The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  Toby hooked a chair forward with his foot and stretched out in it. Franklyn crouched like a quivering jelly against the stairwell ‒ of the servant, there was no sign. Toby grinned whimsically at Hugo and besought him to have a care.

  Hugo walked quickly to the room, and the door closed quietly behind him.

  Sir Gideon sprawled inelegantly at the far end of a dining table strewn with the untidy remains of a meal. His coat was open, his cravat tugged loose. He was engaged in the dissection of a peach, peeling it with slow, sensual relish; he didn’t bother to look up.

  ‘Did you ever think, Jasper, that a ripe peach is like a beautiful woman!’ A chuckle echoed deep in his throat as the full lips closed round a particularly lush segment. ‘And this is not the only sweet fruit I shall be tasting this night, eh my friend?’

  When there was no reply, he glanced up ‒ and his hand froze in mid-air! The Marquis of Mandersely was standing with his back against the door, looking like some devilish apparition! Benedict half-rose in his chair, a bolt of fear running through him; then sank back, his glance narrowing.

  ‘Well now, I suppose your young cousin ran straight to you with the news of my return.’ The full lips curled. ‘I slipped your guards pretty well, think you not?’

  Hugo made no reply. He turned the key in the lock and dropped it into his pocket. In a single gesture he swept the dishes from one end of the table, laying the two rapiers neatly in the cleared space.

  Slowly and deliberately he began to remove his coat.

  Sir Gideon watched with growing unease. ‘What the devil are you at Mandersely? Have you taken leave of your senses? Forcing your way into Jasper’s house in this extraordinary manner? Where is Jasper?’

  Hugo sat down. He took off his top-boots and set them neatly to one side. ‘Your friend is, I fear, temporarily indisposed. In what I am about to do, I prefer that there should be no witnesses. You see, Benedict, I feel that this world has been compelled to harbour you too long.’

  His voice, so chilling in its complete detachment, started a shiver of cold fear crawling up Sir Gideon’s spine. He was compelled to remind himself that he still held the whip hand.

  ‘Fine words, Mandersely,’ he sneered, ‘but I believe you’ll be forced to swallow them. Kill me and you will never see your precious Lucia Mannering again!’ He leaned back in his chair with an air of triumph. ‘You may believe her to be at Culliford Cross, but I assure you she is not!’

  ‘I know she is not!’ Hugo was standing now, rolling up his sleeves in a business-like fashion. ‘Come along, man, stir yourself!’ he snapped suddenly. ‘Or do I run you through where you sit?’

  Sir Gideon’s scalp was prickling. He had the oddest sensation that everything was slipping from his grasp. But he couldn’t lose! Not this time! ‘What do you mean ‒ you know?’

  Hugo stood over him. ‘I have removed Lucia from that stinking hell where you had the unpardonable callousness to lodge her.’ For the first time the sleepy eyes betrayed the full extent of his fury. ‘Before you die, Benedict, you are going to sweat blood for every second of misery and despair you caused that girl!’

  The last vestige of control gone, Sir Gideon sprang to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. ‘Damn you to Hell, Mandersely!’ he snarled, stripping off coat and boots. ‘I will have no more of your meddling!’

  He stood at last in stocking feet, a bulky, dangerous figure stripped down to shirt and breeches. Hugo indicated the weapons. Sir Gideon seized the nearest sword and stepped back, flexing the blade, testing its balance with a few experimental slashes as he waited for Hugo to push a chair back against the wall.

  With only the briefest of salutes, the blades crashed together. From the outset Sir Gideon, in a white heat of fury, tried to use all his considerable weight in an attempt to force Hugo backwards, almost breaking through his guard time and again.

  But Hugo, his wrist strong and supple, countered with a kind of daring brilliance. Benedict lunged dangerously; Hugo parried and only partially succeeded in deflecting the blade. The point skidded up his arm, ripping his sleeve to the shoulder and opening up an ugly gash.

  ‘I’ll see you in Hell yet, my lord!’

  ‘A mere scratch!’ Hugo ground out through shut teeth. ‘You’ll need to do better than that!’

  Sir Gideon grinned savagely. ‘I have hardly begun!’ He leapt in to finish his work, but Hugo was not to be caught a second time. He parried swiftly and began to press forward his own attack, using all his dexterity of wrist. He lacked the other man’s power, but he had been well taught and kept a cool head. Their stockinged feet thudded on the boards; their breath came quick and heavy.

  Benedict was beginning to show signs of tiredness. He repeatedly tried to pierce my lord’s defence, but each time his blade was turned aside. Sweat gathered on his brow and rolled down his face in great drops, clogging his eyelids and threatening his vision, yet he dared not risk wiping it away.

  Hugo was able to break through his guard almost at will now, and each time he checked his blade quite deliberately at the last second. Relentlessly, he drove Sir Gideon round the room until he pinned him finally against the table. He was dimly aware of tearing sobs as hilt grated against hilt; of the gasping cry: ‘For God’s sake Mandersely ‒ finish it!’ ‒ and then his blade was free and plunging home.

  The rapier spun from Sir Gideon’s grasp and with a long-drawn sigh he fell, a stain slowly spreading across his shirt front.

  Hugo swayed above him, drawing deep, steadying breaths. His vision cleared; his sword hand was clammy and shaking. For the first time he became aware of his own wound throbbing painfully. Blood had saturated the sleeve and was trickling down his arm.

  He stooped to retrieve the discarded weapon, wiped both blades on Franklyn’s lace tablecloth and sat to put on his boots. Then, with a sigh, he collected the rapiers and his coat and unlocked the door.

  Two pairs of eyes turned; Toby half-grinned his relief and then seeing the blood, sprang to his feet. Hugo restrained him briefly.

  He walked across to Franklyn, who had uttered a low moan on seeing him and thereafter seemed to shrink visibly. The point of Hugo’s blade rested lightly against the quivering Adam’s apple.

  ‘I don’t know how deeply you were implicated in Benedict’s foul plotting, Franklyn. If I believed you to be more than a feckless hanger-on, I would slit your throat here and now.’

  The terrified eyes bulged.

  ‘However,’ Hugo’s inexorable voice continued, ‘I am prepared to accord you the benefit of any doubt.’

  He lowered the pricking rapier point at last. ‘I leave you to dispose of your late … friend. I care not how you do it, as long as it don’t involve me. And then, my friend, you will leave Town ‒ for good! If you are here in twenty-four hours, you will be very sorry!’

  With Toby at his side, the Marquis looked his last on the sweating, quivering travesty of a man, who had been responsible for loosing so much misery.

  Then he turned contemptuously on his heel.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A little after noon two days later, Hugo arrived in Portland Place clad in a fine mulberry travelling coat and gleaming top-boots, his arm in an elegant sling.

  His aunt lay half-dozing on a sofa and straightened up with a little shriek at the sight of her nephew, hastily smoothing down her pink-striped jaconet wrapper and setting straight her cap.

  ‘Lordy, Hugo! I never expected to see you about so soon! Surely it cannot be right for you to be on your feet?’

  ‘My dear Aunt,’ Hugo drawled with all his old insouciance. ‘I am not so poor-spirited as to be kept abed by a mere scratch!’

  ‘Then you are to be congratulated!’ snapped that good lady. ‘For my part, I am still far from well. I declare that whole horrid business aged me by ten years at the very least! Were it not for poor Lucia, I should be in my bed.’

  ‘Lucia is not worse?’

  ‘No, no, of course she is not!’ she said hastily, seeing
the alarm spring to his eyes. ‘She sleeps a great deal which Dr Gordon thinks a good thing. She is still badly shocked of course and has scarcely spoken two words, though we have all tried!’

  ‘Do you think I might see her, Aunt?’

  “Of course, my boy. Though whether she will be awake …?’

  ‘You see, I am obliged to leave Town somewhat urgently. Great-Uncle Bertram …’

  ‘Again!’ cut in his aunt, incensed. ‘Really! Can you not send a message saying that you are unwell? He has no right to use you so abominably!’

  Hugo’s sleepy eyes lifted a little in amusement. ‘My dear Aunt ‒ I cannot believe him so boorish as to die in order to be disobliging!’

  ‘What! Is he really going this time?’

  ‘So I am led to believe,’ said Hugo dryly. ‘And as his heir, I am bound to be there, if he so wishes.’

  They had reached Lucia’s room and Aunt Aurelia scratched gently on the door panel. Chloe came at once.

  ‘Lord Mandersely is come to see your mistress, child. Is she awake?’

  Chloe blushed, meeting his lordship’s gaze; the bruise on her jaw reminded her vividly of their last meeting.

  ‘She is asleep, m’lady ‒ m’lord. Shall I wake her?’

  ‘No!’ Hugo rapped the word out curtly. He walked to the foot of the bed and stood looking down, treasuring to himself the dear face so pale and still against the pillows, deep purple smudges standing out beneath the sweep of her silken lashes.

  ‘Look after her, Aunt,’ he said abruptly.

  When the door had closed, the figure in the bed stirred and two large tears rolled down on to the pillow.

  The following morning Dr Gordon found Lucia up and sitting in a chair by the window.

  ‘Well!’ he boomed. ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’

  Without any preamble, she announced in a tight voice, ‘Dr Gordon ‒ I want to go home ‒ to my grandfather.’

  ‘Do you now? Well, there’s no great surprise in that.’ He lowered his ample proportions into the chair beside her and took her hand in his, patting it gently. ‘But will you not bide a wee while longer, lassie? You’ll not be up to the journey yet, I’m thinking.’

  He felt her fingers tense. ‘I want to go now ‒ as soon as possible. I am not trying to be difficult … I just have to get right away!’

  She couldn’t explain, even to him, that she still felt tainted; that she needed to get the smell of that awful place out of her system! She knew that Sir Gideon was dead; that Hugo had killed him. Hetty had been full of it and she had listened, still in a haze of unreality.

  Hugo had seen her in that place ‒ and now he had gone away; someone had told her why, but it wasn’t important. She must go now herself ‒ before he came back! She couldn’t face him … not yet!

  Perhaps Dr Gordon understood better than she thought; he gave her hand a final pat and said casually, ‘Aye well, maybe it would be for the best. A complete change of scene and some good country air will set you up quicker than anything.’

  He heaved himself out of the chair. ‘Would you like me to broach the matter to Lady Springhope?’

  ‘Would you? I should hate her to be offended. She has been so very kind.’

  ‘Leave the good lady to me!’ He gave her a conspiratorial wink and Lucia stretched a hand to him impulsively.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘For … being so understanding!’

  ‘Och, that’s what I’m here for lassie! And mind now, I shall expect to see you returning in a few weeks’ time with the roses blooming again in those pretty cheeks!’

  It was a day of mellow autumn sunshine when Aunt Addie, glancing through the parlour window, saw the dashing yellow curricle drawn by four glossy chestnut horses being brought nicely to a halt at the front steps. A funny little man ran to the horses’ heads and Lord Mandersely stepped down and mounted to the door. She met him in a flurry of twittering confusion.

  He endeavoured to put her at ease, and assured her that he had not informed them of his coming, as he had no wish to put anyone about.

  When, however, he asked how her niece did, she became even more like an agitated hen, bemoaning the poor dear child’s changed state.

  Hugo’s heart took a dive. ‘Changed?’ he rapped out. ‘How changed? After ten days I had hoped to find her much improved.’

  ‘She is well enough in herself to be sure … but so quiet! You know how gay and forthright she was … I … well, that is, Papa never did tell me what happened in London … but … I have a great fear … it may have had some permanent effect …’ Aunt Addie pressed a handkerchief to her trembling mouth.

  Hugo, by now thoroughly alarmed, demanded curtly to see Colonel Mannering. She scurried ahead of him, sniffing in such a depressing way that it needed considerable restraint to refrain from snapping at her.

  On the threshold of the Colonel’s room, he insisted brusquely that she should say nothing of his visit to her niece and received an incoherent assent.

  The old gentleman rose stiffly from his chair, and stood leaning on the ebony cane. ‘Well my boy ‒ so you’ve come at last!’

  Hugo acknowledged this forthright greeting and likewise came straight to the point. ‘What the devil is all this I have been hearing about Lucia, sir?’

  Colonel Mannering snorted. ‘Pshaw! You’ve been listening to Addie’s ravings; never knew a woman with such a morbid turn of mind! What’s she been telling you? That Lucy’s lost her reason?’

  ‘Something of the sort. It can’t be true!’

  ‘Of course it isn’t true; a pack of tarradiddle!’ Relief flooded Hugo’s face. ‘Mind you, she’s not herself, but if you can’t remedy that, you’re not the man I take you for.’

  ‘I hope you may be right.’

  ‘I am. But if you’ll pardon my saying so, I can’t commend your strategy, lad! Leaving the child just when she most needed you!’

  ‘That was unfortunate,’ Hugo admitted ruefully. ‘But I fear Great-Uncle Bertram remained awkward to the last.’

  ‘Gone, has he? Ah well … poor old Bertram! He had ever a rotten sense of timing. I well remember …’ The Colonel became aware of Hugo’s look of glazed politeness and said with a twinkle, ‘… but you’ll not be wanting to listen to me boring on, eh?’

  ‘At any other time, sir, I should be delighted …’

  But at this moment you are wishing me at Jericho. Very proper!’

  ‘You know I intend to marry Lucia, sir. You have no objections?’

  ‘Would it make any difference?’

  Hugo grinned suddenly. ‘None whatever, sir.’

  ‘Well you’d best get on with it then; I can’t imagine why it’s taken you so long!’ The Colonel cleared his throat noisily. ‘By the way, my dear boy … I don’t find it easy to talk about it even now … but it must be said! I am forever in your debt with regard to all you did for my little Lucy. When I think what might have happened …!’

  ‘Don’t, I beg of you, distress yourself, sir! It is finished, thank God!’ The two men gripped hands.

  Lucia was in the music room sitting at the pianoforte. She didn’t hear the door and he was able to watch her unseen; drinking in her beauty like a man with a great thirst. She was wearing a simple white gown and the lovely hair was loosely tied back with a white riband. Her slight figure drooped despondently over the keys.

  He said deeply, ‘Good afternoon, Lucia.’

  She started violently, her fingers jarring on a tuneless chord, the colour coming and going in her face. After a fleeting glance she stood up and moved away towards the window.

  ‘I … I didn’t know you were here, my lord!’

  ‘Did I frighten you? I’m sorry.’ He explained why it had taken him so long to come and she listened politely.

  When he had finished, she said, ‘I am sorry about your Great-Uncle. So you are now the Duke of Troon?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Shall you mind?’

  ‘No … why should I?’ That distant politeness was l
ike a wall. For the first time in his life he felt terribly unsure.

  ‘Come and let me look at you!’ he commanded.

  For a brief moment she stood poised as though for flight, and then she came and stood submissively before him, hoping that he would not hear her heart hammering with the joy and pain of being near him. She had not realized how much she had longed for a sight of his dear, arrogant face!

  Hugo put a finger beneath her chin and examined her face minutely, whilst she stood with eyes cast down. She looked cool and unmoved, but there was a little telltale pulse beating in her throat.

  ‘I had hoped to see you looking better.’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘And you? Is your arm recovered? I … this is the first chance I have had to thank you …’

  ‘I don’t want thanks!’ said Hugo intensely. ‘I just want you well and happy again.’

  ‘I am quite better now, truly.’ She slid from under his hand and returned to the window.

  God, this is awful! thought Hugo. We aren’t getting anywhere!

  ‘How is Toby?’

  ‘You know Toby ‒ already talking of returning to his regiment.’

  ‘Hasn’t he done enough?’ she murmured bitterly.

  ‘Oh, he is convinced that the worst is over and that the army is going to come about and lick Boney! He could be right at that. But I am not here to talk about Toby …’

  Her shoulders had drooped again and he suddenly found himself saying calmly, ‘You will see him for yourself very soon, for I am come to take you back to Town.’

  ‘No!’

  His eyebrow lifted. ‘You can’t hide down here forever, you know. What of Hetty? There is very little time left before the wedding.’

  ‘I won’t let Hetty down.’ Lucia’s fingers drummed nervously on the window ledge. ‘I don’t need to come to Town ‒ I can travel to Mandersely from here.’

  ‘My aunt is missing you. She has a big party to arrange shortly and you are so much better at organizing then Hetty.’

  The fingers drummed louder. ‘They will manage. I … don’t wish to return.’

  ‘I am not interested in what you wish,’ he said softly. ‘You are coming back to Town with me today.’