CHAPTER 9
The Midnight Ship to Calais
While Quenton was at the bank, he felt the weight of his decision to return to France. Although his withdrawal was far from princely, it drained his meager savings. Was his time worth so little? If not for his winning purses from racing, there would have been precious pennies left, but the monies in Alix's Sterling Wood account kept the bank president's questions at bay. If Quenton survived the gamble in France, the amount would shrink in significance. Should he not, it would leave his niece less for her future. He pocketed the cash guiltily and used it to book passage on the midnight ship to Calais.
At the back door of the Griffon house, Percival's son regarded him blankly. Quenton could not blame the young man. After cutting his hair and shaving his beard, Quenton scarcely recognized himself either. He was hesitantly led to the butler's small chamber to pace restlessly until Percival appeared. His dramatic transformation gave even the butler thoughtful pause, but then, undaunted, Percival entered officiously. "Mr. Hill, I understand you wish to see me."
"Yes, thank you." "Please sit down."
Their pleasantries dismissed, Percival took his chair and propped his fingers together thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I comment on the difference in your appearance?"
Quenton smiled. Until that morning, he had not shaved since the day his brother had died. At first his neglect had been unintentional, but later on his trimmed beard had become part of the persona of Quincy Hill the stableman. "No, not at all," he acknowledged.
"Young Percy forewarned me, but frankly, if we passed on the street, I don't know if I'd have recognized you. May I ask what brings this unprecedented visit?"
"I've come to resign my position."
The butler pursed his lips tentatively. "From looking at you, I presume it's due to a change in fortune."
"That remains to be seen. For now, you might say I'm answering an overdue summons."
"A summons?"
"From home," Quenton clarified guardedly. "I must leave immediately. I realize it leaves the stable shorthanded, but I'd like to recommend Georgie as coachman."
Percival tapped his fingertips together. "That's commendable."
"I'd not do so if I thought him unsuitable."
The butler reached into his lower drawer for a pair of glasses and bottle of whiskey. He glanced at Quenton while pouring and passed a drink across his desk. "I consider your opinion trustworthy."
"What do you think when you look at me, Percy?"
Percival crossed his legs when he sat back with his whiskey. "I'd say you've done well placing bets on the track."
"Santi/" Quenton bade, saluting with his drink.
"Santi/" Percival echoed, as his straight brows lifted quizzically. "You're French?"
Quenton shrugged. "I'm many things."
The butler considered him somberly and then surmised, "Your name isn't Quincy Hill, is it? If you escaped Europe during the war, why'd you hide it all this time?"
"It's a complicated story-and since it comes to my leave- taking, I've a favor to ask of you."
"I understand your need for a reference."
"No-thank you. At least, I don't think I'll need one." "You're returning to your old family, then?"
"It's a little more complicated . . . Actually, my favor is in regard to a member of that old family and requires complete secrecy, but I've always known you as a man of the highest discretion."
"I cannot say that I like the sound of your proposal, Mr. Hill." The butler rose to pace his tiny office thoughtfully. "I don't know quite how to respond."
"I hope you understand I wouldn't expect you to do anything unscrupulous, Percival. It's for the protection of another that I'm asking."
"A member from the old family you mentioned?" "Qui/ bien sur."
"I beg to know more before I make a commitment."
"The stakes are high; in many ways, you might consider it a matter of survival."
"Do you mean a life-or-death situation?" "Tout d fait."
"I'm not in a position to grant carte blanche."
"In a manner of speaking, I'm asking you only to continue with something you're already doing."
"I'm afraid I must insist."
"The potential discovery would put someone at risk. You see, years ago when I arrived in England, I brought someone else with me."
Percival returned to his chair. "A member of your old household in France, you mean?"
"Yes. Since she's already in residence, I'd like her to remain until someone comes for her."
"You're speaking of one of our maids?"
"No, not at all. Please understand that her father spared no expense when it came to his daughter, and although she was a child when I brought her, she was already accomplished in a great many ways. However talented she may be, she also has the misfortune of sharing the same appearance as someone else in our acquaintance." He held on to Percival's unwavering study until realization dawned in the other's eyes.
The butler pursed his lips doubtfully. "You're not speaking of milady?"
Quenton allowed time for Winston to gather his thoughts but preempted his initial question before he could say more. "Now you understand the need for secrecy."
"To protect Lily?"
"This has nothing to do with her." "But where is she?"
"If you are asking me about Lily Griffon, then I don't know."
"But when?"
"I'm unable to say more, except will you watch over her until her guardian can arrive to take her home? I notified him over the weekend, and I expect he'll soon be in contact with His Lordship."
"Who would this guardian be?"
"However he chooses to approach is his own affair. It's not my place to reveal anything about why she is here, but you'll agree there'd be an enormous scandal if this were to become public knowledge. No one would like this to reach the newspapers, and the consequences could be devastating if she ran away."
"By Jove!"
"Not to mention the stain it would place on the respectability of the household. It might inflict a great deal of harm to Lord Griffon's reputation. Please just agree to look after her. As I've said, you've been doing so already without undue difficulty, haven't you?"
Percival harrumphed into his handkerchief. "Forgive me if I ask when you plan to share this information with milord. He has the right to know if he has a guest beneath his roof."
Quenton rose and collected his hat. "I'll consider how to tell him; however, whatever I reveal must not be discussed. Have I your word?"
"Of course, if you keep your end of the bargain," the butler finally conceded, climbing up to reach for the door.
"I will. Merci. In parting, I'm afraid I must admit that my charge was pampered as a child. She usually isn't too difficult to care for, but I can't remember a time when she wasn't particular. A word to the wise, should she become reluctant about eating: bacon, lean and well smoked. It's long been her favorite."
IT WAS FIVE STEPS from the table to the shelf. Quenton slipped his gold watch from his waistcoat to look at the time. It was not yet ten; he could still say what he needed to, but if Nicholas Griffon did not appear soon, his departure would leave a critical gap for Percival's conditional measure.
Annoyed, Quenton returned his timepiece to his pocket.
The singular gain from Lily's interference was a question of whether their estate had been confiscated ille<