‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket.
Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him. She received into her slack grasp the pistol and dagger, only half aware of taking them.
His expression altered. ‘What is the matter?’
‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly.
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why, what have I said?’
‘You said to me my name.’
His features relaxed again and he grinned. ‘I told you I would find out all about you, Melusine.’ His finger came out and Melusine felt it stroke her cheek. A shiver slid down inside her. ‘It’s a pretty name. As pretty as its owner.’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back.
Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience.
‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ She grasped the girl’s arm. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. Melusine, I’ve remembered something that may help you. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House.’
Chapter Five
‘Now then, young Jack,’ Gerald said, turning to the lad, who was sitting in the place lately vacated by his self-appointed mistress, but in a state of far less relaxation.
He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his three-cornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison.
In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. He had no wish to drag the footman out of his way, once he had got his questions answered.
‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye, s-sir. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad.
‘Very well, Kimble. You need only answer me truthfully and you have nothing to fear.’
Kimble nodded. ‘Aye, sir.’
‘That’s better. How long has Miss Charvill been in England?’
‘Not long, sir. Little more’n a week.’
‘I presume you were not with her in France?’
Kimble stared. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. Thought she was a nun at first.’ He sighed. ‘Like a vision she were.’ He flushed. ‘I—I mean, she were—’
‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald.
‘More nor that. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place.’ His colour deepened. Seeming to feel that this statement called for explanation, he added, ‘I been working for the sisters six month, see. Folks don’t like ’em. Nuns, I mean. But they been good to me, they have, sir. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in.’
‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley.
The lad looked alarmed. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. Lost me place, that’s all.’ He grimaced. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye.’
Gerald suppressed a grin. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. And he did not lack courage. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later.
‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely.
Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door.
‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men.
The lad hesitated. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me.’
‘On the contrary. You have been seen loitering with suspicious intent in several places—Paddington, for instance—and I have no doubt at all that you were party to a break-in last week at Remenham House in Kent.’
Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. ‘You can’t prove nothing.’
‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily.
Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back.
‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. ‘Now let’s have it. Miss Charvill.’
‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about her. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t.’
Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. I mean Miss Charvill no harm. On the contrary.’
‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack.
‘I should have thought it was obvious. By rights I ought to have arrested her days ago. But I have not done so, and will not. I have discovered something of her background. I know who she is, and I know that she has been cheated somehow by the people calling themselves Valade.’
