With an irritated glance at his son, Sir Brian said, "My regrets that the animal annoys you, Nadia. It has no business here."
"Is my fault, sir," said Thorpe uneasily. "I must have left the gate open. I'll take him back to Mr. Swinton's house."
"That's a good little boy," said Lady Nadia. "Give him a penny, Vincent."
Relinquishing Hercules into Thorpe's ready arms, Chandler stiffened. "You mistake it, ma'am. Jacob is not a servant here."
"No, no." Sir Brian patted my lady's dainty hand and nodded to the boy. "Be off with you, rascal. And convey my apologies to your cousin for sending you home in such disarray."
Thorpe grinned, and hurried off, the complaining Hercules tucked under his arm.
Curious, Lady Nadia asked, "Do you say he came with one of your guests?"
"He is Mrs. Allington's nephew," said Chandler. "And a fine young man—"
"
Mrs. Allington
?" interrupted de Brette, amazed. "Your hired artist—or whatever she is?"
Chandler fixed him with a steady stare.
"Do you say the woman has brought her cousin
and
her nephew with her?" asked my lady. "If ever I heard of such a thing! I wonder you permit my poor papa-in-law to be so imposed upon, Chandler."
"No, never scold him, my dear," said Sir Brian. " Tis thanks to Jacob that Gordon was found after those scoundrels attacked him, and—"
"And only see how you all have turned my poor intellect!" My lady stopped abruptly and, transferring both hands to Chandler's arm, cried, "We were gone down to Torquay to visit my dearest godmama and—la! When I read of it in the newspaper 'twas already days old. I was fairly frantic—was I not Vincent?"
"Inconsolable, dear soul," confirmed de Brette with his affected lisp. "No living with her, Chandler. Must leave Torquay on the instant, said she. For a day or two I quite feared she would fall into a decline, for she fancied you to be on your deathbed, dear boy. Is why we raced here, hell for leather as one might say, if you'll forgive me, my lady."
Chandler said, "My regrets that you were distressed, Nadia." And thought it remarkable that his "frantic" betrothed had not run to him with anxiety when first she saw him, rather than complaining that he was "hot and dirty."
"Of course I was distressed," she declared, her lovely eyes aswim with tears. "Never have I been so relieved as to see you hale and hearty. And what must you do but bewilder me with all the talk of mongrels and boys and—and your artist person. As if it were not all stuff compared to your dear life! Tell me truly, I beg you!
Are
you well? Are those dreadful ruffians caught and hanged? Who were they?" And turning in desperation to Sir Brian, she transferred one hand to his, and asked, "Does Quentin know of it? Oh, 'tis so
ghastly
!"
Sir Brian did his best to reassure her and to explain matters, so that by the time they arrived at the chapel my lady had recovered her composure.
"So this is your famous discovery." Lord Vincent peered at the fresco through his quizzing glass. "Interesting."
" 'Twould be more so an we could see the whole," observed Lady Nadia. "Your woman has been here long enough that one might think it should have been completed."
" Tis very tiring work, ma'am," said Chandler, a flash in his eyes.
Lord Vincent looked at him thoughtfully.
"I can vouch for that, dear lady," said Sir Brian. "I have taken a turn at it, as has Gordon, and even Nathaniel Aymer. I doubt I could spend as many hours at it as does Mrs. Allington."
My lady nodded. "Which does but confirm my belief that it is no task for a female."
"It must be fascinating work, even so," murmured her brother, "to have won the lady so many willing helpers."
"I'll not deny 'tis intriguing to watch the colours creep back through the grime," admitted Sir Brian. "Come up and have a closer look."
Lady Nadia declined, but Lord Vincent climbed the steps to the platform.
"What material does she use to clean the surface?" asked my lady.
Lord Vincent said, " 'Pears to be… Blister me! 'Tis dry bread, m'dear!"
My lady shook her head. "She would do better to moisten it."
With an indulgent smile Sir Brian said that he was assured Mrs. Allington knew what she was about.
My lady was irked. She had gone to the trouble of requiring an indigent cousin to investigate the subject of art restorations and advise her, whereby she flattered herself that she could sound quite knowledgeable. She did not comment, but she was gratified a few minutes later when Sir Brian said, "Ah, here is our artist come back. Lady de Brette has a question for you, Mrs. Allington."
Ruth had not realized they were in here, and had started to back away, but now she waited, taking care to stand with the brightness from the windows behind her.
Lady Nadia said, "I fail to understand why you do not use moistened bread, Mrs. Allington. Surely, your method requires twice as much time."
"Moistened bread can be used on some surfaces, ma'am," Ruth answered. "But one has to be careful, and—"
My lady made a gesture of impatience. "You would do even better did you employ Greek wine, rather than water. Surely you are aware that the great Mazola used such means in restoring part of the Sistine Chapel?"
" Tis true that Signor Mazzuoli used such wine," said Ruth, pronouncing the great man's name correctly, but without emphasis. "However, recent examination has shown that method to cause considerable deterioration and allow dirt to become—"
She was again interrupted as Lord Vincent exclaimed, "Jupiter! Never say you claim to be more knowledgeable than such a master, Mrs. Allington?"
Ruth flushed, but her attempt to respond was cut off by Lady Nadia, who remarked scornfully that it was a great pity, because the painting was now so sadly cracked. "'Twill require much repainting and glue-varnishing in order to repair the damage that has been done here!" Sir Brian looked at his fresco in dismay. Chandler, who had also been reading on the subject, put in, "I am very sure that the damage was done long years ago, Nadia. We have Mrs. Allington to thank in that although the work may need some repainting, it will not be dulled or permanently darkened, as might have been the case with a less proficient method."
Lord Vincent chuckled softly. "And that sends you to the topes, m'dear!" He noted his sister's tight lips and angry flush and, all too aware of her dislike of any form of opposition, went on, "I am sure Lady de Brette will be the first to own that her opinions are based more upon interest than a deep knowledge of the matter. Which Chandler appears to have er… developed. Confess, my dear."
Nadia's glinting eyes met his bland ones. She read a warning there, and glancing at Chandler saw again the inflexible look that had earlier disturbed her. With commendable speed, she summoned her tinkling laugh. "Alas," she said with a pretty moue. "I tried so to impress my dear papa-in-law, and have failed miserably." Turning her smile on Ruth, she said, "Dear Mrs. Allington you will forgive an I discomposed you? I did but—" She broke off, her eyes narrowing. "Have we met somewhere? I seem to know you."
Ruth lowered her eyes. "I scarce think I move in your circles, my lady. Might you have seen me in a London bazaar or lending library?"
There was no denying, thought my lady, that this drab creature most definitely did not move in her own exalted circles. She nodded, gave her hand to Gordon, and asked plaintively if she might be offered a cup of tea, in spite of her attempt at fraud. That made Sir Brian laugh, and they all left the chapel.
Chandler hung back to close the door.
Ruth had climbed to the platform, but she turned to glance at him.
He gave her a slow smile and winked encouragingly, winning an answering smile.
Seemingly engrossed by an elaborate rose bed, Lord Vincent missed no least detail of this small exchange.
By late afternoon more overnight guests had arrived. These included Mr. Neville Falcon, a short plump gentleman with a cherubic countenance, an atrocious taste in dress, and a penchant for scandalous behaviour. He arrived with a tall and voluptuous "bird of paradise" on his arm and seemed far less embarrassed at being caught by his son and daughter with such a lady than he was surprised at finding his children present at the gathering.
They sat down thirty to table and passed a most enjoyable two hours. Sir Brian was in high spirits, only the absence of his younger son casting a shadow on this beginning to his birthday festivities. To have such spectacular beauties as Lady Nadia de Brette and Miss Katrina
Falcon present added lustre to the occasion. Katrina was so well liked that her mixed birth was overlooked, although few at that table would have included her in their own parties. Her unpredictable brother was no less caustic than usual, but the ladies could scarce keep their eyes from him, and the gentlemen were much too aware of his deadly reputation to risk cutting him too obviously.
Lady Nadia was ravishing in a great-skirted rococo-style gown of off-white faille with a looped-back overskirt of deep pink satin and exquisite embroidery of the same shade on the bodice and fashioned in deep swoops above the hemline of the gown. Full of fun and vivacity, she charmed all the gentlemen, but directed her main effort towards August Falcon. During the impromptu dance that followed dinner it pleased that gentleman to encourage her coy glances, and when he claimed her for a partner she flirted with him so daringly as to bring a sardonic gleam to his cold blue eyes, a troubled look to Sir Brian, and a rather set smile to the lips of Lord Vincent.
When his sister was restored to him, his lordship took her aside and spoke softly to her. My lady at once sought out her fiance, who was chatting with Gwendolyn Rossiter, nor did she leave his side again until he handed a candle to her some three hours later and wished her a good night. She smiled up at him, then lifted her face invitingly. Surprised, he bent to kiss her and she reached up to caress his cheek and murmur softly, "Thank you, dear Gordon, for a very happy evening."
"I hope we shall enjoy many happy evenings," he responded, then watched with a faint enigmatic smile as she drifted up the stairs, her great pannier skirts swaying provocatively.
"You know, my boy, she does not mean anything by it," murmured Sir Brian, coming up to scan his profile uneasily. "She's like a playful kitten, is all."
Mystified, Chandler asked, "In what way, sir?"
"Why, her trifling attentions to young Falcon. I think she sought only to be kind. 'Tis seldom enough the fellow is invited into Society."
"Oh. Yes, I feel sure you are right, Papa." Sir Brian went away, wishing he'd said nothing. It was clear that his son, betrothed to the loveliest of the eligible ladies in the room, had not even noticed her rather naughty flirting. Shaking his head slightly, he wondered if he would ever understand the boy.
He felt rather too wide awake to at once seek his bed, but he was not of a mind to join Neville Falcon and those gentlemen who had settled down to cards. Instead, he wandered out to his beloved gardens. The moon was bright when it emerged from the clouds, dusting silver onto flower beds and walks; the sultry air was heavy with the scents of honeysuckle and jasmine, and the stream chattered its unending gossip. Seating himself on a favourite bench in front of West House, Sir Brian sighed deeply and allowed peace and beauty to envelop him and ease his rather jangled nerves.
"Polite of you to have walked us home," said Morris, disposing himself on a sofa. "Could've found it ourselves, y'know."
Gordon Chandler closed the door of the blue and gold ante room in West House and crossed to a side table where were decanters and glasses. "A man who's about to become a benedick must polish his skill as a host," he said, pouring port wine. "I am merely practicing."
"More likely, you feared I might murder Morris en route here," said Falcon, accepting a glass and settling himself on a gold chaise.
"One strives to protect one's guests," Chandler said with a smile. "For instance, I noticed you only danced once."
Morris held his breath. He had suspected that Chandler had a motive for accompanying them here.
Falcon said coolly, "Yes. With your betrothed. She is a beautiful woman."
"I gathered you found her so. But I think you were unwise."
"Because I succumbed to temptation? Does that offend you?"
"I hope you may not pay the price."
Falcon's eyes narrowed. Always ready for a challenge, he waited tensely.
"You still limp slightly." Chandler raised his glass and his companions joined him in a silent toast. "I wish you will let my physician have a look at that foot."
"There is not the need," said Falcon. "When one ventures into rurality one must be prepared for disasters. Especially with Sir Gudgeon among those present."
Morris liked Chandler and, relieved, he said affably, " 'Tis a jolly beautiful rurality. Always wanted to see it."
"Then I am pleased you were able to come." Chandler glanced from one to the other. "Are you going to tell me now
why
you came?"
His brooding gaze on Morris, Falcon said, "I came to find out what you meant about my having writ you that stupid letter."
"And
I
came because Rossiter asked me to find out about this attack on you," said Morris. "D'you really think 'twas poachers?"
"Poachers!" Falcon gave a snort of decision. "Bird-brain!"
"Not always, dear boy," said Morris. "Rabbits sometimes, y'know."
Falcon muttered under his breath.
" 'Twas a rum business," said Chandler thoughtfully.
"One can but hope not," said Morris.
Incredulous, Chandler exclaimed, "You're not serious? Smuggling? What, right under our noses?"
Falcon drawled, "The imitation valet with whom I am presently afflicted tells me that your steward left—er, something to be desired."
Frowning, Chandler nodded. "What he did not leave was a number of crates and barrels." Both men looked at him curiously. He elaborated, "I found an unpaid bill among the many Durwood should have attended to. 'Twas for a dozen crates and as many barrels. I've had my people scouring the buildings and grounds, but be damned if I can discover any trace either of them, or of whatever they were intended to hold."