Rebel Heiress (34 page)

Aware that to struggle would be dangerous, she let herself go with the crowd, ignoring the rain that soaked her light muslin, and concentrating on keeping upright. To fall, she realised, might be fatal. After a day of jubilation and gin, the crowd had become an animal thing, ruthless in its panic hurry. Mercifully, in St. James's Square, the pressure eased a little and she was able to edge her way towards the central gardens and at last stand, under a tree, ignoring the beat of the rain as the crowd surged past her. When it had thinned a little she ventured out and started across the square towards Piccadilly and home. There was no hope, she was sure, of finding Simon and Lady Marchmont, nor did she dare venture back to where she had been separated from them. No doubt they, too, would make the best of their way home.

Unluckily for her, the rain now began to slacken and with it the crowd's concentration on finding shelter. At once, Henrietta became aware of how conspicuous she must be, in her drenched and clinging muslin, alone at this time of night. As
she crossed the square, a man detached himself from the crowd and put his arm around her.

‘All alone, my pretty?' His breath stank of gin and his voice was thick with it. ‘We must do sommat about that.' And he pulled her towards him for a kiss.

Dodging his hot mouth at the last moment, Henrietta struck him a sharp blow in the face and twisted free, grateful, as she trembled in the sheltering darkness, for his fuddled state that made him incapable of following her. After that, she went more carefully, keeping, where she could, in the shadows, hurrying furtively across patches of light where the flambeaux outside the houses she passed had been relit since the rain.

She was accosted several more times before she reached Piccadilly, but managed to dodge or joke off her assailants. With the improvement in the weather, the crowd's temper, too, was improving. Quick-witted as always, she managed to convince several would-be gallants that her own escort was just behind her in the crowd. But it was an anxious business enough and it was with heartfelt relief that she saw a familiar face at the corner of Piccadilly. It was Miss Muggeridge, dressed to kill in her Sunday best of purple satin, with an equally flamboyant female friend on either arm. They looked like angels of mercy to Henrietta, who lost no time in stopping them and making her plight known.

‘A golden guinea to see you home?' said Miss Muggeridge. ‘I should rather think we will.' And she took Henrietta's arm in hers and turned the little party in the direction of Marchmont House. ‘To tell truth,' she went on, breathing gin into Henrietta's face, ‘you are most happily met. I have had it on my (hic!) conscience this long time past that I have let such a freehanded young lady be took in by a sharper. Engaged to Mr. Rivers, is it? You never told me that, or I'd a' told you a thing or two. You as was so queasy over little Caroline. Why d'you think my Ma was so agin her, but that Mr. Rivers, who promised to, never paid her shot? And that stepma of yours with never a feather to fly with, nothing but promises and tears … But even so, I don't think my Ma would have planned nothing if it hadn't been for Mr. Rivers. He let it show clear enough what he wanted. An accident, no questions, and Ma could name her price. Not but what she'd a' been lucky to get it, from what I've been hearing. Queer Street for him and no mistake if that grandpa of his don't die precious quick. Or he
don't marry you. Ah, that gets to you, don't it? Miss, dear, you don't want no truck with the likes of him. But here we is, safe and sound, and trusting (hic!) that you won't take offence at a few words spoke from the heart, and two golden guineas it was, waren't it now?'

Henrietta could not speak. Charles. It has been Charles all the time. Of course Cedric had lied to her. What else could he have done? And she had believed him, poor fool, because she wanted to. Charles … Caroline. Those blue eyes in the thin little face. Charles' eyes, but she had refused to recognise them. Still speechless with a kind of slow, cold, growing horror, she handed Miss Muggeridge three guineas, was blessed for an openhanded young lady, and turned in at the gates of Marchmont House. As she did so, the front door of the house opened and she saw Simon's figure silhouetted against the light. His hair was plastered against his head with rain, his face distracted with worry. Then the door shut behind him and he was hurrying towards her through the dark.

‘Simon.' She went to meet him. ‘Do not look so. I am here, quite safe.'

‘Henrietta!' He came to her, arms outstretched, and without thinking, she went into them. His lips found hers in the darkness and they stood there for a timeless moment of ecstasy before he let her go.

‘Henrietta, we are gone mad.'

‘Or come to our senses.'

‘No, no, it is impossible. I cannot betray Charles so. Why do you think I have kept away from you since that day … That day on the ice when I realised I loved you. Oh, Henrietta, why are you so beautiful, so alive?' He broke off and stood there for a moment, his hands still holding hers, silent in the merciful darkness, then, ‘I have fought so hard against it, tried to pretend, even to myself, that what I felt for you was merely a brother's love, but it is no use. Henrietta — my love — we must not meet again.'

‘Simon!'

‘What else can we do?' Promise you will try to forget… And I — I will go away. I must. Charles is my brother, your affianced bridegroom. Henrietta, I shall always love you, I cannot help it, but I promise I will never see you again.' And then, before she could find words, he had kissed her once, gently, finally, on the forehead, and left her shivering there in the dark.

Henrietta dreamed all night of Simon and woke determined not to despair. They loved each other. At last, this was certain, and she did not propose to let any fine-drawn scruples stand in the way of their happiness. As for Charles, he was beyond the pale, the would-be murderer of his own child. Not for an instant did she doubt the truth of what Miss Muggeridge had told her. It carried its own appalling conviction, and she was only amazed that she had contributed to be blind for so long to what, now, seemed so obvious. And yet, loving him, or thinking she did, how could she have believed it?

By the time she was dressed, her mind was clear. Charles must be given his dismissal as swiftly and as firmly as possible, and Simon must be made to understand — here she boggled. Here was the difficulty. She loved Simon too well, respected him too deeply, not to realise that it would be hard work to persuade him to return to her. If only her father were here … Of course, he would be soon, but soon might so easily be too late. From Simon's whole character, and from his behaviour last night, she was convinced that he would do something drastic — and at once. There was no time to be lost if she did not want him to emigrate to America or do something equally desperate and final.

Her mind worked rapidly. She must have help. Not Lady Marchmont. She was out of the question for all kinds of reasons. Having finished a scanty and silent breakfast, she rang the bell, ordered her carriage and had herself driven to the Beaufrages' new house.

Sally, who looked pale and tired, greeted her, she thought, with the slightest tinge of embarrassment. Encouraged by this, which confirmed much that she had suspected, Henrietta came straight to the point.

‘I am come to ask your help,' she said.

‘My help?'

‘Yes. We promised to be friends, did we not? Now you must do me a friend's office, for I never needed one more. I am in a
sad quandary, Sally.' Best out with it at once. ‘I have engaged myself to the wrong brother.'

‘Truly?' Sally's colour came and went. ‘Do you really mean it, Henrietta? Oh, I have never been so relieved in my life. I have been so troubled, so perplexed…'

‘Ah,' said Henrietta. ‘So the Miss Giddys were right, for once. Charles has been visiting you.'

‘Yes, he has. Believe me, Henrietta, I did not know what to do for the best.'

Henrietta laughed. ‘My poor Sally, were you afraid I would scratch your eyes out? I only hope he has been making desperate love to you. I cannot tell you how frantic I am for an expedient to be rid of him — and one that will satisfy Simon, too.'

Sally burst into one of her great fits of laughter. ‘And to think that I have been wondering how in the world to break it to you that Charles is false. Yes, indeed, he has been making love to me — or trying to, and very well he does it, too. I could have enjoyed it from anyone else, circumstanced as I am, for you must have seen long since that Cedric and I are not as happy as I had hoped. As for Charles Rivers, of course it is my money he is after, not my beautiful person. I have it from my men of business that his circumstances are desperate. If his grandfather lingers on much longer he will be forced to fly the country to escape his creditors. He has been making enquiries, I should tell you, my love, about your circumstances, and has found, I think, your father to be too well in control of your fortune for his purposes. Anyway, to make a long story short, I think he has decided a wealthy mistress would suit him admirably — and I am to be she.'

Henrietta laughed. ‘I hope you are properly flattered, Sally.'

‘Oh, immoderately. But, come, my dearest creature, if this good news is true and you really wish to be rid of him, let us put our heads together and see what we can contrive, for, to tell truth, I have an axe of my own to grind in this business. There is not only your Simon to be thought of, but my Cedric. Let us see if we cannot turn Charles Rivers to good use for once in his life. He has been urging me, I should tell you, this age, to give him the meeting secretly. Well, I think he shall have his wish. It is Lady Laskerville's masked ball tomorrow is it not? And she has those three gloomy conservatories where nobody goes. Well, listen …'

Listening, Henrietta could have wished her part in the business a more active one, but she had to admit the soundness of Sally's plan. If anything could serve their purpose, it must be this. She went home to prepare her domino. Impossible, when she got there not to hope that there might, contrary to all expectation, be some word from Simon. And when she actually saw the familiar handwriting on a little package, her hand shook so that she could hardly open it. Inside she found a bunch of primroses and the briefest of notes. ‘I picked these for you this morning. Farewell.' And the familiar, curly ‘S'.

Pinning the primroses against her heart with a hand that would not stop trembling, she prayed that Simon would obey the anonymous note he was to receive. But how could he fail to do so, when it spoke in such terms both of herself and of Charles? And at least his message told her that he had not yet left town. After all, she consoled herself, it took some time to emigrate.

Lady Laskerville's masked ball, given on the spur of the moment to celebrate the Allied victory, was one of the most splendid Henrietta could remember. Indeed, when she saw the crowds that thronged the entrance hall, her heart sank for a moment. Suppose the conservatories, too, were crowded? Their scheme would be ruined. But it was a mild spring evening and the long windows of Lady Laskerville's public rooms stood open to her gardens, where the Pandean pipes played for the more intrepid dancers. Gradually, as the crowded rooms grew warmer, more and more couples drifted out into the gardens, and by the time the third waltz was playing — the signal agreed upon between her and Sally — she found it easy enough to slip through the crowd of masked figures and make her way to the end of the house where Lord Laskerville had built his orangery. Neglected since his death, these three communicating conservatories were dank and gloomy enough to discourage even the most amorous couple. Henrietta was relieved to find them empty and made her way with silent expedition to the inner of the three rooms, where a sadly drooping palm tree hid her entirely from view. Sally, she saw, had been right, only the central room was lighted, and that but dimly. So far, all went well.

Then came the worst part of all, the waiting. She did not care particularly whether Cedric obeyed his instructions or not, but suppose Simon did not come? Since everyone was
masked, it had been impossible even to discover whether he was at the ball. Still, she would know soon enough. And with this thought she settled herself as comfortably as possible on a somewhat clammy rustic bench under the palm tree and composed herself to wait. Simon's instructions had been that he must conceal himself in the conservatory at the end of the third waltz. Cedric, if he came at all, would come still later. They had taken no risk of accidental meetings, Sally and she, planning their campaign like a couple of Peninsula generals.

The waltz music, faintly whispering from the other side of the house, swirled to its close at last and soon Henrietta, intently listening, breathlessly silent, was rewarded by the sound of cautious movement in the further room. Surely that must be Simon! As the silence fell once more, she found herself a prey to a new set of anxieties. Perhaps it was not Simon after all, or, if it was, suppose he did not have the patience to await the event of this odd assignation? But there was nothing she could do but wait and pray.

She never heard Cedric come, but this did not surprise her, since his position was to be in the main conservatory, closest to the scene that was to be played there. And, at last, she saw that it was about to begin. Sally entered the conservatory in the costume they had agreed upon — that of a nun — her veil closely drawn about her face. Almost immediately she was joined by a man in the costume of a brown friar. He, too, had his cowl pulled well around his face, but it was clear from the way he approached the nun that he expected and knew her. He took the hand she held out to him and bent low to kiss it.

‘At last we are alone,' said Charles Rivers.

The nun withdrew her hand from his. ‘Mr. Rivers,' she began, ‘I have consented to meet you this once —'