by Beth Andrews
‘Thank you so much, dearest aunt.’ She gave Camilla a kiss of real gratitude. ‘I have never looked half as pleasing before. Monsieur d’Almain will have eyes for no one but you, of course.’
‘Hush, Lydia!’ Camilla colored and smiled in spite of her rebuke.
But Lydia could not deny that her aunt was especially lovely tonight. Her gown of blue and green taffeta set off her eyes and made her look like Venus rising from the waves. The look in the Frenchman’s eyes when he arrived proved Lydia’s prophecy to be correct. He could scarcely tear his gaze away from the vision of Miss Denton in all her finery. He was looking quite dashing himself, and even Lydia could understand her aunt’s fascination, however ill-timed it might be.
It was a short but pleasant drive to the inn, which was ablaze with light. The high street was a clatter of carriages and a-bustle with a steady stream of arrivals. They were ushered into the main portal and directed along a corridor to a room at the rear of the building - the only chamber large enough to accommodate all the guests.
Pushing along beside her aunt through the crush, Lydia was surprised at the scene which awaited her. The room was lit by several large chandeliers and a number of sconces with crystal drops reflecting the light. Along the walls, a few narrow tables had been dressed with centerpieces of what appeared to be fresh spring flowers. On closer inspection, however, she realized that they had been cunningly fashioned from silk. At least they would not wilt in the heat of the many candles.
Mr Savidge and his son greeted the guests as they entered. The father was so full of pride in his accomplishment that he looked ready to burst. His son merely seemed mildly amused. However, when he spied Lydia’s party, he frowned heavily. What was wrong with him? Lydia wondered, frowning in her turn.
It was some time before she had more than a polite word with John. He surprised her by procuring the first dance with her. In the event, he was prudent to have done so. Before very long, Lydia found that every dance was spoken for. She did not attribute this to the fact that she was in good looks tonight. There were so many gentlemen present that most of the ladies were able to pick and choose their partners at their leisure.
There was to be no waltzing, of course. Mrs Wardle-Penfield did not approve of the waltz, whatever the fine ladies of London might say. It most certainly would not do for Mr Savidge’s ball, which must be held to the absolute strictest standards of propriety.
Some young ladies were disappointed when they learned of this, but it was no loss to Lydia. Unlike her sister Louisa, she had never bothered to learn the steps.
When John led her out onto the floor, she was more than happy. She saw Monsieur d’Almain partnering her aunt and felt the thrill of triumph. She herself was promised to him later in the evening, but she knew that he had asked her out of politeness. Besides, more than one speculative glance was directed at the handsome Frenchman and the staid Miss Denton. The town tabbies lapped up scandal broth like fresh cream, and they were sure to have their fill of it tonight.
‘Who got you up in that rig tonight?’ John demanded as they made their first steps.
‘You do not approve?’ she asked, startled at his tone.
He reddened slightly before replying, ‘It is just that you are almost good-looking tonight.’
‘In contrast to my usual hideous countenance?’ she queried, feeling her anger rise.
‘I did not mean that.’ The movement of the dance drew them apart. Upon their reunion, he added, ‘I just never thought of you as a proper young lady. That is all.’
‘Well, how did you think of me?’
‘I did not think of you at all.’
While Lydia did not generally consider herself to be ‘missish’, this was definitely not the kind of thing that any young lady longs to hear. Not that she considered John in the light of a suitor, but his patent indifference was not calculated to endear him to her.
‘Well, you need not think of me again, sir!’ she snapped. The dance ended and she stalked off in the direction of her aunt, leaving John standing in the middle of the floor with a curious expression on his face.
She studiously avoided him for the remainder of the evening. What should have been a very pleasant experience had been entirely spoilt, in any case, and she railed silently at the insensibility of the male sex.
‘What is the matter?’ Aunt Camilla asked her, seeing the distress writ on her face.
‘Men are beasts!’ Lydia answered in the time-honored phrase of the maligned female.
‘You have quarrelled with John?’ The older woman correctly interpreted this remark.
‘I would not call it a quarrel, precisely,’ Lydia said. In fact, they had barely exchanged enough words for it to qualify as a genuine quarrel. But certainly their hitherto placid relationship had taken an unexpected and inexplicable detour.
* * * *
Later that evening, after Monsieur d’Almain had deposited them ceremoniously at their door, Lydia heard even more disturbing tidings. She could see that her aunt was more than ordinarily nervous. Normally as silent as a preacher on a Monday morning, she had been peculiarly garrulous on the ride home. She chattered away about the difficulties of preserving blackberries, and the shocking way Mrs McBride’s maidservant had behaved: a litany of trivial detail which bewildered the Frenchman as much as it did Lydia.
‘What on earth is wrong, Aunt Camilla?’ Lydia exclaimed as soon as the front door closed behind them.
‘Oh Lydia!’ To her consternation, the elder woman burst into tears. ‘I would like to strangle Mrs Wardle-Penfield.’
‘You would have to join a very long queue,’ her niece commented. ‘But what, in particular, has she done?’
‘You know how she was certain that Monsieur d’Almain was somehow connected with the death of that poor man in the woods?’
‘Yes,’ Lydia answered grimly.
‘Well,’ Camilla sniffed loudly, ‘she must have told everyone her suspicions, because they were all looking at him and whispering tonight. It was terrible!’
Lydia could have kicked herself. She had been so preoccupied, especially after her exchange with John, that she had not been as observant as usual. How could she have missed something so important? Now that she cast back in her mind, she had noticed that there was a great deal of talk tonight and some sly looks cast in the direction of her aunt and the Frenchman. She had put it down to speculation concerning their attachment, but it seemed that she was mistaken.
‘I am so sorry, dearest.’ What could she say to comfort the wretched woman?
‘If he should be arrested, I shall die!’
This dramatic pronouncement was not as effective as Camilla might have hoped. Histrionics were entirely wasted upon her niece. However, it did provoke her to reply with some asperity that she could not imagine why anyone would arrest the man.
‘There is no indication that he was involved in Mr Cole’s murder.’
‘You do not know the inhabitants of Diddlington.’ Her aunt shook her head sadly. ‘At least two people gave him the cut direct tonight. He will cease to be invited anywhere ... he will be forced to leave the village in disgrace....’
Lydia considered the matter, and realized that her aunt could well be right. Even if Monsieur d’Almain were never charged with the murder, a cloud of suspicion would surround him as long as the true murderer was not apprehended. And, with all due respect to John’s father, Lydia was inclined to think that Mrs Wardle-Penfield had formed a fairly accurate opinion of his abilities. He was not the man for this job.
‘We must do something,’ she said aloud, more to herself than to her aunt.
‘What can we do?’ was the plaintive response. ‘What can anyone do?’
‘I will speak to John.’
‘But you have quarrelled with John,’ Camilla pointed out.
‘I will make it up with him.’ Lydia shrugged carelessly. ‘It was no great matter.’
‘That is not what you said earlier.’
‘In s
uch a case as this,’ her niece said grandly, ‘one must put aside petty differences for the sake of a higher cause.’
Chapter Nine
ADVENTURE AT LAST
In pursuit of this ‘higher cause’, Lydia scribbled a note to young Mr Savidge the next morning and enlisted the help of Charity to deliver it. The poor maid thought it monstrously romantic, and set out with the precious billet as soon as her duties allowed. The response was gratifyingly prompt. Indeed, he instructed the maid to wait while he penned his own lines. Knowing that Lydia and her auint were engaged to attend a musicale at Mrs Bitterwood’s that evening, he gallantly offered them his escort. Naturally, Lydia accepted.
Though she itched for private conversation with him, Lydia was forced to endure a lengthy period in the carriage with her aunt as chaperon. They were rather late in arriving at their destination, and the performance had already begun. This entailed a further delay.
First Miss Jane Bitterwood sang a charming folk song in a perfectly dreary and uninspired soprano voice. As the daughter of their hostess (and the godchild of Mrs Wardle-Penfield), enthusiastic applause was an absolute necessity, of course. This was followed by a lively madrigal which garnered more genuine praise for the quartet of young people.
Finally, Miss Ophelia Scott commandeered the pianoforte and treated them to a truly remarkable rendition of a Scarlatti sonata. Lydia had never heard a solo performance which managed to sound so much like a duet in which both pianists were sadly inebriated. Miss Scott’s right hand managed the treble clef tolerably well. However, her left hand seemed to have a will of its own. It meandered aimlessly up and down the bass clef like a lost lamb, tripping over flats and tumbling into sharps with wild abandon. Her audience, mercifully, was as incapable of recognizing her errors as it would have been of appreciating a more skilled performance. Lydia, who admired Scarlatti’s complex compositions, reluctantly confessed to herself that she probably would not have enjoyed a correct interpretation half as well, although her lips were quite sore from the pressure of her teeth as she bit hard upon them to keep from laughing.
Indeed, she almost forgot her mission tonight, until John approached her and drew her aside under cover of the rapturous applause which followed.
He spoke quickly, an awkward apology upon his lips:
‘I did not mean what I said yesterday, Miss Bramwell,’ he stammered, his whole attitude quite at odds with his usual calm demeanor. ‘Of course I think of you. We are friends, are we not?’
‘I certainly thought so,’ Lydia told him, rather enjoying his discomfiture. ‘But there is no need to dwell on what happened last night. It is in the past now, and best forgotten.’
‘I am glad,’ he said, ‘that you are so charitable. I feared that you would never speak to me again.’
‘Nonsense!’ She craned her neck to ascertain whether anyone might be attending to them. Thankfully, the others were all crowding around the musicians, praising and questioning as if they understood what they said.
‘What is it that you want of me?’ John asked.
‘I need your help.’
‘What is wrong?’
‘There is still a great deal of talk about Monsieur d’Almain and the late Mr Cole.’
‘I know.’ John’s face darkened and his mouth compressed. ‘More than one person last night made it clear that they considered d’Almain to be persona non grata!
‘I want you to return to Wickham Wood with me.’
‘Very well.’ He did not pretend to misunderstand her. ‘If we can prove that the smugglers were responsible for the murder, d’Almain’s name will be cleared.’
‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘The next day,’ he corrected her. ‘I am engaged with friends tomorrow evening and will be out too late to accompany you.’
‘Cockfighting?’ She raised an eyebrow knowingly.
‘Not at all,’ he said with great dignity. ‘Merely a convivial evening in Piddinghoe, where my grandmother lives. I have a numerous acquaintance there.’
‘Can you not cry off?’
‘I have no intention of doing so.’
‘Not even for me?’
‘Not even for you,’ he said firmly.
‘I shall go alone, then.’ She raised her chin and stared defiantly into his eyes. ‘I know the way now.’
‘If you attempt anything so foolhardy,’ he answered in a level voice, ‘I shall put you over my knee and spank you!’
‘You sound like my father,’ she complained, hating to acknowledge that he was being perfectly sensible.
‘Perhaps that is because you are behaving so childishly,’ he replied, with the conscious superiority of one who was three years her elder.
In the end, she accepted the fact that their expedition must wait. At least they were on their usual friendly terms: or almost so. Something had changed, though she was not exactly sure what it might be.
* * * *
When the day arrived, Lydia was more nervous than her aunt, checking the clock and starting at every sound. She told herself that she was being absurd. This was not the first time she had accompanied John on such an expedition. There was nothing to fear, was there?
Still, there was a feeling of intense relief when she finally escaped from the confines of the cottage that night and made her way to the same spot where she had met John before. Since their journey to the wood covered the same ground, descriptions are superfluous. The only difference was that the moon was no longer full, and so their vision was more limited than previously.
For some time their experience was drearily similar. Lydia was no longer disturbed by the strange night sounds, and was very nearly about to fall asleep once more when a sharp nudge from John’s elbow alerted her that they were no longer alone in the woods. Almost simultaneously, she heard a rustling in the underbrush, as if a large animal were pushing its way unceremoniously through the trees. Dried twigs crackled beneath heavy boots and muted voices appeared to be carrying on patches of conversation. She almost squealed - not from fear but from sheer excitement - before common sense came to her aid and kept her silent.
There was a swoosh-swooshing sound, and Lydia saw two white, billowing objects sailing through the trees. A wailing sound accompanied them as they described a wide arc in the darkness. They certainly were not birds. Any one of the villagers would have sworn they saw a ghost; but with the knowledge that other humans were in the woods, Lydia knew that the explanation for these apparitions was a natural one.
A twinkle of lanterns through the trees made it fairly easy to spot where their quarry was at any time. However, it was as well that they were expecting them. A chance traveller, or an inebriated gentleman, would very likely have run like a rabbit in the opposite direction - which was probably the exact effect which they intended.
At one point the shadowy figures with their small lanterns were only two or three yards away from Lydia’s and John’s hiding place. They hunched low to the ground, knowing that if they were caught by these desperate men they might share the same fate as the late Mr Cole.
‘D’ye see the entrance yet?’ one of the men asked gruffly.
‘Almost there, Ben,’ his confederate replied.
‘Nobody about tonight.’
‘Wasted a bloody good show,’ another said with a loud guffaw of laughter.
Then the voices faded, along with the lights. The stillness was suffocating.
‘Shall we go now?’ Lydia whispered.
‘No,’ John whispered back. ‘They may return this way. We’ll have to stay here until we’re sure they’re gone. And keep quiet,’ he added unnecessarily.
John was correct in his surmise. About an hour later, another procession of lamps and voices passed by them in the opposite direction, heading out of the woods. Only when the last of them was well out of earshot did the two watchers rise from their cramped position on the woodland floor.
‘Oh John!’ Lydia cried at last. ‘We were right: there are smugglers in the woods.’
>
In her excitement, she threw her arms around his large frame and hugged him tightly. Inevitably, he did the same. But as she looked up into his face, barely visible in the faint moonlight, she was quite unprepared for what happened next.
John bent his head and pressed his lips to hers in what was quite a tolerable kiss. Lydia was not certain what she should do. However, since she found the experience very pleasant, she returned it. Mama would almost certainly have considered it improper, though her daughter could not imagine why.
‘Why did you kiss me?’ she asked some time later, when they emerged from the wood.
‘It seemed appropriate,’ John said a little diffidently. ‘Did you not like it?’
‘I liked it very much,’ she answered honestly. ‘I was just surprised. That is all.’
‘Would you mind very much if I did it again?’
‘No indeed.’
He pulled her gently against him and repeated the previous exercise. This time she was prepared for it, and found it even more enjoyable than before.
‘I think,’ John said, raising his head, ‘that it is best if we do not go into the woods alone together any more.’
‘I quite agree.’
They arrived at the spot where John’s horse was tethered and were soon riding back to town.
‘I will inform my father of what we have discovered, and we will get some men to come down here and flush out the gang.’
‘I wish I could be there!’ Lydia cried, although she knew that this was impossible.
‘It will be best if your name is not mentioned in relation to this matter,’ John told her, frowning. ‘My father would be quite scandalized - and rightly so.’
‘Fustian!’ Lydia protested. ‘But I know what you mean. Aunt Camilla would doubtless swoon if she knew what we had been about tonight.’