Honey Pot

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by Mira Stables


  It was evening before she roused. She lay passive for a while, still half stupid from the effect of the drug, puzzling as to what she was doing lying in this very comfortable bed in a perfectly strange room. Phoebe was sitting in a low rocking chair in the window, her needles clicking softly as she knitted and crooned a mournful little air, but somehow Russet did not think that this was the bedchamber that had been reserved for her at the Dolphin where she had expected to lie tonight. Certainly it did not look like any room that she had ever previously occupied in an inn. In fact there was an air of luxury that was unusual even in a private house. The quilt on which her fingers rested was of heavy satin, richly embroidered in glowing silks and the room itself was furnished rather as a sitting room than a bedroom, with a sewing table drawn up to the hearth and shelves of books filling half of one wall.

  But Russet could not surrender to the beguiling atmosphere of comfort. Troubling memories were pricking her to an anxious wakefulness. The accident to the carriage; it had seemed, at the time, just one of the chances of the road. One took the risk of encounters with such reckless selfishness whenever one travelled. But it was unusual that the erring driver of those chestnuts had not stopped to assure himself that no real damage had been done. What gave her further cause for concern was that half-heard, half-remembered conversation between her two attendants. She lay with closed eyes trying to recall it more precisely. There had been something about a cruel trick, with Phoebe indignant and Herrick saying it was better so because there would be no outcry. And yes! That was it! Phoebe had referred to herself as Phoebe Herrick. Yet Russet had engaged her as Phoebe Gilbey. The small circumstance was capable of an innocent interpretation of course, but taken in conjunction with the other disturbing remarks that were coming back to her it seemed most probable that for some inexplicable reason she had been cozened and deceived.

  Summoning all her determination she struggled up on to one elbow, though even that slight exertion made her feel sick and giddy. At the sound of movement Phoebe glanced across at her, put down her work and picked up a glass that stood on a stool by the sewing table.

  “Drink this, miss,” she said quietly. “You’ll be feeling sick as a cushion I doubt, but this’ll soon put you to rights.”

  Russet pushed the proffered glass aside. “No thank you,” she said, with as much dignity as trembling lips and a distinctly wobbly voice would permit. “I distrust your draughts—Miss Herrick. Or is it Mrs Herrick?”

  Discovery did not seem to cause Phoebe any vast embarrassment. “Matt said he reckoned as how you’d heard me,” she said composedly, “and that you’d be quick to ferret out the whole. I never was much of a one for play acting. Not that it matters, now. And though you’ll not believe me, it’s downright sorry I was that we had to treat you so. What’s more, though I’d not try to force you, this”—she indicated the glass—“really will make you feel more the thing.”

  Despite all the evidence of the woman’s duplicity there was something in face and voice that carried conviction. Russet stared at her for a long, measuring moment, and put out her hand for the glass. Phoebe actually coloured up, so pleased she was, and came to plump up the pillows behind her as she sipped. And her trust was justified. Whatever was in the glass, it had an excellent restorative effect. Presently she was able to sit erect and gaze about her. Her first fleeting impression of the room in which she lay was amply confirmed. The furnishings were perhaps a little too opulent for her taste. Costly and elegant though they were, they conveyed an impression of heaviness that might, in time, become stifling. Russet would have exchanged the rich damasks for lighter fabrics, the vast four-poster in which she lay for a simple tent-bed. She drank slowly and studied her surroundings with a determinedly critical eye, instinctively deferring the frightening moment when she must ask for an explanation of all this mystery. Though the business had been conducted without violence, save for that skilfully contrived ‘accident’ she had small doubt that she had been abducted. Presumably for ransom, though one would scarcely have supposed the owner of all this lavish display to have any need of replenishing his coffers by such dubious methods.

  She drained the glass and set it back on the stool, bracing herself to face whatever revelations lay in store with the fortitude expected of an Ingram. Phoebe plunged a hand into the pocket of her grey stuff gown and pulled out a letter which she tendered rather nervously. It was the first time that she had betrayed any agitation.

  “It’s a letter from the master, miss,” she explained. “But don’t be feared. He’d not hurt you. I’d never have lent myself to the business, not even for him, if I’d not had his word that no harm should come to you. And he’s one that keeps his promises, even if he is a mite highhanded at times.”

  The exhortation was just what Russet needed to brace her quivering nerves. “Of course I’m not afraid,” she said indignantly, small nose well in the air. “Afraid of a man who not only descends to the abduction of helpless females but gets servants to do his dirty work for him? No such thing, I promise you.” And refused to acknowledge the relief that had flooded through her at Phoebe’s reassurances. Odd how she still felt inclined to trust the woman after the way she had behaved, but so it was. She took the letter and opened it gingerly, rather as she might have handled a loaded pistol. Thick, expensive paper and a forceful rather than elegant superscription.

  No time wasted on unnecessary courtesies, either. Perhaps one should not expect such refinements from a wretch so depraved as to stoop to one of the vilest crimes. It was just that her present surroundings conveyed the implication of culture and good manners. The letter began brusquely:

  Madam,

  It has become desirable that you be removed for a while from the social scene that you are accustomed to adorn.

  You have no cause for alarm. Neither your person, your virtue nor your fortune stand in any danger. The worst that you will be called upon to endure is the boredom inseparable from a period of close confinement, and I have been at some pains to ensure that your prison shall be as comfortable as is consistent with security.

  I regret that at this present I am unable to advise you as to how long your imprisonment must endure. Pray accept my assurance that you shall be released as soon as the problem that you have created has been satisfactorily solved.

  James Cameron.

  Russet read it once, hastily; flicked over the paper to stare at the signature sprawled across the second sheet, and raised a face in which rage and sheer incredulity fought a drawn battle. The arrogance! The downright insolence of daring to put his name to such a document! Did he not know that the penalty for abduction was transportation at the very least? Yet he had supplied her with tangible evidence of his guilt as carelessly as though it was of no consequence at all.

  She perused the missive again. It certainly sorted well with what she knew of the man. In their one encounter he had been just as blunt. One must allow him a certain sort of honesty, she decided reluctantly. A pity that it was not used to better purpose. There seemed to be little doubt that she owed her present undignified situation to Letty Waydene’s machinations. She wondered what lies Letty had told her guardian to drive him to such rash action, and then, furiously, whether the girl knew what he had done. Somehow that possibility seemed to her the one insupportable feature of a humiliating position. There were storm signals flying in her cheeks, a militant sparkle in the hazel eyes as she said steadily, “You may dress me. I will see Mr Cameron.”

  Phoebe actually looked flustered. “But you can’t do that, miss,” she protested.

  “Why not?” demanded Russet, her head thrown back, every inch an Ingram. “Since he is in some sort my host I must naturally pay him all such attentions as are his due.”

  And now there was frank admiration in Phoebe’s eye. She had taken a marked fancy to Miss Ingram at their first meeting and it was satisfying to have that liking confirmed. A lass of pluck and spirit. No megrims, no useless be-wailings. She would carry battle to the e
nemy. Almost, thought Phoebe, she might have proved herself a match for Mr James. But of course all the advantages were on his side. The girl was fast prisoned and there could be no escape. She said submissively, “The master is away from home tonight, miss.”

  Russet did not know whether to be grateful for the respite or not. To be sure she was not feeling quite herself, still shaken from her unpleasant experiences. But it might have been better to have the necessary encounter over and done with while righteous anger still sustained her spirits. She said, as one sadly shocked and disappointed, “Dear me! How very remiss! So much trouble as he has taken to persuade me to accept his hospitality, I had certainly expected a personal welcome. But I suppose,” she added reflectively, “that one should not ask too much of people of mixed blood. Mongrel curs are notoriously unreliable.”

  Phoebe looked frightened. Her rosy country complexion paled. “Miss,” she faltered urgently. “Never say such a thing to the master, I beg of you. Proud as Lucifer he is, both of his Scottish blood and of his mother’s. Seems she was as near royalty as makes no difference in those outlandish parts.” Her fingers flew up to her mouth in dismay. “Only outlandish to the likes of me, because I’m ignorant,” she said defensively. “There’s no denying she was a proper lady through and through, as I should know that served her twenty years and more. And a royal way with her when it came to generosity and remembering them that had helped her in adversity. For poor she had been—aye, even gone hungry, times, when she was young. What matters more is that Mr James just about worshipped her. If you was to say a word that reflected on his mama he’d go mad. And then there’s no saying what he’d do, for in his black moods he can be merciless.”

  Russet was impressed despite herself. It was clear that Phoebe, at any rate, fully believed what she had said and that her warning was given out of concern for Russet’s well-being. She remembered that she was a prisoner in the hands of this unpredictable creature. It might be diplomatic to tread warily, however much the necessity irked her. Besides, her quarrel was not with Mr Cameron’s mother. Perhaps, after all, it was as well that she need not meet him tonight. By tomorrow she would be rested and refreshed, more able to assess the situation and deal wisely with her captor. But it would not do to confess this relief. Phoebe, however sympathetic her attitude, was in the enemy camp.

  “In that case I will have dinner served to me here,” she announced regally. “And pray see to it that it is none of your invalid messes—unless your master has decided to starve me into submission. I am perfectly well and in good appetite. And a glass of wine, I think. It seems that I may have need of all my strength.”

  And Phoebe, turning away to conceal her appreciative grin for such mettle, went to give the required order.

  Chapter Five

  “But you cannot seriously mean to keep me shut up here indefinitely for so ridiculous a reason! One, moreover, which is wholly without foundation save in your imagination—or possibly in Miss Waydene’s.”

  He shrugged, slender hands spread eloquently in a gesture that indicated amusement barely concealed by the mask of courtesy. “One naturally hesitates to contradict a lady,” he bowed politely.

  She took his meaning. “Do you imagine that I shall not be missed?” she said indignantly. “I daresay the search is already on, since I failed to arrive at the Dolphin last night.”

  “Well as to that,” he said smoothly—and one might almost have thought him sincerely apologetic—“I took the liberty of cancelling the rooms that you had engaged. You must not be blaming Mr Neal. He knows me pretty well, you see, since I always use the Dolphin when I have cause to stay in Southampton, and since I told him a plausible tale about your arrangements being changed at the last moment because of a pressing invitation to stay with friends he had no cause to disbelieve me. Especially as I also told him that you insisted on paying for the rooms since it was such short notice.”

  But Russet had herself well in hand. “You may be able to bribe such people as inn servants and livery stablemen,” she told him in a voice that matched his own for cool indifference, “but I have relatives and friends who will not prove so gullible. How do you propose to deal with their enquiries when I am found to be missing?”

  A faint smile curved the firm mouth. “I am afraid that you will not quite like it. But if you insist I am perfectly willing to explain my plan.”

  She did not deign to reply to this, contenting herself with tapping one small foot impatiently and composing her features into what she hoped was an expression of impersonal interest.

  “Perhaps I should first explain that I am a little acquainted with your Papa,” began her tormentor. “Not intimately, of course, since he is so much the older, but sufficiently, I believe, to be able to estimate his thoughts and his reactions with reasonable accuracy. Do you really rely on his causing enquiry to be made for you? To start with it will be a fortnight at least before he even notices your non-arrival. Then he will decide that he must have mistaken the date—perhaps even the month—of your coming. He may look for the last letter that you wrote him, announcing your plans, but will be unable to find it, having used it to write down the name of a fancied horse or the address of a snug little gaming house. More simply he may just assume that you have been delayed by one of the many slight mishaps which befall travellers. Parental concern may lead him to mild excesses by way of distracting his mind. I do not think it will cause him to set any serious enquiry on foot.”

  For the first time Russet knew fear. The pleasant, dispassionate voice detailing her parent’s all too probable reactions to her disappearance was far more frightening than bluster or threats because it bore the very stamp of truth. Her father was of just such an easy-going and optimistic temperament as would cause him to delay action in the happy confidence that she was bound to turn up safely sooner or later. Mr Cameron’s words indicated a knowledge of her affairs that was far too accurate for comfort, and a ruthless determination to use it.

  Worse was to follow. “After our first abortive encounter,” the deep, soft voice went on, “I made it my business to find out all that I could about you and your family. It seemed to me that the knowledge might prove useful in the event of your continued refusal to behave reasonably. So, indeed, it proved.” He smiled, and said reflectively, “If I had dealt the cards myself I could not have chosen a better hand. Consider. Your chaperone cousin has gone off to the heart of rural Wales. I doubt if they have even heard of a mail service in those parts. Certainly she will not expect to hear from you for a month at least, and probably will not worry unduly over an even longer delay. Your sister—ah! Here we come to the nub of the matter. Naturally she will not expect to hear from you until you have had ample time to complete your journey. A few more days she may well ascribe to delays in the mail. But if popular opinion is correct in reporting that you are sincerely attached to each other, she will begin to fret if she does not hear from you within, let us say, a month. And that despite her preoccupation with her own affairs.”

  He pronounced those last words slowly and thoughtfully. Russet maintained a brave front but her heart quailed. This man knew it all. Knew all about Joanna’s visit and how much might hang upon its success. In this one spot she was vulnerable indeed. But she was proud, too. And Joanna would be the first to insist that she should not yield to blackmail. Somehow she would win free of her captivity, foil this horrid wretch who was so smugly pleased with his own cleverness before Joanna had time to grow anxious for her.

  He said gently, “I think I may safely reckon that by the time any serious search is instituted, you will have been in my hands for a month or more. I wonder how the Denholmes will regard such an escapade? For my part I cannot feel that it will add to the pleasure with which they will welcome your sister into their family.”

  The pretty colour bestowed by anger faded. The girl looked as though she might swoon, and the great golden eyes looked at him in dumb appeal as might some hunted hind’s. But his first duty was to Letty and it w
ould be folly to allow pity to soften his attitude now when a little firmness might gain him what he wanted. Mr Cameron folded his arms and waited with all the appearance of a heartless jailer.

  The girl said quietly, “Surely your quarrel is with me. Not with my sister who has certainly never injured you in any way.”

  He smiled; and Russet thought she had never seen so cruel and cold a face. “But you, my dear, are only vulnerable through your sister. I assure you that I wish the pretty creature no harm. Denholme may wed her with my very good will. But first she shall serve her purpose by bending you to my wishes.”

  “And they are?”

  He studied her thoughtfully. “At first,” he said slowly, “I had some notion of exacting a solemn promise from you that in future you would let Staneborough alone. But it will not serve. What reason have I to accept your word? Once free you could laugh at me; could say, with some reason, that promises extracted by force are not binding. Some safeguard stronger than a mere promise is needed.”

  Just for a moment she fancied that a hint of embarrassment showed in the saturnine countenance. Then, as one embarking on a carefully rehearsed speech, he said, “Though I myself am a bachelor, I have considerable faith in the matrimonial tie as the one best fitted to control the behaviour of foolish and headstrong young women. I have decided that it would be better for you to marry.”

  Russet forgot all about keeping a cool impassive countenance in the face of the enemy. In the whole of her life she had never heard anything so astounding, or, indeed, so utterly absurd. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him aghast. Surely, oh, surely he was not going to suggest that she should marry him! Yet that remark about being a bachelor seemed to presage some such incredible proposal. A new threat reared its ugly head. Was Mr Cameron quite sane?

 

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