An Impossible Confession (22 page)

Horses tossed their heads nervously as the two stealthy figures slipped inside, and then Helen made out the shape of the coach, a two-seater berlin of an indeterminate dark color, but she thought it was green. Peter was crouching by the forelegs of one of the two chestnuts he’d harnessed, and she saw that he was tying cloth on to muffle the clatter of the hooves.

He straightened as they approached. ‘It’s all ready, miss. I can’t do anything about the wheels, but without the hooves there won’t
be that much noise. No one goes around the back way, at least not often, and I reckon we can get across the park and into the
boundary
woods without being seen.’

‘I’m truly grateful to you, Peter.’

He grinned. ‘I owe you a favor, miss,’ he reminded her. ‘What Lord Swag took away, you replaced, and that means a lot.’ He went to open the berlin’s door, assisting them both inside, then closed the door very softly, not wanting to make any unnecessary sound that might raise the alarm. Next, he opened the doors of the coach house, peering out into the yard beyond before returning to lead the horses forward.

It seemed to Helen that the carriage wheels made a very loud noise on the cobbles, and she found she was holding her breath as Peter led the team across the shadowy, deserted yard and out past several outhouses to a track leading along behind the walled kitchen gardens.

Helen gazed back toward the house, listening for anything that might tell their escape had been discovered, but all was quiet, she could even hear an owl hooting somewhere. Turning to look ahead, she could see the open park, moonlit and exposed, and beyond it the dark silhouette of the boundary woods.

Reaching the end of the kitchen garden wall, Peter climbed onto the carriage box, taking up the reins. The berlin seemed to jolt forward as he urged the team into action again, taking the risk of making too much noise by bringing them up to a fast trot, rather than dawdle quietly along and be visible for too long from the house.

Helen crossed her fingers tightly, her eyes closed. The berlin swayed and bumped on the little-used track, the wheels rattling loudly, but the horses made hardly a sound. At last the trees enveloped them, shutting off the view, and she knew their escape was almost complete. The track was more rutted than ever in the woods, and the berlin lurched alarmingly from side to side, but the weather had been fine and there was no mud to bog it down.

There were gates ahead, set in the perimeter wall surrounding the estate, and because they were never used, there was no
occupant
in the silent lodge. Peter reined the team in, climbing quickly down to remove the muffles from the horses’ hooves and then go
to open the gates. He’d somehow procured the padlock key, but the lock was so rusty it was some time before he persuaded it to turn. At last it gave way, and he began to haul the heavy gates open. The hinges creaked and groaned, the sound seeming to echo through the trees as if wanting to arouse the distant house. Peter led the team through, and then closed the gates again, locking the padlock and pocketing the key safely before resuming his place on the box. Then, taking his whip, he galvanized the team into action. The berlin flew forward, the horses coming swiftly up to a smart canter on the road that led toward Windsor, six miles away to the north.

Helen glanced at her watch. It was almost twenty to three, there were well over two hours to the allotted dawn time for the duel. Surely that was time enough for all she needed to do?

But although she didn’t know it, she only had just two hours, because she’d failed to wind her watch that day. It was a careless omission, and one she couldn’t know about, for although the watch was running slower and slower, it was still ticking
reassuringly
.

If she’d only realized at the time, Adam’s remark by the lake had been significant. He’d told her he hadn’t had anything more diverting to do than wait for her for the past three-quarters of an hour, but she’d been under the belief that she’d only been half an hour late. Her watch had been running fifteen minutes behind then; now it was running twenty minutes behind….

The berlin drove urgently through the night, but the time set for the duel, and for the St Johns’ departure, was closer than Helen knew.

W
indsor was quiet. The sound of the speeding berlin echoed loudly along the empty streets as the foam-flecked horses flung themselves into their collars, negotiating a sharp hill before turning at last into the main thoroughfare where the Golden Key inn occupied a prime site on the road to Oxford.

Street lamps threw a pale light over cobbles and pavements, and the bow-windowed shops were illuminated, showing off fine displays of wares. The officers of the watch stood idly in a corner, enjoying an illicit pipe of tobacco. One of them held a lantern, while the others had rested their staves against a wall. They straightened hastily as the berlin drove swiftly by, but then lounged again, determined to finish their smoke at their leisure.

The only other vehicle Helen saw was a bright-red ‘Planet’ stagecoach, bound for Maidenhead and High Wycombe, and it had evidently pulled out of the Golden Key yard only a minute before, for the coachman was urging the fresh team up to a smart pace, his whip cracking like a pistol shot over the otherwise
peaceful
street.

Peter began to rein the berlin team in, slowing to a trot as the brightly-lit inn loomed ahead. The Golden Key was a posting house, one of the best, and as a consequence was always a hive of activity. It was a splendid half-timbered building, with origins in the fifteenth century, and its many upper story windows looked toward the castle. Another stagecoach emerged from the low way into the galleried courtyard, a light-blue one this time, and as it turned away in the opposite direction, Helen caught a glimpse of the words on its panels.
Express. London. Windsor
. Its lamps shone in an arc against the road ahead as it set off on its short journey to the capital.

Helen’s watch pointed to half past three as the berlin negotiated the entrance to the courtyard, the hooves and wheels making a din in the narrow way before emerging into the lamp-lit courtyard, where an ancient vine climbed high around three stories of wooden galleries. The inn was busy enough at all times to warrant two ticket offices, each one occupied by a meticulous clerk, and a number of passengers were waiting to be attended to at the glass windows of each.

There were two other stagecoaches in the yard, one waiting to depart, the other having arrived only a short time before, and with them was a third vehicle, one of the inn’s own fine post chaises. The chaise was black-paneled, its doors adorned with a distinctive painted golden key, and from the demeanor of its postboy and the attention being given to its team of four well-matched bays, it was preparing for a long journey. As the berlin halted and Peter came to open the door for Helen and Mary to alight, Helen distinctly heard the postboy grumble to an ostler that he hoped the coves he was taking to Falmouth weren’t scaly ones, as a thing he couldn’t stand at any price was a bad tipper.

Helen stepped down from the berlin, looking in alarm at the chaise. Falmouth? Surely there couldn’t be anyone else traveling to that destination from this inn? It had to be Ralph and his father, and if the chaise was anything to go by, she was only just in time!

Insisting on Mary’s staying with Peter, she hurried into the inn, pushing through the crowded coffee room toward the counter, where she saw a large man in an innkeeper’s crisp white apron. ‘Sir? Are you the landlord?’

He turned, his practiced glance sweeping, over her. Perceiving that she was definitely a lady, he was pleased to give her a gracious smile. ‘I am, madam. May I be of assistance? Do you require accommodation? Or maybe a chaise?’

‘I wish to see one of your guests, a Mr Ralph St John.’

He cleared his throat uncertainly. ‘This is, er, a little irregular, madam. It isn’t the custom of this house to disturb guests….’

‘I doubt very much if he’s still in his bed, sir, since I think the chaise waiting in the yard is the one taking him to Falmouth with his father. It is their chaise, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Then would you please inform him that Miss Fairmead wishes to see him urgently?’

Again his glance moved over her, but more speculatively this time, for it was usually only a certain type of female that called on gentlemen guests in the middle of the night.

She colored, guessing his thoughts. ‘You’re entirely wrong about me, sirrah, so please do as I ask.’

He nodded then, deciding there was more to her than met the eye. ‘Very well, miss.’

‘Is there a private room where we can talk? Somewhere where there is writing equipment?’

‘Such things cost, miss.’

‘Mr St John will be pleased to recompense you in full, sir.’

‘Yes, miss. Please follow me. I’ll show you to a room and then inform Mr St John that you’re here.’

He conducted her out of the coffee room, along a red-tiled passage, and into a small room lit only from the street. Pausing to light the candles with one he’d brought with him, he then
withdrew
.

The new light shivered over the room, revealing a low-beamed chamber with paneled walls. The intricately carved fireplace yawned black and empty, and on either side of it were two
high-backed
settles. The only other furniture was a comfortable chair and a writing desk with all she required for the letter she hoped to coerce Ralph into writing.

The stagecoach that had been on the point of departure, now made a noisy exit from the inn, sweeping out onto the road and then turning toward London. For a bright moment its lamps flooded the room with light, but then it was gone.

A wry thought struck her. This was the second time she’d flouted the cardinal rule about ladies not going unescorted into inns, and on this occasion she was doing it under her real name.

It seemed that minutes, were ticking by. She looked a little anxiously at her watch. It was only twenty-five to four.

Footsteps sounded in the passage. The door opened and Ralph came in. He was very much the gentleman of fashion, clad in an emerald-green coat, cream cossacks, and black patent leather shoes. The cossacks were gathered at his ankles by golden ribbons,
matching
exactly the hue of his silk waistcoat. His shirt sported a fine starched frill, and he wore two neckcloths, one black and one white. He looked relaxed and unconcerned, but his brown eyes were sharp and wary, and a guarded smile played about his sensuous lips.

He closed the door softly and then faced her, folding his arms. ‘Well, well, what an unexpected pleasure,’ he murmured.

‘I doubt you’ll see it in that light when you learn my purpose, sir.’

‘Do I perceive a threatening note in your voice, Miss Fairmead?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m all agog.’

‘Will you answer one thing first?’

‘My dear, I’m at your disposal.’ His glance moved slowly over her, resting on the low decolletage of her gown before meeting her eyes.

‘Did you compromise Adam last year because Mrs Tully preferred him over you?’

A light passed through his eyes. ‘My dear Miss Fairmead, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Now it’s my turn to talk of playing games, sir,’ she said, reminding him of their conversation on the verandah at Bourne End. ‘You know exactly what I mean, just as you knew exactly who the lady was in the miniature you were looking at so adoringly. You hadn’t bought it that day, you’d been carrying it around with you for a long time; indeed, I’d hazard a guess that it reposes in your pocket at this very moment.’

Before he could stop himself, his hand moved instinctively toward his pocket. He realized he’d given himself away, and gave a lightly ironic laugh. ‘
Touché, ma chère
. Very well, I admit to reacting out of male pique that the lady was foolish enough to spurn me.’

‘And did you also choose a way that would harm Gregory because Margaret had chosen him rather than you?’

‘My, my,’ he murmured, ‘you’re an extremely perceptive
creature
, my dear. Yes, I see no reason to deny it. I wanted her, but she hardly knew I existed. I would have been more vindictive, but she didn’t matter all that much to me, she was but a fleeting fancy. Mrs Tully, on the other hand, was much more than that. I lost her
because of Drummond, and I wasn’t about to let that pass without striking back.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Nor was I about to let your interference in my affairs pass unchallenged, my dear, but then you no doubt know I’ve carried out my threats concerning the
billet-doux
.’

‘Oh, yes, I know,’ she replied, holding his gaze, ‘but the time has come to put a stop to your iniquity, sir, and unless you put right the many wrongs you’ve done, I intend to see to it that you’re disinherited after all. And, believe me, I can do just that.’

‘You’re a kitten, my dear, not a tiger, so pray don’t give yourself airs and graces to which you cannot aspire.’

‘There’s nothing of the kitten about me, sirrah, as you’d be wise to remember. I have only to go to your father right now and tell him what you’ve really been up to, what you’re
continuing
to be up to, for him to wash his hands of you completely.’ She smiled a little, heartened by the increasingly guarded look in his eyes. ‘Oh, yes, you were right to think I’d told him more than you wanted; indeed, he and I had a very interesting discussion. I know full well how he’d react now to hearing everything I know about you.’

‘You’re wrong, my dear, for he’d never disinherit me.’

‘No? Don’t call my bluff, sirrah, for it will be the worse for you.’

‘You haven’t the willpower to break the old man’s heart.’

‘Oh, but I have. Lives are now at stake, sir, and I put that
consideration
before your father’s heart.’

‘Lives?’

‘Your lies and schemes have led to a duel. Gregory has called Adam out, and they face each other with pistols at five in Herne’s Glade. You are the only one who can stop them, and I intend to see that you do; otherwise, I’ll go to your father straightaway. I’m not going to let you get away with anything more, you’ve damaged too many lives already, so unless you wish to see your own life damaged still further than it has been already, I advise you to take my threat very seriously indeed.’

For a long moment he looked at her, then he turned away slightly, giving a low laugh. ‘So, Gregory and Adam are to duel at dawn with pistols, eh? May I ask why?’

‘Ostensibly because Gregory has learned of my meetings with Adam, but I think their real reason is all that happened last year.’
She looked coldly at him. ‘Which is where you come in.’

‘You surely don’t expect me to toddle off to Herne’s Glade to tell them I’m terribly sorry they’ve arrived at such a fix, because it’s all been my fault? Come now, I’d be filled with shot myself!’ He gave a mocking laugh.

‘I don’t ask you to go there, I merely ask you to write a full confession.’

‘I think you’re forgetting something, Miss Fairmead.’

‘Lady Bowes-Fenton? No, sir, I’m not forgetting. It’s as I’ve already said, lives are now at stake. Tell tales on her if you wish, it will make no difference to me, I will still acquaint your father with the full extent of your sins.’

He smiled a little. ‘Fire with fire?’

‘Yes. Blackmail is your weapon, sir, but is equally effective in the hands of others, and if you think me incapable of using that weapon, you’ll be making a grave mistake. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by turning that weapon on you, just as you have everything to gain by writing the letter I want, and a great deal to lose by refusing. By putting pen to paper, you can be sure of my silence….’

‘And I can be equally sure of being pursued on the road to Falmouth by those I’ve harmed,’ he said dryly.

‘Not if I give you my word they won’t follow.’

‘Such word is easy enough to give, but impossible to carry out.’

‘I think I can persuade both Adam and Gregory not to come after you.’

‘To
think
something isn’t good enough, my dear.’

‘It’s all I can do. Write the letter, it’s your only sensible course. Surely it’s better to be sure of remaining your father’s heir, and to take a slight risk that you’ll he pursued along the highway, than it is to be certain of penury, and certain, too, that I won’t miss a single opportunity to point an accusing finger at you.’ Her eyes and her voice were steady, for he had to be convinced that she meant every single word.

His glance flickered away. ‘What a formidable wife you would have been, Miss Fairmead,’ he murmured.

‘Do we have a deal, Mr St John? Are you going to write the letter, or must I go and tell tales to your father?’

‘I think, Miss Fairmead, that it’s time to see the error of my ways. Very well, I’ll write your letter, provided, of course, that I have your word that you won’t speak to my father.’

‘You have that word,’ she replied, barely able to conceal her elation.

‘And you, being a true lady, will, of course, keep that word,’ he said softly.

‘For which you, being an undeserving toad, have just reason to be exceeding grateful,’ she countered.

‘No doubt,’ he murmured, going to the writing desk and
flicking
back the tails of his coat as he sat down. ‘What exactly am I to say?’

‘That you were responsible for what happened to Prince Agamemnon, that you did it because you were jealous over Mrs Tully, that you chose to hurt Gregory as well because you were annoyed that Margaret chose him over you, that you forced me to agree to a temporary betrothal in order to part your father from some of his money, and that you lied in the letter to Adam when you said I’d surrendered everything to you.’

He glanced at her. ‘Quite a catalog, is it not?’

‘Are you proud of it?’

He smiled a little, and didn’t reply. Taking up a quill, he dipped it into the ink and began to write. He didn’t see Helen close her eyes, weak with relief that her plan was working. Once he’d finished, all she had to do was get to King Henry Crescent and stop Adam from leaving for Herne’s Glade. She glanced at her watch again. It was nearly four. Or so she thought.

For a long time the only sound in the room was the scratching of the quill. Another stagecoach arrived in the yard, approaching from the other direction and not passing the window, although the glow of its lamps shone in for a brief moment. She could hear sounds from within the inn, the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchens, the shout of an angry man who wished to complain to the
innkeeper
, and the humming of a maid as she hurried past the door.