The Intrepid Miss Haydon
Page 19
It seemed, then, that he must renounce all thought of her. And of marriage? He did not think himself a natural bachelor. He was a home-loving man whose chief pleasures would always be found in the management of his house and estate and the society of his neighbours. It would be pleasant to have someone to share all this with him.
He was no coxcomb, but it had not escaped his notice that Frances Cheveley was not quite indifferent to him. He did not believe her to be in love, but a little encouragement on his side might well accomplish this. Should he offer for Miss Cheveley?
She was pretty, charming, agreeable, eligible… oh, my God! he thought with sudden revulsion, I am cataloguing her virtues as though running over the points of a horse I intended buying! What was this strange alchemy that made one woman matter above all others, in spite of her rivals’ claims to as many virtues or charms?
He told himself that he must approach this matter in a rational spirit. He could offer Frances Cheveley only second best, but theirs might still be a marriage to bring comfort and security to both. He did not doubt that he could become very fond of her in time; for the rest, he would keep faith with her and try to make her happy. It was a compromise, but was not life made up of compromises?
By the time he reached this stage in his cogitations, he had arrived at Friston House. He stabled his horse and presented himself indoors.
“We’re delighted to see you!” Lydia greeted him. “I only wish you’d come over earlier in time to dine with us, for it seems so quiet without Laurie. I never thought I’d have missed the wretched boy half so much! But I dare say he’s better pleased to be with young Cheveley. How are they all at Rottingdean?”
“Very well, and they send all good wishes. Lady Cheveley hopes that you’ll visit there again soon.”
Corinna noticed a certain constraint in his manner as he replied, and wondered how far it might be due to Frances.
“It’s our turn to ask them here,” said Lydia.
“Oh, Richard repaid their original hospitality when he invited them to his house recently,” said Corinna airily. “Such nonsense as it is, to entertain turn and turn about in strict rotation, Lyddy!”
“Well, one must observe the forms of social usage,” replied Lydia. “And here is Bolton with the tea tray. You’ll take tea, Richard, or would you prefer wine?”
“Tea will do very well, thank you. And how have you been passing your time?” he asked Corinna.
“I saw Madeleine today,” she replied, a shade defiantly. “She’s soon to leave for France, her cousin tells her. He has an important p—” she stumbled, recollecting herself in time — “that is to say, an important errand there, in a few days’ time.”
“Indeed?” He had noticed the hesitation and eyed her keenly. “I cannot suppose she’ll be sorry for that.”
“No. Another thing, Richard, she was sent away from the house this morning.”
“Sent away? You mean dismissed?”
“No, but told that she could no longer stay there overnight, but must come in daily, like the others.”
“That was very sudden, was it not?”
“Yes, well—”
She hesitated again, on the verge of repeating Madeleine’s suppositions, but thinking better of it at the last moment. Really, it was very trying not to be able to be as frank with him as she had always been; but she must remember her promise to Fabian Grenville.
“Corinna,” he accused, in a low tone, “I do believe you’re keeping something from me.”
“Oh, no, what nonsense!” She glanced at Lydia, busy with the teacups and not attending to their conversation. “Madeleine’s cousin has found her somewhere else to lodge,” she went on hurriedly. “A cottage almost at the end of the village, quite convenient for Eastdean Place. He says he will come there to let her know when he’s ready for her to go, but she must dress in boys’ clothes. Masquerading as a boy must be quite an adventure!”
“I should suppose the poor child has had enough of adventures,” he said soberly, accepting a cup from Lydia’s hands and passing it to Corinna.
“Do you mean your friend Madeleine?” asked Lydia, entering the conversation once more. “So I should think, and you, too, Corinna, for all you babble on so foolishly.”
“Oh, pooh!” Corinna retorted, but she secretly acknowledged the justice of Lydia’s remark. She had been talking wildly in the hope of diverting Richard’s attention from herself. He was too shrewd by half, she thought, dismayed.
“I cannot pretend that I shall be other than relieved to see her go,” he admitted.
“That’s not a very kind thing to say!” exclaimed Corinna, though she knew quite well what he meant.
“Oh, of course Richard doesn’t mean it personally,” put in Lydia. “He likes Madeleine but he considers the situation to be vastly uncomfortable. Isn’t that so, Richard?”
He nodded. “I know my duty is to take action against these smugglers, but until the girl is safely out of the country, my hands are tied. A word now to the authorities, and her escape route would be cut off. Yet there are reasons — urgent reasons — for stopping this traffic immediately.” He frowned. “It’s the devil of a coil.”
Throughout this speech, Corinna’s expression registered dismay. If only she could give Richard a hint as to what was going on at Eastdean Place! He would look very foolish when he discovered the truth.
At this stage, her thoughts broke off abruptly. Richard was a magistrate, and as such was kept informed of local matters touching the defence of the realm. Why, then, did he appear to have no knowledge of official protection for the smugglers who ferried British agents to and from France? Surely he would have been warned to turn a blind eye to the traffic?
Her head felt in a whirl. She sensed that Sir Richard was studying her intently, and rose to return her half-empty teacup to the tray in order to avoid his eye.
“Urgent reasons, you say, Richard, for stopping the smugglers’ activities,” repeated Lydia. “I collect there must be some new cause for concern?”
“Indeed there is. While I was with Wexham in Brighton, warning came through of a dangerous French spy on the run. Only a few days since, he’d killed a man and stolen some important defence papers. Precautions are being taken at the ports to prevent his leaving the country, but it struck me he might well use a less obvious way of escape, as we did ourselves. I suspect our friends operate chiefly from Birling Gap. It’s not far from Brighton, and someone may be giving this man shelter until Fougeray can take him across the Channel.”
Corinna could not control a gasp; fortunately, it was echoed by Lydia.
“How dreadful! No wonder you feel impelled to act! I collect you didn’t inform the colonel of your suspicions, Richard? Of course, I suppose that would prevent poor Madeleine from returning to France, and most likely mean her cousin would suffer a dreadful penalty for his part in such doings!”
She broke off, too distressed to proceed.
His face hardened as he kept his eyes on Corinna.
“No, I did not tell him. I’ve decided to handle the business myself, for the present. Pray don’t press me for details — I prefer to keep my own counsel. And now let us talk of pleasanter subjects.”
“Oh, yes, but what if that man should be in this neighbourhood, as you seem to suspect?” persisted Lydia with a shudder. “I declare, I won’t be able to sleep easy in my bed! He must be a desperado!”
“Yes, I believe he is,” replied Sir Richard in a calm tone. “Since you feel so uneasy, Lydia, would you like me to stay here for the next few nights? I can easily do so.”
“Oh, would you indeed? How vastly good of you, Richard! I suppose it is cowardly of me, but without Laurie, just two females in the house—?
“You’re forgetting the servants,” put in Corinna shakily.
“Well, there are sufficient able-bodied men about the house, it’s true,” admitted Lydia, “but one needs someone to take command in an emergency. Would you not feel easier yourself if Richa
rd were here?”
“I’m not — certain — that there’s anything to be alarmed over,” replied Corinna slowly. “But if Richard does not object and it would set your mind at rest—”
“Your mind, I collect, does not require setting at rest?” Sir Richard asked swiftly.
“I think it’s fuddled for lack of air! It’s so close in this room! If you’ll forgive me, I’ll take a turn or two in the garden.”
“Of all things!” exclaimed her sister in disgust. “Why, you’ve spent most of today out of doors as it is!”
Corinna made no answer, but quitted the room. After a moment, Sir Richard, too, rose.
“I’ll ride home and collect my gear,” he said to Lydia. “I shan’t inflict my valet on you, by the way.”
“No, for John’s man will be only too pleased to have something to do. Are you sure, Richard, that this isn’t putting you about too much? I feel ashamed — you’re so very good.”
“Nonsense. Didn’t I promise John to keep an eye on you?” He nodded good-bye. “I’ll be back presently.”
He did not go straight round to the stables to collect his horse, however, but instead followed Corinna into the garden.
She was pacing up and down among the roses, evidently deep in thought. She looked up as he drew level with her, greeting him with an abstracted frown.
“Something is troubling you,” he said quietly. “Will you not tell me what it is?”
She forced a laugh. “No, nothing, I assure you. At least — well, of course I’m upset at the thought of parting from Madeleine.”
“I know that, but there’s something more,” he insisted. “I couldn’t help but observe that you were in the grip of some strong emotion when I mentioned the French spy. Neither do I believe that it was any fear for your safety which caused your concern. I think you’re in possession of some knowledge which you’re keeping back from your sister and myself. This may be wise as far as Lydia’s concerned, but surely, my dear Corinna, you can confide in me.” She started to protest, but he shook his head at her. “No, don’t deny it — I’ve known you too long not to be aware when you’re trying to keep a secret.”
“If you persist in believing that, then why don’t you let me alone and allow me to keep it?” she flashed at him.
He laid a hand gently on her arm. “I’ll not quarrel with you, Corinna. There have been quarrels enough between us in the past. I dare say that was my fault.”
“Oh, no!” She turned her face towards him, and he saw with surprise that there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve been a wretch to you at times, Richard — I freely admit it! But — but — just this once, leave me be, pray do! I don’t rightly know what to think, or — or — what I should do, but I must find the answer for myself, believe me!”
He made no reply for a moment, looking down into her eyes with an expression which made her lip tremble. She turned her face away.
“I will do as you ask, my dear. But remember that” — his voice deepened — “I am yours to command in all things, should you choose to seek my aid.”
He turned and walked slowly away towards the stables. Almost she ran after him to pour out her unquiet thoughts; but she controlled the impulse, and after a moment, returned to the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Madame Landier sighed, looking up for a moment from the white muslin cap she was trimming with lace. She stared into vacancy. She was a conscientious mother; and, like all such, there were occasions when she worried over one or another of her family. Now it was her only son, Patrice, who brought the shadow of anxiety to her eyes.
Since the girl Madeleine had left for England, he had not been in spirits. She had been the first female for whom he had shown any serious attachment; though naturally there had been the little flirtations one could only expect with a personable, light-hearted young man. Madame had known several months ago that there was someone, but he had not fully confided in her at that time. When Madeleine Fougeray had come to the house with the English people, however, she had seen at once how it was. She had taken to the girl, too, and would readily have welcomed her as a daughter. Patrice had told her everything then, and she realised how deep was his disappointment.
She put her work aside and rose to go into the kitchen to consult with the cook. One thing was certain, nothing could be allowed to interfere with that most important of French institutions, le dîner. Lately she had been ordering all Patrice’s favourite dishes in the belief, shared by so many mothers, that food had great consolatory powers for her offspring.
Her efforts seemed to have missed their mark so far; this evening was no exception. She watched her son toy with each successive course, then refuse a marvellous confection decorated with strawberries and whipped cream which she had hoped would prove irresistible. She had begun to press him once again to partake of this, when she was interrupted by one of the servants, who came into the dining parlour to deliver a message to Patrice. She frowned at the intruder, and her husband looked shocked; but servants were not what they had been, and the man remained unabashed.
“There’s a fellow asking to see you, monsieur,” stated the messenger. “Urgently, he says.”
“What manner of fellow?” demanded Patrice, half rising.
“A bargee, I think,” replied the other with a shrug. “Says he can’t wait, but he must see you in person.”
Excusing himself to his parents, Patrice hurried from the room into the kitchen quarters of the house. A man stood just inside the back door, he was dressed in the stained and shabby garments of the bargemen.
Patrice went up to him. “I am Patrice Landier. What can I do for you?”
“It’s what I can do for you,” answered the other in a throaty voice. “I come from Pierre Bonnet, who has a farm on the coast. He sends you this” — he handed over an oilskin-wrapped packet — “and I was to give it to none other. Cost me a mort of trouble, bringing that here, I can tell you.”
Landier turned the packet over in his hands thoughtfully for a moment before transferring it to his pocket.
“I’m obliged to you, and trust this may recompense you for that trouble,” he said, offering a generous pourboire.
There appeared to be no doubt on this score, for the bargee pocketed his fee with alacrity and departed at once.
Landier hastened upstairs again, entered a small anteroom where he could be private, and proceeded to undo the packet with eager fingers.
There was a letter in a hand he did not know, but one that was undoubtedly feminine.
With suddenly bounding pulses, he broke the seal and read. He had mastered no more than half the contents when he uttered a cry of delight, then pressed the paper impulsively to his lips. It was a few minutes before he was again sufficiently calm to finish the letter; but after he had done so, there was no holding him. He rushed into the dining parlour, where his parents had just concluded their meal, and waved the letter excitedly in the air.
“You’ll never guess!” he exclaimed in tones of exhilaration. “Something of the most wonderful! She is to return to me!”
“But, yes, I knew, my son,” said Madame Landier, “from the first moment you entered the room. You must tell us all about it. But first, perhaps now you will eat your dessert.”
After parting from Corinna in the garden of Friston House, Sir Richard had turned towards the stables to collect his horse; but halfway there, he changed his mind. Consulting his watch, he saw that it was already past nine o’clock, the hour at which the domestic staff of Grenville’s house usually left the premises. He appeared satisfied by this reflection; instead of returning home at once, he took a leisurely route to the village.
Dusk was gathering, and the trees he passed were dark shadows. When he reached the village, no one was about and lights were appearing in some of the windows. He had no wish to draw attention to himself, so he trod quietly, keeping to grassy verges whenever possible until he came to the cottage where Corinna had told him Madeleine was lodging.
“Good evening,” he said. “I believe you have a girl called Madeleine lodging with you. I’d like a word with her, if you please.”
The woman bobbed a curtsey, but her expression was wary.
“If you’ll tell me your name, sir, I’ll see,” she said after a moment.
She did not ask him in, but partly closed the door after he had supplied the information. He could faintly hear her footsteps ascending the stairs which led out of the living room.
Presently she returned with Madeleine, who flung the door wide, inviting him to enter.
She greeted him shyly, for she had never been upon such easy terms with him as with Corinna and Laurence, and offered him an upright deal chair. Then she turned to address the woman in a low tone.
Presently the woman nodded and departed through a door beside the staircase.
“Is there any way in which I can serve you, monsieur?” said Madeleine. “There is nothing wrong with Corinna, I trust?” she added, as this unwelcome thought occurred to her.
“You may set your mind at rest on that score,” he reassured her swiftly. “She’s in the best of health.”
“Ah, that is good. I was afraid, for a moment — since I could not think of any reason why you should visit me. But that will doubtless appear.”
He nodded, turning over rapidly in his mind how best to approach the subject of this interview.
“Mademoiselle Fougeray,” he said at last. “I have come here to seek some information which I believe Miss Haydon to possess, but which she will not confide to me. You see I am frank.”
“Yes, monsieur, and I will be as frank with you,” she answered, meeting his gaze levelly. “If Corinna does not choose to tell you of certain matters, do not ask me to betray her confidence.”