A Season at Brighton
Alice Chetwynd Ley
© Alice Chetwynd Ley 1971
Alice Chetwynd Ley has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1971 by Robert Hale.
This edition published in 2016 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
LADY IN DISTRESS
Chapter Two
VISCOUNT PAMYNGTON’S OFFENCE
Chapter Three
ELEANOR IS CURIOUS
Chapter Four
STAR-CROSSED LOVERS
Chapter Five
DINNER AT NEVERN HALL
Chapter Six
THE DONKEY RIDE
Chapter Seven
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
Chapter Eight
FLOWERS IN SEASON
Chapter Nine
THE GRAND ROSE BALL
Chapter Ten
A CHANCE MEETING
Chapter Eleven
DITCHED
Chapter Twelve
AN EXCURSION TO DEVIL’S DYKE
Chapter Thirteen
WHITE HAWK FAIR
Chapter Fourteen
A MUSICAL EVENING AT THE PAVILION
Chapter Fifteen
PLANS FOR AN ASSIGNATION
Chapter Sixteen
THE WATCHER
Chapter Seventeen
A SUMMONS
Chapter Eighteen
A CLOSED CARRIAGE
Chapter Nineteen
FEAR
Chapter Twenty
PURSUIT
Chapter Twenty-One
CRENDON TAKES A TUMBLE
Chapter Twenty-Two
CATHERINE MAKES A SACRIFICE
To Katie
the delightful daughter I gained
Chapter One
LADY IN DISTRESS
The brightness of a summer sunset filled the sky as a smart yellow curricle drawn by two fine bay horses drew up before an inn on the road to Cuckfield. The driver, a slim, elegant man in his late twenties, jumped down, closely followed by the boy who sat perched up behind him. An ostler, carelessly lounging against the stable door, threw away the straw he had been chewing, and hurried forward.
“A tankard of ale I must have, Jack, before we cover another mile,” declared the gentleman to the boy, in a pleasant, quiet drawl. “You’ll want one yourself — be back in fifteen minutes.”
He tossed a coin, which the boy caught neatly.
“Thank ye, m’Lud. But ye knows very well that I never touches spirituous liquors.”
The gentleman raised a quizzical eyebrow, and the ostler, who was holding the horses’ heads, gaped at the lad in astonishment.
“I was forgetting your convictions for the moment. Perhaps they’ll give you some tea or coffee in the kitchen instead.”
He swung into the inn with a graceful, long-legged stride. It was a low-ceilinged building of Tudor times, and the traveller had to duck his head as he passed into the coffee room, which was empty at present. He was soon joined by the landlord, who took the modest order and went away to fetch it, leaving the guest to stare from the window at the beauty of the evening sky, with its massed clouds of rose and gold.
At such moments, in contemplation of Nature’s daily yet ever-changing spectacle, a man feels at peace. The road had been hot and dusty; the first deep draught at the tankard eased his parched throat and contributed to his sense of well-being. It was almost with a feeling of outrage, therefore, that he gradually became conscious of a disturbance going on outside the door of the coffee room.
He tried to ignore it at first, reluctant to have his peace shattered; but soon the raised voices became so penetrating that he could not possibly avoid overhearing.
“No, I won’t — I won’t!” It was a young girl’s voice, raised in a half-demented shriek. “It’s all lies he’s telling you, landlord — I swear I never saw him before in all my life until half an hour ago, when he gave me a lift on the road!”
“Take no notice.” A rich, plummy, assured voice came next to the solitary traveller’s ears. “I tell you, she’s often like this, poor soul — too much inbreeding in the family, I dare say.”
“You know nothing of my family!” screamed the girl. “Don’t listen to him, landlord! My father’s Sir George Denham, and he’ll pay you well if you save me from this — this monster! He’s not my husband — he’s not, he’s not — I swear it! Look — see — there’s no ring on my finger! See for yourself!”
The plummy voice gave a rumbling laugh. “She’s always throwing off her wedding ring — costs me a fortune keeping her supplied with ’em. Now, my pretty ladybird, come along upstairs —”
There were sounds of a brief struggle punctuated by shrieks. Above this, the landlord’s troubled tones sounded: “Well, y’r honour, I don’t rightly know — I don’t want any disturbance in my house. Maybe I’d better ask y’r honour to find accommodation elsewhere, seeing as y’r good lady’s so noisy — there, now! The poor dear’s fainted.”
There was silence for a moment, then the plummy voice said: “Damnation! Where’s the nearest doctor?”
“Not till Cuckfield,” replied the landlord. “But there’s no need of a doctor, y’r honour — I’ll fetch my missus, she’ll soon bring her to. Nothing like a woman to deal with these little female ailments.”
“Well, do what you can, but I’ll fetch a doctor just the same.”
The traveller in the coffee room heard the slam of the inn door as someone went out. A moment later, the door of his retreat was pushed open and the landlord entered, carrying in his arms an unconscious young woman whom he carefully deposited on an oak settle which flanked the large open fireplace.
The traveller pushed away his tankard, flung down a coin, and jumped to his feet. Now that his moment of contemplation had been disturbed, there was no point in staying. He glanced briefly at the girl lying on the settle, her warm brown hair flowing about her. He frowned. It was some years since he had seen any of Sir George Denham’s young ladies, but this one certainly had the family features. There had been six girls, he remembered, but no heir. He had certainly never heard of there being any insanity in the family — that was ridiculous.
“Sad — sad,” muttered the landlord, moving towards the door. “I’ll just fetch my missus, y’r honour, an’ then I’ll be back in a jiffy if there’s anything more ye’re wantin’.”
“No, thanks, I’m off,” replied the traveller, but his words were cut short by the door closing.
Before he turned to follow the landlord, he gave one more look at the girl. Yes, she had the Denham nose, right enough; she was not precisely a beauty, but decidedly attractive, her face soft and demure in repose, as now. Was it fancy, or had he seen one eye open quickly, then shut again? He lingered, staring down at her.
Suddenly she opened both eyes very wide, leapt up from the settle, looked distractedly round the room and exclaimed: “Help me to hide!”
He shook his head, turning towards the door. “I fear I cannot intrude myself on your affairs, madam.”
“Oh, but you must!” She flung herself upon him, dragging at the sleeve of his coat. “You have the look of a gentleman — you’ll not let that horrible creature get hold of me again —”
“You refer to your husband?”
“Husband!” She spat out the word. “He’s no more my husband than — than you are! He’s just someone who offered to give me a lift to my home, when — when I was stranded, without money! And like a fool, I trusted him, never thinking he would try to — try —” Her voice tailed off for a moment, then came back more strongly as she e
xclaimed, vehemently: “Oh, how I hate Viscount Pamyngton! All this is his fault, really!”
The gentleman had begun to disentangle himself gently but firmly from her grasp, but at this he paused.
“Pamyngton?” he queried. “What has he to do with your concerns, ma’am?”
“Oh, no matter — forget I spoke his name — I am so distracted, I don’t know what I’m saying! Only I am not mad, as that dreadful creature pretends I am! Please, please, help me to hide somewhere so that he can’t find me when he returns! I am quite unprotected — and I forgot to bring any money — but my father is Sir George Denham, of Eastridge House — if only you will help me to hide until that man goes away for good, perhaps I’ll be able to persuade the innkeeper to send me home in one of his chaises. Please, please help me!”
At this moment, the innkeeper and his wife came into the room.
“So the lady’s better, is she?” asked the landlady, a trace of acidity in her tone. “Well, ma’am, a fine to-do there’s been on your account, an’ no mistake! But I’m thinkin’, ma’am, as we’ll need to ask ye both to find some other shelter for the night. This has always been a quiet, respectable house — and we’d like to keep it so.”
“But I tell you that man is not my husband —”
The landlady drew herself up. “All the worse for both of ye,” she said, forthrightly. “And that makes matters simpler. Out ye go, the moment he gets back.”
“But I don’t want to be here when he comes back,” said the girl, with a helpless gesture of her shapely white hands. “You don’t understand. I don’t know him at all — he picked me up on the road a few miles back —”
“Indeed!” snorted the landlady, arms akimbo. “And to look at ye, I’d think ye were the Quality! Well, no tellin’ how they’ll behave, I suppose, any more than other folk.”
“Please believe me,” pleaded the girl, tossing her thick brown hair from her face. “If you’ll let me have a carriage to take me home, my father will pay the charges at the other end.”
The woman shook her head. “If ye’ll tell one story, ye’ll tell another. Anyways, we can’t, because all our carriages is out on hire already. No, the most I can do is to let ye wait here until your — well, whatever he is,” she finished, scathingly, “comes back for ye. I’m sorry, but there it is.”
She elevated her nose, and pushed her husband out of the room.
“I never heard anything less like remorse,” said the gentleman, quietly, when the door had closed upon the pair.
The girl did not answer, but flung herself on the settle and buried her face in her hands. He saw that her shoulders were shaking.
He sighed. He never seemed able to avoid involving himself in other people’s troubles for long.
“Don’t distress yourself, madam,” he said, gently. “I rather fancy your cavalier of the road won’t return at all.”
She raised her head and a gleam of hope shone in the tear-misted eyes. “Oh, do you really think so? He said he was going to fetch a doctor.”
A look of amusement crossed his face. “Then you heard what was said? You weren’t unconscious?”
“Of course not! But it was all I could think of to do.”
She sniffed delicately, and hunted about her for a handkerchief. He drew one from his pocket, and handed it to her silently.
“Thank you.” She mopped at her eyes for a few moments, then absent-mindedly stuffed the handkerchief into a reticule which swung from her wrist.
“But what shall I do now?” she asked, helplessly. “I am miles from home — too far to walk — and I have no money, even supposing I could find somewhere to hire a carriage.”
“I think,” he said, looking at her gravely, “you must allow me to escort you home.”
She started up, full of eagerness. “Oh, would you?” Then her face fell. “But no, that’s what happened before. I thought he was a gentleman, too. It never crossed my mind that he would — would try to play me such a trick, or nothing would have induced me to step up into his carriage. No, it will not do, sir. Perhaps I am doing you an injustice, but you must see that I cannot risk such a thing happening again.”
“Perhaps I should tell you,” he said, with a smile, “that I am closely related to the Bishop of Standean, a circumstance that has always exercised, alas, a most beneficial effect on my conduct. Furthermore, we shall be chaperoned on our journey to your home by my tiger, Jack, a prodigiously strait-laced lad. I think he’s of the Methodist persuasion, so you will have the protection of both the Established and the Nonconformist churches, so to speak.”
She looked at him steadily, trying to assess him. It was almost a handsome face, with good features and dark blue eyes that could, she was certain, be very expressive. At present, they only showed amusement; but there was a gentleness about the mouth that reassured her. He stood patiently still under her scrutiny.
“Well, have you decided to trust me?” he asked. “By the way, perhaps I should also mention that I am acquainted with your family.”
“Are you indeed?” She jumped up quickly. “Oh, well, that makes it all right, of course! Thank goodness, for I was almost at my wits’ end, I can tell you! Pray, what is your name, sir?”
“It is Gerard,” he said, after a moment, and made a little bow. “And which of the Misses Denham have I the honour of addressing?”
“Oh, I am Catherine. Gerard,” she said, thoughtfully repeating the name. “I can’t say that I remember ever hearing —”
“Possibly not. I’m afraid it’s some years since I last met any member of your family — so long ago, in fact, that you must still have been in the schoolroom. However, both your father and myself are members of White’s and have several acquaintances in common. One of them you mentioned just now — Viscount Pamyngton.”
She looked a little shamefaced. “Yes, well, perhaps you ought to forget about that,” she mumbled. “I was so distracted, thinking I could never make anyone believe the truth of my story — what is he like?”
“I beg your pardon?” Clearly, he was puzzled by the question.
“My Lord Pamyngton, I mean. What kind of man is he?”
“Hard to say,” he replied, with a shrug. “Much like any other fellow, I suppose.”
She tossed her long hair back with an impatient gesture.
“But he must have some distinguishing features — either of countenance or of character!” she insisted.
“Not at all. I assure you he is far from being distinguished in any way.”
She frowned. “You don’t seem to think much of him.”
“Perhaps I know him too well. But I assure you that I have his interests at heart, all the same. That’s why I would like to know what he can possibly have done to incur your hatred.”
“Well, I dare say I may tell you on my way back home. After all, if you’re willing to help me, I suppose I owe you some explanation of my present predicament. Oh, how I wish that I could fasten up my hair again!” she exclaimed, impatiently, twisting it into a coil. “But it’s no use — I lost the pins when I was fighting off that horrible creature!”
“No doubt I could persuade the good woman of the inn to provide some for you.”
“Oh, but she is so disagreeable! I don’t think I could face her again.”
“Then by all means let us leave things as they are. If I may say so, it is a prodigiously becoming hair style.”
“Do you really think so?” The demure face was quickly transformed by a saucy smile. If she had turned that look upon the man she met by the roadside, thought Gerard, she had only herself to blame for what had followed. What on earth had she been doing, anyway, wandering about unescorted and without money? No doubt if he were patient he might learn this presently, along with the details of Pamyngton’s offence.
“Indeed I do. But we’d best be on our way, for it will be dark presently. Have you any baggage to collect?”
“Yes, I did have a small portmanteau. I think it was put down in the hall, before
” — she shivered — “before there was all the trouble.”
He nodded and opened the door for her to pass into the hall. He followed, picking up the bag which was standing at the foot of the staircase.
“Is this the one?”
“Yes, that’s mine.”
“I suppose, ma’am, it doesn’t by any chance contain a wrap? If so, I should recommend you to wear it.”
She thanked him, and, after rummaging in the bag, produced a fine shawl which he helped her to place around her shoulders. This operation had just been completed when the landlord came out of the back quarters, followed in a few moments by his wife.
“So you’re off, then,” said the woman, with a sniff. “Decided not to wait for your gentleman friend with the doctor, I see.”
Gerard drew away from Miss Denham and, producing his purse, placed a gold sovereign in the innkeeper’s ready hand.
“I doubt if you’ll ever see that person here again, with or without a doctor, my good woman. And I would be obliged if you would contrive to forget, too, that you ever saw this young lady in his company.”
“Why, to be sure, y’r honour!”
Bowing, the innkeeper watched them as they walked across the cobbled yard. The gentleman tossed the luggage to his tiger and then handed the young lady up into the curricle before mounting himself and taking up the reins.
“Nice goings on!” commented the landlord to his wife. “She’s a rare baggage, that miss, I’ll warrant, getting herself two men in the space o’ half an hour! Still, it’s human nature, I s’pose, and we’ve not done so badly out o’ it.”
Chapter Two
VISCOUNT PAMYNGTON’S OFFENCE
By now the sun had sunk below the horizon, and dark purple masses of cloud were obscuring the red and gold of the sky.
The girl sat silent, while the gentleman gave all his attention to the road for a time. Presently she roused herself and asked, “Do you know the way, Mr. Gerard, or should I direct you?”
A Season at Brighton Page 1