Джорджетт Хейер - The Unknown Ajax

“Oh, I wish you’d go to bed, Richmond!” exclaimed his sister exasperatedly. “Things are bad enough without you to make them worse! Mr. Ottershaw did not shoot Claud!”

“Yes, he did,” insisted Richmond. “You think I’m castaway, but I’m not. I can carry my wine! All the Darracotts can carry their wine. He shot Claud because Hugo wouldn’t let him shoot me!” He chuckled. “Silly clunch!”

“The Darracotts do not appear to be able to carry their brandy with any very notable success,” remarked Vincent dryly.

“Tell me, sir!” said Ottershaw, looking at Richmond very hard. “Why should I have wanted to shoot you?”

If he thought to disconcert Richmond by his searching stare, he was disappointed: those dark, gleaming eyes were brimful of wicked laughter. “Because I made the dragoons run away!” Richmond let his clasped hands drop to the table, and bowed his head over them, idiotically giggling.

Vincent regarded him with raised brows, and then said to Hugo: “I wonder what gave rise to that—admittedly enchanting!—delusion? I fear we shall never know.”

“Nay, it’s simple enough! The dragoons were set to keep watch on the Dower House, and they weren’t very well suited with that duty—eh, Sergeant?”

“Well, sir ...”

Hugo’s eyes twinkled. “Eh, Sergeant, you know, and I know—the things we both know!”

The Sergeant smiled gratefully at him. “Yes, sir!” he said, feeling that all might not be lost if this Major would take command. He’d thought him a queer sort of a gentleman at first, but he was what the Sergeant called a right officer: any soldier could tell that, he thought.

Richmond lifted his head. “Ran all the way to the Blue Lion!” he disclosed. “Only me! Not a ghost.” He stopped giggling, and frowned. “Not a silly clunch. Forgetting!” He looked vaguely round, his eyes coming finally to rest on the Lieutenant. He smiled in a friendly way. “You weren’t frightened. My cousin said you weren’t. Mustn’t hoax you any more. Might get shot, like Claud. That’s what Hugo says. I dunno!”

Vincent cast up his eyes. “So far as I understand these cryptic utterances, I collect that my extremely tiresome young cousin has been playing at being a hobgoblin—with, apparently, disintegrating results. Very improper! But it in no way explains why my brother became a target, Mr. Ottershaw. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”

“If your brother was shot, sir, the reason was that he was mistaken for Mr. Richmond Darracott!”

Claud, listening to this with dropped jaw, said, in a dazed voice: “I was shot, because I was—Dash it, I don’t look like Richmond!”

“You are of much the same height and build, sir, and I had good reason to believe that he was abroad tonight.”

“But you can’t shoot at everyone who’s the same height and build as my cousin! Besides, what’s it got to do with you if he was abroad? Never heard anything to equal it in my life! You must be mad!” said Claud, stunned.

“He’s got it firmly fixed in his head that our Richmond is mixed up with the free-traders,” explained Hugo.

“Well, that proves he’s mad. If my head weren’t swimming so—What I mean is—nothing to do with me, if he was mixed up with them! Silly notion, anyway. And when I think—” He put up a hand to his shoulder, cautiously feeling it, and wincing. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said fretfully, to his valet “It’s too tight. Devilish uncomfortable!”

“Pray do not touch it, sir! I implore you, sir, do not try to shift those bandages!”

“Something sticking into me,” muttered Claud, closing his eyes again.

“Yes, sir, but it was necessary to bind a thick pad over the wound,” said Polyphant soothingly. “We fear that the bullet may be deeply lodged, so you must not—”

“What!” Claud’s eyes flew open. “You mean to tell me I’ve got a bullet in me?”

“It’ll be dug out, never fear!” Hugo consoled him.

“Oh, no!”moaned Claud.

“Mr. Darracott, I have two questions which I shall be obliged if you will answer! That will not, I trust, exhaust you! Why were you wearing a mask, and why did you run away when commanded to halt in the King’s name?”

“Take this fellow away!” begged Claud feebly. “A bullet lodged in me! It may befatal! And all the fellow can do is to stand there, asking me questions! How was I to know what they were shouting? Next you’ll say I should have begged pardon and asked them to speak more clear—Polyphant, where is the bullet lodged? I am feeling very low.”

“And the mask, sir?” demanded Ottershaw inexorably.

“Very low indeed! Shouldn’t wonder if I fainted away again. Dashed if I’ll answer you! No concern of yours!”

“Were you wearing a mask, Claud?” said Vincent, looking amused. “Now, I wonder if I could hazard a guess? Rather a late hour for a ramble in the wood, was it not? Unless you wished for some reason to go by the shortest way to the village—or to meet someone, not far from—perhaps—the smithy?”

“You go to the devil!” said Claud sulkily. “And you can take that nosy tidewatcher with you!”

“I wonder if any of my cattle want shoeing? I feel sure they do. I have a positively burning curiosity to see that game-pullet of yours, Claud. But I shan’t wear a mask, however savage her brother may be. What Hugo can do, I can!”

“Leave the poor lad alone!” said Hugo reprovingly, but with a grin. He laid his fingers on Claud’s limp wrist for a minute. “Yes, I think the sooner we get him to bed the better it will be.”

“If I may say so, I am entirely of your mind, sir!” said Polyphant. “Knowing Mr. Claud’s constitution as I do, I shall make bold to say that he will be in a high fever if we do not procure for him a little quiet!”

Hugo nodded, and looked at Ottershaw. “Well, lad, you’ve had your wish, and kicked up a rare scrow-row into the bargain, but happen it’s time you took your leave now,” he said, not unkindly, but with a certain authority in his deep voice.

The Lieutenant stared up into his face, his eyes hard and searching, his lips tightly compressed. For several moments he did not speak: to the Darracotts the moments seemed hours. The Sergeant cleared his throat, and moved towards the door, but Ottershaw paid no heed. He could read nothing in Hugo’s calm face but slight amusement, nor did those very blue eyes waver. Could any man appear so totally unconcerned unless he was as innocent as the Major looked? Some, perhaps, but this enormous, simple creature—? Nothing could have been clumsier than his efforts to keep Richmond’s mother and grandfather in ignorance of his condition; his naive attempts at deception had been the big, good-natured, stupid man he appeared to be. But was he? There was no subtlety in his face, as there was in Vincent Darracott’s; his eyes were sometimes grave, and sometimes twinkling, but they were the eyes of a child: they gazed innocently upon the world, there was no thought behind them.

The Lieutenant glanced at Richmond. It struck him that Richmond was too pale; paler, surely, then he had been a few minutes earlier? His eyes narrowed, intently watching the boy. It was useless to question him: if he was drunk his answers would be valueless; if he was pretending to be drunk he could make them so. He was leaning forward, both his arms on the table, foolishly trying to stand the stopper of the decanter on end, using both hands impartially. It was incredible that he could sit like that, vacantly smiling, if he had a bullet lodged in him; it was incredible that he should be sitting in that chair at all under such circumstances: surely he must have swooned from sheer weakness? But he was certainly growing paler.

“Vincent!”

The Major’s voice was lowered. Ottershaw’s suspicious eyes went instantly to his face, but Hugo was no longer looking at him, he was looking at Richmond, a rather rueful smile on his lips. He glanced towards Vincent, and significantly directed his attention to Richmond, saying, in an under-voice: “From the looks of it, he’ll be casting up his accounts before he’s much older. Better get him to bed.”

“Damn the brat!” said Vincent. “Inevitable, of course! He will in all probability cast ’em up as soon as he gets to his feet. What a singularly disagreeable evening this has been, to be sure!”

He went up to the table as he spoke, and grasped Richmond’s left arm, just above the elbow, as though to pull him to his feet. “Come along, bantam!” he said. “Bedtime!”

Richmond hiccupped. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

“One moment!” Ottershaw said suddenly, obedient to an insistent, inner prompting. “Before you retire, Mr. Richmond, oblige me, please, by removing your coat!”

“Well, upon my word!” cried Anthea, as though she could no longer restrain herself. “Mr. Ottershaw, are you indeed mad, or merely determined to insult us! I never heard of anything so outrageous in my life! Who are you to throw orders about in this house? Pray how many people have been fired on tonight?”

Uncertainty, chagrin, the intangible feeling that he was being fooled to the top of his bent, were making the Lieutenant lose his temper. He snapped back accusingly: “Only one, Miss Darracott!”

She stared at him, her eyes blazing. “Only—Why, you—you impertinent idiot! Do you know what you are saying? Do you seriously imagine that I—my grandfather—my cousins—all of us, in fact: every member of the household!—are engaged in the smuggling trade?”

“No! But that you are engaged in protecting Mr. Richmond Darracott, yes!”he said recklessly.