Dungarran's face was lined with worry and fatigue, but he said firmly, "Wait a little. We don't wish to give them an unnecessary fright. Wherever they are, I believe Hester and Lowell are together. We must hope so, at least. If she did know that de Landres was coming to steal the papers—"
"How could she?"
"I don't know, Godmama, but it's the only thing that explains her behaviour." Hearing the impatient irritation in his voice, he endeavoured to speak more calmly. "She took the papers to a place where de Landres couldn't find them, and she got her brother to help her. She must be somewhere we haven't thought of. I think we should have another talk with the servant in the house in Half Moon Street. Come, Godmama!"
Together they went to Half Moon Street. Here they found the manservant very ready to talk. He reiterated that he had seen neither Hester nor Lowell, but he told them of two used brandy glasses he had found since talking to Dungarran, and taking him to one side he said softly, "I don't like to mention it before her ladyship, but there was women's clothing in Mr Lowell's chamber, too. I've folded it up but it's still there."
"Fetch it, man!"
When he brought it down Lady Martindale exclaimed, "Why, that's Hester's dress!" She looked fearfully at her nephew. "W...What does it mean?"
For the first time since coming back from Portsmouth Robert Dungarran's features relaxed. "Not what you fear, Godmama. In fact, I think I know now what the Percevals have done and where they are." He thanked the manservant suitably, and took his aunt home.
"If you will write a note for Lady Perceval I shall deliver it in person. But I think... I hope it will not be needed."
"You know where they are? But how?''
"They are almost certainly in Northamptonshire."
"How could they have got there? We enquired..."
"After a young lady. Do you remember that Hester Perceval once attended a lecture in St James's Square?"
"Dressed as a young man! Of course! Those clothes of hers... She changed her clothes in Half Moon Street. Oh Robert! I think that must be the answer. And what a clever disguise!"
"I shall have to go straight away. I think they are safe in their own home, but I won't be at ease until I see them there."
"Yes, yes! Shall I come with you?"
"I'm not sure you would enjoy the rate at which I propose to travel, Aunt."
"Then you must send a message back as soon as you know! I shall be on the rack until I hear from you. Oh, Robert, I pray with all my heart you are right!"
Robert looked at his aunt's face. Lady Martindale had aged by ten years in the last week. Her cheeks were pale and dark circles lay under her eyes. Her hands were trembling. He took one in his and pressed it comfortingly.
"They are! I know they are!" he said gently, putting as much assurance into his voice as he could. "And I shall send a message telling you so. Trust me."
Dungarran travelled overnight in a hired chaise and four. His activities of the last week caught up with him and, in spite of his worries, he finally fell asleep. But his slumbers were fitful and broken by nightmares and nameless fears. He was not as certain that Hester was at Abbot Quincey as he had led his aunt to believe. But if not, where else would he look? The note said she was safe, but was she? The thought that she might be in the hands of strangers, with only Lowell to help her, was torture. He was incapable of rational thought, unable to persuade himself that, logically, he was very likely to find Hester comfortably installed in her own home, engaged in the further decipherment of the Pentacle papers. Strangely, none of his anxieties were for those same papers. All his thoughts were for Hester.
Daylight restored him to something of his former self. He started planning what he should do. It was too early to go to Perceval Hall, nor was he in a state to call on anyone. He must find somewhere to repair the damage of five days' almost continuous travel. At the first likely-looking inn he ordered the coachman to stop, and asked his man to step inside and order a room. The landlord was just stirring and was astonished at being asked to provide a room at what seemed to him to be the wrong end of the night.
"Do you have a room?" Wicklow asked coldly.
"Oh yes, sir. Several."
"Then we shall take the best. His lordship would like breakfast in half" an hour. But first we should like plenty of hot water and towels." Then as the man stared he added, "As soon as possible!"
Aided by Wicklow, Dungarran made himself more respectable. He washed and shaved, then put on a clean shirt and cravat. His coat was shaken and brushed, and his boots polished, though not altogether to his man's satisfaction. The breakfast was a hearty one, and Dungarran made himself eat a fair amount. However impatient he was, he must try to be sensible. The next hour or two might very well be a testing time. At last the hour was sufficiently advanced for Dungarran to be received at Perceval Hall. Outwardly his usual imperturbable, well-dressed self, he got in the coach once again and gave the order to drive off.
As he approached Hester's home the beauty of the house and grounds made no impression on him. It was taking all his considerable strength of character to retain an air of polite calm, and presenting himself and his mission to the Percevals in a reasonable manner would test every social skill he possessed. He did not know what he would do if Hester were not here...
The door opened as the coach came to a halt.
"Good morning. My name is Dungarran. Are Sir James and Lady Perceval at home?'' He went in and waited in the entrance hall while the servant disappeared to consult. Of course they were at home! It was a ridiculously early hour to call—any sensible person would still be at breakfast, or in bed... Perhaps it would have been better to ask for Hugo? Less conventional, but safer... What a time the wretched man was taking!... He strode restlessly up and down the hall, stopping before a portrait of a young lady dressed in the clothes of the previous century, where he tried to trace a similarity to Hester. What would he do if she were not here?
"Will you come this way, please?"
He followed the servant into a small parlour. Lady Perceval was sitting by the window. Sir James, looking rather puzzled, came forward to meet him.
"Good morning, Dungarran. Er...what can I do for you? Did you wish to see Hugo? He's just coming..:"
"No, Sir James. It was you I wanted to see."
"Of course! How stupid of me! You've brought a message from my daughter! How is she? And Lady Martindale? Both well, I hope?"
Lady Perceval came over to him. "How very kind of you, Lord Dungarran! Though I was rather hoping to see Hester before too long. We miss her, you know."
An icy hand was clutching Dungarran's throat, making it impossible for him to speak. Hester was not, after all, here. His worst fears, the fears he had refused to give way to, had been realised.
The silence was broken by Hugo, who came striding into the room, a broad smile on his face and his hand outstretched. "Robert! What the devil are you doing here? It's damned good to see you! Can you stay?"
The moment could not be put off any longer. Dungarran took Lady Martindale's letter out of his pocket and handed it to Sir James. "I...I'm sorry, sir," he said.
Lady Perceval turned to her husband. "What is it? What is it, James? Something's wrong! It's Hester!" He was busy with the letter and didn't hear her. She turned again to Dungarran. "Is she ill?"
Sir James led her gently back to her seat. After a quick look Hugo came over to sit next to her. "I'm afraid it's bad news, my dear. Lady Martindale tells us that Hester is missing. She has not been seen for..." He took out his glasses and looked at the letter again. "Nearly five days?'' His voice expressed shock and growing anger. Lady Perceval gave a little scream.
"You don't mean it! You can't mean that Hester...my darling— No, no! It can't be!" Hugo put his arms round her, but she shook him off. "Your aunt promised to look after her!" she cried to Dungarran. "I trusted her! What happened? What can possibly have happened?"
Dungarran was white but he remained calm. "I was in Portsmouth, and Lady
Martindale was visiting a friend in Richmond. My aunt had urged Miss Perceval to go with her, but she refused. I am aware that it was very wrong of us to leave her alone, but she was insistent that she wanted to carry on with...with some work she had been doing. As far as we can tell she left the house of her own accord, taking the...the work with her." He turned to Sir James. "We thought we knew where she was, Sir James. As soon as I returned to London and heard what had happened I went straight down to Devon in search of her. But we were wrong. I've since wasted no time in coming here. She...she left this note with one of Lady Martindale's servants." He handed over the scrap of paper—the only source of hope. His hand trembling, Sir James took it and read it out.
'"I am quite safe and so are the papers—Hester.'" He looked up. "But this was four nights ago? And not another word from her since? Good God, man, what can have happened to her?"
Dungarran's lips tightened. "I...I don't know," he said.
Hugo cried angrily, "Don't stand there saying you don't know! Why aren't you out there looking for her? Father, if you don't mind I'll collect my things and set off straight away for London. Hester must be there somewhere."
"We think Lowell is almost certainly with her," said Dungarran. "There is some evidence for it."
There was a shocked silence, then Hugo said, "He can't be. Lowell can't be with her. He's here. I've just been out for a ride with him."
"Heavens above, Lord Dungarran! Where is my daughter?" cried Lady Perceval in great distress.
"Yes, Dungarran," said Sir James grimly. "Where is Hester now?"
"Here, Papa," said a new voice. Everyone turned. Hester Perceval stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, the other holding a sheaf of papers.
After a moment's stunned silence the family converged on the door. Mother and father, Hugo, even Lowell, who had followed his sister into the room, hugged Hester in turn, exclaiming, laughing, admonishing, expressing their delight that she was safe.
Dungarran took one long look at the figure in the doorway, then went over to the window, leaving the Percevals to rejoice among themselves. Ordinary courtesy would demand that he left them to their jubilations unwatched by an outsider. But it was not anything so conventional as courtesy that had moved him to stand with his back to the room, staring at the landscape outside. He had a battle to fight unseen. Never before had he been subject to such a riot of feelings as was now threatening to overwhelm him. His famous detachment had in the past carried him through many a dramatic situation with no loss of dignity or control. Now it had deserted him. Nothing in his life had disturbed him so much as the sight of Hester Perceval in that doorway.
He put his hands against the window-pane in an effort to absorb its coolness into his blood. He was struggling against a primitive urge to snatch the girl into his arms, to hold her so passionately close that she could hardly breathe, to carry her off to some remote island where they could live for ever and lose all sight of the world... At the same time he felt an absurd tenderness, a desire to cherish her, protect from all harm, to throw away the hideous clothes she was wearing and replace them with lace and satin and jewels, to demonstrate to the wide world his pride and joy in her...
But at war with both of these was a growing anger. How dare she subject him to such anxiety! If she had thought half as much of him as he of her, she would have sent a message before now to reassure him! The thought of his fruitless journeys, the long road to Devon and back, the nightmares of the night before, enraged him beyond measure. How dare she have so little consideration for his feelings! How dare she have taken such a hold on his heart that he had lost all sense! The coolly logical mind, in which he had taken such pride, was now, thanks to this woman, at the mercy of a maelstrom of completely irrational emotions!
"Lord Dungarran!"
He turned. Hester was inside the room, still clutching the folder of papers, the family in a protective circle behind her. She looked red-eyed and thin, as if she had neither eaten nor slept for a week, and the drab, ink-stained garment she wore hung about her like a tent. The dress was short for her tall figure—it revealed ankles in wrinkled stockings and feet encased in clumsy boots, servants' boots. Her hair was dragged away from her face. With a sharp pang, he saw that the face itself had the inevitable smear of ink down one side.
And yet, on seeing her in the doorway his first thought had been that he had never seen anything so beautiful. Now, under the eyes of her family, it was a struggle to restrain himself from wiping the smear from her face and kissing her as he had kissed her, a century ago it seemed, in the little study in Grosvenor Street. Or would he first shake her till she cried for mercy, begged him for forgiveness for her heartless behaviour?
"Lord Dungarran?" Her manner was hesitant, as if she was unsure of what he would say.
Robert Dungarran hesitated. What was he to say? He was so fluent in society, so polished in address. What could he say to this girl? The feelings at war within were making it impossible for him to say anything. He looked at the papers still clutched in her hand. Their familiar look, the memory of the work Hester and he had toiled over for so long, loosened his tongue. Calmly—he must speak calmly—he said, "Miss Perceval. You have the Pentacle papers there, I see."
Her lips tightened. Surprise, then resentment showed in that tired face. "Where else would they be?" she asked sharply.
Why hadn't she run to him, why hadn't she shown delight to see him, or regret that she had caused him such trouble! Anger won the battle for supremacy in Robert Dungarran's emotions. "How the devil would I know where they would be, ma'am? With you, perhaps—but where was that? Vanished into thin air! Do you realise how much valuable time has been lost while you have been playing hide and seek, and I have been combing England for a trace of you?"
"Lord Dungarran—"
"Have you any idea of the confusion and distress you have caused with your silence?" he continued, sweeping aside her interruption. "Look at your family! A few moments ago your mother was close to collapse. Her worry was short-lived, thank God, and is now at an end, but have you thought at all of Lady Martindale's feelings? I have never seen my aunt so distracted in her life—not even when my uncle died!"
"I am sorry for your aunt's distress, Lord Dungarran. Truly sorry. You will be able to reassure her when you return." Hester's face was stony as she added, "But instead of wasting valuable time berating me, you should be on your way to London. I have transcribed enough of the papers to know their secret. Lord Wellington's life is in danger. Some of the Spanish high command are in a plot to assassinate him."
The news brought him up short. "When? Where?"
"On the twentieth of next month—" She passed a hand over her forehead. "Or is it this month? I have lost count of the days."
Hugo said gently, "Today is the third, Hester. The third of July."
"Is it? The twentieth of this month, then—or very soon after. The Spaniards are due to meet Wellington for a conference on the road between Ciudad Rodrigo and Salamanca. The letters are not more precise than that."
"They can't be—not with the uncertainty of the campaign. But they'll find him somewhere on that road. Our men must simply find him first. We have time—just! Hester, this is not the moment I know, but please forgive—''
"You should leave immediately, Lord Dungarran." She put the folder down on the table with deliberation. "There are the papers. Take them and finish them at your leisure. You needn't trouble to come back when you have delivered the message—I don't expect to see or hear from you again."
"I must explain—''
"Don't try! I meant what I said. Goodbye. And—for Wellington's sake—God speed!"
Dungarran held out his hand, but she ignored it and with a quick look of apology at her family went out of the room. He was still staring at the door when Sir James spoke.
"Dungarran, I don't pretend to understand what has been going on," he said with a troubled frown. "But do you take what my daughter has said seriously?"
"Oh yes! It's perfectly serious—extremely serious, Sir James."
"Then shouldn't you be going? I would invite you to eat something with us, but speed would seem to be essential. I'll get one of our people to put something up for your journey. Hugo, you might think of accompanying Lord Dungarran. If what Hester has told us is indeed true then we must make sure the message reaches the War Office safely and as soon as possible."
"I shall leave immediately. Will you come, Hugo?"
"Of course! I'll get some things." He went out. Dungarran turned to Sir James.
"There isn't time to explain why I behaved as I did a few moments ago. I...I was not myself. Could you perhaps talk to your daughter—persuade her to give me a chance to say how much I regret it?"
"I'll do my best, Dungarran." The expression on Sir James's face was not reassuring. With a gesture of despair Dungarran picked up the folder of documents, turned on his heel and followed Hugo out.
*
After the two men had gone Hester wanted nothing more than to retreat from the world again. But her parents were hurt and angry at her deception of them. They could not understand why she and Lowell had kept her presence in Abbot Quincey such a secret. She owed them an account and an explanation. Lowell in fact did most of the telling, while she sat, her hand in that of her mother, listening and reliving the events of the past five days...
When Lowell had opened the door of the house in Half Moon Street Hester had such a shock that she burst into tears. "Lowell! Oh, thank God you're still here!" she cried. "I thought you had gone. Let me in—quickly!"
To his credit Lowell didn't ask questions there and then, but ushered her straight into the little salon. Here she sank into an armchair and tried to get her breath back. But she leapt up again when she heard noises outside in the street.
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