“Oh, now, daughter,” Mrs. Tyrrell said, beginning to be perturbed by her daughter’s vehemence. Could she have done the wrong thing after all? “You know you always thought he was a fortune-hunter—”
“No, I did not! I had some such foolish notion for a time, but I soon learnt my error. He has endangered his life for us—we owe him more than we can ever repay!”
“But you can’t expect me to think well of a man who leads my daughter into scrapes such as last night,” said Mrs. Tyrrell, pulling at the lace side frills of her cap. “And he took me into that dreadful prison—”
“But only because you insisted on going. Mama. And then,” Amy said with a sigh of distress, “you broke down and made an exhibition of yourself, just as I did yesterday. He must think we are a parcel of fools.”
“Well, if he has a low opinion of us, it’s as well if he doesn’t come to the house!”
“That is mere foolishness. Even if we are fools, we must be grateful and polite fools, ma’am. God knows how we are ever to make amends to him for the insults we have heaped upon him. Oh, I have done my share of that,” Amy said, her voice breaking. “You are not alone, Mama, in misjudging him and speaking your opinion. But I must seek him out now and apologise—”
“No, no, Amy,” her mother interposed. “Truly, child, you don’t look well, and I beg you not to go rushing off in search of the man. Let Bryce be sent with a letter to him.”
“But that is so cold, so impersonal.”
“Write with warmth, then, if you must,” said Mrs. Tyrrell, giving up the fight. “I confess I don’t understand how you come to have so much emotion on the subject, but I can see you are in earnest. Tell him I apologise, tell him to come and see you, tell him ... tell him I regret what I said last night. I may have been too severe. But let me tell you this, daughter,” Mrs. Tyrrell ended, “if matters go on as they are, you won’t have a shred of reputation left!”
Since she could see her mother was determined not to let her go in person, Amy sat down to write a note to Jeffrey. It proved extremely difficult. It was all very well for her mother to say: Write with warmth. But how much warmth? Last evening, when she had come upon Jeffrey tied down on the sands, she had been on the-verge of telling him that she loved him. But before she could get the words out, he had told her not to be a fool!
From that point, it was hard to find a path between her real feelings and the need to hide her secret. She wanted to write, “Please, please come and see me—I am dying with longing to see you—until you come I feel my heart will beat with only half its strength.” Instead she wrote, “I learn that my mother received a wrong impression from our arrival last night and want you to know that she withdraws her prohibition...”
She scratched out and re-wrote for half an hour. In the end, she gave up and began pacing about, lost in thought, remembering the events of last night.
She recalled all she had learned, about Mr. Pierce and the death of Beau Gramont and the smuggling and ... And Bernard? Was Bernard involved?
Once she told what she knew, Bernard would be involved. She must speak to Bernard. She hurried out, pausing only to pick up an Indian shawl as protection against the October breeze.
She went through the wicket-gate and across the lane into Parall’s grounds. As she did so she heard the sound of a horse coming at a neat trot and, turning her head, saw Jeffrey on his big black coming sedately up the drive. “Jeffrey!” she cried in delight, and ran to meet him. “Good morning, Amy,” he said, swinging down and doffing his hat. “How are you this morning?”
“Well enough, thank you. And you?”
He had taken her hand. He looked at the little thimbles of court plaster that Molly had put over each broken nail. “Poor little fingers,” he said in a gentle voice.
“And you?” she said, looking at the weals on his wrists. “Have you put any soothing ointment on?”
“Nay, all that will take care of itself,” he said. “And is your mama still in a fury with me for bringing you home in your petticoats?”
Amy blushed and turned away.
“I fear we shocked her, Amy.”
“I fear so. But she might have waited before ... Ah, well, it’s useless to expect Mama to change now. She has always been inclined to speak before she thinks.”
“I wish she liked me better. I don’t exactly know what I have done to set her against me so...”
Amy couldn’t explain it either. It was just one of her mother’s incomprehensible views, likely to be changed as suddenly as it was adopted.
“And are you just about to visit Bernard, or are you coming from there?” he went on.
“I’m just going there.”
“And so am I. Shall we go together?”
“Why are you going there?” she inquired, her mind beginning to work. “Did you learn a great deal yesterday, before those dreadful men tried to kill you?”
“A great deal, Amy. And you too, I gather—because you said last night that Pierce boasted he had killed me.”
“Yes. I went to see him ... because of something Bernard had said to me. And somehow he ... I don’t know ... little by little it all came out. I think he had had too much to drink, and was flushed with triumph over the attack at Poole. And he thought it didn’t matter to tell me, because no one would believe me.”
“But I shall be believed, Amy.”
“Indeed?” She looked up at him, puzzled and yet trustful. “I of course would believe whatever you tell me. But I wonder if it will prove as easy to convince the gentlemen of this county, who have known Mr. Pierce all his life?”
“Never fear, Amy. I shall be believed and your father will be set free.”
“You mean it?” she gasped. “He can be restored to us?”
“I promise you. And you too, Amy—you can have your life restored to you. Your life, and the man you love.”
She stared at him, perplexed.
“I can free Bernard too,” he went on. “Bernard is—”
“Oh, you mean that you can somehow protect Bernard from any charge of being a confederate of the Pegmen?”
“Not only that, my dear. Bernard has been in the greatest distress since his father died, for a reason that has divided him from you with more force than you can imagine. I am now going to explain to him that he has been duped, and once he knows that there will no longer be a barrier between you.”
They had been walking on slowly as they talked, with Gylo stalking disdainfully behind them. They now reached the door of Parall, and it flew open to reveal Bernard. He had clearly been watching their approach from the window.
He stood in the doorway staring at them. “What are you doing here?” he said to Jeffrey. “I thought I told you never to come to my house again?”
“Calm yourself,” Jeffrey said. “I’ve come on an errand of mercy—”
“How could you bring him here, Amy? You know how he has been persecuting us!”
“I know nothing of the kind, Bernard. Jeffrey says he wants to help you and I believe him.”
“You believe him? He is making a fool of you.”
“Come, Gramont,” Jeffrey said, “let us go inside—or do you prefer that we discuss your mother’s illness on the doorstep?”
Amy saw Bernard go pale and lick his lips. “You dare to come here with some charge to make against my mother?”
“Why should you jump to such a conclusion? It’s quite groundless.”
“Let’s go indoors, Bernard.” Amy, at a nod from Jeffrey, led the way. The drawing-room still had the shutters closed, although it was now mid-morning. The place had a forlorn, unlived-in look.
“Please say what you have to say and then go,” Bernard said. “I don’t want you here causing trouble.”
“I’ve come to do just the opposite, to clear away the misery and suspicions that have been making you ill ever since your father’s death—the secret that has weighed so heavily on you, that has prevented you from offering any help or kindness to Amy, that has p
rompted you to wish to see Mr. Tyrrell hang—”
“Jeffrey!” Amy cried in horror. “Pray don’t! Mr. Pierce said some such thing to me, but I cannot bear it—”
“It’s true nevertheless,” Jeffrey insisted, “But you’ll pity him when you hear the reason. He thinks his mother killed his father.”
A moment’s stricken silence followed,
“No, no, it’s not true,” Bernard burst out. “She didn’t do it! It was Mr. Tyrrell—”
“It was not!” Amy cried. “How could you think such a thing?”
“He doesn’t think so, Amy. Truly he doesn’t. But he has to act as if he does, otherwise you might have suspected what he believed.” Jeffrey went to the other man and quite gently pushed him into an elbow chair. “Gramont, you rushed to a conclusion that seemed possible, perhaps even probable. But you should have been wary of Edward Pierce!”
“Mr. Pierce? How does he come into it?”
Amy cried. “It was to Pierce’s advantage to let Bernard think his mother was guilty. That way, Bernard would work hard at getting someone else condemned. You couldn’t expect Bernard to want to see his mother in the dock.”
“Oh, no,” Bernard groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh, no, it would be too dreadful.”
“And so Bernard did all he was asked by Mr. Pierce. He tried to get me pushed out of the way. He wanted your father to be condemned—”
“An innocent man?” Amy cried.
“At least you knew your father was innocent. Bernard knew—or thought he knew—that his mother was guilty.”
“No, no.”
“Don’t bother to cry out about, it Bernard. The agony is over. You may have found her with the dagger in her hand when you came running at her screams, but all she had done was pick it up. She found your father dead in the hall when she came downstairs, as I imagine she often did, in search of him. Loving him as she did, she made an outcry—did she not?”
“Why ... yes ... yes ... you seem to know a great deal?”
“I heard it described when I was held prisoner by the Pegmen yesterday. Stephen Boles thought it very comical that he had killed Beau Gramont but got two other people condemned for it—Amy’s father by the inquest jury, your mother by yourself.”
“Stephen Boles? Little Stephen?” Bernard gasped, a wild light of hope dawning in his eyes.
“The very man. Edward Pierce’s henchman. After he had stabbed your father, Boles hurried to Pierce to tell him what he had done. Pierce came to Parall with him, to find you trying to comfort your mother, who was out of her mind with grief. Was it then that he planted the idea in your mind that your mother had committed the crime?”
“I ... I ... don’t remember.”
“Well, she was perfectly innocent. She was unable to explain that she had found her husband dead, because she never got her wits back. All this time you have been protecting her—and it is understandable—but you have been quite in error. What is worse, you have been aiding and abetting Pierce to put Mr. Tyrrell’s head in the noose.”
“Oh, Bernard,” Amy said in a faint voice.
“Forgive me—Amy, forgive me! I must have been mad!” Bernard flung himself out of his chair and knelt at her side. “How I must have wounded you! I know how you love me—I swear that I’ll make it up to you in the future.”
Amy snatched her hand from his fervent clasp. Quite unexpectedly, she found she couldn’t bear his touch. “Control yourself,” she said in a strange tone, very cool yet shaken. “I may have loved you once, Bernard, although it now seems strange and unlikely. But I have no wish to share any future with you.”
“Oh, I know you are hurt, and want to punish me.”
“I don’t want to punish you. I wish you well, although it will make me very happy if I never see you again.”
“That is your pride speaking. I understand, truly I do.”
“Perhaps it is my pride speaking. But I think it is my common sense. I have wasted enough of my life on you, Bernard. I’ve other plans for the rest of it.”
“Other plans? But your father has always accepted that you and I are to marry.”
“I hardly think he will be eager for it when he hears the part you have played in his misfortunes. But putting that aside, he wouldn’t wish me to marry a man I can’t respect.”
“What?” Bernard gasped.
“Can’t respect. It’s too difficult to explain, I fear. Let us merely say that if you feel any debt to me because of our childhood friendship or because of recent events, I absolve you from it.”
Jeffrey Maldon spoke for the first time in some moments. “Are you sure you aren’t acting out of momentary emotion, Amy?”
“I am sure. I have known for some time that I no longer care for Bernard.”
“But... Amy ... what am I to do if you refuse me?” Bernard complained.
A dark sparkle came into Amy’s hazel eyes. “Well, there’s always Miss Hilderoth.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is about? But I explained about Miss Hilderoth.”
“Do you think you did? Well, never mind. I’m sorry, Bernard, with or without Miss Hilderoth, I could never marry you now.”
She felt that enough had been said and was turning to go. Jeffrey laid a hand on her arm. “There is one thing more, however,” he remarked. He looked down at Bernard, who was still kneeling in a lover-like attitude on the floor. Flushing, Bernard scrambled up.
“Well?” he said uncertainly.
“Your mother is innocent. I am not so sure that you are. But I will give you the benefit of the doubt. In twenty-four hours a search will be made here and I have no doubt that large quantities of contraband will be found in the great cellar under the lake.”
“What?” Bernard exclaimed.
“You mean you didn’t know about it? I wonder if a jury would believe that. I repeat, there are goods there that cannot be got rid of before the search party arrives—”
“How do you know this?” Bernard challenged. “You speak of searches and juries and giving me the benefit of the doubt. Who are you to make accusations of this kind? You may be acting on Mr. Tyrrell’s behalf, but that doesn’t give you the right—”
“No, Mr. Tyrrell’s case doesn’t give me the right. But the duties conferred on me by Mr. Pitt give me authority to order searches and make inquiries.”
“Mr. Pitt?”
“The Paymaster-General. You must have heard of him.”
“Mr. Pitt?” Amy said, in wonder. “Mr. Pitt sent you here?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” She shook her head in perplexity. “I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Pitt is charged with the task of raising money to pay the Army and the Navy and the Civil Service. Taxes which should provide the funds for them are simply not being paid. Worse, honest shopkeepers are being driven to bankruptcy because goods brought in at no tax are undercutting those on which customs duty has been paid. So Mr. Pitt sent me to Hampshire to try to find out, once and for all, how the smuggling rings work, who puts up the money for the cargoes, and how the cargoes are dispersed to the cities.”
“You are an envoy from Mr. Pitt?” Bernard said.
“An unacknowledged envoy. Naturally my mission had to be kept secret. If it had been known what I was here for, I should have been pegged out on the beach long before yesterday!” He smiled as Amy gasped, and went on with wry humour, “I had not, as everyone seemed to assume, come to try for your fortune. I really am not a fortune-hunter, Amy.”
Amy felt herself going scarlet. “I ... I never really thought you were, Jeffrey.”
“Oh yes you did, for a time. Particularly when Bernard put ideas into your head.”
Bernard moved restlessly about the room. “I only passed on what I had been told.”
“By Edward Pierce.”
“Well ... yes ... But then, how could we know you came from the Paymaster-General? And indeed, I don’t see why he should send you. Are you a particular protégé of his?”
“Not exactly. He needed someone for this particular task, and I had been brought to his attention over the Jacobite prosecutions.”
“Ah,” Amy said, with a glance at Bernard. Bernard looked away.
“Ah,” Jeffrey echoed mockingly. “Was it Pierce who put the idea in your mind that I was a Stuart supporter?”
Amy sighed. “Well, it was Bernard. Who had it from Mr. Pierce, I suppose.”
“Well, but,” Bernard broke in, “it seems there was truth in it after all!”
“Some truth. There were three poor Jacobite gentlemen in the Tower and, as far as one could see, no one bestirring himself to get their defence ready. And you know, a man is entitled to a defence, no matter how guilty he may prove to be in the end.”
“And so you came forward to help,” Amy said softly.
“Yes. I made such inquiries as I could and persuaded a friend to plead their cause at the Bar—the same man who might have taken your father’s case if it had proved necessary.”
“And what happened?”
“We failed, of course. But at least we tried.”
He was silent. Amy went to his side and took his hand. “I honour you for what you did.”
“What, even though I was helping wicked Jacobites?”
She pressed his hand between both of hers. “Jeffrey,” she said. “Oh, Jeffrey...”
For a long moment their eyes met and held. The spell was broken by Bernard, who cried, “Well, and how does Mr. Pitt come into that?”
“He had my name mentioned to him, sent for me, and told me he had a task that needed a man of some initiative. He put before me the idea of coming to the South Coast. I was quite unwilling at first. I don’t see myself as a secret agent. But Mr. Pitt pointed out, with some truth, that after helping three Jacobite lords my career as a lawyer was likely to suffer a temporary check. And so, after some hesitation, I accepted his commission. And...” he looked again at Amy, a look of sudden meaning ... “I have never been sorry, despite the difficulties I’ve encountered.”
The Fortune-Hunter Page 18
