'That dismal hole!' thought Sir Reginald. "True. But in view of-er, everything, I expect you won't want to continue living down there. You've the Richmond property, and the London house is entailed. Certainly the title will come to you, once-er, that is to say, after- In due time."

Vespa nerved himself and took the plunge. "Then you think I've a right to them, sir?"

Sir Reginald gave him a sharp look. "Why the deuce would you not have a right to them? John-I know this quarry business must have been a frightful experience, and I'd not distress you by referring to it, but-are you of the opinion that your father is still alive?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked about my mother. I'm a grown man, sir, and not blind. I'm aware my parents' marriage was not happy."

"Hmm," grunted Sir Reginald, uneasily. "I think it is not for me to comment on such matters. You must talk to your mama, though I'd have thought this was scarce the time to rake over old coals."

"Nor can I do so, since my mother is now in South America."

Lady Faith's flight from the gossip mill was a sore topic with her conservatively minded uncle, and he growled, "Worst thing she could have done! Kendrick had his faults, no denying, but running away don't solve anything." He caught himself up and said testily, "The thing to do, my boy, is to put it all behind you. Your health is much improved already. You can stay peacefully in that lovely house on the river till your mama comes home again, and if you're in need of the 'ready' meanwhile, I'm very sure your father's man of business-Skelton, or some such name as I recall-can oblige you."

"Felton, sir. But-"

"No 'buts,' dear lad. If there's any difficulty along those lines, you just let me know, and we'll come at the root of it."

"Well, there is a problem, Uncle. It concerns something Sir Kendrick told me just before-" Vespa paused, one hand clenching. "Before the tunnel-business. It has to do with the early days of their marriage and a friend of my mother's."

"Hmm. I didn't know all Faith's friends, of course. Still don't. Rather a silly lot of females, if you was to ask me."

"This was a gentleman, sir."

"A gentleman?" Sir Reginald's smile faded. "Now what the devil could your mother's friends, be they male or female, have to do with your drawing against your inheritance?"

"A great deal, sir. In fact, according to Sir Kendrick, any Vespa inheritance is not-mine."

Sir Reginald's face turned very red. Staring at his grand-nephew he demanded hoarsely, "What a'God's name are you babbling at, boy? Your father was mighty high-in-the-instep, but-"

"Was he, sir? That's what I'm trying to find out, you see. Did you know him?"

"What the deuce...? Of course I knew him!" Sir Reginald stood and faced the younger man in consternation. "My poor fellow! You're ill! It's that head wound you took at Vitoria, I don't doubt. You shall overnight here. Tomorrow, I'll refresh your memory about your father. You may ask whatever you wish, and-"

Standing also, Vespa said gently, "I have only one question, Uncle Reginald. Who is my father?"

Sir Reginald drew a deep breath and fought his temper. "Now-now, John, I can see you are not yourself. But this is all very ... improper. If someone has been filling your head with rubbish, I wish you will name the lamebrain."

"Do you know, Uncle, I wish with all my heart that I could believe it was rubbish. Unhappily, I have no choice but to think he told me the absolute truth."

"Who-who did?" gulped Sir Reginald.

"Sir Kendrick Vespa."

"WHAT? Your-your own father?"

Vespa gave a wry shrug. "Evidently not. Sir Kendrick said that years ago, when my mother discovered he had set up a mistress, she took a lover to spite him. And that I'm the-the result of her ... affaire."

His face purpling, Sir Reginald snorted, "If ever- If ever I heard of such disgraceful twaddle! I can't credit it that-that even Kendrick Vespa would-would have deliberately said such a wicked thing! Be so good as to tell me, nephew-when did he kindly impart all this claptrap?"

"While we were down in the tunnel at the old quarry, sir."

"Indeed. This would have been before you were shot, then."

"Yes, sir. Just before he shot me."

Sir Reginald dropped his glass.

"You may believe I am upset!" Pacing to and fro at the foot of his wife's bed, Sir Reginald flung one arm in the air to emphasize his vexation and declared untruthfully, "I'm sorry if I woke you, m'dear. Your candles were still burning, so I thought-"

"Yes. I was reading." Lady Paula drew her bed-jacket closer about her ample figure and sat higher against the pillows. "John is adept at concealing his feelings, but I sensed he was troubled, so I waited up for you."

Sir Reginald gave an explosive snort. "Troubled, you say? He ain't troubled, my lady! What he is-he's daft! Ripe for Bedlam! I vow if he weren't family, I'd have called in the Runners and had him taken away under strong restraint!"

"Good gracious! Now, my love, I trust you have considered that John is bound to be distressed at this time, and we should-Oh, pray do not stamp up and down, you'll wake the house. Have a glass of wine, it will settle your nerves."

Muttering ferociously, Sir Reginald did not argue with this sensible suggestion, but filled a glass from the decanter that was always left on the sideboard for him. He sat on the dressing-table bench and sipped the port, only to spring up again and say explosively, "When I think what a fine fellow he was before he went off to Spain! And now-whatever wits the poor lad has left are so full of maggots-"

"Yes, yes, Reginald, but you're spilling your wine. Sit here on the bed, dear, and try to compose yourself." Her spouse obeying with marked reluctance, she asked gently, "Whatever has John done to so discompose you?"

"Gone stark, raving mad," growled her husband not mincing words. "Have I not said it? The first looby in the family! Egad! I tell you, my lady, if that boy goes about London Town spreading the balderdash he hurled in my face tonight, our name will be-will be so tarnished we're like to never make a recover!"

This declaration alarmed Lady Paula. She said uneasily, "If it is balderdash, dear sir, how shall it tarnish us?"

Sir Reginald ran a hand through his already wildly dishevelled grey locks and groaned. "It's all so damned ridiculous. But with the rumours that are abroad..." His thick eyebrows bristled. He snarled, "Confound it! I always knew Kendrick Vespa was a potentially dirty dish!"

"Aha," said his patient lady. "So poor Sir Kendrick is at the root of the problem. I wonder why that does not surprise me. Now, my love, I beg you to tell me. From the beginning."

Her life's companion snorted and fumed, but in rather erratic fashion did as she asked. He was interrupted several times by her shocked gasps, and by the time he finished she had become very pale. When she did not comment, he demanded, "Did ever you hear so much fustian? Nobody will believe the stupid tale!"

His wife said nothing.

Sir Reginald watched her from the corners of his eyes. "You surely do not, Paula?"

By now very frightened, she evaded in a trembling voice, "Sir Kendrick was involved in some wicked plot connected with Alabaster Royal, and Jack found out about it?"

"That's what the boy claims, yes."

"Did he give you any information about the plot?"

"Your grand-nephew was not at liberty, he said, to go into details. Convenient, eh?"

"Did he imply then-that the authorities are handling the matter?"

"He mentioned- Dammitall! He says he's under-under orders!"

"The-Horse Guards? Oh, my heavens!"

"And-don't fly into the boughs-Wellington!"

Lady Paula appropriated her husband's glass and took a healthy swallow. She spluttered and coughed, but managed to say breathlessly, "I want you to be ... honest with me, Reginald. If there is ... any chance of this dreadful business being ... published ... in the newspapers ... I must be prepared."

"Have I not said that it's all so much poppycock? Only consider, my lady. Was there ever a more proud and haughty creature than Kendrick Vespa? Can you suppose a fellow so puffed up in his own conceit would have accepted another man's by-blow as his own all these years? Fed and clothed and educated-"

"It is exactly what Kendrick would have done," moaned Lady Paula. "Especially if he knew who the man was. You know as well as I that there are many fine families among the ton with children born 'on the wrong side of the blanket,' as they say, yet who are acknowledged as legitimate purely to avoid scandal."

Sir Reginald glared at her and said without much force, "It's all fustian I tell you! The boy's ill. Mentally deranged from his wounds, and should be clapped up. For Lord's sake do not let that imagination of yours start running wild!"

Gripping her hands tightly, Lady Paula took a quivering breath, and as if he had not spoken, murmured, "What a vicious thing for Kendrick to have done! Much worse than having shot down the boy who loved him so. But I suppose it was quite logical for him to have hated John all these years." She smiled wanly into her husband's dark scowl, and nodded. "Oh, yes, I believe it, my dear. It all falls into place, do you see? Why Kendrick was so seldom at home. Why Faith was so neglected. And now, of course, I see the resemblance, so that I can only marvel I didn't comprehend long ago ... John was so very unlike either Kendrick or Sherry."

"What stuff!" roared Sir Reginald, springing to his feet. "John takes after our side of the family! The fine Saxon side of his heritage! Whereas Kendrick gave his Norman characteristics to Sherborne! I might have known that, womanlike, you'd fasten onto such a melodramatic explanation! Well, I don't believe it! Not a word!" He began to pace up and down once more, carrying his glass and growling to himself, while Lady Paula stared into space and thought her thoughts and was silent. Checking abruptly, he demanded, "Who was it, then? Since you think you know."

She looked at him steadily. "Don't you remember? When Sherry was two years old and Kendrick was flirting with so many of the beauties of the day, and Faith began to form her own court? Think back, Reginald! She was very lovely then, and of all the men who adored her, who was the one Kendrick most hated? The man Faith should have wed, you used to say. The man she would have chosen for her lover. The perfect way to thoroughly humiliate her husband and give him back his own."

"My ... dear ... God!" Sir Reginald's eyes had become very wide. He collapsed onto the side of the bed as if his legs had melted under him. "I wonder Kendrick did not strangle her!"

His wife nodded. "You see the resemblance now."

"Yes. Jupiter! How could we all have been so blind?"

There was a brief silence, broken when Sir Reginald started and exclaimed, "Deuce take it, Paula! We're in a fine bumble-broth! John wants to marry Francesca Ottavio's granddaughter. Kendrick was instrumental in the murder of the girl's father, and the old lady knows the whole story. The whole story!"

"Oh, how dreadful! Then John must be equally unacceptable to her as Kendrick's heir, or as a man with no name. Lady Francesca will never permit the marriage. Indeed, I'm surprised he'd approach the girl, under the circumstances."

"He can't fix his interest, of course. But he thinks she cares for him, and he is determined to at least discover his real father's identity. Can't blame the poor lad, but ... I hope you'll not be so unwise as to, er..."

"As to tell him?" Lady Paula sighed and shook her head sadly. "If I had a grain of compassion, I would. But-no, dear. If he's to learn that home truth, it must be from his mama; not from his great aunt."

Sir Reginald gave a sigh of relief. "Faith's off flibbertigibbeting around South America. I doubt she'll ever come back. And if she does, she'll never tell him. The very thought of more scandal would keep her silly mouth shut! I only pray that whatever roguery Kendrick was about don't become public knowledge."

"I wonder whatever it could have been? How dreadful to have real wickedness in our family! If the Horse Guards and Lord Wellington are involved..." Tearful, Lady Paula reached out both hands. "Oh, Reginald, I could not bear to be shunned by Society!"

"Now then, m'dear," he soothed, holding her hands firmly. "No need to make a Cheltenham tragedy of the business! We may never know the true facts, and if John does say aught of it, folks will surely set it down to the poor lad's cracked brainbox. If there was some really shocking dealing, the authorities may be as anxious as we are to sweep it all under the rug. Whatever the case we must keep silent, Paula. Our niece did marry a Vespa, so our honour is involved. For the sake of the family name you must keep your tongue between your teeth and admit nothing-to anyone! You promise?"

Sir Reginald's lady nodded and on a smothered sob gave her promise.

2.

It had stopped raining when Captain Vespa left Wansdyke House. The night air was very cold and bracing and a half-moon imparted a soft radiance as it broke through shredding clouds. It was not far to his club, and although the Battle of Vitoria had left him with a marked limp, he chafed against inaction. Thanks to his more recent brush with death there had been little chance for exercise these past few weeks and he stepped out briskly, waving on the jervey who slowed his hackney coach and peered at him hopefully.

Lady Francesca did not keep very late hours, but it was doubtful that she would leave the ball before midnight. With luck, Manderville would escort the ladies back to Claridges and then join him at the Madrigal Club. With more luck, between them they'd have learned something of his mother's erstwhile admirers.

Few people were about on this rainy late evening, but when he turned onto St. James's he had to jump back to avoid being run down by a coach racing around the corner, the coachman very obviously the worse for drink. He shouted a protest and was answered by a flourished whip and a muddled response seemingly having to do with Christmas. Muttering indignantly, he walked on, his thoughts turning to the unhappy interview with his great-uncle. Lord, but Sir Reginald had been furious. For a while it had seemed likely that the poor old fellow would suffer an apoplexy. He should have anticipated such a reaction, but he'd counted on the fact that neither Sir Reginald, nor Great-Aunt Paula had been fond of his-of Sir Kendrick. He'd sometimes suspected, in fact, that they thoroughly disliked him. Obviously, he had underestimated their dread of scandal. He smiled a twisted smile. What a multitude of sins was hidden behind the fear of sullying a Family Name. Sir Reginald had all but threatened to have him put away if he dared pursue his enquiries. His jaw tightened. He was fond of the old gentleman and had no wish to upset him. Nor had he the slightest intention of giving up his search.

His introspection was broken as a link boy came running to offer to light his way. Between the moonlight, the occasional flicker of an oil street lamp and the flambeaux that still blazed outside some great houses, he had no need for the lad's services and sent him off with a groat clutched in one grubby fist, and a jubilant outpouring of wishes that 'milor' be blessed with health and good luck ever'n ever.

Amused, Vespa thought that his health was certainly much improved, and as to good luck-he had plenty of that, for there were loyal friends eager to help in his quest: his former comrades in arms, Toby Broderick and Paige Manderville; his Dorsetshire neighbours, the Italian 'Duchess of Ottavio,' and most importantly, her half-English granddaughter, little Consuela Carlotta Angelica Jones, the lady who gave meaning to his life and without whose vibrant presence there would be no life.

If all went well and he discovered that his real sire had been an honourable gentleman ... Surely Mama would have chosen no less? But even if that were so, he must face the fact that he was illegitimate. The awareness still shocked him, and the hand on his cane clenched tight. All his life he'd believed himself to be the scion of a fine old family. He'd been proud of his name and lineage and especially proud of the brilliant diplomatist he'd thought was his father. He would have been enraged had anyone dared suggest that Sir Kendrick Vespa was a conscienceless villain who had suffered no qualm of conscience in destroying those who stood in the way of his schemes. At least three innocents had paid the supreme penalty for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And when he himself had unwittingly interfered in Sir Kendrick's plans- He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the grief that persisted against all logic, and was such a fierce pain. It was over. When Sir Reginald had been swept away by the flood that had raced through the quarry at Alabaster Royal, his schemes had died with him. Consuela and Manderville and Toby Broderick, and even Lady Francesca, had each tried in their own way to help him surmount the tragedy. They each had said with great kindness that there was a time to put the past behind; to refuse to think about it; to firmly dismiss it from his mind. Excellent and well-meant advice. The trouble was, it was easier said than done.

He shuddered, chilled by more than the icy wind as he crossed Piccadilly. He was greeted by two friendly but unknown young exquisites who, between hiccups, invited him to join them in the chorus of "She Was Only a Fishmonger's Daughter." Short of engaging in fisticuffs, his attempts to escape proved unavailing. His nature was not quarrelsome and it was clear that, however intoxicated, they meant no harm. Bowing to the inevitable he obliged, but stressed that he could not stay for encores. In the event, he was not asked for an encore. His new acquaintances were, in fact, quite ungrateful, and he left them, ignoring their hilarity over his vocal efforts. Grandmama Wansdyke, he thought indignantly, had always enjoyed to hear him sing. Toby Broderick had once been so uncouth as to comment that the lady must have been tone-deaf, but- From the alley beside him came sounds of desperate conflict. The moonlight did not penetrate far between the tall buildings, but his eyes were keen. Three against one. Thieves, no doubt. "Hey!" he shouted, and gripping his cane firmly, limped into the fray.

It was short but sharp. Almost at once he realized that here were no ordinary footpads. There were no shouts; no curses. The three, armed with short cudgels, fought in a silent co-operation that spoke of experience. He had fully expected that with his arrival and his shouts for the Watch, the rogues would run for it. They did not. Their victim groaned and sagged to his knees. One sturdy bully bent over the fallen man, the other two plunged at Vespa. He countered a flashing cudgel with his cane, then swung it in a sideways swipe across the third man's ribs that evened the odds. A ham-like fist whipped at his face, and he ducked then brought his famous right into violent collision with a craggy jaw. His ears rang to the resultant howl of anguish. The first bully turned from their victim and joined the fight. Vespa flung himself to the side, but only partially avoided the cudgel that blurred at his eyes.

Through an instant of blinding pain he heard someone yell, "Here's the ... Watch! Stand, you miserable ... varmints!" The voice was unsteady but vaguely familiar.

He was being assisted to his feet, and he gasped breathlessly, "Are they gone?"

"Thanks to you, Captain, sir, they are. Oh, dear. I lied to the ... poor clods. Our reinforcements ain't the Watch after all."

Vespa wiped blood from his eyebrow and saw two gentlemen weaving towards them, clinging to each other while peering at him blearily.

"Be damned," said one of the new arrivals thickly. "It's the-hic-poor chap who-who can't-hic-sing."

"Sho 'tis, dear boy," confirmed his friend. "Can-can fight, though. Jolly-jolly goo' show, shir. 'F I shay sho m'shelf."

"And you've my thanks, gentlemen," said Vespa. "You were-a good substitute for the Watch."

"Even if they can't see straight," murmured the man at his side. "Come on, Vespa. It's starting to drizzle again."

Vespa looked at him sharply. "I thought it was you! What the deuce are you doing here, and out of uniform?"

Colonel the Honourable Hastings Adair drew him away. "Not now. Those louts may return with more of their kind. Come!"

They hobbled on together, investigating their various hurts, and followed by the strains of the shockingly ribald third verse of "She Was Only a Fishmonger's Daughter."

"Going the wrong way," pointed out Vespa, halting. "I'm bound for the Madrigal."

Adair held a grisly handkerchief to his nose and from behind it urged him on. "I'm not. Now that I've found you. I thank you for your help, though."

Standing firm, Vespa scanned the colonel in the light of a flambeaux and noted glumly that, despite a darkening bruise across one cheekbone, a bloody nose, and a graze beside his mouth, and although civilian dress lacked the dash of his military scarlet, the dark-haired young officer was all too well-qualified a suitor for Consuela's hand. "Sold out, have you?" he enquired sardonically.

"You know better." Investigating, Adair muttered, "Gad, but I believe those varmints have loosened one of my teeth. Well, never mind that. For Lord's sake, will you move? I can't lounge about under this light."

They left the flambeaux behind. Lowering his voice, Vespa said, "I thought you'd gone back to France. Did Wellington send you to sniff around?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"You said you'd tell him the full story of what happened at Alabaster Royal."

"So I did. He was most concerned. He spoke highly of you and sent you this letter...." Adair groped in his pockets. "Be damned! Those dirty bastards made off with it!"