Love's Way (23 page)

“Chloe, my dear, you
must!”
he insisted, stepping forward to grasp my hand. Such a brash move would never have been made by a stone cold sober Tom Carrick, I can tell you. Even as he spoke, he slid one hand around my waist. I wrenched away, ready to strike him I was so annoyed.

“You don’t want to marry me, Tom. You’re half in love with Emily.”

“Any man might be half in love with her. It has always been you, Chloe, no matter what Jack says.”

“What does that remark mean?” I demanded, my ire reaching new heights.

“Why, he feels Emily would be much better
...
but there’s no point chasing after a girl who calls you a pest after all. It is pretty clear she thinks only of Edward. You and I will deal very well.”

“You really do me too much honour, Tom, to admit I will do very well as second fiddle to that—that saucy chit of a girl!” I glared, and turned to march away.

“Don’t go, Chloe,” he insisted, taking a rapid step after me to wheel me around, into his arms. His wine-drenched lips came down on mine. It was like being hit with a wet mackerel. I pulled violently away, drew back my hand, and slapped him as hard as I could. The smack echoed across the valley into the night. Tom blinked, looked first shocked, then offended. Finally some expression that resembled genuine anger took possession of his countenance.

“He’s right!” Tom said. Before he could be asked to explain this cryptic utterance, he went on to do so of his own volition. “You
are
cold-blooded. And a dashed bad-tempered female to boot,” he added, with a ‘so there’ look on his face.

I felt it was myself who ought to be storming away, but Tom beat me to it. He had a deal more gumption drunk than sober is all I have to say about it. Looking in after him, I saw him knock against the table again on his way through the study. I leaned against the railing a moment to catch my breath before returning to the ball.

As if this ordeal had not been bad enough, it was followed by a worse one. No sooner had Tom disappeared than Jack Gamble peered his head around the door jamb. He had been auditing the whole performance,
hiding
—there is no other word for it—behind the concealing wall of the study.

He stepped out on to the balcony, grinning like a satyr. “You told him, no mistake. About time, too,” he remarked idly, with a glance up at the moon. “Nice night for a proposal though, don’t you think?” he asked in a purely conversational spirit.

“Never mind grinning like a hyena. This is all
your
doing. Tom would never have behaved so badly on his own steam.”

“I didn’t think he did so badly, considering his condition. Naturally I would have preferred he left my name out of it, and if he had been wise he would also have omitted any reference to Emily.”

“He behaved
abominably,
and you put him up to it. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“He’ll be worse after he’s married to you. Even an old maid like Tom will demand you pay the piper then, you know. What’s the matter, Chloe? Scared?”

“Of what?” I demanded haughtily.

“Men. Tom certainly implied you are not
warm
in your amorous dealings with him. He said nothing to lead me to expect violence. ‘A very cold woman’ I believe was the phrase employed.”

“I should hardly be surprised
you
would be so low as to discuss a lady behind her back, but that you will tell her to her face does surprise me a little, I must confess.”

“Very true, old girl, but you ain’t wiggling out of it that easily. Five pounds says you were trembling in your pretty little patent slippers when he got right down to kissing you.”

I drew a deep breath to steady my nerves while I considered the most quelling, cutting reply I could return to this brash, ill
-
bred piece of impertinence. “Just because I wouldn’t kiss that sodden wretch, and with an audience crouching behind the door jamb ...”

“You didn’t know I was there,” he replied reasonably. “There is no audience now, save the moon, and she is used to such carrying on.
I
am sober—more or less—and I say you are afraid.”

“Disgusted is more like it.”

“Scared out of your wits, and I shall prove it,” he said, wagging a finger under my nose. He moved swiftly, placing his hands on my shoulders to pull me into his arms and lower his lips on mine before I knew what he was about. I was excited by the unexpectedness, the unusualness of this movement: I was not in the least frightened. There was no reason to be. He was rather gentle, whereas I had expected he would attack like a tiger. The pressure of his lips on mine was so gentle, in fact, and his grip so light that I felt I could escape very easily. I placed my two hands flat on his chest and pushed.

I was surprised he fell back so easily, till I realized he was only rearranging his grip on me. The hands slid down from my shoulders to encircle my waist, crushing the breath slowly but surely out of me. I could feel a pulse throb in my throat, but I was more acutely aware of the bruising pressure of his lips on mine, so strong it forced my head back. Still I was not afraid, but only more excited than before. It occurred to me he was
trying
to frighten me by this barbarous attack, to prove he was right.

When fear began to arise, it was not fear of him, but of myself. I felt my blood quicken, grow hot, felt myself clinging to him as hard as he was clinging to me. I felt, in fact, as though I were going to burst. Then I let my head fall back. The stars were reeling in circles above me, at a wild, tilted angle. The lights of Ambledown seemed to join the stars.

He lifted my head up, cradled in the palm of his hand, and looked at me; his eyes, in the darkness, looked wild and startled. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, and laughed.

That mocking laughter served as a dash of cold water. “You’re a rake as well as a scoundrel, Jack Gamble,” I said coldly. “And I am not afraid of you, so don’t think it.”

“You frighten me to death,” he answered.

“And I am not afraid of Tom either, whatever he ...”

“To hell with Tom,” he growled, and tried to kiss me again.

I fought him off. He took the absurd notion it was a game, till I used an expression I had never used before—in fact, one whose meaning is not entirely clear to me, though I know perfectly well it is not a compliment. The stable hand from whom I accidentally learned it turned bright red and stuttered an apology when he saw me standing behind him. Jack stood back to examine me, and discovered I was in earnest. I was curious to hear what he would say, whether he would have the decency to apologize.

“You could be quite a woman if you let yourself, Chloe,” was what he said. “Come, I’ll see if the coast is clear for you to go and arrange your hair. We wouldn’t want the guests to know what we have been up to.”

“It would give them a poor idea of your hospitality, to know you molest your invited guests,” I returned, and brushed him aside to go and tidy myself.

When I rejoined the party, the guests were going in for a late supper. I went with Aunt Nora and some older cronies of hers, thankful for the period of quiet to calm my spirit. My one wish was to leave the Hall, but with so unusual and delightful a treat as a ball in progress, it would be too hard on Edward and Aunt Nora to suggest it. Instead, I went back into the ballroom for more dancing, and ended up staying till the last dog was hung, as the saying goes. I had a very good time, too, as the host did not further molest me, but contented himself with casting secretive smiles at me from time to time, between dances with all the youngest, prettiest girls at the party.

I managed to do better for myself with partners than Sir Arthur and Mr. Farrell during the latter part of the evening. Several of Gamble’s relations from the west discovered me. One of them told me thrice in a space of a single dance that he was engaged to be married in a week’s time. Why he felt it necessary to impart this information I cannot imagine, but another of them was better company. He said the girls from Grasmere were much prettier than those from his own district, taking pains to smile all over me as he said it, to ensure my recognizing it as a compliment to myself, and not just the district.

As we took our leave (it was after three), Gamble was doing the pretty at the front door, and thanked me for a most enjoyable evening. Without batting an eye I told him I had not so enjoyed myself since he had been kind enough to escort me to Wingdale Hause to chaperone Emily and himself, and be insulted by the Captain. His reply, muttered under his breath, was fortunately not overhead by Nora, who is not accustomed to hear gentlemen use foul language in public.

You are perhaps wondering whether Tom was sober enough to take us home. He wasn’t. He slept it off at the Hall, while we returned to Ambledown with other neighbours.

Chapter Twenty-three

I anticipated some lively doings the next day. Tom would call to apologize, and to have confirmed that he had been turned off. Hardly a pleasant visit, but it would bring relief. Mr. Gamble would call either to apologize or continue his impertinences. There was even a little suspicion that the cousin from the western lakes might pop in to say goodbye. None of these gentlemen appeared on our doorstep. Who came, at about four in the afternoon, was Captain Wingdale. That man has the nerve of a canal horse. He thought the gift he carried under his arm would assure him a warm welcome. My silver tea service it was. It was only my rampant curiosity that allowed him into the saloon at all. It was the first time he had ever called on us.

It is not easy to overlook a parcel two feet long and eighteen inches high. This had to be explained, even before he took a seat. He handed it to me, with a rehearsed speech that came out in a singsong “Pray accept this token of my esteem, along with my apologies. Had I imagined for a single moment this lovely treasure was yours, Miss Barwick, nothing could have prevailed upon me to buy it.”

The urge was strong to throw it in his face, equally strong to snatch it while I had the chance and set it back on the sideboard in the dining room. As I remembered that it was this two-faced man who had arranged for a fire to be set to our stable, I accepted it with no feeling that I must offer recompense.

“Thank you. That is civil of you, Captain. Won’t you be seated?”

He sat down, looking somewhat put out at my chilly gratitude. “Was there any other reason for your call?” I asked, making it perfectly clear I did not consider this a social occasion.

“There is,” he said at once, in eager accents. “It is about Mr. Carrick, if I may be so bold, ma’am.”

“Indeed?” I asked, staring at his presumption.

“Your good graces could go a long way in convincing him to do what is to his own
great
advantage. Monetary advantage, I mean.”

“So I assumed,” I remarked, my sneer telling him that when Captain Wingdale opened his lips, one expected to hear money mentioned. He refused to take offence.

“He would come in on the development on your say so, I am convinced, Miss Banvick.”

“I do not have the influence with Mr. Carrick you seem to presume.”

“Oh, but you do. He said most definitely he had to consult Miss Barwick on the matter. Let me outline a little what I have in mind,” he began, and pulled a stack of papers from his inner pocket. Without further ado he began opening them, first on his knee, but as they proliferated a table was required and provided. I was so curious to get this first-hand look at his plans that I submitted to all his vulgarity.

The original plan was drawn up in his own neat hand, a replica of it in the window of the newspaper office, and thus it contained no surprises. It was the scratched-in changes, mostly additions, that caught my eye. Neither did I fail to notice that some of these changes were in Gamble’s bold, black hand. The version I saw had Ambledown subdivided into five areas, for five cottages. This got my dander up at the outset. When Wingdale saw his error in bringing this along, he took his pen and put a scrawl through it. “All that is changed, of course,” he said hastily. “After your renovations there will be no reason to think of demolishing Ambledown.”

“It would be impossible to demolish a property you do not own, in any case,” I pointed out. “Unless of course, it should accidentally catch fire,” I added pointedly.

“Shocking business, that. So happy it didn’t amount to anything.”

“I’m sure you are.”

That sheet was hastily twitched aside. “Here is my lakeside pleasure park,” he announced proudly.

“Ah, yes, the common land you managed to get enclosed. But surely the law decrees such land be used for agriculture?”

“Ha ha,” he smiled conspiratorially. “Magistrate Muller is a reasonable fellow. He assures me there will be no difficulty. So long as it is producing revenue for the community there will be no trouble on that score. No trouble at all, if that is what causes you to be against Carrick’s coming in with me, ma’am. I am ready to give my word on
that.”

He went on to outline the entertainment centre, each item of which would produce huge revenues—and huge crowds of riffraff. “Mr. Carrick would be a full half-partner in it—that is to say, have forty-nine percent interest.”

“Why would you be willing to forego such large profits?” I asked.

“It goes against the pluck to do it,” he admitted, “but the work contracted for requires a down payment, and with my capital so heavily invested in buying a good many properties, I am short. A temporary shortage only.”

“You could take a mortgage on one of your properties,” I suggested, having a fair idea he was already mortgaged to the hilt.

“Mortgages! There is the culprit, if you want the whole truth, Miss Barwick. I have been lured into giving a mortgage on Wingdale Hause. Give it to a friend, as I believed, and now he—he is pushing me for the payment.”

The word ‘foreclose’ was carefully avoided. He did not wish to let me know he was desperate, his back to the wall, but the film of moisture on his brow hinted at it. He would never have girded his loins to approach
me,
whom he knew for an enemy, had his case not been urgent. I was in no doubt as to who his supposed friend was. Gamble, of course, held the mortgage.