‘Ah yes, but we are to be invaded by a party from Aylsham at any moment,’ he reminded her.
‘And they will find—’ Her voice broke. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’
‘It was an accident,’ he said firmly. ‘You were intent upon defending me from a man with a loaded pistol in his hand.’
‘Yes, but Mr Snelson—’
‘There is nothing that we can do to change matters,’ he reminded her. ‘I will take the blame. Snelson came to the house at an unexpected hour. Thinking that he was a housebreaker, I struck him over the head. Barnes will bear out my story.’
‘But you did not do it, I did! Why should you take the blame for something that I have done?’
He stopped and turned her to face him. ‘Because nobody must know that you were ever there. Besides, somehow you have become my responsibility.’
‘Like a … a horse, or a dog, or—’
He pulled her closer to him. ‘No, not like any of those,’ he replied, brushing his lips briefly against hers. ‘Come, we must get you home. I cannot rest easy until you are safe, and I need to get back and help Barnes.’
‘Yes, poor Mr Barnes—’ She paused. ‘Does he know who you really are?’ she asked him, her eyes narrowed.
‘Barnes knows everything about me,’ he assured her.
‘How can he if you only met him on the way here?’ she asked, before going on slowly, ‘That meeting was all a pretence, wasn’t it?’
‘I’ve already revealed far more to you than I should,’ he said.
‘Then why can’t you tell me the rest?’
‘Out of loyalty to another, I can’t say more; believe me, as soon as I can, I’ll tell you everything.’
‘And in the meantime, you’ll keep yourself safe; you’ll not allow them to arrest you?’
‘I’ll do my best to guard against such an eventuality.’ They had reached the garden gate. Fortunately, owing to her uncle’s diligence in maintaining his property, it opened without a sound. ‘Will you be able to get back in?’ Max whispered.
‘By the back door,’ Constance replied. He went with her around the back of the house, treading carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping inhabitants. She set her hand on the door handle, then turned to look at him. His face was in shadow, making it quite impossible for her to read his expression.
She found herself completely at a loss. She had set off that evening, determined to warn him of Snelson’s intentions. She had expected him to be alarmed; even dismayed; perhaps angry at the thwarting of his plans. She had not expected him to stand and bandy words with her! Her warning had been given more than half against her conscience; and yet, when it had come to making her choice, she had without hesitation brought a heavy weight down on the head of a poor, blameless man, making of herself a murderess so that the dandy-brute duke might go free!
Amongst all of the thoughts swirling around in her head, the one that kept coming back to her was the moment when he had said, ‘If I did run, would you come with me?’ He had not asked her again. Had he really meant it, or had it been a kind of joke, intended to torment one who had found him out? She felt her face colouring all over again, for in her confusion, she had actually voiced something of her thoughts.
‘Of course I meant it,’ he said, leaning closer and catching hold of her by her shoulders. ‘Will you be ready if I come for you?’
‘Yes. Oh, but pray be careful!’
‘I will.’ He bent his head and pressed one brief, hard kiss onto her lips. ‘Don’t fear for me – or for yourself. All will be well, I promise you.’ He paused briefly, then went on. ‘You have asked who I am; all you need to know is that my name is Max, and that I am in love with you.’
Her heart leaped. ‘And you will come for me?’ she said breathlessly.
‘I give you my word.’
He stepped back, ran his hands down her arms, caught hold of her hands, lifted first one then the other to his lips. Then he released them, sketched a brief salute, and melted into the shadows. She wanted to ask him, ‘When? Will you come for me here? What should I bring?’ She even opened her mouth to tell him that his sentiments were returned. It was too late: he was gone.
Chapter Nineteen
‘What do you mean, he’s not dead?’ Max asked wrathfully. After leaving Constance, he had hurried back reluctantly to Beacon Tower. Whilst he had been obliged to kill on occasions (never without regret), and he had learned how to come to terms with his actions, Constance had not. The last thing that he had wanted to do had been to leave her alone with her inevitable feelings of guilt and self-blame. On this occasion, however, he had been left with no alternative. Whilst he might have no compunction about rousing the Fellowes household in order to provide Constance with some support, he knew that this step would blast her reputation more completely than anything else. She had enough to deal with without having that on her plate. What was more, the housebreaking story would do very well, only if he were there when the magistrate arrived. The best way of protecting Constance would be to play the part of an outraged aristocratic householder right up to the hilt.
He was thinking about some of these matters when he entered the drawing room and found Barnes awaiting him with the news that Snelson was in fact very much alive.
‘The young lady’s blow was not sufficient to kill the gentleman,’ Barnes explained, in response to Max’s question.
‘Then why in God’s name did you say that he was dead?’
‘If you will recall the incident, I did not exactly say as much,’ said Barnes carefully.
‘Damn you, Barnes, you knew perfectly well what you were implying!’
‘It seemed to me, Your Grace, that it were best to get the young lady out of the way as quickly as possible,’ the valet explained. ‘As long as she knew that the gentleman was merely injured, she would insist on ministering to his hurts; especially since—’ He paused delicately.
‘Since what?’
‘Apparently, Mr Snelson has been courting Miss Church. She might consider herself bound to him.’
‘The devil she does,’ Max returned shortly, thinking that if such were the case he might as well go and finish the man off himself. He remembered with some disquiet that although he had told her of his feelings, she had not said that she returned them. ‘What have you done with him?’
‘At present, he is upstairs,’ said Barnes. ‘I have bathed his head and dressed his wound. However, he has left us with a little problem. It would in fact be much more convenient if the man were indeed dead.’
‘How very disobliging of him,’ said Max, his ready sense of humour rising to the surface despite himself.
‘Indeed, Your Grace. The housebreaker story is all very well if we have a corpse. If, on the other hand, he is able to tell of his suspicions—’
‘Yes, I see. Very awkward. And we can’t very well say that I struck him down if he can say later that I was standing in front of him.’
‘I have a solution to that problem, Your Grace.’
‘I hope it’s one that leaves Miss Church out of the matter.’
‘Of course. I shall say that I came into the room and saw Snelson holding you at gunpoint. Not having met the man before, what else was I to think other than that he was a housebreaker?’
‘Or some other kind of villain. Very good, Barnes. Much better that they don’t speak to him, though, don’t you think?’
‘Undoubtedly. He is in a room in the tower, under the influence of a sleeping draught, with a groom in attendance.’
‘So when our visitors ask after him, we can take them up to see him, if they insist.’
‘They won’t, Your Grace. In the meantime, I suggest that you put on your dressing gown and prepare to meet them.’
They hurried upstairs where Max allowed the valet to help him into a nightshirt – which he never normally wore – and his most opulent dressing gown. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful for what you’ve done,’ Max said as he slid his arm into the rich blue brocade
sleeve. ‘I’m still very annoyed with you, none the less.’
‘Why, Your Grace?’
‘Because Miss Church is even now sitting in her chamber, her spirits oppressed by the belief that she has killed a man,’ Max replied in exasperated tones. ‘She is suffering quite needlessly.’
‘Consider, Your Grace, how relieved she will be when she discovers that all is well.’
Max looked at him doubtfully. He remembered how years ago, his sister Ruth had gone to play with some young relatives of the rector in the village without telling her mother where she was going. Mrs Persault had not heard about the visitors to the rectory and had not thought to make enquiries there, whilst Ruth had blithely assured the rector’s wife that of course her mama knew where she had gone. By the time Ruth eventually returned, a search party had been organized and Mrs Persault had become quite frantic. Of course, she had been relieved that her daughter was safe; but these feelings were soon replaced by fury that she should have been caused so much needless worry. Ruth had spent several days in her room on a diet of bread and water. She had also been made to write letters of apology to all those whom she had inconvenienced, including the gardener’s boy, who had taken part in the search (although the housekeeper had been obliged to read it to him, since he could not read it for himself). Recalling these events, it occurred to Max that Miss Church’s relief at Mr Snelson’s survival might quickly be succeeded by justifiable anger at the distress that she had been caused. Heaven send he could speedily put an end to her misery.
Before he could give this any further thought, they heard the unmistakable sound of horses approaching. ‘The men from Aylsham,’ said Barnes.
‘Then let us go downstairs,’ said Max.
Barnes held up a hand. ‘No, Your Grace. A man in your position would not come downstairs in his night attire to greet such men. Better to remain here whilst I open the door, then you can descend when you hear the commotion.’
Max nodded, acknowledging the justice of this suggestion. He waited in the doorway of his chamber, listening to the sound of forthright knocking on the door, followed by the measured pace of Barnes as he crossed the hall. There then followed a conversation of some sort, a voice raised in protest, and the clatter of feet indicating a number of persons entering the hall. Judging that this might be an appropriate moment for him to make an appearance, Max took a deep breath and thought of Alistair. Then he began to stroll down the passage, deliberately slowing his pace from his more natural energetic stride. He touched the pocket of his dressing gown, tracing the outline of his pistol. Although he trusted that he would not need it, it was good to know that it was there.
He had the opportunity of noting the number and condition of the individuals gathered in the hall. There were eight men in the party, whose ages were probably between eighteen and fifty. Most of them gave the impression of being on a huge treat. They had possibly never entered such a house before and were obviously bent on taking in everything in order to tell an interesting tale when they got home. A large, gangly youth, probably the youngest present, stood a little apart from the others, waiting by the door with a vacuous grin on his face. A stout, red-faced man with the appearance of a gentleman farmer seemed to be leading the band.
‘Disturb His Grace when he has only just retired?’ Barnes was saying in outraged tones. ‘It’s more than my place is worth.’
‘It’ll be more than your life’s worth if you’re found to be harbouring a traitor,’ the red-faced man retorted, his voice carrying a slight Norfolk burr.
‘Aye, he’s a Frenchie,’ added one of the others.
‘Now we don’t know that,’ said their leader. ‘But Mr Snelson – whose judgment I’ve never had cause to doubt – was quite insistent that the man residing here is not the Duke of Haslingfield.’
‘Did someone mention my name?’ murmured a voice from above their heads. Max came slowly down the stairs. He had slipped back into his chamber in order to pick up a lace handkerchief. This he extracted from his pocket – taking care not to disturb the pistol – and held it to his nose. ‘I take it that there is a good reason for my being disturbed? I do not like to appear unreasonable, but there seem to be a number of persons in my hall who – really, one does not like to seem rude, who have neither been invited’ – by now, he had reached the last landing, where he paused – ‘nor, indeed, were ever likely to be,’ he concluded, rather pleased to have steered his way successfully through a number of clauses to the end of his sentence.
The leader of the visiting party bowed instinctively, and those with him followed suit, bobbing their heads and touching forelocks. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you, sir,’ said the red-faced man. ‘My name is Sir Godfrey Glennis, and I have the honour of being a magistrate in Aylsham.
‘I’m Haslingfield,’ said Max. He completed his descent and held out his hand to the baronet, in much the same way that a king might extend his hand to a subject. Glennis, who had been to court once and had been utterly overawed by the whole experience, managed to resist an urge to go down on one knee. ‘From what you were saying as I was coming down the stairs, I understand that you have had tidings of a traitor in this locality. If you need to use my house as a base whilst you search, you are more than welcome.’
The baronet now found himself completely at a loss. In the heart of rural Norfolk, the threat of invasion from the French seemed, for the most part, to be very distant and unlikely. Indeed, it had been the last thing on Sir Godfrey’s mind as he had completed the day’s business in order to join the vicar for their weekly bottle of port which they shared over a game or two of chess. Snelson’s anxious demeanour had struck an incongruous note when he had been admitted to the baronet’s bachelor establishment, and his host might have dismissed the whole matter from his mind had it not been for one circumstance.
Just two days before, he had chanced upon an article in his newspaper in which the writer had described the cunning displayed by spies, traitors and the like. The same article had gone on to say that a lack of vigilance at time of war might easily prove to be the country’s undoing, and had described the bucolic stupidity of a country squire who had allowed the opportunity of snaring a French sympathizer to slip through his fingers. Sir Godfrey had no desire to be ranked among such company. What was more, he had always found Snelson to be a sensible man, not inclined to be carried away by far-fetched tales. The deciding factor had been when the vicar had sent a message to say that as he was required to attend at a deathbed, their game of chess would have to be postponed. Snelson had returned to the coast in order to make sure that their quarry did not escape, leaving Sir Godfrey to assemble some local volunteers.
Had Sir Godfrey been questioned as to what he expected to find when he arrived, he would probably not have been so foolish as to describe a shifty-looking individual muttering ‘Zut alors!’ under his breath whilst Snelson held him at gunpoint. On the other hand, he would certainly never have envisaged this lordly, assured-looking man who invited him into his home and offered him every assistance. Furthermore, Snelson, who had promised to meet him here, was conspicuous by his absence. In addition to all this, Tom Seekings, who was standing by the door, his face adorned by its usual vacant expression, kept interjecting the word ‘zur’ into the conversation, whilst bobbing up and down in the manner of one who needed to relieve himself. What was to be done?
Again, Max took the initiative. ‘If you have come from – Aylsham, did you say? – you will be ready for some refreshment. Might I suggest that you accompany me into my book room so that we may discuss this strange affair further? Your – er – company might be more comfortable in the kitchen, I fancy.’
The band of men, who had been shifting rather uncomfortably from one foot to the other during this exchange, glanced at one another with expressions of relief, whilst Seekings muttered ‘zur’ for perhaps the sixth time.
‘That is very good of you,’ said Sir Godfrey, glancing round. ‘I must own, I had expected to be meeting Snelson he
re.’
Max raised his brows. ‘It would appear to be rather a strange hour for you to be calling upon my bailiff in my house,’ he murmured. ‘However, I believe that my valet may be able to shed further light on this matter.’
Barnes’s face took on a mortified expression. ‘Shall I return to give my account of tonight’s events after I have taken these men to the kitchen, Your Grace?’ he asked humbly.
‘Indeed, I think you should.’
The party obediently followed him, except for Seekings, who now came and tugged at the baronet’s sleeve. ‘Zur,’ he said urgently.
‘Go with the rest, boy,’ said Sir Godfrey irritably. ‘Someone will show you where to … to … you know.’
‘No, zur, t’ain’t that,’ the lad said. He pointed to Max. ‘I seed him afore.’
There was a moment’s quiet. The party halted on its way to the kitchen. Max casually slid his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown to touch his pistol, his expression unchanged.
‘Have you, lad?’ Sir Godfrey asked, looking at Max. ‘When was this?’
‘I seed ’im in Aylsham,’ said Tom. Now aware that he was the cynosure of all eyes, he was determined to make the most of his moment. ‘Dressed up like a prince, ’e were, in a fine carriage. And ’e ’ad a black servant.’
‘Yes, what the lad says may well be true,’ Max agreed languidly. ‘I passed through Aylsham quite recently, and my secretary, who is from Africa, was attending me. Perhaps some of these others might have been told of the incident?’
After a brief pause, a sensible-looking man with greying hair said, ‘My brother goes to the Black Boys most weeks. He said as how there was someone staying there so grand that they called him “Your Grace”.’
‘That was indeed where I stayed,’ said Max in a bored tone. ‘Is there anyone else with observations to make upon my movements, or my person? No doubt Barnes could furnish you with my exact itinerary, should you deem it to be necessary.’
Sir Godfrey flushed. ‘No, indeed, Your Grace,’ he said, for the first time addressing the man in front of him in the correct form.
Imperfect Pretence Page 19