Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground

by Catherine Bowness

  She smiled, “I hope I shall not lose either of my shoes when I am obliged to run away at midnight.”

  “I hope you will do no such thing. Did you come in a pumpkin with Lady Wey?”

  “It seemed to be a usual sort of carriage but I daresay Cinderella’s appeared quite ordinary once it had been transformed. I own I should not like to find myself back in my old dress or even my decidedly dull and practical shoes either. I am glad you recognised me for I do not feel at all like myself.”

  “I would know you anywhere and, while your dress is indeed very beautiful – as is your new hair style – you, yourself, are just the same as the moment I first saw you, standing outside the jeweller’s looking in and wishing to go to the ball.”

  “I had not even thought of going to a ball. I was simply admiring the diamonds.”

  “I am sorry you are not wearing them,” he said, “although the pearls are very lovely and perhaps more suited to a first appearance in Society; but the diamonds would look quite ravishing; I hope you will wear them the next time you go to a ball.”

  The dance had finished and he was leading her back to where they had left Lady Wey talking to a couple of ladies. She stopped and put her hand to her throat, feeling the slight roughness and warmth of the pearls.

  “I no longer have them. I sent them back to you. Have you not received them?” she asked, shocked.

  “No. How could you have sent them back? I was most careful not to give you my direction because I knew you would wish to return them and I wanted to make it well-nigh impossible for you to do so.”

  “It would have been quite wrong to keep them, although I wished to – oh, so much! I can assure you, I was sorely tempted. I wrote a note, which I hoped would explain my reasons.”

  “But how did you know where to find me? Did you ask Lord Sullington to post them? That is not why you have left that disagreeable household, is it – because he opened the box and saw them?” As he spoke, he changed direction, leading her not towards Lady Wey, who was now only a few feet away, but towards the French windows, which gave on to a terrace.

  “No, I dared not in case he should jump to the wrong conclusion. I decided to take them back to the jeweller, thinking that he might know where to find you, but, as I was crossing the road, I was nearly run down and …” She stopped abruptly as an unwelcome thought entered her head.

  “What is it?” he asked gently.

  “The Duke of Rother was passing and … pulled me out of the way. The box fell to the ground and … Well, in the end I asked him if he knew where you lived and, although he denied that he did, he assured me that it would not be difficult for him to return the parcel to you. I suppose I should not have given it to him, but I did, trusting that he would do as he promised. It seems that he did not. I am so sorry. He must have it still in his possession. Oh, why in the world did I trust him?”

  Lord Marklye drew one of the curtains aside, opened the door and led her outside. The terrace was illuminated by strings of lanterns but the garden beyond was dark. He drew her down beside him on to a stone bench to one side of the door.

  “I should think everybody trusts him. He is above reproach. I daresay he has been busy and has not yet got round to it. Did he know what was in the parcel?”

  “Yes, for he asked – and I told him. I should not have trusted him because he – he wishes to torment me; if he discloses how those diamonds came to be in my possession, which I told him, it will add the finishing touch to his insinuations that I am a – not a lady,” she finished shuddering.

  Lord Marklye, as he listened to this tortured explanation, began to frown. “Were you acquainted with him before he pulled you out of the road?”

  “Yes; I knew him years ago,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes.

  “I see. And you believe he means ill by you? I cannot help wondering why, if Rother’s motives are so exceedingly black, you are staying with his sister; the pair are known to be close; or, forgive me for asking, is your quarrel with Rother a disagreement born of a deeper connexion in the past? Did you know her before as well?”

  “We are supposed to be cousins; why should I be acquainted – deeply or not – with one and not the other?”

  “Of course not; forgive me. It is my fault that you find yourself in such a disagreeable position; I should not have burdened you with my impulsive gift.”

  His lordship’s contrite tone stung Sylvia’s ever-lively conscience. She said, “No, I have only recently met her. I knew him many years ago when he came to stay with my family; he was in the same regiment as one of my brothers. We became engaged to be married but I broke it off a few weeks later. I have not seen or heard from him since - until we met by chance a few days ago.”

  “Ah!” Lord Marklye said. “Now I understand the reasons behind some of his otherwise rather unexpected actions recently.”

  “If you mean his apparent break with his mistress, I do not think I can be held responsible for that,” she said rather sharply.

  “Do you not believe it to be a genuine break? Oh, I think you may be sure that it is. He has another woman in mind now and needed to be rid of his peculiar without delay.”

  “You mean Miss Sullington?”

  “No, I mean you, Miss Holmdale.”

  “You are mistaken,” she said in a low voice.

  “He cannot take his eyes off you; even while he was dancing with Miss Sullington, they were on you. From the moment you came into the room, he was mesmerised. It is not my business to enquire why you broke off your betrothal but I suspect that your heart still belongs to him.”

  “Oh!” she cried. “Are my feelings so shamefully obvious?”

  “They are to me – as are his! I cannot conceive how you came to be so mired in misunderstanding for, if ever I saw a couple who should be together, it is you two. If – when – the diamonds are returned to me, I shall give them to you as a bride-present!”

  “Oh, pray do not speak so! He hates me; he will never ask me again.”

  “If he does not, he will be more of a fool than any man has any right to be and still hold the heart of a woman like you. Come, if we are not to cause a scandal by sitting out here in the dark, we had better go inside.”

  He rose, took her hands and drew her to her feet. For a moment they stood together, brightly lit by the lantern which hung above the bench; then she bent to pick up her shawl, which had fallen to the ground. As she did so, a shot rang out, shockingly punctuating the strains of music from inside; he let out a sharp cry and fell back on to the bench.

  Chapter 26

  “My lord! Oh Heaven – are you hurt?” Sylvia cried idiotically, dropping her shawl again and bending once more, this time towards her companion where he lay sprawled, momentarily stunned as much by surprise as by the pain from the shot. He had been hit on his upper arm, the bullet slicing straight through the flesh before thudding against the stone bench.

  As she moved there was the sound of another shot, coming, as had the first, from the dark garden beyond. It missed her by a fraction of an inch, flying harmlessly over her head as she knelt on the ground beside the wounded man, and came to rest with a bang, this time against the wall of the house.

  Lord Marklye struggled to his feet with an oath, pushing Sylvia towards the door into the ballroom and placing himself between her and the garden.

  “The devil! Did it touch you? Go inside. I’m going after him! He must be somewhere down there amongst the bushes.”

  “You cannot – oh, you must not! He will have gone or he will shoot you before you can lay hold of him. You’re bleeding; you cannot go down there to certain death! Pray, pray do not!” Sylvia clung to his unhurt arm, the other hanging useless by his side.

  “No, let me go and pray don’t waste time arguing! We present a large and brilliantly illuminated target standing here together. Go inside at once!”

  As he spoke, the door opened and the Duke of Rother came out. For a moment, before he saw Sylvia, his face was bleached of colou
r, his eyes staring. Seeing her, his features relaxed and he grasped her by the upper arms as Marklye thrust her towards him.

  “Thank God!” Still holding her by the arms, he turned, as he had when Lady Sullington had wielded her whip, so that he was between her and the garden. “I was afraid she had been hit. Take her inside and look after her! Did you see who fired the shots?”

  “No. I was about to go after him but I could not leave her alone!”

  Sylvia said, almost irritably, “There is no need for anyone to look after me; I am not hurt; Lord Marklye has been hit. Look at him! He is bleeding dreadfully. He cannot go running about the garden where he will probably be shot again.”

  “No indeed; take him inside and see to his injuries. I am going after the man who tried to shoot you.”

  “Do you think it was me he wanted to shoot?” Sylvia asked, momentarily diverted.

  “Who do you suppose it was?” the Duke asked roughly.

  “I don’t know; I – I – could it not have been some disgruntled former employee or something?”

  “Have you any disgruntled employees? Or do you mean Barnaby servants? Do you think someone would have decided that the best way to get back at them was to spoil their ball by shooting one of the guests? Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Sylvia. You were all lit up out here. I can’t think how he came to miss. Go inside for God’s sake and stop arguing.”

  But Sylvia did not seem to favour this suggestion. “No, pray do not you go! He will be long gone or, if he is not, he will shoot you.”

  “Would you mind if he did?” he asked, pausing.

  “It would probably serve you right,” she flashed, adding, “Have you a gun?”

  “No, of course I have not. It would be a very odd guest who came to a ball bristling with firearms.”

  “Then you cannot go running into his arms! For Heaven’s sake, Robert, pray do not you be a fool! Of course I do not want him to shoot you – or anyone else, for that matter,” she added on a different note.

  “Just so,” he answered, the ice back in his voice, and, before she could detain him, he ran down the steps and into the garden.

  “Robert!” she cried as he disappeared into the dark.

  “Never you fear, we’ll get the rascal!” A man unknown to Sylvia shouted heroically, bounding down the steps after the Duke. Several others followed and set off, en masse, as though engaged in a hunting expedition, in pursuit of the Duke.

  Sylvia, by now supporting Lord Marklye almost as much as he was supporting her, had been pushed to the back of the crowd. “You can do no good by running after him,” his lordship said, presumably referring to the Duke. “He is not alone out there. Come away from the door.”

  “Who fired the shots and at whom were they directed?” she asked. “Rother seemed to think they were meant for me, but that is absurd. Who in the world would want to shoot me? It seems just as likely that whoever it was meant to hit you. Do you have a desperate enemy?” She was close to hysteria but allowed herself to be drawn inside.

  “Only a rival who took exception to my being alone on the terrace with you,” he answered with an emphasis that she could not misinterpret.

  “Do you mean Rother himself? But he came from inside!”

  “I doubt he’d pull the trigger himself. He’d employ someone else, would he not? I should not suppose that he will be in any danger out there if that is the case. Did you not notice how he commented upon the poor aim of the gunman?”

  “Oh, my God! You think he paid someone to shoot you? You are mistaken, probably because you have not the measure of the situation between him and me: it is far more likely that he wanted me shot. In any event, how could he be certain that you and I would be on the terrace with no one else near us?”

  “He could not but he might have thought it worthwhile to put someone there just in case I should step out. The fact that I did so with you may be what made him look so appalled when he first appeared. When he saw you still on your feet, he visibly relaxed. After all, he has a pretty good idea of my feelings although he seems woefully ignorant of yours!”

  “Your feelings? But you do not … He has never seen us together and you have not, I hope, spoken to him on the subject.”

  “Certainly not, but you charged him with returning the diamonds. He has no doubt jumped to the conclusion that there is more between us than in point of fact there is.”

  “I told him there was nothing when I gave him the parcel. But what has he done with them?”

  “God knows! Perhaps he intends to blackmail you – or me.” He saw her face and added, “I am sorry. I am allowing shock to blind my reason. I daresay they are still in his possession and he has simply not got round to returning them. As for wanting to shoot me: he may have hired the gunman; I do not know. Someone did unless it is a disgruntled former servant acting on his own behalf. I have never heard any suggestion that Rother is a blackguard, although I believe him to be a desperate man.”

  “Desperate? What possible reason can you advance for that conjecture?”

  “He lost you once and does not mean to do so again,” Lord Marklye replied grimly.

  “That would be absurd,” she repeated, apparently determined to find the whole thing risible rather than grave. “He no longer wants me and, even if he does, why in Heaven’s name has he not said so? It would be the action of a madman to try to shoot you when he has never for a moment shown any inclination to renew his – his connexion with me, particularly when you and I are barely acquainted.”

  “He has the evidence of the diamonds.”

  “If he relies upon such excessively shaky evidence he must have lost his wits,” she said tartly.

  “I beg to differ from you there: so far as he – and anyone else probably – can see, the gift of a box of diamonds indicates a considerable degree of intimacy – or the hope of it – on the giver’s part. The fact that you deny this merely shows a touching degree of naïveté from a woman unversed in the ways of the world.”

  “Oh!” she said on a long note. “I believed you when you told me that such a gift would be entirely altruistic. Was that bird-witted?”

  “Yes, I am afraid that it was. I meant nothing improper but I cannot pretend that I would have given such a thing to a stranger I had met once, by chance, unless that stranger had vastly impressed me.”

  “But you did not even enclose a note? How could I be sure they were from you?”

  “Who else would have chosen that particular parure but the man who saw how much you wanted it and wished, above all, to please you?”

  “I was naïve,” she admitted. “Or perhaps I simply did not wish to delve too deeply into your motives, although I thought I had analysed them most exactly. I am sorry. And then I added to your burden by attempting to return them via the man you mistakenly believe to be your rival.”

  “I am not mistaken there, but I own that, when I sent you the gift, I was not aware that your heart was not free.”

  “I would have to be extraordinarily puffed-up to think that a man I spoke to for five minutes in the street ought to be warned that …” She stopped, embarrassed.

  “That you were already irrevocably in love with another,” he finished. “Indeed. No blame can attach to you; my actions were preposterous and I apologise for putting you in such an uncomfortable position.”

  By this time they were some way inside the ballroom but, so intent had each been on making a point, that neither had noticed quite how heavily his lordship was bleeding – the blood dripping on to the floor in a most dramatic fashion – nor how very white his face had become.

  Since most of the men had surged outside into the garden after the gunman, the room was peopled almost entirely by women, a few old men leaning on sticks and the musicians, who were still gamely playing although no one was dancing. The women, who had at first been too busy staring after the men and had then turned to each other to discuss the goings-on, suddenly noticed the dishevelled pair and converged upon them with cries of sympathy
.

  Sylvia was taken in a firm clasp by Lady Wey while Lord Marklye was borne off by his hostess.

  “I cannot leave him!” Sylvia cried, struggling against Lady Wey’s surprisingly strong grip.

  “I think you had much better do so,” the Countess replied firmly. “He will be perfectly well cared for and you should not be seen to hang upon his sleeve. Whatever will people think you were doing out there on the terrace with him? We had barely arrived before you disappeared through the doors.”

  “He … oh … we were doing nothing improper, I promise you. Oh, the poor, poor man!”

  “It is most unfortunate as it draws unwelcome attention to your presence outside with him,” the Countess agreed. “People are bound to have noticed and soon everyone will know that you spent an appreciable length of time in the garden with a man to whom you are not related. Did the shots intervene before he could make you an offer of some sort or did he succeed in doing so? If so, were you able to give him an answer or must he wait until he is on his feet again to know the outcome of your colloquy?” Lady Wey spoke quite snappishly, steering her protégée past whispering groups of women.

  “I do not know what you are implying by ‘an offer of some sort’ but assume you mean an improper one. Has your brother’s conduct convinced you that I am the sort of woman who commonly receives offers of that nature?” Sylvia asked angrily.

  “No, I apologise; I meant nothing of the sort. I was only afraid – for Robert’s sake, that Marklye had asked you to become his wife.”

  Sylvia ignored this, only saying, “I wonder you do not leave your hateful brother to fight his own battles – and pursue his own choice of female. Now he has gone outside to be shot.”