Chloë shook her head. ‘I have what I needed for over-night and a spare gown. But that will have to do because I don’t intend to set foot in that house ever again.’
Somewhat to her surprise, Julia accepted this without question.
‘I don’t blame you. If Alex had behaved as your brother has done, I’d never willingly have seen him again either – assuming I hadn’t already killed him.’ She paused. ‘Let me help. You are smaller than I – but no doubt we can contrive something. Now don’t argue – just get your cloak. You must come home with me right now and we’ll get to know each other and leave Alex to sleep himself into a better mood. He won’t even miss us.’
Chloë glanced at her somnolent husband.
‘Yes he will. The same way he’d miss an aching tooth.’
And had the satisfaction of seeing his lips twitch before Julia swept her away.
~ * * * ~
FIVE
Being both practical and intelligent, Chloë had never supposed that her curious half-marriage would be easy, but what she had not expected was for Alex to create a state so negative as to resemble fighting a curtain. There were no difficulties or unpleasantnesses, no quarrels, no scenes; in fact, there was nothing tangible at all. It was smooth, civilised and about as substantial as living in a cloud.
On the fourth day, he presented her with a wide, gold wedding band and reclaimed his signet ring in a manner so crushingly bright as to rob the gesture of any significance it might have had. At this point, Chloë was tempted to seek advice from Mr Lewis; that she did not do so was due less to Mr Deveril’s embargo on such discussions than to the fact that Matt [though quite kind in his taciturn way] was keeping her at arms’ length in a way that discouraged confidences. Then, towards the end of the week, Mr Lewis presented her with a purse containing eighty-five pounds and told her that her step-brother had paid up and Mr Alex said she was to take the money and buy anything she needed – at which point, Chloë decided she really didn’t know what to think.
During the third week in January, news that France had declared war on England caused a flurry of excitement that touched Chloë not at all. For her, the days fell into a pattern in which her path rarely crossed that of her husband. Alex was out a great deal and she seldom knew where he went; likewise, if he got colossally drunk, she did not know it – though she suspected he didn’t and wondered if the shock of finding himself married was responsible. Left very much to her own devices, she spent a lot of time with Julia and her husband Sir Thomas, and the three of them were soon on the best of terms. Indeed, Lady Julia’s only complaint was that Chloë, acutely aware of the ambiguity of her position, flatly refused to enter the little society that flourished amongst the exiled courtiers; and when all her persuasions met with the same stubborn denial, Julia said that their return to London would change everything and temporarily gave up.
It was only then that Chloë realised the full implications of her marriage; that Alex’s residence in Oxford was but a temporary measure and that he moved in circles quite outside her own limited experience.
From Danny and Freddy who, having taken a liking to each other, often visited as a pair, she learned a little about Mr Deveril’s activities – largely because Danny was a participant in most of them. Without embarrassment, he recounted details of a number of ludicrous wagers – from riding backwards down the High, to removing the weathervane from a particularly inaccessible church steeple. Alex, it appeared, was bent on living dangerously.
It did not take Chloë long to notice that Mr Beckwith was conspicuous by his absence and, since no one seemed to find it worthy of comment, she steeled herself to ask Mr Deveril. Then, encountering him on his way out with his right arm resting picturesquely in a sling, she changed her mind. It wasn’t the time to take any silly risks – and she probably wouldn’t get an answer anyway.
Less than half an hour later Mr Fawsley arrived and, finding that he had missed Alex, was just about to leave when Chloë pounced on him and bade him come up and talk to her. Danny groaned, brushed imaginary sweat from his brow and limped painfully up the extra flight. Chloë shut the door behind him and eyed him severely.
‘I knew it. You’ve been fighting with Mr Deveril.’
He dropped into a chair. ‘Not me. I’ve got more sense.’
‘Then what,’ she asked sceptically, ‘have you done to your foot? And why is Mr Deveril wearing a sling?’
‘Cabbages,’ grinned Danny.
She sat down. ‘Cabbages?’
‘That’s it. A whole cart-load of them, at the side of the beadle’s house – and Alex bet me that he could plant more of ‘em on the roof than I could.’
‘I see,’ sighed Chloë. ‘And?’
‘I scored five then lost my balance, came down at full gallop and missed the cart. Aye – you can laugh but I’ve got a cursed sprain and it hurts like hell.’
‘Then you are well-served for you might have broken your leg. Do I take it that Mr Deveril has broken something?’
‘No – but it should have been his neck,’ replied Daniel, pushing a fiery strand back from his brow, ‘He put up seven and was just on his way up with the eighth when the beadle came out. God, but he was furious! There he was, cursing like a goblin and then he started shying cabbages up at Alex who was still on the roof, laughing himself silly.’
‘Go on – or let me guess. Mr Deveril threw them back?’
Danny nodded. ‘He did.’
‘I wish I’d seen it,’ said Chloë. There was comfort in the idea of the intimidating Mr Deveril playing pitch-and-toss with a cabbage. ‘How did he fall?’
‘The wilder the goblin’s throws became, the more determined Alex was to catch them. In the end he lost his footing, rolled sideways on to the cart and dislocated his shoulder. The leech put it back and said he was damned lucky to come off so light – but Giles says he’s always had a charmed life.’
Never slow to seize an opportunity, Chloë made her second pounce of the morning. ‘I’m glad you mentioned Mr Beckwith. I’ve been wanting to ask about him.’
Danny looked uneasy. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. He never comes here – and no one mentions him. Do you know why – or must I ask Mr Deveril?’
Unease became alarm. ‘Not unless you want your head bitten off. They’re in the middle of some quarrel or other. It started the day after we met you in the fields with young nipperkin and it’s got steadily worse since. Giles won’t talk about it and I daren’t ask Alex.’
Chloë frowned. ‘But they’re friends, aren’t they?’
‘Oh yes. Have been for years – long before I knew either of them. They were both mercenaries, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t know. You’ve fought with them, then?’
‘In Sweden, six years ago. It was only a short campaign but Prince Rupert said that, with a bit more experience, Alex would make a first-rate captain one day.’
Chloë thought for a moment and then said, ‘I should have thought three weeks long enough for two grown men to sulk – and if it isn’t, they need help.’
Mr Fawsley levered himself to his feet.
‘Oh no,’ he said firmly. ‘If you don’t know better than to interfere between those two, I do! There’ll be no reasoning with Alex just now because being incapacitated makes him irritable. And if you’re lunatic enough to look him in the eye and tell him he should have thought of that before, I’ll wash my hands of you.’
Chloë grinned. ‘I’m not entirely stupid.’
‘Good. Look – take my advice and leave well alone. I’ve had three weeks of living betwixt the devil and the deep – but I know from experience that if you get between them and all that happens is you draw their fire.’
The brown eyes reflected intense speculation.
‘When did you last see Mr Beckwith?’
‘Giles? This morning. I met him on the High – said he was going to Tom Blanchard’s.’ He stopped abruptly as Chloë got up and reached for her cloak. ‘Where are you going?
’
‘To see you out and then for a walk in the park.’
‘No you’re not. It’s snowing. You’re going to try and catch Giles.’
She laughed and shrugged. ‘There’s no reason why I shouldn’t call on Julia. I often do. Perhaps you’d like to escort me?’
‘Well I wouldn’t,’ said Danny frankly. ‘I won’t have anything to do with it.’
‘You could wish me bonne chance.’
‘I could and I do. Good luck – and goodbye. And for the Lord’s sake, don’t tell Alex you’ve been discussing it with me.’
‘I don’t intend to tell him anything.’
Danny eyed her with pronounced misgiving. ‘What, then?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. And added cheerfully, ‘Je m’en fiche.’
*
The snow was lying six inches thick in the streets and more swirled down from the sky in great, soft flakes. It covered the houses and colleges with gleaming grace and bathed the town in rare tranquillity.
A large flake settled on Chloë’s nose and she brushed it off, smiling. Her hands and feet were icy, but she did not notice as she slipped and slid happily along the riverside. She watched a group of boys enjoying a snow-fight and felt foolishly regretful that, being technically an adult, she could not join in. She dwelt for moment on the alluring picture of cooling Mr Deveril’s temper with a well-placed snowball and then decided that in that sort of contest, as in most others, he would probably win.
Lady Julia, ravishing in blue silk and talking all the time, swept Chloë through the hall. ‘My dear, I have told you over and over – only unmarried girls wear their hair down. You really should curl it and put it up.’
‘My hair won’t curl.’
‘Not at all?’ demanded Julia sceptically
‘No. Or not in any way that’s the least use. It wilts.’ Chloë spread expressive hands. ‘So there you have it. Curls are out. If I must wear it up, it will have to be braids and a pound of ironmongery.’ Then, entering the parlour, she found herself face to face with Giles Beckwith and remembered – as she had not done before - how very self-contained and elegant he was. She also noticed his slight frown.
As for Giles, he saw a torrent of rose-gold hair falling over a shabby green gown and brown eyes full of sudden doubt. Banishing his frown, he bowed and said, ‘Mistress Chloë. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust you are well?’
‘Perfectly well, thank you.’ She hesitated, glanced briefly at Julia and added, ‘I suppose you know that I – that I’m --’
‘That you’re married? Yes.’
Giles had received a garbled version of the midnight wedding from Daniel and then a rather more lucid one, based on Chloë’s own account, from Julia Blanchard. It had made him feel rather ill – mainly because he blamed himself for walking away instead of staying to control the proceedings. It had also made him want to throttle Alex. His next thought had been to go straight round to Mr Deveril’s lodgings to find out how things were with Chloë and if she needed help … but he hadn’t done it because he’d known that if he had, he probably would have throttled Alex.
Chloë smiled wryly at him. ‘It wasn’t part of the plan.’
‘No.’ Giles realised that he couldn’t say the things he wanted to say in front of Mr Deveril’s sister. ‘I regret that I’ve been unable to call. Alex and I aren’t exactly on visiting terms at the moment. But if I can be of any assistance to you – at any time – I hope you will tell me.’
‘Thank you.’ She paused, ‘Actually, there is something. I thought if someone - meaning myself - poured a little oil on the troubled waters, you and Mr Deveril might overcome your differences.’
‘I fear it might take more than that,’ he replied a trifle grimly. And then, ‘Alex doesn’t know what you’re doing, does he?’
‘No.’
‘And nor do I,’ said Julia. ‘Giles – have you and Alex quarrelled?’
‘Something like that. I thought you knew.’
She shook her head. ‘No one tells me anything! But it’s not past mending, is it?’
‘I don’t know. I suspect that, this time, it just may be.’
Julia sat down. ‘I’m sorry. He said something unpardonable, I suppose?’
‘In the years we’ve known each other he has probably said a hundred things that were unpardonable,’ replied Giles placidly. ‘If that were all, it wouldn’t matter.’ He picked up his hat and turned it between elegant fingers. ‘You must excuse me, ladies. I won’t discuss it.’
‘Well that makes two of you,’ said Chloë gloomily. ‘If you are going, will you escort me home?’
Julia blinked and Mr Beckwith, who had not been prepared for it either, bowed.
‘I’d be honoured,’ he said.
Chloë turned to her sister-in-law. ‘You’ll forgive me, Julia?’
Her ladyship shrugged. ‘Would it make any difference if I didn’t? I take it you only came to talk to Giles and haven’t finished with him. He has my sympathy!’
*
Walking down the street, her hand firmly clutching Mr Beckwith’s sleeve, Chloë appeared deep in thought. When she finally looked up, it was to find the dark grey eyes resting on her with a mixture of amusement, wariness and something she did not recognise. Then he smiled.
‘How does it feel to be Mistress Deveril?’
‘Strange – and all the more so when I’m addressed that way. I wish you would call me Chloë. Danny and Freddy both do.’
‘Do they? Well, perhaps their position is less equivocal,’ he replied evasively. ‘How are you finding Matt?’
The straight nose wrinkled thoughtfully.
‘I think the word is cautious.’
‘Ah. He would be, of course. I would guess your marriage came as a not-unpleasant shock and he’s reserving judgement until he knows you better.’ He paused and steered her around a minor snowdrift. ‘A taciturn specimen, our Matthew – but you can trust him absolutely.’ He stopped again, this time to choose his words, ‘I don’t imagine it’s easy living with Alex?’
‘You’re wrong,’ responded Chloë trenchantly. ‘We co-exist in perfect harmony.’
Mr Beckwith was somewhat taken aback. ‘You do?’
She gave him a sardonic smile. ‘Yes. It’s quite simple when you only meet in passing on the stairs or at meals. And the conversation, of course, is never allowed to impinge on the personal. It’s uncommonly difficult to quarrel about the flavour of the soup or whether it will thaw by the end of the week.’
‘I see. Do you want to quarrel?’
‘Not necessarily. But I’d like to reach some sort of ordinary understanding.’ Chloë took a moment to remind herself not to say too much. If she let the annulment out of the bag, Mr Deveril would have her head on a plate. ‘The only things I know about him are what Julia or Danny have told me. I don’t even know how old he is!’
‘He’s thirty – a couple of years younger than myself and a couple of years older than Danny.’
‘Well he’s currently behaving like a ten-year-old.’ She looked up at Giles. ‘Did you know he and Danny are careering around Oxford indulging in student pranks?’
He nodded, frowning a little. ‘There’s been some talk.’
‘I know. I offered to mind little Tom as I used to - but as soon as his mother knew I’d married Mr Deveril, she more or less showed me the door. And that’s why I thought,’ concluded Chloë deviously, ‘that you might be able to help.’
The frown vanished and he laughed. ‘No you didn’t. You thought I’d tell Alex that all is forgiven and stay around to hold his hand.’
‘And won’t you?’
‘No. What in particular is worrying you?’
‘Apart from the fact he could break his neck? The possibility that, thanks to him, Danny or Freddy could break their necks, too.’
‘I doubt it will come to that. However … what tactics have you tried so far?’
‘None. I was hoping you might suggest somethin
g.’
‘I suggest that you leave well alone,’ he said, unwittingly echoing Daniel. And then, without warning, ‘Why did you marry him?’
The brown eyes widened and became blank. ‘For his money?’
‘He hasn’t any – or not a great deal, anyway. Try again.’
Chloë ran her hand absently along a window-ledge, scooping up snow and watching it fall to the ground. Then, as they turned into Brewer Street, she stopped walking and looked into his face.
‘You were there. You know why. I told you at the time.’
‘You did,’ agreed Giles slowly, ‘but it doesn’t explain why you went through with the midnight wedding. No one has told me that Alex forced you. Did he?’
‘No.’
‘Then why?’
‘I don’t know!’ she said, unable to find a good answer. ‘It was as if I couldn’t do anything else - like rushing downhill very fast and not being able to stop!’
‘Ah. Yes. Alex has that effect on people.’ He paused again, not sure how much to say. ‘He is unpredictable, provoking and wild. Unfortunately, he is also charming, clever and physically attractive. It would be easy, I imagine, to become … dazzled.’
Chloë’s colour rose a fraction.
‘You forget that I’m twenty years old, half-French and very practical.’
‘My dear, I know it,’ he replied dryly. ‘But you wouldn’t be the first.’
Afterwards, Giles could never decide if she had understood or even heard him. While he spoke, she had been gazing abstractedly down the street and then, turning abruptly to face him, she somehow slipped on the snow and would have fallen had he not caught her. Deftly holding her in steady hands, he set her back on her feet and was startled by a sudden gasp of pain.
‘Oh – my ankle! I’ve twisted it,’ she said with another agonised breath.
In view of recent history, Mr Beckwith could not forbear casting a suspicious glance into her face. He discovered that it did indeed look rather pale and instantly felt guilty. ‘Can you walk?’
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