Glendenning said eagerly, "Jove! Have I missed something?"
"It has always seemed odd to me," drawled Falcon, "that. I should have been inveigled into foisting Jonathan Armitage's sister onto the Chandlers."
"What the devil do you mean by that?" demanded Chandler, flushing angrily.
Morris argued, "
You
did nothing, August.
I
writ the letter. Not you."
"You writ it in my name." Falcon ignored Chandler, who had come to his feet and was glaring down at him. "At the instigation of a lady who has never been known to lift a finger for anyone, much less for a scandalous widow she scarce knows. Ross, will you control this maniac? I can't hit him with his arm in a sling!"
"Hold up, Gordie," said Rossiter, his voice sharp. "Falcon has a point. Mrs. Allington is a delight, but you must own her brother's supposed connection with wreckers."
Chandler scowled, but lowered himself cautiously to the sofa again. "Do you say it was a deliberate scheme to bring more suspicion down upon us?"
"Damme, if I hadn't forgot it!" interrupted Morris excitedly. "When Falcon spotted that block Poinier in Town, he was at Lady Buttershaw's house!"
Furlong's jaw dropped, then he put back his handsome head and gave a shout of laughter. "
Clara Buttershaw
? Oh, you jest! She's one of the most odious females I ever met, but— Come, you're not serious?"
Equally astonished, Glendenning said, "A
woman? A
member of that murderous league?"
Falcon said, "A woman may be just as murderous as any man. Consider Lucretia Borgia, or Delilah, or Lady Macbeth—"
" 'Off with his head!' " quoted Morris ghoulishly.
"That's
Richard III
, not
Macbeth
, you dolt," sneered Falcon. "Do you never get anything right?"
"I think
you
may have got something right," said Chandler. "Ruth told me that Lady Buttershaw raged at her when first they met in the park, but that she became quite pleasant when she discovered Ruth's identity."
"Do you know," said Morris with a thoughtful frown, "it struck me at the time that Lady Buttershaw made no least attempt to avoid Jacob—or Thorpe, whichever one it was— when the child ran into her. Might it have been a plot from the beginning, and the collision a means to scrape up an acquaintance?"
"If so, they weave their webs far in advance," muttered Chandler.
"Farther back than that incident, I think," said Rossiter. "Did you not say, Gordie, that your brother's dragon ring is what drew you to the lighthouse that night?"
"I thought it was his, yes. But as it turns out, it was too small. More the size for a lady's hand. In all the uproar of the storm, I failed to notice that fact, unfortunately."
"Dragon ring…" Falcon rubbed his quizzing glass on the bridge of his nose. "Wasn't there some business in the newspapers a month or so ago about a dragon ring?"
Rossiter said, "Exactly so. A ring of just such description was among the objects stolen during a robbery at Boudreaux House. A servant girl was murdered."
They all stared at him.
"Good Lord," exclaimed Chandler. "They don't draw the line at much, do they?"
"Nothing, I'd say," muttered Furlong. "And we still don't know what the curst varmints are about."
Rossiter said, "When you saw them over the wall at Larchwoods, Gordie, you said they seemed to be playing charades. Was it a military-type game?"
Chandler started to shake his head and thought better of it. "More as if they were reciting, and being instructed on how to stand and gesture; as if they rehearsed a play perhaps."
After a silent moment, Glendenning said, "Could that be it? Might they plan a large entertainment to which many prominent gentlemen are invited, and then—another Guy Fawkes gunpowder plot?"
"If that is so," said Morris, "how does the shipping business come into it? And why do they gather up all these fine estates?"
Falcon stood and began to wander about. "Perhaps they wreck the ships to gain funds to finance their schemes. And the estates are used to store their stolen cargoes."
"But the estates aren't all near the coast," Rossiter pointed out. "Damme! I wish we might have questioned the Terrier! He knows the answers, I'll warrant!"
"He'd be a hard man to break," said Furlong. "And has not sufficient love for us to volunteer the information."
"
Love
for us?" Chandler gave a derisive snort. "His object appears to be punishment. Did I tell you he'd chalked up a message on the wall of the tower?
Châtiment deux
!"
The others exchanged grim looks.
Morris said, "Your personal
billet doux
from the Squire. Tio got the first chastisement. Well, if nothing else, we've frustrated their schemes for revenge."
"Thus far we have," qualified Rossiter. "Certainly,
Gordie's message confirms the fact that the League was at work here. And that they wanted Lac Brillant."
"An arrogant lot," muttered Falcon. "One cannot but wonder who they've selected for
Châtiment trois
."
Rossiter said bracingly, "Perchance
we
can administer the next
châtiment
. We learn a little more with each encounter. Now we can add Lady Buttershaw to our list. With luck, next time we shall carry the fight to
their
borders."
Morris sprang up and raised his glass. 'To Lady Luck!"
They all stood and drank the toast with enthusiasm. Even the "disinterested" August Falcon.
Ruth entered the room very quietly. Gordon had put his head back against the sofa and appeared to be sleeping. She crept closer, scanning his face anxiously. Without opening his eyes, he reached out suddenly and caught her hand.
She said gently, "You are very naughty to have got up. You look properly worn out and must go back to bed before Doctor Keasden conies."
He smiled up at her, then an awed expression came into his eyes.
She wore the gown he had bought for her. The great skirts were a swirl of blue silk, the stomacher laced over the snowy bodice of the chemise and the full white sleeves frilled and embroidered with blue. Her hair was swept up and dressed in ringlets that shone pale gold. He thought her angelically lovely and thought also that he was glad August Falcon had never seen her like this. For a moment he could not command his voice, but his eyes were eloquent and Ruth blushed.
Recovering his wits, he tugged at her hand until she relented and sat beside him.
"So at last I am to be humoured, eh?"
She said demurely, "I cannot think what you mean, Mr. Gordon."
"You can, indeed.
That
is how you should wear your hair!"
The dimple peeped bewitchingly beside her mouth. " 'Tis quite out of the present style and must be cut, sir."
"The devil with the present style! I'll strangle any barber who dares take a pair of scissors to it!"
She put her hand over his lips. "Hush. You are supposed to be quiet and if you leap about so, you will wrench your shoulder."
He reclaimed her hand and with a great effort refrained from kissing it. "I think," he said airily, "I've not seen that gown before. Have I?"
"You know very well you've not. 'Tis the one you gave me."
"Oh? Well, it looks—er, very nice. But will not help my concentration, I fear."
"Is that what you were doing? I thought you were asleep."
"No. Just trying to put it all together."
"Did you?"
"Not all. 'Tis the most foolish thing, I know, but I cannot quite seem to recall what happened when my father came to the tower. I think Nathaniel was with him—no?"
"Yes. And, oh Gordie, Mr. Aymer was wonderful! He became quite another person. Very brisk and authoritative, and worked like a Trojan, though he must certainly have realized he would have been arrested had the troopers come."
"I must thank him. Has he remained so assertive?"
"No. The next morning he was as quietly pious as ever. Still, I think he thoroughly enjoyed his moment of peril. And I admire him for it."
"Well do not be admiring him too much!"
She gave him an arch look. "Why?"
"You are in no state to be coy, madam. You have still to account for another fib.
Twin
nephews!"
Her smile rueful, she said, "And almost I lost one. Jacob told us how you threw yourself in front of him! My dear…"—she stroked the hair back from his forehead— "you saved his life."
"A fine reward I got!" He again recaptured her hand.
"When I saw Thorpe hop up behind that pile of logs—gad! I wonder I did not suffer a seizure!"
"I can only thank God you were not killed!"
Through a silent moment two pairs of eyes met and said a great deal. Chandler pressed her hand to his lips, then asked, "What of your faithful Grace? Will she wed Tummet, do you suppose?"
Ruth hesitated. "Not in the immediate future, I think. She is the most dreadful flirt, Gordie. But—bless her heart, is such a dear soul, and so joyful now that I've forgiven her for—for trying to save me from being thrown into Newgate."
"Hmn. For the moment I will not comment upon your marked tendency to—er, illegal pursuits, although I'm sure you know you must pay the price." Briefly, his eyes twinkled at her, then he went on blandly, "How has my father reacted to the fact that you've insinuated two brats into his household?"
She said gratefully, "Oh, 'tis beyond words wonderful to see him! He looks younger, and so happy, and told me only this morning that 'twas as if the years had rolled back and he had his two sons about him again!"
"Just as I thought," he said indignantly. "Now they'll steal all his affection away, and he will likely disown Quentin and me in favour of those two rapscallions! How do you propose to rectify the matter, madam?"
Moving carefully, so as not to jog the injured shoulder, she kissed him. It was not the gentle caress she intended, for his good arm whipped about her, and she was breathless when he allowed her to draw back. "What—what would you think I should do?" she asked hopefully.
"Another of those would do. Just to be going along with."
She gave him a prim look. "You were not, sir, referring to kisses."
"Indeed? Then to what did I refer, most saucy widow?"
She lowered her eyes, but pressed his hand to her suddenly hot cheek. "You know very well."
"Do I?" He tried to pull her to him, only to gasp and lie back.
"There! Your wicked advances have made you hurt yourself!" She leaned to him anxiously, whereupon of course, she was seized and kissed again.
"I suppose," he sighed, drowsily content and with his arm still around her, "you thought my plans had to do with winning my sire's esteem by providing him with a grandchild."
She stroked his pale cheek lovingly. "Is that what you mean to do?"
"Don't see how I can. I've no wife."
"You might… find one."
He yawned, his eyelids drooping. "Not likely. Nadia… threw me over, y'know."
Frowning, Ruth drew back one of his eyelids and fixed him with a stern look. "Gordon… Chandler!"
He blinked at her. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Never look so innocent. You're not
that
tired!"
"But I am, m'dear. Much too worn and wan to endure this merciless interrogation."
"Beast! What
are
your plans?"
His slow smile dawned, and the adoration in his eyes took her breath away. Then he drew her closer and dropped a kiss on her temple.
After a blissful moment, she ventured, "Gordon… ?"
He chuckled, and murmured happily, "Ask me no questions…"
By Patricia Veryan (League of Jewelled Men)
TIME'S FOOL
HAD WE NEVER LOVED
ASK ME NO QUESTIONS
A SHADOW'S BLISS
NEVER DOUBT I LOVE
THE MANDARIN OF MAYFAIR