“That is no good reason,” retorted Amanda roundly, “for marrying anyone!”
“It is not only that — he has an air, and every female in Town is quite wild for him, I assure you!”
Amanda eyed her sister with disfavour.
“I tell you what it is, Bella; I don’t think London has improved you!” she said candidly. “You were in love with John right enough not two months ago — you know that you were!”
Isabella had the grace to look a little shame-faced, but she shook her head.
“Perhaps I thought I was, but that was before I had really had much opportunity of meeting many gentlemen.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee!” retorted her sister impatiently. “There were five and twenty in the county from whom you might choose, and choose you did!”
“Oh, in the country things are so vastly different!” said Isabella loftily. “One must do what one can — it would never do to seem to be on the shelf, you know —”
“I find you quite horrid!” said Amanda scornfully. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been toying with poor John’s affections all this time, only so that you might have an admirer in train? If that is so, Isabella Twyford, you’re not the girl I took you for!”
For a moment it looked as though Isabella would flare up in answer to this outspoken criticism; then her expression changed, her lip quivered, and she said pleadingly, “Pray do not let us quarrel, Mandy! I have lost one friend already!”
“Oh, very well, you obstinate goose!” replied Amanda affectionately. “But do not let Mama choose your husband for you, Bella!”
“Perhaps when you see him for yourself you may better understand his attraction for me.”
“And when will that be?”
“He is to call upon Papa this afternoon to make a formal offer for my hand,” replied Isabella.
“’Pon rep, two offers in one day!” said her sister, in awestruck tones. “You must be quite the most sought-after young woman in Town, my dear!”
Her tone was light, and Isabella laughed in relief. To quarrel with Amanda was no new thing, but seldom had she heard so much real censure in her younger sister’s voice as when they had spoken of John Webster.
“Let us forget the whole sorry affair,” she said hurriedly. “We have our dresses to choose for the Masque, and there is little enough of the morning left to us. I think I shall go as Proserpine, in white, with trailing bands of flowers — what of you?”
Amanda wrinkled her brow. “Diana, I think,” she decided. “And then I may have a bow and arrow, and shoot at anyone who annoys me!”
Isabella looked suitably alarmed, and they set off on their errand.
It was some hours later that Charles Barsett was announced to my Lord Twyford. He presented himself arrayed in a suit of blue satin, the open coat revealing a waistcoat elaborately embroidered in silver. A diamond pin sparkled in the snowy lace at his throat, and a sapphire ring glowed deeply on his right hand.
He had not been closeted alone with his lordship for long when a footman was despatched to summon Miss Isabella. She was sitting with Lady Twyford and Amanda in an upper room, expecting at any moment to be summoned, and suitably nervous. Her mother threw her an encouraging look as she rose to follow the servant.
“Pray remember what I told you, Isabella.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her face had paled slightly.
“I’ll go down with you,” said Amanda, ranging herself at her sister’s side.
“Amanda, no! You cannot!” warned her mother.
“Don’t worry, Mama, I mean to accompany her only to the foot of the stairs.”
Lady Twyford clucked disapprovingly, but Amanda passed an arm about her sister’s waist, and led her from the room.
They walked slowly down the winding staircase. At the foot, Isabella hesitated, and turned towards her sister appealingly.
“You must go in, dearest,” whispered Amanda, her blue eyes serious. “But do not hesitate to send him about his business if you should find that you have changed your mind!”
Isabella shook her head wordlessly, and moved reluctantly from Amanda’s sheltering arm. She straightened herself, and, head held high, passed into the room where her father and her suitor were awaiting her.
Amanda stood motionless in the hall, a prey to uneasy feelings. Isabella must do what she wanted, of course; but did she truly know what she wanted? She was an acknowledged beauty, and had been made much of on that account: perhaps it might have gone a little to her head. And then there was Mama, with her ambitious schemes, and her forceful manner; it was difficult to withstand her wishes unless one felt very strongly.
She can only decide for herself, thought Amanda, unhappily. Pray Heaven she may choose aright! She can never find anyone more worthy of regard than John — but does he perhaps seem a little dull when compared with these fine Town gentlemen? She sighed heavily.
She must have been standing there for some time, lost in thought, when suddenly the door opened, and her father came out into the hall, accompanied by a stranger. She looked up, and caught her breath in surprise as her eyes rested upon the lean, cynical face with its deep blue eyes and sneering mouth.
There could be no doubt at all about it: this was the gentleman she had encountered at Medmenham Abbey.
Chapter VI: Dinner in St. James’s Square
Amanda continued to stare at him, lips parted in surprise, until her father noticed her standing there. He paused in the middle of some remark which he was making to his guest, and steered Charles Barsett in Amanda’s direction.
“This is my younger daughter, Amanda; this is Mr. Barsett, Mandy. He has this moment become affianced to your sister.”
Charles Barsett made a magnificent leg; but Amanda was too overcome to move. So this was the man who was to wed Isabella!
He straightened himself, raised one eyebrow slightly in surprise at her lack of response, and the corner of his mouth twisted in a cynical smile.
“Amanda, child!” chided her father gently.
She recovered herself, recollecting her lack of manners, and sank into a curtsy.
“I must wish you joy, sir,” she said with a straight face.
“Must you?” he murmured. “Then I must thank you, little sister-to-be.”
It was too much! He was mocking at her! Amanda searched his expression with angry eyes, but could discover no hint of recognition there. All seemed perfectly proper: so, at any rate, her father seemed to think, for he smiled indulgently, and led his guest away across the hall in the direction of the door to the house.
A knock sounded before they could reach it. The porter opened the door to reveal, standing upon the step, Amanda’s deliverer of two days’ since, Mr. Thurlston.
Charles Barsett paused in his stride at sight of him. The watching Amanda saw a guard come over his face.
“Give you good-day, cousin,” he drawled.
“Charles! I did not look to find you here —”
He broke off, seeing Amanda, who had come forward towards the door.
“Miss Twyford! I but called to see how you did after your recent ordeal; the sight of you is sufficient reassurance, however.”
“It is very kind of you, sir,” began Amanda quickly. “But pray, have the goodness to enter. Papa, I would make known to you the gentleman who rescued us from the highwaymen on our journey here — you remember, I told you of it.”
Roger Thurlston had stepped over the threshold at her invitation, and now exchanged bows with my Lord Twyford.
“My dear sir,” said my lord, “I should like to express my gratitude for your service to my daughter. If you will pardon me for one moment, while I see Mr. Barsett to his carriage — but I collect that you are related?”
The cousins eyed each other warily for a second: then Charles Barsett bowed ironically.
“I have that honour,” he said, and the drawl was more pronounced.
He is insufferable, thought Amanda. He sneers even at his ow
n cousin! How can Bella hope ever to be happy with such a man?
She bent all the brilliance of her smile upon Roger Thurlston.
“Shall I take Mr. Thurlston to Mama?” she asked her father.
“Do so, my dear, I know that she will wish to add her thanks to mine. I shall join you presently.”
“Pray do not put yourself to the trouble of accompanying me to my carriage, my lord. I believe I may do very well alone,” said Charles Barsett, with his sardonic smile.
Lord Twyford protested, but was politely overborne, and, after due farewells had been taken, the door closed upon Isabella’s future husband. The others made their way to the drawing-room where Lady Twyford had been left sitting alone.
Here they were joined in a few moments by Isabella. Her colour was heightened, and her manner more than usually animated. Amanda threw her a troubled glance, then proceeded to forget her for the duration of Mr. Thurlston’s visit.
He did not stay long. When he had departed, everyone pronounced him to be very agreeable. After that, the conversation was all of Isabella’s engagement.
“Barsett has invited us to dine in St. James’s Square tomorrow,” said Lord Twyford. “It is short notice, I know, but I promised for us all.”
His wife nodded absently.
“Isabella, my love, what will you wear? There is the blue —”
My lord held up his hands in horror.
“Egad, if you are to talk of dress, I’m off!”
Amanda, too, listened impatiently while her mother contrasted the merits of Isabella’s various gowns. She was longing to have her sister to herself for a while. Her opportunity did not come until my lady went herself to speak to Isabella’s maid concerning the all-important subject.
“Bella, there is something you must know!” she exclaimed urgently, as soon as the door had closed behind her parent. “That man — the gentleman to whom you are engaged — he is the one I saw at that place I told you of!”
Isabella appeared not to digest this information at first.
“Surely you can’t have forgotten!” exclaimed Amanda impatiently. “I told you the whole story that same night, when I arrived. What I’m saying is that the horrid creature whom I encountered at the mysterious Abbey is none other than your Mr. Barsett!”
“How can you be sure?” asked Isabella dubiously.
“I could never forget that horrid, sneering face! And, moreover, the voice is the same, though he was more pleasant today than upon that occasion. There is no doubt at all in my mind.”
Isabella turned this over in silence for a few minutes.
“I can’t see that it signifies,” she said at last.
Amanda stared.
“Not signify that you are to wed a man who has some connection with a place of ill-repute?” she asked in horror.
“You do not know that. There may be some other explanation of his presence there. After all, you were there, too, yet have no connection with it.”
“But I told you that he warned me it was no place for me. Why should he do so if he knew nothing of it?” Isabella sighed.
“I cannot say. In any event, what have you to go on but rumours concerning this Abbey — rumours, moreover, that amount to little more than the gossip of villagers? You refine too much upon what you heard from the blacksmith, Mandy. I daresay it is all a hum.”
Amanda started to her feet.
“I see that you will not believe me, but had you been there you must have felt something — a — an emanation of evil, if you like — I cannot better describe it!”
Her sister burst out laughing.
“Oh, Mandy, Mandy! Your sense of the dramatic plays you false! You should take to the stage, my love, where your talents would be better employed.”
Amanda set her small, white teeth.
“Very well, laugh,” she retorted. “But if I could prove to you that your affianced was mixed up in something discreditable, would you still wed him, Bella?”
“That depends.”
Isabella’s face sobered, and she was silent for a moment or two.
“Amanda,” she continued, in a gentle tone, “I have already heard certain things concerning — Mr. Barsett. You do not know so much of the world as I, and perhaps they would not be greatly to your liking. But, believe me, it is no uncommon thing for a man of fashion to be — to be somewhat of a rake. Mama has explained it all to me. Such things, she says, usually right themselves after marriage.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Amanda scornfully. “What kind of ninny do you take me for, pray? I do not need that Mama should explain such matters to me — that I perfectly comprehend! But it is not of that I speak: there is something more in this — something evil —”
Isabella smiled wearily, and shook her head.
“Rumour and imagination, love, of that I feel convinced! Let us leave the subject, I beg you, for I find it tedious.”
Amanda glanced at her sister, and saw with surprise that her face was tired and drawn. Compunction seized her. Bella did not appear to have much joy of her engagement; it would be unkind to tease her any more on the subject at present. But decision hardened within her. She was determined to know for certain the truth of these rumours she had heard, and if Charles Barsett should prove to be what she thought him she would move heaven and earth to save Bella from his clutches. She fancied that there was one person, at least, who might help her by telling more of what he knew concerning the Abbey. She determined to seek him out as soon as possible, and then remembered that she would in all probability meet him in St. James’s Square on the morrow. With that for the moment she had to be content.
Charles Barsett had for some years maintained a bachelor establishment in Albemarle Street. The arrangement suited everyone perfectly, Charles perhaps most of all, but it did put certain difficulties in the way of his entertaining his betrothed. On this account, my Lord Barsett had decided to invite the Twyford family to dine in St. James’s Square. Even in fashionable London, dinner was an early meal, and so the party arrived in daylight. Hours of anxious consultation had resulted in the choice of a dull green silk for Isabella, open at the front to reveal a petticoat of oyster satin embroidered with sprays of yellow flowers. The green of the dress enhanced the lights in her hazel eyes, and her golden curls shone as though polished with silk.
Her mother gave her a complacent look as the party were shown into the drawing-room. No one could look handsomer than Isabella when the dear child was in looks; Amanda, in her simple white gown with its tiny embroidered sprays of blue flowers, was nothing to her. And yet — Lady Twyford anxiously scanned the faces of her two daughters — that dimple which lurked at the corner of Amanda’s wide, generous mouth, the twinkle in her light blue eyes, these spoke of a happiness which seemed conspicuously wanting in Isabella’s countenance. Bah! The child was nervous, my lady told herself, a thing perfectly natural and proper in her new situation as an affianced bride.
The sight of the picture arrested them on the threshold. They all stood still for a moment, gazing up at it.
“My wife,” explained Lord Barsett, shortly. “She did not survive Charles’s birth.”
“You are very like your mother,” remarked Lady Twyford to Charles.
He bowed slightly, but before he could make any reply, Amanda said quickly, “Do you think so, Mama? I am not of your opinion. The lady in the picture has a sweet face.”
Lady Twyford frowned ominously, and a lazy smile twisted Charles’s mouth. “And I have not?”
“If you had, sir, you would scarce thank me for saying so,” replied Amanda, with a quizzical look.
My Lord Barsett, who had been studying her attentively since her first remark, broke into a guffaw of laughter, in which the other gentlemen joined. Only Lady Twyford did not smile, but caught Amanda’s eye with a warning glance.
“Miss Amanda has your measure, Charles,” remarked Roger Thurlston, still chuckling.
Charles Barsett regarded her gravely for a moment.
“Egad, I hope not!” he said, in mock horror.
Amanda realised that she would presently be brought to book by her Mama for her outspokenness, and recklessly plunged in deeper.
“Indeed, no,” she replied, with a serious air. “I judge Mr. Barsett to be a deep character, who is not to be known on a short acquaintance.”
Once more the gentlemen chuckled indulgently at this sally, and a smile of pure delight appeared momentarily on Charles’s face.
“You do me too much honour, madam,” he said, with an extravagant bow.
“She is a sad rattle-pate, I fear!” exclaimed Lady Twyford, thinking that her younger daughter had been allowed enough licence. “Amanda, dearest, you are not in the schoolroom now, recollect!”
Amanda was silent for a moment, not, as her mother hoped, because she had felt the justice of the reproof. She was feeling a little chagrined at her lack of success in goading Mr. Barsett. Grudgingly, she was obliged to admit to herself that, fiend though he was, the man undoubtedly possessed a sense of humour — in Amanda’s view, one of the most necessary of the virtues.
Mrs. Thurlston now gave a skilful turn to the conversation. She was a thin, elegant woman with a faint air about her of long-suffering. Amanda disliked her on sight, and wondered how it was that such a pleasant gentleman as Mr. Thurlston came to have such a very disagreeable mother and cousin. Mr. Thurlston himself was very attentive to her, and she soon began to enjoy herself. If this was a sample of life in Town, then perhaps she could, to a certain extent, understand Bella’s enthusiasm for it. There was something vastly agreeable in having a gentleman at one’s side dancing attendance on one, and all the while making airy, amusing conversation. She laughed a great deal, her blue eyes sparkled with animation, and her cheeks were becomingly tinged with colour.
From the other side of the great dining table, with its glitter of silver and gleam of glass, Charles Barsett considered her with an ironic glance. Then he turned to the quiet, subdued girl at his side, the girl he was soon to marry.
“We now have an opportunity, Isabella,” he drawled, “of becoming better acquainted.”
The Georgian Rake Page 6
