A Season at Brighton

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Well, I am at your service if you should require me,” he said.

  She thanked him, but it was in a constrained manner very different from the previous time. Either he noticed this or else he was wrapped up in some thoughts of his own, for their conversation languished, finally dying out altogether as by devious ways they reached North Street. Here Catherine suggested that she should be set down at the junction with West Street. Crendon did not oppose her in the slightest, but parted from her with scant ceremony and not a single backward glance.

  She was starting to walk briskly down West Street when she heard a horseman behind her, moving at a very slow pace. At once she thought of the solitary traveller who had been in the rear of the curricle on the journey from Rotting-dean. She turned her head quickly to catch a glimpse of him. He passed beneath a street light and she recognized him with a sharp intake of breath.

  It was Pamyngton.

  Anger flared up in her. She stopped still, waiting until he came up to her.

  “You!” she said, in tones of contempt. “It was you behind us on the road — don’t attempt to deny it!”

  He dismounted, and crooked a finger at a lad who came forward out of the shadows.

  “Take my animal to The Ship, Jack,” he directed.

  The boy touched his cap, moving off smartly with the horse. Pamyngton turned to Catherine, who still stood accusingly before him.

  “I have no intention of denying it,” he said quietly.

  “I suppose you will say that there’s no reason why you should not be on the King’s Highway as well as anyone else!”

  “I could do so, of course, with some justification. However, I don’t propose to offer such an insult to your intelligence, so be easy on that score.”

  “Then you admit that you were spying on me?” she exclaimed indignantly.

  “Do you think we might walk on?” he asked in a soothing tone. “There is something a little out of the ordinary in a lady and gentleman having a heated conversation in a poorly lit street, don’t you agree? It might be remarked by curious passers-by. If you will allow me to give you my arm to your brother-in-law’s house —”

  “Never! After what you have done tonight, I don’t wish to see you or speak to you again!”

  “Dramatic, but scarcely practicable,” he replied, calmly, “We are likely to be thrown in company fairly frequently as long as both of us remain in Brighton.”

  “Then I shall leave the place tomorrow!”

  “And run away from me a second time?” A note of amusement crept into his voice. “I hope your plans will have better fortune on this occasion. Or would you care to furnish me with details of them, so that I can come to your aid should anything go wrong?”

  “You are insufferable!” she exclaimed angrily, turning on her heel and starting to walk quickly away.

  He had no difficulty in keeping up with her.

  “Yes, I realize that I must be, as you would scarce acknowledge me when we met this morning. Though what I had done to deserve your censure then, is more than I can imagine.”

  Womanlike, Catherine seized on this tacit admission of present guilt. “So you do admit that I have just cause to be vexed with you now?”

  “I freely admit everything, in the hope that making a clean breast of things may earn me some mitigation of sentence.”

  “Everything is a joke to you — you refuse to treat anything or anyone seriously!” she declared in exasperation.

  “You are mistaken, Katie.” His tone altered subtly. “I take anything to do with you very seriously indeed. That is why — after many misgivings — I decided to follow you and Crendon this evening.”

  “That’s all very well!” she retorted. “I dare say you make exactly the same remark to other females, too — to Louisa, for instance.”

  “Your sister?” A note of puzzlement entered his voice.

  “Yes, my sister. Don’t think everyone hasn’t noticed the way you hang about her. Why, even I heard it gossiped of, the other evening at the Pavilion!”

  “The devil you did!”

  “Oh, well,” she said, sarcastically, “you must expect all your attentions to females to be the subject of gossip, an eligible bachelor like yourself!”

  “I have the strongest urge at the moment,” he said, taking her arm and bringing her to a halt, “to — do you know what?”

  Her eyes flickered for a moment towards his face, then quickly dropped away.

  “I neither know, nor care, sir,” she returned coldly.

  “I have a strong urge to spank you,” he finished. “And devil take it, I think it might be the best way of handling you!”

  She shook off his arm and drew herself up to her full height; which unfortunately for the effect, only succeeded in bringing her on a level with his shoulders.

  “Leave me, Lord Pamyngton,” she commanded. “As I said before, I don’t wish to set eyes on you again!”

  “As you wish.”

  He bowed, and watched her finish the short distance to the Hailshams’ house. Once she was safely there, he turned away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A SUMMONS

  It was after three o’clock in the morning, but Raggett’s Club was crowded and play was in full swing. Colonel Hailsham, who had dropped in on his way home from a private card party in order to have an urgent word with a fellow officer whom he knew to be in the club, paused at one of the tables to watch for a moment. He frowned.

  Four men were seated round the table, three of them in various stages of dishabille. Two had discarded their coats; one of them was leaning his left arm on the table, the fine lawn sleeve of his shirt rapidly soaking up a splash of wine which had been spilt from a bottle. The third man had untied his cravat, and the points of his collar were wilting. Only the remaining member of the group looked as trim as when he had first sat down to play, all those hours ago; his dark, slightly sardonic face gave no hint to the onlooker that he had been losing steadily all night.

  All the same, John Hailsham knew it; and his frown deepened as he took his way out of the club and so home to bed.

  It was not long afterwards that the group at the table finished play. One of the men yawned and reached for his coat.

  “Well, I’m for bed, gentlemen,” he said, in slightly slurred accents. “How d’ye make the reckoning, Fawley?”

  The man addressed made a few rapid calculations and named the sums involved. There was a rustle of paper and chink of coin as three of the men paid their debts. The fourth pushed his chair back and rose slowly from the table.

  “I haven’t the sum about me at present.” He spoke coolly enough though an onlooker in a more sober state than his companions might have noticed a set look around his mouth. “I.O.U.s will answer, I imagine, for the moment?”

  “Oh, ay — need you ask, my dear Crendon?” replied Fawley readily and the other two nodded their agreement.

  There was a writing desk against the wall a little way off. Crendon crossed to it, drew pen and paper towards him, and presently returned to hand over to his companions acknowledgements of debts to the value of almost a thousand pounds.

  “At my earliest, gentlemen.” He bowed. “Perhaps a day or two — I have urgent business which takes me up to Town —”

  “You going along with Hailsham and Bickerstaff, then?” asked Fawley, as he stowed the note carelessly in his pocket, and began tying his cravat. “Heard they were off up to London for a spell — not another invasion scare, is it, d’ye think? Makes you wonder when the military start movin’ about, don’t it?”

  “My lips, of course, are sealed,” returned Crendon with a strained smile.

  He made some excuse not to leave at the same time as his companions and later strolled home alone along the sea front. There was little light from the clouded moon; the sea was a black, heaving mass beneath the paler dark of the sky. He gazed out over it, leaning on a railing and hearing as in a dream the rhythmic slapping of waves on the beach and the hiss of pebbl
es caught in the undertow. His future seemed as dark as the scene before him. He had sold what he could, borrowed where he could to meet his enormous gaming debts; now he had come to the end of his resources.

  After a while he walked on, leaving the sea front and taking his way to his lodging off St. James’s Street. He let himself in, for his servants had been told to go to bed, and, throwing himself down in a chair, brooded for a while. Presently he roused, stood up and poured a drink from one of the bottles standing on the sideboard. He tossed the liquor off, slammed down the glass, and crossed the room to enter another parlour. He paused on the threshold, seeing no light within. Cursing under his breath, he seized a branched candlestick from the first room and carried it through to the second, setting it down on a large roll-top bureau. He flung back the lid of this, releasing a small avalanche of papers.

  He seized a handful, gave them a cursory glance, then flung them on the floor, setting his heel upon them.

  “Damned bills, blister it! Nothing but damned bills! Hell and the devil! What’s to be done?”

  He leaned over the untidy heap of paper extracting a long leather case from underneath it. He opened this, and stood gazing thoughtfully for some time at a handsome silver-mounted pistol.

  Suddenly he snapped the case shut, and laughed harshly.

  “No, b’God!” he said, aloud. “There might be some who’d seek that way out, but not for me. I think I know a trick worth six of that.”

  He set the case down, swept the pile of bills aside until he had cleared a space at the bureau, then seated himself before it. After some difficulty, he succeeded in finding pen, ink and paper. He wrote the heading, then paused chewing the end of his pen thoughtfully for several moments.

  At length inspiration came, and he wrote steadily while outside his window the sky lightened, turned pearl-grey, became streaked with the first pale tints of dawn.

  *

  “Captain Crendon has called, madam.”

  Frances started, glanced hastily round at her sisters, who had only just finished a late breakfast, and shook her head.

  “Deny us, Waddon. It is too early in the day — say the Colonel is absent from home, and the ladies are not yet ready to receive visitors.”

  “Very good, Madam.”

  The butler was about to withdraw, but Catherine cried out impatiently. “Nonsense, Fanny! We are all properly dressed, and although it may be a little early for morning calls, what else is there to do, pray?”

  Frances glanced at her, then at the butler. “Yes, but — I think —” She broke off and shrugged. “Oh, very well, since you wish it! Show the Captain in, Waddon.”

  The door closed behind the manservant.

  “I must tell you, Katie,” Frances said quickly, in a lowered tone, “that John desired me last night to warn you girls off Crendon. It seems he’s getting himself up to his ears in debt — indeed John says his case is desperate; so it’s of no use at all to give him any encouragement. If he’s come to take you for a drive, you must make some excuse. Hush! Here he comes.”

  Captain Crendon was admitted, and from the first moment appeared unusually affable. He had evidently come to please. He enquired after Eleanor’s injury, which was now quite recovered; commiserated with Frances on the temporary loss of her husband, who had a few hours ago posted to London with Colonel Bickerstaff; and praised Louisa’s embroidery. Half an hour or more passed very pleasantly away before he rose to take his leave.

  As he did so, he requested Catherine for the pleasure of her company on a short drive that afternoon.

  She hesitated, looking at Frances, who quickly took the cue.

  “You have an appointment with the dressmaker for this afternoon, I think, Katie?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” answered Catherine quickly. “I’m sorry Captain Crendon.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow then? I am at your disposal either morning or afternoon.”

  “I fear the next few days are so occupied with engagements of one kind or another that we shall scarcely have time to draw breath,” said Frances, with a laugh.

  “Yes, that is so indeed, we’ve been obliged to refuse several invitations,” added Catherine, giving him a regretful look. “I am sorry, sir.”

  He was no fool, and saw very well how it was; but he gave no sign, taking his leave with calm assurance.

  “Well, I never thought you’d pay any heed to what Fanny said!” exclaimed Eleanor in surprise, after he had gone. “You could have knocked me down with a feather! I quite thought he was a prodigious favourite with you!”

  “Perhaps I did find him interesting to begin with,” admitted Catherine. “He’s an unusual person. He doesn’t set out to flatter a female as most gentlemen do — in fact, at times he can be almost rude! It’s quite intriguing at first, for sometimes one gets a little bored by endless gallantries; but once the novelty has worn off —” She shrugged.

  “It’s worn off uncommon quickly, I’d say,” retorted Eleanor. “Why, only the other evening, you were still interested enough in him to —”

  She was stopped in mid-sentence by an unusually fierce glare from her sister.

  “What’s this?” demanded Frances instantly on the alert.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Catherine, hurriedly. “You know how Nell rattles on. Anyway, we promised the Fullertons that we’d go there this morning if you recollect. I’m going upstairs to get ready.”

  “Eleanor!” said Frances, sternly, when Catherine had shut the door behind her. “What is all this?”

  “Oh, only girlish confidences, Fan,” returned her younger sister, airily. “Be easy.”

  “I think perhaps,” put in Louisa, with some idea of providing a distraction “we ought to follow Katie’s example, and get ready for our outing.”

  Meanwhile, Catherine had been halted on her way upstairs by one of the footmen, who handed her a letter.

  “The gentleman who’s just left desired me to give this to you, ma’am.”

  She took it, opening her eyes wide; then turned away and hurried for the shelter of her bedroom.

  Here she locked the door, and, moving over to the window, opened the letter.

  Consumed with curiosity, she was so eager to read it as quickly as possible that she was scarcely able to take in the sense at first. She read it a second time more slowly.

  It was written in the terse style she would have expected from Crendon. He wrote that he had chanced across Oliver Seaton, and that Oliver urgently wanted to see her again. He was now removed from Rottingdean and staying at Pyecombe, where he could meet her at any time of day she cared to arrange.

  “I shall call on you this morning and try to get Mrs. Hailsham’s permission to take you driving again,” wrote Crendon. “If this ruse fails, you must think of something else, then let me know a time and place to take you up. A message to my lodging; or I shall be hanging about outside Donaldson’s most of the morning should you be able to see me briefly there. But speed is essential — come today if at all possible, tomorrow at the latest.”

  She stood gazing out of the window, deep in thought. Oliver had said it was unlikely that he would need to see her again. What could have happened to make him change his mind, moreover to make the matter one of such urgency? A vivid imagination would usually supply her readily with several answers to any speculation, but this time she could think of nothing. All the more reason, then, to go to Oliver at once and find out for certain. How was this to be achieved? More thought was needed on this point.

  She was still brooding when she heard the door knob rattle, and Louisa’s voice calling to her.

  “Katie? Are you there? I can’t get in.”

  She started, pushed the letter hastily down the front of her dress and flew to unlock the door. Louisa stood outside, looking puzzled.

  “Why did you lock yourself in? You don’t usually do so.”

  “Oh, I — I think I must have done it in absence of mind. I didn’t realize I had,” stammered Catherine.

 
Louisa gave her a thoughtful look. “I came to see if you would do up the top buttons on my dress. The maid’s with Nell, and it seemed a pity to disturb her for that.”

  “Yes, of course. Come over by the window.”

  “Katie,” went on Louisa, while her sister was performing this small service for her, “I don’t wish to pry but — are you in love with the Captain?”

  “Captain Crendon? Of course not! Why should you think so?”

  “Well, I did just wonder. You’ve seemed very taken with him on the occasions when he’s been in company with us. And then there was what Nell said —”

  “Oh, Nell!” exclaimed Catherine, impatiently. “You know how she makes a to-do over nothing!”

  “Yes, perhaps. But I know she’s very indiscreet, too, and it did seem to me that she was about to disclose something which you’d rather Fanny didn’t hear — something to do with you and Captain Crendon.”

  Catherine finished the last button and turned Louisa towards her.

  “If you want to know, she was. But it’s not what you think — or what she thinks, either, come to that. I can’t tell you now, Lou, but I think I may be able to do so soon; and then you’ll see that it’s more to do with you than with anyone. No, it’s of no use asking me, for I can’t and won’t say more at present. But one thing you can be certain of — I’m not in love with Captain Crendon, nor ever likely to be!”

  Understandably, this view was not shared by the footman who had handed her Crendon’s letter, and who was presently despatched secretly to the Captain’s lodging with an answer.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A CLOSED CARRIAGE

  The call on the Fullertons, originally planned to last an hour or two, was extended to include eating nuncheon with them and staying on as long into the afternoon as Frances Hailsham and her sisters could manage. This suited both Frances and Eleanor, as they had no pressing engagements for that day; but Louisa and Catherine were obliged to leave at half-past two as they both had an appointment with the dressmaker, whose premises were situated in one of the lanes off North Street.