A Shadow's Bliss (41 page)

Tummet blinked, and unstoppered a decanter.

Morris asked, “Given any more thought to the Suez business, Jack?”

Jonathan took the glass of Madeira Tummet offered. “My brain's numb from puzzling at it. Suez is always bustling, of course, but I can recall nothing outlandish occurring when last I was there.”

“Wouldn't 'ave to be nothing outlandish, mate,” said Tummet, thrusting a generous measure of cognac at Falcon. “Mighta bin some cargo being moved what shouldn't oughta bin. Or some ship wot shoulda bin somewhere else.”

Jonathan sighed. “We've gone over those points a dozen times. If there was something of that nature, I know nought of it.”

Morris complained, “Not going to forget me, are you Tummet?”

The valet, who had been staring at his employer in a disturbed fashion, offered another glass and declared with his broad grin, “Can't ferget you, mate. Got a good 'eart you 'as.”

“There's a thought.” Quite aware of his man's furtive and apprehensive scrutiny, Falcon said, “What about hearts, Armitage? Any blatant
affaires de coeur
being conducted? I fancy there were plenty of British people about?”

“Always.” Jonathan blotted out the yearning of his own heart, and the memory of a certain lovely lady in East Bourne. “Government servants, employees of the Company, merchants—what have you—coming across the desert from Cairo, and waiting for East Indiamen to carry them on to Aden and India. Others, preparing to return home.”

Falcon shuddered. “The desert conjures up appalling visions of heat and flies. Not the place for affairs of the heart, I'd think.”

“You're out there. Suez has some fine hotels, and the air is very fresh and invigorating. Quite a number of young ladies travel that way in search of advantageous alliances, and are undismayed by the desert journey. Though I've often thought it must be hard on their chaperones, and people of more advanced years. I recall one English lady who seemed so frail, yet betrayed no sign of fatigue. I heard later that she had been badly burned in her youth, and that her health was uncertain, but she was singularly sweet natured and uncomplaining. Her sister, though! Gad, what an odious woman! A voice like a nail on slate, and—”

Falcon all but leapt from his chair. “The
Buttershaw
dragon?” he exclaimed.

Morris choked on his wine and Tummet pounded at his back until he begged for mercy.

“Was that her name, Armitage?” demanded Falcon. “Lady Clara Buttershaw?”

“I've no idea. I think I was never introduced to the lady. I assisted her sister once when she tripped on the veranda steps, is all.”

“Miss Jennifer said the men she overheard in Plymouth spoke of Suez and three years ago. That would have been '45. Was the Buttershaw woman from Town in '45, my clod?”

“How the deuce would I know?” said Morris. “I was with my regiment in the Low Countries, and—”

“Well why had you not the sense to be in England when you were needed? Oh, have done with your feeble excuses. Describe the large lady, Armitage.”

“Jove…'tis three years. You describe her for
me,
and I may recollect.”

Falcon sprang up and began to pace up and down in his excitement. “She is tall and hatchet-faced, and I think has never said a conciliating word to anyone—”

“Except you, my tulip,” put in Morris with a grin.

All too aware that the usually cantankerous Lady Clara Buttershaw had a pronounced
tendre
for him, Falcon scowled at him. “Have you anything sensible to offer?”

“Her sister,” Morris offered, “is the Lady Julia Yerville, and as gentle as Lady Clara is harsh. Her voice is very soft, indeed she speaks in a sort of—er, breathless whisper, and—”

“And she always wears white!” exclaimed Jonathan, his eyes glinting.

“She does!” cried Falcon exuberantly.

“We have it then!” Morris checked and added dubiously, “Or have we? Perhaps Lady Buttershaw was merely visiting relations in Calcutta or Bombay, or Karachi, or—”

“Or Timbuctoo, or Tooting!” exploded Falcon. “Have done with your geographical gibberish!”

Jonathan grinned and pointed out, “We can scarce charge the lady with treason only because she chanced to be in Suez three years ago. The worst that could be said of her conduct was that she seemed to delight in antagonizing everyone she encountered. Except for the Frenchman, apparently, but—”

“Frenchman?” Falcon, who had sat down again, demanded, “What Frenchman? Did he travel with them? Do you have his name?”

Jonathan frowned, racking his brain. “He escorted them about once or twice and dined at their table, but he certainly was no courier, if that's what you mean. It struck me as rather odd, because one night I chanced to see him leaving their room in the wee hours. He was looking back and speaking very softly, but when he saw me he turned red as fire and rushed off. As to his name, I've not the remotest notion. Nor can I think that my having stumbled upon so trite an incident would constitute a danger to the League.”

“Depends on the way you look at it,” argued Morris. “Take a snail, for instance. It don't alarm
me
to see one, but to a cabbage it might mean death!”

“Then you'd best guard your head,” snapped Falcon, “for a snail would take it for a cabbage any day! Jack, this may have been a far from trite incident. It sounds most smoky to me! You must have noticed
something
about the fellow! Cast your mind back! It may be of great importance!”

Jonathan groaned and put a hand over his eyes. He said slowly, “He was strikingly good looking, I remember that. Not above forty.”

Morris asked, “Dark? Fair?”

“He wore powder … Jupiter! I don't recall anything more. I only saw him for a brief— No—wait! There was one thing. He had an odd sort of gait. Held his right thigh when he walked—almost as if he was making it move, but—”

“My … dear … God!” gasped Morris.

They both stared at him.

He shook his head dazedly. “No—no, it can't be!”

Falcon said, “You're chatting with an idiot. Be so good as to include us in your conversation.”

Morris blinked at him. “I saw him in the Low Countries. He's—he's a legend! The darling of France … I can't believe—”

Falcon's eyes widened, he said in hushed incredulity, “
Barthélemy?
Is
that
who you mean?”

Morris gave him a half-embarrassed, half-apprehensive look. “It couldn't be! I mean—
could
it?”

“Do you speak of Marshal Jean-Jacques Barthélemy?” asked Jonathan.

Tummet whistled softly. “That's gorn and done it, that 'as! 'E's a real tartar, 'e is!”

Falcon said, “Wasn't he seriously wounded in some battle or other?”

Morris nodded. “Lauffeld. The doctors wanted to amputate his right leg, but Barthélemy wouldn't have it. Rumour says the leg's been a nuisance ever since.”

“I heard he's the most ambitious man in Europe,” said Jonathan slowly. “In which case—he might very well be—”

“Be involved with the League!” Falcon exclaimed, “Zounds! Rossiter must hear of this, and fast!”

Morris said uneasily, “If the League is dealing with France, the Horse Guards should be told of't.”

Falcon regarded him pityingly. “My poor blockhead. Do you never learn? We suspect General Underhill of being one of 'em. If we trusted the Horse Guards with this we'd very likely be invited into a dungeon at the Tower and never live to tell another soul anything!”

“I may be a blockhead,” said Morris stubbornly, “but I've not got so grand an opinion of myself as to know what to do in this case.”

Jonathan said, “Nor I. Perchance your friend Rossiter will have the answer.”

“Very likely.” Falcon looked solemn. “But meantime I think it best that we say nothing of this to anyone. Are we agreed?”

Morris hesitated, but at length agreed, and Jonathan pledged his word also, then came to his feet. “I must get on my way if I'm to reach Dover while the light holds.”

“Stay in touch with us,” said Falcon. “You have opened another door for Rossiter's Resistance.”

“When the time comes,” Jonathan told him, “I'll go through that door with you! I've some long overdue debts to settle!”

*   *   *

“I think we are being foolish past permission,” said Jennifer, turning with a sigh from Lady Lyme-Rufford's front gates. “'Tis nigh three weeks, Duster, and not a word, not a line.”

Duster, who never seemed quite at ease on a shoulder smaller than that to which he was accustomed, bobbed up and down and offered his latest remark, which appeared to have something to do with drinking “the third glass.”

“Very true,” agreed Jennifer absently. “But, I know him, you see. If things go badly, he will not come. Or is that conceit, do you fancy? Might he have long since decided 'gainst coming back at all?”

She wandered slowly up the drivepath. With the approach of evening the house was bathed in the glow of a magnificent sunset. The scent of honeysuckle hung on the warm air, and birds were making a great to-do in the trees as they hurried home. All of which was lost upon Jennifer. “If he should come,” she told Duster, “I shall have to greet him with disdain, for he did not tell me that he was wed. Great Aunt said the poor lady only lived a little while, but—he should have told me, Duster. On the schooner, he had remembered her. I am certain that is why he was so … distant.”

Duster appeared to become impatient with her topic, and with much squawking spread his wings and fluttered back towards the gate.

“No! Oh, you naughty bird! Come back here at once!” cried Jennifer running after the small creature.

She heard the pound of hooves then, and her heart gave such a lurch that she was sure it would break through her ribs. The tall rider with one arm in a sling set his mount at the hedge, cleared it in fine style, and was out of the saddle and running before his horse had come to a halt.

Jennifer uttered a small sob and, quite forgetting both disdain and propriety, picked up her skirts and ran to meet him.

A gardener trudging home with his tools stopped and gawked at her.

“Jennifer—Britewell!”
called an indignant voice from the front steps.

Jennifer paid no heed to her aunt's disapproval and reached out yearningly.

Scant inches away, Jonathan plunged to a halt. He took up her hand and pressed it to his lips, but saying nothing, strode past.

Lady Lyme-Rufford, awesome in her outraged dignity, was suddenly just an elderly lady who stepped back, uttered a small shocked scream and was swept up in one strong arm, whirled about and kissed whole-heartedly.

“Oh! You wretch! How dare you?” she gasped, her bright eyes and glowing cheeks betraying her. “Put me down at once!”

“How may I ever thank you?” Jonathan set her on her little feet again, and smiled down at her. “Admiral Chetwynd told me that 'twas your letter persuaded him to intercede for me. His defence won me my freedom.”

“Well you may tell me about it inside the house,” said my lady. “And you shall overnight with us. Oh, my goodness, only look at that bird! Let that be a lesson to you, Jennifer! All men are fickle!” Duster had landed on Jonathan's shoulder and was scolding him fiercely. Struck by uncertainty, Lady Lyme-Rufford asked, “He
is
a gentleman bird, isn't he? Oh well, never mind about that. Heavens, how different you look! Quite the dashing Corinthian! Samuel!—Captain Armitage's hack! William!—our best guest suite for the gentleman, and hot water! At once! Mary!—tell Chef to set dinner back half an hour, and if he faints, throw a jug of water over his wig. Captain!—we shall expect you in the withdrawing room in twenty minutes exactly, for I am quite twittering with eagerness to hear your news, and Jennifer is—well, never mind.”

And so, over a long and excellent dinner, Jonathan told them most of what had transpired in Town, his gaze lingering often on Jennifer's lovely face as she listened raptly, her eyes shining, and a becoming blush on her cheeks. When he finished, she asked, bewildered, “What does that mean, exactly? Are you reinstated? Will you be given another command?”

“I am neither condemned nor reinstated. But I think they must acquit me, eventually. As to whether I shall be offered another command—” He shrugged. “I don't know.”

She said fiercely, “Well I think they are a lot of—of muck-worms! They should have awarded you a medal,
and
your back pay,
and
your prize money! What about Lord Green and this dreadful League of Jewelled Men? Would they listen to what you had to say on that score?”

He gave a wry smile. “Falcon was right. I was reprimanded for associating with … now how did they word it? ‘A group of bored young aristocrats having nothing better to do with their time than to circulate false and malicious accusations 'gainst gentlemen they happen to dislike.'”

“Oh, how
can
they be so stupid?” said Jennifer in exasperation.

“If they were not, they'd never rise to be government servants,” snorted my lady, taking up her cane. “Now, I am tired and 'tis past time for me to get to my bed.”

Jonathan stood at once to pull back her chair and usher her into the hall.

At the foot of the stairs she murmured with a twinkle, “The moon is very bright tonight, Captain. And my gardens offer a charming walk.”

He lit her candle and handed it to her. “So I had noticed, ma'am.”

“I thought you may have.” She looked up at him. “My, how tall you are. Not above a half hour, if you please.”

When he returned her smile but said nothing, she put a hand on his arm and said, “You kissed me, but I did not see you kiss my grand-niece. Am I mistaken in thinking you had something to ask me, Captain?”