Cressida (23 page)

“No, it is not,” said Lady Constance with dignity. “That is,” she acknowledged, “it
was,
until today, but I have had a letter in this morning’s post from Lady Letitia Conway-’’ She broke off, looking interrogatively at him. “You are acquainted with her, I think?”

“I am,” said Rossiter briefly. “Well? Go on.” “Well, it is really a most extraordinary letter,” Lady Constance said confidentially, “and I am not
quite
sure what to make of it, for dear Letty is so
oblique,
you know. But I
think
she means to tell me that she has come to the conclusion that Cressida has
really
been attached to you all these years, only she was under the impression that
you
did not care for
her
because of your having broken off your engagement to her—”

“I didn’t break it off,” interrupted Rossiter, “but I won’t say I didn’t make it damnably easy for her to do so! But go on,” he commanded once more.

“Well, it
seems,’’
said Lady Constance, who, with her usual volatility, had momentarily forgotten Kitty’s predicament in her interest in this new topic of conversation, “that Letty happened to mention to dear Cressida an interview she had had with you at that time, upon which Cressida became
quite
agitated and let fall certain remarks that made Letty consider that she now saw the whole matter—I mean of your having wished to break off the engagement—in an entirely new light—”

She paused, looking inquisitively and knowledgeably at Rossiter, in whose countenance a dark flush had begun to rise.

“I believe,” she went on after a moment, in a satisfied tone,
“she
—that is, Letty—believes that
she
—that is, Cressy—now considers your actions at that time as having been induced by the noblest motives—though I must say it appears to me that
any
gentleman worthy of the name, when faced with the fact that the young lady he is betrothed to stands to lose a fortune by marrying him, would at once withdraw his suit—”

But at this point Kitty, who, like all selfish people, took not the least interest in matters that did not appear likely to afford her any advantage, and was still full of rage and chagrin over her own thwarted opportunities, burst in upon the conversation once more to demand that Rossiter, if he indeed intended to drive to Welwyn, at least take her with him.

Lady Constance turned a scandalised face upon her.

“Take you with him!” she exclaimed. “Have you
no
sense of propriety, child!—asking the man you have jilted to take you to an assignation with the man you have jilted him for! Unheard of!
Quite
unheard of!”

Rossiter, who appeared all at once to have forgotten his irritation and instead seemed to have fallen into an extraordinarily good temper, grinned.

“Unheard of—well, perhaps!” he said. “But a commission I’d carry out with the best will in the world if I had the least assurance Addison would marry the girl! As he certainly won’t, I must beg Miss Chenevix to hold me excused. And now I’m off. I have wasted far too much time here already.”

He walked out of the room with this unceremonious leavetaking, and a few moments later they heard the front door close behind him.

Kitty burst into violent tears again. “I
will
go to Welwyn—I will, I
will!”
she declared, at which moment the knocker sounded below.

“Good God!” said Lady Constance, looking at Kitty with marked disfavour. “I daresay I had best tell Harbage we are at home to no one for the rest of the day!

But before she could convey these instructions to him, rapid footsteps were heard upon the stairs, and the next moment Captain Harries walked into the room.

Rossiter, driving his own phaeton and greys and sparing no effort to make the best time to his destination, arrived at the White Hart in Welwyn little more than a quarter hour after the moment when Cressida, with the green-coated man’s hand firmly clamped over her mouth, had been driven away from it in the chaise. He at once alighted and, being approached by the landlord, who had come out to greet personally the owner of such a dashing and expensive equipage, enquired of him whether a young lady, travelling alone in a chaise, had shortly before arrived at his hostelry.

The landlord looked blank. A young lady? No, indeed, he had welcomed no young lady, travelling alone or otherwise, at his inn that day.

“Deuce take it, man, she must have arrived here!” Rossiter said impatiently. “I have certainly not passed her on the road; I made sure of that!”

The landlord, scenting romance, said sympathetically that he was very sorry, but there was indeed no young lady staying at his inn.

“And no gentleman named Addison, either, I daresay!” said Rossiter irritably.

He gave a terse description of the man he was seeking, which appeared to enlighten the landlord considerably, for he said at its conclusion, “Why, sir,
that’s
the Honourable Mr. Drew Addison you’re speaking of, and I know him well; he has a hunting-box not half a dozen miles from here. But he hasn’t been next or nigh my inn today; I’ll take my Bible oath on that!”

Rossiter, who was by this time beginning to have a very distinct idea how the land lay, said he would have a word with the ostlers who were then on duty and proceeded to do so; and at the end of five minutes, with the aid of some intelligent questions and several silver coins, had elicited the information that a chaise, in which one of the ostlers had glimpsed a young lady in a close bonnet, had indeed come into the yard a short time before, with its postillions in a tearing hurry for a change, and had departed as soon as this had been accomplished, having taken up in the interval a large man in a green coat who had been hanging around the yard for an hour or more, as if awaiting its arrival.

A few further questions brought him explicit directions as to the location of Addison’s hunting-box, and within minutes he was on his way there through the long, gathering midsummer twilight, his anxiety by this time far predominating over the mingled euphoria and exasperation that had carried him to Welwyn.

The house, almost invisible behind its dark screen of trees, showed little sign of occupancy as his phaeton rolled swiftly up the drive and came to a halt before the front door. As he leaped down, however, and quickly tethered the horses, the door opened and he saw framed on the threshold a large man in a green coat, who enquired in a suspicious tone what his business was.

“Tell Mr. Addison,” said Rossiter tersely, “that he has a visitor,” and, coming up the steps, he attempted to enter the house.

The large man in the green coat solidly barred his way.

“Now, just a minute, guv‘nor—” the large man began, and was on the instant thrust aside by a powerful shoulder.

Rossiter walked into the hall, only to find himself confronting another villainous-looking rascal, almost as large and intimidating as the first.

“Kindly inform Mr. Addison that he has a visitor,” Rossiter repeated, with a negligent air that took both the men completely off guard, for as the second villain waited complacently for the first to come up behind this unexpected and unwanted caller and seize him, the caller himself suddenly turned and, with a single stunning blow, sent the green-coated man staggering back against the wall, his hands grasping at empty air.

The second villain, recovering from his surprise at this unanticipated manoeuvre, at once bored in upon Rossiter, only to find himself the recipient of an equally punishing blow that sent him crashing into a pier table that stood beside him, overturning it with considerable noise.

The sound and confusion of these proceedings naturally penetrated into the dining room where Cressida, still racking her brains for some means to extricate herself from the extremely unpleasant situation into which she had fallen, sat at the table with Addison, distastefully eating cold chicken and fruit as slowly as possible in order to prolong to its utmost length the period before Addison might begin pressing far more unwelcome attentions upon her. She had had little hope of rescue from any source beyond her own wits, for she was aware that even if Lady Constance, upon consideration, had taken sufficient alarm over the matter to send someone after her, he, or they, would have no idea where to find her; and her heart leapt up with the joy of unanticipated hope as the melee continued in the hall outside.

She had glanced at Addison as it had begun, and had noted the startled frown upon his face which indicated that his surprise was quite as great as her own. Now she saw him rise from his chair, his eyes going quickly about the room, apparently in search of some weapon, for he strode over at once to the fireplace and took down one of the pair of duelling rapiers that hung crossed over it.

The next moment the door to the hall had opened, and Rossiter, in a state of slight dishevelment, and with a trickle of blood coming from a cut beside one eye, came rapidly into the room. His eyes briefly raked the scene before him—Addison standing beside the fireplace with the rapier in his hand, Cressida seated at the table, her hand, still holding a fork carrying a morsel of chicken, suspended in midair as it had halted at the sound of the altercation beyond the door. Then, as a rush of footsteps sounded in the hall, he turned swiftly, closed and locked the door behind him, and dropped the key into his pocket.

“And now,” he said scathingly, ignoring the heavy pounding that immediately began upon the door behind him, “now, if you please, Addison, I’ll have the reason why, since you are apparently merely enjoying an agreeable supper tête-à-tête with Miss Calverton, you find it necessary to employ a pair of hired bravos to prevent your being interrupted—”

Cressida jumped up from the table, preventing herself with difficulty from flinging her arms about Rossiter’s neck in her joy at seeing him walk into the room.

“But it
isn’t
an agreeable supper!” she said earnestly. “He made me stay, with those two horrid men outside the door, just as he had one of them practically kidnap me in Welwyn and bring me here—” She broke off, suddenly becoming aware of the tense, wary, furious faces of the two men and the rapier gleaming in Addison’s hand. “Oh, Dev,
do
let us go at once!” she said.
“Do
take me back to London! I’ve been such a fool—!” “That—yes!” Rossiter said, in the same scathing tone in which he had previously spoken; but his eyes did not leave Addison’s face. “It in no way excuses Mr. Addison’s part in this affair, however—”

“Would you like satisfaction, Rossiter?—is that it?” Addison asked silkily.

“To call you out? I should like it very much!” Rossiter said grimly. “But not over this matter!”

“Yes—you
would
cut a rather poor figure, wouldn’t you?’’ Addison said tauntingly. “The jilted lover is never an admired part, I believe, and duels attract such a disagreeable amount of notoriety these days. ” The pounding on the door continued unabated. “Good God, what noisy fellows!” he drawled. “I am afraid they may have used you a bit roughly in their zeal to protect my privacy. That cut upon your face—”

“—will not prevent me from serving you some of the same fare I gave them,” Rossiter said, advancing purposefully upon him. “One against one this time, Addison—fairer odds, don’t you think?”

He was within a few feet of Addison when the rapier flashed out suddenly, the point touching the cloth of his coat and holding him pinned there.

“Oh, no, my dear fellow—not so fast!” Addison said, with an unpleasant smile. “I have no taste, I fear, for fisticuffs, and you, I understand from the habitues of Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, are quite a nonpareil at that sort of thing. Now if you were as familiar at Angelo’s” (naming the establishment where a famous fencing-master taught his art) “I might gratify your desire to match skills with me—”

Rossiter, without a change of countenance, stepped back a pace, disengaging himself from the rapier’s point, and, moving to the fireplace, took down the remaining rapier.

“Dev—no!” cried Cressida, feeling suddenly quite sick with a horrid kind of alarm, for she was well aware that Addison was held to be one of the best swordsmen in a London which had at present little interest in this art, affairs of honour now being settled exclusively with pistols, so that Manton’s Shooting Gallery was the place where gentlemen practised their more lethal skills. She sprang to Rossiter’s side and laid her hand urgently upon his arm. “You mustn’t!” she said. “Kitty and I—we’ve 
both
been fools; but couldn’t you leave it at that and come away?”

Rossiter glanced down at her impatiently. “Don’t compound your folly by acting the fool a second time!” he commanded curtly. “I shan’t kill him; you may be assured of that!”

“No, I think not!’ said Addison, taking off his coat and pulling off his boots in such a coolly efficient way that Cressida s fears were instantly intensified.

She had been brought up on romantic novels, her great-aunt Estella having been unexpectedly addicted to this type of reading and having a large library of such works, but she had never been the kind of girl to enjoy imagining herself looking on in a candlelit room while two men fought with rapiers, if not precisely over her, at least over their pent-up wrath and dislike of each other because of a horrid little drama in which she had certainly played her part; and she suddenly felt so furious with both of them for putting her in a position where, if something happened to either of them, she would have to feel responsible for it, that if she had been able to, she would simply have walked out of the room and washed her hands of the whole affair.

But the door was locked and the key in Rossiter’s pocket, so she had to content herself with closing her eyes very tightly together as the two men hastily pushed the heavy table and chairs out of their way and she heard the first harsh clash of steel upon steel.

She then remembered a three-volume novel in her great-aunt’s library, that had contained an episode in which the heroine had rushed between the combatants in a duel, thus effectually putting a halt to it but receiving in the process a mortal wound herself, from which she had subsequently succumbed in an affecting death scene; but, being far too sensible not to realise that any interruption of the combatants’ concentration upon their work was just as likely to result in a mortal wound to one of them as to herself, she put this self-sacrificial idea aside. Presently, unable to bear any longer the suspense of hearing only the scuffle of stockinged feet upon the floor, the quick, panting breathing of the two men, and the ring of steel on steel, without having the least notion of how the battle was going, she opened her eyes again.