“Then perhaps you would care to sit down?”
She sank carelessly into a chair, her eyes on his face.
“Would it be presumptuous in me to ask,” he began, still with that hateful sneer on his lips, “just why it is that I inspire such strong interest in you, Miss Amanda?”
“You deceive yourself,” she answered, with some heat, “if you suppose that my interest, as you call it, has any flattering implication!”
He raised one eyebrow. “So you are not, after all, enamoured of me? I am desolated.”
She snapped her white teeth together, but made no reply to this taunt. A chuckle escaped him.
“Love such as yours, Miss Amanda, would be, I feel sure, an experience for any man!”
“Do not call me ‘Miss Amanda’! I dislike it of all things.”
“What shall I call you, then? ‘Curious schoolgirl’ does not meet with your approval, I already know.”
“Do not call me anything at all!” she grated, with flashing eyes.
Once again he raised an eyebrow. “No? But surely that would be most awkward? Even a dog must have a name, you know.”
She rose to her feet, her bosom heaving. “If you are to insult me, the sooner we rejoin John the better. He will defend me, I know.”
“Very touching,” he approved, mockingly. “Injured innocence to the life. But if you were to consider the matter, Miss — ah — madam — I feel sure you must allow that I am the one who should consider myself insulted.”
She had nothing to say to this, and stood silent and motionless.
“You sought me out,” he continued smoothly, “on a pretext that I am sure only the wildest flight of imagination could have persuaded you would deceive me. It is quite obvious to me that your good friend, Mr. Webster, has not the faintest desire to make my acquaintance. The visit can only have been made for some purpose of your own. That purpose —” he glanced briefly at the escritoire — “appears to be of questionable morality. There was an odd circumstance the other day, too, which also pointed to a similar conclusion. I should be glad to hear that I was mistaken in my interpretation of your actions. I must confess that the motive for them puzzles me completely.”
“You dare talk,” stormed Amanda, torn between shame of her behaviour and anger at the cool disdain of his manner, “of questionable morality — you!”
He tilted one eyebrow in the way that she had come to hate.
“Perhaps you would care to explain why I should not?”
“You may well ask! A man of your reputation!”
She tossed back her curls defiantly from her heated cheeks. Her blue eyes flashed fire. His mocking glance held a trace of admiration: she made a striking picture.
“My reputation is the world’s to do with as it will,” he answered in measured tones which were in great contrast to her own.
“I suppose you to mean that you are maligned! I do not credit it for one moment.”
“My dear young lady,” he said, wearily, “your beliefs really cannot concern me in the least. What I do feel is my affair is to have some explanation for your — I fear I cannot describe it in any other way — your extraordinary behaviour.”
“Oh, you are so cold, so smug, so sure of yourself!” she fumed, exasperated beyond endurance by his manner. “When I do anything wrong, I do it in hot blood, and for what I believe to be a good reason. But you — I know that you would do an evil thing without turning a hair for no reason whatever.”
“You do, do you? I wonder — you will, I am sure, forgive my mentioning it — could you possibly manage to moderate your voice? I am not at all hard of hearing, and even well trained servants are sometimes — like schoolgirls — actuated by curiosity.”
“You —you —!”
Words failed her, and for a moment she looked as though she meant either to strike him, or else rush headlong from the room. To his surprise, she did neither, but sat down again, and made an evident effort to be calm.
“Of course, it is your purpose to taunt me into storming at you, just so that you may have the satisfaction of making me look foolish,” she said, disdainfully. “But I shall not continue to fall into that trap, let me tell you.”
“I am glad of it,” he answered urbanely, “for now perhaps I can get to the bottom of this affair. Leaving aside my reputation — and my character, if you choose to quibble —” this as he saw that that she was about to protest, and guessed what the tenor of her remarks would be — “Leaving those points aside, I say, why have you chosen to spy upon me?”
She pressed her hands together in her lap. She was determined not to be tempted into anger.
“I’m thinking of Bella.”
“Your sister? That does you credit. But I do not quite see —”
“I am convinced that you are not a fit person for her to wed,” she stated boldly.
Once again the lifted eyebrow, the satanic smile. She tightened her hands.
“Can any man aspire to deserve any young lady?” he asked mockingly.
“That,” said Amanda, emphatically, “is fustian — polite claptrap! I wonder you think to fob me off with such a stupid remark.”
“Be careful,” he warned, in a more natural manner than she had seen from him as yet. His smile widened, losing its sinister expression. “You are becoming heated again.”
“You are enough to provoke a saint!” she countered, but the ferocity had gone from her tone.
“That is true, I fear. I am sorry that you should have such a poor opinion of me. But surely, if your sister and your parents are satisfied —”
“Bella does not know what she wants. And Papa is wholly under Mama’s thumb!”
“Now that I have the honour of knowing you better, I am not surprised to hear it. I’ve heard it said that you are very like your mother.”
“You —” she began, almost forgetting her good resolutions, then stopped in time. “I see what you would be at, and you shall not succeed, I promise you.”
He threw back his head, and laughed for pure enjoyment. Those who knew him best could have told that such a laugh was rare to him.
“Child, you are refreshing! In future, I give you leave to spy upon me as much as you wish. But do first make your reasons perfectly clear to me, for I find myself in as much confusion as I was at the beginning.”
She looked at him uncertainly. He was a very strange man, surely? Perhaps he was just a little mad — not quite accountable for his actions? For there were some quite human, attractive things about him…
Suddenly she remembered the black book, the Abbey, the sinister Brother Francis. Her resolution hardened.
“Bella does not — is not in love with you,” she said boldly. “Nor are you with her.”
He shrugged. “Sweet innocence, that may seem a dreadful thing to you and, in very truth, it is — but in the fashionable world it is nothing, a mere commonplace. One must learn to accept the ruling of the Monde. You, too, perhaps, one day —”
He broke off, and considered her; the tip-tilted nose, the generous, eager mouth, the candid blue eyes — all bespoke the child, impulsive, warm-hearted and innocent. London would change all that: a few short months, and she would emerge precisely to pattern. He felt a twinge of regret, and sighed.
“Never!” exclaimed Amanda dramatically.
“It is a long word,” he warned her.
“When I marry,” she said defiantly, “it will be because I love someone so much that I cannot live without him.”
Once more he studied her thoughtfully.
“Allow me to say that I envy the unknown,” he answered, in a serious tone. “He will be a very lucky man.”
She coloured, and her eyes dropped away from his. There was silence in the room for several minutes. At last she broke it, almost abruptly.
“It is not only that,” she said, “though that is bad enough. You are concerned in something discreditable, I know, though I cannot discover what — something connected with that place where I first
met you. If Bella knew the truth, she would never consent to become your wife.”
“Have you not told her?” The sneer was back again.
“She will not believe me without proof. That is what I’ve been trying to obtain — that was my reason for — for what I did.”
Now that it was out, and he knew all, she found that she had rid herself of the unpleasant feeling of guilt which had hung about her actions in regard to him. A straight declaration of war was much more to her taste than pretended friendship.
“You but waste your time, child.” His tone was not unkind. “Your sister will wed me in spite of all.”
“Then you admit that there is something — something dreadful going on at that Abbey place?” she asked quickly.
“I admit nothing. On what, may I ask, are your suspicions founded?”
“On local rumour,” she began, doubtfully. She knew that it did not sound very convincing. “And,” she added, more hopefully, “on the hints that your cousin, Mr. Thurlston, has let drop.”
He started to his feet, his languid manner dropping away from him with astonishing rapidity.
“Roger! What has he said to you?”
She looked surprised. “Not near so much as I should like, but just enough to show me that there is something in what I had already heard.”
“Ay,” he answered bitterly. “That is ever his way.”
She studied him thoughtfully. His deep blue eyes stared beyond her, as though he had forgotten her presence. His mouth was twisted, not with mockery now, but with pain and bitterness.
To her own surprise, she knew a sudden wild impulse to help him; though he seemed to be the very last person who should ever require anyone’s help in any way.
“What is this secret?” she asked impulsively. “Whatever it may be, its possession brings you no happiness, I can see. Abandon it, and try to deserve Bella.”
No sooner were the words out than she regretted them. What could have possessed her? She did not want him to have Bella, in any event: Bella was for John.
But she need not have feared. Something in what she had said banished the marks of suffering from his face, and brought back the expression which she detested.
“I regret infinitely that I am unable to satisfy your — ah — curiosity,” he drawled. “And, talking of curiosity, our friend Mr. Webster must by now be feeling all the pangs of that affliction. If he at all shares your opinion of me, he must surely be picturing you as having suffered a fate worse than death.”
“John knows well enough that I can take care of myself,” she answered tartly. “Very well, Mr. Barsett, I see that it is to be war between us! I may as well warn you now that I shall not scruple to use every means in my power to prevent your marriage to my sister.”
He nodded, unmoved, and rose to his feet.
“So be it,” he said. “Your warning is the action of a generous foe. I feel that I must in fairness make some return for it, and so I offer you a like warning. You will have no allies to count upon in your war, my child; they are all ranged on my side.”
Chapter X: The First Battle
One outcome of Amanda’s exploit in Albemarle Street was that John Webster insisted on posting back to Berkshire that very afternoon.
“We told the fellow that I was going home,” he persisted stubbornly, in answer to Amanda’s protests. “And, truth to tell, I don’t see what else there is for me to do, Mandy. We have meddled enough, and all to no purpose. Bella is the one to decide, and she has made her choice.”
“How often must I tell you that she is not happy in it?” asked the girl, a hint of pleading in her tone. If John was to desert her, where should she turn for aid? “She will not discuss her engagement with me, she refuses to fix a date for the wedding, and whenever your name is mentioned she looks like a — like a sick horse!”
“Good God, Mandy!” expostulated the outraged John. “How can you describe Isabella in such terms?”
“Oh, well, I’m only her sister. Besides, it’s not so long since you used to call her by far less complimentary names!”
John reddened. “As to that,” he said, awkwardly, “we were children then — but it is some years since I was able to think of Bella in any other way than as the most wonderful woman in the world.”
“Yes, and that is part of the trouble. But never mind,” she added hastily, “we have discussed all this before. The thing is, John, you ought to be here in Town. There is no saying what may come about, and I want you to be at hand to profit by any change in Bella’s inclinations.”
“What can possibly come about to effect such a change?” he asked despairingly. “Both parties profess their intention of holding to the engagement. There is nothing more to do.”
“But do you not realise that I am on the threshold of an important discovery?” asked Amanda, in thrilling tones.
“What discovery? I cannot see it. So far, we only seem to have succeeded in making fools of ourselves, without discovering anything.”
“How can you say so? We have found one more link between Charles Barsett and the Abbey.”
“What does that avail us? Even supposing your surmise is correct — for this Brother Francis may have nothing to do with the business at the Abbey, you must face that fact — still, even if you are right, and he has, how are you going to prove it?”
“That was where I relied upon you. If you remain in Town you could still bring me the gossip from the clubs.”
“Not for long,” he replied glumly. “Not if my luck continued as bad, I can tell you.”
“Poor John, did you lose heavily?” asked Amanda sympathetically.
“Oh, nothing to signify,” he replied hastily. “But one cannot play a good game, you know, if one is trying to listen to every conversation that goes on.”
“Well, I must contrive as best I may by myself,” she said, in tones of resignation.
“What do you mean to do?” he asked suspiciously.
She shrugged elaborately. “Oh, I shall just wait and see if perhaps I can learn more of this Francis Dashwood. At any rate, we know that he lives in Hanover Square. Then, possibly Bella may stop playing this role she has set for herself, and decide to confide in me, after all. Waiting — it seems that is to be my only way now of hoping to gain the proof I am determined to have.”
John was thoughtful during this speech. When she had finished, he said suddenly, “Has it occurred to you, Mandy, that perhaps this Abbey is nothing so very out of the ordinary?”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes avoided her direct gaze, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Well, you see, I daresay you must be aware no, perhaps not — oh, never mind.”
Light dawned on Amanda; she tossed back her curls and laughed. “You are trying to say that the place may well be a — a bagnio. Do not fear, John, you have not said anything improper — it is I. Stupid fellow, I cannot help but know of the existence of such places.”
“Then you should not!” retorted John emphatically. “A gently-nurtured female such as you.”
“One may acquire any amount of information concerning the important facts of life from such unexceptionable sources as the Bible and the classics,” replied Amanda loftily. “In my view, far more harm is done by ignorance of such matters. However, we are not here to discuss the education of young girls.”
He stared in admiration and surprise. “Egad, Mandy, you’ve a head on your shoulders! No wonder one is apt at times to forget that you’re a female.”
“I thank you, sir,” she replied dryly. “That was a nicely turned compliment. Well, since you are determined to go, I wish you Godspeed, John.” She held out her hand. “I suppose you will come to take formal leave of the others?” she added.
He clasped her hand, hesitated a moment, then conveyed it to his lips.
An impish grin spread across her features.
“Is that a peace-offering for your faux-pas of a few minutes since?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“It is my tribute to a bewitching girl — who is still something of a scamp!” His tone suddenly became serious again. “Mandy, you’ll not do anything rash? Somehow, I wonder if I ought to leave you to yourself — Lord knows what scrape you may get into.”
“I’ll be all right, never fear.”
“I shan’t be long away, in any event,” he promised, unconvinced. “I’ll send you a note by way of Tom, your groom. He’s a trustworthy lad, isn’t he? Then perhaps we could meet as before, in the park, at the same hour. Meantime, take care, Mandy. I simply don’t trust you alone, damme if I do.”
Amanda slipped back into the house by way of the servants’ entrance, hoping by that means to escape observation should Lady Twyford and Isabella have already returned. She need not have troubled, however; they were still from home, as was her father. She heaved a sigh of relief, and went upstairs to remove her outdoor things.
When she came down again, she went to the spinet. Her fingers idly touched the keys, but her mind was not on the music she was playing. She felt that in all her life she had never been so puzzled by anyone as she was by Charles Barsett. He did not attempt to deny or even excuse the reputation which was given him by everyone. It did not seem to concern him in the slightest. Yet she felt convinced that his indifference was a mask which he assumed to conceal his real feelings. Behind it lay, she was prepared to swear, bitterness — possibly even pain.
Then why, she asked herself in wonder, did he continue to commit the acts which earned him such a reputation, if the thought of it filled him with revulsion? Or was there some other reason for his bitterness? Again, he appeared to be bored, languid, cynical, indifferent to the feeling of others; yet showing through this facade were glimpses of quite another kind of man. It was almost as though, she thought with a sudden flash of illumination, he were afraid to be himself — yet which of these two beings was the real Charles Barsett, after all?
Her profound meditations were interrupted by the arrival of a footman with the message that Mr. Thurlston was without, desiring to see the family.
Amanda welcomed this diversion, and told the man to admit the visitor.
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