The Clandestine Betrothal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Phew!” exclaimed George, then added “My God!” for good measure.

  “What — what happened?” stammered Susan, still clinging to him.

  “Orlando stumbled. Can’t wonder at it. Here, take the reins for a minute, while I get down and take a look at him,” ordered George, brusquely.

  Susan obeyed with some misgivings. George leapt from the curricle, and, going to the frightened horses, managed at last to quieten them. Then he bent to examine the outside horse, Orlando.

  After a moment, he led both animals forward a few paces. He swore softly.

  “Orlando’s limping,” he said, anxiously. “I only hope he may not have strained a tendon. Hell and the devil! Why did we have to come along this cursed track? How far’s this inn of yours?”

  “It’s only just round the bend,” said Susan, in contrite tones. “George, I am so sorry! Shall I get out?”

  “No point in that,” replied her escort, shortly. “We can’t leave the damned curricle stuck here in the middle of the road, so I’ll have to risk walking him as far as the inn, that’s all. You stay there and just hold the reins.”

  He had some difficulty in persuading the injured Orlando to move; but, once this was done, the equipage made its halting progress to the Black Horse.

  “Let’s hope there’ll be someone here who knows enough about horses not to make the poor old fellow a cripple for life,” said George, bitterly, as they drew into the forecourt of the inn. “I suppose it serves me right for not bringing my own groom with me, but I didn’t want to make a stir about you and I going off like this, and even the best servants will gossip.”

  Susan apologized in a small voice, feeling responsible for the accident. Her escort did not seem very ready to reassure her. The truth was that until recently, George’s horses had been the ruling passion of his life. At present his anxiety for Orlando outweighed all other considerations, as Susan could very well see.

  She wondered if he was beginning to regret having brought her here, and her feelings of guilt increased. She had to acknowledge that she had certainly played upon his feelings for herself in persuading him to make the journey. It was not the kind of thing she had liked to do, but at the time she could think of no other way of accomplishing what mattered to her so desperately. And now, if she had caused permanent injury to one of his favourite horses, she felt that she could never forgive herself.

  Susan was quickly recognized by the landlord of the inn, and every attention was given to the visitors. George lost no time in seeking expert aid for Orlando, and was lucky enough to find that the landlord knew the very man to help in this way. While refreshment was served to the hot and dusty travellers, an ostler was sent in search of him. George quickly tossed off a tankard of cool ale, and, with a hurried excuse to Susan, made off in the direction of the stables.

  For some time, Susan sat alone in the coffee room, inwardly restive at the delay in carrying out her plan. She had meant to confide in George, and enlist his aid in getting unseen into Pyncott Place. Now she must wait until the horse had been attended to; and by that time George might not be in a mood to help her with so unconventional a scheme. It was already over four hours since she had first embarked on her enterprise, for time had been wasted in calling on Georgiana in the hope of bringing her with them. Now this further delay looked like prolonging the venture, making it doubtful if she and George could reach home before nightfall. And if they did not — Susan’s heart contracted as she thought of all the possible complications to her situation.

  There was nothing else for it. She must go to Pyncott Place alone. George would be safely occupied in the stables for the next hour or two, and would most likely never even notice her absence. All the same, she gave the landlord a message for him to the effect that she was just taking a stroll about the village.

  She drew on her gloves, and left the inn, walking purposefully in the direction of Pyncott Place.

  When she reached the gates to the house, she hesitated, casting a thoughtful look along the drive. She tried the gate. The latch yielded to her touch, but in spite of this, she drew back. To enter by the front way would not serve her purpose. Like Beau Eversley, she would be met by Sir Josiah’s secretary, and politely turned away. She must find some way of coming face to face with the formidable Sir Josiah himself.

  She walked some distance round the boundary wall in search of another gate which might lead to the back quarters of the house. After a time she found one, and thankfully tried it. To her chagrin, she discovered that it was locked.

  She stood still for a while, considering what to do.

  It was then that she heard the clopping of a horse’s hoofs over the turf. She turned her head in the direction of the sound, and saw that the approaching rider was a female in an expensively cut habit of dark blue cloth, with a jaunty, feathered cap of the same colour set over her ringlets of bright gold. Susan’s heart missed a beat This was none other than Barbara Radley.

  She thought rapidly. Miss Radley must be here on a visit to her grandfather. Ready to clutch at straws, Susan saw that here might be a way of gaining access to Sir Josiah. Without pausing to remember that Barbara had met her only once at Georgiana’s party, and might not even recognize her, Susan gave the rider a cheery greeting.

  Barbara looked puzzled for a moment as she reined in her horse. Then her face cleared.

  “Oh, of course, you are a friend of Georgiana Eversley’s, are you not? We met at her party, I believe, Miss—er—”

  She hesitated, evidently unable to recall Susan’s name. Susan quickly supplied the deficiency.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Barbara, dismounting. “How stupid of me to forget!” She offered her hand. “I am on a short visit to my grandfather at present — he lives in the house yonder — Pyncott Place.”

  “Yes, I know.” Susan drew a deep breath, and began to speak quickly, before her courage should desert her. “Miss Radley, I dare say you may think it very odd of me to ask this, but I assure you I have a very particular, most pressing reason for my request — I must see your grandfather at once. Do you think you could possibly take me to him?”

  Barbara’s lovely blue eyes opened wide, and her lips parted slightly. “But — but why do you not ask for him at the house?” she stammered.

  “Because it’s no good. He doesn’t know me.”

  Barbara stared as though she had some doubts about Susan’s sanity. “Doesn’t know you? Then why—”

  “I told you that you’d think it odd — I can’t explain yet — perhaps not ever. But oh, please do help me!” Susan laid a hand on the other girl’s arm and turned pleading dark eyes up to her face. “I know your grandfather’s secretary will turn me away at once, because I cannot tell him what my business is. Even if you are so good as to take me straight to Sir Josiah, it may not answer, for he may send me away without giving me a hearing. But I must try — it is dreadfully important to me, you see — a matter of — yes, in a way, of life and death!”

  In spite of some misgivings, Barbara was impressed by the earnestness of this supplication. A tender-hearted girl, she would have yielded at once had she not possessed a lively dread of her Grandsire’s anger. She began to explain this, but Susan cut her short.

  “Yes, I. know how it is with him, and indeed I don’t wish to get you into hot water! I thought perhaps if you could smuggle me into his room—”

  Barbara let out an involuntary exclamation of horror. “Well, get me into the house and show me where it is, then!” amended Susan impatiently. “I can do the rest myself, and he need never know that you had anything to do with it.”

  “Oh, dear!” sighed Barbara. “I don’t wonder that you and Georgiana Eversley are friends. You are really very alike, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know — perhaps. But will you do it for me, Miss Radley — please? Please.”

  “Why, of course I would like to be able to help you,” replied Barbara, doubtfully. “But — but what about Mama? She is there, too,
and I very much doubt if she will consent to allowing someone who is a perfect stranger to my grandfather to enter his room. Besides she dreads anything that’s likely to put him in a taking, especially at present — indeed, we all do, and you would, too, did you but know him! Come to think of it, you would be very much better advised, Miss Fyfield, to write him a letter explaining your business. Yes, that would be the thing, don’t you agree?”

  “No.” Susan shook her dark curls. “No, I can’t do that. It would be no good at all. I did think you might help me, but I see now that I was mistaken, and I shall have to find some other way.”

  She turned away, her whole body drooping dejectedly. “I am sorry to have troubled you, Miss Radley. Goodbye.”

  “No, wait a moment!” Barbara moved forward quickly, and seized her arm. “I don’t know what this is all about, Miss Fyfield, but one thing I can see is that it matters desperately to you. I will help you, and I think I can see how to get you to my grandfather without Mama knowing anything at all about it — until afterwards,” she added, with a barely suppressed shudder. “Follow me.”

  They went in by the stables, where Barbara handed her horse over to a groom, and then led her companion into the house, through the servants’ quarters. Without meeting anyone more formidable than a small housemaid, they rapidly ascended the service staircase to the first floor. There was a door at the end of the staircase; Barbara opened it softly, and peered round it on to the passage beyond. There appeared to be no one about, so she tugged at Susan’s gown as a signal, and the two girls quietly eased themselves out into the passage. They tiptoed along it until they came to a point where it widened into a broad landing at the head of a fine flight of stairs leading down to the hall.

  Barbara put her mouth close to Susan’s ear.

  “Grandfather’s room is the first door past the staircase,” she whispered. “Do be careful, for Mama is sitting in the next one along and may come out at any moment. I will go to her now, and see if I can keep her out of your way.”

  Susan whispered her thanks, and the two girls fell silent as they sidled quickly past the head of the staircase towards the rooms beyond. When they reached the first door, Barbara gestured towards it, and nodded. Susan reached for the knob with a hand that trembled alarmingly, turned it, and quickly entered the room, before she could change her mind.

  SUSAN FINDS HER MOTHER

  “Well, come in if you’re coming!” ordered a testy voice. “Don’t hang about making damnable draughts with that door. Shut it.”

  Her heart beating fast, Susan obeyed.

  “Is it you, East?” went on the voice, in mounting irritation. “What is it now? If it’s that damned daughter-in-law of mine wanting to see me again, recommend her to take herself and her whey-faced brat off home at once, before I change my mind and forbid the wedding! Not that I care a button who the silly chit weds! Eh? What’s that you say? Speak up, damn you!”

  Susan made an inarticulate noise.

  The room, in spite of being spacious, was dim. Heavy velour curtains were partly pulled across the windows, excluding the sunlight, and the walls were covered in dark oak panelling. Regardless of the warm summer weather, a small fire burned in the grate. Before this was drawn up a wing chair with its back towards Susan; so that all she could see of its occupant was a white wig which protruded over the top, and a gnarled hand resting on a stick to one side of the chair.

  Small though the sound was that she made, it must have told the occupant of the room that decidedly she was not his secretary. He pushed the chair back a little, and began to struggle painfully to his feet with the aid of the stick.

  “Plague take it!” he gasped, while this exercise was in progress. “If it isn’t one of those cursed females! Whichever it is, ye can take yourself off — get out, I say—”

  Susan was trembling violently, but she forced herself to go forward into the room.

  “No,” she said, between chattering teeth. “I’m not — not—”

  He had now succeeded in standing upright, and turned to face her. He was bent with rheumatism, and leaned heavily upon his stick; but she saw that, from the mass of wrinkles which covered his face, a pair of still keen brown eyes studied her carefully.

  “No, I can see ye’re not,” he snapped. “Not blind, yet, y’know — nor wanting in my wits. Dare say ye’re a friend of that granddaughter of mine — no business to bring you here — damned impudence! Got into the wrong room, have ye? Well, get out, then. Damned if I won’t clear off the whole pack of ’em, now, without waiting till tomorrow. Where’s that cursed secretary of mine? He’ll see to it.”

  He put out a shaking hand towards a bell rope that hung close to his chair. Susan fairly flew across the room, placing herself in front of the rope so that he could not reach it without first pushing her aside.

  “No, please — please!” she begged, desperation lending her speech. “Don’t summon anyone — there’s something I must ask you first — in private!”

  For a moment, the expression on his face changed from irascibility to surprise. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, Susan rushed on without daring to stop for a moment to consider her words.

  “It’s my only hope, you see. But I don’t know where to begin—” she swallowed — “I live in London with an aunt. At least, I always thought she was an aunt; then one day she told me that she wasn’t really related to me at all, but had answered an advertisement in one of the journals for someone to take in a young female child, and bring her up as one of the family. Mrs. Fyfield, this lady’s name is, and I am called Susan — but I don’t know what my true surname may be — only, I think — I think—”

  She paused for breath, and looked anxiously at the old man’s face. Apart from a slight narrowing of the dark brown eyes, it gave no sign.

  “I think it might be — Radley,” she finished. “There is a portrait in one of the downstairs rooms — I haven’t seen it myself, but I’m told that it is very like — me—”

  The old man’s eyes suddenly blazed in his white face.

  “Then ye’re told lies — damned lies!” he shouted, fiercely. “It’s her ye favour — that filthy whore!”

  Every vestige of colour left Susan’s face, and she clutched at the mantelpiece for support.

  “Good God, she’s going to swoon!” fumed Sir Josiah. He tried to reach the bell rope, but Susan stood swaying before it; so he gave up the attempt, hobbling instead to the door. He threw it wide open, and shouted for assistance.

  At once, a number of servants came running. The door next to his opened, and Mrs. Radley and Barbara hastily emerged.

  “Whatever is the matter, sir?” asked Mrs. Radley, in alarm. “Are you ill? Shall I send for the doctor?”

  “I’m all right,” he replied, testily, waving a hand to the servants in dismissal. “Just ye two come in here.”

  Barbara faltered, and hung back; but her mother, although looking far from comfortable herself, was made of sterner stuff. She urged her daughter into the room, and closed the door behind them both.

  On catching sight of Susan, she stood stock still, staring. Barbara’s face turned from white to red.

  “Well, do something, can’t ye?” commanded Sir Josiah, impatiently. “Can’t have the cursed chit swooning all over the place — get her out of here, and quick! I don’t know which of ye’s responsible for bringing her here, but I’ll know how to deal with ye both, afterwards. Ye’ll rue the day, mark my words!”

  “You are mistaken, sir,” replied Mrs. Radley, in as calm a tone as she could manage. “How this young lady comes to be here, I cannot tell you, but one thing I can say — it is nothing whatever to do with us! Why, neither Barbara nor myself—”

  She broke off. She had glanced at her daughter as she mentioned her name, and there was no mistaking the guilty look on Barbara’s face. Sir Josiah certainly did not miss it.

  “That baggage knows!” He pointed an accusing finger. “Get the girl outside, and then you can co
me back and damned well give an account of yourself, ma’am!”

  “But who is she?” asked Mrs. Radley in a puzzled tone, obediently moving towards Susan, who had abruptly sat down in Sir Josiah’s chair, covering her face with her hands.

  “She’s Susan Fyfield, Mama,” put in Barbara, in trembling accents. “We met her at Georgians Eversley’s party — she’s a school friend of Georgy’s—”

  “What’s that you say?” asked the old man, fixing Barbara with a fierce glare that turned her knees to jelly. “What did you say this chit’s name was?”

  She repeated the name in a very weak voice.

  “That’s all ye know about her?” insisted Sir Josiah. “D’ye swear there’s nothing else? Answer me!”

  He poked her shoulder with a bony finger.

  “Yes,” stammered Barbara, frightened out of her wits. “Why, grandfather — wh-what else is there to know?”

  Mrs. Radley turned suddenly towards him. “Yes — what indeed?” she repeated.

  At that moment, Susan stood up and faced the others. She was still pale, but it was evident that she had now got a grip on herself.

  “You must tell me now, Sir Josiah,” she said, quietly. “I cannot leave without learning the truth. Was your son Robert Radley my father?”

  For a moment there was dead silence in the room.

  It was broken by the sound of an altercation on the landing. The noise quickly subsided, and the door opened.

  A slim, elegant figure slowly entered. He bowed gracefully to the silent company.

  “You will, I am sure, pardon my intrusion on this occasion,” said the newcomer to Sir Josiah, “although in general I know you do not receive visitors. It must be — let me see — yes, I believe it must be full eighteen years since last we met. How do you do? I fare tolerably well, myself, apart from a touch of my old enemy, the gout. It is pleasant to see you again. And this—” he turned to the ladies, with another gallant bow which belied his years — “is, of course, Mrs. Radley, your fortunate son’s wife; and your lovely granddaughter, Miss Barbara Radley — quite one of the Toasts of the Town, I understand.” His penetrating dark eyes twinkled at Susan. “And this is my little nymph of the glades, is it not? We met first at my humble villa near the Thames.”