Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
My exchange with Alphonse Fletcher was sufficiently disappointing that I slowed my mount to a walk half a mile on. I hadn’t exactly sunk to Fletcher’s level, but my attempt to give as good as I got had been unflattering to my gravitas.
I could believe Fletcher had been calling on a lady near the Knot and believe that Fletcher would sue me should I tarnish whatever good name he claimed.
That Alphonse had parroted Lord Huffnagel’s reasoning regarding Dantry’s disappearance, rather than echoing James Fletcher’s splenetics, bothered me.
I was so preoccupied with reviewing the conversation mentally that I did not see Huffnagel himself until I’d nearly passed him on the road.
He sat stiffly atop a gray gelding, who was remarkable for being muddy up to the hip on the near side. His tail was also in want of a wash. The horse stood on the verge with one hip cocked, his expression cross.
Huffnagel’s riding jacket and breeches were somewhat the worse for wear on the left side as well. Pine needles sticking to the mud added insult to indignity. He was capping a flask and returning it to a pocket when he spotted me on Sir Clive’s mount.
“Lord Julian, good day!” All bluff good cheer, despite the dirt on his attire and on his horse. “I’d heard you were once again among us and in the company of your lovely mother. My housekeeper was up half the night, harrying the maids in hopes that we’ll merit a courtesy visit from Her Grace.”
To ignore the mud or remark upon it? No need to belabor the obvious. Lord Huffnagel had obviously come a cropper.
“My mother and my intended, Miss Hyperia West, will be out and about after luncheon. I expect Sir Clive will escort them.”
“Delightful. I will warn Cook, though one suspects she’s already on high alert. That is not your personal mount, is it?”
“I am aboard Sir Clive’s gelding. A good sort, once he’s put his mind to the job.”
“Do you hear that?” Lord Huffnagel addressed his horse. “Some equines take domestication seriously, you lout.”
The horse flicked an ear and rooted at the reins.
“Still no word regarding Lord Dantry?” Huffnagel asked, urging the horse into a walk.
“Nothing.” I kept pace on my borrowed gelding. “I just made the acquaintance of Alphonse Fletcher. I was unfavorably impressed.”
“You suspect Alphonse has served the earl a bad turn?” The notion apparently amused his lordship.
“I suspect Alphonse cares more for a certain patch of woods that marches with his uncle’s property than he does for a missing neighbor who is a basically decent person, if somewhat strident in his politics.”
“Strident. Apt term, and it fits both Fletcher and his uncle as well, oddly enough. There you are!” He called to two beagles who had emerged from the pines to our left.
“Naughty boys. No more shall you go a-roving, you two. We’re to have exalted company after lunch.
Might I invite you to luncheon, my lord?
Humble fare, but there will be plenty of it. ”
“Thank you, but I am expected back at the Dovecote.”
“What sent you off in my direction this time?”
I wasn’t about to mention Sir Clive’s butler going absent without leave. “I was hoping to meet Fletcher as he hacked his usual morning route.”
“And now your digestion is off? You must not take Alphonse too deeply into dislike, my lord. Young Fletcher is just bright enough to realize he’s not brilliant, he’s not dashing, and he’s entirely dependent upon an uncle who will doubtless live to rival Methuselah’s years.
Alphonse needs a wife, but he hopes to marry money, even though he claims neither dash, nor means, nor looks. He will grow up, eventually.”
“Or not.” The army had been full of swaggering boys past the age of one-and-twenty. Some had matured overnight following their first battles. Some had become more bellicose and puerile.
“Or not,” Lord Huffnagel said. “Time will tell. I don’t like that sky. I thought we might have some clearing today, but it looks as if we’re in for the opposite.”
The overcast had thickened, true enough, and a slight breeze was making a chilly morning colder.
“Sir Clive says winter isn’t through with us, and he’s apparently infallible when it comes to predicting the weather.”
“I’ll part from you here, then, before the weather can worsen further,” Huffnagel said, drawing his horse to a halt.
“I do wish you luck locating Dantry, my lord. I am happy to extend patience to Alphonse, who is no prize. I should take my own advice and be more tolerant of Dantry’s queer starts and reckless causes, shouldn’t I? ”
“Or be like Dantry—disdain the cause, but not the man espousing it. He means well, and he’s calling attention to real problems.”
“Dear me. I must admit you have a point. Thus chastened, I am off to find a hot bath, some comestibles, and my best company manners.” He saluted with his crop and turned his muddy mount down a bridle path that angled away from the road and back through the pines.
The dogs lolloped ahead of him, clearly following a familiar path.
Huffnagel had most assuredly taken a fall, but his lordship was spry enough to have climbed back into the saddle to make his way homeward.
“Walk on, please,” I said to the horse. “I must make my report to headquarters, though it’s a puzzling and disappointing report.”
“Deemster’s sister was supposedly out making calls with him,” I said. “I found no indicia of protracted illness about the household, though I was in a parlor for only a few minutes.”
“Indicia?” Miss Weatherby asked, waving her fork in a small circle. “What sort of indicia?”
We were enjoying an informal meal in the breakfast parlor, though the noon hour had passed. Sheldon sat at the head of the table, which I found mildly disturbing, my mother at his right, Sir Clive at his left.
“Straw on the drive,” I said, “to deaden the sound of any wheeled traffic. The scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the air—camphor, mustard, peppermint, ginger. I detected none of those, and yet, Deemster’s sister has apparently been ailing for a fortnight or so.
The housekeeping was quite in order, suggesting no disruption to domestic routines such as lengthy illness inevitably causes. ”
Miss Weatherby sent me a curious glance.
“He can’t help it,” Hyperia said. “Julian notices his surroundings and deduces their significance. A singularly useful, if burdensome, gift.”
“Deemster isn’t a shirker,” Sir Clive said, passing the buttered peas to Sheldon, who was about to serve himself before he realized my mother hadn’t any on her plate. “He’s young for the post of butler, but canny, and the rest of the staff both like and respect him.”
“Perhaps his sister is in some kind of difficulties,” Her Grace suggested. “A lout of a husband or a son or daughter turning up fractious might mean she called on her brother for assistance. This roast is exquisite. My compliments to the cook.”
Sheldon held the bowl of peas while Her Grace served herself. My mother enjoyed a hearty appetite and good health. I had long since ceased to wonder if she was happy. Her rank had necessitated that she learn to hide even the strongest emotions, another burdensome gift.
She had buried a husband and a son and watched all of her daughters leave the Hall for the blandishments of holy matrimony. Arthur was off in France, leaving the duchess with only my company, a fate she accepted graciously.
We speculated on Deemster’s situation further. Every time I tried to nudge the conversation toward the topic of Dantry’s whereabouts, my mother, Hyperia, or Miss Weatherby nudged the topic back to something innocuous.
“I will pen Deemster a summons,” Sir Clive said. “If the man needs extended leave, I am happy to accommodate him, but I do expect truthful explanations from those in my employ.”
“We have an abundance of Tamworths among our senior footmen,” Sheldon said. “You may happily borrow or promote any one of them. They’ve heard of the sirens of Little Middleton from the market-day gossips and tinkers.”
“Those sirens are all decent young women,” Miss Weatherby said. “And we will retrieve Deemster from his errand if he wants to be retrieved.”
Sheldon sipped his wine, but his genial expression had faltered. I suspected that beneath his charm and good manners there still lurked a boy who could threaten a lame girl with institutional incarceration.
“If we’re to pay the expected calls this afternoon,” Sir Clive said a few moments later, “I will be off to make what repairs to my appearance I may. Ladies, I will meet you at the porte cochere in a quarter hour, shall we say?”
“Thirty minutes,” Her Grace replied. “This walnut torte should not be rushed.”
“I’ll excuse myself as well,” Sheldon said. “While I would like to join you on the social rounds, Fontaine wants to make some changes to the usual plowing schedule, and nothing will do but he must discuss them with me first.”
He bowed politely and followed Sir Clive into the corridor. Hyperia rose and closed the door in his wake.
“Jules, you are bursting to finish your report. We are all ears.”
“Ears and torte,” Her Grace murmured. “This really is delicious.”
“I came upon Alphonse Fletcher, as intended,” I said.
“He’s as arrogant and self-centered as his uncle, but he seemed honestly surprised that Dantry wasn’t in London.
He then suggested that somebody has kidnapped Dantry for political purposes, but claimed it wouldn’t be his side.
They see too much benefit in using Dantry as a straw man. ”
“He was on horseback?” Miss Weatherby asked.
“On the most purely golden horse I have seen this side of Portugal. The horse would fairly glow in moonlight.” Over a short distance in wretched footing, I had been unable to tell if the beast was sound, much to my chagrin.
“Fletcher was no help?” Hyperia asked.
“He suggested I consult with Sheldon, who is, to paraphrase Alphonse’s words, frequently short of cash.”