In it, having condoled with her about her accident, he told her that a strange twist of fate had enabled him to take her advice and marry Mary; that he would tell her when they met of the unexpected happenings that had kept him abroad for so long and, with all the eagerness he would have felt had he been twenty years younger, he prayed that might be soon. He begged her, if she must yet remain unable to re-enter society for a few weeks, to remove forthwith to Stillwaters, or to her petite maison in Kensington, so that, ‘by the world forgotten and the world forgot’, they might glory once again in being alone together.
Giving Dan a handful of guineas, he sent him off with the letter to Newmarket, charging him to give it into Her Grace’s own hand.
On his return to London, he told Mary that he had found everything at Thatched House Lodge in good shape, and the memory of how delightful she had thought it on the one brief occasion that she had been there made her eager to move at once into her new home. But Roger said they must give Mrs. Muffet a few days to install two more maids, and Droopy and Judith both pressed them to stay on at Amesbury House for at least a week, so it was agreed that they should not move down to Richmond until the following Monday.
The week in London gave Roger the opportunity to present Susan to Mary, to introduce her to a number of his friends, to give Lord Castlereagh an account of the situation in America, and to resume his acquaintance with many of his fellow members at White’s. On the Thursday, Droopy gave a soirée to enable Mary to meet many leading members of society and soon afterwards invitations to numerous functions began to come in. It was, too, on Thursday morning that Dan arrived with a letter from Georgina in reply to Roger’s.
Having expressed her unbounded delight at his safe return, she went on, ‘Recalling what you told me of your Mary, after your affair with her in Lisbon, I am certain you have been wise to make her your wife, for there is no change in the condition of my poor old Duke. It seems that he was blessed—or rather, now, cursed—with an iron constitution, and the doctors say that, although since his stroke he has become no more than a vegetable, he may yet survive for many years; so clearly Fate decreed that we should never marry. But, Roger my love, unfaithful as we have ever been to our spouses, in this new situation we must use the utmost discretion. Mary must never be given cause to suspect that we are more to each other than lifelong friends. I will remove to Stillwaters in ten days or so, in order that we may again rejoice in being under one roof; but no more than that. You must bring her with you, and I suggest for a long week-end from Friday, July 2nd until the Monday or Tuesday; as it would be unreasonable to ask her to leave her new home for longer until she has been in it for the best part of a fortnight. Later in the month I will come to London. No doubt to discuss some affair of State, or a punch-drinking with your men cronies will also necessitate your spending a night or two in the capital, and then! then! then! Roger, my own, we’ll roll back the sheets, and with them the years.’
The letter went on to tell of her accident, of Susan and the numerous beaux whom she enjoyed pursuing her while Charles was in Spain, and ended by saying that the news that Roger was safely back in England had been like a draught of the Elixir of Life to her.
Despite Roger’s impatience to hold her in his arms again, he was well pleased with her letter. Over the years, the long periods they had had to spend apart had armoured them both against any feeling of jealousy concerning their relations with others; nevertheless, he was touched by this evidence that Georgina’s mind was still so closely attuned to his own, in her determination to protect Mary from unhappiness.
On the Monday afternoon Mary could hardly contain her delight when Roger took her over Thatched House Lodge, and she unpacked her things in the best bedroom. During the ten days that followed, they went several times to balls and routs in London, returned tired but happy in the early hours of the morning. Then, on July 2nd, they drove down to Stillwaters.
When Roger had told her of the invitation, and that he had accepted it, she had been far from happy at the idea of leaving her new home even for a week-end. But she had not shown it, for Roger had often spoken to her of Georgina, as his boyhood sweetheart before he had run away to France, and his friend of a life-time, so she did not protest at his being eager to see her again.
As Roger had expected, the meeting of the two ladies proved most pleasant. Georgina told him later that she thought Mary pretty enough to please most men, and with an intelligence and sense of humour much exceeding the majority of her sex; while Mary said to him of Georgina that her graciousness was surpassed only by her beauty, and it seemed impossible to believe that she was over forty.
Susan had come down for the week-end, bringing Jemima with her and, to entertain the two girls, Georgina had invited their latest beaux: the Honourable Ivor Tavistock and Captain Hercules Hunt, so they formed a merry party. Roger had long since warned Mary always to give out that they had met again in Copenhagen and make no mention of their terrible experiences in Russia, as he had then been on Napoleon’s Staff, and that would have taxed even his ingenuity to explain; but during the evening they told of their adventures while in America, and Captain Hunt discoursed at some length on the war in Spain.
For some days past the Peninsula had again become a principal topic of conversation, because on June 21st the Duke of Wellington had achieved an outstanding victory. At Vittoria he had inflicted a crushing defeat on King Joseph and was now said to be pursuing the remnants of the French army, with a view to driving it over the Pyrenees.
On the Saturday morning all the young people went riding, but Georgina, although now recovered from her injuries, said she did not feel inclined to ride again yet and Roger, delighted at the prospect of getting an hour or two alone with her, said he would remain to keep her company.
Highly conscious that if they remained in the house together, she might be persuaded by Roger to let him make love to her, and determined to take no risks, Georgina promptly announced that, as it was a lovely day, they would take a walk round the garden. Knowing very well what was in her mind, Roger gave a wry grin and agreed.
As they strolled along arm in arm, he was able to tell her how he had really met Mary again in St. Petersburg, and of their ordeals during the retreat. When he had ended with their escape to Sweden, Georgina said:
‘What you tell me of her courage and unfailing good humour in such circumstances makes me more certain than ever that you were right to marry her. It is your nature, dear one, that you must ever have constant excitement or congenial companionship. That became all too evident during those last eight months you spent in England. It was our tragedy that, believing you to be dead and not caring what became of me, I should have allowed old Kew to persuade me to marry him. But, once his Duchess, I had to abide by the conditions I had myself made—to be his wife only in name, but to take no lover openly. That meant our never being together for more than a few nights in succession, and that oft with weeks between. I could not wonder at your becoming bored and miserable. But now you will have little Mary, and we can still snatch …’
Pressing the hand that rested on his arm, he interrupted impatiently, ‘But when, my sweet, when?’
She considered for a moment. ‘It would be wiser if you did not take your first night away from Mary too soon; so I’ll not come up to London until after next week-end. Let us make it Wednesday, the 14th. Come to the studio at seven o’clock that evening. Harriet married last autumn, so be not surprised when a new maid lets you in. Her name is Jane. She is devoted to me, and so is entirely trustworthy.’
‘Twelve more days to wait,’ Roger sighed. ‘I can hardly bear it. But you are right. For Mary’s sake we must not rush our fences; and now, at last, I’ll not be tempted to leave England ever again.’
Entering a big, domed glass house, they walked to the far end. Inside were growing palms, orchids and tropical creepers with great leaves that would prevent anyone passing outside from seeing them. He took her in his arms and pressed her to him. After
several long, sweet kisses she suddenly broke away from him and exclaimed breathlessly:
‘No, Roger, no! Lud, how I long for you! But desist, I beg. I’ll trust neither you nor myself if you go further. Take me out of here.’
As they left the hothouse, both of them were trembling, and he said, ‘To be with you again after all these months, yet unable to possess you will drive me crazy. So I’ll make some excuse to take Mary home on Monday, instead of Tuesday as we planned.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, that would be best, for I feel the same.’
Back at Richmond he resumed with Mary the pleasant life they had been leading before their visit to Stillwaters. The following Sunday he mentioned casually that he would be from home on the coming Wednesday night, to attend a gathering at a club of which he had long been a member, and where he would again meet old friends he had not seen since his return.
Having never before moved in London society, Mary was unaware that such men’s drinking clubs were a feature of it; so when he was about to mount his horse on the Wednesday afternoon, her kiss was a little cold as she wished him a merry evening.
Having stabled his horse at Amesbury House and spent a pleasant hour with Droopy Ned, Roger took a coach out to Georgina’s villa-studio which stood on the rise north of Kensington village. Her new maid, Jane, proved to be a buxom wench with a merry smile and red-gold hair.
An adept at making himself agreeable to servants, when she opened the door to him he said with a laugh, ‘M’dear, your hair is the same colour as my money.’ Taking a guinea from his breeches pocket, he held it up against her nearest ringlet, then pressed it into her palm and kissed her lightly on her rosy cheek. Blushing with pleasure, she ushered him into her mistress.
Georgina, as ravishing as ever, her black curls tied back with a broad red ribbon and clad only in a silk chamber robe, was reclining on a sofa. Jane had barely left the room before Roger was kneeling beside her, smothering her face with kisses, inhaling the special, delicious scent she used only for their secret meetings, and with eager hands exploring for the thousandth time the hidden glories of her lovely person.
As they had so often done before, when Roger had changed into a chamber robe she kept there for him, they feasted off pâté, lobsters, glazed duck garnished with red cherries, and nectarines, washed these good things down with goblets of champagne, teased each other, recalled old times and laughed until they cried. Then, at length, he picked her up and carried her into the next room, where Jane had already turned down for them the black silk sheets of the big bed.
Alternately they made ecstatic love and dozed, embraced, until the morning. At eleven o’clock Georgina rang for Jane, who brought them a freshly opened bottle of champagne and iced melon. After they had breakfasted, Roger reluctantly began to dress. As he tied his cravat before the mirror, he said:
‘What would I not give to be able to spend the day and yet another night here, as I have oft done in the past.’
Georgina yawned, then replied with a smile, ‘Yes, to be out of the world together for two or three days at a stretch was truly heaven; but, until Mary has become more used to your absenting yourself, we must make do with single nights.’
‘That’s a sound reason why we should not too long delay our next.’
‘I think we should restrain our impatience for ten days at least.’
Turning, he shook his head, ‘Nay, sweet. ’Tis already July 15th. Come the end of the month the season will be over. In August London will be as empty as a drum, providing no possible excuse for you to come up from Newmarket. Before the calendar imposes on us eight weeks or more of abstinence, we must indulge ourselves again at least twice.’
‘To start with, weekly meetings were more than I intended. Yet, with the desolate weeks at Newmarket to be faced, I’ve not the strength of will to refuse you. Having but recently returned after so long an absence, Mary should not regard it as unreasonable if you wish to attend the last two meetings of this club you’ve told her of before everyone leaves town.’
Thus the matter was agreed, and on the evening of Wednesday, the 21st, Roger was again admitted by pretty Jane to his earthly paradise.
During the past week, memories of the previous Wednesday night had been so frequently in his mind that, if possible, he was more eager than ever to have Georgina in his arms, and she received him with equal fervour.
Again they feasted, laughed, loved and drank the night away until, as daylight was showing between the chinks of the curtains, satiated, blissfully happy and without a care in the world, they fell asleep.
It was about an hour later when Roger was roused by Georgina crying out in her sleep. ‘O God! No! No! No!’
To wake her from her nightmare, he put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. With a start she sat up, covered her face with her hands and sobbed through them in agonised tones, ‘No, no! It can’t be true! Oh, God, please don’t let it be true.’
Roger threw his arm about her shoulders, drew her to him and asked anxiously, ‘What is it, my sweet? Please! You’ll be all right in a moment. You’ve only had a horrid dream.’
As she took her hands from her face, he saw that her great eyes were brimming with tears. She shook her head and the tears ran down her cheeks as she sobbed:
‘It was Charles. He was riding through a wood with half a dozen other mounted men. Suddenly they were fired upon. They had run into an ambush. Charles and his men broke into a gallop. One of them was hit and fell from his horse. The others got away—except for Charles. His horse was shot under him. A score of French soldiers ran out of the wood. Charles had scrambled to his knees. They seized him and hauled him to his feet. He … he’s been taken prisoner.’
Frowning, Roger strove to comfort her. ‘Beloved, it was only a dream. Nothing but a dream. You’ve been worrying about him too much.’
Swallowing hard, she said hoarsely, ‘Yes, a dream; but a true dream. It was in colour. Oh, what will happen to my darling boy?’
Roger knew of old the psychic powers Georgina had inherited from her gipsy mother, so he feared she was right and did not argue with her. Instead he said:
‘There are worse things than being captured. At least for a few months, until it can be arranged for him to be exchanged for a French officer of equivalent rank, he’ll be in no danger of being killed or wounded. And as an officer he will receive decent treatment.’
‘Perhaps. I can only pray that it will be so. But by some accounts the French have become savages. I must find out. I must find out what the future holds for him.’
As she spoke, Georgina scrambled out of bed, went to a bureau, took her crystal from a drawer in it, put it on a small table nearby and, sitting down, riveted her gaze on the globe. For several minutes she was silent, then she murmured:
‘I can see him. He looks well, except that there is a bandage round his hand. I see him again. This is much later, and he has grown a beard. I think he is in a castle. But not in a dungeon. There is plenty of light. He is with other officers, but their uniforms do not look like those of Englishmen. Some of them are playing cards. Charles is laughing. How strange that I should have a son old enough to grow a beard.’
As she sat at the table she was still naked. Now that Roger could believe that Charles would be safe and well cared for, he allowed his mind to dwell on her beauty. She was sitting in profile to him, her dark ringlets falling to her shoulders and hiding her face, except for the corner of an eyebrow, thick, curling black lashes, well-modelled nose and one side of her very full, red-lipped mouth. As she leaned forward, her breasts rested on the edge of the table, an upturned nipple protruded from the semi-circle of brown corona. Below the table, her powerful hips tapered to smoothly-rounded knees then, drawn back beneath them, perfect calves, slim ankles and arched feet.
She had remained silent for several moments. Suddenly she gave a gasp of horror, thrust the table violently from her so that the crystal rolled across the carpet, jerked herself erect, gave a piercing scream and
fell in a dead faint on the floor.
Leaping out of bed, Roger seized her shoulders and cradled her head in his arms. Jane came running in, her mouth agape. Together they got Georgina back into bed. Roger sent Jane for brandy, and forced Georgina to swallow a little of the spirit. She began to moan, then opened her eyes and looked desperately about her.
‘What did you see, my poor sweet?’ Roger asked her frantically. ‘Tell me! Tell me! What did you see?’
She groaned again. ‘They … they’re going to hang him. He … he was standing beneath … beneath a tree. It was in a long avenue. There were … French soldiers round him. They … Oh God! … his hands were tied behind him and … and they were just about to put the noose of a rope round the neck of a comrade standing near him.’
Roger signed to Jane to leave them, then took both Georgina’s hands and said firmly, ‘Light of my life, I do not believe one word of this. The whole thing is a fantasy.’
‘But I saw it! I saw it. And my crystal never lies to me. Remember how in the autumn of 1809 I saw you with a pastor in a cell for the condemned. We persuaded ourselves it was a glimpse of the past, when you were in Guildford gaol. But it was not. I was seeing you many months later, after you were tried for murder in Berlin.’
‘True, but I was reprieved. And this vision of yours lacks all credulity. Charles is an officer, and officers condemned to death are shot. They are never hanged.’
‘Roger, I saw it as clearly as I see you now. That avenue of tall trees and Charles standing among their fallen leaves with … with other prisoners who were already hanging from the branches of the trees.’
‘It would then be in the autumn.’
‘Yes, yes, it was autumn. ’Twas this morning he was captured. Of that I’m certain. But in a few months’ time he … he’ll do something … then … oh, is there nothing we can do to save him?’
As her big eyes, misty with tears, stared into Roger’s, he knew what she was thinking. He knew, too, that she would not ask it of him; but there was something that could be done, and he was the only man in England who might be able to do it.
The Irish Witch Page 17