She was a murderess! No matter how many excuses might be made for her, no matter how desperately she might seek to excuse herself, Greville Aintree was dead, and she and Lord Capel between them were responsible for his death.
She had no idea how long she remained there in the hall, consumed with an anguish she had never expected to experience, before the parlour door opened and Lord Bruce came out. Shocked by the sight of her white face and staring eyes, he realised at once that she had heard the news, and he put an arm very gently but firmly about her shoulders and drew her into the parlour.
Lady Fanny was lying almost full length upon a settee, fanning herself with her hat and sipping a glass of Madeira with relish after her journey, and standing in front of the fireplace, beautifully dressed for the evening, was Lord Capel himself. Apart from being a little pale, and holding one arm a trifle stiffly, there was nothing about him to indicate that he had recently been very much an invalid. And apart from a strange, rather feverish glitter in his eyes, there was no sign that he was disturbed by the news his sister had brought him.
“Ah, so there you are. Miss Yorke!” Lady Fanny exclaimed, smiling brightly upon her, while Lord Bruce hastened to put a glass of Madeira into her hand. “I had no idea I would meet you here, but it is really most fortunate because I have something to tell you about those charges of yours. Knowing how concerned you were for them and their welfare I journeyed deep into Sussex to visit them and see for myself how they were faring, and you can accept it from me that there is now very little amiss with them, and Verbena is coming to stay with me in the near future. Robert has gone back to Oxford and the little boy, Ferdinand, is living happily at the vicarage with his tutor. Of course we shall have to consider their whole situation seriously very soon, but for the moment all is comparatively well and you have nothing at all to worry about. Does that not set your mind at rest?”
“Oh, yes—yes, indeed, ma’am,” Harriet replied, feeling so little concern for the members of the de Courcey family at that particular moment that she found it quite impossible to sound in the slightest degree enthusiastic.
Across the width of the room she met the Marquis’s eyes, and although they did not smile it struck her that they seemed cynically amused. He lifted his glass high in the air and suggested they drink a toast to the de Courceys.
“At least that problem appears to be solved, at any rate temporarily,” he said. “Which is fortunate for them, since I shall have little opportunity to supervise their well-being while I am roaming the Continent during the next two years. What about you, Miss Yorke? You look a little pale at the moment. Is it because there is a thought at the back of your mind that you might be forced to share my banishment with me?”
His sister rebuked him for being unnecessarily facetious; and she added further that she considered Miss Yorke’s part in this very unfortunate affair to be so very trifling that no one need consider it further. She had acted as any young female of sensibility might have acted under such circumstances, and the fact that she had risked her reputation somewhat needlessly by consenting to act the part of a temporary nurse to her brother was in itself commendable, if one overlooked the fact that she had displayed a disregard for the conventions.
“But then I understand your father was away at sea a great deal,” she concluded, directing at Harriet a rather more censorious look than she had hitherto done, and allowing a strong note of censure to enter her voice; “and no doubt your mother was beset by so many problems that the bringing up of a daughter along lines which everyone could approve was no simple matter for her. However, I am a little surprised that you should have been quite so reckless. Capel has a reputation with members of our sex which is hardly likely to reflect credit on you should the story of your close association over the past few days ever become a subject for public gossip. I’m sure you understand that and are as concerned about the situation as I am?”
The whiteness of Harriet’s cheeks was suddenly stung with painful colour, but she denied emphatically that either her mother or her father had ever failed in their duty where she was concerned. On the contrary, they had been exemplary parents...
“It is I who occasionally behave with—with an impetuosity which no one can deplore more than I do myself,” she admitted very stiffly, finding difficulty in controlling a tendency on the part of her lower lip to quiver a little.
Lord Bruce bent over her and patted her shoulder almost paternally.
“There, there, Miss Yorke,” he said, “forget it, I entreat you. All this is most unfortunate, but you are by no means to blame.”
Lady Fanny waved a hand at her carelessly and, somewhat surprisingly, agreed with her younger brother.
“Of course you are not to blame, but should such a situation ever arise again I trust you will think not merely twice but a great many times before behaving, as you yourself admit you occasionally behave, with impetuosity.” She wagged an admonitory finger at the Marquis. “And as for you, Richard ... What Papa will say about this, and what will be the effect on his health, I shudder to think. As a family we shall none of us escape criticism although when she thought about it afterwards Harriet found it difficult to follow her reasoning on this head. “I personally shall go into seclusion for a while until the storm blows over.”
“In heaven’s name why?” Lord Capel demanded, in an irritated way. A certain whiteness at the comers of his mouth indicated that he was experiencing a reaction to the shock of the news of Greville Aintree’s death, and Harriet at least sensed that he was stunned by it. Somewhat to her own surprise she felt a profound sympathy for him. “I have heard of the sins of the fathers being visited upon the children, but never of the failings of an elder son being visited on his entire family.”
“But that is precisely what happens when an elder son forgets his duty to his father, and his obligations to every other member of his family,” Lady Fanny told him, waving her wine-glass above her head as an indication that she desired it to be refilled. Lord Bruce obligingly carried the decanter over to her settee. “And now, my dears, I propose that we forget our problems for a short while and enjoy our dinner. I am almost ravenously hungry, and I understand that Mrs. Rawlins has received instructions to prepare a suitable meal for us, and no doubt my maid has already unpacked for me upstairs.” She rose gracefully from the settee. “I shall not bother to change into anything very elaborate, but I certainly must rid myself of these travel-stained garments. Now, Brace, at what hour do we dine?”
“Normally at this hour we would already have dined,” Lord Bruce admitted, wondering whether the strain upon the resources in the kitchen would prove too much for Mrs. Rawlins, and what, if anything, would be provided for dinner. “But since Hollowthorne has suddenly become as popular as a coaching-inn,” with a certain amount of dryness, “I trust you will overlook a certain amount of confusion on the part of the servants and make allowances if the repast which they are likely to give you is a trifle inadequate as well as late.” He did not look as if he altogether welcomed the advent of his fashionable sister, particularly after the last two pleasant evenings when he and Miss Yorke had dined alone together, but as the duties of host more or less devolved upon him he was plainly prepared to make every endeavour to rise to the occasion. He looked a little regretfully at Harriet, as if she was rather more in his mind than the other two, and it was to her rather than the others that he addressed himself before he bowed himself out. “If you will forgive me,” he said, “I will pay a visit to the kitchen and discover whether any difficulties have arisen which I can deal with satisfactorily.”
Lady Fanny watched his departure with a certain amount of interest—indeed, quite a lively degree of interest. And no sooner had the door closed upon him than she turned and looked directly at Harriet and arched her eyebrows in a particularly meaningful way.
“Well, well!” she exclaimed. “Well, well! Who would have thought it?—Of Bruce!”
She smiled with sudden dazzling brilliance at Harriet,
collected her reticule and her gloves and her enormous milkmaid hat with the brilliant feathers attached to it and the satin ribbons which looped beneath the chin, and moved in a wave of excessively expensive French perfume to the door. Once she reached it she paused and blew a light-hearted kiss at the Marquis.
“Never fear, Rick,” she encouraged him. “All will yet work out! And one can be so very gay in Paris, and indeed in Venice also—although I must admit that dreadful stench from the canals is a little distressing.” Another thought occurred to her and she sobered still more. “And it is really most unfortunate that Rowena Harmsworth returned from Italy only last week. She confessed to me that she was looking forward very much to seeing you again, and her mama was so very eager to hear how you did. I had the feeling they were both listening intently for the sound of wedding-bells!”
Richard made no response whatsoever, and gazed unsmilingly at his sister. As soon as she had closed the door he walked to the window.
Harriet rose at once and said something about lending some assistance in the kitchen also, but his lordship turned and walked swiftly towards her. Surprising her considerably, he put out both his hands and possessed himself of hers, and held them very tightly.
“I’m sorry, Harriet,” he said. “I’m so sorry that I find it difficult to express myself.”
Harriet gazed up at him uncomprehendingly.
“You mean,” she faltered, “that you are sorry about—about—”
“Not about Greville Aintree. Oh, I’m sorry that the surgeon failed to save him, of course, but he was not a pleasant man—you, certainly, would not have thought so!—and he had sent so many others to their deaths. No; I am sorry because you look so utterly downcast. You were plainly distressed when you came in here a short time ago! But you must not blame yourself, Harriet—it was not your fault! You acted humanely! It was my fault for calling him out!”
“You—you said he might have killed you...” Harriet faltered—wondering why the clasp of his hands was such a comfort to her in those moments.
“I certainly think he intended to do so. But,” with harsh dryness, “would that have been such a very great loss to the civilised world?”
“Oh, yes! Oh, indeed, yes!” Looking up at him with her limpid green eyes she recognised, not for the first time, how exceptionally handsome he was; and with that despondent droop to the corners of his mouth and the melancholy in his eyes he had become all at once a far more insidious threat to the normal tranquillity of her mind than she would ever have believed possible; certainly not in her moments of unswerving common sense. “Oh, yes, my lord,” she assured him with a notable degree of emphasis.
He smiled, and there was a tinge of the old mockery in his smile.
“Answer me something truthfully, Harriet,” he requested her. “Would you have agreed so unhesitatingly had that question been put to you on the night we met? Would you?”
Harriet looked downwards at their clasped hands.
“I—I—” she attempted, but failed altogether to pursue the matter.
He laughed softly.
“Oh, fie, Harriet,” he said, and put his fingers under her chin and lifted it, looking directly into the green eyes. “What has brought about this change of heart? Not the difficult invalid I have so recently proved, for he must have affected you sorely at times with the temptation to abandon me altogether. But you did not do so! You were remarkably true to your trust, and I find it quite astonishing ... particularly as you have since refused to marry me. That was an experience quite novel to me.”
“I’m sure it was, my lord,” she replied with a sudden tightening of her lips.
He shook his head at her.
“Pray remember that I did ask you to marry me, and that is something I have never done before. I have never placed myself in such a vulnerable position before.”
“But you must have been very certain that I would refuse you, my lord. You could never for one moment have supposed that I would accept you.”
“Couldn’t I?” He frowned a little as he regarded her, and he was still holding one of her hands. “But you and I have experienced an extraordinary intimacy, Harriet, and our situation is unique—or that is how I regard it. If you had had the least regard for your own reputation you would have accepted me without a moment’s hesitation, and I—I might well have had cause to be grateful to you. You are not as most women of my acquaintance are, or sooner or later become. You are neither afraid of me nor enamoured of me, and you have discovered a method of handling me which is astonishing. When I consider how physically inadequate you are and how deprived of a suitable background, I marvel that you should have had so little hesitation in championing the cause of those wards of mine, for one thing.”
“It was my duty,” she told him, seeking to avoid his eyes. “And when it is a woman’s duty she cannot allow herself to be affected by any considerations of weakness.”
“And therefore, as my sister has it, you bearded the lion in his den—apparently on her recommendation!—and here we are. And the problem now is—in my new life, so far away from all tender reminders of home and friends, how am I to forget all about you?”
“I am sure you will manage very successfully, my lord,” she told him drily, although for the first time since she had known him she wished almost ardently that he did not arouse in her such a desire to be antagonistic.
“I’m afraid I cannot agree with you.”
“But as Lady Fanny observed such a short while ago, Paris—and Venice!—can be remarkably gay. And the Earl of Headcorn’s beautiful daughter may well decide that England has few charms if you are not to be numbered among them, and consider another trip to the Continent much more to her taste if she is likely to encounter you there. Consider, my lord, how your exile could be rendered less irksome and your loneliness less oppressive if the two of you should meet in one of those faraway capitals. It is not impossible to contract a marriage on the Continent, I believe.”
She glanced at him swiftly and then looked away again.
“So you think I will be lonely?” he said broodingly, ignoring the rest that she had said.
Harriet shook her head.
“Not really, my lord. I was forgetting that you must have many friends in Europe.”
“Even if I have, there are bound to be occasions when I will think of England—and you! Yes, you, Harriet! I would like you to know that I will think of you very often, and it will not be to my comfort.”
He carried both her hands up to his face and held them there for several seconds before kissing them. Harriet’s face flamed, and the most extraordinary reaction took place deep at the very centre of her being. She felt as if her whole inner being trembled a little, and from the nerve centres in her fingertips to those located in the region of her heart a most disturbing message was despatched.
She hastily snatched away her hands, and said that she must go and lend Mrs. Rawlins some assistance in the kitchen. It was really too much for the poor woman to have to cope with all the problems of providing a meal of several courses for so many people, and it was up to her to lend a hand.
“I really must go ... If you will forgive me, my lord?” she said.
And before his reply that he would not forgive her and that he had much more to talk to her about could fall on her ears, she had opened the door and departed. Lord Capel stood looking after her with a frown between his brows.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The dinner, when it was brought to table, was a tribute to Mrs. Rawlins’ capacity for rising to the occasion despite a poorly stocked larder, and Lady Fanny was loud in her praise of the hastily plucked and roasted chickens; and in particular the fruit tart seemed to her to merit unstinted approval. She had attired herself in the palest blue gauze, and her head-dress was a spectacular achievement on the part of her maid, who had found the restrictions imposed upon her by a somewhat limited supply of candles a little difficult to overcome.
Nevertheless, Lady Fan
ny was happily conscious of appearing at her best, and as a result was in high good humour. Harriet, who had had no opportunity to make any alteration to her appearance owing to the fact that she had been assisting Mrs. Rawlins in the kitchen until just before the dinner bell rang in the hall, felt slightly overawed every time her eye, either by accident or a kind of hypnotised design, lighted upon her.
And as for the Marquis, already dressed for the evening before his sister arrived, in dark blue velvet coat and white satin small-clothes and silk stockings, which would have been entirely appropriate for either White’s or Crockford’s, let alone a tucked-away Elizabethan manor house, seemed to her to lend him so much dark and devastating distinction that the contrast afforded by his brother Bruce was a little unfair.
Lord Bruce was most decidedly eclipsed by his two close relations, having none of their striking good looks, although pleasant enough to look at. And the uniform he had worn at Waterloo was decidedly the worse for wear despite Rawlins’ efforts to deprive it of its many stains and blemishes.
However, as a more pleasing contrast with his brother, whose mood was once more glum and unapproachable. Lord Bruce was an urbane and an attentive host, and in the drawing room after dinner—the dust-covers having been removed and a fire kindled on the hearth—he persuaded Harriet to play the piano for them, and she obligingly recollected some country dances and other pieces which were applauded languidly by Lady Fanny, reclining once more on a settee, and not applauded at all by Lord Capel, seated in some isolation at the far end of the room. Lord Bruce displayed so much enthusiasm that Harriet, who considered her own talents in this direction to be limited, was a trifle embarrassed, and when the tea was brought in she was only too happy to take over the task of dispensing it and thus prevented Lady Fanny disturbing herself on her settee and bringing on a condition of exhaustion which she seemed to dread. As she explained at some length, exhaustion was the one thing she always strove to avoid, since as a result of it she might quite possibly be laid low; and after such a day devoted to travelling as she had endured solely on her brother’s behalf she could not be too careful.
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