“I was about to confide in Lord Henry when Mr Ditton came in,” she admitted. “It took me a little time to pluck up the courage and by then Mr Ditton had already found us. Oh, dear! Lord Henry will think that I do not trust him—”
“Indeed, my dear, and it is of the utmost importance that he is made to understand!” Lady Bellingham said energetically. “Lord Henry loves you so very much that I imagine you have occasioned him a great deal of pain through this false engagement! If you do not act quickly he may not forgive you!”
“I did try,” Polly said dispiritedly, “but I did not have enough time—”
“And no doubt he wasted some of it in berating you!” Lady Bellingham shook her head sadly. “Gentlemen are so predictable, but I have high hopes of Lord Henry’s intelligence and perception. Surely he can see that you are being blackmailed?”
“Yes, but I did not have the chance to explain—” Polly broke off. “How on earth did you know that, Lady B.?”
“Oh, my dear…” Lady Bellingham gestured widely “…how could you possibly have agreed to marry that horrid little man otherwise? For a while I could not imagine what hold he had over you, then I realised that it could be nothing to do with you personally—”
“You cannot know—”
“No,” Lady Bellingham said serenely, “I do not know the precise truth. All I know is that you are protecting someone else for the best of motives.” She took Polly’s hands. “But I do urge you, my dear, to reconsider. You may find that what you have been told is very far from the truth…”
Polly stared. “I wish I could believe you, ma’am,” she said sadly, “but all the details fit the case. You do not think that I would have agreed to the betrothal otherwise? Oh, I do not know what to do—”
The door opened and a young lady peered in a little dubiously. Lady Bellingham took Polly’s arm and steered her out into the corridor.
“Come, we must see if we can find Lord Henry for you. I cannot deny that I am consumed with curiosity to know the truth, but Lord Henry should be the first to hear! You must tell him, and at once. If necessary, I shall occupy that repellent Mr Ditton by telling him exactly what I think of him. That should distract his attention! In fact, I think I shall do that anyway!”
Lady Bellingham’s plan was destined to be dashed, however. Neither Lord Henry Marchnight nor Tristan Ditton could be found when they reentered the ballroom.
Looking about, Polly thought that the company seemed to be thinning rapidly. The officers of the 21st Light Dragoons seemed to be vanishing from before her eyes.
“Oh, this assembly is so tediously dull!” Miss Ditton yawned. “Mama, let us retire! Where can Tristan have got to?” She looked about her, vexed. “I hope he will not mind if we take the carriage! It is so thoughtless of him to disappear just as we require his escort!”
As far as Polly was concerned, Ditton could not be far enough away. She endured Miss Ditton’s pretence at an affectionate farewell embrace, winced as she was addressed as “Sister’, and retreated thankfully to Lucille’s side. She had already decided that she would seek a private audience with her sister-in-law as soon as they reached Dillingham Court. She could carry the secret of Hetty’s disgrace no longer.
The journey home was almost as dreadful as the one to the assembly. Lucille, Polly and Nicholas sat in silence whilst Polly ached to burst out with the truth. Other melancholy thoughts also occupied her mind. A few moments more and she would have told Henry everything, but now he would think that she did not trust him enough to confide. And it had been true…doubt had kept her silent until it was too late.
Polly took no notice as the carriage lurched along the dark lanes from Woodbridge to Dillingham. It was only when they came to an abrupt halt in the middle of nowhere that she looked up in surprise. Nicholas opened the window and stuck his head out. A cold mist was blowing in from the sea, wreathing around the trees, creeping into the carriage. Polly shivered. She was uncertain of their precise location as she had not been paying attention, but the night was cold and as desolate as only the empty Suffolk nights could be.
“John? What the devil’s going on?” Nicholas demanded.
“There’s a barricade across the road, my lord,” the coachman responded. “Army business, apparently, though here’s one can tell you what’s going on—”
“What’s happening, Lieutenant?” Nicholas Seagrave demanded of someone beyond Polly’s vision. “Why have we stopped?”
There was a murmur of conversation and then the soldier stepped around the side of the carriage, his red coat vivid in the misty darkness. His broad smile dispelled some of the tension gathering inside, where Lucille and Polly were just starting to worry.
“Oh it’s you, my lord! Please accept my apologies for stopping the coaches—a precaution only—but there has been some trouble down on the mudflats…” He grinned suddenly, dropping all formality. “You’ll be glad to know, sir, that the operation has been a success and both parties taken as we planned—”
“Nicholas? What is happening?” The Dowager Countess’s voice reached them imperiously from the door of the carriage she was sharing with the others. “Why have we stopped in this godforsaken place?”
The young Lieutenant turned hastily to apologise. “In just a moment we should be able to allow your journey to proceed, ma’am…”
“Did you take the ship as well?” Nicholas asked.
“We did, sir! The Laribee was hanging about outside port for the best part of the day, but she showed the revenue cutter a clean pair of heels when they went after her! When darkness fell she came in close again and put a boat out at the mouth of the creek, but we were waiting for them before they got to the rendezvous! The crew swore blind that they were innocent, but we found a tidy stock of brandy in the hold. It was to be an exchange, a man out and the cargo in, only the men on the beach started to quarrel and under cover of the noise and darkness—”
He broke off at the sound of marching footsteps on the road. Polly, leaning forward to peer into the darkness, drew back with an exclamation as a posse of soldiers, mudstained and filthy, marched past the carriages with two prisoners under escort in chains. One was utterly unknown to her, but the other—
“Tristan Ditton!” The Dowager Countess’s astounded tones cut the air. “You have Tristan Ditton there under arrest! What on earth is going on—”
“Do close the carriage door, Mama,” Nicholas said hastily. “We may progress now. Questions must wait until we are back in the warm, I think.” And he drew back into the coach. They started to move again, but not until Polly’s astonished gaze had taken in every detail of Mr Ditton’s extraordinary appearance. Gone was the dandified, exquisite simpering over his shirtpoints, and in his place was a snarling monster, straining helplessly against the chains that held him. For a moment his furious gaze picked her out and pinned her with his anger before he was dragged past. Polly shivered violently and, as the carriage picked up speed, she burrowed as far under the rugs as she could in a vain effort to get warm.
“Tristan Ditton!” The Dowager Countess was still expostulating loudly as they all entered the hall at Dillingham Court. “If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I doubt I should have believed it! And you—” she swung around accusingly on her elder son “—you appear to know all about it!”
Nicholas Seagrave was grinning broadly. “Oh no, this is Harry Marchnight’s show, not mine! I merely offered my help when he asked! You will have to ask Harry for the explanation!”
“Harry Marchnight!” The Dowager Countess was beginning to resemble a parrot in her repetiton. “What in the name of all that’s holy can Harry Marchnight have to do with this? Why, I like Harry above all people, he is the most charming of men and he did us a great good turn in London, but—”
She stopped suddenly. “And you, Polly! What do you know of all this? The betrothal to Tristan Ditton—”
Polly had not been listening to her mother’s exclamations. She had suddenly realised with a
feeling of sick horror and indignation that her brother had known of Ditton’s criminality and yet had said nothing, had done nothing to rescue her from the travesty of her engagement to him. Worse, only a night ago, Henry Marchnight had sworn to tell her the truth and had done so, but had neglected the most important part—that Tristan Ditton was the real villain.
“How dare you?” Her words cut across whatever Lucille had been saying to the Dowager Countess. She glared at Nicholas. “How dare you and Henry Marchnight play your games and think it entertaining? You could have saved me—one word from you and I would have known—” Her voice broke and she started to sob.
“You must see that I could not, Polly.” Nicholas had come across to her and tried to put an arm around her, but Polly pushed him away furiously. “The situation was so fraught with danger that, if Ditton had had any hint that all was not well, he might have run before we could trap him—”
Polly did not want to hear him. She turned away and stumbled up the stairs to her room where, for a second time, she locked herself in and cried as though her heart were breaking.
Chapter Sixteen
By the time that a pale dawn was breaking over Dillingham Court, an exhausted Polly had thought about her situation twenty times over and had been forced to admit that Nicholas had been right. Had she known of Tristan Ditton’s connections with Chapman, had she been told he was a criminal, she would never have been able to treat him with the cool courtesy she had usually meted out to him. It would have been impossible to behave normally in his presence. Nevertheless, Henry’s behaviour rankled. She had been chastising herself for lack of trust in him; it was difficult not to feel that he had shown a similar lack of faith in her.
As for Hetty’s secret, it seemed to Polly that it would be best to keep silent on that score now that Ditton was taken. There was no way of knowing if he had spoken the truth and it seemed to Polly that least said was soonest mended. She knew that it would be difficult to avoid the perceptive questions of Lucille and Lady Bellingham and the more forthright ones of the Dowager Countess, but with the wedding only five weeks away she was determined to hold her peace. Ditton could not constitute a threat any more and it would be pointlessly distressing to rake up the story. Henry was the only one to whom she had confided that she was being blackmailed through Hetty, and Polly thought rather wearily that Henry was unlikely to be able to press her on the matter since she would never be alone with him ever again. Polly was too tired and too resigned to try to delude herself that matters could ever be the same between her and Henry. For a brief time everything had been perfect, but now it was spoiled beyond redemption.
Polly slept fitfully and woke late, going down to breakfast determined to put a brave face on matters. The fact that everyone else had eaten and the room was empty helped her gather her courage. However, she almost fell at the first hurdle when she emerged from breakfast to find Henry Marchnight being ushered into the drawing-room. The Dowager Countess, on espying her daughter about to bolt up the stairs, seized her arm in a vice-like grip and marched her into the room.
“There you are, Polly! Lord Henry is come to tell us all about Mr Ditton’s activities! I am sure we are all agog!” She peered at her daughter’s face rather critically. “Dear me, you are as wan as a December morning, my love! The shock of it all, I suppose! Medlyn, some tea if you please!”
“Mama!” Polly began, in an agonised whisper, but the Dowager appeared to be suddenly afflicted by deafness. She took a seat on the sofa and compelled Polly to sit down beside her. The whole of the family was assembled, Peter and Hetty on the window-seat, Lucille, Nicholas and Henry in scattered armchairs set in a circle.
There was a pause whilst the tea was brought in by two footmen and placed before the Dowager Countess. Polly felt almost stifled with nerves. Even more galling, she had known before her mother spoke that she looked dreadful; it seemed that every time Henry saw her now she was looking wan and pasty, a far cry from his own careless elegance.
“Tristan Ditton as Chapman’s protector!” the Dowager Countess exclaimed, breaking the silence and passing Henry strong tea in a china cup. She bestowed a warm smile upon him. “It is scarcely to be believed! Why, I always found him a loathsome man, but never suspected…Nicholas!” She appealed to her elder son. “Did you ever imagine Tristan Ditton a criminal? Before you knew him to be so, of course!”
“No, Mama,” Nicholas Seagrave said obligingly, “I am ashamed to admit that I had no notion! I always found him deeply offensive but had no idea that he had the ability to run a criminal operation!”
“Extraordinary!” the Dowager opined.
“Ditton was certainly intelligent enough to appear stupid,” Henry said drily, “but with too little self-control to resist boasting about his achievements! My suspicions were first aroused by the gloating excitement with which he spoke of Chapman in London, and kept insisting that the man had a rich protector. I soon saw that he thought himself invulnerable. But his vanity was his downfall.” He shook his head. “His contacts in Suffolk made this the perfect escape route for Chapman. Ditton had been dabbling in smuggling for a number of years when he needed the money—he even used his carriage to transport smuggled goods under the noses of the militia! And, of course he cultivated that foolish, foppish attitude which led one to believe that he was nothing but a dandy.”
“No doubt you recognised that deception since you practised it yourself!” Polly put in a little pointedly. She gave Henry a very straight look as his thoughtful gaze transferred itself to her. It was very difficult for her to swallow her resentment and hear him out courteously. She found that she felt very angry.
Everyone seemed to be looking at her and to distract attention she fiddled with her teacup and only succeeded in spilling the liquid and drawing even more attention to herself. The Dowager Countess pursed her lips and filled another cup for her daughter.
“How did you know that Ditton intended to try to smuggle Chapman out of the country, Henry?” Lucille asked curiously when the commotion had subsided.
Henry shifted a little in his chair. “I received the intelligence that Chapman was to be helped to escape abroad and then matters made perfect sense,” he said. “Ditton was spending a lot of time down here and Suffolk has the ideal coastline for smuggling. Goods, men…” he shrugged “…there are so many deserted beaches, mudflats, creeks…It should have been easy for him, but I was watching him all the time and in the end, of course, he gave himself away by quarrelling with his allies and allowing the Dragoons to capture them all!”
“That night at the House of Tides…” Polly began, drawn in despite herself.
“Yes—” Henry smiled a little “—Ditton was certainly on the prowl that night! It was one of the nights when the tide was right to bring a boat in, but in the end the weather was against it. It was Ditton’s bad luck to be marooned at the House of Tides that night, and my good luck that he was so close by! Like me, he knew that there was a passageway from the cellars to the sea and he decided to explore.” Henry gave Polly an expressive look. “The spiral staircase in your room there led directly down to the cellars. I imagine Ditton had heard mention of that too. Certainly his explorations took him into your bedroom and into direct confrontation with your chamber pot!”
There was a rustle of laughter from everyone. Polly had to make a conscious effort not to smile. She did not want to forgive Henry so easily and she could feel her defences weakening. It was so fatally easy to like him, to feel that warmth melting her hostility.
Lucille shivered a little, sobering abruptly. “Poor Mrs Ditton—and poor Thalia! I could almost find it in my heart to feel sorry for them!”
“Lucille! That horrid Miss Ditton!” Hetty raised her brows. “How can you spare them your sympathy?”
Lucille smiled a little sadly. “Only think what it must be like for them now, Hetty! Mrs Ditton was always so proud of her offspring and she has precious little to be proud of now! A son in prison and a daughter who will no
doubt be abandoned by her fiancé! They will be forever moving now, trying to conceal their notoriety, looking over their shoulders, afraid that someone will give their shameful secret away. Tristan has brought them to that and I pity them.”
“And to think that Lord Henry knew all the time that Tristan Ditton was a criminal!” Polly said, an edge to her voice. Everyone looked at her again. The words had come out more loudly than she had intended, but she was so angry she could not contain them.
“You told me much of the truth about your activities, Lord Henry,” she said coldly, aware that everybody was listening but speaking for Henry alone, “that night at the ball. But the most important part you chose to neglect—”
“As did you, my lady,” Henry said gently, holding her gaze, “when I pressed you to tell me the means by which Ditton compelled you into the betrothal. Would you care to enlighten us now that all is safe?”
Polly caught her breath. Against her will her gaze slid to Hetty and away again. She had not thought to speak of this in company.
“I think not, sir.” She cleared her throat. “The matter is closed now that Mr Ditton is under arrest. It need concern us no further.”
“Perhaps you still consider yourself bound by the betrothal?” Henry asked, for all the world as though he genuinely believed it might be so.
Polly reddened with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance at his persistence. “Certainly not!” she snapped. “But the matter is no longer relevant—”
“Nonsense, Polly!” The Dowager Countess could be most obtuse when she chose to be. “You may speak freely, my love! We are all positively consumed with curiosity and will not rest until we know!”
Polly, who had found herself incapable of tearing her gaze away from Henry’s look of challenge, forced herself to face her mother instead.
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