The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (21 page)

“I don't blame her a bit, poor girl! Was it this same house, Jack? Alabaster, I mean?”

“No. The first part of the present manor was built about a hundred years later. But it stands on the site of the original farmhouse.”

“Did the girl burn with the rapacious Duke?”

“As the tale goes, the servants could hear him screaming for help, and the girl's crazed laughter. When they managed to break in, the cat ran out, unharmed. The Duke's corpse was there, but no trace of the girl was ever found. It began to be whispered that the escaping cat was huge—as big as a good-sized dog, whereas before it had been a small creature. Soon, just about everybody believed that the girl had taken on the form of the cat.”

“And the moggy now haunts Alabaster?”

“That's what the legend says. But this particular apparition needn't worry you, Toby. It affects only Wansdykes.”

“Affects? Do you mean it is a threat to you?”

“Not directly. A harbinger, you might say—if you believed in it. So long as the cat is quiet and remains invisible, all is well. If it purrs, all is not so well. But if the animal is ever seen—” Vespa paused, uneasily reminded that on his first night at the manor he'd heard a cat purring.

Broderick said, “Death and destruction, and everyone run for the hills?”

“Something like that.”

They had turned onto the village street, and Vespa guided the team neatly past a group of people who were walking towards the church dressed in their Sunday best.

“Gad,” remarked Broderick, “to judge from the way they looked at you, they were expecting you to arrive in your phaeton with Thornhill suitably liveried on the box.”

“He'd carry it off all right,” said Vespa, amused.

“Do you mean to keep him? Rather a questionable character, ain't he? Not that I dislike the fellow, mind. But he's taken the Bard too much to heart, I suspect.”

Vespa chuckled. “‘All the world's a stage'?”

“‘And all the men and women merely players.' Yes, by Jove! My thought exactly. Only he never leaves the stage, so how is one to know what he's really like? Or, more to the point, what, if any, moral values he possesses?”

“True. But I have to admit his impudence amuses me. I like the way he looks me right in the eye. I can usually trust my first impressions, Toby. And I believe that somewhere in the lusty melodrama he wove me is a vestige of truth.”

Broderick said with a smile, “I see now what O'Malley meant. He used to say you could always find the good in a man.”

“There was plenty in him, God rest him! And I think there's good in Thornhill. You have to admit that he knows his trade. Perhaps I'll rue it, but despite all his airs and graces I think the fellow really wants honest work. At all events, so far he's the only man willing to come out to Alabaster, which leaves me little choice. Jupiter! Look at all the people who've arrived early!”

He halted the curricle and a boy came running to lead the team to the livery stables.

Quite a number of parishioners had already gathered outside the Parish Church of St. Paul. Vespa wondered if Preston Jones had ever painted the scene. Certainly it made a charming picture; the ancient grey walls of the turreted stone church providing a serene background for the delicate colours of the ladies' gowns and ruffled bonnets, and male attire that ranged all the way from Broderick's magnificently tailored coat to the humble but immaculate smocks of farmhands.

Their arrival created a stir of excitement. Having introduced his friend to the priest and several of the local people, Vespa honoured the shy Broderick's mumbled plea to be spared more embarrassment, and prepared to enter the sanctuary. Perversely, his friend suddenly halted and muttered an awed, “By … Jove!”

Vespa turned and came face to face with Sir Larson Gentry, his sister on his arm and Durward Cramer's coarse and scowling countenance behind them.

“Good morning, Captain,” said Miss Ariadne shyly.

His bow polite but perfunctory, Vespa attempted to walk on, only to receive a hard jab in the ribs from an insistent elbow. Broderick's ardent gaze was fixed on the beauty, and there could be no doubt but that her own big blue eyes held a matching admiration.

Irritated, Vespa urged his friend forward, but Broderick was an immovable object except for the elbow that again made his desires known.

Gritting his teeth, Vespa performed curt introductions, pointedly ignoring Cramer.

Broderick bowed.

Miss Gentry blushed and lowered her lashes as she curtsied.

Gentry said laughingly, “What, are we blessed with another military man in the district? How do, Lieutenant. Don't believe everything your friend says of us.”

Broderick scarcely heard him, but gazed, trance-like, at the fair Miss Gentry.

Vespa clamped an iron grip on his arm and dragged him along by force. “We're holding everyone back, Toby,” he said between his teeth. “Do move, there's a good chap.”

“I wasn't introduced to the dashing soldier-boy,” complained Cramer audibly. “I am hurt, Larson. Positively slighted!”

“Never fear,” said Gentry. “You'll likely meet the Lieutenant when he acts for Vespa in your little dispute.”

Cramer gave an exaggerated whimper. “I ain't even challenged yet, Larson!”

The strident tones of the duchess rang out: “And if you had a vestige of good breeding within your veins, Larson Gentry, you would know better than to speak such things in God's house. Be so good as to move yourself!”

Vespa pushed Broderick into the family pew at the front of the sanctuary, and glanced back. Several people were grinning broadly. Gentry, flushed and thunderous, had stepped aside, allowing Lady Francesca and Consuela to settle themselves into a pew. Gentry stamped on, but his attempt to sit directly behind Vespa was thwarted when the constable's large lady surged into the other end of the pew and all but ran across its length to plant herself firmly in the aisle seat. Her husband and the Widow Davis followed, and Gentry and his party were obliged to seat themselves across the aisle, behind Lady Francesca and Consuela.

When Vespa took his seat after a silent and respectful word with the Almighty, Broderick whispered, “If ever I saw such a little Fair! You must show me where they live, Jack. By thunder, but I'm glad I came!”

The service began then. The morning sunlight set the rich hues of the ancient stained-glass windows ablaze; the voices of the six choirboys were pure; the familiar old hymns pleasing. A music-lover, Vespa sang out heartily, vaguely aware that Broderick was staring at him. Mr. Castle's sermon was earnest but over-long. Vespa's attention wandered. From the corner of his eye he could just glimpse Consuela. Her gown was a creamy pink, embroidered in white silks, and a white zephyr shawl was draped across her shoulders. The bonnet's high poke concealed her features, but she turned her head suddenly and looked at him squarely. There was no shy blush on her vivid face; no demurely lowered lashes. Her eyes were bright with mischief.

She smiled at him in so frank and challenging a way that he could not keep from returning the smile before he restored his attention to the priest. The final hymn was “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” It had been Sherry's favourite. Vespa tried to join the singing, but nostalgia choked him after the first few lines and he stared down at the page silently.

Outside again, the little crowd milled about, chattering happily. The Reverend Mr. Castle introduced Vespa to several local landowners and he received some hearty but vague invitations to “take his mutton” with them whenever he chose. He replied courteously, well aware that each of them had violated the laws of polite society by having failed to call or at least leave cards at Alabaster Royal. That they were also aware of the breach of manners was made apparent by their evasive eyes, and the haste with which they moved on to greet less disturbing acquaintances.

Taken aback by such conduct, Broderick asked, “Whatever have you done, dear boy, to have been reduced from Non-Pareil to pariah in so short a time?”

Vespa grinned. “I think you confuse me with Paige Manderville.”

“I might have had I named you a Dandy. And don't evade, Jack. I'm agog to hear the lurid details of the foul sins you've committed in this sylvan spot.”

“I've inherited a haunted manor, you dolt, and they're all afraid I might invite them to dinner. Ah, here comes my favourite housekeeper.”

Lady Francesca was regal in dove grey, her bonnet topped by three outsize silver feathers that had already become entangled in a parasol and were now caught in a trailing tree branch. She had been favourably impressed when Lieutenant Broderick had presented himself at Alabaster Royal, and was further impressed when he undertook to release her from the embarrassment of her feathers. This struggle amused them both, and they were soon giggling together like a pair of old friends. Nearby, Consuela was chatting with two pretty young damsels. Their bright eyes flirted with Vespa over her shoulder, and it was clear that they desired an introduction, but she ignored him. He had started towards them when someone tugged at his cane.

The lame child looked up at him solemnly, then withdrew the arm she'd kept hidden behind her and held up three wilting daisies, a dandelion and a blown rose, all lashed together with many winds of thick string.

Vespa bent to her. “How charming. For me, mistress?”

She gazed at him with her big wistful eyes and thrust the bouquet at him again. He took it, but before he could thank her she was hurrying away at an awkward limping run, her small figure fast disappearing into the crowd.

Mrs. Blackham boomed, “I think ye've made a conquest, Captain Vespa.”

From somewhere close by a man laughed. “Like to like!”

Vespa turned angrily, but high-crowned beaver hats, tossing feathers and poked bonnets obscured his view and he couldn't see who had spoken.

Moments later he did see Toby making his way to the side of Ariadne Gentry. The girl was exquisite in a cream and blue printed gown, the blue feathers that curled over the poke of her bonnet emphasizing the azure eyes she turned shyly to Broderick. Before he reached her, however, Durward Cramer pushed rudely between them. The Reverend Mr. Castle moved quickly to engage Broderick in conversation. Seething, as Sir Larson Gentry led his sister away, Broderick curbed his temper and answered the clergyman's questions.

Vespa came up with them. One glance confirmed his friend's frustration, but Broderick could never resist a debate, and he and the Reverend Mr. Castle were soon deep in a discussion that swept from the humble design of the little Church of St. Paul to the aisle-less early parish churches, the splendid barrel vaults of the third church of the abbey of Cluny, Romanesque architecture, Gothic vaulting and flying buttresses, in all of which Broderick was well versed. His observations eventually reduced the priest to a state of wide-eyed awe, but Vespa had by then slipped away to the side of the duchess.

He had brought with him the sketch Consuela had found at Alabaster and took it from his pocket. It was, agreed the duchess, the work of her late son-in-law, but she did not know the lady depicted. “And how could one forget such a face?”

Consuela left the Widow Davis and rejoined her grandmother. With a glance at Vespa's wilting bouquet, she said archly, “If you desire to be alone while the gentleman courts you, ma'am, I'll go away.”

“Minx!” exclaimed Lady Francesca. “The blooms are not for me, and well you know it!”

“Really…? If you favour another lady, Captain, you would do well to improve upon that rather sorry collection.”

He said coolly, “Do you find it sorry, Miss Jones? I do not. It was given to me, and I value it highly.”

Off balance, she glanced at her grandmother, who said, “Little Molly Hawes.”

“Ah, the poor mite,” said Consuela in a very different voice. “You had best put your bouquet in water at once, Captain. It is very warm today.”

Lady Francesca was going to the inn to give Mrs. Ditchfield a promised recipe, and volunteered to see that the flowers were provided with a vase.

Watching her walk off on the arm of an elderly gentleman, Consuela said in a low voice, “I understand that we were banished because you feared for my safety, sir. That is kind, but foolish. You will not stop me, you know. Though it take the rest of my days, I will find out who put so cruel and needless a period to my Papa's brilliant life.”

In his heart, Vespa thought this an admirable and loyal sentiment, but such a task should be undertaken by a gentleman's son, not by his young and reckless daughter. He said dampingly, “Whereupon he will doubtless put a period to your own life.”

“Aha! Then you believe such a villain exists! You do not still think Papa's death was accidental!” All but dancing in her excitement, she demanded, “Say it! Say it!”

Trying to look stern, he said, “What I will say, ma'am, is that your antics in a churchyard are attracting attention. These people expect you to set an example, you know.”

She gave a guilty look round and hid behind her parasol, but riposted with defiance, “Can I help it if the Italian side of me is spirited and alive, not dull and—and starchy as a stuffed owl?”

“If I catch you spiriting about on my property again, the Signorina will be most unceremoniously returned to Lady Francesca's care! I've had my fill of trespassers, and so I warn you!”

She frowned at him ferociously, then gave a sudden giggle. “Do you really think so? In that house one can never tell who may—as it were—pop up, next.”

“As you did when you made off with my eggs and capered about the passages squealing in the middle of the night!”

“I did no such thing. What next will you say! We did borrow a few eggs, but as for capering and squealing—I
never
caper! You must have confused me with one of your other—ladies!”