Chapter 4
Lady Dalrymple liberally bedaubed Phillip’s wounds with boracic ointment, as she had very likely done in her time for hundreds of scrubby schoolboys.
Though she accepted with reluctance his refusal to have sticking plaster on any but the worst cuts on his hands, she insisted on bandaging his head.
By the time she finished, not much hair was visible to be pomaded.
“Oh dear,” she said, looking him up and down, “I’m afraid you will have to miss Church.”
“I’m afraid so,” Phillip said without regret. “I say, a fellow, an American chappie, is going to drop by here this morning to have a word with me. It’s fearful cheek, I know. I hope you don’t mind awfully.”
Obviously a bit put out, she muttered something about “rackety young people nowadays.”
Aloud, however, she said with conscious graciousness, “Not at all. You must consider Fairacres your home from home until you feel well enough to return to the Grange.”
“Thanks awfully,” said Phillip, deciding instantly that he was feeling pretty rocky. He wasn’t going home to face his parents’ interrogation.
“This American was responsible for your accident, I take it? Disgraceful! Foreigners should not be allowed to drive in this country. I understand many of them are accustomed to motoring on the wrong side of the road.”
Phillip murmured a vague agreement.
“I hope he means to make proper amends.” She stood up. “Have you breakfasted, Mr. Petrie?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m most frightfully hungry.” Weak with hunger, he thought, as he rose with a huge effort to his feet.
Once again she eyed him askance, from bandaged crown to exposed ankles, sniffed with wrinkled nose, and blenched. “Fortunately our only guests this weekend are my brother and his family. But perhaps you are too shaken up to come down?”
“I do feel a bit grim.” This time Phillip’s agreement was wholehearted. He was only too delighted to cater to her sense of decorum by breakfasting in his room. “Could you possibly have Mr. Arbuckle shown up when he arrives?” he requested.
“Certainly. Perhaps seeing your condition will persuade him he ought not to drive in England. And I shall send up your breakfast immediately.”
Phillip thanked her and returned to the bedroom. The bed looked immensely inviting. Turning his back on temptation, he sank into an easy chair by the window.
The glorious morning sun, shining on the formal gardens below and the park with its oaks and chestnuts, only reminded him of the tiny gloomy room where his beloved was imprisoned.
How terrified she must be, all alone. He wished he were still there to comfort her, and, given enough time, to work out how to escape.
He had botched it, he thought wretchedly, and the worst of it was, Gloria was the one to suffer for his bungling.
Before he could worry himself into a decline, Ernest brought up his breakfast. “Cook says she hopes as how you still likes your eggs done four minutes,” he announced, setting his tray on a small folding table, “and coffee to drink.”
“Tell her, yes.” The eggs in their eggcups nestled under knitted cosies beside a full toast-rack, butter and marmalade dishes, and a small plate.
Phillip peeked under the silver cover over the large plate.
“Bacon, sausages, kidneys, absolutely ripping! Mr. Arbuckle’s still not here?
” He slathered butter on a piece of toast.
“No, sir. I won’t have to tip you the wink on the quiet, like,” the footman added regretfully. “Her ladyship said to bring the gentleman straight up here when he arrives.”
“Yes, do, please,” said Phillip, topping the first egg. “Perfect! My compliments to Cook. When Mr. Arbuckle gets here, you might ask him if he’s eaten this morning.”
“Righty-oh. I mean, very good, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”
Phillip mumbled his thanks through a mouthful of egg. The very taste of it made him feel better.
Surely the kidnappers would feed Gloria? It was in no way to their advantage to let her go hungry. The thought took the edge off his appetite; nonetheless, when Ernest ushered in Arbuckle a few minutes later, both eggs, most of the toast, and half the plateful had vanished.
Pushing back his chair, Phillip jumped up.
If he had thought the American sounded too little concerned, the sight of him was enough to confound that impression.
The man’s long face was pale and hollow-cheeked, with dark pouches under his bloodshot eyes.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink, and had aged ten years overnight.
Phillip’s bandaged head gave him a shock. “Jeez, they sure.…” He stopped, glancing at the footman who was fetching a second chair. He held up the jacket folded over his arm. “Here’s your coat.”
“Thanks.” Phillip slung it over the back of his chair and held out his hand.
Arbuckle shook hands without appearing to notice the sticking plasters. In a low voice he asked, “You haven’t told anyone?”
“Not a soul. Come and sit down, sir. You don’t mind if I finish my breakfast?” he went on, as Arbuckle slumped onto the chair the footman moved to the table. “Will you join me?”
“Coffee, thanks. I’m not hungry, son.”
Behind him, Ernest shook his head slightly: the American gent had not breakfasted.
“You must eat, sir, to keep up your strength.” Phillip nodded to the young footman, who winked and slipped out.
The moment the latch clicked behind him, Arbuckle leant forward, saying eagerly, “Okay give me the low-down. You said she’s all right? She’s not hurt?”
“Only her hands.” Phillip displayed his own. “She’s a real sport. You see, her hands were tied in front and mine behind me. I couldn’t do much of anything but Miss Arbuckle found some broken glass and had a go at the cords around mine. It was getting dark, and we both got a bit sliced up.”
“Getting dark? This was last night?” He frowned as Phillip nodded. “She freed your hands and you escaped?”
“By Jove, no!” cried Phillip, outraged. “You can’t imagine I’m the sort of blighter who’d toddle off and leave her there!”
“Pardon me.” Arbuckle leant his elbows on the table and sank his head in his hands. “I’m half out of my mind with worry. How about you start at the beginning and just tell me what happened?”
“Right-ho. They knocked me out—you saw that?”
“Yep,” the American said wearily. “That is, I saw you attacked with a crowbar. I figure they only had enough chloroform prepared for me and Gloria. I ought to ask, how’s your head?”
Gingerly, Phillip pressed the tender spot. “Sore, but it seems to have stopped aching. I woke up with a heck of a headache. We were shut up in.…” He stopped as Ernest entered with another trayful.
“Fresh coffee, sir,” the footman said cheerfully, unloading, “and another cup an’ saucer. More toast. An’ I took the liberty of bringing a spot of breakfast for the gentleman.” He set down a plate in front of Arbuckle and whisked away the cover.
“Good man!” Phillip approved.
“Thanks,” said Arbuckle with more politeness than enthusiasm. He grimaced but picked up knife and fork. “Okay, I guess you’re right, I better eat.”
Ernest reluctantly departed, looking about to burst with curiosity. Phillip took up his story.
“We woke up in a small room with the door and window barred. With my hands tied there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. Actually, I don’t know that I could have done much anyway, but if Miss Arbuckle had managed to free my hands, I’d have had more of a chance when they came for me.”
“Came for you?”
“Four of ’em. I got past the first two,” Phillip said with pardonable pride. “You see, I overheard them talking. They’d been told to … er … rub me out. I can’t understand it.” He shook his head, puzzled anew at his continued existence.
“That you’re still alive? Don’t question it, son, just thank the good Lord.” Having cut up his bacon, Arbuckle put down his knife and shifted his fork to his right hand. “But who told them to bump you off? They didn’t mention a name?”
“Not exactly. They all sounded English, and they just called him ‘the Yank.’”
Arbuckle groaned. “I knew it. This business never smelled to me like a homegrown Limey plot. Much more the kinda thing they do back home.”
“You have enemies in America?”
“Enemies! Who needs enemies? All it takes is a few bucks in your pocket and half the world feels entitled to a share.”
“They referred to you as ‘Mr. Moneybags.’ It was because the Yank didn’t think my father could come up with much cash on short notice that he told them to get rid of me. And that’s why I went for them when they came for me.”
“Nothing to lose.” Arbuckle nodded. “Still, you’ve got guts, one against four and your hands tied.”
“Well, by my reckoning I wouldn’t be any use to Gloria—Miss Arbuckle—dead, so I might as well give it a try.
But it was nearly dark and I didn’t see the second pair of men till too late.
They bagged me with chloroform. I couldn’t believe it when I woke up this morning under a hedge.
And what luck to find myself here at Fairacres! ”
“So this Lord Dalrymple took you in?”
“I must say it was jolly decent of him. I was a frightful mess.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well. He’s my father’s neighbour, of course, but he’s only a distant cousin of the people who used to live here when I was growing up.” Phillip started to attempt to tackle the intricacies of entails, primogeniture, and inheritance through the male line.
Arbuckle was not interested. “Never mind all that baloney. You told me on the ’phone he wouldn’t spill the beans, but if you don’t know him that well.… I hoped I could maybe ask his advice as well as yours.”
“My advice?” Phillip was staggered. No one ever asked his advice.
“Sure thing. I’m a stranger in England. I’ve learnt a bit about the way business works over here, but I don’t pretend to unnerstand the rest. And with my girl in trouble, I don’t pretend to be able to think straight.”