18, p.31
18, page 31
"I do not know why I allowed you to talk me into staying at this accursed place!" his mother said to him.
"I talked you into it! That's a loud one!"
"Do not use that horrid cant with me, my young man! I won't have it!"
I realized that Charles was providing an interested audience to this by-play. Still holding him, I walked a bit apart from them.
Bogsley and Fibbens appeared, bearing cloaks and blankets. Fibbens attended the Banes, while the elderly butler approached us.
"Bogsley, please tell me what has happened!" Charles said.
"I am pleased to say, your lordship, that the fire is out, and little damage done. Your dear father had made preparations, you know, and the staff responded in a way that would make him proud, if I do say so myself."
"The next time I see him, I shall tell him how well you did," Charles said.
Bogsley, that most self-controlled of all God's creatures, did not blink an eye, but I heard the slightest catch in his voice as he answered, "Thank you, your lordship. I pray that will not be for some time yet."
"One never knows," Charles said.
Worried over the effect these words seemed to have on the butler, I quickly said, "You've given us good tidings indeed, Bogsley. I trust none of the staff took any hurt?"
"None whatsoever, sir."
"Please thank everyone for saving our home," Charles said, then turned to me. "Perhaps Cook could give a jam tart to each of them."
"Yes, or whatever other treat might be managed," I said, pleased with his show of manners, but hard-pressed to maintain my gravity.
"Your lordship is very kind," Bogsley said.
"Thank you so much for the cloak, Bogsley," I said. "I do not think his lordship intends to return my coat."
At this Charles laughed, and we made our way indoors.
Only the promise of a jam tart convinced Charles to spend a few moments with Fibbens, while I inspected the damage. The hallway reeked of smoke, but the flames had been confined to one portion of Charles's room.
"I'm afraid his lordship won't be able to sleep in here this evening, sir," Bogsley said.
"You remain the champion of understatement, Bogsley." Charles's bed had been reduced to ashes.
"Thank you, sir. It would seem that a candle or lamp was left burning on his night stand, and ignited the bed curtains."
"Except that being something of a little lion, his lordship does not suffer a fear of the dark, as some children do. He prefers a dark room, and has never required any sort candle or lamp to be lit in his room. And in fact, he closes his bed curtains about him, to keep out the light."
"Yes, sir."
"I looked in on his lordship earlier this evening. He was sound asleep. There was no candle burning in here at that time. I brought one in with me, and used it to see my way out. Has anyone else been in here this evening?"
"Until we were engaged in extinguishing the fire, no sir. I should say, no member of the staff entered this room since his lordship called for you, Captain Edward. But by that time, his lordship was rather determined to find you on his own."
"And the Banes?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't say, sir--not just at this moment."
I knew he would discreetly question the Banes's servants. After a moment's silence, I said, "I will speak plainly to you, Bogsley. I am concerned for his lordship's safety."
"Understandably so, sir."
"I will do my best to resolve this matter as soon as possible. In the meantime--"
"You may rely on me, sir--indeed, on all of us."
"For which I'm grateful. Please have a truckle-bed placed in my room until we can make other arrangements. I need not add that I would prefer we do not alarm his lordship with our concern."
I thanked him again and fetched my nephew from the kitchen, where he was, as usual, being cosseted past redemption.
Charles, pleased that we would be sharing a room, nevertheless protested my plan to place him in my bed, while I slept on the truckle-bed.
"But Charles," I said, "there are no bed-curtains on the truckle-bed, and as you can see, there is a great deal of moonlight tonight."
He had no argument against this and thanked me politely before allowing me to tuck him in. "But keep the curtains open just a bit, if you please. Then I shall know you are here, keeping me safe." So much, I thought, for hiding our concern.
I lay awake on the truckle-bed, listening to his breathing settle into the rhythms of sleep. My feet suddenly felt a little cold, and then I heard a voice whisper, "Well done, Master Quakeboots."
I sat bolt upright. By the light of the moon I could make him out, a faint but definite image of my dead brother, sitting at the foot of my bed.
My heart pounding, I opened my mouth to let out a cry, but I was frozen with fright.
"Please don't," he said. "I frightened Charles so badly early this evening, I don't think I can forgive myself if I do so again. I cannot tell you how awful it is, Edward, to become a specter of horror to those you love. It nearly puts me in sympathy with Aunt Sophia, parading about without her wig."
I felt a giddy sensation, but stopped myself short of laughing aloud. "By God, it is you!" I whispered.
"Lord Shivershanks, at your service." He gave his familiar little bow.
"Oh, Lucien, how I've missed you already! How shall we contrive to get along without you? Whatever possessed you to ride so carelessly?"
He gave me a look as cold as the winter night. "My dear Edward, do not be a sapskull! Would I have endangered my life--to say nothing of the future of that precious boy sleeping next to you? Carelessly toss away my days with him? When have you ever known me to take foolish chances since his arrival?"
"Exactly my thoughts, Lucien, truly--"
"Yes, I heard you say so not long before I--well, I haven't completely departed now, have I?"
"How good it is to be able to speak to you again! But--is it terrible for you?"
"Not in the least--well, no, that isn't true. There are things that one longs for, and can never have in this state, so one certainly feels a desire to--to get on with it, shall we say? As much as I am loath to leave you--and I promise you, I did my best to stay--now I feel something like a traveler who has harnessed his horses, placed his trunks on the coach, and climbed within--but sits in his own drive."
"Not--not unsure of his destination!"
He laughed, and said, "Hardly gratifying that you have doubts! But you may be at ease on that score. I'm quite curious about the place, but my departure has been delayed. I gather I have some unfinished business here, and it isn't difficult to see what it is. First, we must find my murderer, for that person is threatening my son's life, now that I am--supposedly--out of the way."
"Your murderer!" I said blankly.
"My dear Edward, have you not been attending?"
"The branch--"
"Was off the tree before it struck my head."
"But I saw the place on the tree where the branch had broken off. It was not cut clean, as it would have been if cut off the tree with an ax."
"I'm not saying my murderer was stupid. I'm only saying that the branch was already broken off the tree before it was applied--with some force--to my head."
"Then how--"
"I'm not sure of all the particulars, but I'll tell you what I do know. Examine Fine Lad, if you would, please--why are you looking so pale? You aren't going to faint on me, are you?"
"The horse--I almost had him shot."
He studied me for a moment, then said, "If I could have found a way to leave you without grief, Edward, I would have."
I could not speak.
"I take it the poor creature has not been sent to his equine reward?"
"No, I decided that I needed to think of Charles, and not of killing horses or felling trees."
"Dependable Edward. I could not have left Charles in better hands. Still, what impressive vengeance you planned on my behalf! I'm touched, truly. Now--let us channel that determination toward saving my son."
"Yes. Tell me more about what happened to you--and your horse."
"I was about to slow him, knowing we were coming up to that tree, when something slowed him for me--rather abruptly. Without the least warning, Fine Lad--who is quite sure-footed--stumbled hard near that tree. I flew from his back, landing flat on my face, the wind knocked out of me--disgraceful, but please note that I was still holding fast to the reins. I slowly raised myself to my hands and knees--a bit unsteadily--when suddenly a cloaked figure stepped out and knocked me senseless with that blasted branch. Hurt like the very devil--briefly."
"A cloaked figure?"
"I'm afraid he was off to one side--the better to swing that branch, I suppose. All I saw were a pair of men's boots--rather expensive Hessians, if I'm any judge--and the front of a large, black cloak. I was struck down before I saw a face, but I'd lay odds my attacker was wearing a mask."
I considered this, and said, "Can you travel from the Abbey grounds?"
"I'm not sure. I can move within the Abbey, and at least as far as where you were standing tonight. I'm rather new at this," he added apologetically.
"Were you in Charles's room when the fire started?"
"No, although--it's the strangest thing, Edward. I was merely looking in on him, watching him sleep, when I felt this urgent need to appear to him, even though I knew it would scare him--as if it were so vital to awaken him, I could not remain hidden."
"It was vital," I said. "Had he not come to me in the library, he might have perished in that bed."
"And Henry Bane would have become the Earl of Rolingbroke."
"Yes. But it was William whose coat smelled of smoke and showed signs of being singed."
"Hmm. How disappointing. William has actually spoken kindly to me once or twice in the past few years. But then, he needed to borrow money." He sighed. "He's not immediately in line for the title, but I suppose if two Rolingbrokes could be disposed of, Henry might have a short tenure as well."
"Who are you talking to?" a child's voice asked.
I looked in some dismay at Charles, peering at me sleepily from the bed. I glanced toward Lucien, but he had disappeared.
"Myself, Charles."
"That's a loud one," he said, yawning.
"I beg your pardon?" I said, and thought I heard a ghostly chuckle near my ear.
But Charles had fallen asleep again, and though I whispered Lucien's name, he did not reappear that night.
Charles was still sleeping peacefully when I bestirred myself just before dawn the next morning. I awakened Fibbens, who gladly kept watch over him while I went to the stables. I went down the row of stalls until I came to that of Lucien's favorite, Fine Lad. An old groom was with the big dark bay, applying fomentations to its legs.
"I'm afraid he'll be scarred, sir," the old man said, showing me the horizontal cuts which neatly crossed the front of Fine Lad's forelegs. "But he should be right as rain otherwise."
"Those wounds--could they have led to the late earl's injuries?"
"I wondered about it, sir, and thought p'haps he'd been tripped up, like. But then there was that branch, so I figgered our Fine Lad here hurt himself on the way home."
"Tell me--what do you mean, tripped up?"
"It's an old bad 'un's trick, sir--they puts a rope across the road."
"But the earl would have seen such a rope."
"Beggin' your pardon, but no, sir. The way it works is, Mr. Thief finds a place near a tree, like, and ties th' rope around its trunk. Then he lays the rope across th' road, and covers it with leaves, so it's hidden. Along comes a fine gentleman like our lordship, and Mr. Thief waits until he's near abreast of 'im, and yanks hard as hell--beggin' your pardon--he pulls it tight, see, and the horse can't stop nor mebbe even knows what's hit 'im, and while all's confusion, he coshes th' fine gentleman--if he ain't already knocked in the cradle by the fall. Then he robs him, and that's that."
"How do you know of this 'tripping up'? Has this ever happened near here before?"
"Oh, not near here, sir. But I rememory it did happen to the earl's--beggin' your pardon--the late earl's uncle."
"Lord Alfred Bane?"
"Yes, sir. 'Is lordship's groom told me of it. Said that when 'is lordship were a young man, he was served just such a nasty trick, and took an awful blow to the side of 'is brainbox--and that's how he went deef in one ear, which is why 'is lordship was forever shouting. I used to hate it when that man came near our horses--his late lordship, I mean, no disrespect intended--but y'see, ours t'weren't used to all that shoutin' and carryin' on. So his groom tells me what happen'd t'him, and tells me that the robbers got to look no how anyways, 'cause Lord Bane hadn't more 'n a few shillings on 'im, whilst they were caught and hanged, which is what they deserv'd."
I rode my own horse back to the place in the woods where I had found Lucien. I searched for a likely place for an ambush, and found it just a few feet away. I did not find a rope, but one tree bore a mark on its trunk, a line that might have been made by a thin rope being pulled taut--and within the bark near that line, I found strands of bristly fiber, as from a cord or rope.
I searched on the side of the path directly opposite, as I might have searched for signs of an enemy's camp during the war. My search was rewarded--I discovered a spot with a good view of the path, where sticks and leaves had been crushed. It was a place near a fallen log where fragments of brown shell told me that someone had eaten walnuts while they waited for the sound of an approaching rider, a place where someone's boots had made marks in the soft, damp earth.
I spent a little time also in studying the tree which had supposedly caused Lucien's injury, and the place where the branch had broken off. I rode my horse slowly down the path, halting in front of the tree, which allowed me an even better view of the point of breakage.
Back at the Abbey, I again examined the branch. I spoke to Bogsley and two other servants before I went to my room and changed out of my riding clothes--which had become somewhat soiled during my explorations. I cleaned up in time to join Charles for breakfast. By then, most of the family was in the breakfast room. Lady Bane--wearing a purple turban--declared that the previous evening's disturbance had quite ruined her appetite.
I thought Charles might make some remark about this, as her plate was quite full, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts, not even responding to her lecture about young children never being allowed to dine with their elders at Bane House. At one point, he looked up and smiled and winked at me, just as his father might have done. But before I could respond with more than an answering smile, my attention was drawn back to Lady Bane, who asked why I was smiling, and if I thought fires in the middle of the night were amusing.
"Mother!" William said desperately, "Your breakfast grows cold. Do try to eat something."
She ignored him. She had other complaints to make, and ended her lengthy list of criticisms by saying, "We are leaving immediately after breakfast, Edward, and I cannot tell you what a relief it will be!"
"I'm sure it defies description," I said.
She eyed me in an unfriendly manner, but was distracted when William said, "I am staying--if it will not be an imposition, Edward?"
"Staying!" Lady Bane thundered. "Why?"
"To better acquaint myself with my cousin," he said.
"Edward is not your cousin!"
"I meant Cousin Charles," William said, then added, "And Edward, too, of course."
Henry, who entered the room at just that moment, said, "An excellent notion, William! I believe I will join you."
William seemed displeased, but said nothing. There was no opportunity for him to speak. Lady Bane found their plans extremely objectionable. The matter was decided when Fanny said, "I'll leave with you, Mother."
It was decided because Lady Bane, ever contrary, said, "No, I'll not have it said that I was backward in any attention due to my family. We'll all stay."
Into the awkward silence which met this decision came Charles's voice. "I wish to discuss a private matter with Uncle Edward," he said, then frowning, added, "If you will excuse us, please?"
He stood, then took my hand, and led me to the library. He closed the doors, then said, "All right, Papa!"
"Excellent, youngster!" Lucien said. "My son, as you can see, Edward, is a stout-hearted fellow."
"I've known that for some time now," I said.
"He whispered to me during breakfast!" Charles said gleefully. "He was with me while you were out riding this morning."
"And Fibbens?"
"I believe he has recovered from his initial shock," my brother said. "I've asked him to break it gently to Bogsley."
"'Zooks, Lucien! Is this wise?"
"I'd prefer they knew, rather than to come across me, er--accidentally. Fibbens will be here shortly to take Charles through one of the passages to the servants' quarters. Charles will be my ambassador."
"That means I'm going to tell them I'm not scared of Papa, so then they won't be either. I'm helping."
"Yes," I said, "you are."
As soon as Fibbens--amazingly at home with members of the spirit world, it seemed to me--had led Charles from the room, I told Lucien what I had learned. He listened thoughtfully.
"I took another look at the branch this morning," I said. "I realized that the bloodstains were on a section of the branch that you could not have struck with your head while riding. The bloodstains were on a part of the branch that was too close to the trunk of the tree--close to where it broke off from the trunk."
"A part of the branch much thicker, I suppose, than the section I would have struck if I had ridden into it."
"Yes. The Banes undoubtedly heard the story of their father's encounter with ruffians many times. And of the persons currently staying or working at the Abbey, only the Banes and their personal servants would not know that Charles prefers his chambers to be darkened."
"It could be one of the Banes's servants, I suppose," Lucien said, and I did not miss the note of hopefulness in his voice.
"No servant would gain from your death, Lucien. I do not like the idea of scandal in the family any more than you do, but Charles is very young, and by the time he is in society, this will be long forgotten."
