Women vary, however, in the degree of maternal feeling they possess. In Fanny it was not sufficiently strong to embrace a nephew as a son, even though he should happen to be a helpless mite of a few months old. For her own son, Roger, she had a blind devotion which she soon taught her brother to share. There was no doubt that Roger was a taking child, too; his amiability and eagerness to please were remarked upon by everyone. Only Charles’s own nurse showed a preference for the heir to the house; and it was said that she was prejudiced by her great affection for his dead mother, whose own nurse she had been.
The two cousins stood facing each other now, the one cool and sardonic, the other warm and friendly. Roger Thurlston had all his father’s good looks; a pair of fine grey eyes set in a handsome countenance, and a tall, erect figure. People said that it was a shame that such a personable young man should have nothing but what a fond uncle might choose to bestow on him; and what, they asked, was to become of Mr. Thurlston when his uncle died? The bulk of Lord Barsett’s fortune and property must come to his son Charles, and it was not to be supposed that he would do much for his cousin. Rumour had it that there was no love lost in that quarter, although no one knew quite when it was that the affection of boyhood had cooled, nor what had been the cause. It was said in some quarters that the wildness of the one had caused the other to speak out in an unguarded fashion, and thus incur enmity.
“Won’t you stay, Charles?” pleaded Roger, with a smile. “Lord knows how long it is since we had a chat together.”
“A million regrets,” drawled his cousin, “but I am already late for an appointment. I fear I must forego the pleasure of your company on this occasion.”
Roger protested with evident regret, but Charles was not to be moved, and, after taking leave in an offhand manner, left the house.
He proceeded on his way on foot, and had turned into Piccadilly, when the slowing down of a carriage made him turn his head. The window of the carriage was lowered, and a plump, white face crowned by a gipsy straw hat appeared in the aperture.
“Well, I declare, and if it isn’t Mr. Barsett — and on foot!” exclaimed the owner of the unfortunate face, in a quick, gushing tone that set Charles Barsett’s teeth on edge. “Can I have the pleasure of driving you anywhere, sir? I am out solely to take the air, you know, and am not in the least hurry in the world — I do so love driving around the Town, I declare you may ask me to take you anywhere, and I shall not regard it as the least little trouble at all! I shan’t take no for an answer, and so I warn you!”
She paused momentarily for breath. Charles bowed, cursing inwardly. It was Miss Dunster, a young lady of fortune from the West country, who had recently arrived in Town, so Aunt Fanny unkindly said, for the purpose of finding a victim in fresh fields. Certainly she had made a most determined pursuit of all the eligible bachelors during the course of her stay in London, but even the most hardened fortune-hunters seemed reluctant to take on the plump, gushing female. For some reason, her fancy had recently lighted upon Charles: this was odd, because the rumours concerning him were usually sufficient to frighten off young ladies from the country just as thoroughly as they attracted most Town-bred females. “I believe I need not put you to so much trouble, Miss — er —”
For the life of him, he could not remember her name. She smiled in what was intended for an arch manner. It failed signally.
“There, you naughty man, I do declare you’ve forgotten my name! But never mind, I am very forgiving, as you shall find. I am Georgina Dunster — now, don’t you dare forget again!”
She wagged an admonitory finger which somewhat resembled a white slug, and broke once again into her devastating smile.
“I beg you will step into the carriage directly. Daker —”
She turned her head to give the order to the coachman to dismount and let down the steps; but Charles stopped her hurriedly with a gesture.
“No. I protest, Miss Dunster, I am vastly obliged to you, but I positively must walk. Doctor’s orders, you know.”
Her mouth fell open in an unlovely fashion.
“Doctor’s orders —?”
Charles nodded shamelessly. “My rheumaticks, alas! Must keep on the move.”
He sighed, and shook his head with a melancholy gesture.
“Anno Domini, my dear young lady,” he said, with a passable imitation of his father’s manner. “It catches us all in time.”
She stared. “I — I see — but surely you can’t be much above —”
“I’ll wish you good day,” said Charles hastily, before she could finish. He bowed, and was gone with an alacrity which ill bore out his story.
Let us hope that will discourage the female a bit, he thought grimly. Brr! What a fate to overtake a man! But I wonder if — looks apart — the fair Isabella will be any better, after all?
Chapter II: The Mysterious Abbey
“It’s a linch-pin’s broke, Miss Mandy.”
Amanda Twyford wrinkled her tip-tilted nose in disgust.
“How tiresome! Is nothing to be done, Jem?”
The old coachman shook his head; but before he could make any other answer, Miss Brown broke in upon him.
“Tiresome! I should imagine that to be an understatement. It is nothing short of disastrous, when we are already delayed upon our journey by some two hours or more! It was all very well to call in upon Mrs. Matchett on our way, but we ought not to have allowed her to persuade us to stay to a meal.”
“But I was hungry,” protested Amanda.
The governess frowned disapprovingly. “A young lady of breeding is never hungry,” she pronounced. “Or, if she is, she should endeavour to conceal the fact.”
“Stuff!” replied Amanda, lightly, with a toss of her honey-coloured curls. “You know very well, Brownie, that if I am hungry, I don’t care who should be aware of it; and it’s a poor thing if I may not tell my own aunt.”
“What we want,” said the coachman in a practical manner, ignoring this interchange, “is some tools — better still, a blacksmith.”
“And where are we going to find one?” asked Miss Brown, scathingly. “There will be nothing but a cottage or two until we reach the village of Maidenhead — if that should be within our power!”
“Tom could mayhap ride ahead, and bring back help,” said Jem, musingly. “But it’s a tidy way —”
Amanda had been strolling up and down the road for the last few minutes, and she now broke in eagerly with a suggestion.
“There’s a huddle of buildings at the bottom of this lane,” she said, pointing to a winding track on the left-hand side of the road not fifty yards from the spot where the broken-down coach was standing. “It will most likely be a farm, but we could try there for help.”
Jem walked over to the hedge where she was standing, and peered in the direction she indicated. The lane ran through sloping meadows down to the bank of the River Thames; a brisk ten minutes walk would take them to the buildings which could be seen from the road. He nodded approvingly.
“A good notion, Miss Mandy. I’ll just step down there — I’ll not be long away, and young Tom can see to the horses.”
“I’ll go with you,” announced his young mistress.
“In all that mud?” asked the governess, incredulously. “You must have run mad! I positively forbid it.”
Amanda turned a pair of clear blue eyes upon the governess, and a cajoling note crept into her voice.
“Dear Brownie, pray don’t do that! I should like a short walk of all things at this moment, but I should so dislike to disobey you!”
The governess sighed, and capitulated. There was a strong will here, that could be led but not driven; and, officially, her jurisdiction over Miss Amanda Twyford had now ceased. The girl was in her charge only until she had been safely delivered to her parents in London. Moreover, there was no real reason for supposing that she would come to any harm in old Jem’s care. He was an established servant of the family, who adored his young mistress, and had se
t her upon her first pony at the tender age of seven. She could come to no harm beyond a muddied petticoat; and that, thought Miss Brown with a wry smile, was no unusual hazard with Amanda.
“Oh, very well, if you are set upon it,” she conceded. “But have a care to her Jem, and do not let her out of your sight.”
Jem promised absently, more taken up with the business of getting his coach back upon the road than with his young mistress’s whims and fancies. Without more ado, the two of them set off at once down the lane, Amanda raising the skirt of her dark green travelling dress to display a glimpse of white-stockinged ankle which brought a blush to the watching Miss Brown’s cheek. A bend in the lane soon hid them from her sight.
It was not very long before they reached the building which Amanda had pointed out; it was, as she had surmised, a farm. The gate was set open, and a black and white collie dog came bounding out at them, barking fiercely.
“Down, boy!” said Amanda vigorously, as two muddy paws landed on her skirt. The dog wagged its tail, and jumped up once more for good measure, thus completing the ruin of her gown. Regardless of this, she laughed, and patted the animal’s head.
At that moment, a burly, red-faced man clad in a suit of fustian and wearing a pair of very muddy high boots, strode across the mire of the yard to inquire their business. Jem explained their predicament. The man eyed Amanda curiously as he answered in his slow country burr.
“There be a blacksmith over at Med’nam; ye can get there by way of the ford.”
Jem peered inquiringly over towards the river. The farm was set a little way back, but the track continued down to the river bank. There was no sign of a jetty on either side that he could see.
“Ye’ll need to walk a distance beside the river in that direction,” said the farmer, indicating with a jerk of his thumb the way they must follow. “Ye’ll find a boat tied up along ‘o the bank there. Ferryman lives in a cottage hard by. Smithy’s at the top o’ the lane, when ye’re across.”
They thanked him, and he went about his business again, whistling to his dog to follow.
“You’d best go back now, Miss,” said Jem.
Amanda shook her head. “I’m already as dirty as may be,” she answered. “It can’t signify if I accompany you to the other side of the river on your errand.”
Knowing well from past experience that it was useless to argue with his young mistress when her mind was made up, Jem did not waste his breath in making any reply, but proceeded to lead the way along the narrow, muddy track which ran beside the river. They followed this path for quite a distance before they finally caught sight of a boat tied up to the bank a few yards ahead of them.
Amanda glanced across to the other side of the river. There was a small wooden jetty, and a lane which was bounded on its one side by a high wall. She surmised that there must be a riverside residence on the other side of the wall; if so, the house was open to approach from the river bank, for there was no fence or wall erected there, only a thick belt of trees.
Curiosity impelled her to look more closely. It was still early in May, and the foliage was not yet well advanced; through the tall elms and dipping willows, she caught a glimpse of masonry. She stopped in her tracks, peering intently, then darting to and fro on the path in order to obtain a better view. There could be no doubt of it; what she had espied was a ruined stone tower, and some crumbling pillars, thickly covered in ivy. An excited exclamation escaped her.
“Jem!” Her voice quivered with eagerness. “Do you see what I see?”
“I see you ’opping about like a tarnation frog,” grumbled the coachman.
“Come along, do, Miss Mandy!”
“No, but Jem — truly I’ve discovered something most exciting! Only come over here, and look closely through those trees!”
He obeyed, and followed her pointing finger with his eyes. After a moment, he turned to her questioningly.
“Some kind of old ruin, b’aint it, Miss?”
He sounded only mildly interested; nothing short of a linchpin could arouse him to enthusiasm at that moment.
“Beneath yon ruin’d abbey’s moss-grown piles, Oft let me sit at twilight hour of eve’,” quoted Amanda, ecstatically. “Oh, Jem, only fancy! Isn’t it splendidly Gothic?”
“I wouldn’t know, Miss; learnin’ b’aint much in my line. But if you want to get on the road to Lunnon tonight —”
“Just imagine, Jem,” breathed his mistress, ignoring this warning, “if it should really be some ruined Abbey, where once monks dwelt —”
“Popery, Miss Mandy,” said the practical Jem. “Don’t hold with it. Let’s get on, now, do!”
But Amanda remained rooted to the spot, showing no disposition to continue towards the boat, where already the ferryman, having observed their approach, was waiting. There was a sparkle of excitement in her blue eyes, and purpose in the firm set of her chin.
“I would like to have a closer view of that ruin, Jem,” she whispered, in awestruck tones. “And it would be quite a simple thing to do! If we were to be landed on the opposite bank at a point beyond that wall, we have only to walk through those trees at the river’s edge! What do you say?”
He shook his head firmly. “For one thing, it’s trespass; for another, we can’t spare the time.”
He made so bold as to take her arm and attempt to urge her onwards; but Amanda shook him off gently, abstractedly.
“Surely no one would think it trespass to look at an old ruin?” she said, incredulously. “There can be no harm! I tell you what, Jem, if you do not like the notion, why do you not ask the boatman to land me on the opposite bank while you continue on your way up the lane to the blacksmith’s? I can then take a peep, and await you on your return. I dare say you will not be gone above ten minutes.”
“Oh, no!” replied the coachman, decidedly. “D’ye think I dare face your governess if I lent myself to any such pranks? She said most partic’lar not to let you out of my sight!”
Amanda stamped her foot in vexation.
“It is for you to do as I say!” she began; then broke off at sight of his hurt expression.
“Dearest Jem, do not be a spoil-sport! I can come to no harm, for indeed you will not be long away! Only think what fun it would be to explore a ruin that one never knew existed before!”
He looked at her pleading face, and his expression softened.
“Ye’re a right madcap,” he pronounced, “and a fine day it will be when ye gets a husband to curb your wildness! Still, ye’re nobbut a child, when all’s said, though I’ll wager ye can take care of yourself like any lad! Very well, then, I’ll let ye do as ye wish, but not a word to yon governess, mind, or my life won’t be worth a moment’s purchase!”
Amanda promised readily enough, delighted at having won her way, and they came to the boat.
The ferryman was a man of slow wits and few words. When Jem explained to him what was wanted, he favoured Amanda with a long, unbelieving stare, then shook his head.
“Best not,” he advised, gruffly.
Jem questioned him sharply, somewhat alarmed at his manner, but there was nothing to be obtained from him other than a repetition of the same words.
“Ye hear what he says, Miss; reckon you’d better stay along o’ me.”
“Fustian!” whispered back Amanda. “Very likely he’s a natural, poor soul. It’s no use to take any account of what he says. Be sure and pay him well, Jem.”
Seeing that she meant to persist in her plan, Jem said no more, but ordered the man to put in to the bank alongside the willows. Once there, Jem leapt out to steady the boat for Amanda to alight; but with a lithe movement, she was on the bank in an instant. The coachman climbed back into the boat, a worried frown on his face.
“I’ll be here again in a trice,” he said, in a low tone. “Do ye keep out of mischief meanwhile.”
She nodded, and stood a moment to watch the boat putting in to the jetty; then she turned and walked purposefully through the thick belt of s
creening trees in the direction of the ruin.
A light mist was coming up from the river, and the Spring light was already beginning to fail. Everything seemed very quiet all at once, quiet and somehow almost eerie. The grass was damp beneath her feet as she paused for a moment, checked by a slight feeling of apprehension. She pulled her cloak more firmly about her, and continued on her way. There were no fences even here, past the first belt of trees; she had feared that perhaps there might be. Not a soul was in sight as yet. There was nothing to hinder her from taking a peep at the Abbey, if Abbey it indeed was; and where could be the harm? All the same, her footsteps lagged a little as she continued towards her objective.
Eventually, she came out of the trees, and saw the building clearly before her across an expanse of lawn. She had been mistaken, she saw at a glance; it was not a complete ruin. She stood stock still, and surveyed it nervously.
Before her was a low, rambling three-storied house, stained red. Built on to one end of it was the tower which had first attracted her notice, and underneath were the ivy-entwined cloisters which had made such a strong appeal to her romantic spirit. Her eyes roved farther, and took in a low, grey building which had the look of a domestic chapel, and which was some little distance removed from the house. Scattered about the extensive grounds were statues, too far away from her present vantage point to be recognisable.
She gazed anxiously at the house, prepared for instant flight; but it wore a curiously uninhabited air. The close-curtained windows returned a blank stare to her scrutiny; no smoke issued from the chimneys, there was no single sign of life in the outbuildings or gardens. She glanced again at the tower and the dim cloisters. An irresistible urge suddenly overcame her to set foot in them. Acting on impulse, she moved quickly forward, her feet swishing through the damp grass. She stepped beneath the cold, grey arches on to the moss-grown stone floor.
Her blood tingled with excitement. She would walk here for a moment, explore the ruined tower, tread in the footsteps of those who had once slowly paced here in silent meditation. Consciously, she summoned up a mood of mystery and foreboding. What stories could these stones tell, she wondered, of those who were long since dead? They had walked these cloisters before her in the distant past, and now only tombs remained to speak of their existence, she thought, enjoying the shiver of apprehension that ran down her spine; unless, perchance, their spirits continued to walk in this secluded spot…
The Georgian Rake Page 2
