A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  Her emotions threatened to overcome her; but at that moment she felt an arm about her shoulders and looked up tearfully into her father’s face. He was smiling at her tenderly, then raised his head to address James.

  “Will you do me the favour, Mr. Somerby, of waiting behind a while after the other guests have left?” he asked, quietly. “I rather want to have a little chat with you — with you both, in fact. Melissa, my dear, your Mama wishes you to join us now in bidding our guests good-bye.”

  He guided his daughter away; and James was left to speculate with Helen, who soon joined him, on what the request might portend.

  “There’s only one thing I’d like to know,” said Helen, when this topic had been thoroughly aired without producing any conclusions. “Not about that, but about Shaldon — Anthony. Was he — was he at all hurt in the encounter with Durrant?”

  He grinned. “Devil a bit of it! Oh, there was a piece of sticking plaster needed for a cut lip, but nothing to require the expert attention of your newly qualified medico brother. A pity, really — I’d have liked a stronger challenge for my skill.”

  “Wretch! But what is to be done about Durrant?”

  “He was to consider that matter with Lord Lydney and the Earl. As far as Tony’s concerned, I think he’s satisfied with the bout of fisticuffs. There was one thing, Nell, he said Durrant had told him — though I’m not at all sure that I should repeat it to you,” he added, doubtfully.

  He should have known that this could only serve to stir her curiosity. After some moments of urging on her part, he at last confided to her as delicately as he could Durrant’s claim that Cynthia had become his mistress.

  The shock of this silenced her for a while; then she suggested that it might possibly be just one more fabrication on Durrant’s part.

  “I don’t know about that,” he replied, thoughtfully. “Of course, he may have said it maliciously to Tony, in the hope of inflicting a hurt on him. On the other hand, from my own observation of Cynthia Lydney I don’t find it at all difficult to believe that he was speaking the truth, whatever may have been his motives.”

  Once more Helen relapsed into silence. Did Anthony really care for Cynthia, as Durrant had evidently supposed when he made his taunt? When the Earl had first proposed a match between them, Anthony had certainly not shown any interest in her; but that had been before he had met Cynthia in Town. Helen recalled the times she had watched them dancing together, and was forced to admit to herself that Anthony had seemed far from unresponsive to Cynthia’s charms on those occasions. Perhaps he had changed his mind about her. In any case, she thought with a heavy heart, he regarded Helen Somerby merely as a sister. All his conduct towards her had made that plain.

  At that moment Sir George Chetwode beckoned to James, and he left her side to accompany his host out of the room, leaving her alone. Tired after the evening’s entertainment and preoccupied with her own thoughts, Helen scarcely noticed how long they were absent.

  She was abruptly startled from her reverie when the door burst open and Melissa flew into the room to fling herself upon her friend.

  “Nell, oh, Nell, dearest! The most wonderful news — you’ll never guess! Your brother and I are to become engaged at once. Papa and Mama have consented! And we may be wed at Christmas. Oh, Nell, I’m so very, very happy!”

  Anthony returned to Town two days later than he had intended, as he had spent some of his time visiting both his grandparents and the Somerbys in order to inform them of recent events. They were all very much shocked at Durrant’s perfidy, and more concerned for Anthony’s situation than he appeared to be himself.

  “Your father must be sadly grieved at having been so taken in,” commented Amanda Somerby. “And indeed, when I recall all of you playing together as innocent children, I can scarce credit that Bertram Durrant should have turned out so badly! Helen was convinced from the first that he intended you some harm, you know, but I tried to persuade her that it was only the figment of a dramatic imagination. But what does the Earl say? Does he intend to see Durrant punished? And what of this other man, the impostor?”

  “I’ve persuaded him otherwise about Durrant, ma’am, You know how it is with Father. He wants no more trouble in the business. As for Carlton, as he’s called, no action will be taken against him. I packed him off on the stagecoach for London yesterday, with a stern warning that unless he held his tongue about the affair, he might find himself charged and transported. I believe he’s taken it thoroughly to heart.”

  “And you say that you now intend to pursue a genuine search for this missing lady, Mrs. Lathom?” asked the Rector. “I think you do right, my boy.”

  “Yes, but she may be dead,” protested his wife, “and then poor Anthony will never know for certain whether he’s the true heir to Alvington, or not! To be sure, it’s the most wretched situation to be in! I think the Earl greatly to blame, not to have made enquiries many years since. But there, I suppose I ought not to criticise a parent to his son,” she added, belatedly, in a contrite tone. “I beg your pardon, Anthony — my tongue, like my daughter’s, frequently runs away with me, I fear, in spite of my husband’s beneficent influence.”

  She bent over to pat the Rector’s hand, and he smiled up at her with so much affection in his glance that for a moment Anthony felt a pang of envy. He found himself thinking unexpectedly that after all, some marriages were made in Heaven.

  He forced a laugh to cover these feelings. “Miss Somerby has been of the greatest assistance to me in uncovering this plot of Durrant’s, ma’am. Her methods are somewhat unusual, to say the least — but I won’t go into details,” he added, realising the inadvisability of disclosing some of Helen’s less conventional exploits. “I’m sure she will prefer to tell you the story herself. This much is certain, though — but for the efforts she and James made, Durrant’s fraud might well have succeeded.”

  He parted from them with the reluctance he always felt at quitting that family.

  Arrived in Town on the following day, he went first to his rooms in order to freshen up a little and then presented himself at the Lydneys’ house in Berkeley Street. He was surprised to be received by Henry, who was seldom to be found under the parental roof, more especially not in the early afternoon of a fine day.

  “Pull up a chair,” invited Lydney, once they were alone. “I’ve a good deal to tell you. Devil of a kick-up we’ve had here, this last few days! Father’s absent and m’mother’s totally prostrated, so I’ve been called in to hold the fort until the old man’s return. Least I can do, I suppose, though I don’t exactly relish it. Never mind that. Will you take a glass of wine?”

  Anthony accepted the offer, and once they were served, Lydney plunged into his tale. He had received an urgent summons to the house on the evening of the day Anthony had departed for Alvington, and found a state of panic prevailing. Durrant had packed up and gone, no one knew where, on the previous evening; and now Cynthia seemed to be missing, too. She had left in the morning on a visit to Lady Plummet in Richmond, promising to return by early afternoon. Later, the maid who had accompanied her came back alone, saying that she had been sent home in a hackney by Durrant, of all people, and that he intended to bring Miss Cynthia home himself.

  “In a post chaise and four, so the girl said, and that sounded devilish smoky, what? They waited for a time after the maid arrived, then when Cynthia failed to turn up, my mother threw a fit and my father dashed off to Richmond to see this Plummet female — a prime bit of muslin, know her?” Anthony nodded with a grimace. “Yes, well, seems Cynthia would’ve done better to have steered clear of that set. Not to wrap it up in clean linen, Shaldon, m’sister played the fool at some masquerade given by that harpy, and let Durrant seduce her — worse, she caught cold at it, and she’s breeding! My father forced the whole story out of the Plummet woman.”

  Anthony drew an audible breath.

  “My father guessed then that Durrant must have made off with her, though the maid insisted she went
willingly enough. Without more ado, he set off to follow ’em. It wasn’t too difficult to discover where the chaise had been hired and whither it was bound. To cut a long story short, he traced them to the posting inn at St. Albans, where they’d broken their journey overnight. Marched in on ’em, found ’em in bed together as snug as you please, and Cynthia as brazen about it as be damned! Said they were off to Gretna to get hitched, and told my father he’d be forced to do something for them. Tried to cut a wheedle in her usual way, but the old man had reached his limit.”

  “What did he do?” asked Anthony.

  “Gave them his blessing with a horseshoe tied to it,” Henry replied, grimly. “Said they needn’t go to Gretna — he’d seen them wed at once in St. Albans by special licence. As for what he’d do to provide for a daughter whom he’d so much reason to be proud of, he’d ship the pair of ’em off to the West Indies — he’s some property there, y’know — and Durrant could exercise his talents on the plantation. Cynthia went into hysterics over that, but my father didn’t relent.”

  “Damnable business,” said Anthony, awkwardly.

  “Understatement, my dear chap. My father came back here yesterday to set matters in train, and then returned to the happy couple. He’s there still, and I undertook to stay here until he gets back. Pretty story, ain’t it?”

  Anthony nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, soberly. “She’s your sister, after all. You must be feeling it.”

  Henry looked fierce. “Not as much as I should do, I daresay. Never any love lost between Cynthia and myself — you know that. But thanks, all the same.” He hesitated. “Not sure if I oughtn’t to offer you sympathy. You and Cynthia were to make a match of it, after all.”

  “An arrangement which found favour with our respective sires, but not, I believe, with either your sister or myself. We should not have suited. All this upheaval concerning the Alvington estates arose in the first place because I informed my father of that fact.”

  “Ay, I can see how that would be. Well, that’s settled now with the downfall of Durrant’s damnable scheme. I sincerely hope, Shaldon, that you gave the swine a good drubbing! Wish I could have done it myself — still would, if I could lay hands on him.”

  “I must admit few things have afforded me so much satisfaction. But you’re out when you say my affairs are settled, Lydney. I’ve now to set about tracing this female, Mrs. Lathom, who holds the solution to the puzzle.”

  “Good God, why not let matters rest, man? My father lays any odds both she and the child are long since dead, and he’s no gambler, assure you!”

  “That may be, but I don’t choose to assume it. Either I am the rightful heir to Alvington or not — that must be finally settled, one way or the other.”

  “Well, if you will insist on making life difficult for yourself! Once you’d taken a notion into that addle pate of yours, there never was any use attempting to turn you from it,” replied Henry, with the candour of an old friend.

  “Precisely. How long must you remain here?”

  “Until my father returns, which I hope will be soon. There’s a matter of some importance which I wish to settle on my own behalf. And it may well cause yet another stir in the family,” he added. “But much I care for that!”

  Anthony raised an enquiring eyebrow, but tactfully refrained from a direct question. If Lydney wished to say more, no doubt he would do so. After some hesitation, he did.

  “I mean to make a declaration to Helen Somerby,” he said, in an unusually diffident tone. “Do you suppose I shall have any chance with her?”

  Anthony felt as though he had been delivered a powerful punch in the solar plexus. For a moment he could make no reply.

  “You know her as well as anybody — any man of her acquaintance, that is,” continued Henry. “What d’you say?”

  “Can anyone venture to pronounce on a female’s emotions?” Anthony replied, quietly. “But you seem to deal extremely well together.”

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  Amanda Somerby flew into the study where her husband was working, excitedly waving a letter in her hand.

  “Oh, Theo! Oh, you’ll never believe — what do you think? Oh, the most exciting news — you’ll never guess!”

  He smiled and, laying down his pen, rose to his feet.

  “Will I not, love? Then why not tell me? Or better still, let me read your letter for myself.”

  He reached out to detach it from her grasp and let his eyes travel swiftly over the contents. She stood by, meantime, hopping about from one foot to the other in a manner more suited to an excited schoolgirl than a woman of mature years with two adult offspring.

  “Is it not famous news? Jamie has gained his Diploma! Clever boy, I knew he would! And he’s betrothed! To that sweet little friend of Helen’s who used to spend some of the holidays here when they were still at school — Melissa! Oh, I’m so happy for them, Theo. I know they’ll make the most delightful couple!”

  So saying, she suddenly burst into tears.

  “My love!” The Rector gathered her into his arms. “Is this your way of showing happiness? I am only thankful you’re not distressed — or would you break into laughter on that account?”

  She gave a little gurgle, half-laugh, half-sob. “I know I’m foolish, Theo, and truly I am happy! But it suddenly came over me that now Jamie really and truly has left us, and will be making a family life of his own. Yet only a short time ago he was a little boy running in and out of the house, his pockets stuffed full of conkers or marbles or some such boyish trophies—”

  She stopped and swallowed. The Rector kissed her gently and dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief.

  “They grow up so fast!” she said, defensively. “It seems they are only lent to us for such a little while.”

  “That’s very true, my love, but there are some compensations. Only think how delightful it will be to have a new daughter and a sister for Helen. A young lady, moreover, well-known to us and of whom you’ve always been fond. And later, perhaps, if God wills, we may see their little ones playing in the Rectory Garden. Now, dry those foolish tears before they cause my coat to shrink. I don’t wish to incur the expense of a new one until the wedding is at hand.”

  She was obliged to laugh at this, just as her husband had intended.

  “I see that James has formed the intention of coming home for a few weeks before he finally settles in with Dr. Gillies,” he continued, “and he asks our permission to bring Miss Chetwode with him for a part of the time. It seems her parents are agreeable, and I’m sure we can have no possible objection. Why do you not at once compose a letter of welcome to Miss Chetwode, my love, in your own inimitable, warm-hearted style?”

  The letter arrived in Cavendish Square on the following day and was read with much appreciation by Melissa and her parents. Some consultation with James was necessary as to the day of departure, so a servant was despatched with a message requesting him to call at the house at his earliest convenience. His reply was prompt, for he returned with the messenger; and it was soon settled that they should set out for Alvington on the day after tomorrow, taking Helen with them.

  To Melissa’s delight, her parents invited James to pass the rest of the day in Cavendish Square, and he was not slow to accept. After nuncheon the three young people found themselves left to their own devices for a time. Sir George, as was his custom at that time of day, retired to his library, while Lady Chetwode had an appointment with her dressmaker.

  At first, all three chatted animatedly together, but presently Melissa and James could not help betraying an absorption in each other usual in engaged couples. Helen began to feel somewhat in the way, and was considering a strategic removal to another room, when a visitor was announced.

  It was Anthony. Having spent the morning with his lawyers, he had called in at Cavendish Square in the hope of finding an opportunity for a private word with Helen. On seeing James there, he at once guessed that the young couple’s fortunes had taken a turn for the bette
r, and would say nothing of his own affairs until he had heard their news and given them his most sincere felicitations. Afterwards, he told them how he had settled matters with the Earl and sent Carlton back to London with some modest funds to provide for the future.

  “What he makes of it, of course, depends upon himself,” he concluded.

  “And upon Phyllis,” put in Helen. “He did return to the poor girl, I trust?”

  “That I cannot say. I furnished him with the direction you had provided, however.”

  “Then I expect he would have returned to her. Oh, I do so hope he did! She is most devoted to him, poor Phyllis!”

  “You’re tolerably satisfied, Tony, that he’ll keep mum about the affair?” asked James.

  Anthony nodded. “I pressed well home the lesson that he had everything to lose by doing otherwise. My impression was that he felt mightily relieved to be out of it with a whole skin. No, I think there’s nothing to fear on that head. By the way, I called in on your parents and acquainted them with the whole.”

  On learning this, both the Somerbys pressed eager questions as to how Mama and Papa had taken his news. After he had satisfied these queries, Helen had one more to add.

  “And how was Patch? Did you see him?”

  “Indeed I did. He seemed in excellent form, and had to be deterred from treating one of my gloves as a rat or some other hostile invader,” replied Anthony with a smile.

  “Oh, dear, I did hope his manners might have improved by now! Perhaps he needs my sobering influence.”

  “Is that what you call it?” he asked, with a twinkle.

  “Lord, yes, Nell, the little beast pays no heed to you at all,” put in James. “But what did the Earl decide concerning Durrant, Tony?”

  Anthony shrugged. “You know my father. He dislikes making decisions. It was to be all left to myself and Lord Lydney. In the event, however, it’s been taken out of our hands.”