Francis looked a little pained. ‘My dear Edward, you misjudge me! Nothing could have exceeded my revulsion! Of all things in this world I shrink most from bloodshed, or, indeed, from any form of violence. Poor dear Louis! Quite one of my oldest friends, you know! So very distressing that he should have taken such an ill-judged step! A man of his birth becoming a spy, and for Bonaparte, of all vulgar persons! One can only wonder at it. I had believed his ton to have been almost as unimpeachable as my own. I confess, it has been a dreadful shock to me. Are you acquainted with his father, the Marquis? A truly estimable creature: it must be an object with his friends to keep the sad truth from him. But as for sending false messages to poor Louis – really, I am overcome whenever I think of him! – I had no need to do anything so repugnant to one’s feelings as a gentleman. He lodged near the Strand; I had an engagement in Holborn; nothing could have been more natural than for him to give me his company. We walked together in perfect amity. It is the greatest comfort to me to reflect that he can never have known what happened to him. Oh, yes! He died almost instantly: it would have been a shocking thing in me to have bungled. I could not have supported the thought that he had suffered. Friendship carries with it the gravest obligations: I have always been sensible of that. I do feel that I performed the last possible office for him. Only fancy if he had been shot as a common spy! I must not allow my mind to dwell on such a horrid thing: it affects me profoundly.’
Carlyon drew a breath. ‘You should be felicitated on your resolution!’ he said.
‘Thank you, Carlyon, thank you a thousand times! It is always such a mistake to allow sentiment to outweigh judgement, is it not? I knew you must feel it so.’
‘Don’t credit me with a similar resolution, I beg! I must for ever fall short!’
‘You disappoint me,’ Francis said mournfully. ‘I had thought you must have entered into my feelings upon this event. You have such amazing good sense! Where must sentiment have led me, and, I must point out to you, both our families, and poor Louis too? I cannot think that you would have had me shut my eyes to treasonable activities! No, no, sentiment must have led Louis to an ignominious death, plunged my family into eclipse, embarrassed yours, and quite shattered the poor Marquis and his charming wife! We shall now brush through the affair quite silently.’
‘I do not know that. But pray continue!’
‘We have had such a digression that I forget which point I had reached. Ah, yes! Poor Louis’ failure to ransack Highnoons, was it not? His subsequent loss of decision encourages me to hope that he had not been for long engaged on that work. No better course suggested itself to him than to post to London, to divulge the whole to my father. Yes, the discovery that his complicity was perfectly well-known to Louis quite overcame his lordship. As you are aware, he at once came into Sussex, but with what purpose in mind I know not. He had not the least idea where he should search for that memorandum. It is a source of constant wonder to me how I came to have such a cork-brained parent. However, I have not the slightest reason to believe that my poor mother played him false. It must remain an enigma. The turmoil his brain was got into by the time he again reached Brook Street was such that I flatter myself he greeted my arrival on his door-step with relief. It needed only a trifle of persuasion – I am very persuasive, you know – to induce him to admit me at last into his confidence. I have seldom found him more ready to listen to my advice. It was most gratifying. I was obliged to point out to him that the state of his health demands that he should retire from public life. I really could not answer for his life if he were to continue in office. Thank God, I was able to bring him to acknowledge the justice of my arguments! He had not been aware of the danger in which he stood: how often a man will go on in his harness long after his friends have perceived that the time has come for his retirement!’
This was said in the gentlest tone, but had the effect of sending a cold shiver down Carlyon’s spine. His face remained impassive; he merely said: ‘I understand you, I believe.’
‘Yes, I thought you would,’ smiled Francis, carefully removing a speck of dust from his sleeve.
Carlyon stood silent for a moment, frowning down into the fire. His guest had sunk into a chair, and now crossed one slim leg over the other, and fell into admiration of the silver tassels on his Hessians. Carlyon looked up, saying abruptly: ‘How came you to know where the memorandum was hid?’
‘My dear Edward, nothing could have been more obvious to me! Eustace assured my father that he had a hiding-place which no one would ever think to suspect. You must know that the poor fellow cherished a touching regard for me. Yes, indeed: he had been trying for years to achieve my way with a cravat, with such distressing results, too! I must confess that his frequent invitations to me to visit him at Highnoons have done much to embitter my life. I have often wished I were not such a good-natured creature. I have felt myself several times obliged to gratify his desire to entertain me in Sussex. And I have no real taste for cognac, you know! But I well remember his placing a valuable snuff-box – I never discovered to whom it belonged – in that clock, and informing me with all the mystery engendered by a somewhat maudlin state of mind that whenever he had anything which he wanted no one to see he put it in this cunning place. He recounted with glee his having once coveted and obtained from your brother Harry some trinket or other which he allowed Harry to search for all over the house, secure in the knowledge that even so suspicious a person as Harry would not think to look in the clock. Fortunately, as it has chanced, he retained no recollection on the following morning of having taken me into his confidence. When I learned that all his papers were in your hands, and that the memorandum was plainly not amongst them, it seemed to me more than probable that the clock had once more been put to a strangely improper use.’
‘Good God, Cheviot, why could you not have come to me like an honest man, and told me the whole?’ Carlyon demanded.
‘Really, my dear Edward, this is not worthy of you!’ Francis protested. ‘Can you possibly suppose that anything other than the direst necessity has led me to confide in you to-day? Do, pray consider! To be obliged to sit here, recounting to you the peculiar exploits of my father is an experience I shall not easily recover from. Your reserve made it impossible for me to discover the precise extent of your knowledge; my pre-eminent desire was to recover the memorandum while your suspicions remained unsubstantiated. Had Nicholas not entered the house at a most unnecessary moment, I must have succeeded. Poor boy! I dare say he would be quite sorry to think he had embarrassed me!’
‘You are, I’m aware, a reckless gamester, but I would not advise your hazarding any considerable sum on that chance!’ replied Carlyon caustically.
Francis smiled, but said nothing. Carlyon bent, and set another log on the fire, and watched the flames curl round it. ‘Well, and now?’
Francis sighed. ‘I am quite in your hands, my dear Carlyon.’
Carlyon directed a frowning look at him. ‘Do you expect me to give that memorandum up to you?’
‘You would be very wise to do so.’ He saw the ironic gleam in Carlyon’s cool gray eyes, and flung up a hand. ‘Oh, pray do not misunderstand me! Nothing could be farther from my mind than offering you the least violence! No, no, I meant only to suggest that I can more readily restore that paper than can you. But as long as it is restored, and without scandal, I shall be excessively glad to be rid of it.’
‘To be frank with you, so shall I!’ said Carlyon.
‘My dear Edward, I never doubted that for an instant. How pleasant it is to discard our reserve! Tell me, do you think we might safely entrust it to your brother John, or is he no longer with you?’
‘He is here. I do not know what he will say to this, but I will not act in the matter without his sanction. You will not object to my sending for him.’
‘By all means send for him!’ said Francis cordially.
Carlyon stepped up to the bell-pu
ll, and tugged it. ‘Have you dined?’ he asked.
‘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 with 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 spectres! 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 to-morrow by highwaymen, for instance, how shocking it would be!’
‘It’s very well to turn it 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 set-down.’
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 right in preferring Cheltenham to Bath? Dear me, there is no end to the problems that beset one, is there?’
Twenty
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’s 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 judgement.
Elinor, when she heard a brief account of Francis’s activities, could only say that she was glad to think she had not known what a desperate character she was harbouring at Highnoons.
‘Yes, only fancy if he had had that sword-stick 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 sentiment 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 behaviour 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 had 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 missed 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 to-night? 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!’
Reluctant Widow Page 29
