The Georgian Rake

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “The thing is,” said Amanda, judicially, “why did the abigail tell the lie?”

  “You may well ask!” replied Nurse, with scorn. “Of course, it was a put-up thing between Master Roger and herself. But Master Charles kept waiting and hoping that his cousin would speak; and as the days passed, and nothing was said, he seemed to grow older all at once, until he was a man instead of a boy. In the end, he taxed Master Roger openly.”

  Amanda sat up suddenly. “What — what happened?” she asked, eagerly.

  “The rogue denied it!” exclaimed Nurse. “He expressed sorrow that Master Charles should try and shift the blame of his own misdeeds on to him, and said — hypocrite that he is — that he only wished he was in a position to render such a service to his cousin, but that Master Charles must know that it would quite ruin him, Roger, with his uncle!”

  “I never heard anything so base in my life!” exclaimed Amanda. “But are you quite certain — there could not be any possibility of a mistake?”

  “If you knew my master as I do,” said Nurse, indignantly, “you could not ask such a question! But there, I suppose you will judge him from the wild reputation that he has — it’s only to be expected!”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” replied Amanda. “I beg your pardon for seeming to doubt your word. Had he been other than you represent him, I feel sure he could not have gained your respect!”

  “Indeed he could not, Miss,” said Nurse, looking somewhat mollified. “Even for my lady’s sake! But the fact is that I never knew him to tell a lie of any magnitude, even as a child. I think he was too proud for such shifts!”

  “I can believe that,” said Amanda, thoughtfully. “Well, I can only hope that Mr. Thurlston felt thoroughly wretched at playing so base a part! I dare say he may have, you know, for I remember once, when John Webster tried to take the blame for me over some escapade, I felt so utterly unhappy, that I was obliged to confess the whole to Papa!”

  “Is John Webster the young gentleman who was with you and my master tonight, Miss?” asked Nurse, momentarily diverted from her tale.

  Amanda nodded. “Yes. He is our neighbour in the country, and a very old friend of my family.”

  “Begging your pardon, Miss, for the liberty — but are you and he, by any chance —?”

  Amanda stared at her for a moment, then realising her meaning, coloured.

  “No, nothing of that kind. In fact —” She paused. Nurse waited without speaking, her hands motionless in her lap. “To tell you the truth,” said Amanda, candidly, “he is in love with my sister always has been. But do tell me what happened next, Nurse! Did the truth come out, after all?”

  Nurse shook her head sadly.

  “It never came out: the girl was sent away, she had her child, and my lord provided for them both. No more was heard of her from that day to this.”

  “And — Mr. Barsett?” asked Amanda, hesitantly.

  “He was punished, of course; his allowance was stopped for a time, to pay the girl’s dues. But that was the least of his troubles. From that time forward, he changed.”

  “Changed?” Amanda breathed the word.

  “Yes. I told you that he had become a man in a few short days. He even looked different — his mouth took on that disagreeable sneer which it has worn ever since.”

  “I know it,” said Amanda, and shivered.

  “He began to gain a name for wildness, especially after I left the house —”

  “You left? Why was that?”

  “I went to my lord,” said Nurse, grimly, “and gave him a piece of my mind. I told him the truth. He would not believe it, so I said that I felt I could no longer remain in the same house that sheltered such a perfidious rascal as his nephew. That did it, of course! For old time’s sake, he would not cast me off, but bought me this cottage, and pays me an annuity. At first, in my anger, I did not want to take anything of him: but in some sort, he pleaded with me, for my dead lady’s sake and because I’d spent my life in the service of the family. Master Charles was insistent with me, too; and later, when he came into his own money at one and twenty, he added a further annuity of his own. So I came here, and only heard from a distance of the path my poor lamb was treading.”

  “I suppose,” said Amanda, thoughtfully, “that he considered he might as well play the game, as simply own the undeserved name for it.”

  “He felt,” said Nurse, defiantly, “that there was no more honour, no more love, no more trust in the whole world. I know well what he felt.”

  “He did have you,” said Amanda. Her lips were trembling.

  “An old woman, powerless to serve him in his need. A hired nurse instead of the loving parents every child, even the poorest, has a right to.”

  “Oh, Nurse!” cried Amanda incoherently, bursting all at once into tears. “I feel so unhappy I can’t think why.”

  But Nurse fancied that she could, and, as she gathered the girl into her warm, motherly arms, she breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness.

  Chapter XVII: The Toll House

  Isabella Twyford went to St. James’s Square with small expectation of enjoyment. For one thing, ever since his unexpected and unwelcome avowal of love, she had felt reluctant to be in Roger Thurlston’s company. However, as she had remarked to Amanda, it was difficult to refuse the invitation of the woman who was soon to be related to her by marriage, without appearing uncivil.

  My Lord Barsett was not within, and she was entertained solely by the Thurlstons, mother and son. The time passed pleasantly enough, but a growing feeling of uneasiness for which she could in no way account made Isabella curtail the visit beyond what she had originally intended. She pleaded her sister’s supposed indisposition as an excuse.

  To her chagrin, Roger Thurlston insisted on accompanying her home. She had no choice but to invite him within doors, but hoped that his sense of propriety would force him to decline the invitation. She soon saw that such was not to be the case. Not only did the gentleman enter the house, but sat on for some little while, chatting as though he intended to make a protracted stay. He seemed quite impervious to hints, so at last she looked pointedly at the clock.

  “Heavens, it is five o’clock already! If you will be good enough to excuse me for a moment I will go and see how Mandy does. I left her lying down in her room; I was hoping that I might have found her recovered from her headache again by now, and downstairs to greet us.”

  Truth to tell, she was genuinely puzzled by the non-appearance of her sister. It was unlike Amanda to keep to her room when there was company in the house, and a pretended headache was of all things the easiest to dispel. She must have noticed their arrival by now, thought Isabella uneasily. Did she perhaps wish to avoid Mr. Thurlston for some reason known only to herself? Or had she — the notion caught suddenly at Isabella as she went on her way upstairs, making her quicken her steps — had she disobeyed Mama’s injunction, and ventured abroad alone?

  She pushed open the door of her sister’s bedchamber, calling out her name. A quick glance showed her that Amanda was not there. With an exclamation part annoyance, part consternation, she hurried to her own room, and opened the door. Amanda was not here, either.

  Alarmed now, trouble clouded her face. Foolish girl, where could she have gone? Perhaps the housekeeper might know.

  Her train of thought broke off abruptly. At the far end of the room, propped against her dressing-table mirror, she espied a small square of white. She flew across the room towards it.

  In a moment, the note was in her hand and she had torn it open. She devoured with her eyes the short message it contained.

  My dear Bella,

  I am gone out, though I may not tell you where. I think it only right to warn you that it is possible I shall not return home until tomorrow, but you need have no alarms. I shall be with John, and I know you will agree that I could not be in safer hands.

  Do not fret, my love, all is well.

  A.

  Isabella read these words twic
e over, scarcely able to take in their full meaning on the first reading. She sank on to a stool, and gazed at her now haggard face in the mirror.

  “Dear God,” she breathed to herself, “what can it mean? She has gone with John —could it be possible...?”

  She dared not finish the sentence; recollection brought back in a flood the secret concerning John and Mandy which Mr. Thurlston had confided to her on the night of the ball. She rose unsteadily, and clutching the note convulsively in one hand, made her way back to the drawing-room.

  Roger Thurlston rose politely as she entered, then paused at sight of her distraught looks.

  “My dear Miss Twyford,” he said, in a voice full of concern. “Is anything wrong?”

  She could make no reply for a few moments. The conclusion which she had been obliged to draw from Amanda’s note had brought her to a sudden, unwelcome understanding of her own feelings. She pressed a hand to her temples, and sank wearily into a chair.

  He repeated his question, his eyes fixed anxiously upon her. “I don’t know. I — I — have had some disturbing news —”

  “What news, my dear young lady? May I not help? Can you not bring yourself to confide in me? Rest assured, if I can serve you in any way, I shall count myself fortunate.”

  She hesitated for a long space, during which he watched her carefully. Her thoughts were racing round her head until it ached with the effort of disentangling them. If what she feared was indeed true, what ought she to do? Had her parents been here —but could it be possible that she was reading too much into this note of Amanda’s? Her sister had given no certain sign…

  She felt that she must have another opinion on the matter. It was too grave an issue to decide alone. But there was no one available except Mr. Thurlston, and he…

  Reluctantly she handed him the note. He took the paper, and studied it attentively.

  “What — what do you think it can mean, sir?”

  Mentally he applauded Amanda: she had carried out his instructions to perfection. Nothing could better serve his purpose than this letter. He handed it back to Isabella with a grave face.

  “I fear there is only one conclusion to be drawn from it,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You mean,” said Isabella, slowly and painfully, “that Amanda and — and John have — eloped?”

  He nodded, watching her carefully. The faint ray of hope which had illumined her face while he read the note now died away, leaving her expression full of misery.

  “Miss Isabella!” he said, softly and compassionately.

  She ignored the ejaculation, and going over to the window stared hopelessly out into the street. The old flower seller was there, with her basket of faded flowers. To Isabella, the wilting beauty was a painful reminder of her own situation. She turned away again, her eyes blinded by tears.

  “What ought I to do?” she asked desperately, rousing herself a little. “Oh, if only Papa were here to guide me!”

  “Surely there cannot be much doubt of what your course of action should be?” he asked. “Surely you will follow her, and bring her back?”

  He waited with bated breath for her answer: on it his plans depended.

  “I suppose that is the right thing to do.”

  Her voice was indecisive, lifeless.

  “You cannot let her make herself the centre of a scandal,” he replied gravely. “We must set about it immediately. It should not be too impossible a task to trace their movements —”

  But she broke in upon him suddenly in a vehement tone that was foreign to her hitherto undecided manner.

  “No! I have changed my mind. After all, why should I try to prevent their union? Mama, I know, will never consent to the match — that is why Amanda has taken this course. She is wiser than I, for all we call her schoolgirl and child! I have quite ruined my own hopes of happiness through my blind folly, but that is no reason for destroying hers, and — and — his.”

  Her voice broke on the final word, and she buried her face in her hands, sobs shaking her frame.

  It was as well for Roger Thurlston that she did so, else she must have observed his chagrin at her decision. She had foiled one carefully laid scheme by her answer; there yet remained another way.

  “Isabella!” he said in a low, pleading tone. “Forgive me, I cannot help but be aware of the regard in which you have held Webster. Now that he is removed from your life and heart for ever, do not — my dearest — be content to replace that feeling by the mockery of a marriage of convenience. Will you not accept instead the homage of a heart that truly loves you, and does not entirely despair of one day kindling love in your bosom, in return?”

  She raised her head, and dried her eyes. She began to laugh, a dry, short laugh that did not touch her compressed lips. He shook his head reproachfully, but his look was gentle.

  “I implore you not to mock at me, beloved, but give me leave to teach you that love begets love. That sneering cousin of mine is not the man to do it; you have not touched his heart, as you have mine.”

  She shook her head, and something of the bitterness died out of her face. “I ask your pardon: I did not mean to mock at you. Heaven forbid that I should make game of any man’s honest affection. I believe I have told you before this that my answer must be no. I can never love you — I can never love any man — again. I sought a marriage of convenience, rather than the happy union I might have had... I shall keep my word to your cousin, and go on with it.”

  Roger Thurlston bowed low, and reflected that it had been worth a try, at all events. His agile mind leapt swiftly to one last, desperate throw with fate, win or lose.

  “Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I shall never again importune you on this subject, believe me.”

  Isabella murmured something which did not signify to either of them. He took a measured pace or two about the room, as though in deep deliberation. Presently he halted, and turned towards her. “I wonder,” he said, musingly, “if all is as it appears?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Isabella, her attention caught.

  “Suppose they have not eloped after all?” he continued. “Suppose they have simply embarked on some escapade — oh, I know that their attachment is obvious, but your sister would not, I feel sure, allow your mother to stand in the way of a marriage to Webster. Do you not yourself feel that Amanda would face it out with her Mama, and wed whomsoever she chose, without the hole and corner affair of an elopement? Is it not more in her character?”

  Isabella had winced at his reference to the supposed attachment between Amanda and John, but she forced herself to consider this point.

  “Ye-es,” she said doubtfully. “Unless, of course, the romantic side of an elopement should have attracted her. That is possible.”

  “But your friend Webster,” he said, masking his impatience, “is surely not the man to behave so dishonourably? From what you have said —”

  “No.” Isabella was thoughtful. “No, I do not feel that even Mandy could persuade John to such a — an unchivalrous action. He is — everything that is upright and — and honest.”

  Her voice shook on the words.

  “Quite,” he said curtly. He wanted to waste no more time on John Webster’s perfections, or on the supposed elopement. She must be made to consider the truth — or part of it.

  “I have been turning over the possibilities in my mind, Miss Isabella,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “And I believe that I have hit upon an explanation that more nearly accords with the characters of both these young people.”

  “What can that be, sir?”

  “The more I contemplate it, the more likely it seems. Tell me, has your sister always been as insistent to you as she has to me, that she would never permit your marriage to my cousin?”

  “She has said that to you, too?” asked Isabella, shocked.

  “She is a forthright young lady, and has from the first honoured me with her confidence — you may perhaps recall that I was once able to render her some small serv
ice.”

  “Yes, of course — how could I forget?” replied Isabella, forgetting his recent offence, and warming to him a little.

  “I don’t know how much she has recounted to you of her adventures on her journey from Berkshire to Town,” he went on, tentatively.

  “Everything, I should imagine. Mandy and I have few secrets from each other, as I believe I told you once.”

  He nodded. “In that case, you may perhaps recall her mention of a mysterious Abbey which she tried to explore?”

  Isabella started, and gave a nod.

  “This may be painful to you, but it must be said. It is a place of — bad repute — and I know for a fact that my cousin is staying there at the moment.”

  Isabella’s face crimsoned. “So that is where —”

  He nodded gravely. “Yes, I am sorry that you should need to know. He is but let us leave that; I cannot trust myself to speak on that subject, holding you in the regard that I do. The point I wish to make is that I believe your sister may have followed him there, and taken Webster along with her.”