He bowed, but made no reply. Miss Brown stirred slightly, Amanda watched, her heart in her mouth, until the governess’s head sank once more on to her chest.
“Pray do not be so provoking!” she whispered at last. “I was there quite by chance this afternoon, and was warned off the grounds by a horrid person! And then the village blacksmith told a tale of hobgoblins that intrigued me vastly! Do please tell me more, if you know anything to the purpose!”
He hesitated for what seemed to her a long time.
“I fear,” he said at last, “that I am unable to satisfy your interest. But you spoke of a horrid person —?”
“I believe it was very likely the owner. He was cold and — and forbidding — and vastly insulting into the bargain!”
“Can you describe his looks?”
Amanda considered for a moment.
“He was of about your age, I should say. Tall, with a stern face and sneering mouth.”
He shook his head.
“It was not the owner; he does not answer such a description. That much I may tell you. Moreover, I fancy I know who it may have been. But — if I might presume to venture a word of advice, Miss Amanda — I feel that I ought to warn you that Medmenham Abbey is not considered a suitable subject for conversation in Town. I trust you will forgive my mention of this, and would not venture to advise you, but that I know you are lately from the country, and therefore have been shielded from the gossip that runs round constantly in London. An unguarded word on this head may give a wrong impression — I was bound in duty to warn you. Pray do not hold it against me, I beg.”
Amanda readily agreed to overlook any seeming interference, and was about to try him further; but, at that moment, the coach struck a deep pothole, and Miss Brown awoke with a start. She looked sharply at the other two travellers, but Mr. Thurlston had, with commendable promptitude, started a trifling conversation to which there could be no possible objection.
The governess sighed, her mind at rest. Not so Amanda’s, however. She was consumed by a positive fire of curiosity, and more determined than ever that at some time she would solve the mystery of the Abbey.
Chapter V: Isabella Twyford Receives Two Offers of Marriage
My Lady Twyford was sitting up in bed sipping at her morning chocolate when her husband entered the room. She motioned to him with one white hand to take a seat by the side of the great four-poster. He obeyed, frowning.
“This business concerning Bella —” he began.
“Charles Barsett has spoken to you?” she asked, eagerly.
He nodded; the frown did not leave his face.
“I encountered him at the Cocoa Tree yesterday evening. He’s a demmed queer customer, Margaret! — ‘Believe you and my father to desire a marriage between your daughter and myself,’ he said. ‘May I have the honour of waiting upon you tomorrow?’ Not another word, I give you my oath! I was taken aback, and stammered out I know not what; and then the demmed fellow turned away with a bow, for all the world as though he was buying a horse from my stable, instead of asking my daughter’s hand in marriage!”
His wife nodded. “It’s well enough,” she said sagely. “So long as he offers it’s no matter as to the manner of it! ’Pon rep, we may congratulate ourselves, my lord! It will be a match that will set the Town by the ears!”
“Mm.” My lord pursed his lips, and his frown deepened.
“Why, Isabella has scarce begun on her season in Town!” exclaimed his lady, ecstatically. “And already she is promised! I only hope we may be as fortunate with Amanda!”
“Amanda?” He looked up, startled, and shook his head. “I hope we shall keep her with us yet a while. She’s but a child.”
His wife looked amused. “She will be eighteen next month, do not forget. At her age I was already a bride.”
“Will she?” He stared. “Egad, so she will! I cannot believe it! Little Mandy —”
He relapsed into silence. Pictures formed in his mind which took him back across the years. Amanda, a whirl of arms and legs, her honey-coloured curls tossing in the breeze as she ran down the drive to meet him coming home from a journey; her clear, childish voice crying “Papa! You’re home at last!”. Amanda, white-faced but indomitable, only eight years old, confessing that it had been herself, and not John Webster, who had climbed into the apple-loft against all orders, and frightened the housekeeper. Odd how sharply such pictures of past events etched themselves on the mind — not always of the most important events at that. He sighed.
“I trust we’re making the right decision,” he said, slowly. “Concerning Bella, I mean.”
It was his wife’s turn to stare. “’Pon rep, I cannot think what you mean!”
He hesitated. “It is just that — Barsett is a very old friend, there couldn’t be a better fellow! But this son of his —”
“Yes?”
My Lady Twyford placed her cup and saucer upon the bedside table, and turned an inquiring look upon her spouse.
“His reputation —” began my lord.
“Fiddle-dee-dee!” answered his wife, with a toss of her head in its beribboned night-cap. “I hope you do not expect me to censure a man in this day and age for being somewhat of a rake!”
“’Tis not only that.” His voice was troubled. “He keeps company with that odd fish, Dashwood. There are rumours running round the clubs concerning a society which Dashwood has founded, and which meets somewhere along the Thames, Marlow way, I believe.”
“Pah!” she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “The latest on dit! Do I not know them? Pray what is supposed to be so very dreadful about this — society?”
She infused a deal of scorn into her voice. My lord looked a trifle sheepish.
“No one really knows, but all kinds of conjectures are made. Orgies, say some, but others say —” His voice sank a tone — “black magic.”
She laughed musically.
“Orgies! Half the clubs in Town have orgies, I daresay! Oh, yes, I know that such things are not supposed to come to female ears, but believe me, women are not near so stupid as they pretend to be! And if there is one thing more laughable than orgies it is black magic!”
My lord’s look of chagrin deepened, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly.
“You may laugh,” he said, with a touch of defiance. “But do you care to think of our girl tied for life to a man who indulges in such pleasures? Better a wholesome country lad, say I!”
She stopped laughing, and regarded him sharply.
“No doubt you have someone in mind?”
“You know well enough that I mean John Webster, our neighbour’s son. A fine young man, and known to us from the cradle! Moreover, I’ll lay any odds that Bella’s fond of him.”
“You must be aware, my lord,” answered Lady Twyford, with a touch of asperity, “that I went to the trouble of bringing Isabella to Town in order to avoid such a match. What, shall she wed a country squire’s son when she may have the pick of the Town beaux, and a handsome fortune into the bargain? Not to speak of the title some day!”
“That don’t signify!” he answered impatiently. “The Websters are an old family, well-connected, and young John has an adequate competence. Besides, Bella has more than enough for both! Let the girl be happy, and to the devil with your ambitions!”
“I fear you must reckon with Isabella’s ambition, too. She thinks better of her claims than to be content to become a mere Mrs. Webster. Oh, yes, there was perhaps some girl and boy nonsense between them, but that is quite over, I assure you. As for Charles Barsett, a wife will give his interests a new direction. I don’t despair of your finding him as dull as any husband breathing, when they’ve been wed a twelvemonth.”
“I only hope you may be right,” he replied seriously.
“Of course I’m right!” was the confident reply. “I know what is best for my own daughter.”
The subject of this discussion was at that very moment giving audience to the country squire’s son. John Webster con
trived to look singularly ill at ease, in spite of the fact that he was a tall, handsome young man, clad in a suit of puce satin laced with gold which became him extremely. His dark brown eyes avoided the hazel ones of Miss Isabella as he took the seat which she indicated, and he showed no disposition to break the silence which fell uneasily between them.
“It is a lovely day,” offered Isabella, tentatively.
He agreed, and continued to study the pattern of the carpet with apparent interest.
“Of course, it cannot be expected that the weather should be settled at this time of the year,” she continued, with spurious animation.
“No,” he said absently.
Isabella racked her brains furiously for something further to say, but without success. She was a tall, slim, elegant young woman, with hair of a brighter gold than her sister’s, and with a classical beauty of feature which Amanda lacked. She was dressed in a blue and white striped gown of deceptive simplicity, and wore the tiniest of lace erections on her gold curls. The whole produced a pastoral effect that was at once simple and charming. Mr. Webster raised his eyes briefly, and was quite overcome.
“Do you suppose it will rain later?” asked Isabella, in desperation.
At that he made an impatient gesture, and stood up abruptly.
“Bella, this is too ridiculous!” he burst out. “All the years we have known each other, and the first time we encounter each other in a fortnight you must speak to me of the weather!”
Isabella looked slightly ruffled. “Well, you do not help me overmuch,” she said, accusingly.
“I know,” he answered, with a smile of surprising sweetness. “You see, I was nerving myself to speak my errand.”
“Your errand?” repeated the lady, nervously.
He nodded, and came impetuously over toward her, taking both her hands in his before she could resist.
“Yes, Bella, and I think you know what it is. We have been too long acquainted to require the idle pretences of polite society. You must know, my dearest Bella, in what esteem I have held you these past three years. Put an end to my misery by telling me that you will do me the honour to become my wife.”
She affected a start, and drew her hands hastily from his. He looked surprised.
“Bella, surely you are not going to be missish?” he protested. “My feelings must have been plain, and I have always thought that I could count on a return of my regard.”
“Indeed?”
The single word was charged with scorn. A man more versed in the ways of women might have taken warning, but forthright John Webster plunged on, unheeding, to his downfall.
“You cannot have forgotten the Hunt Ball last year?” he asked incredulously.
She tossed her head, and the morning sun, striking through a window, glinted on her golden curls.
“To be sure, that is an occasion in the country,” she replied, indifferently. “But I have attended at so many vastly superior balls since then here in Town —”
“Isabella —” he exclaimed indignantly. “How can you pretend to misunderstand me! I will not believe that you meant nothing by what passed between us on that occasion?”
An angry spot of colour showed on her cheeks.
“It is very ungentlemanlike of you to be reminding me of — of a foolish indiscretion!”
“Indiscretion? Is that what you call it?”
He fixed her with a cool, steady regard of his brown eyes. Her glance dropped away from his, but she shrugged her shoulders, affecting a light tone.
“To be sure. I may perhaps have been a trifle giddy and thoughtless, but I was young, and unused to the ways of the world —”
“Young!” he broke in heatedly. “What nonsense is this? You knew very well what you were about! Egad, it is not so many months back!”
“How dare you!” flashed Isabella. Then, with an effort at calmness — “This is a stupid fuss to be making over one little kiss, after all!”
A look of pain came into the brown eyes. He tried to study her face, but she kept it half turned from him.
“Was it indeed no more to you, Bella, than just a light kiss? Do not tease me, I beg of you, but answer truly!”
She steeled herself against the pleading in his tone, and shook her head. His hands, which had been raised almost in supplication, dropped to his sides. He regarded her for a long moment in silence.
“It was much more to me than that,” he said in a low tone. “I thought of it as our betrothal.”
“Then you took too much upon yourself!” retorted Isabella, stung to anger by a complexity of emotions.
“So I perceive.” He answered her in a flat, expressionless tone, and turned to go. “If I have importuned you, I ask your pardon.”
“There is no need of asking pardon!” exclaimed Isabella, the tears starting behind her eyelids. “It is all a stupid mistake! If you must know, I am about to become affianced to Lord Barsett’s son —”
He started, and turned pale.
“Charles Barsett! You will wed a man of his reputation!”
The words were forced from him by his emotion. He regretted them as soon as they were uttered.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said coldly. “Lord Barsett is a friend of Papa’s. It is all arranged.”
He bowed.
“I see. It only remains for me to wish you happy, and to relieve you of my presence.”
“I hope we may still be friends,” said Isabella, extending her hand to him.
He took it, held it for a moment while his grave, unhappy eyes looked into hers; then stooped to kiss it.
“No,” he answered seriously, straightening himself and releasing the hand. “There can never be so little as friendship between us, Bella. Since you are to wed another, there must be an end to our association.”
She could not readily find an answer. While she was still at a loss, he bowed and abruptly left the room.
On his way down the passage to the hall he almost bumped into Amanda.
She was dressed for walking, and in one hand carried a straw hat which she dangled negligently by its ribbon. She hailed him with uninhibited delight. He murmured some incoherent greeting, and hurried past on his way to the door which gave on to the street.
She stared after him for a moment, puzzled. It was no way to greet a childhood acquaintance after an absence of several months. Frowning a little, she pushed open the door of her sister’s apartment.
“Bella!”
She closed the door quickly, and went over to her sister. Isabella lay in a crumpled heap on the sofa, sobbing bitterly. She raised her tear-stained face for a moment, then flung her arms about her sister’s neck.
“Oh, Mandy!”
“There, my love!” Amanda soothed.
They clung together wordlessly for a little while. Then Isabella withdrew from her sister’s embrace, and dabbed feverishly at her eyes. Amanda saw that the worst of the storm was over, and judged that she might now satisfy her curiosity as to its cause.
“What does it all mean, Bella?” she asked. “I passed John on his way out just now, and he went by with scarce a greeting, and here I find you in tears! Can it possibly be that you two have quarrelled?”
“Ye-es,” replied Isabella, shakily. “That is to say, no! Well, not precisely.”
“Take your time, my love,” suggested Amanda, generously.
“Oh, Mandy!”
Isabella looked as though she was about to succumb to another bout of weeping. Amanda decided quickly that she must be prevented: if something was seriously wrong, as appeared from the evidence, then the sooner it was confided the better. There was no sense to be got out of Bella while she was in this state.
“Come, dearest, it’s of no use to say ‘Oh, Mandy’! Only tell me what is the matter, and then I may try if I can help you!”
Isabella shook her head despondently. “No one can help me!”
“Fustian!” said her sister energetically. “Just you try me, that’s all!”
“You don’t understand, dearest. There’s — nothing wrong, really. Only — only…” Her lip trembled, and she finished with a gulp — “John has just made me an offer!”
Amanda stared for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Is that all? You goose! Then why do you cry?”
“Because — because he says — we may no longer be friends —”
“No longer be friends —?” Amanda wrinkled her brows in perplexity. “Whatever can you mean? Isabella —” as a thought suddenly occurred to her — “you surely cannot mean that you have refused him?”
A tinge of red appeared in Isabella’s cheeks, and she avoided her sister’s glance.
“You have!” exclaimed Amanda incredulously. “I can see from your face that you have! But why, Bella, in Heaven’s name?”
Isabella’s eyes roved round the room as if in search of help. “There has not been time to tell you since you arrived,” she said haltingly, “though I imagined that perhaps Mama might have dropped a hint to you. The fact is that — Papa has arranged a marriage for me with the son of an old friend of his.”
Amanda’s red lips parted in amazement. She stared wordlessly at her sister for some minutes.
“It cannot be so very surprising, after all!” said Isabella defensively. “You must have realised that Mama intended to make a match for me in Town if she could!”
Amanda sat down suddenly upon a low stool covered in red damask that was close at hand. She was recalling what the governess had said to her on the journey to London.
“Mama, yes,” she answered slowly. “I know well that she is ambitious for you. But — Papa would never force you against your will —”
“Who said that he does?” asked her sister, with a touch of defiance.
“You cannot mean —” once again Amanda looked at the other in amazement —“that you are willing for this match?”
Isabella raised her head. The traces of tears were still on her cheeks, and her lips trembled ever so slightly, but her expression was determined.
“Why should I not be? He is heir to my Lord Barsett, and quite the most eligible beau in Town!”
The Georgian Rake Page 5
