This was to ride ahead a mile or so on the road which he knew Sir Richard would follow back to London. Betty glossed over the next part of the plan, which had been to waylay Sir Richard and force him to hand over the letter at the point of a pistol. She laid great stress on the fact that Perkins had not expected Sir Richard to put up any resistance, and that the blow on the head which had followed had been entirely fortuitous.
“He told me he was fair demented when he saw you lying senseless there on the ground, not knowing for sure how badly you was hurt,” continued Betty. “He started to turn everything out of your pockets to look for the letter; but he was so on edge, what with you looking like one dead, and him fearing that at any minute someone might pass that way, that he didn’t make no great headway with the search. In the end, he decided to take all the things along with him, and look through them properly later, when he’d got away from that place.”
“So he went, leaving me to my fate,” said Sir Richard, grimly. “An attractive character, your Perkins! He richly deserves the hanging I feel sure will one day overtake him. And what did he do with my poor mare, pray? She must have been frightened out of her wits.”
“He left her at a nearby inn,” answered the girl, “saying that his master would call for her in a day to two. Your honour needn’t worry over the horse — she’ll be there safe enough yet.”
“Where is this place?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t rightly know, y’r honour.”
“Then lead me to this fellow Perkins.” ordered Sir Richard, peremptorily. “I mean to clear up this affair, once for all.”
The abigail clutched at his arm.
“Oh, no, indeed I can’t, Sir Richard — I promised not to tell anyone where he is —”
“Honour among thieves, eh?”
He reflected rapidly for a moment. No doubt he was a fool, but he did not care to bully the abigail into betraying her man. Who knows, perhaps the girl was genuinely in love with him: she seemed to be a mean, crafty piece of goods, but appearances could be deceptive.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said abruptly. “If I can recover my property and my horse, I’m prepared to forget about the assault on my person. You take me to this fellow, and I’ll guarantee that if he hands the things over intact, I’ll leave it at that.”
It was some time before he could persuade Betty that he meant what he said. At last, however, he did succeed in convincing her, and she confided to him that Perkins had taken refuge with a relative of his who owned a small tavern in the City. Sir Richard was determined to set off there at once, but, after some argument, the abigail managed to dissuade him from this course. She said that Perkins would be abed long since, and the place shut up for the night. Sir Richard’s arrival in the small hours would create the kind of stir that might well bring the Watch down upon them.
This suggestion gave him pause: he felt that he had enjoyed more than enough excitement for one evening.
“You can come there tomorrow, y’r honour, and talk to him as private as may be in a room at the back of the tap. I’ll go there first thing in the morning, and prepare him for your coming. My cousin the carrier’s wife’ll give me a bed for the night, I hope — what’s left of it.”
“An excellent arrangement,” approved Sir Richard. “And now you may give me the bundle you’re carrying.”
She looked startled, and asked why.
“You cannot suppose that I am such a mutton-head as to trust you without any surety for your good behaviour?” he asked scornfully. “I dare say there are things in this bundle you would not lose for any money, otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed to put them together in a moment of such urgency. I will be at this place tomorrow at —”
He paused, considering. “At mid-day,” he resumed. “If I don’t find your friend there, I go at once to Bow St., and acquaint them with the whole. If he should be there, however, and should answer my questions satisfactorily, I will leave your bundle with him — unless you mean to be present yourself.”
Betty was obliged to concur in this plan, and to hand over her bundle; which she did very reluctantly, for, as he had guessed, it contained more than one valuable trinket given her by my lady, and some few which she had quietly abstracted from the jewel case, secure in the knowledge that they would never be missed, as they were pieces of which her mistress had grown tired. What Betty could manage to raise on these would prove the basis of her future existence, for she would find it difficult to obtain another post as lady’s maid, having quitted her present one without the benefit of a character.
Indeed, although she would not positively starve, her prospects did not look nearly so rosy as on that night when she had listened at the door of my lady Bordesley’s boudoir, and thought gleefully that at last she had found the way to easy riches.
She parted from Sir Richard almost persuaded that honesty was the best policy, a maxim which she had been made to write out many times at the little Dame school which she had attended in her childhood, but which had somehow until now never held for her the ring of truth.
Sir Richard took his way homewards, bundle under his arm, deep in thought. His reflections, however, were centered not on the interview which he had arranged for twelve o’clock the next day, but upon one which he planned to attend at an earlier hour in the morning.
Chapter XVII. A Proposal Of Marriage
“THERE’S A lady downstairs asking to see you, ma’am.”
Jane turned her head towards the maid lingering in the doorway.
“A lady calling? And for me, Molly?”
The surprise in her tone was justified. It was a little after nine o’clock in the morning, much too early for social calls. Moreover, who should call on Miss Tarrant?
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a Miss Carisbrooke, if you please. Will you see her, ma’am? Baker put her in the hall, not being sure —”
“Yes, of course; thank you, Molly. I will see Miss Carisbrooke in the morning-room.”
The maid bobbed and shut the door. Jane paused a moment or two in wonder before following her downstairs.
Letty? What could her friend want with her at this time of day? She had said, too, that she would never call here for fear of encountering Celia; why this sudden change? Could she possibly have heard anything of the doings of yesterday evening — but no: Sir Richard would not speak to his sister of his assignations with his mistress.
Completely mystified, Jane made her way slowly to the morning-room. Letty looked up expectantly as she entered, and sprang to her feet.
“Dearest Jane, you must tell me what all the mystery is! Here am I come round on an errand to you from Richard, and he is as close as any oyster as to its meaning! But you’ll not be so cruel, will you, Jane? You both assured me that you did not know each other, and now Riccy has sent me to beg that you will grant him an interview — as though one holds interviews with people one doesn’t know! It is all to do with that horrid Celia, I feel persuaded, and if you don’t mean to tell me, Jane, I declare it will be the shabbiest trick!”
She paused for breath.
“Your brother desired you to ask me for an interview?” asked Jane, changing colour.
Letty eyed her suspiciously.
“Upon my word, you are both behaving very strangely! I do not know what to think! Can it be? —”
“What exactly did Sir Richard say?” interrupted Jane, afraid of what her friend might be about to ask.
“He said that it was imperative for him to see you at once, but that he had no wish to seek you out here, for reasons which he seemed to think you must know. He therefore asked me to beg that you would accompany me in the carriage back to our house, so that he might have an opportunity of talking with you uninterrupted.”
“I see.”
Jane walked restlessly about the room for a while in silence. An interview with Sir Richard was one of the last things she desired, afraid as she was of betraying her feelings; yet it was necessary that they should see
each other to decide what was to be done concerning Celia’s wild story of their secret engagement. It was only reasonable, she told herself, that he should wish to discuss the matter with her, and she well understood that he would not want to come here. Before he again encountered the Earl, he would have to be quite clear as to what was to be said to him: Jane herself had spent a sleepless night trying to work out that problem.
“Very well, Letty, I will come with you now. Only wait while I fetch my bonnet; I shall not be a moment.”
She was as good as her word, returning in well under the time that her friend had expected. They left the house without more ado, Jane pausing an instant at the door to leave a message with the porter for Celia, who was not yet astir.
Letty managed to keep silence until they were settled in the carriage, and the horses urged forward into a trot; then she turned to Jane impetuously, and took her hands.
“Dear Jane, do tell me what is amiss, I pray, for you and Richard both look so miserable, there is no bearing it! I dare swear that wretched Celia has done something to make you both so unhappy; and if so, I beg you will not heed it, for very likely it is all a piece of malice. Oh, if only either of you would tell me anything, but you are both so discreet, there is no way of helping you! And I would do anything to help, as you must know, Jane, and so does Richard, only he feels that he cannot trust me!”
This speech could not but add to Jane’s discomfiture. She longed to confide in her friend, but how was it to be done? It was not to be supposed that Letty, chatterbox as she was, could refrain from dropping a hint or two to her brother, if she knew Jane’s story. To be possessed of a secret, and to live in the same house as the one person, who, of all others, must remain in ignorance of it — that was asking too much of human nature in general, and particularly of Letty Carisbrooke.
“I beg you not to importune me for an answer,” said Jane, returning the pressure of Letty’s hand. “Believe me, if only I were at liberty to speak, there is no one in whom I would more gladly confide; you must know that. But I can’t tell you anything without revealing matters which are not mine to divulge.”
Letty sighed, and withdrew her hands from Jane’s clasp.
“I suppose I must believe you, but it is very tiresome to know that something is going on, and not be able to draw a word out of anyone to the purpose! Oh, dear, here we are! I do wish I knew what all this means!”
There was no time for more to be said on either side, for the door of the carriage was opened by the servants, and the two young ladies passed into the house.
Letty guided her friend into a small salon on the ground floor, tastefully furnished in red and gold.
“It is too early for Mama,” she apologised, “so I am sorry that she cannot receive you. Perhaps after you have talked with Richard —”
Here she was interrupted, for the door opened, and Sir Richard came into the room. Jane’s heart missed a beat as she glanced up and saw him; she thought how strong and dependable he looked, with his broad shoulders and firm chin. It was impossible to believe that he could play a dishonourable part; yet surely there could be no doubt of it?
He bowed formally, and to her dismay Jane felt the colour rising to her cheeks. Her eyes dropped away from his.
Letty surveyed Jane’s flushed face and her brother’s somewhat stern air, which she knew to be due to embarrassment, with a perplexed glance.
“Well, I expect you will like to be private,” she said, with a sigh of resignation. “You will not go without first seeing me, Jane?”
Jane promised something, hardly knowing what she said, and Letty quitted the room, leaving them alone.
After she had gone, there was a long silence. The man did not sit, but stood leaning one arm on the chimneypiece, as though seeking support. At length, he spoke.
“We find ourselves in a very awkward situation, Miss Tarrant.”
Jane breathed an assent, without raising her eyes. He studied her for a moment, then quickly looked away again.
“The question is, what is to be done or said?”
It was a question to which she had found no answer through a long night. She said nothing.
“We cannot deny the story,” he went on, with a frown, “although God knows Celia deserves little enough loyalty from either of us.”
Jane looked up at this.
“I am surprised that you should say so, sir,” she said, with biting emphasis.
He stared, obviously at a loss.
“I? I suppose it is ungallant in me.”
“It is conduct,” said Jane, spiritedly, “that is unworthy of any man in your situation!”
He turned round to face her squarely, and saw the indignation in her grey eyes.
“Why, what’s this?” he asked abruptly; then a flash of illumination crossed his countenance.
“Yes, I see,” he said, slowly.
He took a turn or two about the room before he spoke again. When he did, his eyes avoided hers.
“Perhaps I don’t deserve that you should think so harshly of me, Miss Tarrant. It is true that once I was at Celia’s feet —”
He broke off, faced with the impossibility of revealing to her any circumstances which might place his actions in a better light, or give her a different notion of his character. He saw that she had drawn the inevitable conclusion from his nocturnal visits to Celia, and for a moment, he longed desperately to set her right. He could not betray Celia’s confidence, however, and what other way was there to convince this young lady? He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Jane had caught her breath at his last words; did he say that he was once at Celia’s feet? But that must mean — yet why had he been meeting her in secret, if he no longer cared for her? There could be only one explanation for such conduct, an explanation which his slight shrug seemed to bear out. He was no longer in love with Celia, but meant still to enjoy her favours.
Her eyes flashed fire, but her voice was cold as ice.
“I do not think of you in any way at all, sir.”
His brows came down in a heavy frown. He had known that this interview was going to be deuced difficult, but he had never imagined the half, he told himself grimly. Decidedly it was not proceeding on the lines he had planned. He determined to make a fresh start.
“Tell me, Miss Tarrant,” he began, abruptly abandoning the preceding pointless topic, “did you feel that Bordesley, was deceived by Celia’s tale?”
She considered this for a moment, her indignation abating. “I do not know; he seemed to be very amused; which argues that he did — and yet —”
“Exactly my impression! You must know, of course, his reputation as a jealous husband; had he believed that Celia was covering up —”
He paused, embarrassed: then continued quickly — “Had he not believed her story, he must have acted very differently. Yet one could not escape the feeling that he saw through the whole thing, and was baiting her.”
Jane nodded her agreement.
“You did not see him before you came out?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “Neither he nor Lady Bordesley were astir.”
“That is well,” he said. “At least it gives us the opportunity to tell the same tale — for I don’t doubt that Bordesley will question you further; and I must, in common civility, give him some account of my actions.”
It was on the tip of Jane’s tongue to say that, had he acted as he ought, there would be no need of any subterfuge. She was dismayed to find how much she wanted to say something that would hurt him. Even now, when all the evidence was against him, she could not really bring herself to believe that he was the kind of man to conduct a secret love affaire with another man’s wife. This warring within herself of instinct and reason seemed to inflame her more strongly against him. Had she been able to convince herself of his perfidy, she thought, how easily would her love have turned to contempt!
She was silent for so long that he came over to a chair close to hers, and, seating hi
mself, regarded her gravely for some minutes. At length, he broke the silence.
“Every time we meet, Miss Tarrant, I become more convinced that we have encountered each other somewhere before. Letty told me something of your history the other day, and I was struck then by the ring of familiarity which the story held for me. Is it possible that we have indeed met before you came here to Celia Bordesley?”
Jane hardly dared to speak. Should she tell him when and where they had met? She remembered his assignations with Celia; jealousy shook her. No, she would never, never seek to bring to his memory that which it seemed he had so easily forgotten! She knew in her heart that this was not fair, that his loss of memory was something for which he could not possibly be blamed, something far removed from careless forgetfulness; but she was once more tortured by strong feelings, and could not be rational in her attitude towards him.
“I suppose it is possible, sir.”
Her answer surprised herself by its calm, casual tone: how easy it was, after all, to say words that were very different from her feelings.
He appeared disappointed. “But you have no recollection of it? Then it must be one of those strange affinities one reads of — though I must say such things are not much in my line in the general way!”
He paused, and went on again in a more businesslike tone. “I’ve been wondering how all this will affect your future. Do you suppose that Bordesley will turn you off?”
Jane nodded calmly. “I have considered that possibility. I imagine he must: he’s bound to feel that I have acted with a lack of propriety that is unsuitable in his wife’s companion.”
The Jewelled Snuff Box Page 14
