A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Oh, it’s vastly gratifying, no doubt, to contemplate the enlargement of your own consequence,” she said, with a cynical smile. “But I believe you’d have relished your task almost equally had you been offered no other reward than that of humbling Shaldon.”

  “He no longer holds that title,” he reminded her, harshly. “Well, yes, I’ll admit that it’s pleased me to be able to depress his pretensions somewhat. You’ll not wish to marry him now that there’s no Earldom in prospect, since you’ve never pretended to any passion for the man himself.”

  “Oh, no, he is nothing to me,” she answered, thoughtfully.

  “But I am!” he insisted, drawing her into his arms.

  She yielded to his kiss, but detached herself immediately afterwards, thrusting him away.

  “What kind of man is this? What did you say he was known as?”

  “Rowland Carlton — a stage name,” he explained. “He’s unpolished, boorish — but I daresay they’ll go to work on him, turn him out in the correct rig, give him lessons in elocution and deportment and so forth. Clothes and a good address make the gentleman, after all,” he finished, with a sneer.

  “But what is he like to look at?” Cynthia persisted.

  “Why do you ask? Feminine curiosity, I suppose. Oh, he’s tall, well built — not much like the Strattons in features, but has their particular shade of red hair.”

  She considered this for a moment.

  “And you say the Earl’s keeping him secluded at Alvington for the present?”

  He nodded, watching her uneasily as he tried to follow the workings of her mind.

  “Well,” she said, at last, “I might take a trip to Alvington and see this new heir to the estates. After all, one Viscount is very like another, when the title is the sole matter of interest.”

  “Cynthia! You’re saying that to torment me!” he cried, reaching out for her again. “You can’t mean it. You’re mine, mine, I tell you!”

  But she evaded him and whisked out of the door before he could prevent her.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  Helen, too, had heard the rumours. She and Melissa had attended a ball on the previous evening and had chanced to overhear two dowagers discussing the affair with the zest generally accorded to a juicy titbit of scandal.

  “I recall the fifth Earl,” tittered the first lady. “The most fascinating man, and an outrageous rake! I had quite a tendre for him in my first season, but he was already married, alas! The present Earl never appeared as dashing as his sire, but who can tell, my dear? Not just a mistress, which is common enough, goodness knows — but a secret marriage! And the offspring of it lost for all these years, so they say, and now discovered, to displace that handsome boy, Shaldon! Though, of course, he is not Viscount Shaldon, any longer. A pity — he can’t now be considered near such a good catch.”

  “No, indeed, and I collect that Lydney’s gal was intended for him,” replied her companion. “I suppose they will call off the match, though I don’t know where there’s another quite as highly eligible at present. She will have to make do with someone rather lower in the scale. But do you really think there’s any truth in these rumours?”

  Her friend looked at her scornfully. “Oh, my dear, of course! There’s no smoke without fire, you know! Besides, it would almost be a pity if it turned out to be nothing but a hum. I haven’t been so diverted since the Byron affair!”

  “And that,” remarked Helen to Melissa, in disgust, as they passed out of earshot, “is all that they care about! Inhuman monsters, waiting to pounce on the misfortunes of others to provide for their entertainment!”

  “I daresay when one is as old as that,” replied Melissa, with the indulgence of eighteen for those three times her age, “one is glad of almost anything to talk about! But how do you suppose these rumours got about, Helen? There are so few people in the secret and none of them likely to spread the tale abroad.”

  “There is one who wouldn’t scruple to do so!” said Helen, fiercely. “And I only wish Shaldon were here, so that I might tell him what I know! If only James hadn’t been expecting to be called soon before the Board of Examiners, he would have posted off to Sussex at once with the news. Oh, I do hope Shaldon returns before long, for I can’t bear the suspense, especially not with all this malicious gossip flying about!”

  Her fervent wish was to be granted on the following day. She went riding in the Park with Melissa and Catherine, escorted as usual by Philip Chetwode and Henry Lydney. The latest gossip was by now circulating in all the Clubs as well as the drawing rooms; but though both young men had heard it and were concerned for their friend, they did not consider it a suitable topic of conversation to introduce before the ladies.

  Philip Chetwode had gradually come to realise that his admiration for Miss Somerby was unlikely to spark off any reciprocal emotion in her, and for some time now he had been leaving Lydney in undisputed possession of the field. More and more he was consoling himself with the company of the shyer, gentle Catherine, whose disposition was more suited to his own. Catherine herself was very content with this state of affairs. It was many weeks since she had first thought of Mr. Chetwode as the beau ideal of her dreams; but she was too loyal and high-principled to make any attempt to attach him while she was still uncertain of Helen’s feelings towards him. Now, however, she could see that her friend was much more attracted to Mr. Lydney, whose interest in Helen was evident. Catherine had often watched them laughing and joking together in the way which usually denoted a strong, unspoken attraction between two young people. She wondered when it would come to a head. Melissa had told her that Helen believed Mr. Lydney merely to be flirting, and that moreover his family would never approve of such a match. Although Catherine had little experience of flirtations, she had noticed the light in Mr. Lydney’s eyes at times when they rested on Helen, and she judged his feelings to go far deeper than this. As for Helen — well, perhaps her friend might not altogether understand her own emotions.

  They had been together in the Park for more than an hour and were about to return to Cavendish Square when they saw a horseman approaching them at a brisk canter. Helen’s heart gave a leap; it was Shaldon, looking as cool and immaculate as ever in his well-cut riding coat, buckskins, and highly polished boots.

  He greeted them in his usual style, but the other two gentlemen seemed a trifle constrained. It did not take him a moment to realise that his friends wished to make some reference to his misfortunes, but judged this unsuitable in the presence of the young ladies. He solved their predicament by inviting them both round to his rooms that evening. Before he turned to go, he contrived to have a private word with Helen.

  “I’ve something of the utmost importance to tell you,” he said, in a quick undertone, “but it’s useless to attempt it now. Can you possibly drive out with me this afternoon?”

  “And so have I something to tell you!” she whispered. “Yes, I can come. Will two o’clock suit you? I’ve been awaiting your return in a positive fever of impatience!”

  He nodded, then took his leave, civilly declining Philip Chetwode’s invitation to accompany them back to the house.

  Helen scarcely knew how she managed to live through the time that must elapse before the fingers of the clock reached the hour of two. The fever she had spoken of metaphorically almost became a physical reality as she first toyed with a cold nuncheon, then changed into an attractive cherry coloured carriage dress, and afterwards sat fidgeting in the small salon with her eyes constantly on the clock. Melissa understood, for she knew all about it; but Lady Chetwode looked surprised and asked if her visitor was feeling quite the thing. Helen managed to reassure her, and afterwards tried her best to appear calm, but it imposed a great strain on her nerves.

  Punctually on the stroke of two, Shaldon was announced. The usual civilities had to be endured before the impatient pair could at last find themselves alone together in Shaldon’s curricle.

  They said little while he negotiated the busy traff
ic; but soon they turned for the second time that day into the Park, which at this unfashionable hour was comparatively peaceful. Shaldon heaved a sigh and slackened the reins, allowing his horses to amble along at an easy pace.

  “At last we can talk,” he began. “And when you hear what I have to tell you, Miss — oh, confound it, I mean to call you Nell when we’re alone, if you shouldn’t dislike it?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not, but pray do go on! You see, I’ve something to tell you, too, and I can’t bear the suspense!”

  “Then I’ll put it in a nutshell and explain afterwards. Nell, that claim of Durrant’s to have found Carlton through the signet ring was nothing but a bag of moonshine! Durrant himself had the box containing the ring and letter in his possession right from the start — from his first visit to Rye, that’s to say!”

  She turned towards him, her eyes wide in surprise. “Truly — oh, truly? How did he obtain it, and from whom?”

  “From the present tenants of the cottage where Mrs. Lathom once lived. Durrant made no mention to me of having visited them, so I scarce thought it worthwhile to go there myself. But I did, acting on an impulse, and I’m devilish glad of it, I can tell you! Because it turned out that he did go there, after all, and bribed the woman — a tough harridan, I promise you — to keep her mouth shut about his visit. It seems he first asked if they knew anything of Mrs. Lathom, and drew a blank. Then he went on to ask if by any chance they’d ever found anything which had been left behind by her. No doubt he was hoping at best for an old letter or paper which might offer some clue to her destination. People leaving in a hurry often forget to destroy such things, though he must have known it was highly unlikely that the present tenants would trouble to preserve any documents they came upon. He certainly couldn’t possibly have anticipated the windfall he did get!”

  “The box!” breathed Helen in excitement. “But how did such an important thing come to be left behind at all?”

  “I think I can guess. The woman at the cottage told me that there’d been a violent storm in Rye last winter, and it had brought down the cottage chimney. There was a frightful mess in one of the bedrooms — rubble and so forth — and among it she and her husband found that box. Now, in view of the contents, it seems to me that my father’s — his first bride, that is to say — might at some time have concealed the box somewhere inside the chimney. She was very young — my father said she’d begged to be allowed to keep the signet ring with which she’d been married — and the letter was the only one he ever wrote to her. He was frequently absent. Oh, confound it all!” concluded Shaldon, fiercely.

  Tears stood in Helen’s eyes. “She wanted to have the box where she could brood over these things without her mother knowing. Oh, yes, I understand. Poor, unhappy girl!”

  Shaldon stared ahead unseeingly for a moment before continuing with his tale.

  “The woman and her husband thought of selling the ring, but they were scared of questions as to how they’d obtained it. So they did nothing until Durrant came along with his queries. They showed him the box and its contents, then made him pay through the nose for it. So you see what that means? Durrant had in his own possession the very proofs of identity which make Carlton’s claim valid! As for the rest, I don’t know yet how he really contrived to trace Carlton, or on what authority he declares the man to be my father’s son — but I soon will do, never fear! I shall see Mr. Bertram Durrant as soon as I’ve taken you home.”

  “But that’s what I want to tell you!” cried Helen, jolted abruptly out of her wistful mood. “Carlton can’t be the Earl’s son, for he’s certainly not the grandson of Mrs. Lathom! James and I discovered his grandmother, and she’s a Mrs. Dorston now, but her name was formerly Baker. So was Carlton’s — Joe Baker. That’s why the show people changed it. You see, Mrs. Dorston’s daughter was” — she hesitated — “was unwed when she had the child, so he was given her maiden surname.”

  Shaldon was so shaken by this news that he inadvertently jerked on the reins and had to spend a few minutes bringing his horses back to an easy pace. Once he had done so he pressed Helen for details, and she eagerly told him the whole story.

  When it was concluded, he placed his hand over hers and looked earnestly into her face.

  “I owe a great deal to you, Nell,” he said, simply.

  She caught her breath as an unexpected quiver of excitement ran through her at his touch. Defensively, she looked away from the grey eyes which suddenly she found so compelling.

  “Don’t forget James,” she amended, trying to speak lightly. “But for his interest in Mrs. Dorston when she was a patient in the hospital, the true identity of Carlton might never have come to light! His part in the affair was by far more important than mine.”

  “Believe me, I don’t underrate James’s service to me,” he replied, still keeping her hand in a light clasp. “But it was you, my dear Nell, who first scented some danger ahead and did your best to warn me of it — and all I did was to make game of you. Can you ever forgive me? When I consider your constant vigilance, the way you unhesitatingly put yourself into situations of the utmost embarrassment, and all for my sake — for the sake of our childhood relationship—”

  “Oh, but you are forgetting my insatiable curiosity!” she exclaimed, a trifle unsteadily, but with a desperate determination to introduce a lighter note before underlying emotions should gain the upper hand. “You may recall you have frequently quizzed me over that!”

  He removed his hand and looked ahead. “So I have,” he answered in a more casual tone. “It was a great deal too bad of me. But I see you will not be thanked, so I won’t embarrass you further by persisting in the attempt.”

  “So what will you do now?” she asked, feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that the tense atmosphere between them had been dispelled.

  “Bring Durrant to account, first of all, then inform my father.”

  “Bring him to account? Yes, for it must surely be a criminal offence to act as he has done? I suppose the man Carlton, too, will be punished by the law?”

  “Pooh! That poor devil’s merely a cat’s-paw! If I have my way with my father, there’ll be no charges brought against the fellow. The lawyers ain’t concerned in this so far, so we may as well keep ’em out for the present, at any rate. Carlton will be glad enough to undertake to say nothing about the business, in return for getting off scot-free, I’ll wager. He’ll know it means transportation, else.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, for Phyllis’s sake,” said Helen.

  “Phyllis? Oh, the equestrienne you mentioned, who’s sweet on the fellow.”

  “And Durrant? Will he be transported?”

  “I don’t know what I may ultimately decide, but at the moment I mean to deal with him myself. I require some further explanations from him.”

  She glanced at his rigid countenance and blazing eyes, and a shiver of fear shook her.

  “You don’t mean — a duel?” she whispered.

  He laughed, mirthlessly. “Good God, no! That’s not in my style! What I had in mind was a physical and vastly more satisfying form of combat — though that’s no subject for a lady.”

  “Oh, no, Tony!” she exclaimed, involuntarily. “You might get hurt!”

  His face momentarily relaxed into a smile.

  “I appreciate your concern, but we’ll see that!”

  She was silent for a moment.

  “At any rate, it is all over now,” she said, presently. “You are in truth Viscount Shaldon and heir to Alvington.”

  He shook his head. “No, Nell, that is still uncertain. There is only one person who can enlighten us, and she may be dead, for all we know. This must be cleared up once for all now, though, so we must make a genuine attempt to trace her. I refer, of course, to Mrs. Lathom.”

  When Anthony arrived at the Lydneys’ house in Berkeley Street, he was relieved to be informed that all the members of the family were out.

  “If I might perh
aps deliver a message, my lord?” the butler suggested, deferentially.

  “No, thanks, my business is in fact with Lord Lydney’s secretary,” replied Anthony, handing over his hat, cane, and gloves. “I take it I shall find him in the library? I know my way, so you need not trouble to announce me.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The butler bowed and went about his business.

  Anthony strode purposefully across the hall to the library, gave a perfunctory knock and entered.

  Durrant was working at his desk. He looked up in surprise at the unexpected interruption, then leapt to his feet as he saw who his visitor was. For a moment his face betrayed the smallest flicker of alarm, soon suppressed as he forced a frigid smile.

  “Good afternoon. I was not expecting you.”

  “Daresay not,” replied Anthony, brusquely. “I’ve been making a few enquiries of my own since last I had the doubtful pleasure of seeing you, Durrant, and I’ve discovered you’re a damned liar. Ay, and a scheming rogue!”

  Durrant passed his tongue over his lips, which had suddenly gone dry; but his voice was calm enough as he answered with a sneer.

  “You’d like to think so, doubtless.”

  “I know so! I went to the cottage in Rye where the Lathoms once lived. Ah!” he exclaimed, as he saw the other man start involuntarily. “Thought you were safe there, didn’t you? No one would consider an enquiry worthwhile after a lapse of so many years? Thought you’d bought ’em off in any case, I daresay. You’d do well to remember that what can be sold once can be sold again, especially when rogues make the bargain! You had the box with its contents from the start, you damned villain! And then you set about manufacturing the rest of the evidence!”

  Durrant was now as white as the papers on his desk, but he stood his ground and answered defiantly.

  “Very well. I used the box to make Carlton’s claim more certain. It simplifies matters, that’s all. He is still your father’s son. He was told by his grandmother—”