An Impossible Confession

by Sandra Heath

  Mary put the last pin in place and looked at her in the mirror. ‘There, miss, I’ve finished.’

  ‘You’ve done it beautifully, Mary. Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  Their eyes met again, and Helen sighed. ‘Oh, all right, say it again if you must.’

  ‘I can’t help it, miss, I’m worried about tonight. There’s still time for you to change your mind, you could plead a headache.’

  ‘I could, but I’m not going to. Mary, I’m having dinner with him, not slipping into his bed.’

  Mary was shocked. ‘Oh, Miss Fairmead, you shouldn’t say such things. Besides….’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That isn’t why I’m worried, for I’m sure Lord Drummond is a fine and honorable gentleman.’

  ‘I’m sure he is, too. Why are you worried then?’

  ‘I think you know.’

  ‘Because I could meet him again some time and he’d know I’d been masquerading as a widow?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘That’s a remote chance I intend to take.’

  ‘Remote, miss? It seems to me that the whole of society goes to Bourne End.’

  The maid was right, but Helen didn’t want to think about it, not tonight. She got up, causing a draft that set the candle flames dancing. ‘Mary, I’ve spent the last five years paying attention to rules, learning them all by heart so that when I reach Bourne End I can spend the rest of my life abiding by them. But tonight, just for tonight, there aren’t any rules, there isn’t even a Helen Fairmead.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s come over you, Miss Fairmead, for this isn’t like you at all.’

  ‘What’s come over me?’ Helen smiled suddenly, snatching up her shawl. ‘A Cat and Fiddle tarradiddle, that’s what’s come over me. I’ve told a fib, and I’m free for an evening.’

  Determined not to hear any more common sense from the maid, she hurried from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Tonight was going to be an adventure, a stolen excitement that was most strictly forbidden; the prospect of spending time in Lord Drummond’s company was too tempting to allow the sobering thought of possible consequences to stand in the way.

  The Cat and Fiddle’s passages rambled, and its floorboards were squeaky and uneven. She descended the staircase to the wide passage where earlier she’d sat on the settle recovering from the incident in the courtyard. The row of bowls on the tables had all been used, the water in them was dirty and the towels equally so. The settle was laden with wet cloaks and hats, and the noise of male laughter and conversation emanated from behind a door. The reunion dinner was evidently well in progress, and the guests well in drink.

  As she reached the bottom, the landlord appeared from the cellars, wiping a dusty bottle on his apron. He paused immediately when he saw her. ‘Good evening, ma’am.’

  ‘Good evening.’

  ‘I trust the room is to your satisfaction?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  There was a sudden gust of laughter from the dining room, and the landlord hastily put the bottle down. ‘If you’ll come this way, ma’am, I’ll take you to Lord Drummond.’

  She followed him along the hallway toward the rear of the inn. Sporting prints lined the paneled walls, and doorways were graced by antler trophies, giving the establishment a distinctly masculine atmosphere that made her feel out of place in her diamonds and white lawn.

  The landlord opened a door at the very end of the passage, standing aside for her to enter as he announced her name. The room was small and private, lit by a four-branched candleholder on the paneled wall and by a single candlestick on the white-clothed table set for two. There were comfortable chairs on either side of the fireplace, and a large sofa against another wall. Crimson velvet curtains hung at the single tall window that looked out at the courtyard, directly opposite the archway from the London road.

  Lord Drummond stood by the window, holding the curtain aside to look at the endless rain. He wore the same mulberry coat and light-gray trousers as before, and he turned quickly to smile at her. ‘Good evening, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Good evening, my lord.’

  He nodded at the landlord, who was waiting in the doorway. ‘You may serve dinner now.’

  ‘My lord.’

  The door closed and he returned his attention to Helen, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. ‘I trust the notion of dining à deux with me isn’t too disagreeable, but the stagecoach passengers have elected to eat in their rooms, and as you will no doubt have gathered, the reunion dinner is in full rumbustious possession of the main dining room.’

  ‘And threatening to become more rumbustious still before much longer,’ she replied, conscious that this time his lips had indeed touched her bare skin, and that the sensation was far too pleasing for comfort.

  He conducted her to the table and drew out one of the chairs, waiting until she had settled before sitting down himself directly opposite. ‘I’m afraid dinner is a choice of good Cotswold mutton or good Cotswold mutton.’

  ‘It can indeed be very good, sir.’

  ‘So I understand,’ he replied, smiling.

  ‘From which reply I guess you do not hail from these parts.’

  ‘You guess correctly. I’m here at the moment because I’ve been visiting my sister, Lady Bowes-Fenton, in Burford, and I’m now on my way to an important war office meeting in London in the morning. My personal neck of the woods is in Sussex.’

  ‘Wintervale?’ she asked, remembering how he’d introduced himself earlier.

  ‘Yes, do you know it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, I don’t know Sussex at all.’

  ‘Wintervale is on the edge of the South Downs. It’s an extremely large, extremely ancient estate attached to a small village, and has been owned by the Drummond family since the time of Henry III. To be honest, there are unkind souls who’ve been heard to mutter that Wintervale’s plumbing and general discomfort must have been known personally to that same monarch.’ He smiled.

  ‘You don’t believe in improving, my lord?’

  ‘I happen to like Wintervale as it is. If I require a taste of modern luxury, I take myself to my house in Berkeley Square.’

  ‘The best of both worlds?’

  ‘Indeed so. But enough of me, let’s turn to you. Since you appear to be acquainted with the delights of Cotswold mutton, I imagine you reside somewhere in these hills?’

  ‘Not exactly, I come from Worcestershire,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘Indeed?’ He sat forward with interest. ‘It’s a county I know well, for I have relatives there. I’m sure you must know the Tancreds of Malvern?’

  Abruptly the conversation became awkward for her, because she did indeed know the Tancreds, they were very prominent in Worcestershire affairs, but she could hardly say that to him without inviting further questions about her background. For a moment she could only stare at him, her mind racing, then she smiled and shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ It was her first fib of the evening.

  ‘I confess I’m surprised, for I’ve been led to believe they have a finger firmly set in every available pie in the county.’

  To her relief the landlord chose that moment to appear with a waiter carrying the dinner. A maid followed with a bottle of wine. When the food had been set on the table and the door closed once more, Lord Drummond poured the wine and glanced appreciatively at their plates. ‘I must say it looks exceeding appetizing, so perhaps mine host’s boasts regarding his table are justified after all.’

  ‘The strip you tore off him earlier was probably warning enough that he’d better not displease you again, my lord.’

  ‘It was no more than he deserved, and probably a good deal less. The same is probably true of your postboy, who promises me that from now on he’ll convey you as carefully and attentively as if you were royalty.’

  She smiled. ‘You evidently have a way with words, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I do, believe me. Your health, Mrs Brown
.’ He raised his glass.

  ‘And yours, Lord Drummond.’ She raised hers as well.

  The mutton was very succulent indeed, the vegetables cooked to perfection, and the gravy light and tasty; the conversation, however, was soon uncomfortable for her again.

  Lord Drummond smiled at her. ‘Are you en route for town, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘For Ascot.’

  ‘To be in good time for the races?’

  ‘To live there.’

  ‘By coincidence I shall shortly be temporarily residing six miles away at Windsor, I’ve taken 5 King Henry Crescent while my Berkeley Square property has gas lighting installed. Perhaps our paths will cross, for I understand Ascot shops in Windsor.’

  ‘I think it highly unlikely we’ll meet, my lord, for I do not intend to go to Windsor.’ It was the second fib, for she knew that Margaret shopped a great deal in that town, and that therefore she would too.

  His glance moved briefly over her. ‘Where will you be residing in Ascot?’

  This was dreadful. ‘I – I believe it’s somewhere near the racecourse,’ she replied vaguely.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘No, as it happens, I don’t. A property has been obtained for me by my solicitor.’ The Cat and Fiddle tarradiddles were coming thick and fast now.

  ‘I see. Well, since you’re going to be close to the racecourse, I can only imagine you have an interest in the turf. Am I right?’

  ‘I don’t know the first thing about horseracing,’ she replied, at last managing to be honest.

  ‘You’ll be the only such soul in Ascot.’

  ‘Are you a racing man, Lord Drummond?’ she asked, her fingers crossed beneath the table that he wasn’t, for if he was, he’d probably know Gregory.

  ‘I used to be,’ he replied shortly.

  This was no mistaking the abrupt edge that had entered his voice. She began to uncross her fingers. ‘You aren’t now?’

  ‘I attend the races, but I no longer own racehorses.’

  ‘May I be so bold as to ask why?’

  ‘My name was involved in an unpleasant cause célèbre last summer, and the experience was enough to persuade me to withdraw. My presence at Royal Ascot this year will undoubtedly raise a great many eyebrows, and if it hadn’t been for my sister, Lady Bowes-Fenton, I’d have stayed away, but she persuaded me that nonattendance would be construed in some quarters as proof of a guilty conscience.’

  She stared. ‘It sounds very serious, Lord Drummond.’

  ‘It’s ancient history to me now, and to those who matter to me. The rest can think what they choose.’

  She wondered what it was all about, but only briefly, for she was too concerned about one discomforting fact; he was going to be attending Royal Ascot. She would be as well, and not only that, she’d be rather conspicuous in the Bourne private box, which was second only to the royal stand itself in importance. Mary’s warnings were suddenly beginning to sound ominously appropriate, and she, Helen, was beginning to wish she hadn’t invented Mrs Brown, but had elected to tell the truth from the outset. She managed a smile, however, in an effort not only to hide her own unease, but to smooth over the awkwardness that had arisen in the conversation. ‘I – I may not know anything about horseracing, Lord Drummond, but since I understand the queen herself likes to place a bet or three, perhaps I will be allowed a similar indulgence. Do you have a tip for me?’

  ‘Do I look like a knowing one, Mrs Brown?’ he asked, smiling a little.

  ‘I really have no idea, sir.’

  ‘Well, it so happens that there is one piece of advice I can give you, and that is to follow horses owned by Colonel Gregory Bourne.’

  Helen couldn’t hide the start this caused her; indeed, she was caught so off guard that she dropped her knife and fork with a clatter.

  He looked at her in concern. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘Er, yes. Quite all right, I – I just thought I heard someone at the door.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything.’ He got up and went to see, looking out into the empty hallway. The sound of the reunion dinner carried clearly, but there was no sign of anyone. He closed the door again and returned to his seat, smiling. ‘Now then, where were we? Ah, yes, I was recommending Bourne’s nags. He always has the finest blood in his stables, and since Royal Ascot is the be all and end all of his existence, well, he usually turns out a liberal sprinkling of winners.’

  He sounded as if he knew Gregory well. Alarm spread unnervingly through her. Oh, surely fate couldn’t have been mean enough to thrust her into the society of a man who could tell her family all about her escapade! ‘Is – is Colonel Bourne a friend of yours?’ she asked, dreading what his reply might be.

  ‘He was, but now most definitely is not; indeed, there’s only one man on earth I like less.’

  Beyond the flood of relief that swept over her, she couldn’t help wondering why he apparently loathed Gregory, who was always so agreeable, charming, and generally likeable.

  He refilled their wine glasses. ‘Enough of Bourne, the thought of him gives me indigestion. Would you mind if I asked you a rather personal question, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘That depends on the question, sir.’

  ‘When we first met you said you no longer wore mourning because you’d been a widow for a number of years.’

  ‘Yes.’ Oh, please don’t ask me something that requires another fib.

  ‘It’s just that you’re still so young, you hardly seem more than nineteen, which makes me wonder how old you actually were when you married.’

  She made herself look directly into his eyes. ‘Looks are deceiving, Lord Drummond. I married at eighteen, was widowed at twenty, and am now twenty-three.’ Three more tarradiddles. She was thoroughly ashamed of herself.

  ‘I wonder if I was ever acquainted with your husband? What was his first name?’

  ‘I – I’d rather not talk about my marriage, Lord Drummond.’ She felt trapped and couldn’t think of any other way out.

  ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to tread upon painful memories.’

  Again she was saved from embarrassment by the arrival of the landlord, waiter, and maid, this time to clear away the first course and serve the dessert, apple pie and thick cream.

  Helen found herself relaxing again, thinking she’d parried all awkward questions quite well, but as he poured the last of the wine she soon realized she’d aroused too much of his curiosity after all.

  ‘You never did tell me where exactly you come from in Worcestershire, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ She quickly sampled the apple pie. ‘I do believe this is as excellent as the first course, Lord Drummond.’

  He eyed her, swirling his glass of wine for a long moment. ‘I think it’s time to stop this verbal fencing, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Verbal fencing?’ Her heart sank once more

  ‘Yes. So far tonight you’ve avoided giving me any information about yourself, apart from the facts that you’re twenty-three, a widow from Worcestershire, and you’re going to reside in Ascot. I have the uncomfortable feeling that you think I’m trying to subtly interrogate you, which, believe me, I’m not. My questions have all been asked in complete innocence, but your reaction to them suggests the existence of secrets you’re anxious to preserve at all costs.’

  She looked guiltily at him, not knowing quite what to say.

  ‘You’re perfectly entitled to your privacy, Mrs Brown,’ he went on, ‘and what you do, where you go, and who you go to are your business and no one else’s. Least of all mine.’

  She suddenly realized what he was thinking. He believed she was going to a secret rendezvous with a lover! ‘Lord Drummond,

  I rather fear you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion.’ ‘I haven’t jumped to any conclusion at all,’ he replied diplomatically.

  ‘Oh, yes, you have, you think I have a lover,’ she retorted with a boldness born of three glasses of red wine.

  There was amusement in h
is glance. ‘Very well, I admit that that is what I was thinking.’

  ‘You’re entirely wrong.’

  ‘Then I humbly crave your pardon. He smiled then. ‘But for all that, it was a natural enough assumption, for you are indeed a very beautiful young woman, and I’ll warrant you have admirers in plenty.’

  ‘You flatter me, I think,’ she answered, coloring.

  ‘No, Mrs Brown, I pay you a deserved compliment.’ He hesitated, swirling his wine again. ‘Perhaps I should explain why I so readily jumped to the wrong conclusion. You see, your manner tonight has put me very much in mind of another lady, one I know very well indeed. You are a widow, and therefore a free agent, but she is very much married, to a harsh, vindictive, and jealous man who wouldn’t hesitate to cast her off and deny her access to her children if he knew she’d briefly indulged in a passionate love affair. Please don’t think I’m in any way likening you to an adulterous wife, it’s just that while she was involved in that affair, she behaved with the same air of mystery that I now perceive in you.’ He gave a disarming smile. ‘I accept that I’m totally in error where you’re concerned, and you have my abject apologies for embarrassing you.’

  She had the grace to look exceeding guilty. ‘Lord Drummond, I cannot allow you to apologize so profusely without offering some apology myself. You are right to think my conduct a little secretive, but wrong as to my reasons.’ She swallowed, feeling very self-conscious indeed. ‘Does – does the lady now live happily with her husband?’

  ‘She exists with him, but that’s all I can really say. The only time I saw her really happy was when she was embroiled in the affair.’ He gave a rather ironic laugh. ‘She may have been happy then, but it was an affair that cost me very dear indeed.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Unless, of course … I mean….’ She broke off in confusion.

  He smiled. ‘No, Mrs Brown, I was not the lover. So, now who’s leaping to the wrong conclusions, mm?’