Two Corinthians (24 page)

Since she lacked the audacity to ask Bertram his opinion, she carefully observed his behaviour towards Claire over the next couple of days. His solicitude was obvious, and he even showed signs of resenting it when her attention was taken by any other gentleman. Lizzie decided he must be waiting to present her to his parents, whom she knew to be coming for the Coronation, to gain their approval before he proposed. The unknown Earl and Countess of Tatenhill must not be allowed to wreck her sister's future.

She set her mind to devising a plan, and soon had the first glimmerings of a idea. Unfortunately it meant tricking Bertram, forcing him into a compromising situation. Try as she might she could come up with no alternative. He was bound to be excessively angry with her, she thought unhappily. Perhaps she should wait and trust that everything would work out for the best.

On the third day Claire went to Bumble's Green, where she was having the house thoroughly refurbished in anticipation of moving in at the end of the month. She was often there these days, which had suggested part of Lizzie's plan.  In her absence, Lizzie went with a group of young people to a picnic in Richmond Park. Nell and Bertram and George were all present and she managed to enjoy the outing despite the doubts and uncertainties plaguing her mind.

Bertram drove her home in his curricle. She was on her guard with him, and he seemed abstracted. Instead of their usual joking and occasional tiffs, they made polite conversation. Lizzie found it excruciatingly painful. By the time they reached Portman Square, shortly after six, all she wanted to do was to run up to her chamber and cry. However, she bit back the tears and invited him in for a glass of wine.  Somewhat to her surprise, he accepted.

From the front hall they could hear Claire's voice in the parlour, raised in uncharacteristic indignation.

“I have told you time and time again, sir, that I cannot return your sentiments!”

Lizzie sped to the room and paused in the doorway.  Claire was standing with her back to the window, a slender silhouette, with the evening light gilding her hair.  Horace Harrison knelt before her, clasping both her hands. His lips were pressed to one, which she struggled to withdraw.

Setting Lizzie aside, Bertram advanced on his obnoxious relative. He seized him by the collar of his magenta coat and hauled him to his feet.

“This grows tedious,” he said in a languid voice that failed to hide the steely undertone. “If I find you plaguing Miss Sutton again, you will have cause to regret it.”

Lizzie stifled a laugh at the appalled expression on Horace's face as he gaped up at his large cousin.

“No, no, assure you, coz,” he stammered.  “Wouldn't dream of plaguing a lady. Honorable offer, and all that.”

“The lady has rejected your offer in no uncertain terms. You will not approach her again on the subject.”

“If you say so,” Horace said sulkily, straightening his coat as Bertram released him. He turned to Claire with a stiff bow. “Pray excuse me, ma'am, I am expected elsewhere.” He marched to the door, ignoring Lizzie. She heard him say under his breath, “At least not when there is the least chance of you turning up, dear coz!”

Bertram, his arm about Claire's shoulders, was leading her to a chair. Despite her protests that she was perfectly all right, she looked pale. Lizzie hurried to pour a glass of Madeira.

“How came you to be alone with him?” asked Bertram gently.

“I gave the servants leave for the day since both Lizzie and I were out. Alfie was with me of course, but I sent him on an errand as soon as we reached the livery stables. It is only just round the corner. Mr Harrison was on the doorstep when I arrived and he would not be denied.”

“I hope he will trouble you no more, but if he dares you will tell me and I shall deal with him.”

Lizzie's uncertainty fled. Horace had no intention of giving up his pursuit, and Bertram offered the only protection. He must marry Claire, and soon.

And she must marry George. After that dreadful drive home from Richmond she knew she could not bear to live with Claire and Bertram once they were man and wife.

It would have to be Coronation Day, she decided.  Not only would everyone be too occupied to notice her activities, but the day's schedule had been published in the London
Gazette
so she knew just where everyone would be. The ceremony in Westminster Abbey was supposed to last from ten to about four, and only peers had been invited to the banquet in Westminster Hall afterwards. George and Bertram would surely go straight home to put off their formal attire. There each would find a note.

That part was easy. She was less sure how to lure Claire to Bumble's Green at the right moment. Her sister had mentioned giving the Copples leave to absent themselves for a couple of days to enjoy the festivities in the city. Lizzie would not have to think of a way to remove them from the premises, but nor could she invent an urgent message from them that would require Claire's immediate presence. She puzzled over the problem for some time before abandoning it, hoping for a stroke of inspiration at the last minute.

After dinner she retreated to her chamber to write the notes to their lordships. “Dear George,” she began.

It looked shockingly familiar, much more so than when she addressed him thus. She tore up the sheet and began again:  “My lord.” It was a bit formal, but she must hurry or Claire would be coming up to see what she was at.

“My lord, I am in a Dreadful Predicament. I received word of a Dire Emergency in Oxfordshire which requires my presence. Claire is from home so I set out alone.  My money was Stolen and I am Stranded at an inn in the village of Colnbrook,” (she had long since consulted a map) “with an angry Coachman and a Suspicious Landlord.  Pray come to my aid as soon as you may!”

She signed and folded it, then started on the one for Bertram.

“My lord, Claire has been Kidnapped by a Villain.” She thought of putting in Horace's name, but Bertram might see his cousin at the wrong moment.  “He has taken her to her house at Bumble's Green. I beg you will follow at once with all speed and Rescue her from his Clutches!”

Again she signed and folded, then sat for a moment pondering. Bertram might wonder how she knew what had happened to Claire, but in the urgency of the moment he was not like to stop to question her. It would serve. She dipped her pen preparatory to directing the two missives when she heard steps on the landing.

“Lizzie, are you unwell?” came Claire's voice at her door.

She shoved the letters under her blotter and turned.

“No, I was just dashing off a note to Nell to arrange a meeting for tomorrow. I shall be down in a moment. Is George already come to take us to the musicale?”

“No, but he will be here shortly.”

“I am almost done.”

To her relief Claire left. She retrieved the papers, scribbled “Lord Winterborne” on one and “Lord Pomeroy” on the other, sealed them and hid them in an old reticule in her wardrobe. To justify her words to her sister, she then wrote a few words to Nell.  Somehow, lying to Claire was different from telling wild tarradiddles to their lordships. Feeling pleased with her advance preparations, she went downstairs.

Whenever she managed to get Alfie alone in the next few days, she coached him in the part he was to play. At first he was bewildered by the complicated instructions then, when he understood, he protested.

“Miss Claire won't like it,” he said obstinately.

“It is for her own good, Alfie. You must not listen if she tells you not to do it.  She will be happy in the end, I promise. You must do just as I say and not listen to her.”

By dint of much repetition his objections were dulled, and at last he was able to repeat Lizzie's orders without either mistake or remonstrance. It was none too soon. The Coronation was just two days away and she still had no notion how she was to get Claire to Bumble's Green.

The night before the great day was made hideous every half hour, from midnight on, by the ringing of bells and roaring of cannon.  It seemed an odd way for the King to attempt to endear himself to his subjects. Lizzie slept through much of it, but her dreams were troubled.

When she awoke it was nearly noon and she was ready to abandon the entire project. Its impropriety and underhandedness preyed on her mind. She was not sure she wanted to be George's wife, or anyone's, and she was still less sure that Claire wanted to be Bertram's.  She did not dare imagine what the gentlemen would think of her trickery. Perhaps they would never forgive her, and they might blame Claire, too.  Perhaps they would refuse to be pushed into marriage and she and Claire would both be ruined. The horrid possibilities seemed endless.

Fate took a hand, removing the last difficulty.  Claire came into Lizzie's chamber looking exhausted, pale and with dark smudges under her eyes.

“I cannot bear it any longer,” she said, distraught. “I must get away, be alone.”

Lizzie pulled her down onto the bed and hugged her. ”You look as if you have not slept a wink. Those dreadful guns!”

“They were just the last straw. Do not ask me to explain, Lizzie, but I must be alone.  I am going to go to Bumble's Green for a day or two, while the Copples are away. I must be back by the day after tomorrow for I do not care to offend the Tatenhills by missing their dinner party. Do you think Lady Marchmont will allow you to stay with Nell?”

Lizzie's doubts flew away as the last pieces of the plan fell into place.

“Of course. She likes me, and Nell will be delighted. You are not leaving this minute, are you?  I shall need Alfie to take a note to the Marchmonts.”

“Not for at least two or three hours. I must write one or two notes myself, excusing myself from engagements, so do not send Alfie until I am ready. And then I shall have to pack some clothes, and talk to Mrs Rumbelow.” She passed a weary hand across her forehead.

“Claire, you are not ill, are you?”

“No, I just need time to think.” She tried to smile. “We have been gadding about so these last months that there is never a moment to spare. Don't worry, darling, I just need a little peace and quiet.”

Lizzie hugged her again, remorseful. “It is my fault you have been burning the candle at both ends.”

“Nonsense. I have enjoyed every minute.” Claire stood up. “I'll send Molly to help you dress.”

An hour later Alfie was sent out to deliver several notes. Though he could not read, they had developed a system of symbols for the houses he was sent to most often. Having learned them he never forgot, and he had never made a mistake.   Unknown to Claire, he had nothing for Lady Marchmont:  the note he carried to her house was directed to Nell and said nothing of significance. He did, however, call at Bellingham House and the Albany.

As soon as he returned Lizzie went down to the kitchen, where Claire was consulting Mrs Rumbelow.

“There is no objection to my staying with Nell,” she said, which had the merit of being true, since Lady Marchmont had no knowledge of the proposed visit. “Unless you need me, I shall leave at once.”

“Of course, love. I shall send for you as soon as I return to Town. Here are a couple of sovereigns, for I am sure you have run through your pin money long since.”

Lizzie flung her arms about her sister.  “I do love you, Claire,” she murmured. Catching Mrs Rumbelow's sceptical glance, she added indignantly, “And that is not creampot love but appreciation of your thoughtfulness.”

“I know it,” said Claire, laughing.  “Oh, you had best take Molly with you. Lady Marchmont will expect you to have a maid, I make no doubt.”

Taking Molly on her adventure played no part in Lizzie's plans. She was about to protest that she could perfectly well share Nell's maid, but she paused to consider. Perhaps it would be just as well to leave herself an avenue of escape in case George refused to marry her after all, though she could not imagine him being so ungentlemanly. Molly could hide in the inn's kitchens until she discovered how things were going, and reappear to save her from ruin if it proved necessary.

“I'll see you in a couple of days then,” she said, kissed Claire, and skipped upstairs to tell the girl to pack up a few clothes.

Alfie fetched a hackney for them, another job he had grown very good at in the city. The driver and his horse were both thin and lugubrious. The former eyed Lizzie doubtfully when she said she wanted to drive out towards Kew. However, she was wearing her prettiest carriage dress, a delightful midnight blue confection, and a respectable abigail accompanied her. He whipped up his nag.

It was hot inside the hackney, and the ancient straw on the floor smelled most unpleasant. Molly, disappointed at not going to stay in a “real lord's house” and apprehensive about the plan unfolded to her, snivelled in a corner.  By the time they reached Kensington, Lizzie was ready to scream. She signalled to the driver, and when he stopped she jumped out.

“Gettin' down 'ere?” he enquired hopefully.

“No. I mean to ride on the box with you. It is horrid inside.” Lifting her skirts, she scrambled up beside him before he found the wits to object.  There was not the least chance of anyone seeing her in that disgraceful position since the entire Beau Monde was at or hovering near the Coronation. “Let's go. Can your horse not go any faster?”

This was to become a constant plea as they left the city behind them. The bony creature kept stopping to grab a mouthful of leaves or grass as they passed.

“'E's a Lunnon 'oss,” the driver explained uneasily. “'E don't unnerstand this 'ere countryside, no more nor do I.”

“I'm sure the poor beast is happier than he has ever been in his life,” said Lizzie, “but I wish he would hurry up.”

At last they reached Kew. The driver's relief was evident, until Lizzie informed him that she had not said she was going to Kew but in that direction.

“Pray let us go on to Colnbrook,” she coaxed.

“This 'ere's a Lunnon 'ackney. Out you get, missie, and that'll be a crown 'ere and another fer me journey back, that's 'alf a sovereign.”

Eyelashes fluttering, Lizzie played her trump.  “Oh, but I have no money on me, for fear of being robbed. I am to meet someone at the inn in Colnbrook who will pay you a whole sovereign, or perhaps even two.”