The Georgian Rake

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  To Amanda’s intense relief, Lady Twyford agreed to leave the two sisters in Town for the present. She insisted, of course, that they would require a chaperone. It was decided, after some discussion, that my lord should bring back Mrs. Matchett to act in this capacity. This would mean that they need be alone only for the two days it would take their father to make the journey to Berkshire and back.

  Amanda sighed with relief; it had been a near thing. She took the first opportunity of despatching a brief note to Roger Thurlston by way of Sally and Tom, and prepared, with a beating heart, to await early developments.

  Early next morning, Lord and Lady Twyford departed for the country under a brilliant sun. They had not been gone many hours when Mrs. Thurlston and her son were announced. The lady seemed desolated at having been denied the pleasure of seeing my Lady Twyford.

  “Your Mama gone to the country! I am vastly sorry to hear of her indisposition, but no doubt a few days in the fresh air will soon restore her to her customary health. But how will you go on, without any matron to chaperone you to the balls and other diversions? I pray you, call upon me if you should be in any difficulty; I don’t in general go much into company, you know, but I am always ready to put the needs of others before my own wishes, and especially those of Isabella, who is soon to be connected to me by a closer tie than that of friend.”

  Isabella thanked her politely, but explained that they were soon to have their aunt staying with them. In the meantime, they would be content to remain quietly at home.

  “But you will find that so dull, I am persuaded,” persisted Mrs. Thurlston. “Do come and take tea with me this afternoon, I beg. It will be better than staying at home, though, of course, I can offer you no grand entertainment; just a quiet afternoon’s chat. I shall brook no refusal, I do declare.”

  Isabella did not well see how to refuse this invitation, and accepted for both of them, before Amanda could speak. The younger sister had opened her lips to plead a prior engagement, or some other excuse, but just then she caught Mrs. Thurlston’s eye upon her in a meaning way, and she desisted.

  Shortly afterwards, the visitors rose to leave. At the last moment, Mrs. Thurlston engaged Isabella in earnest conversation upon the subject of her embroidery, which lay neglected on a stand close to the window. The two ladies moved over towards it, and Roger Thurlston took the opportunity this presented of a hurried word with Amanda.

  “Do not come with your sister this afternoon,” he said, in a low tone. “A headache — any excuse that will serve to make her willing to leave you behind. Get word to your friend —” he glanced fleetingly over his shoulder at Isabella and his mother, but they were absorbed in a discussion of colour and design — “to meet you at the entrance to the park. A coach will be waiting there to take you both up — the coachman will wear a yellow rose in his coat. He will drive you as far as the Castle Inn; there you will find horses waiting. You must ride, so wear suitable clothes. Follow the road through Maidenhead — but here is a paper, with minute directions written upon it.”

  He gave a screw of paper surreptitiously into her hand as he spoke; Amanda secreted it in the front of her gown, this time thrusting it well out of sight. She did not mean to repeat her former mistake.

  “You know your way to the ford,” he went on, hastily, and only just audibly. “It is the way you took before, on your journey to Town. Do not rouse the farm. Can you row a boat?”

  Amanda nodded; she had lived close to the river all her life.

  “Good! Then you can leave your friend Webster with the horses, for you may need to escape quickly. There will be a boat waiting at the ford, but no ferryman. You must do the best you can. I wish you good fortune.”

  “Bella!” whispered Amanda, struck by a sudden thought. “When she returns home and finds me missing, what —?”

  “Leave her a note: say you have gone with John, so that she may know you are in safe hands, but not one word of the Abbey, I caution you. You must hint at some other reason for your absence.”

  Amanda nodded, and, seeing that Isabella was moving away from the embroidery frame, made haste to bid Mr. Thurlston goodbye in a slightly raised voice.

  When the visitors had left, Amanda prepared the ground for her refusal to accompany her sister. She had quickly decided that it was safer to be frank with Isabella.

  “I cannot think why you should have agreed to go to St. James’s Square this afternoon,” she reproached. “You must know how cordially I dislike Mrs. Thurlston.”

  “Well, I don’t care for her above half myself,” agreed Isabella. “But it was difficult to refuse without incivility and, anyway, her son will be there also. You like him well enough, it seems.”

  “Not well enough to compensate for my dislike of his Mama,” retorted Amanda. “I don’t think I shall go, after all.”

  Isabella protested at this, but found her sister surprisingly stubborn for once.

  “Very well,” she said at last, seeing that Amanda was not to be moved. “I feel that I am obliged to go, as I am soon to be one of the family. But it is vastly disobliging of you, Mandy.”

  Amanda felt a twinge of conscience, but held firm, as she must if she was to carry out her plan.

  “I shall say that you have the headache, then,” said Isabella, “since you are not to be persuaded. It should scarcely surprise anyone in all this heat. I think we shall most likely have thunder before the day is out. I mean to leave their house early, Mandy; I shan’t allow them to persuade me to remain to dine. Perhaps it is just as well that you are not coming, for otherwise there would scarcely be a good reason for refusing if they should ask. Take care that you don’t get up to any of your mad starts in my absence, mind. I shall be away only an hour or so — just so long as is civil.”

  It was by that time close on noon, and Amanda was anxious concerning John’s part in the affair. For all her show of bravery, she did not care to undertake this adventure without his support, and she had yet to send a message to him. Suppose he should not be at home when it arrived? It was with anxious feeling that she handed a quickly scrawled note to Sally, with instructions for Tom to deliver it at Mr. Webster’s lodging immediately.

  More than an hour went by. Isabella and she partook of a cold collation, and her sister went to her room to change her dress for the afternoon’s visit. There was still no answer from John. Alone in the drawing-room, Amanda fretted, uncertain what to do. If only Bella would hurry up and go out. Then she could go round to John’s house and find out what was keeping him. She paced the room anxiously, glancing from time to time out of the window. The sun beat relentlessly down; occasionally, sparks struck off the wheels of the carriages as they rumbled past. A perspiring old woman in a grey homespun gown stood on the corner of the street, on her arm a large basket of wilted flowers, which she was vainly inviting passers-by to purchase. Preoccupied as she was, Amanda knew a brief moment of pity, and, leaning from the window, tossed the old flower-seller a coin.

  As she did so, a coach drew up outside the house. Amanda watched Roger Thurlston alight, and mount the steps to the house.

  “Heavens, Amanda!”

  Isabella had entered the room, and exclaimed in dismay at seeing her sister leaning from the window.

  “If you are to make the excuse of a headache, it will never do for you to be seen there by Mr. Thurlston!” she whispered urgently. “Away to your bedchamber, silly girl.”

  Amanda started, and reproached herself for carelessness. Of course it did not matter if Mr. Thurlston saw her there, for he was privy to her secrets; but she had almost forgotten that there was a part to be played for Isabella’s benefit. It was borne in upon her suddenly that a conspirator must be a very accomplished deceiver indeed. She fled to her room.

  She listened at the door until the quiet of the house suggested that Isabella and her escort had departed. Cautiously she crept from her room, and was about to steal downstairs when she encountered Sally. She hailed the abigail with relief.

 
“Has Miss Isabella left?” she asked quickly; then, as the girl assented, “Have you a message for me, Sally?”

  The abigail blushed, and handed her a note.

  “Wherever have you been till now?” asked Amanda, as she took it. “It is not ten minutes’ journey to Mr. Webster’s lodging.”

  The girl looked more confused than ever. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, but Tom — he had something very partic’lar to say to me, an’ it hardly seemed to be a minute —”

  Amanda glanced sharply at her, then twinkled. “Very particular — oh yes, I am sure. But just you tell your Tom, mistress, that when he has an urgent message to deliver to me —” She broke off at sight of the girl’s crestfallen face. “There!” she said soothingly, and laughed softly. “I daresay you can think of better things to tell him for yourself! And he’s a good lad, too. Here’s for your bride-clothes.”

  She handed a coin to the blushing abigail, and turned away.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss. And — may I make so bold as to wish you happy, too?”

  Amanda stopped in the act of unfolding the note, and stared at the girl. “Wish me —? Oh, I see! Well, perhaps everything is not quite as you suppose — but never mind that.”

  “Yes, Miss,” replied Sally, dutifully, and went about her business, puzzled.

  Amanda tore open the note, which was brief and to the point. “I will be there at three. John.”

  She glanced at the mantelshelf; the clock showed just a quarter short of the hour. She closed the door of her room, and changed hastily into travelling dress. That done, she crossed to a writing-table, drew paper and quill from its interior, and began a note to Isabella.

  After the opening words, she paused, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen. What should she say? She had no wish to alarm Bella, but it must be made clear to her that her sister might not return home until the small hours: also, Mr. Thurlston had set certain restrictions upon the letter which made it difficult to phrase.

  A moment’s thought produced the right words. She wrote swiftly, sealed the note, closed the desk, and, taking up her parcel from the bed where she had left it lying, tiptoed from the room. Softly, she opened the door of Isabella’s adjoining bedchamber, and crossed over to the dressing-table. Here she propped up the note in a prominent position before the mirror, and quietly left the room.

  She hesitated only long enough to ascertain that there were no servants about, then swiftly descended the stairs, and let herself out of the house.

  Chapter XV: Medmenham Abbey

  “There is a gate farther along,” whispered Amanda. “I remember it from when I was here before. We will do better to take our way over the fields, for there’s a farm at the end of this lane, and we shall be bound to rouse the dogs if we go that way.”

  John nodded briefly, and urged his mount forward. In a little while they came to the gate. He dismounted to open it, then swung back into the saddle. Against the sky of pearl and daffodil the trees were sharply etched in black; the river gleamed silver in the distance.

  “It’s a lovely night,” breathed Amanda wistfully. Strangely, the beauty of the night seemed all at once to move her to sadness.

  “Yes, but there’s a great black cloud coming up from over yonder, and the air’s demmed oppressive,” said John, in low tones, mopping his forehead as he spoke. “I fear there’s a storm brewing.”

  Amanda shook her head, and glanced anxiously in the direction which he had indicated. A storm now would complicate everything. She pressed her horse forward.

  Presently they came to the river at a point not far from the ford. They halted amongst the thick trees which bordered that part of the river bank, and dismounted.

  “There’s the boat,” whispered John, looking towards the ford. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone about. I’ll tether the nags, and row you across.”

  Amanda hesitated for a second: Mr. Thurlston had been insistent that John should remain on this side of the river. Still, she herself could see no reason why he should not take her over, provided that he came back straight away afterwards. She nodded.

  They approached the boat. The June light was deteriorating rapidly under the approach of the ominous black cloud; the trees on the opposite bank loomed heavy and dark on the horizon. She shivered as she stood motionless for a moment, surveying the scene.

  “Well, come on, then!” urged John, in an undertone. “Jump in!”

  She obeyed with more caution than his words suggested, and he bent his back to the oars. He rowed for the opposite bank to a point just beyond the small landing-stage which served the village, the point which Amanda had indicated as giving access to the Abbey grounds. He fetched up under the leafy screen of a dipping willow, and deftly tied the boat to its stoutest branch.

  In silence he helped Amanda out, just as a low growl of thunder was heard in the distance.

  “You must go back, John! The horses may take fright if there is to be a storm.”

  He hesitated. “I suppose so,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I don’t altogether relish leaving you here alone, Mandy, and that’s a fact. Egad, you’re a female, after all, and defenceless.”

  “I have my disguise,” she reminded him, tapping her package. “While I wear that, Mr. Thurlston assured me that there could be no trouble. Besides, Mr. Barsett is there.”

  “What does that signify?” he asked, amazed.

  She hesitated for a second. “I can’t somehow believe that — that he is altogether bad,” she answered reluctantly. “I don’t think he would let any harm come to me —but what harm could there be, after all?”

  “I don’t know,” replied John uneasily. “That’s what’s so deuced uncomfortable in the business.”

  He lingered uncertainly beside the boat, obviously reluctant to take himself off: another distant roll of thunder recalled him to the matter of the horses.

  “I suppose you are right; we cannot afford to risk the loss of our mounts. Tell you what, Mandy — I’ll leave you the boat, and swim back. Then you can make your escape quickly, if need be.”

  “No.” She caught his arm. “You will be soaked through, and we may have some hard riding to do afterwards! Take the boat — watch for my signal — when I am ready to return, I’ll stand over there —” she pointed to a nearby clearing in the trees. “You should see me readily enough from the opposite bank, for I shall be dressed in white — anyway, the lightning will aid you, for we are obviously not to escape the storm. We must trust to chance — go now, quickly!”

  He pressed her hand. “Good fortune go with you, little playmate,” he said softly, and turned towards the boat.

  She heard the soft plash of the oars, and, without looking back, hurried deeper into the belt of trees. Once in their dark shelter, she paused, and drew forth the garments which Roger Thurlston had provided. She donned them swiftly; the white cloak fell about her in soft folds, completely covering her travelling dress.

  She slipped on the mask, and pulled the hood of the cloak over her curls, tying it firmly in place. That done, she felt more secure; surely her own mother would not have recognised her in such a guise.

  All the same, for a moment her feet refused to carry her onwards. What lay before her? Roger Thurlston had thrown out dark hints concerning the secret society which had its headquarters here, but he had given her no clue as to the nature of its proceedings. She guessed that there would be wild doings, possibly, even — her heart contracted at the thought — black magic. She asked herself if she was afraid; dared she go on?

  Even as she stood pondering, the air was suddenly rent by loud shrieks. A sharp flash of lightning had illumined the sky, and now the cries were drowned in a low, ominous rumble of thunder. When this had died away, the shrieking was replaced by wild catcalls of laughter. A chill ran through Amanda’s blood, and she grasped at the trunk of a nearby elm, striving to steady her trembling limbs. Her eyes strove to pierce the gathering gloom, and she dimly discerned, at some distance ahead through the shadowing t
rees, glimpses of white figures flitting across the lawn. She shuddered as the blacksmith’s words came sharply to her memory; spectres, he had said, ghostly shapes that shrieked in the night. Almost she turned, and ran from that place.

  But some quality, part courage, part curiosity, held her firm in spite of her alarm. Her racing thoughts began to rationalise what she had seen and heard.

  Of course these were not spectres, but men or women dressed in the same garb which she herself was wearing: no doubt if she could have appeared to the blacksmith in her present guise, he would judge that she, too, was a spirit risen from the grave. The notion brought a shaky smile to her lips, and she felt a sudden upsurge of courage. Decidedly, if slowly, she continued on her way towards the house.

  When she finally came out on to the lawns, there was no one in sight. In the dim light, the house looked sinister and foreboding. Another brilliant flash of lightning added to the macabre effect; Amanda once more found herself torn between fear and curiosity. Should she go back? There would almost certainly be a heavy downpour of rain before very long, and she would be soaked if she did not seek shelter.

  She set her chin obstinately. She had ventured so much in order to find out what went on in this place; she did not intend to return now without having succeeded in her self-appointed task. Another quick glance assured her that there was still no one about. She decided to make a brief tour of the buildings, and see what she could discover.

  She skirted the cloisters, and approached the east wall of the house. A short walk brought her to the main door of the building; she was surprised to see that the windows on either side of the low, square stone entrance were unlit. With guests in the house she would have expected a blaze of light, but all was quiet and dark. A sudden, blinding flash of lightning illumined some words which were painted up over the door — ‘Fay Ce Que Voudras’.

  She paused, considering the legend. That meant “Do what you will”. Could John be right, after all? It would make a very suitable motto for a bagnio. If only that were the worst, she thought, with a sudden spasm of pain; bad as it was, she could bear it...