‘Hurry ... hurry ... hurry ...’ someone said. And again, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the little brown man. She looked that way again, and saw only a pile of logs. They had been there a long time, it seemed, for they were covered with soft spiders’ webs. She dragged them to the wall under the grating, and began to pile them one on top of the other. Then she clambered up, hampered by her chains, and grasped the grating above her head. The log beneath her right heel slipped and she was left clinging to the grating with both hands, her feet dangling. With heart-stopping slowness, her weight pulled the grating out of its bed. She could not save herself, but fell heavily on to the logs, with the grating on top of her.
Sobbing, she dragged the grating out of the way and once more, but this time more carefully, began to build herself a platform of logs on which she might climb to reach the opening.
The stable clock struck midnight. She was astounded. Was it only an hour ago that Maud had told her how she intended to kill Lord Broome? She must hurry. She hauled herself up into the courtyard and then, clanking more loudly than any ghost, she tripped and stumbled around the cloisters, and climbed the turret stairs to the Oak Gallery. Her ankles were raw, and so were her wrists, her mouth ached, but ... ‘Hurry ... hurry ... hurry! Danger ... danger ... danger!’
She came to the door of the State Bedroom and found it ajar. No one was on guard outside. There was no one to help her. She grasped the knob of the door and gently pushed it open. Two figures stood by the red-curtained bed with their backs to her. Maud was holding up her lamp so that its rays fell between the drawn curtains of the bed on to the sleeping figure within. Lee was holding back one of the curtains with his left hand, and in the other he held a cut-throat razor.
‘That’s it!’ said his lordship. He spoke not from the bed, but from the high-backed chair near the window. ‘Both of you stand perfectly still. Yes, this is a pistol in my hand, and, yes, I can fire it well enough with my right hand if need be. At this range I can hardly miss. Benson! Arling! Theo! You may come out now.’
The man on the bed rose and took the razor from Lee’s hand. It was Arling, in one of his master’s nightshirts.
‘Now,’ said his lordship, who could not see Frances from where he stood, ‘tell me what you have done with Miss Chard, and no more of that nonsense about her having left with Donne. I admit you had me fooled for a while. Then Benson found Miss Chard’s black shawl; did you really think she would leave her only remaining shawl behind if she had gone willingly? After that I began to use my head, and it was not long before I realised that a substitution had taken place. Miss Chard walks with a free-swinging step, totally unlike the boneless glide of the woman who ran off with Donne this evening. Who was it who wore Miss Chard’s clothes? And what have you done with her?’
Maud’s head turned from side to side, seeking escape. Suddenly she turned and made for the door. She saw Frances, in monk’s gown and chains. Her eyes widened. Her mouth distorted with a soundless cry of horror. Her body bent, knees loosening. Sweat stood out on her brow. She pointed at Frances, and her hand wavered. ‘The ghost!’ she whispered.
‘None of that!’ said his lordship, sharply. ‘Do you think Lee frightened me, dressed up in a white robe? Richard ought to have got his facts right; our family ghost is a small and ancient soul in a brown robe — either an old family retainer from the early days of the Broome occupancy, or a Franciscan monk. I’ve never seen him, and I doubt if you have, either.’
Maud continued to stare at Frances. Her hand to her mouth, Maud took one step back, and then another, until she was pressed to the cupboard behind her. Two men entered from the dressing-room, holding a sullen Meakins captive between them.
Theo said, ‘I caught her sneaking up the stairs in the direction of her bedroom. She’s got some odd things in her carpet bag; my uncle’s bottle of emetic for one, and some keys, and a hammer. What shall we do with her until the police come?’
‘Perhaps she can tell us where Miss Chard is,’ said his lordship.
‘Police?’ quavered Meakins.
‘Arling has a groom ready and waiting to send for them. They are staying in the village, you know.’
Maud screamed. She raised both her hands above her head in a gesture of despair and then, realising that she still had hold of the lamps, froze, looking at it. Her face, lit from above, became a mask of fury. Before anyone could stop her, she threw the lamp with all her might straight at his lordship. The lamp broke against the back of the chair on which he was sitting, and flames burst out over the upholstery and over the dressing-gown he was wearing.
Frances thought: This is why I was allowed to escape! Pushing Maud out of the way, she threw herself on Lord Broome, and smothered the flames with her heavy robe and with her hands. His lordship dropped his pistol to help her, while Theo released Meakins to run for the ewer of water from the nightstand in the dressing-room. At that moment Meakins and Lee both made a bid for escape. Arling and Benson fell on Lee, and Theo tripped Meakins as he returned with the water. She fell to the floor in an untidy heap. Maud leaped over her maid, sped through the dressing-room and out into the Gallery.
Frances fainted.
*
In years to come a legend sprang up in the village that Miss Broome had stumbled while crossing the fatal bridge in the park, and been swept away by the swollen river to drown in the Long Pool, like Lilien Jervis. If this was so, it was strange that her body was never recovered. Some had it that she made her way to London, and joined forces with Walter Donne in a life of crime. Once, on a trip to Paris, Mr Manning thought he saw her in a crowd, poorly dressed, and with her hair cropped as if she’d had a fever. He tried to approach her, but if it was indeed Maud whom he had seen, she had no wish to acknowledge the connection, for she had disappeared by the time he reached the spot on which she had been standing, and he never saw her again.
Lee, Jervis and Meakins confessed to the attempts on Lord Broome’s life, but placed the blame on Maud as having been the instigator of their crimes. Jervis admitted knowing that Lee had engineered Richard’s death, but denied that he had himself been in any way involved. In due course Lee was hanged, and the other two given long prison sentences. Hugo returned to London to look for another job. It was said that he attained some respectable position in the office of a tea importer eventually, but he was never invited to the Court again.
Lord Broome’s problems were not resolved with the departure of the conspirators from the scene. Miss Chard’s nervous system had been overstrained, and although her burned hands and various grazes responded to Theo’s doctoring, her sleep was interrupted by nightmares and at the slightest provocation she would dissolve into tears. In this low state, she brooded on the harsh things Hugo and Maud had said, until it seemed that their judgment must be that of Society. She had always known that she was unworthy to be Lady Broome, and now she became convinced that his lordship’s protestations of love were made out of gratitude, and that he would be even more grateful were she now to take her leave of him, so that he might marry some well-born and deserving girl.
Theo visited her every day, dutifully exclaiming over the gifts his lordship had caused to be sent up to her. Each day he asked whether she felt up to seeing his lordship, and each day she cried, and said that she wished she were dead.
‘She needs a couple of months’ rest at the sea,’ said Theo, reporting to Lord Broome. ‘She is full of impossible schemes for finding another position as a governess. She is quite unequal to anything like that at the moment, as I pointed out to her. I have suggested that she spend a month in Brighton with a distant cousin of mine, and she is going to think it over.’
His lordship pierced and lit a cigar with great concentration. It took him some time, but Theo did not offer to help. He knew he’d be sworn at if he did. Finally, Lord Broome said, ‘Still thinking you can cut me out with her, Theo? Perish the thought. When we are married, I daresay she will fill the house with young people, and you can pick ou
t a nice, prettily-behaved little girl to marry.’
‘My lord,’ said Theo, becoming very dignified, ‘I thought I had made it plain that she did not wish to see you.’
‘Oh, yes, I quite understand that a frontal attack is out of the question. She’s not eating, you say ... or sleeping properly. She’d have hysterics if I burst in on her now. You’re a pretty good doctor as doctors go, Theo, but you have never understood Miss Chard. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with her; she’s afraid that she will not be accepted by the county when she marries me.’
‘Such a marriage would be very unequal. She has no dowry, no friends, no family ...’
‘Precisely. You have at last arrived at an accurate diagnosis of what is wrong with Miss Chard. Can your medicines cure her?’
‘No medicine can cure her of wanting the impossible.’
‘Then we must supply her with the impossible ourselves, must we not?’
After Theo had left, his lordship smoked his cigar through and then made his dispositions, as if he were planning a military manoeuvre. Letters were sent here and there, as he might once have despatched scouting parties. He drove over to see General and Mrs Armstrong, and negotiated a treaty with them which would not have disgraced a general making peace with a powerful neighbour who might or might not be friendly in the event of a renewal of hostilities. Finally, he informed his battalion — that is to say, his immediate family and the staff of the Court — of his plans, in the event of Miss Chard’s departure. A stunned silence greeted his orders, followed by tears on the part of some, and reluctant smiles on the part of others.
The following day Benson brought the letters to his master, instead of Spilkins, who was laid up with shock at hearing his lordship’s plans.
‘They’ve started carrying tales to Miss Chard already,’ he said, riffling through the letters on the salver before handing them to his master. ‘Mr Manning’s replied, and Mr Percy Chard from Somerset, and there’s three invitations from the Armstrongs and their cronies. I should say you’ve pulled it off, Major. I mean, my lord.’
Lord Broome overlooked Benson’s lack of polish, to slit open the mail and scan the contents. ‘So far so good,’ he said. ‘See that that lot is taken up to the sick-room, will you? Lady Amelia should be there about this time, but if she isn’t, will you make sure that she goes there straight away? I’m tempted to take the letters up myself, but I think I’d better not see her until she’s digested their contents. I’d like to go out riding, but I’m afraid she might do something foolish like trying to run away while my back’s turned. Theo said she was a little stronger today, and talking of leaving at the end of the week.’
‘Don’t worry, my lord. Her retreat’s been cut off. Arling has been gentling a mare for her to ride, and he’s ordered the pony cart out, that your late mother used to ride. If she sends down word that she wants the trap to take her to the station, he’ll see to it that she doesn’t get it before you get back.’
‘Good. And, Benson, what I said the other day about pensioning you off ...’
‘Oh, I didn’t take no notice of that, my lord. I’m used to your ways by now, and you’re used to mine, and what would I be doing living like a lord in London, on a pension? Bored to death, I’d be. I did think maybe I’d be your butler when that fool Spilkins goes to the Dower House with Mrs Broome, but then I thought as it wasn’t quite what I’ve been brought up to ...’
‘You did?’ said his lordship faintly.
‘... and then I thought as I might be your official valet, but that didn’t quite suit, either, seeing as I’m not as handy with a needle as I might be ...’
‘It didn’t occur to you to wait until I offered you a position?’
‘Nah. I’ve settled in my mind on what would be best for the both of us. Your fac-tot-um, that’s what I’m going to be, seeing to bits of business that you can’t be bothered to do for yourself. You can build me a bit of a cottage at the back of the stables, next to Arling’s place, and I’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug.’
‘You don’t think I can do without you, is that it?’
Benson advised his master to get out into the park while the sun was still shining, and took the letters up to the schoolroom.
*
Lady Amelia was sitting with Frances — by arrangement with his lordship — when Benson arrived with the letters. Frances was looking very unlike her usual trim self. All her clothes had been ruined by immersion in the Long Pool, and although his lordship had provided her with a trousseau of clothes fit for a princess, she had not felt able to wear any of them. She sat in a chair by the fire, huddled into an old flannel dressing-gown of Nurse’s, with her hair in plaits. Benson proffered the letters, told her she was looking peaked and he’d have some nourishing food sent up to her, and withdrew before she could protest that she was not hungry.
She picked up the letters, read them through, looked blankly at Lady Amelia, and said, ‘What does he mean by this?’ Lady Amelia took the letters out of her hand, read them, and nodded.
‘Why, my dear ... fancy that! Percy Chard is coming to stay. How very pleasant! I remember him when he was in knickerbockers. Why didn’t you tell me, you naughty girl, that Percy Chard was your uncle? I see that he’s bringing his wife — she was one of the Purbrights, wasn’t she? — and two of your cousins with him. Of course. Isabella is to be your chief bridesmaid — I had a word with the bishop about the wedding the other day ...’
‘My uncle and aunt coming here? With my cousins? Does this mean that he wants to acknowledge me now? He refused to do anything for me before. Is it because he thinks Lord Broome wants to marry me?’
‘Don’t be too hard on him, my dear. It’s the way of the world. You must forgive him for his past neglect of you, and ask your two cousins to be bridesmaids. Poor things, I believe they are very plain, but you must remember that they are well-connected. You need not invite them to stay more than once a year when you are married. Now where shall we put everyone? I really think Gavin will have to build another wing, after he’s modernised the Court. If we put the Mannings in the ...’
‘I don’t understand.’ Frances pressed her hands to her forehead. ‘Why is Mr Manning bringing his family down here at the same time?’
‘Naturally, he is anxious that they make your acquaintance. As you can see from his letter, John is overjoyed that Gavin is about to settle down at last ... yes, yes ... and here is the message from your aunt about presenting you at Court. I daresay she will write to you personally in a few days’ time.’
‘But why should she present me at Court? I am nothing to her.’
Lady Amelia looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Because Gavin has asked her to do so, of course. John wants Gavin to go on to some charity committee or other, and ...’
‘... so his lordship has bought my presentation at Court by putting some money into one of Mr Manning’s charities?’ Frances picked up the invitations. ‘And Mrs Armstrong and her friends? How have they been won over?’
‘I don’t know. Something to do with a railway that the General is interested in, I think. And, of course, Mrs Armstrong likes to be first with everything. The news of your heroism is all over the county, and it is only natural that she should wish to sponsor your entry into Society. As her protégé, you will be received everywhere.’
Frances burst into tears. ‘But, Lady Amelia, I am nobody.’
‘My dear!’ Lady Amelia patted Frances’ head. ‘You are the girl Gavin wants to marry. He won’t rest, and he won’t let anyone else rest, until he has you. I must say he could have done a lot worse. You have breeding, and are well-educated; also, you are not frightened of him, which most young girls are.’
Frances sought for a handkerchief. ‘How has he won you over?’
‘He did not have to. After what you did for him, I was quite willing to welcome you into the family. Well, just between ourselves, it would make me very happy if you would take Isabella off my hands once you are married. I am getting too old to lo
ok after such an extremely silly little girl.’
Frances burst out laughing, and what with her tears and her laughter, Lady Amelia wondered whether she ought not to send for Theo. But at last Frances lay back in her chair.
‘Do you really think I ought to marry him?’ she asked.
‘Yes, my dear, I really think you ought. Your scruples do you credit, but you must admit he has countered them all.’
‘By fair means or foul. How much has he paid for me, do you know?’
‘That is a question you must ask him yourself, I think.’
Miss Chard considered the matter. ‘Of all the underhanded, dictatorial ... It’s bribery and corruption, that’s what it is; and I shall tell him so!’
‘Yes, my dear, you do that,’ said Lady Amelia. ‘But only consider what will happen to us all, if you refuse him. Poor Milly will be packed off to the Dower House in disgrace, and since she won’t be able to keep a carriage on what Gavin proposes to allow her, she will be completely cut off from Society. Whereas, if you stay here, she will have access to some of her old friends, at least. Then there is Agnes: she must go away to school. I don’t deny that that will be a good thing for her, but Milly doesn’t want her back in the holidays, because she says that Dower House isn’t big enough to hold them both. The child would have to stay at school in the holidays, and her pony would be sold, and she’d be utterly miserable.’
‘I should hate Agnes to be miserable,’ murmured Miss Chard.
‘And Gavin swears that if you go, he will shut up the house and tour the Middle East, which means that the servants will be put on board wages and many of them — especially the younger ones — will leave to seek posts elsewhere.’
Miss Chard nodded. ‘His lordship knows I wouldn’t like to see Polly and Abel suffer.’
Fear for Frances Page 17
