Somerville Farce (23 page)

B
y nightfall the
duke had returned to Portman Square, three parts exhausted and
perilously near the end of his emotional tether. Myles Somerville,
if indeed that was who Andy and Willie had seen at the bottom of
Bond Street, had gone to ground, and Harry hadn’t been successful
in uncovering so much as a single lead to the man’s
whereabouts.

But that didn’t really matter, for now Harry
had a purpose in life, something to keep his mind off his troubles
with Trixy. He would have Pinch find him something to eat, get
himself a few much-needed hours of sleep, and then take up the
chase once more. Redecorating the slickly handsome Myles
Somerville’s face with the swift, violent application of his fists
would go a long way toward making Harry feel better. A long way,
but not all the way. Only Trixy held the power to heal him
totally.

As he made for the staircase, his aunt
walked out into the foyer and exclaimed, “We have been wondering
where you went flying off to, nephew. Trixy has been extremely
secretive as to your whereabouts—going out on her own for a while
herself this afternoon with naught but that Lacy woman to attend
her—and because we had considered quizzing young William to be a
total waste of our effort, we had resigned ourselves to waiting for
you to find your way home. But that is no matter anymore, is it,
for you are home now, and there has been a most distressing,
unlooked-for development in the past hour that requires your
immediate attention.”

“Not now, Aunt,” Harry pleaded wearily, his
right foot already on the first step. “I think I’ve had about
enough distressing developments for one day. If Helena has
returned, with or sans one husband, feed her, or them, and put them
to bed. If Eugenie has returned with a dog, do the same with them.
However, if she has returned with a raddled, reformed, pregnant
prostitute in tow... well, just don’t tell me about it, all right?
Where is Pinch?”

“We are not amused, nephew,” Lady Amelia
protested with a pout that was less queenly than aggrieved. “Oh,
good, here’s Pinch now. He’ll explain for us,” she said more
cheerfully, tugging at the butler’s arm as he approached from the
direction of the drawing room, “won’t you, Pinch?”

Harry looked at the butler, whose facial
expression at that moment could most readily be described by the
mere recitation of the butler’s name, and motioned for the man to
speak.

“Begging your pardon, your grace,” the
butler began, bowing, “but it would appear we have a small upset in
the drawing room.”

“A small upset,” the duke repeated. “What’s
its name?” he asked, rubbing a hand across his bloodshot eyes, for
running down a list of the current inhabitants of Portman Square
capable of causing “a small upset” could take some time.

“Myles Somerville, sir,” Pinch informed his
master, hastening to add, “He came knocking on the front door an
hour past, demanding his daughters be brought out immediately. I
didn’t quite know what to do with him, so I put him in the drawing
room. But it’s not so bad as it sounds, your grace. Young Master
Willie and Master Andrew got him all trussed up right quick, so’s
he won’t go anywhere.”

This last piece of information was delivered
to the duke’s back, as Harry was already on his way to the drawing
room, Lady Amelia following along in his wake, admonishing her
nephew to promise her he would not go into a taking.

Harry threw open the double doors to the
drawing room so that they slammed back loudly against the wall,
causing the three male heads in the room to turn in the direction
of the sound.

“Sir! Lookee what we got!” This jovial
exclamation came from Andy, who had been interrupted as he was
perched, birdlike, on the arm of a chair, pulling faces at the
captive.

“Good Old Harry!” Willie called out,
grinning widely as he advanced on the duke, as if expecting, like
some faithful hound, to be patted on the head for his good
behavior. “Happy birthday, a month early, my dearest brother. How
do you like my gift? I’ve even got it all tied up in ribbons for
you!”

“Mmmfff, mmmfff,” Myles Somerville grunted
as he strained against the half-dozen silken drapery cords that
anchored him to a blue brocade armchair, his powers of speech
limited, thanks to the white handkerchief—bearing a neatly
monogrammed W on one corner—stuffed halfway into his mouth.

“My God,” Harry remarked, taking in the
scene, “it is true.” He walked fully into the room, his stare
directed at his nemesis. “William, was Pinch right in saying that
Somerville just waltzed in here demanding the twins? It seems
impossible to me that any one man could be that stupid.” He walked
clear around the tied-up man, flicking the bonds encasing the man’s
upper arms with one finger. “It fairly boggles the mind.”

“What are you going to do with him, Harry?”
Willie asked, hopping about on one foot in his excitement. “Are you
going to duel, or are you going to take a horsewhip to him?
Gentlemen don’t really duel with scoundrels, do they? They wouldn’t
dirty their hands. They just horsewhip them. Isn’t that right,
Harry? Andy says so, and he read about it in a book.”

The duke shook his head, his humor much
improved by the woebegone sight before his eyes. “So many surprises
in one day, William,” he murmured softly, still looking at the
twins’ errant father. “First Somerville’s reappearance, and now you
tell me Andrew here has read a book. His parents would absolutely
burst with pride if they should learn of it.”

Unbeknownst to Harry, Trixy had entered the
drawing room, deliberately remaining silent until she could assure
herself that Harry wasn’t about to do something foolish in his need
to revenge himself upon any convenient target for the unending
chaos that had lately become his life. His remark about Andy
comforted her greatly and she remained where she was, awaiting
further developments.

The duke bent and removed the gag, watching
impassively as Somerville tentatively exercised his jaw a time or
two and ran his tongue around his dry lips in an attempt to moisten
them. “Where are my daughters, you scoundrel?” were the man’s first
words once he had satisfied himself that he had regained control of
his own mouth. “If you’ve ruined them, as God is my judge, I’ll
have your liver and lights for the evil deed. I swear it!”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that
before you ran off, Somerville,” Harry offered silkily, “leaving
two such adorable innocents to my tender mercies.”

Somerville so strained against his bonds
that Willie, who still held a tender spot in his heart for Helena,
was moved to reassure their obviously distraught, repentant sire.
Putting a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, he said, “Harry’s
just jesting, Somerville. He hasn’t harmed a hair on their heads.
As a matter of fact, he gave them both a cupboard full of fancy
clothes and a really first-rate ball so’s he could pop them off.
Didn’t he, Andy?”

“Right you are, Willie,” Andy answered,
nodding emphatically, “and even if Helena did run off to Gretna
with that foolish dancing master, Eugenie landed upright with that
Salty fellow she just got herself betrothed to this very day. One
happy ending outta two ain’t so shabby, right?”

As Andy’s words penetrated Somerville’s
brain, he threw back his head and let out a mighty roar reminiscent
of a lion whose paw has been snared in a trap. “You can’t do this
to me! I had buyers for the both of them in Dublin—at twenty
thousand pounds apiece! I’m ruined! Ruined, do you hear me!”

“We most certainly do,” Harry answered,
beginning to feel much better, “although I don’t believe we really
need to hear you anymore now that we know what caused you to lose
your fear of me to the point that you would dare to come knocking
at my door. William, do the world a favor and replace the gag.”

Willie did as his brother directed—rather
ungently, it must be added—then ran across the room to stand in
front of Trixy. “You were right all along, Trixy,” he said,
marveling at both her insightful intelligence and Somerville’s
depravity. “You were right to do what you did, and even if things
didn’t work out between Helena and me—seeing as how I don’t think I
really want to wed as yet and was just suffering from calf love,
like Andy told me—she and Eugenie have you to thank for saving them
from what that terrible man planned for them.”

“Thank you, Willie,” Trixy said, retrieving
the hand the boy had been in danger of ripping off by way of his
enthusiastic shaking of that appendage, “but I only took advantage
of an opportunity with which you and Andy, in your innocence,
provided me.”

“That’s true enough,” Andy piped up, sensing
yet another opportunity—this time one whose benefits he could
immediately reap. “We’re heroes, Willie, do you know that?
Actually, I’m the real hero, for the whole kidnap scheme was my
plan, as you recall.”

Willie’s eyes narrowed as he stomped across
the floor to go chin to chin with his bosom chum. “Your idea, Andy?
Well, if that don’t just beat the Dutch! Who was it what brought
the sack and the mallet and arranged for the extra carriage? Answer
me that, you miserable—”

“Boys, boys,” Harry interrupted, sensing the
eminent outbreak of fisticuffs in his drawing room while there was
still so much left unsettled, “I think we can save this particular
discussion for another time. Right now, we must consider what to do
with Somerville here, as I don’t look forward to having him become
a permanent fixture of this room. Any ideas?”

Somerville, his mouth stuffed full of
handkerchief once more, looked apprehensively from one youth to the
other, obviously reluctant to have his fate decided by either of
them.

“Strip him, horsewhip him, and throw him out
into the square!” Willie shouted, instantly diverted. “I’ll send
Pinch round to the stables for a whip while you slip out of your
jacket, Harry, so that you can take a good wide swing.”

“Hand the rascal over to a press-gang and
have him launched to China,” Andy, never at a loss for imagination,
suggested hard on the completion of Willie’s bloodthirsty
solution.

Trixy sighed and gave up her stance at the
edge of the room to walk directly up to Somerville. “There’s no
need for anything quite so drastic,” she said, looking down at the
man, who had begun to perspire freely in the cool room. “Once Mr.
Somerville hears what I have to say, I would imagine he will be
most happy to sign on as a crewman sailing to China, or anywhere
else for that matter, without further delay.”

Lady Amelia, who had been taking in the
entire scene from the doorway, giggled girlishly and began to
applaud. “We knew it, nephew, we just knew it! Trixy is so quick,
so inventive. We just knew she would be the one to bring everything
right. We’re ever so glad you chose her, Harry. Ever so glad.”

Harry closed his eyes and began counting to
ten. Someday he was going to have to sit down and have a heartfelt
chat with his aunt about just where she had gotten this
long-standing misconception of hers concerning his intentions
toward Trixy, not that he disagreed with it. But not now. Not while
Trixy was standing so majestically over Myles Somerville as that
formerly arrogant man literally quivered in his highly polished
Hessians.

“What have you done, Trixy?” the duke asked,
coming up behind her to place a hand on her waist. “I know you’ve
done something, mostly because I know you. Besides, Aunt Amelia
already informed me that you went out this afternoon.”

Trixy closed her eyes a moment, fighting the
urge to lean against Harry’s strength one last time before once
more damning herself out of her own mouth. She didn’t want to do
it, but she could see no other way to save Harry from ending up on
the wrong side of a dueling pistol, for no matter how inventive
Willie and Andy’s plans, it was imperative to her that Somerville
be routed at once—and for all time.

“Mr. Somerville,” she began, forcing her
voice to remain calm, “do you by chance remember the music box you
gave the twins when you visited them on their last birthday? The
particularly gaudy silver one with one leg broken off—so that you
couldn’t get a good price for it in any of the shops?”

Somerville’s eyes widened perceptibly and
his shoulders heaved as he strained against his bonds.

“I think you can safely take that as a yes,
Trixy,” Harry said, his hand pressing more firmly against her spine
as he felt her body trembling.

“There was an inscription inside the lid,
Mr. Somerville, which you would have known if you had taken the
trouble to look,” Trixy pressed on doggedly. “ ‘To my dearest
Marianne, from her devoted Oglesby.’ It took me some time, but I
eventually discovered a man who I was fairly sure was Marianne’s
devoted Oglesby.”

Somerville’s physical agitation became so
pronounced that Willie had to put out a hand to steady the man’s
chair, for it was in imminent danger of toppling over backward.

“By some happy coincidence, the man I was
looking for was in his office in Whitehall when I went to call this
afternoon. Although I did not have an appointment, he was gracious
enough to see me after I had his aide take the music box in to him.
He recognized it at once, of course, as the one his—how should I
say this?—his very good friend had lost during a robbery at her
lodgings last spring.”

Harry, who had been turning the name Oglesby
over and over in his head, snapped his fingers as the answer hit
him. “Oglesby! Of course! Good God, Somerville, were you insane or
was it just dumb bad luck that you stumbled upon the man’s
light-o’-love? I’ve never heard of this Marianne person, which has
to mean that her existence must be considered some sort of state
secret. Oglesby may do most of his work behind the scenes, but the
man’s probably the second-most powerful figure in government
today!”