Deirdre and Desire (9 page)

Her misery was aggravated by the fact that when she left the Hall to enter the grounds again a thin, cold rain was falling.

The tenants were hurriedly leaving, taking as much food with them as they could discreetly carry, and the more illustrious guests were congregating in the drawing- room where tea was to be
served. The Armitage family had already left, leaving Lord Harry with instructions to bring Deirdre home, or so Lady Edwin told her in glacial tones.

Deirdre did not want to go home with Lord Harry, did not want to be alone with his suffocating presence.

Using her parasol as an umbrella, she fled down the long drive and let herself out through the tall gates to begin the long, weary walk back to the vicarage.

The rain grew heavier and the village pond had developed smallpox as heavy drops pited its smooth surface. The burning need to see Guy was like an ache. Suddenly she swung about and headed as fast as she could in the opposite direction, going towards Lady Wentwater’s mansion.

She was a sorry mess by the time she reached the old ivy-covered house.

Sending up a fervent prayer that he would be at home, she gave the knocker a resounding bang.

The grim-faced maid evinced no surprise at the wet and bedraggled figure on the step. She led Deirdre into the dark and chilly drawing-room and said she would inform Mr Wentwater of Miss
Armitage’s call.

Deirdre paced up and down, shivering. Would he never come? If he did not hurry up, Lady Wentwater would be back and all pleas for an elopement impossible.

She had quite given up hope when the door opened and Guy walked in. He strode forwards and took her hands in his.

‘What is this?’ he exclaimed, standing back to survey her. ‘You are soaked to the skin.’

‘I
had
to see you,’ said Deirdre. ‘I am in the most awful trouble.’

‘I thought you had decided to accept the marriage to Desire when I saw him return with you,’ said Guy.

But I haven’t,’ wailed Deirdre. ‘It’s you I love.’

There, it was out. She had said it. She waited anxiously for him to say he loved her as well, but he dropped her hands and stood very still, staring into the blackness of the empty
fireplace.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked at last.

‘Elope with me,’ whispered Deirdre.

She was now afraid to look at him, terrified of his rejection.

The wind moaned in the trees outside and a spatter of rain hit the windows.

‘Why not?’ he said with a sudden laugh.

‘Oh, Guy!’ cried Deirdre thankfully. She waited eagerly for him to take her in his arms, but he only stood a little away from her, looking at her with a sort of brooding, calculating
expression she could not understand.

‘I have it!’ he said at last. ‘Meet me tomorrow at the Hopeminster crossroads. I am afraid you will have to walk. Bring very little with you. I will buy you any clothes you
need.’

Deirdre wanted to run into his arms, to be held, to have all her worries and doubts soothed away. If only he would say he loved her.

There came the rattle of carriage wheels on the drive outside.

‘My aunt!’ exclaimed Guy. ‘She must not find you here. I’ll tell the maid to say nothing. Come with me and I will show you how to leave by the back way.’

He hustled her out of the drawing-room and through the house to where French windows opened from a little-used morning-room into the gardens at the back.

Guy wrenched at the rusty catch and all but pushed her out into the garden.

‘Until tomorrow,’ he said urgently. ‘Meet me at the crossroads at two in the afternoon. Now
go
!’

‘Guy,’ pleaded Deirdre, hanging on to his arm. ‘I do not want to force you to do this. Do you love me?’

‘Of course,’ he said, with a little laugh. He leaned forwards and kissed her on the lips, then gave her a little shove. ‘Be off with you! We can talk tomorrow,’ he added,
firmly shutting the window on her.

Well, that was that, thought Deirdre, as she scurried through the wet gardens and slipped out by a small gate leading into a narrow lane which skirted the estate.

All the long way home, she was worried and anxious. She had dreamed and fantasized that things would miraculously be splendid and beautiful if he said he loved her and said he would elope with
her.

And he had!

But the worry and dread would not go away.

She could only be glad that no one saw her creep into the vicarage. She went up to her room and changed quickly into a comfortable old wool gown and towelled her hair dry, pinning it back from
her face in a severe style.

How on earth was she to pack a couple of bandboxes – for she could not take any more – and escape from the vicarage unseen?

A way suggested itself at supper. Lord Harry was cheerfully planning a visit to Hopeminster the following day. Even Mrs Armitage had roused herself from her customary lethargy to express
enthusiasm. The family decided to leave directly after morning service.

‘I shall pretend to be sick,’ thought Deirdre. ‘And when they have all left for Hopeminster, I will make my escape.

It would take her a full hour to walk to the crossing.

The vicar kept eyeing his daughter throughout supper, noticing the feverish light in her green eyes and the pallor of her face.

His conscience smote him, and finally he listened to its harsh voice. It was a pity Deirdre showed no signs of forming a
tendre
for Lord Harry. But if the very idea was going to make her
ill, then he would need to cancel the whole thing and write to Lord Sylvester and wheedle some money out of him.

The vicar’s heart sank at this thought for he stood very much in awe of his elegant son-in-law; his other one, the Marquess of Brabington, could, on occasion, be even more formidable.

Lord Harry seemed in an unusually sombre mood. Knows she doesn’t want him, thought the vicar gloomily.

He left the table as soon as he could and fled to the kennels to sit and tell his troubles to his hounds, which sometimes seemed to understand better than any human.

Deirdre was glad to escape to bed. She thought she would not possibly be able to sleep, but she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, worn out with worry and exhaustion.

The day dawned bright, glittering and cold. Ice had formed in the cans of washing water. While Daphne still slept, Deirdre sat chewing her nails and planning how to pretend to be ill.

But as it turned out, she did not have to pretend very much. The vicar had gone ahead to the church and the rest of the family and Lord Harry were all assembled in the parlour waiting for her
when Deirdre walked in. She opened her mouth to tell her very well-rehearsed lies, closed it, and burst into tears instead, crying and crying as if her heart would break.

Daphne hustled her from the room and led her back upstairs.

‘What is it Deirdre?’ she asked in her soft voice, forgetting about her own appearance for once.

‘I-I’m not well,’ hiccupped Deirdre. ‘I w-walked h-home in the rain yesterday, and . . . and . . . I must have caught a chill. My poor head aches so much. All I want is
to be left alone. Please go to Hopeminster after the service without me.’

‘I know what it’s like,’ said Daphne, stroking Deirdre’s red curls. ‘I get blinding headaches sometimes and all I want is to be left in peace. I am really very fond
of you, Deirdre. Don’t cry. I will not let Papa bully you into coming with us to Hopeminster and I shall tell Mrs Hammer to leave a cold collation for you in the dining-room so you may eat if
you feel like it.’

‘Thank you,’ mumbled Deirdre miserably. She longed to confide in Daphne, but she knew instinctively that Daphne would go straight to their father.

So Deirdre lay down on top of the bed and turned her face into her pillow.

Daphne picked up a quilt, tucked it around her and with a soft ‘goodbye’ left the room.

Deirdre fully expected her mother to pay her a visit, for Mrs Armitage could be very firm when it came to family outings although she was remarkably lax in everything else. But Daphne turned out
to show a vein of steel that no one had hitherto guessed at, and said decisively that Deirdre must on no account be disturbed.

Daphne had the honour of being escorted to church by Lord Harry. As they walked sedately along the narrow lane behind the rest of the Armitage party, Lord Harry reflected Daphne was a dazzlingly
beautiful young girl when she managed to get her mind off her own appearance.

‘Tell me,’ he said lightly, ‘all about Mr Guy Wentwater.’

‘Oh, you don’t want to know about him,’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘He is most disreputable, and not a gentleman.’

‘And yet he seems to be on calling terms with your uncle, and Miss Deirdre was furthermore most anxious to introduce me to him.’

‘How odd,’ said Daphne softly. ‘Sir Edwin would invite Mr Wentwater because Mr Wentwater is very rich. But for Deirdre even to go near him!’

‘What is so bad about Mr Wentwater?’

‘Oh, at one time it seemed as if he would marry Annabelle, but we found out just in time that he was a slave trader. So that was that. He does not trade any more but Papa says once you do
that sort of thing, you’re apt to go ahead and replace it with something just as nasty.’

‘How true,’ said Lord Harry. He could almost feel the fair Daphne becoming self-absorbed again. She had paused to glance down at her reflection in a puddle.

‘But Miss Deirdre did not seem to hold him in aversion,’ he pursued.

‘Do you think so?’ asked Daphne vaguely. ‘Well, maybe she is sorry for him if she found out what Papa did to him.’

‘Which was?’

‘You mustn’t tell anyone, for I am not supposed to know, but I overheard John Summer, our coachman, telling the maid, Betty. They tell each other things because they have an
understanding and hope to be married.’

‘Yes, yes, and what
was
it that you heard John Summer tell Betty?’ asked his lordship with a rare touch of impatience in his voice.

‘Only that Papa had taken out his pack and hunted down Mr Wentwater, right in the middle of summer!’

‘I cannot see how he could manage to set a pack of fox-hounds on a man.’

Daphne giggled. ‘John Summer hid an old fox in the box of Mr Wentwater’s carriage. So
that
is what the hounds were chasing although Mr Wentwater was sure it was himself. That
was over three years ago and Mr Wentwater has not been seen up until now.’

‘How could Miss Deirdre have an opportunity of meeting him then, if he is not allowed to call at the vicarage?’

‘Oh, I suppose she might meet him at Lady Wentwater’s. Deirdre often reads to her, you see.’

They turned in at the church gate. Daphne realized that in her worry over Deirdre she had quite forgotten to put on her new bonnet and this fact drove all other thoughts from her mind.

Deirdre was packing feverishly, half unable to believe she was about to take such a drastic step. No longer did the vicarage look shabby and poky; instead it seemed a safe, warm haven filled
with happy memories. She longed for Minerva. Somehow, had Minerva still been at the vicarage, Deirdre felt that things would have taken a different turn.

Her heart was beating hard and her fingers were trembling. What would the twins, Perry and James, think of her when they heard the news?

They would be home at Christmas, and she would not be there. She was sure the vicar would not allow her to set foot in the vicarage again.

At least the family and Lord Harry were going to leave the church and go straight to Hopeminster without returning home. She would need to keep away from the main road and make her way the long
way round by the back lanes.

She put on a serviceable pair of walking boots and pulled a thick cloak about her shoulders.

She put a poke bonnet on her head, one she had never worn, considering the long poke ugly. But it hid her face, and if the Armitage family should see her, by ill chance, from a distance, they
would surely not recognize her.

Finally, she made her way slowly down the stairs, starting at every creak, trying not to bump the two bandboxes against the bannister.

She had reached the bottom step when the door to the kitchen opened and Betty came into the hall.

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Deirdre, fighting for composure. ‘You were supposed to be at church.’

‘I was told by Miss Daphne to wait behind in case you wanted anything,’ said Betty, her black eyes snapping with curiosity. ‘Where are you going and why have you got them
bandboxes?’

‘I am taking these things up to the Hall,’ said Deirdre. ‘Lady Edwin is collecting old clothes for the poor. I feel much better. Don’t make a fuss, Betty.’

Deirdre thought of the tear-stained letter she had left on her pincushion. What if Betty saw it too soon and alerted everyone?

‘Well, if that’s the case, Miss Deirdre, I’d best be fetching my bonnet and come with you,’ said Betty cheerfully.

‘There is no need for that,’ replied Deirdre, forcing herself to be calm, although she felt like screaming at the waste of time. ‘A walk in the fresh air is just what I need to
clear my head. I shall go back round by the church and join the others.’

Betty hesitated, and then gave a reluctant nod.

Deirdre took great gulps of air as she escaped from the vicarage and hurried off down the lane. Any moment, she expected to hear Betty running after her.

She swung away from the Hopeminster road, keeping to little lanes and footpaths which would lead her to her destination by a circuitous route – and also add several miles to the length of
her journey.

Lord Harry’s phaeton and the vicar’s antique travelling carriage had been brought round in front of the church by the servants.

Daphne once again had the honour of being driven by his lordship, torn between worry at the damage the wind would do to her complexion and the thrill of sporting a dash in such a handsome
equipage.

But Lord Harry seemed strangely reluctant to set his usual spanking pace and was content to amble along after the vicar’s carriage.

Gradually, the woods on either side thinned out. Across the bare fields Lord Harry saw a figure dart behind a tree. He kept glancing in that direction, but only caught a glimpse of a head
peering round the trunk.