Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

A brief tableau of a gentleman's morning in the country.

The first sound that penetrated the solid wall of exhaustion and excess in Basil's head made absolutely no sense, and therefore was easily dismissed. A moment later the same noise was dismissed again. The third time was accompanied by a groan, which had the effect of multiplying the first noise.

Was Basil next to someone else? He remembered the cards. Fernsby's brandy was, indeed, first rate, but where had he ended up for the night? Eyes still closed, he took in a breath that instantly sent a sharp pang through his head. Now it was his turn to groan.

There was that noise again. It was at once deep and nasally. Basil tried to bring his mind to heel so that he could focus, but the aching fog surrounding his brain was too thick at present. Instead, he reached an arm out and felt about him.

He was lying on something soft. Upholstered. So, he must be inside. That was good news. In his younger days he had found himself sleeping in the most peculiar outdoor settings once or twice. If he had found himself on a bed of green now, at his age, he would likely be hobbling around with an aching back and a kink in his neck the rest of the day. But he was inside and lying on a sofa or a chair or some combination of the two. The last thing he really remembered was Mr. Stratham tossing his cards down in frustration as Basil gathered up his winnings.

He heard the shifting of something, someone stretching or moving. The unidentified noise, which Basil had tuned out as he had tried to gather his thoughts, raised to an alarming pitch that rang through his ears. Groaning, he covered his head with his arms. There was a rhythm to the sound, one he knew, but that was not possible. He was inside. Unless someone had taken the trouble to take whatever he was lying on outside. That would be more plausible than ducks in the house…

It was at that moment that his brain registered the air around him. Outside air would be cool, fresh, lighter, and damp. The air here felt stuffy and closed off. The lighting was dim, like the curtains were still covering the windows. Then there was the smell. Wet and…mucky…

"Morley." The voice drew out his name in apparent anguish. Mr. Camden was somewhere near him. "What have you done?"

With a supreme effort, Basil opened his eyes, blinking hard several times to rid them of the bleary film preventing his vision. "Did what?"

The noise—the quacks —raised in pitch again as the two men began taking stock of their surroundings. "What in blazes—" Basil said.

There were ducks in his room. A dozen at least, looking profoundly confused. Their white heads darting here and there as they regarded his movements. Basil scrubbed his face to make sure he was awake. What time was it? How long had the ducks been in here? And, most importantly, who had put them here?

Mr. Camden, still fully clothed except for his shoes, pulled a face and let out a sound of disgust as he looked to the floor. The ducks had been in here for quite a while, it seemed.

"What time is it?" Mr. Camden asked, patting his waistcoat. "Where is my timepiece?" he muttered.

Sitting up, Basil followed suit and felt his chest up and down, not because he thought he had a watch on him, but it was easier to copy Camden's movements than to think of anything original just now. To his surprise, his hand came upon a bulge in the pocket of his waistcoat, round and hard. He slipped his fingers in and produced a pocket watch of fine silver.

Not his.

"This it?" he asked, lifting it up by its chain.

Mr. Camden's face scrunched up in concentration as he studied the watch. He flung up a hand. "That's it. But confound it all, it is yours."

"Mine?"

"You won it last night. Don't you remember? That blasted ace."

Basil frowned in wonder. "Did I? I suppose I did. Thank you. Much obliged." He checked the time and groaned. "Just after eight."

Both men flopped back onto their respective pallets. It had been past four o'clock before the men had broken up.

"Why did you go and bring the ducks, though? It is a mess in here, and the stench—phew!"

"I didn't," Basil disclaimed. "Give you my word. You must have brought them in. To what end, Camden?"

But Mr. Camden shook his head. "Couldn't have been me. Why would I do such a thing? Come to think of it, this has Stratham's devilry all over it. Devilish put out when you came out on top in piquet."

During this exchange the ducks had quieted down after their initial alarm. Basil looked them over. "What do we do with them?"

Mr. Camden shrugged. "The way I see it, we did not bring them in. We have no responsibility to take them out."

It sounded logical enough. Basil was about to say as much when a titter sounded from just outside the door. He and Mr. Camden looked each other a question.

"You hear that?" Basil asked.

Mr. Camden nodded. Someone was eavesdropping. Doubtless to see the effect of their duck-napping escapade.

Basil swung his legs off the sofa. It was his intention to rush to the door and catch the culprit (likely Mr. Stratham) by surprise, but not only did his body deny his request for such a hurried movement, the speed at which he did move was enough to send the ducks flying here and there in an explosion of panic. As a duck flew right into his face, Mr. Camden only added to the mayhem by yelling and flailing his arms to stave off his feathered assaulters.

Basil did not fair much better. The room was so small that ducks pelleted his body, their wings scraping against his head as they tried to find an escape. Their shrill calls of alarm made his head vibrate in agony. Shielding his face with his arms, he reached the door.

The tittering he had heard a moment earlier had given way to outright bursts of laughter. He fumbled with the latch until it lifted, then shoved the door open and went through to the hall with Mr. Camden right behind him.

In the dim hallway stood Lord Fernsby, Lord Malden, and Sir Michael, as well as several servants, who at least tried to cover their mirth with their hands over their mouths. The gentlemen were doubled over laughing, or supporting themselves against the wall as they enjoyed the spectacle. Basil looked himself over and brushed the dust and feathers off his jacket. The ducks saw the opening, but stayed in the room, too afraid to cross the threshold with so many people barring their way.

"Morley, what happened?" Sir Michael gasped as he peered into the room. "Stratham and I sent the two of you off to bed so foxed I was sure you could not cause any more devastation than you already had at the card table."

Basil rubbed his hands over his face. "Well played, Sir Michael. I tip my hat to you. Couldn't have come up with a better one myself."

"But I had nothing to do with it, I assure you."

Basil eyed him. "Is that so?"

"Stratham, then?" Mr. Camden asked.

Sir Michael shook his head. "Never stirred once he took himself to bed. Still there, snoring enough to send the house tumbling down. I am amazed I got any sleep myself with him in there."

"What's this?" Lord Fernsby asked. "If none of you set the ducks on them, who did? You did not run a nightly errand to the pond while you were in your cups, did you, Morley? Must have."

"What? No. I wasn't that far gone, nowhere near it." Basil scratched his head as he looked at the ducks still waddling about in the room. Some were getting brave enough to come nearer the door.

"Far enough gone to wake up to a flock while being none the wiser as to how they got there," Lord Fernsby chuckled.

"Well, what do we do with them?" Sir Michael asked. He stuck his head into the room to take stock of the disarray. The motion set the ducks quacking in alarm, and he quickly brought himself back into the hall.

"What I want to know is who is behind it," Lord Fernsby said over the noise. "Lyndhurst? I doubt his wife would let him. Malden? Wouldn't think it myself. Not enough imagination."

"I am right here," Lord Malden said gruffly.

Lord Fernsby started and looked behind him. "Ah, so you are. Beg pardon. At any rate, it had to be one of us, so out with it. Who did it?"

Basil spread his hands open and shrugged. He knew he was in the clear. It had been a long time since he had drunk himself under the table to the point of complete memory loss the next morning. He had indulged, certainly, but he knew his limits.

The other men disclaimed being accessory to any fowl proceedings. After a little more speculation, Lord Fernsby seemed to become aware of the servants, two maids and a footman, still gawking at the spectacle. Upon being questioned, they too stated they had no idea.

"Very well, then. The responsible party must be elsewhere. Can you not think of anyone who would orchestrate this against you, Morley?"

Basil looked him a question. "Why do you suppose I am the target? What about Camden, here?"

But Lord Fernsby dismissed Mr. Camden with a scoff. "What has he done? He is still wet behind the ears. He has had no time to become the object of anyone's outlandish humors. "

"Much obliged," Mr. Camden muttered.

Basil took his head between his hands, covering his ears. He wanted nothing more than for the men to stop talking and the ducks to stop objecting.

"What is all this noise about?" a voice asked from the other end of the hall.

The men turned and saw Evangeline turn the corner, just come down from the entry hall. Behind her followed the Misses Elmsworth, Owens, and Hall.

"What kind of a house party are you running, Fernsby, that everyone is up at the crack of dawn?" Basil asked through a groan.

"What has happened?" Miss Hall asked.

"Yes, such a noise," Evangeline said. She looked as bright as a field of wildflowers in a cream morning dress with huge printed flowers in every color imaginable splashed across it. It made Basil's eyes hurt. "We could hear the ruckus all the way upstairs in our chambers. Our quiet morning was quite ruined, so we came to see what was going on."

She made her way between the men, who hastened to make room for her. She stopped and peered through the door. The younger ladies followed and looked over her shoulders to catch a glimpse. Once they saw the flock, they burst out into cries of amusement. The ducks joined their chorus with another crescendo of quacks.

"What a horrid mess!"

"Only look at them all!"

"Never have I seen anything so funny. Are all house parties like this?"

The last comment came from the reserved Miss Owens. Though his head was pounding, Basil could not resist a tease. "Yes, and your room will be their next destination."

Miss Owens looked so frightened that everyone around her laughed. All but Evangeline. Seeing the ducks, she had only covered her mouth with her hand, making no sound, but Basil could see at once the restraint she was using to contain her mirth.

"Yes, yes, very funny," he said.

She looked at him, all innocence. "Were they in there all night? What could you gentlemen have been thinking with such a caper?"

She cast her eyes up in resignation and turned to go back to the stairs. "It is a wonder you were not nibbled to death by them," she said over her shoulder.

Nibbled to death…

Basil's mouth opened wide as realization dawned on him. "Evangel—Lady Ram! Stop right there."