“Thank you, yes, if one could call it that. If you mean to invite me to spend the night here, which I trust may be the case, for I make it a rule never to travel at night, be the moon never so full, a little broth and perhaps a glass of burgundy (for I must strive to keep up my strength) sent up on a tray to my bedchamber would make a fitting end to a singularly displeasing day. I need not, I am persuaded, beg you to direct your housekeeper to satisfy herself that my bed is properly warmed. I dare say she is perfectly to be relied on. And I have Crawley with me, of course!”
Carlyon bowed gravely, and when the butler came into the room, repeated this request. “And be so good as to desire Mr. John to join me here,” he added.
John was not long in obeying the summons. He came in with his heavy tread, nodded curtly to Francis, and looked under his brows at Carlyon. “Well, Carlyon? You wish to speak to me?”
“Yes, I wish for your advice,” Carlyon replied. “I am satisfied that Cheviot and I are at one in desiring to restore that memorandum without involving either of our families in any scandal. His suggestion to me is that if I prefer not to entrust the matter to him you might be able to take it out of both our hands.”
“Restore the thing secretly, do you mean?” John said. “No, no, I can have nothing to do with such a course! It would be most improper in me, even if I knew how it might be achieved, which I am happy to say I do not!”
“What an excellent official you are, John!” murmured Francis.
Carlyon smiled slightly and drew the memorandum from his pocket and gave it to Francis. “Take it, then.”
“Ned!”
“Well, John, what would you have me do? I cannot carry it to Bathurst without divulging Bedlington’s part in the theft, and if you wish to run into that kind of scandal I can only say that I do not.”
John was silent, his face much troubled. Francis slid the folded sheets into his pocket.
“I shall not thank you,” he said. “One does not thank a man for handing one a live coal. I think I should make arrangements to journey to Cheltenham Spa when I am at last rid of this business. I have always found the air there to agree tolerably with me.”
“If this were ever to come out!” John exclaimed.
Francis gave one of his eloquent shudders. “John, my nerves have already been called upon to stand more than they are in any condition to do. Pray do not raise horrid specters! I dare say I shall not close my eyes this night as it is!”
“Well,” said John bluntly, “I’ve no wish to insult you, Cheviot, but I hope to God Ned does right to trust you with this!”
“Indeed, and so do I!” agreed Francis amiably. “If I were to be held up on my way to London tomorrow by highwaymen, for instance, how shocking it would be!”
“It’s very well to turn if off with a jest, but I am sure I do not know how you will contrive to restore that memorandum without being discovered!”
“I expect you will be happier if I do not tell you, dear John. It will not be so very difficult. Really, I have only to make up my mind whom I most dislike at the Horse Guards. It will be a choice, I own, but I do not despair of hitting upon the very man. who would be all the better for a setdown.”
John looked horrified. “I had rather know nothing of what you mean to do!” he said hastily.
“The perfect official!” smiled Francis, rising. “And now, my dear Carlyon, if I may be permitted to retire? I have had such a fatiguing day, and all this junketing about the countryside is just what my doctor most earnestly deprecates. I wonder if I am in right in preferring Cheltenham to Bath? Dear me, there is no end to the problems that beset one, is there?”
Chapter XX
When Carlyon, having escorted his guest upstairs to a suitably warmed bedchamber and delivered him into the care of his valet, joined the drawing room party, he found that Nicky was loudly giving vent to his disgust at the outcome of the adventure. Nothing, he insisted, could have been tamer, while as for Francis Cheviot’s continued presence in the house, the only circumstance that could in any way reconcile him to such, an abominable thing would be if Bouncer were to bite him. Bouncer, who had been released from prison and was stretched out before the fire, wagged a willing but slightly weary tail and heaved the sigh of a dog who has spent a successful but exhausting day.
It was not to be expected that John could readily accustom himself to the thought of his brother’s unorthodox conduct. Nightmarish possibilities kept on rearing up their heads, not the least of these being a doubt of Francis’ sincerity. His arguments were met by Carlyon with calm patience, and although he did not quite talk himself out of them he was able at last to admit that he did not know what else could have been done, and was merely thankful the matter had not been left to his judgment.
Elinor, when she heard a brief account of Francis’ activities, could only say that she was glad to think she had not known what a desperate character she was harboring at Highnoons.
“Yes, only fancy if he had had that swordstick of his in his hand when he found you tampering with the clock!” exclaimed Nicky. “I dare say he would not have hesitated to stab you with it, for if a man will stab his best friend there is no telling where he will stop!”
“Just what I was thinking,” Elinor agreed. “I may be thankful, though I quite see that it would have been a very exciting thing to have happened. How flat it will be at Highnoons now!”
“By Jupiter, yes! There will be no bearing it. You know, Ned, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed myself more in all my life! Except for the wretched work you have made of the end of it, you and John between you!”
“For heaven’s sake, Nick, do not be saying that I had anything to do with it!” John besought him, “Ned knows how far I am from approving of his conduct.”
The widow looked much struck. “Is it so, indeed? Can I have heard you aright, Mr. Carlyon?”
Carlyon smiled, but John looked puzzled, and said earnestly, “I have never made the least secret of my sentiments upon this event, ma’am. But so it is always with my brother! He will always go his own way, be it never so crazy!”
“Now John, don’t be prosing again!” Nicky begged. “Ned’s a great gun—at home to a peg!”
“Yes, that is all very well, and I don’t doubt his notions suit you very tolerably, but it will not do! This was not right. You are a sensible woman, ma’am: I appeal to you! You must be aware of the whimsical nature of his behavior throughout this affair!”
“No one,” Elinor assured him, “is more so, sir! And what I find so particularly disagreeable in him is his habit of making the outrageous things he does seem to be the merest commonplace! I dare say I may not have mentioned it before, but I shall not scruple to tell you, Mr. Carlyon, that I consider him to have been ruined by the indulgence shown him by his family, till he has become overbearing, self-willed, ruthless, lawless, set up in his own conceit, insensible of the claims of others—”
“Why, Cousin Elinor, I thought you liked him!” Nicky cried, quite shocked.
“I cannot think where you came by such a notion,” said Elinor firmly. “Pray, what cause have I to like one who has subjected me to all the ills I have suffered at his hands? My credit has been destroyed, my chance of finding a home in a very eligible household foiled, and I have been exposed to all the dangers of a treasonable plot.’?
“It is very true, upon my word!” John said. “Ned, I do not think you have used Mrs. Cheviot well, you know.”
“I cannot agree to it,” replied Carlyon. “I make it a rule always to get over heavy ground as light as I can, and you will scarcely deny that we have met with very heavy ground from start to finish of this business. We are now safely over it, at the trifling cost of a hole in Nicky’s shoulder and a bruise on Mrs. Cheviot’s head.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elinor indignantly. “This passes everything!”
“Well, I don’t grudge my share in it, I can tell you!” Nicky declared. “But I know you are funning, Cousin Elinor! You would not have miss
ed such sport, now, would you?”
Carlyon laughed, and rose to his feet. “You will never prevail upon her to own as much, Nicky. Come, ma’am, it is time I was taking you back to Miss Beccles before you have quite undermined my credit with my brothers.”
“Indeed, my lord, it is quite unnecessary for you to put yourself to the trouble of escorting me,” Elinor replied, getting up also. “After all I have gone through, a mere drive of seven miles, even supposing I were to be held up by footpads, can hold no terrors for me.”
“Of course you need not come, Ned!” said Nicky. “She does not go alone! I shall be with her, and Bouncer too. You will not object to having Bouncer in the carriage, will you, Cousin? He is too tired to run behind.”
“My dear Nicky, there is no longer the smallest danger threatening Mrs. Cheviot, and it is time that you came back to me.”
“Well, and so I will, Ned, but had I not better return to Highnoons tonight? You see, I left my gear there, and—”
“You have plenty of gear here,” said Carlyon.
“Yes, and what is more you are looking fagged to death!” said John in the rough tone he used to conceal any anxiety about his young brother. “I do not know what Ned was about to be encouraging you to tramp miles in search of that dog of yours!”
“Oh, fudge! I was never better in my life!”
“No! And I dare say your shoulder does not pain you either, and you keep shifting in your chair because you have the fidgets!”
“I wish you will take a look at it, John,” said Carlyon. “You are very right: I should not have let him go out after Bouncer. It seemed preferable to his falling foul of Francis, however.”
This unguarded remark made Nicky stiffen with shocked surprise. “Ned! You advised me to go after him only to get me out of the way! Oh, it is too shabby of you! I would not have thought you would have used me so!”
“No, indeed!” said Elinor. “I am sure we had none of us any reason to expect such solicitude. It is wretched for you, Nicky, and if you like to return with me to Highnoons I shall be very happy to accept your escort.”
“Well, I will!” said Nicky.
John encountered his elder brother’s eye and grasped Nicky’s arm. “Oh, no, you will not!” he said. “You will come up to bed, and no more of this nonsense. I’ll attend to him, Ned.”
Nicky, who was indeed extremely weary, said, “Oh, very well, but I am not a baby! I do not need to be put to bed! Good night, Cousin Elinor. I shall be riding over to collect my gear in the morning, I dare say. Come, Bouncer!”
John shook hands with the widow. “I must say good-by, ma’am, for I set out for London tomorrow, and do not know when I may be in Sussex again. I hope when I see you next you will be comfortably settled at Highnoons, with no more secret entrances discovered! But Ned will look after you!”
She returned some answer and he then marched Nicky off. Carlyon had fetched her hat and pelisse to Elinor, and she put them on and let him usher her out to where the carriage was already waiting. “I wish you will not put yourself to this trouble, my lord!” she said, as he handed her in. “Indeed, I am not at all afraid to go alone!”
“But I wish to go with you,” he replied, spreading a fur rug over her knees and taking his place beside her.
The carriage moved forward. Mrs. Cheviot said, “I do trust Nicky may not be found to have done his shoulder an injury!”
“I do not think it.”
There was a pause.
“Well, it will seem strange not to be going in terror of my life any morel” remarked Elinor. “So much has happened this week that there has been no opportunity for me to discuss with you what next I must do. But this must now be thought of, my lord, as I am persuaded you must realize.”
“There is little that you can do until probate has been granted,” Carlyon replied.
“You mean to keep me at Highnoons until then?”
“Surely that was agreed between us?”
“Was it?” she said doubtfully.
“Certainly. You are to sell Highnoons, and we must hope that my cousin’s debts will not swallow all the purchase price.”
She turned, but could only dimly discern his face in the darkness. “My lord, that is no matter to me! I could not reconcile it with my conscience to benefit by that dreadful marriage! Please to understand that I mean that!”
“As you wish,” he said indifferently.
She was surprised, for she had expected him to argue the matter and had braced herself to resist his persuasions. After another slight pause she said, “I do beg you will agree to let me leave Highnoons at once, sir. You are aware of my situation. I must look about me for an eligible engagement, and it will not do for me to be lingering on in this way.”
“Mrs. Macclesfield,” he murmured. “I thought we should return to her.”
She laughed. “No, alas! I fear my credit with Mrs. Macclesfield cannot be high! But do be serious, sir! I dare say it may be many months before a purchaser is found for Highnoons, and then what shall I do, with so much time wasted?”
“I have considered that, ma’am, and if you should not like to return for a space to your own relatives I think it would be an excellent scheme for you to go on a visit to my sister, Lady Hartlepool. You will like her, I fancy. She has a sweetness of disposition which must always please. I do not suggest that you should go to Lady Flint, for she is expecting to be confined. And my sister Augusta is forever racketing about town in a way that would hardly be proper for you during the period of your mourning. My sister Elizabeth will be visiting me shortly, and if I may do so I will bring her to make your acquaintance.”
“But—but does Lady Hartlepool require a governess?” asked Elinor.
“Oh, no! Her children are all still in the nursery.”
“Then—My lord, I do not know what scheme you may have in your head, but—”
“I hope you will think better of this determination to seek another post as governess.”
“Well, I shall not, I assure you, sir! I told you once before that I would not become your pensioner, and I beg of you to believe that I meant it!”
“I hope that you will become my wife,” he replied, with all his usual calm.
She was stricken to silence and was aware of nothing but the hammering of her heart in her chest.
He continued after a moment, “I should not be making such a declaration to you yet, but I think my sentiments cannot be unknown to you.”
“Quite—quite unknown, my lord!” she said in a voice which did not seem to be her own.
“I have tried to conceal them. It is too soon, and I would not upon any account embarrass you. But when the period of your strict mourning is over it is my very ardent desire to be permitted to pay my addresses to you.”
She could only say: “It is absurd! I am persuaded this is one of your whimsical turns, my lord!”
“My whimsical turns! No, indeed! I was never more serious in my life. You are the only woman I could think of asking to be my wife. You must be aware, at least, that I have found no common delight in your company.”
“No! No, no, I had not the least notion—Oh, pray do not, my lord! This is some chivalrous conceit! You cannot mean it!”
He sounded amused. “My dear child, when have you ever known me indulge in such romantic folly as a chivalrous conceit? Indeed, my fear is that my overbearing, self-willed ways may have given you a distaste of me which not all my future efforts may serve to eradicate. Is it so?”
“No,” said Elinor. “Oh, no! But—”
He found her hand and raised it to his lips. “Well, I have used you quite abominably, but I will not do so any more. I mean to take the greatest care of you, if you will let me.”
She was obliged to hunt hurriedly in her reticule for her handkerchief. Trying to speak in a collected way, she said, “It will not do! You are so very obliging, my lord, but do, pray, consider!”
“I have already considered, and it is absurd to say that I am oblig
ing.”
“Oh, stop, stop! It is madness! Only think of your sisters. What would they say? You to marry one who is nothing but a penniless governess!”
“What in the world is this new flummery? Do you forget that until a week ago you were Miss Rochdale of Feldenhall?”
“No, I do not forget it, but I think you must forget the circumstances of—of my father’s death!”
“I remember them perfectly, but what they have to do with you, I fear, will always remain a mystery to me.”
She was silenced, but after a moment managed to say, “I am persuaded your sisters would not say as much. Only think what a shock it would be to them to learn of such tidings as your betrothal to me!”
“If I know anything of my sister Georgy,” he responded, “she has already written to tell both Eliza and Gussie, and very likely Harry too, that Ned has fallen head over ears in love at last.”
She blushed rosily in the darkness. “Oh, no! do not say so! She cannot have thought such a thing!”
“Well, she said I was very sly, but that she would not tease me.”
“I must not listen to you!” Elinor said, much shaken. “Oh, it is the most ridiculous thing! You only met me a week ago, and then you constrained me to marry your horrid cousin!”
“It is a fortunate thing that I did not know you better, for if I had I should certainly never have done so.”
She uttered a laugh that broke in the middle. “Odious, odious man!”
“I depend on you to teach me to be less odious. I shall be very happy to learn of you.”
Elinor gathered her forces together. “Lord Carlyon!” she began.
He interrupted. “Do you know, it has of late become an ambition of mine to hear my name on your lips instead of my title?”
“Certainly not!” said Elinor with resolution.
He was silent.
“And when I think of the hateful way you have of calling me Mrs. Cheviot, when you know I dislike it,” added the widow, quite ruining her effect, “I wonder that you should ask it of me!”
The Reluctant Widow Page 29
