by Anne Gracie
She could not pretend to herself that she was any different from her father; they were too alike. He had lied and cheated. He had deceived his friends and caused grief to his family. Kit had done the same—some of it unwittingly, to be sure, but there was no question—she was a liar and a thief.
She had a chest upstairs with five spaces filled to prove it.
Five spaces, not merely four.
She felt ill. She had already robbed Sir William of his chess set; his priceless carved ebony and ivory chess set, the royal pieces of which were studded with precious stones.
She said shakily, "How can you not hate me? I am my father's daughter." Her eyes widened as she thought of something else. "All this time, you knew me to be Papa's daughter, and yet you welcomed me into your home. How could you do that, after what he did?"
Sir William smiled kindly. "I've never been a believer in the sins of the father and all that rot. Your father did what he did. This all happened before you were born. No, my dear Miss Kitty-cat, I took you as you came. And don't forget, you might be Jimmy's daughter, but you're also Rose's niece." He leaned forward and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't take it so hard, dear girl. Every family has its share of bad apples. Blood does not bind you; you choose the person you become."
Kit felt her insides shrivel with shame. Yes, she had chosen, that was true. Chosen the same crooked path as her father. Blood did bind you. She stood up. "Thank you for telling me, Sir William," she said in a low voice. "I... I think I shall go to bed now. Could you convey my thanks and apologies to Lady Marsden? I know I should wish her goodnight, but..." Her face crumpled and she looked away.
Sir William and Mr Devenish stood. Kit couldn't bear to meet their eyes; she couldn't bear to see how they would look at her now. In particular, she couldn't bear to look at Mr Devenish. He, even more than Sir William, knew the dreadful things she had done. And now he knew she came by her dishonesty naturally—it was in her very blood. In a low, trembling voice she wished them goodnight and left the room, sick at heart at all she had learned.
She and her father were not worthy even to be in the same room as these fine people.
Chapter Eleven
"Mr Cranmore to see Sir William and Lady Marsden." "Yes, sir, I shall enquire, if you would care to wait." "Did he say M-Mr Cranmore?" faltered Rose in a very odd-sounding voice. There was a sudden tension in the room.
She and Kit had been sitting in the front drawing room, writing letters? Or at least Rose had been writing letters; Kit had been trying to decide whether it would hurt Rose more to learn the truth about Kit and her reasons for coming to England, or whether it would be kinder to leave Rose in ignorance. It was very difficult to decide whether ignorance was the preferable alternative, or if cowardice was influencing her decision.
Kit glanced at her aunt and jumped to her feet, instantly concerned. Rose was as white as a ghost, her eyes suddenly huge and haunted-looking. "Aunt Rose, are you not well?" Rose ignored her; she just stared at the doorway. She was trembling, her beautiful hands clenching the fabric of her gown into a mass of crumples.
Kit didn't know what to do. She had never seen Rose as anything except quite composed, a little vague, but still, composed and perfectly relaxed in whatever environment she found herself.
"Can I get anything for you, Aunt Rose?" Kit said gently.
Rose sat in her chair as if frozen, staring towards the open door. One shaking hand disentangled itself from the fabric of her skirt, and went to her hair, patting it into place in a preoccupied manner.
Outside, they could hear Sir William's booming voice. "By Jove, it's Cranmore! Cranmore, old fellow! Good God! We all thought you were dead! Only sayin' so last night!"
There was an answering masculine murmur, but no words were distinguishable.
Sir William spoke again. "Rose? Yes, she is staying with us at the moment. How ever did you discover such a thing? Good God, but it's a shock to see you after all this time! Through here, old chap, she's just in here."
At his words Kit thought Aunt Rose was going to faint, but instead she gripped the arms of the chair with claw-like hands and sat up rigidly. She looked to Kit like a woman who was facing execution—she was utterly terrified.
The man outside was Cranmore, the man her father had cheated. Obviously he had returned after all these years and had come to hurt Rose in revenge for what Rose's brother had done to him.
Kit shot to the door. "You can't come in! I won't allow it!"
Over Sir William's shoulder she saw Mr Devenish descending the last of the stairs, heading towards her in his measured, leisurely way. He'd clearly heard what was happening. Kit felt a quick rush of warmth and relief. He'd support her. He wouldn't let this man touch her beloved Rose.
"Now, now, Kitty girl," said Sir William. "You mustn't—"
"I won't let him hurt her. He can't come in! It's not her, you want—it's me. I am the daughter!" insisted Kit fiercely, flinging wide her arms across the doorway to bar their entry. She glared at the newcomer, a man of medium height and wiry build, with a dark sallowness that told Kit he had lived many years in the east. His hair was grey, his skin lined and his blue eyes regarded her shrewdly.
"I've never seen my aunt like this," she said vehemently to Sir William. "She's frightened of him." She turned back to Cranmore. "I won't have her upset, do you hear me? I won't allow you to harm a hair on her head!" she added in a low, urgent voice. "I know what happened and I promise you, sir, I will make reparation for what my father did to you. Only please, leave Rose alone. She deserves only kindness—she knows nothing of this. If it is revenge you have come for, I am the one you want."
The man looked at her oddly for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're a fine girl," he said, "but you're wrong. Rose is the one I want."
"No! You cannot see her!" said Kit desperately. "Sir William, please show this man out!"
Sir William didn't move. Kit sent a look of appeal to Mr Devenish. He looked back at her with a grave unreadable expression. There was a faint knot between his brows, as if he was coming to some decision. He didn't move either.
Sir William clucked in a soothing manner and shook his head. "Allow me to introduce you, Cranmore. This young lioness is Miss Kit Singleton, Jimmy's daughter and Rose's niece. Kit, my dear, this good fellow is no murdering savage, but a very old friend of your aunt's, Mr Donald Cranmore."
"Delighted to meet you, Miss Singleton. Indeed, I have no plans to hurt your aunt Quite to the contrary, in fact." Cranmore smiled at Kit with a look of astonishing kindness.
She refused to be charmed. "I know who you are. And if you come as a friend, then why is my aunt sitting in there trembling like a leaf at the sound of your voice?"
"Because she is a foolish creature, and had received a great shock," said Rose's gentle voice behind Kit. "It's quite all right, my dearest girl. It was simply that I thought him dead these many years. I was in shock—I still am, I believe—but indeed, you must not bar him from the sitting room." Rose took Kit's hand, lifted it away from the door jamb and kissed her on the cheek. "Such a brave little defender I have in you."
Kit flushed. She'd made a fool of herself, apparently. As for being a defender of her aunt, the compliment was unbearable; some defender she was, here on false pretences and having robbed her aunt's oldest friends. Ashamed, Kit dropped her hands and stepped out of the way.
"Donald? Is it really you?" said Rose hesitantly and wavered suddenly. "Oh, Heavens! I think my legs are going to collapse!"
There was a rush towards her, but it was the stranger, Mr Cranmore, who reached her first. To Kit's astonishment he swept her middle-aged aunt off her feet completely and into his arms, then walked with her—much too slowly, in Kit's opinion—towards the long, plush sofa beside the window.
Kit stared, outraged. Her aunt didn't seem the least bit affronted by this manhandling. In fact, blushing like a girl, she laid her head against Mr Cranmore's chest.
"Come along Mis
s Kitty," whispered Sir William. Time for us all to leave."
Kit turned, astonished. Leave her fainting aunt, unchap-eroned and unattended, in the arms of a complete stranger?
"Come on, Kit." Mr Devenish wrapped a warm hand
around hers. His thumb caressed her skin gently. "They need to be left alone."
"But..."
He drew her gently but firmly out of the room and allowed Sir William to shut the sitting-room door behind them.
Sir William looked from Mr Devenish, to Kit then back again. "You'll explain?"
She felt, rather than saw, Mr Devenish nod.
"But..." She glanced back at the room, uncertainly.
"Come." His hand was warm and strong and urged her with him. "There are things you need to know." His deep voice was soft, but implacable. He drew her to the front door and led her down the steps and around the side of the house towards the rose garden. Their footsteps crunched on the raked gravel pathway.
"You are not cold?"
She shook her head, her mind spinning with questions.
They reached Lady Marsden's romantic rose arbour and he led her straight to the pavilion. The roses blooming in the morning sunshine released their perfume into the warm air.
He came straight to the point. “It is astonishing timing, but this is the last part of the mystery—the part Sir William did not care to explain last night. He thought to spare you any more distress."
Kit stared at him, puzzled.
"Cranmore was not simply your father's friend," said Hugo. "He was your aunt's fiance"
"You mean back when it all happened, when Papa... The woman Mr Cranmore was to marry in two weeks was...was Rose?"
Hugo nodded.
Kit felt sick. She thought she'd heard the worst last night, but this—this was more than devastating. Not only had her father cheated his friend, he'd destituted the man his only sister was about to marry. She thought back to the scene just enacted in the sitting room, the way Mr Cranmore had scooped up Rose against his heart, the expression in Rose's eyes as she looked up into his face.
"It was not a match of convenience, was it?" she said sadly.
Hugo shook his head gently, "If they can look at each other like that after twenty-two years..."
"Twenty-two years apart..." Kit repeated. "All these vears, she thought he was dead, and yet she never married."
Twenty-two years. Both Rose and Mr Cranmore had lived their lives in exile too. Her father had ruined so many lives...
She looked at Mr Devenish, who regarded her in such a solemn anxious way that, it was like to break her heart.
Her father had ruined her life as well. No, she could not blame her father for this. She'd ruined her own life. She'd known in her heart of hearts that what she was doing was wrong.
She had tried so hard, risked everything, deceived every-one. to prove herself worthy of her father's love. He was not worthy of such a sacrifice—he'd never been worthy of
But nor was she. She was cut from the same tree—stick, root and branch. And even when she'd had the choice, she'd chosen wrongly. She was not worthy of anyone's love or respect. She was a liar, a cheat, a thief. A person who would do such things, even for the sake of love, was not worthy of respect, let alone love.
Kit stood up and walked to the door of the pavilion. The scent of the roses made her feel sick at heart. The roses mocked her—there was no beauty left in her world.
"Thank you for telling me, Mr Devenish," she said formally. "I am going to my room now."
Mr Cranmore stayed to dine with them. Kit could hardly believe the difference in the way he looked. A few short hours had taken years off his face. And as for Aunt Rose— she was positively lit from within. She ate almost nothing. She hardly took her eyes off her beloved Donald and his gaze kept returning to her. Kit felt almost embarrassed to be present, only—how could such blatant happiness be embarrassing?
Donald Cranmore kept them all spellbound with the tales of his adventures of the last twenty-two years. He had been in India, they discovered, serving the Sultan of Kandahar, who had saved his life and had demanded his service in return.
"I did pretty well out of it in the end, so I shouldn't complain. But it prevented me leaving, you see," he explained. ,,
"How is it you could leave now, after all this time?" asked Kit. "And return today—the very day after we had all been talking about you."
"It might seem sudden to you, Miss Kit, but from my point of view, the journey has been a very long one." Mr Cranmore took Rose's hand and smiled into her eyes. "I was only able to leave Kandahar six months ago, you see. after the old Sultan had died." He chuckled. "And as for coming here today—in fact, I was here several weeks back at Gelliford House, but George Singleton sent me back to London."
"Why would you go to Gelliford House? Did you think , my father would still be there?"
"It was my home too, over twenty years ago, Kit," said j Rose softly.
Kit flushed. It was difficult to get the question of revenge out of her mind. One look at Rose should remind her, she thought.
"When I heard my Rose had never married, I came straight to Gelliford."
Sir William snapped his fingers. "Of course! The foreign-looking chappy! George couldn't remember his name, d' ye recall, Rose?"
"You mean that was you?" asked Kit.
Mr Cranmore nodded. "I've traipsed up and down that road from London several times but I'll not complain. I'm content to have ended up here. And here we'll stay, where Rose is close to friends and family."
Rose blushed, rapturously.
Kit gaped. She had never seen Rose so...so girlish. And happy. "You mean—?"
Mr Cranmore hesitated, glanced at Rose, then stood and announced with simple pride, "This afternoon, Miss Rose Singleton did me the singular honour of agreeing—again— to marry me. We shall be wed in the Gelliford chapel as soon as the banns have been called." He kissed Rose's hand, on the fourth finger of which sat a large, ghttering diamond. He had indeed done well by the Sultan.
There was an instant chorus of congratulation and delight. Champagne was brought out and toasts were made. Kit was delighted for her aunt, but felt ill at the thoughts she'd had. She'd been expecting revenge from Mr Cran-more, but Mr Cranmore had come with only love in his heart
Kit was the one steeped in revenge. Kit was the one who'd betrayed her friends. In one moment, her whole life had been turned upside down.
It was destined to happen, she saw that now. Had they not made that fateful visit to her ancestral home of Gelliford
House, the story would still have come out with the arrival of Mr Cranmore on the scene. He had probably left India the same time she and Maggie had left Java. It was fated. And so was the rest to come.
She did not sleep, of course; she had not expected to. The hours crawled past. Never had hours moved so slowly. She counted them by the tolling of the hall clock.
Two...
Three...
Four... It was time.
Kit slipped out of bed with a heavy heart.
She went to the camphor wood chest and opened it. She took out the oiled silk parcel that contained the Chinese Burglar and weighed it in her hands, indecisively.
No, it was not the night for the Chinese Burglar. On the other hand, maybe it was best if he finished what he'd started. Kit slipped into the disguise. It was symbolic.
She would return all the things she had stolen, and then the Chinese Burglar would burn.
She lifted out the heavy box which contained Sir William's prized chess set and padded down the stairs towards the room in which he kept his safe, the green room.
The house was in darkness, but Kit's senses were attuned to the darkness, like a cat. Miss Kitty-cat, she thought miserably. And how had she repaid such kindness, such a welcome? Tears flooded her eyes and choked her breathing.
She eased open the door to the green room. The first time she had opened it, it had squeaked. She'd oiled it since the
n. The door opened soundlessly. She padded across the room and lifted down the gilt-framed painting that concealed Sir William's safe.
Using the skills she had been taught as a child, she opened the safe, picking the lock with a specially constructed length of wire.
She bent down to pick up the box containing the chess set.
"Gotcha!" The shout rang out, even as rough hands grabbed her from behind. Kit dropped the chess set allowed her body to collapse bonelessly in a feint.
"Oy! The blighter's fainted!" The rough hands relaxed for a moment. It was her only opportunity. Kit wiggled sideways, rolled away from her captor and turned to escape but a sudden heavy blow felled her from behind.
There were two of them, she realised dazedly as she collapsed. She was done for. It was all over.
The Chinese Burglar had been captured.
She came to slowly, to find Sir William and several of his servants standing over her. Kit struggled but it was no use. They had her hands and feet tied.
"Light some candles there, Dawkins, so we can get a little light on this scoundrel," said Sir William. "He's had half of London chasing him—what the devil he's doing all the way out here, I don't know."
"Your chess set, Sir William." Kit recognised the voice. It was Sir William's butler.
"Devil take you, so it is! My chess set, is it, you plaguey scoundrel! Caught in the act, by God! You'll swing for this, my bucko. If you've damaged it—no. All intact, thank Heavens." Sir William faced Kit again. "Now, fellow, let's have a look at you. Dawkins, take off that damned mask of his."
Rough hands ripped off the black skull cap. They tore away the black cotton scarf she'd wrapped around her face. The same rough hands had brought her tea and served her with muffins only the day before. Only they hadn't been rough then.
Kit didn't resist. There was no point.
As the black wrappings fell away from her face, the men exclaimed in surprise. Somebody swore, Kit wasn't sure who.