‘I have been very busy, to be sure,’ she retorted, ignoring his proffered arm, ‘but no more so than you, sir.’
He looked puzzled, as well he might, at her markedly contumelious tone, but a period was put to this promising argument by the entry of Sophia, followed by several members of the staff. Then, while the Marquis’s body was decently disposed upon the bed, the suddenly deflated and trembling widow was led away by her sister-in-law to have her arm dressed.
It was less than an hour later, and Mr. Derwent was just finishing a solitary breakfast when Mr. Payne begged the privilege of a word with him. Lysander, who had formed a high opinion of the quiet, competent Runner, invited him to be seated and waited patiently to hear what he had to say. Mr. Payne, whose speed of utterance did not match up with his nimble wits, took a little time to find words with which to express himself.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but His Grace not bein’ in prime twig, as is not to be wondered at, I hardly know who to inform, but bein’ as how it concerns her young leddyship’s intended—’ He trailed off into silence and Lysander looked at him in some amazement.
‘Her young ladyship’s—do you mean Lord Bredon?’
‘Aye, that’s the one, sir.’ Having established that fact, Mr. Payne settled into his chair and continued in a more comfortable way. ‘It’s this country fellow, sir—he’s a poacher, of course, no doubt of it—but when I assured him upon oath that his lordship of Wayleigh was no more, he said he had information to impart that concerned his late lordship and Lord Bredon.’
‘He approached you?’
‘Yes, sir. ‘Tis astonishin’ how word does travel in country parts.’ Mr. Payne shook his head in simple wonderment. Mr. Derwent, who knew him to be not at all simple, gently prompted him to continue.
‘What had he to say?’
‘Well, sir, once assured that his lordship was in no position to put a down on him and that the Law would overlook his—ah, occupation, he gave it me all. Mark you, I’d say th’one reason weighed as much with him as t’other. As I remember, his very words were “I saw it all. ‘Twas not the first lord as killed the gentleman. ‘Twas th’Devil hisself.” By the Devil he meant Lord Wayleigh, sir. Then he told me how Lord Bredon had brangled with Mr. Cantwell, but had left him all right and tight. Came my Lord Wayleigh, who had followed and watched and then waited a while ‘til well clear o’ th’ house. There was a struggle, both gemelmen drew their barkers, one was fired and my lord, havin’ gone through his victim’s pockets, threw his body over his horse’s saddle and piked off.’
‘And did the poacher—er, make himself scarce also?’
‘Aye, he saw no call to come forward as Lord Bredon got away. If he’d spoken up and the Markiss learned of it, then ‘twould ha’ been all dickey with him.’
Mr. Derwent could not but agree on that point, having had personal experience of his lordship’s methods. ‘But—you say there was a struggle? Then Lord Wayleigh did not shoot Mr. Cantwell down in cold blood?’
‘No, sir. As I understand, it well might ha’ been t’other gemelman’s gun as went off. Do it matter, sir?’
‘Not, any longer, to Lord Wayleigh. But I am thinking of his family and of his—his widow. Not a nice thing for a gently-bred lady to believe herself married to a murderer.’ Mr. Payne, though not having any great experience in such matters, agreed that this could be so. ‘Then I would be obliged if you would stress that aspect of the incident when the case is heard.’
Mr. Payne nodded consent. ‘I have despatched Mr. Shoesmith back to Lunnon, sir, in charge of the witness,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I make no doubt Lord Bredon will be freed—in particular as the Markiss ain’t around to dispute the facts.’
Thus it was that, very much later that evening, a carriage drawn by a near-spent pair of horses came hurtling up to Mount Trennick, and a tall, homespun-clad figure almost fell out of it into Sophia’s waiting arms.
‘Timothy, Timothy!’ she cried, beside herself with excitement and relief.
‘Sophy, Sophy! N-never did I th-think to be here—to be w-with you again!’ Bredon, one arm clasping his love, extended the other in greeting to Mr. Derwent who, at the Duke’s request, had agreed to remain at Mount Trennick to render what aid he could to the stricken household. ‘I hope you won’t dislike it too excessively, Derwent, but I gave your n-name as surety. Oh, it will all be r-resolved in a day or two, m-more particularly as you had the g-good sense to obtain Lady Harveston’s testimony.’
‘Timothy! I knew it must be! Oh, what felicity to see you freed!’
Kate’s voice drew the attention of all as, picking up her skirts in her good hand, she ran down the stairs. Bredon at once relinquished Sophia and hurried to greet her warmly. ‘K-Kate, my dear, how can I ever th-thank you—but—your arm—you are injured?’
‘Oh, ‘tis nothing! I chanced to run into a sword!’ said she, darting a wicked glance at the scowling Mr. Derwent. ‘But what was that about Lady Harveston?’
‘D-Derwent tooled her along to Bow Street last night to make a deposition. C-can’t say it would have had much effect of itself, but it gave w-weight to today’s evidence. But wh-what’s been happening here? I got only a wh-whisper of the story.’
Sophia proceeded to enlighten him at such length and in such detail that Kate’s low-toned comment, ‘So that is where you went last night!’ passed unremarked save by Mr. Derwent, its intended hearer. And he, not having been cognizant of her suspicions, could only bow his head in assent and conclude that it was the sight of Bredon that had brought the colour back to her cheeks and the brilliance to her eye.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
‘It’s all deuced confusing,’ complained Lord Glendower fretfully. ‘There’s Miss Honeywell calling herself the Marchioness of Wayleigh, while her sister-in-law is getting herself married off to Bredon in a very hole-in-the-corner way. And what has Lysander to say to all this? Last thing I knew he was going to marry Sophia Trennick himself.’
His wife laid the Morning Post upon his knee and dropped a kiss upon his forehead. ‘The only one I am really concerned for is Kate,’ she said in her unruffled way. ‘Ever since Lysander brought her to us last week she just sits for hours in her bedchamber, staring into space. I cannot interest her in anything.’
‘Shock,’ her spouse said firmly. ‘Natural thing to happen to anyone who married Wayleigh, even if only for half an hour.’
‘Thank God it wasn’t longer,’ said her ladyship significantly. ‘Ah, that must be Lysander and your mother now.’ The sound of voices in the hall had sent her hurrying to the door to receive the Dowager, who was discarding numerous wraps and scarves in a pool around her feet for a waiting footman to collect. ‘Dearest Mama Glendower, are you quite overset by all this tragedy?’
‘Why, not in the least, Jane,’ averred the Dowager, permitting herself to be embraced and drawn into the saloon. ‘To be plain with you, I cannot believe that the effects of Lord Wayleigh’s demise can be other than beneficial, and as for Lady Sophia marrying Bredon, well that’s no great affair either. I never could be quite comfortable at the prospect of having her as a daughter-in-law. Glendower, my dear boy, how do you go on?’
‘Tolerably well, Mama, tolerably well. I must say you look to be in good pin yourself.’
Jane observed these affectionate transports between mother and son with a faint smile and went to greet Mr. Derwent, who was divesting himself of his drab driving-coat.
‘You look a shade peaked, Lysander. This business has rested more heavily upon you than upon any other. Is Bredon quite free of it all?’
‘Yes, the magistrates hold that no blame attaches to him. The wedding will take place at Mount Trennick tomorrow now the doctors are satisfied that young Francis has suffered no lasting hurt, and we are all bidden attend. How is Miss—Lady Wayleigh?’
‘Not in as high spirits as I would like. Lysander, did that brute molest her?’
‘I had hoped not,’ he said, very low. ‘She hasn’t spoken to y
ou?’
‘On that subject, not at all.’
‘I fear that this wedding tomorrow will greatly tax her resolution,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her to join his mother and brother in the saloon.
‘You mean because of returning to Mount Trennick so soon after—all that?’
‘I mean because of Bredon marrying Sophia. She holds him in deep affection.’
‘Indeed?’ Lady Glendower pursed her lips doubtfully. ‘I had thought her to be well pleased at their union.’
‘She’d not wear the willow for all the world to see.’ His voice was brittle with feeling.
‘And that makes a pair of you!’ mused his observant sister-in-law. Aloud, she said: ‘Glendower will not accompany us tomorrow, so long a journey would greatly tire him, so you must be squire to three ladies, Lysander.’
When Lady Wayleigh joined the party in the saloon a little later there was nothing in her manner to suggest that she was breaking her heart over anyone. Her first concern was for Lord Francis, and once satisfied that he was going on as well as could be expected; she contributed little more to the conversation.
Under cover of the Dowager’s regaling the younger ladies with the latest snippets of gossip from the London scene, the two brothers talked together.
‘Now that Sophia Trennick’s slipped your noose, you’ll need to be looking about you again, Lysander.’
‘Yes.’ The wry twist of the mouth which accompanied the monosyllable caused his lordship to eye his brother keenly.
‘Not grassed you, has it? I allow it was a bit of a facer for her to run off when you were set to drop your handkerchief. But not one knew how far it had progressed, apart from ourselves and the Trennicks, and they’ll not talk.’
‘I doubt we would have suited, so no harm’s done.’
His lordship chuckled. ‘What about that lively piece of goods Kate told us you got involved with at Newmarket? I’ll wager she suited! Wayleigh’s little pigeon, wasn’t she?’
‘Kate?’ repeated Mr. Derwent, as if he had not heard the question.
‘Who? Oh, Lady Wayleigh! Yes, she will have it that we stand on no ceremony with her. But to return to your affairs, if you’ll take my advice you’ll not get entangled with any dashing demireps, not if you’re hanging out for a wife.’
‘I won’t,’ promised Mr. Derwent.
‘Some of these match-making mamas can be mighty censorious about a fellow’s bachelor connections. You don’t want to be arousing their suspicions in any way,’ warned his worldly-wise brother.
‘I won’t,’ promised Mr. Derwent again, his eyes fixed steadily on Lady Wayleigh’s downcast face.
His lordship was enlarging upon this theme when they were summoned to partake of a nuncheon, and it was not until the late afternoon that Mr. Derwent was fortunate enough to come upon Lady Wayleigh as she walked by the stream, accompanied by Lord Glendower’s fat spaniel. Under the fresh young green of the trees, in her blue jaconet gown with lacy parasol, she made so enchanting a picture that he felt his throat contract from the sheer pleasure of looking at her, and was glad that her good sense prohibited her from making a parade of her widowhood.
‘Miss—my lady—’ The gracefully turned phrases he had rehearsed died unuttered, and he stumbled on as awkwardly as any lovelorn stripling. ‘It is scarce the moment for saying such things, but—is your arm quite recovered?’
‘Yes, perfectly, I thank you.’ She closed her parasol with a snap. ‘But that was not what you were about to say, was it, Mr. Derwent?’
‘No,’ he admitted, bending down to remove some brushwood from the spaniel’s ears while he endeavoured to formulate his thoughts into more coherent expression. ‘I know that tomorrow’s happy event must be the cause of some distress to you. Your own unfortunate position, widowed as soon as—I mean, if I can be of any assistance, I am yours to command.’ Her ladyship’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement as she tried to probe the depths of this confused speech.
‘I do not exactly take your meaning, sir,’ she said at last.
Lysander drew a deep breath and endeavoured to make himself plain. ‘No doubt the very thought of marriage is quite abhorrent to you, which indeed is not to be wondered at. But for you to be bearing the name of Wayleigh so offends every proper feeling that I beg you will consider changing it.’
‘Marry again? Oh, I don’t know.’ She played thoughtfully with the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘I have a mind to be a Marchioness for a time longer. Marquises don’t grow upon every tree, you know.’
‘I see,’ Mr. Derwent said shortly.
‘Think of the pleasure of enjoying such consequence without any of the—ah—drawbacks,’ elaborated her ladyship. ‘Oh, Pippin, don’t go into the water! Please stop her, sir! Jane particularly does not wish her to get wet because of that sore patch on her shoulder!’
The spaniel, which had started to bark excitedly at a water-fowl, was halfway into the stream before Mr. Derwent could catch her. When, after a brief tussle, the dog was secured by her leash, he, rather discomposed and with muddy pawmarks on his pearl-grey pantaloons, discovered that the conversation had been adroitly turned from the subject of her ladyship’s matrimonial prospects to every other thing under the sun, and so continued until they were presently joined by the Dowager and Lady Glendower.
The wedding on the following day of Sophia and Bredon was an unexpectedly joyful occasion. The young couple’s delight in each other was only equalled by their pleasure at having Lord Francis present at the ceremony. Pale and leaning upon a stick, he remained with them to drink their health until the Duke bore him off to rest.
‘One good outcome of all this,’ said Lord Fontevin to Kate as they sat a little apart together, ‘is that Edmonton has put a true value on young Francis at last. Depend upon it, he’ll do his possible to marry the lad off as soon as he may so as to secure a grandson.’
‘But he’s only nineteen!’ she protested, laughing.
His lordship clearly did not consider Lord Francis’s youth to be any barrier to his father’s plans, and said so. ‘What a pleasing young woman Lady Glendower is, to be sure,’ he went on. ‘Thinks a lot of Derwent, too.’
‘Most ladies do, I understand,’ replied Kate in what she fancied to be a disinterested manner.
‘Which reminds me, he owes me some money!’ The old gentleman laughed softly. ‘Had to borrow from me at Newmarket so as to turn Miss Weston up sweet!’
‘You don’t mean he paid her as well as—’
‘As well as what?’ She did not reply and he put out a hand to touch her arm. ‘I suspect what you have been thinking, my dear, and if I was you I’d forget about it. He was nearly out of his mind at thought of you in Wayleigh’s power. Even did he pleasure the wench in order to get the truth from her—and I’m not saying he did, mind you!—he did it for your sake. I’d not have thought you so missish as to hold it against him.’
‘I—I believe he has a fondness for her,’ Kate declared stubbornly.
‘Gammon!’ retorted Lord Fontevin, quite rudely. ‘Has he asked you to marry him?’
‘He was about to yesterday, but I—I put him off.’
‘More fool you, my girl! He’s a proud lad and will break his heart rather than press his attentions where he believes them to be unwelcome.’
‘He is convinced that I am cherishing a hopeless passion for Bredon,’ she said, between a sob and a laugh.
‘Then the sooner you relieve his mind of that nonsense, the better!’ counselled his lordship. ‘Ah, from the sounds of it, the happy couple are about to leave us—your arm, my dear.’ It was late the following afternoon before the Mansell party arrived home and the Dowager declared herself to be quite worn and fit only for her bed. Jane, who had been observing with interest the curiously constrained manner of the two other occupants of the carriage towards each other, promptly suggested that her mother-in-law should retire and have a tray sent to her room.
Recounting every detail of the wedding to Lord Glendowe
r proved a fruitful topic of conversation throughout dinner. Then, it being an uncommonly warm and balmy evening, Jane persuaded Kate to stroll upon the terrace with her, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port together.
‘Fine girl, that,’ said his lordship, having been well primed by his wife. ‘Devilish pity she ever got tangled up in this business. All on your account, wasn’t it, Lysander?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose it was in a way.’ Mr. Derwent was staring out at the garden where, through the wide-flung French windows, the figures of the two ladies could be seen, perambulating to and fro.
‘She is talking of going back to the Cape,’ resumed his brother. ‘Sensible thing to do, I suppose. The name of Wayleigh would mean little out there, whereas here every time she entered a room the whispering would start.’
‘She must change it!’ The words were wrung out of Mr. Derwent with so much feeling that the spaniel, whose ears he had been idly fondling, uttered a short yelp of protest.
‘Oh, depend upon it, once returned to the Cape there’ll be gentlemen in plenty falling over themselves to offer for so considerable an heiress.’
From the look on his brother’s face at hearing this expression of opinion, Lord Glendower was assured that Jane had read the portents aright. A sharp scream from the garden disturbed the peace of the evening, and brought Mr. Derwent to his feet.
‘Help—oh, help! Lysander, come quickly!’ He was out of the window almost before Lady Glendower had finished her call for assistance. ‘It’s Kate! I tripped and caught at her and pushed her into the fountain basin!’
He was vastly relieved to find a giggling if decidedly damp Marchioness seated on the edge of the basin, declaring that to be sitting under a fountain was the very thing for keeping cool on so sultry an evening.
‘It’s nothing to signify,’ she responded to his anxious queries. ‘I just turned my ankle a little when Jane threw me over so violently.’
‘Carry her into the saloon, Lysander, if you please,’ commanded his sister-in-law. ‘Oh, Kate, my dear, how excessively clumsy of me! Does it hurt very greatly?’
Lysander's Lady Page 21
