by Louise Allen
Anna found her at the table early the next morning, fully dressed and with a sheet of writing paper before her. ‘Hebe? Did you sleep?’
‘Not much,’ Hebe answered honestly. ‘I have been thinking—planning what to do. I have written to Mama.’
‘To tell her?’ Anna hesitated. ‘Wait one minute before you tell me, I will ask Mrs Green to send up breakfast.’
As she came back Hebe was signing her name. ‘No, I have said nothing to her, but I have to write or she will be worrying that I have not arrived safely.’
She pushed the letter across the table to Anna, who pushed it back. ‘I cannot read English as well as I speak it.’
‘Dearest Mama,’ Hebe read, ‘We both arrived safe at Portsmouth the day before yesterday after an uneventful voyage and found Mrs Green’s lodgings to be both comfortable and entirely suitable for ladies travelling alone. I was somewhat tired, so I hope you will forgive my not writing immediately we landed, but I am glad to tell you that I find I am now eating much better than I have for some time. I am about to write to my Aunt Fulgrave, and I believe the best course will be for us to hire a chaise and make the journey to London ourselves, rather than wait until my uncle is able to come and collect us. I will write at length as soon as I reach London. Mrs Wilkins begs to be remembered to you, and please convey my respectful affection to Sir Richard. I remain, trusting you are both in the best of health, your dutiful and loving daughter, Hebe.’
Dutiful. She wished she was certain exactly where her duty lay. But one thing was clear, her first, her only, concern now was for the baby. She was becoming reconciled to the idea that she was carrying a child, but she simply could not feel pregnant. Sick, tired and frightened, yes. But not a mother to be. Doubtless that would come.
‘A chaise?’ Anna queried. ‘Will that not be expensive?’
‘Sir Richard gave me money against that contingency. He was not sure whether, when we arrived, we would want to wait for my uncle, or travel on. He said we should not pay more than two shillings and six pence per mile for a chaise and pair. I think it is about seventy miles—if we were to go direct.’
‘If? Hebe, what are you planning—?’ Anna broke off as Mrs Green tapped on the parlour door and entered with a laden tray.
‘Here you are, Mrs Wilkins. A nice big breakfast to tempt Miss Carlton.’ She whipped the cover off a platter of bacon and kidneys. Anna, with one glance at Hebe’s face, took the cover and replaced it firmly.
‘Thank you, Mrs Green. How delicious, we must not let it get cold.’
The landlady was turning to leave when Hebe said, ‘Do you have a Peerage in the house, Mrs Green?’
‘Why, no, miss, but there’s a very good circulating library down along Bath Street.’
‘And do they have the London newspapers?’
‘Oh, yes, miss, all of those, and they keep them for months, miss, because of the naval gentlemen wanting to catch up on all the news when they come into port.’
‘Excellent. Thank you, Mrs Green.’ Hebe waited until the door was closed, then said, ‘I need to find where Alex’s family seat is: there is a fair chance he will be there, having been away so long and with the wedding to prepare for. And I must discover whether or not the wedding has taken place.’ She eyed the covered platters uneasily. ‘I think I will just have some toast and a cup of tea.’
Anna lifted the teapot and began to pour. ‘Hebe, what are you planning?’
‘I know what I must do, I think, although there are some details I cannot yet see clearly. But how I must do it will depend on where Alex is and whether or not he is married yet.’ She picked up the butter knife, thought better of it, and began to cut dry toast into pieces. ‘Do not look so worried, Anna. I am not going to do anything foolish, and I know I must be very discreet.’
The ladies found Hodgkin’s Circulating Library without any trouble, and the proprietor was only too happy, on receipt of a day’s subscription, to settle them in a comfortable corner with a table, the Peerage and the past two months’ issues of The Times.
The Beresfords’ family seat was quickly found. ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Hebe exclaimed. ‘It is in Hertfordshire: see Anna, Tasborough Hall near Tring. I will ask to see an atlas in a moment, but I should imagine that will not be too great a detour on our way to London. Now, let us work backwards through The Times, looking at the announcements for a wedding notice. I should imagine the betrothal notice was placed before Alex returned to England.’
They worked their way steadily backwards, their fingers becoming grimy with newsprint. ‘Surely the wedding cannot have taken place so soon after Alex’s return to England,’ Hebe puzzled, after they had scanned a full month. ‘Oh, well, it is better if it has not, for I would want to avoid Lady Clarissa if at all possible. Look, we are back to a date before Alex could possibly have landed.’
Anna, who had taken the week earlier than the pile Hebe was scanning, broke off with a gasp. ‘Hebe, look, here in the Deaths! It is the Major’s father, is it not?’
Hebe snatched the paper and spread it out on the table between them. ‘George Beresford, third Earl of Tasborough, as a result of a carriage accident, at his seat, Tasborough Hall, Hertfordshire…succeeded by his son, William, Viscount Broadwood. Oh, my goodness! No wonder the marriage notices have not appeared: the family will be in deep mourning. Why, it must have happened just before Alex arrived in Portsmouth. How dreadful, to return home to such a tragedy!’
They sat, staring at each other, too stunned by the news to speak. Then Hebe said, ‘Much as I hate to intrude on him at such a time, I cannot afford to wait. It is, after all, four weeks since the accident: the family will be receiving calls again. Mr Hodgkin!’ The proprietor hastened over, hoping that these well-dressed ladies who were making such good use of his facilities might be tempted to take out a longer subscription. ‘Do you have an atlas I could consult? I need to plan a journey to London, by way of an estate in Hertfordshire.’
A gazetteer was speedily placed before her, Mr Hodgkin helpfully opening it at the correct page. ‘Thank you,’ Hebe said. ‘Could you recommend a reliable livery stable? I wish to hire a chaise and pair and, as you may imagine, with two ladies travelling alone, the assurance of a reliable postilion is most important.’
Mr Hodgkin, while disappointed that these ladies seemed bent on leaving Portsmouth, was hopeful that they would recommend him to their friends and did his utmost to be helpful. ‘Certainly ma’am. I would suggest Porter’s Livery Stables, which is not too far. When you are ready to leave I will send the lad with you to show you the way, if you wish. A long-established and most reliable outfit: I assure you I would have no qualms about entrusting my mother or my wife to their care.’
The livery stable proved as respectable as Mr Hodgkin had promised. Hebe and Anna emerged from the office with a carriage bespoken for the next day, with a pair and one postilion. After careful consideration of Hebe’s need to visit old friends near Tring and then continue to London, while not tiring herself, as Anna interjected firmly at this point, the owner suggested easy stages to Guildford. There they might stay at any one of a number of highly respectable inns that Mr Porter himself could recommend, then travel on to Berkhamsted. ‘The King’s Arms, ma’am, is the place to stay, although I would not despise the Crown if the King’s Arms cannot accommodate you. The next morning you would be able to make a morning call and still be in London that evening by a good road.’
Calculations were made and Hebe handed over what seemed to Anna a large amount of money. ‘And for that we get one man?’ she protested as they walked back slowly to Mrs Green’s lodgings. ‘No armed outriders?’
‘Anna, this is England, not the wilds of Spain with French troops around every corner,’ Hebe teased her gently. ‘Now, I think I will write to my aunt and warn her that I will be arriving in three days’ time.’
Three days, she thought as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. Three days, and by then I must have planned everything. There were so
many gaps in the scheme she had worked out through the long night. And if Alex was not at Tasborough Hall, what would she do?
Chapter Seventeen
Three days later the chaise turned out of the King’s Arms in Berkhamsted and drove briskly west. The postilion had proved excellent and at every stage had secured strong, steady horses so that the journey, although tiring, was not exhausting. Now, obedient to Hebe’s instructions, and after consulting the grooms at the inn, he was setting out for Tasborough Hall to arrive at eleven o’clock.
‘But what are you going to say to him—if he is there?’ Anna queried. She had asked over and over again, but all Hebe would do was shake her head and reply, ‘I am still working it out.’
That was nothing less than the truth. There were still the gaping holes in her plan that she could not quite solve, but with every turn of the carriage wheel she was getting closer to the problem of how to break the news to a man that he was going to be a father, and in such circumstances.
In many ways Hebe felt better in herself. She was eating, although it was an effort, and she no longer felt so dizzy and weak. But her back ached and the cold, nagging fear at the enormity of what was happening lurked like a beast in the recesses of her mind, ready to spring out whenever she let her guard drop. And she would soon see Alex: she could not let herself dwell on that, on how she would feel, on how she must control the urge to throw herself into his arms and pour out the story.
Instead she must keep calm, rehearse what she had to say so that it was rational, sensible and he would see the inevitable good sense of what she proposed.
The chaise turned off the pike road and began to follow a winding road across gently rising fields. Then, abruptly, after a sharp turn, it became steeper, shadowed by huge beech trees on either side. Anna peered out of the window. ‘Mountains?’
‘No, just the Chiltern Hills. I think we must be there.’ The carriage swung between a pair of lodge houses built of grey stone with split-flint panels and into a driveway that led, at last, into an open space before a rambling mansion. Hebe peered through the window at the building, which appeared to have grown over centuries, added to in the style of the day as each succeeding generation saw fit. A heavily panelled front door, heavily draped in black crepe, was set in the centre of what appeared to be the Jacobean heart of the building.
As she waited for the postilion to dismount, the door opened and a footman hurried over, let down the carriage steps and opened the door. When he saw the occupants, he stared in surprise before recollecting himself. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, I was expecting Lawyer Stone.’
‘Is Major Beresford at home?’ Hebe asked. ‘I realise this is a very difficult time…’
‘The Major.’ The man stared at her blankly and for a moment Hebe wondered if they had come to the wrong house. ‘Er…yes, ma’am. Well, that is, he is here, ma’am, but I do not know if he is receiving visitors now.’
‘I do appreciate that. However, I have a very urgent message from Spain—I hope I do not have to say more? Could you tell the Major that I come from Rear Admiral Sir Richard Latham.’
‘Oh, yes, ma’am. Of course. Would you care to come inside?’ The footman helped them down and directed the postilion round to the stables. ‘This way, ladies.’
A very superior butler was crossing the hall as they entered, a harassed frown on his face. His expression became professionally blank the moment he saw the visitors. ‘Good morning, ladies. May I be of assistance?’
The footman went and whispered in his ear and the butler’s face became, if anything, blanker. ‘If you would care to step into the Panelled Salon, ladies, I will inform the Major. That is—’ he broke off suddenly and threw open a door. ‘I think you will be comfortable here, ladies. What name shall I say?’
‘Miss…Circe, and companion,’ Hebe said.
‘Miss Sersay, very well, ma’am.’
The wait, although it was probably no more than ten minutes, seemed endless. Hebe thought she had never been in a more silent house. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantle broke the smothering quiet.
He was here, and in a moment she would see him. As she thought it, the door opened and Alex walked in. He was dressed from head to toe in black, relieved only by the white of his shirt. Even his neckcloth was black. His face was paler than Hebe had ever seen it, for not only had the tan begun to fade, but he appeared to have no colour left under his skin at all.
‘Hebe!’ His eyes blazed blue at the sight of her. ‘What on earth? What is wrong? You look so—’
‘I will wait outside,’ Anna said, although neither of the others appeared to notice she had spoken. She slipped out and went to sit in the hall.
‘Hebe?’ Alex took one long stride towards her and halted as Hebe put up both hands as though to ward him off. ‘Please, sit down here.’ He pulled forward one of the brocade chairs that flanked the empty fire. ‘What is wrong? Starling said you had a message from Sir Richard.’
‘No, I told him I had come from Sir Richard, which is true. Alex, I am so very sorry to hear about your father—what a tragic homecoming for you.’
‘Thank you. It has been a…difficult few weeks. But why are you here, and looking so thin and tired? Did you have a very bad voyage from Gibraltar?’
‘No.’ Hebe bit her lip, twisting her hands tightly in her lap. Now she was here, with him, all her carefully rehearsed phrases vanished from her head. ‘Alex, please, will you not sit down? I cannot order my thoughts with you standing over me.’
‘Of course.’ He dropped into the chair opposite and leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, hands loosely clasped in front of him. ‘What am I thinking of? Would you like some refreshment?’
‘No!’ Hebe took a deep breath and said more calmly, ‘No, thank you. Alex, I do not think there is any easy way to tell you what I have come to say. I hope you will forgive me for intruding now, of all times, but I dared not write in case the letter fell into other hands, and I dared not leave it for any longer to see you, or appearances might cause talk. I checked the newspapers and saw there had been no mention of your marriage, so I thought I had every chance of avoiding seeing Lady Clarissa as well.’
He broke in, ‘Clarissa and I…’
‘No, please let me finish what I have to say. This is hard enough as it is.’ She raised her gaze and looked deep into his troubled, shadowed blue eyes. ‘Alex, you remember the shepherd’s hut on the border?’
‘Yes, of course. How could I forget it?’ There was a small vertical frown line between his brows. Obviously, whatever else he had been expecting her to talk about, it was not this.
‘You were very ill, delirious.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you recall when you woke? When the fever had broken, the morning when the French troops left?’
‘Very clearly! I hope I never again have to live through another moment like the one when you told me you had been trapped like that.’
Hebe knew she was about to plunge him into even greater anxiety, but doggedly she talked on. It felt as though the words were being strangled in her throat.
‘When you woke, you were suddenly embarrassed because you had been dreaming, and you could remember your dream very clearly.’
That did bring the colour back into his face, and she could tell it was an effort for him to keep his eyes steady on her. All he said was, ‘Yes, I recall.’
‘That was not a dream,’ Hebe said quietly. ‘That was the recollection of what had happened while you were delirious.’
‘What?’ The word came out as a whisper. Hebe dropped her gaze from his appalled expression.
‘You remembered having…making love to me, did you not?’
‘Yes. But Hebe…surely not? Surely it was as you said, a dream? You joked about it.’
‘Do you think I wanted to discuss it?’
He reached out for her hands and Hebe, knowing if he touched her she would fall into his arms, recoiled sharply back into the chair. He was Clarissa�
�s, he must never suspect how she felt about him, never be allowed to throw away the true direction of his life for this.
‘My God!’ Alex flung himself out of the chair and took two jerky strides away from her to stand, one hand resting on the wing of his chair, his back turned to her. ‘It happened that night? While the French were there?’
‘Yes. That was why I could do nothing. I could not struggle, I could not cry out and try to rouse you, or they would have found us.’
There was a long silence, then he said, ‘So you had to lie there, while I… Hebe, how could you bear it?’
‘Better you than fifteen Frenchmen,’ Hebe said, without realising the effect her words would have.
Alex spun round, his face white and sick. ‘Yes, as you say, better to be raped by one man than fifteen.’
‘It was not rape,’ she tried to say. ‘You did not know…’ But he was not listening to her.
‘I must have hurt you.’ She stared into her lap. ‘Hebe?’ Reluctantly she nodded.
‘And the next morning you get up and you wash and you dress, and you look after the weak, useless, sick man who has just ravished you, and you walk over that damn mountain to nothing but strangers and more danger and you never let me suspect a thing. I said I thought you had courage Hebe, I never knew until now how much.’
‘You were not useless,’ she said hotly. ‘I would be dead if it were not for you. And how could I tell you?’
‘I would have married you the moment we reached Gibraltar, Hebe, you know that.’
‘Yes, and jilted Lady Clarissa? Caused a scandal? Forced me into a loveless marriage?’
She looked up and saw him staring at her, his handsome face frozen into an expressionless mask. What was going on behind those blue eyes?
‘And when you did find a man who proposed a love match to you—always supposing, after what I had done, you could bring yourself to contemplate marriage—what would you do then?’ He sounded as though he was interrogating a prisoner. If Hebe had not known him so well, loved him so deeply, she would have been frightened of him. As it was, she could hear the pain behind the harsh words.