Hester gave up. She was not to escape further acquaintance with Dungarran, it seemed. What her mother would say when he called the very next morning she could not begin to think!
The Bruton Street house had a small room to the right of the entrance, where the occupant of the house could entertain casual visitors. The next morning Hester waited there for Dungarran. She had not changed her mind overnight, but she was by no means clear quite why. His plea for help was a reasonable one, though she could hardly believe that her expertise was so vital to the country. But in some indefinable way she felt that this man was a threat to her peace of mind, her settled way of life, and she wanted no more to do with him. The curious feeling his touch had roused in her had not been unpleasant—far from it—but it represented danger, she was sure. So she faced him with determination.
"I expect to return to Northamptonshire quite...quite soon," she said. "Communication would be too difficult."
"I agree the distance would complicate matters, but we've managed well enough for several years—why is it suddenly impossible?"
"Lowell was my messenger, and he does not plan to come to Abbot Quincey so frequently in the future."
"I can have packages sent—"
"No! That...that would not do."
"For God's sake let us quit these prevarications. Miss Perceval, I don't think you understand how important these documents are—"
"I don't care how important you may believe the documents to be! I am not going to help you! Do you understand?"
"Oh yes, I understand. I understand very well. You will let your dislike of me override everything else—your love of the work, your sense of duty, your patriotism...all must give way to Miss Perceval's grudge—which she has cherished for six long years—against this monster Dungarran, who, God knows, doesn't deserve it. Can you be surprised that I despise the pettiness of such a mind? That my opinion of Euclid is seriously affected by what I hear from you?"
The door suddenly opened and Lowell burst into the room. He did not observe Dungarran, who was standing behind the door.
"I say, Hester! Have you heard? No, you can't have done, it won't be in the papers till tomorrow. Sywell has been murdered! And it's just as you described Rapeall's end in your book—every detail! The razor, the blood all over the bedchamber, Sywell was even in his nightshirt... The resemblances are uncanny! By Jupiter, this ought to increase the sales of The Wicked Marquis no end!"
Hester had been trying in vain to stem Lowell's flow. But now he saw her gestures, turned and saw the figure by the door,
"Oh my Lord!" he said.
"Exactly," said Dungarran grimly. He surveyed them. Finally he said, "You are full of surprises, Miss Perceval, some more pleasant than others. Do I gather from this that you are the author of The Wicked Marquis?"'
Lowell would have said something but Hester silenced him with a gesture. "Yes," she said. "Have you read it?"
"I have—as have all your other victims. You have a gift for satire. The pictures you drew of us all were cruel, but very funny. I take it they were based on your experiences in London six years ago?" Hester nodded, and he went on, "But the rest—the cheap sensationalism, the salacious details... Were they perhaps based on experience, too?" He stopped and stared at her. For a moment there was in his gaze a boldness, a contemptuous familiarity which Hester had never in her life seen directed towards her by anyone.
"How dare you, sir!" she exclaimed. She lifted her chin and stared back angrily, but she could not sustain it. After the briefest of moments the full significance of what he had said overcame her and her eyes dropped. Her hands moved in a gesture of repudiation, as she turned away, her head bent in shame.
Lowell took a step forward. "Sir, I—" Dungarran turned to Lowell. He said softly, but so dangerously, "Ah yes! I should have known! It was you! By heaven, it was you! Her brother! She could never have written those descriptions, not in a lifetime. You did!" When Lowell nodded miserably, Dungarran exploded. "By God, you may have done some reckless things in your time, Lowell Perceval, but you have never done a more wicked one! And you claim to love your sister! What the hell do you mean by exposing her to the sort of comment that book aroused? Putting her in danger of the censure of most of society, and the lewd curiosity of the rest! If she were ever discovered she would most certainly be an outcast for the rest of her days—even her parents might well disown her. You are despicable!" He went over to Hester, who was standing with her back to them, battling against the tears which threatened to overcome her. His voice softened. "Miss Perceval, forgive me, please forgive my over-hasty words of a moment ago. Believe me, I was so shocked I hardly knew what I was saying. I swear I did not mean them."
Hester swallowed. "I... It was understandable, I suppose. As soon as I saw what Lowell had written I knew I should not have allowed it."
"By heaven, you should not! Were you mad? How could you let your partiality for this half-witted scoundrel blind you to the risks you were taking?"
Hester swallowed. "I... I—"
"I stole the book," said Lowell sulkily. "I took it from her cupboard. She never intended to have it published. I added the saucy bits. She didn't know anything about it before she came to London, and by that time it had been on the town for weeks."
Hester wiped her cheeks and said firmly, "But the original idea was mine. If I had not written the book in the first place Lowell would never have been tempted. So what...what do you propose to do, Lord Dungarran?"
"What do you think I should do? Your brother has put you in danger of complete ostracism from decent society. Do you not think that he deserves some sort of punishment?"
"I'll take whatever you can devise, sir, if you could spare my sister from public disgrace."
"You should have thought of the public disgrace before you embarked on this latest lunatic escapade!" Dungarran said in biting tones. He paused in thought while the two Percevals regarded him in silence. Finally he said slowly, "Your parents are the proper people to deal with this, but I am reluctant to give Sir James such a shock. Perceval, I would like to talk to your sister in private. Perhaps you could leave us alone for a few minutes?"
Lowell looked doubtfully at Hester, but she nodded. "Don't worry, Lowell. Things will be all right, you'll see." Uncertain and ashamed he went out, closing the door softly behind him.
"Have you always spoilt him, Miss Perceval? Saved him from his just deserts?"
"Not at all. Lowell has been a great help to me in the past, especially after I returned from London six years ago. It was he who introduced me to the New Scientific and Philosophical Society, which led to the...the work on ciphers. I think that saved my sanity. You and your friends had almost destroyed me. His efforts then did much to repair the damage. Oh no, I owe Lowell more than I could ever repay."
"He has something to his credit, then. But all the same, he should not escape punishment for this piece of madness. Do you realise the potential seriousness of what he has done to you? My reaction was mild compared with what you might meet with from others."
"I...do now. And I am sure he is aware of it, too."
"Perhaps I should consult Hugo..."
"No! Not Hugo!" Hester cried. Dungarran looked at her in amazement. She went on, "Please, you don't understand. I am sure that Hugo is a very good friend. And he is the best of brothers, too.
But his standards are impossibly high for someone as...as volatile as Lowell. I cannot imagine that any good would come of involving Hugo." She stopped. It went sorely against the grain to plead with this man, but she bit her lip and said stiffly, "Could you not simply forget that you ever heard Lowell's words this morning? I would do anything to save him from the loss of Hugo's good opinion."
Dungarran considered her in silence. Then he smiled, that dangerous, charming smile, the sort to charm an unwary bird out of a tree. Hester just had time to think, "But I am not an unwary bird, and I will not be charmed!" before he spoke.
"I should not allow your brother to escape
, I know. But I will do it on one condition, Miss Perceval."
"Which is?"
"That you remain in London, of course, and work with me on the French ciphers."
"I knew it would be that!" Hester said bitterly. "You are blackmailing me, sir."
"Of course I am!"
"You have no gentlemanly scruples about it?" He shook his head with a little smile and she added with scorn, "Naturally not. No doubt you will claim necessity!"
"I do. You may think of me as you will, but I will do anything to have these transcriptions done as soon as possible. Perhaps you should remember that I am doing you—and your family—a considerable favour in remaining silent about that book."
Hester looked at him with dislike. Then she shrugged and asked, "Where are we to work? It won't be easy to arrange without stirring up unwelcome gossip. Or do considerations of that sort not affect you?"
"I had thought that my aunt might help. Surprisingly, she has developed a liking for you." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Especially since you proved her right on Euclid's identity... You should get on very well with each other. You resemble her in so many ways. Like yourself, she has strong views on the manner in which women are treated in the world."
Hester looked at him in astonishment. "I have never heard her expound them!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps she is...wiser in the ways of society than an inexperienced seventeen-year-old once was? I think you would be surprised at how much influence she has in certain important circles. But this is by the way—to business! My aunt is prepared to put a room in her house at our disposal. We could meet in the mornings, before half of London is awake. It means you would have to visit Lady Martindale rather more often than you have done. Would your parents object?"
"Oh, no! Especially as..." She smiled with some irony. "Especially as you are Lady Martindale's nephew. You must know that you are regarded as eminently eligible by most mamas, including my mother."
"I hardly—"
"But you need have no fears on that score, Lord Dungarran," Hester went on. "I have no intention of marrying anyone at all—least of all you."
"Succinctly, if unkindly put. I am relieved, however, to hear it."
Hester added loftily, "My interest in mathematics is far greater than my interest in a possible partner."
"Strange! That is exactly what my aunt says of me. We should make an ideal pair—that is to say, ideal colleagues. How soon can you arrange to visit my aunt? I can have the papers at Grosvenor Street tomorrow."
"Then I shall come tomorrow. At ten?"
"Ten it is." He came across and took her hand. To her relief he made no attempt to kiss it. "Miss Perceval, I shall do my best not to irritate more than I can help. And, in spite of our differences, may I say how relieved I am to have Euclid as my co-worker?''
She looked at him coldly, not giving an inch. "I hope I deserve your confidence. In return, I shall try not to let my dislike of being coerced into it interfere with my work for Zeno."
He said softly, "You have now given me your word that you will do this work with me. You cannot change your mind. The consequences, if not for yourself, then for Lowell, could be serious."
The short, difficult silence was only broken when Lady Perceval erupted into the room.
"Hester! Why did you not tell me that Lord Dungarran was here? Please, sir, forgive my daughter's rag manners and allow me to offer you some refreshment. My husband is upstairs. I am sure he would be delighted to speak to you. And we expect Hugo any moment."
Lord Dungarran allowed himself to be ushered out of the door and up the stairs to the salon. Hester followed demurely. It was plain that her earlier words to her mother were being ignored— Lady Perceval had not abandoned her hopes of a match. She was wasting her energies, but she only had herself to blame! As Hester went up the stairs she thought how strange it was that, however much she disliked Dungarran, she trusted him. She was quite confident that, having given his word, he would keep her secrets. Dislike him she might, but of his integrity she was certain.
In the salon Sir James was sitting by Lowell, looking very shocked. "This is a shocking affair!"
"My dear, what are you talking about?" asked Lady Perceval. "What has Lowell been telling you?"
"He says that that villain Sywell has been murdered!"
"Oh! Oh! Never say so!"
"Lowell seems to have it on good authority. Did you ever know him, Dungarran?''
"No, Sir James. His adventures were before my time, but if his recent reputation is anything to go by... He's from your part of the country, is he not? Doesn't he own Steepwood Abbey?"
"Yes, but it was never rightly his. Sywell won it from its true owner eighteen or nineteen years ago. That was a black day for all of us."
"What happened?"
"It was back in '93. Edmund Cleeve was the Earl then. He was told that his only son had died and seemed to go mad. He came to London, came across his old friend Sywell and they started gambling. But Edmund Cleeve's luck was right out. In one night he lost everything—Abbey, lands, wealth...everything. They all went to Sywell."
"Cleeve shot himself, didn't he?"
"Aye, that he did. And Sywell has lived in the Abbey ever since. It's been a sorry business for the neighbourhood. The land hasn't suffered too badly—he sold a good deal of the estate back to Thomas Cleeve. But it's not that. He's a man of no morals at all, and his scandalously villainous behaviour has brought misery and disgrace to many a poor girl in the neighbourhood." Sir James looked at his wife. "But no more of that before the ladies."
"I've heard the stories," said Lord Dungarran gravely. Hester threw him a quick glance, but he ignored her. "I don't suppose there'll be many to mourn him."
"Least of all Thomas Cleeve. After he inherited the title he badly wanted to buy back the Abbey itself, but Sywell would never sell. For years Thomas has had to watch the ancestral home of the Earls of Yardley falling into ruin without being able to do a thing about it. I wonder if he knows about the murder?"
"I doubt it," said Lowell. "It's not yet generally known."
"And the Cleeves have left London," added Lady Perceval. "My dear, these are unpleasant topics of conversation. I didn't invite Lord Dungarran up here for this!"
Sir James seemed not to have heard her. He frowned. "It means there'll be some changes round the district."
"For the better, I would think. But... I really came this morning with a request from Lady Martindale. She was most interested in the work Miss Perceval has been doing, and I've come with a request for a further opportunity to talk to her. Is that possible?"
Lady Perceval was clearly delighted. Apart from her relationship to Dungarran, Lady Martindale was one of society's most influential hostesses. "Of course!" she cried. "What work is this, Hester?"
"Er...something I was working on in my attic, Mama. You remember I was studying Grandpa Perceval's papers? It's something arising from that which interested Lady Martindale." Hester smiled affectionately at her mother. "So you see, Mama, that not everyone thinks books a waste of time for a woman! I could work with her in the mornings. I would still be free for...for visits and social occasions."
"Well, if Lady Martindale wishes..."
"Thank you!" said Dungarran briskly. "I'll call for you tomorrow morning, then, Miss Perceval. And now, alas, I'm afraid I must go. My aunt will be delighted that you have given your consent, Lady Perceval. Sir James, I hope this news of Sywell's death does not disturb your enjoyment of London. The world would seem to be well rid of such a scoundrel. Lowell—" He paused. "Are you walking my way? I thought I would visit Tattersall's."
Lowell looked a little apprehensive but agreed. The two men left together.
"My dear girl, what an opportunity! Lady Martindale moves in the very highest circles. Sir James, do you not think it wonderful?"
"Of course, of course." Sir James seemed rather abstracted. The news of Sywell's death was clearly causing him some thought.
Hest
er sat without speaking. The morning's events had left her mind in turmoil. She was full of apprehension about working with Dungarran, though she knew she must. It would be foolhardy to arouse his displeasure^ If she was reckless enough to go back on her word, not only would he take his revenge, but the delight and interest she had found for so long in the world of ciphers would be lost to her. The correspondence with the Journal would naturally cease.
But there were more positive arguments in favour of doing as Dungarran wished. She had found Lady Martindale an interesting and likeable woman, the first lady of fashion she had met who also cultivated the mind. The prospect of getting to know her better was an attractive one. And, she had to admit, now that she had been forced to cooperate with Dungarran she was growing interested in the work he had described—she knew she could do it.
True to his word, Dungarran called for her the next morning some minutes before ten o'clock. Hester was waiting, and they set off at a brisk pace. Apart from a few errand boys and tradesmen they saw no one on the way. London was still asleep. With any other companion Hester would have enjoyed the unaccustomed exercise. Walking was a favourite occupation at home in Abbot Quincey, and the rather tame promenades in the park, which was all she was offered in London, were no substitute.
"Lord Dungarran, it is kind of you to have fetched me this morning, but I would prefer to make my own way to Grosvenor Street in future," she said as they drew close to their destination.
"I'm afraid that is simply not possible, Miss Perceval. This is not Northamptonshire. The streets of London are no place for an unaccompanied female."
"I could use one of the footmen—"
"And how long would it be before you were dispensing with his services? No, I shall fetch you myself. It is simpler and safer."
"Oh, why do you always have to be so...so high-handed? Always to know better? You are as bad as Hugo!"
He turned and grinned at her—not the dangerously charming smile, but in genuine amusement. "Such outrageous flattery is embarrassing. I have the highest possible regard for your elder brother! But you forget, Miss Perceval. I know you a good deal better than I did a month ago. You are, I have discovered, neither dull nor simple. Nor are you very biddable. Is the pot calling the kettle black?''
An Unreasonable Match Page 10