Lady Vengeance (16 page)

 ‘You do not like me!’

 ‘Oh Andrew, that is not true.’

 Bringing his horse a little closer, he leaned across and gripped her wrist.

 ‘Yes it is! If you liked me you would marry me –
why
do you dislike me?’

 The thin fingers were surprisingly strong, and Elinor could feel his nails digging into her flesh. She said as calmly as she could, ‘Please, Andrew, you are hurting me.’

 ‘I would never do so if you liked me.’ The words were childlike, but that fact did nothing to lessen the unease that Elinor was beginning to feel. With relief she heard the groom’s voice close behind them.

 ‘Come along now, Master Andrew. You are alarming the lady. Let us get on with our ride, sir, or we won’t cover the half of it before we have to turn back.’

 For a fleeting moment Elinor thought the boy would ignore the advice, but although he looked mutinous, Andrew released her.

 ‘Let us race to those trees over there.’ He pointed to a small copse on the skyline. ‘There’s a good view from the ridge.’

Upon the words he set his horse to the gallop, leaving Elinor and the groom to follow as best they might. By the time they reached the copse, Andrew’s ill humour had disappeared and he grinned an apology at Elinor.

 ‘Are you still angry with me, Madame?’

 ‘Of course not.’ She paused, ‘I would very much like to be your friend, Andrew.’

 The young man looked at her doubtfully. ‘Really?’

 ‘Yes,
really
! But I wish to hear no more talk of marriage.’

 ‘Oh, very well. But may I call you Elinor?’

 ‘If you so wish.’

 ‘Good!’ he smiled sunnily. ‘Now I truly feel we are friends!’

 In the gleaming candlelight of the latest hell to become the fashionable haunt of London’s gamblers, Viscount Davenham surveyed the company with a critical eye. Such was the obsession with games of chance that almost every noble house of the country was represented within these large rooms and indeed the surroundings were sumptuous enough for any company. The ornate plaster ceilings were freshly painted in sky-blue and gold, with rich velvet hangings in a matching blue covering each window, defying guests to tell if dawn had yet come.

The noble lords and gentlemen were grouped around the green baize tables, eagerly watching the tumbling dice or awaiting the turn of a card. An occasional shout of triumph or groan of despair broke above the general low rumble of conversation, while soft-footed waiters replenished glasses and trimmed candles, lest a guttering flame should cause offence to any player and the over-dressed females draped themselves over sofas, their carmined lips smiling as they waited to share in the celebrations of the lucky few, or to provide succour to the losers.

 Lord Davenham felt a light touch upon his arm.

 ‘Well met, sir.’ Lord Derry’s cheerful tones carried across the room, earning him one or two disapproving glances. ‘So you have discovered this little place – what d’you think of it? Company’s a little thin, but everywhere’s the same this time of year.’

 The viscount shrugged. ‘The wine’s tolerable.’

 ‘Gad! Is that all you can say?’ Derry laughed. ‘You’re devilish hard to please, my boy. Don’t know why you come to these places, damned if I do.’

 ‘Oh, merely to be sociable, Derry.’ The reply was accompanied by the ghost of a smile. ‘Who’s that sitting over there at Exeter’s table – thin fellow in the brown coat?’

 Derry glanced across the room.

 ‘Oh, Lord Thomas. He’s but recently come to Town, I believe.’

 ‘He seems to be on very good terms with Thurleigh.’

 ‘I should think so – the marquis brought him here. I’m going down for some supper, Davenham – care to join me?’

 Lord Davenham turned to accompany his friend.

 ‘How is your mama?’ enquired Derry as they made their way downstairs. ‘In good health, is she? Haven’t seen her since we had that supper party.’ He shook his head, ‘Bad business that! Poor Rowsell, and in front of the ladies, too. Very bad form. I tell you my mother was particularly cut up about it, vowed she’d not have another rout. All humbug, of course, when everyone’s back in Town in the spring you wait and see, she’ll be sending out the invitations once again. I only hope this business with Rowsell doesn’t keep people away.’

 ‘Oh I doubt that. In fact, ‘tis most likely to lend a morbid attraction to her parties in the future.’

 My lord Derry was much struck by this thought and he said, brightening, ‘Yes, by Jove. It might just do that! I pray you, Davenham, don’t think I am condoning people going around killing each other at fashionable parties!’ he added hastily, ‘but since it has happened, we’ve to make the best of it, ain’t that so? Besides, I didn’t know Rowsell very well – not my crowd. Too hot tempered for my liking. I don’t suppose there will be many to mourn his passing. Except perhaps the lady he was escorting that night. I heard that they were about to be married. Strange, I didn’t think Rowsell was in the market for a wife.’

 ‘But then the lady
is
very beautiful.’ put in the viscount, at his most casual.

 ‘Aye, of course, so maybe there was some truth there,’ agreed Lord Derry. ‘Locked herself away after Rowsell’s death, you know, only came to Town a few times after that. Rumour has it that she was distraught with grief’

 The viscount nodded. ‘I believe so.’

 ‘Well, if she was, she’s over it now,’ remarked Derry as they entered the supper-room. ‘I heard she’s gone off to spend Christmas with James Boreland and his family.’

 The news did nothing to improve Lord Davenham’s temper and he ate in silence, allowing his companion to rattle on uninterrupted throughout the meal. If my Lord Derry noticed his friend’s unusually taciturn manner he did not show it, but happily returned to the gaming tables alone after supper, when the viscount announced his intention of going home. Davenham made his way to the door, where he encountered the Marquis of Thurleigh preparing to depart.

 ‘Ah, my dear Viscount.’ The marquis bestowed a brilliant smile upon him. ‘How fortunate that we should meet like this. Do you have your carriage waiting? No? Then you must allow me to take you up in my own.’

 With an inward shrug Lord Davenham climbed into the luxurious equipage that was awaiting the marquis, and once settled inside, he observed his host, who was quietly humming a tune as the coach set off in the direction of Warwick Street.

 ‘You seem in very good spirits tonight, Lord Thurleigh.’

 The other smiled, his white teeth flashing in the darkness.

 ‘Oh I am, my dear sir, I am! I would like to share my thoughts with you, but I am not at all sure you would find them a cause for celebration.’

 ‘I am quite certain I should not!’

 Again the gleam of white teeth.

 ‘Then I regret to say that my happiness must be your sorrow, Davenham.’

 ‘I wish I knew what mischief you are planning!’ snapped the viscount.

 ‘Come, sir, do you doubt my loyalty?’ demanded the marquis in a pained tone.

 ‘The only loyalty you have is to yourself.’

 Lord Thurleigh laughed softly.

 ‘You are very like your father, Jonathan Davenham.’

 ‘And, like my father, I distrust
you
,’ came the blunt reply. ‘We will catch you out, sir, you may be sure of it.’

 The marquis leaned forward in the darkness.

 ‘Then you must be quick sir,’ he hissed, ‘for I am growing ever more powerful. Soon no one will be able to stop me.’ The coach slowed and he glanced out of the window. ‘Ah, Warwick Street–your lodgings, I believe, Lord Davenham?’

 The viscount jumped down and turned, his eyes searching the older man’s face.

 ‘Tell me, Thurleigh – whose cause do you espouse – the House of Hanover, or that of Stuart?’

 ‘Really, my dear young sir, do you expect me to answer you? Nay – I will give you an answer, although you know it already. I espouse my own cause. By the bye, I am taking my wife out of Town tomorrow, so you may relax your vigilant watch upon my activities. I shall be hatching no new plots while I am away!’

* * * *

 At Weald Hall, Isobel Boreland was well satisfied with the progress of her schemes, but her guest was feeling much less sanguine about her own position. After almost a week at the Hall, Elinor felt she was no nearer to knowing how to deal with James Boreland, and she had come downstairs that morning to hear that her host had risen early and departed, leaving his family with little notion of when he would return. Elinor’s suggestion that she should curtail her visit brought a swift response from her hostess. There could be no question of Madame leaving them so soon. Mrs Boreland was only too happy to have her company, especially now that her husband was obliged to go away. She added that Andrew too would be sorry to see her depart and would wish to hear no more about leaving unless, and here Mrs Boreland paused eloquently, Madame de Sange was not enjoying her stay at Weald Hall? Elinor hastily disclaimed, but behind her smiles her heart sank, and she returned to her room after breakfast feeling tense and frustrated.

She had missed her chance, Elinor told herself angrily. Her host had offered to teach her to shoot: why had she not accepted his offer and taken the first opportunity to put a bullet through his black heart? She knew there was little chance of persuading such a powerful figure to confess that he had murdered her father, or to tell her who had done so, but she had held back from attempting her revenge. What had stopped her, she asked herself bitterly. Did she expect the man to drink a trifle too much at dinner one night and confess his sins of his own volition? Now he was beyond her reach, and she was left to continue in a most uncomfortable role.

 A feeling of oppression settled upon Elinor. She felt trapped and, she had to confess, it was partly a web of her own making. A casual enquiry brought the information that Weald Hall could be cut off for weeks at a time in winter, when the rain and snow made the twisting road leading to the house impassable. Riding out with Andrew one damp and chilly morning, Elinor asked him if this was true.

 ‘Lord yes!’ came the cheerful reply. ‘It becomes a quagmire when the rain starts. The stream usually floods, too, down in the valley, and covers the road.’

 ‘Perhaps I should cut short my visit,’ she murmured, ‘for I would not wish to be stranded here.’

 ‘No, no you cannot leave!’ cried Andrew, his face flushing with disappointment.

 ‘But I have a house near London that I must return to some day, Andrew.’

 ‘But you must stay for Christmas - it is but two days away, and Mama is expecting Father home any time now. We always have guests here on Christmas Day, you see, it is a tradition. The vicar and his wife and daughters, and one or two of our other neighbours come to dine - you would like that, Elinor, would you not?’

 ‘I am sure I should, Andrew, but - ‘

 ‘Don’t leave me! I don’t want you to go. Mama said you would stay here with me for ever, that you would never go away!’

 There was a note of panic in Andrew’s voice, and Elinor forced herself to speak calmly.

 ‘Then that is something I shall discuss with your mama.’ She shivered. ‘It is growing dark. We had best be turning back.’

 They cantered back through the park, but as they approached the house, shadowed now in the fading light, Elinor knew a moment of panic. She wanted to turn her horse and set it galloping away from the Hall, never stopping until she had left the Boreland estate far behind. She tried to shake off her unease, telling herself not to be foolish, but as they clattered into the stable-yard she would not help glancing over her shoulder at the sturdy, wooden-faced groom who accompanied them on every ride. Surely his mount was not the usual type of servant’s horse, it looked too well-bred, too fast. The thought came unbidden to her mind:
he could easily catch up with me if I tried to run away!
Thrusting such unpleasant thoughts aside, Elinor allowed Andrew to help her dismount and lead her indoors. She must have faith in her own destiny.

 The short December day was fast drawing to a close as James Boreland reached his destination. A caped servant ran out of the house to take his horse and a stony-faced footman ushered him inside, relieved him of his rain-sodden outer-garments and overnight bag and showed him into the library, where his host awaited him beside a blazing fire.

 ‘Ah, that’s a welcome sight!’ Boreland stepped up to warm himself before the flames.

 ‘Not the most pleasant weather for your journey,’ remarked Lord Thurleigh, rising from his chair and going over to the sideboard.

 ‘Damnable! It has not stopped raining all day.’ He glanced at his host. ‘Is something amiss, Thurleigh?’

 ‘You notice some stiffness in my movements? I have been in some pain lately.’ Lord Thurleigh’s thin lips stretched into a mirthless smile. ‘The wages of my sinful youth, I suspect. Too many pox-ridden whores.’ He proceeded to fill two glasses from one of several decanters standing upon a silver tray then, coming back to the fire he handed one of the glasses to his guest. ‘I shall summon my physician when I return to Town.’

 ‘Aye, you have little chance of getting him to come here,’ declared Boreland, remembering his earlier grievance. ‘The roads around here are an abomination. I have spent the past two days travelling through some of the most inhospitable country I have ever experienced. For God’s sake, sir, why could we not have met at Thurleigh, or even your Leicestershire lodge? At least the roads are passable there.’

 ‘Did you meet any acquaintance upon your journey here?’

 Boreland gave a snort of laughter.

 ‘That I did not! I have always considered Norfolk a god-forsaken place, now it seems that all men of any sense have forsaken it, too.’

 ‘Then you see why I chose to come here.’ Guy Morellon allowed himself a faint smile. ‘Here there is no need for furtive disguises or suspicious actions. The chances of meeting someone who knows you are very remote.’