Louisa’s spirits had lately shown so much improvement that Frances had judged it a good moment to try the tonic effect of a new gown on her sister. Catherine was already having one made, and was due for a fitting; so Louisa was to accompany her and look over the lengths of material in the shop to see if anything there took her fancy.
When they arrived, the dressmaker at once whisked Catherine away into an inner room, and Louisa was left to wander around the shop on her own. She soon became absorbed in examining the rolls of muslin, gauze and silk which the assistant was only too pleased to show her, and did not notice the passing of time.
She was just trying to decide between a very pretty pale blue muslin embroidered with tiny white flowers and a plain lilac one, when the dressmaker reappeared.
“Is my sister finished?” asked Louisa. “I would like her opinion on which of these materials to choose.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, but I’m afraid she didn’t wait. She asked me to tell you that she has a call to make somewhere else, but you are not to trouble to keep the carriage waiting for her, as she will take another conveyance home later on.”
Louisa let the muslin slip from her fingers back on to the counter, and stared at the woman.
“A call somewhere else?” she repeated. “How odd — I knew nothing of it. But why did she not tell me herself? She must have walked through the shop while I was busy looking through these materials. Surely, she wouldn’t have gone straight past me without saying anything?”
“No, she didn’t come through the shop, ma’am. She said she was in a hurry, so I let her out through the door to the house.”
The dressmaker looked doubtfully at Louisa, as though she sensed something wrong. Observing this, Louisa decided to say no more. Whatever impulse had made Catherine act in this way, there was no point in starting any gossip. A good many Brighton ladies patronized this woman, and no doubt her tongue would wag readily while she was attending to them.
“Very well,” she said, drawing on her gloves. “Thank you for delivering the message. I think I will come in another time to decide which of these delightful materials to choose for my new gown.”
The dressmaker escorted her to the door, where the Hailshams’ carriage was already waiting to take her home. As Louisa stepped inside, she ordered the coachman to drive round into the lane on the other side of the building, where her sister would have come out. Arrived there, she lowered the window and thrust her head out to peer intently up and down the short street, but there was no sign of Catherine.
She sighed. Where in the world could the tiresome girl have gone? On their way here, she made no mention of any other call she wished to pay; she must have been seized by one of her sudden whims, and, as usual, could not wait to gratify it. There was nothing to do but go home and hope that she would arrive presently without first getting into some silly scrape.
When she reached home, Louisa went straight upstairs to take off her outdoor garments, pausing at Catherine’s room to drop in her sister’s parasol, which had been carelessly discarded in the carriage. She placed the parasol on the dressing table, and was turning away when she noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying at her feet. She stooped to pick it up, and her eye chanced on the one word which could be guaranteed to rivet her attention — Oliver’s name.
She stood up, wrestling with a desire to read the paper and the guilty conviction that she ought not to do so, as it was almost certainly Catherine’s property. After a brief struggle, curiosity won. She smoothed out the creases in the paper, and quickly read its contents.
After she had come to the signature at the end, which she saw with a shock scarcely less sharp than that she had experienced at sight of Oliver’s name, she stood for several moments lost in amazement. It seemed from what she had just read that Catherine had been meeting Oliver and that Captain Crendon had been helping her to do so. But why or how such a situation had arisen was quite beyond her.
It was not until she had been standing stock still in the middle of the room for almost a quarter of an hour that it suddenly struck her that here was the explanation for her sister’s sudden and furtive departure from the dressmaker’s. She had gone to keep the assignation mentioned in the letter.
With this realization, a number of small incidents came flooding back to her memory. Captain Crendon’s unexpected call that morning and his invitation to Katie to go driving with him; the remark that Eleanor had bitten off after he had left. Was Nell in the secret, too, whatever it was?
She went downstairs slowly, her mind greatly troubled. She did not quite know what she ought to do. If only Fanny were at home! But she and Eleanor might not return for hours yet, and in the meantime Katie was tearing about the countryside on a clandestine excursion with a gentleman of whom her parents would most certainly not approve.
She was not allowed to brood for long. Presently the butler came into the room and tendered her a card.
“Viscount Pamyngton has called, ma’am. I told his Lordship that Mrs. Hailsham was from home, but he requests the favour of a moment of your time, if quite convenient.”
She shook her head. He was on the point of turning away when she changed her mind.
“Stay — I’ll see his Lordship. Show him in here.”
Had she not been so disturbed herself, she might have noticed that Pamyngton’s expression was more serious than usual as he bowed over her hand.
“You will, I trust, forgive me for troubling you, Miss Denham, and especially when you are alone. But I am come on an errand which permits no delay — or at least” — he paused, and now she could see the carefully controlled signs of agitation. “Pray Heaven I may be wrong!” he finished. “Miss Denham, may I ask you a plain question, at the risk of your finding it impertinent?”
“Why — why, yes, I think so —”
“Well then, it is this. Does Mrs. Hailsham know — has she permitted your sister Catherine to drive out of Brighton this afternoon with Captain Crendon, in a closed carriage?”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “In a closed carriage?”
He nodded. “I saw Miss Catherine stepping into one less than an hour ago, in one of the Lanes.” There was a slight hesitation before he went on. “I was on foot, and I followed, for it was perforce going slowly there. I manage to keep fairly close behind until it turned into Church Street, where the driver stopped briefly to pick up Captain Crendon. You may perhaps think my action odd, but I had my reasons — some of them, perhaps, not entirely unknown to you — for following the carriage. I found a hackney and gave chase.” A look of chagrin crossed his face. “If only I had had my own horses! They took the London road, and soon outdistanced the hack’s broken-down nags, so I was obliged to turn back. I hesitated to call here and to be seeming to pry into what is, after all, no concern of mine — would that it might be!”
She had come to her feet during this speech, so that they were both standing.
“I’m thankful that you did,” she said, quietly. “I was almost at my wits’ end when you arrived, and meant to seek your counsel, in any case for I have no one else to turn to. My brother-in-law is away from home for a few days and at the moment there is no one but myself — Fanny and Nell are out visiting. And I found this on the floor in Katie’s bed-chamber.” She held out the crumpled piece of paper. “She’s such a sad scatterbrain, she does drop things about, and really I had no right to read it, only that I saw a name —”
She broke off and coloured. “I think you should know that Captain Crendon was here this morning, and Fanny refused to let Katie drive out with him then. She said that John — Colonel Hailsham, that is to say — thought it better for us to have no more to do with him, for he is gambling wildly and getting seriously into debt.”
Pamyngton nodded. “He’s in the suds, right enough. So do I understand that Miss Catherine —”
Louisa put the paper into his hand. “I think you had better read this,” she said.
He scanned it quickly, frowning, then raised ques
tioning eyes to her face. “Do you think this is the explanation?” he asked. “Do you think they’ve gone to see your friend Mr. Seaton?”
“How can I tell?” she answered, in a bewildered way. “From what’s written there, it looks as if Katie and Ol — and Mr. Seaton have been meeting before. But how that came about, or why —”
“I think I can help you there. Miss Catherine confided to me that she had met Mr. Seaton quite by accident when she first went out driving with Crendon. It seems your friend had taken a post in Rottingdean. She also said that they had arranged to meet again at intervals, and that Crendon had agreed to drive her on these occasions.”
“But — but why should Oliver wish to meet Katie?
“I think you know.” His eyes softened as he saw her scarlet cheeks. “A man in love is desperate for news of his beloved. Forgive me — I learnt of your unhappy circumstances some time since.”
“I suppose Katie told you,” Louisa said, in a faltering tone. “She — she really is the most indiscreet —”
“And the most loving, and the most loyal sister any female could desire!” he returned, with some warmth. “She is risking her reputation by allowing Crendon to escort her in this way, but I have no doubt at all that by doing so she hopes to be able to provide some happy outcome for you and Mr. Seaton.”
Louisa’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, you are right, sir — she does indeed mean all for my happiness, and I am an ungrateful wretch to criticize her! Indeed, I wonder anyone can love me!”
She lowered her head, and her shoulders shook. Pamyngton flung her the startled glance of any man who is faced with a woman in tears, then moved forward and grasped her hands in a comforting clasp, bending his head towards hers.
“Don’t cry, my dear Miss Denham — pray don’t cry.”
At that moment a voice came from behind them, close to the door.
“And may I ask just what you have done, my Lord, to cause this lady so much distress?”
The very calmness of the tone was menacing.
At the first sound of it, Louisa flung up her head and uttered one choking cry, “Oliver!”
The next moment, she had cast herself into the newcomer’s arms.
Chapter Nineteen
FEAR
Catherine did not pause to look about her when she left the dressmaker’s premises, but climbed quickly into the waiting carriage. The blinds were drawn, but in spite of the stuffy atmosphere she made no move to push them up and open the windows to let in more air. She chafed inwardly as the vehicle moved slowly along, and felt very tempted to risk a peep outside now and then to see how far they had progressed; but she managed to restrain herself, realizing how important it was that no one should recognize her at present.
After an interval of crawling along at this snail’s pace, the carriage pulled up. She shrank into the far corner, turning her face away as the door opened briefly to admit Crendon. He pulled the door to smartly behind him, and the vehicle moved away at a slightly brisker pace.
“So you’re here,” he stated, in a matter of fact tone. “Did you have any difficulty in getting away?”
“Not the least in the world,” she replied, airily. “Louisa was looking over materials in the shop while I was in the back premises being fitted for a new gown. I left a message for her that I’d suddenly thought of a call I wanted to make, and not to trouble to keep the family carriage for me. I waited until the dressmaker had a mouthful of pins before I gave her the message, then I skipped off by the side entrance, which I’ve often used before. By the time she’d got rid of the pins and gone into the shop to Lou, I was safely in here and away.”
“Good. And no one saw you get into the carriage?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t truly say, because I was too intent on getting in quickly. But I think not.”
He nodded, and brooded for a moment in silence.
“And now tell me what it’s all about,” said Catherine.
“You’ll have to wait for that until we reach Pyecombe.”
She stared. “Why? Surely you must know? Oliver can’t have asked you to bring me there to meet him without giving you some reason?”
“The circumstances were difficult. He was with his young charges, and could only snatch a moment or two’s conversation with me — sufficient, however, to impress on me the importance and urgency of contriving a meeting between you.”
“It is all most odd,” she said, wonderingly. “I can’t conceive of any circumstances — even though he has got this bee in his bonnet about Pamyngton —”
“What bee is this?”
“Did I not tell you? He believes that Pamyngton is flirting with Lou, and that she may be in danger of taking his attentions seriously. I’m afraid I —”
She broke off, unwilling to admit to Crendon what she had only now come to realize; that she had herself passed on this impression to Oliver, and why. It had been in a moment of pique because Pamyngton had seemed to be paying more attention to Louisa than to herself. The thought shamed her. Was she really such a trivial person as to be swayed by slighted vanity? And what harm might she not have done to Oliver’s peace of mind?
Her reverie of self-reproach did not concern her travelling companion.
“Forgive me,” he said, casually, “but I’m something short on sleep. If you want entertainment, there are a couple of copies of The Ladies’ Magazine under the seat. There can be no harm in raising the blind a trifle now.”
Thereupon he eased himself comfortably into his corner of the carriage and closed his eyes.
About an hour later, he opened them again.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Pull down the blind again. When I leave the carriage remain where you are until I return with your friend.”
Catherine started to protest; after an hour in the close confinement of the carriage, she would have been grateful for a breath of fresh air and a stroll. He cut short her protestations summarily.
“This is the main road to London, and it will not do for you to be seen by any passing traveller who might chance to know you. Do as I say, and wait here.”
She obeyed reluctantly, her common sense accepting the force of his argument.
He was away for what seemed a long time, but was in fact little more than ten minutes. In the interval, she could hear the horses being changed on their vehicle, and wondered a little that this should be necessary if they were to return directly to Brighton. Perhaps Oliver wanted to go on somewhere else first. She hoped fervently that the whole venture, whatever it might be, could be concluded in time to return her to Brighton for the dinner hour, when she would certainly be missed. Until then, no one was likely to pay much attention to her absence; although when she did eventually return she could expect a sharp scold from Fanny for going off somewhere alone in that way.
To her surprise, Crendon returned alone. He entered the vehicle quickly; it was moving off even as he slammed the door behind him.
“But where is Oliver?” asked Catherine, half rising from her seat,
“Not there. He’s had to go on towards London. He left a message for us to follow as quickly as may be.”
“Towards London?” Her eyes widened. “But I can’t possibly go on any farther…if I’m not back by six o’clock, Fanny will make such a stir, you’d never believe! Besides, what on earth can Oliver be at? What does it all mean?”
He raised his shoulders slightly in a negligent shrug as he once more settled into his corner. “How should I know? I am merely doing what he asks, and I recommend that you should do the same.”
Perhaps to save any further argument, he shut his eyes again. She watched him for some time in a troubled silence, then flung up the blind on her side with an impatient gesture, staring out at the fields and hedges slipping quickly past. When he uttered no protest, she lowered the window slightly, and gratefully drew in a deep breath of fresh air.
She remained quiet until they had covered another three or four miles. After they ha
d passed through Albourne Green, she leaned forward and touched him on the knee. He opened his eyes at once.
“Captain Crendon — what’s the time?”
He pushed up the blind at his side, and inspected his watch. “Not quite a quarter to four.”
“But that’s absurd!” cried Catherine. “It was turned three o’clock before I managed to slip out of the dressmaker’s and we have been travelling now for well over the hour — more like an hour and a half!”
“It probably seems longer than it is,” he said, carelessly. “And your dressmaker’s clock may have been wrong, anyway.”
“No, how could it be, when I was watching the time so carefully so that I might not keep your carriage waiting in the street beyond a quarter past three, as you had requested? I consulted so many clocks on my way there, I should have noticed at once if hers had been wrong!”
“Well, possibly mine may be a few minutes in retard. It doesn’t signify.”
“But it does! I must be home again for six o’clock at the latest, and to my mind we can only just manage that if we turn back at once! Really, it is a great deal too bad of Oliver. I never before knew him to use anyone in this way. He is in general so thoughtful for others. Where did he say we must meet him?”
“Why can you not leave all to me?” he asked, smiling.
“It’s all very well for you to take things so calmly!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “You are not a female, and don’t know what it is to be hedged about, and have your every movement questioned!”
“There’s a simple solution to that,” he said, his smile broadening. “Get married, and then you may do as you please.”
“As my husband pleases, you mean,” she replied tartly.
He shrugged. “Marry the right man, and he won’t trouble you with unwelcome questions. Live and let live — he can be free to go his way, and you yours.”
A Season at Brighton Page 16