“Falcon used the term.”
“Falcon! Who pays heed to anything that frizzle brain says? He’s so curst hot at hand I’m surprised he didn’t catch fire, only because I made a little mistake.”
Rossiter managed a fairly creditable laugh. “I hope you never make a large one!”
When they turned onto the Maidstone Road they at once began to encounter traffic. Guiding his mount past a lumbering hay wain, Rossiter was caught up in the sounds and sights and smells of the Down country. England was so beautiful, and for a while he’d thought he might never see her again. He could not but experience a surge of gratitude that he was safely back in his own land, and although still mentally reeling from the hammer blows Fate had dealt him, he began instinctively to try and pull the pieces back together again. The great estate where so much of his youth had been spent was gone, and if his father’s disaster had been as extensive as Tummet said, they were likely pockets to let. As for Naomi… He realized that Morris was chattering on about something. It had been blasted good of the man to come, in view of what he’d heard of the Rossiter family. He said, “My apologies, Jamie. I fear my mind was woolgathering.”
“Better than gathering nuts in May—what?”
Rossiter grinned. “That was a jolly good ploy. Your capering saved the day.”
“Andmy fine baritone, do not forget.”
“Truly, you were superb. And Tummet turned out to be a good fellow after all. I hope he’ll not find himself in a bobbery over this.”
They rode on in silence for a while, then Morris said, “It rather worries me, now that I come to think on it.”
“Tummet does?”
“Eh? Oh, he’ll land on his feet, never fear. Finagle his way out of anything, that fellow.Booberkin!” This last was directed with great indignation at a carter whose wheels had come uncomfortably close. “No, I was thinking ’twas probably a Saturday. More likely, don’t you agree?”
“More likely for what?”
“Good Gad, man! Where are your wits? It wouldn’t be proper to go gathering nuts on aSunday.I’d think you’d have realized that!”
“Gudgeon,” said Rossiter laughing at him. “Are you still puzzling over that old nursery song?”
“I like to keep things tidy,” said Morris primly. “Speaking of which”—he waited while Rossiter’s mount took violent exception to a flock of geese, then finished—“Falcon has a neatish country seat, I hear.”
Resettling his tricorne, Rossiter panted, “Ashleigh. Does it occur to you, Jamie, that the roads have become a deal worse since we left England?”
“Most decidedly. In—ah, Middlesex, ain’t it?”
“What? Oh—Ashleigh. No, Sussex.” Rossiter glanced at him. “Why?”
“Why would you think, my lad?” Morris winked mischievously. “Falcon may be a cod’s head, but his sister—horse of a different colour entirely.”
“You not only mix your metaphors, my good fool, but you are properly addlebrained. Falcon warns off every man who dares come near the lady, even the more eligible bachelors. And you committed what you refer to as a ‘little mistake,’ but what he doubtless considers an excuse for bloody murder! He’s an extreme dangerous man with all the instincts of a scorpion. Stay clear, and enjoy a good long life.”
Morris sighed. “But—she is so very glorious, do you see?”
“The lovelier they are,” said Rossiter bitterly, “the more spoiled and flighty.”
“Aye. You’ve the right of it, I fancy.”
This meek capitulation brought a suspicious glint to Rossiter’s eyes, but he was diverted by a stentorian blast as a stagecoach driver demanded and seized the right of way.
“Curst mountebank,” grumbled Morris, urging his hack onto the road once more. “The riffraff they allow to tool the coaches nowadays are little better than rank riders! I shall talk to my guv’nor about it. A good old boy is my guv’nor.” He went on at some length enumerating the virtues of his worthy sire, while contriving to avoid Rossiter’s thoughtful gaze until they came to a bustling crossroad where they drew clear of the stream of traffic, and reined to a halt.
Morris stretched out his hand. “Here we part company. Good hunting, Ross, and—er, all that kind of fustian. I shall expect you to come down and meet my guv’nor. Soon, dear boy.”
Their handshake was firm, their smiles holding the warmth of true friendship.
“I would like that very much,” said Rossiter. “When do you fancy you’ll get back from Sussex?”
“Oh, I likely won’t leave till—” Morris broke off, flushing, then said a rueful, “Devil!”
Rossiter reached over to seize his bridle. “For once in your life, Jamie, use some of the wits God gave you! Falcon’s a shark!”
