The Intrepid Miss Haydon
Page 14
She laughed. “Not on this road, I thank you, though I wouldn’t object to trying my skill in a country lane!” Her tone changed. “But why should you suppose I was being critical?”
He shrugged. “Force of habit, my dear Corinna. I so frequently have the misfortune to incur your displeasure.”
“I suppose I am a wretch at times,” she acknowledged. “Why do you put up with me, I wonder?”
He made no reply, but concentrated earnestly on negotiating a bend which she suspected he could very well have managed without taking so much trouble.
“If I were to study for a flattering reply,” he answered presently, with a sardonic smile, “I should say that blame from you is preferable to praise from any other female.”
“Pray don’t study for flattery!” she said tartly, half annoyed, half disappointed. “I prefer you to be yourself!”
“Which is to say—?”
She made a strong effort not to inform him. “I positively refuse to quarrel with you, Richard, on such a lovely day. I shan’t say another word!”
“What, not even a monosyllable?” he pleaded, turning a mocking face towards her. “You must say something, you know, if only to keep me awake.”
She dissolved into helpless laughter.
“You are truly the most absurd creature!” she said unsteadily, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“I know, but I throw myself on your charity. Even queens were indulgent to clowns.”
“You choose to play the clown, and a vast number of other roles besides. But don’t suppose you deceive me.”
He cast a quick glance at her. “Do I not?”
“Not a whit.”
“Yet you have been known to say I am inscrutable.”
“So you are. But I do know when you’re play acting, even if I can’t always understand why, or what lies beneath the façade.”
“Dear me, we become too analytical, I fear. Shall we try for a change of subject? You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve arranged for your little French friend’s advertisement to appear within the next few days in two of the local journals.”
“Oh, that is capital! How long do you think it will be before she can hope to receive an answer?”
“That depends upon several unknown factors, but I should say we could reasonably expect to hear within a week or so.”
“It will be quite long enough for her to stay in — in Mr Grenville’s house” — she stumbled a little over the name, looking self-conscious — “for she’s not too happy there, though she doesn’t complain.”
“The female in charge is somewhat of a dragon, I collect?”
Corinna nodded. “Yes, and Madeleine is lonely, for none of the domestics except the valet sleep in the house.” She paused. “She told me of an odd incident that happened a few days ago, but I dare say there is some perfectly simple explanation.”
He looked at her keenly. “What was that?”
She explained about the midnight visitor. Sir Richard listened attentively, but offered no comment.
“Mr Grenville is exactly the kind of gentleman who would entertain at all hours of the day and night,” she said, with a laugh, “and go off without a word to anyone, too! It’s vastly more interesting to live in that kind of style than to be a creature of fixed habits, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed I do,” he said stiffly.
At this point, they turned inland to Rottingdean, past some attractive flint and brick cottages and up a hill leading to the ancient church overlooking a pretty green and a duck pond. The Cheveleys’ house lay a little farther on, a square, early Georgian building of moderate size.
The second curricle had been closely following, so that both arrived within a matter of minutes. The visitors were given a very warm welcome before being invited to partake of a nuncheon of cold meats, salad, and fruit.
Conversation during the meal was filled with reminiscences about their recent stay in Paris.
“By the way,” Lady Cheveley remarked presently, “whom do you suppose I met in Brighton a few days since? You will never guess — Mr Grenville! And in quite a new and unexpected guise, that of a country landowner! He told me he has quite decided to settle at that place of his not very far from your estate, Sir Richard, and is putting it in order. What is more, he has invited us to his housewarming.”
She was a little disappointed to discover that this was no news to her visitors. She dearly loved a gossip and would have reminisced over Fabian Grenville’s affair with Mrs Peters in Paris, but found herself side-tracked by Sir Richard.
The afternoon passed pleasantly in wandering about the gardens. Corinna and Frances were able to enjoy a comfortable chat together while the gentlemen were inspecting some new horseflesh in Sir George’s stables; but afterwards they became separated by a determined move on Lady Cheveley’s part which brought her daughter walking beside Sir Richard. Corinna, while recognising the strategy, was bound to admit to herself that Sir Richard did not appear to resent it in the least. On the contrary, he seemed well pleased with his companion and made no effort to release himself from her company.
It scarcely came as a surprise, therefore, when at the conclusion of the visit he issued a cordial invitation to the family to dine at Chyngton Manor, and insisted upon fixing a date there and then.
She was not best pleased, though she could scarcely have told why. She felt in no mood for driving back beside Sir Richard, so insisted on taking Lydia’s place in their brother’s curricle.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Corinna and Laurence were both at home to meet Madeleine in the shrubbery on the following afternoon, and at once imparted the good news that the advertisement would be appearing in the next day or two. She received it with rather less enthusiasm than they had expected, and Corinna then noticed that the other girl appeared pale and had dark rings under her eyes, as though she had not slept well.
“Is something distressing you?” asked Corinna. “You do not look at all the thing, my dear.”
“No, no, it is nothing, only I have the headache a little,” replied Madeleine hurriedly.
“Why do you not come indoors and lie down for a while? You don’t need to return for another hour, and then Laurie can drive you back, to save you the fatigue of walking.”
“Oh, no, I must not — I dare not!”
“Dare not!” repeated Laurence, his curiosity aroused by her evident distress. “That’s coming it a bit strong, ain’t? I know you don’t wish to blazon it abroad that you’re on visiting terms with us, but surely once in a way it wouldn’t hurt to be seen together? Mrs Thingummy might have sent you here on some errand, for all the servants would know.”
“No, no — it’s not only that — but I can’t be sure that it’s safe for me to come here at all!” exclaimed Madeleine, wringing her hands. “I may have been followed!”
“Who the deuce would follow you?” demanded Laurence. “There’s more in this than meets the eye, I’ll be bound! What exactly has been happening over at Eastdean Place to put you in such a taking?”
“I dare not tell you!” replied Madeleine with a shiver. “Not for my life!”
“For your—!” Corinna broke off, staring. “Surely, Madeleine, you must be exaggerating? What is all this about? You must tell us, my dear!”
It required some strong urging from both before Madeleine could be brought to confide in them; but when at length she did, they listened to her story in stunned silence.
“Good God! No wonder you’re scared out of your wits!” exclaimed Laurence at last. “But you say you recognised this ruffian?”
“Yes. I saw him once only, for he was not among those who brought us to England. But I could not mistake. It was when we were staying at the farm where” — her voice faltered for a moment — “where Monsieur Landier took us. This man was talking to the farmer one night when I entered the kitchen. I was sent out at once, but I gained the impression that they were discussing arrangements for our passage.”
“S
o he is one of the smugglers, and most likely a prime figure in the business, by the sound of it. You say he speaks both languages well? One thing puzzles me, though — what in thunder would he be doing at Grenville’s place, snooping about at dead of night?”
“That I cannot say,” replied Madeleine, with something of her old spirit, “for I was too afraid to ask questions, voyez-vous! But he spoke as one who was acquainted with Monsieur Grenville, almost as if he had expected to meet him there.”
Laurence considered this for a moment. “Well, if he saw you in France, he didn’t set eyes on any of the rest of us, and I’ll wager he wasn’t told our names, either. As far as he was concerned, we were simply items of contraband to be smuggled across the Channel. That means he knows of nothing to connect you with us, so I don’t think you need worry. He was probably warning you against blabbing to any of the other servants. Keep to your own quarters after dark, and you should be safe enough. In any event, I may be snooping around up there myself at nights, in future, so I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Good heavens, Laurie, what on earth are you contemplating now?” protested Corinna.
He made no reply to this until later, when Madeleine, somewhat reassured, had returned to Eastdean Place.
“The thing is, Corinna, I’ve got a suspicion about all these havey-cavey doings at Grenville’s place, so I thought I’d investigate up there after dark, see if I can confirm it.”
“Suspicion?” she repeated sharply. “What on earth can you mean? What do you suspect?”
“I’d tell you, but I’ve a notion you won’t like it above half,” he said, eyeing her warily.
“Don’t be so idiotish! You can’t leave it at that — you’ve got to tell me now!”
Laurence lowered his voice, though there was no one remotely within earshot. “I reckon Grenville’s hand in glove with the smugglers!” he said triumphantly.
She started violently. “What? You can’t be serious!”
“Why not? The house is less than a mile from Birling Gap, which in case you don’t know, is a natural cleft in the cliffs where one can get down to the beach. If Grenville had come to some arrangement with the gang for storing contraband on his property, say, until they could run it farther inland—”
“Laurie! This is the wildest notion — I won’t listen to any more!”
“Please yourself, but you must see it would account for everything — these midnight visitors, his sudden affluence, even the fact that the servants don’t sleep in the house—”
“You must be all about in your head!” declared Corinna scornfully. “As if a member of the ton would consort with smugglers!”
“Well, you may say what you choose, but I wouldn’t be surprised at anything Grenville might do. He’s a rum touch, take my word for it.”
Corinna made no answer, but stalked off in high dudgeon. It was quite ten minutes before she recovered her temper, an unusually long time for her; but when she did, she began to review what her brother had said in a more objective frame of mind.
Was it so very unlikely that Fabian Grenville might be in league with the smugglers to the extent of leasing part of his premises to them for storing contraband? Doubtless such assistance would be well rewarded, and he certainly did not seem short of money at present. When one considered the depths to which he had been prepared to sink in his search for a wealthy wife, she reflected resentfully, it was not so difficult to suppose that he might turn to even more desperate measures. She had no illusions about his character; he was a hardened gamester used to playing for high stakes, and the risk attaching to such a venture as this could be part of its attraction.
She was forced in the end to admit that it was within the bounds of possibility; and the admission made her angry both with herself and with him.
She turned towards the house, seeking relief from her gloomy reflections in Lydia’s company. She entered the family parlour on the ground floor, then stopped abruptly.
Of all people, Mr Grenville was sitting there with her sister.
He rose at once, bowing gracefully and offering her his hand. She took it in a daze, her cheeks colouring at the thought of her recent speculations about him.
“Delighted to see you again, Miss Haydon,” he said, smiling and retaining her nerveless hand for a few seconds longer than mere civility required. “I should have called on you before, but this confounded business of setting my house in order seems to preclude every pleasurable activity! However, as I was just telling Mrs Beresford, the worst is now over, and I hope to be entertaining my neighbours to an evening party in a few days. I had Friday in mind — I do trust you have no prior engagement for that day, ma’am?”
“I — no, I don’t think so,” stammered Corinna.
Lydia allowed a moment’s irritation to show in her expression. Even if the sight of Fabian Grenville was sufficient to throw her into confusion, there was no occasion to allow the gentleman to see it so plainly.
But then Corinna redeemed herself by making a rapid recovery. She seated herself gracefully beside Lydia and proceeded to join in the ensuing conversation with all her normal poise.
After a short while, Mr Grenville rose to take his leave. He was still in the middle of this when the door opened to admit Sir Richard.
“Beg pardon, Lydia, I came straight in, not knowing you were receiving,” he said, halting on the threshold.
“That’s quite all right, Richard, it’s only Mr Grenville come to invite us to his housewarming party.”
Both men eyed each other for a moment, then exchanged the usual civilities.
“You, too, of course, Beresford,” said Grenville, “if you’re at liberty. Dare say you’ll be better acquainted with most of the guests than I am myself. Still, one must make a beginning, don’t you think? I’ll hope to see you all on Friday, then, at eight o’clock.”
An elegant bow, and he was gone.
The housewarming party was a great success. Some thirty guests were present, all local people well known to Sir Richard and Lydia; no one from Grenville’s somewhat rackety London set had been invited.
During the course of the evening Sir Richard heard many speculations on the reasons for Grenville’s changed way of life. It was not long before Corinna quietly confided to him Laurence’s views on this subject, beginning with an account of Madeleine’s confrontation with the intruder at Eastdean Place.
He heard her out in silence.
“Well?” she demanded impatiently. “What is your opinion? Do you believe there can possibly be anything in what Laurie suspects?”
“Hard to say, on the evidence we have,” he replied with a shrug. “The girl was quite sure that she recognised this intruder?”
“Yes, indeed she was, and you know for yourself how reliable Madeleine is, even though she was naturally upset.”
“Of course she would be,” he replied absently.
At that moment, Sir Richard observed their host approaching them, and touched Corinna gently on the arm.
“Perhaps this isn’t the ideal place for such a discussion,” he warned her in a low tone. “We’ll continue it some other time.”
He moved away to join the Cheveleys; and Corinna turned to confront Grenville, a willowy, elegant figure in a dark brown coat which set off his rich chestnut hair.
For once, her pulses remained steady.
“It won’t do,” Grenville reproached her gently. “You have been in my house for a full hour, and so far we’ve exchanged nothing but a few conventional words of greeting.”
“You have your duties as a host, sir,” she said demurely.
“True, and when I look at you, I could wish them at the devil,” he answered with an intimate glance from his hazel eyes.
At this, Corinna’s pulse gave the familiar quick leap.
“How are you amusing yourself in Sussex?” he continued, keeping his eyes on her face.
“Much as I do at home — riding, walking, paying calls.” She tried to speak casually.
“It is possible,” she replied, refusing to be drawn.
“Ah, now you are being cautious, and it’s not as I remember you from the past. I always admired your decided opinions, your impulsive wholeheartedness! Do not say you are changed — that would be melancholy indeed.”
“I am a little older since we first met, and perhaps also a little wiser,” she replied primly.
“In seven months?” he asked incredulously. “You see, I know precisely how long ago it is — a desert of time, an empty age!”
“Is it?” Her tone was careless. “I forget — much has happened since you quitted Tunbridge Wells. Not least to yourself, I fancy,” she added with slight emphasis.
“Ah, you are determined to punish me, I see. But believe me” — looking earnestly into her eyes — “you were always in my thoughts. The tenderest images—”
She returned his look coldly.
“What an accomplished flirt you are,” she said admiringly. “I do believe I have never met your equal, not even in Paris, where all the gentlemen made a habit of gallantry.”
A shadow of annoyance crossed his face, to be banished quickly by a rueful expression.
“I see how it is, you are determined on teasing me. Is there nothing I can do to prove my sincerity?”
She appeared to consider this. “I shouldn’t think so,” she answered at last in a negligent tone. “But, truly, it’s of no account. Pray excuse me, sir — I see Mrs Malling desires a word with me.”
She turned away to join this lady and her two daughters. While she was in conversation with them, an undercurrent of thought was running through her mind. Mr Grenville still had the power to stir her pulses. But she was not so ready now to be taken in by his smooth flattery.