A Fête Worse Than Death (24 page)

‘Dancing?' Ashley wondered if the injury had affected Haldean's mind. ‘Whitfield wasn't dancing.'

Haldean made a slight, impatient motion with his hand and flickered his eyes open again. ‘The horse. Danced to one side. They do that – oh, my blasted head! – when they don't know what to do. Conflicting instructions. Charge. Stay still. The horse bolts. He set it up.'

‘Quietly does it.' Ashley swallowed and took the plunge. ‘I think so too.'

‘Good man.' Haldean closed his eyes and breathed deeply. ‘Can't prove it. Can't prove anything . . .'

‘You'll live,' said Dr Wilcott succinctly. ‘You'll probably suffer from concussion to some degree but you've got off very lightly, all things considered.'

Haldean, who had endured being lifted on to a home-made stretcher and carried to the tack room where he had submitted with gritted teeth to the doctor's examination, couldn't quite agree. ‘My head's throbbing like the dickens.'

‘Lie down. Of course it's hurting.' He looked at Ashley. ‘Has he been totally rational? Giddy? Bad-tempered? Shown signs of drowsiness?'

‘You sound like an advert for a liver pill,' murmured the patient from the tack-room table. Dr Wilcott allowed himself a smile. ‘I feel sick and I want to go to sleep,' he mumbled heavily.

Dr Wilcott cocked an eyebrow at Ashley. ‘Well?'

‘He's been quite rational, Doctor, but sleepy, as he's said.'

‘In that case the best thing is complete rest in a darkened room . . .' He looked up as Buckman, touching his forehead respectfully, creaked the door open. ‘What is it?'

Buckman ignored the doctor and spoke to Whitfield who was sitting on a broken-back chair, nursing his arm. ‘Here's Mrs Verrity to see you, sir. I told her as how there'd been an accident, and she wanted to come in. Here she is, sir.'

‘Can't you –' began Whitfield, breaking off as Mrs Verrity came into the room. She was dressed in tight-fitting jodhpurs and a hacking jacket and looked, if possible, even more striking than she had done in her ballgown. However the sight of her seemed to afford Whitfield very little pleasure. ‘I didn't think you were coming this afternoon,' he said with poor grace.

‘Nonsense, Richard,' she said, taking in the scene. ‘Buckman tells me Satan bolted.'

‘I couldn't hold him,' he said, looking her straight in the eyes. ‘I've crocked my arm. It's not broken but it jolly well feels like it and he damn nearly killed Haldean here. Trampled him down.'

Mrs Verrity looked at Haldean with a quick, appraising glance. ‘A head wound? That could so easily have been fatal.' Haldean made a futile attempt to sit up and she suddenly smiled. ‘I am glad to see it was not.' She looked at Wilcott who had unwittingly straightened up to his full height and was adjusting his tie. ‘You are the doctor, yes? Is he in any danger?'

‘Not now,' said Wilcott. ‘He'll have a nasty headache for a day or so and various bruises, but he'll live. No doubt about that.'

She tensed for a moment, then her shoulders relaxed in an almost imperceptible movement. ‘And what happens to him now? He is not fit to be driven home, that is obvious.'

‘Good Lord, no. He needs something cold on that head. Ice is the best thing, if you have it, and he needs to avoid eating for a day. Fluids but no alcohol. Drink can have very funny effects on concussion cases. That, together with total bed-rest in a darkened room until tomorrow at least, should see him on his feet again.'

‘He'd better stay here,' put in Whitfield.

Ashley opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Mrs Verrity. ‘I think not, Richard. After all, you are injured yourself and I doubt if you would be able to give Major Haldean the care he deserves.' She bent over Haldean and stroked the hair away from his forehead. ‘You will come to me, to my house? And I will telephone Lady Rivers to send someone to sit with you. It is better that you are not left by yourself, I think.' She glanced at the doctor. ‘He will need to be carried there, of course, but it is only a short way over the fields. Can you arrange for that to be done?'

‘Certainly,' said Wilcott. ‘If he can't be looked after here that sounds like the best solution. If I may use your telephone, Colonel, I can organize things right away. And I must say, Mrs Verrity, that I'm very grateful to you for your help, and yours, Colonel. I don't know about that horse, though. It's not the first time it's caused an accident, I believe. I think you may have to consider having it destroyed.'

Whitfield shifted on his chair. ‘It's a damn fine horse, but you might be right. Look, Anne-Marie, I hate to land you with an invalid.' He caught her gaze with his. ‘Wouldn't it be better for everyone if Haldean stayed here?'

‘No, Richard,' said Mrs Verrity, firmly. ‘I think I should take care of Major Haldean. I will call later on and tell you how he is, but first I would like to speak to Lady Rivers.'

Whitfield shrugged, wincing as the movement caught his arm. ‘Just as you like. It's only . . . Well, if he stayed here I could have everything arranged for him.'

‘I doubt that,' said Mrs Verrity. ‘I don't think your arrangements would suit the Major at all. I really think you had better leave the matter to me.'

‘I don't like it,' said Ashley, instinctively lowering his voice.

The curtain flapped gently over the half-open window, bringing fluttering fragments of light over the rich bedroom carpet. Haldean stared at it as if mesmerized. The bed was soft and the linen sheets wonderfully cool. He wanted to go to sleep so much it was horribly hard to force himself to speak. ‘I'll be all right now.'

‘I certainly wasn't going to let you stay with Whitfield, that's for sure, even if I'd ended up carrying you home myself. I haven't got to the bottom of what's going on, but he's up to something.'

‘Yes. Good alibi. Can't break it. I might be wrong.' Haldean closed his eyes, feeling sleep mounting like a tidal wave. ‘Mrs Verrity doesn't trust him. Do you trust her?'

‘At the moment I don't trust anyone but she wanted you away from there nearly as much as I did. I've got to say that Mrs Verrity's been very good. The first thing she did was telephone Hesperus. Your aunt and Miss Rivers are on their way over.'

‘Fine. Sorry about the fuss . . . Decent of Belle to come too. I wish I understood things. Better ask Aunt Alice not to leave me alone.'

‘Don't worry,' said Ashley grimly. ‘I'll make a point of it.'

The next morning, Isabelle and Lady Rivers decided that Haldean, who was sound asleep, was well enough to be left while they went down to breakfast.

Mrs Verrity looked up with a welcoming smile as they entered the room. ‘Good morning. How is Major Haldean? Please help yourself to some breakfast from the sideboard, by the way. If there is anything else you would rather have, please say so.'

As the sideboard held eggs, sausages, bacon, kidneys, mushrooms, ham, porridge, kedgeree, bread and fruit, it seemed unlikely that there could be anything else that could be wanted for breakfast. Fighting down a mischievous urge to ask for kippers, Isabelle helped herself to bacon and eggs. Mrs Verrity, she noticed, was breakfasting on grapefruit and thinly buttered bread. You didn't get to keep a figure like that by tucking into sausages and ham. ‘Can I get you something, Mother?'

‘Scrambled eggs, please, dear,' said Lady Rivers, sitting down and taking a sip of the coffee Mrs Verrity had poured for her. ‘I'm glad to say Jack had a restful night. When Dr Wilcott arrives I'm sure he will let Jack come home with us. I must thank you again, Mrs Verrity, for your very great kindness. We couldn't have been made more comfortable under the circumstances, could we, Isabelle?'

Thackenhurst was, Isabelle thought, comfortable to the point of luxury. Mrs Verrity obviously had no intention of putting up with the draughts, damp or cold that were almost mandatory in a country house. Although the morning room retained its Regency proportions and a beautiful Adam fireplace, there were also radiators, thick carpets and windows which stayed placidly in their frames without the hint of a rattle. Add to that finely polished walnut, gleaming glass and servants deferential enough to be nearly inaudible, and it was difficult to know whether to envy or admire Mrs Verrity's taste. The only fault Isabelle could find was that the atmosphere created by all this well-being wasn't very English. The French, she thought, had a great deal of sense.

‘No, we were very comfortable, thank you,' she said, giving her mother her eggs.

‘Think nothing of it,' said Mrs Verrity. ‘I am pleased to have been of help. If he had stayed with Colonel Whitfield it could have been difficult. He might have been served with oats and branmash for breakfast!' She smiled at her own joke. ‘If your little Marguerite does marry the Colonel, she will need to make many improvements in the house.'

‘I can't see there's much chance of that any more,' said Lady Rivers. ‘And really, after hearing what he said at the ball, I should be obliged to advise Marguerite against it.'

Mrs Verrity shook her head. ‘Please don't be misled by circumstances. Poor Richard wasn't thinking – correctly? straightly? – that evening. Like a lot of Englishmen he is ashamed at being caught out in an emotion and would rather have some stern, practical reason for his actions. But we are women and can talk without foolishness. He is, in your phrase, not himself, since their quarrel. I went to see him last night, as you know, and he deeply regrets all that has happened.'

‘Perhaps . . .' said Lady Rivers, cautiously, but was surprised by pent-up emotion in Mrs Verrity's expression.

‘I am worried about him. I have known Richard for many years now and I have never seen him like this. I am fond of him, yes? And I don't like to see what he is doing to himself.'

‘What is he doing to himself?' asked Isabelle.

Mrs Verrity looked round quickly as if afraid of being overheard, then leant forward confidentially. ‘He drinks. Oh, so much he drinks. Never have I seen him like this before. And his nerves, they are all in shreds. Take the accident yesterday, for example. I doubt that would have happened in normal circumstances. Satan is a brute and ought to be destroyed but Richard has always managed to control him in the past. But please, Lady Rivers, do not doubt the sincerity of his feelings for Miss Vayle. I do not say that he could afford to marry a poor woman –' she gave an expressive shrug of her shoulders – ‘but he certainly would not marry a rich one simply for her money.' The oddest expression flickered across her face. ‘That I do know. That I really do know . . .' She looked away for a moment, then glanced up with a determined smile. ‘But that is by the way. He is talking about writing to Mr Lawrence to arrange a meeting. He feels that if only they could discuss matters properly then Mr Lawrence would be won over. After all, it is hard to see what rational objection anyone could have to Richard. The only reason I can think of is one I couldn't broach with him.'

‘What's that?' asked Lady Rivers.

Mrs Verrity looked at her in surprise. ‘Why, that Mr Lawrence has a penchant for the girl. Surely you must have considered that idea?'

‘I haven't given the matter any thought,' said Lady Rivers, stiffly.

‘Oh, but you must. After all, if that were the reason, how easy things would be –' Mrs Verrity broke off suddenly and went to stand beside the window. Isabelle caught her mother's eye, opened her mouth to speak, but was dissuaded by Lady Rivers' slight shake of her head. It was Lady Rivers herself who eventually broke the silence.

‘I am sorry, Mrs Verrity. I hadn't realized that you had taken Colonel Whitfield's interests so much to heart.'

She did turn then, meeting Lady Rivers' concerned look with a wry smile. ‘His interests? Well, it's inevitable, isn't it? As I said, I have known Richard for many years and it's only natural I should be concerned for him. I am, as you know, older than he is. I feel . . . Let me think how to put it . . . I feel motherly towards him.'

Isabelle finished her breakfast in silence, feeling a genuine stab of sympathy for her. Motherly? She didn't doubt Mrs Verrity's emotions, but motherly? Not in a million years.

‘My head,' said Haldean, touching his bandage, ‘is bloody but unbowed. 'Scuse the language, Ashley, old thing, but it's poetry and doesn't count.'

‘It's good to see you back safely,' said Ashley, leaning over the balustrade. They were standing on the terrace at Hesperus. Haldean had been given permission by Dr Wilcott to return home provided he took things easy. ‘I don't mind telling you I was having kittens at the thought of leaving you to Whitfield's tender mercies. I take it Mrs Verrity looked after you all right?'

‘She was first-rate,' said Haldean seriously. ‘And damn good to Belle and Aunt Alice, too. Look, I know it all seemed perfectly clear yesterday, but was it an accident? Or was I being urmecessarily dramatic about the whole thing?' Ashley gave him a long look in reply. ‘I see . . . And Mrs Verrity obviously thought there was something dodgy about things too. I mean, I remember her acting like a cat on hot bricks at Whitfield's suggestion he should look after me. Thinking, I suppose, that there might not be a me in the morning.' He took out his cigarette case and offered it to Ashley. ‘Which means, of course, two things. One, I owe her a thundering great debt of gratitude which I happily acknowledge, and two . . .' He tapped his cigarette on the back of his hand. ‘That she knows, or at least suspects, that Whitfield's capable of murder. They're very old friends,' he added absently. ‘In fact, according to Belle, she's in love with the man.'

‘What?' Ashley laughed. ‘Come
on.
Not seriously. Whitfield might have said as much to Miss Vayle, but that's nothing more than vanity, surely? I know Miss Vayle's eating out her heart for him but don't try and tell me the glamorous Mrs Verrity's been smitten as well. The other way round, yes, I grant you, but dash it, Haldean, they can't all be in love with him.'