“That is what I would dearly love to know!” said Amanda, and forthwith told her story.
John listened in silence. Towards the end, his expression grew a shade impatient.
“Sounds all a hum to me,” he pronounced, when she had done.
“’Pon rep, I don’t know what is amiss with everybody!” exclaimed Amanda, in disgust. “No one, not even you, who say that you love Bella — positively no one will take my story seriously.”
“You can’t expect that they should,” he answered, judicially. “What charges have you to make against the man but the fact that you met him in a place about which there is a deal of local gossip? You’ve lived in the country, Mandy — you know well just how much reliance can be placed upon the idle chit-chat of villagers!”
“There’s no smoke without fire,” insisted Amanda, pursing her lips. “And that blacksmith was prodigiously afraid, I give you my word! A big, burly man, too, not a weakling.”
“But they’re superstitious, aren’t they, country folk?” asked John dubiously. “And legends gather about these ancient buildings —”
“Oh, very well,” said she, in a huff. “If you are determined to believe Mr. Barsett to be an angel of light and goodness, and a fit husband for Bella, pray don’t let me stop you!”
“Don’t be absurd. I was only trying to —”
“To be reasonable!” finished Amanda for him, in high dudgeon. “It’s being reasonable that’s lost you Bella, let me inform you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” said Amanda, now so annoyed that she did not spare his feelings, “it was only reasonable to suppose, from the way that Bella had always behaved towards you, that she was in love with you. So I suppose you took it for granted that she would accept you when you made your offer?”
“Well, yes, perhaps I did,” he admitted reluctantly. “But —”
“Do not tell me. I can see it all clearly. You made your offer in such a way that she must have seen you took her acceptance for granted. Am I not right?”
He stared at her for a moment in silence.
“Perhaps I may have done,” he said, at last. “But I assure you, Mandy —”
“John Webster, you’re a fool! You know nothing about the way to handle females!”
“I never did set up to be a womaniser!” he retorted, with some heat.
“Don’t be so superior about it. It is not a matter for pride.”
“I care nothing for the affection of a female who needs to be flattered into an acceptance of my hand. Had she truly loved me, Bella would have accepted me, however clumsy my wooing.”
“You —you — ninny!”
They had been hurling the last few interchanges at each other’s heads with scarcely a pause for breath. They stopped now, glaring angrily.
Suddenly Amanda laughed musically.
“Do not let us quarrel, John.”
He grinned sheepishly, and at once put out his hand. She placed hers within it, and his grip tightened.
“Egad, you’re a regular fire-eater! And I don’t like Barsett as a husband for Bella any more than you do. But, after all, one must try to be fair —”
“That is the advantage of being a female,” replied Amanda, with a dimple. “One is not haunted by this notion of fair play. I do not mean to let my sister wed this man — and I shall not scruple to go to any lengths to prevent the match.”
“The ruthless sex,” he answered with a laugh. “But what do you mean to do?”
“I have a plan,” she said, with a tinge of excitement in her voice. “It came to me in the night. You would not allow me to finish telling you, John, but this business concerning the Abbey is not only villagers’ gossip as you suggest, for Mr. Thurlston has admitted to me that there have been rumours concerning it in Town. But try as I will I cannot persuade him to tell me more. I think this is very likely because it’s something not considered fit for the ears of a female — and that is why I want you to help me.”
“You want me to question Thurlston?” he asked, frowning. “Somewhat difficult to ask him to discuss his own cousin’s shortcomings, isn’t it?”
“If only your notions were not so proper! I don’t know how we are to go on unless you can lose some of them.”
“Still, it isn’t at all the thing, you must admit,” persisted John.
“Oh, you can surely work the conversation round to the subject,” exclaimed Amanda impatiently. “And if not, perhaps you can manage to learn something at the clubs — you do belong to some of these clubs, do you not?”
He nodded. “Your father put me up for the Cocoa Tree and White’s when I first arrived in Town, but I don’t patronise them much of late.”
“Well, that must be remedied,” said Amanda, forcefully. “Henceforward, you must go there every day, and keep your ears open. And we must both watch Charles Barsett. Do you suppose you can contrive an invitation to his house? I may scarcely go there.”
He stared at this suggestion. “Why should I desire an invitation to the fellow’s house? Lord knows, he is the last from whom I should seek friendship.”
Amanda wrinkled her nose at him.
“Stupid! Why, to spy upon him, of course!”
He looked at her in horror. “Spy upon him?”
“Do not tell me that it isn’t at all the thing,” she warned him, “or I shall do you a mischief! There may be something to be discovered there — some letter left lying about, a scrap of conversation you may manage to overhear —”
“Good God, Amanda! Can you suppose that I could possibly —”
“If you do not, I shall. Can you not see that all’s fair in love and war?”
He made no answer to this, but kicked at a stone lying on the grass.
“Do you want Bella to marry this man?” insisted his tormentor.
“You know I do not. But if she has chosen him —”
“To expose his character to her would soon put an end to that,” replied Amanda, confidently. “There is no love between them. It is purely a marriage of convenience.”
“Are you sure? He must admire her — who could not?”
She looked at him pityingly. “Poor John! You are head over ears, aren’t you? Perhaps that is the trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, only that Bella is used to admiration. Perhaps a little indifference might be more stimulating to her.”
“I’ve already told you —”
“Yes, I know,” she interrupted him, “you are not a — how did you put it? — a womaniser. It’s a pity — but we must not allow ourselves to argue again,” she put in hastily, as she saw that he was about to speak. “We must concentrate upon the purpose in hand. Do you agree to my plan?”
He hesitated. “I don’t like it, Mandy.”
“Very well.” She elevated her chin. “I must do the best I can on my own account.”
“No!” He seized her hand, alarmed. “You mustn’t embroil yourself in such an affair. Oh, very well, I’ll do what I can; but don’t expect me to spy upon Barsett, mind, for I won’t undertake it.”
“No matter,” said Amanda, prepared to make concessions so long as she had gained her point. “There may be some other way, just so long as you can bring me the gossip from the clubs. We must meet here again — what say you to Thursday, at this hour? That will give you three days in which to find out something.”
He agreed reluctantly.
“And cheer up,” she said, as a parting shot. “You are the one Bella loves, of that I am certain, and who should know her better than I?”
“I only hope you may be right,” he replied, as he assisted her to mount.
“Of course I’m right. Goodbye, John, don’t forget — Thursday, here. I have great hopes of you.”
She waved airily and was gone. He watched until she was out of sight, then shrugged moodily, and took his way home, deep in thought.
It was to be a frustrating day for Amanda, in spite of this promising start to it. When she
returned home, she found her mother and sister had already risen, and were inquiring for her. Her airy explanation of having gone riding in the park on impulse brought down trouble on her head for venturing out unattended.
“I positively forbid you to go riding without your sister — or else a groom in attendance,” snapped Lady Twyford, who had slept ill, and was consequently not in the best of humours.
“But, Mama, that is absurd,” flashed Amanda. “Why, in the country I was used to ride for miles without an escort.”
“That is no way to address me, Miss,” my lady reminded her acidly. “Foolish child, have I not told you that what will do very well in the country is not permissible here in Town? ’Pon rep, if you are ever to get a husband you must mend your ways, and cease to behave like a schoolgirl!”
This unfortunate remark precipitated an outburst in which Amanda was understood to say (though not altogether coherently) that she had better things to think of than getting a husband, and that any gentleman whom she chose to honour with her hand must make the best of her as she was. She then retired to her bedchamber, where she stamped her feet several times, ripped the plumes off a bonnet which she had always disliked, and then felt a great deal better. She returned to the morning-room a very angel of placidity, made an affectionate apology to her Mama which was graciously received, and the incident was shelved.
But ill-luck seemed to dog her footsteps for the rest of the day. Mr. Thurlston paid a morning call, but Isabella and Lady Twyford did not leave her alone with him, so she had no chance of trying him further to see if he would tell her anything more on the subject which at present occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of all others. Apart from this little rub, the visit passed off pleasantly enough, for he was an amusing companion. She found herself laughing in spite of her preoccupation, and felt a tinge of regret when he finally rose to go.
Her next disappointment lay in the failure of her attempts to have a heart-to-heart talk with Isabella. After leaving John earlier in the day, she had determined to do this: Bella must be made to undertake some serious soul-searching in regard to her engagement. Perversely, Bella refused to co-operate. Her manner was gay and carefree to the point of abandon, and she laughed to scorn all Amanda’s suggestions that underneath this sparkling façade lay a broken heart. Once again she recommended her younger sister to curb her sense of the dramatic. It was almost too much for Amanda, after her mother’s earlier remarks.
She rallied, however, and had high hopes that the evening might bring them into company with Mr. Barsett. She had not entirely forgotten Roger Thurlston’s jesting suggestion that she might tax his cousin with her questions: as Mr. Thurlston had afterwards realised with dismay, she was quite capable of doing this, if no other way presented itself. As it happened, she was not given the opportunity, for it turned out that Charles Barsett had a prior engagement for that evening, and was not to see his betrothed until the next day, when he was to attend the whole family to the Opera.
Amanda sought her bed that night in no very restful frame of mind. She was a great planner, and liked to put her plans into execution immediately. All this inaction chafed her, and it was only the hope that perhaps John Webster had been more fortunate than herself in uncovering information that finally soothed her to sleep.
The following day brought Mr. Thurlston calling again, a circumstance which caused Lady Twyford to make certain remarks to her younger daughter.
“We are seeing a vast deal of Mr. Thurlston, Amanda.”
“Are we, Mama? Yes, perhaps so. Don’t you think him very agreeable, however?”
Lady Twyford glanced sharply at her, but was disarmed by the ingenuous expression of her face.
“Very,” she answered dryly. “But I feel that I must warn you, child, that his expectations cannot be great. He will have nothing but what my Lord Barsett chooses to settle upon him, and rumour has it that his cousin is not —” she hesitated — “is not predisposed in his favour.”
“Warn me?” Amanda’s blue eyes grew round in surprise. “What, pray, can I possibly have to say to Mr. Thurlston’s expectations, Mama?”
“Nothing, child, nothing,” said her mother, hastily drawing her embroidery frame towards her. “Your eyesight is keener than mine: would you say that this blue is the same shade as the one I have used in that cluster of flowers?”
Amanda dutifully inspected the silk, and decided against it, but was quite aware of her mother’s subterfuge. So Mama was considering Mr. Thurlston in the light of a possible suitor, was she? Amanda allowed her thoughts to play round the notion, and discovered that she did not dislike it. He was handsome, agreeable, everything that a gentleman should be; he was, perhaps, just a trifle old — full ten years her senior. Still, she had the notion that, if and when she married, she would prefer her husband to be some years older than herself. She was not unaware of a certain impulsiveness in her character, which her strong common sense warned her would be the better for a restraining hand. Younger men were, in general, themselves too impulsive to supply this need. But she had as yet no serious thought of marriage, which she tended to look upon as a necessary evil which must, at some time in the future, overtake her. Until that time, she wanted only to amuse herself; besides, there was this business concerning Bella to occupy her attention.
It filled her thoughts for the rest of the day, and only when she was seated with her family and Charles Barsett in a box at the Opera did she allow herself to be momentarily diverted. The scene was such a splendid one; never had she viewed so much finery at one gathering. The array of costly silk and brocades in all the colours of the rainbow; the nodding plumes of the women, and the jewels which glittered in the blaze of candlelight left her quite awestruck.
Charles Barsett glanced at her speaking countenance, and a little smile which for once contained nothing of mockery curved the corners of his mouth. He sat next to Isabella, as was to be expected; on his left hand was my Lord Twyford. Amanda was seated at her father’s other side. The lights dimmed even as she was gazing her fill at the splendour of the audience, and she transferred her attention to the stage as the first chords of music sounded from the orchestra, and the curtain began slowly to rise.
The piece was Dr. Arne’s ‘Ataxerxes’, with Charlotte Brent singing the part of Mandane. Her high, flexible soprano voice wove its way effortlessly through the intricacies of the music. Amanda, listening now intently, forgot her plans, her fears for Bella, her distrust of Charles Barsett: all gave way before the flood of melody which engulfed her spirit.
She came to at last with a start, to realise that the lights were blazing in the theatre, and a swelling murmur of conversation rising from the audience. A discreet knock sounded on the door of their box, and a footman entered. He bowed, and proffered a folded paper to Charles Barsett. Charles took it, with a slight lift of the eyebrows.
“You will forgive me, Isabella — my lord —?” He excused himself to his neighbours, and, opening the paper, scanned the message it contained in one brief glance. Then he rose, thrusting the paper carelessly into a pocket in the skirts of his handsome rose satin coat, spoke a few brief words in an undertone to the servant, and returned to his seat between Isabella and her father.
Amanda watched the incident with quickening interest. It might be nothing to the purpose, but she was determined to have that paper. But how to obtain it? Could she perhaps persuade her father to change places with her? If so, it might be possible to pick Mr. Barsett’s pocket. To be sure, she had never attempted anything of the kind before, but it must be simple enough, surely, as hundreds of rascals made their living at it in the streets of London.
“Papa.” She touched his arm. “Papa, I cannot see well as I should like. I wonder if you would mind changing places with me?”
Before her father could make any reply, Charles Barsett had risen to his feet.
“Pray sit here, Miss Amanda. I must apologise for not having seen to it that you were seated to better advantage.”
&nbs
p; She had the grace to blush even before her mother broke in.
“What nonsense is this, Amanda? I am sure we can all see perfectly! There is no difference, you must realise, whether you are here, or in your father’s place. I wish you will have a little more conduct, Miss!”
But Charles Barsett was insistent, in his urbane way, upon changing places with her, and Amanda made the exchange with a feeling of having one more item to add to the score of resentment against him. She had succeeded in making herself appear ill-mannered without either achieving her design, or coming any nearer to doing so.
She clenched her white, even teeth behind the cover of her fan. The remainder of the performance failed to charm her, her mind was preoccupied with plans for gaining possession of the note. None of these appeared satisfactory even to her optimistic eye.
As so often happens, her opportunity came at last by chance, not by scheming. At the conclusion of the performance a great mass of people congregated in the entrance hall awaiting the carriages which were to bear them homewards. As the vehicles drew up outside, there was a sudden unmannerly surge forward in the region where Amanda and her party were standing; for a few moments she was tightly pressed against Charles Barsett. Her eye had noted the position of the pocket where he had thrust the note: now her hand went out swiftly, exploring.
Her fingers closed around the paper. She withdrew it, and with a hand that trembled slightly, thrust it into the bodice of her low-cut gown. The whole operation did not take more than a few seconds, and she felt sure that no one could have noticed, shielded as she had been from view of her victim’s body.
The pressure eased, and presently my Lord Twyford’s carriage was called. Just as the party moved towards it an acquaintance detained Lord Twyford for a moment in conversation. The others went on, and Charles Barsett dutifully stood to hand the ladies into the coach. Amanda came last. He took her hand, and she stooped to enter the vehicle, one foot on the step.
Suddenly a little gust of wind took the paper, which in her haste she had tucked away too insecurely. It fluttered to the ground, opening to reveal a few lines of writing. With an inarticulate little cry, Amanda stooped to retrieve it.
The Georgian Rake Page 8
