An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (128 page)

“You are looking very pensive, Miss Fry,” Lady Brecon said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’m, sorry, Ma’am!”

“Of what were you thinking, or is it a secret?”

“I was thinking of you, your son, and the people here in this Castle,” Caroline answered truthfully.

Lady Brecon sighed.

“Are they so very ill-bred?”

“Indeed, Ma’am, I did not suggest such a thing!” Caroline exclaimed.

“Yet I feel instinctively that they are not desirable acquaintances for Vane. I wish I knew what I could do about it, but I can only pray for him and hope that time will bring him wisdom.”

“Then you think that he is unwise, Ma’am?” Caroline asked.

Lady Brecon smiled.

“I did not say so, Miss Fry. It is only that I feel at times that he is restless, at war within himself. He does not tell me so, doubtless because he has no wish to worry me but, a mother senses these things.”

“You have no idea of the reason for such restlessness?” Caroline asked.

Lady Brecon, shook her head.

“Alas, he does not confide in me. When he was a little boy he told me everything but now, although, invariably he sows me a loving consideration, I have no knowledge of what lies within his heart.”

There was a moment’s silence which was broken by Dorcas bringing in the tea-things.

Caroline felt her pulses quicken. Would Lord Brecon come to tea today? Or would he avoid her because of what passed between them last night?

She made the tea, measuring the spoonfuls carefully from the crested silver caddy, and as she was passing a cup to Lady Brecon there came a knock at the door. She knew instinctively who it was even before Dorcas crossed the room, before she saw her bob respectfully.

When his lordship entered and came to his mother’s bedside, Caroline saw that there were dark lines under his eyes as if he had not slept the night before. She rose and made her curtsey, before sitting down again at the table and pouring him out a cup of tea.

Lord Brecon spoke to his mother and it seemed to Caroline as if he deliberately turned himself away from her so that he should not look at her more than was absolutely necessary. She felt her heart ache suddenly. Why must he torture himself so? Why must he make them both so utterly miserable, when by a few words, by a single sentence he could transform the world for both of them? Nothing could be too bad or too terrifying that it could not be faced together, nothing, Caroline thought in her simplicity, could be so horrifying that it could not be bridged or conquered by love.

“Will you pour me another cup of tea, Miss Fry?” Lady Brecon asked.

Caroline rose to take the cup. As she did so, Lord Brecon spoke with a sudden harshness in his voice.

“Miss Fry will have told you, Mother, that her father has been taken ill and that she must leave us.”

“Why no, she has not mentioned it to me,” Lady Brecon said in surprise. “Is this true? I am indeed distressed.”

Caroline looked across the table and met Lord Brecon’s eyes. It seemed to her that they were as hard as steel and that his jaw was set, unusually square. She was surprised by Lord Brecon’s sudden attack, yet her wits were quick enough to find an answer without much difficulty.

“I did not tell you, Ma’am,” she said quietly to Lady Brecon, “because I did not wish to perturb you unnecessarily. As his lordship says, my father is ill but it is only one of his annual attacks of gout and my mother assures me that there is no reason for me to return home.”

“I am indeed glad of that,” Lady Brecon said, “for I should hate to lose you, Miss Fry. You will think me most impetuous, Vane,” she said, turning to her son, “but in such a short time I have a real affection for Miss Fry. I like to look at her and she has the most charming reading voice I have ever heard. You must come and listen to her one afternoon when you have the time to spare.”

“That will indeed be enjoyable,” Lord Brecon said, and Caroline fancied there was a note of sarcasm in his tone.

He rose to his feet.

“I must leave you, Mother. I have much to occupy me before this evening’s rout commences. Mrs. Miller, it appears, has invited half the County, but I am afraid they will find themselves sadly out of tune with the majority of my guests.”

“Oh, Vane, try not to quarrel with anyone,” Lady Brecon, said pleadingly. “I would like you to live on friendly terms with all your neighbours. They used to be so fond of you, but now it seems to me that many old acquaintances are strangely aloof and I sense too, an air of disapproval.”

“Mother, how can you know that, lying here and seeing so few people?”

“They write to me, Vane, and perhaps too, I am particularly sensitive where you are concerned. Promise me to try and make yourself pleasant.”

Lord Brecon hesitated as if he debated within himself, and then suddenly he capitulated.

“Very well, Mother, if it gives you satisfaction, I promise to make an effort. And that reminds me, we shall have one unexpected guest who will give a tone to the evening.”

“Who is that?” Lady Brecon enquired.

“I have but this moment received a letter from the Bishop of Barnet,” Lord Brecon replied, “saying that his lordship is on his way to Canterbury and will give himself the pleasure of dining here tonight. He has no idea, of course, that we are entertaining.”

“Oh. Vane!” Lady Brecon exclaimed in dismay, “in that case would it not be wise to ask his lordship to dine another night?”

“I can hardly do that as he is already
en route. I
can, of course, turn him from the door and send him to
The Pig and Whistle,
but I hardly think the dinner there would tempt his lordship’s palate, for he is an acknowledged epicure.”

“No, no, if he has started, we can do nothing,” Lady Brecon said, “but I would not like the Bishop to be shocked by anything he might find here.”

Lord Brecon laughed.

“You need not worry, Mother, for his lordship is much more anxious to please me than I him. I have twelve good livings under my patronage and I know full well that the reason for his visit is not a desire for my company but because his lordship wants me to appoint his nephew to the incumbency at Weston Cross. It is a goodly benefice and is in a fine hunting country. That is why Brecon Castle is a convenient resting place this evening for his lordship, for I am well aware that by the time dinner is over he will find it too late to proceed to Canterbury and will remain here the night.”

“I am afraid these intrigues are far beyond me,” Lady Brecon sighed.

“Which is a good thing, Mother. Would you care to see the Bishop, if he stays, which undoubtedly he will?”

Lady Brecon shook her head.

“I think not, Vane. I find strangers difficult to talk with for I know so little of the outside world. No, convey to the Lord Bishop my most respectful greetings and express my deep regret that I am not well enough to entertain visitor’s.”

“I will give him your message, Mother,” Lord Brecon said, and then without glancing at Caroline, he went from the room.

She felt strangely depressed when later she went to her own bedchamber to change for dinner. She knew now that Lord Brecon was determined to be rid of her, and though he had been balked for the moment, she was certain he would eventually find a way to drive her from the Castle, however hard she might make it for him to do so without upsetting his mother or arousing her suspicions.

There was only one possible thing Caroline could do now and that was to reveal her real identity. She had wished perhaps in vanity that Lord Breton should propose to her while he the still believed her to be Caroline Fry, but if he were determined on driving Miss Fry from the Castle, then she must meet him on his own ground and tell him who she was.

Caroline began to imagine how this might simplify matters. She could then send for Cousin Debby and stay on in the Castle as a guest. It might be just as easy for her then to watch for Gervase Warlingham and to circumvent his plans as it would be to do so as Lady Breton’s companion. Yet the difficulty was to be certain that he was making plans, and if he was, that they would be speedily put into operation. She had in reality so little to go on. There were the murder of Rosenberg, Lord Melbourne’s suspicion’s and Mrs. Miller’s careless words spoken in the heat of anger. But that was all, unless she counted her own instinctive premonition that Lord Brecon was overshadowed by a very real danger.

It was all very perplexing, yet Caroline found it impossible to be downcast for long. Somehow she would win through, somehow she would find a way to save Lord Brecon and bring him happiness.

“What will you wear tonight, m’lady?” Maria asked, standing at the wardrobe door.

Caroline hesitated. She had meant to wear a quiet, rather modest robe, but now it seemed to her that her pretence and disguise was almost at an end. Very well then she would be dashing. Maria had on her instructions packed two of her loveliest and most elaborate gowns. Caroline had thought then that when she finally revealed herself she would wish to be transformed from a demurely garbed down into the modish elegance of a lady of fashion.

This was the moment, and she would dazzle the assembled company with one of the splendid creations that she had worn in London. Perhaps later tonight she might find an opportunity to speak with Lord Brecon, to tell him the truth. To be sure of her appearance would give her the courage and self-confidence to face him.

“Bring me the white gown, Maria, the one I wore at Devonshire House,” Caroline commanded.

Maria turned round in astonishment.

“But, m’lady, ‘tis far too grand! Why, anyone who saw you in that would guess at once that you are not whom you pretend to be.”

“I care not,” Caroline said recklessly. “This farce is almost at an end, anyway, Maria.”

“Thank the good lord for that,” Maria ejaculated, “for ‘tis sick and tired I am o’ it, m’lady. There’s never a moment that I’m not waiting with my heart in my mouth to hear that something terrible has occurred to your ladyship and wondering how I’ll dare confess to them at Mandrake how we came to be here, play-acting in parts for which your ladyship is ill suited.”

“Perhaps you are right, Maria,” Caroline said. ‘Well, I’ll wear my best dress. It will at least make Mrs. Miller arch her eyebrows.”

“’Twill indeed,” Maria said, “but wait, m’lady, until you see her gown for tonight. ’Twould be daring in Vauxhall Gardens, let alone in a gentleman’s house.”

“Well, mine at least is respectable,” Caroline smiled, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was not certain that that was the right adjective to describe it.

The dress was of the purest white-satin covered with tulle and ornamented with row upon row of tiny scalloped lace frills. The bodice, which revealed the full beauty of Caroline’s neck and shoulders, was embroidered with flowers fashioned from thousands of little opalescent pearls and the puffed sleeves were of transparent and delicate lace. There were pearl ornaments to be worn in her hair, a bracelet of real pearls for each of her wrists.

“Oh, ‘tis lovely, m’lady,” Maria exclaimed, “but all the same I’ve always been scared of this gown.”

“Scared, Maria?” Caroline asked in surprise.

Maria nodded.

“I’m superstitious, m’lady, and I’ve always heard tell that pearls mean tears.”

“What moonshine!” Caroline said sharply. “And I swear this gown should be lucky, Maria, for the only other time I wore it I was the belle of the evening and had as many
beaux
as there were pearls upon it.”

“Then I hope it brings you luck tonight, m’lady,” Maria said.

Caroline was certain it would as, carrying her head high, she went from the room and down the passage which led to the Grand Staircase.

She was a little late. Already the drawing-room seemed full of guests. Caroline noticed that the house party were talking in little groups, looking awkward and somewhat out of place amongst the country squires and their ladies, who might be dowdy but were of gentle birth and autocratic in their own way.

Looking round for a friendly face, Caroline saw Harriet standing in a corner and Mr. Stratton beside her. She moved towards them, noting with satisfaction that Harriet looked extremely pretty in the pink ball gown and also seemed strangely at ease in Mr. Stratton’s company.

When Harriet perceived that Caroline was approaching them, she gave a little cry of unaffected delight.

“Oh, Caroline, is not this a thrill! I am indeed excited to be here. Papa made a terrible fuss at the last moment and I feared he would forbid me to come. He declared this gown, was too
décolleté
for the proprieties, and it was only after he had placed an old scarf over my shoulders that he finally permitted me to leave the house.”

“And where is the scarf now?” Caroline asked with a smile.

Harriet blushed.

“It is upstairs with my cloak. I am entirely ashamed of my behaviour but it was such an old and dilapidated scarf! It is very wrong of me, but Papa will never know, will he, that I am not wearing it?”

Her face, paled at the thought and Caroline was quick to reassure her.

“How could he know? Do not be in a fidget, Harriet. We will keep your secret, will we not, Mr. Stratton?”

“You must forget your father and his bullying for tonight,” Mr. Stratton answered, looking down at Harriet with an almost proprietary air. “Instead you must think only of those who like myself have every intention of contriving that you enjoy yourself to the full.”

“Oh, sir, you are too kind to me,” Harriet said, raising her big brown eyes, which seemed to have already an almost dog-like devotion in them.

Caroline looked round her and at that moment saw someone whose face was vaguely familiar on the other side of the room. Staring at her was a tall young man dressed in the height of fashion and holding a quizzing-glass in his right hand. He raised it and as he did so Caroline wondered where she had seen him before she had a most vivid recollection of those dark, frowning eyes and the down-turned, sneering mouth.

Suddenly she remembered. She felt as if an icy cold hand clutched at her heart and the room seemed to swim giddily round her. As if in a dream she saw Mrs. Miller detach herself from a group of newcomers and, moving across to the young man with the quizzing-glass, whisper something in his ear. He appeared to listen to Mrs. Miller, but he continued to stare at her, and she thought the sneer on his lips was even more pronounced.