by Jane Ashford
“Do you suppose she’ll tell about my mother and Mr. Blane and—and the earl?” Gwendeline asked.
Miss Brown shrugged. “You’ll have to read on and see.”
Gwendeline rose. “I’m going to my room. Will you ask them to send my dinner up on a tray, Brown? I cannot bear to be interrupted.”
Gwendeline finished Lady Merryn’s novel very late the following day, too late in fact to tell Miss Brown of its outcome. As she undressed and got into bed, she pondered what she’d learned. Her mother’s story, if this was truly that, was a sad one. Unhappy and reviled in her marriage, Annabella Gregory had turned to parties, gambling, and admirers for solace. She’d been giddy, foolish, and increasingly reckless as time went by. But according to the book at least, not until about four years before her death had she done anything really bad. It was then that Mr. Blane—or Montaldo Blanco, as Lady Merryn called him—had captivated her with his wit and seeming kindness. But once he’d lured her into an illicit relationship, he began to lead her deeper into play for high stakes and other imprudences.
Gwendeline leaned back against her pillows. The last volume of the novel had been quite upsetting. Her mother had evidently seen, after a time, the true baseness of Blane’s character. But when she tried to break away from him, he threatened her with exposure, vowing he’d spread word of her debts and connection with him through London society. By blackmail, he forced her to remain with him.
It was then, according to Lady Merryn, that the earl entered the story. As an adolescent, he’d followed Annabella Gregory about, fancying himself in love with her, but she’d treated him kindly and sent him on his way. Now, as a man of thirty, he offered to help. She accepted his offer with gratitude, and they became close friends, nothing more, as they worked together to pay her debts and find some escape from Blane. They’d continued until her death, never finally succeeding because she refused to let him simply pay her creditors and Blane resisted all their efforts to be rid of him. He struck back at the earl by spreading rumors of a liaison between them. Once Annabella was dead, the earl thought his dealings with Blane at an end.
Gwendeline stared at the walls of her room, feeling an immense relief at this explanation of the earl’s behavior. That he would act to rescue the child of his friend was natural. Perhaps he had even organized the group who rescued her. But along with relief, she felt despair. Why hadn’t she waited to hear the truth? Could she ever return to the city? How could she face them all, especially the earl whom she hadn’t trusted after all his kindness to her? Then she remembered. She wouldn’t have to face Lord Merryn. He was engaged to Adele Greene, perhaps soon to be married. He wouldn’t be concerned with her. She’d made a mull of her life just as her parents had, she thought. Perhaps she was their daughter in spirit as well as body.
Twelve
Gwendeline expressed these bitter sentiments to Miss Brown the next morning, after she’d told her the story of the novel. “So you see, I’ve been stupid and imprudent about everything, Brown,” she finished. “But I’m justly punished for it. I have lost all chance of happiness in life through my foolishness. Perhaps that should give me some satisfaction. It does not, however.”
Miss Brown patted her hand. “You acted from the right motives, and you were very hurt and upset. It’s difficult to think clearly at such times.”
“I could have listened to you. You gave just the right advice. You knew what was best to do, but I insisted on my own way, like a spoiled child.”
“Well, Gwendeline, don’t talk as if all were lost. You can put things right, return to London and see your friends again.”
“Return?” echoed Gwendeline incredulously. “How can I return after the way I have acted? How could I face anyone? What would I say?”
“You might apologize for your abrupt departure and mistrust,” answered Miss Brown. “I think you’ve gained the necessary maturity to do that at least.”
Gwendeline stared at the floor. A strange reluctance to return to London, the thing she’d most desired for weeks, came over her. “Let us wait a few days and think it over.”
Miss Brown looked at her. “If you wish. But I thought you’d be eager to return.”
“I’m a coward, it appears. When I think of walking into a London drawing room, with all the people I knew awaiting me there, I feel utterly unnerved.”
“The season is nearly over. People will be going away.”
“Oh, Brown, a few days will make no difference. Lord Merryn is engaged, perhaps even married by now. I can’t change that, and the rest isn’t terribly important.”
“But perhaps… This engagement, I cannot believe in it. I think there must be some mistake.”
“The earl is not the kind of man who puts a mistaken announcement of his engagement in the Morning Post,” answered Gwendeline. “Today is Tuesday; let us go on Monday next.”
Miss Brown sighed. “Very well, Gwendeline. I’ll ask Mr. Wilson about hiring a chaise.”
“I’ll write Reeves to prepare the house,” she replied. “And, and perhaps I’ll also write Lillian Everly.”
“A splendid idea. She’ll be happy to hear that you’re all right and can tell you how things really stand.”
Gwendeline smiled thinly. “You’re too optimistic. But I’ll write the letters.”
Gwendeline sent her letters off in the early post. In the afternoon, she took a long walk alone. Her future, she told herself, was actually much brighter. She could return to her house in London and give up the idea of earning a living. She could see friends again and go out. Though she could never feel proud of her parents and their lives, perhaps, she at least knew the truth now and need no longer fear the unknown. As she turned back to the inn, however, she acknowledged that none of this convinced her that she would ever be happy again.
The week passed. Miss Brown bustled about making arrangements for their journey, cleaning and packing clothing. Gwendeline sometimes helped her, but more often she spent the days outside. By Saturday, however, she was beginning to wish she hadn’t put the trip off so long. She wasn’t eager to get to London, but she now wished to get it over. Late in the afternoon, she started out for her usual walk. The sky was threatening, and Miss Brown tried to dissuade her, but she insisted on going out. “I must get some air, Brown,” she told the older woman. “I shan’t stay out long, and the storm will hold off till this evening, I think.”
“At least take a cloak, Gwendeline, in case it begins sooner,” replied Miss Brown. She’d given up trying to shake Gwendeline out of her lethargy. She left that for London.
Gwendeline agreed and fetched a cloak. She started out along the road but soon turned into a lane. She walked for some time in the fields nearby and found she was glad of the extra clothing. The wind was freshening and it was clear that a storm would break later in the day. Because of this, she headed back to the inn sooner than usual. In her hurry, she took a wrong turning in the high-hedged lanes and had to retrace her steps for a good distance once she realized she was lost. Thus, the early darkness of the storm was beginning to descend when she reached the road again, and the first large drops of rain had spotted its surface.
In her haste, she took no notice of the post chaise standing farther down the road. She turned away from it and strode toward the inn and shelter. Its windows shone warmly through the gathering dusk, and she thought eagerly of the warm fire within and a cup of tea. But before she had covered half the distance to the building, she heard running footsteps behind her. The rising wind had muffled them until they were very close, and because of this Gwendeline had no time to turn and see who approached before a piece of dark cloth descended over her head, blinding her. Her wrists were seized in an iron grip, and someone clutched her waist and began to force her back along the road.
Gwendeline struggled and tried to scream. The cloth stifled her cries, but she found she could hinder her attacker’s movements, if not
break his hold. She kicked wildly and managed to stop their progress down the road. Then she heard a hoarse voice call, “Here. Help me with this wildcat.” Another set of footsteps approached, Gwendeline felt a sharp blow on her head, and she knew no more.
When she awoke, Gwendeline was alone, lying across the rear seat of an unmoving post chaise. Her wrists were bound behind her, and a scarf tied across her mouth; her head ached where she had been hit. Though she was frightened, she was also angry. She managed to pull herself into a sitting position in the coach. Her feet hadn’t been tied, but someone had taken her cloak. Heavy rain beat against the windows of the chaise, and the night was pitch black. Gwendeline peered out the window nearest her, trying to see where she was, but the rain and darkness obscured everything. She was just about to try to jump from the coach when the door opened and a man got in. He sat down across from her and threw off his streaming cloak.
“So you’re awake at last,” said Mr. Blane. Gwendeline glared at him. He reached for her, and Gwendeline shrank back into the corner of the vehicle. “I mean only to remove your gag,” he said, smiling unpleasantly. “You see I do not repeat the mistake of leaving a reluctant lady free to ask help of some officious passerby.” He untied the knot in the scarf and pulled it free, caressing Gwendeline’s neck with cold fingers as he did so. Gwendeline shuddered.
“There,” he said. “Now we can be comfortable.” The chaise started moving, and Mr. Blane cocked his head. “Ah, the fresh horses. We paused at a small inn to change the team,” he told the girl. “I’d have preferred to stay the night there with you, but I feared we might be interrupted so close to Penwyn. I plan to give you my full attention later.” He smiled again.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Gwendeline, her voice trembling with anger and fright.
“It happens I have a house about halfway back to London. We’re going there for a short stay. Not so elegant as the town houses you’ve frequented, perhaps, but it will be quite cozy. Then, we might go on to Paris, if you like. I haven’t really decided.”
“I won’t go anywhere with you,” Gwendeline hissed. “I demand you let me out of this carriage immediately!”
“In the rain?” said Mr. Blane with mock surprise. “Without your cloak, which I must apologize for having left behind on the road?” His voice hardened. “No, my dear, we’re going to travel together for some time. At least until your whining irritates me too much. Then I’ll let you go. Perhaps I’ll return you to Lord Merryn. Do you think he, or I should say he and his charming intended, will welcome you then?” He grinned. “I fancy not.”
“You are despicable,” said Gwendeline, turning away from him. “I’ll get away from you somehow.”
“Yes?” answered Blane politely. “I think not. However, it is cheering to find that you have a bit of your mother’s fiery spirit after all. Perhaps you’ll be more sport than I dared hope.”
“My mother!” said Gwendeline. “You dare to mention her to me? But then, it’s all of a piece, your behavior to both of us.”
“Ah. I see my dear Lady Merryn’s abominable scribblings have reached even you. And I can see that you believe the whole rigamarole. Alas.” He shrugged. “But I admit it adds a certain piquancy to this little adventure. I think you’ll like Paris; your mother did.” He reached out and flicked her cheek with his finger; Gwendeline twisted out of reach. “At any rate, it is of no consequence, because London is decidedly tiresome lately. Society is so gullible that most believe the harpy’s story. I feel the need of a change.”
“If it’s all a rigamarole, as you say, why not stand up in London and deny it. Someone would believe you, I daresay.”
“You should not try sarcasm, Gwendeline,” he replied. “You are really not skillful. I do not choose to do anything so dull. I prefer to travel for a time and return to town when the story is forgotten. As it will be. And now I shall try to sleep. You should also. We’ll be driving through the night and well into tomorrow. Lovemaking in a chaise is deucedly awkward, but I promise you better quarters tomorrow. You’ll want to be rested.” He grinned at her horrified look, then wrapped himself in a fur rug and reclined in the corner of the chaise. In a short time, he had dozed off.
Gwendeline didn’t fall asleep. Her arms and head ached, and she was very frightened. By the time the sky began to lighten, she was nearly desperate. She had struggled frantically with the ropes that bound her wrists but succeeded only in chafing her arms. Mr. Blane had wakened briefly at every stop through the night, and she knew he would soon rise for the day. She was ready to throw herself from the moving coach, if only she could escape detection. But the ropes held fast, and with her arms bound, she couldn’t open the door.
Blane woke soon after, but he was rather morose until they stopped once more for a fresh team and he got out of the chaise to wash and have breakfast. He retied the scarf before leaving, saying, “I do apologize for this indignity, my dear, but as I said, I’ve learned my lesson about talkative ladies.” When he was gone, Gwendeline tried repeatedly to reach the door handles and force the chaise door open. If she could manage only to fall out on the ground, she thought, surely her condition would attract some help. But she had no success, and all too soon Mr. Blane returned and they were moving again.
He removed her gag and offered her some tea from a flask and some bread and butter. She refused at first, then realized that weakness from hunger was the last thing she wished to feel now. He untied her hands to let her eat; it was an immense relief to have them unbound, though her muscles were cramped and stiff.
“We’re on the last stage before reaching my house,” Blane said. “So these regrettable measures are surely no longer necessary.” He handed her her breakfast. “There you are. Isn’t this cozy?”
“How did you find me?” asked Gwendeline abruptly. She had done a good deal of thinking during the long night.
“Now, that is a fascinating coincidence,” he answered. “I was attending one of the dullest of evening parties in the history of the ton when I suddenly heard your name mentioned in a group behind me. The insufferable Mr. Woodley was telling one of his interminable anecdotes. It seems he had been to visit a well-known artist…”
“Mr. Ames,” Gwendeline burst out. “Oh, no.”
“Precisely.” Blane smiled at her. “And Mr. Ames had mentioned a delightful new pupil he had met with in the country. It was no great matter to find out where he lived. Art lessons! I should never have thought it of you. Is this Ames very romantic and charming?”
Gwendeline ignored this. She was thinking furiously. “Then everyone probably knows,” she said to herself.
“Yes, I imagine you’re right,” he replied. “Exactly why our journey has been so hurried, my dear. I had no wish to be interfered with again.” His eyes narrowed and his expression was frightening as he looked at Gwendeline. “Do not expect it. No one knows of this house of mine or where I’ve gone. You will not be found until I wish it.” Gwendeline shrank away, and he laughed unpleasantly. “And after all, my dear, you’ve already spent a night alone with me. In society’s eyes you’re ruined. Why not give up this obstinacy and let us enjoy ourselves?” He moved as if to take Gwendeline in his arms, and she drew as far from him as possible in the coach. She clutched the opposite door handle and prepared to throw herself out.
Mr. Blane grasped her wrist. “No, no. You mustn’t do yourself harm. Perhaps you’re right. It will be more comfortable to wait until we reach the house. Sit back and relax.” He exerted an irresistible pressure on her wrist and forced Gwendeline back onto the seat. “There we are.”
There was no further conversation for some time, and soon Mr. Blane began looking out the window expectantly. Not long after, the chaise turned off the road into a lane, and a few miles farther on, they turned once again, entering a hedge-lined drive. Almost immediately, they pulled up before a low stone house. The building was surrounded by a high wall, its yard and
garden very small. Ivy covered it, giving it a dark and forbidding appearance, and it was not in the best of repair.
Mr. Blane got out and turned to offer a hand to Gwendeline. She shrank back. “You may as well step down,” he said. “I’ll certainly drag you out if you don’t.”
Furious but helpless, Gwendeline stepped down. Mr. Blane was looking about the yard with annoyance. The house looked deserted; the shutters were up and the front door firmly shut.
“Where is that cursed woman?” he muttered. He strode over to the door and began to knock sharply with his stick, but this brought no results. “Go round to the back,” he said to the burly individual on the box. “See if the door is open there.”
“And ’oo’ll ’old these ’orses?” he replied sullenly.
“Leave them,” snapped Mr. Blane. “They’re tired, not likely to bolt.”
Grumbling, the driver climbed down and disappeared around the corner of the house. Soon, they heard noises within. There was a crash of crockery and a yell. Then the driver opened the front door. “She’s in the kitchen,” he said, pointing back down the hall with his thumb. “Shot the cat, she ’as.” And with this enigmatic phrase, he returned to his seat on the chaise.
“Damn!” Blane exclaimed. He grasped Gwendeline’s arm above the elbow and hustled her down the passage. At its end was the kitchen. It was indescribably filthy; dirty pots and crockery littered every flat surface, and dust had accumulated on many of them on top of dried food. In the middle of the room was a large kitchen table, and a woman was slumped over this, her head pillowed on her arms. Several empty gin bottles stood in front of her.
Releasing Gwendeline, Blane strode over and took hold of the woman’s hair. Pulling her head up, he slapped her sharply several times, but this produced no visible effect. He looked about the room and finally discovered a pitcher of water among the pots. Lifting her head again, he dashed it in her face.
