Riding back to the stables, Victor’s expression was so far from a smile that it was as well Rosamond did not see it. His eyes were bleak and deadly, his mouth a grimly compressed line. After a while, his lips parted to speak a name, soft and vengefully: “Charles!”
* * *
By noon the haze had burned off and the sky was a deep blue bowl unembellished by clouds. Rosamond had guided Mr. Fairleigh halfway to Chichester and back, through a verdant countryside basking under the warm rays of the sun. They finished their ride with a race, and thundered neck and neck up a rolling hill. Coming to the top, Rosamond was hot and windblown, and not at all reluctant to be lifted from the saddle so that they might allow the horses a short rest. Fairleigh spread his handkerchief over an obliging root and Rosamond sat gratefully in the shade provided by the wide spreading branches of the gnarled old oak.
“Oh, but that was a nice gallop,” she exclaimed, watching him loosen the horses’ girths and tether her mare to a nearby shrub. “You do not constrain your ‘best friend,’ I see.”
“There is not the need, ma’am. He’ll not stray far from me, but if he should, he’ll come when I whistle.”
“You need not flatter yourself that I am deceived, sir. I am well aware Rumpelstiltskin could have very easily beaten me here, had you not held him back.”
“Assurément,” he agreed, strolling to her side as the animals began to graze. “But your mare did very well, Miss Albritton, and what a fool I would be to leave the side of so beautiful a damsel.”
She forced a smile, but the pretty compliment did little to lift her spirits. Her fears for Charles nagged at her without respite; she was bedevilled by worry for Deborah’s safety, countless horrid possibilities plaguing her, while the awareness that for the first time Debbie had kept something from her added to her distress. Her fear and loathing of Robert Victor was constantly at war with another emotion, deep and deplorable, that tore at her heart however she fought to deny it. She felt crushed under such a weight of despair, and it was all she could do to appear cheerful when her deepest desire was for a number of Charles’s large handkerchiefs and some nice peaceful hideaway, such as a crypt, where she might indulge in a good cry. A light flirtation at this particular time would not have come amiss, but this man was just too good-looking, and she suspected that he was as dangerous as he was attractive.
Sitting beside her, Fairleigh leaned back lazily on one elbow and said with sudden quiet gravity, “I wish you will not be afraid of me. I promise you I mean no harm, ma’am.”
Her eyes flew to meet his, and scanning that darkly beautiful face, she wondered what was wrong with her mind that she found another face so much more appealing. She thought sadly, ‘The face of a dastardly, treacherous, and cruel individual who is not fit to clean the shoes of this gentleman…’ Curiosity had come into Fairleigh’s expression, causing her to collect her wits and answer in a rush. “Why, I had not fancied you did, sir. But—I will confess I cannot but wonder just why you are come.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “How refreshingly ingenuous to say so. Faith, but you must spend little time looking in your mirror, lovely one. Did you really think I should fail to seek out such a Fair?”
She could not help but smile. “What I think, sir, is that despite such blatant flattery, you would not ride all this distance out of your way only to meet me again.”
“But ’twas not a great distance, dear ma’am. To say truth, I was en route to visit friends near Little Hampton and chanced to recollect you lived nearby. How could I resist so small a detour? And to see so sweet a smile tells me I am well rewarded.”
‘And you are indeed dangerous,’ thought Rosamond.
“But now,” he went on, “’tis your turn to answer a question. Why did you look so stern when first I approached? Had that villain of a physician offended?”
She suffered a pang, and replied, “I fancy I was worrying for my papa’s temper. He is a rabid gardener, and Trifle, alas, has had little training.”
It was, thought Fairleigh, as though a shadow had dulled her sparkling loveliness. He doubted the puppy’s depredations had caused such a reaction and, intrigued, said, “Perhaps that is the doctor’s intention—to educate your wild beast. I wish him joy of the endeavour!”
“Do I detect a bias against education?” She shook her head at him. “Yet surely you were at University, Mr. Fairleigh?”
“For one year only, and then—sent down, alas. Never to return.” He sighed tragically, but his eyes were full of mischief. “You behold a scorned and rejected outcast from academia, ma’am. The life of a don was, sad to tell, denied me.”
She seized the unexpected opportunity and responded with equal drama, “Ah, how my heart aches for you, sir. I can well visualize that crushed youth of long ago, his every hope blighted, cast out alone into the wilderness of The Backs.”
“’Twas not that long ago,” he protested, grinning at her. “And you must acquit me of the final indignity, ma’am. Brief as was my sojourn, I count myself an old Oxonian, and whatever my faults, I have never darkened the door of the infamous Cambridge!”
Cambridge! Rosamond’s mind seemed to reel. Victor certainly had not gone to school with her brother if he’d attended Cambridge, for Charles also was an Oxonian, having taken his degrees at Merton College. Then that had been a lie, too! Yet—Charles had confirmed their “schooldays” friendship. Why? Victor, of course! He must have forced Charles to lie. ‘My heavens!’ she thought, anguished. ‘Does the man ever speak one single word of truth?’
A hand was lightly clasping hers. Startled, she looked up into deeply concerned dark eyes. Fairleigh said kindly, ‘You are very brave to entertain me with commonplaces when you are secretly beset by worry. Please—will you not let me help you? What is it brings so distraught a look to that lovely face?”
“’Tis—nothing of import,” she faltered, his sympathy somehow deepening her distress. “I am very sorry if—”
“Not near as sorry as am I, ma’am, that you will not allow me to stand your friend. Truly, ’twould be my very great honour if you’d but confide in me.”
Oh, how she longed to confide in someone! But to seek Aunt Estelle’s counsel must be to upset thoroughly that tender-hearted and trusting soul who had taken such a liking to Victor. As for Papa—Lud, no! She peeped once more at the kind smile on the rather thin but shapely lips of this elegant gentleman. “You are too good, but—”
“But not good enough, I see.” He patted her hand, then released it. “I’ll not tease you, but ask only that you believe that if ever you need me, you have but to send word and I will at once come to you.”
Such gentle devotion undermined her resolve as nothing else could have done. “Thank you … It is—m-more than—than…” she gulped. And her over-wrought nerves gave way. To her complete horror, she found herself sobbing gustily into his exquisite cravat.
If the gentleman was as horrified as she, he hid it admirably, holding her very close, patting her shoulder, but saying nothing until Rosamond managed to regain control of her emotions and drew back, deeply humiliated, wiping ineffectually at her eyes, and mumbling incoherent apologies.
Fairleigh produced a large and snowy handkerchief and dried her tears with swift expertise. “There,” he smiled. “Now you will feel very much better, ma’am, and whatever dragon threatens ’twill seem less—”
“’Tis not a dragon,” she said, her voice scratchily uneven still. “Mr. Fairleigh … how well do you know Dr. Victor?”
The dark brows lifted. “So our dragon is a physician! Alas, ma’am, I know him not at all—save that once or twice I have thought—” He hesitated, frowning a little, then went on, “I should not speak, when I have no proof of what I say … If I do so—will you keep my words confidential, Miss Albritton? Just—between you and me?”
“Oh, I will! And you also? We shall have a secret pact—in friendship.”
For a moment he looked down at her in rather an odd way, then
he put out his hand. “I shall consider myself bound by an oath of silence, lovely new friend.”
She put her cold little hand in his. “What a relief, to have someone I may safely confide in!”
He restored her hand to her knee as though it had been an article of great fragility and priceless value. “You honour me, Miss Albritton. Now—pray tell me what our er, erstwhile travelling companion has done to so upset you.”
“Nothing, really,” she faltered with a little sniff. “’Tis only that—sometimes, what he says does not … quite—ring true.”
“You are saying, I think, that the doctor is a liar.”
She reddened at this blunt statement of such a terribly damning accusation, but again nodded.
“You are a very perceptive young lady,” he said with grave calm. “I, too, have found the gentleman to be—shall we say, not quite what he seems. May I enquire as to the nature of his falsehoods?”
Agitated, she evaded, “Oh, there were several things. Nothing very substantial, I’m afraid, but sufficient to cause me to—wonder…” She gripped her hands tightly and pleaded, “Oh, I beg you, sir, tell me what you mean. Why do you think he is—’not quite what he seems’?”
Mr. Fairleigh pursed his lips, then said with commendable reluctance, “It goes against the grain with me to malign a man when I’ve no more proof than my own suspicions. And the worst of it is”—he gave a wry shrug—“I rather like the fellow.”
“Your scruples do you credit, sir. But do not hesitate, I beg you. Dr. Victor is a very clever gentleman who can be exceeding charming—when he so chooses!”
Fairleigh looked at this enchanting girl; the little nose held so high and disdainful, the cold but glorious eyes, the haughty droop of those luscious red lips—and hid a grin. Victor had progressed farther than he’d suspected! “I must tell you, ma’am,” he said, “that I have few real friends, and those I value exceeding high. Among them is a widowed lady I have known since childhood. She was very comfortably circumstanced at one time, but since her husband’s death has suffered a sad reversal. Her spouse had been improvident, to say the least. Most of the fortune was gobbled up by claims ’gainst the estate that he had neglected for some years. Aside from a meagre competence, all she has left are a few works of art, the roof over her head, his books and papers. However, among the latter, she discovered what proved to be an original parchment—hand-written—of … the Bard.”
Rosamond breathed an awed “Shakespeare? Good heavens! It must be of great value! How marvellous for her.”
“Yes. If she still had it! Had I mentioned her son? Ah—well, he is a comely young rascal and the apple of her eye. She willingly entertained his friends, although she began to fear he had fallen into rather fast company. She made an appointment to take the precious page into London, where her solicitor had arranged to have an expert present who was to examine and evaluate her find. To her dismay, it proved a forgery, and upon close examination she realized the parchment was not the one she had originally found. Not once, from the time she left her home until the expert appraised it, had the parchment been out of her sight.” He shook his head regretfully. “There was only one possible conclusion to be reached. When approached in the matter, her son confessed that he had shown the precious document to one of his new friends who was spending a few days at their home, and—well, there you are!”
“Oh! How—how infamous! To steal from an impoverished old lady! You—you never think—Victor…?”
He spread his hands eloquently. “I have no proof. The name is different, but he may very well have changed it, and the description of the culprit matches his own exactly. Colouring, features, manner. Even the limp. Added to which, from a few contradictory remarks he made to me aboard the packet, I began to harbour suspicions. When he was—somewhat less than truthful about your destination, I became troubled. The man who is believed to have stolen the parchment knew of my association with the family. I had told Victor I hoped to call on you. His attempt to send me off in the wrong direction could very well have been nothing more sinister than the act of an interested and jealous man, but it dawned on me that it might also have been inspired by a quite different motive than his quite logical admiration of your lovely self. I told myself it was foolish, but—I felt I had to come. Just to be sure everything was—aboveboard, as it were. Do you see?”
Rosamond saw.
* * *
The sound of hurrying hammers greeted Rosamond and Fairleigh as they dismounted in front of the house and gave their reins to the stable-boy. There was no sign of Dr. Victor, but as it was almost two o’clock, at which time luncheon would be served, Rosamond thought it very likely he had already joined the family on the rear terrace. She left the new guest in Miss Seddon’s capable hands and hurried to her own apartment. Her head was whirling with conjecture—all of it miserable—and she was quite glad that Addington was not waiting for her. She unbuttoned her riding habit slowly, but her mind wandered and she sat down on the bed, staring at her boot.
If Fairleigh was correct in his assumption, Victor was a merciless criminal devoid of heart or conscience, who not only stooped to blackmail, but would rob his own hostess, a lady of advanced years and impoverished circumstances. Whatever had become of her usually sound judgment, her customary ability to recognize the true character of a person, that she had been—no use denying it—greatly attracted to a man capable of such evil? Even now, knowing what he was, a part of her mind found it so hard to believe. She had heard of ladies being taken in by rogues and had always suspected they must be very silly creatures to have been so deceived. She’d never thought of herself as being a “very silly creature”—until now …
After Mr. Fairleigh had told her what he suspected, she had confided her own fears—with some necessary embellishing. She had invented an involvement between her brother and a girl of unsavoury background, and said that Victor had learned of this and now threatened to tell her father of the affaire. Fairleigh had been (justifiably) indignant, saying that, of all things, he most despised a blackmailer. He had reiterated, however, that they had no proofs, and had urged with the greatest vehemence that she mention her suspicions to none as yet, promising he would stay nearby and be ready to help at a moment’s notice. They had agreed that she was to watch the two men and eavesdrop whenever she might safely do so, then report whatever she learned to Fairleigh.
The more she thought about it all, the more she inclined to the belief that Robert Victor was a very dangerous man, in which case they were all at risk, for who could tell what he might do to protect himself if his villainy became known? Surely, the proceeds from his sale of the parchment would be enormous and— She caught herself up with a jolt. The sale of the parchment! Was that his true purpose in coming here? Had he found it difficult to dispose of his ill-gotten gains and, knowing Charles to have had some experience in such nefarious matters, was forcing her brother into helping him dispose of the parchment? It would be logical enough for Charles to have shrunk from telling her the full truth. Heavens! The wretched business went from bad to worse! If only she dare lay it all before her father, but that alternative was even more frightful. While Papa would not, she was sure, betray his son, it was quite possible that Charles would be disowned and banished; that she would be forbidden ever again to see the brother she loved so dearly. A lump rose in her throat. That would surely break her heart. And very likely Papa’s also.
Addington came hurrying in and Rosamond managed to assume a calm manner. When she went downstairs again, hoots of male laughter could be heard. Miss Seddon hurried from the kitchen, carrying a platter of cold meats. Luncheon, it appeared, was to be al fresco, but the gentlemen were at present gathered in the billiard room.
“They sound cheerful,” observed Rosamond, as another burst of hilarity rang out.
“The colonel’s taken a proper liking to Mr. Fairleigh,” said the housekeeper, pausing and resting her burden on the post at the foot of the stairs. It was as well, she added, for
the master’s mind to be turned from Mrs. Estelle’s “puppy.” “For your father nigh drove poor Mr. Charles curdle-brained all morning with his descriptions of what he was going to do to that little rascal!”
“Oh, dear. Where is Trifle now?”
“At the stables, I fancy, miss. Dr. Victor didn’t bring him back in, at all events, and Mrs. Estelle is gone down there.”
It would be quite typical of her aunt to bring The Unmitigated back to the house, which must be disastrous, wherefore Rosamond hurried into the sunshine once more and made her way to the stable-yard.
The hammers were busier than ever, and upon entering the cool dimness of the barn she discovered their gardener and groom busily engaged upon constructing what appeared to be a dog kennel. Her aunt, holding Trifle’s leash, stood watching these endeavours and giggling over some remark made by the treacherous physician. Rosamond had not expected him to be out here and, momentarily panicking, she started to retreat. Victor’s back was towards her, but he turned as Estelle called a greeting and Trifle began to leap and bound about, yapping excitedly, so that Rosamond had no alternative but to join them.
She saw at once that the doctor’s bruises had been augmented; she was quite sure that the puffy graze adorning his left cheek-bone had not been there this morning. Some public-spirited individual had struck him. Was it possible that Roland Fairleigh had taken matters into his own hands…? Her heart began to pound rapidly, but she had no time for further conjecture, her aunt calling to her to come and see the “lovely little house Dr. Robert has designed for my naughty baby dog!”
‘Dr. Robert?’ thought Rosamond, irritated, but she went dutifully to view the structure. Managing to ignore the welcoming smile the physician bestowed on her, she asked, “Is he to be kept in there all the time?”
“Gad no, ma’am,” said Victor. “He’ll be provided a long chain so that he can run about, but in bad weather he’ll be able to pop inside.”
Cherished Enemy Page 17