The Varleigh Medallion

by Sylvia Thorpe

  “You think?” Dione repeated, laughing. “Do you not know, sir?”

  “It may be five.” He saw that in spite of her amusement she seemed a trifle shocked, and added in explanation: “Elizabeth and I are not very closely acquainted, for you must remember that I was twelve years in the army, and in Spain for much of that time. She was in the schoolroom when I first joined my regiment, and a wife and mother by the time I sold out. We are sincerely attached to each other, but have very few interests in common.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Dione’s tone was reflective. “No doubt, being one of a very close-knit family, I cannot help finding that strange—though heaven knows why I should! Papa and Mr. Jonathan Mallory had not, as far as I know, any other close relations, and they only met two or three times in their lives. Mama wrote to Cousin Jonathan when she received news of Papa’s death, but he never replied. Of course,” she added excusingly, “he was very old, even then.”

  Sir Greydon, recalling certain things he had heard about Jonathan Mallory, thought it likely that sheer selfishness and indifference, rather than the burden of his years, lay behind that gentleman’s neglect of his kinsman’s wife and children, but there seemed no point in saying so. He would have preferred to abandon the subject, but before he could introduce a new topic of conversation Dione went on:

  “It may be, of course, that he was not then in a position to render Mama any assistance, and thought it best to hold no communication with her. His affairs must have been in a sad condition for a good many years, judging by the condition of his house, and I cannot help wondering why.”

  She ended hopefully on a note of interrogation, and Greydon, after driving for a short distance in silence, said briefly:

  “I have heard, ma’am, that Mr. Mallory was a lifelong gambler. Not merely a gamester, you understand, but a man with an unfortunate predilection also for all kinds of speculation. That, I believe, is how a very respectable fortune dwindled away.”

  She sighed. “I suspected something of the kind. We knew, of course, that he had left very little money, but we had no notion of the deplorable condition of Garth House itself. Mama’s recollection of it, from the only visit she ever made there, painted a very different picture.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “The first hint I received that something might be amiss was the look that you, sir, gave me when I told you where to direct the post-boy. You had the appearance of one who could not believe he had heard aright.”

  “I could not believe it. Had I been invited to hazard a guess as to which house in Brambledon was your destination, I would have named any in preference to Garth House. I was almost tempted to offer a word of warning, but felt that it would be an unwarrantable impertinence.” He glanced quizzically at her. “Do you wish that I had?”

  She gave the question some consideration, but finally shook her head. “It would have made no difference, sir. We had no choice but to complete the journey.”

  “And you intend to stay?”

  “Most decidedly!”

  There was a hint of defiance in the reply which he did not think was directed at him, and he wondered again what matter she had to discuss so urgently with the lawyer. He drove on in silence, to afford her an opportunity, if she desired one, to confide in him, but this time, it seemed, it was she who did not wish to pursue the subject. After a minute or two she asked some civil question about the countryside through which they were passing, and kept the conversation at that impersonal level until the town was reached.

  Mr. Birkett’s place of business was in a tall, narrow house in the marketplace. Dione, handed down from the curricle was plainly expecting to go in alone, but this Sir Greydon would not permit

  “I shall see you safely into your lawyer’s office, ma’am,” he said firmly, adding more softly and with considerable amusement: “And do not frown at me in that fashion, for it will make not the least difference.”

  She looked as though she would like to make some retort, but that the street was too public a place to do so. Instead, with a speaking glance from those very expressive eyes, and a slightly exaggerated inclination of the head, she stepped through the door he was holding open for her into a narrow and rather musty passage. A second door gave access to an outer office where a couple of clerks were working; Sir Greydon stood aside to let Dione enter, and the younger of the two, seeing at first only a plainly dressed young woman requesting an interview with Mr. Birkett, looked her over in a disparaging way and relied offhandedly that his employer was busy. Sir Greydon, unsurprised, stepped further into the room and said, quite pleasantly but with considerable authority:

  “Miss Mallory has urgent business with Mr. Birkett. Pray be good enough to inform him immediately that she is here.”

  The clerk, discovering that the young woman was escorted by what he later described to his cronies as an out-and-out swell, began to stammer excuses. He did not recognize Sir Greydon, but his colleague, a much older man, was better informed, and after a moment of stunned amazement, hurried forward to apologize, to offer the lady a seat, and to command his junior, in a meaning tone accompanied by a glare of such ferocity that the younger man positively quailed, to inform Mr. Birkett that Sir Greydon Varleigh had brought Miss Mallory to see him. Impressed, the youth scurried away, to return almost immediately to invite the lady to step into Mr. Birkett’s private room.

  Dione got up, directing a somewhat challenging glance at Sir Greydon, as though she expected him to insist upon accompanying her. He disarmed her by meeting her eyes with a look of understanding in his own, and saying with a slight smile:

  “I will wait here for you to complete your business, Miss Mallory.”

  Wait he did, declining the senior clerk’s obsequious offer of a seat, and standing by the window with his back to the room, watching the comings and goings in the marketplace, while behind him the clerks exchanged looks pregnant with unuttered questions and comments. He remained there until Miss Mallory emerged again, closing the door behind her with a decided snap; he turned then, regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and then, nodding pleasantly to the other men, escorted her in silence from the room.

  The two clerks looked at the closed door of their employer’s sanctum, and then at each other; the younger raised his brows, the elder shrugged, and then both went back to their work, knowing that for once they were in total agreement. Mr. Birkett was a woman-hating old curmudgeon who disliked and despised the entire female sex, but surely even he could have seen that a young woman who could keep the great Sir Greydon Varleigh kicking his heels in a dusty office for more than twenty minutes was worthy of more than ordinary consideration.

  Sir Greydon had seen at a glance that his Dione was decidedly out of temper, for there was a becoming flush in her cheeks and her eyes were positively dark with anger. He made no comment; however, merely inquiring, as he handed her up into the curricle, if he might have the pleasure of providing her with some refreshment before they started on their return journey.

  “Thank you, no,” she replied briefly. “I am not in the least hungry or thirsty.”

  He accepted this with a slight bow, but as he took his seat beside her and gathered up the reins, subjected her to a searching scrutiny of which, intent upon her own thoughts, she was unaware. While he drove out of the marketplace and through the streets, she sat in seething preoccupation, from which she was only roused by the carriage coming to a halt. Looking about, she found that he had left the town by a slightly different route and had now drawn off the road on to a broad stretch of level turf under the branches of a row of elm trees. Beyond the trees was a grassy rise crowned by massive, ruined walls.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Why have we stopped here?”

  “This is the castle from which the town derives its name. There is not a great deal of it left, but the view from what remains of the battlements is generally held to be the finest in the county.”

  She stared at him. “So it may be, sir, and I shall be happy to admire it—upon some ot
her occasion.”

  “Ah, but upon some other occasion the weather may not be so favorable! Today is exceptionally clear, and you will be able to see every detail of a quite remarkable prospect.” He jumped down from the curricle and extended a compelling hand. “I would not forgive myself, Miss Mallory, if I allowed you to forego it.”

  Dione looked down at him with gathering wrath. He was smiling, but something in the dark eyes convinced her that he was prepared to wait indefinitely for her to comply. Had they been alone she would have argued, but in the presence of the groom, who had sprung down and gone to the horses’ heads, an undignified wrangle was out of the question. In furious silence she allowed herself to be assisted to alight, placed her hand on Sir Greydon’s proffered arm and walked with him between the trees and up the gentle slope beyond until they were out of earshot of the carriage. Then she halted and turned to face him.

  “I am obliged to you, Sir Greydon, but you are well aware that at the present I have not the least desire to look at any view, however magnificent.”

  “I know.” He took her hand, drew it firmly through the crook of his arm and held it there, compelling her to walk on with him. “Whatever passed between you and Birkett has made you so angry that you can scarcely contain yourself, and I am persuaded that you would have found it quite impossible to complete the journey to Brambledon without giving vent to your vexation. To do so in front of Stubbs would be quite improper, and so I cast about in my mind for some opportunity for us to be private. The view from the castle seemed to me to meet the need admirably.” She made no response, and after a moment he added persuasively: “Come now, Miss Mallory! I may be able to offer you advice or assistance, and even if I cannot, I will undertake to let you quarrel with me to relieve your feelings.”

  If he had hoped that this last remark would win her to laughter he was disappointed, but after walking a few yards further in silence, she said in a voice tight with anger:

  “That odious old man refused even to hold any discussion with me. He had the—the temerity to inform me that females are incapable of comprehending any matter of business, and that it had been a grave error for us to take up residence at Garth House at all. We should have been guided, he said, by those wiser than we—meaning, of course, himself and Eustace Winton.”

  With a heroic effort Sir Greydon preserved his gravity, though the picture her words conjured up of the scene which must have taken place in Mr. Birkett’s office was almost too much for him. When he was certain that he could control his voice he said sympathetically:

  “I do not wonder that you are vexed, but—forgive my ignorance—who is Eustace Winton?”

  “My cousin. At least,” she amended conscientiously, “we call each other cousins, although there is no blood relationship. Mrs. Winton is Mama’s elder sister, and Eustace is her stepson.”

  “Mrs. Winton is the aunt with whom you were residing in London?”

  Dione nodded. “Yes. My aunt persuaded Mama to remove there five years ago, after Mr. Winton died. She persuaded her that it would be best for Theo, though the truth was that she wished to have us all under her eye so that she could be sure we did only what she thought was proper.” She broke off, biting her lip. “I should not have said that! My aunt was always generous to us, and it is true that in her house we enjoyed every comfort, but—!”

  “But it galled you to be beholden to her,” he concluded as she hesitated. “You dislike being under an obligation to anyone, don’t you, ma’am?”

  She admitted it, a trifle ruefully, but added in self-justification: “And Theo was not better, say what she would. In the end, the doctor informed Mama that his health would never improve while he lived in a large city, which is why she finally agreed to remove to Brambledon.”

  That betraying use of the word “finally” confirmed what he had suspected all along—that Dione had been the instigator of the enterprise, carrying her gentle, biddable Mama along on the tide of her own independence and enthusiasm. Equally certain, then, that the aunt had opposed the move, the only thing which remained shrouded in mystery was the crisis which had provoked today’s visit to the lawyer.

  “Am I to understand, ma’am,” he hazarded, “that some difficulty has now arisen regarding your tenure of Garth House?”

  She frowned. “Not precisely. I mean, we have a perfect right to be there, for the property unquestionably belongs to Theo. What has been called into question is the propriety of our being there.” The recollection appeared to rouse her anger again. “This morning, if you please, Mrs. Ibstone received a note from Mr. Birkett informing her that it is proposed either to sell Garth House, or to lease it to a tenant, and requesting her to compile a list of the most urgently needed repairs.”

  “A formidable task,” he commented ironically, “but are you telling me, Miss Mallory, that Birkett had the impertinence to apply to Mrs. Ibstone rather than to your mother? That seems hardly believable.”

  “Well,” she admitted rather guiltily, “he can scarcely be blamed for that, for he did not know that we were there. I meant to inform him,” she continued hastily, “but that did not seem nearly as urgent as making the house fit to live in. How was I to guess that Eustace would take it upon himself to write to him, without another word to me, informing him that it was to be either let or sold?”

  They had reached the outworks of the castle now, and a fragment of ruined wall hid the curricle from view. Greydon stopped and looked down at his companion.

  “I assume,” he said severely, “that Mr. Eustace Winton, too, is unaware that you have removed there?”

  She nodded, meeting his eyes with the beginning of a rueful twinkle in her own. “He was absent from home when we left,” she confessed. “The Wintons are bankers, and Eustace had traveled to the north on some matter of business. He wrote to Mr. Birkett from there.”

  “His stepmother had not informed him that you had left her house?”

  The twinkle in Dione’s eyes became more pronounced. “My aunt’s parting words,” she said demurely, “were to the effect that she washed her hands of us, and had no interest whatsoever in the disasters she was certain were about to befall us.”

  “You did bum your bridges, didn’t you?” he said with some amusement. “I can see now why you have to make the best of Garth House.”

  “No,” Dione said quickly. “With all its faults, Garth House is to me far preferable to my aunt’s home. It is our own, you see.”

  “And do your mother and sisters agree with you?”

  They were walking on now, and it was a moment or two before she replied. Then she said in a low voice:

  “You mean, do you not, that I gave Mama no peace until she agreed to leave London? What a horrid, managing female you must think me!”

  “I think,” he said gently, “that you have been obliged to assume a great deal of responsibility, probably even while you were still in the schoolroom, and that your family has come to depend upon you to fight all its battles. They forget, perhaps, that the most ardent spirit may sometimes grow weary.”

  Dione felt unexpected tears prick her eyes. No one had ever before appraised her situation so accurately, or commented upon it with such sympathy and understanding, and though she had sometimes thought dimly that it would be wonderful to have her responsibilities lifted from her by strong and capable hands, she had never felt, as she did now, that not only was this the one person with whom she could share that beloved burden, but that he was ready and willing to assume it. Considerably shaken by what must be, after all, a mere delusion, she said unsteadily:

  “You are right, of course. Ever since Papa died I have had to be, as it were, the man of the family.”

  “I would not put it quite like that.” He sounded amused again, but the underlying warmth was still in his voice. “However, to return to your immediate problem, what does Birkett intend to do now?”

  “I was too angry to inquire, but I imagine he will write to Eustace, who is shortly expected in town, and Eus
tace, no doubt, will do his utmost to persuade us to go back to London. At least he cannot compel us to give up Garth House.” A sudden doubt shook her, and she lifted an anxious face toward him, “Can he?”

  “Most unlikely, I should think, unless—is he Theodore’s guardian?”

  “Good gracious, no!” Dione rejected the suggestion with every appearance of disgust. “When we were little, Papa’s affairs were in the hands of an old shipmate of his, a captain under whom he had once served, but he died last year and no one was ever appointed to take his place. It did not seem necessary. I am of age, and perfectly capable of dealing with any problem which may arise.”

  “Even a lawyer who refuses to discuss business with a female?” he suggested wickedly.

  She laughed. “Oh, I shall come about, sir, never doubt it! At least Eustace knows that I am not completely hen-witted, and though I dare say there will be a great deal of argument, I have only to stand firm, and persuade Mama to do likewise.”

  His brows lifted. “With the utmost respect to your mother, Miss Mallory, do you think you will be able to do that?”

  “Oh yes! You see, there is no doubt at all that already Theo is far better here than ever he was in London, and though Mama is in general very persuadable, she can be astonishingly firm where his well being is concerned. We shall stay at Garth House.”

  “And has Molly Ibstone refrained from playing ghost again?”

  Dione hesitated. “No,” she admitted at length, “we have heard her more than once during the night. Or rather, Mama and Theo have heard her, for they are both very light sleepers. I must confess that her antics have not disturbed me.”

  “No,” he murmured, “I do not imagine that they would.” He parried with a smile the indignant glance she directed toward him, adding placatingly: “You have already informed me, ma’am, that you have no belief in apparitions. I am astonished, though, that Theodore has not felt himself impelled to investigate these ghostly sounds.”