Never Call It Love (6 page)

Still
with that look of pleasure mingled with bewilderment and alarm, Mrs. Montlow
touched his hair. "Forgive you for what, my son? What has happened, my
darling?"

"I
was sent down."

"Sent
down? From Oxford?"

"Three
days ago. They said that some of my friends and I made old Quigley fall down
the stairs."

"Quigley?
Who is—"

"He
lays the fires in our rooms. And he stole my ring. I know he did. We were trying
to make him admit it when he somehow lost his balance and fell down the
stairs."

Christopher
was proud of that bit of invention. Sooner or later he would have had to
explain the ring's absence from his finger. Best to blame old Quigley.

"Your
grandfather's ruby ring? Oh, how dreadful! Didn't you tell the dons he'd stolen
it?"

"They
wouldn't have believed me. I had no proof. And Quigley's been there about a
hundred years. They would all have been on his side. And I was afraid that if I
tried
to argue they would
never
let me back into Oxford. I know how much that
would grieve you, Mama. I knew you'd feel my education was more important than
any ring."

"Of
course, my darling."

"Then
you won't say anything to the dons about the ring?"

"But,
Christopher! A ring that valuable—"

"It
would just make things worse for me, Mama. I'd never get back in."

As
he waited for her answer, he thought angrily of old Quigley. Everything had
been his fault, really. If he hadn't kept jabbering about how that part of the
college was haunted—by a student who was killed in a duel nearly two hundred
years ago—they wouldn't have known he was afraid of ghosts. They would never
have thought of dressing up in sheets and jumping out at him there on the dark
landing. As he'd backed away from them, white as a ghost himself, Christopher
had been unable to resist making a lunge toward the old idiot. Quigley had
shied backward, teetered on the top steps for an instant, and then slid
headfirst down the stairs.

Everything
still might have been all right if they'd had a chance to scatter to their
rooms and strip off the sheets. But at that moment, on the floor below, a don
had poked his head out of a doorway and seen them up there at the top of the
stairs.

Mrs.
Montlow said, "Then of course I won't make a fuss about the ring, my
darling."

His
sister had said nothing since he came into the room. He turned his head so that
he could see her, standing motionless beside the fireplace. Her face was rigid.
God's blood! Could she already have heard about the girl?

His
mother said, "But if you were sent down three days ago, where have you
been since then?"

"Geoffrey
was sent down with me. Lord Stanley's son, you know. His parents are in Rome,
so there was no one but a manservant in his London house. I spent the first two
nights there." That much, at least, was true.

"And
last night?"

"Oh,
Mama! That is what I am too ashamed to tell you."

Elizabeth's
heart set up a frightened pounding. She knew she must say something, do
something, to protect her mother from what he was about to reveal, but a kind
of paralysis held her motionless and silent.

Mrs.
Montlow said sternly, "No matter how ashamed you are, you must tell me, my
son."

"I
spent the night with Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons. I went to her house for tea
yesterday afternoon, and I... I didn't leave there until early this
morning."

In
her relief, Elizabeth felt an impulse to burst into hysterical laughter. Here
she had pictured her young brother involved in some unspeakable crime the night
before. And all he had done was to share the bed of the smartest and most
expensive bawd in London.

Mrs.
Montlow, though, was horrified. At many of the morning coffees she had attended
in London during past seasons, Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons had been avidly
discussed. The ladies had speculated about the cost of the house bought for her
by a certain duke, and had disputed as to which of her other lovers had given
her a carriage and pair, and the diamond tiara she wore when attending the
theater at Covent Garden.

"Son!
How is it you even know a woman like that?"

He
explained—and again, so much was true—that Geoffrey had introduced them during
last summer's "long vacation." He and his friend had been strolling
one afternoon in Hyde Park. "Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons' carriage stopped
beside us, and Geoffrey presented me, and she made it clear that... that she
liked me very much, Mama,
liked me enough that if I called on her I wouldn't be expected to give her...
any sort of present."

Mrs.
Montlow looked down at her son, feeling disapproval mingled with a tender,
faintly amused pride. Her little boy had grown into a man now, a man so
attractive that a woman like Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons would grant him her
expensive favors for nothing.

"That
was wrong of you, my son. You should have nothing to do with such women."

She
realized the futility of her own words. As she herself had said, she was not
"clever," but she was clever enough to know that forbidding a boy of
his generation to stay away from such women was like forbidding a young eagle
to fly.

"I
know." Still kneeling, he raised his head and looked up at her.
"There is more I have to tell you. None of it is my fault, but it will...
distress you, Mama."

Again
Elizabeth's nerves tensed. Her mother said, "Tell me, Christopher. Don't
be afraid."

"I...
I was still asleep this morning when Peggy—I mean, Mrs.
Frazier-Fitzsimmons—came back upstairs. She said her maid told her that she'd
heard that the Kingman Street house had been broken into early the evening
before."

"Our
house?"

"Yes.
It was a group of young men, and they had some girl with them, and there was
some sort of accident. She fell through a window or something. Anyway, Peggy
said there were bailiffs—Bow Street Runners—looking for me to arrest me."

"Bailiffs!
Arrest you! But why...?

"I
don't know. I suppose it was just because it was my house." Aware of his
sister standing rigid and silent, gray eyes fastened on his face, he began to
speak very rapidly. "Anyway, I was frightened. I wanted to get to you and
Liza before the bailiffs found me. Peggy took me in her
carriage as far
as Highgate, and I... I walked all the way from there, Mama. When I got near
home—it was early this afternoon then—I realized how hard it would be to tell
you all this. And so I slipped through the garden's back gate and into the
carriage house. I... I've been hiding out there for five or six hours, trying
to get my courage...." His voice faltered.

Elizabeth
stared at the slender, kneeling figure with the face of a Botticelli angel. How
much of his story was true? Had he really spent all last night with that woman,
and then left London this morning? Or had he fled the city last evening, soon
after a girl had fallen to her death, and then walked fifteen miles through the
darkness to the carriage house? Perhaps he had been hiding out there since not
long after the previous midnight, rather than just since early this afternoon.

Her
mother said, "You have told us, my son, and now there is no reason to be
afraid. You cannot be arrested for something you didn't do. Isn't that right,
Elizabeth?"

"If
a bailiff comes here with a warrant for Christopher's arrest," Elizabeth
said, "he will have to execute that warrant." She saw her brother's
large blue eyes throw her a swift, wary glance.

"But
Elizabeth! When the house was broken into, Christopher was with that
woman." Fleetingly Mrs. Montlow wondered if the house had been damaged and
if the "accident" involving the girl her son had mentioned had been a
serious one. But all of that was a minor consideration compared to
Christopher's welfare. "All Christopher has to do is to tell the bailiff
he was with that woman last night She will confirm his story. Why not? She has
no reputation to lose."

Christopher
got to his feet "Liza is right, Mama. If a bailiff comes here with a
warrant he'll have to arrest me, no matter what anybody says. And it won't
matter what Peggy
tells the authorities, now or later. The word of a woman like that won't carry
any weight.

"And
that is why," he rushed on, "that you and Liza have got to say I came
home yesterday afternoon, and had supper with you, and slept last night in my
room. Hawkins has to say it, too. If you all three say that, and keep saying
it, I may not even have to stand trial. And even if I do, I'll be freed."

"Stand
trial?" Mrs. Montlow's face was still bewildered. "I don't understand
any of this. Even if you had done it, which you did not, how could they make
you stand trial for breaking into your own house?"

"The
girl, Mama. Remember I said they had a girl with them? What if she was badly
hurt? What if she is... dead?"

His
mother's face went white. She whispered, "Oh, Christopher!"

"Don't
look like that, Mama! It will be all right if you and Liza stand by me. All you
have to say is that I have been with you since yesterday afternoon."

"Oh,
my son! Of course we will. Won't we, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth
said, after a long moment, "He is asking us to commit perjury."

Outraged
color dyed Mrs. Montlow's face. Seeing it, Elizabeth felt that at least it was
less frightening than her pallor of a moment before. "Perjury!" Mrs.
Montlow said. "Here your brother may be put on trial for..." She
could not say the word. "And you stand there using silly words like
'perjury.'"

She
got to her feet. "Christopher, are you hungry?"

"Yes.
Very hungry."

"Go
upstairs to your room. I want to talk to your sister alone. Then I'll bring
some food up to you."

"Thank
you, Mama." He bent, kissed her cheek.

He
had to pass close to Elizabeth as he left the room. He gave her one sad,
appealing glance, and then, head
bent, went out into the hall. The two
women heard him climbing the stairs.

"Now!"
Mrs. Montlow began firmly.

"Mother,
if we're going to talk, please sit down."

"Very
well." Mrs. Montlow sank into her chair. Elizabeth crossed the room to a
small cabinet, took a vial of smelling salts from its upper drawer, and then
came to her mother's side. "Breathe this."

After
an apprehensive glance at her daughter's face, Mrs. Montlow took the vial from
her hand and inhaled deeply. Then she said, "What is it? Do you have
something more to tell me?"

"That
girl in our house last night. She did die."

Mrs.
Montlow lost color. Holding the vial to her nostrils, she again breathed
deeply. Then she said, almost calmly, "How is it you know this?"

"Hawkins
told me, just before I went out for a walk this afternoon. The butcher had
heard the story in the village, and he told her about it when he brought the
joint of mutton. I was about to tell you when Christopher tapped on the terrace
door."

"I
see. Then you must realize what you must do. If a bailiff comes in the morning,
you must tell him that Christopher has been with us since yesterday
afternoon."

"I
am sure a bailiff will be here in the morning. But I won't see him. I intend to
stay in my room, indisposed." She had made up her mind to that within the last
few minutes. "You and Hawkins can tell the bailiff whatever you like. If
he has a warrant, it will make no difference."

Thin-lipped,
her mother looked at her. "And later on, if your brother has to stand
trial? What will you do then?"

"It
depends upon what Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons tells me tomorrow. I shall walk to
the village in the morning and take the stagecoach to London."

She
paused, half-expecting her mother to protest that
no respectable woman could dream
of entering Mrs. Frazier-Fitzsimmons' house. But evidently right now her mother
had no room for concern about anything except her son.

Elizabeth
went on, "If that woman confirms Christopher's story, I'll be willing to
swear that he has been here with us since yesterday afternoon. Because he's quite
right about her, you know. No jury would believe the testimony of a bawd, even
one who has been kept by a duke."

Mrs.
Montlow flinched slightly at the word "bawd," but all she said was,
"And if she tells you that Christopher was not with her last night?"

"I
don't know what I will do then."

"You
would accept that woman's word against your own brother's?"

"I
don't
know.
I just know that a girl is dead. I just know that I have to
learn more about this before I can bring myself to... to stand up in court and
swear before God that Christopher could have had nothing to do with her
death."

Mrs.
Montlow got to her feet. "You have been a fine daughter to me, Elizabeth,
and I love you. But I must tell you that sometimes you lack human
feeling."