“If he truly rode that horse into such a state,” he said coolly, “Isuggest you spare him the beating and promptly hire him as a jockey.”
Sparra imagined a lifetime of being forced to ride enormous horses andtried to choke out an objection. The hand on his collar jerked him intosilence.
At that moment, the doors of the great house opened again and a clearvoice said, “What the hell ? ? Release the boy!”
Then, in a different tone, drained of all emotion. “Your Grace. I didnot expect you.”
The duke turned his eyeglass to look up the stairs, carpeted again inslick golden light. There Sparra’s debtor stood against a backdrop ofservants and gentlemen, with one petite lady in white beside him. The ladyswiftly melted back out of sight. After a breathless moment, the duke lethis quizzing glass fall and mounted the steps towards his heir,meticulously followed by his umbrella bearer.
“Evidently,” he said icily. “If that is your fracas, Arden, kindlyremove it from the doorstep.”
He then entered his mansion and accepted the ministrations of hisservants, forced to switch abruptly from the light-hearted demeanorsuitable for the marquess and his friends, to the proper decorum demandedby the duke. The guests discreetly absented themselves from the hall butwithin minutes singing could be heard from the music room. It was not aparticularly respectable song.
As the duke was divested of his damp outer clothing he merely said, “Iwill retire to my suite with a light supper. Arden, I wish to see youtomorrow after breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” said the marquess impassively.
Followed by his valet, the duke ascended the great curvingstaircase.
The marquess watched his father for a moment, then looked out at thefrozen, rain-soaked tableau, where the urchin was still clutched by thedumbfounded horse owner. With a shrug, he accepted the need to ruinanother set of clothes and walked out into the rain as easily as if itwere perfect weather.
“You will release this boy immediately,” he said coldly.
“Oh will I?” sneered the man, misled perhaps by the marquess’s dampenedfinery and the way he had been given orders by the duke. “Well, cockerel,this boy deserves a whipping and he’ll get it, and no duke’s lackey saysotherwise.”
“Lay a stroke on the boy and I’ll take you apart,” said the marquesscalmly. “Istole your horse.”
The man released Sparra, but before the boy could flee he was caught ina grasp just as strong.
“Don’t run away,” was all the young nob said, but Sparra obeyed. Hewasn’t sure if it was fear, exhaustion, or just a trust engendered by thatvoice, but he did as he was told. He witnessed a grand mill.
The “young guv” was tall and strong and probably sparred with Jackson,but the “big guv” was a lot heavier and had some science, too. Once helanded a sweeping right which sent the younger man sprawling, but he wasup on his feet in a moment and retaliated with a hard fist to the fatstomach.
By this time half a dozen young sprigs were out in the rain cheering ontheir friend, and a couple of passersby were giving advice, too. Sparrahad never seen such a bunch of drowned swells. It’d be a grand day for thetailors tomorrow, he thought. He hoped the young guv didn’t get so bashedup he forgot the dibs.
No danger of that. It became obvious the young man had just beensparring. Despite the hard blows swung at him, he had only been touchedthat once. Now he began to show his skill, and in a few moves he destroyedthe bigger man’s guard and landed him an annihilating left hook which laidhim out cold.
Sparra’s debtor surveyed his opponent and rubbed wincingly at hisknuckles. “Repellent specimen. I would happily have paid for the use ofhis horse.” He fished out a few guineas. “Here, someone put that in hispocket.”
His friends showed every sign of sweeping him back into the house, buthe pulled away. “Where’s the lad?”
A glimmer of hope in his breast, Sparra came forward, and the swellstudied him. Not ungently he lifted Sparra’s tattered shirt and grimacedat the welts there.
“It’s nuthin‘ much, guv,” Sparra told him.
“Nevertheless, I owe you something extra for being my whipping boy,don’t I? Do you have a home to go to?”
This was a question Sparra had to consider. He had a place in an alleywith some other ragamuffins. “I ‘as a place t’sleep,” he muttered.
“What I mean is, do you have a family who would be missing you?”
“Nah, guv. Me mam died.”
“Then spend the night with the grooms in the mews. I’ll see you get agood meal and some warm clothing, and tomorrow we’ll talk. I really amrather stretched at the moment.”
“Aye,” said the boy sympathetically, responding to the easy manner ofthe other. “That duke. He yer gaffer?”
“My master?” The swell gave a twisted smile. “Yes, I suppose he is.Marleigh!” he called out, and the butler stuck his head out the door.
