The Riddle of the Lost Lover Read Free Page A

Nobody knows for sure. And his son’s not gone into mourning, I heard.”
    â€œWhat, is Jack Vespa in Town, again? Gad, but that was a fast recover. Last word I had was that he was at death’s door.”
    Mrs. Fortram turned her attention from the window and eyed her son with rare interest. “Well, he’s not there now, and I’m glad of it, for I like the boy. What else have you heard? The gabsters who usually know everything are suddenly like so many stuffed owls. Why all the secrecy?”
    â€œBe dashed if I know. Paige Manderville was in White’s yesterday, and all he’d say was that Jack and Sir Kendrick surprised some rogues hiding in an old quarry on Jack’s Dorsetshire property, and—”
    â€œAnd that Captain Jack was shot down and his father pushed into some sort of underground flood. Outrageous! Despicable! Dastardly! But that was weeks ago, and despite all the flurry at Bow Street and Whitehall, with Runners and Special Constables and dragoons galloping about hither and yon, what have they accomplished? Have the culprits been arrested? No! What mischief were they about down in that old quarry? No one knows—or will admit to knowing! Why is Bow Street mum, and the newspapers scarce mention the business? That’s what I’d like to know!”
    â€œAs would we all, ma’am. It’s a regular mystery, especially when you consider that Sir Kendrick Vespa is—was a distinguished diplomatist.”
    â€œTrue.” Mrs. Fortram restored her attention to the window. “The thing is, they haven’t found his body yet. Might never find it. Which will leave his surviving son properly in the suds, eh?”
    â€œMmm.” Putting up his quizzing glass, Mr. Fortram admired the points of a fine chestnut team now pulling up before the great house across the street, and murmured absently, “I wonder if his poor mama knows of her bereavement.”
    â€œPoor mama, indeed! All Faith Vespa ever did was whine about Sir Kendrick’s neglect of her. I doubt she’ll grieve him, though she’s missing a splendid opportunity to moan and wail and weep crocodile tears all over Town. I don’t see how she could know of her widowhood, at all events. The silly widgeon ran off to some relations in South America, didn’t she?”
    Hubert pursed his lips and returned to his chair. “So they say. I for one cannot blame her. All that scandal about her husband’s lightskirts. Terrible embarrassment for the lady.”
    â€œWell, running away added grist to the gossip mills, which she’d know had she a particle of sense. Kendrick Vespa was too handsome, and that’s always a danger. But had Lady Faith handled him properly … instead of which I’m of the opinion her complainings fairly drove the man to infidelity.”
    Again reaching for The Times, Hubert murmured, “Now we don’t know that for sure, Mama. And the Vespas, after all, rank among our most ancient and respected Houses.”
    â€œThe more reason for Sir Kendrick to have guarded his name against scandal! It’s downright shocking that a fine old family could be thriving one day, and destroyed the next. That’s what comes of— Look! Only look! The Ottavio woman! I haven’t seen her for— Doesn’t she live in Dorsetshire? I’ll warrant she knows what went on down at Alabaster Regis—or whatever it’s called.”
    Joining his parent once more, Hubert put up his quizzing glass. “You’re right, by Jove! I remember the little lady. French, ain’t she? A duchess or some such thing.”
    â€œItalian. She claims to be the duchess of Ottavio, but her husband died just before inheriting the title, and she is no more a duchess than am I! Whatever can have brought her back into Town, I wonder? Well, that bears off the palm! Lord, are you lumping back into your chair again? Come, Hubert! Up! Up! Rouse your