The Adventurers

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  Now, suddenly, Sonia burst into tears. ‘Why am I so horrible, Barry? I hate myself—I hate everything!’

  ‘Never mind, my lamb. It will pass. Everything does, sooner or later. Oh!’

  ‘What is it, Barry?’

  ‘Keep your head down. I’m very much afraid it is your cousin Franz on the other side of the street.’

  ‘He’s bound to recognise the carriage. Oh what shall we do? I wish Charles were here.’

  ‘So do I. Oh dear, he’s seen it; he’s coming this way. Do you think there is the slightest chance that he will conduct himself like a gentleman for once, and let us keep the carriage?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. But perhaps he won’t have heard of Father’s death. Do we have to tell him?’

  ‘Shh—’ And then, in well-simulated surprise and her best German: ‘Why, it’s the Herr von Hugel. How do you do, sir?’

  ‘The Baron von Hugel,’ he corrected her, leaning his broad red face in at the carriage window. ‘Cousin Sonia!’ His surprise seemed as false as they knew their own to be. ‘What can you be doing here in Weimar? And—surely—in my carriage?’ And then, as the merest of afterthoughts: ‘Allow me to present my condolences on your father’s unlucky death—and my congratulations on your own’—a significant pause—‘equally lucky escape.’

  ‘You have heard, then?’

  ‘Of course. Did you hope I might not have, little cousin? What an innocent you are, to be sure. Did you really not know that I had a faithful friend in your household? Lucky for me, was it not, that he contrived to escape the massacre brought on, I understand, by my uncle’s folly. Oh yes, I have heard all about your disaster and am even now on my way, hotfoot, to your side. I suppose you were looking for me, little cousin, and no wonder! Nor was your confidence misplaced. No need to look so anxious; I will marry you at once. It is my duty as head of the family. I never thought I might come to think of it as such.’ And then, as if really seeing her for the first time, ‘Good God! Did they cut your hair too?’

  She stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. ‘I do not know what you are talking about, Cousin Franz.’

  He laughed. ‘Bravely spoken! So that’s to be your line is it? Well, I must say I admire you for it and promise I will never cast it up against you when we are married. Though I confess it will be a relief to me if your first child is not born for—well, shall we say a year or so at least.’

  Now at last she understood him and turned first white, then scarlet with what Elizabeth was glad to recognise as more rage than confusion. ‘Your spies misinformed you, sir. And even if what you think were true, I would rather die than marry you.’

  ‘Strong words, cousin. And what, pray, do you intend to do instead? Your father left you penniless, you know. I would not like to see you reduced to begging—or worse.’

  ‘I am going to England—to my mother’s family. Miss Barrymore goes too.’

  ‘Splendid!’ His sarcasm was heavily obvious. ‘Your mother’s family having shown such tender concern for her welfare—and yours. But of course you must know your own business best, cousin—and with the estimable Miss Barrymore for companion, what harm can come to you? Though I confess it strikes me as a somewhat rash journey for two ladies to undertake unescorted—even if one of them is somewhat advanced in years.’ And then, condescending at last to return her greeting: ‘How do you do, Miss Barrymore. I am delighted to see that you are not dead, as I had been led to believe.’

  ‘Your source of information does seem to have been a trifle unreliable, does he not?’ She had been thinking rapidly. ‘And Miss von Hugel and I do not travel unaccompanied. Mr Vincent has kindly undertaken to escort us.’

  ‘Vincent? And who, pray, is he? Some friend of yours?’ His tone suggested the worst. ‘As head of the family, I must object to my cousin’s undertaking such a journey in such fly-by-night company.’

  ‘Make your objections, then, to me.’ Charles Vincent had come up behind him during this speech. ‘Charles Vincent, at your service.’

  A measuring glance passed between them. On the face of it, they were unequally matched enough, for Von Hugel loomed nearly a head taller than Vincent and broad to match. But his eyes fell first and there was more bluster than confidence in his voice when he spoke. ‘As head of her family, sir, I ask by what right you have undertaken the charge of this young lady.’

  ‘These young ladies, sir; a very different matter. Why—by the right of friendship, if I may claim it—and as a fellow Englishman.’

  ‘English, are you? I might have known it, though there’s something damned Frenchified about your speech.’

  ‘There is. Do you want to make anything of it?’

  ‘Oh, no…not the least in the world.’ Now the bluster failed completely and he turned to Sonia. ‘I am glad to see you have so swaggering a defender, cousin. I shall await news of your—adventures with interest. But before we part, since that seems to be your desire, there is a little matter of my carriage to be discussed. Go to England, on your fool’s errand, if you insist. I have done my duty in offering to marry you; do not expect me to break my heart over your refusal. Tarnished goods, cousin, tarnished goods—’ And then, quickly, aware of Vincent’s involuntary movement towards him, ‘But pay me, first, for my carriage with which you have made so free, and be grateful my strong family feeling prevents me from having you taken up for its theft as I should.’

  ‘Name your price.’ Charles Vincent’s voice crackled.

  ‘Well, let us consider: I would not wish to be hard on you, cousin.’ Once more he spoke to Sonia. ‘And indeed it goes hardly with me to let you go like this. Think again, my dear: my offer is still open. Think before you refuse me. To be Baroness von Hugel, after all—and, I promise you, I do not intend to rot in the country as your father did. Trust me to make my mark in the world, and whatever height I rise to, you shall be at my side. Today’s events—and what led up to them—shall be forgotten; as my wife you will command respect. Which is more, I can tell you, than you can hope for if you choose to throw in your lot with Miss Barrymore and her’—he paused—‘friend.’

  ‘My friend, too,’ said Sonia, and, simultaneously, ‘That is enough,’ in tones of ice from Vincent; and, from Elizabeth Barrymore, who had quietly been counting the contents of her purse, ‘Take that—and go.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He began, elaborately, to count the money in his turn, but was interrupted by Charles Vincent. ‘If I were you’—his voice was more dangerous than ever—‘I should not linger here any longer. I have spared you, so far, as Miss von Hugel’s cousin, and, as you have pointed out, the head of her family. If you stay much longer, I may find it impossible to restrain myself. And—one thing more—you have made enough slanderous speeches, today, to merit death ten times over. If I ever hear of you doing so again, I will find you out, wherever you are, and make you sorry you were born.’

  ‘A very gallant defender.’ Von Hugel crammed the money into his pocket. ‘I congratulate you, ladies.’ But his voice shook on the would-be mocking words, and his back, as he turned, without so much as a bow, and left them, was that of a beaten man.

  ‘Well, he’s gone,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘And our nest egg with him. Have we enough left for beds for the night, or must I turn highwayman?’ Vincent’s voice was incorrigibly cheerful.

  ‘Oh, we can manage, I think, for a couple of days.’ Elizabeth kept her voice light to match his.

  ‘A couple of days!’ Sonia’s voice shook. ‘And what then?’

  Vincent handed her out of the carriage. ‘Why, by then your Uncle Charles will have turned up something—or other. Don’t look so down in the mouth, Rapunzel. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

  ‘No, but it was destroyed in one. You must wish you had never saddled yourself with us. Alone, you’d be at Frankfurt by now.’

  ‘Yes, and talking to myself from very boredom. At least with you, Rapunzel, and Miss Barrymore for company I shall never be dull.’

  ‘Y
ou amuse yourself, I take it, with my tantrums! You heard what my cousin said. I’ve no reputation, no fortune, nothing. Why do you trouble yourself with me?’

  ‘Because you’re an angel with the cards, remember? Don’t frown and fret so, Rapunzel. Think what a setdown you gave that miserable cousin of yours. And think, too, how furious he will be when he realises he made us pay merely its market value for the carriage. With things as they are, the horses alone are worth three times what we paid him.’

  ‘Really?’ she brightened up at once. And then, ‘But we can’t afford to sell them.’

  ‘Quite true. And that is why I must leave you two ladies to your own devices this evening. Make the most of the private room I hired for you before this little contretemps, and I will see what gold mine I can find in the streets of Weimar. And don’t fret, Rapunzel; your turn will come.’

  It was a long, gloomy evening. Elizabeth could not help feeling that this reverse was largely her fault, since it had been her idea to take the carriage. The fact that Charles Vincent had not even hinted at reproach made this somehow even harder to bear. But there was worse. The money she had been compelled to give for it had been mostly his. So much for her idea of selling it to pay for their journey to England. Reluctantly, hesitantly, she had to admit to herself that there was nothing for it now but to subscribe to his plan for them. She did not like it, but she liked the alternative still less. And at least, Vincent’s care for them on the journey had confirmed her first impression of him. He might call himself an adventurer, but he was a gentleman just the same, and could be trusted. Anyway—rather him than Cousin Franz.

  Anxiety kept her long awake. She lay ramrod still so as not to disturb Sonia, a quotation, familiar as despair, echoing in her mind: ‘I have offended reputation.’ But what else could she do? How protect Sonia? After today’s meeting, it was doubly necessary to get her safe to England, away from the scandal Franz would almost certainly spread. Very well then, face it, Vincent’s plan was their only hope.

  She slept at last, but restlessly, and woke early. Sonia was still asleep, looking a peaceful child again with her hair curling wildly on the pillow. Elizabeth dressed quietly: let her have her moments of peace. Downstairs, in the main room of the inn, Charles Vincent was drinking coffee. Watching him for a moment unobserved, she thought he must have made a long night of it. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was drawn under the tan. And, disconcertingly, something tense about the way he sat, hunched over his cup, brought home to her how young he was. All last night’s qualms came back with a rush. Most of the time, he seemed so completely the man of the world that one tended to forget that in happier times he would hardly have completed his education. Had she been mad to throw in their lot with his—to burden him with their problems as well as his own?

  He looked up and saw her. ‘Good morning.’ Now his face and voice were as usual. ‘And good news.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The best. We are solvent again—affluent, you could almost call it. Here, treasurer, take this. I have saved out enough for the hotel expenses. These are our savings.’

  ‘Good God.’ She was amazed at the weight of the purse he handed her. ‘You cannot, surely, have won all this at cards!’

  ‘No.’ Again a fleeting shadow crossed his face. ‘I met a friend—a cousin, to be precise. He is in the entourage of M de Saint Aignan.’

  ‘The French Minister to Weimar?’

  ‘Yes. They too are on their way to Frankfurt.’

  ‘Then perhaps we shall have the pleasure of meeting this generous cousin of yours.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ There was certainly something odd about him this morning.

  Chapter Four

  In England, early that November, Lady Elinor Burnleigh faced her brother across the elaborate equipage of a country house breakfast. ‘In that case, I will come too.’ A formidable woman, handsome as a thoroughbred, she had only recently abandoned the last pretence of youth. Her tone was that of one who is used to being obeyed.

  And yet, ‘Impossible.’ The Earl of Denbigh had never used either the word or the tone to his elder sister before. Now, seeing how she arched aristocratic eyebrows at him, he qualified the bleak rebuttal. ‘You know as well as I do, Elinor, what things are like in Europe. It is no place for a lady.’

  ‘Lady Burgersh is there.’

  ‘Yes, and remember what you said when you heard she was to accompany her husband. “Unsuitable”…“unladylike”…those were the mildest of the words you chose to describe her conduct. Surely you cannot wish, now, to imitate her?’

  Thus convicted out of her own mouth, Lady Elinor changed her ground. ‘Naturally I do not want to go.’ She used the tolerant tone of seven years’ seniority. ‘But if you insist on accepting the mission Lord Castlereagh thrusts upon you, I feel it my duty to accompany you. My father charged me, on his deathbed, to look after you. I do not consider it as consistent with my duty to him—or to you—to let you go jauntering off to Europe by yourself. Heaven knows what absurdities you would commit, without me beside you. The very least of it will be one of your giddy fits. You know you have never been perfectly strong since your accident. I often think it has only been my constant care that has kept you alive.’

  ‘Do you, Elinor?’ An odd note in his voice. ‘Now, it’s a strange thing, but I have recently begun to wonder whether it was not your perpetual cosseting that has kept me ailing. Does it occur to you that I have never had one of what you call my giddy fits when I was away from home?’

  ‘You’ve never admitted to one, but that’s another story. But it’s all of a piece with the rest of your ingratitude to me. And as for the idea of your setting up as a diplomat—I confess I find it vastly entertaining. Does Castlereagh really think you a match for those wily Europeans? You know perfectly well that you always believe the best of everyone till I undeceive you. Without me, you will be their dupe, very likely their laughingstock. Think how easily you are led! You have come near enough, once, to disgracing the name of Burnleigh. I cannot risk having it happen again.’

  ‘That is enough, Elinor.’ He put down his cup and saucer with a little definite click of porcelain on mahogany and rose to his feet to stand over her. Tall, lean, fair and elegant, he yet contrived to give an over-all impression of greyness as if there had been too little sunshine in his life. While she looked up at him, bridling astonishment, he went on in the same tone of calm finality. ‘It is my fault, I know. I have run in leading strings so long, I suppose you thought it would go on forever. I should have said this years ago, when Father died, but—I suppose I was sorry for you. I played you a cruel trick, did I not, in being born, so tardily, when you had been bred to the idea of being heir to Burnleigh? A peeress in your own right—hereditary bearer of—what is it?—the clove orange at coronations? It was hard to lose all that. I have always known how you felt—and Father too. If I could have waived my claim in your favour, I would have done so. You know that I did my best’

  ‘A boy’s best!’ Her voice was full of an old scorn.

  ‘No!’ Blue eyes she had always thought gentle blazed in his face. ‘A man’s. You and Father tricked me out of the best thing I ever tried to do. And destroyed my chance of happiness. If you had only let us get away to America, you would be Countess of Denbigh now—in fact, if not in name—and I—’

  ‘President of the United States, no doubt!’ Mockingly, ‘With that scheming hussy at your side, who knows what you might not have become.’

  ‘I said, that is enough, Elinor.’ Dangerously quiet now: ‘What you and my father have done to me is done. We will not discuss it further—nor will I allow you to speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘The—’ she paused. ‘Of course. I am sorry, Giles. Forgive me. It is my anxiety for you that makes me speak. I cannot bear to think of you going so far away, all by yourself.’

  ‘But I shall not be going alone. Philip accompanies me.’

  ‘Philip! Now I know that you have taken leave of yo
ur senses. What earthly use can that scatter-brained ward of yours be to you? Except to get you into more scrapes than you might have managed for yourself.’

  ‘On the contrary. I expect Philip to make himself extremely useful as my secretary. Lack of occupation has been his trouble as much as anything. That, and too much money. I wish I could have persuaded his mother to let him go to the Peninsula as he wished, but even she admits that to accompany me to Allied Headquarters in Germany must steady him a little.’

  ‘And he agrees to leave his London’—she paused—‘pursuits, to rough it with you on the Continent?’

  ‘You never liked Philip, did you? I have often wondered whether it was not, in part at least, knowledge of your disapproval that drove him to some of his wilder exploits.’

  ‘I might have known you would prove it all my fault, as usual. Well, don’t come crying to me when he disgraces you, as I have no doubt he will.’

  Surprisingly, he laughed. ‘Elinor, what must I do to persuade you that I am no longer the boy you used to bully—oh, for my own good, of course. Perhaps, when I return from Germany, you will contrive to bear in mind that I was thirty last birthday—old enough, one would think, to make my own mistakes. As for Philip, he is in debt again, of course, and—’

  ‘Involved with a woman as usual. You do not need to mince words with me, Giles. Her demands must be serious indeed if he is prepared to flee her so far. Poor Philip, he always liked his comforts. How wretched he will be as a camp follower.’

  His laugh, this time, was an angry one. ‘Not perhaps the happiest phrase for a diplomatic mission. And I think you do less than justice to Philip’s affection for me. It has not, I can see, occurred to you that Philip’s motives for wishing to go with me may be very much like your own. It would amuse you, I am sure, to think that he too wants to look after me, and bores me dreadfully with talk of warm clothes and the medicines we must take with us. Really, I think it quite heroic of me to let him come.’