The Silverton Scandal

by Amanda Grange

  ‘No.’ Lucien shook his head. ‘I want to speak to him myself. I’ll be seeing him first thing in the morning, and I’ll return the documents to him then.’

  Drayforth stood up. ‘Very well. I won’t keep you. I have things to do, and so have you.’

  Lucien stood up, too. ‘Until the next time.’

  ‘Yes. We’ll probably be working together again soon. Let’s hope all our ventures are as successful as this one.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Lucien rang the bell for Beddows.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Drayforth. ‘I’ll show myself out.’

  Lucien, a smile crossing his face as he thought of Eleanor, was only too happy to let him.

  Eleanor was putting away the last of the papers when she heard the door begin to open. She felt her spirits sink. Lucien had said he would look for her sister’s letters himself, and now she understood why. It was because he had not wanted her to find the military documents.

  How would he react now that she had done so? she wondered apprehensively. Although a rapport had started to build between them over the last few hours, this was a dangerous situation and she had no idea what he might do or say.

  She watched his face carefully when he walked into the room, ready for whatever situation should arise.

  He looked surprised to begin with, when he saw her kneeling on the floor instead of sitting in a chair as he had left her, but then his eyes drifted to the portmanteau and his face became dark.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his voice hard.

  Eleanor felt her throat dry. There was no point in prevaricating. If a storm was about to break it might as well do so at once.

  ‘Looking for my sister’s letters,’ she returned. ‘Fortunately, I have found them.’

  His eyes held hers. ‘And a lot more besides.’

  There was no use denying it. ‘Yes.’

  There was a long silence.

  At last he said, ‘So now you know why I held up the stage.’

  ‘I do. To retrieve the documents.’

  As he hadn’t exploded, she thought perhaps they would be able to have a conversation about the matter.

  ‘But what I still don’t understand is why you couldn’t simply have arrested Mr Kendrick if you knew he was a traitor. It would have made a lot more sense than frightening innocent people.’

  ‘That was regrettable. But unavoidable. Even so, don’t forget, a speedy end to the war will be good for everyone, including the people on the stage coach.’

  Eleanor remembered the conversation that had followed the hold-up, how the stout matron had declared that her son was in the army, and how the clergyman had added that his nephew was also on the continent. They might have been frightened at the time, but she had a feeling that if they had known what Lucien was really doing, they would not have objected to his masquerade.

  ‘But I still don’t see why it was necessary,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will explain.’

  He sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He crossed one booted ankle over the other.

  ‘When we discovered that Kendrick was stealing secret military documents and selling them to the French we had a number of options open to us. We could have arrested him for being a traitor, but if we had done so we would have missed an opportunity.’ His eyes snapped to hers. ‘How much do you know about the war?’

  ‘Very little,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t take a newspaper, and as I don’t know anyone in the army or the navy I hear little about it.’

  Lucien’s mood darkened. ‘The war is not going well. After some early victories we have suffered a number of recent defeats. If we don’t stop Napoleon soon, we may not be able to stop him at all.

  ‘We need an edge. And Kendrick’s treachery gave us one. We knew that if we could retrieve the stolen documents without him knowing we had discovered his perfidy, then we could leave other documents in his way. Only this time, they would contain false information. That way, when he stole them and sold them on, he would be unwittingly misleading the enemy.’

  ‘I see.’ She was pleased that he had explained it to her. But then an unwelcome side to the situation occurred to her. Now that he had told her such secrets, what would he do with her?

  He looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘You have told me a great deal of sensitive information,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Ah. I see. You think I might be going to keep you under lock and key?’

  She thought exactly that. But whether he was teasing her by his words, or whether he was being deadly serious she could not tell.

  ‘It would be one way of keeping you out of trouble,’ he remarked.

  But this time, there was an unmistakeable note of humour in his voice.

  Her mouth quirked.

  His own quirked in answer. Then he became serious. ‘You have kept my secret this far, Eleanor. I believe I can trust you, now you know the whole.’

  His belief in her made her feel warm inside.

  At that moment Beddows entered the room.

  ‘Dinner is served, my lord.’

  ‘Good.’ Lucien stood up and offered Eleanor his arm.

  After a moment’s hesitation she took it. The feel of his muscles beneath his tailcoat was stimulating.

  To distract her thoughts from their wayward channels, she said, ‘What will you do with the letters? They should be returned to their owners, but I don’t see how it’s to be done.’

  ‘Beddows will see to it,’ said Lucien, as they went through the hall. ‘He knows the servants in almost every London house of importance, and he can arrange for the letters to be returned discreetly.’

  ‘Good. I don’t like to think of people living in fear, worrying that their secrets are going to be revealed. Nor do I like the thought of someone else finding the letters and using them to blackmail people with again.’

  ‘Blackmail’s an ugly business,’ he agreed.

  They went into the dining-room. Like the small sitting-room, it was evidently a room to be used and enjoyed. The wallpaper was old-fashioned and the green silk curtains were faded. The carved mantelpiece had a chip out of the bottom of it, and the scuff marks on the mahogany table showed that it had been loved, lived in and well used.

  ‘A particularly lively tussle with the family dog,’ he said, laughing, as he saw her looking at a large scratch on one of the table legs. ‘I will never forget my mother’s horror as Prince’s claws scraped down the table.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Needless to say, my brothers and I were in disgrace. We were not meant to play with the dog in here. As a punishment we had to eat in the nursery for a week!’

  ‘And the dog? enquired Eleanor humorously.

  ‘He was banned from the dining-room altogether. Although he managed to sneak in now and again when no one was looking!’

  Eleanor laughed at this glimpse into his childhood.

  He pulled out one of the chairs for her, and she sat down.

  ‘I don’t usually bother with a fire in here,’ he said, glancing towards the empty grate, ‘but if you are cold, Beddows can light one.’

  ‘That isn’t necessary,’ she said.

  She could see why he would not normally have a fire in this room. It faced south, and the sun was streaming in at the tall windows. Even now, in the early evening, the room was pleasantly warm.

  He seated himself at the other end of the table.

  ‘How many brothers do you have?’ she asked, interested to know more of his family.

  ‘I had two.’ His mood became darker. ‘My older brother, Henry, died when I was on the continent.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘So am I. He died of cholera. My mother died in the same outbreak. He would have made an excellent earl. He loved all the pomp and circumstance, but he was a natural landowner, too. He was interested in new innovations, like my father, and wanted to introduce new farming methods to make our estates even more profitable. And he wanted th
e tenants to take a share. He wanted their fortunes to be bound up with our own, so that if they estate prospered, then so did they.’

  ‘He was forward thinking,’ remarked Eleanor.

  ‘He was. It was a great tragedy for the family, and also for the estate when he died. I will do my best for the estate now that I have inherited, but I am not a farmer.’

  ‘Your abilities lie in other directions,’ said Eleanor.

  Beddows entered the room, putting a plate of mutton broth in from of each of them.

  ‘I live simply when I’m here on my own,’ said Lucien by way of explanation.

  ‘You said you had two brothers?’ asked Eleanor as Beddows left the room.

  ‘Yes. I have a younger brother, too. His name is Edwin. He’s at Eton, and looks likely to be a scholar.’

  Over dinner the conversation flowed. Eleanor found it surprising how easy it was to talk to him. Now that they were removed from difficult and dangerous situations, and now that she understood his motives in holding up the stagecoach, she was discovering they shared a strong rapport.

  She enjoyed his company. He was a man of many facets, and the more she saw, the more she felt drawn to him, and she found herself telling him far more than she had intended to.

  She told him about Arabella, about her parents and about her early life. He understood her readily, and she was surprised to find how quickly the meal had gone when Beddows brought in the drinks tray.

  If there had been other guests, she would have retired with the ladies, leaving the gentlemen to their port. But as it was, there was no point in her withdrawing alone, and she felt it was time for her to say goodnight.

  Lucien did not try to detain her.

  ‘Beddows has prepared a room for you,’ he said. ‘He will show you the way. Then first thing tomorrow I will put you on the stagecoach and send you home.’

  Eleanor’s spirits fell. Tomorrow would be the last time she would see Lucien. She was bitterly disappointed. She had known him for such a short space of time that she should not have any feelings for him. Yet she did.

  ‘I can rely on you to forget that you ever heard the name Kendrick?’ he asked her, as he stood looking down at her.

  ‘Of course.’ She spoke evenly, so that he would not guess how painful it was for her to be parting from him.

  ‘Good. Even dead, he is not a good man to talk about. Your sister, too, should forget she ever heard the name.’

  ‘I understand.’

  He looked at her for long moments, and then he opened the door and Beddows showed her to her room.

  The clock chimed eleven, and then half past. Eleanor was in bed, but she could not sleep. The day had been full of so many disturbing incidents, and the evening full of so many unexpected pleasures that she found she could not rest. Her mind kept turning over the events of the day, culminating in the final event when Beddows had showed her to her room. It was a pretty chamber, with a four poster bed and a comfortable chair by the fire. There were sprigged drapes at the windows, and a sprigged coverlet over the bed, and like the rest of the house, it had a lived-in air.

  It had been delightful to wash in the hot water Beddows had left in her room after stripping off her travel-stained clothing and then slipping between the sheets. But to her dismay she had not been able to sleep. And now she at last gave into wakefulness and sat up in bed.

  Perhaps she could find something to read. That usually helped if she could not sleep.

  She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. A glimmer of moonlight shone through a crack in the curtains, enabling her to see. She looked around for something to read, but there were no books, and not even a journal was to be found.

  She recalled that Lucien had seen Drayforth in the library that evening. Aha! Then the house certainly had one. What sort of books did it contain? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. She slipped on her pelisse and made her way downstairs.

  The house was silent. She went along the landing and down the stairs, moving cautiously so that she did not tread on a squeaking floorboard and waken Lucien or Beddows. Then she went through the hall. As she approached the dining-room, however, her steps began to falter. There was something foul in the air. She stopped, and then went on again. What could it be? She did not know. But with each step she found it more and more difficult to breathe.

  And then she recognised the smell. Gas!

  Lucien had mentioned its smell earlier in the evening, and she had noticed it particularly. But now it was much stronger. It seemed that the new-fangled lighting must have sprung a leak.

  She covered her face with her hand and turned away, intending to rouse the house, when a glance through the open door of the dining-room showed her a leg. With a sickening thud in her chest she realized that someone was in the room . . . and from the length of the leg, there was only one person it could be.

  Lucien!

  All thoughts of rousing the house dissolved in the presence of this new calamity. Lucien was in there! Her heart began to beat more quickly. She had to get him out.

  Lifting her pelisse and holding it in front of her face to protect her as much as possible from the evil gas, she made a determined run into the room. Her worst fears were realized. Lucien was slouched in a chair, and from the look of it he was unconscious.

  How long had he been under the influence of the gas? she asked herself.

  She did not know. Nor did she have time to wonder. She seized the jug of water that stood on the drinks tray and dashed it in his face in an attempt to bring him round.

  He did not stir.

  She took him by the shoulders and tried to shake him into consciousness, but again to no avail.

  In desperation she took him by the arm and tried to pull him towards the door. At first she thought it was going to be impossible, but at last she managed to slide him out of the chair and across the floor. It was difficult work. He was a large man, and a heavy one. But panic gave her strength, and finally she managed to pull him out of the room. She dropped his arm and closed the door, shutting inside as much of the evil air as possible.

  What to do next? She should rouse him, but she didn’t know how.

  Beddows would know. Beddows, with his wide-ranging experience. Her eyes flew upwards, wondering in what room Beddows was sleeping. She must find it quickly and wake him. And then a simpler answer came to her as her eyes fell on the dinner gong.

  Dropping Lucien’s arm, she went over to the gong and gave it a resounding strike. The noise reverberated through the house. In little more than a minute, it brought Beddows running onto the landing in his nightshirt.

  ‘What the —?’ he demanded, looking down into the hall.

  ‘It’s Lucien,’ said Eleanor urgently. ‘He was in the dining-room. The gas was leaking. He’s unconscious.’

  Beddows quickly became matter-of-fact. Running down the stairs he joined Eleanor in the hall, and looked at his prone master.

  ‘A gas leak, you say?’ he demanded.

  Eleanor nodded.

  Quickly taking in the situation, Beddows lifted one of Lucien’s arms and instructed Eleanor to lift the other, and together they half-carried, half-dragged him into the library. It was far enough away from the dining-room to have escaped the taint, and it provided them with a place in which to revive him. Setting him down on a chaise-longue, they pushed him back into a reclining position.

  ‘The gas —’ said Eleanor, glancing towards the door.

  Beddows understood her immediately and went out of the room, leaving Eleanor alone with Lucien.

  Now that the immediate danger was past she found that she was trembling. To see Lucien like this, when he was usually so vital, shocked her to the core. His skin looked unhealthy and his chest was rising and falling in uneven bursts. She felt the cold grip of fear. If anything should happen to him . . .

  It was now useless to tell herself that he meant nothing to her, that she had known him for so short a time that she could not possibly have fe
elings for him. Because she did. She had profound feelings for him that went beyond the rational and tapped into the depths of her being.

  She felt so helpless. She could do little for him, but what she could do, she did. She arranged his body in a more comfortable attitude across the chaise longue and then brought a chair for his feet. Next she brought a cushion and put it beneath his head. His skin was looking slightly healthier, and she felt hope stirring. Perhaps he had not been under the influence of the gas for very long.

  She loosened his cravat so that he could breathe more easily, and pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his brow, then sat down by his side to watch over him.

  It seemed a long time before Beddows returned, and in all that time she saw very little change in Lucien. It was an anxious vigil. But by and by there came small improvements. His breathing became easier, his colour returned, and his eyelids flickered. He stirred slightly, and shifted his position.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Beddows, coming quietly into the room.

  ‘He seems a little better. He stirred just now.’

  Beddows joined her and looked down at Lucien.

  ‘Yes. He looks a lot better. He’ll be regaining consciousness soon.’

  ‘Have you been able to plug the leak?’ asked Eleanor. She did not want Beddows to know how affected she was by Lucien’s predicament, and strove to keep the conversation matter of fact.

  ‘There was no leak,’ he said. ‘The lights had blown out, so the gas was coming into the room without being burnt.’

  ‘I wondered whether the lights were safe,’ said Eleanor. She carried on the conversation with Beddows, but her eyes kept drifting to Lucien, no matter how hard she tried to keep them on his valet. ‘Gas is such a new form of lighting there are bound to be problems with it. Candles might not give such a strong light, but at least they cannot cause this kind of harm.’

  Beddows frowned. ‘It’s never happened before.’

  ‘But it has now. Have you turned it off?’

  Beddows, recalling himself to the present, reassured her, saying, ‘Yes, I’ve turned it off and opened the windows. It should soon disperse.’

  ‘Lu- Lord Silverton should have a doctor,’ she said, looking at him once more.