Chapter Twenty-three

 

The wicked Magnus Eliot went about his customary business, flirting with the ladies, and rather more than flirting with his mistresses of the moment; winning heavily at hazard, and proving rather less lucky at piquet. As was his habit, Magnus ended the evening with more funds in pocket than when he had begun. Whatever else he might be—blackguard, philanderer, seducer—Magnus was also a coolheaded gambler with a great deal of nerve and common sense. Unlike the majority of his fellow players, he knew to stop before Lady Luck turned against him, and he lost what he had won.

That moment came earlier than usual this evening, and Magnus bid his adieux to the select gambling club which he had chosen to grace with his presence, and his clever hands. Thought of further revels did not appeal, and Magnus turned his footsteps toward home. He had hired a house in the fashionable part of town, for which he paid rather less than fourteen guineas a week, the owner of the establishment having been so ill-advised as to play with him at cards.

Magnus climbed the polished stone steps, entered the Palladian front door, handed his manservant his hat and gloves and topcoat. Then he made his way to the library. Later, he would claim that premonition prompted him. The truth is that Magnus wished to savor a glass of smuggled French brandy before he turned in for the night.

The library was a fine chamber, with book-lined walls and heavy oak furniture and stuffed leather chairs. In one of those chairs, a gentleman sat. In one hand he held a brandy snifter, in the other a dueling pistol. The pistol was pointed straight at Magnus's heart, and the hand which held it was not entirely steady. Perspiration beaded the intruder's forehead.

Magnus closed the door behind him. He might have experienced more concern had he not recognized the intruder, although he did not like the sight of that gun. The Hallidays had most unique ways of striking up conversations. "Have you also come to speak to me about the whatsis?" he inquired.

"The what?" Andrew was confused.

"The whatsis," Magnus repeated. "That is what your sister calls it, at any rate. Or perhaps you wished to appeal to my better nature. Your sister might have told you to spare yourself the effort."

Andrew swallowed a gulp of his brandy. "I do not wish to talk to you about my sister," he said, in tones that were somewhat slurred. "And to blazes with your better nature, and for that matter, with you! I came here to steal back the emerald—whatsis!—but I can't seem to find the blasted thing. Or perhaps I could, if I got up from this chair, but I've hurt my blasted leg."

Magnus recalled that young Lieutenant Halliday walked with a limp. He glanced around the library, which was in considerable disarray. "You didn't find the thing because I am not so addlepated as to have it here. My man didn't tell me I had a visitor. How did you get in?"

Andrew waved the pistol toward an open window. "If the bubble-brain could do it, then why shouldn't I?" he said obscurely, causing Mr. Eliot to try and remember if any lovelies had scaled the walls of his rented house to enter through a window, which would have been very strange behavior, in light of the fact that he would gladly welcome them properly through the front door.

Andrew was still talking. "Even with a curst lame leg. 'Twas nothing like scaling the walls of the fortress at Badajoz. Huge ochre walls and angular bastions thirty feet high. Kestrels nesting in the castle towers. Frogs croaking nearby. Did you know that Badajoz was wrested from the Moors in 1229?" The room swam around him. Why was he sitting in this chair? Andrew remembered that his leg had given out. "I had to break the glass."

Magnus didn't make the mistake of thinking all that ailed his visitor was an overindulgence in fine brandy. The boy looked very ill. The pistol was a danger of the pistol, not because he feared its owner, but because Lieutenant Halliday's hand was shaking so badly that the damned thing might go off by accident.

Magnus removed himself from the line of fire. "How long have you been here?"

Andrew shook his head, which was grown very heavy. "We sacked the town. Men dressed themselves up in silk gowns, garlanded themselves with strings of pretty Spanish shoes, carried off hams and tongues and loaves. Where have you been, Eliot? I wondered if you would ever come home."

Magnus fervently wished he hadn't. He very much disliked the wild manner in which his uninvited guest was waving that damned pistol about. "Having failed to rob me, you decided to talk to me instead?"

Andrew frowned in an attempt at concentration. "Something like that."

"Good!" Magnus availed himself of some badly needed brandy. "In that case, do you think you might put away that damned barking-iron? It's a trifle disconcerting to look at you over a gun barrel." He quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you mean to call me out for conversing with your sister the other day?"

Andrew put down the pistol, which he had forgotten he was holding. "I don't want to call anybody out. It's a bloody stupid custom. If people wish to kill each other, they should go to war. Although war is like a duel, isn't it, only it's between countries. This war started because the Spanish Royals were quarrelling among themselves, and Napoleon stepped in, and look at us now." He raised his empty hand to wipe perspiration from his face. "Anyway, I daresay it wasn't your idea to speak with my sister. Knowing Georgie, she probably spoke to you first."

"So she did." Magnus glanced at the brandy snifter which his guest still held, and looked like he might momentarily drop. "I don't think you should be drinking that."

Andrew, too, glanced at the snifter. "Why not? You might be surprised at some of the things I've drunk. Not now, but in the Peninsula. Why—"

"Never mind!" Magnus was less interested in the Peninsula than in his uninvited guest's obvious ill health. "Dammit, man, you're as sick as a dog."

Dog? Andrew peered around for Lump, who he didn't think he'd brought along. Lump could hardly have scaled the fortress wall. Maybe he had left the beast outside. No, that wouldn't serve. Lump would have raised a ruckus before now. Maybe the dog had run off. Georgie would be made very unhappy if she lost her pet again. Therefore, Andrew was very sure he hadn't brought him along. He shook his head. "No. No dog," he said.

His guest had let go of his pistol. Prudently, Magnus pushed it aside. "You meant to rob me," he remarked.

Had he? Andrew could not remember. "That would be dishonorable," he said, just before he closed his eyes and slid unconscious to the floor. Magnus swore a great oath, and rang for his servant, and ordered his carriage brought around.

Thus it came about that Tibble was roused so abruptly from his slumbers that he answered the front door clad in his night shirt and cap to find yet another strange gentleman demanding to see his mistress. Tibble was shocked. Surely Lady Georgiana and her admirers must know it wasn't at all the thing to be knocking up a lady at this hour of night.

"Cut the cackle!" snapped the stranger, and strode toward his carriage, only to return with the semi-conscious Andrew under his arm. Tibble abandoned his apprehensions, along with his nightcap and his dignity, and helped the stranger carry Andrew into his chamber, and lay him on the bed. "I'll get Mistress Georgie," he said, and ran to do so, and awaken the rest of the household.

And thus it also came about that Magnus Eliot met with Miss Halliday in a bedchamber, his clothing in disarray, and she in her nightrail. Under other circumstances Magnus might have enjoyed the encounter very well. However, they were not alone. Tibble and Agatha and Janie, each in nighttime attire, clustered around the bed. Tibble held a basin of cool water, while Janie wrung out damp cloths, which Agatha applied to Andrew's feverish brow. Lump, recovered now from his adventure with the apple tart, had to be restrained from leaping on the bed. Only Marigold was absent, not only because Tibble had omitted to inform her of this latest disaster, but because Agatha had liberally laced her negus with laudanum. "I've sent for a sawbones," Magnus said to Georgie. "You can't deal with this yourself."

Georgie agreed. She had never seen Andrew so ill. "I don't understand. How did you come to—'" Her gaze flew to Magnus's face. "Oh, no."

"He broke into my house looking for that damnable doohickey." Even in his current frame of mind, which was made up of equal parts annoyance and exasperation, Magnus could not help but appreciate the manner in which Miss Halliday's hair curled wildly around her head. She looked as though she had just got out of bed. Yes, and so she had, and Magnus would like to get back into bed with her, and not because he was so very tired.

This was hardly a fit moment in which to be thinking of such matters, but Mr. Eliot was incorrigible. "It is very fortunate for young Lieutenant Halliday that I hold his sister in such high regard," he said, with a hint of his dimpled smile. "Else I would have had the young whelp up before the magistrates. He meant to rob me."

What had Andrew been thinking? Georgie stared at the still figure on the bed. "He was also talking a great deal of nonsense about the Peninsula," Magnus added. He held out the dueling-pistol, which caused no small consternation in the room, and recalled to Tibble his desire to knock down a certain gentleman's applecart.

"Stubble it!" said Magnus, and handed the gun to Georgie. "I assume this is yours. Your brother also mentioned twelve-pounders and limbers and caissons."

Georgie sighed, and accepted the dueling pistol, which was one of a set that had belonged to her father. "Yes, I know. Corpses that stayed warm all night. Fiery lakes of smoking blood. I don't know what we are to do for poor Andrew. Nor do I know what to say to you about my brother's behavior, Mr. Eliot. Had Andrew been in his right senses he would never have tried to—to do what he did! I offer you my apologies, sir, in his behalf. And I thank you for returning him to us. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you—" Magnus's blue eyes twinkled. Georgie recalled to whom she was speaking. "Never mind!"

Regardless of the audience, Magnus clasped Georgie's bare hand and raised it to his lips. "I am a marvel of discretion, my darling," he murmured softly, against her palm. "When the stakes are high enough." The doctor arrived then, and Mr. Eliot took his leave.