“I think I could make him love me, eventually – and, to tell you the truth, I do not care; I will take the chance because I want him – oh, so much – please, Mama, will you not speak to Papa?”
“Lord Danehill is the sort of man who could make you very unhappy if he decides to punish you for forcing him into a position he did not choose,” Mrs Newbolt said.
“But I am the sort of woman who generally gets her own way,” Louisa retorted.
“Dear child – oh, my dearest child, why did you have to fall in love with him? Will not Lord Hersham do? He strikes me as a most agreeable gentleman who would let you do just what you pleased.”
“Yes, but I do not love him – and I never will - precisely because he is such an agreeable gentleman. I want Danehill and I will take my chance with him. It’s my belief we could deal very well together. You would have welcomed him as a son-in-law, would you not, if only he had not fallen in love with Agnes?”
“Yes; if he had declared love for you, but he has not and, if you manipulate him, he could turn exceedingly nasty. I will speak to Papa on the matter but we, both of us, will have to be guided by him. No,” as Louisa began to brighten and, jumping up, flung her arms around her mother, “do not become too optimistic. I have said I will speak to Papa; I do not mean that I will try to persuade him but that I will seek his opinion.”
Chapter 34
Agnes went to bed much troubled for she was horridly aware that, having withdrawn the prohibition she had initially put upon Sir John’s challenging the Marquess, she had perhaps signed his death warrant. It seemed to her unlikely that a man still recovering from a serious illness, slow and shaky in his movements and with little strength in his muscles, would stand a chance against a man such as Danehill who, although more than twenty years the Baronet’s senior, was in considerably better shape and very likely spent a large portion of his leisure practising both fencing and shooting.
But, although she went over the conversation repeatedly, she did not see what else – in honour – she could have done. Clearly, men had different notions from women, particularly regarding honour. The one thing she did know was that, if he were to bow to her edict, he would find it hard to live with himself and might in the end come to resent her for her lack of trust in his ability both to make decisions and to execute them.
It was this result of the evening which she could not dislodge from her tormented mind although, at the back, were two other contradictory revelations jostling for attention. One: that Sir John had clearly, or as clearly as she could reasonably expect, declared that he loved her; and the other was that she had been right all along when she had pronounced the Marquess sinister. She had warned Louisa against him for reasons which at the time had been nebulous, felt rather than known. Nevertheless, in spite of this initial judgment, she had come to like him better, had indeed almost resolved to marry him until he had written her that fatal letter.
She found herself wondering whether her warning had acted as a spur to Louisa – and hoped she was not responsible for her friend believing herself in love with a villain. What could or should she do now?
She had done all she could vis-à-vis Sir John and would now have to leave him to his fate, but she had by no means done what she either could or should vis-à-vis her friend. She would have to put her in the picture for, if the Marquess killed Sir John in a duel, she might conclude that it was simply a matter of rivalry over a woman, whereas in point of fact it concerned a far graver matter. On the other hand, if Sir John, by some miracle, managed to kill the Marquess, she would be appalled at losing the man she loved, although probably not surprised that the ‘most odious man’ she knew had done something so abominable.
When she went down to breakfast she found Lady Armitage and her son already there. Both seemed perfectly happy, Lady Armitage more so than she had been for some time, possibly because her relations with her elder son had improved as his strength grew and because she was happy to have Agnes back in the house, even if only on a temporary basis. Sir John did not look in the least anxious or tense and was eating a substantial breakfast with every sign of enthusiasm. She wondered what precisely had gone through his head during the night and what his next move would be: presumably to confront the Marquess.
He greeted her with a smile but said nothing about what they had spoken of the previous evening.
Lady Armitage, unaware of the discussion that had taken place after she retired, said, “You look fatigued, Agnes. Did the contents of Lord Danehill’s letter disturb you?”
“I own they did, my lady,” Agnes replied, casting an interrogative glance at Sir John, who very faintly shook his head. “He reiterated his offer.”
“I rather thought he would,” the older woman said, fixing her eyes on her former companion’s face. “Yesterday, as I recall, we discussed whether you should accept, although in rather imprecise terms. May I ask what you have decided?”
“That my initial answer was the right one,” Agnes said. “Lord Danehill and I would not suit. However, I have resolved that I cannot simply run away but must explain the situation in some detail to Louisa if she is not to draw the wrong conclusion.” She looked at Sir John again.
He said, “You will tell her all?”
“Not quite, but I believe I must explain something of what I have learned of the man because otherwise she may do something foolish. I am afraid, my lady, that Louisa believes she has formed an attachment to him and – and I am afraid she may run off with him.”
“Run off with him? But he has made you an offer. He surely cannot be so excessively mercurial, can he?”
“I would not be surprised if he were,” Agnes said seriously. “Baulked of what he wants, I believe him quite capable of snatching something else and – and disappearing.” As she spoke, she cast an agonised look at Sir John.
“You mean if he felt the need to flee the country in a hurry he might take her with him?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Dear me! How little faith you have in those you love, Miss Helman – or purport to love! If such have been your thoughts overnight I would be amazed if you had managed to shut your eyes all night.”
“I do not believe I have – and it is no laughing matter, sir.”
“No, indeed. I suppose you are intending to speak to her this morning when you will reiterate your warning?”
“Yes.”
“Shall we go together so that you may go off with her to explain all – or whatever you feel is necessary – while I request an interview with him?”
“But will they permit you to enter, John?” his mother asked. “And why do you wish to speak to him? He has not insulted Agnes by his offer, has he?”
“I do not believe so, Mama. What he said to Miss Helman remains her affair; she has not shown me his letter in any detail, but there are matters relating to the past which have come to my attention and on which I feel forced to seek elucidation. No, Mama,” he continued, seeing her opening her mouth and about to argue, “I will not divulge the subject on which I must speak with him at present, although I daresay you will know all eventually. For now, pray let me deal with the matter in the best way I can.”
“Very well,” she conceded meekly.
After breakfast, Paul brought the carriage round and Sir John and Agnes climbed in and were driven the short distance to the big house. The door opened by a footman, Agnes was at once bowed in but the Baronet was stopped and the nature of his business sought.
He was, this morning, dressed as smartly as he was able to achieve with the less than perfectly fitting garments his brother had bought him ready-made in Tunbridge Wells. In spite of this, his appearance was entirely proper and his manner so assured that the footman was uncertain how to deal with the peculiar request for an audience, not with the owner of the property, but with one of the guests.
“I will wait,” Sir John said, “while you ascertain whether his lordship will speak to me and – if you are in doubt �
�� consult your employer on my presence in his house.”
“Yes, sir. If you will wait in here, sir …” The footman opened the door into the small saloon to the left of the hall and Sir John, nodding at Agnes in what she took to be a dismissive manner, went in.
She, directed upstairs, went up to find her friend, who was still completing her toilette.
Both young women would have seemed to an outsider to have aged considerably since the house party had first been conceived. Neither had slept well, both had tossed and turned and agonised over the situation in which they found themselves.
“Oh, Agnes!” Louisa exclaimed. “Have you come to make up?”
“I thought we had done that last night,” Agnes said.
“I tried to,” Louisa returned, “but I felt there had opened such a gulf between us that I was afraid we would never again be as close as once we were.”
“I believe I was not as warm as I should have been,” Agnes admitted. “I was labouring under such a sense of guilt towards you for having, as it seemed to both of us, stolen your suitor.”
“I suppose you did not mean to hurt me,” Louisa acknowledged.
“No; and nor did I mean to annex him. But, my dearest friend, I have come this morning to tell you something even worse. I only discovered it late last night and have come as soon as I could to apprise you of it.”
“What in the world are you talking about? What can be worse than my falling in love with a man who has fallen in love with you?”
“The nature of the man to whom you have given your heart,” Agnes said.
“You have already warned me against him; you said you found him sinister. Since he has made you an offer and cares not a fig for me I cannot see your purpose in coming to warn me about his nature again,” Louisa said rather coldly.
“No; but still I think you should know of what he has been guilty in the past. Pray hear me out.”
“Very well.”
Louisa sat down in a chair by the fireplace. It was a warm morning and no fire burned there but the two chairs, arranged one on either side of the grate, formed a useful position for the two young women to speak.
Agnes wasted no further time but retailed what she had found out the night before. Louisa heard her out in silence although her face, which changed colour several times during the recital, gave Agnes a good idea of the shock that the other woman was feeling.
“You do not think Lady Armitage knows?” she asked when Agnes had done.
“No; I am fairly certain she does not; would she have asked me to go through Sir James’s correspondence if she had had the least inkling of what I might find? Also, it is clear that she believes the debts on the estate are entirely on account of her son’s extravagance – which is not the case.”
“No. What does Sir John intend to do now?”
Agnes had been afraid that Louisa would ask this and, although she had not intended to divulge the likelihood of the two men fighting a duel, she found that there was no alternative unless she were to fabricate a story of some sort – and she could not think of any plausible response from Sir John which did not involve a challenge or a counter blackmail attempt.
“Call Lord Danehill out.”
“What?” Louisa cried on a shriek.
Agnes, guessing that her friend’s exclamation was unlikely to mean that she had not heard but was, rather, a signifier of horror, did not reply.
“But he might kill him!”
“Who might kill whom?” Agnes asked heavily.
“Either – oh, my God, I suppose you are afraid that Danehill will kill Sir John?”
“Yes, of course I am, and you must admit that it is a far more likely outcome. He is barely recovered from his illness and is still woefully unsteady on his feet.”
“But suppose that it should turn out the other way? Sir John was used to be accounted unable to miss with pistols and was no mean swordsman either.”
“That makes it even worse,” Agnes said. “For, if I know anything of the matter, the challenged is usually permitted to choose the weapon and, if Danehill knows Sir John’s reputation with the pistols – which of course he will – he is bound to choose swords and there poor Sir John will be at a grave disadvantage.”
Louisa, who had been white with shock, now turned red with indignation. “But all this excessively silly duelling is about honour, is it not? He could not – Danehill could not choose swords when he sees how infirm Sir John is! Why he might as well run him through when his back is turned!”
“Precisely.”
“You mean, I take it, that because Danehill has behaved dishonourably over the card-sharping, he will behave dishonourably over everything?”
“Well, yes, I think I do mean that, but in point of fact it was not Danehill who behaved dishonourably in the first place, it was Sir James; but Danehill’s behaviour ever since has been, frankly, criminal. Why would he stop at choosing a weapon which he knows will make his victory certain? In any event, if Sir John’s aim is so faultless, he would be a fool to choose pistols,” Agnes finished on a note of despair.
“But why must they fight at all?” Louisa exclaimed. “Could not Danehill pay the money back? That would not, I own, make all right but it would surely go some way to deal with the matter?”
“It must be a vast amount, though,” Agnes said. “It has been going on for years – the letters did not divulge the sum. I should not think that he would have the money to pay it all back now – and really, you know, interest should be added.”
“He would if he married me,” Louisa said.
“What?”
“I suppose that was why he came here; now that his goose is dead he was looking for a replacement – but then the silly man fell in love with you and clearly decided that he could do without the money. Perhaps he thought that you would be unlikely to be an extravagant wife.”
Agnes smiled rather thinly. “I cannot conceive it likely that he chose me in preference to you because he thought perhaps, even though I have not a penny piece to call my own, the likelihood of my proving to be fairly penny-pinching would make the whole exercise possible. No, I think he conceived – or thought he had conceived – an attachment to me, probably because I seem like a meek little thing who would be unlikely to argue with him all the time – which is what may have put him off you, dearest Louisa! But you cannot, surely, contemplate marrying a man who would blackmail another for years and years, beggaring the entire family in the process! That is a wrongdoing so extreme that, really, he ought to be thrown into jail!”
“I would, oh, Agnes, I would! Obviously, when he decided to make you an offer he had come to terms with doing without the fruits of his blackmail so he must have turned over a new leaf, must he not?”
“I don’t think there’s much evidence for that; he may have hoped that another opportunity to pursue his previously lucrative line of business would present itself. You cannot, Louisa! Oh, pray do not!”
“Very likely he will not have me in any event,” Louisa said on a despairing note. “But I want him, Agnes, and I will have him if only I can find some way of persuading him. I might say the same to you: how can you contemplate marrying Sir John, who is an excessively bad man?”
“I don’t think he’s a blackmailer,” Agnes said mildly, “and as a matter of fact I think he’s reformed.”
“What, for love?” Louisa asked sarcastically.
“No, I think he already had when he joined the army. He promised a woman, a few years ago, that he would never gamble again – and he has not. He speaks of going back to his estate and trying to manage it so that it will turn a profit.”
“If he has reformed, is it not possible that Danehill has too – or will?”
“Of course it is possible; I just do not think it likely. No, pray, Louisa, do not lash out at me - I must say this because you are my dearest friend. Sir John has been weak and his conduct has been depraved but I think it is easier to reform from that sort of position, which is, essenti
ally, one of childish behaviour taken to extremes and carried on for too long, than from one of, frankly, dyed-in-the-wool wickedness which you must own is Lord Danehill’s portion. He has been blackmailing that family for nigh on thirty years – that is not a peccadillo!”
“No, but he must have begun it when he was very young,” Louisa argued.
“And then could not resist continuing just as Sir John could not resist continuing with his degenerate conduct? Oh, Louisa, next you will argue that his decision – at quite an advanced age – to marry an heiress argues that he has decided to put such truly dastardly behaviour behind him and do what Sir John has been trying to do for years – acquire money in the usual way. But what has he spent all this money on? He has vast estates – surely he must have a more than adequate income.”
“I expect he has spent it in the same way as Sir John: on gaming, horses, women, drinking … Oh Heaven, what is the matter with men?”
“I don’t think they’re all like that,” Agnes said gently. “I have seen no sign of such predilections in either Mr Armitage or Lord Hersham. It is just dreadfully unfortunate that we have both chosen such bad ones. Do you think, that if we do marry them, they will lead us a horrid dance and treat us badly?”
“Us?” Louisa asked. “Have you agreed to marry Sir John?”
“No; he has not asked me.”
“Just so – and Lord Danehill has not asked me; indeed, not only has he not asked me but he has asked you.”
“And so has Sir John asked you,” Agnes reminded her.
For a moment Louisa stared, wide-eyed, at her friend and then she burst into hysterical laughter.
Chapter 35
As soon as Agnes had left and she had completed her toilette, Louisa ran to her mother’s room to countermand her plea. Matters had taken a complicated turn and, feeling increasingly trapped by events beyond her control, she was afraid that the intercession for which she had begged might turn out to be nothing short of a disaster now.
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 29
