A Fête Worse Than Death (16 page)

‘My – my father?' She blinked, then gave an irritated shrug, shaking off Lawrence's hand. ‘Which one? Daddy – Mr Vayle – or my real father?'

There was a stunned silence. Haldean drew his breath in. Oh no . . . Oddly enough, he didn't have the same sickening feeling as if he'd just kicked a kitten. All right, she knew, but there was another explanation, there just had to be. Somehow his reasoning was at fault. He'd far rather believe that than believe Marguerite Vayle was guilty.

Mr Lawrence spoke first. ‘What do you know about your real father?' he asked slowly.

She drew a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘I know he was a traitor.' There was a gasp from Sir Philip. The dance music suddenly seemed very loud. ‘I know all about him. For heaven's sake, Isabelle, take the record off and stop
looking
at me like that!' Isabelle dumbly complied, her eyes fixed on Marguerite. ‘He left me with the Vayles. I'll always think of them as my real parents because he never wanted to have anything to do with me. Then he joined the army and betrayed everyone to the Germans and it was Richard who saved the day. I know. How could I not know?' She was trembling now. ‘He thought he could make up for the way he acted by leaving me money. I know all about that, too, but he can't make it better, not ever. And I've been dreading this, absolutely dreading it. Because you're going to tell me I should tell Richard
and I won't!
He must never find out.'

Lady Rivers came forward, took her hands and gently sat her down. ‘Why are you so afraid of Colonel Whitfield finding out, Marguerite? If he cares for you then surely it won't matter to him.'

She shook her hand free. ‘Of course it'll matter to him. He's got a position – reputation – ambitions. He can't marry a traitor's daughter. The man who betrayed
him.
Even if I am going to have money.' She bit back tears, and her voice cracked. ‘Oh leave me alone, all of you! You don't understand! None of you understand!' She got up and left the room at what was nearly a run.

Lady Rivers made to go after her, but was stopped by Lawrence.

‘Let me go. I'll talk to her.'

‘All right. If you're sure.'

He nodded and followed her out of the room.

‘Well,' said Haldean, going over to the sideboard and pouring himself a whisky and soda, ‘this is a turn-up for the books. Drink, anyone?' There was a blank part in his mind, the part which had so confidently said
Tyburn's child.
There had to be another explanation . . .

‘She knew,' said Sir Philip in stupefaction. ‘She knew! When I think of how worried we've been and she knew! My word, Lawrence is a brave man. I'll have a whisky, please, Jack. A good strong one after that. How the dickens did she find out? And why the blazes didn't she tell us?'

‘I wish someone would tell me,' said Gregory. ‘What's going on?'

‘I want to know, too,' added Isabelle, vigorously.

Haldean picked up his drink and draped himself over an armchair. He was deliberately making his actions and words as casual as possible. ‘I really think you had better tell them, you know,' he said to his uncle. ‘Poor old Belle's going to burst with curiosity in a minute.'

Slowly, and with many interjections from his wife, Sir Philip ran through the story. ‘But how she knew,' he finished, ‘is more than I can guess.'

‘And where's her father now?' asked Isabelle. ‘Is he dead?'

‘We simply don't know,' said Haldean, sipping his whisky. ‘No one's had a sniff of him since 1916. Mr Lawrence thinks he's dead but as the man's got a capital charge against him he wouldn't want to make too much fuss about his continued existence.'

Sir Philip snorted and, getting to his feet, walked around the room in irritation. ‘Of course Tyburn's dead. Damn it, Jack, he has to be. Things are complicated enough without you thinking otherwise.' Not nearly as complicated as they could be, Haldean thought, but said nothing. ‘Don't you think the poor girl's got enough to worry about without telling her that her father might pop up? She's in an absolute state as it is. What the devil is Lawrence doing? He's being a long time about it, whatever it is.' He picked up a cigar-cutter from the sideboard, turning it over in his fingers. ‘I wish he'd take to Whitfield more. If it wasn't for this awful complication I think it'd be a perfect match for Marguerite, but Lawrence seems to be dead set against him.'

‘I wonder if he's jealous,' said Isabelle.

Sir Philip put down the cigar-cutter with a click. ‘What?'

‘Mr Lawrence. I wonder if he's jealous of Colonel Whitfield.'

‘Isabelle!' Her father looked at her in shocked disbelief. ‘That's an outrageous suggestion. Why, Lawrence is twice her age. The idea's preposterous. He's a good, decent man and a first-rate trustee who, I'm sure, has no ideas about Marguerite beyond trying to secure her best interests. She's nineteen, Isabelle. She's only just out of the schoolroom, for heaven's sake.'

‘Well, if it comes to that, Colonel Whitfield's no spring chicken either. How old is he? He must be nearly forty if he's a day. And Mr Lawrence is always fussing around Marguerite. Look at him just now. He was holding her hand and his voice went all squashy. Marguerite looks so helpless she sort of invites it. You do read about guardians marrying their wards.'

‘It's a staple of romantic fiction,' put in Haldean. Marguerite and Lawrence? Yes, Isabelle was right about Mr Lawrence's reactions. ‘
On the Town
must do one with that plot every other month and you do come across it in real life.'

‘I don't believe I'm hearing this,' said his uncle, curtly. ‘It's an appalling idea. Lawrence is a respectable businessman, not some half-baked hero from a magazine. He's a well-known mine-owner of considerable wealth and has been for years. He's endowed fellowships, set up libraries, and during the war was instrumental in providing this country with enough copper to keep going with no thought of his own gain.'

‘But none of that would stop him falling for Marguerite, would it?' said Gregory.

‘Yes, it damn well would,' said Sir Philip, exasperated. ‘And furthermore,' he added, his voice rising, ‘I would ask you all to remember that he's a guest in my house and I expect him to be treated with the consideration he deserves without being subject to this ill-informed speculation . . .' He broke off abruptly as the door opened and Marguerite Vayle entered, ushered in by Lawrence.

‘In you go, my dear,' said Lawrence, kindly. ‘I told you it would be all right.'

She gave him a quick, grateful smile and cast a shy glance round the room. ‘I'm awfully sorry. I shouldn't have caused such a scene. Mr Lawrence came and explained everything to me so nicely he made me see that the best thing I could do is come and apologize to you all.'

Everyone tried to think of something ordinary to say to show that things were back to normal, and failed miserably. It was Lady Rivers who, coming forward, took the girl by the hand and led her to the settee. ‘Don't worry about it, dear,' she said, sitting down beside her. ‘We all realize this must have been a dreadful strain for you. Jack, offer Marguerite a cigarette, will you? And Gregory, I'd like a glass of Madeira and I'm sure Marguerite would like something as well. Now then,' she said when this was all settled, ‘if you don't want to talk about it any more this evening, that's perfectly all right.'

Marguerite's voice was shy but determined. ‘I . . . I'd think I'd rather, if you don't mind. I mean, I know that's what everyone's thinking about and it seems silly to try and avoid it. I want to get it over with.'

‘How did you know who your father really was?' asked Haldean, standing back after lighting her cigarette. The poor kid just couldn't be guilty. ‘Tell me to go and boil my head if you'd rather not say.'

‘Oh, that's all right. I've always known who he was,' she said, holding her cigarette in fingers that weren't quite steady. Oh, hell.
She'd always known
. . . ‘Mummy and Daddy – I mean the Vayles, of course – thought I didn't know I was adopted, but I did. There were various things grown-ups had said when I wasn't meant to be listening which gave it away, so I asked my nurse. I knew it wasn't the sort of question I could ask Mummy. I rather liked the thought I was really someone else. I'd read ever so many stories where the heroine was adopted and turned out to be a princess or something. My nurse was a bit shocked when I asked her who my real parents were, but I went on and on about it and eventually she told me that my real mother was in heaven and that my father was a soldier.' She bit her lip. ‘I used to think that my real father would come and carry me off and . . . and I think I liked playing with the idea. I loved Mummy and Daddy but they were ordinary and dull, you know, though in a nice way. I used to dream about my real father who was always wearing a red coat and riding a splendid white horse just like the soldiers in the picture in the dining room. It never occurred to me that he would look like the soldiers we saw in the streets and in the park. Stupid of me.'

She took a sip of the cocktail which Rivers had given her. ‘Then one day, a man, who must have been a solicitor, called at the house and I watched him over the banisters. No one knew I was there. Daddy spent ages with him in the morning room and when they came out, the man stood in the hall and said, in a carrying voice, “This will mean that Miss Tyburn's future is secure.” Daddy shushed him and said, “She's always referred to as Miss Vayle.” They talked for a bit longer and I couldn't hear most of it, but I knew they were talking about me. I asked Nurse that night if my real name was Tyburn and she told me that it had been, long ago, but it was Vayle now and I must never say that I knew, as it would upset Mummy and Daddy as they liked to think of me as their own little girl. And as it didn't make any difference to how things were, I sort of forgot about it but it gave me a nice, secret feeling, if you know what I mean.'

She shook her head. ‘Then, what seemed to be years later but was I suppose only really a few months, Daddy made a big fuss about me not seeing the newspapers. Well, I wouldn't have
wanted
to see the papers if he hadn't gone on about it, but naturally I wondered what was there that I wasn't meant to see. There was lots about the casualties on the Somme and I thought for a while they were trying to keep that from me, but there was also a report about a man called Tyburn and what he had done. I had to look “treachery” up in the dictionary. Once I read that, I knew what sort of man he must be.'

There was an uneasy silence, broken eventually by Lawrence. ‘Your father was a good friend of mine, Marguerite, and I thought he was a good man. I've always wondered if he was framed, as the Americans say.'

‘Oh, don't try and defend him!' Her voice was savage. ‘I thought he was a hero too, remember? White horse, red coat. I longed to see him, my father, and all the time he didn't care tuppence. Yes, he arranged trustees for me. It's easy enough to buy off your conscience with money when you have enough, but he never wanted to see me or to know what I was like.' She stopped. ‘I'm . . . I'm sorry, Mr Lawrence. I know you're trying to make things better for me but you can't get away from what he did. And . . .' She blinked very rapidly and her voice shook. ‘And it's so much worse than you think.'

‘How, dear?' asked Lady Rivers, gently. ‘Are you worried about Colonel Whitfield? I'm sure it will be all right in the end.'

Marguerite paused. ‘Yes.' She seemed to consider the notion. ‘I don't want Richard to find out.'

Sir Philip shuffled from foot to foot, exchanged glances with his wife, looked at Lawrence, and, finding no help there, cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘I think you're going to have to tell him, though.'

‘I know,' the girl agreed miserably. ‘Mr Lawrence explained everything to me but . . . I'll do it tomorrow night at the ball,' she added, with a small note of defiance. ‘He can't walk away from a ball, can he?'

‘No,' said Lady Rivers quickly. ‘That would be very wrong, Marguerite. It would be inconsiderate to Mrs Verrity as your host, and very unfair to Colonel Whitfield, to say nothing of the other guests. It would be far better if you told the Colonel privately. After all, you can't possibly want to make such an announcement with other people listening.'

An intake of breath from Sir Philip indicated, just how much he didn't want to be one of the other people. ‘Dreadful idea, dreadful,' he muttered.

‘Don't worry, Aunt Alice,' said Marguerite with a small, twisted smile. ‘Whatever happens, I promise I won't spoil the party.'

Lady Rivers looked at her earnestly. ‘You mustn't tell him at the ball. What you have to do is see the Colonel tomorrow by yourself and, as I say, tell him privately. He might be shocked at first but you can't honestly think that if he has any feeling at all for you he would let this stand in his way.'

‘But that's just what I don't know,' said Marguerite, miserably. ‘He seems to like me and yet he . . . he . . .'

‘Hasn't popped the question yet?' put in Haldean.

She looked at him gratefully. ‘That's just it.' She put her drink down and looked at her intertwined fingers. ‘I can't tell you how much I hate all this. I simply want to be happy and it's all gone wrong. I know I could make Richard happy but if this comes out it will affect things, I know it will. And it's so unfair! Why should I be made to suffer for something I had nothing to do with?'

‘If he lets it affect him he's not worth having in the first place,' said Hugh Lawrence brusquely. ‘You're a fine girl, Marguerite. I can't help wishing your father had made his provisions differently but that can't be helped now. With the money that's in the trust I'd always seen my role as sifting through unsuitable young men, not pleading with some guy to overlook something that happened years ago. You tell him, Marguerite. Damn it, who the hell does he think he is? The Prince of Wales or someone? I'll be honest with you. I think he's too old for you and I suspect he's more than interested in your money.'