Strange Capers Page 8

  The rumors will die down if you absent yourself till this war is over. Out of sight, out of mind. I can’t recommend too strongly that you make every effort to conquer that impulse to drink that has caused all your problems. It grieves your dear mother, and I don’t have to tell you the harm it does to your own pocket.

  Pray forgive my writing you in this frank way. I do it for your own good. I shall miss you in the office.

  Kindest regards,

  [and the signature]

  The letter trembled in my fingers. I had always felt, in the deepest recess of my heart, that Aiglon was much too good for me in the worldly sense. I had half suspected that his flirtation was just that and no more. But I had not been exposed to such city flirtation before and had fallen victim to it. Like any fool falling in love, I had been quick to glance over his shortcomings, to paint over his faults, and to seek a glimmer of virtue. Now the truth was before me in black and white. My real anger was for Aiglon, but it was only Rachel who was there to receive it and I turned an icy face to her.

  “Where did you get this, Rachel?” I asked, as though she were my underling and had better have a good excuse to explain herself.

  “In the bottom of Aiglon’s drawer, hidden under his linen. He had concealed it well, you may be sure.”

  “I daresay he didn’t expect to have his private belongings searched in his own house!” I sniffed.

  “I know where my duty lies, if you don’t!” she informed me, then reached out and pulled the letter from my fingers. “I’ve given a quick search to his jacket pockets and other things as well. I was hoping for some clue as to with whom he might be working.”

  “You mean you rifled all his private belongings! Really, Rachel, you have no shame,” I scoffed, but some base part of me was eager to learn what else she might have discovered.

  “Certainly I did, and I’m not ashamed of it. You see why he told us that Banbury tale of having killed a man. It was to cover this! He either sold information about that arms shipment to the French or he was so drunk they got it out of him. Either way, he is a scoundrel and no fit company for us. And to think he sat there with his sly smile, telling Mickey he had sent word to Whitehall to ship more arms. As though they would let him know if they did! They’ve sent him packing. He came running to this out-of-the-way place to hide his head in shame.”

  “He must have been drunk. He would never be so low as to sell arms or information to the French,” I insisted, but it was only bravado speaking.

  “Bah, his own grandmother is as French as brandy. He brags of it. You heard him yourself, speaking to Mickey. Certainly he sold that information to the French, and his superior knows it full well. He is only being polite in deference to Lady Aiglon. You don’t terminate a lord’s employment for no more serious a reason than taking a little too much wine. Lord, they all do that! No, Constance, what we harbor under our roof is a traitor.”

  My throat felt dry. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I plan to return this letter to its proper spot and say nothing, but I shall keep a sharp eye on Aiglon. You see now why he is making up to Mickey Dougherty. He wants to learn when the next shipment is coming so that he may sell that information to the Frenchies as well. We’ll be shot in our beds with English weapons. Was there ever such a villain in the world!”

  “That letter doesn’t say anything of the sort!” I reminded her, and tried to console myself.

  “I’ll tell you something, miss! Aiglon was not playing cards at the inn last night as he told me he was. He was in Madame Bieler’s saloon, and we all know what she is!”

  “A widow, you mean, or that she sells Mickey’s stuff?” I asked. A widow, in Madame’s case, implied a good deal more than that she had survived a husband. I’m not sure whether she ever actually had a husband, but a married woman had more latitude in the matter of entertaining gentlemen without the inconvenience of a chaperone. Madame entertained a great many gentlemen, at all hours of the night.

  “Ninnyhammer! I mean that she is French! She is probably putting Aiglon in touch with other Frenchies who will buy any other secrets he has for sale. I begin to think it is we who must leave Thornbury, Constance. My nerves can’t take much more of this.”

  I looked again at the fateful letter she still held. “You’d better put his letter back,” I said, and walked out the door.

  When I had gone up those stairs, I’d had every intention of returning below to the library again, but I put any such idea out of my mind now. I even forgot to ask Rachel about that stupid book. It was only a trifle compared to the awful knowledge I now unwillingly carried. It felt as heavy as a ton of coal on my heart. Beautiful, shining, smiling Aiglon was either such a confirmed drunkard that he had witlessly betrayed his country, or he was a willing traitor. Not half an hour before, I had convinced myself that he didn’t have a serious drinking problem. So he had sold or given his knowledge of the arms shipment to the French with full knowledge, and he had come scrambling down to Folkestone to get new information indirectly since it was no longer available to him legally.

  Of course he wouldn’t leave Thornbury willingly when it was such an excellent base for discovering dangerous secrets. He didn’t care a groat about the ruined chapel. He just wanted an excuse to hang about. The only question in my mind was why he had spoken to Roundtree about selling the house. He must really be short of funds as well. He could put up at an inn and live on the proceeds from the sale until his next quarter allowance came along to be squandered as well.

  And this was the gentleman whose attentions, if the whole truth were to be said, I had been flattered to death to be receiving. I wanted to rush downstairs and chastise him while my fury was at its peak, but I didn’t feel up to this. I just sat on the edge of my bed looking at the dresser without seeing it. I felt ten years older than when I had gotten up that morning.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  I didn’t return belowstairs at all that evening, and I didn’t hear Rachel go down, either. Her room, however, was at the far end of the corridor, and she sometimes went down by the servants’ stairs without my hearing her. What I really was listening for was Aiglon’s ascent. At midnight, I was still listening. And at one o’clock in the morning. It was some time after two when his stumbling steps along the corridor roused me from a fitful sleep. He was singing rather loudly. I heard his faithful valet open his bedroom door and try to shush him. This disgusting display hardened further my heart against Aiglon, but as I lay in the darkness listening, the insidious thought arose that perhaps drunkenness was his only sin. Drink might have led him into that duel and be accountable for his being a traitor as well. It was bad, but not as bad as willfully selling out his country.

  At breakfast the next morning, Rachel bluntly informed me that I looked like “something the cat had dragged in.” Such was my mood that I replied with equal frankness that she looked like death warmed-over herself. She did, too. There were hollows below her eyes and lines running from her nose to her lips. After this exchange of compliments, we turned to the cause of our state—Aiglon’s behavior.

  “He came staggering in at two-thirty this morning, completely disguised,” I told her. “What are we going to do about him, Rachel? We’ll have to report him to the authorities. We can’t let him roam the countryside learning secrets to sell to the French. Though I doubt if he could learn much, the way he drinks.”

  “Report him and bring disgrace on the family? Impossible!” she decreed. “Mind you, his drinking doesn’t interfere with the full use of his wits. All the Howells can operate efficiently when they are foxed. His papa used to speak for hours in the House, then retire to his chamber and fall down flat from drink. No, we can’t report him, Constance. We must catch him and put a stop to it ourselves.”

  “And how do you propose we do that, just the two of us? Or do you think we should ask some close, reliable male friend to help us? Lord Ware, perhaps? But he’s in London half the time. I’m sure Mickey would
enjoy it,” I added doubtfully.

  A tinkle of laughter floated over the table. “Mickey Dougherty?” she asked. “I’d stake my nose he’s in on it with Aiglon by now. I’d no sooner trust him than I’d trust a footpad with my diamonds.”

  “But he’s very active in the militia,” I reminded her.

  “Of course he is! That’s where he recruits his Gentlemen to run brandy. How is it possible you’ve lived here for five years, Constance, and have no notion what’s going on under your very nose?”

  “It’s not going on under my very nose! I’ve never even seen the militia practice. How did you discover that’s where he recruits his men?”

  “He boasts of it, the rogue! No, you and I must handle this business ourselves, Constance.”

  “That’s patently ridiculous. Aiglon’s out half the night. And with his fast curricle and faster mounts there’s no way we could keep up with him in any case,” I pointed out. Really, Rachel could develop the most ludicrous schemes.

  “I shouldn’t worry too much about the late-night rambles. He is visiting Madame Bieler, and it has nothing to do with discovering state secrets,” she announced blandly. “Their liaison has been arranged to mutual satisfaction, I understand. Mickey let something slip last night.”

  It was easy to believe her. It was coming to the point where I would believe any evil of Lord Aiglon. My reply was sulky. “I still don’t see how you think we can stop him.”

  “You underestimate me, Constance,” she replied with hateful hauteur. “Steps have already been taken. I have spoken to his servants, who are worried about him and eager to help. Indeed, Shiftwell told me he had been about to enlist my aid. Groom, valet, footmen—they are all our allies. As Aiglon seems quite determined to add you to his list of flirts, you might as well indulge him. So long as he has his Madame Bieler to expend his stronger instincts, your virtue will be safe, and you can keep your eyes and ears open to discover what you can. You never know—he might be indiscreet enough to let something slip. I, of course, shall keep a sharp eye on any letters he receives or sends.”

  “I don’t want to have anything to do with him,” I said firmly.

  “Consider it your little mite to help the war cause, Constance. This is not a time for selfishness. I do wish you’d keep him away from the chapel, however. Let him teach you to ride and drive,” she suggested.

  “Speaking of the chapel, Rachel,” I began as I remembered my thoughts in that regard, “are you afraid Aiglon will find the treasure?”

  “Treasure? What treasure is that, dear?” she asked, cool as a cucumber.

  “The treasure mentioned in that book you bought, which you refuse to give to Aiglon,” I replied with a knowing stare.

  “Oh, that! Yes, my hopes were raised for a day or two, but nothing came of it. The book said there were gold chalices and monstrances and things in the chapel. It was a Roman Catholic chapel at the time, you know. I went down and moved the rocks about a little but found nothing. You can have the book now if you want it. Shall I get it for you?” This offer convinced me she was telling the truth, and I declined.

  Her next suggestion was that I go abovestairs and try on her old riding habit since I hadn’t one of my own. I was to be ready to accompany Aiglon on any outing he suggested except going to the chapel. As I considered it, this presented a little mystery.

  “Why don’t you want Aiglon going to the chapel, Rachel?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s the isolation that concerns you. You’re willing enough to let me go riding through fields with him and that can be even more isolated.”

  “Well, to tell the truth, I sold two loads of rock the year before you came. If Aiglon takes it into his head to be rebuilding the chapel, he’ll notice the shortage and begin asking bothersome questions. How was I to know he would ever rebuild the place? I thought I was doing him a favor to get rid of the mess,” she told me. It sounded so exactly like her that I didn’t have to inquire further. It occurred to me that a criminal strain ran deep in the Howell family.

  Aiglon slept late after his strenuous night with Madame Bieler. I had ample time to try on Rachel’s riding habit, to have it brushed and aired and pressed. It was a deep mulberry shade, made up in serge. The cut of it was not the highest kick of fashion, but Rachel’s sense for clothes is so good that it would never be entirely passé. It had a short, fitted jacket and a full, flaring skirt. The collar and front were piped with black ribbon, and the buttons were of jet. A rather dashing black bonnet with ribbons accompanied the outfit. The habit was hung in my closet, where I eyed it impatiently, for it looked better on me than most of my own gowns.

  Aiglon came to the table for lunch, unrepentant and unmarked by his late-night revels. “Another lovely day!” he said, looking out the windows to where the sunshine filtered through the leaves of an old mulberry tree, which defied time and went on blooming forever. “I feared an endless spring of clouds and showers here on the coast, but your weather is better than London’s.”

  Rachel had tired of punishing us all with fish, and we enjoyed a meal of cold ham and mutton, Stilton and mustard. We had no pinery, so no pineapples, oranges or other fresh fruits were served, but the plum preserves did as well. The food looked appetizing, but when I tried to eat, it tasted like wood. I looked at Aiglon and couldn’t believe that such a villain’s mind was wrapped in that hero’s head.

  “Are you prepared for another lesson with the grays today, Constance?” he asked cordially.

  “If you like,” I answered, stiff as starch. Rachel nudged my ankle under the table, and I added, “That sounds lovely. Where shall we go?”

  “Let us go to Madame Bieler’s and order you a riding habit,” he suggested without so much as a blush at mentioning that woman’s name at a polite table.

  “That won’t be necessary, Aiglon,” Rachel bounced in before I uttered any of the retorts that rose to my tongue. “We have discovered that mine fits her perfectly.”

  “Excellent! Then we shall ride instead,” he decided.

  I looked at my ham, pale and sliced as thin as paper, and pushed it aside.

  “Do you have some objection, Constance?” Aiglon asked, gazing at me, concern or a question in his eyes.

  “No, but you’ll have to be patient. I haven’t ridden since the last time I was home—months ago.”

  “Once a rider, always a rider,” Rachel assured me. “Where will you go?”

  “I’d like to ride along the beach,” Aiglon said, and looked at me for agreement.

  There seemed little possibility for mischief in this, so I agreed.

  Immediately after lunch I changed into the riding habit. The lady in the mirror looked fashionable, calm, and sure of herself, but inside I was a welter of unresolved emotions. I didn’t much want to be in Aiglon’s private company. I didn’t trust that innocent heart of mine, which wasn’t accustomed to the cajoling of an experienced flirt. I didn’t even want to help Rachel trap him, but I knew that it was my duty and girded my loins to do it.

  Rachel was waiting in the hallway when I came downstairs. “I’ll have a good search of his room while you’re gone,” she whispered. “Keep him for a couple of hours if you can. He’s waiting out front.”

  The sun and newly leafed trees mocked my heavy heart. It was a day made for romance, possibly even for falling in love. And Aiglon stood with the sun streaking behind him, giving his black head an iridescent halo. He smiled with approval at my new style. I lifted my skirts and went toward him. He had taken my mount to the steps so that I might have a mounting block. The animal was a gray dappled mare, deep-chested, long-legged, but with a kindly eye. I was relieved not to be expected to ride the other horse, an enormous black gelding with eyes like a devil.

  “Miranda’s a sweet goer. She won’t give you any trouble,” he promised. He helped me into the saddle and then mounted his own horse.

  I experienced no fear or discomfort at being on horseback again after such a long time. “Has Miranda any tricks I should know a
bout?” I asked.

  “She’s a follower, not a leader. I’ll hold Ariel in check, and she’ll be fine.” He turned and began trotting down the path to the main road. I fell in beside him.

  “They’re named from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, are they?”

  “Yes, and they have a relative called Caliban who inherited all the vice in the family.”

  “Rather like you in the Howell family,” I replied.

  He took it for a prime joke and laughed, fixing me with a flash from his dark eyes. “I’m glad to see your spirits are restored. I thought you seemed a trifle off at lunch. I was hoping to see you again last night. Do you always retire so early?” His tone was completely normal, friendly, and innocent.

  “No, not usually.”

  “It was the unusual exertion of driving that tired you, perhaps?” he asked. I attempted a smile instead of a verbal reply. “You’ll fall fast asleep in the middle of dinner this evening, I expect.”

  “Very likely. Did you have any success in deciphering the spiderish writing in the library after I left? You did say that’s what you were going to do, didn’t you?”

  “Very little luck,” he answered. “But, to tell the truth, I didn’t stay long at it. I decided to give my card partners the chance to earn back their losses of the night before.”

  Choked with anger at this easy lie, I said nothing but rode on. “If you’d like to canter, give Ariel his head. You’ve already told me he sets the pace,” I said. Less conversation was necessary at a faster pace.

  “Sure you can hack it?” he asked. On my assurance that I could, he let Ariel out, and we soon reached the main road, from which we continued down to the beach.

  I had never ridden on the beach before. It was delightful. The cool ocean breeze was refreshing, and the waves came in strongly, washing and gurgling a yard from us. There were no fences or ditches, just a smooth stretch of shore. The unimpeded run allowed us to enjoy the view of the ocean, where a few fishing boats coasted, their sails billowing in the wind. I’m sure Eden was nothing like it, but this beach instilled a feeling of peace and innocence and beauty. And, of course, both places had their viper, too.