by Mira Stables
But even he could not explain away the Red Lion in Barnet, or convince Katherine that it stood within the purlieus of Kensington. The inn was far too familiar, since she and Papa always changed horses there on their way north.
She sprang erect in her seat with a startled exclamation. Lord Sandiford leaned forward and rapped sharply on the panel behind the driver, at which pre-arranged signal Jason obeyed his orders to, “Spring ’em.”
The bays had been carefully nursed over the initial stages of the journey. They were still full of fire and energy, and flung themselves into their collars with hearty good will. Mr. Warner’s chaise, for its class, was lightly built. It bounded over the road at what seemed to Katherine a terrifying speed. She was obliged to hold very tightly with both hands to keep herself safe in her seat. And the noise of hooves and wheels pounding over the road made conversation impossible. But she was not seriously alarmed. If this was one of Master Julian’s pranks, she would give him a rare trimming as soon as she had the opportunity.
In the small yard that served the Grey Goose Feathers, she came down from the carriage in very dignified fashion, disdaining his Lordship’s proffered hand; a slim, resolute little creature whom he found oddly daunting, despite her physical frailty. Since the inn did not boast a private parlour—and since, in any case, she did not think that she wanted to be closeted in a private room with Sandiford—she consented to being ushered into the coffee room; though she declined all offers of refreshment, thereby obliging his Lordship, who felt that, after the mental strain of the past hour he stood sorely in need of the reviving qualities of a tankard of home-brewed, to follow her example.
She also refused to sit down, standing very straight and composed in front of the empty hearth, and sternly demanding an explanation of his behaviour.
“And don’t try to cozen me with any more Banbury tales about your cousin,” she finished severely. “I begin to doubt the very existence of this cousin. Just tell me in round terms what sort of a rig you are running this time. Is it some wager?”
Instead of immediately asserting his masculine authority, and terrifying this insubordinate chit into submission, the unfortunate Viscount found himself entangled in a sea of half phrases of assurance that he really did have a Cousin Charlotte, and that his peculiar actions were not directed towards the winning of a wager. Nor was he running any sort of a rig.
“The truth of the matter is, ma’am,” he snorted suddenly, realising that his apologetic protestations were only weakening his position, “that I’ve abducted you.”
That did startle her. But she could not really be afraid of Julian, and she made a quick recovery. “Nonsense,” she said stoutly, though she was aware of a certain inward quaking. “You would not do anything so unkind. Or only by way of some stupid jest,” she excused him, trying to sound braver than she felt.
He assured her that it was no jest. “You would not marry me when I offered for you fairly,” he said sullenly. “Now I will leave you no choice. A couple of days hid away here, and you must marry me, or be utterly disgraced and cast out by Society.”
She eyed him steadily, and decided that he meant what he said. An ugly scowl disfigured his good-looking face, and his jaw was thrust out in very determined fashion. She said slowly, “You have surprised me, milord.”
His militant pose relaxed. She was going to surrender! “I have?”
“Yes. I never thought to find you cow-hearted.”
He flushed with fury at the insult. “No one has ever said that of me and gone scot free,” he said stiffly.
“But I do. I say it,” she told him tranquilly. “Just because I have no brother or cousin to defend me, you think that you can entreat me as you will. If I had a champion to fight my battles for me it would be a different story. Let me assure you, milord, that I will never consent to marry you. You may drag my name through the mud of your despicable plot, but yours will be the infamy. Not only cow-hearted but a liar and treacherous too. I am well rid of you.”
“Valiant words, my dear,” retorted his Lordship angrily. “But you are not yet rid of me. Better think of that before you flay me further with that waspish tongue of yours. It seems to me that a period of quiet reflection on your situation might be of benefit. You will retire to the chamber that has been prepared for you, and we shall see if solitude and the knowledge that you can entertain no hope of rescue, do not bring you to a more amenable frame of mind. No need yet to resort to stronger measures. Your meals will be served to you in your room. The window is securely shuttered and the shutters barred. Nor will bribery avail you. Matilda who will wait on you is quite devoted to my interests. Better resign yourself. I regret that there are no books or other means of beguiling the tedium of your imprisonment. You must amuse yourself by planning your honeymoon.”
He could not resist that last jibe, for her fierce defiance had flicked him on the raw. There was a good deal of decency in him still. Only desperation had driven him to behave so ill to one who had never shown him anything but friendship. Treacherous, too, whispered a small inner voice. He shook his head fiercely, and locked the prison door. He did not bother to remove the key from the lock. There was only one key and Matilda would need it when she came to wait on the prisoner. With the bird safely caged he felt secure enough, and that last cut about the honeymoon had, a little, revived his self esteem. After all, it was not as though he planned to rape the girl. All he wanted was to marry her. If she continued obdurate, he supposed it might after all be necessary to proceed to Gretna Green, and wondered if Katherine had enough money about her to pay for the expense of such a journey. It was no use asking Samson, who would trust him with anything but money.
Samson, however, had at least a suggestion for enlivening the long hours of an evening spent at the Grey Goose Feathers. In fact, he offered a double bill. At an inn slightly more remote from the eye of the law, a cock fight was to be staged. Just a few peaceable country gentlemen, each assured that his bird was the best, and willing to stake a little blunt to back his opinion. And if that did not provide sufficient entertainment, there was to be an exhibition match between a local middle weight of considerable promise and a protégé of Sir Joshua’s brought up from London. Sir Joshua—the Squire—was a patron of the Fancy. It would be interesting to see how the youngsters showed up.
Lord Sandiford was well pleased. His entertainment for the evening was assured. He might even win a guinea or two by judicious staking against these country bumpkins who were so pleased with the birds of their own breeding. The thought of his captive gave him no concern. No slip of a girl, locked into a shuttered room, even if it was on the ground floor was going to give Matilda the bag. Matilda would make two of her—could handle her with one hand tied behind her. Besides, it would be just as well to leave the headstrong chit severely alone. Tomorrow would be time enough to deal with her tears and recriminations.
Katherine’s heart sank at the first sight of her wardress. She had never seen so masculine a woman. She was massively built without being fat and there was no hint of feminine softness about the craggy features or the muscular limbs. Nor was there anything yielding in voice or attitude. To Katherine’s tentative enquiry as to how she should address her, she barked out, “Ye can call me ’Tilda. Ye don’t need to know no more than that.”
At least she was not actively unkind. She supplied her prisoner with the means of making a simple toilet, and with a voluminous bed gown that would have enveloped her three times over; and the food that she served was well prepared and savoury, though Katherine had little appetite for it. As his Lordship had all too truly prophesied, solitude and helplessness were already exercising their depressing effect on her spirits. The spurt of defiance with which she had outfaced her captor had died. She was not completely cowed, because she still could not be really frightened of Julian. Somehow he was not the stuff of which thoroughgoing villains were made. But she was miserably anxious, and, try as she would, she could see no way out of the impasse. When her j
ailer came to remove the supper dishes, she thanked her politely and praised the cooking, apologising that she had eaten so little. She thought she detected the faintest softening in the granite countenance, and chanced another enquiry. After all, the woman was her only link with the outside world.
“You will understand that I feel too anxious to eat,” she explained, with a brave attempt at a smile. “And do tell me, why is it so quiet? This is an inn, is it not? Yet there is no sound of roistering or revelry. All is silent. It is very strange and rather frightening.”
Perhaps Matilda had been touched by the compliment to her cooking. Perhaps her professional pride was stung by the suggestion that the Grey Goose Feathers was ill patronised. She said gruffly, “You’re at the back of the house. Tap’s at the front, so you don’t ’ear the men so plain. Any way there’s not so many in tonight. Some fight—fisticuffs—they’ve all gone off to see. But I’ve better things to do than to stand ’ere gabbing. Get thee between sheets, and may a night’s sleep send thee good sense, so that thou takes up no more of a busy woman’s time.”
There was nothing more to be got from her, and presently, since there was nothing else to do, Katherine took her advice and climbed into bed.
Chapter Eleven
Dermot had not intended to call on Lady Julia and her charge on that fateful afternoon. He had not yet reached a decision as to what he was to do about his love for Katherine, and, from time to time, he strove to subdue it by avoiding her presence for a little while. Then anxiety as to the progress that Lord Sandiford might be making in his absence, or just his own natural longing to be with her as much as possible, would draw him back again. He was in something of a quandary. His reason for coming to Town had been primarily the urge to protect Miss Martenhays from the machinations of a fortune-hunter. At least, he thought it had. But so far as he could judge, the lady was well able to look after herself. He had seen her cool reception of some of his Lordship’s more exaggerated flights, the amused little smile with which she fended off his possessive airs. It appeared that this particular suitor was making no headway.
Yet he could not bring himself to abandoning Katherine to conduct her life in her own way. That was pure selfishness of course. He knew exactly what he wanted her to do, but so far, he had restrained himself from actual lovemaking. It was her wretched fortune that stuck in his gullet. If he paid court to her—as he so longed to do—she, and all the other interested parties, of whom there were far too many, would think it was only cupboard love. He knew that he should not permit such considerations to affect his judgement, but the thought rankled. Perhaps he was being ridiculously prickly, for he could offer Katherine a comfortable establishment and an income sufficient to support a genteel way of life. But there would be no margin for such luxuries as jewels and a Town house, a smart carriage and fine horses. The fact that Katherine had shown no particular liking for such things had no bearing on the case. He wanted to bestow them upon her. If her father’s money provided them it was not the same thing at all.
He was still seeking a solution to this knotty problem when an old friend of his mother’s offered him the use of her box at the Opera. So far as he knew, neither Lady Julia nor Katherine was particularly musically inclined, or no more so than was necessary to give the right social impression. He knew that Katherine played the pianoforte quite prettily, but she had never gone into raptures over the performance of the latest fashionable singer. However, a box at the Opera offered rather more than a musical treat. It was a great occasion. The ladies wore their finest toilets and as many jewels as good taste permitted. In the intervals they received all the friends who had noted their exalted position. He must not allow his own uncertainties to deny Katherine this unexpected treat.
He found Lady Julia yawning over a fashion magazine, very happy to receive a visitor, and delighted with the invitation that he brought. They had no important engagement for that evening and she was sure that Katherine would be as pleased as she was. Her only doubt was whether the girl would be back from her afternoon visit in time to make the elaborate toilet that should grace such an occasion. Katherine’s maid, called into consultation, could offer no precise information as to the time when her mistress might be expected to return.
“In fact I wondered if she’d changed her plans, milady, seeing as Simmons tells me she went off with Lord Sandiford in a chaise.”
Lady Julia looked startled. “In a chaise?” she repeated. “Are you sure?”
“I didn’t see her myself, milady,” returned the handmaiden, who had been dying to canvas this unusual piece of behaviour ever since it had been reported to her, “but that’s what Simmons said. A chaise and pair. His Lordship’s own bays with his groom driving.”
This detailed account drew Lady Julia’s attention to the girl’s excessive interest. Her first reaction of mild dismay deepened. Even the servants saw Katherine’s behaviour as strange. And it never paid to set servants gossiping.
“Very well, Essie,” she said dismissively. “Ask Simmons to come up to the parlour if it is convenient.”
Lady Julia’s modest establishment did not boast a butler. Indoor men servants, she had been heard to declare, were more trouble than they were worth. Envious friends were wont to retort that such an attitude was all very well when you had a Simmons to fill all the awkward gaps in domestic comfort. Simmons had spent all his working years in good service. When he married Lady Julia’s excellent cook he saw no reason to change his way of life. He would just extend his field of operations. A good-humoured fellow, with no exaggerated idea of his own importance, he was willing to turn his hand to anything. He played footman at Lady Julia’s parties, acted as intermediary between her and the owner of the livery stable that she patronised when in Town, and was not above moving heavy furniture, taking up carpets or performing such tasks as he felt required masculine strength. He and his wife lived very snugly in a little house in the old mews, and when teased by her friends about the way she indulged the pair of them, Lady Julia retorted that such treasures deserved every indulgence that she could contrive. The only small drawback lay in the fact that you never knew what Simmons might be doing at any given moment. If he was cleaning silver or polishing glasses he would not mind being disturbed. If he was decanting wine there might be some delay.
On this occasion he responded to Lady Julia’s summons with commendable promptitude. Possibly he had been expecting it. But he could add little to the information that Essie had already provided. On one point, however, he was very helpful. To Mr. Winfield’s enquiries about the chaise, he furnished a brief description.
“No, sir. Not hired. An ugly colour—at least to my mind—a sort of light tan. But everything of the first stare. Double steps, silver plating wherever there was room for it, a barouche driving seat, and green silk curtains trimmed with orange and white fringe. I noticed those particularly because his Lordship let them fall across the window as soon as he had handed Miss Katherine in.”
“I don’t like it,” said Lady Julia uneasily, when Simmons had taken his departure. “Why a chaise if she was only going to visit a cousin in Kensington? And if any word had come from her Papa that necessitated her travelling further afield, she would have left a message for me, and would have taken her maid with her. Surely that wretched young man cannot have persuaded her to elope with him? She is fond of him, but only as one likes a pet dog, I swear it. She’s not in love with him. In any case, even if she is, why elope? She is of age, and may marry where she chooses; although naturally it will be an object with her to win her father’s consent.”
“It doesn’t sound like an elopement,” suggested Dermot soothingly. “There was no mention of baggage, which would surely be essential in such a case. But I confess I am a little uneasy. How would it be if I were to make a few enquiries and see if I can hit upon the route they took? If Simmons’s description is to be believed, someone is bound to have noticed that chaise.”
Lady Julia approving the suggestion, he went off
to put it into practice, asking her to send word to Fenton’s if Katherine were to return in the meanwhile.
Though he had spoken reassuringly to Lady Julia, he was deeply concerned. He did not think for one moment that Katherine had eloped, but he had heard the rumours about Lord Sandiford’s financial difficulties, and he could not rule out the possibility that the fellow had used some trick to carry her off in an attempt to force her into marriage. It was this possibility, far-fetched as it seemed, that he was so anxious to investigate. If the missing pair had gone off on some innocent pleasure excursion, Katherine would return in her own good time. If she had been forcibly abducted it was a very different matter.
He went round to the livery stables to order the hack that he had ridden on several occasions since coming to Town, and was so fortunate as to find it not only available but fit and fresh. While he changed swiftly into riding clothes, he planned a circuit which would cover the main roads out of Town. If Sandiford was planning a journey of any distance he would have to change horses. The posting houses were the obvious places to initiate enquiries.
Three times he drew blank, and it might have proved a long and exhausting task had not Lord Sandiford overlooked one or two of the finer points of planning an abduction. He would have done better to use an unobtrusive vehicle rather than Mr. Warner’s elegant but highly noticeable chaise; and better still to hire horses rather than use his own famous bays. True, they had not stopped at the Red Lion, but the ostlers there, always on the watch for likely customers, remembered the chaise as soon as Dermot described it. They had not seen his Lordship but they had recognised his horses and his groom. They were even able to say which road he had taken, for the speed at which the chaise had left Barnet had focused attention on it. “Set off as if the devil ’isself was on ’is ’eels,” volunteered one witness.
