An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (147 page)

“It was then that she met m’lord Brecon. We were returning from the farm to the village, walking across his lordship’s own grounds though we had no idea we were trespassing. M’lord was riding and it was obvious from the first moment that he set eyes on my mistress that he was captivated by her pretty, gentle ways. He insisted that she dine with him at the Castle, and before a few more days had passed his lordship had laid his heart and hand at her feet.

“When she told me of it, she said, “Do you realise what it means, Dorcas? If I wed with Lord Brecon, I can see my son. I shall be near him - my darling, my babe, my little Vane.” In the end after some hesitation she accepted his lordship and we planned to travel north to tell the news to Colonel Stewart. But the very morning we were due to leave my mistress receive the grave tidings that her father was dead. He had died of a stroke at the house of a friend. Despite her fear of her father my mistress was distressed by his death for she had few other relatives. His lordship was most kindly and when the first sharpness of my mistress’s grief passed, he pressed her to marry him at once so that he could better protect and comfort her. They were married here in the Castle Chapel quietly with but a handful of witnesses.

“Nine months after my mistress was married to his lordship she was brought to bed with another child. It was also a boy, but a very different son indeed from the one that had blessed her first marriage. This was a weakly infant who had a convulsion within two hours of his birth and continued to have them at varying intervals, despite all the care that I could give him. But his lordship was overjoyed at being presented with an heir. He heaped presents on my mistress and no expense or care must be spared where it concerned the well-being of his son.

“Unfortunately my mistress’s health gave grave cause for anxiety and the physician suggested that a change of air would do both her and the baby good. We were to go to Bath and his lordship went ahead to arrange that everything should be comfortable on our arrival. My mistress and I were to follow the next day but even as the coach came round to the door, the poor babe had a convulsion and I thought his last hour had come. However, he breathed again and carrying him in my arms, I joined my mistress in the coach. She had been out but once or twice since her confinement, and now as I sat down beside her, she whispered; “I have told the coachman to stop at the farm, Dorcas. I must see my little Vane, I could not leave without seeing him. I have informed the servants that you wish to say farewell to your sister.”

“It was imprudent, but I had not the heart to argue with her. When we reached the farm, she rushed into the kitchen, snatched her baby from the wooden cradle and held him closely in her arms, covering his tiny face with kisses, it was all I could do not to weep! “Look at him Dorcas,” she cried, how well he looks! See, he is smiling at me! Oh, Vane, Vane, how must I love you, my precious one!”

“It was then that the poor little creature in my arms gave a croak. I looked down at it, comparing the two children, both of the same mother, and God forgive me, a wicked thought came into my head. I knew as surely as if someone had said the words that the child I held had not long to live. His days were numbered and I knew that no care, no money could keep him tied to this earth. I whispered to my mistress, and I can see now the look she gave me, first of horror and then of a sudden hope and happiness which changed her face before my eyes.

“Oh, Dorcas!” she said. That was all. We told my sister what we were about to do and she swore by everything she held sacred that she would never reveal it to a living soul. It was but a question of moments to change the baby’s shawls. It was impossible for them to change clothes, for Master Vane was more than double the size of his poor little step-brother. When my lady went back to the coach she walked with a springing step, her eyes were shining, and she carried Master Vane in her own arms. She would not trust him to me.

“It was difficult, when we arrived at Bath, to keep his lordship from suspecting anything. We might not have managed it but for the fact that m’lord had affairs to attend to on the estate which compelled his return to the Castle. During that short time we succeeded in keeping him in ignorance, for whenever his lordship wished to see the baby I said he was asleep and must on no account be wakened.

“It was several months before we returned from Bath, and meanwhile my mistress wrote to his lordship, telling him what miracles the air and change had worked for the baby and how big and strong he was growing.

“My mistress, too, was much better in every way, and even the sadness of learning that her second son had died a week after we left the farm could not dim the joy she knew at holding Mr. Royde’s child in her arms.

“That is the story, m’lord, and if my mistress has done wrong, then blame not her but me. As God is my judge, I did what was test at the time for my mistress - because my service was to her, as it is and always will be.”

Dorcas finished speaking and then put her hands to her eyes. She was not crying, but it seemed to Caroline that she rubbed them as if they hurt her. She had been staring at Lord. Milborne all the time she spoke, and now he sat back in his chair. After a moment he said very softly,

“Thank you, Dorcas.”

He looked across the hall at Mr. Warlingham.

“I think your case is proven, sir,” he said briefly, “but I charge you with the murder of the stable-boy formerly in your employment with the intention of concealing the crime and plotting to implicate an innocent man. You may reserve your defence.”

He turned to the constable.

“With the assistance of the Runners, Constable, you will escort this gentleman and his man, Jackson, to Maidstone jail, there to await trial in due course.”

The constable, who had been listening to the proceedings with a gaping mouth, pulled himself to attention.

“Very good, m’lord.”

His lordship’s glance moved to Gideon and his father.

“You will both be required to give evidence at the trial,” he said. “You will be instructed in due course where and when to attend the Court of Justice, and you must stay here and not move elsewhere until then. You quite understand that?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

They touched their forelocks and then Lord Milborne rose to his feet.

Caroline rose too and saw to her astonishment that Dorcas was still staring at Lord Milborne. Now, as he turned, the light was on his face. Dorcas’ eyes opened wide and then almost inarticulately a question fell from her lips. Caroline did not catch what she said but Lord Milborne obviously understood, for he nodded his head.

“Yes, Dorcas,” he said.

The woman gave a cry and flung up her hands, but Lord Milborne turning to Caroline said,

“Take me, my dear, to the Dowager Lady Brecon. I would have speech with her.”

“Come with me, Uncle Francis,” Caroline replied, crossing the hall and leading the way upstairs.

She thought Lord Milborne was about to break gently to Lady Brecon that the secret of years had been revealed and the fact of Vane’s real identity was known. But as she moved up the stairs, Caroline could think of one thing and one thing only. Vane was no longer a prisoner of his blood. He was free, free from all the horrors that had tortured and beset him, free from Cassy, free from the terror of madness!

Vane was free! To Caroline the whole world seemed suddenly golden. He might be poor and untitled, but the only thing that mattered was that he was a man rich in all other things. Was not a sane mind in a healthy body worth all the wealth in the world? What did anything matter beside the fact that they could belong to each other really and truly as man and wife, that they could bring forth children without fear and that there was nothing to overshadow and dim their love?

Caroline’s heart was singing and her eyes were like stars. She could find no words even to speak to Lord Milborne but she felt he must know and understand, and that his silence was one of sympathy.

They had turned down the corridor which led to Lady Brecon’s room when suddenly they heard steps behind them. To Caroline’s astonishment she saw Dorcas running clumsily, yet quickly, her cap and apron blowing, the tears running unchecked down her cheeks. Without a word she passed Caroline and Lord Milborne and without knocking burst into Lady Brecon’s room.

Apprehensively, thinking that Dorcas must be suddenly deranged, Caroline hurried after her in time to see her fling herself down beside the bed and cry,

“Oh, m’lady, he is alive! Mr. Royde – he is alive! Oh, m’lady, m’lady!”

Caroline saw Lady Brecon sit up suddenly and stretch out her hands towards Dorcas, and even as she did so, she turned to see Lord Milborne standing in the doorway. She stared at him for a long moment. There was silence in the room save for Dorcas’ sobs. Lady Brecon went very pale, so pale that Caroline thought she was about to faint.

Lord Milborne moved forward and took her hands in his.

“It is I, Margaret,” he said.

Lady Brecon gave a cry such as Caroline had never heard before in her whole life, a cry of such joy and such wonder that the tears suddenly started in Caroline’s eyes and she was conscious through a mist which blinded her that Lord Milborne had raised both Lady Brecon’s hands to his lips and was holding them as if he would never let them go.

Then she saw that Lady Brecon was not fainting, that she was smiling and her eyes were very bright. Bewildered and feeling that she was not wanted at this moment, Caroline would have withdrawn from the room, but as she reached the door Lord Milborne looked up and stopped her.

“Do not leave us, Caroline,” he said. “You have heard so much of the story that you must hear the end. And Dorcas too.” he added kindly, looking at the elderly woman who was wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron.

“Francis, dear Francis,” Lady Brecon asked in a low voice, “is it really you?”

“Yes, my dearest, it is I. Oh, Margaret, if you only know what I have suffered all these past years when I could not find you. I searched everywhere in Yorkshire. They told me your father had died but they had no idea where you were living, or whether indeed you were alive.”

“But what happened to you, Francis?” Lady Brecon enquired. “And what has brought you here now?”

“That is another story, my dear,” he said, glancing at Caroline. “I wish to tell you that in my own way and in my own good time. Let it suffice for the moment to say that through the strange twists and turns of fate you have been brought back into my life so that I can claim you as my wife and Vane as my son.”

Lady Brecon gave a little start and Caroline saw that her fingers tightened on Lord Melbourne’s. Then she said in a very low voice,

“You know then?”

“Yes, dearest - I know.”

“And you forgive me? I did it for the best - for Vane. I believed that you were dead and I could not bear that he should be poor and in want. You are not angry with me?”

Lord Milborne bent and kissed her hand.

“How could I ever be angry with you? All will be righted now - and that I promise you.”

Lady Brecon sighed in relief.

“And Vane will learn that you are his father. That is what I always wished above all things.”

“When I searched for you, I did not know of his existence,” Lord Milborne said. “I am glad of it, now. It was bad enough to lose you, Margaret, without thinking that I had also lost a son.”

“But what happened to you, my dearest?” Lady Brecon enquired again.

“I seem a long time in coming to the point,” Lord Milborne answered with a smile. “Thank God, Margaret, there is still a deal of our lives left in which we can relate everything to one another! Briefly, this is what happened to me. After I was press-ganged and dragged aboard the Triumph, we were, as you rightly heard, fired on by some French ships. We fought gallantly, but they out-numbered us four to one. Dorcas has said that the ship was not finally captured and some other British ships came to the rescue. I knew nothing of that. I was wounded in the head and must have fallen overboard. When I came to myself, I was floating on a raft with another seaman who had rescued me.

“I was badly hurt and I remembered little save an overwhelming thirst and my companion’s insistence that I should not roll off the raft. We floated about for two days before we were picked up by some French fisherfolk. They took us ashore on the Brittany coast and treated us most kindly, but I had lost my memory. I had no idea who I was or where I had come from. The local leech patched up the wound in my head, but he could do little else for me.

“I stayed with the fisherfolk as an invalid, being quite useless to them in any way, for over six months. It says a great deal for their kindness of heart that they did not push me into prison or throw me back into the sea. Then by a most fortunate chance I became friendly with a French gentleman who was both a philosopher and a student of literature. We talked together and he soon realised, despite the humble garments I wore, that I wasn’t the peasant I seemed. He took me into his own house and sent for a physician from Paris, who pronounced my case to be an interesting one, but in his opinion incurable, my friend then took me to see various other physicians, all of whom found there was nothing they could do for me.

“It is, in my opinion, because, thanks to him, I returned to a luxurious way of living, because I rested and had interests befitting my station, that gradually my memory returned. First of all I remembered your face, Margaret. It came to me very clearly, but it was a long time before I could recall your name or even the fact that we were wed, then gradually bit by bit it all came back to me. Instantly I was seized with a fever to return home and to find you. It was a feeling of horror that I realised we had now been parted for nearly three years.

“My friend gave me money with which to return to England and arranged for my transport - which was no, easy matter, as our countries were still at war. I came back to find that you had disappeared and that your father had died. The old fisherfolk with whom you had lodged near Plymouth were dead also. I was driven nearly frantic by my efforts to trace you, which were, alas, doomed to failure.