The Baroness was, to Kit’s astonishment, uttering oaths and beating the officers over the head with her parasol as she too was apprehended, all eventually being taken in order and given the same proclamation.
‘I’m arresting you for conspiracy to obtain money by false pretences!’ Kit almost fainted as the words were directed at her.
‘There’s been a mistake!’ she interrupted, aghast at the gentrified audience who had gathered to watch. ‘I don’t know anything about a conspiracy.’
The police officer ignored her plea.
‘Ask my employer, the Countess of Garborough!’ implored Kit. ‘I’m her seamstress!’
‘Why, you conniving witch!’ William Sinclair lunged forward. ‘Officer, I have been duped! I was led to believe this woman was an heiress!’
‘I never told him that!’ shrieked Kit, and looked to the Baroness for help, but the lady averted her face in dispassionate manner.
‘You can all have your say down at the station,’ said the officer in charge, trying to avoid a mêlée as others joined the argument. Then those under arrest were bundled into horse drawn vans and taken to a police station where Kit was pushed into line behind others.
One after the other they gave their names and addresses to the desk sergeant, each to witness the others’ ignominy – but none could be as mortified as Kit, whose rash confession of her true position in life had suddenly made her into a pariah.
The desk sergeant tipped out the contents of Kit’s velvet bag, scrutinizing one of the calling cards therein. ‘The Honourable Katherine Kilmaster,’ he read aloud, raising an eyebrow.
Eyes downcast and trembling, she felt his mocking glance.
William Sinclair was still claiming to know nothing of any conspiracy and said he was only at the scene of the arrest by accident. His sole reason for being there was to make a proposal of marriage and he now knew that false pretences had been used to trick him into making that offer. He demanded that the police take action.
Kit defended herself. ‘I never misled him!’
‘I demand that you retrieve the money I paid!’ persisted the fop.
‘I never took his money!’
‘No, but the Baroness did!’ Sinclair pointed an accusing finger.
The desk sergeant was unmoved, merely passing a cynical glance at the accused. ‘Baroness this week are we, Sylvia?’
The self-styled noblewoman shrugged and moved up to give her details, her automatic monotone conveying that she had had much practice.
‘You mean she isn’t who she claims to be?’ Squinting through his monocle, the fop looked her up and down. ‘Well, who is she then? Dammit, man, I’ve paid her five hundred pounds! She told me she’d get me an heiress, don’t-cher-know. If I’d wanted a wretched seamstress I could have had one for five shillings!’
‘Not me you couldn’t!’ Of all the humiliations heaped on Kit, this must be the worst. The spell of captivity had given her time to consider her position. There was only one person she could turn to. ‘Please, will you send someone to that address and ask for Viscount Postgate. He’ll tell you who I am.’
‘You trollop, leading me on like that!’ Sinclair proceeded to dish insults upon Kit until, almost mercifully, she was led away and pushed into a cell to await questioning.
* * *
It was useless to deny her involvement, the detective told Kit hours later. The calling cards in her bag were proof enough that she was part of the self-styled Baroness’s gang.
Kit was thoroughly browbeaten, her fingertips gripping the edge of the bare wooden table between them. ‘They weren’t meant to deceive! It was just a bit of fun. Has Lord Postgate arrived yet?’
‘I believe so.’
Her plump shoulders sagged with relief. ‘He’ll tell you the same as I did, that I’m his mother’s seamstress.’
The detective said he did not doubt her identity, just her denial of involvement. ‘This Lord Postgate, he wouldn’t happen to be another acquaintance of Sylvia’s, would he?’
‘No! He’s a real viscount.’ Kit realized she had made a terrible error in involving her employer’s son. ‘You’ve got to believe me! If I didn’t know the Baroness wasn’t a baroness how can I be involved?’
She wrung her hands. ‘I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done.’
The detective’s only response was to continue with the interrogation. ‘Tell me again how you met Sylvia.’
Kit was forced to repeat the degrading tale of how she had imitated a person of note in order to find a marriage partner. ‘But I had no intention of duping anyone!’ she protested, wet-eyed and earnest, before venturing to ask, ‘Who is that woman if she isn’t really who she claims?’
‘She’s a crook. A very nasty one. In between robberies she makes a living out of fleecing avaricious young men, promising to find them a wealthy partner.’ Giving Kit pause for thought, he added, ‘She runs what you might call a stable of young women who help her achieve her aims. They attract the target, who hands over the money, which is never to be seen again and neither is their “bride”. We’ve had our eye on her activities for weeks.’
Casting her mind back to her first encounter with the woman, Kit saw now that the supposed attacker had merely been another of those duped. She covered her face in despair of her own naivety. ‘Oh, please believe me, I had no idea!’ Keen to unburden herself of any guilt, she repeated everything that had occurred since the day she had met the ‘Baroness’.
At the end of a very long interview, the detective smiled at his colleague. ‘Makes a change for someone to pull the wool over Sylvia’s eyes, don’t it?’
‘You mean, you believe me?’ Kit’s handkerchief was almost in tatters. ‘Can I go?’
‘For now,’ came the discouraging answer.
When Kit emerged from the interrogation room it was to see a very annoyed Ossie Postgate seated on a bench, tapping his heels. Upon seeing her he jumped up. ‘I don’t appreciate being detained in a police station for half an hour, Kit!’
Apologizing profusely, she allowed him to take her elbow and steer her briskly outside. ‘I had no intention of getting your lordship involved in this! I just didn’t know who else to turn to.’
‘This is a very different situation to the one with which I helped you before. A rumpus with a schoolteacher is one thing, involving your employer in a charge of conspiracy is quite another!’
The vehemence in his attitude made her stomach roll over. ‘Do the Earl and Countess know?’
Ossie gave brusque response. ‘No, and I’ve no desire that they should! That is the only reason why I waited for you, to say that you must say absolutely nothing to any of the servants—’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t, milord!’
‘—for if this gets out I shall never forgive you. Though none of that will be relevant if this appears in the newspapers! How could you be so damned stupid?’
Utterly subjugated, Kit bowed her head and followed him to his carriage. Nothing more was said between them. Kit felt she had lost his friendship – if any had been there in the first place.
Ossie drove his carriage into the mews and ordered Kit to go ahead whilst her superior dealt with the stable lad. She hurried in, bypassing the servants’ hall, and went straight to her room where she capsized upon her bed. Oh, what a fool she had been! The enormity of the afternoon’s events revisited her. She began to sob.
A tap at the door caused her to draw in her breath, but her visitor was only Gladys.
‘I was just passing your door and heard you crying! Are you ill?’
Swollen-eyed, Kit said she wished that it were so. ‘It’s much worse than that – oh you won’t tell any of the others, will you? I’ll just have to get it off my chest.’ She told of her involvement with the gang of crooks, of her subsequent arrest and of Viscount Postgate coming to save her. Gladys’s eyes grew wider every second. ‘If it hadn’t been for him I doubt they would ever have let me go! But I promised him I wouldn’t tell a soul so
you won’t—’
‘Not I!’ swore Gladys, and laid a comforting hand on the victim’s shoulder.
‘Bless you!’ Kit inhaled deeply. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how I manage to get myself into such things! But I’ve definitely learned my lesson. I can only hope and pray now that it all blows over.’
* * *
Before bedtime, however, Kit was to find that far from blowing over, her scrape with the law had been blown into such proportions as to reach the Countess’s ears. Ossie Postgate, summoned to appear before his parents, tried to make light of the matter but this was ineffectual. Horrified that a servant had involved their son in such a shameful occurrence, the Earl and Countess demanded to see Kit. It was not, however, to hear any explanation.
Summarily dismissed, Kit tried to offer apology, especially to Ossie who had been such a champion in the past. But his eyes were cold, as were those of his parents. The Earl told this ungrateful chit she would leave immediately without reference. Never before had such perfidy been wreaked upon this household. His only concession would be to give her the fare back to Yorkshire. She would leave forthwith.
Thoroughly shamed – what explanation would she give those at home? – Kit slunk from the room.
Whilst a footman was sent to bring her box to the servants’ hall, Kit fidgeted awkwardly under the furtive looks of her peers. Gladys bustled in, saw Kit and immediately stopped in her tracks, cheeks reddening. Having guessed the source of the leak before this, Kit had been seeking the culprit and now beheld her with hurt accusation. Awaiting retribution, Gladys nibbled her lip.
Kit glanced away momentarily as the footman informed her that her box had been put in the waiting cab. Summoning every ounce of dignity, she rose and moved to the doorway, issuing solemn goodbyes to those who cared to listen, and offering a parting shot to Gladys, whose trepidation had increased with her nearness. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to slap your face – but only because I can’t decide which one of them to slap.’
17
One small mercy accompanied Kit on her train journey home. At least she still had the letter of introduction written by Ossie Postgate almost three years ago. Guarded within her bible, it was the only thing that would assure her another position. Wiser by far, she resolved never again to pretend to be anything other than what she was. If this meant admitting to Ninian that she was more humble than he had assumed, then so be it.
Unable to bring herself to go home, for her box would give her away, she went instead to the White Hart at Aldwaldwyke where she had arranged to meet him on the first of August. That she was rather earlier than expected would only grant her time to reflect on her situation, and she possessed enough money to cover the room and board.
Paying a man threepence to carry her wooden box upstairs, she ordered something to eat, then spent the rest of the afternoon mulling over her predicament. At least she could honestly say she was no longer a servant – though she still had to confess she was not the tenant of Postgate Park.
But how silly this all was. He might not even turn up at all. After spending a restless night at the inn, Kit decided she could not sit here for three whole days and expect to retain her sanity. Instead, after breakfast, she went down to the proprietor and asked him to store her box until she came to collect it. Then, armed with suitable explanation, she set off for Ralph Royd.
Unlike her own tumultuous life, everything here was as it had been before she had left. Neither Sarah nor Monty saw anything odd about Kit’s impromptu appearance, for she always turned up to see them whenever she got back from London. Telling them she had been granted a few days’ holiday before going back to work, Kit voiced her desire to stay amongst her family. The children were delighted as ever to see her, and made room in one of the beds for their aunt. After all the turmoil, it came as such a comfort to snuggle down amongst them, squashed and hot or no. Yet, her mood remained tinged by sadness for the loved one who was missing.
On the last day of July, she travelled back to the White Hart, not really believing that Ninian would turn up, but intending to be there in good time to prepare her appearance – just in case. Despite all this, by night-time she had talked herself into the belief that he too would leave her in the lurch.
* * *
At noon the following day, still half expecting him not to be there, Kit’s mood underwent a rapid elevation at the sight of him in an open carriage rolling into place at the stone cross before she herself had even bothered to leave her room. Having been dressed and ready for hours, she rushed downstairs and hurried across the road to meet him.
‘You remembered!’ Her face was one large beam.
‘But of course!’ Jumping down only to assist his guest, Ninian sprang back into the gig and in a moment the pair of them were spinning along a country lane. Aside from his primary greeting, her companion seemed disinclined to talk, but he was obviously pleased that she had come and Kit was quite happy to jog along in silence, enjoying the male presence.
After a while, Ninian steered the horse into a gateway that opened on to a farm track and then put on its nosebag. ‘Not fair for us to have lunch and him to starve!’ Taking the picnic hamper from the carriage, he helped Kit through the gate and escorted her across a sunny meadow towards a chestnut tree. Beneath its sweeping skirts, Ninian laid a rug and both sat down, shaded from the brilliant August sunshine.
Kit took off her straw hat, noting her companion’s look of admiration for her auburn hair.
‘Would you like to eat now?’ He indicated the hamper. At Kit’s smiling nod he unbuckled the leather straps and began to investigate its contents.
Their shared enjoyment of the rather exotic food inspired a conversation, Ninian saying that he had acquired a fondness for such fare after a three-year tour of the world. Intrigued, Kit begged to hear all about his travels. Before the meal was over they were chatting like old friends.
The sun moved slowly across the sky, occasionally piercing their leafy canopy. Over his initial shyness now, Ninian waited upon Kit’s every whim, displaying sweetmeats for her delectation, tempting her with wine, even becoming so bold as to pop imported fruits into her mouth. Without objection, she allowed him to cosset her, reclining on one elbow and parting her lips for one treat after another.
‘You look even more beautiful than the first day I saw you, Kit,’ he said at last.
Surprised, she did not know what to say.
‘I remember exactly what you were wearing.’ Reposing next to her now, he held another grape to her lips.
‘You’ve a better memory than me, then.’ Seeing that her words had invoked a look of sadness, she rushed to correct her impression. ‘I only meant I don’t recall my clothes! I remember you very well. I thought you were very handsome.’ He possessed the dark looks she found attractive.
Ninian chuckled and said there was no need for flattery.
‘It’s not flattery! I really do think you’re handsome.’
‘It’s wonderful that you say so.’ Eyes rarely leaving her face, he plied her with more grapes and more compliments, telling her eventually, ‘I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel like you do, Kit.’ His voice was as warm as the sun on her face.
‘I’ve never met anyone like you either.’ So pampered did he make Kit feel, that when her lips experienced not a sweetmeat but a human mouth, she did not flinch, but returned its soft pressure, closing her eyes and laying back in order to invite more.
With the barest interval between kisses, Ninian shuffled his body closer, each kiss becoming more ardent, his hand caressing her shoulder, sliding down her arm, moving up again, along the sweep of her neck and around her cheek, then sweeping in one long caress to the mountainous rise of her breast—
Kit squeaked and pushed him away. He stopped immediately.
‘Dear Kit, forgive me! You’re just so beautiful I got carried away. I swear to wait until we’re married – but oh, it will be such torture!’ At her look of astonishment, he shook his head at his own
tardiness. ‘I fully intended to make a formal proposal at the end of this afternoon, if passion had not taken me by surprise – but you will marry me, won’t you? Say you will?’ He seized her entreatingly.
Kit felt as if she had undertaken a ride on the helter-skelter, so quickly had the romance developed. She could not truly say she loved him with a passion, but his genuine interest in her was a wonderful compliment – and a poke in the eye for the fortune teller. She had always sworn she would only marry for love, but she had been in love before and had been let down. Besides, who was to say that this attachment would not grow into something deeper? She must allow herself time to get to know him. This was what she tried to convey to her suitor.
‘Ninian, I’m deeply honoured, but we know nothing about each other.’
‘I know everything I need to know! It is all displayed in those wondrous eyes. And as to myself, there is little to know. I have an excellent allowance – my father is chairman of the Ralph Royd Coal Company and is a most generous man.’
Not in my brothers’ opinion, thought Kit, startled to learn of her companion’s full identity. What would Owen have to say if she brought Ninian home? Her resolve to be truthful was quickly evaporating. The mention of an allowance also provoked unease – Ninian was not, then, of independent means.
Sensing her reserve, he pleaded for her to give his proposal deeper thought. Never had Kit anticipated being faced with the decision of whether to marry or not! Heart thudding, she stared into his brown eyes. It was quite obvious to her that his affections were not fabricated.
Overwhelmed, she took a deep breath. ‘I beg you to wait a six month.’
‘But why?’ His cry was agonized.
‘Or at least until Christmas! My brother will insist upon it, and even though I am of age I am respectful of his wishes. If you are still so sure of your heart then … I would very much like to accept your proposal.’ The thought did cross her mind that the time would come for her to confess she was only a servant – not even that currently – but by then he would be too smitten for it to matter. It also occurred that she would have to be presented to his family, but she would meet that when she came to it. At least this one was too mature for them to be of any influence, allowance or no. She was determined there would be no re-enactment of her doomed relationship with Thomas Denaby. And how could there be? Ninian showed none of Thomas’s boyish indecision. Here was a man who was in command.
A Sense of Duty Page 36