The Danbury Scandals (14 page)

‘It was you who
suggested they should race in the country,’ Caroline said. ‘You can hardly
grumble if Mark takes your advice.’

‘If we race on
private land there will be no chance of injuring bystanders, will there?’ Mark
said.

‘No, I suppose
not.’

‘You might show
a little more enthusiasm, my dear, the outcome affects you too, you know.’

‘How?’ Surely
he didn’t mean that she was included in the wager? She shuddered and took a sip
of wine to steady herself. ‘I have been assured that it has nothing to do with
me.’

‘Oh, and who
told you that? Could it have been that damned Frenchie? Have you seen him
again? If you have...’

‘It was Lady
Markham,’ she said quickly. ‘She said the race was really between you and His
Grace to settle a gambling debt.’

‘So it is,’ he
said, regaining his good humour. ‘But the outcome affects our future prospects.
You must surely be interested in whether you are marrying a rich man or a poor
man?’

‘I am not
marrying you for your money,’ she said. ‘In fact...’ She stopped suddenly. Had
she been going to say she did not want to marry him at all? If so, it was badly
timed, with the whole family present, not to mention two or three servants
standing silently in the background, able to hear every word. She was saved
having to continue by his lordship.

‘Mark, I
sincerely hope the stakes are not as high as that. A modest wager is one thing,
but to risk all...’

Mark laughed.
‘A paltry few pounds and a pair of horses - what’s that, if not modest? I am
going to Castle Cedars tomorrow to oversee the staking out of the course and
make the final arrangements. I take it everyone is coming too?’

‘I wouldn’t
miss it for the world,’ Caroline said, before anyone else could answer. ‘His
Grace has thrown the whole house open and half the ton will be there. He has
asked me to be his hostess, so I shan’t be going home to Beckford.’

‘In that case,’
James said firmly, ‘I think we had all better stay at Castle Cedars, so that I
may be on hand to help.’

Caroline had
not exaggerated; the country home of the Duke of Wiltshire was crowded with
guests, many of whom, Maryanne was convinced, he did not even know. And because
Mark was busy supervising the laying out of the course for the race and
Caroline was in a seventh heaven ordering His Grace’s servants about and
deciding on who should have which room, what they would all eat and how they would
all be seated at the table, Maryanne was largely ignored. On the second day,
after paying her respects to her grandmother, she decided to go for a walk
through the woods.

Estate workers
were busy marking out the course with stakes driven into the ground and joined
by white-painted rope. Maryanne followed its line where it began in a meadow
behind the house, across the park and then up over a rise, where she was able
to look out across the downs, almost to the sea. She stood a moment, breathing
deeply, remembering the walks along the shore she had taken with her mother,
who had looked wistfully out across the grey sea as if her happiness lay beyond
it. Had she been thinking of her family? Had she ever wished they could be
reunited?

Had she
accepted the estrangement as the price she had to pay for love? If only she had
been able to talk to her about it, Maryanne might have been better able to
understand her own feelings now.

She remembered
her own words with something akin to anguish: a man I can love and one who
loves me. At no time had she wondered what she would do if she fell in love
with someone who did not return that love; it put a whole new complexion on
things.

She made
herself stop thinking about it; it would be time enough to make decisions after
the race, after Mark or Adam or the Duke had won, after all the excitement was
over and the guests had gone. She turned and followed the white rope as it
wound down the hill, round a pond, and entered the wood. Some of the trees had
been hacked down to make the path wide enough for one curricle, perhaps two at
a pinch, and the ground levelled. The felled trees had been stripped of their
branches and the logs piled up to one side of the new track. This part of the
wood had been spoiled, desecrated for the sake of one day’s sport, for man’s
vanity which went by the name of honour. She could hear the sound of axes and
men’s voices as she made her way along the course.

‘‘Elp he said
he needed, and ‘elp ‘e shall ‘ave,’ said one somewhat breathlessly. ‘This ‘n should
do it.’

‘How d’yer know
it’ll work?’

‘I shall see
that it do. Now do you tidy up them branches and get ‘em off’n the track.’ The
man who had been speaking looked up as Maryanne came round the slight curve in
the track which brought her into sight. ‘Mornin’, miss.’ He was standing by a
large oak which had just been felled. Its foliage had been stripped and it had
been cut into logs and these were piled alongside the track. His companion was
busy dragging the smaller branches along the path and piling them up to one
side. ‘It’s a grand day for it,’ he went on, as Maryanne stopped.

‘Yes, indeed,
but what a pity to lose so many fine trees.’

‘They’ll make
good logs for the winter and there’s plenty more; don’t you fret over a few
trees. Why, they felled thousands when they wanted warships, and you can’t tell
the difference.’ He kicked the ground. ‘Just look at all them acorns-they’ll
most on ‘em make trees theirselves, one day.’

‘Yes, I suppose
so.’

‘You going’ to
watch the race, miss?’

‘Yes.’

‘Won’t see much
in the woods,’ he said, giving a meaningful look at his companion, who had
stopped work and was staring at her with his mouth open. ‘Why not go back to
the park and see Lord Danbury start ‘em off? Then you c’n move over to the
finish and cheer the winner in.’

They stood,
blocking the path, and she was reluctant to force a way past them. ‘You don’t
want to be on the track when they come along, do you, miss? Three curricles
going full tilt will take a deal of stopping, ‘specially on this narrow part.’

‘There is
plenty of time,’ she said. ‘They are not starting until two o’clock.’

‘Beg pardon,
miss, they’ve changed it. It’s noon the gun’s bein’ fired. Mr Danbury said
they’d all have a better appetite for dinner once the race was over with. He
came along an’ told us so hisself.’

She had no idea
of the time but it had gone ten when she set out and she had spent some time on
the hill before coming into the wood; it could not be far off midday. She
turned to retrace her steps, leaving the men to finish clearing the track.

She had not
gone far when she heard the crack of a pistol and a distant cheer. They had
started! How long before they reached the spot where she stood? The wood-cutter
had been right about the narrowness of the track; she did not want to be caught
in the middle of it. She stepped off the path and among the trees to wait until
they had passed.

If was another
minute to two before she heard the thunder of hoofs, the crack of whips and the
shouts of the drivers, and then they came into view. Mark was in the lead, but
only just. He stood in the vehicle like a Roman charioteer, cracking his whip
over the backs of his horses and yelling encouragement to them. Behind him the
Duke and Adam were neck and neck, their horses thundering side by side and the
wheels of their carriages almost locking. Adam looked grim and determined,
while His Grace’s face was purple with the effort of controlling his
high-spirited horses. He was staring ahead at the narrowing path and yet
Maryanne had the feeling he saw nothing, that he was lost to outside
influences. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the cry which might
have distracted them as they hurtled past her with their outside wheels off the
prepared track and rumbling over undergrowth. When they came to the narrow part
of the course, where the logs were piled up, one of them would have to give
way. She found herself running after them, without knowing why she did it. They
disappeared round the curve. She heard a shout of warning, then the sound of a
crash and after that the neighing of frightened horses.

She stopped
abruptly when she rounded the bend and saw the carnage. The first curricle must
have touched one of the piles of logs and brought the whole lot cascading down.
One of the carriages had been smashed beyond recognition, the other lay on its
side. A horse lay dead, another lay shrieking its terror, and the others had
broken free and were careering down the path and out of sight. She could see
neither driver.

She heard a
stream of curses which, luckily for her, were mostly in French, and ran over to
Adam’s upturned curricle. He hauled himself out of it and stood beside her. His
face and hands were cut and bruised and his clothing was torn, but he appeared
to have no other injuries.

She realised
she was sobbing as she put out a hand to help him. ‘Oh, I am sorry, so
sorry...’

‘Stop talking
nonsense, woman,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m not hurt, at least, no more than a few
bumps where there shouldn’t be. Go and look to His Grace.’

She turned to
look around her. The Duke’s curricle was nothing more than firewood, crushed
under a great tree-trunk, and there was blood all over the place. She was
almost afraid to look.

Adam strode
over to it ahead of her and heaved at the tree-trunk which imprisoned the
curricle, hacking at the greenery with the little dagger he always wore at his
belt. ‘Here, give me a hand.’ She lent her weight to his and they managed to
shift the timber far enough to see the Duke, and then she was almost sick on
the spot. His Grace was laying in a grotesque position, his legs doubled up
under him, his head flung back and blood pouring from a wound in his chest
where a sliver of wood, as sharp as a sword, stuck out through this torn coat.
Adam reached out and touched him. There was no response; he did not groan or
flinch, nor was there the slightest flicker in his eyes. ‘He’s dead,’ he said
flatly.

‘What are we
going to do?’

He stopped
throwing broken pieces of wood to one side and looked at her, as if for the
first time. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘I was standing
in the trees when you went past. I was going for a walk. There were two woodmen
here, they must have heard what happened. Do you think they went for help?’

He shrugged.
‘If they were responsible for the dangerous way those trunks were piled up, I hardly
think they’d wait about to face the music.’

‘But you were
both trying to get through the gap at once; one of you should have given way.’
Had she really meant to sound as if she was blaming him? She wanted to explain
that her relief at finding him unhurt made her say things she didn’t really
mean. It was no more his fault than the Duke’s, and really the track had been
made too narrow. But, before she could frame the words, Mark, together with two
or three estate workers, came hurrying through the trees and there was no
chance to say anything.

Adam’s curricle
was righted, the horses caught and harnessed to it so that the body could be
taken back to the house. Maryanne, walking beside Mark as he led the horses,
moved as if in a nightmare. No one spoke until they came out of the trees into
the sunlight of the park, where a crowd of people thronged about the finishing
tape, many of them still holding the glasses with which they had toasted Mark’s
victory. Now they turned, almost in unison, and watched the approaching
cavalcade, Mark, leading the horses, the estate workers, Adam and Maryanne.

It seemed to
take a lifetime to reach the silent watchers and then everything exploded round
them; hands reaching out, exclamations of horror, a scream from Caroline, and
James, tight-lipped, sending everyone away and taking charge of the situation,
issuing orders and then leaving to go and break the news to the Dowager. Above
it all, Mark’s voice was loud and insistent. ‘He could not win by fair means;
he had to resort to trickery. In my book, that is murder.’

‘No! No!’
Maryanne cried. ‘You can’t mean that, you can’t. It was an accident, the path
was too narrow...’ She stopped speaking, suddenly aware that everyone else had
become silent and turned towards her. ‘I mean,’ she added nervously, ‘those two
men must have misunderstood your orders about the trees.’

‘What two men?’
His dark eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The woodmen I
met. They were clearing the wood.’

‘That was all
done yesterday; there was no one working there today.’

‘But I saw
them...’

He took her arm
to lead her away from the curious onlookers. ‘Maryanne, my dear, you are
distraught and no wonder.’ His voice was calm and affectionate, though his grip
was painfully tight. ‘Go and rest and leave us to do what we have to do.’

She looked past
him to where Adam stood beside his curricle from which the body had been
removed. He did not speak but his expression was one of fury and there was a
noticeable twitch to the corner of his eye which lifted the tiny scar and gave
his face a lop-sided appearance; one side was unlined and handsome, the other
bore the evidence of a life she could only guess at. He had been a soldier;
death was no stranger to him, but he would not kill needlessly - she had to
believe that, wanted his assurance of it. She pulled herself away from Mark and
took a step towards him, then stopped when she realised there was nothing she
could do or say which would change anything. The Duke was dead, killed in an
accident, and when Mark had time to think clearly he would realise how unjust
he had been.