“And where is the scarf now?” Caroline asked with a smile.
Harriet blushed.
“It is upstairs with my cloak. I am entirely ashamed of my behaviour but it was such an old and dilapidated scarf! It is very wrong of me, but Papa will never know, will he, that I am not wearing it?”
Her face, paled at the thought and Caroline was quick to reassure her.
“How could he know? Do not be in a fidget, Harriet. We will keep your secret, will we not, Mr. Stratton?”
“You must forget your father and his bullying for tonight,” Mr. Stratton answered, looking down at Harriet with an almost proprietary air. “Instead you must think only of those who like myself have every intention of contriving that you enjoy yourself to the full.”
“Oh, sir, you are too kind to me,” Harriet said, raising her big brown eyes, which seemed to have already an almost dog-like devotion in them.
Caroline looked round her and at that moment saw someone whose face was vaguely familiar on the other side of the room. Staring at her was a tall young man dressed in the height of fashion and holding a quizzing-glass in his right hand. He raised it and as he did so Caroline wondered where she had seen him before she had a most vivid recollection of those dark, frowning eyes and the down-turned, sneering mouth.
Suddenly she remembered. She felt as if an icy cold hand clutched at her heart and the room seemed to swim giddily round her. As if in a dream she saw Mrs. Miller detach herself from a group of newcomers and, moving across to the young man with the quizzing-glass, whisper something in his ear. He appeared to listen to Mrs. Miller, but he continued to stare at her, and she thought the sneer on his lips was even more pronounced.
Abruptly Caroline turned her back and after a moment she found her voice.
“Tell me,” she said to Mr Stratton, “who is the man standing, by the window with the quizzing-glass in his hand?”
“Which one?” Mr. Stratton asked vaguely.
“He wears a coat of wine velvet,” Caroline answered.
“Oh, I see him now!” Mr. Stratton said brightly. “Why, surely you collect who that is? 'Tis Vane’s cousin - Gervase Warlingham.”
His words only confirmed what Caroline had expected him to say. Now she remembered only too clearly where she had seen that face before - the eyebrows almost meeting, the thin, rather pinched nose. She could see him rising to his feet as she entered the parlour of The Dog and Duck, she could hear his voice - astonished, yet even in its astonishment petulant and annoyed – ask, “What are you doing here. Reversby?”
Yes, it was undoubtedly the same man. She realised now that she ought to have anticipated that the young man in the parlour of the inn might be Lord Brecon’s cousin about whom she had been so curious. But somehow, stupidly it seemed to her now, she had missed the connection. She had indeed thought of the man in the green coat but had dismissed him from her mind while going over the events of the night because she had calculated that there would not have been time for him to leave the inn to meet and murder Rosenberg before she reached the ruined cottage.
Yet now that Caroline thought it over, there was no reason why he should not have done so. She had taken some minutes to mount the stairs with the landlady and listen to her chatter in the bedroom. It had taken time for her to consider what she should do, to lock the door, to escape through the window, climb down on to the flat roof and then on to the water butt. Sapskull that she was! Of course there would have been time for a man walking swiftly and by a more direct route to reach the ruined cottage, to do what he had come to do and depart.
But even if that were so, how could she prove it? Would anyone believe her if she declared that Gervase Warlingham was at The Dog and Duck on the night of the crime? It was obvious that in some way he had covered up his tracks. Lord Milborne had not known of his presence there.
No, Mr. Warlingham had been clever over that, nevertheless she remained as a witness, should she be believed, of the fact that he was there.
It was in a bemused state that Caroline went into dinner. She hardly heard what her partners said on either side of her, she hardly noticed the glittering splendour of the table, ornamented with golden dishes and candelabra, decorated with yellow orchids and long sprays of smilax.
It was an elegant meal with dishes that did credit to the culinary skill of the cooks who had prepared them. Roasts of venison, mutton, beef and veal were served with succulent and exotic sauces. Chickens, pigeons and geese were stuffed with truffles, oysters and rare spices. A boar’s head, a whole sucking-pig, several hams, and a brawn as colourful as an oriental mosaic were eaten cold. A pyramid of syllabubs and jellies was brought to the table with the fourth course, which consisted of over a dozen dishes; and even from the famous gardens of Sale Park Caroline had seldom seen such a profusion of hot-house delicacies as were proffered for dessert.
Caroline ate little and kept trying to force herself to understand what was being said to her, to listen attentively and to make at least intelligible answers even if they were not intelligent ones; but all the time her brain was puzzling over Mr. Warlingham’s appearance at the Inn, of his acquaintance with Sir Montagu and, what was for the moment of paramount importance, the question whether he had recognised her.
She remembered how she had turned her head away that night in the parlour, so that her bonnet should cast a shadow over her face. Perhaps he had not known who she was. It was unlikely that, if he had left the moment she had gone upstairs, he would have returned after committing the crime. He would have got away from the place as swiftly as possible so that there should be no witnesses to his presence in the neighbourhood and he might therefore not have known of Sir Montagu’s search for her through the woods. Why, Caroline puzzled, had no one come forward to say that he had been there? The fact that Sir Montagu had not mentioned it proved one of two things - either Sir Montagu was in league with Mr. Warlingham or else the dislike of him which he had shown, as Caroline had thought most obviously; during their encounter in the parlour was genuine, and he had no interest in Mr. Warlingham’s movements and hoped such indifference was mutual. If the latter explanation was correct, then from Sir Montagu’s point of view the less people implicated in the whole affair the better.
Yet thieves and rogues hung together, and Sir Montagu may have had a very sinister motive for not betraying Mr. Warlingham. Oh dear, what could she make of it all?
Caroline’s head reeled as she tried to untangle the facts and set them one apart from the other clearly so that she could make a picture of the whole. But it was well-nigh impossible and she only knew that she was vastly relieved when the long dinner came to an end and the ladies withdrew from the room, leaving the gentlemen to settle down to their port.
“Do not desert us too long, m’lord,” Mrs. Miller said archly to Lord Brecon, “for there will be dancing in the long ballroom and we will be aching for our partners.”
Lord Brecon bowed stiffly and Mrs. Miller, throwing a flashing smile towards Mr. Warlingham, followed the ladies from the room.
Her dress, as Maria had said, was indeed outrageous. It was a bright serpent-green satin and cut so low that when its owner sat at table it was hard to see that she wore anything at all above the waist. There were crimson feathers in her befrizzed hair and by the way she asserted herself, making every effort to persuade the guests that she was indeed the rightful hostess of the evening, Caroline was certain that she was but rehearsing for the day when she would in truth reign as chatelaine of this great Castle.
The ladies talked and gossiped in the drawing-room for over two hours before there was the sound of the gentlemen coming somewhat noisily from the dining-room. Caroline, who had been sitting beside Harriet, was well aware that the girl was watching the door, waiting for the moment when Mr. Stratton would re-appear, and when he did she seized, the opportunity to leave Harriet and slip away, moving from the drawing-room into an ante-room.
It was a small room and seldom used, so that it had an air of sti
ff formality. But tonight flowers offset the massive furniture and the dark tapestries which draped the walls. The long windows were open on to the terrace and Caroline stood for a moment looking out into the garden. The paths near the house had been decorated with lights. They twinkled and fluttered in the night breeze and beyond them she could see the shimmering silver of the lake and the dark imperturbability of its surrounding trees.
But Caroline hardly noticed the tempting loveliness of the garden, nor for a moment did she hear the distant violins begin the dreamy enticement of a melodious waltz. She was concentrating so fiercely on her problems that it was with a start that she heard a voice behind her say,
“Good evening, Lady Caroline.”
She turned abruptly. Mr. Gervase Warlingham stood in the doorway which led from the drawing-room. His lips were smiling, but there was something in his eyes which made Caroline shiver as she turned to face him with what she hoped was the correct degree of surprise.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
In answer he shut the door behind him and advanced further into the room.
“I said,” he repeated. “Good evening, Lady Caroline!”
“I heard you sir, but felt I must be mistaken. My name is indeed Caroline, but I am Miss Fry, companion to Lady Brecon.”
Mr. Warlingham laughed unpleasantly.
“‘Tis a joke I could hardly believe for the truth when first I saw your, ladyship! So you are indeed masquerading as a companion to the Dowager. Dammit, it is a best which will set all the clubs of London a-laughing.”
“Indeed, sir, then their sense of humour must be sadly deranged, for I see nothing peculiarly amusing in my position.”
Mr. Warlingham leant against the mantelshelf and looked at Caroline, then he laughed again.
“You are a plucky gamester,” he said, “but I think your ladyship knows that I hold an ace.”
“Indeed,” Caroline remarked coldly.
“In fact,” Mr. Wartngham went on, “it should be easy for you and me to come to an arrangement. You hold one card, which might be useful to you, my dear Lady Caroline, but I think I hold the rest of the pack.”
“I am afraid, sir,” Caroline said coldly, “you speak in riddles which I do not understand and which, to put it plainly, I am not particularly interested in understanding. If you will excuse me, sir, I will withdraw.”
“On the contrary you would be wise, Lady Caroline, for your own sake to stay and hear me,” Mr. Warlingham said, and there was something in his tone which made Caroline pause even as she turned towards the door.
“Wise?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows.
“Very wise from your own point of view. Shall I speak frankly?”
“If it please you,” Caroline answered, “but I declare I am not particularly concerned for, as I have already said, you speak in riddles.”
“Then we will dispense with them,” Mr. Warlingham said. “I am not a fool, Lady Caroline, and I know quite well why you are here. You have fallen in love with my very worthy cousin. But why you should go to the trouble to enter his house in such a disguise I cannot conceive, though doubtless you have your reasons. They are, however, not of interest to me. But what is of moment is to learn how much you will pay for me to keep the knowledge of your, indiscretion from my cousin’s ears.”
“And to what indiscretion do you refer?” Caroline asked.
“Do you want me to put it into words?” Mr. Warlingham asked. “Very well then, I will. I will put it with a vulgar bluntness so that you cannot for a moment pretend to misunderstand me. I want, Lady Caroline, two thousand guineas from you in return for my promise not to reveal to my cousin or, if it please you, to anyone else that it was you Montagu Reversby was searching for in the wood at Sevenoaks on the night that Rosenberg was murdered!”
“Two thousand guineas!” Caroline exclaimed, “and where, Mr. Warlingham, do you imagine that Miss Fry could find such a sum?”
Mr. Warlingham stood very upright.
“Enough of this farce,” he said. “You cannot pretend to me. I saw you that night even though you took pains to turn your face from me. Besides, all London is talking of Lady Caroline Faye’s drive with the raffish Sir Montagu.”
“And if they are,” Caroline said sharply, “it is you who have spread the rumours.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” Mr. Warlingham replied. “Reversby, I believe, denies them, but who heeds what he says? People like to believe in the indiscretions of famous young women, especially those who have been too successful for the peace of mind of their own sex. But that does not concern me. What I require, Lady Caroline, is two thousand guineas for my silence.”
“And if I refuse to give them to you?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would dare anything,” Caroline said coldly. “I am not afraid of you, Mr. Warlingham. What if I should relate to those who are interested the information that you were at The Dog and Duck on the night of the murder? What do you think would be said then, you who have everything to gain if your cousin should be most unfortunately convicted of murder?”
“You are not without brains,” Mr. Warlingham said, “but you forget, dear Lady Caroline, that in giving me away, you will also betray yourself. Besides, surely a young lady travelling under such circumstances unchaperoned and in the company of a notorious rake would not be so observant? She sees a man she has never met before, and after she has heard of a crime, imagines he might be a certain Mr. Warlingham but I, of course, was many miles away that night. I was dining, as it happened, in Curzon Street. There are several friends who can swear to my having been with them the whole evening. No, Lady Caroline, I think the card you hold is a very small one – while mine are trumps.”
Caroline felt her breath coming a little quicker. There was something so suave, so slimy in the way Mr. Warlingham spoke and in the arguments that he used that she felt it hard to keep her air of indifference. She could feel her anger rising and knew that if she lost her temper she would but play into his hands, all the same she was aware that he had caught her in a trap, a trap from which it would be hard to extract herself. But if she was frightened, she must on no account let him know it.
“You are very plausible, sir,” she said, “but at the same time I think you overestimate the importance of the information you hold against me. I will be truthful and say that I am staying here under an assumed name, but I have every intention of telling your cousin and Lady Brecon tonight who I am and why I have come here.”
“That’s as may be,” Mr. Warlingham smiled, “but do you really intend to tell the man you love that you went to an isolated inn alone with Montagu Reversby?”
“That is my business,” Caroline snapped, “and may I point out, sir, that it is no concern of yours?”
“On the contrary, it is my concern exactly to the sum of two thousand guineas. Pay me, Lady Caroline, for I know you can well afford to do so, and I will be silent for ever.”
“Or until it suits your purpose,” Caroline said quickly. “No, sir, I do not intend to be blackmailed by you.”
“Then if you refuse me,” Mr. Warlingham said angrily, “I shall go at once to my cousin and denounce you. You are staying here under false pretences, you are an imposter. I shall tell him who you are and also that Montagu Reversby thought himself very sure of your affections that night you drove along with him from London to The Dog and Duck.
Caroline put out her hand and laid it on the back of a chair, as she wondered wildly what it would be best to do. She wanted time in which to think, time in which to tell Lord Brecon in her own words the story of her escape that night. She could remember all too clearly the scorn in his voice, the anger with which he had spoken of Montagu Reversby. What would he say when he learned that she also had been deceived by him, not in the same way as poor, stupid Melissa but nevertheless tricked into making a fool of herself.
“Make up your mind, Lady Caroline,” Mr. Warlingham said menacingly. “Which is it to be? The t
wo thousand guineas or do I tell Vane?”
“And what should you tell Vane?” questioned a voice, and Caroline turned with a cry of horrors, as Lord Brecon walked in through the open window.
His face was very stern as he came in from the darkness of the night and she wondered how long he had stood there, how much he had heard. Mr. Warlingham had shut the door, but they had both forgotten the open windows and the terrace outside. Caroline felt herself grow pale and instinctively she raised one of her hands and laid it against the throbbing of her heart.
Lord Brecon walked into the centre of the room. He faced Mr. Warlingham as he stood on the hearth and he was so near to Caroline that she could have put out her hand and touched him.
“Well, Gervase,” Lord Brecon said in level tones. “What is it you are going to tell me?”
“Now that you are here, Vane,” Mr. Warlingham said, “I remember that there is no reason after all to inform you of something which is actually a secret between La – Miss Fry and myself. You will forgive me if I leave you, for I recall that I am engaged for the next dance.”
He turned and walked quickly, towards the further door of the room. Lord Brecon watched him go. As Mr. Warlingham reached the door, he turned back and it seemed as if he might say something but changed his mind and left the room in silence.
Lord Brecon turned to Caroline.
“Perhaps you would like to explain,” he said.
His tone was as frigid and there was an expression in his eyes which frightened her.
Once again she, held on to the chair beside her. She was very lovely in the soft light of the wax tapers, and another man right have forgotten everything save the mysteries in her eyes and the soft curves of her lips. The quick rise and, fall of her breasts moved the lace which veiled them and her fingers suddenly fluttered like a bird which has been captured.
“How much did you hear?” she asked in a low voice.
An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition Page 101