“Oh!” A variety of emotions, mostly uncomfortable, warred for ascendancy within Polly. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of a reply. She accepted Lord Henry’s arm and they started to walk slowly between the booths.
“It is too bad of Laura to take advantage of your good nature,” he said, after a moment, seeing that Polly’s innate good manners made it impossible for her to criticise his sister. “In mitigation I can only say that she is very young and very much in love, and has not yet realised that true friendship should not be abused.”
“If only she had confided in me—” Polly broke off, not wishing to suggest that she would have helped Lady Laura deceive her family. Lord Henry’s sudden appearance in search of Laura and his grimness in the face of his sister’s behaviour suggested that she certainly did not have his support.
“Is it certain?” she asked carefully. “Do you know that she has arranged to meet Mr Farrant? I did think that I had seen them a moment ago.”
“Indeed you did.” Henry sounded rather grim. “I saw them myself, walking past the gunsmith’s stall. In fairness to Laura, I do not think that they mean to do more than meet and enjoy each other’s company, but she should know better…Of course, she had no notion that I should be here today and see through her deception.”
This brought Polly’s mind back to other matters, equally disagreeable. “I understood you to be at Wellerden,” she said, a little crossly. “You are forever coming and going, are you not, sir?”
Henry laughed softly as he noted the martial light in her eyes. “Ah, the gossips have been busy again! Indeed, I spent a few days there—”
“In most entertaining company, I understand,” Polly said, despite herself.
“Oh, the best! Can you doubt it?”
Polly almost stamped her foot, but knew he was only trying to provoke her.
“Well, I dare say our tastes differ there, my lord.”
“I should hope so!” Henry laughed again as he saw her look of fury. “Come, you know that I travel widely and have many interests, Lady Polly! I am only teasing you!”
It was in some ways fortunate that they came across Mr Farrant and Lady Laura at that moment. The were standing before a small flock of chickens, apparently engrossed.
“The best you could buy, sir,” the poultryman was saying eagerly, “and a better price you will not find—”
“Henry!” Lady Laura said, in horrified tones. Her gaze travelled to Polly and a deep blush came into her cheeks. “Lady Polly, I thought—”
“I doubt Lady Polly wishes to hear your excuses now, Laura,” Henry said, fixing his sister with a cold, quelling gaze. “You have used her most shamefully. As for you, Farrant—” Henry’s gaze turned to the unlikely Romeo “—I should have expected better of you!”
Charles Farrant started to stammer apologies and Laura to cry quietly. The poultryman took his cap off and scratched his head at this unexpected turn of events. They were attracting quite a lot of interest. Polly touched Henry’s arm. She had seen the Dittons, with their unerring instinct for scandal, approaching down the row of stalls.
“This will have to wait,” she whispered hastily. “We must all pretend that we met up by chance, I think. Mrs Ditton!” She turned with a beaming smile to greet the lady. “How glad I am to have found you again, ma’am! And only see, Mr Farrant and Lord Henry are here as well! How the good weather brings people out of doors!”
Henry was smiling a little at such inanity, but he followed Polly’s lead easily enough. “Farrant has told me that the Fairs here are renowned for their local colour, ma’am, and I thought to take a look. I am returned from Buckinghamshire only yesterday…”
The image of Susanna Bolt came into Polly’s mind again, incongruous amidst all the fresh air and sunlight. It could only serve to make her ill temper worse. Laura was sniffing a little and Polly took her arm, drawing her away from Miss Ditton’s prying eyes. Any enjoyment had gone from the day.
“I’m sorry,” Laura whispered as Polly hustled her back towards the carriages. “It was not that I did not trust you, but Charles said I was not to tell anyone! I have been very foolish…”
Polly’s heart twisted with pity. She thought it most unlikely that Lady Laura would be permitted to remain in Suffolk now that this not-so-secret romance had been found to be flourishing, and Laura had not really done anything very bad. She looked at the girl’s reddened eyes and noticed with a flash of irritation that Miss Ditton was almost running in her attempt to catch up with them. The tears could not be concealed. How then to explain them? Her talent for deception was being stretched to the limit.
“You should not believe all that the fortune-teller told you, Laura,” she said loudly. “I might have known that she would upset you!”
Miss Ditton’s avid face appeared over Laura’s shoulder. “Oh, whatever can she have said?” She asked eagerly. “Dear Lady Laura, do tell!”
It was Lord Henry who answered, a hint of malice in his grey eyes. “She told my sister to beware of false friends, Miss Ditton, and to value true friendship above rubies!”
Chapter Ten
It was a sad little party that made its way back to Woodbridge. Charles Farrant and the Marchnights had gone their separate ways, with Lady Laura still sniffing into her handkerchief. Miss Ditton spent the entire journey speculating spitefully about Laura and Mr Farrant, pressing Polly to give details of the encounter between them and Lord Henry, certain that it was less good-humoured than Polly insisted. Polly’s head ached. She had no wish to be obliged to lie even more and it only made Laura’s treatment of her seem more shabby. She had liked the girl and considered her a friend. It was lowering to imagine that she had been used to further the clandestine romance. As for Lord Henry, she did not wish to think of him at all, for all her thoughts were melancholy ones.
It was with considerable relief that they reached the gates of Dillingham Court, and Polly insisted on leaving the Dittons’ coach and walking up the lime avenue to the house. As she approached the carriage sweep, she was startled to see a travelling coach on the forecourt surrounded by what seemed vast amounts of luggage. Polly’s spirits lifted and her step quickened. This had to be Peter and Hetty Markham, back from Kingsmarton. That must mean that the two of them were reconciled, which was a much-needed piece of good news.
Polly found the whole family assembled in the rosewood drawing-room. Miss Markham, a pretty girl with huge blue eyes and copious amounts of curling brown hair, was standing clutching Peter’s hand and looking embarrassed as she responded to the Dowager Countess’s slightly frosty welcome.
“Hetty and I are to be married in six weeks’ time,” Peter was saying as Polly slipped into the room. “We see no point in waiting any longer. After all, the wedding has already been delayed once.”
The Dowager Countess blanched a little, startled into plain-speaking. “Six weeks? There will be a lot of talk, Peter! Everyone will say that you have anticipated your marriage vows and need to make a hasty match—”
Hetty flushed bright red and muttered something incoherent. For a fleeting moment she put her face in her hands, a gesture which Polly noticed with both concern and curiosity. Peter was standing his ground in the face of his mother’s bluntness, although he too had reddened. There was a very curious atmosphere in the room, Polly thought. She took a chair unobtrusively by the fireplace and accepted a cup of tea from Lucille with a slight smile of thanks.
“Please, Mama!” Peter was saying carefully. “I suppose we must resign ourselves to being the subject of ill-bred remarks, but I do not intend to let my life be governed by it!”
Polly and Lucille exchanged a look. It seemed to Polly that Peter had grown in stature since he had gone away. There was a protective element in his behaviour towards Hetty that was very obvious and must surely augur well for their future relationship. Miss Markham, in contrast, seemed to have lost much of her natural ebullience and vivacity but perhaps this could be put down to an embarrassment at the rup
ture with Peter, now so fortunately overcome.
There was an awkward little silence that threatened to become prolonged. Polly hastened forward to kiss Hetty and draw her over to the sofa where she started to ask about the journey and enquire into Mrs Markham’s health. Gradually Miss Markham relaxed a little and by the time the drinks were replenished, accompanied by some more of Mrs Appleton’s delicious honey cakes, she was chatting almost as normal. It still seemed to Polly that there was something brittle in Hetty’s manner and her eyes watched Peter almost constantly as if for reassurance. Polly, tired by the events of the day and the difficult scene at the Fair, noted Hetty’s change of manner but felt too weary to think about it properly. It slipped to the back of her mind during the lively and enjoyable family dinner that followed, and it was only as she was brushing her hair before the mirror at bedtime that she remembered Hetty’s tension and wondered at it. She could think of no explanation, however, and went to bed thinking that she must speak to Lucille about it. If anyone would know what was the matter with Hetty, it would be Lucille.
Polly would have been astonished to learn that a lone visitor called at Dillingham Court that night, long after she was abed. Medlyn had taken the visitor’s card along to the study where the Earl of Seagrave sat up late, poring over old estate maps. He ushered the man into the Earl’s presence and accepted his master’s instruction that he should then go to bed. He asked no questions and in the morning all recollection of the visit had slipped his memory.
When their business was finished, the Earl offered his guest a second glass of brandy and sat back.
“So, how does your suit prosper, Harry?” he asked idly.
Henry Marchnight gave his lop-sided grin. “Very badly, I thank you! Your sister is now convinced that I am a hardened rake and lecher! She has me pursuing Lady Bolt from Richmond to Buckinghamshire! Never has the price of information been so high!”
“Lady Bolt ruining your reputation, is she?” Seagrave asked with spurious sympathy. “I thought she must have some information you wanted! I could not see you getting caught like that otherwise!”
Henry grimaced. “Would that Lady Polly had your discernment, Seagrave! But I can hardly blame her for jumping to the obvious conclusions! After all, I have deliberately made a name for myself as a rake and gamester. To plead innocence now, no matter how genuine, will cut little ice.”
“Susanna Bolt is a deeply mercenary and unpleasant woman,” Seagrave said absently, folding his map of Dillingham away. “Can she be caught in the same net that will trap Chapman, Harry?”
“I hope so.” Henry drained his glass. “I plan it to be so! But there is another I am more anxious to catch…”
“An unholy trinity,” Seagrave agreed. “I must confess I do not like it, Harry. Whilst he is free to come and go as he pleases, there is great danger.”
Henry nodded. “I agree, but we cannot move against him until we are sure of Chapman. Until then, the risk must be run.”
“He does not suspect you?”
“No.” Henry permitted himself a grim smile. “His vanity is such that he suspects no one! And that will be his downfall!”
The following morning heralded another glorious, late summer day, with a sky as blue as cobalt and the sea as smooth and soft as silk. Polly, established with her easel in the shelter of a group of trees, watched as Peter and Hetty, and the rest of their party, strolled away down the beach in the direction of the small huddle of houses which constituted Shingle Street. They had had a delightful picnic lunch and now Miss Ditton had declared it time to call upon the poor fisher families who eked out a living in this isolated spot. Polly pitied the unsuspecting poor.
The settlement at Shingle Street had been augmented in the recent wars when a Martello Tower had been built as part of the coastal defences. The only other habitation in the vicinity was the romantically named House of Tides, the home of Lady Bellingham, former actress and black sheep of the county. Polly had intended calling on her ladyship, who had been a staunch friend of Lucille’s before her marriage, but Miss Ditton had drawn back from the suggestion with distaste.
“Lud, to call on the actress? My mama would have a fit of the vapours if she heard I had been consorting with such a person!”
Polly had reluctantly abandoned her plans of the visit, not wishing to cause disagreement amongst the party and privately reflecting that it was probably unkind of her to inflict Miss Ditton’s company on so likeable a character as Lady Bellingham. All the same, she was sorry.
It was very quiet and the breeze was pleasantly cooling. Polly became engrossed in her sketching, enjoying her solitude, and had no idea how long she sat there. Her attention was eventually drawn back to the present by the small scrape of stone on stone, a little distance away along the shingle beach. She put down her charcoal and listened. The noise came again. There appeared to be no one on the wide empty seashore, nor could Polly see anyone else nearby. The cries of children reached her faintly from the cottages where Miss Ditton was no doubt exercising her patronage, and she could just see Peter and Hetty in the distance, wandering hand in hand along the shore, engrossed in each other.
Polly got to her feet slowly and trod across to the edge of the springy grass. The small cliff sloped away steeply down to the shingle and cast a dark shadow. Polly squinted in the bright sunlight, then recoiled in surprise at the sight of a figure emerging from the shade a mere twenty yards away. It was Lord Henry Marchnight. He was dusting the sand and shale from his hands and shaking more debris off his jacket. He had not seen her.
“Oh!” Polly’s foot slipped as she stepped hastily backwards, sending a small shower of stones down onto the beach. In an agony of suspense she heard them bouncing off the rocks below and peered down to see Lord Henry, his eyes narrowed against the sun, staring straight up at her.
“Lady Polly!” Lord Henry took the steep cliff path with ease and arrived beside her barely out of breath. “How do you do, ma’am! I had no idea that you were there!”
“I have been sketching.” Polly gestured towards the easel, its paper flapping in the breeze. For some reason she felt defensive, needing to excuse her presence. And Lord Henry was displaying all his habitual careless elegance and assurance, which was annoying since he had been creeping about on the beach in a most suspicious manner.
“But surely you are not alone?” Lord Henry looked round. “Where are the others?”
“Oh, they have gone to dispense charity to the villagers,” Polly said, trying not to laugh. “Miss Ditton is calling on the poor.”
“Good God, must she?” Henry looked disgusted. “But you prefer the solitary company of your sketch book? I cannot blame you, ma’am!”
They started walking slowly along the top of the cliff in the direction of the House of Tides.
“How is Lady Laura today?” Polly enquired hesitantly. She did not wish to pry, but was very afraid that there would have been unhappy repercussions as a result of the clandestine meeting at the Fair.
Henry sighed. “She is not at all well, I am afraid. My mother has forbidden her from ever speaking to Charles again and she has taken it very badly. Laura is young and headstrong…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Mama has always considered her delicate, never realising that Laura’s spirit is at least as strong as her own! When I suggested at Dillingham that you should not encourage Laura in her feelings for Charles it was not because I disapproved of the connection, but only because I knew how it could split the family! Indeed, I have tried to argue her case, but it was no use…” He shrugged again and fell silent.
Polly felt a rush of mingled relief and apprehension. She was glad to know that Henry was not motivated by the same regard for status and consequence as his parents, but like him she could see that Laura’s love for Charles Farrant would set her on a collision course.
“Will Laura accept her mother’s edict?” she asked carefully. “If not, perhaps Mr Farrant might be persuaded…But he seems as smitten as she…Oh, dear, it is so
very difficult!”
Henry smiled at this masterly understatement. “I believe both of them are in earnest and neither will waver in their regard! By far the best course would be for my parents to accept the less-than-brilliant match, but I doubt they will see matters in the same light! I believe Mama will try to send Laura away.” His gaze met Polly’s. “Laura deeply regrets the way that she treated you yesterday, Lady Polly. She would not for all the world have risked your friendship, but she was foolish and her head was filled with romance—”
Polly made a slight gesture of dismissal. “I understand. I would not wish to lose Laura’s friendship either and I am sorry that she is so unhappy.”
They walked on a little in silence. The breeze was freshening, whipping Polly’s hair loose of its pins and tugging at her skirts.
“No doubt you too will be leaving soon, sir,” Polly said, a little coolly in case Lord Henry thought that the answer mattered to her. “Indeed, I am surprised to find you are still with us! You do not usually find our dull occupations diverting for more than a day or two at a time!”
Henry slanted a look at her. He was smiling. Polly found it most unsettling.
“Oh, I intend to be settled here for a while!” he said easily. “And in truth, there are far more exciting things happening here than, say, at Wellerden’s houseparty! You would be surprised, ma’am!”
Polly felt vaguely irritated. Lord Henry always seemed to be singing the praises of Suffolk—then hurrying off to be elsewhere.
“You certainly seemed fascinated by whatever you discovered on the beach just now, my lord!” she said, a little snappishly. “What was it? A piece of driftwood? A message in a bottle?”
“I do believe you are essaying satire, Lady Polly,” Lord Henry said admiringly. “But you should not mock me, you know! I was investigating a tale I had heard, which was that there is a secret passageway from the House of Tides out under the cliffs. I think I may have found the entrance! Would you like to see?”
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