An Unreasonable Match

by Sylvia Andrew

  "The door! The door, Lowell! Is it shut fast? Tell your man not to open it to anyone! Go, Lowell, go!"

  "There's no one else here, Hes. And the door is shut."

  "Bolt it, Lowell! Please!"

  When Lowell returned he looked in concern at his sister's pale, tear-stained cheeks and trembling limbs. He pushed her back into the chair, then went in search of brandy and glasses. When he came back he demanded, "What on earth has happened, Hester? Is it Dungarran? What has he done?"

  "No, no, no! It's the Comte de Landres. He mustn't find me!"

  "De Landres? What the devil has de Landres to do with you?" Hester tried to stammer out a few words, but between fright and lack of breath she was incoherent.

  In deep concern Lowell said gently, "Hester, take a sip of that drink, then calm down and tell me why you're in such a state. Slowly now!"

  Hester sipped the brandy, took a deep breath and started an account of the morning's events. Before she knew it, she was telling Lowell the whole story, beginning with the means Dungarran had used to blackmail her into working with him...

  "I should be shot, Hester! To give him such a hold over you! But I would never have believed it of Dungarran! I would have thought him incapable of such ungentlemanly behaviour."

  "He...he would never have carried out his threat, Lowell. I realise that now. He is, truly, a gentleman. But let me tell you why he thought it so important for me to help him." She went on to describe the days of patient decipherment, the feelings of triumph when they had found the key to the Pentacle papers... In the end Hester told him almost all of it, leaving out only Dungarran's kisses, and their astonishing effect on her. Such things were not relevant to her tale. But the rest of her story took a considerable time, for if Lowell was to help her he must know everything, including the newly discovered importance of the Pentacle papers. It was a relief to unburden herself to him. Lowell had been her confidant and accomplice for so many years, but the secret work she had been doing with Dungarran had recently put a wall between brother and sister. Now all was open again—except Dungarran's efforts to educate her in the tenderer arts. That was still private ground.

  When she had finished, Lowell, who had been standing at the window, turned and asked, "When did you say Dungarran will be back?"

  "Not for forty-eight hours."

  "Hm." Lowell finished his brandy. "Well, I don't wish to worry you further, Hes, but there's a gent on the other side of the street who has been watching this house ever since he arrived five minutes ago. No! Don't come closer to the window! He's seen me, but he mustn't see you. Wait! He's coming over! Upstairs with you, and take your baggage with you!"

  Hester waited round the bend at the top of the stairs, heart beating so loudly that she thought their visitor must hear it.

  "Mr Perceval? Mr Lowell Perceval?" The man's English accent was good, but not perfect.

  "Sir?"

  "Oh, excuse me, let me introduce myself! My name is Razan, Charles Razan. I am a friend of the Comte de Landres. May I come in?"

  Hester heard footsteps entering the hall and going into the salon. Then Lowell's voice. "May I know your business, sir?''

  "Monsieur de Landres has charged me with a message for Miss Perceval. May I see her?"

  Lowell's voice again, expressing polite bewilderment. "My sister, sir? What makes you think she lives here?"

  "Oh, I don't! But the servant at Lady Martindale's said he thought she might have come here to visit you."

  "Lady Martindale's servant was mistaken. Miss Perceval wouldn't even expect to find me here, I assure you. She thinks I'm out of London. And, except for a change in my plans, I would be. As it is, I shall be leaving very shortly, so I can't even offer to deliver a message if I see her. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

  "Then I apologise for having disturbed you." There was a pause. "You are quite sure she isn't here?"

  This time Lowell's voice was cold. "Quite sure. I'll see you out. Good day, sir." The door opened and was then shut and bolted. Lowell came up the stairs.

  "You heard?"

  Hester nodded. "He wasn't convinced."

  "I'm not surprised. He saw the two brandy glasses. He'll be back—possibly with friends. I'm not sure what we should do."

  "Let's go to Abbot Quincey! The papers would be safe there. Lowell, let's go home! I can't think of anywhere in London where I could hide, and it's two days at least before Dungarran's return. I daren't go back to the house."

  "The Holyhead Mail leaves Wood Street at half past seven. We could catch that easily," said Lowell thoughtfully. "But what about Lady Martindale?"

  "Heavens, yes! I hadn't thought! She'll be so worried when she comes back from Richmond! If I write a note for her can you get it delivered to Grosvenor Street?"

  "I'll see to it. Say you're safe, but don't say where you are or what you're doing."

  "Why not?"

  "Just in case the note falls into the wrong hands. I'll take you to the Cross Keys, leave you there to wait for the coach, then cut back to Grosvenor Street. If Lady Martindale is there I'll talk to her. If not, I'll leave the note with one of the servants. We'd better prepare to leave. Hester, I hope you'll be safe—de Landres and Razan won't be looking for you at the inn, will they?"

  "They won't be looking for a young man. Are those clothes of Mr Gaines still here? Then fetch them and I'll change. And I'd like a more suitable bag for these papers. But hurry!"

  Lady Martindale had not yet returned when Lowell called, but she was expected at any moment. Though the house was in confusion, he was able to leave his note with one of the servants with strict instructions to deliver it the minute she arrived. He wasted no time for, as he later told her, he was not easy in his mind until he saw Hester safely waiting for him at the Cross Keys. No one would have recognised Miss Perceval in the young dandy sitting, one leg crossed over the other, quietly reading a newspaper in the corner. And Lowell was much reassured when she told him that, as far as she was aware, no one had shown any undue curiosity about the passengers for the Mail. They left on time, and the two Percevals, whose experience of such a mode of transport had till now been slight, spent an uncomfortable night as the coach rattled along until they reached Northampton in the early morning. Here they climbed out stiff and hungry, Hester still clutching her precious bag. They didn't stop for any refreshment. Lowell hired a couple of horses, and they set off for Abbot Quincey.

  "I've been thinking, Lowell," said Hester as they rode along the country lanes. "It would be better if no one knew that I've come back."

  "Why not?"

  "Mama would never let me work the way I need to if I am to decipher these papers in time, you know she wouldn't. And if de Landres or any of his henchmen should come to Perceval Hall, how long do you think it would be before they found out from Mama that I was here?"

  Lowell nodded. "But where could you hide? And where would you sleep?"

  "In my attic. There's bound to be some sort of bed we could fetch in from one of the other attics. Food might be more of a problem..."

  "I suppose I could bring you some, but if I came too often someone would be bound to ask what I was doing. And wouldn't you need clothes and someone to look after you?"

  Hester thought for a moment. "Could we ask Maggie to help? She wanders all over the place and no one ever takes any notice of her. She'd manage the clothes, and I should think she could manage the food, too." Hester was tired and suffering from reaction, but she managed an affectionate smile. "Think of the way she managed us when we were children! I'm sure she'd do it— especially if you asked her, Lowell! You were always her baby, her favourite. Maggie would never say no to you!"

  So they decided that Lowell would help Hester up to the attics by an unused staircase at the back of the house, and then go to find Maggie. They would have to improvise from then on. Whatever happened, Hester was determined to work without interruption until she had finally found out the secret of the Pentacle papers. When Lowell asked her she told
him why.

  "Those papers have become a...a sort of challenge. To me personally. I'm not particularly proud of deceiving Mama and Papa, or of playing a part with Dungarran in front of society. I took the papers in order to save them, and if I can find out their message then I shall feel the things I've done have been justified."

  "I thought you might have been doing this for Dungarran...?"

  "Of course not!" Lowell raised an eyebrow at her, and Hester pulled a face and went on, "Well, in a way I am. I want to show him. I want to prove to him that I'm a force to be reckoned with, not just a..." She glanced at Lowell. "Well you know as well as I do that Dungarran is a... a..." She tried again. "He enjoys what he calls "light dalliance", and I want him to take me seriously."

  "You're in love with him!"

  "That's nonsense! Absolute rubbish! You're an idiot, Lowell! I didn't mean as a woman—I meant take me seriously in my work!" Lowell looked at her speculatively as they rode on. It seemed to him that his sister was protesting just a little too much, but he decided not to pursue the subject. Hester had enough to worry about.

  They reached the stables behind Perceval Hall before the household was stirring. By this time Hester was near to collapse, but Lowell was always at his best when facing a challenge. In no time, Hester found herself in her attic, sitting in her favourite armchair while Lowell set about rearranging the furniture.

  "Bear up, Hes! Don't give in now! We'll soon have you settled." He cast a satisfied glance round the room. "There! There's space for a bed in here, and Maggie will know where I can find one. I'll go now to fetch her—I won't be long." He came back and hugged her. "Don't look like that, Hes! A few hours sleep and you'll be as good as new."

  Lowell soon returned with their old nurse. Maggie might grumble, but she was too soft-hearted to refuse her favourite. Sworn to secrecy, she fetched sheets and pillows from the linen cupboard, while Lowell dragged a truckle bed from a neighbouring attic. Hester hardly heard her scolding, barely felt Maggie's work-roughened hands gently exchanging Woodford Gaines's clothes for a cotton wrap. Before she realised it she found herself tucked up in bed between cool, lavender-scented sheets in her own, dear, familiar refuge. The last thing she saw before falling asleep was the bag of papers on the floor beside the bed.

  Chapter Twelve

  She slept for several hours, then woke with a start. Maggie was putting a cup of chocolate and some rolls beside the bed. Then she disappeared again. Hester was so hungry that, by the time Maggie returned carrying a basin and ewer, the food was all gone. "I'll fetch some clothes for you as soon as I can," she said, looking disapprovingly at Woodford Gaines's clothing, now somewhat the worse for wear. "You canna wear those garments, Miss Hester. It isn't fit."

  "It isn't important what I wear, Maggie. No one will see me but you and Master Lowell. But I must start on those papers straight away."

  Maggie sniffed. "I'll fetch the things your mother left for the village. There'll be something there that'll fit you." A few minutes later she was back with some undergarments and a rough, brown cotton dress. Hester, still in her wrapper, was already laying the Pentacle papers out on her desk and arranging her pens. Within minutes she was hard at work, her hair screwed back out of the way, and the drab dress already christened with ink.

  About halfway through the morning Lowell appeared to see how she was. He laughed at her absorption, but seemed comforted by it.

  "No need to worry about you, that's obvious."

  "What did the family say when you came back so unexpectedly?"

  "They exclaimed, of course, and asked what I was doing here. I told them I'd been planning a trip to Devon, but it had been called off at the last minute—which is perfectly true! I forgot to tell you yesterday—Gaines's godfather has been taken ill. That's why I was still in London. To say the truth, the family are all so busy with the Steepwood business that they hardly noticed I was there! What a mess it is, Hester! However, Pa and the others seem to be managing, though the neighbourhood won't really settle down until we all know who the new owner is. What about you? Do you need anything else?"

  "I shall need more pens. These wear out so fast, and I haven't time to mend them."

  "Give them to me. I'm a dab hand at mending pens.''

  Over the next few days, with Lowell to give her the necessary support and Maggie to look after her physical needs, Hester devoted all her attention and energy to the business of deciphering the Pentacle papers. Buried in the long, elaborate phrases of Spanish diplomatic language, accompanied with terse French comments, a picture was emerging of a tiny group of dissident Spaniards. They had no cause to love the French—Napoleon had invaded their country, taken over Madrid, their capital, and installed his brother Joseph there as their upstart king. Yet these Spanish grandees were in secret correspondence with French agents. Their letters expressed their burning resentment of the British command in the Spanish Peninsula—in particular, the high-handed manner in which all strategic decisions were taken without reference to some of the noblest, the greatest, the most talented generals in Spain. The flames of their anger had been fanned by skilful handling on the part of the French, and matters had reached a point where one or two of the Spaniards were ready to take action. Assassination was mentioned. But whose? The Spaniards were still too cautious to mention names. Hester toiled on, barely taking time for sleep or food. She had saved the Pentacle papers from destruction. But in bringing them to Abbot Quincey she had also taken on a heavy responsibility.

  Someone's life—probably that of Lord Wellington—was in danger. She must not rest until she knew it all.

  And eventually, after working till she was in danger of dropping, she had it. She had just finished writing the summary of everything she had learned when Lowell came bursting into the attic with the news that Dungarran was in the hall asking to see her father.

  Lost in her own reliving of the story, Hester had barely been aware of Lowell's voice, her parents' questions and his replies. Now she roused herself. Lowell had brought them up to the moment when she had appeared in the doorway. She turned to her mother.

  "Mama... I'm sorry! Indeed I am! I didn't think of anything but the papers. It wasn't until I saw your face...and...and Dungarran spoke... Forgive me..." Her voice choked.

  Lady Perceval put her arms round her daughter. ""Of course you're forgiven!" she said. "Your Papa and I are proud of you, Hester. But now you must go to bed. You need rest. We'll talk of all this later, when you aren't quite so exhausted. Come!"

  Sir James kissed his daughter on her way out.

  "I suppose I must forgive you, too, though I still think you could have told us. But Dungarran was very harsh. It's all up to him and Hugo now. I wonder how they're faring?"

  After telling her story Hester found it impossible to stay awake. She fell into an exhausted slumber which lasted almost forty-eight hours, broken only for a sip of water or some of the soup brought by her mother or one of the maids. Waking or sleeping, she had no thought for anything outside her bedchamber walls—London, Lady Martindale, the Pentacle papers, Wellington himself, might never have existed. Even Robert Dungarran. But this respite did not last. After two days she was restored to full activity and consciousness, and...misery.

  The day had still been young when Hugo and Dungarran had set out, and they travelled as speedily as the post horses would take them. They were in London by early evening. Dungarran took a few minutes to inform his aunt that Hester had been found, then hurried on to the Horse Guards. Here he was lucky enough to catch one of Lord Bathurst's most able lieutenants. The situation was quickly explained and as quickly understood. In no time two of the army's best men had been despatched to Lisbon with the message, and four others had been called in and given instructions. Two of them would take a different sea route to Corunna, and make their separate ways through Northern Spain with the aid of the Spanish guerrillas. The last two would be smuggled in at Calais, and travel the more dangerous land route, using ways known only to themselv
es through the hostile territory of France. The message was sure to reach Wellington by one means or another.

  Robert Dungarran took Hugo back to his aunt's house. Over dinner Lady Martindale and Hugo talked. Robert was markedly silent.

  "I am not at all surprised you're tired and out of sorts, Robert," said Lady Martindale. "You've been chasing about the country without stopping for days! You've earned a long rest."

  "Thank you. I suppose I shall take one," her nephew answered shortly.

  Hugo exchanged a look with Lady Martindale. "Why don't you come back with me?" he asked. "I'd enjoy your company, now that things seem to have settled down on the estate." He grinned. "You could come to our fete on the eighteenth. Now, you would enjoy that!"

  His friend looked at him sourly. "I don't know why you always think of me as a town-lover, Hugo, indeed I don't! Have you forgotten the Dungarran lands in Hertfordshire? And the house in the Cotswolds—not to mention the Irish estates, and the hunting lodge in Leicestershire? I am well used to country pursuits and duties, believe me."

  "Then you won't mind coming to our fete!" Hugo turned to his hostess. "What about you, Lady Martindale? Would you like a sojourn in the country? London society must be getting rather flat now. You were very kind to Hester. My parents would welcome you."

  "I hardly think so, Hugo! What? Welcome the woman who lost their only daughter for more than four days?"

  "The circumstances were...a little unusual. Part of the blame lies with Hester, surely? And she is now quite safely restored to them. No, I'm sure they have forgotten. I think you should both come."

  "I am certain your sister would like to see Aunt Martindale. But she would refuse to see me." Dungarran got up from the table and went over to the fireplace. "I was unforgivably rude to her this morning."