The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (7 page)

The smile did not waver, and the hand was lowered to search for a card case. “But my dear sir, the owner of this—er—house has been ‘out' for years. I heard the new heir was expected, so thought to return the desk before he arrived, so as not to cause inconvenience. I take it I'm—er— remiss, Mr. Vespers, is it?” A card was offered with a blandness that brought sly grins from his servants.

Vespa read aloud, “Sir Larson Gentry”. He met the mockery in those very blue eyes with a steady stare. “An unorthodox introduction, to say the least. My name is Vespa. Whatever the reason for your intrusion, I would have thought any
gentleman
would know better than to break into another man's house.”

Gentry murmured, “I think you will find, sir, that the occupants of this house are more likely to break out, than others are to break in!”

Perce emitted a hurriedly smothered squeal of mirth.

“Is that why it took you two years to gather sufficient courage to …
return
my desk? You
are
aware that my grandmother died two years since? How very brave of you to venture upstairs alone just now. You were pleased with what you viewed, I trust?”

Gentry sighed. “To be so misjudged is wounding. I came here to repay a favour, surely a noble ambition, and had not expected to be taken to task, but—”

“Your ‘nobility' having extended to making yourself free of my house, uninvited, sir, perhaps it will stretch to instructing your men to replace the desk. You did just borrow the
desk?
Or are there perhaps other articles to be returned?”

A faint flush stained Gentry's cheeks. Straightening his cuff, he said quietly, “You become offensive. I really think you must apologize.”

“You've an odd sense of the proprieties, sir. And I've a limited amount of patience. You men—put that desk back where it belongs! At once! Else I'll have Constable Blackham take you in charge for breaking and entering
and
theft!”

Gentry shrugged and said smilingly, “Now fellows, we must be polite to poor Captain Vespa. Especially in view of his unfortunate condition. Perce, swing that end around.
Move,
man!”

Perce sprang into action so suddenly that his boot slammed against Vespa's cane, sending it spinning across the hall. Off balance, Vespa staggered.

Gentry shouted, “Clumsy oaf! Help the gentleman! Both of you!”

Before Vespa could steady himself, they both ran at him, collided, and lurched against him so that he fell heavily. His head struck the end-post of the stair railing and pain ripped through him so blindingly that the scene blurred, but he heard the little dog's shrill barks cut off by a yelp, followed by Gentry's amused scolding of his servants.

“Now look what you've done! I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Captain. I fear my fellows have alarmed your—er—watchdog.” There was loud laughter at this sally. “'Faith,” Gentry went on, “but the quality of help one is obliged to hire these days is depressing. Do let me assist you. Accidents will happen, my dear fel—” He stopped, staring narrow-eyed at the small pistol that was trained on him. “No, really! There's no call for this, only because my men were—”

Infuriated because he was still too weak to have properly defended himself, Vespa managed somehow to keep his voice steady. “I merely even the—the odds, Gentry.” Gripping the stair railing, he dragged himself to his feet. The effort caused the room to ripple before his eyes again. Vaguely aware that the dog crouched at his side, growling, he gasped out, “Instruct your accomplices to return … my desk to its proper place. Now!”

“My
accomplices?
Egad, but you've an unpleasant way with words. And how your hound terrifies me! No, do not look so grim. Only consider, my poor fellow. If you fire that foolish little pistol, how shall you explain matters to the authorities? Of what could you accuse me, save that I returned your property? I have two witnesses to your—ah—brutal and unprovoked attack. You have no one to back whatever statement you might choose to make. Besides, you've only one shot, and there are three of us, and—”

“There's two of us,” growled a familiar voice from the open door. “And
I'm
a witness to what's going on here!”

The smile was wiped from features that were abruptly considerably less than handsome as Gentry's nonchalant pose slipped. “You?” he snarled. “Much heed anyone would pay to whatever you had to say, Strickley!”

“Them two'll pay heed to my pop.” The big man trained a wide-mouthed blunderbuss on Gentry's men. “If you coves don't wanta taste of this, do what the Captain said. And smart-like. This trigger's none too steady!”

Thwarted, Gentry wandered to the door, only a tightly clenched hand betraying his rage. With the blunderbuss at the ready, Strickley moved aside to allow him to pass.

“The next time you decide to return something of mine, make an appointment first,” said Vespa. “Meanwhile, I'll have stronger locks put on the doors!”

Gentry's answering smile was murderous. As he passed Strickley, he said softly, “Be sure that I'll remember you, fellow.”

Apparently unmoved, Strickley escorted the two workmen as they puffed and groaned up the stairs with the heavy desk.

Vespa took the opportunity to hobble into the drawing room and pour himself a good measure of brandy. The dog trotted beside him and sat down an inch from his boot. Vespa bent to stroke him, but the little animal shrank away. “Don't quite trust me yet, do you?” said Vespa. “But you stuck by me, like a true friend, nonetheless.”

The ratty tail wriggled and the dog lay down again, only to start up as a great clumping of feet announced the hurried departure of the workmen.

Vespa joined Strickley on the front steps.

“It ain't the first time that set of rum touches has come slithering about,” grunted Strickley as the unlovely pair set their empty waggon lurching down the drivepath. “I sent 'em packing twice when they pretended to be lost. They musta s'posed there wasn't no one about today.”

Vespa said thoughtfully, “Sir Larson claimed to be returning the desk. Said he'd borrowed it from my grandmother.”

“What a rasper!” Strickley gave a derisive snort. “No offence, sir, but ain't you never seen his house?”

“I haven't had time to see much of anything around here. What's it like?”

“Big, sir. Not so big as this here, I don't mean. But spread out, like, with gardens all round, very nice and tidy. Wasn't like that when he come inter the property, mind. Spent a fortune fixing it up. Proper elegant it is now, inside and out. I've delivered goods there a time or two, and I can tell yer that Larson Chase is a little palace. There's some as says Sir Larson Gentry's run hisself orf his legs to make it into a showplace, so as to impress all his London friends and please Miss Ariadne.”

“What you're saying is that my grandmother's furniture wouldn't fit into such a house?”

“Well, lookit that there desk, Cap'n. Big, solid mahogany, weighs a ton. The stuff out at the Chase is all velvets and brocades and spindly little legs. Your desk would'a stood out like a sore thumb—no offence intended. I'll bring in yer order now, if that suits.”

It suited. Vespa wandered to the side entrance where Strickley had drawn up his cart, and watched as the big man, escorted by the dog, unloaded a large box of provisions.

When the box was carried into the kitchen, Vespa leant back against the long table and said, “Wait up a minute. I'm afraid you've incurred Sir Larson's displeasure. Can he do you a mischief?”

“He could. No doubt o' that, him being a 'ristocrat and me a commoner. Not as he'd do nothing hisself. Real brave he is, when it's three to one odds.” Strickley checked, then said with an air of defiance, “Which I shouldn't say, but I done, so there!”

“Yes. Well, how would you feel about staying on here as my steward and head groom?”

Strickley's jaw dropped. “You'd take me back? Arter all them things I said?”

“You stood by me when I needed support, and I need help here. Someone who knows the area and can advise me on local matters.”

“Cor! And—you really was one of his lordship's aides?”

“Yes.”

“Them what was called his ‘Family', I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Cor! Thinka that! And you don't mind being alone in this house a'nights?”

“You have evidently survived here alone.”

“Ar. But I don't go in the house arter dark. I got quarters over the barn. And I'd think, sir, arter what you seen last night … Cor!”

“I don't believe in ghosts, if that's what you mean.”

The awed look faded, and the untidy head flung upward. “Huh! Then you still thinks as I be a liar!”

“I think you believe what you say. You have your convictions and I have mine. If ever I see something to convince me you're in the right of it, I'll have to change my mind. Meanwhile, let me have your answer to my offer.”

“I wouldn't have to come in the house arter dark? Not that I'm scared, mind.”

“You might, occasionally. To carry in wood or supplies, as you've just done.”

“Well, then,” a broad grin transformed the harsh features, “I'm yer man, melord! For as long as you stay.”

Vespa put out his hand. “No title, Strickley. Captain will do nicely. And I mean to stay for quite a while.”

Returning the handshake and finding it a good deal firmer than he'd expected, Hezekiah Strickley nodded. “Quite a while it is, sir.”

Going out to collect the last load of groceries, still grinning, he muttered, “I give you a week, Captain Spunky. At the outside!”

*   *   *

Whether Sir Larson Gentry had been returning or absconding with the mahogany desk, there could be no doubting his interest in it. Vespa climbed the stairs, and having found the desk in an already overcrowded room, examined it thoroughly. The drawers were empty except for some yellowed sheets of paper, a faded racing form, a broken quill pen and a dried-up stick of sealing wax. It was actually a fine piece of furniture, with some elaborate inlay work around the top, but there was nothing to indicate that it had any particular antique value; nothing, in fact, to explain Gentry's most unorthodox behaviour. Baffled, Vespa decided that the solving of the puzzle would have to await future developments.

Perhaps as a result of his rough handling, he was woken in the night by severe pain. He lay there for some time, but no matter how he shifted his position there was no relief, and at length he struggled out of bed and began to pace the floor. He tried to concentrate on anything but his misery and after a while became aware that his footsteps had an odd sort of echo. He peered downward. The glow of moonlight enabled him to make out a small shape trotting along beside him. He'd given up trying to keep the dog out of the house and, truth to tell, was glad of its company. Seldom was it far from his side, and today it had demonstrated its affection by bravely charging at Gentry and his hirelings.

“Hullo, there,” said Vespa. The dog sat down and gazed up at him. “We'll have to find a name for you,” he added, and resumed his pacing, searching about for a likely name. In some ways the little dog put him in mind of his former batman. Corporal O'Malley had been slavishly devoted, utterly ruthless in procuring whatever was needed to ensure his captain some measure of comfort, and ready, willing and able to fight any man in the army at the slightest provocation. Constantly obliged to rescue him from the consequences of his misdeeds, Vespa had been devastated when O'Malley was fatally wounded while rushing to aid him after he'd been knocked from his saddle early in the Battle of Vitoria. Dear old O'Malley had been undersized, unkempt and fiercely loyal; it would seem the dog had similar traits.

“Hum,” said Vespa, halting. “How does ‘Corporal' strike you?”

The small hind-quarters wriggled.

“Then Corporal it shall be.” His own anguish easing, Vespa crawled back into bed, but refused the newly christened canine's appeal to join him, saying sternly that he would not be put upon. “Or sat upon!”

For three days all was tranquil at Alabaster Royal. On the third night, however, Vespa awoke to the rustling of windblown leaves, seemingly inside the house. When he got up and carried a lamp into the corridor, Corporal looked up, but did not follow. There was no sign of blowing curtains or of leaves on the floor; no flicker of the lamp's flame. The air was frigid, but still. Vespa experienced a sudden wave of dizziness, then an eerie feeling that someone stood very close beside him. So strong was the sensation that he could scarcely bring himself to look around. The passage was as empty as before; he was quite alone.

Disturbed, he went back to bed, trying not to recall two voices: the army surgeon who'd warned gravely that the head wound might cause more problems than the severe headaches he suffered with unhappy frequency, and Strickley's harsh assertion—“Lotsa folks has heard 'em whispering and rustling about.” He did not sleep well for the balance of the night.

Two more days passed peacefully. Never a fussy eater, he cooked himself simple meals on the vast kitchen stove and ate them in the breakfast parlour accompanied only by Corporal. Strickley worked outside, took care of Secrets, kept the house well stocked with logs and started the fires in the mornings. Vespa sent him into the village with a letter to Sir Kendrick reporting on his progress and advising that his curricle and the new phaeton and his matched greys had not yet arrived at Alabaster Royal as expected. He also despatched letters to an old school friend now living in Bristol and another in London, asking that they be so good as to have enquiries made with regard to securing the services of a competent valet. Once he'd found a good man, he could leave to him the business of hiring a cook and other servants. He ignored the awareness that the most logical course would be to turn for assistance to his father's butler at Richmond. Rennett would, he knew, have been only too glad to help, and would, moreover, find an excellent man. Logic, however, played no part in his determination not to admit to Sir Kendrick that he was incapable of handling his own affairs. He might be temporarily uncomfortable and not quite up to par, but be damned if he meant to play the role of a helpless invalid.