Chapter Ten #3
Katrina’s footman, who had been engaged in conversation with a shabby individual, now came running up, and he and Morris bent simultaneously to retrieve Katrina’s reticule.
Gideon heard the thump as their heads collided.
The footman gave a shocked cry and his wig and tricorne fell off.
Gasping, Morris snatched determinedly for the reticule.
Unhappily, he retrieved it upside down. Coins rolled in all directions; a pencil, notepad, card case, chain purse, handkerchief, a brush, an advertisement for cucumber lotion, a small pair of scissors, a brooch, two letters, a pot of rouge, a scone wrapped in paper, a flea comb, and a carrot were scattered about the flagway.
A hand mirror shattered as did a vial of scent, the latter splashing Miss Falcon with cloying fragrance that was customarily applied by the drop.
She uttered a wail of embarrassment. The footman knelt and started to retrieve the numerous casualties, and Morris groaned dismally.
Passers-by had found the incident highly amusing, and a big man accompanied by a very fat and hilarious lady, shouted that it was “as good as any farce.”
Naomi pulled away from Rossiter’s arms and fixed him with a stern frown.
He enquired blandly, “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I was perfectly all right, and nowhere near—”
He made a gesture of dismissal. “There is not the need for thanks,” he said, with somewhat questionable magnanimity. “A gentleman must always stand ready to protect a helpless damsel.”
“Hmm,” said Naomi. “Katrina, you are not harmed?”
Miss Falcon might be unharmed but she was close to tears of mortification. In a shaken voice she urged that they return home at once, for they must have a nap this afternoon.
The three ladies embraced and said hurried farewells. Rossiter engaged to call for Lady Naomi at half past nine o’clock, and poor Morris, hanging his head in shame, wished the earth might open and swallow him.
Turning back towards Falcon House, Katrina all but sobbed, “I reek! Oh, I shall smell of Camellia Caprice forever! I have never been so humiliated! Whatever must they have thought?”
“That you carry a vast amount in your reticule, love.” Her eyes alight with mischief, Naomi said, “Never fret. Your laundress will get the scent out, I am persuaded. But in truth, you carry some unexpected articles when you go out for a stroll.”
“I took the scone to feed the ducks in the park yesterday, and quite forgot! And the carrot was for my mare. But—the flea comb, Naomi! ’Twas for Apollo, but—What if—Oh, how awful!”
Naomi chuckled. “No, really. Even those two would never think ’twas for your own lovely head, dearest.”
“I do hope not,” sniffed Katrina. “Faith, but I marvel Lieutenant Morris survived the war. He is a perpetual disaster!”
“And so terribly smitten, poor fellow. He could scarce have played his cards worse! He must first shoot August, then come nigh to trampling you with his half-broke horse, next engage in the fiasco with your footman, and compound his offenses by emptying your reticule. Truly, I could not but feel sorry for him. He looked ready to sink!”
“And I was of a mind to sink him! Bad enough he must make me a figure of fun, but had it not been for Captain Rossiter—Naomi, I was sure that wild animal’s hoof was going to strike your face!”
Naomi said tartly, “He would certainly have done so—had he the legs of a camelopard, or whatever ’tis they call them now.”
“Giraffe, I believe. No, was the horse that far from you? Then I wonder why Captain Rossiter must snatch you up like that?”
Naomi gave her a level look. “Do you, indeed.”
Momentarily forgetting her own humiliation, Katrina said with saintly innocence, “I suppose it must have been very dreadful to be crushed and swept up in his arms like that. In view of—er, everything.”
Infuriatingly, Naomi felt her cheeks burn. She said, “I vow I purely dread this evening! Whatever has become of your footman?”
The footman in question, having collected all the contents of the reticule and restored his own dignity, was presenting Rossiter with a folded paper.
“A h’individual h’asked me to put this in your ’and, sir,” he said.
“Jest before”—he flashed an aggrieved glance at the glum Morris—“the h’incident with the ’orse. ”
Rossiter thanked him and soothed his ruffled feelings by sending him after his ladies with a florin in his palm.
“And now, Miss Gwendolyn,” Rossiter turned to his sister. “I’ll have an explanation, if you please. What were you thinking of to drive out with Tummet? How came you to be in this part of town? And where the deuce is the dimwit?”
“’Twas such a lovely day,” she began airily.
“It was drizzling!”
“Well, yes it was—earlier. But I was sure it would clear up. As it did, for that very aggressive lady had need of her parasol, did you not notice?”
“Gad, but I did,” sighed Morris.
“I longed to go out for a drive,” explained Gwendolyn, “and since we are so short of servants just now, Mr. Tummet said he would be happy to serve as footman—”
“A fine footman! The slippery fellow abandoned you—or did you send him off?”
“I suppose it must have been a misunderstanding. I had thought he was to wait, but—Oh, how fortuitous! Here he comes now!”
The approaching carriage slowed and stopped. Tummet called, “Whatcher, Cap’n!”
Rossiter handed his reins to Morris and stalked to the window from which his valet’s bewigged head protruded. “Where the devil have you been? And how dare you abandon Miss Rossiter?”
“Cor!” said Tummet, wounded. “As if I’d do such a ’orrid thing! Snug as a bug, yer sister was. Wiv the friends of ’er bosom!” He leaned farther from the window, and said in a hissing croak, “Lend us yer ear ’oles.”
“I’m more like to lend you my boot,” declared Gideon wrathfully. “What rascality have you been about now?”
“Comes a time, Guv, when a man’s faced with one o’ them there not-so-nice’s.” Tummet nodded lugubriously.
“I—am—in—no—mood—” began Gideon through his teeth.
Tummet had already noted the glint in his employer’s eyes, however, and he translated hurriedly, “That is ter say—crisis, Cap’n.
And that’s what E. Tummet faced. Not fer ’imself, mindya.
But fer the gent what took ’im on. Loyalty.
That’s me motter. So seein’s ’ow a decision was gotta be made, I made it. ”
“Did you. Well, I am making one of my own. In fact—”
“I don’t go about wiv me weepers shut, mate,” interrupted the indomitable valet. “You remember when I was knocked abaht by them ugly coves and lost me sovereign nation? Well, I seen one of ’em. The back of ’im, that is.”
Interested now, Gideon exclaimed, “Did you, by God! So you followed? Good man! You never lost him?”
“In a manner of speakin’ I did. When ’e went inside. By the side door, a’course. Didn’t see ’is face, mind, but I knew ’im by ’is perishing strut.”
“Where did he go?”
“To a very tidy mansion. Very nice indeed. Luxoorus y’might say. On Soho Square.” Tummet grinned as he saw Rossiter’s eyes narrow, and nodding his head, he whispered, “That’s right, mate. The ’ome of yer papa’s dear old friend, what’s s’posed to be orf in foreign parts. Sir Derrydene!”
“By … God!”
Within minutes Tummet was seated on the box, Gwendolyn had been installed in the carriage, and the coachman was guiding his team back towards Snow Hill.
Watching all this with mournful abstraction, Morris mounted up, and accompanying Rossiter along the street, said miserably, “Well, I properly made mice feet of the business, once again.”
“Oh, I’d not say that, exactly,” murmured Rossiter, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Morris sighed. “Good of you. But it’s no use trying to ease the blow. She must take me for the king of clods. Even Lady Naomi looked at me as if I was wits to let. Which reminds me—what the deuce were you doing with her?”
“What d’you mean—what was I doing with her? I was gallantly risking my own life so as to save her from being trampled to death by your insane animal.”
“Walker!” said Morris jeeringly. “Windsong’s hooves came nowhere near her!”
“Perhaps, from where you were standing it appeared in that light. But where I stood, it was—” laughter danced in his grey eyes—“quite different.”
“I’ll warrant it was, you rogue! Some fellows have all the luck! What of your note? Anything to the purpose?”
“Begad, if I hadn’t forgot it!” Rossiter fumbled in his coat pocket, found the note, and reined in so sharply that a following horseman almost caromed into him.
“What is it?” demanded Morris, ignoring the spleen of the annoyed rider. “You look like the sheep that ate the wolf!”
“And feel the same! Look at this.” He handed over the crumpled note, and Morris read:
Mr. Rossiter.
I no what your trying to proov, and I no something. Not much. Im a pore man sir, but maybee we can help each other. I will wate at Number 18, Appleblosom Lane until four o’clock. Its orf Whitechapel Road.
Sined, Tom Brewer.
“Hum,” said Morris, returning the note. “Terrible spelling. And it smells like a trap, you realize?”
“Yes. But I think I dare not ignore it.”
“Jolly good. I’ve not been in Whitechapel for years, but it’s as well I brought my pistol. Do you go armed, my Tulip?”
“Of course. But to say truth, I’d as lief you didn’t come. This is my affair, and may take some time, and you have other matters to settle.”
“I do not scruple to tell you that you are a scaly scrub,” said Lieutenant Morris, indignant.
“You want to hog this to yourself, yet would be the first to complain did you get your throat cut! Which you doubtless will do you go in alone, for if ’tis a trap the odds are bound to be heavy.
You know very well I have had a bad day, and a good brawl would cheer me up. But, no! I am to be sent off with—”
Laughing, Gideon said, “You great gudgeon! I shall be exceeding glad of your help, as you know very well.”