“We simply couldn’t wait for you to return!” exclaimed Georgy. “We had to know at once! Besides, it will be difficult for us to talk much over dinner, for the inn servants will be coming and going all the time. How did you go on, Hugh? Did you see him? What did he say?”
“Did you discover anything?” echoed Susan, anxiously watching his face.
He gallantly offered each of them an arm before attempting to answer. Susan accepted after a barely perceptible hesitation, lightly resting her hand on the sleeve of his dark green riding coat, but keeping her distance from his side.
“In a sense,” he began, “I achieved nothing.” He recounted briefly what had passed between himself and Mr. East. “But yet we may say,” he finished, “that I did not entirely waste my time — or should I say our time? — in visiting Pyncott Place.” He turned towards Susan. “There is a portrait hanging in a room there, which bears a striking resemblance to you, Miss Susan. This in spite of the fact that the subject is just as fair as you are dark.”
Georgy exclaimed in delight, but her brother ignored her. His eyes were on Susan. She raised her face to his, and as their eyes met, he felt his pulses quicken.
“Is it — the person mentioned by the landlady of the Black Horse? Is it — Robert Radley?”
He nodded. “The same. It’s a painting of him as a young boy. That makes it easier to trace a likeness to a female than would have been the case if the portrait had been of Robert Radley as a man! It was talking of the boy, you may remember, that made the innkeeper’s wife detect a likeness between you.”
“Who would Robert Radley be?” asked Georgiana. “He’s not Barbara’s father, I know, and I’ve never heard her mention an uncle.”
“Yet there was an uncle — a younger brother — who died as a young man, and about whom there seems to be some kind of mystery,” replied Hugh.
“Surely you must know all about him, Hugh, for you and Peter were at school together,” said Georgy impatiently.
“My dear sister, do you suppose that schoolboys spend their time discussing their relatives?” he retorted with scorn. “Let me tell you, you’re very wide of the mark, if you do.”
“Oh, I don’t see why not. I told Susan everything about you — didn’t I, Sue?”
“What a bore she must have found you!” said Hugh, quickly, before Susan was obliged to reply. “Well, the only time I ever heard Peter mention his uncle was certainly not at school, but quite recently; when he explained to me that his grandfather’s irascible disposition had something to do with Robert Radley’s death. But exactly what, I can’t say, though I did gain some impression of a skeleton in the family cupboard.”
“Well, there you are, then!” exclaimed Georgy, triumphantly. “You have only to ask Peter to tell you all about it—”
“It is, of course,” he said, mockingly, “a simple matter to ask a man to reveal to you the seamier side of his family affairs.”
Before Georgiana could reply to this, Susan suddenly pulled her arm away from Hugh’s, and went running ahead down the lane.
The others stood still for a moment, staring after her. “Come back, Susan!” called Georgy. “What in the world are you doing?”
The Beau dropped his sister’s arm, and caught up with Susan in a few quick strides. He took her arm in a gently restraining grasp.
“Susan—”
At that, she turned to face him, and he was shocked to see the tears running freely down her face. Acting on impulse, he placed an arm protectively about her, and tenderly wiped away the tears with a handkerchief which he had drawn from his pocket.
“Susan — my little love—” The words were drawn involuntarily from him.
Afterwards, he reflected that perhaps it was as well that Georgy had come up with them at that very moment, and had herself taken over the comforting of Susan.
He drew a little away from the girls, watching them. Presently, Susan disengaged herself from Georgy’s embrace, rubbed her eyes fiercely with the borrowed handkerchief, and swallowed hard once or twice.
“Of course, I kn — know that I am s — silly,” she gulped. “But you were joking about skeletons in the cupboard, and all the time it was plain to see that you thought—”
She turned suddenly on Hugh.
“You believe that Robert Radley is — was — my father, don’t you?”
“It certainly begins to look very like it,” he answered.
“Then — then that would make me—” She fought bravely to control the trembling of her lips.
“But, Susan, there’s no need to put yourself in a taking even if you are this Robert Radley’s natural daughter!” stated the forthright Georgiana. “Your father was a gentleman — what matter if he did not wed your mother? And it might even turn out,” she added, thoughtfully, “that she was a female of good family, too. She might have been some other man’s wife, and formed a — a — an indiscreet liaison with Robert Radley. Yes!” she exclaimed, triumphantly. “And that would account, you know, for the circumstances of your upbringing! Naturally she dare not disclose the truth to her husband, and so she had you adopted!”
It crossed Beau Eversley’s mind that in such circumstances it was more usual for the erring lady to pass off the child as her husband’s. Considering the sex and youth of his audience, he suppressed the remark, merely saying, “Possibly. But I think we are taking too much for granted at present. If it should turn out that Susan is Robert Radley’s daughter, so much the better. We must not jump to conclusions however. A resemblance to a painting — however marked — is insufficient evidence. The question is, where to get proof positive of our suspicions?”
“I still think Peter is the person to ask!” insisted Georgy. “Oh, yes, I know you gentlemen never pry into each other’s private affairs, however close your friendship is — but there must be ways in which you could work the conversation round to the subject. I am sure I could do it. Oh, Hugh!” Her face lit up, as a fresh idea occurred to her. “Do you think I could ask Barbara? Just casually, you know — I swear I wouldn’t give her any notion of why I was curious!”
“Perhaps not, though I wouldn’t care to wager on that,” replied her brother, cynically. “But at all costs Susan must be protected from gossip, so the fewer people we approach, the better. No, leave it to me. I’ll try my luck with Peter.”
He turned to Susan, and once more drew her arm within his.
“And now if we may,” he said, smiling into her still sombre eyes, “let us return to the Black Horse. Young ladies may manage to keep going tolerably well on fresh air, but the average man at this time of day finds his thoughts turning irresistibly toward his dinner.”
*
Beau Eversley returned to London the afternoon of the following day. He was accompanied by his brother George, who had put in an appearance at Richmond early that same morning.
George made no secret of his reluctance to leave Susan’s side.
“I don’t want to go back to Town above half,” he said, keeping her hand in his while they said good-bye. “But I must put myself in funds again, and it keeps the old man sweet if I turn up every so often.” He gazed into her eyes with an expression that reminded Beau Eversley of an ailing spaniel. “D’you mean to stay much longer here with my sister Eve? If so, I’ll be back again before long, see if I’m not.”
“I can’t say,” replied Susan, gently withdrawing her hand from his ardent grasp, and offering it to his brother with a cool smile. “I know Georgy’s impatient to be gone, so possibly we may both be back in London in a day or two.”
Hugh bowed low over her hand, but did not retain it one moment longer than was strictly proper.
Georgiana watched him approvingly. He really was complete to a touch, was Hugh; no wonder they called him Beau Eversley. Not for him the callow tactics of his younger brother — Beau Eversley’s pursuit of a female was a pleasure to watch. She frowned suddenly, wondering just how serious they were, either George or Hugh. Of course, with George it was
calf-love; but that could grow and strengthen with time. As for Hugh — her frown deepened as she tried to fathom Hugh.
“Did you mean what you said?” she asked Susan, as soon as they were alone. “About returning to Town, I mean.”
Susan nodded. “Yes, I—” she hesitated — “I believe I could return now, in spite of the fact that I still do not know for certain who I am. But I can’t run away for ever, can I? Some time I will have to go back and face things as they are.” She sighed. “All the same, I don’t feel quite as desperate as I did on that dreadful evening when I came to you for help. I felt then that I simply had to escape from it all — from my aunt, who wasn’t really my aunt, and Cynthia, who wasn’t really my cousin, and — and—”
“And Beau Eversley,” put in Georgy, giving her a shrewd look, “who wasn’t really your betrothed.”
“Yes,” acknowledged-Susan, with a faint blush. “Everyone — and everything.”
“You don’t mind now, do you? About Hugh, I mean? You’ve quite go over your tendre for him, haven’t you?”
Susan looked at her friend for a moment in silence.
“What makes you say that?” she asked at last.
“Oh, it’s as plain as can be!” replied Georgy. “You no longer gaze at him in the moonstruck way you used to—”
“Did I do that?” demanded Susan, in horror.
Georgiana laughed. “To be sure you did!” she insisted, heartlessly. “Cheer up — I dare say he may not have noticed — but I must say it was obvious to any other female.”
“Oh, dear!” Susan hung her head.
“Well, as I said, he may not have noticed, so there’s no need to go into a decline about it. Besides nothing could be more changed than your manner towards him now — if he ever had any notion that you were enamoured of him, he must be quite disillusioned, I assure you.”
“You find my manner so very different?”
“Decidedly! And I fancy I know why.” Georgiana stole a sly look at Susan’s thoughtful face. “You and my brother George are getting on delightfully together, are you not? All the Eversley men are acknowledged to be handsome — of course, George has not quite Hugh’s style and address, but he will be presentable enough in another year or two — and it will be quite that before you can be wed, my dear, so you don’t need to worry.”
Susan put up her hands to her cheek, which had suddenly grown warm.
“Georgiana! What nonsense are you talking?”
“Oh, come, you can’t gull me, Sue! I’ve watched you at close quarters for the last fortnight, and I assure you I never saw George more taken with anyone in his life! Come to think of it,” she added fair-mindedly, “I couldn’t have done, for he’s never shown even the remotest interest in any female before. It’s a pity he must return to Town; but he’s bound to show himself at home for a bit, you know.”
“It’s most likely,” remarked Susan, in a flat voice, “that I shall never marry.”
“Stuff! I’ll wager you’ll marry George when he comes of age, and has control of his own fortune. And of course I’ll be your bridesmaid — and what shall I wear? I think perhaps blue—”
In spite of herself, Susan burst into laughter. “Oh, Georgy! You are such a — such an idiot, my love! I dare say.” she added sobering, “you’ll be wed long before I am — in fact I know it. Who do you suppose would want to marry a girl without a name?”
“Long before then, you may have found your name,” insisted Georgy, stubbornly. “And even if you haven’t why cannot you go on being Mrs. Fyfield’s niece, just as you believed yourself to be in the past? Only a few of us will know your secret, and I swear we will keep it to the death!”
She struck a melodramatic attitude, and once more Susan could not help laughing. “That’s all very well, Georgy,” she said, after a moment, “but now I’ve learnt so much I can’t rest until I know the whole truth.”
“I have no doubt in my own mind that Robert Radley was your father,” insisted Georgiana.
“But as your brother said,” objected Susan, “there’s no real proof as yet—”
“Pooh! Gentlemen are so prosy, my dear, always wanting to prove everything! I think a female can often rely on her intuition, and mine tells me indisputably that you are Robert Radley’s child.”
“Well if that is so,” demurred Susan, “I am most likely illegitimate. What does your intuition make of that?”
“What if you are? You wouldn’t be the first, I assure you; and no one would think any the worse of you for it, providing your father was a gentleman.”
“But suppose he was not?”
“I tell you I’m certain he was. Besides,” added Georgy, “you’ve no need to tell anyone, even if things don’t turn out as we expect. As I said before, you are still Mrs. Fyfield’s niece in the eyes of the world; and the only people who know differently would never betray you.”
“But it would mean—” began Susan, then stopped suddenly. “Oh, never mind! The fact is, I do feel a deal better about everything than I did when I came to you on that dreadful evening; and I’d like you to know how very grateful I am to you, Georgy — in fact to all your family — for your kindness to me.”
“Silly, you don’t need to thank me! You know how we’ve always helped each other out of scrapes, you and I! As for the others — well, Eve told me that she is very fond of you, Susan; and George, as we both know, is absolutely head over ears as far as you are concerned! I say, though, Sue!” She broke off, and gave an impish chuckle. “Do you know, I believe Hugh has actually taken one of his fancies to you! I don’t know if you’ve noticed anything, but I noticed it first on that day he came to Richmond seeking you. Since then there have been several little incidents — I can’t mistake, for I’ve seen him so often like this with other females! There was Bar—” she broke off, abruptly. “Oh, well, never mind that! The only thing is, though,” she added, regretfully, “it never lasts with him for long — I know that, too! So it’s a good thing that you’ve quite got over your former feelings for him, you can see.”
“Yes,” replied Susan, expressionlessly. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“All the same, my dear,” summed up Georgy, reflectively, “it’s a feather in your cap.”
AN EXPERT IN SCANDAL
Beau Eversley had been back in Town for several days before he found any opportunity of a private conversation with his friend Peter Radley. Even then, it was in Whites Club, during a lull when neither man happened to be at play. At first, it looked as though they were to talk of nothing but their luck; after a lengthy inquest on the game they had just quitted, Hugh ostentatiously stifled a yawn, and tried to turn the conversation into more promising channels.
“Do you mean to take a house in Brighton this year?” he asked.
Peter shrugged. “Haven’t made up my mind yet. Either that, or the country — must get out of Town presently, I suppose, like everyone else. Do you go to Brighton, then?”
The Beau shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m fixed here at present.”
“The McCann?” queried Peter with a grin — “I hear she’s giving a Farewell Performance soon, and leaving Town for good. Wonder where she’s going — more important, who is to accompany her? Not that I mean to pry, old chap,” he added, the grin broadening.
“You are perfectly at liberty, of course,” drawled Hugh, “to draw any conclusions you choose, however erroneous.” He drew out his snuff box, offering it to Peter. “Where do you go in the country — to your grandfather’s place?”
Peter paused in the act of accepting a pinch of snuff, and cast a startled look at his friend. “Good God, no! Whatever put such a fiendish notion into your head! Never go there if I can possibly avoid it; no man in his right mind would ever seek my grandfather’s company.”
“I seem to remember,” replied Hugh, carelessly, “that you once mentioned Sir Josiah was possessed of an uncertain temper.”
“Uncertain temper! My dear fellow, the old man’s a regular fien
d, I assure you! Don’t envy my sister Babs — she’s obliged to go down there with my mother in a day or two, to break the news.”
“News?”
“Warburton’s come up to scratch, and offered for her. Been accepted, too — subject to that old devil’s approval, as all our family arrangements are.”
“Then it would perhaps be a trifle premature to wish your sister happy, at present?”
“It certainly would. Old Josh is quite capable of saying Warburton won’t do, just to satisfy some devilish whim of his own. No saying which way the cat’ll jump, where he’s concerned.”
“Odd,” said Hugh, devoting a great deal of attention to the business of returning the snuff box to his pocket. “I believe you once said that your grandfather’s contrary disposition owed something to the untimely death of your father’s younger brother, Robert Radley?”
“So I’ve heard my father say,” replied Peter. “I say, Hugh, what mixture is this? I like it better than any I’ve tried so far. Would you care to try a pinch of mine, and give me your opinion of it?”
He started to produce his own snuff box, but the Beau stopped him with a gesture. The last thing he wanted at present was a turn in the conversation.
“It’s my own mixture,” he said, quickly. “I’ll let you into the secret next time you’re at my house. But, tell me, what caused your uncle’s death?”
Peter wrinkled his brow. “Dashed if I know — it was an accident,” he replied, after a moment. “But there’s more to it than that, I fancy. Tell you the truth, I’ve never really known the whole story — I was only a youngster, of course, and away at school into the bargain when it happened; and whenever I’ve chanced to ask about it since, my parents have shut me up pretty damn quick. Some kind of scandal, I suppose. Even the best families have ’em. But I hope Old Josh won’t take it out on Babs, for she’s set on Warburton, right enough. Funny, when you think of it,” — he finished, with a sidelong glance at his friend — “for at one time, she had very different notions.” He pushed away his chair, and stood up. “Oh, well, no accounting for such things. Might as well see if we can get another game, I suppose. Coming?”
The Clandestine Betrothal Page 16
