Maulever Hall (31 page)

“Yes. I hope you do not think I am afraid of you.”

“Of course not.” He seemed faintly amused at the idea. “An adventurous young lady like you. And indeed it is about those very adventures that I am come to tell you. You did not believe me, before?”

“No.”

“Quite right.” He said it, almost, it seemed, with approval. “I am sorry to have to admit that we have never been married, you and I. But, at the time, I could think of no other story so likely to get you safe away from the predicament in which I found you. And, at all events, the story did serve its turn. You left, though not, to my sorrow, with me. And—you have survived.”

“Survived? What are you talking about?”

“About attempts on your life. Were you not shot at, once, in the woods? And did not the house where you sought asylum
burn
down, mysteriously, in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. I thought—”

Now he laughed outright. “Of course. You thought I did it. Oh, poor Miss Lamb. Almost, for your sake, I could wish I had. But it was not I you met just after the shooting, was it? I did not give you permission to ride a dangerous horse. Nor was I in the district when the house you were staying in burned down, though it is true that I had been there shortly before, posing as an agitator, and had learned
,
as I thought, that you had found a safe asylum. Miss Lamb, I know it will go against the grain with you, but, for your own sake, you must realize who your enemy is.”

“My enemy? You cannot mean Mr. Mauleverer?”

“Yes, Miss Lamb, or rather, Lord Heverdon—so long as you do not regain your memory.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You never did fathom it, then? I wonder that an intelligent girl like you should not have done so, but I suppose you were blinded by your infatuation for him. But, really, it was all so absurdly obvious. Little Lord Heverdon
burn
s to death in his nursery in the north of England— completely, mark you, so that not a trace remains. And three days later you turn up with a child on your way to Maulever Hall, where the heir to Heverdon lives. I do not know what good you originally thought you would do by going there, but your dangerousness, so far as Mauleverer was concerned, was negatived by your loss of memory. Comic, isn’t it, Miss Lamb, to think that you found shelter in the house of the man from whom you were fleeing. Do you wonder I think you the luckiest girl in the world to have survived?”

Still she would not believe it. “You mean that little Thomas—”

“Is Lord Heverdon. It was an ingenious idea, of Maul
everer’s, was it not, to make a parade of not wanting to be a peer
...
and then be forced ‘for political reasons’ to take his seat in the Lords. Who, knowing all that, would dream of suspecting how foully, in fact, he played for his title? And will do so again, if you do nothing to prevent him. You—and the child—are to become too much of a threat to him, Miss Lamb, now that you have found such powerful protectors. I suppose he fears some London doctor may restore your memory—at all events, he leaves for Maulever Hall tonight. I would not give much for the child’s chances when he gets there.”

“I don’t believe it.” And then, admitting doubt: “But how do you know?”

“I have made it my business to do so. It was madness, Miss Lamb, to leave the child at Maulever Hall, exposed to such danger. I cannot think how he has survived so long, except, I suppose that Mauleverer thought there was no danger of his identity being discovered. But now—with you in London, and so powerfully protected—it is no wonder that he hurries down there as soon as his committee breaks up this afternoon. I cannot go myself. Besides, I have no authority. But surely you could make up some story to satisfy the servants and remove the child to a place of safety. Best of all, you could bring him to London; there must be some one in town who can identify him as Lord Heverdon.”

“Surely, Lady Heverdon
...
Oh!” Marianne paused, horrified.

“You have seen it at last. Of course she is in the plot too. You must know what a blow her husband’s will was to her. Once the child is out of the way, she will marry Mauleverer—or Lord Heverdon, to give him the title he covets so—and enjoy the entire estate.”

“Good God.” Appallingly, now, everything fell into place. Something strange about Lady Heverdon’s behavior when they had first met. That cold greeting had not been pride, but shock. She had pretended to be tired, turned pale—no wonder. And, later, she had known a surprising amount about Thomas—again, no wonder. “She knew me all the time?”

“Of course. You were the nursemaid at Heverdon House. Mauleverer, I believe, had never met either you or the child—I expect he preferred to carry on his villainy from a distance, but Lady Heverdon could not help but recognize you. I tell you again, it is a miracle that you survived.”

“But you—what is your part in this?”

“I am not permitted to tell you.”

She rallied. “That is absurd. You came to me, before, with a tale you now admit to have been a fabrication from start to finish. You cannot expect me to believe you, now, unless you can give me some proof of your
bona fides
.”

“But can I trust you?”

“The question is, can I trust you!”

“Very well then, but I put my career in your hands. I am one of Sir Robert Peel’s new policemen, specially assigned, because of certain suspicions roused by their activities, to watch Mauleverer and his ‘friend’ Lady Heverdon.”

“You—? A member of the police force? I don’t believe it.”

He shrugged. “Have it your own way. I cannot offer you proof, since it is exactly part of my assignment that I should appear other than what I am.”

“But if you are”—once again she was hesitating—“why cannot you act to protect the child?”

“How can I? So far, they have been too clever for me; I have suspicion enough to convince me, but no proof that I could take to court—or even to my superiors. I must be able to prove that a crime has been committed before I can take action. That is what has hamstrung me all along; that is why I came to you before with what you so justly condemn as a story of a cock and a bull. But, at least, you must confess, I saved your life. I doubt if you would be quibbling with me here if you had stayed much longer at Maulever Hall. Wait, if you like, until the child’s sudden, and doubtless quite accidental death proves me right, but I would not want to have your conscience afterward.”

Horribly, his story held together. Against every instinct, and every wish, she felt herself begin to believe him. And yet—no, it was impossible. “Surely there must be someone who can vouch for you, without endangering your task?”

“I can hardly send you to Sir Robert Peel for confirmation. But stay—you could, I suppose, go to our Bow Street office and ask whether they have an officer of my name. I do not see that that can do any harm. Will that satisfy you?”

“I suppose so. But what is your name? Not, I am sure, Paul Rossand.”

He laughed. “I can see you will never forgive me that first deception. But, I ask you, what else could I do? As it is, I fear I have gravely exceeded my commission for
y
our sake. Telling you my name is merely the last of a series of offenses for which I might easily be dismissed. I must ask you to word your query discreetly.”

“Of course.”

“Very well then.” He looked carefully around to make sure that no one was in earshot, then leaned close to her, to whisper: “Ask them at Bow Street if John Barnaby is not one of their best men. But lose no time, I beg you. Mauleverer’s committee may break up at any minute and then, I have it on the best authority, he leaves for Devon at once. And, one other thing. For his sake, as well as mine, tell no one where you are going, or why. So far, as I have admitted to you, though I have the strongest possible suspicions, I have no proof against him. If he can be prevented from the crime he now contemplates; if little Lord Heverdon can be saved; who knows, it may be possible to restore the child to his rank without any undue scandal.” She was uncomfortably aware of his sharp eyes, studying her face. “I know,” he went on, “that it is because of your feeling for Mark Mauleverer that you have been so slow to grasp what has been right before your eyes. If you wish, perhaps you can save him. He has been influenced throughout,
I
am convinced, by Lady Heverdon about whose past career I could tell you things
...
But that is not my business, now. My aim is to save the child, and, if possible, to avoid a scandal which must play the very deuce with this Reform Bill Mauleverer has worked so hard for. Just imagine what a handle it would be for the Tories! That is why I have such unusual latitude in handling this case. My instructions come from the top, Miss Lamb, from the very top. Lord Grey”—once again he looked carefully around to make sure they were alone—“Lord Grey,” he whispered, “cannot afford to have Mauleverer discredited. There is your chance, Miss Lamb, if you care to try and save him. Remove the child; bring him back to London; claim, if you like, that you have recovered your memory, that you remember running away with the child in a fit of pique over Lady Heverdon’s injustice—she was a deplorable mistress, as I am sure you can imagine
...
Do that, and though there will be a nine days’ wonder, and you must fall under a certain amount of censure, that will be the end of it. You have powerful friends; they will bring you off. And—if you care for it—you will have saved Mauleverer.”

“You mean—nothing will be done?”

“Nothing. You have my word for it. But, you have not
much time.” And as if to underline his warning, London’s golden-voiced churches began to chime the hour. “May I escort you to Bow Street?” he asked. “I cannot, of course, come in with you, but I do not like to think of you going there alone.”

It was the clincher. If he was so certain, he must, indeed, be what he claimed. “No need,” she said. “I believe you. God help me.”

“At last. You will not regret it, Miss Lamb. But, remember, not a word to anyone if he is to be saved.” He drew his cloak still more closely round his face, ready to leave her.

“But where can I get in touch with you?”

“I hope there will be no need. The less hint of collusion between us, the better. But, if it is absolutely vital, a note to Bow Street will always find me.”

This assurance laid to rest her final doubts, or, rather, her last glimmering of hope. If he spoke so confidently, he must indeed be what he claimed. But there was no time, now, for anguish, for the horrible laying together of one tiny fact with another that must prove Mauleverer a villain. If she was to save him from the results of his crime, she must act at once. And save him, of course, she must. There was no question about that. Hurrying back across the frozen park, she looked at herself almost with horror. Mauleverer was a proved villain, had even tried to kill her—and she still loved him, and was still prepared to risk anything to save him from the consequences of his crime. Crossing Park Lane, “Oh, the poor Duke,” she thought.

She re-entered Lundy House, as she had left it, by a side door and got safely to her room without encountering any of the morning callers who were doubtless still paying the morning-after visits that etiquette demanded. She must be alone and achieve some order in her frantic thoughts. Mauleverer was a villain. It was not possible. And yet—how little, in fact, she knew him. That he was fiercely ambitious, she had always been aware. Could it be that love had blinded her to the true direction of that ambition? That was the rub; that was what weakened her passionate, instinctive defense of him. It was the very fact that she loved him so. How could she trust herself to consider his behavior with the cool light of reason. And yet, Paul Rossand, or rather, Mr. Barnaby had given her no cause to trust him either. Why should she believe him against Mauleverer?

Absurd to have let him convince her so easily. She picked
up her pelisse and fur mull and hurried downstairs. She had never taken a hackney carriage before, but found one easily enough in Park Lane and directed the man to drive her to Bow Street police station. He gave a little whistle of surprise at the instruction, but whipped up his horses readily enough, while she sank back in the musty interior and went on wrestling with her chaotic thoughts.

She was received civilly enough at Bow Street, and made her enquiry bluntly and without preamble. “Mr. Ba
rn
aby? Course he’s one of ours, miss, but you can’t see him now. He ain’t here.”

“I don’t want to see him. But there is such a man?” she asked again.

The man looked at her in faintly pitying surprise. “Course there is. Jim,” he shouted to a colleague who was lounging against the wall trimming his nails with a penknife. “Here’s a young lady wants to know if John Barnaby is real!”

“Real. I should rather think he is, and so do a plenty of burglars and other such, I can tell you. Just be grateful you ain’t ever likely to run into him in the way of business, miss, that’s all.” Her appearance had won her a courteous hearing, but he made no attempt to conceal his opinion that she was just another crazy young society female. She thanked him and returned to the hackney carriage, whose driver she had told to wait. And still, on the drive back to Lundy House, she tried, in the face of this new evidence, to believe that it was Rossand, not Mauleverer, whom she should suspect. After all, he had been in the village just before the cottage had burned down. But he had explained that. And it was equally true that, before that, it had been Mauleverer who had appeared immediately after the firing of the shot that had nearly killed her. Looking back, trying to sort out memory from imagination, she was sure that she had thought, at first, that his footsteps were those of her attacker, looking for her to administer the
coup de grace.
Then, in the exquisite relief of his appearance, she had forgotten all about it. But, hope would go on arguing, if he had attacked her, why did he not finish the business? And, of course, brutal reason had its answer ready: he had heard Lady Heverdon coming. And, still, she would not believe it. Impossible to trust her own judgment. She must defy John Ba
rn
aby’s instructions at least to the extent of consulting the Duchess.
She
would not be blinded by her feelings; she would advise her.

The decision was an enormous relief; and she paid off her driver and hurried indoors with a new spring of hope in her heart. Somehow, the Duchess would be able to explain it all
...