The Babe and the Baron Read Free

injured. “I was going to try for the Long Vac, when Lance and Perry will be home.”
    “I hope you still will.” Gareth was pleased that the swaggering young officer did not disdain the company of his younger brothers. “If you can take a day or two now, come with me to fetch her. Perhaps you will be agreeably surprised.”
    “Devil take it, you're right, as usual. Perhaps she'll turn out to be the dashing widow I didn't find at Almack's.”
    Gareth laughed, but warned, “None of your philandering while she's under my roof.”
    The next day, they both made enquiries as to the whereabouts of Jack Pointer. As a result, Sir John himself turned up on their doorstep that very evening.
    “Heard you was looking for me?”
    Rupert was on duty, and Gareth was about to leave to dine with friends at his club, but he invited the chubby young baronet in and offered him a glass of wine.
    “I thought I'd have to chase you to Newmarket,” he said.
    “Fact is,” said Sir John gloomily, swigging the best Mountain Malaga as if it were ale, “it just ain't as much fun following the nags without Freddie. Freddie Chamberlain—friend of mine.”
    “My second cousin.”
    “Oh? Expect you know he kicked the bucket, then.”
    “Yes, that is why I wanted to see you.”
    Jack Pointer looked alarmed, as if he expected to be blamed for Freddie's unconventional demise. “I told him that lantern hook wouldn't hold him, damme if I didn't. Tried to stop him swinging from it, but to tell the truth I was a trifle bosky. We all were. Stands to reason, seeing it was a celebration for Freddie's wife.”
    “A celebration?”
    “She just gave Freddie the news. Can't tell you about that, promised her to keep mum, but Freddie was full of frisk, prime for a lark. Sobered us up pretty quick when he broke his neck, I can tell you. Nasty shock.”
    “I'm sure it was. May I enquire why my cousin was swinging from a lantern hook?”
    “Dancing on the table, happened to see the thing. On the ceiling, you know.” Jack's abbreviated style of speech reminded Gareth irresistibly of Aunt Sybil. He added earnestly, “Just a bit of fun and gig. Not an ounce of vice in Freddie.”
    “I daresay. However, I am more concerned with Freddie's widow.”
    “Not an ounce of vice in Mrs. Chamberlain, neither, assure you.”
    “Mrs. Chamberlain? Does she not use her title?”
    “The Honourable?” Jack sounded puzzled. “No, she ain't one to ride the high horse.”
    “As daughter of an earl, she is entitled to call herself 'Lady'.”
    “Lady Laura? Well, if that don't beat the Dutch! Freddie never let on. Lay you a monkey she didn't want it known, living in that hovel.”
    Dismayed by the word 'hovel,' but relieved to reach the point at last, Gareth said, “So you know where she lives?”
    “Little place between Cambridge and Newmarket. Dammit, what's its name? The tavern's the Bull and Bush.”
    “And the village?” He refilled Jack's glass, envisaging days spent scouring the Cambridgeshire countryside for a tavern called the Bull and Bush.
    “Dashed odd name. Damme, it'll come to me. Begins with a P. On the tip of my tongue. P-p-p... or is it M? Ha, Swaffham Bulbeck. I say, you don't mean to make trouble for the lady, do you, old fellow? Because if you do, you'll have me to deal with.” The belligerent expression sat ill on his round, easygoing face. “Friend of mine, Freddie.”
    “No trouble. I wish to assist her.”
    “Offered her blunt. Wouldn't take it.”
    “I, however, am the head of the family,” Gareth pointed out with a degree of hauteur.
    “Yes, right, so you are,” said Jack, abashed. “Well, if all's right and tight, then, I'll be off.”
    * * * *
    Lord Wyckham had several social engagements in the next few days, and a certain amount of political and financial business to clear up before he left London. He saw little of Rupert. The captain slept in barracks, taking extra duty for friends who would cover for him for a few days leave.