Angel's Touch (29 page)

‘
Don’t ye judge he too harshly, she say,’ the matriarch went
on, without answering his question directly, but with her watchful
eyes studying him covertly. ‘He have suffered, she say. Sorry he’ll
be when he be back to his senses.’

‘
She
said that?’

‘
Aye. And she be right.’

Henry nodded. ‘She usually is.’

Old
Mairenni frowned, and her clawlike hand reached out to pluck at his
sleeve. ‘Aye, but she be all wrong now, mark my words.’

‘
What do you mean?’ he said quickly, his black eyes staring
into the crone’s beady ones.

‘
I
mean as how yer at crossroads, Markiss. Wrong turn now,
and—whisht!’ She drew a thumb swiftly across her throat to indicate
an end.

As
Salmesbury stared at her, his heart began thumping oddly, as if
some echo of his own fears were put here into words. His voice was
unsteady. ‘Fortune could not be that unkind.’

‘
Aye, but she can,’ argued Mairenni, and her
cracked voice took on heat. ‘Only it
ain’t
fortune, master. She be
feared. Seeing them pictures in her head, she be. Told her to pay
them no mind, I did, but she be stubborn. Ye be
warned.’

She
turned to go, but Henry reached out a hand to restrain her. ‘No,
wait!’

Halting, she looked back. ‘Aye?’

There was a pause, but then he laughed a little and shrugged.
‘You’re bewitching me, old woman. And I have no notion what all
these nonsensical omens and warnings of yours mean.’

She
cackled at him. ‘Ye’ll pay them no mind anyhow. But don’t be
a-feared, master. Promised her all, I did—
after
the tears.’

Then she left him
standing, snaking away, her bent old bones carrying her in a kind
of zigzag path to the caravans, as she sang a snatch of some
unknown song in a high-pitched voice that cracked with every other
word.

Salmesbury watched her go, still smiling, but oddly
disquieted by the possible significance of her discourse, for he
felt as if something important had slipped away from him in the
jumble of her words.

***

Two
days after Monday’s ill-fated expedition to Haverigg Hall, the
humdrum life of Tunbridge Wells had forced on Verity an appearance
of outward calm. It was obvious that the wagging tongue of that
inveterate gossip, Maria Polegate, had made her the cynosure of all
eyes. The story of the kidnap had already made its way to the
genteel circles of that avidly curious little town within hours of
Verity arriving home at the end of that fateful day.

Verity could see the
whispering behind fans, the nods in her direction. But somehow it
had ceased to be so important set against the juggling, the see-saw
imbalance of her mind and heart. Coupled with the worry over how
Henry was after that dreadful collapse, the indecision into which
she had been thrown was almost unbearable. She knew that Lady
Crossens was narrowly watching her, but she had shut herself in
from any attempt to divine her trouble.

‘
Papa always says,’ she told her image in
the mirror, ‘if you have doubts,
don’t
.
But
oh, Henry, can I
bear
to refuse you?’

She
watched in fascination as her hazel eyes in the mirror brightened,
and the moisture crept down her cheek as the picture came to her
mind of his wild eyes closing as he fainted into his groom’s arms.
She wondered how, if at all, she would hear news of his present
health.

‘
Perhaps I will not have to refuse him.
Perhaps he will not ask me. Perhaps he is
incapable
of asking me—of
remembering
me. Perhaps
it is only the image of her, Lady Margaret, that fills his mind,
and I—I have no longer a place there.’

Her face in the glass
blurred and she searched her sleeve for a handkerchief.

‘
Verity! Verity, we shall be late!’

The voice of her
patroness calling from the corridor caused her quickly to wipe away
the giveaway tears.

‘
Coming,’ she replied, hastily patching over her damp cheeks
with a dash of Hungary Water, and checking the mirror for reddened
eyes.

They were engaged with
Richard Cumberland, who was to read to them his latest play.

‘
Not
that I wish to hear it,’ as Lady Crossens had confided to her
friend, ‘for it is sure to be tedious in the extreme. But it may
serve to take the poor child out of herself.’

‘
Oh,
yes, indeed, Emilia,’ nodded Mrs Polegate. She sighed deeply. ‘Such
an unhappy state as she has got into. Just when we thought all was
in train for the brightest of futures.’ For it had not been long
before the lady had wormed her old crony’s secret hopes from her.
‘What can have happened, do you suppose?’

‘
I
am not going to speculate, Maria,’ her ladyship said sharply, ‘and
nor are you. When she is ready, she will doubtless confide in
me.’

If
Mrs Polegate thought otherwise, she did not say so, but continued
to wonder and suggest, in spite of her friend’s prohibition. When
she saw Verity come into the Assembly Rooms with her patroness,
however, making for the corner where the playwright and his
prospective audience was awaiting them, she thought perhaps Emilia
had exaggerated, so well in hand did Verity have
herself.

But if she fooled Mrs
Polegate, there was one other whom she decided had seen through
her, for surely it was not chance that led Sir John Frinton into an
impish attempt to draw her into laughter?

‘
Now, Miss Heroine,’ he said gaily, coming up to the group and
rudely pushing past the bulk of Richard Cumberland, who had been
about to offer Miss Lambourn a seat. ‘Don’t you think you had
better entertain us with an account of your great
adventure?’

Verity, who wanted nothing less than to talk about the
kidnap, at once put in an objection. ‘Oh, no. Here is Mr Cumberland
who has been so kind as to invite us to hear his play. I am sure it
will prove entertainment enough.’

‘
Oh, do you think so?’ asked Sir John
blandly, eyeing Cumberland with one eyebrow raised. ‘For myself, I
should have thought
anything
else—I mean—’ correcting himself in so clumsy a
fashion that no one could doubt that his slip was deliberate ‘—of
course, I should have thought
your
real-life adventure might prove of more general
interest, and—er—stimulation.’

Cumberland was swelling with indignation, as people began to
snigger around him. ‘I will have you know, sir, that Miss Lambourn
herself expressed an interest in my reading.’

‘
Quite, quite,’ agreed Sir John, silencing him effectively,
and noting with a pleased glance round that several of those within
earshot had gathered about the group, ready to enjoy his wit. He
would not disappoint them, even if his real object was to divert
one particular young lady.

‘
But really, now, Cumberland, I think you
are missing an excellent opportunity. Only consider, my dear
fellow. Here is Miss Lambourn, the prettiest little heroine you
could hope to find, full of a wonderful tale of romance and
adventure—complete, I may say, with the innocents she managed to
rescue, which as you must know is
always
a dead cert with
audiences—and all you have to do is seize the story and fashion it
into a play.’

There was a ripple of amusement, and Sir John’s eye gleamed.
He pursued his quarry relentlessly. ‘Not that I mean to suggest,
dear Cumberland, that your own plots are in any way devoid of
excitement. Nor, of course, that you are in the habit of stealing
ideas from others.’

As
this was precisely the opinion of everyone present, most of whom
had at some time or another been subjected to the unutterable
boredom of the gentleman’s productions, it provoked a deal of
suppressed hilarity.

‘
How
dare you, sir?’ demanded the author, outraged.

‘
But
my dear fellow, have I said anything amiss?’ enquired Sir John
innocently, glad to see a tiny smile on Verity’s lips.

But
Mr Cumberland had had enough. Turning his back on his tormentor, he
addressed the prospective audience, ‘If you are ready, ladies?
Perhaps if you would sit here, Miss Lambourn.’

She
was very glad to do as he asked, for although she was amused by Sir
John’s reprehensible behaviour she had no wish at all to relate the
story of her adventures.

‘
Yes, do let us begin,’ she said with an assumption of
eagerness. ‘Pray go away, Sir John, if you do not want to hear the
piece.’

He
bowed. ‘Your wish is my command.’

Behind him Mr Cumberland portentously cleared his throat, and
began, ‘The scene is set in the Roman forum. . .’

Sir
John and his group of admirers beat a hasty retreat, but Verity
dutifully remained sitting to listen to the play with every
evidence of enjoyment. The fact was, however, that she scarcely
heard a word of Mr Cumberland’s piece, and could not even have said
what it was about had she been questioned. She came to herself with
a start when the master of ceremonies, Richard Tyson, gently
touched her arm.

‘
There is a young gentleman to see you, ma’am,’ he said in her
ear. ‘Lord Braxted, he says he is.’

Verity sat up with a jerk, forgetting to lower her voice.
‘What? Where?’

She realised the
playwright had ceased speaking and was gazing at her in a pained
way.

‘
Forgive me, Mr Cumberland,’ she said quickly, ‘but I am
obliged to leave you for a space.’

He
looked annoyed. ‘I will await your return.’

‘
No, no, pray don’t,’ she begged. ‘Do let
the others hear it. I am sure Lady Crossens and Mrs Polegate—’ She
broke off, as glancing at each lady in turn, she discovered both to
have nodded off, their heads sinking on to their chests. ‘Oh, dear,
I am so sorry. But I
must
go.’

She rose on the words
and followed Mr Tyson to the entrance of the Assembly Rooms where
she at once saw Wystan standing with the secretary, Mr Inskip.

‘
Verity!’ called the boy, grinning delightedly at her. ‘I am
come to ask you to take tea with us.’

Her
heart beat rather fast and she glanced at Inskip. ‘Is this by—by
his lordship’s invitation?’

‘
No,
it isn’t, it’s by mine,’ cut in Wystan. ‘Mine and Peggy’s. At
least, ’course Papa knows about it.’

‘
His
lordship begs you to honour the children with your company,’ Inskip
said with a smile, ‘in order that they may express their thanks for
what you did for them on Monday.’

‘
Eggzackly,’ agreed Braxted, grinning. ‘Do say you’ll
come.’

‘
Oh,
Wystan, I don’t know. I am actually engaged at this present,
and—’

‘
Oh,
Verity,’
groaned the boy, looking
crestfallen. ‘You
must
.
I even told Peggy and she wants
you, too. She said, “Vetty come tea”.’

Verity smiled. ‘Did she?’ She hesitated. Well, she must face
it—
him
—sooner or
later. ‘Very well, I will come. Allow me a moment to let Lady
Crossens know and I shall be with you.’

As
she hurried back, weaving through the knots of people sitting and
standing about in the Assembly Rooms, she instinctively glanced
down at her person and remembered that the floral chintz had
already been worn in Henry’s presence. Well, it would have to
do.

She was diverted then
as she was intercepted in her path by Sir John Frinton.

‘
Miss Lambourn! Don’t tell me you have deserted poor
Cumberland? Upon my soul, I did not look for such usage from you to
our illustrious playwright.’

She
could not forbear a smile. ‘For shame, Sir John. You behaved
abominably to the poor man.’

‘
Alas!’ he uttered, a hand exaggeratedly placed upon his
heart. ‘I have offended you, and I meant only to bring a smile to
your sweet face, dear Miss Lambourn.’

‘
I
wish you will not be so absurd,’ Verity scolded. ‘And do pray let
me go. I am in a dreadful hurry.’

His
eyebrows flew up. ‘Don’t dare to tell me you are dying to return to
listen to that nauseating claptrap.’

‘
No,
indeed. But I am waited for, and I must make my excuses to Mr
Cumberland.’

Sir
John’s eyes lit with that mischievous gleam. ‘Ah, here is my chance
to make amends. I shall carry your excuses to Cumberland, thus
saving you a tedious and unpleasant task.’

‘
Would you indeed?’ said Verity, relief flooding her face.
‘And Lady Crossens, too, if you please. Tell her I have gone to
Braxted Place. It is just that I am in a hurry, and—’

‘
And
Cumberland will keep you as he bores on forever about lost
opportunities, et cetera, et cetera.’ He held up a hand. ‘Have no
fear. I will see to it on the instant.’

Verity thanked him and half turned to go, throwing him a
doubtful glance. ‘Yes, but you will not say anything wicked to him,
will you?’