“Who the devil are you?” demanded Rossiter.
“If it was any of your bread and butter, which it ain’t, I’d tell you as me name’s Enoch Tummet. Now you and yer friend is going to take a little trot to the cellar where you can stay while I fetch the constable. The idea! Trying to mill a ken while Tummet’s guarding it! The very idea!”
“You are a fool,” said Morris. “I stole nothing. Furthermore, this gentleman is Captain Gideon Rossiter and he lives here.”
“My eye and Uncle ’Arry,” scoffed the large Mr. Tummet, stepping forward and waving his pistol suggestively towards the kitchen hall.
“I cannot vouch for your relations,” said Rossiter. “And why the deuce my father would hire you to guard his house I cannot guess. But I assure you that I am Gideon Rossiter.”
“Ar, but even if you is, which you ain’t, number one: I’m aproperguard executing of me duty, and number two: this ’ere ’ouse don’t belong to the Rossiters no more, it don’t. Now you two fancy talking scroungers best get along ’fore me finger gets tired of ’olding back this ’ere trigger.”
The colour drained from Rossiter’s face and a blaze came into his eyes. He said grittily, “I will move not a step ’til I know what the devil you’re talking about.”
“Here we go gathering nuts in May,” sang Morris, starting to skip about holding out his coattails. “Nuts in May, nuts in May. Here we go gathering nuts in May, all of a Sunday morning.”
Mr. Tummet’s jaw sagged, and watching this performance glassy eyed, he whispered, “Cor lumme! The poor cove’s gone orf ’is tibby!”
Rossiter blurred across the space between them. Before Tummet could recover, the pistol was smashed from his hand. A brick seemed to explode under his chin, and for a while he quite lost touch with the performance of his duty.
Massaging bruised knuckles and looking down at the sprawled guard, Rossiter muttered, “Jolly well done, Jamie.”
Morris looked at him with compassion. The poor fellow was white as any sheet. “That was a hell of a way to learn of it, Gideon,” he said. “My apologies. I should have warned you.”
***
“Bin in all the newspapers,” said Mr. Tummet, spreading butter thickly on a slice of toast. “’Course, you two gents couldn’t be ’spected to know that, seein’s you bin orf fighting.” Apparently holding no grudge for having been knocked down, he winked at Rossiter across the laden kitchen table, and once again expressed his admiration for “any gent what ’as such a beautiful right. Furthermore,” he went on, “bein’ as I’m yer prisoner o’war, sir, might I be allowed another slice o’ that there ’am? Partial to ’am, I is. Not as I’d ’ave took it uninvited, like. Agin the law. But since yer forcing me into crime, as y’might say, I can’t be blamed. Right, sir?”
They had placed the guard under what Morris called a “flag of truce,” to which bending of the law he had agreed when presented with a gold sovereign and the promise of a hearty breakfast. In no time he had started the kitchen fire and set a pan of water to heat. Their raid on the larder had shown it well stocked, which, Tummet explained, was because the family had been in residence only yesterday. While the two officers washed and shaved, their “prisoner of war” had cheerfully fried ham and eggs, found a keg of ale, and a slab of cheese, and toasted several slices of bread.
By the time they had come down to the fragrant kitchen, Rossiter was somewhat recovered from the initial shock, and now, sliding another slice of ham onto Tummet’s plate, he said, “I find it all so inexplicable, Jamie. My father is a very rich man.”
“So ’e was, sir,” said Tummet around a mouthful of ham. “’Til ’e tried to pay orf them as ’e owed.” He waved his knife at the stunned soldier, and added lugubriously, “Ruinated ’isself is what he done. Don’t do no good, mate. They got ’im anyway, and now the Courts is trying to force ’im to sell this ’ere loverly mansion fer debt. Cor! ’E’d ’ave done better to grab what ’e could lay ’is ’ands on and clear orf outta the country.”
‘Twill break his heart,’ thought Rossiter.
“Sir Mark Rossiter is an honourable gentleman,” declared Morris, then spoiled this impressive reproof by adding, “but there’s something in what Tummet says, Gideon. If your papa had—”
“Don’t talk such fustian,” interrupted Rossiter, his voice harsh. “Do you fancy my father would let his stockholders and investors down?”
“They didn’t waste no time in letting’imdahn, guv’nor.” Tummet reached for another piece of toast. “I dunno the whole lot, mind, but from what I ’eard, some o’ the richest gents as ’ad funds in Rossiter Bank, drawed out every last groat, the night ’fore the scandal got known. Dirty, I calls it. Proper dirty.”
“My… God…,” breathed Rossiter, leaning back in his chair and staring blindly at the bowl of mustard.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Ross,” said Morris. “Who —er, were they?”
Rossiter drew a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know all of them. My father and I disagreed on business matters and my interests were more with the shipyards. I wish to heaven I’d—” He caught himself up and added, “Norberly was one. And Derrydene. And some others, to a lesser extent, I think.”
The lieutenant’s honest hazel eyes grew round with astonishment. “What, Lord Norberly and Sir Louis Derrydene? Damme! I can scarce credit it! They’reveryfine gentlemen.”
Rossiter jerked upright in his chair and glared fiercely at him. “My father is a fine gentlemen too, I’ll have you know!”
“Oh, I’ve not—not the least doubt of it,” stammered Morris, dismayed. “I meant no—That is, I only mean—well, one would think they were not the type one would find mixed up in—”
“Mixed up in—what,pray?” snarled Rossiter, a flush of anger on his thin face. “Embezzlement, perchance?”
Tummet said soothingly, “Now, now. Be easy, gents. Don’t go getting all warm round the perishing ear ’oles.”
Rossiter stood, fists clenched and eyes blazing. “I would like an explanation, if you please, Lieutenant.”
