The Passionate Friends

by Meg Alexander

  “Still suspicious?” Truscott shook his head in apparent sorrow. “We must learn to trust each other, Dick, but if you insist…Wait there! I shan’t be above a moment.”

  When he returned he was carrying several leather bags, and, unknown to Margrave, a heavy cudgel beneath his flowing robes.

  “Will you count it?” he said carelessly.

  “No need! You won’t trick me if you know what’s good for you.” Margrave held out his hands for the money.

  Somehow, in passing over the bags, Truscott contrived to drop one. He’d tied it loosely, and the gleaming coins began to roll in all directions.

  “Gold?” Margrave was transfixed by the sight. He bent, picked up a coin, and weighed it in his hand.

  “What else? These people wouldn’t insult me by offering pence.” Truscott fell to his knees and started to collect the gold. “Give me a hand!” he cried impatiently. “Unless you’re satisfied with what you’ve got!”

  “Nay! I’ll not leave this!” The forger’s eyes were glittering with avarice. The sight of the money had driven all thought of danger from his head. He began to crawl about the flagstones.

  “Let me get the bag!” Truscott rose to his feet, withdrew the cudgel and brought it down with sickening force. One blow was enough to fell his enemy.

  The preacher stepped out of his gown, folded it, and wound the cloth about Margrave’s head. He’d no desire to leave a trail of blood. Then he seized a leg in either hand and dragged the inert figure into the churchyard to where a mound of fresh-turned earth rose above the surrounding grass.

  He’d hidden a spade behind a nearby tombstone. Now he worked fast to toss the earth aside until he’d made a shallow excavation, thankful that the moon appeared only briefly from between the scudding clouds.

  It was the work of a moment to roll the body into the hole and pile the soil above it. When he’d finished he surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. Next week the family of the original occupant of the grave would erect a handsome tombstone, sealing Margrave in the cold earth for ever.

  He was unaware that his every move was being watched. The Bow Street Runner was hardened to all kinds of villainy, but even he could not repress a shudder. He remained in hiding as Truscott returned to the church, gathered up his gold and locked the doors. Within minutes he was gone.

  The Runner decided not to follow him. His quarry wouldn’t go far, believing himself to be safe. It was more important to mark the exact position of the grave. Now Lord Wentworth should have his proof. Truscott had not removed his cassock from about the head of the dead man. That alone was enough to link him to the crime.

  The Runner moved closer to the grave, and then he froze. The earth was moving. With his bare hands he tore wildly at the mound of soil. If the man was still alive he’d have a witness. Then a dreadful figure rose towards him and iron fingers closed about his throat. He knew nothing more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the day before her wedding Judith had a visitor. She hadn’t left her room for days, but when Sebastian arrived she was summoned to the salon.

  He took her hand and gazed into her eyes, troubled by the dark, bruise-like smudges beneath them. Yet Judith was perfectly calm, standing before him with a grave, contained stillness.

  He longed to shake her, to bring some life into that gentle face. If only he might have saved her from what could only be a miserable future. Now, he feared, it was too late.

  “I am come to make arrangements for tomorrow,” he murmured. “At what time is the ceremony?”

  She looked at him without expression. “At noon, I believe.”

  “Then I shall take you in my carriage. Shall we say at a quarter to the hour?”

  Judith nodded, not daring to ask the question which was uppermost in her mind. She was praying with all her heart that Dan would not be in the congregation as she made the vows which should have been made to him.

  Sebastian understood. “Prudence sends her love,” he told her. “And Perry and Elizabeth will be there.” There was no point in distressing her with the news that Elizabeth had at first refused to go until Perry had insisted.

  A silence fell as the unasked question hung in the air between them.

  “Dan sends his regrets,” Sebastian continued. “But I have some news which I know will please you. Nelson has sent for him. Dan left for Merton earlier today.”

  He had all her attention then. Judith raised her head, and for the first time her face grew animated.

  “The Admiral is pleased with his work?”

  “We can’t tell yet, but it seems likely. We must wait until Dan returns before we can be sure.”

  “I’m sure! Oh, I am so very glad for him. You will tell him so?”

  “He will know it, Judith. Until tomorrow, then?”

  “How kind you are!” Judith gave him her hand, and even managed to force a smile.

  She must be glad for Dan. She must…but if only this news had reached him earlier. It might have made all the difference. Then she remembered. Dan no longer loved her. Her heart was breaking, but no one must guess. She went back to her room.

  As Sebastian returned to Mount Street he found himself regretting the impulse which had led him to offer to give Judith away. It had all the overtones of leading a lamb to the slaughter. Judith appeared to be in a state of shock, but it was nothing to the shocks which were likely to await her.

  Damn the Runner! Where on earth was the man! It was now a matter of hours before the wedding. Was there still time to stop it? At this late stage it was folly even to hope.

  Later, Judith could remember little about the morning of her wedding day.

  She had a vague memory of Bessie pressing her to eat something, however little, but she pushed the tray aside. When she tried to speak she seemed to have lost her voice.

  “Drink your chocolate!” Bessie ordered. “If you go on like this, Miss Judith, we’ll have you fainting at the altar.” Even as she spoke she wondered why she was insisting. Privately she considered that to faint was now Judith’s only hope of escaping the clutches of the Reverend Truscott. Yet her mistress, she knew, would not collapse. Judith’s face was set. She would go through with the ceremony.

  Bessie choked back a sob. This should be the happiest day of any woman’s life. No bride should look so pale and listless. She drew the curtains about the old-fashioned bed and summoned the waiting footmen to remove the boxes and portmanteaux which contained her mistress’s possessions. They would be sent on ahead to her new home.

  Within the curtained bed, Judith lay inert. She had the oddest sense of looking down at her own body from some point far above. The fantasy would pass, together with this feeling of unreality. Soon she would begin to be aware of what was happening to her.

  It was strange. She’d expected to feel a pang of regret at leaving this shabby room which had been her sanctuary for so long.

  In this room she had wept for her dead father, found consolation in her books and her writing, and on occasion had managed to escape the cruel strictures of her stepmother. The months after Dan had left were far too painful to remember, but it was all so long ago.

  When Bessie drew the curtains back she looked about her, willing herself to feel something. Anything, even the pain of loss would be preferable to this dreadful feeling of inertia. Now the room looked impersonal. Her pictures, her books and her few trinkets had gone. It might have belonged to a stranger.

  She bathed in silence, hoping that the water would refresh her. Then, statue-like, she stood obediently as Bessie dressed her in the unbecoming gown of dull lavender which had been Mrs Aveton’s choice.

  Even the matching bonnet with its tiny clusters of flowers beneath the brim did nothing to improve her appearance. In Bessie’s eyes, her mistress looked like a ghost.

  “Miss, don’t wear this!” she begged. Then she remembered. The rest of Judith’s gowns were packed and gone.

  “It will do!” Judith closed her eyes. “I think I’ll sit d
own for a moment.” She walked over to the window-seat and rested her cheek against the cool glass. It was difficult to decide if she felt hot or cold.

  She knew that she must pull herself together. She was being unfair to Charles. He deserved better than to wed the marionette which she felt herself to be that morning.

  It took a supreme effort of will to force herself to think about him. She tried to bring his face to mind, but she could see only a pair of bright blue eyes beneath a crop of red-gold hair. Memories followed each other in quick succession. Dan teasing her, laughing, entering into all her hopes and plans with the eagerness peculiarly his own.

  Then the picture changed to a vision of his stricken face, pleading, angry, and finally despairing. She wouldn’t think of him. It was just that she couldn’t seem to recall the face of her betrothed at all.

  It was madness. Charles had been so good to her. Always pleasant and courteous, his kindness was unfailing. She’d always be able to rely on him, and she would not soon forget his staunch support in a situation in which most men would have thought the worst of her.

  And yet she could not love him, she thought despairingly. What did she want of a man? The answer to that lay only with Dan. Never again would she feel that leap of the heart whenever he walked into a room, and the joy which filled her soul. She closed her eyes, remembering his smile, the thrill of his touch, and even the very scent of him.

  What had he called her? “My best of friends”? There was more to it than that. Beneath the friendship there had once been the bonds of a love so passionate that it promised to last for an eternity. That love had vanished, and with it all her hopes and dreams.

  A tapping at the door recalled her from her reverie.

  Bessie answered it, returning with the news that Lord Wentworth had arrived.

  “Oh, is it time?” Judith asked quietly.

  Bessie wiped away a tear. Her young mistress might have used just those words if she’d been summoned to the tumbrils in France, and on her way to a dreadful death by the guillotine.

  Judith pressed her hand. “Don’t look like that!” she pleaded. “Charles is a good man, and he will care for me.”

  With that she took Bessie in her arms. They clung together for just a moment. Then Judith disengaged herself. With her head held high she left the room.

  There were four people in the salon, but it seemed to Judith to be excessively crowded, due to the fact that Mrs Aveton and her daughters were en grande toilette.

  Judith looked at them in wonder, amazed by the profusion of lace, satin, feathers, ribands and jewellery which graced the persons of the three ladies. The purple satin turban of her stepmother was crowned by an immense aigrette, and the spray of gems sparkled and shook each time she tossed her head.

  Now Mrs Aveton hurried towards her, conscious of Sebastian’s penetrating eyes.

  “Dear child!” she gushed. “How beautiful you look today!” She’d intended to embrace the bride-to-be, in an effort to convince Sebastian of her fondness for the girl, but Judith turned away. Such pretence disgusted her.

  Sebastian took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned to Mrs Aveton with a significant glance at the clock.

  “If you leave now, ma’am, we shall follow you,” he said. “You will wish to arrive before the bride.”

  “Why, yes, of course! How like you to consider me! I hope that our dear Judith appreciates your condescension in giving her away, my lord. So good of you, and far more than she might expect!”

  “Judith is a dear friend.” There was something in his tone which silenced her. Her colour heightened as she hurried her daughters to the waiting carriage.

  Sebastian looked at his companion, noting her grave, contained manner.

  “Judith?”

  “I’m ready,” she said quickly. “Shall we go?”

  In silence he offered her his arm. There was nothing left to say. He longed to beg her to change her mind. It was not too late. His carriage would take her to Mount Street and to Prudence, but the tension in her slight figure warned him against such a suggestion. All he could do now was to lend her his support throughout the coming ceremony.

  She would need it. He thought he’d never seen another human being quite so close to breaking down completely.

  In an effort to divert her thoughts he began to speak of Prudence.

  “Your visit helped her, Judith. The doctor now believes that her time is closer than we thought. The child could arrive within these next few days.”

  “Oh, Sebastian, should you have left her?” Judith turned to him at once in her anxiety for her friend.

  He patted her hand and smiled. “These things don’t happen in minutes, my dear. I offered to send Perry in my place, but Prudence would have none of it. She insisted that I kept my word to you.”

  “But—?”

  “No buts, Judith! Elizabeth has stayed behind to be with her. She will send word if anything should start to happen. I have no fears on that score. Our beautiful hot-head can be a tower of strength upon occasion, as I’m sure you know. Elizabeth won’t lose her wits.”

  Judith smiled for the first time. “I know it! She has so many of the qualities of her aunt. Miss Grantham has left for Turkey?”

  Sebastian nodded. “Two days ago. Perry swears that she’ll return with a Mameluke or two in tow.”

  “He’s teasing you. Will you give my love to Prudence? You will all be so relieved when this is over and the babe arrives.”

  “I should be used to it by now, but I suffer through these times almost as much as Prudence. At least I’m not as bad as Perry. He was like a man demented on both occasions when Elizabeth gave birth.”

  Judith squeezed his hand. “All will be well, I’m sure of it.” She looked up as the carriage stopped, and paled a little.

  “Are we there?”

  “Yes, my dear.” Sebastian gave her his hand and helped her from the carriage.

  She hesitated only once, as she saw the open doorway of the church. Then she straightened her shoulders, lifted her head, and together they walked slowly down the aisle.

  Heads turned towards her as she passed, but Judith was oblivious of the sea of faces. Her eyes were fixed upon the altar and the man who stood before it, awaiting her.

  As she reached his side he gave her a tender smile, but she did not respond. She was still possessed by a sense of unreality. This could not be happening to her. The girl who stood beside Charles Truscott wasn’t herself. It was some stranger taking part in a ceremony which meant nothing.

  Truscott then gave his full attention to the bishop, and Judith became aware of the opening words of the marriage service.

  “Brethren, we are gathered together in the sight of God and this congregation to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

  The bishop paused. Then, as church law required, he asked if any knew of the existence of an impediment to the marriage.

  It was a formality, but a silence fell for what seemed to Judith to be an eternity. Then, as the bishop was about to continue, a faint voice reached him.

  “This man is the father of my child!”

  A gasp like the sound of the rushing wind across a sea of corn seemed to ripple around the church, and beside her Judith felt Charles Truscott stiffen.

  When he spun round to face his accuser she heard him curse beneath his breath. Then he regained his self-control and walked towards the figure standing in the aisle.

  Judith recognised the girl at once. This was the frail creature who had accosted her in the street, and later had given her the mysterious message from Charles.

  Now he disclaimed all knowledge of her. “The woman is demented,” he announced. “Tell me, my dear! What is the name of the father of your child?”

  “It’s you…Josh Ferris! Will you deny your own flesh and blood?” She drew aside her shawl to reveal a puny child which lay within the crook of her arm. The little creature seemed too weak to cry.

  Truscott looked about him with a
sad expression, anxious to dispel the astonishment in the faces of his guests.

  “Pitiful!” he murmured. “The girl has lost her senses! I am not Josh Ferris, my dear. My name is Truscott…the Reverend Charles Truscott. Now let me get some help for you…” He looked towards the ushers who had hastened down the aisle.

  The girl pulled away from the restraining hands.

  “You shan’t deny me!” she cried wildly. “I don’t care what you call yourself. The child is yours!”

  Truscott turned to Judith. “I am so sorry, dearest, to have you exposed to this. I do not know this woman.”

  Judith answered him then, and in the silence her clear voice carried to all corners of the church.

  “That isn’t true!” she said quietly. “This girl brought me a message from you.”

  There was another gasp from the assembled guests.

  Then Judith moved towards the young mother. “This is no place for you,” she said. “Let us go into the vestry.”

  Suddenly, Mrs Aveton was tugging at her sleeve.

  “What are you about?” she hissed. “The ceremony must go on. Let them take this creature away. She should be in Bedlam.”

  Judith looked down at her. The contempt in her grave grey eyes might have caused a lesser woman to shrivel, but Mrs Aveton was undeterred.

  “Suppose this child is Charles’s by-blow?” she murmured in an undertone. “What has that to say to anything? A sensible woman would ignore it.”

  “Then perhaps I am not sensible.” Judith removed the clutching fingers from her arm, and turned to the bishop. “My lord, I must have the truth of this.”

  “Of course!” he agreed. “We shall break off at once in order to investigate these allegations.”

  “No!” Truscott’s face was dark with rage. “Judith, this is no impediment. You must believe me!”

  “Even so, the lady is entitled to make enquiries.” Sebastian found it almost impossible to hide his relief. Now he took Judith’s arm. “The vestry?” he said quietly. “You won’t wish for a public scandal.”

  “Leave her!” Truscott shouted. “How dare you interfere? You and your family have done your best to give her a dislike of me. Now, I suppose, you will persuade her to believe these lies?”