Chapter Fourteen #3
“Every single minute. Perhaps you should know that— Oh, blast!” He put her from him hurriedly.
A horseman came at the gallop to draw rein before them.
The rider, a well-preserved but weathered-looking man on the far side of fifty, touched his cap respectfully.
“So you seen it, sir,” he panted. “Sorry I am you should come home to—to this wickedness! I took me wife into Tunbridge Wells. She were that put about. I’d say welcome, but—’tis a sad sight to greet ye. ”
Rossiter shook hands with the sturdy farmer. “You were not hurt, either of you?”
“Not her nor me, no sir. They come whilst we was takin’ my grandson to the dentist ’smorning.
My men see ’em, and come up to the house, not liking the look o’ things.
They got theirselves beaten, and tied up, poor chaps, so I took ’em to the ’pothecary in the Wells.
The constable be on his way here.” From the corner of his eye he had already taken in Naomi. Now, he glanced at her shyly.
Rossiter said, “My lady, this is my farm manager, Zebediah Upton.”
The farmer flushed and snatched off his broad-brimmed hat.
Naomi nodded to him pleasantly, too happy to care that once again she was compromised, since she was ostensibly alone here with Gideon.
“Lady Lutonville is my betrothed, as you know, Zeb,” said Rossiter smoothly. “I’d brought her down to see her future home.”
The farmer shook his head, “What a pity. I be that sorry, ma’am!”
“So am I,” said Rossiter. “But I’d as lief not have her ladyship mixed up in this business.
” He turned to Naomi, his eyes softening.
“You must go, my love. If your coachman takes the back road through the hills, you’ll avoid our intrepid constable.
” He led her towards the coach that had come up, and murmured, “I’m glad you did not object to being named my betrothed.
You’d as well become accustomed to it, for I do believe we are close to solving this puzzle.
And then, my little lovely thing, you shall have to find another excuse for rejecting me. ”
She looked at him lovingly. “I collect ’tis time wasted to pretend I mean to try very hard.”
“We have wasted too much time already!” Feeling eyes boring into his back he kissed her hand lingeringly. “Your coachman watches us, you know, and will doubtless report this to your father. Or had you advised him you meant to come here?”
“I was not so daring. But never worry. I am of age, and Papa can do no more than rage at me.”
His hand tightened. “You’re sure? An I thought he’d dare to—”
“Beat me?” She smiled. “I should tell Samantha Golightly and ’twould be all over Town within seconds, which he would not at all like! I think I see a rider coming, dearest.”
He glanced around. “So you do. Go now. I want you out of this.”
Leaning to him, she asked in sudden anxiety, “What do you mean to do?”
“Nothing tonight. I’ll likely be delayed here while the constable asks endless useless questions, and writes endless useless conclusions in his notebook.” He handed her up into the coach. Maggie came running in answer to Naomi’s call, and was assisted inside also.
Gideon asked, “When shall I see you again, my lady?”
Her mouth drooped and she said sadly, “Oh, how I loathe to deceive him. I feel so sly.”
“Would you wish I keep away, love? I will, sooner than distress you.”
“’Twould distress me more not to see you. But, I fear it shall have to be the park, for the time at least. I ride most mornings at seven, Gideon.”
“Not alone,” he promised with a smile, and slammed the door.
Naomi leaned from the window. “You will take care?”
“I have every reason to guard my future—now,” he answered, then waved the coachman on.
* * *
Gideon had no sooner returned home that evening than Gwendolyn was scratching at the door of his tiny private parlour.
She told him worriedly that Sir Mark had been in a passion when he’d come home from Falcon House that morning, and that this afternoon his man of the law had called, “looking ponderous.” Gideon did his best to soothe her apprehension, and refrained from imparting his own unhappy news.
When she left him so that he might change his clothes, Tummet warned him, with a marked twinkle in his eye, that Mr. Newby had been “fair aside of ’isself over a certain me-and-you (shoe).
” Gideon gave a grim smile, and went downstairs prepared for battle.
Newby was waiting for him in the lower hall and launched into a fierce denunciation of the “theft” from his room, and of his brother’s top-lofty arrogance in having interfered with his plans.
“I fail to see what difference ’twould have made,” said Gideon with a shrug. “The lady who mislaid it—”
“Naomi Lutonville,” snarled Newby.
“You cannot prove that. And should you set such a rumour abroad, people will realize that you were the one who found the slipper and failed to return it. Scarce the act of a gentleman, twin.”
He started to move past, but his brother caught at his arm.
“Much use ’twill be to behave like a gentleman when we are starving in a foul Westminster hovel, or clapped up in Newgate!
I could have employed some rascal and wangled a pretty penny for the slipper.
What—does that offend you? Then turn up your sanctimonious nose, and be damned!
You’ve your oafish farm, and clod that you are would likely be willing to rusticate among the yokels. What have I? Where am I to turn?”
Newby’s voice had grown shrill, and his handsome face was white and strained. Realizing that his twin was actually terrified, Gideon said quietly, “You will live with us at Emerald Farm, of course. But—”
“Keep your confounded charity! Sooner would I rot in the Gatehouse!”
Gideon shrugged. “A doubtful piece of rodomontade. And your fears are premature. Can I but gather a few more facts, I’ll be ready to lay my case before the Lord Chancellor’s committee, and belike my father will be absolved of blame.”
“To what end? The old fool has bungled away our wealth, our houses and lands! Collington is full of juice and would not miss a few hundred to avoid a scandal. And a few hundred would help in the New World!”
“Help yourself only, my brave fellow? Or did your plans perhaps include a thought at least for Gwen?”
Despite his selfish panic, Newby was genuinely fond of his sister. He bit his lip and muttered, “She’d never leave my father.”
“But you would. Knowing you are his favourite, still you would carelessly abandon him! You’ll strive to better purpose, twin, do you forget these megrims and help me. I’d be glad of your assistance, for there are—”
“Assistance in what? Gathering your so-called facts? Gathering rubbish, more like! The committee will laugh at you. But you’d best gather fast, my poor simpleton.
Papa’s lawyer brought word the committee is to meet again on Tuesday.
The creditors will present their claims, and my father will surely be adjudged guilty of fraud—where will your famed pride be then? ”
Stunned, Gideon pushed past and hurried to Sir Mark’s study, Newby’s angry titter following him.
His knock went unanswered, and he opened the door.
Sir Mark was leaning back in his chair, staring at the pile of papers on the desk before him.
He looked for the first time an old man, crushed and defeated.
Longing to be able to tell him that all was well, that disaster had been averted, Gideon walked in.
“My apologies that I was delayed, sir. But I fancy you will—”
Sir Mark looked up. His face was haggard and twitching, his eyes full of tears.
“I am to appear … before the committee … on Tuesday,” he said brokenly.
“I tried so hard to right the wrong, Gideon. I—I did repay many men. But I have failed you all … My lawyer says there is no hope. I shall be found … guilty of—of fraud and criminal neglect. They will take everything that is left. I sold the Conduit Street house and the shooting box in Leicestershire. You knew that, of course. Promontory Point will go too … The estate where Rossiters have been born for centuries … I shall be clapped up or deported. A despised and dishonoured … bankrupt!”
His own eyes blurring, Gideon hurried forward. “No, no, sir. Never say so! I’ve gathered much information to substantiate your theory that you were the victim of—”
“Of—whom?” The older man’s eyes searched his face. He pleaded, “Have you discovered why ’twas done? Have you learned the name of my enemy?”
“Not definitely. But—”
With a flash of temper Sir Mark interrupted, “You might have done, had you tended to your investigations instead of frippering about chasing nonsensical chess pieces that have nothing to say to anything! I wonder you bothered to come home at all! All you achieve is to quarrel with Newby, who has always been devoted to me!”
Gideon said quietly, “I think you do not mean that, sir. You know I have tried.”
The blaze died from Sir Mark’s eyes. “Aye. You have.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, boy. Pay me no heed. Newby was right, I suppose. We should have taken what was left and … and run.”
“No, no! Indeed you must not despair, sir.”
Sir Mark bowed forward and sank his face into his hands.
“Do you know—what it means?” His voice was a groan, the words muffled.
“It means I cannot ever be elected to the House of Commons. I can no longer be a justice of the peace. I could never be a mayor or—or an alderman. I cannot serve the poor, or be a member of a county council, or a parish council … God knows what else. I am thoroughly disgraced. God knows how I shall ever hold up my head again! Oh! Lord help me! I am truly beyond the pale!”
With a sobbing cry Gwendolyn limped past Gideon and gathered her father into cherishing arms. “Do not! Oh, do not grieve so, dearest Papa. Gideon is here now. He will help us. He will not—not let them…” Lifting an anguished face, she blinked away tears, and gulped, “Will you … Gideon?”
He threw aside his reserve and hastened to put his arms around them both. “No indeed,” he said huskily. “We will win yet, Papa! I promise you!”