‘Yes, Miss Daphne, very often.’
‘That is a sign of weakness,’ said Daphne severely. ‘People who are often bored set very high standards for other people but not for themselves. Perhaps you are bored, Mr Garfield, because you yourself are boring.’
‘I am desolated you find me dull.’
‘Not in the slightest. I find you uncomfortable.’
‘Odso? Then what can I do to make myself more comfortable?’
‘I do not know,’ said Daphne, unable to analyse the unsettling feelings coursing through her body. ‘Perhaps if we could talk about general things.’
‘Very well. Let us talk about your father. You must be proud of his reputation as a huntsman?’
‘I do not know if he is as brilliant a huntsman as he believes,’ said Daphne cautiously. ‘My young sister, Diana, is most interested in the sport and says that there has been a great dog fox plaguing the district for years and Papa cannot seem to be able to hunt it down despite all the money he spends on hounds and horses. He is most unconventional and wears a scarlet coat, or pink as he calls it, and parsons are only supposed to wear purple on the hunting field. Then there is that silly trap he made for Dr Philpotts.’
‘He is a prime eccentric, I think,’ said Mr Garfield, ‘but you must not be too hard on him. It is all very well telling me these things, but do not, I pray, repeat them to anyone else in society.’
‘Why?’
‘Well,’ he said gently, ‘it is not right to criticize members of your family, in my opinion, although many of the ton do just that. Also they gossip a good deal – malicious gossip. It is a slight thing, but they would enjoy spreading the rumour that Mr Armitage was a failure as a huntsman. His extravagance would be largely condemned and his life made a misery. He is very proud of his reputation, I think.’
‘Surely no one would trouble to gossip about a country vicar.’
‘Your father is no ordinary vicar. He has startled society by marrying three of his daughters off to the highest prizes on the Marriage Mart. That sort of thing creates jealousy. The world and his wife would be only too glad to find something they could sneer about. There are many match-making mamas who detest your father and feel their prize darlings could have secured at least one highly eligible man had it not been for the Armitage sisters. In fact the Armitage sisters seem to have a genius for securing the affections of dyed-in-the-wool bachelors.’
‘Like yourself?’ Daphne blushed miserably as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
‘Miss Daphne,’ he said softly, turning his back to the glittering sea and taking both her gloved hands in his own. ‘I am very much a bachelor, or at least I have always considered myself the sort of man who would never marry. Perhaps it is because I never met anyone who could …’
‘Yoo-hoo!’
Both swung round, each wondering who could be hailing either one of them in such a vulgar manner.
A pretty lady, somewhat over-painted about the mouth and over-plunging about the neckline, was waving to Mr Garfield from an open carriage. Even the unworldly Daphne recognized her as belonging to the Fashionable Impure.
She turned her head resolutely away.
‘Simon!’ came a feminine scream. ‘Help me down, John. Simon!’ The voice came nearer. ‘I could not believe my eyes.’
‘Madam, I have never seen you in my life before.’ Mr Garfield’s voice dripped ice and Daphne gave a little sigh of relief and turned back. The lady had been helped down by her coachman. Gathering the long train of her muslin gown over one arm, she tripped up to Mr Garfield.
‘In case you did not hear me, madam,’ said Mr Garfield looking stonily down at her, ‘I have never seen you before.’
‘Oh!’ The lady let out a strangled gasp and raised a scented handkerchief to her mouth. ‘How could you say such a thing? When I have been in your protection for two years.
Daphne felt herself go hot with embarrassment. The lady could not be acting. Her distress appeared genuine. And being a bachelor, thought Daphne gloomily, did not mean being celibate.
‘Simon.’ The pretty lady was now clutching at Mr Garfield’s coat. ‘Do not spurn me. You have not come nigh me for two weeks. Is she the reason?’
Daphne started to walk away.
Mr Garfield’s voice stopped her. ‘Stay, Miss Daphne,’ he said. ‘Now, madam,’ he went on, turning to the lady and prising her hands free of his coat, ‘you have five seconds to turn around and go back to your carriage before I call the watch.’
‘Simon!’
‘One!’
‘Oh, miss’ – to Daphne – ‘don’t you have nothing to do with him. Only see how he spurns me.’
‘Two.’
‘If you knew what he did to me …’
‘Three, four, five,’ snapped Mr Garfield, and then raising his voice, he called, ‘Watch! Hey, watchman!’
The lady ran back to her carriage so fast, she seemed like a coloured blur to the transfixed Daphne. She called urgently to her coachman and the carriage set off at a smart pace.
Mr Garfield seized Daphne’s arm in a rough grip and started to hustle her towards a hackney carriage.
‘Leave me alone!’ cried Daphne furiously. ‘To be subjected …’
‘Shut up,’ said Mr Garfield coldly. ‘Driver, keep that carriage in sight and see where it goes. If you do not lose it there will be a guinea for you.’
‘Now, listen to me,’ said Mr Garfield, taking Daphne’s hands in a tight clasp. ‘No, don’t turn your head away. I have never seen that lady in my life before. We are going to follow her, and with luck, we will find out who put her up to this mischief.’
‘I could swear she was genuine,’ said Daphne. ‘Please let me go. You are hurting me. You have no right to embroil me in your affairs. They are of no interest to me, sir.’
‘That woman was an actress or I’ll eat my hat. Do stop making a fuss, Miss Daphne.’
‘But we are in a closed carriage, sir. You will cause a scandal.’
‘Damme, so we are,’ he said, staring haughtily about the cramped inside of the hack. ‘Oh, well, you’ll just have to marry me.’
‘I seem to be unlucky in that the proposals of marriage I receive are decidedly off-hand,’ snapped Daphne.
‘Do be quiet,’ he said, craning his neck. ‘That carriage has just drawn up at the Ship. Ah, I begin to see who is behind this. Come along, Miss Daphne. You are the sort of young miss who will damn me for life unless you have ironbound proof of my innocence.’
Still protesting, Daphne nonetheless allowed herself to be escorted into the Ship.
In a corner of the coffee room was Mr Apsley. He had just risen to his feet. The lady who had accosted Mr Garfield was talking volubly to Mr Apsley, who suddenly looked over the top of her bonnet and saw Mr Garfield and Daphne framed in the doorway of the coffee room.
He turned brick red.
‘So that’s that,’ said Mr Garfield, leading Daphne back out of the inn.
‘That’s what?’ said Daphne crossly.
‘You are remarkably thick-witted, my love. Was it not obvious or must I take you back and punch my dear friend’s head before your eyes? That little ladybird was put up to the scene just enacted on the promenade by Edwin.’
‘You must call him out.’
‘How bloodthirsty you are. The scandal would ruin both of us. No, I shall deal with Edwin in my own way.’
‘And he is supposed to be your friend.’
‘He is a silly man who has no female to engage his attentions at the moment and thinks he sees one of his oldest and most valued friends falling in love.’
‘He is very silly, is he not?’ said Daphne, rather breathlessly. Mr Garfield was looking at her in such an odd way.
He was actually looking down at Daphne and wondering how he could be so easily bewitched by beauty when he had already known so much of it.
‘Our walk is not spoiled,’ he said. ‘I refuse to let it be marred by Edwin’s malice. We will pretend th
at nothing happened and that we have just started out. Do observe that dreadful quiz over there.’
He led her off along the sunny street, conversing lightly, talking nonsense, until Daphne began to relax. She could not feel completely at ease in his company, however, because she was overcome by a longing to feel his lips against hers once more. Her colour came and went. She was conscious of every movement of his tall body, of the caressing note in his voice. She thought fleetingly of Cyril Archer and then banished him resolutely to the back of her mind.
When they reached Minerva’s house, Mr Garfield came to a monumental decision. He was tired of searching his feelings, analysing his feelings. All he knew was that he wanted Daphne Armitage as he had never wanted any other woman in the whole of his life.
Almost abruptly he said, ‘Tell your father I will pay a call on him tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes,’ Daphne whispered, her heart beating hard.
‘You can guess what I wish to ask him, Daphne,’ said Mr Garfield, looking down at her intently. ‘May I hope your answer will be “yes” if I find favour with him?’
Daphne looked up into his strange yellow eyes. There was a glow in them that made every nerve in her body tingle.
She did not know if she loved him. But she knew if she refused him then she might never see him again. And that was suddenly past bearing.
She slowly nodded her head.
He raised her hand to his lips and then strode off down the street.
Daphne watched him until he was out of sight and then ran into the house.
She must speak to her father immediately.
‘Merva! Where’s Papa?’ she cried, removing her bonnet and swinging it by the strings.
‘I am afraid Papa had to go to Hopeworth. He will return as soon as possible,’ said Minerva, looking up from her sewing. ‘It is a suicide, you see. Poor Miss Jenkins.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Daphne. Miss Jenkins was a spinster of the parish of Hopeworth. It was known that she had very little money, and everyone had tried to help her, but Miss Jenkins’ gentility and pride were as strong as her poverty and she would not accept charity. She had been very odd of late, walking about the village and talking to herself.
The reason for the vicar’s abrupt departure was this. The burial of a suicide or ‘self-murderer’ was a relic of a more barbarous age and yet, despite many protests, it still clung on. The suicide had to be buried at a crossroads and a stake driven through the body to fasten it to the ground – ‘of the earth, earthy’ – and thus prevent its perturbed spirit from wandering about.
Although the curate, Mr Pettifor, was very happy to perform the vicar’s duties when that clergyman was absent from the parish, the poor man baulked at the burial of a suicide and had fainted clean away at the last one.
Therefore the vicar had to return.
‘I particularly wanted to talk to Papa,’ said Daphne. ‘You see, Merva …’
‘You have not noticed,’ said Minerva quietly. ‘We have a visitor.’
The blinds were drawn against the sun, casting the far corner of the room into shadow. Out of the shadow stepped Mr Cyril Archer, his lips curled in his usual beautiful smile and his eyes as empty as the summer sky outside.
Daphne thought desperately of appealing to Minerva for help, then she stiffened her spine. She had led Mr Archer to believe they would be married. She must deal with the matter herself. She must tell him in the kindest way possible that now she could not.
‘Minerva,’ said Daphne, ‘I must have a few minutes alone with Mr Archer, if you please. You may leave the door open.’
‘Very well,’ said Minerva, gathering up her sewing. ‘I shall be in the morning room if you need me.’
Daphne, rather pale, faced Mr Archer. He was examining the polish on the toes of his boots with evident satisfaction.
‘Mr Archer,’ said Daphne, very loudly, as if talking to the deaf. ‘Mr Archer!’
‘Yes, my love?’ Mr Archer wrenched his gaze away from his boots and fixed his vacant eyes on Daphne’s tense face.
‘Mr Archer, it grieves me and pains me to have to tell you this, but I cannot marry you.’
For a moment something angry, sly and cunning peeped out of Mr Archer’s eyes. It was like seeing an evil face looking out of the window of a beautiful house. And then he was his usual empty-faced self again.
‘But I am afraid you must,’ he said over his shoulder, strolling to the fireplace and picking a figurine up from the mantel. He turned it over and examined the mark on its base with great interest.
‘You really must listen to me,’ said Daphne, becoming irritated. ‘I am not going to marry you.’
‘But you shall,’ said Mr Archer, still examining the figurine. ‘Because, an you do not, then the whole of London will hear of your family’s shame.’
‘Fustian! There is no scandal in our family.’
‘There is. A very great one. How think your sister Annabelle came by that brat?’
Daphne clenched her fists and said in a hard little voice, ‘Pray leave this minute, sir.’
‘Oh, no. You will listen to me or you will regret it to your dying day. I overheard your father say quite distinctly, and I quote, “I know what ails Brabington. It was because I was able to give you a child and he cannot!”’
‘Nonsense,’ said Daphne, breathing hard. ‘Go ahead and tell your tale. You will be taken to court by my father – and may you spend the rest of your days in Bedlam.’
‘But you see, I am very confident. Only think, Daphne, of that squat little baby and think of your father. Think also that Brabington cannot bear to look at the child.’
‘No. It can’t be true.’
‘But it is. I am not the fool you take me for. Incest. And by a vicar. You would be written up in all the history books.’
Daphne sat down suddenly. Mr Archer looked so confident, so sure of himself.
‘You do not think I would dare say such a thing were it not true,’ he persisted. ‘Your brothers-in-law are very powerful, not to mention leaders of the ton.’
Daphne’s lips moved in a soundless prayer. It could not be true.
‘I will ask my father,’ she said boldly.
‘Yes, do that,’ said Mr Archer. ‘I have no doubt he will deny it, but you may judge of his innocence by his reaction. I will not wait very long. Should I hear, for example, that you are encouraging the attentions of another man, then I shall not hesitate to spread my story.’
‘Go now,’ said Daphne, forcing herself to be calm. ‘I will write to you as soon as I have spoken to my father. It will mean I have to travel to Hopeworth so you must give me time.’
‘I will wait to hear from you,’ said Mr Archer. ‘Do you not like my cravat? It is mine own invention. I call it the Archer.’
Daphne gave a stifled exclamation and ran from the room.
Her first impulse was to flee to the morning room and bury her aching head in Minerva’s lap and pour out the whole story. But Minerva would promptly tell Lord Sylvester, Lord Sylvester would go in pursuit of Mr Archer and then the whole horrible story would be out. She could never marry Mr Garfield now. But surely it would turn out to be a monstrous lie. Her own father. Her own sister. It was past belief.
But although Daphne had been out in society for a very little while, she had already heard some very scandalous on dits. Then there had been a case of incest in Hopeworth. The girl was sent away but people talked in whispers. It was an old story. It had happened long before Daphne was born, but people still talked about it.
Daphne did not know the full meaning of incest because she did not know how babies were conceived. Her mind flinched from thinking about it, like one flinches from nameless horrors.
Her head felt hot and sore and she would dearly have loved to climb into bed and close her eyes and lose her worries in sleep.
Instead, she sat down at the toilet table and rearranged her hair in an elaborate style and carefully rouged her face. Minerva must be persuaded that
the sudden decision to return to Hopeworth was nothing more than a rather irritating girlish whim.
The vicar leaned wearily on his shovel. He mopped his brow and looked up at the churchyard cross, silhouetted against the starry sky.
‘Are you quite finished, Charles?’ came the squire’s voice. ‘If we stay here much longer, we will be discovered and accused of being resurrection men.’
‘Well, we are body-snatchers after all,’ grinned the vicar. ‘But we’re only taking Miss Jenkins’ body to a holy place.’
‘You are a brave man, Charles. It is dirty work.’
‘As far as I am concerned, it is God’s work,’ said the vicar earnestly. ‘I cannot in my heart of hearts believe He wants a poor soul like Miss Jenkins to rest at the Hopeworth crossroads with a stake through her heart. But Lor’, she was a bony one! It was hard enough driving that stake home, but a demmed sight harder to pull it out.’
The vicar had buried Miss Jenkins in her dishonoured grave that very afternoon to the satisfaction of the whole village, who had turned out to watch the ghastly proceedings. But the Reverend Charles Armitage could never believe anyone driven to their death by poverty and humiliation a sinner. And so he had felt he could not rest quietly in his bed until he had dug up the body of Miss Jenkins, removed the cruel stake, and had taken her body to a quiet corner of the old churchyard for a Christian burial.
‘Carriage on the road,’ hissed the squire. ‘Get down.’
‘No need to. We’re finished,’ said the vicar. ‘If anyone asks, I’ll say I couldn’t sleep and came to tidy the graves.’
The squire screwed his eyes up in an effort to see better as the carriage rolled past.
‘I think there was a crest on the panel,’ he said. ‘Perhaps one of your daughters is arriving late.’
‘I should have stayed in Brighton,’ grumbled the vicar. ‘Daphne and Garfield were smellin’ of April and May when I left. But something in my bones is telling me that’s Daphne coming home.’
‘I would very much like to go home myself, Charles,’ said the little squire. ‘Robbing graves late at night does not do my rheumatics any good.’
‘Let’s hope we don’t have to do it again,’ said the vicar gloomily. ‘The next old beldame in the village who won’t accept food ’cos she’s too proud is going to have it forced down her throat. Goodnight Jimmy. Why not share a bite of dinner with me tomorrow?’
Daphne Page 11
