"What do you mean, Captain Jack?"

Her eyes were so soft, so glowing. Her hand was still on his arm. It was as much as he could do to refrain from seizing and kissing those soft pink fingers, but a gentleman did not break his given word. He wrenched his head away and said hoarsely, "Here-here we are at Cornhill already. You will have a fine view now, Consuela."

It was as well he did not see her tender smile. She said, "Yes, indeed! What is that tower? And why is it called Cornhill?"

"The tower is the Royal Exchange, and Cornhill is so named because it was at one time the site of a corn market." He drew her attention to the famous Tower of St. Michael and the numerous graceful church spires that could be seen. She was interested in everything, especially the fine shops, and the modern architecture of the large houses, and asked if this was a newer area of the city.

"Not really, but much of this section was destroyed during the Great Fire, and the new buildings were marked improvements over the old." He bent his head and leaned towards her side window to point out a fine lantern suspended from a sign that advertised the Manufacture of Writing Desks and Morrocco Dressing Cases. "Now we are turning onto Lombard Street," he added, and straightening found his lips scant inches from her chin. He drew back with a gasp. The voice of temptation hissed, 'Fool! This might well be your last chance to be alone with her, don't waste it!' He fought to shut out that all too persuasive voice, but it crept into his mind once more. Where would be the harm in simply begging her to wait? How could there be shame in at least holding her close, just for a little while? 'No one will see you in the coach.'

The struggle for control was won, but he could not keep the yearning from his eyes, and seeing it, and the way his hand trembled, Consuela repented and turned away. "Aha," she said gaily. "Lombard? Now there is an Italian name, no? Does some great family live here?"

Watching the velvety curve of her cheek, the way the light glistened on her dusky curls, he murmured, "What...? Oh! Er, well, yes the Lombards were a great banking or money-lending family, long ago."

"Really? Then Grandmama will probably know them and may wish to pay a call."

"I rather doubt it. I'm afraid they were a rascally lot, Consuela, and did so much mischief that Queen Elizabeth sent them packing."

At once bristling, she said tartly, "From what I have learned of that lady, she made a habit of sending people packing! With or without their heads!"

"You prefer to believe the poor Lombards were pure as the driven snow, do you? Why? Are they kin to you?"

"I don't know...." A new thought banished her irritation, and she clapped her hands. "But-oh, that would be very helpful, would it not? Then Grandmama couldn't very well-" She bit her lip and cut the words off.

"You mean it would be a case of the pot not being able to call the kettle black, I think. As if I would allow my own disgrace to touch you, little signorina."

"You are not disgraced!" she declared, her eyes sparkling with anger. "Your war record alone proves you an honourable gentleman! Why should you suffer for what he did? You are not of his blood!"

Such fierce defensiveness warmed his heart. He said, "I mean to prove that, just as fast as I can. To which end, Miss Jones," he tugged on the check-string, "I must take you home to the duchess, and get started to Richmond."

Consuela asked, "Must you drive all the way down there? Surely Thornhill can go and collect any letters that wait for you?"

"He's a fine valet, I grant you, but he has only worked for me a short while. Our butler, Rennett, has been at Richmond since I was a small boy, and there are questions that ... well, that only I can ask him."

"Ooh!" breathed Consuela her eyes very wide. "What a very good notion, Jack. The servants know everything!"

"So good of Consuela to accompany my niece to the lending library." The sofa occupied by Mrs. Monica Hughes-Dering creaked protestingly as she turned to select another sweetmeat from the box beside her. "I would gladly have gone with Minerva," she lied, nudging away the golden spaniel that had settled itself on her foot. "But my constitution is frail, you know, and I cannot like wintry weather. How fortunate that you should have chosen today to call upon me, Duchess. My little London house is close to everything, but I declare none of my friends will venture out in the rain, and I was like to die from boredom till you came. Now, with the girls gone, we can enjoy a comfortable cose."

The 'little London house' was a luxurious mansion located off Dover Street, and was considered by most people much too large to be occupied by one person. However, it had been for many years a Mecca for the ton and after her spouse had gone to his reward, the widow had chosen to remain. When she was not receiving her friends, she relied for companionship upon her numerous pets and, to a lesser degree, on whichever indigent relation she could bully into living under her roof. It was a rare afternoon that the elegant drawing room was not crowded with callers come to pay homage to the grande dame, and Lady Francesca counted herself fortunate to have found her quarry comparatively alone.

Now, surrounded by five dogs of varying origins, all anxiously watching the path of the sweetmeat, Lady Francesca also watched in fascination as it disappeared into the tiny slit of a mouth. If this tyrant of the ton was 'frail' she gave no sign of it. Always, she had been a large woman, but it was some years since they last had met and Lady Francesca was genuinely aghast to note that the dowager had more than doubled in girth. An initial suggestion that they share the sofa was a piece of empty rhetoric, for not even a small child could have squeezed in beside her. The chins that had once been double had quadrupled, neckline and waistline blended into one great bulk, and the eyes were small black beads, almost hidden by the swell of the rouged cheeks.

They were shrewd eyes, none the less, and, aware of this, Lady Francesca accepted the mumbled offer of a sweetmeat and stifled her yearning to enumerate the various means by which one might put off flesh.

Their 'comfortable close,' frequently interrupted by loving exchanges between Mrs. Hughes-Dering and her unruly pets, commenced with polite enquiries as to old friends and family members. There was a small disaster when a Pekinese jumped into the box of sweetmeats, precipitating a battle royal for the scattered pieces, but once a neat maid had provided another box the 'cose' resumed. The frightful morals of today's youth provided an entertaining topic, then Lady Francesca skillfully initiated a discussion of the terrible discomforts of travel, and 'chanced' to mention that she had come to town under the escort of a young officer. "I fancy you know of him, dear Signora Monica, for you know everybodys who is anybodys. Captain John Vespa?"

The beady eyes glittered with interest. "Jack Vespa? But of course I know him. Do you say he is in town already? Poor boy. Such a dreadful thing when members of the aristocracy can be attacked and murdered by these dreadful revolutionary ruffians, for that's what they must have been, I am very sure. I suppose Jack will be sailing off to South America to fetch his mother home, eh?"

"This it would surprise me not at all. Only am I surprised the lady she have run off like that. Why do you suppose her to doing such things?"

Mrs. Hughes-Dering paused for another assault on the sweetmeat box. "Far be it from me, dear Francesca," she said, fending off the persistently optimistic spaniel. "Far be it from me to pay heed to the gabble-mongers. You know how unkind they can be. But-one must face facts. Once a widgeon, always a widgeon!" She lowered her voice and added confidingly, "To be honest, Duchess, I often wondered how Sir Kendrick could abide the foolish creature."

"Si. This I heard. But he was a handsome man, and they say Lady Faith is a lovely woman. Perhaps she was a credit to him?"

Around the sweetmeat her friend uttered a disparaging snort. "If he thought so, he hid it well! More than a little bit of a rascal with the ladies was Kendrick Vespa."

"Ah, but this, it is sad. The poor wife abandoned in the country alone and unwanted."

The dowager roared, "Here, lads!" and hurled two sweetmeats to the far end of the room.

Lady Francesca gave a gasp as a greyhound leapt across her knees. There was a cacophony of barking, scrambling claws, yelps, growls and more warfare. Nobody's fool, the golden spaniel sprang instead onto his owner's lap, or what might be assumed to be her lap. Mrs. Hughes-Dering caught him as he slithered down the slope. "Mummy's little rogue," she cooed, kissing him fondly, and then bellowed, "Elise!"

The maid hurried in, waving biscuits. The canine contingent followed their Pied Piper as though they'd not been fed for several days, even the spaniel abandoning his mistress. "Are they not the dearest creatures?" gushed Mrs. Hughes-Dering. "But they do love Mummy's treats, and I mustn't let myself spoil the little pets. Now-what were we saying?"

"Lady Vespa. Such a sad fate. I feeling for her." The duchess raised her brows enquiringly. "Unless...?"

Mrs. Hughes-Dering giggled. "Oh, yes. There were some of those!"

"Is so? How much of a secret this was, for never did I hear of it. Do you say there was more than one-ah-"

"Side-door lover? Indeed there was, not that many knew of it."

"But you did, clever one!" Pulling her chair closer, Lady Francesca said avidly, "Living as we do in the country, I never hear such stories of romance. Do tell me-ah, but I am silly and these happenings of so long ago you will be forgetting, or perhaps you did not know who were these side-door peoples."

It was a challenge no dedicated gossip could refuse. Mrs. Monica Hughes-Dering sat straighter and said, "I never forget the affaires of the ton! Now, let me see...."

4.

The gracious house that sprawled along the banks of the Thames near Richmond had been quiet for weeks but today it hummed with activity. The butler, Obadiah Rennett, had set maids to bustling about with dusters and towels, and bed linen; the fireboy had awoken a fine blaze on the drawing room hearth and was now preparing another in Captain Vespa's bedchamber (Mr. Rennett having been advised that the captain would not move into the suite his late father had occupied); the chef sang happily in his kitchen; and everyone's spirits were lifted because at last the young master had come home.

Not since early summer had John Vespa set foot in this house, and no one could have been happier than the butler when the captain's post-chaise pulled onto the drivepath and he came limping up the front steps. He was unaccompanied, which meant this would be a brief visit. Rennett, who had served the family for most of his life, stifled a sigh and ordered a lackey to collect the Captain's valise, while the first footman was sent scurrying upstairs to serve as temporary valet.

Mr. Rennett had been fond of both sons of the house, and had often marvelled at their mutual devotion, for they were in his opinion very different articles. Mr. Sherborne had been the heir, of course, as handsome as his sire, full of fun and always ready for any prank or escapade no matter how outrageous. It could not be denied that there had been the trace of a 'wild kick in his gallop,' as the saying went, which had displeased Sir Kendrick Vespa, yet a more unaffected and good-natured youth would have been hard to find.

When Sherborne had bought a pair of colours and dazzled everyone with his splendid uniform before rushing off to join a crack Hussar regiment, Rennett had wished him well, and prayed his brother would not follow, for despite the affection in which he held Sherborne, it was Master John for whom the butler would have put his hand in the fire. John had followed, however, and the butler, waiting and worrying, had scanned every edition of the newspapers and trembled over the casualty lists. It had grieved his faithful heart when Sherborne had fallen, and he had grieved even more deeply when John had been brought home a year later, such a shadow of his former self.

It had been a bitter disappointment when the young soldier had elected to live not in London or Richmond, but in the lonely old ruin he'd inherited in Dorsetshire. Today, after one look at Master John's face (he must think of him as Sir John now!) the butler guessed the reason behind the prolonged absence, and the lack of mourning dress. The devoted young man was obviously clinging to the hope that Sir Kendrick had managed to survive and would be miraculously found alive somewhere downriver.

'A forlorn hope, poor lad,' thought Mr. Rennett, carrying a tray of decanters and glasses into the drawing room. He glanced about to see if everything was in readiness and swung around when he heard the door close behind him.

Corporal bounced across the thick rug, wagged his tail at the butler and took possession of the warmest spot before the hearth.

Vespa said with a smile, "Everything to your satisfaction, Rennett?"

"We all want to please you, Sir John, and-" There was a slight flinch and an involuntary movement of the master's hand, and Rennett knew he had not pleased. He wouldn't make that mistake again! He said hesitantly, "The staff and I- That is, I am sure you will know, Captain, how deeply we all sympathize with your loss."

"Yes. And I am most grateful." Vespa selected a fireside chair, trying not to see Sir Kendrick sitting in it. "Be so good as to pour me a cognac. Thank you. And now pour one for yourself and come and sit down. I want to talk to you."

Rennett's heart sank. Captain John was going to close this house. He was about to be told to dismiss the staff. He poured a small measure of Madeira and walked to a straight-backed chair.

"No, not there. Over here, man. And for mercy's sake don't sit on the edge as if you cringed before a tyrannical despot." The familiar and endearing smile was slanted at him, and his employer asked, "I'm not one-am I?"

"By no means, sir." Rennett leaned back and waited.

"This-chat must be of a most confidential nature, Obadiah."

'Obadiah!' Mr. Rennett's troubled heart gave a leap. "Of course, sir. If there is any way in which I may be of help? Is it about Sir Kendrick's death?"

"Yes. The authorities suspect that there was a-a sort of conspiracy. And I am trying to discover if my-father had any enemies."

The butler's honest eyes widened.

Vespa said hurriedly, "I know there may have been resentments, especially of late years, connected with his various romantic-er, entanglements. But we believe it goes farther back than that. Much farther back."

Thinking a great deal, the butler said with marked hesitation, "Sir-it is not my place to-Perhaps Lady Faith, or Sir Reginald Wansdyke..."

"I'm asking you to compromise your high principles, I know. But you see we cannot wait for my mother to come home. To say truth, we've not even heard from her as yet. Sir Reginald was-disturbed by my questions and I'm afraid he's of the opinion I am more than a touch cork-brained." Vespa smiled ruefully. "So I've come to you. I think we have always been friends?"

"I would not presume to-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" His patience wearing thin, Vespa exclaimed, "You're a man and I'm a man, and only an accident of birth prevents you being the master of this house and me the butler! Speaking of which, you'll never know how much I needed you in Dorsetshire, Obadiah. I apprehend it's the last place you would want to live, but-"

In an unprecedented interruption, Rennett said fervently, "I would go anywhere with you, Master John!" For just an instant the enigmatic eyes lit up, and the face of this man Sherry had laughingly referred to as 'Mr. Aloof' betrayed a depth of affection that astonished his employer. The butler looked down and a shy flush stained his cheeks.

Touched, Vespa said, "How very good of you. Then will you help me? I understand and commend your reticence, but this is of the utmost importance, and it is vital to me that you speak frankly."

"In that case, sir, yes, I know Sir Kendrick made enemies. As you say, he was very popular with the ladies, and there were gentlemen-several gentlemen-who resented his-ah, conquests. But none I'd judge so distressed as to resort to violence."

"Then let's try another tack. Do you recall anyone whom Sir Kendrick particularly disliked? I mean really disliked. Perhaps long before I was born."

The butler blinked. "I'm afraid I'll be of small help there, Master John- Oh, your pardon! I keep calling you that, when I should say-"

"It's quite all right. You called me that for years. Just don't fling my title at me, if you please. I imagine it is difficult for you to remember what took place a quarter century ago."

"It's not that I cannot recall, sir. The thing is that I wasn't the butler in those days. Mr. Clipstone was still alive, and I was an under-footman, in which position I wasn't privy to-er-"

"To family secrets? Come now, Obadiah. Surely you'd have heard a few pieces of gossip; in the Hall, at least."

The butler met the whimsical grin that was levelled at him, and grinned in return. "Well, I'll have to think back, sir. Let me see now.... When Sir Kendrick and Lady Faith first married there were-there always are, you know-those who didn't exactly-ah, smile on the union. One gentleman I do recall was a Mr.... now what was his name...? Dilworth! That's it. Very much enamoured of Lady Faith, he was, and even after the wedding he would send her odes and tragic poems and great bouquets of flowers. Sir Kendrick thought it hilarious."

"Whatever became of him, do you know?"

"Yes, indeed. He acceded to his uncle's dignities and became Lord somebody or other. I don't recall the exact title. Perhaps because he enjoyed it for so short a time. He bought himself a yacht. It sank on its maiden voyage, alas."

"With the new lord?"

"Unfortunately so."

Persevering, Vespa coaxed from the butler the identities of several other gallants who had aspired to Lady Faith's hand. One had since passed away, another had been killed during the retreat from Corunna. Rennett was aware of none who had suffered a broken heart or harboured a particular grudge, and to the best of his knowledge most had eventually married other ladies.

Stifling his disappointment, Vespa asked, "What about different forms of enmity? Political or economic strife, for instance. Do you remember anything of that nature? Anyone who might have seriously crossed swords with Sir Kendrick?"

Rennett racked his brains, but without success. Vespa called for their glasses to be refilled and changed the subject, and for an hour the two men chatted like old friends. The afternoon was fading to dusk when the butler stood and began to light candles. "I do wish I could be of more help, sir," he said regretfully. "I'm afraid, if you'll forgive my saying so, Sir Kendrick had such charm, he could win over the most angry men." He paused, frowning at the taper in his hand. "When he really cared to," he added slowly.

There was no more to be had from him; at least, for the moment. Vespa tried not to be downcast, enjoyed an excellent meal, sent his compliments to the Chef and, having leafed through several newspapers, went up to bed.

It had been a long day and he was tired, but Corporal was obviously uneasy in these strange surroundings, so he allowed the dog to come into the room and having commanded sternly that he stay on the bedside rug, fell asleep almost at once. He was awoken by a warning bark and a knock at the door. After the fashion of men who have slept under constant threat of attack, he was at once wide awake.

In answer to his call, a night-capped head, lit by the glow of a candle, loomed around the door. Corporal wagged his tail and accepted a caress.

Rennett said eagerly, "Sir, forgive, but I have remembered something. It's just a small thing, and likely of no help, but I thought I should tell you for fear I forget it by morning."

"Come in, man," commanded Vespa, sitting up. "You've remembered one of my mother's admirers, is that the case?"

The butler hurried in and closed the door. "No, sir," he said, advancing to stand beside the bed. "And, alas, my poor brain won't give me the gentleman's name. He may be dead now. But I remember being awed at the time, because our chef said that if ever there was a man Sir Kendrick detested, it was him, and that sure as check it would someday come to pistols at dawn for them! I never saw the gentleman, and I'd have forgot all about him, except that Mr. Clipstone was such a great one for fussy little details, and he asked Chef if he'd noticed that the gentleman's name had an interesting feature."

Vespa asked intensely, "You mean he was foreign?"

Rennett hesitated. "He may have been, sir. Mr. Clipstone pointed out that the gentleman had the same two letters in both his first and last names. Next to each other, if you take my meaning."

"You mean, if, for instance, his first name was Philip, and his surname Milbank-the 'il' would be in sequence in both cases?"

"That's it, sir. I only wish I'd paid more heed, but-it was so long ago, and I was young and empty-headed."

Vespa said he'd done splendidly, and might have provided an important clue, and the butler left, beaming.

Disappointed, Vespa lay back and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, he'd really entertained high hopes, but for all his efforts he seemed to be getting nowhere. Perhaps he never would discover his real identity, which would surely spell the ruin of his hopes. He sighed, which was a mistake because it alarmed Corporal who at once jumped onto the bed to console him. It was several minutes before Vespa was able to reassure the consoler and when he at last fell asleep it was with Corporal-having taken flagrant advantage of the situation-snuggled close against his feet.

Lady Francesca surveyed the magnificent tapestry that hung on one wall of the large drawing room, and nodded her approval. She proceeded to wander from the massive and elaborately carven stone chimney-piece, to the great bow windows that overlooked the back gardens of Vespa House. The marble statue of Venus and the jade collection on an inlaid table were viewed critically.

Consuela asked, "Well, Grandmama?"

"Is a fine casa, this." The duchess turned to Vespa who hurried to join them. "You will be foolish not to dwell here when you are in London, my Captain."

He bowed over her hand. "You know I cannot, ma'am." Crossing to Consuela, his eyes were a caress. "Forgive. The roads are all mud, and my coach was delayed."

Consuela surrendered her hand and said softly, "I am only glad you've come home, but I was surprised that you wished to meet here. This is difficult for you."

Difficult ... Every room, every piece of furniture, even the smell of beeswax and burning coal, held memories of the brother he'd loved and the father who had made devotion into a savage mockery. He said quietly, "Yes. But we have things to discuss, and we must be private. Have Toby and Paige been here?"