An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (123 page)

“I think, my lord,” she said a little incoherently, “that it must be nearly the hour when your Lady Mother will awake and need me. I must return to the house.”

Lord Brecon did not move. He looked at Caroline and said very quietly,

“So you would run away from me?”

Caroline’s chin went up as if she had been insulted.

“I never run away, my lord, but sometimes it is prudent not to court danger.”

“So you think I am dangerous?”

“I did not say so, my lord.

Caroline was laughing a little now. She stood facing him, incredibly lovely as the sun made a burnished halo of her curls and the wind blew the softness of her gown so that it revealed the lovely outline of breast and hip.

Lord Brecon sprang to his feet

“No, you are right. It is not I who am dangerous, but you.”

He walked over to her, standing so near that he almost touched her. He stood looking down into her face and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse.

“Who are you? Where have you come from? Why are you here?”

There was something fierce in the question, and yet Caroline knew that she need not answer. It was not her pedigree that he was wishing to hear from her lips, but other words, more intimate ones, words that were spoken just as surely as if her lips had broken the silence that lay between them.

For a moment Caroline could neither move nor speak. Lord Brecon seemed to hold her to him as closely as if he had put his arms around her and then, just as she felt that she must cry out and break the enchantment of the moment, a voice interrupted them.

“And what do you two people find so engrossing?” it asked.

They both turned swiftly, startled out of the ordinary because for a moment they had been living in a world of their own into which no stranger could enter.

Lady Augusta stood there, her red wig covered by a huge bonnet festooned in feathers, her claw-like, be-ringed hand resting on a be-tasselled walking stick. She looked a creature of fantasy, the white paint and vivid patches of rouge on her face seeming grotesque in the revealing light.

“Good afternoon my lady,” Caroline echoed, feeling unexpectedly guilty as she dropped a curtsey.

“You are surprised to see me,” Lady Augusta asked, “and none too pleased, eh? Well, who shall blame you? Youth will turn to youth the whole world o’er.”

“I found Miss Fry admiring the gardens,” Lord Brecon explained somewhat severely.

“And so you stopped to admire her, eh?” Lady Augusta said with a chuckle. “Quite right, my boy. I should have expected the same when I was young and gay. They say the wenches are more prudish these days than we were but I don’t believe it. Females change their gowns with the fashion, but their feelings and their bodies under the frills and furbelows are still the same, I assure you.”

It seemed to Caroline that the old lady leered up at her nephew and there was something insidious and rather nasty in the croaking old voice. She suddenly felt besmirched.

“If your ladyship will excuse me,” she said quietly, “I would return to the house. Lady Brecon may be requiring my services.”

“I will excuse you right enough,” Lady Augusta answered, “and so will lordship, although I’ll be bound that he will be sorry to see you go. Take warning from me, Miss Fry, and beware of all households where your employer is a bachelor. They are dangerous to pretty girls like yourself, for while they love with great éclat, it is seldom serious.”

“Aunt Augusta!” Lord Brecon protested angrily, while Caroline, crimson with mortification, turned and ran swiftly towards the house.

Lord Brecon watched her go, then tightened his lips, his grey eyes dark with temper. As he stooped to take up his hat and riding whip, Lady Augusta stretched out her hand towards him.

“Give me your arm, Vane, and pray do not glare at me in such a haughty manner. I am no longer afraid of their passions. It was sensible of me to warn the chit. She is pretty enough, I am not saying she isn’t, and if I am any judge of my own sex, her heart beats fervently every time she catches sight of your handsome visage. But what good can it do her? She's but a companion, Vane, and you have your position to remember.”

“I am not likely to forget that, Aunt Augusta,” Lord Brecon said bitterly.

“No, of course not, but women take such things to heart. Now be a sensible boy or you will regret it.”

Lord Brecon said nothing for a moment. Arm in arm they moved very slowly down the smooth, grassy walk. Ahead of them stood the Castle, its great stone towers seeming somehow to refute the sunshine and remain sombre and unlit even on such a brilliant day

Lord Brecon looked at it and the expression on his face was inscrutable. Only as they reached the door which led into the Castle from the garden did he speak again.

“As you have said, my dear Aunt,” he remarked quietly, “I will be sensible.”

In the sanctuary of her bedroom Caroline stood looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed but her mouth pouted a little and her eyes were mutinous at the thought of Lady Augusta’s insinuations. But her heart still beat quickly at the emotions which Lord Brecon had aroused within her. She had never known herself to feel so strange.

Slowly she raised her hands and put them against her burning cheeks, then she sat down suddenly on the stool in front of the dressing-table and hid her face in her hands. What was happening to her? Never before had she felt like this, never had she been so strung up, so thrilled, so excited that a turmoil of emotions seemed to succeed one another in an almost endless procession. Her whole being strained towards some goal, of which she was dimly aware and was yet too shy at the moment to give it a name.

She sat for a long time with her face hidden, forgetful of everything save of steel-grey eyes looking into hers, of a firm mouth which spoke words that had a far deeper meaning, of a face which seemed to lie ever before her eyes, causing her to forget all that had ever happened to her in the past, to exclude any anticipation of what might happen in the future. She could be aware only of that face and of the present.

Caroline’s reverie was interrupted by Maria who came into the room carrying some laces and handkerchiefs which she had been pressing.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, m’lady,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea you would be in.”

“I have just come back from the Vicarage,” Caroline said with a somewhat elastic regard for the truth. “I called to see if there were any letters for me. There was one from Mrs. Edgmont, and she says there is no news worth recording and that all is well at Mandrake.”

Maria sighed. “It seems an age, m’lady, since we left. How soon shall we return?”

“I know not, Maria, and would not venture to guess. We have not yet done what we came to do.”

“To save his lordship?” Maria questioned. “At times I cannot help thinking, m’lady, that you are mistaken.”

“You have heard naught of Mr. Gervase Warlingham?” Caroline asked.

“Nothing helpful, your ladyship; but I will relate that during our midday meal I sat next one of the other housemaids. She is a stupid girl, but she has been in the house these past five years. “Is Mr. Warlingham pleasant,” I asks her, “for I have heard he is a handsome gentleman?” She giggled. “There’s one in the Castle as thinks so,” she says. “And who might that be?” I questioned but she would not tell me. Just giggled and said that it was more than her place was worth to go telling tales. “Besides,” she added, “you will find out soon enough when he comes to stay
.” “
And when might that be?” I enquired, but she shrugged her shoulders “It might be today, might be tomorrow or the day after,” she answers. “Mr. Gervase comes and goes when he pleases and why not, seeing as how it will all be his one day?” “There is no certainty on that,” I retorted, “for his lordship is as finely set up a man as ever I have seen. If he has a son - and there is no reason to think he should not have a dozen - then where would your precious Mr. Gervase be?” But she only giggles at me, and I could get no more out of her.”

Caroline got to her feet and moved slowly across the room.

“It is strange, Maria, that she should have spoken like that.”

Suddenly she stood still. She remembered Mrs. Miller’s words the night before “When I am mistress here’.

Yes, gradually the pieces were beginning to fit into one another like the pieces of a puzzle. Mr. Gervase Warlingham and Mrs. Miller. There was no doubt that Lord Brecon was in danger, grave danger, and at least she knew from which direction it would come.

While she was thinking, Maria slipped from the room to fetch a gown which she had told Caroline she had left hanging in the housemaid’s room. A moment later, while Caroline was still deep in thought, she came running down the passage and slipped into the room, closing the door behind her.

“Quick, m’lady,” she said, drawing something from the spacious pocket in her apron.

“What is it?” Caroline asked.

“A list of the guests was lying on the table,” she said, “and there was no one there. Glance at it quickly, m’lady, and then I must return it. If I am found to have taken it, I might easily be dismissed.”

Caroline took the list from Maria. It was written out in untidy, flamboyant handwriting, which she guessed instinctively to to be Mrs. Miller’s, and against the guests’ names were written the bedrooms they were to occupy. The majority of the visitors were to be gentlemen, Caroline noticed, and then as she glanced at each name, her anxiety lightened.

No, there was not one of them with whom she was likely to have come in contact during her season in London. Most of them bore strange names which gave her the impression that they were not of the
beau monde.
There was indeed only one who bore a name which was even vaguely familiar and that was the Honourable Thomas Stratton. But she was almost sure that she had never met him.

“I have read it ’’she said at length and handed the list back to the agitated Maria. “We are safe. It contains no one off our acquaintance.”

Maria for once did not wait to gossip. Caroline heard her running down the corridor, then glancing at the clock she saw that it was nearly half past three. She tidied her hair and went to the Dowager’s room.

Lady Brecon greeted Caroline with a smile and holding out a book of poems, she asked her to read them aloud. Caroline acquiesced and the afternoon passed pleasantly.

They were conversing over a cup of tea when there was, a knock at the door and Dorcas announced that Lord Brecon was outside.

“Ask him to come in,” Lady Brecon said, and as Caroline rose, she added, “Pray stay, my dear. Vane usually comes to see me at this time, but unless he has anything private to impart to me, there is no need for you to retire.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Caroline said.

She bent her head as Lord Brecon entered, but she was aware that his eyes rested on her, and despite her utmost resolution the colour rose in her cheeks.

“‘Vane, darling, how well you are looking,” Lady Brecon said as her son drew near to her bed and bent down to kiss her.

“I have been riding,” he answered. “It is lovely out today. I wish you would let me arrange to have you carried into the garden.”

Lady Brecon shook her head.

“I am happy enough here, dear boy. If I once allowed myself to leave this room, I might be involved in the turbulent difficulties of your great household, and I should dislike that above all things.”

“I know you would, and I will not plague you. Am I too late for a cup of tea, Miss Fry?”

“No, of course not, my lord,” Caroline replied in a low voice, conscious that she could not raise her eyes to look at him and that her hands trembled as they moved among the silver tea things.

“Miss Fry has been reading to me,” Lady Brecon said. “She has a charming voice and we have both confessed to an admiration for the poems of that abominably improper Lord Byron.

Lord Brecon laughed.

“Oh, George writes well enough - if only he would stick to writing! I saw him when I was in Italy.”

“And how was he?” Lady Brecon asked.

“Very handsome, and I am told the women find his haggard pallor irresistible. But then who knows what women will admire? What do you say, Miss Fry?”

Caroline knew that he was being deliberately provoking, but for the very life of her at that moment she could not find an adequate retort.

She murmured something inaudible and rose to carry a plate of sandwiches to the Dowager’s bedside.

“Thank you, dear but I will eat no more,” Lady Brecon answered. “Miss Fry looks after me beautifully, Vane. I am so glad that dear Fanny Hall recommended her to come to me.”

“We are indeed fortunate,” Lord Brecon said with a smile, “although I am afraid that Hester Miller will not agree with us.”

Lady Brecon sighed.

“Do not tell me of it, Vane dear. I have no wish to hear. But I suspicion we made rather a mistake in giving Mrs. Miller so much authority while you were away.”

“Well, we can always ask her politely to find another post,” Lord Brecon said.

He was looking at Caroline, and his tone was absent and careless as if he were not concentrating on what he was saying.

“There might be unpleasantness about that, Vane, since your Aunt was so insistent on her appointment. No, I am afraid the only solution will be to dismiss her when you marry.”

Lady Brecon spoke lightly, but her words had a strange effect on her son. Lord Brecon’s hands tightened over the arms of his chair until the knuckles stood out very white. For a moment he sat looking into space with so much tension in his expression that Caroline felt that at any moment words would burst explosively from his lips, but the seconds ticked by and he did not speak and the Dowager, who was sipping her tea, did not notice, that anything was amiss. Only Caroline waited, watchful and breathless, until Lady Brecon held out her cup to her with a little smile.

“Thank-you, dear. Will you put it down for me?”

Caroline did as she was asked and when she turned again to Lord Brecon, he was sitting back in his chair relaxed. She had the impression that his face had not entirely regained its composure, but he did not glance in her direction. Instead he rose to his feet a little stiffly as if the action were somewhat of an effort.