This was the mood in which I feared him most, when he was so satisfied with himself that he indulged in a mordant levity. It was in this temper that he most enjoyed baiting me. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their shaking and took comfort from the fact that I stood out of his reach.
When I did not answer, his brows lowered and his voice lost some of its gaiety. “Come, girl, speak up. Or has this touching reunion robbed you of the power of speech?”
“Let her be, Pembroke.” Lord Claude spoke without moving from his chair, looking as if he had aged twenty years.
“No,” said my father sharply. “The girl heard every word we said, I’ll wager, and we must find out what her feeble little brain has made of her eavesdropping—if anything. Come down here, daughter.”
“I had rather not.”
He flung his cigar into the fire. “Would you prefer that I dragged you down?”
He was quite capable of doing it. I moved hastily to the ladder and descended to the library floor, hoping to salvage some of my dignity by complying under my own power. My father gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back to the desk, where he extracted a new cigar from the humidor. Even though I had come to understand something of the nature of their relationship, it still shocked me that my father did not so much as glance at his host before making himself free with Lord Claude’s cigars. As he addressed me, he was rolling it between his fingers and inhaling its fragrance.
“I’m certain you found my conversation with your host most interesting, if a bit obscure. Tell us, what do you think we were discussing?”
“It isn’t any of my affair.”
“Ah, but it is now, you know. More’s the pity. Had we known you were skulking up there… but then, you always have been an inconvenient child. I vow I used to feel I could not take a step without tripping over you. You have a positive genius for being where you aren’t wanted.”
Lord Claude, unused to my father’s manner of addressing me, shifted uncomfortably. “Pembroke, the girl can’t do us any harm. She just wants to get away.”
“Yes, she is probably champing at the bit to run to auntie and tell her all about it. I’m afraid we can’t allow that.” Before I could move, he had sprung across to me and seized my wrist, wrenching my arm up behind my back. The breath hissed through my teeth as I tried not to scream.
Lord Claude had risen to his feet and taken a half step forward as if to come to my aid, but the look my father cast at him halted him as effectively as a bullet. Unhappy but compliant, he retreated.
“Now, my girl. Tell us what you think you heard.”
A vicious twist of my arm encouraged my cooperation. I gritted my teeth. “It seems perfectly clear,” I said tightly. “You are exerting pressure on Lord Claude to procure money for you, probably from his wife or nephew. I expect you are blackmailing him. Otherwise I cannot imagine why he would endure your presence here.”
My answer must have surprised him, for the painful pressure on my wrist relaxed. “What a bitter little minx it is,” came the amused comment. “But there’s sense behind your venom. I must commend you, Reginald: a few weeks in your care, and the mouse has learned to think—and to bite as well. Yes, daughter, you are correct. Reginald here is my unwilling banker, and I find myself in urgent need of funds.”
He let me go, and I backed away, rubbing my wrist. His admission astonished me. But of course, he was too intelligent to expect that he could persuade me into thinking I had not heard what had been all too clear.
“If you have finished with the interrogation, I’d like to retire now,” I said.
His narrow smile showed what he thought of my attempt to sound composed. “Yes, it’s time all good little spies were in bed, isn’t it?” he mocked. “But you aren’t to go yet; not until you have heard the entire story. You are doubtless curious as to the nature of my hold over Reginald.”
“I am not.” I was already grieved and sickened to see Lord Claude in my father’s toils, reduced to this obsequious posture; I wanted to know no more.
“Oh, there’s no need to lie, my girl; curiosity, after all, is woman’s downfall. It’s an unsavory tale, to be sure, but not an unusual one, eh, Reginald? A nubile young dancer, fresh and tempting; a brief indiscretion, quickly regretted. Not a story that would shed any glory on the fine old name of Reginald.”
“You’ll not tell Gwendolyn?” This from Lord Claude, who gazed at me with haggard appeal.
“Of course not,” I exclaimed, revolted. “I’ve no wish to cause pain to her—or to you, sir.” In spite of my distaste I still felt pity for Lord Claude, and I had no wish to destroy his marriage to a woman he obviously loved. Too, the episode might have happened before his marriage. There could be little good in advertising the unsavory situation to the family.
“A touching display of loyalty,” observed my father. “Why do you not show such devotion to me, my dear?” He pinched my cheek, harder than affection called for, and I jerked my head away.
“You’ve done nothing to earn it.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Lord Claude winced at the sound. “What a brazen tongue you have, now that you’ve found other protectors! You must be very pleased with yourself. Indeed, I must admit I had not guessed you capable of such enterprise, or even such ambition. I almost like you better for it, daughter. You’ll make me proud of you yet.”
“Nothing I did was with the thought of pleasing you.”
“Perhaps not, but the result is the same. You leave my house an orphan and within weeks are as good as engaged to a duke. Do you gaze into your mirror at night and congratulate yourself, and picture that drab little face crowned with diamonds?”
I knew it was safer not to rise to his mockery, but I could not let this pass. “After marrying for money and rank yourself, you are probably incapable of conceiving that someone could wish to marry for love. You are so entrenched in wickedness that you cannot understand anything else.”
“Ah, so it’s true love that binds the two of you together, then? A noble stance, my girl.” His eyes narrowed on my face, then swept over my figure with contempt. “But young men are usually attracted to more, shall we say, tangible qualities. I am curious as to how you managed to ensnare your duke. It wasn’t with your ideals, I’m sure. Might it be that you have been engaging in a spot of blackmail yourself…?”
I pushed past him to the door, unable to bear his presence any longer. “I’ve only one thing more to say to you,” I told him. “Until you found that I had become attached to the Reginalds, you were content to deny me. Well, I say that once having done so you cannot undo it. I do not consider you to be my father, and I wish to see as little of you as possible while you are here. That is all.”
I wrenched open the door, but was halted by the sound of applause behind me. “Brava, daughter!” his voice rang out. “You have already mastered the haughtiness of a duchess. As for your dislike of my company, you may please yourself; but you will find little protection from your loving relatives should I wish to make any claim on you. Your precious Lord Claude is but a broken reed.”
Unwillingly I turned back. The brandy had finally done its work: Lord Claude had slumped over onto the desk in a stupor, the empty glass still clutched in his hand. My pity was tinged now with a kind of understanding. Little wonder that he sought solace in a bottle, if my father was holding the strings that made him dance.
Well, he would find that he no longer held my strings.
* * *
It was a shock to see my father at the breakfast table in the morning. The strange scene of the night before had seemed so unreal remembered in daylight that I half expected to find that I had imagined it. The sight of my father placidly spreading marmalade on a scone shattered any hope that his arrival had been a dream.
As soon as I set foot in the room he was on his feet, with a rather overdone courtesy.
“Ah, good morning, daughter,” he greeted me, beaming with every evidence of delight. From his manner no one wo
uld have guessed just how little interest in me he had shown throughout my life. “So nice to start the day with one’s nearest and dearest, is it not? Do have some of the marmalade; it’s exceptional.”
His geniality was even worse than his cruelty. I hesitated, on the point of leaving, but it would look strange to turn and walk out now; I contented myself with ignoring him and went to the sideboard to fill a plate. I would eat as quickly as possible, I decided, and escape. In future I must ask for breakfast in my room.
As I returned to my seat I noticed some of the ladies casting surreptitious looks at each other, marking my rudeness to my father. The gleam of amusement in his eye showed that he noticed them too. Leaning over to Lady Van Horne, he informed her in a stage whisper, “She’s angry at me for something I said about her new bonnet. She’s very sensitive; you know how girls are when they reach a certain age and haven’t married.”
“Indeed I do, Mr. Pembroke.” Lady Van Horne nodded sagely, understanding the foibles of girls approaching spinsterhood. I felt my face grow hot, and kept my eyes on my plate.
“Are you feeling well this morning, my dear?” came the diffident voice of Lord Claude. When I looked up, he was smiling anxiously, as if trying to convey an apology. For my father’s behavior? For his own failure to come to my aid? I could not tell how much he might remember of the previous evening, since he bore all the signs—unmistakable to someone who had seen Lionel after many a debauch—of too much liquor the night before.
I tried to smile in return. He may have lost a great part of my respect, but nevertheless I could not help liking and pitying him. And his query was kindly meant. “Perfectly well, thank you,” I said. “Although a bit weary.”
“You had difficulty sleeping?” he inquired quickly, perhaps to forestall anything my father might say.
“No more than usual,” I said thoughtlessly, but then I caught myself up. “I suppose I am overexcited, like all the other ladies, because of the coming ball.”
This was patently untrue, but I thought it a good enough excuse for my harrowing hours of wakefulness. My father was quick to seize on it.
“My dear girl, it isn’t healthy to spend so many sleepless nights,” he exclaimed, instantly assuming a solicitous manner. “I appeal to you, Lady Van Horne. She will put herself at risk of taking ill, will she not?”
Lady Van Horne agreed at once. “Nothing is more dangerous for the constitution, Mr. Pembroke, than sleeplessness,” she declared.
Clearly my father had already wooed her over to him. I wondered if she would have agreed with him had he maintained that insomnia led to lycanthropy.
“And it has a devastating effect on the complexion, especially when one is past one’s first youth.” My father’s voice was all tender concern. “My dear Miss Deveraux, is there nothing you can suggest for my daughter? I cannot bear to think of her spending every night in such discomfort.”
Miss Deveraux blushed prettily at his appeal, but confessed herself stymied. I wished I could pull the tablecloth over my head. The entire table was involved in the exchange now. I knew now what people meant when they called a situation nightmarish.
In the end it was Lord Pettifer who thought of the solution. “Laudanum, Mr. Pembroke,” he proclaimed. “That is the most effective thing for sleeplessness. A few drops every night will cure the most virulent case of insomnia.”
My father’s gratitude was touching; at least, I imagine it must have been to those who knew him less intimately. He had Lord Claude promise to send one of the servants to procure a bottle for me. By that time Father had probably convinced everyone at the table, excepting Lord Claude and myself, of his heartfelt concern for his daughter’s welfare. I forced down my breakfast over a rising tide of nausea.
At last some respite from the charade came. Lord Claude rose, saying, “Good morning, my dear,” sounding so nervous that I looked up. The duchess had entered and was regarding my father with astonishment, and not a trace of pleasure.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Mr. Pembroke, you must forgive me; I was not informed of your arrival. I would have made sure of being there to greet you had I known.”
He bowed, with a courtesy finely shaded between sincere respect and mocking subservience. Clearly he was no more fond of her than she was of him. “You have nothing to apologize for, Your Grace,” he said, but the silken undertone of the words implied just the opposite. “I arrived very late, and I could not expect you to disturb your rest for my sake. I was treated most hospitably by your husband.”
As the words were calculated to do, they instantly shifted her attention to Lord Claude. Under her inquiring gaze he seemed to shrink, and hurried to defend himself.
“I did not have the chance to tell you, my dear, that Pembroke unexpectedly found himself able to join us. I had the servants put him in the Bavarian Room. I trust that will not upset your arrangements, Gwendolyn, but that was the only room that suggested itself to me at the time. There was no chance to consult with you, you see. I’m certain Pembroke won’t mind shifting to another room if—”
Mercifully, she cut off the flow. “The Bavarian Room sounds like a perfectly acceptable arrangement, Claude. As long as our guest is satisfied with it, of course.” She allowed a pause just long enough for my father’s assurances, and then said sweetly, “I believe I would like a pastry, Claude, if you wouldn’t mind.”
At once her husband moved to the sideboard. She took a seat gratefully, and regarded my father as she poured tea. “We will have the pleasure of your company for the ball, I hope?”
“Indeed,” said my father, “I would hate to miss it.”
This was as close as she could come to ascertaining how long he would stay, I saw. Abandoning that line of inquiry, she deftly turned the conversation to the plans for the ball and kept it there while she broke her fast. She behaved as graciously as if she had been awaiting my father’s arrival, but I was now certain that she had been as unprepared for his appearance as I was. As soon as she was through with her meal—a greatly abbreviated one, I suspected—she confirmed my thoughts.
“You will excuse me, friends, but I have some final arrangements for the ball that I must attend to. Will you be so good as to assist me, my dear?” she asked me, and I assented at once. Lord Claude rose to hold her chair as she stood, and my father, to my great discomfort, performed the same service for me.
Following her from the room, I was not surprised when she proceeded not to the long gallery but to the morning room.
“We may speak here without risk of interruption,” she said briskly. Once the door was shut, she turned to me. “My dear child, what can I say? I had no idea of your father’s arrival. I have never been so astonished in my life as when I saw him at the table. Please believe that I had nothing to do with his coming here. Knowing, as I do, your unfortunate history with him, I would never have subjected you to such a painful meeting.”
“I never doubted that, ma’am.” I was surprised that she did not take a seat, but hovered restlessly by the windows that overlooked the terrace, twisting her rings. She seemed more upset than I; but, then, I had had some warning of his presence this morning. “I could tell you were as surprised as I was at his arrival.”
“Surprised? Appalled is more accurate. What on earth was Claude thinking, to ask him here without consulting me? The guest list has always been my domain, just so that such disastrous mistakes should not happen. It was inevitable that we should have to deal with the man, but not here, not now.”
I felt a twinge of sympathy for Lord Claude, who would surely face her indignation later.
“Perhaps Lord Claude had a good reason for asking him here,” I said, and then the realization struck. He had in fact sent for my father; I had heard that much last night. But why would a man send for his own blackmailer? Now too I recalled the sense that both were involved together, however unwillingly on one side, in whatever urgent business it was. My father had deliberately misled me. Was he too being blackmailed,
and dependent on his hold over Lord Claude to protect himself? But what was the nature of that hold, if he had invented the story of Lord Claude’s indiscretion for my benefit?
I was so startled by these reflections that it took me a moment to realize the duchess was speaking again.
“I beg your pardon?” I apologized, dragging myself with an effort back to the matter at hand.
She had stopped pacing, but she was still twisting her rings in agitation. Her face wore such a strange combination of pity and hesitancy that my heart gave an apprehensive thump. She must have something awful to impart.
“My dear girl, I think it is time you were told the truth,” she said.
“The truth about what, ma’am?”
She took a deep breath and came to sit by my side on the divan. The sunlight streaming through the broad windows picked out her golden hair in a fiery halo, and she looked like an angelic messenger forced to impart tidings, not of great joy, but which she would rather have kept to herself. She took my hands, which had gone clammy with dread, and looked into my eyes with great tenderness.
“I have something to tell you that may be very terrible to hear,” she said softly. “Believe me, I do not wish to cause you pain” (had I not said that, or something like it, long ago?) “but, circumstances being what they are, I feel it best that you should know this. It is about your father.”
I let out my breath. “Oh,” I said, without meaning to, and she smiled ever so slightly at the relief in my voice.
“I frightened you. I’m sorry, child. But what I have to tell you concerns you as well as him. Otherwise, it is something best never spoken of. It is, after all, in the past…
“You may have wondered why, in all the years since your infancy, the Reginalds have made no attempt to contact you or your father; why you grew up in isolation from your mother’s relations; why, to be plain, your father was cut by the family.” She permitted herself a tiny, un-duchesslike grimace. “Besides, of course, the innate undesirability of his company.”
Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense Page 20
