The Georgian Rake

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  She arrested her thoughts in sudden panic. She felt as one in danger of being pulled down into a quagmire. Why had she come here? To find evidence of Charles Barsett’s ignominy, to be sure; and also simply because she was curious about the doings at Medmenham Abbey. Well, then, let her proceed to her task.

  With renewed resolution, she left the dark, deserted house, and made her way back to the cloisters. The sky was now completely overcast; the thunder rolled ever nearer, while the lightning gained in intensity, but still the rain did not come. A vivid flash of light forking its way down the sky, showed her a flight of stone steps winding upwards from the cloisters. After a moment’s hesitation, she began slowly to mount them, her heart beating fast.

  At the top, there was an oak door, which stood slightly ajar. Amanda peered cautiously round it. It gave on to a long, stone-pillared room which was at present unoccupied. Greatly daring, she edged inside and looked curiously about her.

  The room was richly decorated in classical style, and dimly lit by chandeliers hung at infrequent intervals from a painted ceiling. There were a number of statues of pure alabaster, and sofas were set about the room, luxuriously covered in green silk damask. Amanda paused before the nearest statue, and considered it in horrified surprise. She felt the slow red mounting to her cheeks as she stood there, for the moment motionless with amazement. Then she gave an outraged exclamation, and turned hastily to quit the room.

  At that very moment, a door at the far end of the apartment opened, and two or three females dressed in white, exactly as she was, came in, chattering. Amanda gave a little, involuntary cry, and fled their presence. They looked after her curiously, but made no attempt to follow her.

  In a flutter, Amanda ran swiftly down the stone staircase, and out of the shadowy cloisters on to the lawn. Her one immediate thought was to put as much distance as possible between herself and those others. She ran blindly, and did not stop until she found herself breathless, and unable to continue for the moment. She pulled up, panting, and took her bearings.

  The house was left some distance behind; ahead, not a stone’s throw away, lay the building which she had fleetingly noticed on her first visit here, and which she had then thought to be a domestic chapel. She was near enough now to notice the winking light of candles illumining stained glass windows, imparting a holy glow to the otherwise grey and slightly forbidding edifice.

  Her first thought was that here, if anywhere in this weird place, she would be safe. She paused for a few moments longer until she had quite recovered her breath, then stepped into the porch of the chapel. The door of the building was tight shut. A round handle of twisted iron hung from it; hesitating a little, she finally lifted this, and slowly turned it.

  The door yielded, and swung noiselessly open a few inches. Amanda peered cautiously round it before entering, then halted, surprised. Amazement turned rapidly to horror, as her roving eye took in the details of the interior decoration of the building.

  There were statues here, too, and painted frescoes on the ceiling as grotesque, as indecent and unholy as those in the room which she had just left so hurriedly. Her horrified gaze quickly dropped away from these, and travelled the whole length of this mockery of a chapel, then halted. At the far end, grouped about a travesty of an altar, were gathered some dozen or so monkish figures, in robes of purest white. Their backs were towards her, and they were gazing up earnestly at one of their number who stood on a raised dais, his face turned unseeing in her direction. He was dressed like the rest, save for the red hat, similar to that of a cardinal, which crowned his round, heavy jowled face. His vacant, slightly protuberant eyes seemed to glare with an unholy light, as he mouthed some words which she could not catch.

  His whole attitude struck terror into her very soul. The air of the chapel, heavy with the scent of some weird incense, assailed her nostrils, making her feel that she must swoon if she remained there a moment longer. A sudden gust of wind through the open door blew out the candle nearest to her. The man in the red hat ceased his mutterings, and glanced in her direction.

  With one accord, the rest turned, too, and instantly discovered her before she had time to conceal herself behind the door.

  “A nymph! And prying!”

  The cry came first from one of the monks who had a particularly debauched, vicious countenance; he ran towards her, the others following close behind.

  With an involuntary sob of fear, Amanda took instantly to her heels, holding up the skirts of her long robe so that it should not impede her movements. A fork of lightning twisted across the sky; she blinked, and nearly stumbled, but, recovering herself, ran on with renewed vigour. Her white hood blew back from her head, and her fair curls tossed about her face. Swift as her legs could carry her, she ran in the direction of the river. If once she could gain the clearing that she had indicated to John, help would be forthcoming. She glanced swiftly back over her shoulder. Nimble as she was, her pursuers were gaining on her, their longer limbs carrying them at greater speed than she could hope to make.

  With the desperation born of fear, she put on an extra spurt. It was not far now to the clearing, and then there would be John to protect her. But there must be an interval, she thought frantically, before he could row across from the opposite bank; and meanwhile... meanwhile?

  She put out the last ounce of her strength as she heard her pursuers pounding hard on her heels. She could never do it — her lungs would burst... She stumbled, sobbing.

  “What’s this?”

  A pair of arms encircled her, raising her up from the ground where she would have fallen. She was clasped close to a man’s chest, and never in the whole of her life had she felt so certain that she had found refuge. And yet from his voice, she knew that the man was Charles Barsett.

  “A prying Nun, Brother Charles! She has broken the rule, and must pay the penalty!”

  The tones were those of the monk who had first raised the alarm. The others applauded, laughing, and gathered round the pair like vultures circling their prey. A fierce clap of thunder broke suddenly overhead. Amanda’s grip on her rescuer tightened convulsively.

  When the noise had died away, Charles Barsett stayed the monks with a gesture. The old cynical smile curved his lips as he spoke.

  “By all means,” he said, smoothly. “But this is my prize. I brought the lady here, and therefore claim first right. You may safely leave the honour of the Order in my hands.”

  “Aha!” said the other, with a leer. “So now we have come at the reason of your refusal to join in our diversions during these last few days! Damme, I thought it seemed odd that we should scarce have set eyes on you since we arrived! You were ever a sly dog, Charles! But by all means carry on with the good work; do not let us hinder you, Brother. Fay ce que voudras!”

  A lascivious laugh ran round the assembly. After a barely perceptible pause, Charles Barsett joined in it; but his face was set.

  Amanda sensed rather than saw all this; her face was buried in Charles Barsett’s coat, for he was not wearing the monkish garb. She felt ready to drop with shame, but other emotions, not so easy to define, were stirring within her.

  And then the rain broke from the sky with piercing suddenness. Steel shafts of water beat about the heads of the assembled monks, who turned as one man for shelter, flinging back as they went a lewd jest, which fortunately was drowned by the crash of the storm.

  Charles Barsett drew Amanda’s hood over her hair, and, putting an arm about her waist, ran with her in the opposite direction from that taken by the others. Their feet slithered on the drenched grass, a moment since so parched, and very soon, Amanda’s white robes flapped wetly about her.

  At last they gained the shelter for which Charles had been heading. It was a small temple in the Grecian style, with a floor of mosaic, and furnished with marble benches covered in red velvet cushions. Towards one of these he led her.

  Inside the temple, the light was dim; she could not but be thankful, for at first a strong sense o
f shame was her chief emotion. He, too, was glad of the obscurity, but for different reasons: all the statues and buildings at Medmenham Abbey were such as must be considered unsuited to ladies of Miss Amanda Twyford’s quality.

  He began gently to divest her of the wet robe, but shook his head when she would have torn off the mask.

  “No,” he said quickly. “You will do better to retain that until we are safely out of this place.”

  “I must go now, at once!” exclaimed Amanda, starting for the entrance. The shame had vanished, and other bewildering feelings taken its place. Her state of mind defied understanding: she only knew that she wanted to set a distance of half the universe between this man and herself.

  He restrained her gently.

  “Presently,” he said quietly. “When the storm has abated a little. I have a carriage here, and will conduct you to a place of safety.”

  She recoiled in horror.

  “You! Do you think that I would go anywhere in your company? After all I have learnt of you after all I’ve seen here —!”

  “What have you seen?” he asked, quickly.

  “Those — those arch-fiends,” stuttered Amanda, words spilling out incoherently in her haste and confusion, “mouthing dreadful incantations — in that unholy place — conjuring up the devil —”

  “You must first believe in a devil before you can conjure one up,” he reminded her, gravely. “Those men you saw — I, myself — have long since ceased to believe in any power — for good or evil. What you saw, child, is mummery — an empty jest.”

  “Jest!” she flung back at him, scornfully. “How can one jest on such a subject?”

  “A grim jest, I grant you,” he said, with a shrug, “but still, a jest. Once, such things amused me, too; but now —”

  “Now?” she challenged him.

  “Now,” he said, slowly, as though the words were dragged from him; “now, it would appear that I have lost my sense of humour.”

  “Then you have little left to you!” she taunted him, her blue eyes flashing. “For you must long since have lost your self-respect, to visit this haunt of — of wickedness, and — and vice!”

  His mouth twisted. “True,” he answered wryly; and paused for an instant. “What else did you see?” he continued, with a shade of anxiety in his voice.

  The colour flooded her face. “Everything of the most bestial and — and debauched! Statues and paintings, pictures — I cannot tell you! But you know it all — those females — you know them, too —”

  Her voice choked, and died away. She lowered her head, and the wet curls veiled her face. Had she but been able to see it, the man’s expression was one of relief: bad as these sights were, Miss Amanda had yet managed to escape the worst indignities that the Abbey could offer.

  Outside, the rain lashed down in unabated ferocity, but the lightning was now growing feebler, the thunder more intermittent.

  “I am sorry,” he said, in a subdued tone, “that you should have been exposed to such sights. But you must realise that you brought it upon yourself; on a previous occasion, I endeavoured to spare you. What moved you to come here again? Was it that unbounded curiosity which has formed so large a part of our relationship?”

  Her head came up at that, and the anger returned to her eyes.

  “You know well why I came!” she flashed. “I warned you that I would do everything possible to prevent your marriage to Bella! And at last I have succeeded! When she learns from my own lips, and not from hearsay, how you conduct yourself — what debauched pleasures —”

  Something suspiciously like a sob escaped her. He regarded her gravely, without speaking.

  “John is awaiting me,” she said, suddenly, with a change of tone. “He will take me back home. He must be anxious by now, wondering at my long delay. I must go at once; it does not rain so hard as before.”

  She took a few steps towards the entrance, but he gently arrested her. “Where is your friend, Webster, then? Did he bring you here? Why did he not accompany you into the grounds of the Abbey?”

  There was more than a hint of grimness in his tone.

  “He is across the other side of the river; we came on horseback from Salt Hill, and then the storm came, and we feared the horses might bolt, so he remained with them. In any case, I don’t see what concern it can be of yours! Let me go, sir!”

  She shook off his restraining arm, and turned to go: but he still stood in her path.

  “Out of my way!” she stormed, clenching her fists.

  “Wait,” he said, standing his ground. The quietness of his tone calmed her for the moment. “Have you thought where you will go now? You cannot reach London before the small hours; and you will be the centre of God knows what scandal if you should travel unchaperoned with a man through the night.”

  Amanda shrugged, and pushed the wet hair from her face.

  “I can see no help for that. I will not waste any more time in this place; let me pass at once!”

  “But I do see a way out,” he said, quickly. “I have a proposal to make which may yet save your reputation.”

  “My reputation?” she echoed, with biting scorn. “What can that be to you, pray?”

  “I will defend it against anyone with my sword,” he answered, quietly. “But please hear me out. I have an old servant — the woman who nursed me when I was a child — living at Maidenhead, not far from here. We may reach her home in less than an hour in my carriage. She is a creature of unimpeachable honour, and you may safely pass the night under her roof.”

  Amanda paused, and thought rapidly. “I will not go there alone with you,” she said, at last.

  “Webster will accompany us,” he persisted. “After we have seen you safely lodged with Nurse, he and I will journey to Town and endeavour to concoct some tale that will satisfy your parents though God knows what!”

  “Oh, there is no need to concern yourself over that,” put in Amanda, quickly. “Mama and Papa are staying in the country for a few days — there is only Isabella, and I left her a note, in some sort explaining —”

  “Poor Isabella!” he said, with a wry smile. “She must be sorely troubled.”

  “You need not trouble yourself about my sister,” said Amanda loftily. “She will soon have no thought to spare for you, that I promise you!”

  He bowed slightly, but made no reply to this. The rain had almost stopped, and the sky was growing lighter with the pale radiance of a June night.

  “Very well,” said Amanda, suddenly. “I agree to your plan. I’ll go and signal to John.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She made no demur, but set forward without waiting for him. He kept pace with her, and silently, an arm’s length apart, they made their way through the dripping trees to the clearing near the water’s edge.

  As they came out in the open, a shadow moved suddenly from the shelter of the trees. Amanda started, and ran to clutch at Charles Barsett’s arm. It tightened about her; the other hand rested on his sword.

  The shadow resolved itself into the figure of a man.

  “Mandy!” An urgent whisper came to her ears. “Is that you? Who is with you?”

  It was John. She heaved a sigh of relief, and quickly thrust Charles Barsett’s arm away from her.

  “Oh, John!” Both men noticed the catch in her voice. “What are you doing here? What of the horses are they safe?”

  “Once the rain began, I begged shelter for them at the farm, and came straight here. It seemed the best thing to do, though it took longer than I hoped — are you all right, Mandy? Who is it — oh, I see. Mr. Barsett.”

  His bow lacked dignity from the damp, dishevelled state of his garments, but even so, was noticeably curt. Charles Barsett acknowledged the grudging salutation, and spoke urgently.

  “There is need for haste. It will scarce be necessary to explain to you, Mr. Webster, that Miss Amanda’s presence here is — to say the least — compromising. One cannot avoid the conclusion that anyone who had her w
elfare at heart must have forbidden this escapade.”

  The last sentence was delivered sternly. For a moment, John Webster was reminded of certain uncomfortable periods passed in the headmaster’s study during his schooldays. His hand automatically tugged at his bedraggled cravat.

  “Yes — well, I would agree with you, sir. But Mandy had made up her mind to come here, anyway, and I thought it better she should do so accompanied by me.”

  “There is not time now to argue that.”

  Briefly, he outlined his plan to John; after a word with Amanda in a low tone, John agreed to it.

  “Take Miss Amanda in the boat to the landing stage,” instructed Charles Barsett. “Tie the boat up there, and walk to the top of the lane, where it joins the road to Marlow. I will have my carriage waiting there to convey you both to Maidenhead, where we can leave Miss Amanda in Nurse’s charge, and also procure some dry clothes.”

  Without more ado, he turned away. They entered the boat in silence, and rowed across to the jetty.

  “What is to be done about the horses?” asked Amanda, as they were tying up the boat.

  “We can arrange with the farmer to keep them until they are collected from the inn where we hired them,” said John, easily. “That does not signify, now. But tell me, what happened in that place, Mandy? Were you discovered? How came you to be in Mr. Barsett’s company?”

  Amanda shuddered. “I would rather not talk about it now,” she said, listlessly.

  He glanced at her curiously. “You might take that demmed mask off; it gives me the creeps!”

  She shook her head, but without any vehemence. “He said I had best retain it until I was safely in the carriage.”

  “I see. Perhaps that’s wise. I collect that you were discovered, by Barsett, at any rate.”

  She nodded. “It was dreadful, John! That is a — wicked, evil place!”

  “Is it as bad as you feared?”

  She shuddered again. “Worse!”

  “You make me curious,” he said, with a trace of envy in his tone.