The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (39 page)

Broderick's anger faded. “So it's you! What were you thinking, boy, to dart out like that? You came curst near to getting yourself killed! Didn't you hear me coming?”

The shaggy head was shaken violently. Pale lips mumbled an incoherent flood of words, and Dicky-Boy sank to his knees, clearly half-crazed with fear. Broderick dismounted and went over to pat the cringing shoulder and say compassionately, “Be easy, lad. I won't hurt you. Whatever has thrown you into such a pelter?”

“He knows,” whimpered the youth. “He's coming fer Dicky-Boy now. He knows Dicky-Boy seen.” He grabbed Broderick's hand convulsively and pressed it to his cheek. “You tell him!
You
c'n tell him, sir! Dicky-Boy's kept it secret. He's
never
told. He'd've told Mr. Hawes, but—but Mr. Hawes he's allus cross and he don't like Dicky-Boy talking to Molly. He shouts. So Dicky-Boy didn't never tell no one. And now—” He began to sob. “
You
tell him, sir! Won't ye? Please? Tell him Dicky-Boy won't never,
never
tell no one.”

“Tell who? Tell about—what? Be dashed if I know—”

The youth made a frantic surveillance of the foggy landscape and said urgently, “Why, the
murder,
o'course! Dicky-Boy seen it
done!
And he knows who done it! And the coach never stopped! But he
never
told, sir! It's his secret. Dicky-Boy
never
told! You tell him that. Do—please, sir! Afore Dicky-Boy gets dead too!”

“Jupiter!” muttered Broderick. “Are you talking about that tragic Hawes accident?”

The youth uttered a strangled scream and clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes dilating.

“All right,” soothed Broderick quickly. “I'll tell him. But first I'll have to know who he is.”

Another furtive scan of the surroundings, then the boy scrambled to his feet and on tip-toe leant to whisper in Broderick's ear.

Five minutes later Hezekiah Strickley was again responding to approaching hoofbeats. “Arternoon, Lieutenant,” he said, his keen gaze on the big bay. “Your hoss throw a shoe?”

“No, curse it,” said Broderick, swinging from the saddle. “He shied and I think he's got a sprained hock or pulled a tendon. I'd not have ridden the poor fellow but I had no choice.” Starting for the house, he called over his shoulder, “Take care of him, will you? Is Captain Vespa at home?”

“No, he ain't.” Strickley started to lead the bay around to the barn, but halted when Broderick practically sprang at him.

“The devil! Where is he, then?”

“Why—I dunno, sir. Not 'fficial, I don't. Him and his Pa went orf in Sir Kendrick's coach. I gotta say me Cap'n looked so sick as a horse!”

Broderick swore under his breath. “I must come up with them. What d'you know—
un
officially, you rogue?”

The lieutenant seemed uncommon grim. Strickley said, “Peg says Sir Kendrick had some sorta bowl in a box, and he were powerful put out and were taking it back. Though it don't seem—”

“To Preston Jones' house?” interrupted Broderick harshly.

“S'what she thinked, sir. But how—”

Striding toward the stables, Broderick snapped, “Is Lieutenant Manderville back yet? No, well, I didn't expect he would be. Dammit! Are there any decent goers here?”

“Cap'n Vespa's hack ain't no creeper, sir, but I dunno as he'd want ye to take Secrets without—”

“Well, he would! Stir your stumps, man, and saddle her up! If Mr. Manderville comes in before I get back, tell him where I've gone and that there's the very devil to pay!”

Two minutes later, Strickley watched him ride out, the pretty mare only too willing to gallop.

Thornhill walked out to join him.

“What you do, mate?” enquired Strickley with heavy sarcasm. “Die on the perishin' vine?”

“Well you may ask.” Thornhill's confused demeanour surprised Strickley, who had expected a sharp reprimand. “I sat down in my parlour chair for a minute, and dozed right off,” the valet went on. “Which I
never
do, not being able to kip in the daytime. More to the point, is Peg completely ripe for Bedlam? She's gone! Says she won't stay in the house another night.”

Strickley turned his thoughtful gaze from Broderick's now vanished form, and demanded, “Why? She likes the guv'nor. Said she'd stay as long as he'd keep her. Has Harper been messin' about?”

“Not that I know of. Though he went with her. They said”—Thornhill paused, then finished uneasily—“they said they heard the—the Alabaster Cat! And Peg said she was sure Captain Vespa had
seen
it!”

Strickley turned pale. “Gawd!” he said. “I mighta knowed!”

*   *   *

Josiah Hawes blinked in bewilderment at the leaf which had sent an icy droplet onto his face. He felt cold and his head wasn't thinking proper. It felt even more befuddled when he'd managed to sit up. Why in blazes was he sleepin' out under the bushes…? He saw it, then, a dim upthrust through the drifting fog. Alabaster Royal!
That's
why he'd waited here! To avenge hisself on the curst Quality! To beat the mighty Cap'n Vespa's 'ristocratic brains out! He shouldn't never have gone to sleep, waitin'. But he was awake now, and if the thievin' Cap'n had got back, he'd finish what he'd set out to do.

He found his club and used it to help him get onto his feet. He felt a bit fuzzy for a minute, but he was pleased because of the fog. That'd keep him hid so Vespa wouldn't see him till it was too late. Starting towards the manor, Molly's sweet little face came before his mind's eye, and he paused, troubled by the thought that she wouldn't like this. He felt the weight of the bottle in his pocket, and was gratified to find it still held a couple of inches of whisky. He drank as he went on, and was soon feeling warmer and sure of his rights. Molly didn't understand. She would, when she got older. When he reminded her of what had happened to her Ma, and how that cheatin'—

A horseman was comin' this way. Ridin' fast. Just the way that bloody coach had gone when it struck down his dear wife and his li'l gal! The rider was comin' from the manor. He'd have to cross the bridge. The path was narrow there.

Hawes ran. He reached the foot of the bridge and crouched down as the horse approached the far side. Vespa's horse—he was right! Gauging his moment, he sprang out, club flailing.

Secrets reared with a scream of pain and fright. Caught by surprise, her rider was hurled from the saddle to crash against the bridge wall.

Shouting his triumph, Hawes ran forward, club swung high, only to stop and stare in dismay. His club lowered. Catching his breath, he bent over his inert victim. The hat was gone; blood streaked the still face and welled from under the fair curls. John Vespa's hair was light brown, but not this light. “Oh, crumbs,” he moaned. “I've gone and killed that Lef'nant fella!” And the Lef'nant hadn't never done him no harm! Lor', oh Lor! What was he to do? And—someone was comin'. Runnin'!

In desperation, he also turned to run, and came face to face with Dicky-Boy.

18

For the third time Sir Kendrick's velvety dark eyes scanned his son obliquely. He must, he knew, choose his words with care. He said in a very gentle voice, “I know you do not like me to comment on the state of your health, John. But really—forgive a father's concern—does your head trouble you?”

“No, no.” Jack's attempt at a reassuring grin was a dismal failure. Aware of it, and knowing he dared not tell the truth, he answered, “Thank you, but—it's just … I have had a shock, is all. I am quite well, I assure you.”

After another pause, Sir Kendrick said, “Would it help to talk about it? I haven't always been by you when you needed me, I know. But I'm here now, boy, and if you choose to confide in me, I'm a good listener.”

“I promise you it's nothing of import. Just—something I've always been very sure about, and—and now I find I may have been mistaken.”

“I see. It must have been a great shock, indeed. When you climbed into the coach you looked appalled.”

Jack said nothing, and Sir Kendrick began to talk easily about commonplace events. Jack responded politely, while his mind struggled to comprehend what he'd just seen. Never afterwards could he remember what they discussed on that journey, although he knew he'd made his father laugh once or twice. It seemed a very short while before the coach was slowing for the turn onto the narrow lane leading to the quarry.

He said, “I must leave you now, sir. Riggs knows the way to Preston Jones' house, I think? May I hope that this time you will overnight with me before you head back to Town?”

“It will be my pleasure, John.” The coach stopped, and the guard opened the door and let down the step. As Jack alighted, Sir Kendrick followed. “And if you think to fob me off,” he said, “you may forget it!”

Jack said uneasily, “Fob you off? Sir, I don't—”

“Oh, yes, you do. You want to send me on my way while you search for your proofs. Well, you won't succeed! I don't know what you're after, but,” Sir Kendrick clapped his son on the back fondly, “you're not going down there alone!”

“But, sir, it's more than good of you, but I don't know what I'm looking for, either. I might poke about for hours, and there's no need for you to—”

“To do what? Risk getting some mud on my shoes? I'm not the fop you take me for, my boy! Nor am I in my dotage! As old Heywood wrote, ‘Two heads are better than one', and I might be of some use to you.”

“Of course you would, sir, but—”

“I'm perfectly capable of negotiating those steps, if that's what's making you look so anxious.”

“I know that, but—”

“For Lord's sake, stop protecting me! It looks a dismal hole, but you very obviously are intrigued by something in the place, so let's go and have a look. I want to see for myself. Make my mind easy, as it were.”

Jack's mind was far from easy when they reached the quarry floor. He was in fact bathed in a cold sweat. Sir Kendrick had thrown him into a panic by twice slipping on the treacherous steps, so that he'd only caught him in the nick of time. They had detached one of the carriage lamps before starting down, and now, undaunted, his father was holding it high and peering into the darkness of the tunnel.

“What d'you think is in here, lad? A vein of silver perhaps, or—What the devil!” He plunged inside. “There's someone here! I saw a light, I swear it! You were right, John! Come on!”

“No!” Jack caught his arm and pulled him back. “Sir, you insisted on coming with me, but this is my responsibility! You really must let me go first.”

Sir Kendrick frowned at him for a moment. “It's not my way to follow, John.”

“Nor mine, sir.”

Cool hazel eyes met annoyed brown ones levelly.

Sir Kendrick's lips twitched. “Your men could attest to that, I don't doubt. Very well, Captain, sir. You command, and I obey!”

They smiled on each other, and Jack stepped into the tunnel. It was much longer than he'd expected, the floor uneven and littered here and there with fallen chunks of rock. The farther they went, the more obvious was the deterioration. They passed a branching passage, the opening half-blocked by debris. The air was stale and musty, the darkness ever more intense, and the awareness that countless tons of earth hung over them was oppressive. Sir Kendrick's ankle turned on a rock and he blundered into one of the supporting beams. At once dirt and litter showered from the roof, and Jack pulled his father back in the nick of time from the large slab that crashed down and shattered at his feet.

“By God, that was close!” exclaimed Sir Kendrick, breathlessly. “I owe you, lad!”

Jack kept a tight hold on his arm. “Then pay me now. This tunnel's not safe, you see how rotten the beams are. I see no light; you must have been mistaken. Let's get out of this, sir!”

“You just want to get me safely out and then you'll come back! Be damned if I— Look there!”

Far ahead a bright glow bobbed and then vanished. Astounded, Jack raised no more objections and they went on, walking more carefully now so as not to betray their presence.

They reached a great pile of rubble where the roof must have come down, blocking the passage. A space had been cleared, and recently, for there were boot prints in the muddy ground.

Sir Kendrick swore softly. “Someone's been busy down here,” he whispered. “Like a fool I left my pistol in the coach. I'd feel a sight easier with it in my fist!”

Jack exchanged his new duelling pistol for the lantern. “Now you may be easy, sir. But have a care, it has a hair-trigger.”

“Then you shouldn't carry it in your pocket, you young madcap!” Sir Kendrick grinned. “But I'm glad you did, even so. Let's find out what the deuce is going on in here.”

Jack climbed over the pile of rocks and assisted his father into a wider section of the tunnel that branched off in several directions. They held to the main passageway, which sloped ever downward until the rough-cut walls began to gleam wetly in the rays of the lantern, and drops trickled down the support beams.

“Lord! This place is like a honeycomb,” whispered Jack. “I don't see the light any more.”

“Nor I. They may have branched off.”

“We'll go on a little further, then try a side-passage.”

After another minute or two, Sir Kendrick murmured, “Do you notice how damp the walls are? I'll warrant the river rushes through here when it's at the flood. Or perhaps it meets up with an underground tributary.”

“Gallery-on-Tang!” exclaimed Jack, mortified. “Lord, what a clunch! I wondered why it wasn't called Moor Stream Gallery, and my mind stopped there. I should have connected the two.”