An Impossible Confession (19 page)

The door was closed, and a moment later Margaret heard two
horses moving away from the house. Turning, she went slowly back to her own room. What could she and Gregory sensibly do about this? How on earth were they going to rescue Helen, when she quite patently didn’t want to be rescued? How she wished Gregory would return, for she needed to talk to him.

She lay wearily on the bed in her room, closing her eyes. The clock began to chime eight almost straightaway, and as the mellow sound died away, she heard a carriage approaching. With a glad cry, she hurried to the window, holding the delicate net aside to look out. Gregory’s carriage was coming toward the house.

Gathering her skirts, she hurried from the room, down to the entrance hall, and out beneath the front balcony just as the coach drew to a standstill.

Gregory alighted, looking at her in great concern as he saw how upset she was. ‘What is it, my darling?’

‘Oh, Gregory!’ She flung herself into his arms, bursting into tears.

Gently he embraced her, smiling fondly. ‘I didn’t expect quite such torrents because Musket failed,’ he murmured.

‘It isn’t M-musket, it’s H-Helen. Sh-she’s been seeing Adam
D-Drummond
, and I fear she m-may already be r-ruined!’

He drew back in amazement, gazing earnestly into her
tear-filled
eyes. ‘What are you saying?’

‘It’s t-true!’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Out r-riding in the p-park, with Peter, the undercoachman.’

‘I think we’d better go inside, my love. Then you can tell me all about it,’ he said, his eyes dark with bitter anger. 

T
he Windsor road was still crowded as Helen rode swiftly past the racecourse and then on over the heath toward the great park. Peter rode just behind her, his stout cob working hard to keep up with her dun hunter.

Windsor Castle flashed momentarily between the trees as they passed through the gates into the park, and then the main highway was left behind as they turned to the northwest along the narrower way toward the lake, and Hagman’s. It was some time since Helen had ridden fast. At Miss Figgis’s she’d been accustomed to sedate trotting along the Cheltenham streets, with an occasional slow canter through the park, but as a child she’d ridden like the wind across the Worcestershire countryside, and now she was doing so again, the single long ringlet of hair fluttering behind her.

Most of the guests had already gone on to the water party, and there was much less traffic on the road now; indeed, from time to time it seemed she and Peter were alone. The great tree marking the track to Herne’s Glade loomed ahead, and as she reached it, she reined in because her horse was in a lather and needed a slight rest. She glanced at her fob watch. It was twenty past eight! She gathered the reins to urge her mount on, but then something made her glance along the track to the glade. Slow hoofbeats were approaching. She stared nervously in the direction of the sound. The trees moved quietly in the light evening breeze, folding over the track in a secret way that made her thoughts turn instinctively to Lord Swag. Even as his name entered her head, a horseman appeared, riding very slowly. He was slightly built, wore a dark cloak, and his hat was pulled forward to put his face in shadow.

Peter had reined in beside her, and now she heard his dismayed
gasp. ‘It’s him, miss, it’s Lord Swag, I’d know him anywhere!’

Alarmed, she urged her sweating horse on toward the lake, and Peter did the same. ‘We should have gone back, miss,’ he cried, his voice jerky from the jolting motion of his horse. ‘Now we’ll have to return later, and we know he’s around!’

It was something she didn’t want to think about. He was right, but her reaction had been instinctive. She glanced fearfully back over her shoulder, but the curve of the track now obscured the view, although she could still see the tall branches of the tree towering above everything else. Of the lone horseman, there was no sign.

Only when Hagman’s boathouse appeared through the trees ahead did she slow her tired mount from a headlong gallop to a mere canter. The sound of the water party carried clearly, for there was an orchestra playing and a large number of people were
enjoying
themselves, She could hear laughter and conversation, and as she and Peter reached the boathouse, she saw that the jetty was crowded with elegant people still in their Royal Ascot finery. Out on the water, the pleasure boats moved gently in the lengthening evening shadows, and the Cardusays’ flower-garlanded barge was moored at the end of the jetty, its gilded awning gleaming in the warm rays of the sun as it began its long descent toward the
western
horizon.

Helen’s heart was thundering with awful trepidation as she rode slowly along the path by the edge of the lake. The rhododendrons were still magnificent, their heavy crimson, mauve, and white blooms brilliant against the dark foliage. It was half past eight as she reined in just before the small clearing. Would he still be there? Had he been there at all?

Slowly she dismounted, handing the reins to Peter. ‘Wait for me.’

‘But, miss….’

‘I’ll only be just beyond those bushes. Please wait here.’

Reluctantly he nodded. ‘Yes, miss. But if you need me….’

‘I’ll call.’ She gave a sadly wry smile. ‘I rather think I’ll be coming straight back, though, for he won’t be there.’

She could hear her heartbeats as she walked the final few yards along the path and around the edge of the rhododendrons. The
grass swept down to the lakeshore, and her initial reaction was of intense dismay, for there was no sign of his horse, but then her eyes fled to the edge of the water, where one of the small pleasure boats was moored. Its prow was carved like a dolphin, and its awning was brightly striped in red and white. There were no seats inside, just velvet cushions, and a gentleman was lounging on them, a slow curl of smoke rising from his Spanish cigar. He sat up as she appeared, and she knew it was Adam.

Slowly he tossed the cigar into the water, and then rose to his feet. The boat swayed as he stepped ashore, waiting as she went quickly toward him.

She’d been filled with gladness when she saw him, but as she came closer and recognized the coldness on his face, the gladness died away into emptiness. ‘I – I’m sorry I’m so late. I couldn’t help it. Margaret felt unwell and decided not to attend the party.’

His glance flickered cynically. ‘I’ve had no better diversion for the past three-quarters of an hour, besides, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Miss Fairmead; indeed, I’m sure you’re going to tell me that nothing has been your fault since the moment we met.’

The past three-quarters of an hour? But she was only half an hour late. ‘No, I’m not going to say that, because I know it is.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

She felt a telltale trembling inside that warned her it would be only too easy to break down in tears, and she steeled herself to overcome the weakness. He was justified in feeling the way he did, and it was up to her to convince him she hadn’t meant to mislead him. ‘Adam….’

‘Miss Fairmead,’ he interrupted, ‘I think such intimacy as the use of first names should cease forthwith.’

She tried not to show how deep the hurt went at this. ‘Very well, my lord. I was going to say that I didn’t set out to deceive you.’

‘So, now you’re saying you really are the widowed Mrs Brown?’ he remarked dryly.

‘No….’

‘Then you did set out to deceive, didn’t you?’ he pointed out.

She swallowed unhappily. ‘Yes, I suppose in one way, I did. I was on my way from Cheltenham, where I’d been at a seminary for young ladies for five years. During those five years I was drilled
over and over as to what proper young ladies did and did not do. One thing they did not do was stay unescorted at an inn, but circumstances forced just that situation on me. I was also taught during those five years that widows are allowed a little more
latitude
than any other ladies, and so I decided to protect my reputation by pretending to be Mrs Brown. That was all it was, my lord, a foolish pretence because I was afraid for my good name. But I confess to a little willfull determination to enjoy my newfound freedom to the full, and when you invited me to dine with you, I gladly accepted. I was inexperienced, and I really didn’t think it all through, which is why I made such a mess of it all when you asked innocent questions. I told one fib, it led to another, and so on, and then when you revealed that there was such bad feelings between you and my family at Bourne End, well, I was shaken. I couldn’t believe that my silly fibs had all been uttered to a man who had no reason to care much if such a scandalous tale concerning Gregory Bourne’s sister-in-law got out over town. But by the time we finally parted at the Cat and Fiddle, my feelings were such that everything about you mattered very much indeed. I’d never been kissed before, and never wanted so very much to be kissed.’

‘I’m flattered, Miss Fairmead, but confess that your display of ardor seemed very far from a first awakening.’

Her eyes sought his. ‘Please, don’t say that.’

‘I was merely observing fact. I believed you were a widow, and nothing in your manner gave me any cause to think otherwise. Now you tell me that it was your first kiss, and so I tell you that there was nothing of the shrinking, virginal innocent in the way you responded to my advances.’

‘My responses were very honest, sir. Would you rather I played the coquette?’

‘I would rather you had displayed honesty throughout, madam, instead of just claiming it when your story requires it.’

‘You’re deliberately misinterpreting.’

‘Am I? Please proceed, Miss Fairmead, I’m all interest and
attention
.’

She turned away a little, gazing at the pleasure boat as it rocked gently on the water. ‘When I reached Bourne End, I was dismayed to find out what you were supposed to have done last year. You
may not believe it, sir, but my determination to support you caused more than a little bad feeling with Margaret and Gregory. I could not, and would not, believe you guilty, and when I told you that, I wasn’t being deceitful at all.’

‘Maybe not, for your deceit was more concerned with
perpetuating
the myth of Mrs Brown.’

‘I tried to tell you. We were standing right here in this place, and then the horse was frightened, and when I looked back toward the jetty I saw Ralph St John approaching.’ She hesitated. ‘But then, you know this already, don’t you?’

‘Yes, you told me on the terrace at the castle.’

‘What I didn’t tell you was that I’d set out that day to call on you at King Henry Crescent, but that as my carriage approached the house, you emerged and drove off in your curricle. I was going to tell you the truth about myself, but chance stepped in for the second time and prevented me. It prevented me for a third time on the castle terrace when I simply couldn’t find the courage to tell you. I was suddenly so afraid that you’d despise me that I couldn’t utter a single word. I took refuge in telling myself I’d confess everything at our next meeting, which would be at the Farrish House ball. But something happened when I returned to Bourne End, something that made my confession all the more difficult. Ralph St John was waiting for me, he’d had me followed and he knew all about our meeting. For reasons which I’ll explain in a moment, he was determined to make me agree to the betrothal I’d refused to even begin to countenance until then. Oh, yes, my lord, the betrothal you’d heard rumored was based on nothing more than discussions between Ralph St John, Margaret, and Gregory; I’d had no part in them at all, I hadn’t even been consulted. Anyway, he forced me to consent to a temporary betrothal, and he used the same means on me that he’d used on you. He threatened not only to ruin me and alienate my family from me, he also promised to use your sister’s affair to cause an irreparable rift between you and me. He swore he’d make sure you were told that the exposure of Lady Bowes-Fenton’s secret was entirely due to my deliberate interference. I had no choice but to do as he wished, my lord, for to refuse would have brought about the very thing you’d been at such pains to prevent – the destruction of your
sister’s life and happiness. In the circumstances, I agreed to his demands.’

‘Do go on, Miss Fairmead, for you tell a fascinating tale.’

She felt as if he’d struck her, but although she flinched, she gave no other sign of the pain that lanced through her. ‘I now had even more to confess than before, and I thought perhaps it would be better if I wrote to you. I labored a long time over that letter, and I dispatched it to you with one of the Bourne End coachmen, a young man who was more than willing to help, because he is my maid’s sweetheart. He was set upon in broad daylight by Lord Swag, and the letter came back to me unread. So I took it with me to Farrish House, determined to achieve my long-overdue
confession
. Before I kept my tryst with you, however, I made the acquaintance of Ralph St John’s father, a gentleman who is as unlike his odious son as chalk is from cheese. He’s not the fool Ralph believes him to be; indeed, he saw through the false betrothal, which I then found out was needed in order to persuade Mr St John Senior to part with a large sum of money. Ralph had written to him in Jamaica about a forthcoming betrothal and the need to purchase a suitable property ready for married life, but the truth was that the money was for Ralph’s huge gambling debts. Mr St John came back here to investigate what was going on, and it didn’t take him long to realize that Ralph had lighted on me because he had to produce a bride from somewhere. Ralph had been confident I’d leap at the prospect of a match with him, and he’d had a shock when I turned him down. He was in a corner by then, however, and so used force to bring me around.

‘Knowing I could trust Mr St John, I told him about my love for you, going only so far as to tell him Ralph was using that love to make me do his will. I didn’t mention your sister, nor did I tell him that Ralph had been the real villain with Prince Agamemnon. I liked Mr St John, my lord, and I didn’t want him to be hurt any more than necessary by awful revelations about the depths to which his loathsome son had sunk, and was still prepared to sink. Mr St John had heard enough; he decided that Ralph had to have the tables turned on him. I knew when I met you last night that Ralph was going to have to leave England very shortly, otherwise he was going to languish in jail and be disinherited.’

‘I take it that’s what you meant when you said something about Ralph not being in a position to continue his vendetta for much longer?’

‘Yes. Then I asked you to take me outside so that we could talk. I truly meant then to tell you everything; indeed, I was just about to start when I heard Margaret approaching.’ Helen gave an ironic laugh. ‘She was walking toward us, in company with the Cardusays. It was too much for me, and I ran away.’ She paused for a long moment, aware of the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. She gazed at the boat, taking a long breath before continuing. ‘When I returned to the ball after you’d gone, I was given your message by the footman. I can’t tell you how glad I was that you’d give me another chance.’

She turned to face him, but his expression offered no heart, it remained cold. She breathed out tremulously, turning away again. ‘When I ran away from you at the ball, I hid in the landau. I was absolutely distraught, and had to hide because I was in tears. I happened to overhear two lovers in the next carriage – I don’t know who they were, and it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that something the woman said made me realize why Ralph had turned upon you. It was because of Mrs Tully.’

Adam gave a coolly incredulous laugh. ‘She meant nothing to me, and I certainly didn’t accept what she offered me. Besides, she didn’t hold that special a place in Ralph’s heart.’