got!”

Gideon shook his head and with a curl of the lip trod to the next stair.

Seizing his arm, Newby wrenched him around and said through his teeth, “For once will you try to be less of a fool? Do we both prevail upon him to act now, we may come out of this with
some
funds and the hope for a comfortable way of life!”

“I may be a fool, brother—indeed, I suspect I am a very great fool—but I do not know the whole of this as yet. When I do, and if there is the smallest chance of restoring our good name, that is the course I shall—”

Newby's attention had been arrested by a movement in the lower hall and he now demanded wrathfully, “You there! Who the devil are you?”

Mr. Enoch Tummet stepped back to leer up at them. “Now that there's a right coincidence,” he said. “Them's the first words what yer brother spoke to me, Guv'nor.”

“How did you know this gentleman is my brother?” demanded Newby. “Damn you, I think you were listening! Be off with you before—”

“No, no. I think Mr. Tummet came to see me,” said Gideon, and hurrying down the remaining stairs, ignored Newby's predictably sarcastic response and drew the caller into a small book room.

Closing the doors, he asked, “How the deuce did you find me? And why?”

“Proper posh you look,” said Tummet, his one visible eye scanning Gideon's tall figure admiringly. “But yer brother's right, y'know. 'Op orf. Quick. Grab yer valleybles, an' run. While you can. Them's me advice, give free and wiv all goodwill fer yer honour.”

Amused by his impudence, Gideon motioned to a chair and occupying one himself said, “That's what you would do in my circumstances, is it?”

“'Ere!” Tummet's bright brown eye became very round and he raised one hand in a delaying gesture. “I never said
that,
mate. There's the rub—like Mr. Shakespeare says—ain't it? It's easy to tell a cove what 'e oughtta do—when it's
'im
what's gotta do it. But to know what to do when it's
you
what's gotta do it—well now, that's another tale.”

Intrigued, Gideon said curiously, “You can read, can you?”

“Yussir. Learned 'ow when I was a lackey. Not much to do 'cept stand around and look like a stuffed owl.” He drew himself up and assumed a frozen expression, then sat down with a mischievous wink. “There was a framed pome on the wall where I useter stand, and I stared at it by the hour, I did. One day I asked the 'ousekeeper what it was all about. A nice little old woman she were, and she taught me 'ow to read. Very slow, mind you. But once you can read—well! Opens a 'ole new world, don't it, mate?”

“I'm not your mate, you rogue. And my father is waiting, so we'd best get to your reason for coming here. Start by answering my first question, an you please.”

“'Ow did I find yer, right? Cor! Ain't no one can 'ide in this 'ere village from the likes o' me, Cap'n. And I come so's you could do right by me. Like a 'onourable gent oughter. You being one, like you told yer brother.”

“You rascally opportunist! Are you asking compensation because Lieutenant Morris blacked your eye?”

“Ar, but he didn't, mate—er, Cap'n, sir. It was them other coves.” He launched into the tale he had told earlier at a certain house on Great Ormond Street.

Gideon listened in frowning silence. At the end, he swore angrily. “Has all this been relayed to the authorities?”

“Such as they is. Yus, Guv.”

“And you don't know who these men were? No names spoken, or anything to reveal what they were after, or who they might work for?”

“All they done was talk about ‘the Squire.' Whoever their squire might be, 'e's a ugly customer, I can tell you. Same as them. I'd know 'em if I ever seed 'em, you may be sure! 'Specially the cove what give me this.” He touched his swollen eye tenderly. “A big 'un. Taller'n you, and twice as wide as me, with a face like a mangel-wurzel, and only four fingers and a bit on 'is left 'and.”

Gideon stood, wandered to the window and stared at the weedy garden, thinking in mixed rage and sadness of the great estate and the pleasant life they had enjoyed there. Why the devil would anyone want to wreck it? What were they looking for? Most of the family's personal effects had been removed. The furnishings were valuable but had evidently not been stolen. He had brought home nothing of great worth and, in fact, some of his possessions were still at the Red Pheasant Inn. Most of the articles stolen with his saddlebags had been gifts he'd hoped to present to his family. Jewellry, fans, and laces for Gwen and his female relations; snuff boxes, a filigreed quizzing glass, assorted war souvenirs for the men. Certainly nothing to justify all this violence.

“So, I come 'ere,” said Tummet, growing tired of the long silence, “'oping and
trusting
as you'd make it up to me, seein's it's on account o' you I bin robbed o' me 'ole fortune, everything in the wide world as I owned.”

“Gad! They robbed you, too?”

“Manner o'speaking, they did. Me sovereign nation—me sittyation, that is—was lost to me. And seein's it was all I got, I lost everything.”

Gideon could not repress a smile, but it occurred to him that what this crafty fellow said was very likely true. The loss of his position might constitute as great a disaster to him as the loss now facing the Rossiters. “Very well,” he said, reaching for his purse. “I'll pay you—”

Tummet sprang to his feet and declared with a theatrical gesture which would have made the great Garrick envious that he did not want money. “I come 'ere in good faith, 'oping you'd do like the lady said, and take me into yer service.”

“Take you into my
service
?” echoed Gideon, dumbfounded. “What bird-wit—I mean, who is the lady who said such a thing?”

“Lady Lutonville,” said Tummet, looking aggrieved. “She says I was to say as in 'er 'pinion, you oughta take me on, to make up fer the grief and woe you caused me.” He looked at the ceiling and added innocently, “As yer valet.”

“As my—
what
?” Torn between hilarity and disbelief, Gideon started to say that he did not believe Lady Lutonville would say so bacon-brained a thing, but then he paused. My lady had likely had a fine time picturing his indignation when this eminently unsuitable man arrived with her ridiculous recommendation. Tummet seemed a good-enough fellow, and the question now became how to get out of this bumble-broth without hurting his feelings. Yearning to give her obliging ladyship a hard shake, he smiled at Tummet and said, man-to-man fashion, “You are probably aware of my family's—er, temporarily difficult circumstances.”

“Yus. Well, I'd be willing to overlook that.”

“You'd be—” With an outraged gasp, Gideon said, “Why, you insolent hedgebird! I doubt you know the difference 'twixt a cravat and a stock! And as for being willing to overlook—Be damned if I shouldn't have you thrown out for—” He checked. Tummet was watching him, so hopeful a leer on his unlovely features that it was hard to hold anger.

“I know I ain't much to look at,” admitted Tummet. “But I'd be a good servant, Cap'n. I'm honest and loyal, and I knows more about cravats and stocks
and
other things than what you might think. Matter o' fact,” he added with a knowing wink, “you might just find I'm a sight more use t'you than 'alf a dozen starched-up Town valets with poached eggs fer eyes and their noses stuck up so 'igh you'd 'ardly dare ask 'em to kiss yer 'and.”

“I am not in the habit of asking my servants to kiss my hand! And furthermore, you may tell Lady Lutonville—”

Without the courtesy of a knock, Newby opened the door and strolled in. “My father is in a proper taking, dear brother. You will recollect I told you he was waiting?”

“So you did.” Gideon stood, with an inward sigh of relief. “I'll come at once.”

“I should think so.” Lifting his quizzing glass and lazily surveying Tummet, who had respectfully come to his feet, Newby grinned. “What in the deuce could you find to discuss with
this
?”

“I was—er, interviewing applicants,” said Gideon, as always chafed by his brother's arrogance.

“Applicants for what? Resident chimney sweep?”

Gideon frowned, and threw an apologetic look at the applicant.

Tummet maintained his one-eyed gaze at the ceiling and drew himself up to assume his “stuffed owl” stance.

“For the position of my—er, valet,” explained Gideon.

Newby's jaw dropped, his astounded gaze taking in Mr. Tummet's down-at-heel boots, ragged clothes, and lurid black eye. Then he gave a whoop. “Zounds! If you ain't a complete hand, twin! No really, what is it?”

Gideon smiled. “Matter of fact,” he drawled, “I've just decided to take him on.”

Tummet blinked rather rapidly.

Gideon experienced the sinking feeling that once again he'd allowed temper to push him into a proper bog.

“Good … God!” gasped Mr. Newby Rossiter.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Musicale was a great success. When it ended and the guests adjourned to the refreshment room, little eddies of eager gentlemen formed around the reigning Toasts. In one corner, Katrina Falcon's admirers jostled one another so as to see her sweet smile and hear the soft voice. Nearby, a vivacious and amply endowed young widow held court, while across the room Lady Naomi Lutonville was surrounded by as ardent beaux, who vied with one another to bring her refreshments, exclaim over the enchantments of her light blue gown, its creamy underdress patterned with dainty blue flowers, or to wax poetical over her glorious eyes, her petal soft skin, her vivid mouth, the allure of her dimples, the perfection of her shapeliness.