The Duke was curious enough to go to the billiard room to see if Edgar was there.
He had not been mistaken.
His brother was indeed in the billiard room, watching his opponent play, holding a cue in one hand and a glass of port in the other.
Without making himself obvious, the Duke returned to the drawing room, only to find, as he expected, that there was no sign of Vina.
For the rest of the evening Lady Halford refused to leave his side and he thought, when he said ‘goodnight’ to the General, that his wife looked at him reproachfully.
‘There is nothing I can say,’ he reflected to himself, ‘and doubtless before they leave tomorrow something will have been settled one way or the other.’
He was, however, very surprised when Sir Robert Warde, coming up behind him, stopped him on the first landing and said,
“I am exceedingly glad to hear the good news about Edgar and you must be very delighted.”
The Duke frowned, thinking it was typical of his brother that, if he was engaged to Vina Wallace, he would have to hear it at first from an outsider.
He did not know Sir Robert Warde well, but they had met on many a Racecourse and he had invited him this weekend because he was a good bridge player.
They had in fact been talking together at White’s Club when he was planning his house party.
Now Sir Robert was obviously waiting for him to reply and he said after a moment,
“I imagine that anything my brother has told you has not yet been discussed amongst the family, so it is secret.”
“I expect that is true,” Sir Robert said, “but between you and me, Quarington, Edgar owes me a great deal of money and I shall be glad to have it back in my pocket.”
There was something in the way that Sir Robert spoke that told the Duke that he was trying to ingratiate himself because of his generosity.
He decided then that he would not be his guest again.
“Goodnight, Sir Robert,” he said. “I hope you have everything you want.”
“Everything.”
Sir Robert would have continued the conversation had the Duke not moved quickly away and gone down the corridor towards his own room.
For some inexplicable reason he did not visit Lady Halford that night.
He knew that she would be extremely angry and also perturbed by his absence.
But he wanted to think about Edgar and Vina and quite unexpectedly he had no desire to make love to her.
Because of his previous experience with women who, once they had fallen in love with him, cast discretion to the winds, he locked his door.
Then, before he climbed into bed, he pulled back the curtains.
He lay looking at the stars and the moonlight, which the night before had made the view from the Tower an enchanted Fairyland.
He tried not to think of the moment when he had seen Vina gazing down at the moat and had known that she intended to throw herself into it.
If she had been missing the following morning, he would not have imagined for one second that she would do anything so incredible.
She was young, she was very beautiful and enormously rich.
Most people would contend that she had everything in the world that any woman could ever want.
Then he thought of his brother and how, despite his handsome looks, how coarse and debauched he was.
He understood what Vina was feeling about him or rather, he told himself, what she had felt.
This afternoon, when he talked to her on the balcony in the library, the terror had gone from her eyes and there was also something calm about her that had not been there before.
He had the feeling that he was being rather obtuse and it annoyed him.
He prided himself on understanding people and the perception he had about them and so it was very difficult for them to deceive him.
Yet, as he turned everything over in his mind, he was quite certain that he was missing some vital explanation for Vina’s attitude and what Sir Robert Warde had just told him.
If it was true that after all that had happened she intended to marry Edgar, why had she not confided in him?
He found himself calculating that there had been just enough time for them to see each other before dinner.
Then he told himself that he was being ridiculous.
Everything was working out just as it had been planned by the General and Lady Wallace. He had concurred with the plan and so why should he trouble himself over it?
He found, as he lay awake gazing at the stars and the moonlight, that the mystery of Vina would not allow him to sleep.
Finally just before dawn came he fell into an uneasy slumber and then awoke with a start to find that it was nearly seven o’clock.
Now, he remembered, that he had forgotten to tell his valet to call him early.
This meant that he would not be wakened properly for another half an hour.
He decided that he could not lie in bed being confronted by the same problems that had kept him awake for so many hours last night.
He rose, unlocked the door and then rang for his valet, Hodgson, who had been with him, like John Simpson, when he was in the Army.
They had fought together many times and on one occasion had very nearly died together.
There was therefore an affinity between them, different from the usual one between Master and servant.
He had washed and shaved and was getting dressed before Hodgson came into the room and somewhat unnecessarily he remarked,
“You’re up early, Your Grace,”
“I know, Hodgson,” the Duke replied. “It’s a nice morning and I want to be out riding.”
He thought as he spoke that if Vina had gone to the stables as early as she had on Saturday morning by now she would be a long way from the house.
He was, however, quite certain that he could find her.
Looking exceedingly smart in his whip cloth riding coat and his boots polished so that they shone like mirrors, he walked quickly down the corridor.
Only when he reached Vina’s room did he hesitate. He wondered if he should knock and find out if she had overslept as he had and would want to come riding with him.
Then he saw, beside the door, that there was a letter.
It was lying on one of the exquisite French commodes that decorated this part of the house.
As he glanced at it, he saw that it was addressed to himself.
He picked it up quickly, opened it and found that the letter consisted of two separate pages.
He read,
“Please do not be angry with me, but I cannot marry Lord Edgar. I will keep my promise to you and not be a coward. At the same time I cannot marry someone I do not and never could love.
I have therefore gone to stay with friends, who will look after me.
Please do not let Uncle Alexander try to find me and see that the letter enclosed reaches his Solicitors.
Thank you for your kindness to me and for letting me ride Hercules.
I shall never forget him or Quarington.
Yours truly,
Vina.”
The Duke drew in his breath and then he read the second page,
“Messrs. Redbridge, Robinson, and Metcalfe,
Dear Sirs,
Kindly pay Lord Edgar Quary the sum of fifty thousand pounds. His Grace, the Duke of Quarington, will make it clear that this is my wish and that my intention must not be overruled by my Guardian, General Sir Alexander Wallace.
Yours truly,
Vina Wallace.”
The Duke put both letters into his pocket and ran down the stairs.
He sent a servant for the night footman, who had already left the hall and ordered a maid who was cleaning out the fireplace to find John Simpson.
Then he went into his study and read both letters again before the night footman was ushered into the room.
“You were on duty last night, James?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Did you see Miss Wallace?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“’She come down the stairs about four o’clock, Your Grace.”
“What did she do?”
“She asks me to go to the stables and order a carriage for to go round to the side door. I just done as she tells me, Your Grace.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the Duke agreed. “What happened then?”
“Well, after I done that, she tells me to bring down ’er trunks. There were two of them, Your Grace.”
“She drove away alone?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Where did she drive to?”
“I thinks it be the Station, Your Grace.”
“The Station?” the Duke repeated in surprise.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
At that moment John Simpson, who had obviously been only half-dressed when the Duke sent for him, came hurrying into the study.
“You sent for me, Your Grace?” he asked apprehensively as he saw the night footman.
“You may go now, James,” the Duke said, “but do not talk of what has occurred, do you understand? Keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind him and John Simpson looked enquiringly at the Duke, who said sharply,
“Vina Wallace has run away! At four o’clock she ordered James to fetch a carriage to the side door to take her to the Station.”
“Then she will have caught the milk train,” John Simpson suggested.
“The milk train?” the Duke enquired.
“That is what it is always called because it picks up the milk from the various farms in the vicinity and reaches London a little after six o’clock.”
The Duke looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Then he said,
“Where is she likely to go? She told me that she had no friends in London.”
“I suppose Lady Wallace would know.”
“The last thing we want to do at the moment is to tell Lady Wallace what has happened,” the Duke said decisively.
John Simpson nodded in agreement,
“Perhaps she was trying to find somewhere to stay.”
“What do you mean by that?” the Duke asked.
“Just before luncheon I overheard her asking one of the footmen to fetch Saturday’s copy of The Times. It seemed an unusual newspaper to interest a young lady.”
“The Times,” the Duke said reflectively.
“Send the maid who looks after her to me and try if you can, John, to keep everybody in the house from chatting about this.”
“I think that is impossible!” John Simpson replied as he left the room.
The maid, looking nervous, came into the Duke’s study two minutes later.
As she closed the door behind her, she dropped the Duke a curtsey and said in a voice that quivered,
“You – wanted me, Your Grace?”
“It is Gladys, is it not?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I want you to tell me if you have any idea, Gladys, why Miss Wallace should have left us so very early this morning.”
“I’ve no idea, Your Grace. It was quite a shock when I goes into her room this mornin’ to find her not there and all her things gone!”
“Did she pack them herself?” the Duke enquired.
“Oh, no, Your Grace. She tells me yesterday evenin’ to pack them all ready before she comes to bed just in case her uncle wished to leave soon after breakfast this mornin’.”
“So she took everything she possessed with her.”
“Yes, Your Grace, two trunks and her jewel case.”
The Duke was not surprised at that.
It was unlikely that any woman would leave behind such magnificent jewels as he had seen Lady Wallace showing to Irene Halford and to two other women in the party.
He had gone into the morning room and found them almost drooling over them and he realised that they could have come only from the East.
He had not been particularly interested and had just glanced at the huge emeralds that had been set in necklaces and bracelets surrounded with diamonds. He had also seen the rubies that he was well aware were worth a King’s ransom.
His guests were trying the rings on their fingers and the bracelets on their wrists.
The Duke thought somewhat cynically that most women would give their bodies and their hearts to any man who could produce such treasures.
“Vina is a very lucky girl,” Lady Wallace had said to him.
He walked away because he disliked the expression of greed in her voice and on the face of Irene Halford.
He knew quite well that Irene was thinking that she should be rewarded in a similar manner for the love she had given him. It made him think that all women were prostitutes at heart.
The cynical lines on his face deepened and he went out of the house as if in need of fresh air.
Now it struck him that, if Vina had taken the jewels with her and was travelling unattended, she might find herself in serious trouble.
Realising that Gladys was still waiting, he asked her,
“Miss Wallace left nothing behind her?”
“Nothin’, Your Grace. The room was quite empty, except for a book Miss Wallace had taken from the library. About India, it was, and she was readin’ all the time I was dressin’ her for dinner last night.”
“That will be all, thank you, Gladys,” the Duke said. “Ask Mr. Simpson to come in.”
He knew that John Simpson would be waiting outside. It was easier for him to talk to the servants without his being there.
As he came into the room, the Duke asked quickly,
“What is the time of the next train to London?”
John Simpson looked at the clock.
“There will be one in just over an hour.”
“I will catch it!” the Duke declared “And see that I have plenty of money. And my passport and Saturday’s copy of The Times.”
“Your passport?” John Simpson exclaimed.
But the Duke had already left the room and did not hear him.
Upstairs, as he expected, he found that Hodgson was still tidying his room and gave him his orders.
Because he was used to the Duke expecting everything to be done at the double, Hodgson packed two trunks, which were already on the carriage when the Duke came out of the side door where no one would see him leave.
“Do not tell anyone in the party what has occurred,” he said to John Simpson, who was beside him, “except, of course, for General and Lady Wallace, and swear them to secrecy. And tell Lord Edgar as little as possible. He will only talk and that would be a great mistake.”
“I only hope that you are right in your supposition as to where Miss Wallace has gone,” John Simpson said.
“I will know as soon as we reach London,” the Duke answered.
He had driven off and, when the carriage was out of sight, John Simpson walked into the house, feeling that he did not relish the explanations that lay ahead of him.
*
The Duke went to London in an Express train that stopped at Quarington Halt only when a signal that was worked by the travellers themselves brought it to a standstill. Otherwise there were no stops until it reached Paddington.
There had been no time to arrange for the Duke’s own carriage to be waiting for him outside the Station.
Hodgson found them a Hackney carriage with what appeared to be a reasonably fast horse.
They drove through London quicker than might have been expected. At Fenchurch Station the Duke learnt that the boat train had left two hours before and that there was a wait of nearly three quarters of an hour for the next one.
When the Duke received The Times of the previous Saturday, he looked at the ‘sailings’ on the back page.
As he expected, a Liner of the Peninsular and Oriental Shipping Line was leaving Tilbury landing stage that day.
It would
sail on the afternoon tide, the time of which varied, and he thought that he would be lucky if he reached Tilbury in time.
He was quite sure, because his intuition told him so, that Vina would be on board the S.S. Magnificent.
As he thought it over, he remembered his conversation with her about India and how much it meant to her.
He was completely sure that as she had promised him that she would not destroy herself, the only way of escape was for her to run away.
Because she loved not only India but also the Indian people, she would feel safe amongst them.
Also, with her jewels to support her, she would not be an encumbrance to whoever she stayed with as she would certainly be able to pay for anything she required.
Yet it was inconceivable that any lady, especially one as young and attractive as Vina, should travel alone without getting into all sorts of trouble.
If it was known that she was carrying such valuable jewels, she would undoubtedly be robbed.
The Duke, thinking of her and the fear he had seen in her large eyes, felt that the train carrying him towards Tilbury was inordinately slow.
He was also afraid that for once his intuition might have failed him and that she would not be on board the S.S. Magnificent when he reached Tilbury.
‘If I am mistaken, God knows where I can look next,’ he thought to himself.
He was appalled at the thought of the beautiful Vina wondering about London alone.
He arrived at Tilbury and, springing from the train almost before it came to a standstill and leaving Hodgson to cope with the luggage, he went to the large P. & O. office, which was at the entrance to the docks.
“I wish to be a passenger aboard the S.S. Magnificent,” he said to the man in charge.
“I think you’ve missed her, sir,” the clerk replied.
The Duke looked through the glass window as he spoke, saw that the seamen were just casting the ropes off the bollards and knew that it was only a question of minutes before the gangways were pulled aboard.
He threw a number of notes down on the desk and said,
“I have to catch that ship.”
Then he was running, followed by Hodgson and two porters, who pulled his baggage on a trolley.
They reached the gangway just as it was being lifted.
With a wild scramble the Duke, Hodgson and the baggage were on board, only a few seconds before the Liner began to move.
Little Tongues of Fire Page 10