Chapter Twelve #3
Rossiter muttered, “There’s a deal more here than meets the eye!
I wonder if…” He sprang to his feet and paced to the window, his tired mind grappling with possibilities.
“’Twas not ’til you lost the chess piece that the robberies began,” he muttered.
“It never dawned on me there could be any connection, but—”
Naomi stiffened. “Robberies? What robberies?”
He limped back to her, his eyes alight with excitement.
“Why, a whole string of ’em, Naomi. My saddlebags were taken the very first morning I arrived in Town.
Then Promontory Point was broken into and ransacked—no, wait!
That was before I reached Town, come to think on it!
Just after you came, in fact! Then, the man we sent down to the Red Pheasant was attacked, and Jamie’s home was broken into.
And—yes, burn it!—the louts who ambushed me this morning—”
He stopped, because Naomi had come to her feet and was staring at him.
In a rather odd voice she said, “But the men who attacked you were, you said, retaliating ’gainst your enquiries about the bank failure.”
“Yes. But they also were searching for something, and they used the very same expression as all the others! They called their employer ‘the Squire’! Don’t you see, Naomi? It may all be connected!”
She said slowly, “I see. Then you believe this man called the Squire could be responsible for all your father’s troubles.”
“There’s a link somewhere! I’d swear to it! And your plotters in the Dowling ante room are in it up to their aristocratic eyebrows!”
“And it all started when I lost my father’s chessman.” Her voice was ice, her whole demeanour one of frigid hauteur.
“Well—yes, but—”
“Do you, by some chance, mean to imply that my papa is this evil and mysterious ‘Squire’ of yours?”
“Good … God!” whispered Gideon. “’Twould make sense, except—”
“Except that it makes no sense at all!” Anger sparked in her eyes. “La, but I think your father’s obsession has overcome your power of reason, sir!”
“I shall hope that my son retains sufficient of that commodity to offer me a good reason for your presence in my house, madam!”
The acid voice brought Gideon’s head jerking around.
Sir Mark, a proud and commanding figure, stood in the doorway, with Newby smiling beside him, and a troubled Gwendolyn peeping between them.
“There was an accident, sir,” said Gideon. “Lady Lutonville is—”
“Is much beholden to you, Captain Rossiter,” she intervened glacially. “Despite your mental aberrations, I owe you my life.”
“Why you are here at all, ma’am,” said Sir Mark with contempt, “is more than I can fathom.”
“I will explain later, Father,” said Gideon tersely. “Naomi, if you—”
His father’s resonant tones overrode his effort. “We saw the wrecked coach, and I regret you were shaken up, ma’am. But if you are sufficiently recovered, I expect your noble father would not wish that you linger here.”
“No more I shall, sir,” she riposted, very pale, but with her little head high. “I bid you good even.”
Sir Mark stood aside and she swept through the doorway with the poise and pride of a queen.
Gideon was after her in a flash. “Naomi! Wait! You’ve no carriage!”
Sir Mark caught his arm and snapped, “I ordered my coachman to wait. He will convey her ladyship to her destination.”
“Not without my escort, sir,” said Gideon, meeting his father’s enraged glare with a flashing look of his own.
“You are worn to the bone. Newby will see the lady home.”
Newby bowed low. “With the greatest delight.”
“Thank you. No,” said Naomi. The footman placed her cloak about her shoulders, and contriving to keep the slipper hidden in the folds of her gown she started away.
Gideon moved quickly to open the door. As Naomi swept past, she declared haughtily, “I will not occupy the same coach with you, Captain.”
“Naomi—for the love of God!”
“Let be, dammit,” cried Sir Mark, his face brick red with rage. “Newby!”
Fearing lest this ghastly quarrel should deteriorate into an exchange of blows, Gwendolyn cried in her clear little voice, “Perhaps you could take Newby’s horse and ride escort, Gideon.”
He threw her a grateful glance.
“Certainly not!” Newby stood firm until Gideon was level with him, then he shrugged nonchalantly and stepped back.
Tummet hurried to the foot of the steps. “I bin talking with the jervey, Guv. Proper aside of ’isself, ’e is!”
“So he should be! Does he know this lady was nigh killed in that disgraceful accident?”
“Likely not, Cap’n. Seein’ as there wasn’t one.”
Halfway down the steps, Naomi paused, and stared at him. “Do you say I imagined this whole horrid business, Tummet?”
He touched his brow to her respectfully.
“I says as it wasn’t no accident, melady.
” With a sober glance at Gideon he said, “That pole was near sawed through, Guv. If it ’adn’t of been good English oak, it’d likely ’ave snapped orf afore you got out, and we’d be planning two funerals this very minute. ”
“The devil!” whispered Gideon.
“Dear me,” murmured Newby.
“Another villainous act to credit to my father’s account,” said Naomi with a curl of the lip. “I am very sure he would plan his own daughter’s murder!” The footman handed her into the carriage, and she sat back against the squabs, suddenly unutterably weary; unutterably sad.
Gideon limped to the groom who stood holding Newby’s horse.
“No!” roared Sir Mark. “You damned young fool! You’ll fall out of the saddle!”
“The devil I will,” said Gideon under his breath, but he was dismayed by the effort required to mount up.
The jervey ran to his stirrup, wringing a greasy hat in his work-roughened hands, his eyes frantic. “Melor’—I gotta a wife and five babbies. Me coach was all I ’ad, melor’! We’ll starve, fer sure, melor’! Please, melor’!”
His face seemed to ripple. Gideon gripped the pommel with one hand, and knew he was very tired indeed. “I’m sorry about your coach,” he said. “Tummet—arrange for repairs, and see what you can find out about all this.”
The jervey mumbled incoherent thanks. Tummet nodded, and Gideon urged Newby’s grey down the hill.
* * *
“I cannot think what you imply, ma’am.” Katrina Falcon’s cheeks were a trifle flushed, her eyes sparkling with rare anger as she faced Mrs. Golightly at the side of the dance floor.
“But not a thing, my dear.” Mrs. Golightly’s fan fluttered, and above it her black eyes glittered with triumph. “I never credited that even Naomi Lutonville could be so daring as to lose her shoe in such vulgar fashion. I have done all in my power to scotch the scandal, but—”
“I was unaware there was a scandal,” said Katrina.
Reginald Smythe murmured with a small smile, “And i’faith, we all know how gentle and generous a heart is yours, dear lady.”
A laugh went up, and Mrs. Golightly said, “How very true, and is there anything more touching than blind loyalty among friends?”
More people were joining the little group, and Mr. Harrier lisped, “Is the divine Lutonville come, or has Rossiter kidnapped her away from us?”
“Ain’t back yet, dash it all,” said Mr. Crenshore, sighing. “Missed my dance, begad!”
“That naughty, naughty boy,” gurgled Mrs. Golightly. “I wonder what he can be thinking of to keep her away so long.”
“Perhaps the lovely lady has mislaid her other shoe,” said Mr. Smythe with a titter.
“Well, I ain’t mislaid mine, and will be only too glad to use ’em on any filthy-minded gabblemonger in need of a good kick!”
The cold words cut like a knife through the ripple of laughter, and heads turned.
August Falcon, striking in a habit of dark blue velvet, the pocket flaps and great cuffs of his coat sleeves rich with embroidery, sauntered up with Lady Naomi on his arm. My lady looked a little pale, but her smile was brilliant and she plied her fan with exquisite grace.
All eyes shot to her feet. Two dainty jewelled slippers sparkled in the light from countless candles.
“Oh—my…” whispered Samantha Golightly, her face falling.
Reginald Smythe raised his brows, thought ‘Be damned!’ and said admiringly, “But how clever of you, dear lady.”
Falcon’s dark gaze was fixed on the dandy. “What a pity about your mouth, dear Reginald.”
Smythe lifted a questing hand. The halfmoon patch his man had applied still seemed in place. “How so?” he asked anxiously.
“It annoys me,” purred Falcon.
Katrina took Naomi’s hand. “I am so glad you are back, dearest. Oh, you did change your slippers!” She looked steadily at Mrs. Golightly. “I wonder you bothered.”
Rudolph Bracksby wandered up. “Where is Captain Rossiter?”
“Falcon likely shot him,” said Crenshore with a grin.
“Not yet,” drawled Falcon. “I would purely dislike to deprive our dauntless Reginald of that pleasure.”
A laugh went up, and people glanced about for the “dauntless” Reginald. Mr. Smythe’s sense of self-preservation was strong, however, and he had already slipped quietly away.
Naomi’s admirers closed in around her, pleading for the next dance.
Katrina took her brother’s arm. “Why are you come?” she asked softly. “I’d thought you already laid down upon your bed. You have not really come to cuffs with Gideon Rossiter?”
The words hissing through a set smile, Falcon answered, “Come to cuffs with him, Trina? Why ever should I be so restrained? ’Tis my firm intention to run him through. Sixty-nine times!”