A Scandalous Publication

by Sandra Heath

  “How can I be wrong about the callousness of your actions tonight? Maybe that’s your notion of protecting your damned honor, but I call it the act of a despicable coward.”

  “Pagett, I’m fast losing patience with you, for whatever you may feel on the subject, the fact is that you aren’t thinking very clearly at all. There was never any intention to accuse Sylvia, even though we knew she was guilty.”

  “Then why did Wagstaff say what he did?”

  “He spoke before he should have done, and if she’d only let him finish, she’d have escaped all this. He was going to say that the manuscript had been left anonymously with him and that he had no idea who had done it. Her guilt provoked her to react as she did, and that is the truth. Charlotte and I intended smoothing the whole matter over; indeed, we were going to tell Sylvia we knew and say it would be forgotten if she made an acceptable effort to behave sensibly from now on. I didn’t do any of the things that damned book accuses me of, and I have no intention whatsoever of allowing the whispers to continue. If Sylvia and Charlotte seemed publicly to accept me, then within a week or so, I believe, the whole affair would be over and done with, leaving you and Sylvia to look forward to a future together and leaving the admiral and Mrs. Wyndham to presumably do the same. Ever since my wife’s death, Sylvia has taken up this crusade against me; and I’m tired of it all, more tired than you’ll ever know, Pagett, for it’s cost me very dear. Now, then, if you’re still on your high horse and intend to challenge me, then go ahead, but I warn you that I shall take up the gauntlet and I shall do so with every grim intention of seeing the business through to a very final conclusion.”

  Richard looked at him and then shook his head. “I’m not going to issue a challenge, Talgarth, for I know when I’m being told the truth. I thought…. Well, maybe I don’t know you all that well, but Charlotte is my niece and I should have known she wouldn’t have been party to all that. I owe you an apology, sir, and I trust that you will accept.”

  Max nodded slightly.

  Richard glanced at the door again. “If only she’d let me in….” He thought of something then, looking again at Max once more. “You and Charlotte, there is something wrong tonight, isn’t there? You haven’t forgiven her.”

  “I can never forgive her for writing that book.”

  “But, damn it all—”

  “The matter is closed, Pagett. Charlotte and I have nothing more to say to each other. She knows that, and what you saw earlier was merely an act, calculated to give the lie to the claims her book made.”

  “But she loves you, man,” cried Richard.

  “I think not, sir, and what’s more, I care not. I’ve said what I came to say. I’ve already explained everything to the admiral and Mrs. Wyndham, so I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by continuing with this conversation, do you?”

  Richard stared at him. “No, I suppose not,” he said after a moment, “except….”

  “Yes?”

  “Where’s Charlotte now?”

  “At home. I took the precaution of sending a footman after her.”

  “You cared enough about her to do that, it seems,” said Richard quietly.

  Max gave a faint smile. “Don’t read anything into it that isn’t there, Pagett. I feel nothing for your niece now but a very deep regret that I ever knew her, let alone loved her. Good night.” Inclining his head briefly, he turned and walked away.

  * * *

  From her window, Charlotte saw Max’s carriage leave Cavendish Square. It drove past and she could see him inside, but he didn’t even glance at the house. She watched until it had passed out of sight and then she turned away from the window, going to sit desolately on the edge of the bed, her silver ball gown shimmering in the shaft of moonlight slanting into the room. She couldn’t weep; she felt beyond that. She was drained of all emotion and so weary that sleep should have come effortlessly, except she knew it wouldn’t.

  She remained there on the edge of the bed, watching the slow approach of dawn and listening to the carriages departing as the ball ended. She heard the first street cries, and her mother and Richard returning. They came to her door, but she asked them to go away. She couldn’t talk to them yet. Not yet. Curling up on the bed, the ball gown crumpling and spoiling, she hid her face in the pillow. And still the tears had not come.

  * * *

  The sun was high in the afternoon sky before she emerged from her room. She hadn’t pinned her hair but had just brushed it loose, so that it hung softly to her shoulders. She had at last discarded the ball gown and wore instead a simple white muslin dress with a square neckline, high waist, and little puffed sleeves.

  Her mother was alone in the garden and looked up anxiously as she approached. “Charlotte, my dear….”

  “I’m all right, Mother.”

  Mrs. Wyndham lowered her eyes at the emptiness in the voice. “Richard, Henry, and I know how it all happened last night; Sir Maxim told us everything.”

  “Everything?” Charlotte sat down on the grass, plucking idly at the daisies that were sprinkled everywhere.

  “I’m so very sorry, my dear.”

  “It was all my own fault.”

  “I don’t see how you can blame only yourself.”

  “Oh, I know Sylvia took the manuscript, but there shouldn’t have been a manuscript to take, should there? That’s what I mean. It was my fault. Now I’ve lost him, and I love him so much that I don’t know how I’ll endure.”

  “Oh, my sweetheart,” whispered Mrs. Wyndham sadly. “I wish there was something I could say to comfort you.”

  Charlotte looked away for a moment, watching a robin hopping along the wall by the alley, then she glanced at her mother again. “How’s Sylvia?”

  “Absolutely inconsolable. She hasn’t left her rooms yet, and Henry and Richard are almost beside themselves with worry. She cried her heart out all night.”

  “I didn’t want it to turn out the way it did, Mother.”

  “I know. Sir Maxim explained what should have happened, and I wish with all my heart that things had gone as you planned, for this morning it would all have been so different.”

  “For the rest of you, maybe.”

  “I was thinking that maybe things would have improved for you and Sir Maxim as well.”

  “No. He despises me, Mother, he’s left me in no doubt of that.”

  The sound of voices made them turn. Richard and the admiral came down the garden toward them, still looking pale and anxious.

  “Is Sylvia any better?” inquired Mrs. Wyndham as they sat down.

  The admiral shook his head. “She opened the door at last, when Richard threatened to break it down if she didn’t, but she won’t come out. She’s so ashamed and miserable, so tormented with guilt and self-reproach, that she just sits there in her rooms with the curtains drawn. She won’t talk or eat. I don’t know what to do, Sophia, I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  Richard had slumped dejectedly in his chair. “She did say one thing,” he said emptily. “She told me that she could no longer contemplate marrying me. She said that what she did was so bad that she would never be a fit wife, and that I should loathe her for ruining Charlotte’s life. But how can I loathe her when I love her so very much? I want to comfort her and stand by her, but she won’t let me; she’s shutting me out and I can’t seem to do anything about it. Oh, God, what a mess all this is! So many lives ruined, and for what? A damned scribble!”

  Charlotte’s breath caught and she bowed her head.

  Richard reached out to her immediately. “I’m not blaming you,” he said gently. “Please don’t think that I am, for you’ve suffered as much as anyone in all this, more probably. Forgive me for having doubted you last night. I should have known better and should never have looked at you in the way I did.”

  Her fingers curled quickly around his. “I’m so sorry all this has happened, Richard. I know Sylvia shouldn’t have done what she did, but I don’t hate her for it. Wha
t’s done is done, and perhaps, in a strange way, it’s as well that it did, for me at least.”

  “How can you say that, Charlotte?” gasped her mother in astonishment. “What possible good can there be in all this misery?”

  “It proved one incontrovertible fact, Mother, and that is that Max’s love for me was a very fragile thing, shattering in a moment and disappearing without trace. Maybe it’s better to find that out now, than later.”

  The admiral sat forward then. “Charlotte, my dear,” he said gently, “Max is a very proud man, too proud perhaps. His love for you hasn’t shattered; it’s there still, hurting him constantly because he can’t shrug it off. I’ve known him for so long, and I know him well. Don’t misjudge him by thinking him shallow, for that is the last thing he is. He’ll never love anyone as he loves you, but whether his pride will ever permit him to admit that fact, I simply do not know.”

  Tears sprang suddenly into her eyes, winding their silent way down her pale cheeks. Without a word she got up and hurried away, her muslin skirts whispering through the grass.

  In the hallway she paused, still trying to fight back the tears that stung so hotly in her eyes. Then, on sudden impulse, she hurried to the door and out into the street, running along toward the Parkstone residence in Cavendish Square. People stopped in astonishment when they saw her, her hair flying loose behind her, her head bare and without a shawl.

  She knocked loudly at the door, not stopping until a startled footman opened it and admitted her. She ran into the hall, where the decorations for the ball were still being taken down, and up the staircase toward Sylvia’s apartment.

  At the door she hesitated once more, but then resolutely opened it. It was dark inside, so dark that for a moment she couldn’t see anything, but gradually she made out a shadow moving by the window. It was Sylvia, getting up slowly from a chair.

  “Charlotte?” The voice was a tiny whisper.

  Charlotte went to her. “Sylvia, you mustn’t spurn Richard now, you mustn’t. He loves you. And I don’t hate you. I know that you regretted doing it and that you tried to put it right.”

  With a sob, Sylvia hugged her close. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so very, very sorry. I wish I was dead for having done such a despicable thing to you. I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been a monster, an absolute monster, and I know it. I’ve been wrong about Max all along, and I admit it, but when I stole your manuscript, I just wanted to save you from him at all costs.”

  Charlotte couldn’t help an ironic smile. “You did that all right,” she murmured.

  Sylvia drew guiltily away. “I feel so utterly dreadful about it. I suppose the fact that you’ve forgiven me like this is going to make it even worse too.”

  “Worse? In what way?”

  “Max might think it signifies your lingering belief in what I’ve always claimed about him.”

  “But he knows I don’t believe it.”

  “He might still misunderstand this. You know how important it always was to him that you believed what he’d told you.”

  Charlotte turned away. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Sylvia. He’s lost to me forever no matter what I say or do now. Besides, I came here today not for my own sake but because I want my mother and your father, you and Richard, to be happy together, and that won’t come about as long as you and I aren’t speaking. I had to come and see you, to tell you that I’ve forgiven you because I knew you’d be wondering if I’d walk from the room every time you entered, or if I’d refuse any invitation that might place me in your company. I don’t feel vindictive toward you, because I understand why you did it and because I know that you tried to stop it. Let Richard come to you, and tell him that you’ll still marry him; it’s what you want, and it will make him very happy again.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I don’t know how you can find it in you to forgive me. I ruined your happiness and I shall blame myself forever,” Sylvia hesitated. “Maybe I’m the last person to advise you on anything right now, but I think you should go to Max and tell him all that you’ve told me. Don’t risk there being any more misunderstanding.”

  “It isn’t that easy, Sylvia, for I doubt if he would even receive me.”

  “In which case there isn’t anything you can do about it, but what if he does receive you? Might there not be something to gain? Go to him, Charlotte. If you don’t you might regret it forever.”

  Charlotte turned to look at her. “I’m afraid to go,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll find only coldness and I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “You must go, Charlotte,” said Sylvia softly, “you must.”

  * * *

  Vigo Street was very quiet as Charlotte alighted from the Parkstone landau. Sylvia’s maid had quickly pinned up her hair, and now she was much more correctly turned out with a shawl and white-ribboned bonnet borrowed from Sylvia herself. No time had been allowed for reconsidering; the carriage had been ordered straightaway and now the entrance of the Albany was in sight. Her nerve almost failed her as she looked toward the porter’s lodge, but his attention was diverted by some street musicians.

  Alighting quickly, she slipped quietly past him and along the covered walk, but he saw the white movement and called angrily after her. She heard his heavy steps as he gave chase.

  She reached Max’s door and knocked frantically upon it. The noise seemed to reverberate through the building, and she glanced anxiously back to see that the furious porter was almost upon her. Suddenly the door opened and Max’s manservant looked curiously out to see what all the noise was. He was so startled to see her that he automatically stepped aside for her to enter. She was inside then, the porter’s angry protests ringing after her as he took the bemused servant to task for such deliberate flouting of the house rules.

  She glanced quickly around the drawing room and then the adjacent dining room, but there was no sign of Max. The manservant came hesitantly back into the apartment, leaving the still-protesting porter at the door. “Sir Maxim isn’t at home, Miss Wyndham.”

  She stared at him in dismay, her heart sinking. “Wh-When will he return?”

  “I don’t know, madam, he didn’t say.”

  She was in a quandary then. She had somehow been so sure he’d be there and now she didn’t know what to do.

  The porter’s voice growled from the doorway. “I think you should leave, miss.”

  She retraced her steps, a cold trembling spreading through her, as if she were stepping out into a winter morning, not the warmth of a beautiful summer day. Tears were horribly close as she walked back along the covered way, trying to look as composed and calm as possible. She didn’t see another carriage drawing up behind the Parkstone landau; she wasn’t aware of anything until a dark shadow fell across the way before her. With a start she looked up, straight into Max’s eyes.

  “Good morning, Miss Wyndham,” he said coolly. “To what does the Albany owe this honor?”

  “l—I came to see you.”

  His mouth twisted contemptuously. “Then you’ve wasted your time, for I have no desire to see you.”

  How hard and unforgiving he was. She stared at him, a disbelieving hurt swathing through her. She couldn’t speak, the words died unsaid on her lips. Afraid that the tears, already so painfully close, would reveal to him how deeply and easily he could wound her, she gathered her skirts and began to walk quickly past, her head high and her glance averted to hide the utter desolation his cruel coldness wrought in her.

  As she passed, he whirled about, catching her arm almost roughly. “You must have had good reason to come, so there seems little point in going without revealing what it was.”

  She tried to pull away. “There’s no point, sir, no point at all.”

  “I was unnecessarily harsh.”

  “You were simply being honest. Please let me go.”

  “Damn it, stop struggling! I want to know why you came.”

  She became still then, trying to conceal her inner trembling as she faced him. Her voic
e was quiet. “I came to tell you that I’ve forgiven Sylvia and that she and I are friends once more.”

  His hand dropped from her arm. “I already knew you’d forgiven her, so why bother to tell me again? It’s of no consequence whatsoever as far as I’m concerned, for I haven’t forgiven either of you.”

  “No, I can see that. I came because I didn’t want you to think that the fact that I’m going to be seen in her company meant that I still believed what she’s said in the past.”

  “Shall I tell you what I think, Miss Wyndham? I think that you’re taking the easy way out in all this. It’s much easier to be friendly with her than it is to be at odds.”

  “That isn’t true, and you wrong me greatly by suggesting it.”

  “Do I?”

  She looked into his cold eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, you do. I came not only to tell you I’d healed the rift with Sylvia, but also to tell you why I’d done it. Do you want to know why, Sir Maxim? Or are you going to heap scorn upon my every word?”

  He gazed at her pale face for a moment, as if undecided, then he folded his arms and leaned back against one of the posts supporting the roof over the walk. “Very well, I’m at your disposal, Miss Wyndham. Explain your all-important reasons.”

  “Nothing can change things between you and me, Sir Maxim, but if I’d left everything as it was after the ball last night, there would have been four more unhappy people this morning, my mother and the admiral, and my uncle and Sylvia. I could see that as long as I left Sylvia with her shame, everyone would be miserable. She regrets all she’s done, and she’s so utterly wretched that she’d even told Richard she couldn’t consider marrying him now. That would then have placed my mother and the admiral in difficult circumstances, for there would have been so much awkwardness that nothing could ever be the same again. I’m not giving myself a halo, nor am I taking the easy way out. I’m doing what I think has to be done when the happiness of those dearest to me is at stake. Sylvia tried to stop the book, but it was too late. She bitterly regrets what she did, and she doesn’t blame you at all now as she once did. Because of this, and for the others’ sakes, I had to go to her, to try to make things as much like before as possible. You do understand, don’t you, Max?”