This entertainment had quite slipped Miss Honeywell’s memory, or if she thought of it at all she had presumed the Dowager to have given up the idea, on account of Mr. Derwent’s marked lack of enthusiasm.
‘Our dinner-party?’ she queried.
‘Yes, the last acceptance came this morning,’ pursued the Dowager happily, ‘from Lady Sophia, explaining that she and Lord Francis will not be returning to London until that very day but will be delighted to attend.’
The hope that Lord Bredon would have spoken to his lady before her departure for London warred in Kate’s mind with anxiety at the prospect of having to meet Lord Francis again. She consoled herself with the thought that he seemed to be an astute sort of young gentleman and, provided he did not at once claim her acquaintance, she had little doubt that her refusal to recognise him would put him on his guard.
‘May I be of assistance, Aunt Hetty? It was always my task at home to set out the table placings and lay a tiny bouquet of flowers by each lady’s setting.’
‘What a capital notion!’ The Dowager ‘beamed her approval. ‘Yes, indeed, do so. Just remember to put Lady Sophia at Lysander’s right hand and Lord Francis upon mine. Being a Duke’s son he must take precedence over Lord Bambury, who will be upon my left.’
Miss Honeywell reflected that it would be a very strange thing if she was not on Lord Francis’ other hand to explain to him just how it was she did not wish her visit to Mount Trennick to be mentioned. Well pleased with the success of her stratagem, she began to discuss a new book called Frankenstein by an unknown writer, which her ladyship had obtained at the library; and whether it was possible, as was rumoured, that a lady could be the author of so astonishing a tale.
Upon returning to Charles Street the Dowager retired to her room, declaring she must rest after so fatiguing an afternoon. This, Miss Honeywell decided, would very likely be her only chance of leaving the house unobserved. So, donning a plain woollen mantle and deep-brimmed bonnet from which depended a tamboured veil, she slipped out and summoned a conveniently dawdling hack-carriage. Suspecting that the driver might be unwilling to convey an unescorted lady to Ryder’s Court, she asked him to set her down in Cranbourn Street, from whence she could proceed on foot to her destination. As she paid him off, he leaned down from his box and asked if he should wait for her.
‘No, thank you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I cannot tell how long I may be, and you could lose another fare.’
He accepted this argument as being reasonable, but expressed the opinion that it was no sort of place for a young lady, and if she took his advice she would do what she had to do and be out of it in a pig’s whisper.
Despite her confident air, Miss Honeywell felt oddly desolate as she watched the hackney depart. But, folding her mantle more closely about her, she went resolutely on her way. Cranbourn Street was full of noisy, vociferous humanity; but no one paid much heed to her, and she was in high hope of arriving safely in Ryder’s Court when a sudden commotion caused her to step smartly into a nearby doorway. A half-starved brat of a chimney-sweep’s boy had snatched an apple from a stall and, in haste to escape, had run into a fishwoman’s barrow, overturning it and affording fine amusement for the passers-by, who wasted no time in snatching up her wares and making off with them. In the meantime, despite the lamentations of the fishwoman and the efforts of the stall-holder to recover his apple, the climbing boy had disappeared, and Miss Honeywell was about to emerge from her doorway when she found herself confronted by a couple of young sprigs, complete to a shade and ripe for mischief.
‘ ’Pon honour, a pretty piece!’ simpered the taller of the two, a tightly laced Adonis, padded and pinched into a grotesque shape and holding a highly-scented handkerchief to his fastidious nostrils. ‘She takes m’fancy, as the old woman said of her cat! Are you alone, my lovely?’
He slid an arm about her waist and insinuated his person so close that Miss Honeywell was almost overpowered by the smell of myrrh upon his breath. His companion, less dainty in his appearance, with Belcher necktie and a vast bunch of seals depending from his fob, sniggered slyly and suggested they toddled off together to sluice their ivories at the nearest gin-shop.
Miss Honeywell, by good fortune, was carrying an umbrella, and she now employed this formidable weapon in so determined a manner as to cause her tormentors to fall back a little. The next moment a hand had descended upon each of their necks, and their heads were brought together with such force as to render them temporarily dazed and to knock their stylish beavers to the ground, where they were instantly trampled underfoot.
Any inclination they might have had to protest at such Turkish treatment was speedily quelled by the ruthless application of a boot, so placed as to send them sprawling after their headgear, to the huge delight of a gathering crowd, who adjured the fallen dandies to get on their pins and darken their assailant’s daylights for him. To Miss Honeywell’s vast relief they declined to take this advice, but removed themselves with indecent haste, followed by the jeers of the onlookers.
‘And now, ma’am, if you would be so obliging as to take my arm, my carriage is standing no distance away,’ said Mr. Derwent, as unruffled as if nothing untoward had taken place.
With a small gasp of thanks, she accepted his support and allowed him to lead her to where Harvey was holding the young bays steady against the unaccustomed sights and sounds around them, wondering the while how she was going to talk herself out of this scrape.
She was not perfectly clear in her mind just why Mr. Derwent was the last person she wished to be involved in her cousin’s affairs, for she had no doubt that he was competent to deal with any situation, however delicate. As he handed, her to her seat, she observed that his mouth was set in a very stern way and she found her thoughts straying so that strangely remote incident when those firm lips had been pressed to hers.
For the first time,-she allowed herself to dwell on that initial meeting and even to wish that it might be repeated. Being a young woman of great good sense, she was under no illusion as to what this apparent reversal of her sentiments might mean, and realised at once that it was not likely to help her in her dealings with the hostile gentleman at her side.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
The departure from Cranbourn Street was accomplished, without loss of time, Mr. Derwent handling the reins in form as he threaded his way through the press of vehicles in the busy streets. Miss Honeywell could only be grateful to him for engaging her in polite conversation as if he was escorting her home from some place of entertainment, though with Harvey standing up behind them, it was hardly the moment to censure her for the impropriety of her conduct. It was, however, with a feeling of impending doom that she stepped down from the curricle, and daring to glance at him, surprised a decided sparkle in his grey eyes.
‘If I might beg the privilege of a few words in private, ma’am?’
There was a ring of command behind the politely phrased words which caused Miss Honeywell’s heart to sink into her dainty ha If-boots. Her mind in a turmoil, she allowed herself to be ushered into the book-room, which offered the comfort of a cheerful fire and an array of handsomely bound volumes; a room with which she was not very familiar as it was generally regarded as being Mr. Derwent’s own particular sanctum,
‘Wh-what a great number of books you have, to be sure,’ she ventured nervously.
‘Yes, I have, haven’t I?’ He shut the door behind him and came to face her. ‘Now, ma’am, will you be so good as to inform me, if you please, just what you thought you were about, unattended in such a locality?’
As a request it could have been less curtly expressed. Miss Honeywell, while appreciating his right to some explanation, was in no mind to be browbeaten.
‘I was about my business, sir,’ she retorted, more hotly than was advisable in view of her decidedly equivocal situation.
‘I see.’ His tone was glacial. ‘May I ask, does my mother know the nature of this business?’
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p; ‘No-o.’ She pulled off her gloves and walked over to the fire to look down into its dancing flames. ‘It—it is of a private nature, sir.’
‘Yet I would remind you that you are in my mother’s charge while a guest under her roof.’ He paused, as if to collect himself before continuing in a milder vein. ‘I am aware that you are a stranger to our ways, Miss Honeywell, but I had not thought you to be totally lacking in discretion.’
She closed her eyes and prayed for inspiration. ‘How did you discover my intention—’ she began, but he interrupted her sharply.
‘I chanced to be turning into Charles Street when I saw you hail a hackney. At first I thought it must be one of the servant maids embarking upon a journey of a clandestine nature. I could scarce believe my eyes when I realised it was our guest.’
‘It was not of a clandestine nature!’ she flashed. ‘Not the way you mean! I—I was—oh, dear!’ She pressed her lips firmly together to check her angry words. What a mull she had made of the whole business! Not only had she not retrieved the necklace, but she had been found out—and by Mr. Derwent, of all people! He proceeded to surprise her yet again.
‘Sit down, ma’am, and allow me give you a glass of sherry.’
Unresisting, she took the chair he set for her, wondering at the change in his attitude. Lysander wondered at it himself. This headstrong, unbiddable girl had been a constant source of irritation to him since first he had set eyes upon her, and now she had quite overstepped the bounds of propriety, affording him a rare opportunity to give her a trimming. Yet her palpable distress, the hint of a tremor in her voice, and all his justifiable indignation began to evaporate like snow in warm sunshine!
Despising himself for such weakness, he placed the sherry on a small drum table by her elbow and poured out another for himself, while he sought for words to express his disapprobation in a fitting manner.
She, feeling that anything was better than this ominous silence, remarked nervously: ‘How gratifying to have your curricle and pair safely restored.’ Immediately the words were uttered she knew they should not have been. He stood, momentarily arrested in the act of raising his glass to his lips.
‘I had not supposed you to be so well acquainted with the equipage as to recognise it at a glance.’
Seeking to cover up the slip, she responded quickly. ‘Oh, is it your new curricle, then? I had thought it to be still a-building.’
‘It is.’ His voice was terse with suspicion. ‘How, may I ask, ma’am, did you learn of the return of my property?’
‘How?’ Miss Honeywell took a gulp of sherry to fortify herself and promptly choked, which necessitated Mr. Derwent having to offer his handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes, but if she hoped that so commonplace a mishap would deflect him from his purpose she had much mistaken the matter.
‘Yes, Miss Honeywell, how?’ he repeated in a very demanding way.
Feeling that her fate was rushing upon her with all the speed of a mail coach at full stretch, she assumed a nonchalant attitude. ‘I cannot recall who told me precisely, but I daresay it must have been Mr. Dacres. How excessively stupid of me to choke over your excellent sherry.’
‘Try another sip,’ he suggested, holding the glass for her to drink from. ‘Of course, you went driving with Augustus this morning.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she agreed thankfully, taking a cautious mouthful.
He set the glass down so violently that it overturned, and a small stream of sherry wandered over the gold-tooled hide surface of the table. Startled, she looked up to encounter a look as cold and hard as steel.
‘It won’t do, Miss Honeywell,’ he said silkily. ‘Augustus knows nothing of the return of my curricle. I t only came up from Mansell this morning.’ He pulled up a chair and seated himself beside her as if prepared to see the thing out if it took him the rest of the day. ‘Now let me have the true story of all this, if you please.’
More than anything did Miss Honeywell wish that she could unburden herself, for she was beginning to comprehend that she had taken more than was quite comfortable upon her shoulders.
‘Well, if not Mr. Dacres, I cannot conceive who could have told me,’ she declared with the air of one to whom the matter was not of great importance after all.
‘Perhaps the gentleman who returned me my equipage.’ His words seemed to fall into a pool of silence, the soft plop-plop of the sherry as it reached the edge of the table and spilled over on to the floor being the only sound to disturb the quiet of the room. ‘It is Bredon, is it not? That hesitation in his speech—I should have guessed, but it only came to me the other day. But why? What is his concern in my affairs?’ Since it was clearly useless to deny all knowledge of her cousin, Miss Honeywell’s agile brain sought to turn this to her advantage.
‘He had need of a carriage and pair. It was unfortunate that it chanced to be you who suffered the loss.’
‘And now?’
‘Now he has left the country and has no further need for it,’ she lied stoutly.
‘And your activities this afternoon?’
‘Were solely on my own account.’ Dear God, she thought, how easy prevarication comes to the tongue once one has got into the way of it! ‘I had not wished for you or Aunt Hetty to know, but mama is not as plump in the pocket as when my father was alive.’ She bit her lip and looked engagingly confused. ‘Mr. Dacres escorted me to Ryder’s Court this morning where he—he submitted an article of jewellery for valuation to a Mr. Jacobson.’
‘Jacobson!’ he exploded. ‘The greatest sharp in the business! I’ll have a word with Augustus when I see him!’
‘No, please!’ she implored. ‘Don’t take him to task, he was only trying to oblige me.’
‘You have a receipt for it?’ She nodded and he held out his hand. ‘That’s something at least. Give it me, ma’am, and I will go and reclaim your necklace. Any money you need my mother can supply.’
Now Miss Honeywell was indeed in a dilemma, torn as she was between her desire to retrieve the necklace before its identity should be discovered, and dread of how Mr. Derwent would support the rigours of Newgate Prison should Mr. Jacobson’s conscience have prompted him to call upon the Jaw.
‘Please do not trouble yourself, sir,’ she begged him, playing desperately for time, ‘the valuation will be ready tomorrow morning, when Mr. Dacres and I can collect it as arranged. I see no call to change any of this.’
‘Why, then, were you going there today—and alone? Come, Miss Honeywell, do you take me for a sapskull?’ Miss Honeywell did not take him for anything of the sort and, not knowing what else to do, she allowed herself to dissolve into heartrending sobs. This had a most gratifying effect, she being one of those fortunate ladies whose beauty was enhanced rather than otherwise in such circumstances. Tiresome creature though she undoubtedly was, the sight of her sitting there, with trembling lips and tears streaming down her softly-flushed cheeks, quite melted Lysander’s stony heart.
‘There, don’t put yourself in a taking,’ he soothed her. Gently detaching his handkerchief which she still held clutched in her hand, he performed the mopping-up process in so competent a manner that she expected at any moment to have it held to her nose and be required to blow. For his part, Mr. Derwent rather enjoyed the experience, though it did cross his mind to wonder why he should do so when the only emotion aroused by Sophia’s tears had been one of slight irritation.
‘Better now?’ He was smiling at her so sweetly that she felt downright giddy, but managed to gulp an assent. ‘There is something behind all this that is troubling you. Cannot you look upon me as, in some sort, a brother, and allow me to be of assistance?’ He then remembered the circumstances in which he had previously offered to act in a fraternal capacity and moved hastily to look out of the window. When he spoke again his voice had lost much of its warmth. ‘Are you trying to noise the wind on Bredon’s behalf?’
Miss Honeywell, thinking very poorly of whatever august Being had endowed Mr. Derwent with such power
s of perception, knew she had come to the end of her rope. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘How fortunate he is to have such a champion! You must be greatly devoted to his interest.’
‘I believe him to be innocent of any crime.’
He swung round to face her. ‘Miss Honeywell, in affording him assistance you are putting your own person at hazard. That I cannot allow. Now, give me that receipt and I will go fetch your necklace.’
‘No, no, please do not!’ she entreated. ‘You see, it is not mine, it is Timothy’s, and I fear it may be recognised. That is why I and no one else must claim it back.’
He laughed contemptuously. ‘You don’t imagine old Jacobson would call up the Runners, do you? They’d be happy for an excuse to get a foot inside his shop, I don’t doubt! But if he suspects anything is amiss, he could well threaten blackmail.’ His regard of her was so coldly searching that, involuntarily, she shivered despite the warmth of the room. ‘And you were prepared to risk arrest, ma’am? This is attachment of a high order, indeed.’
She raised her chin defiantly. ‘If any questions are asked, Timothy left the necklace to me when he fled the country.’
‘Feasible,’ he allowed, ‘but can you prove it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, praying that Bredon had remembered to write that letter of donation. He grasped the bell-pull, which summons brought so immediate a response that she suspected Bates of standing just outside the door.
‘Bid Harvey bring my tilbury to the door at once, if you please. Now, that receipt,’ he went on when the butler had hurried away to carry out his wishes.
‘No, you are not going without me,’ she asserted.
He took a step forward, and for a delicious moment she thought she was going to be offered physical violence. Then his hands dropped to his sides and he spoke very levelly, his eyes fixed on a point in space above her head.
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