An Impossible Confession

by Sandra Heath

  ‘I will endeavor to,’ she replied at last, managing to quell a shudder of revulsion as he bent to kiss her cheek as well. She glanced up, just in time to see Lady Cowper watching as her carriage drew away.

  ‘I’ll bid you both farewell, then,’ Ralph murmured, lingering for a moment, as if too upset to tear himself away, then he turned and walked off into the thinning crowds.

  Margaret stared tearfully after him. ‘I just can’t believe he’s going. I’ve known him ever since I came to London, and now he’s just leaving. Oh, Helen, you and he would indeed have been happy together. I had such hopes, I could see us all together, the happiest foursome on earth.’ She gave a tremulous sigh. ‘Today has simply been too much for me. I was so happy when we left the house, but now I feel totally wretched, with one of the worst headaches ever. You’ll have to forgive me, Helen, but I really can’t attend the party.’

  Helen was alarmed. They had to go! ‘But, Margaret….’

  ‘It’s out of the question. I’ll have to go home and lie down, and since you can’t go alone, you’ll have to stay away as well. I’m truly sorry, for I can see how disappointed you are, but I really do feel very unwell.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ There was nothing more Helen could say, for it was obvious that Margaret was indeed feeling ill. She tried to conceal her dismay as they entered the landau, setting off back toward Bourne End instead of over the heath toward Windsor Great Park.

  Helpless against this latest intervention by fate, she glanced at her little watch. It was half past seven, and if Adam kept his word, he’d be waiting at the lakeside in another half an hour. He’d wait in vain.

  She stared out of the carriage window, hardly able to believe that bad luck was dogging her yet again. The dice were unfairly loaded, and each time they fell, they allotted her more misfortune. Things had been bad enough when Adam had stumbled upon her real identity only hours before, but now she had Ralph’s promise of further vengeance to contend with. Adam would eventually return to King Henry Crescent that night without hearing a word of explanation from her; he’d think the very worst of her actions all along, and then he’d receive Ralph’s billet-doux. She lowered her gaze, toying miserably with the frill at her cuff. If only she could keep the appointment….

  She looked up again suddenly. Did she really have to remain unwillingly at Bourne End because Margaret was unwell? It was still very sunny, and sunset wouldn’t be for several hours yet; no one would think anything of it if she elected to go for a ride in the park! And no one would know if she rode out of the park and then on to Eleanor’s Lake! She wouldn’t be able to reach Adam in time for eight, but she wouldn’t be as late as all that. Maybe he’d still be waiting. It was a chance she was willing to take; indeed, she had to take it.

  At last the landau reached the door of Bourne End, and Margaret delayed only long enough to ascertain that Gregory still hadn’t returned before going up to her room. Helen waited until she’d vanished from sight before requesting Morris to have a horse saddled and brought around to the door, then she too hurried up the staircase.

  Mary was waiting in her room. ‘Did you have a good day, miss?’

  ‘No, I had a horrible day.’

  ‘Whatever happened?’ inquired the maid, hurrying to assist her to undress.

  Helen explained everything. ‘So, you see,’ she finished, ‘I have to see him somehow, so I’ve instructed Morris to have a horse brought around. Will you take out my riding habit?’

  ‘But, miss….’

  ‘Don’t try to reason with me, Mary, I’m just not in the mood. Time’s ticking by and I must try to meet him.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The maid hurried to the relevant wardrobe, lifting down the mustard riding habit Madame Rosalie had created for fashionable rides in Hyde Park. ‘Miss Fairmead, you mustn’t go alone, it’s not right and it’s too dangerous. Please let me tell Peter, he’s well enough to accompany you now.’

  ‘Mary….’

  ‘Please, miss.’

  Helen hesitated. ‘Oh, very well, but tell him to hurry. Go on, I can finish dressing on my own.’

  The maid hurried out, and Helen stepped into the tight-fitting habit. She was just fixing the little black beaver hat in place when Mary returned.

  ‘Peter’s gone out to saddle his cob right now, miss. Your horse is ready and waiting.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary.’

  The maid went to find the gloves that went with the habit, and then the riding crop.

  Watching her searching through a chest of drawers, Helen became impatient. ‘Oh, do hurry!’

  ‘Here they are, miss.’ The maid brought them, and then gave her another anxious look. ‘I don’t think Lord Drummond is going to understand, not after all you’ve told me,’ she said a little gloomily.

  ‘I love Adam Drummond, Mary, and nothing’s going to stop me trying to win him.’

  Unknown to them both, Margaret had come to the door in her wrap, wanting to talk some more about Ralph’s sudden departure. The door was slightly ajar still after Mary’s return, and Helen’s last words carried out quite clearly. Margaret halted in shocked dismay. Her sister was in love with Adam Drummond? But how could that possibly be so? Helen had quite definitely indicated an interest in a match with Ralph!

  In the room, Mary continued to watch her mistress, who was teasing on the tight gloves. ‘Maybe it’s just not meant to be, miss.’

  ‘It is, I know it is. I’ll do anything I have to keep him, anything at all. Propriety has had very little to do with my conduct since I met him, and I’m not about to shrink from things now.’

  Margaret leaned weakly against the wall, her eyes closed for a moment. Anything to keep him? Anything at all? Conduct without propriety? Oh, please, don’t let that mean what it seemed to mean! Had Adam seduced Helen? The thought was so appalling in its implications that Margaret almost went straight into the room to face her sister, but then discretion took a hand. Helen’s whole future was at risk, and so solving the problem had to be tackled with a cool mind, not one that was hot and upset with outrage. Gregory should be here, it was something that had to be approached together. Maybe it was already too late to save Helen’s virtue, but even so something had to be done to separate her forever from Adam Drummond’s vile influence. Oh, was there no end to the blows they had to suffer at his hands? Trembling, Margaret smoothed her hands against the folds of her wrap. Helen was green, she knew nothing of the world; at least, she hadn’t when she’d left Miss Figgis’s seminary; what had happened since then was a matter of awful conjecture.

  In the room, Helen was ready now. She took a final look at herself in one of the wall mirrors. ‘There, I’m ready for my ride.’ She walked toward the door, her riding habit rustling.

  Margaret’s breath caught, and she fled back along the passage to her own room, slipping inside just as Helen emerged. Leaning back against the closed door, Margaret listened to the light footsteps hurry by, then she went out again, following her sister to the top of the staircase, and peeping cautiously over the balustrade to watch as Helen was escorted to the door by Morris.

  The butler bowed as she went out. ‘I trust you enjoy your ride, Miss Fairmead.’

  ‘I’m sure I will, I have Peter to show me all over the park. Oh,’ she paused, ‘if Mrs Bourne should inquire after me, please tell her where I am, and that I won’t he very late.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  The door was closed, and a moment later Margaret heard two horses moving away from the house. Turning, she went slowly back to her own room. What could she and Gregory sensibly do about this? How on earth were they going to rescue Helen, when she quite patently didn’t want to be rescued? How she wished Gregory would return, for she needed to talk to him.

  She lay wearily on the bed in her room, closing her eyes. The clock began to chime eight almost straightaway, and as the mellow sound died away, she heard a carriage approaching. With a glad cry, she hurried to the window, holding the delicate net aside to look out. Grego
ry’s carriage was coming toward the house.

  Gathering her skirts, she hurried from the room, down to the entrance hall, and out beneath the front balcony just as the coach drew to a standstill.

  Gregory alighted, looking at her in great concern as he saw how upset she was. ‘What is it, my darling?’

  ‘Oh, Gregory!’ She flung herself into his arms, bursting into tears.

  Gently he embraced her, smiling fondly. ‘I didn’t expect quite such torrents because Musket failed,’ he murmured.

  ‘It isn’t M-musket, it’s H-Helen. Sh-she’s been seeing Adam D-Drummond, and I fear she m-may already be r-ruined!’

  He drew back in amazement, gazing earnestly into her tear-filled eyes. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘It’s t-true!’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Out r-riding in the p-park, with Peter, the undercoachman.’

  ‘I think we’d better go inside, my love. Then you can tell me all about it,’ he said, his eyes dark with bitter anger.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Windsor road was still crowded as Helen rode swiftly past the racecourse and then on over the heath toward the great park. Peter rode just behind her, his stout cob working hard to keep up with her dun hunter.

  Windsor Castle flashed momentarily between the trees as they passed through the gates into the park, and then the main highway was left behind as they turned to the northwest along the narrower way toward the lake, and Hagman’s. It was some time since Helen had ridden fast. At Miss Figgis’s she’d been accustomed to sedate trotting along the Cheltenham streets, with an occasional slow canter through the park, but as a child she’d ridden like the wind across the Worcestershire countryside, and now she was doing so again, the single long ringlet of hair fluttering behind her.

  Most of the guests had already gone on to the water party, and there was much less traffic on the road now; indeed, from time to time it seemed she and Peter were alone. The great tree marking the track to Herne’s Glade loomed ahead, and as she reached it, she reined in because her horse was in a lather and needed a slight rest. She glanced at her fob watch. It was twenty past eight! She gathered the reins to urge her mount on, but then something made her glance along the track to the glade. Slow hoofbeats were approaching. She stared nervously in the direction of the sound. The trees moved quietly in the light evening breeze, folding over the track in a secret way that made her thoughts turn instinctively to Lord Swag. Even as his name entered her head, a horseman appeared, riding very slowly. He was slightly built, wore a dark cloak, and his hat was pulled forward to put his face in shadow.

  Peter had reined in beside her, and now she heard his dismayed gasp. ‘It’s him, miss, it’s Lord Swag, I’d know him anywhere!’

  Alarmed, she urged her sweating horse on toward the lake, and Peter did the same. ‘We should have gone back, miss,’ he cried, his voice jerky from the jolting motion of his horse. ‘Now we’ll have to return later, and we know he’s around!’

  It was something she didn’t want to think about. He was right, but her reaction had been instinctive. She glanced fearfully back over her shoulder, but the curve of the track now obscured the view, although she could still see the tall branches of the tree towering above everything else. Of the lone horseman, there was no sign.

  Only when Hagman’s boathouse appeared through the trees ahead did she slow her tired mount from a headlong gallop to a mere canter. The sound of the water party carried clearly, for there was an orchestra playing and a large number of people were enjoying themselves, She could hear laughter and conversation, and as she and Peter reached the boathouse, she saw that the jetty was crowded with elegant people still in their Royal Ascot finery. Out on the water, the pleasure boats moved gently in the lengthening evening shadows, and the Cardusays’ flower-garlanded barge was moored at the end of the jetty, its gilded awning gleaming in the warm rays of the sun as it began its long descent toward the western horizon.

  Helen’s heart was thundering with awful trepidation as she rode slowly along the path by the edge of the lake. The rhododendrons were still magnificent, their heavy crimson, mauve, and white blooms brilliant against the dark foliage. It was half past eight as she reined in just before the small clearing. Would he still be there? Had he been there at all?

  Slowly she dismounted, handing the reins to Peter. ‘Wait for me.’

  ‘But, miss….’

  ‘I’ll only be just beyond those bushes. Please wait here.’

  Reluctantly he nodded. ‘Yes, miss. But if you need me….’

  ‘I’ll call.’ She gave a sadly wry smile. ‘I rather think I’ll be coming straight back, though, for he won’t be there.’

  She could hear her heartbeats as she walked the final few yards along the path and around the edge of the rhododendrons. The grass swept down to the lakeshore, and her initial reaction was of intense dismay, for there was no sign of his horse, but then her eyes fled to the edge of the water, where one of the small pleasure boats was moored. Its prow was carved like a dolphin, and its awning was brightly striped in red and white. There were no seats inside, just velvet cushions, and a gentleman was lounging on them, a slow curl of smoke rising from his Spanish cigar. He sat up as she appeared, and she knew it was Adam.

  Slowly he tossed the cigar into the water, and then rose to his feet. The boat swayed as he stepped ashore, waiting as she went quickly toward him.

  She’d been filled with gladness when she saw him, but as she came closer and recognized the coldness on his face, the gladness died away into emptiness. ‘I – I’m sorry I’m so late. I couldn’t help it. Margaret felt unwell and decided not to attend the party.’

  His glance flickered cynically. ‘I’ve had no better diversion for the past three-quarters of an hour, besides, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Miss Fairmead; indeed, I’m sure you’re going to tell me that nothing has been your fault since the moment we met.’

  The past three-quarters of an hour? But she was only half an hour late. ‘No, I’m not going to say that, because I know it is.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

  She felt a telltale trembling inside that warned her it would be only too easy to break down in tears, and she steeled herself to overcome the weakness. He was justified in feeling the way he did, and it was up to her to convince him she hadn’t meant to mislead him. ‘Adam….’

  ‘Miss Fairmead,’ he interrupted, ‘I think such intimacy as the use of first names should cease forthwith.’

  She tried not to show how deep the hurt went at this. ‘Very well, my lord. I was going to say that I didn’t set out to deceive you.’

  ‘So, now you’re saying you really are the widowed Mrs Brown?’ he remarked dryly.

  ‘No….’

  ‘Then you did set out to deceive, didn’t you?’ he pointed out.

  She swallowed unhappily. ‘Yes, I suppose in one way, I did. I was on my way from Cheltenham, where I’d been at a seminary for young ladies for five years. During those five years I was drilled over and over as to what proper young ladies did and did not do. One thing they did not do was stay unescorted at an inn, but circumstances forced just that situation on me. I was also taught during those five years that widows are allowed a little more latitude than any other ladies, and so I decided to protect my reputation by pretending to be Mrs Brown. That was all it was, my lord, a foolish pretence because I was afraid for my good name. But I confess to a little willfull determination to enjoy my newfound freedom to the full, and when you invited me to dine with you, I gladly accepted. I was inexperienced, and I really didn’t think it all through, which is why I made such a mess of it all when you asked innocent questions. I told one fib, it led to another, and so on, and then when you revealed that there was such bad feelings between you and my family at Bourne End, well, I was shaken. I couldn’t believe that my silly fibs had all been uttered to a man who had no reason to care much if such a scandalous tale concerning Gregory Bourne’s sist
er-in-law got out over town. But by the time we finally parted at the Cat and Fiddle, my feelings were such that everything about you mattered very much indeed. I’d never been kissed before, and never wanted so very much to be kissed.’

  ‘I’m flattered, Miss Fairmead, but confess that your display of ardor seemed very far from a first awakening.’

  Her eyes sought his. ‘Please, don’t say that.’

  ‘I was merely observing fact. I believed you were a widow, and nothing in your manner gave me any cause to think otherwise. Now you tell me that it was your first kiss, and so I tell you that there was nothing of the shrinking, virginal innocent in the way you responded to my advances.’

  ‘My responses were very honest, sir. Would you rather I played the coquette?’

  ‘I would rather you had displayed honesty throughout, madam, instead of just claiming it when your story requires it.’

  ‘You’re deliberately misinterpreting.’

  ‘Am I? Please proceed, Miss Fairmead, I’m all interest and attention.’

  She turned away a little, gazing at the pleasure boat as it rocked gently on the water. ‘When I reached Bourne End, I was dismayed to find out what you were supposed to have done last year. You may not believe it, sir, but my determination to support you caused more than a little bad feeling with Margaret and Gregory. I could not, and would not, believe you guilty, and when I told you that, I wasn’t being deceitful at all.’

  ‘Maybe not, for your deceit was more concerned with perpetuating the myth of Mrs Brown.’

  ‘I tried to tell you. We were standing right here in this place, and then the horse was frightened, and when I looked back toward the jetty I saw Ralph St John approaching.’ She hesitated. ‘But then, you know this already, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, you told me on the terrace at the castle.’

  ‘What I didn’t tell you was that I’d set out that day to call on you at King Henry Crescent, but that as my carriage approached the house, you emerged and drove off in your curricle. I was going to tell you the truth about myself, but chance stepped in for the second time and prevented me. It prevented me for a third time on the castle terrace when I simply couldn’t find the courage to tell you. I was suddenly so afraid that you’d despise me that I couldn’t utter a single word. I took refuge in telling myself I’d confess everything at our next meeting, which would be at the Farrish House ball. But something happened when I returned to Bourne End, something that made my confession all the more difficult. Ralph St John was waiting for me, he’d had me followed and he knew all about our meeting. For reasons which I’ll explain in a moment, he was determined to make me agree to the betrothal I’d refused to even begin to countenance until then. Oh, yes, my lord, the betrothal you’d heard rumored was based on nothing more than discussions between Ralph St John, Margaret, and Gregory; I’d had no part in them at all, I hadn’t even been consulted. Anyway, he forced me to consent to a temporary betrothal, and he used the same means on me that he’d used on you. He threatened not only to ruin me and alienate my family from me, he also promised to use your sister’s affair to cause an irreparable rift between you and me. He swore he’d make sure you were told that the exposure of Lady Bowes-Fenton’s secret was entirely due to my deliberate interference. I had no choice but to do as he wished, my lord, for to refuse would have brought about the very thing you’d been at such pains to prevent – the destruction of your sister’s life and happiness. In the circumstances, I agreed to his demands.’