“I’m not your mate, you rogue. And my father is waiting, so we’d best get to your reason for coming here. Start by answering my first question, an you please.”
“’Ow did I find yer, right? Cor! Ain’t no one can ’ide in this ’ere village from the likes o’ me, Cap’n. And I come so’s you could do right by me. Like a ’onourable gent oughter. You being one, like you told yer brother.”
“You rascally opportunist! Are you asking compensation because Lieutenant Morris blacked your eye?”
“Ar, but he didn’t, mate—er, Cap’n, sir. It was them other coves.” He launched into the tale he had told earlier at a certain house on Great Ormond Street.
Gideon listened in frowning silence. At the end, he swore angrily. “Has all this been relayed to the authorities?”
“Such as they is. Yus, Guv.”
“And you don’t know who these men were? No names spoken, or anything to reveal what they were after, or who they might work for?”
“All they done was talk about ‘the Squire.’ Whoever their squire might be, ’e’s a ugly customer, I can tell you. Same as them. I’d know ’em if I ever seed ’em, you may be sure! ’Specially the cove what give me this.” He touched his swollen eye tenderly. “A big ’un. Taller’n you, and twice as wide as me, with a face like a mangel-wurzel, and only four fingers and a bit on ’is left ’and.”
Gideon stood, wandered to the window and stared at the weedy garden, thinking in mixed rage and sadness of the great estate and the pleasant life they had enjoyed there. Why the devil would anyone want to wreck it? What were they looking for? Most of the family’s personal effects had been removed. The furnishings were valuable but had evidently not been stolen. He had brought home nothing of great worth and, in fact, some of his possessions were still at the Red Pheasant Inn. Most of the articles stolen with his saddlebags had been gifts he’d hoped to present to his family. Jewellry, fans, and laces for Gwen and his female relations; snuff boxes, a filigreed quizzing glass, assorted war souvenirs for the men. Certainly nothing to justify all this violence.
“So, I come ’ere,” said Tummet, growing tired of the long silence, “’oping andtrustingas you’d make it up to me, seein’s it’s on account o’ you I bin robbed o’ me ’ole fortune, everything in the wide world as I owned.”
“Gad! They robbed you, too?”
“Manner o’speaking, they did. Me sovereign nation—me sittyation, that is—was lost to me. And seein’s it was all I got, I lost everything.”
Gideon could not repress a smile, but it occurred to him that what this crafty fellow said was very likely true. The loss of his position might constitute as great a disaster to him as the loss now facing the Rossiters. “Very well,” he said, reaching for his purse. “I’ll pay you—”
Tummet sprang to his feet and declared with a theatrical gesture which would have made the great Garrick envious that he did not want money. “I come ’ere in good faith, ’oping you’d do like the lady said, and take me into yer service.”
“Take you into myservice?” echoed Gideon, dumbfounded. “What bird-wit—I mean, who is the lady who said such a thing?”
“Lady Lutonville,” said Tummet, looking aggrieved. “She says I was to say as in ’er ’pinion, you oughta take me on, to make up fer the grief and woe you caused me.” He looked at the ceiling and added innocently, “As yer valet.”
“As my—what?” Torn between hilarity and disbelief, Gideon started to say that he did not believe Lady Lutonville would say so bacon-brained a thing, but then he paused. My lady had likely had a fine time picturing his indignation when this eminently unsuitable man arrived with her ridiculous recommendation. Tummet seemed a good-enough fellow, and the question now became how to get out of this bumble-broth without hurting his feelings. Yearning to give her obliging ladyship a hard shake, he smiled at Tummet and said, man-to-man fashion, “You are probably aware of my family’s—er, temporarily difficult circumstances.”
“Yus. Well, I’d be willing to overlook that.”
“You’d be—” With an outraged gasp, Gideon said, “Why, you insolent hedgebird! I doubt you know the difference ’twixt a cravat and a stock! And as for being willing to overlook—Be damned if I shouldn’t have you thrown out for—” He checked. Tummet was watching him, so hopeful a leer on his unlovely features that it was hard to hold anger.
“I know I ain’t much to look at,” admitted Tummet. “But I’d be a good servant, Cap’n. I’m honest and loyal, and I knows more about cravats and stocksandother things than what you might think. Matter o’ fact,” he added with a knowing wink, “you might just find I’m a sight more use t’you than ’alf a dozen starched-up Town valets with poached eggs fer eyes and their noses stuck up so ’igh you’d ’ardly dare ask ’em to kiss yer ’and.”
“I am not in the habit of asking my servants to kiss my hand! And furthermore, you may tell Lady Lutonville—”
Without the courtesy of a knock, Newby opened the door and strolled in. “My father is in a proper taking, dear brother. You will recollect I told you he was waiting?”
“So you did.” Gideon stood, with an inward sigh of relief. “I’ll come at once.”
“I should think so.” Lifting his quizzing glass and lazily surveying Tummet, who had respectfully come to his feet, Newby grinned. “What in the deuce could you find to discuss withthis?”
“I was—er, interviewing applicants,” said Gideon, as always chafed by his brother’s arrogance.
“Applicants for what? Resident chimney sweep?”
Gideon frowned, and threw an apologetic look at the applicant.
Tummet maintained his one-eyed gaze at the ceiling and drew himself up to assume his “stuffed owl” stance.
“For the position of my—er, valet,” explained Gideon.
Newby’s jaw dropped, his astounded gaze taking in Mr. Tummet’s down-at-heel boots, ragged clothes, and lurid black eye. Then he gave a whoop. “Zounds! If you ain’t a complete hand, twin! No really, what is it?”
