“Oh, I’m Warrender, all right. Just ask my mother and Kate.”
“You knew?” Hawth turned his furious glance at Kate.
“Of course she knew.” Christopher spoke before Kate could. “An ally in a thousand. A woman in a million. My sister Kate.”
“It’s not true!” Aware of furious glances from both Hawth and Warren, Kate turned to her brother, white with rage. “Tell the truth, for once in your life, Chris Warrender. Tell them I only found out the other day, when you rescued me from the tunnel. And tell them, if you dare, what you were doing in it.”
“Visiting my future wife, of course.” He turned the full blaze of his charm on Hawth. “You’ll get used to it, sir.” A proprietary arm round Sue made his point for him. “I’m not such a bad parti, after all. Warrender of Warren House.”
“Be quiet, Christopher,” said his mother. “You’re only making bad worse, as you always did, How could I have forgotten?” She was looking past him, very gravely, at Sue’s white, defiant face. “Come, dear.” She held out a hand. “Come and tell me all about it.” And then, to Hawth: “I apologise, my lord. For my son. May we discuss it later? It’s time the children were in bed. And high time you made yourself presentable, Kate.”
“Presentable?” Kate looked ruefully down at herself. “A little late in the day for that, is it not?”
“No time for all this talk.” Hawth took a long stride towards the door. “What must be discussed can wait till the morning. I’m for the bay. Are you coming, George?”
“Of course.” But he was still gazing at Kate.
“And so am I,” said Chris.
Hawth looked him up and down. “If you insist.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Well!” As the door closed behind the three men, Mrs. Warrender looked thoughtfully down at Susan, who had thrown herself sobbing into her arms. “I suppose we are safe enough now,” she summed it up. “But perhaps you would be so good as to go the rounds, Mr. Winterton? To make sure. And send someone over to the Dower House? For fear of stragglers.”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you be wishful to go with him, Miss Warrender?”
“To make myself presentable?” she asked bitterly. “Not yet, I think.” She still had Harriet by the hand. “First I must put these brats back to bed.”
“Oh, Miss Warrender, must we?” asked Giles. “It’s been such an adventure.” He laughed. “You called us hellborn brats that first time we met you. That was you, wasn’t it? Brought us home through the tunnel! Miss. Warrender, what a tramp you are! I’ll never forget the way you stood up to papa that night.”
“Nor shall I,” said Kate. And nor would he, she thought, leading the younger children firmly off to the nursery wing, while her mother withdrew with Susan to the morning room.
Giles and Harriet Were surprisingly obedient, a powerful argument, Kate thought for “Kit Warrender.” But Kit was dead and gone, she told herself, leaving the quiet nursery, and Kate must face his consequences. She let herself quietly out by a side door that gave on to the path to the Dower House. It was time to end the masquerade. When the men came back, from the bay, the discredited governess must be ready, meek in muslin for her dismissal.
Indoors, candles had still burned, prolonging darkness, but out here dawn mist was rising, translucent, from the park. A glow in the east heralded the sun. It would be a fine day. Fine for what, Kate asked herself bitterly, then reached quick for the little gun that still nestled in her greatcoat pocket. A horse was coming through the shrubbery, ridden fast. Idiot to have come out alone.
But the figure that rounded the bend in the drive was George Warren’s. He pulled his horse to a skidding stop at sight of her standing there, pistol in hand. “More trouble?” he asked.
“No.” She coloured and was about to replace the pistol in her pocket when he reached down to take it from her.
“Best uncock it,” he said. “Better still, let me keep it for you. Miss Warrender. Our troubles are over now, I think. All’s quiet at last, down on the shore. But you should not be out alone.” He dismounted and looped the reins over his arm.
“I’d rather be alone.” Enraged at her unwonted stupidity over the pistol, she felt herself blush harder than ever as he took it from her and dropped it safely in his own capacious pocket. In a moment, God help her, she would be crying. “Please!” She tried to pull away from the hand held out to her.
“Nonsense.” A firm hand under her elbow turned her round to face the way she had come. “You’re coming back with me, Miss Warrender, to drink a glass of burgundy and get ready for the last act of our melodrama. Hawth’s in a black rage, I warn you I’ve never seen him so bad. You can’t leave your poor mother to face it alone. That brother of yours! Enjoying every moment of it Was he always like this?”
“Ah, poor Chris! Our fault, I think. We loved him so, mamma and I. And he could always talk one round. I was much older, of course.”
“An old lady,” he agreed gravely.
“I feel like one now. I suppose we spoiled him between us. Father was so hard on him, you see. Wouldn’t pay for a commission … left him to run wild here in Glinde. No wonder if he fell into bad company. To tell you the truth, when he told me his story, I was glad it was no worse.”
“I can see that. But I’m afraid it’s a shabby enough game he’s been playing, just the same. Both sides at once. And that poor little Susan. I knew there was something wrong there. More shame to me. I should have done something.”
She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with tears. “How do you think I feel, who didn’t see? Her governess-responsible for her, I don’t see how I can face Lord Hawth.”
“But you will.” He spoke with warming confidence. “And so will your splendid mother. Only—I think we should get back and warn her just how angry Hawth is. Prepare her.”
“Yes. She’ll be grateful.” Kate made an effort to free her arm from his, but it was held tight.
“I doubt it,” he said. “People seldom are. Interfering’s the devil! Oh, forgive my language. It’s the fault of that fetching rig of yours.”
“Fetching!” She turned on him, glad to let tears burn into rage. “Don’t mock me, Mr. Warrender! You told me long since what you thought of women who masqueraded like this. No sister of yours, you said, jauntering about the countryside in… in…”
“Breeches,” he said helpfully. “So that’s what you meant, earlier on, when you made that fulminating remark about my sister. To tell the truth, it baffled me at the time. My dear Kit, if I may call you that this once, let me confess to you that I had quite forgotten those unlucky comments of mine. I do remember now. I was a young prig then. I’ve grown up since. You came out strong in defence of Lady Caroline Lamb, did you not? May I say that I do not think you resemble her in the least.” They were nearing the hall now, and his arm, firm through coat and greatcoat, drew her to a halt. “This is goodbye, Kit,” he said. “Kate. Odd to think I loved you first as Kit, and never knew it. Even let myself think for a crazy while it was your mother. And now, too late. I’ll be a laughing-stock tomorrow, Kate. Your brother has made that richly clear. And off to America the next day. Alone. Tell me, if I had spoken, if I had only spoken when I was still Warren of Warren House, might I have had a chance?”
“A chance!” Anger was the easiest way. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Warren! So you think me mercenary, as well as a vulgar masquerader. Well, it’s over. The masquerade. If only it had never started. I wish you joy of America! As for me, I am going to take my tarnished reputation and my mother to Tunbridge Wells, whether she likes it or not. We shall have an extremely genteel establishment and play cards every night.”
“Your tarnished reputation! You’re not serious?” And then: “Damnation!” Lord Hawth and Christopher had rounded the bend of the drive, riding hard.
“All’s well.” Hawth flung it at Kate as they all moved indoors together. “Not a Frenchman survived the wreck. The military have things in hand now. Give Mr. Warren�
�� some breakfast, if you would, Miss Warrender, while I have a word with this brother of yours.” He was holding his temper on a tight rein, aware as they all were of servants back in their usual functions. Servants, perhaps, who knew just how close they had come to changing sides, and consequent disaster, the night before.
Mrs. Warrender was alone in the breakfast room, where a steaming urn and covered dishes on the sideboard spoke of normal living recaptured. “Mr. Warren!” She jumped to her feet “I’m so glad you are come. I don’t know what to say to you, how to apologise. For what we have done to you … what my son has done.”
“Not you.” He took her hands in his. “And no need, please, to apologise. Nor to look so sorry for me. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I’ve enjoyed being an English landowner, every moment of it, but the play’s over now. I shall go back to Philadelphia, back to business,”
“Will you like that?”
He gave her a long, steady look. “No,” he said at last. “Mrs. Warrender—”
“Yes?”
“Will …” He stopped. “Will he be good to you? Your son. To you and your daughter? Miss Kate speaks of going to Tunbridge Wells. As if … as if …”
“As if she did not trust her brother.” Mrs. Warrender was white with fatigue. “As well she may not. Oh, Kate!” She held out a pleading hand. “Oh, Kate!”
“It’s bad?” Kate flashed an appealing glance at Warren and put her arms round her mother.
“As bad as possible. Tunbridge Wells! It’s not far enough, Kate. No.” She turned as George Warren made as if to leave the room. “Don’t go, Cousin George. You’re family, after all.”
“Thank you. Then pour me a cup of tea, ma’am, and drink your own. It’s been a long night. Things will look better in the morning.”
“It is morning. Where is Christopher?”
“With Hawth in the study.”
If possible, she went whiter still, but she poured his tea with a shaking hand, then made herself drink some of her own and urged Kate to do likewise. “We must be ready to face Lord Hawth,” she said. “I’m so ashamed. Of Christopher. All he’s done. To us all. To you, George. To poor little Sue. To Kate. No, dear—” as Kate began a protest—“let’s face the truth about Christopher, for once. Don’t pretend he didn’t start you on that mad masquerade of yours, because I won’t believe it. He needed you, did he not, for cover?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Without a thought of what it would do to you—to your reputation.”
“Never mind that, mamma.” Kate managed a cheerful note. “You know I enjoyed it! Just as Cousin George enjoyed being an English landowner. And when I think that Christopher will get the advantage of all your improvements, cousin, it’s almost more than I can bear.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” said Goerge Warren. He turned to Mrs. Warrender. “Are you serious, ma’am? About Miss Kate’s reputation?”
“Good God, yes. The servants know tonight. The whole county will tomorrow. Well—just look at her!”
“I have been,” said George Warren. “With pleasure.” And then, as Kate blushed fiery red: “I have told her already how much I have missed the young cousin who saved my life last winter. Kit Warrender. Kit will o’-the-wisp. Kate!” He smiled at Mrs. Warrender. “You have given me hope, ma’am. If her reputation’s really gone, if Tunbridge Wells is too near, perhaps there is hope yet for a landless man. What would you say to America? Mrs. Warrender, may I have your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter?”
“Oh, George, of course you may.” She turned to him warmly, teacup in hand. “I was beginning to be afraid you would never realise …”
“That I loved her?”
“That she loved you,” said Mrs. Warrender.
“Mother!” Kate had jumped to her feet when she saw how shamelessly her mother was guiding the conversation, but her attempt at flight was too late. George Warren had risen, too, and somehow got between her and the door.
“Another chance.” His hands, very gentle, very firm on her shoulders, held her where she was. “It’s not often one gets another chance. Kate! A hand under her chin made her raise her head to meet his eyes. “Tell me it’s true!” And then, reading her answer in her eyes, he smiled across her at her mother. “How did you know, ma’am?”
“Dear George, it was plain to see in both your faces.”
“You see, Kate.” Now his smile was all for her. “it’s no use. Your mother’s betrayed you. I always did want a mother.”
“And are proposing for me to get one?”
“Of course. Kit Warrender. Besides, I might need my life saved again.”
“By a boy in breeches?”
“By the woman I love. My wife, Kate?” And then, once more across her to her mother: “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Dear George.” Watching the long, slow ecstacy of that first kiss, Mrs. Warrender raised a secret hand to brush away a tear, but neither of them noticed.
In the study, things were not going so smoothly. Hawth had taken Chris Warrender straight there without a word spoken until they were alone behind closed doors. Then: “We’ve a great deal to discuss, you and I.”
“Yes,” Warrender sat down in Hawth’s own big chair and swung a casual leg over the arm. “May I have some of your excellent brandy? It’s been a long night. Thanks.” He accepted the glass Hawth had angrily poured. “Here’s to you,” he drank. “And the Countess of Hawth.”
“The Countess?”
“Why, yes. My sister Kate. You’re surely going to do the honourable thing, my lord? The poor girl’s compromised beyond redemption. You know that as well as I do. And who’s responsible?
“You,” said Lord Hawth.
“On the contrary, my dear man. I never asked her to come and live in my house and mind my children.”
“She has lived in the Dower House. With her mother,” said Hawth between clenched teeth. “We are not discussing Miss Warrender, sir, but your pretensions to my daughter’s hand.”
“Pretensions?” Chris Warrender had a laugh for it. “I think you will change your tune, my lord, after you have talked the matter over with young Sue. If I am not very much mistaken, she is in a fair way to making you a grandfather.”
“What?” For a moment it seemed that Hawth would strike the smiling young face. Then, slowly: “I see,” he said.
“I’m glad. And, no need to be anxious. I mean to marry her. It’s not a bad match, if you dower her properly. And I’m fond of the chit.”
“Dear God,” said Lord Hawth.
“Only, as part of the bargain, you must make an honest woman of my sister Kate.”
“Honest! You’re not fit to touch her little finger.”
“A very proper sentiment. I knew you’d come round to it, with time.”
“On the contrary. If you must know, I proposed to Miss Warrender some time ago, and was firmly refused.”
“Damnation! Fool of a girl! I might have known she’d spoil sport if she could. But I’ll speak to her, my lord. Trust me to make her see sense.”
“She’s seen it. My offer does not stand, Mr. Warrender, and no interference of yours will revive it.”
“You seriously think Sue and I are going to start married life with a houseful of female relatives? A sister with no reputation, a mother who’s been acting housekeeper to a single man, and one with your name in the county? You’d better be careful, my lord, or I shall consider withdrawing my offer, and then where will your Susan be?”
“Better off, I shouldn’t wonder. But do you actually delude yourself, Mr. Warrender, that you are going to be able to settle down and live in Warren House as if nothing had happened?”
“With a little backing from you—from my father-in-law—I see no reason why not, Warrender of Warren House. The people always looked forward to the day when I would succeed. You and Warren are mere strangers, interlopers. I’m Warrender.”
“I wonder,” said Lord. Hawth. And then: “Yes, Parsons
?”
“It’s the lieutenant from the barracks, my lord. Prisoners for committal.”
“Many?”
“Only three. What with the wreck, and those poor drowned Frenchies and all the fighting on the beach, it seems most of the rioters got away. It’s Jewkes, badly wounded, and his son Pete and one other man. And there’s something else, my lord. I Just heard the other Jewkes escaped from Glinde gaol in the commotion last night. He and Sam Chilver. I reckon someone let them out”
“I’m sure they did. How badly’s Jewkes hurt?”
“He looks dreadful.”
“I’ll see them at once. No, in five minutes. Here.” As Parsons left, he turned to Chris Warrender. “The less you are seen the better. I suggest you hide in the tunnel you have used so disgracefully and listen to what they have to say about you. Then perhaps you will understand your position a trifle better.”
Jewkes had been shot in the shoulder and then trampled over by his own supporters. White with loss of blood and clutching a makeshift bandage to his shoulder, he sank into a chair on Hawth’s orders, and accepted a glass of wine gratefully. His son Pete stood anxiously beside him, but the third man kept to the shadows at the back of the room, hat pulled down and cloak muffled up around his face.
“He won’t tell us his name, my lord,” said the constable in charge. “He’s gentry, or near to, by the sound of it.”
“Is he so? We’ve never been so lucky as to catch General Ludd himself!”
“Not likely.” Jewkes spoke up from his chair. “You don’t catch our Generals so easy!” He was on the borderline of delirium, Hawth saw, and the wine was sapping his last restraint.
The chance was too, good to be missed. “The General’s in London, I suppose?” He made the question casual.
“Course he is! Seeing to it that the mail coaches don’t run.” And then: “Did they run? What with the wreck and all, I clean forgot.”
“Hush your blabbermouth.” The man in the corner took a furious stride forward and would have struck Jewkes if one of the constables had not intervened, and, in doing so, pulled away the collar of his coat.
Red Sky at Night, Lovers' Delight Page 27