A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Helen thought rapidly. It was possible that this girl might be in a better position to unravel the mystery of Durrant’s actions than either Shaldon or herself; but obviously it would be unwise to tell her too much.

  “His name doesn’t matter, but he’s employed by — by someone of influence. Now, listen. Will you do something for me, something that may be of benefit to us both? If you do chance to learn what the business may be between him and your friend, would you acquaint me with it?”

  “Think I’d spy on Rowly, do ye? What d’ye take me for?” Phyllis said, fiercely. “What’s yer game?”

  “You’d be doing him a service. I have reason to believe that this man may be trying to involve him in something which could have unpleasant consequences for your friend.”

  Helen threw all the conviction she could muster into this statement, which was mere intuition on her part. She saw that Phyllis was struck by it, and hastened to press home her advantage.

  “You said yourself that your friend seemed afraid of something. You would not wish him to get into serious trouble.”

  “Gawd, no!” Phyllis was alarmed now. “If that’s the way o’ it, yon cove can go to the devil with ’is job! Tell me where to find ye, and if I do get anythink out o’ Rowly, I’ll let ye know. But mind this” — she wagged a menacing finger in Helen’s face — “if any ’arm comes to ’im, I’ll make ye suffer, if I ’angs for it!”

  Helen repeated her assurances before directing Phyllis to the house in Cavendish Square and bidding her ask first for Martha. There would be less difficulty for a girl like Phyllis to obtain access to one of the housemaids, and Helen intended to prepare Martha for the visit.

  This business concluded, the two parted with mutual goodwill, Phyllis remaining in the caravan to change for her act, while Helen left cautiously, alert for any sign of Bertram Durrant.

  When she managed to gain the crowded Park without encountering him, she breathed more easily. Her one thought now was to return to her Uncle’s house unrecognised, for she could see no useful purpose in remaining. Although she had learnt very little by her hazardous visit, at least she had gained an ally who might help her to the required information. Shaldon himself could have achieved no more, she thought triumphantly, unless he had encountered Durrant and interrogated him. And this seemed scarcely likely, since he would feel bound to honour his promise to Cynthia. Really, a gentleman’s sense of honour was an extremely difficult matter for a mere female mind to comprehend! It was more probable that he had decided against coming here at all, and intended to seek a solution to the mystery from the Earl, as she had urged him to do all along.

  With these thoughts in her mind, she made her way as quickly as possible through the throng, avoiding the worst crushes wherever she could, but frequently finding herself at a standstill for several minutes. She had almost won past the last of the stalls lining the road, beyond which there was a hackney carriage stand, when she inadvertently collided with a small boy carrying a balloon. There was a loud pop, followed by an even louder howl from the child, and all eyes were at once turned in her direction.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said, in her clear voice. “You must allow me to buy you another.”

  She unfastened her reticule and was about to proffer some money to the child under the approving gaze of everyone thereabouts, when a familiar voice spoke close beside her.

  “No,” said Shaldon, in a grim tone. “You must allow me.”

  He gave the child a coin, then took her arm in a relentless grasp, steering her out into the open road, away from the crowds.

  “Where is your brother?” he demanded, once they stood alone.

  She shook her head timidly. “He’s — not here.”

  “I’m not surprised. I scarcely thought he would bring you on such an outing. Who has been so misguided as to escort you here?”

  His tone was now even harsher, and she quailed slightly.

  “No — no one, sir. You see, I—”

  “You came alone?” he asked, incredulously. “Upon my word, ma’am, if you’re to get up to such wild starts, it’s high time you were returned to the protection of your own family! And what tale did you concoct for Lady Chetwode’s benefit, pray? She cannot have been a willing party to this.”

  She fired up at that. “I did not lie to her! She gave permission for me to visit Mama’s brother, my Uncle Charles, who lives not far from here in Blackheath. She sent me in the carriage, with my maid. I had hoped to persuade Uncle to bring me to the Fair, for he’s not in the least stuffy, like some people” — here she glared at him — “but he mentioned another engagement, before I could ask. So I remained with him until he was obliged to leave for his engagement, and then afterwards I came here.”

  “He must be a dashed loose screw if he didn’t make sure you were safely installed in Lady Chetwode’s carriage before he parted from you,” Shaldon remarked, with more frankness than civility. “How did you get over that difficulty, what?”

  She explained the matter, albeit resentfully.

  “So you see, he is not a — what did you say? — a loose screw at all, but as anxious to protect me as anybody, and with more right than some!” she concluded, with another meaning glance. “Only he’s more understanding!”

  “More easily brought around your thumb, you mean,” retorted Shaldon, with another access of frankness. “Well, I suppose I’d better restore you to his care, since you say he intends to escort you himself to Cavendish Square. We must take a hackney, I fear, as I did not bring my own vehicle this far. Like you, I decided to preserve my incognito. Tell me, where did you acquire those modest garments? You are truly a young lady of infinite resource.”

  He sounded more amused than angry now, and Helen’s indignation subsided as he handed her up inside the hackney which had come instantly at his signal.

  “Phaugh!” he exclaimed, waving a handkerchief before his nose. “These vehicles always have the most unpleasant odour, but we shan’t be obliged to endure it for long, thank Heavens! And pray what do you intend to tell Captain Paxton in order to redeem your promise to him?”

  “Why, I shall tell him all about it. That is, if you’ve no objection?”

  “Not the least in the world, but I hope you won’t object to being laughed at. He is certain to think the tale a great piece of nonsense,” he warned her.

  “But you don’t think that any longer, do you?” she asked, shrewdly. “And I may as well tell you that I saw Durrant while I was at the Fair. He was with that man again, and what’s more, I know now who the man is.”

  She could see that this information interested him, so she went on to give a carefully expurgated account of her meeting with Phyllis, leaving out the part where Rowland Carlton had attempted to drag her up the hill.

  “Certainly Durrant’s behaving deuced oddly,” he admitted, frowning. “And if that girl’s to be believed, he’s evidently making some proposition to the man Carlton which scares the fellow. But there’s still no evidence to show how all this in any way concerns myself. Unless,” he added, with a short laugh, “Durrant is planning to have me assassinated!”

  “Oh, no, why should he?” asked Helen, in a shocked tone. “It could not in any way benefit him — but you aren’t serious, of course,” she added, realising this belatedly.

  He laughed again. “No, but you have put your finger on a fact for our possible guidance. Whatever Durrant is about, it will be something to benefit himself. Some shady deal, perhaps? What motives do people have for dubious undertakings? Money, most often — power, perhaps. Durrant would like both, I daresay. But where do I come into the picture? I tell you, N — Miss Somerby, it must be a nonsense!”

  They argued the matter back and forth until they reached Captain Paxton’s house, but without arriving at any conclusion other than that Shaldon should visit the Earl and see if he could glean any information in that quarter.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Two days later, Shaldon arrived at Alvington Ha
ll. He had delayed going because he was still more than half-convinced that he would be making a fool of himself. The only matter on which his father might be expected to throw any light was Durrant’s mysterious errand to Sussex some two months ago. If this had any connection with the Alvington estate, the Earl could not question his son’s right to be informed of it. As for the rest of Durrant’s activities, curious as these were, Shaldon could not credit that they bore any relevance to family affairs, and therefore did not intend to mention them.

  He found his father’s health little improved by the visit to Bath. The gouty leg still troubled him, and moreoever he looked frailer than he had done in March; he had shrunk a little in his clothes, and his once handsome face was now that of a man much older than his years. In spite of the lack of family feeling between them Shaldon felt a pang of compassion, and spoke in a gentle tone as he asked after the older man’s health.

  “I feel devilish, and no better for seeing you,” was the unconciliating reply. “But it’s as well you’ve come, for I was about to summon you, anyway.”

  “Indeed, sir?” Shaldon raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  “I’ve something to tell you,” went on the Earl, uncertainly. “The devil of it is, I don’t quite know how to make a start. Damned uncomfortable business all round!” he continued, in an aggrieved tone. “And I wish to God I’d never meddled with it in the first place! Can’t let it rest now, though — it’ll all have to come out, I suppose, and you’ll need to know before anyone.”

  By now, Shaldon was on the alert. So there was something amiss with family concerns? He said nothing, but gestured to his father to continue.

  “Told you last time you were here not to be so cocksure of yourself, didn’t I?” went on the Earl, with a hostile glare. “Well, now you’ll see what I meant, my fine fellow! Let me inform you that you are not my heir — nor Viscount Shaldon, come to that!”

  For a moment Shaldon sat in stunned silence, staring.

  “Good God, are you out of your senses?” he demanded, at last.

  “Ay, you’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? But when you hear what I have to say, you’ll find it’s true enough, and your goose is properly cooked, damn you! You’ve never been aught but trouble to me, Anthony — even your damned name caused trouble with my father, and all because that mother of yours must have her own way.”

  Shaldon, his face set in grim lines, abruptly halted this flood of recrimination.

  “A plain tale, if you please. You say I am neither Viscount Shaldon nor your heir. How so?”

  “Because you’ve an elder half-brother. I married a girl secretly the year before your mother and I were wed. She died giving birth to this child.”

  Shaldon jumped to his feet. “My God, are you saying that you made a bigamous marriage with my mother?”

  The Earl flinched before his son’s threatening aspect. “No, no, it’s not as bad as that.” His tone was now more propitiatory. “Dorinda was dead by then — had been dead for some months. But I’d best tell you the whole.”

  He began upon the story, making the most of the difficulties of his situation and glossing over his selfishness and moral cowardice in dealing with them. Shaldon, listening for the most part in silence, was easily able to read between the lines. He knew his father well enough. Now and again, he shot out a brief question.

  “How did you avoid telling them where you lived?”

  “Dorinda was a trusting girl who never asked awkward questions and was content with what I chose to tell her. The mother, Mrs. Lathom, tried to get it out of me, but she was afraid to insist, lest she cause trouble between us.”

  Shaldon nodded. “But you must have given a domicile for the marriage licence?”

  “A false one, yes. No use thinking that invalidates the marriage, for it don’t. There was a legal case a few years back — ’09, I think it was — where the fellow not only gave a false domicile, but even a false name. The judge declared that marriage legal, and mine was made in my own name. I’ll allow it was sometimes tricky to keep the secret, but then I’d a far worse task at home in Alvington, keeping the marriage from my father. A damnable business! When I think what I went through at that time!”

  Shaldon made no reply to this; but the contempt in his eyes deepened as the Earl went on to the conclusion of the story.

  “I can’t tell you what a relief it was to learn that the woman Mrs. Lathom had vanished,” he finished. “For some years afterwards I lived in constant dread that she would turn up again, but she never did, thank God! At last I was able to wash my hands of the whole devilish business. Yes, and if you hadn’t goaded me into it, I’d never have been such a fool as to stir it all up again now!”

  “I goad you into it?”

  “Yes, damn you! You came here and quarrelled with me two months ago, though you might have known with my poor health I was in no mood to be crossed! Only natural I should fly off the handle and think to teach you a lesson, put you in your place, once for all! So I set about tracing the child of my first marriage. Mind you,” he concluded, defensively, “I was pretty well certain the brat was dead. Looked almost gone when I saw it, and that woman said she didn’t expect it to survive more than a few days.”

  “So that’s it,” said Shaldon. “Sussex — yes, I heard that Durrant had made journeys there on your behalf. And why Durrant, may I ask? Why not the family lawyers?”

  “Ned Lydney’s idea — thought to keep the business quiet since the child was most likely dead in any case. Too many fingers in the pie when lawyers handle matters — things leak out. Durrant would see to it discreetly, Ned said.”

  “For a consideration, of course?”

  The Earl nodded. “Seat in Parliament, with my influence. Money, too, naturally.”

  “And paying off an old score,” said Shaldon, drily. “Doing well out of it, ain’t he? I collect that the child did not die, after all, but is very much alive, and that Durrant has traced him? You’d better tell me about that.”

  “My God, you take it damned coolly!” exploded the Earl.

  “What would you have me do — go into a fit of the vapours? Get on with the story.”

  “Devilish clever chap, Durrant,” continued the Earl, thus prompted. “He wanted to advertise for Mrs. Lathom, but I wouldn’t have that; so he went off to Rye to see if he could discover anyone who might know where she’d been bound for when she left there. Took a bit of doing, after six and twenty years, and he drew a blank at first. But he went there a second time and managed to trace the maid who used to help at the cottage. Found out from her that the woman had intended to go to London — to Southwark, in fact.”

  “But I daresay this female was unable to say precisely whereabouts in Southwark?”

  “No. Durrant returned and quartered the area, questioning tradesmen, innkeepers and the like, but without result. Thought he was at a stand. Then he had a brilliant notion. He remembered the ring—”

  “What ring?”

  “Oh, my gold signet ring with the Stratton poppy and my initial engraved on it. I gave it to Dorinda.”

  “Surely you showed less than your usual caution over that? They might have traced you by its means.”

  The Earl flushed at his son’s ironic tone. “That’s what Ned said, but in fact they never attempted anything of the kind — not sufficiently up to snuff. Naturally, I wouldn’t have handed it over voluntarily, though. I was obliged to make use of it for the wedding ceremony, owing to an oversight on my part, and afterwards the poor girl begged to keep it, even though I gave her another wedding ring.”

  “So how did Durrant make use of this fact in his quest?”

  “He had a notice posted in the shop windows of all the pawnbrokers in Southwark and the immediate vicinity, to the effect that a collector would pay highest prices for gold signet rings over twenty years old engraved with the letter N. The notices made no mention of the crest, but he informed the pawnbrokers exactly what to look out for. He paid them well for inserting t
he notice, in addition to offering good commission on any transactions. I tell you, this affair has cost me a pretty penny, all told! Of course, several other rings were brought in, too, and I had to pay for the lot. But it worked. He got the one he was after. The pawnbroker concerned took the name and direction of the man who brought it in, and Durrant interviewed him.”

  “Ingenious,” remarked Shaldon, drily. “But I’m sure it wouldn’t escape Durrant’s notice that the man at present in possession of your ring need not necessarily be your long lost offspring?”

  “No more it did! Durrant interrogated the fellow thoroughly and the story he told, together with the other proofs in his possession, made his identity certain. He said he was brought up by his grandmother in Southwark, his mother having died at his birth. The grandmother made a second marriage to some drunken brute who knocked the boy about. In order to get him away from this villain, she let the lad go to some fairground people, and he’s been making a living up and down the country in that kind of employment ever since — not too successfully either, it seems.”

  “Ah!” Shaldon drew a quick breath. “Fairground, eh?”

  The Earl looked at him curiously. “Yes, why does that interest you in particular?”

  His son shrugged. “No matter. But what of this grandmother? Did Durrant talk to her, too?”

  “No. She’s dead. The last this fellow Carlton saw of her—”

  “Carlton,” murmured Shaldon. “Yes, I see. But never mind that. Continue with what you were saying, sir.”

  “You put me out,” complained the Earl. “Damned if I know what you’re talking about. Where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you that Carlton said the last time he saw his grandmother was about eight years since, when she met him at some Fair and handed him a box that had belonged to his dead mother, telling him to take good care of it. Some years later, he went round to the place where she used to live in Southwark and was told she was dead. Anyway, he showed Durrant this box, and that clinched the matter. Besides the ring, it contained the only letter I ever wrote to my first wife. Moreover, this fellow has the Stratton hair, even if there’s no such strong physical likeness as exists between you and myself. But that’s nothing — daresay he favours poor Dorinda’s family in features. He’s my son, right enough. I’ve seen the proofs. The ring and the letter are both mine, and I recognised the box as one Dorinda once showed me which had been given to her by her father. I’ve no doubts whatever.”