Amanda refrained from saying that she would not have allowed herself to become so involved, and merely contented herself with the consoling remark, “Don’t worry, Bella. I am certain that it will all pass off a deal more easily than you suppose at present.”
In the event, she proved to be right, at least as far as Lord Twyford, was concerned. He arrived in the late afternoon of the same day, bringing with him a cheerful account of their Mama. She had recovered her usual health very quickly in the country air, and was determined to quit it no more this season.
“And we would all do better to follow her example,” he finished, “particularly since your Aunt Matchett was not at liberty to come and stay with you here in Town. Even your Mama feels that it will not be possible for you to remain under the circumstances. She thought that perhaps later on, when Isabella has fixed a date for her wedding —”
Here Amanda quickly interrupted, saying how glad she would be to return to Berkshire, and the conversation was turned for the moment. But later on, Amanda managed to leave her sister alone for a space with my lord. She caught Isabella’s eye as she quitted the room, and held up two fingers crossed for luck, behind my lord’s back.
She did not return for some time to the drawing-room. When she did, it was with the liveliest expectation of finding that all had gone well. A glance at Isabella confirmed her hopes: her sister was flushed, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.
“Well, Mandy, so your sister has thrown over her grand new suitor, eh?” asked her father, with a quiet chuckle.
“She’s a fickle lass, ain’t she?”
“Not fickle, precisely, Papa,” returned Amanda, with a smile. “Bella’s only trouble is that she doesn’t know her own mind.”
“And you do, I’ll be bound,” he retorted. “Well, I can’t pretend that I’m not glad of the change. Barsett is one of the best, an old and valued friend; but that boy of his —”
He stopped, not caring to say more in the presence of his daughters.
“You do Mr. Barsett an injustice, sir,” said Amanda, impetuously. “If you could know him better, I feel convinced that you would think differently of his character.”
He directed a sharp glance at her, and raised his brows.
“You do, do you?” he asked. “Since when, may I ask, have you been an advocate of his? I would have taken my oath on it that you disliked him extremely!”
Amanda positively blushed. Isabella eyed her in astonishment.
“I — I am not invariably right,” she stammered, awkwardly. “Brownie used often to warn me of the danger of yielding to hastily formed opinions — not without some justification!”
Lord Twyford stared hard at his younger daughter, bewilderment in his eyes.
“Egad, here’s a change!” he exclaimed. “’Pon oath, I never thought to hear you admit to such a thing!”
Amanda’s colour deepened. She hastily muttered some incoherent excuse, and fled from the room, leaving both her relatives staring after her in utter astonishment.
Chapter XIX: My Lord Barsett is Beset by Doubts
After Charles Barsett left the two sisters, he drove at once to St. James’s Square. His father was from home, but he found his aunt sitting alone in a shady room at the back of the house. She did not attempt to conceal her surprise on seeing him, and told him at once that she could not imagine what he should want with her.
It was an unpromising start to a difficult interview. He cast about in his mind for some way of breaking his news to her without inflicting too great a shock to her sensibilities. He could feel very little affection for one who had never shown him any at all; but common humanity urged him to be gentle in his dealings with her on this melancholy occasion.
“I am the bearer of a message from my cousin,” he began, at last.
“From Roger?” Her brows shot up: this was indeed an unlikely messenger from such a source.
He nodded briefly. “I have something of an unpleasant nature to communicate to you, Aunt. Roger is not well —”
She started from her chair on these words, and a cry of alarm escaped her.
“Do not concern yourself, I beg,” he said. “There is no danger of his life. There is a doctor with him who says that he will do very well in a little time.”
She sank back again on to her chair, relief on her face.
“Thank God!” she breathed. “But what has happened — you — what have you done?”
He could not fail to notice her assumption that he was somehow responsible for Roger’s misfortune. He passed this over, however.
“What I have to tell you must go no further,” he said, with a stern air, “but you, at least, must know the truth. Yesterday, for some purpose of his own, my cousin tried to abduct Miss Twyford.”
She started violently, and the colour drained from her face.
“You are no doubt aware that this was made easy for him by the absence from Town of her parents and myself,” he continued. “I don’t propose to labour you with all the details of the affair indeed, some of them are not yet clear to me. Suffice it to say that he took her to a deserted toll house on the road to Maidenhead, which appears to have been a haunt of his for years. A struggle ensued, in which Miss Isabella overturned a lamp, and started a fire. During the upheaval which followed, Roger was knocked senseless, and Miss Isabella made her escape. Roger was left there unconscious in the midst of the flames.”
She began to shiver at these words. He rose to pass her a shawl which lay over a chair close at hand. She accepted it wordlessly, drawing it about her thin shoulders, and cringing, as if from an expected blow. He looked at her compassionately.
“By great good fortune, a friend and myself chanced to be travelling along the road where Miss Isabella ran for help. Between us, we were able to pull Roger out, and found immediate medical attention for him nearby, at the ‘Bear’.”
Her trembling had stopped, but she sat still, watching him.
“As I said before, you need have no fear for his life,” he said, soothingly. “He will recover; he has the best of attention. This medico has a notable reputation.”
Her expression had changed. He looked appalled at the hard, ruthless lines of her face.
“The fool!” she said, in a high, unnatural voice. “He is his father’s son, after all! I knew that one day he would overplay his hand!”
He made no reply to this, but his voice was less sympathetic when he next spoke.
“Miss Twyford,” he said, coldly, “was returned to her home today, and her parents are none the wiser. I am sure you will agree, Aunt, that it would be as well to keep them in such a state of blissful ignorance. No doubt you will wish to join your son without delay. If there is any way in which I can assist you to this end, you may command me.”
She passed a hand over her eyes, and once more her voice changed.
“Is he — much hurt?” she asked falteringly.
His glance was gentle again.
“He has been badly burnt, I fear: but he is conscious, and has the best attention.”
She rose hastily. “I will go to him. I don’t doubt that you will be only too ready to explain to your father where I am gone, and why.”
He had risen, too, and now bowed gravely before her.
“As for your help, I want none of it. I shall manage very well alone!”
“That is as you please, of course: but I think you know that my father will never hear this story from my lips.”
He left the house without more ado.
Later that afternoon, when Mrs. Thurlston had departed for Maidenhead, and Charles Barsett was sitting broodily in his room in Albemarle Street, a carriage drew up outside the house in St. James’s Square. A young lady and an abigail alighted, and, mounting the steps, knocked upon the door. They were admitted, and presently the young lady was shown up to his lordship, who was sitting alone.
Surprise showed on his face as he rose to greet her, but he carefully kept all trace of it out of his manner.
She answered him absently in a few low words, and, seating herself, lapsed into silence.
“It is some days since I had the pleasure of meeting the rest of your family,” he continued politely. “They are also in good health, I hope?”
“Yes — yes, thank you, my lord,” replied Amanda. “That is to say — no, not quite all; Mama found the heat very oppressive, and has been obliged to quit Town for the country. Papa is but just returned from accompanying her there, and says she is already much recovered.”
My lord clucked his tongue in concern. “I am sorry to hear of her indisposition,” he said. “The weather is certainly hot, though a little improved, I think, since the recent storm.”
Beneath his urbane manner, he was agog with curiosity. Certainly Miss Amanda Twyford had not come here to exchange the courtesies with him: what could the chit want?
“We are all to return to Berkshire in a few days’ time, my lord,” continued Amanda, with a trace of uneasiness in her manner. “That is why I felt that I must seek you out immediately. You see —” she swallowed nervously — “there — there is something I must tell you!”
“Indeed?” he said, smoothly. “However that may be, I am delighted that you did not leave Town without affording me the opportunity of bidding you Godspeed. Though we shall soon meet again, I trust?”
“I do not think it likely, sir,” said Amanda, regretfully.
“I — I beg your pardon?”
My lord was puzzled.
“Perhaps I had better first tell you my story, sir. Then you will better understand. But I am puzzled where to begin; my — my mission is rather a — a delicate one.”
“Mission — delicate?” echoed my lord, feeling out of his depth.
Amanda tilted her chin in the old courageous gesture.
“I must be plain, my lord. My purpose in coming here is to place before you evidence which should serve to right a wrong. If in so doing, I should seem to be meddling in affairs which are your own private concern, or — or questioning your judgment, I beg that you will forgive what may perhaps appear as an impertinence. Please believe that I am compelled to speak — my conscience will not acquit me of the duty — common justice requires it!”
By now, his curiosity was thoroughly aroused.
“Have no fears, Miss Amanda,” he said, courteously. “I acquit you readily of any charges of impertinence, and give you leave to meddle and to question with impunity! Take your time, my dear young lady, and say what you will.”
Amanda drew a deep breath of relief.
“Thank you, my lord. Do you perchance recollect a conversation between us at my birthday ball — a conversation concerning your son?”
Lord Barsett nodded, his eyes alert. He had thought often enough of that conversation since, with a troubled spirit.
“You told me then that there had been little sympathy between you and — and Mr. Barsett in the past,” continued Amanda, hurriedly. “But I collected — more from your manner than from any words that you spoke — that you were beginning to think better of his character. What I have to tell you now must surely convince you that you were utterly mistaken in him — that he is essentially noble!”
My lord could not repress a start. Noble — Charles? That was coming it a bit strong, surely? But he would hear the girl out.
“We shall see, my dear,” he replied, diplomatically. “But by all means, tell me your story.”
Amanda hesitated for only a second.
“In telling you, my lord,” she said, with a blush, “I am obliged to betray myself. I have been guilty, I must confess, at times, of — of what can only be described as — unmaidenly conduct.”
“Nothing you may tell me, Miss Amanda,” he said, gently, “can in any way alter the esteem in which I hold you. Rest assured of that.”
She smiled tremulously, and shook her head.
“When you have heard me out, I fear you will think otherwise. However, that cannot alter my duty. You see, my lord, it was like this…”
She plunged determinedly into her tale. She told everything, not sparing herself: how her determination that Isabella should not wed Charles, added to her curiosity concerning the Abbey and its doings, had made it easy for Roger Thurlston to inveigle her into going to Medmenham.
At this point, my lord started to his feet, exclaiming, “The villain! Do you tell me that my own nephew —”
She nodded emphatically, and he subsided, not wishing to put her off the rest of her story. She went on to tell of how Charles had eased her out of her predicament; and then she retailed Isabella’s part in the affair. Once again, Lord Barsett showed considerable emotion; but Amanda plunged on, and came to the business of the fire, and Charles Barsett’s rescue of his cousin. She wound up by telling of his renunciation of her sister in favour of John Webster.
When she had finished, there was a long silence in the room. Her cheeks burned, and her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, but she knew a strong feeling of relief. At last she had done what justice demanded.
“Am I to understand,” said my lord, at last, “that you have told me this in order to show me that I have all this while been mistaken in the characters of my nephew and my son?”
She nodded, apprehensive but steadfast. “Not only you, my lord, but all the world.”
He raised one eyebrow in a way that reminded her painfully of Charles.
“Yet,” he said gently, “you have — pardon me for reminding you of it — yourself seen proof of — his wildness.”
She could not meet his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, almost in a whisper. “But I have also learnt something of the reasons for it.”
“You find that to understand all is to forgive all?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“How much of this story is known to your parents, Miss Amanda?”
She looked alarmed. “At present, merely the part concerning Bella’s engagement.”
“Do you intend to confide the rest to them?”
She shook her head.
“Bella, John and I have discussed it thoroughly, and we believe it can serve no useful purpose, for the present, anyway. Indeed, it may prejudice John’s chances of obtaining Mama’s consent to the match. She — you must understand, sir, that she was very set on Bella’s marrying your — son. One day, perhaps, it may be possible to tell them all — or nearly all,” she added, with a shamefaced look. “I must say, I do not find it comfortable to be obliged to keep a secret for very long.”
“That I can believe,” he said, with a smile. “Yours is an unusually candid nature.”
She blushed, and rose to go, unwilling to prolong an interview that had been attended for her by so much embarrassment. Lord Barsett, too, came to his feet.
“It is difficult to find adequate words to thank you for coming forward in this way, Miss Amanda. Believe me, I am fully sensible of the courage required to take such a step.”
He took her hand, and saluted it, bowing low.
“May I say that what you have confided to me leaves me with an even higher opinion of you than I held formerly?”
He saw the tears start in her eyes at his words. His own were gentle.
After he had seen her to her carriage, he came and stood before the portrait over the mantelshelf.
“She loves him, Kit,” he whispered, “though I think she doesn’t yet know it herself. Can she be right, think you? Have I misjudged our son all these years?”
He gazed earnestly into the blue eyes of the portrait. Was it fancy, or did they seem to hold a hint of wistfulness tonight?
“The evidence was all against him,” he said, aloud, defensively. “And there can be no doubt that he has been wild enough since then, in all conscience! But, small sympathy as I held for the child, I never in his life knew him to persist in a lie until that day. I wonde
r —” He broke off, musing silently for a while. “But she is young, and a prejudiced witness, after all!” he exclaimed, after pacing the room for a while longer. “’Twould be a fine thing for him, though, if he should wed her: I do believe she is the very girl for him!”
He stared earnestly at the picture again. “Damme if I won’t know for sure!” he exclaimed. “What was the name of that wench again? Baker — Blunt —? No, its gone! No matter, my lawyer will know. I’ll settle this, once and for all!”
He crossed again to the fireplace, this time to ring the bell.
Chapter XX: Reconciliation
Two days later, Charles Barsett received a message from his father asking him to call in St. James’s Square. He fancied that he knew the reason for the summons, and went at once, anxious to have done with the business.
My lord looked up as his son was shown into the drawing-room, and studied his face attentively. Charles was dressed with his usual care, but he looked tired and drawn, and the sparkle had left his eyes.
Lord Barsett extended a hand, but Charles declined ruefully, indicating a bandage on his own which was partially concealed by his ruffles.
“How came you by that?” asked my lord, with studied carelessness.
Charles shrugged. “A trifling affair; some straw caught alight in the stables.”
Lord Barsett made no reply to this, but indicated a chair, and rang for some wine. When they were served, they sat drinking for a time in melancholy silence.
“Well, Charles,” said my lord, eventually. “I learn that you and Miss Isabella have broken off your engagement. A pity, but I collect that the lady’s affections are engaged elsewhere.”
“You’ve seen Twyford, then?” asked Charles.
His father nodded. “He was apologetic, but firm. It appears that you did not employ your time with that young lady to good enough advantage, my boy. It should have been a simple enough matter to fix your interest with her, an accomplished gallant like yourself!”
He fancied that his son winced a little at this, but Charles’s voice was level enough as he replied.
“I think her affections were too firmly placed already for any efforts of mine to signify. In any event, it is all for the best: we should not have suited.”
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