When he had been shown into the room, Mr. Thurlston glanced about him inquiringly.
“I am alone,” explained Amanda, guessing the meaning of his look. “Mama and Bella should be back at any moment, but I cannot promise for Papa.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “I would not have intruded had I realised that you were alone.”
“Tusk!” she waved the remark aside. “I could easily have denied myself, had I wished.”
“True,” he answered, with his charming smile. “I am flattered indeed.”
“You need not be,” she said in a tone of raillery. “I suddenly bethought me that you could be of inestimable service to me.”
He bowed. “With all the pleasure in the world, Miss Amanda.”
“I have been to see your cousin this morning,” she said, coming straight to the point, as was her way.
“Indeed?”
“Do not raise your brows in that fashion; it puts me in mind of him.”
“And you do not wish that to happen?” he asked lightly.
“There is no one I would rather forget.”
“Poor Charles!”
She frowned, arrested by a sudden thought.
“Why did he leave his father’s house while you continued to stay there?” she asked bluntly. “It seems odd.”
There was the tiniest of pauses, and a hint of reserve in his manner when he answered her.
“They could never agree, you must realise. As for myself, I am not quite the free agent that my cousin is. I must confess that it would have been agreeable to me to have set up a bachelor establishment, too, but — my uncle never suggested it.”
She nodded, seeming not to pay much attention to the latter part of his speech.
“Why didn’t they agree? Was it simply incompatibility of temperament?”
“Perhaps so: Charles has more quickness than his father — in that I suppose him to resemble my dead aunt. His habits — those of a young man of fashion and wealth — appeared to disgust my lord. There were frequent unpleasant scenes; it was a relief to everyone when Charles decided to go.”
Amanda looked him straight in the eye.
“Do you think him an evil man?”
He started. “Charles? Good God, no! He has been wild, as young men of his set are, and foolish, perhaps. He is his own worst enemy. But evil! That is too strong a word, surely.”
“Then what,” asked Amanda, suddenly, “is all this affair at Medmenham Abbey?”
He drew back, and glanced hastily at the clock on the mantelshelf.
“I feel that I have stayed long enough for propriety,” he said, rising to his feet. “Pray give my respects to your parents and Miss Twyford.”
She came to her feet and turned a pleading face upon him.
“Will you not help me, Mr. Thurlston? I must know what goes on at the Abbey, and have proof of your cousin’s connection with it. You alone can supply the information I need — you alone can help me to save Bella from an impossible marriage!”
“What do you mean?” he asked, amazed.
“If Mr. Barsett is concerned in evil doings — and I believe that he is — he is no husband for my sister!”
“But the marriage is arranged, is it not? Certainly my uncle supposes so.”
“That is not to say that Bella may not cry off if she chooses! No date has been fixed for the wedding as yet.”
“That is true,” he said, thoughtfully. “But she will scarcely care to make herself the talk of the Town by changing her mind at the eleventh hour. Am I to understand, then, that she is not attracted to my cousin?”
“It is quite impossible to describe to you the complexities of Bella’s feelings, sir! You will simply have to take my word for it that she would be ready enough to change her mind, were she given sufficient reason. As for gossip, an heiress of Bella’s standing may do as she chooses: the Polite World will not murmur!”
He smiled at her worldly-wise air; it sat very oddly on Amanda.
“Are you then such very wealthy young ladies? So far, rumour has been quiet on that score, at all events.”
“Oh, I am nothing compared to Bella! Our maternal grandfather left her a tidy fortune, in addition to what will come to her from Papa. He died before I was born, so, of course, I could not be included in his goodwill! No, I don’t think Bella need fear anything from idle tongues; she has only to take herself off into the country, in any event.”
“And your parents? How would they feel if there should be a change of plan?”
Amanda considered for a moment.
“I think Mama might be considerably put about — for a time, at least. Papa would never desire anything but our happiness, and would readily give way to Bella’s wishes. The crux of the matter is to make Bella desire to put an end to the engagement.”
“That will not be easy,” he said, frowning. “But it is just possible that I may be able to help you, Miss Amanda. There is vileness enough at Medmenham Abbey for those who are there to see it; but I fancy there is no one whose word your sister would accept, other than yourself. That Charles has been a visitor to the Abbey for some years past, I know for a fact; but it may be that he has given up such diversions with his engagement. You perceive the difficulties?”
“What you mean,” she answered, quickly, “is that we should first have to find out if he still frequents the place — and then surprise him there? That you could probably do the first, but that I would have to do the second?”
He nodded: his face was grave.
“It is not an exploit for a timid person. But then, I’m sure that you are not timid. Besides, you might be able to find someone to aid you — there’s that groom of yours, who put up such a good fight with the highwayman — could you trust him to hold his tongue?”
“Tom?” She considered for a moment, then broke in, eagerly, “I have an altogether better idea! John — John Webster — he is the very person! He had hoped to wed Bella himself!”
“John Webster?” He was puzzled for a moment. “Oh, yes, I recollect! The young man who is a neighbour of yours in the country.” He paused, evidently deep in thought. “Yes, that would be capital,” he said, at last. “Capital! But you will have to contain yourself in patience for a time, Miss Amanda. This society which has its headquarters at the Abbey does not meet again for more than a month from now.”
She looked at him in dismay.
“Do not be disheartened,” he said, in a cheering tone. “It will give us time to make a sound plan. But we shall not have many opportunities of meeting in private like this; how shall we contrive?”
“The Park,” answered Amanda, quickly. “In the early morning, before anyone is astir! I meet John there sometimes. I can be there most mornings.”
“I will look out for you,” he said.
“That is, when I have anything —” He broke off, as the sound of voices floated into the room from the hall. “Your mother,” he said, and rose hastily. “I’d best go.”
“There is just one thing I must know,” she said, hurriedly starting to her feet. “Does the name of Francis Dashwood convey anything to you?”
He nodded, one eye on the door. “Yes. He is the owner of Medmenham Abbey, and the leader of the society which meets there. He’s also a close friend of my cousin’s. But we must defer our talk till another time — your mother and sister —”
They entered almost as he spoke, and showed some surprise at finding him sitting with Amanda. Lady Twyford’s frown spoke volumes, and her younger daughter anticipated a set-down when Mr. Thurlston should have left.
But the reprimand, when it came, had little effect upon her spirits. Events were shaping to a solution of her problem, just when she had almost given up hope of ever discovering what she so ardently desired to know. True, she must be prepared to wait some weeks before she could hope to lay convincing proof before Isabella of Charles Barsett’s depravity. Meanwhile, there was something she could do. Mr. Thurlston had seemed to be uncertain as to whether his cou
sin still took part in the activities of this society he had mentioned. There appeared to her to be a way of finding out quickly, at any rate, although she had been interrupted before she could point this out to him. The note which she had purloined at the Opera had made an appointment between Charles Barsett and the man Dashwood. She knew the time and place; if Mr. Barsett should be there to keep that appointment, then without doubt he was still actively concerned with the body of which this Francis Dashwood was the principal. Why else should he answer a summons of ‘Brother Francis’?
She speculated for some time on the possible nature of the society to which Mr. Thurlston had referred, and which gave one of its members such a strange title. What could it be? Imagination supplied a number of answers, but she was completely satisfied by none of these. Reluctantly, she decided that she must simply wait and see — a thing she detested. Meanwhile, thank goodness there was work she could do.
At a quarter to eight on Monday evening, a dark figure loitered under the shadow of the trees in Hanover Square. It was a dull, cloudy night, with a scutter of rain in the air, and a chilly breeze which at times caught at the fringes of the trees, producing a low, moaning sound. The figure moved slowly, keeping only to one side of the Square, and staying well back from the lanterns which hung outside the tall houses. Time passed: the figure kept its lonely vigil.
Presently, there was a second stealthy movement among the shadows, and yet another figure glided into view in the dimly-lit Square. But whereas the first had a hint of indecision in its bearing, this one moved purposefully, with practised skill. A temporary break in the cloud showed him for a ragged son of the London streets, a stunted, pale faced man with a greasy hat pulled well down over his eyes. He looked towards his quarry, lingering all unsuspecting in the gloom of the trees; a mere youth, this, clad in the livery of a gentleman’s stable, and no doubt keeping tryst with some unpunctual abigail. There would not be great pickings in that quarter, the man reflected, but it had been a lean evening so far, and a cove must take what offered.
The stunted figure glided nearer to the youth with all the stealth of a snake. Suddenly, he pounced, twining a skinny arm in a stranglehold about his victim’s neck. Adroit fingers felt for the expected purse.
Somewhat to the pickpocket’s surprise, the youth struggled violently in spite of the cruel hold on his neck. He lashed out with arms and legs, trying in vain to find a target. With his foe at his back, this was difficult enough; and the man’s arms seemed as if made of iron. The hold on the boy’s neck tightened ruthlessly, and his struggles died away; black specks swam before his eyes, and his senses reeled.
Unnoticed by either during the brief struggle, a sedan chair had at that moment been halted before a house in the Square, and its burden discharged. He was a tall gentleman, clad in coat and breeches of rose satin, and wearing at his side a light dress sword. As he was about to mount the steps of the house outside which he stood, a slight noise made him turn sharply. It came from the direction of the trees. Alert, he stood still, trying to pierce the gloom, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
In a moment, his keen eyes had detected the two struggling figures under the tree, one so slight and youthful.
With a speed that belied his former indolent carriage, he crossed the intervening space. His sword glittered in the dim light as he unsheathed it. At the first sound of movement, the pickpocket released his hold on the youth, and made off quickly into the shadows. The boy dropped to the ground like a stone.
The gentleman bent over him, sheathing his sword.
“How now? Are you much hurt, young fellow?”
There was no reply. He bent closer to the recumbent form, his eyes straining through the half light. He gave a start of surprise.
The youth’s hat had fallen from his head, and lay on the grass at his side. Over it was spread like a veil a profusion of familiar honey-coloured hair.
Charles Barsett emitted a mild oath, and raised the slender form in his arms.
“Amanda Twyford!” he muttered. “Now, what the devil —?”
Her eyes flickered, and opened wide. They stared in horror as her glance rested on his face, and she started up, pushing him away from her.
“Be easy,” he said, in a low, quiet tone. “You are safe. Has yon rogue done you much hurt?”
She shook her head wordlessly. Her face was pale.
“I would have given chase, but my first care was for you. Did he rob you of anything? I fancy I interrupted him in time.”
She put her hand into the pocket of the breeches she was wearing; then she blushed.
“No.” The word was uttered almost soundlessly.
“Hi, there!” He hailed the chairmen, who had paused in the act of leaving the Square, and were watching curiously from a distance. They came running at his call. “Procure me a hackney.”
“Ye’ll not be after takin’ one o’ they god-forsaken, fleabitten carts, y’r honour?” The rich Irish tones caused Amanda to smile, hangdog as she felt at present. “Sure, an’ the chair is waitin’ —”
A coin spun in the air. The men leapt after it with one accord.
“A hack — and at once,” repeated Charles Barsett, authoritatively.
They vanished without further argument. Amanda sat upright. He put out his hands to assist her to rise, which she did somewhat shakily.
“You’re sure you are not hurt?” he asked again.
“I’m well enough, I thank you, though a trifle — shaken,” she answered, breathlessly.
“The carriage will be here in a minute or two. Lean on my arm meanwhile.”
She hesitated, then placed her arm within his. Her head drooped slightly against his shoulder: she found it strong and reliable.
He spoke no more, and presently the clatter of wheels and hoofs announced the arrival of the hackney. He guided her over the grass towards it, and helped her to mount the steps. Amanda’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she leaned back against the shabby upholstery; a musty smell pervaded the vehicle, and its floor was strewn with dirty straw. The man eyed her thoughtfully. The pallor of her face gave way to a flood of colour.
“And now,” he said sternly, as the vehicle moved forward, “I would like to know the meaning of this masquerade.”
She returned no answer, but her colour deepened.
“Spying again?” he asked, with lifted brow.
She nodded, sheepishly.
“Upon my word,” he said, dryly, “I am half minded to provide you with a list of my day to day engagements! It might save us both much trouble.”
His tone stung her to a reply.
“I warned you that I would never let be until Bella was released from your clutches! If you wish to put an end to my activities, you have only to forego all pretensions to her hand!”
“Is that all? Then perhaps your ingenuity can suggest a way that a man of honour may take to accomplish this so desirable end?”
“A man of honour!” she answered, with biting scorn.
He shrugged lightly. “They say there is honour among thieves.”
“There are those who are lower than thieves!” she retorted.
He turned his deep blue eyes upon her. Slowly, his glance raked her from head to foot. She blushed again, for her attire, and moved a little away from him, into the shadow of the coach’s dingy interior.
“Tell me,” he asked, conversationally, “would you number spies among them?”
Anger flooded her whole being, anger such as she had not known since childhood. She leapt upon him, eyes flashing fire, small white teeth clenched.
“I hate you! You are vile, loathsome, bestial — an outrageous, perfidious — a monster — I hate you, detest you!” Her clenched fists pummelled at his chest. The diabolical smile came to his lips, and a spark of devilment kindled those deep eyes. Suddenly, he clasped her in a strong embrace, crushing the slim body to him, rendering the small fists useless. His mouth came down upon her soft lips in a relentless kiss. For a long mo
ment, he held her thus; then abruptly released her.
“Do you realise, I wonder,” he said softly, “just how completely I hold you in my power? Where do you think I am taking you?”
For a moment, she stared at him in horror. She was still trembling from that rough contact with him, the first embrace she had known from any man. But not for nothing had John Webster called her a fire-eater.
The hackney was bowling along at a fair pace over the cobbled streets; few people were abroad, for it was the hour at which guests had already reached their destinations for the evening’s enjoyment, and were not yet ready to return homewards. For a second, she thought of shouting for help, then dismissed the notion. No doubt the coachman had been bribed by this man to ignore any appeals for help, and it was doubtful if anyone else would hear her cries.
There was only one way. She flung wide the far door of the coach with a swift movement, and prepared to leap to the ground.
In an instant, a strong arm encircled her, dragging her back from the open door, and slamming it shut. She was placed firmly back on the seat, the arm still holding her close.
“I see,” said Charles Barsett, with amusement in his tone, “that I had underrated you. I shall be obliged to hold you thus until we shall have reached our destination; I trust you will forgive the liberty?”
“I would rather die!” panted Amanda, struggling to free herself.
“Unfortunately, that wouldn’t serve either of us,” he returned, coolly. “You must, I fear, reconcile yourself to your fate.”
Amanda’s seething brain calmed miraculously. She could not meet this man on his own ground, by opposing her strength against his, but might not she with advantage employ feminine tactics?
She allowed her head to droop again on to his shoulder, her body to slacken in his grasp.
“I — I fear — I’m going to swoon —” She let the words trail away weakly. He glanced at her in alarm.
“This has gone far enough,” he said, quickly releasing his pressure on her waist, “my dear, I but —”
With a quick movement, she whipped his sword from the scabbard, and stood over him, the point inexpertly wavering somewhere in the region of his heart.
The Georgian Rake Page 12
