‘To tell you the truth, sir, this is the first opportunity I have had to do so. I have been out of the country!’
‘What?’
‘Oh, yes. Whoever arranged Farnley's murder was clever enough to get rid of me at the same time. If he had had his way I should be halfway to the West Indies by now!’
Once more the Viscount embarked on the tale of his adventures. The Marquis was no less appreciative than Charlotte had been. Indeed he went so far as to wish that he had been at his young friend's side.
‘I wish you had, sir. It would have been beyond anything great!’
The Marquis smiled absently, but it was apparent that he was deep in thought. ‘Charles, I have some thoughts upon this, but before I say anything, tell me, have you any idea who this enemy of yours might be?’
‘To tell you the truth, sir, when I heard that you had become engaged to Charlotte I did think it might be you. Of course,’ he added hastily, ‘as soon as Charlotte explained to me how it was, I realised that I was wrong. It was no pleasure to me to think badly of you, sir.’
‘No, I should have realised how it would look to you, Charles. Unfortunately, I had very little choice in the matter. I assure you it has been by no means easy for me either. However, that is neither here nor there. We must decide what is to be done next.’
‘At the moment I have only one suggestion,’ the Viscount told him. ‘It is really Charlotte's idea, but I think there may be something in it. It concerns my uncle!''
‘Ah yes, Pentherbridge,’ drawled the Marquis, unsurprised.
‘Why, sir, did you suspect him too?’
‘He seemed to me to be the obvious candidate, Charles, but pray continue. Why has suspicion fallen at last upon your so careful uncle?’
‘Well, it seems that he had the effrontery to accost Charlotte at the ball she was at a couple of evenings ago. He dashed well trapped her in a room with him and would not release her. I would like to kill him just for that. However, there is more. He intimated that he knew something about the murder and what had become of me. Now why he should do so I have no idea, but Charlotte is convinced that he is behind the whole thing. The only thing is, I cannot for the life of me see why. I mean, he may be a cursed bad trustee, but to tell you the truth, I always thought he was quite a harmless fellow.’
‘What a very intelligent young woman Miss Wrexham is, Charles. She does not trust Pentherbridge, and I have good reason to know that your father did not wholly trust him either. That was one of the reasons he asked me to keep an eye on you. What is more, if you seek a motive, I can furnish one. In four months' time the estate is yours, and Pentherbridge will be called upon to account for his stewardship. My guess is that you will find that he has bled the estate white!’
‘So that when he saw the opportunity to get rid of me—’ mused the Viscount.
‘Naturally, he took it. Do not forget that he is your heir. If he inherits then there will be no accounting. I must say it is a far neater plan than I would have credited him with. I fear I have underestimated your uncle badly.’
There was a very determined look about the Viscount's mouth. ‘The cowardly, lily-livered, commoner!’ he said, through his teeth. ‘I'll make him very sorry!’
The Marquis laid a hand upon his young friend's shoulder. ‘He shall pay, Charles, but not that way. It must be done legally so that your name is cleared. I cannot have my son-in-law a fugitive from justice!’
‘Son-in-law?’ repeated Carlington, puzzled. ‘But I am not going to marry Amelia.’
‘True. I am, however, going to marry Mrs Wrexham which will, I am afraid, make me your father-in-law upon your marriage to Charlotte.’
‘I say, sir, that is wonderful news! Does Charlotte know?’
‘At the moment, Charles, even Mrs Wrexham does not know. There are certain difficulties in the way of offering for the mother of the lady one is betrothed to!’ the Marquis answered rather tartly.
Charles laughed. ‘I am sorry, sir! You must have been cursing me. However, everything is going to be alright now, is it not?’
‘I certainly hope so. Now listen, Charles, for I have a plan which I think might possibly deliver Mr Pentherbridge into the arms of the law with very little effort on our part!’
Miss Wrexham had, much to her mama's delight, been singing around the house the whole morning. The relief of Carlington's reappearance in one piece had so affected her that she had quite forgotten that for the moment he was still a wanted man and their troubles were far from over. She had arrayed herself in her most becoming gown for, although she was well aware that he was unlikely to see her in it, to have worn anything else would have accorded ill with her mood.
She spent the afternoon helping her Aunt to arrange bouquets of spring flowers around the house, and in general comported herself so much like a ray of sunshine that the two elder ladies began to wish for a return of her former gloom.
A hurried note reached her from Charles by the hand of her abigail and, although it contained little beyond the information that he had talked to the Marquis, she pressed it to her lips so many times that the paper became soggy. This happy state continued into early evening when it was rudely shattered by yet another note, this time from Pentherbridge. She was to meet him at a certain address in an area with which she was quite unfamiliar, at ten o'clock that night. Miss Wrexham was a brave girl but it was a daunting prospect. Her only encounter with Mr Pentherbridge had been brief, but it had left her with a considerable disinclination for his society. She disliked the way he looked at her and was loath to put herself in his power. However, the summons had been anticipated and she had discussed the question with Charles. Quickly she composed a note enclosing Pentherbridge's and stating that she intended to keep the appointment. This she despatched by the footman to Captain Osborne's lodging, in accordance with Charles' instructions.
Charles had returned only a few minutes earlier when Charlotte's note was delivered. The footman, who had already received a substantial gratuity from Miss Wrexham, was further rewarded with a guinea and expressed his willingness to execute any other commissions with considerable warmth. He was, however, dismissed and went off whistling jauntily, the coins jingling in his pockets; pleasantly aware that by his labours he had helped to smooth the thorny path of true love.
Carlington, having perused the letter, lost no time in acquainting his friends with the contents. Lord Fitzroy was chiefly struck by the impropriety of Miss Wrexham being obliged to meet a stranger, un-chaperoned, in such an unsavoury neighbourhood. Carlington was far from easy upon this score himself but, as he intended to reach the rendezvous long before his betrothed, it could not be allowed to signify. Alas for such plans! As Carlington stepped outside the house that evening, he was unpleasantly assailed by a large hand upon his shoulder and an uncultured voice in his ear announced. ‘I arrest you, Charles Carlington, in the name of the Law!’
Charlotte had never had to find her way about in London, particularly after dark, but she was a girl of resource and had no difficulty in slipping out of the house and hailing a hackney coach which, most fortunately, happened to be passing. She found herself jolted down unfamiliar streets, past Westminster Abbey and was dismayed to find herself actually crossing the river. The streets became more mean and squalid as she was driven further, and she began to feel extremely nervous. This was not what she had expected. What could the man mean by bringing her here? She could not but feel that calls for help were unlikely to be heeded in this desolate place, and for a moment she seriously considered asking the jarvey to turn his cab around and take her back to Hill Street. Only the thought that Carlington would not fail her prevented her from taking this course. When the cab finally drew up outside a rickety building, she dismounted with outward calm and fished in her reticule for the fare. The jarvey took the coins but seemed dissatisfied.
‘I don't like leavin' you 'ere, Miss, an' that's a fact. I don't know what a lady like you wants in a ken like this, but there's some cullies
round 'ere as 'ud break your 'ead for the sake o' those pretty earrings you got on and I don't know as I should leave you 'ere.’
‘Please do not trouble yourself, I shall be quite alright. If you would not mind waiting just until I am inside the house, I would be most grateful, however.’
‘Aye, that I'll do,’ he assured her, and watched as the door opened to admit her before driving away at a spanking pace, shaking his head over the strange ways of the quality.
The house was furnished rather more sumptuously than its locality had led Charlotte to expect, but she was too inexperienced to understand what the abundance of dirty crimson furniture and dusty gilt mirrors portended. The door had been opened to her by a toothless crone who merely grunted in reply to Miss Wrexham's polite greeting and led her, muttering balefully, up worm-eaten stairs and into a room furnished as a parlour. There, Pentherbridge was waiting for her.
It was obvious, even to Charlotte's inexperienced eye, that her host had been drinking heavily. As he bowed over her hand with exaggerated courtesy, she could smell spirits upon his breath and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Normally immaculate, his neck cloth was disarrayed, his linen a little soiled.
Quickly, she disengaged her hand and, crossing the room, seated herself upon a spindly chair from which she surveyed Pentherbridge with disdain. ‘Why have you brought me here? What is it you have to tell me?’ she demanded.
‘All in good time, my sweet. Will you not join me in a glass of wine first?’ he answered, proffering a half-empty bottle.
‘Certainly not! This is not a social occasion,’ she answered curtly, clutching her reticule and biting her lips to fight back rising panic.
‘No? He poured himself a glass. ‘I am sure you are wise. But you do not object if I indulge?’
‘You seem to have indulged a good deal already, sir,’ she answered with asperity. He cast her a look in which anger and passion were so blended that she became really frightened. It was in a small voice that she asked him once again what it was that he had to tell her.
Pentherbridge flung himself down onto a sofa. He seemed to have recovered his good humour for he was smiling as he began to speak. ‘You want to know what has happened to Charles, do you not, my lovely one? Do you know I am the only man in the world who can tell you? What are you prepared to give me to find out? What is Carlington's life worth to you?’
‘I do not understand you! What is it you want of me?’
He rose and crossed the room to where she sat nervously watching him. She seemed to shrink in her chair as he came closer and laid his hand on her bare arm. His palm was hot and sticky. He bent his head until his mouth almost touched her ear. ‘I want you,’ he whispered, so softly that she could barely hear him. ‘I want you!’
She gave a little cry and pulled away from him. ‘You—you—foul traitor, you scoundrel! I would rather die than let you touch me!’
He gave a little laugh. ‘But it will not be you that will die, my dear, but your beloved Carlington!’
‘What do you mean?’ she shot at him, her cheeks drained of colour.
‘I mean that at this moment Charles Carlington is crossing the Atlantic in a ship belonging to an acquaintance of mine. When he lands he will be put to work in the fields. Imagine that. Viscount Carlington working as a field hand. Amusing, is it not, my pretty one? Of course, that is, if he is lucky. If you cooperate with me he might live for several years. If not, then I am afraid that your lover may well meet with an unfortunate accident. Such things are not uncommon out there, they tell me. Life is very cheap!’
Charlotte could have laughed aloud with relief. Pentherbridge had no idea that Charles had escaped. She had nothing to fear now but for form's sake she cried: ‘You dastard! Carlington is your own brother's son. What kind of a man are you?’
‘A desperate one!’ he answered with suppressed anger. ‘If Carlington were to reach his majority, I would have to pay the estate in the region of twenty-five thousand pounds, or spend the rest of my days in gaol. Not an attractive prospect. So you see, there really was nothing else I could do.’
‘Twenty-five thousand pounds!’ she repeated incredulously. ‘What in God's name have you done with all that money?’
He shrugged. ‘Investments that went awry, gambling, women. Where does any man's money go? '
‘But it was not yours! It was Charles' inheritance!’ she pointed out indignantly.
‘Oh yes, I was forgetting. It belonged to Charles. Everything belongs to my nephew, including you. Lucky Charles!’
The amorous expression was back in his eyes. Desperately she kept talking, hoping all the time that Carlington would arrive to rescue her from this intolerable situation.
‘I suppose then that it was you that murdered Farnley?’ she hazarded.
'Just between ourselves, my dear, yes, I did. Of course, it little matters that you should know. A wife cannot testify against her husband, I believe.’
Charlotte swallowed hard. ‘A wife? What are you talking about?’
The smile she was learning to hate appeared upon his undistinguished face. ‘I quite thought that you understood me. I want you for my wife, Charlotte.’
‘But why?’ she cried. ‘You cannot possibly love me!’
‘No? You underestimate your charms, my dear. I have loved you since the first moment I set eyes upon you.’
‘Then God defend me from ever encountering such love again!’ she cried angrily. ‘I suppose you brought me here in the belief that I would have no choice but to accept you. You will find you are mistaken, sir! I am not such a poor creature!’
Slowly he crossed the room towards her. The look in his eyes frightened her. She had seen the same expression in Carlington's eyes and welcomed it, but this man inspired in her nothing but disgust. Frantically she pushed a small table between them, but he kicked it away. She glanced wildly around for a weapon but there was nothing within reach. He was very close now, his breathing raw and harsh as he reached out for her. The room felt suddenly unbearably hot, there was a buzzing in her ears. Dimly, from far away, she could hear frantic knocking upon the street door; his hot lips were moving over the delicate skin of her throat, and for the first and last time in her life Miss Wrexham fainted quietly away.
ELEVEN
When Viscount Carlington had been unceremoniously bundled into a dilapidated hackney carriage and carried in triumph to Bow Street, his two friends were left in a state of considerable consternation. Charles had not thought it necessary to furnish them with the exact location of Charlotte's rendezvous but he had said enough to make them both view Miss Wrexham's situation with misgiving.
‘I t-tell you what, Ricky,’ announced Lord Fitzroy after giving the matter some thought, ‘We can't let the poor girl sit there all night waiting for Charles. There's no knowing what may happen t-to her.’
‘Of course not, Fitz, but how are we to find her? Charles has got that damned letter in his pocket and we can't search the whole of the Borough for one female!’
Lord Fitzroy nodded in mournful agreement, much discouraged by this powerful reasoning.
‘There's only one thing for it,’ declared Captain Osborne at last. ''I'm off to find Ruthin. He's the man we want in this situation. Are you coming, Fitz?’
Lord Fitzroy was a little confused. ''I'm not saying Ruthin ain't a d-devilish good fellow, Ricky, b-but what d-do you expect him t-to d-do?’
‘We have to speak to Charles to find out where Miss Wrexham is, haven't we? Very well then; Ruthin is important enough to get us in to Bow Street, for all I know he may even have friends there. In any event, he has more chance of getting in to see Charles than we have!’
Lord Fitzroy was very much impressed with this, and readily agreed to follow Osborne in search of the Marquis. As it happened, Lord Ruthin was not particularly difficult to find. A brief call upon his house in Grosvenor Square elicited the information that my lord was dining at his club and the two young men repaired thither with all speed. They found their qu
arry seated in a comfortable armchair sipping a glass of brandy and perusing a newspaper.
‘Beg pardon, sir. Could we have a word with you in private?’ asked Captain Osborne respectfully.
One glance at the strained young faces in front of him was enough to convince the Marquis that the matter was of some urgency, and his first thought was that Carlington had been taken. Quickly he ushered his young friends into a small antechamber where they might be undisturbed, and there he was made acquainted with the events of the evening.
When Captain Osborne had finished his tale he saw with some surprise that the Marquis, far from seeming cast down, was positively glowing with satisfaction.
He smiled at Osborne as he noticed his bewilderment. ‘I'm sorry, Osborne, you must think me a callous fellow, but the truth is that Mr Pentherbridge has so obligingly played into our hands that I have great hopes that Charles will be freed and his name cleared this very night!’
‘How sir?’ demanded Osborne. ‘What have you in mind?’
‘My dear boy, the stage has been set, indeed, the play is almost over. Come, we shall go to Bow Street and see Charles. I think you will find him far better situated than you had feared.’
Neither of the young men entertained very sanguine hopes, but upon their arrival at Bow Street it became obvious that the Marquis was rather better informed than they had thought. Instead of finding Carlington cast into some noisome cell, he was discovered in a comfortable apartment, the remains of a large meal upon the side board, engaged in a game of piquet with a most gentleman-like personage who greeted the Marquis as an old friend.
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