On Saturday morning, the city was again staggered to learn that Lord Hector Kadenworthy was definitely implicated, but had disappeared; it was rumoured that his large financial holdings had been liquidated, and the proceeds had also disappeared. Mr. Reginald Smythe, now known to be the ringleader, was still at large, and when exhaustive searches of his various homes and all known haunts failed, it was theorized that he'd had an escape route ready for just such a disaster. That he'd fled without bothering to alert his lieutenants became obvious that afternoon, when large numbers of mercenaries attacked military and naval installations. To their surprise they met not feeble and undermanned defenders but alerted and well-armed opposition. Many attacks were quickly abandoned. Perhaps out of desperation determined fights were waged at Windsor, Portsmouth, and Dover, but were overborne, the survivors fleeing for their lives.
August Falcon awoke late Saturday afternoon. When he found he had missed all the excitement, he was infuriated and came near to shouting at Tummet for not having woken him. In the nick of time he remembered the nightmare he had so narrowly escaped. Pale sunlight was streaming in at the windows. He was stiff and his side still hurt, but he felt rather astonishingly well. It was the first day of a new lease on life. And he was a new man. He thanked Tummet once again for his loyalty and devotion, and humbly begged to be put in possession of all the facts. He was not, however, sufficient of a new man to heed Dr. Knight's demand that he stay abed and rest for a week, especially after the doctor, exasperated, told him that Morris was out of danger but would never walk again.
Gwendolyn called and requested that Tummet come down and speak to her. He presented himself with such a glum face that her heart sank.
"Whatever is it?" she demanded anxiously. "Dr. Knight told me that Mr. August's ribs are not broke, and that he is recovering nicely."
"Nicely! Ar, well I 'spect you could say that, Miss Gwen. As fer me—I dunno if I can be-a-bandit."
"Stand it?" she translated. "Stand what?"
He gave her a look of stark tragedy, and lowering his voice confided, "He's took to calling me 'Enoch'! Even said 'me dear fella' once when I said I was sorry fer dropping the jam in his shoe. Only time he swore, Miss, was when Doc Sir Jim was examining his side."
Relieved, she said, "Is that all! I fancy he is not quite himself. 'Twill likely take a little time for him to adjust to being alive and out of that—that hideous place."
"He says he's a new man, Miss. A new man, he says. Cor!" He went off, shaking his head as his reborn employer came into the room, fully dressed and shooting the lace at his cuffs.
Having paused to pat Tummet on the back as he passed, Falcon said, "Smallest Rossiter!" and held out both hands to her, a fond smile on his battered face but with veiled, inscrutable eyes.
"My dear," she murmured, avoiding his hands and slipping closer to caress the healing cuts around his mouth. He jerked his head away. He was not bowing forward today, probably because his ribs were tightly bandaged, and, apart from the marks the Jewelled Men had left on him, he appeared cheerful and his old poised self. But—different, somehow. She was aghast to realize that the difference consisted of a gleam of silver in the thick dark hair at his right temple. Her throat constricted at the sight of this mute testimony to his ordeal, and she struggled to hide her consternation. "Dr. Knight said—"
"The man's a professional marplot!" He led her to a chair by the fire and ignoring the one beside it, which she patted invitingly, occupied another across the hearth while remarking that the doctor had terrorized Tummet and Katrina with his gloom-mongering. "I can only be grateful that you have been so kind as to pay me a sick call."
Startled, she thought, "A sick call? Is that what this is?" It was so smoothly said, his smile so bland and assured. There had been not a word or gesture or the slightest hint of love, and he had deliberately avoided being close to her. She sighed, but sensed that he was far less recovered than he appeared to be, and so refrained from really teasing him, beyond saying, "I have been so anxious for you, my love." His hand tightened on the chair arm when she used the term of endearment, but he made no comment, and she went on: "I expect Tummet will have told you all that has happened?"
"I hope he has. Is there any new word? Any word of that wart—Smythe, for instance?"
"Not that I'm aware. Gideon and Tio seem almost to have moved into the Horse Guards, and Johnny Armitage and Perry are at East India House. Gordie has escorted Sir Brian back to Lac Brillant—he was concerned for the old gentleman after the shock of seeing Quentin here."
He nodded frowningly.
The thought of how narrowly they had all escaped disaster made her shiver, and she said quickly, "You know that Lord Kadenworthy helped us to find you?"
"So Tummet said. But what of the shot you heard?"
"There was a paragraph in
The Spectator
saying that a robbery had evidently been attempted at Mimosa Lodge, the country seat of Lord Kadenworthy, during his lordship's absence. And that one of the thieves had been found in an expired condition on the premises."
Falcon leaned back in his chair and said a quiet, "Aha. Then Kade is safe away."
"Do you mind that very much?"
He shook his head. "I like to think he was sorry for the fate Smythe planned for me. I wonder why such a good man as Kade should have joined that loathsome crew."
She told him what Hector Kadenworthy had said of his involvement with the League. Falcon looked grave but made no comment, and after a moment she added, "I collect you know that your father has gone abroad? He was here for an hour or two. And most anxious for you."
"Yes. I wish I'd seen him. But he has always wanted to spend the winters in Italy. 'Tis—as well. Under the… circumstances."
She had expected him to be furious, but he looked more downcast than angry, and she said kindly, "Thanks to you, there was no proof he'd entertained the Prince, and he was not charged with—anything."
"Was he not?" His lips tightened. "I fancy your father, among others, may have some thoughts along those lines. Is that why you have left us and gone back to Rossiter Court?"
"Papa wanted me to come home. But, I think he bears you no—er, real animosity." The recollection of her father's thundering tirade against Neville Falcon caused her to add hurriedly, "Of course, as you may guess, the Earl was rather—er, put about, but—"
"Was he, indeed?" A familiar blue flame lit Falcon's eyes. "With a ramshackle hothead like Tio for a son, one might think he'd be the last to—" He closed his lips on that impassioned retort, and in a moment said with a sigh, "But who could blame him? Indeed, I think we Falcons have much to answer for."
She looked at him sharply. "And I think that is more than enough for you, sir. Shall I go away? Or should you like me to read to you, perhaps?"
He responded instinctively, "Some tome dealing with the Orient, no doubt?"
Pleased by another glimpse of the man she knew, her eyes glinted laughter. She said, "But of course. Unless you feel that you would do very well without my—disturbing presence."
He looked at her for a long, silent moment, then said with quiet intensity, "I think the only reason I—survived that—that hellish place was the thought of your 'disturbing presence,' Gwen."
Deeply moved, she ran to him, and he stood and hugged her but to her disappointment it was a very brief hug and he almost pushed her away. "Values become rather—out of focus in times of danger and upheaval," he said gravely. "But I am sure that now, more than ever, your family cannot like you to be in this house. You must go home, my dear. Where you belong. And to say truth, I've a sick call of my own to make."
She was being dismissed by this courteous stranger who looked like August Falcon, but was not. Troubled, she followed as he crossed to open the door for her. But it was early days yet, after all. She thought, "There's no need to worry. He's afraid of facing Jamie and Katrina, so he's stiff and nervous. He'll soon realize we all have forgiven him, and in a day or two he'll be his old self again."
When Falcon slipped quietly into Morris' bedchamber he had nerved himself to confront a skeletal and bedridden invalid. He was considerably taken aback to find his victim seated in an armchair before the fire, a blanket tucked around his leg: and Katrina sitting close by, reading the newspaper aloud. She glanced up and saw him and stopped reading.
Morris turned his head. He was thin and pale and ill-looking, but his smile was as cheerful as ever, and he said quite firmly, "Hello, August. About time you came to call on your hapless victim."
Falcon found himself momentarily voiceless, and his eyes unaccountably dim. He fought quivering nerves, and stammered, "J-Jamie, I'd thought— I mean, I'm so glad you're not— Er, what I mean is—"
Katrina put the newspaper aside and came to him. He drew back instinctively, and she said, "I am glad also—that I did not lose my brother. For a while, I thought I had."
He reached out, then again drew back. She touched his cheek and scanning his face said gently, "My poor dear, you had a dreadful time, and were so very brave. Papa gave me a letter for you. I'll go and get it."
He caught her hand and pleaded, "Trina—have you—can you forgive me?"
"I am trying. I know you were drugged, but—" She stopped, looked at the man she loved, then said, "Jamie wants me to forgive you."
"I think," he said, low-voiced, "I shall never be able to forgive myself. But I mean to do everything in my power to make amends, Trina. I'm going to be a much better man, I hope, than I was. Only give me a chance, my dearest."
Morris said, "You can start making amends, Lord Haughty-Snort, by coming over here and answering the several hundred questions I mean to ask. Starting with—how in the devil did you find where the League met, and how did you manage to cope with all those rats when you can't stand the sight of a mouse, and who is this Tom fellow who Tummet insists is your new groom? Be dashed if he don't put me in mind of a rank rider who held me up on Hounslow Heath last year!"
Falcon clenched his hands tight. He had tried very hard not to think of Sundial Abbey, and even the name sent fingers of ice down his spine. But he must live up to his resolutions. He went to the chair Katrina had vacated, pausing to rest a hand on Morris' shoulder in a shy and brief gesture. "I'll do whatever you wish, old fellow," he said huskily. "Whenever you wish it." He sat down, and added, "And I'll put no more obstacles in the way of your happiness, I promise you."
Morris looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you mean you'll not object to me as a brother-in-law?"
"I mean exactly that."
"That's good of you, dear boy." Morris gave a wry smile, then shattered him by saying, "But you see, now—I cannot ask her."
The days that followed were full of excitements and alarms. Defying his parent's enraged demands that he and Gwendolyn have nothing more to do with "any of those damnable Falcons," Gideon was almost as frequent a visitor at Falcon House as was his sister. The other members of the Preservers also called, and between them contrived to let August know he was forgiven. He accepted their renewed friendship humbly, but when they attempted any praise of his gallantry in circumventing the League, he withdrew, so clearly shaken that they ceased to speak of it in his presence. When they gathered at The Madrigal a few days later, however, they marveled at the change in him.
"He's a new man, all right," said Peregrine Cranford ruefully. "Be damned if I know what to say to him any more, for fear of bruising his feelings."
"He's so blasted humble," agreed Horatio Glendenning. "And the way he waits hand and foot on Jamie is pathetic. How can we blame August for a duel in which he was meant to be the victim? Or hold him responsible for his sire's silly nonsense? Had it not been for him, I shudder to think where we all might be today. He did splendidly."
"And was put through hell," said Gideon. "I think the experience has left him rather adrift. He'll soon get over this 'new man' business."
But Falcon's resolution did not waver. Day and night he was at Morris' beck and call. He made the rounds of the clubs each morning, then hurried home to relay the latest gossip. In the afternoons he lifted Morris into his invalid chair, bundled him up and took him out walking or driving in all weathers. He read to him by the hour, was enraged if the suite was not provided with fresh fruits and flowers daily, and hovered anxiously over the two brawny footmen who carried the invalid downstairs for dinner each evening. At first embarrassed by such solicitude, Morris began to enjoy it, and Katrina complained to Gwendolyn that each time she thought of something to do that would cheer her beloved, August had already done it.
"He is truly repentant," said Gwendolyn with a faint smile. "I believe Jamie is touched."
"Touched! He is becoming downright spoiled! Have you noticed how he has taken to ordering August about? He would not dream of talking to the servants in so demanding a way! No, how can you laugh? I'll warrant my brother never has a moment to spend with you!"
"Oh, no," agreed Gwendolyn. "He is making it very clear that he has no intention of ruining my life by offering for me. But you know his feelings on that subject, dearest."
"I know 'tis stuff," said Katrina with unusual vehemence. "Ruining your life, indeed! He is madly in love with you! When you are looking elsewhere his eyes fairly devour you! 'Tis so senseless, Gwen! I vow that sometimes he looks so despairing, I could weep for the silly creature! Do you mean to do nothing?"
Gwendolyn did not at once reply. Reginald Smythe was still at large, and although she told herself that the curse of the bag of feathers was superstitious nonsense, she suspected that August would continue to avoid her company at least until Christmas Eve was safely past. After that… "I mean to wait," she said, "until he tires of martyrdom."
Mr. Fletcher Morris had been obliged to journey into Cornwall on a family emergency when his cousin, Lord Kenneth Morris, fled the country. Returning to Town, Mr. Morris proceeded at once to Falcon House. He was enraged to discover that his son was still in residence, and demanded that he remove at once from the house of the man who had wounded him, and whose sire had almost caused he himself to be named a traitor. His heir protested. Mr. Morris flushed angrily and his voice rose. Jamie pleaded that he was too weak to be moved, and, besides, the lady he loved was here. Mr. Morris flew into a passion and left no doubt of his absolute prohibition of such a match. His son began to look pale and shaken.