by Jan Constant
More hurt than she cared to admit, even to herself, Emma was also puzzled by his actions. Upon the rare occasions when they happened to meet, Julian Leyton had behaved with punctilious correctness which froze her into a matching remote manner. For some time she pondered upon the cause of his coldness, and then one day, an overheard scrap of Lady Beauvale’s conversation provided the answer.
Emma and Elvira had just returned from changing their library books and were crossing the hall as a maid was taking a tray of tea into Lady Beauvale’s sitting room.
“... gossip,” she was saying, “is the bane of any man in Society. One word that he has impinged on a female’s honor in any way, and the poor fellow is obliged to offer for her. Many an unwanted marriage has been caused by rumor or speculation. And, of course, gossip can only too easily be arranged by a malicious person—”
The door closed, cutting off the rest of Lady Beauvale’s words, leaving Emma shaken and dismayed as she realized that the scrap of conversation could all too easily refer to herself and her guardian.
“Emma, dearest—whatever is the matter?” asked Elvira with concern. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost. Are you unwell?”
“What? No—no, I am quite well, I assure you,” was the distracted answer as Emma looked blankly round the hall, without seeing her surroundings. Putting a hand on the banister, she began to climb the stair, her movements so slow and labored that her friend grew alarmed.
“Let me call Aunt Diana,” she cried, turning to run across the hall.
“No!”
The word was so definite that Elvira stopped abruptly, turning to look at her friend in surprise.
“I—would rather that you did not,” said Emma, softening her curt command. “I am quite well, I give you my word. I have just realized something. . . . And it was an unpleasant shock.”
“Oh, Emma, whatever do you mean? Surely no one here has upset you? I know that I have not, Aunt Diana is the kindest of females, and we have hardly seen Ju since his accident, so it cannot be him—”
Emma tried to smile. “You are right, I am just being foolish, pray take no heed—it was just silliness on my part. Nothing at all to bother about. Let us both forget the incident and think of other things. ’ ’
Determined to take her own advice, she began to discuss the new fashions in the magazine they had just bought and succeeded in diverting Elvira’s attention. However, her own thoughts were less easy to distract, her anger growing that Sir Julian could have supposed her capable of attempting to inveigle him into a proposal. Once Elvira caught her grinding her teeth with suppressed rage, and it was only with difficulty that she managed to convince the other girl that it was merely a manifestation of her disgust for the extremes of fashion as portrayed in the periodical.
When, later that afternoon, Freddie Melvin was announced, Emma was so grateful for the distraction that she greeted him with a pleasure that made that young man blink.
“Freddie! How delightful to see you. We were in need of company. ’ ’ Struck suddenly by his ill-at-ease, nervous manner, she studied him more closely, finally flinging herself down on a chair and commanding him to make a clean breast of it.
His eyes flickered from one to the other, while he ran a finger around the edge of his stock, which had obviously become suddenly uncomfortably tight. “You won’t like it,”
he said unhappily. “Dash it all—I mean to say—a fellow don’t want to tittle-tattle. I ain’t one for blabbermouths. ...”
“Go on, Freddie,” encouraged Emma, as he fell unhappily silent.
“Don’t care for cards much,” he suddenly announced, ‘ ‘but there was a game set up on the other side of Hampstead Heath last night. Went there for something to do, you know. Never play deep—” With a significant glance at Elvira, who looked puzzled, he added meaningly, “Not like some.” “Oh, go on, do,” cried Emma, exasperated as he again became silent. “Who is in trouble . . . surely not Julian?” Freddie choked at the thought but shook his head. “The fellow’s as rich as Croesus, ain’t he? No, not him—” “Who, then?” demanded the girls in unison.
“Several cronies there,” Freddie went on, determined to tell the tale in his own way. “Saw Vivian Devern, wandered over to say ‘How do’—surprised to see that he was playing with that poet fellow you’re so fond of, Miss Leyton.” “You’re not supposed to know,” began Elvira involuntarily, before realizing what had been said. “You saw Bevis in some gambling den, playing cards with Lord Devern?” “Not a gambling den, a private house. In pretty deep, though.”
“Are you sure? He h-hasn’t any money, so how could he be gambling?”
Freddie looked at her, and with a thrill of anticipation Emma realized that he had come to the crux of his story. “He wasn’t playing for money. ... A gold and enamel pocket watch lay on the baize, and it was that he’d used as a stake.”
Elvira looked shocked and turned quite pale. “What was it like?” she asked faintly.
“Prussian blue enamel-patterned case with a circle of diamonds around the edge, white face, and a gold filigree cover to the works,” was the prompt reply. “I noticed especially
because I like watches—quite a collection, myself. However, not the point. Thing is, the poet had just lost it to Devern.” Elvira gave a faint moan, and Emma hurried to her side. “It can’t be yours,” she said, taking both her hands. “Surely Bevis would not pledge your gift in such a way?”
Elvira’s hands were icy cold and trembled in hers. “There cannot be two,” she whispered. “It was made especially for my papa. Oh, Emma, I am betrayed! What shall I do? Ju will never forgive me ... to have lost Papa’s watch in such a way and to Lord Devern, too.”
Two large tears trickled down her cheeks, splashing onto the bodice of her dress. She looked so devastated that her friend was moved to wrath.
“The wretch!” she cried, though whether she meant Lord Devern, Bevis, or Sir Julian himself was hard to tell. “I’d like to call him out—”
“Can’t be done, you know—you’re female,” Freddie pointed out, adding reasonably, ‘ ‘Wouldn’t do anyway, the whole thing needs to be hushed up. Happen to know that Vivian Devern is staying there until tonight, friends of his, y’see.”
“So he hasn’t come back to town, you mean?”
“Not yet—but he’s invited to dine with us tonight and hasn’t cried off, as far as I know.”
“So there’s a chance that he still has the watch?”
Freddie looked uncomfortable. “Every chance. More than likely, I’d say. Don’t like to rat on a kinsman, but don’t care for this kind of thing. Thing is, I’d say that he intended to use it against Sir Julian. My guess is that’s why he made a play for it. Devious fellow, Vivian. It would amuse him to produce it one day and watch his face.”
“Despicable!” exploded Emma, while Elvira sat down abruptly as if her legs would no longer support her. Moaning faintly, she clutched Emma’s hand and stared at her pleadingly.
“Don’t worry. I have a plan,” Emma whispered, and, having a shrewd idea that Freddie Melvin might not approve and would prove difficult if he knew of her intentions, she thanked that young man for his news and used her considerable charm to persuade him that, having done his duty, all would now be well.
One last item of information was needed, and she casually elicited the fact that the Melvins habitually dined at nine o’clock before the flattered but dazed Freddie took his leave.
“Now,” she said, turning to the other girl the minute they were alone, “I am feeling a headache coming on, and you, my love, are in the best of spirits! I shall take to my bed, while you dine with Lady Beauvale, concealing your true feelings and convincing her that all is normal. It is imperative that she suspects nothing.”
“I cannot—I cannot! Do not ask it of me.”
“Only do as I ask, and I give you my word that the watch will be returned to you, with Julian and Lady Beauvale none the wiser.”
Stifling a succession of
sobs, Elvira sat up and stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘ ‘What do you mean to do? ’ ’ she asked, half- fearfully.
Emma shook her head. “It’s better that you don’t know,” she told her firmly. “Just keep your aunt busy this evening. I’m going to my room now. ... If you would send for Maria, and make sure that the servants all know that I have retired with an incapacitating headache . . . ?”
Much depended upon Maria, and Emma awaited her arrival with some trepidation, looking at her intently as the maid entered her bedroom. “How well do you know Jem Bowls?” she asked, without preamble.
“Well enough, miss,” she was answered in surprised tones, while a lively color flooded into Maria’s cheeks.
“If I gave you this evening off, would you be able to persuade him to take you for a walk?”
“He lives above the stables, so once he’s done his work, his time’s his own. . . . We walked to the river last week.”
Emma was faintly surprised at this evidence of her maid living a life of which she was unaware but merely inquired, “So it would not be difficult?”
Maria grinned. “No, miss. I could manage it.”
“Very well. Here’s a shilling for you and the evening off, provided that Jem is away from the stables at dusk.”
“Whatever are you up to, miss? Not running away, are you? Course, if you was, I’d come with you, much as I like it here.”
“No, nothing like that,” Emma assured her, touched by the concern for her own welfare.
“What, then? It wouldn’t be right, you wandering round a town alone, like. You’re no more than a babe in arms, where some folk are concerned. ”
“Maria, I’ve dealt with bandits before now—besides, I’ll take my pistol with me, so you need have no fear on my account.”
Her maid remained uncertain, and her mouth assumed a mutinous appearance.
“Trust me, Maria. I give you my word to take care.” Maria still looked unconvinced, and her mistress began to wish that she had no need of her help. Realizing that she must take her into fuller confidence, she said, “Lord Devern has something belonging to Miss Leyton. If Sir Julian finds out, she will be in great trouble. I intend to make him return it.”
The maid seemed somewhat reassured at this expurgated version, accepting, as Emma had hoped she would, that her mistress intended only riding to his lordship’s London lodgings.
‘ ‘He’s not a man to trifle with,” she pointed out dubiously.
“I will be careful,” Emma assured her. “So—now you know my intentions, will you undertake to keep Jem away from the stables? I’ve an idea that he would make difficulties about my taking out a horse. ’ ’
“Wouldn’t he and all,” agreed Maria, a faint hint of pride 138
in her voice. “No idea of his station, has Jem. Why, he thinks himself as good as the master, and, by what I hear, Sir Julian allows him his head in a great many things.”
“Yes. . . well, I’m sure Jem is a very sensible young man, but will you do as I ask?”
The maid nodded her head. “But you’re to take care, mind. Wouldn’t it be best to let the master deal with it?” she suggested invitingly.
“As he is not here, that would be rather difficult. I have a plan. . . .” she said, proceeding to repeat the expurgated version of her intentions.
Satisfied with the explanation, the maid drew the curtains, and Emma retired to bed in the darkened room, assuming the frail air of an invalid when Lady Beauvale appeared to inquire after her well-being. Feeling a little guilty, Emma accepted the offer of a vinaigrette and allowed her brow to be cooled by the application of lavender water. Having satisfied herself that it was nothing serious, Lady Beauvale advised sleep and retired to dress for dinner, leaving the patient to the tedium of whiling away several hours with nothing to do.
At last dusk began to fall, and Emma climbed out of bed and dressed herself in her riding habit. Mindful of her errand, she took a black velvet “loo” mask from a drawer and slipped it and her pistol in her pocket before cautiously opening the door and listening intently. Distant sounds of muted conversation and laughter told her that Elvira was keeping her promise to distract her aunt, and the chink of cutlery and crockery spoke of the servants’ intent upon the business of serving dinner.
Clutching her shako, Emma crept downstairs, pausing on the first floor landing as Frobisher and the footman crossed the hall with an assortment of entree dishes and trays. As soon as they had gone into the dining room, she ran down the last flight of stairs, across the checkered floor and into the long drawing room, which ran the length of the house.
As she had hoped, the full-length window at the back was open, and she had only to step over the sill to be in the garden.
Taking to her heels, she ran down the path, trusting to luck that no one would see her flying figure and let herself out of the gate at the bottom, which gave onto the stable yard beyond. Refusing the temptation to take her guardian’s powerful animal, she went to the mare she had ridden before and, murmuring soothingly, set about saddling her. Old skills returned quickly, and she soon had her ready for the road. Leading her out of the stall, she was met by one of the stable lads who had come to see who was in the stable at such an unusual hour.
“Hallo,” she said in a friendly, informal voice. “You’re just the person I needed to open the gate for me.”
Giving him no time for argument, she indicated that he should help her to mount and then, with as confident an air as she could manage, waited while he opened the gate onto the road. With a salute of her whip, she trotted by his hesitating form before he could pluck up the courage to query her actions and quickly turned into the square and out of his sight.
During her stay in London she had become familiar with its maze of streets and, avoiding the main roads, made her way by the back streets, peopled by respectable tradesmen’s families, toward the north of the city. Assuming an air of self-confidence, she affected ignorance of the curious stares her lone figure was attracting and, skirting Hyde Park, headed toward the Great North Road. Soon she was on unfamiliar territory and with gathering dusk began to wonder about the wisdom of her venture.
Chiding herself for a cowardly lack of backbone, she had only to reflect briefly upon her friend’s predicament to strengthen her resolve. When she reached a suitably deserted stretch of the road, she unbuckled her riding skirt and removed it with some difficulty to reveal a pair of tight army
breeches. Thankful that her father had had the forethought to insist that the masculine garments should form part of her riding habit, she rolled the heavy skirt into a manageable bundle and fastened it with some difficulty to the pommel of her saddle before riding on, confident in her masculine disguise.
Soon the road became more deserted and empty of any sign of human habitation, the lights of London behind her serving only to highlight the loneliness of the heath. As she looked about, Emma felt a growing tinge of unease and could well understand how such a place had become notorious for the felons who inhabited it, playing upon the travelers who were unwise or foolhardy enough to use the old highway.
Choosing a convenient clump of trees to shield her from view, she settled down to await the arrival of Lord Devern and before long heard the rumble of wheels as a carriage approached. Remembering her mask just in time, she kicked the mare into motion and plunged down the incline to the road.
“Stand and deliver!” she shouted in the manner culled from the news sheets, flourishing her pistol and wishing it had been bigger and more impressive.
The carriage was brought to a halt, and she realized with dismay that it was too big and cumbersome to carry her quarry, whom she suspected would be driving his tilbury.
“Well, damn me, if the army hasn’t taken to High-Tobying! What would the general say?” exclaimed a voice, and she found herself the object of a furious glare from an elderly man in a bob wig. “Here’s my purse, damn you for a dog—drive on coachman! ” he cried, hurling something to the ground between t
he feet of her mount.
The mare took exception to such behavior, and by the time Emma had regained control the coach was trundling hastily toward the safety of the city. Struck for the first time by the effect of the military uniform she was wearing, Emma reflected upon the trouble it might cause the regiment but, as
there was nothing to be done about it, could only hope that with growing darkness it would become less easily recognized.
The evening wore on, becoming darker and colder, a hooting owl added to the ghostly atmosphere, and, when it began to rain, Emma wished devoutly that she had never set out upon the enterprise. At last, after what seemed like hours, she heard the approach of another traveler and squeezed her mount with her heels. Tired of inactivity, the mare plunged eagerly onto the road, nearly unseating her rider, who had been in the act of pulling down her mask. Regaining her seat, she flourished her pistol and again demanded that whoever was approaching should stand and deliver.
To her mortification the light carriage showed no sign of abating its pace, the driver even appearing to urge on his animals. Too nonplussed to move from the middle of the road, Emma watched helplessly as her intended victim galloped toward her. As the moon broke through the clouds and bathed her in a shaft of brightness, the bells in the city behind began to toll nine o’clock, and she had the time to think fatalistically that she must have missed her quarry, anyway, as he would be sitting down to dine at that very moment.
Abruptly the approaching carriage, which she now identified as a phaeton, swerved aside from a collision course, swinging wide as the horses were slowed, finally stopping almost opposite her. For a moment rider and driver stared at each other, mirrored amazement on both their faces.