“I suppose,” said Cynthia, thoughtfully, “that she doesn’t happen to be this lawyer’s child?”
“Oh, no, I cannot think it!” cried Mrs. Fyfield. “He’s not a wealthy man, and Susan has a considerable fortune at her disposal.”
“How do you know that?”
“Why, he often told me so, and also that he has the sole administration of it.”
“She might have been left the money by a relative. It does not necessarily have to come from her father.”
“But it would be such a strange way for Mr. Watson to behave, Cynthia! Surely no man would board his own daughter out while he had a home of his own to which he might take her!”
“May I ask if you know anything of this lawyer’s domestic arrangements, ma’am?” asked Hugh Eversley.
“Why, very little, for no one could call Mr. Watson a chatty kind of man. But I collect that he has a wife and several children of both sexes, so there can be no likelihood of his being Susan’s father.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Cynthia. “There might be circumstances—”
“Oh, stop it, all of you!” cried Susan, suddenly, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t think I can stand any more!”
Beau Eversley took a step towards her, then checked. Mrs. Fyfield went to her side, and placed an aim about her.
“There, there, my love!” She turned to the Beau. “I think perhaps you should go now, Mr. Eversley, and come back tomorrow, when we can decide what is to be done. It has all been a dreadful shock for the poor child, I am sure, and no one can wonder if she is quite overset by it. I will get her to lie down for a little, and perhaps she will feel better presently.”
“You are right, ma’am. Miss Susan has certainly sustained enough emotional upset for one day, and she will do well to rest quietly for a while. You must long have been wishing me absent, so I will take myself off now, and wait upon you tomorrow, as you suggest. Can you name a convenient hour?”
“No!” exclaimed Susan, in a muffled voice. “No, do not come tomorrow!”
He paused in the act of making a cold bow to Cynthia. “You do not wish me to come?”
“Not that — not exactly!” Her voice broke on a sob. “It is just that — you cannot wish to — anyway, it was all—”
She broke off, evidently trying hard to fight back the tears.
“No one can possibly want to — to become engaged to a — a nameless female — so we had better break it off!”
“But, my love!” protested Mrs. Fyfield. “There’s no need to take it so hard! I dare say that Mr. Watson will be very ready to divulge the secret of your parentage to your affianced husband, even though he would not entrust it to me. After all, women do talk, I know — one must admit it — and there must have been some particular reason why the truth should not be spread abroad—”
“Yes, indeed, Mama,” interrupted Cynthia, tartly. “There must have been some particular reason. What does it seem to you that reason can be?”
A long silence greeted these words. Then Susan spoke, hiding her face on Mrs. Fyfield’s shoulder.
“I know what she means — and I dare say she’s right. So that’s all done with now — you — you won’t need to come again, sir — goodbye—”
Her voice tailed off.
“On the contrary,” said Beau Eversley, firmly. “I shall wait on Mrs. Fyfield tomorrow morning at — shall we say noon, ma’am? And after that, I intend to see your lawyer, Miss Susan.”
MASQUERADE
That same evening, Beau Eversley arrived at his parents’ home to escort his sister Georgiana to a masquerade given by the Radleys, who were old friends of the Eversley family.
“And you may count yourself fortunate,” he reminded Georgy, “for if either your Mama or Evelina had been able to accompany you, I should have cried off. Masquerades are not in my line.”
“Not even when it is a masquerade at the Radleys’ house?” she teased him. “Dearest Hugh, you do say the drollest things! But how do I look?” She pirouetted so that her aquamarine silk domino billowed around her. “Tell me, do you think anyone will recognize me in this?”
She fastened a black loo mask over her face.
He surveyed her quizzically. “A domino and mask is an effective disguise for most people, but you’ve reckoned without the Eversley hair.”
“But if I pull my hood on — so?” She suited the action to the word.
“Ah, then you might pass unrecognized. But why should you wish to do so?”
“Silly, it’s a masquerade, and there’s no fun if everyone knows me at once.”
“I wonder you do not think a mere domino and mask too tame a disguise. I expected to find you garbed as a classical deity, or some historical character.”
Georgy pouted. “I did have some costumes sent round for me to choose from, and I fancied myself strongly as an Eastern Sultana, but Mama and Evelina thought it was not quite the thing. So after that, I could not like any of the others, and I sent them all back to the costumiers, and ordered this, instead — Eve thought it quite becoming — and I do think the colour does something to my eyes, don’t you, Hugh?”
“Don’t regard that, my dear,” he said, teasingly. “I dare say you’ll escape notice altogether in the inevitable crush. But did you say Eve was still here with you? I thought she was going down to Richmond to stay with the children while Cunningham was obliged to be out of Town on business?”
“So she is, but she doesn’t go until tomorrow. I must say I wonder at her being content to shut herself away in the country while there is so much entertainment to be had here in Town.”
“It doesn’t occur to you that she may not enjoy the diversions of Town without her husband to share them? Or even that she may wish to be with their children again?”
“But she sees the children frequently — and as for needing a husband to share one’s amusements, pooh! That is old-fashioned, let me tell you! When I am married, I mean to go my own way; and my husband may do as he pleases, so long as he doesn’t interfere with me too much, or expect me to be always with him — which would be vastly tedious, besides being quite out of fashion!”
“It is always instructive to listen to your notions,” replied her brother, dryly. “If only your prospective suitors could know the half, you’d be a spinster for life, I assure you.” He broke off to signal to a footman to bring the black domino which he had laid aside on entering the house. “As it is, my dear Georgy, I fear they will be sadly taken in by the alluring exterior of what I can only describe as a baggage. Are you ready to go?”
They were almost the last to arrive at the masquerade. As Beau Eversley had predicted, they found the ballroom crowded with a gay throng in colourful costume. Barbara Radley came forward with her brother Peter to greet them. In a softly draped white gown in the Classical mode, with her flaxen curls bound high on her head with bands of gold ribbon, she might surely have rivalled that long dead Helen whom she was impersonating.
Peter Radley, who was a close friend of the Beau’s, soon bore Georgiana away to dance.
“Will you honour me?” Hugh asked Barbara, with his careless smile.
She hesitated for a moment, then accepted his arm.
“I fear it’s a sad crush,” she apologized. “Mama believes that some uninvited guests may have slipped in, for we tried to keep numbers down to what would be comfortable.”
“Don’t mind that,” he replied, smiling down into her blue eyes. “Tomorrow it will be all over Town that the Radley’s masquerade was a shocking squeeze — a sure sign of success.”
“I suppose you are right,” she acknowledged, with a shy smile.
She was silent for a while, and Beau Eversley eyed her reflectively. Lovely as she was, why was it that she no longer had any power over him? There had been a time, not long since, when a look from those blue eyes, the lightest touch of her hand, could intoxicate his senses. Like all his infatuations — and he had known many — the enchantment had last
ed briefly, then faded abruptly. But under its influence, he admitted to himself, for the first time he had seriously contemplated matrimony. Before he had committed himself, however, the spell had vanished completely, and he no longer cared for her. He knew that he had aroused some expectations and that she had been hurt, though perhaps not as deeply as Viscountess Eversley chose to make out. His mother’s opinions on the subject were, he well knew, coloured by the belief that it was high time her eldest son was married, and the knowledge that there could scarcely be a more suitable match for him.
The dance ended, and Barbara’s hand for the succeeding one was hastily claimed by a dark, stocky young man called Warburton, who had been anxiously watching Barbara and her present partner for some time. Hugh turned away, with a cynical smile. If Barbara had lost one admirer, she had certainly gained another, he reflected.
He glanced around him, but saw no one else at the moment with whom he had the least desire to dance. The ballroom was very hot, and he noticed that some long doors at the far side of the room had been set open, revealing glimpses of the terrace and the garden beyond. He began to elbow his way discreetly across the room, and presently stepped out on to the terrace, gratefully inhaling the fresh air.
The June night was warm and mellow, and the scent of roses floated to his nostrils. He thought he would stroll in the garden for a while, and started to move forward towards the steps which led down to it.
As he did so, he caught sight of a flutter of draperies behind some ornamental dwarf trees which stood at the side of the terrace. It suddenly occurred to him that someone had been standing out here looking into the ballroom, and that his appearance had caused the observer to seek concealment. Why? And who was it, man or woman?
With a sudden, quick movement, he turned towards the trees.
He heard a stifled gasp, and at once a shadowy figure dashed from cover, racing down the steps and starting along a path which wound its way through the garden amid shrubs and trees.
Although he had recognized the fugitive for a female from the moment she started to run, it did not deter him from giving chase. He was curious to know who she might be, and why she had been watching from the terrace. Besides, if she chose to behave in so unconventional a way, he considered her fair enough game.
There could be no doubt of the outcome of the chase. He easily caught her up, and reached out to grasp her. Alarmed, she tried to move out of his way, and almost stumbled over a loose stone. He caught her in his arms to save her from falling. She struggled to free herself; and, as she did so, some movement of her head struck a chord of familiarity in him. “Maria McCann!” he exclaimed, surprised. “Now, b’God, I believe it’s none other!”
He jerked her round to face him, drawing her as close as the voluminous folds of her domino would permit. There was no moon, and her face was almost completely covered by a black lace mask; but he could see her eyes behind it, glittering with some emotion — whether of love, fear or hate, he could not tell.
“I can’t guess what you’re doing here,” he said, softly, “but you’ll find you won’t escape without paying forfeit.”
He pressed his mouth ruthlessly on hers.
For a moment, she yielded, motionless; then a strangled sob escaped her as he released her abruptly.
“You’re not Maria — then who the devil? —”
She tore herself from his slackened grasp, and turning, fled into the night.
He stood looking after her, a puzzled frown on his face. Then, with a careless shrug, he retraced his steps to the house.
When he reached the terrace, he found Peter Radley waiting there for him.
“I trust I don’t interrupt an assignation?” asked Peter, with exaggerated politeness. “Am I mistaken, or did I see you with a female in the garden?”
“Been taking a breather, that’s all,” replied Hugh, carelessly. “I suppose you didn’t happen to notice Georgy, at all, on your way through the ballroom? I promised mother to give an eye to her, you know what a madcap she is.”
“If I’m not much mistaken, she’ll be kept busy all the evening dancing with her admirers. When last I set eyes on her, three or four of ’em were lined up awaiting their turn to lead her on to the floor, and eyeing each other like so many battling tomcats. She’s a rage already — I remember it was the same with your sister Evelina, before she married Cunningham. The irresistible Eversleys what?”
“I notice young Warburton’s dangling after your sister,” countered Hugh, smiling.
“Yes.” Peter shot a quick, sidelong glance at his friend. “D’you mind, Hugh?”
The Beau lifted an eyebrow. “Did you suppose I might?”
“Oh, not at all!” replied Peter, hurriedly. “But there was a time — however, never mind that. Yes, my mother feels that Warburton may soon declare himself.”
“Would he be acceptable?”
“Oh, yes — to us, that is. But of course, the real question is, would he be acceptable to my grandfather? I tell you straight, Hugh, if I had to apply to that old devil for any girl’s hand she’d remain a spinster, whatever her charms!”
Hugh nodded. “I collect Sir Josiah Radley is a trifle — ah — Gothic, shall we say?”
“Understating the case,” replied Peter, emphatically. “A regular Tartar, I can tell you! Thank the Lord he don’t often summon us to his presence, for there’s not one of us don’t quake in our shoes, when he does!”
“Gout?” asked the Beau. “Or apoplexy?”
“Sheer bad temper, if you ask me! I collect there was some kind of fuss over my Uncle Robert, at one time, and he’s been cross-grained ever since. Damn silly, too, because all that happened years ago, and there’s no profit in turning over old bones, is there? But for the Lord’s sake don’t let’s talk about him — damn’ distasteful subject at a party, or anywhere else, for that matter! I came to see if you’d care to sample the champagne punch before word of its excellence gets round. Then I thought we might slip into the cardroom until supper time — that’s if I can elude the maternal eye for as long as that, of course!”
*
In the ballroom, a dance had just ended, and Georgiana was being escorted back to her seat against the wall by a young man who was doing his utmost to make a good impression on her. The floor was crowded, so that it was impossible to walk across it without being jostled from time to time. This was why Georgy did not at first heed a gentle touch on her arm, and only turned sharply when she felt what amounted to a pinch.
“Well, I must say!” she began, indignantly.
Then she broke off, looking hard at the female in the rose silk domino who stood at her elbow. In spite of the black lace mask which concealed the girl’s face, Georgy was certain she knew her.
She began to say the girl’s name, but another pinch, sharper than the first, arrested the word on her lips. Always quick-witted, Georgy realized that here must be some kind of emergency. She turned to her escort, and dismissed him with a plausible excuse. He went reluctantly, a little consoled by the fact that he was only leaving his charming partner in female company, at any rate.
“Now what is it?” hissed Georgy to her dark-haired companion. “And what on earth are you doing here anyway? I know you weren’t invited, for you aren’t acquainted with the Radleys.”
“I — I must talk to you, Georgy.” The other girl’s lips were trembling so that she could scarcely form the words. “I need help, and there’s no one to turn to — I went to your house, and the porter said you had come here to a — a masquerade. So I borrowed these things” — she indicated the mask and domino she was wearing — “and then I — I managed to slip in with some others, and — and hid outside the french windows, waiting for a chance to speak with you—”
“And that’s where we had better go now,” interrupted Georgy, decisively, “if we are not to be remarked. Take my arm, and try to look as if we’d just decided to step outside for a breath of air. I am dying to know what all this is about, my dear, but pray d
on’t try to tell me until we are safe from eavesdroppers and prying eyes.”
Mindful of what her brother had said earlier about the distinctive colour of her hair, Georgiana quickly drew her hood over her tell-tale auburn curls. It was simple enough for the two girls to slip out of the crowded room without being noticed. Once on the terrace, Georgy drew her friend down the steps, and along the path to a seat shaded from view by flowering trees.
“Now,” she said, encouragingly, “what is all this about?” For answer, her companion burst into tears.
Georgiana’s strong young arms drew the slighter figure close in a comforting grasp.
“There, there!” she soothed. “Very well, have a good cry, then. You shall tell me presently.”
At these words, the other girl raised her tear-stained face. “No,” she gulped, “there isn’t much time — he may come out here again at any moment — or they may come after me — I left a note—”
She broke down again, shaking with heavy sobs that seemed to come from the very depths of her being.
“They?” repeated Georgy, puzzled. “Who do you mean? Who will come after you?”
“My — my — Mrs. Fyfield and her daughter,” sobbed the girl. “I — I didn’t tell them — where I meant to go — but — but — they might find out — somehow—”
“Don’t put yourself in such a taking, my love,” soothed Georgy. “Whatever has occurred? And who,” she asked, as another thought struck her — “is this mysterious man who you seem to fear may come out here at any minute? Is it—” here Georgy gave free rein to her natural love of drama — “is it that your aunt is trying to force you into marriage with someone you detest? Is that it, Sue?”
“N-no,” Susan gulped, trying desperately to gain control of herself. “It is worse than that—”
“Worse!” echoed Georgy, in awestruck tones, while her mind quickly ranged over every imaginable horror that could befall a gently-bred young girl.
The Clandestine Betrothal Page 10
