The Jewelled Snuff Box (14 page)

Chapter XV. The Ingenuity Of My Lady

AT THE SOUND of her husband’s voice, my lady’s expression changed to one of alarm. She cast an unguarded glance at Sir Richard. It was not lost upon the Earl.

“You appear to lead a most exciting life in my absence, my love,” he said, smoothly. “I am delighted to feel you so well entertained. Er — your servant, Carisbrooke.”

Sir Richard returned the salutation as coolly as he might. The situation was fraught with difficulty.

Betty chose this moment to revive fully, and sitting upright, immediately burst into a flood of tears.

“Hold your tongue, creature!” snapped Celia. She was momentarily at a loss. The Earl’s appearance had for the time being put an end to all possibility of questioning the abigail further, and placed herself and Sir Richard in a very awkward predicament.

“You appear to be in some disorder, girl,” said the Earl, not unkindly, taking in the details of Betty’s swollen nose and blood-stained collar. “You’d best get you to bed.”

Betty leapt up with alacrity, and, holding her apron to her face, ran from the room, thankful to escape. Jane made as if to follow her.

“One moment,” said the Earl, detaining her by a gesture. “I desire you to remain, Miss Tarrant, if you please.”

He turned indolently to Celia, who was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, her mind racing furiously.

“I think you will agree, my dear, that I am entitled to some explanation of this extraordinary scene,” he said drily, drawing forth a snuff box from his pocket, and inhaling a pinch.

His eyes travelled slowly round the group as he returned the box to his pocket in leisurely fashion, then flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve with a lace-bordered kerchief.

A moment passed, in which the ticking of the clock could be clearly heard. No one moved or spoke. Then Sir Richard started forward.

“I can explain, my lord,” he began. “If you will have the goodness to hear me in private —”

There was nothing for it but to attempt to take the blame of this clandestine meeting upon himself, shielding Celia as best he might. It would be difficult enough, he reflected ruefully as he spoke. Invention was not his strong suit; he could have wished for a little more time in which to concoct a story that would leave the lady blameless.

But he had reckoned without Celia herself. She was in no need of any assistance in inventing a plausible tale. She broke in upon him now, a look of ineffable sweetness on her face.

“No, Sir Richard, I will tell him.”

She was once more poised and collected; gone was all trace of the woman who had stormed and ranted like any fishwife barely ten minutes since. She turned to Jane, who was an embarrassed spectator of the scene.

“I do not think you can any longer hope to keep your secret, dearest Jane. Forgive me if I betray your confidence, but I imagine that Sir Richard himself was about to do so.”

Jane stared in amazement.

“I?” she gasped. “I cannot —”

“Do not be alarmed,” cut in Celia, swiftly. “After all, there is no reason why my husband should be angry with you. Francis —” she turned to the Earl, who was watching all the actors in this comedy with a faint amusement in his green eyes “— you must not be vexed with Jane. She has acted most nobly throughout the whole of this unhappy affair, as I told her when she took me into her confidence. Indeed, I know you will not blame her!”

The Earl bowed.

“Your dependence on my charity is infinitely flattering, my love. Nevertheless, before I can undertake to forgive Miss Tarrant, I must first know what transgression she has committed.”

“As to that,” said Celia, glibly, “it is not so very great a fault. Only consider her situation, with no connections, no fortune — and he in so very different a case!”

“I promise to consider all these things,” drawled the Earl. “Perhaps you will come to the point, my life.”

Celia clasped her hands together in an attitude of supplication.

“Could anything be more romantic? You must see it in that light, Francis, I know! Jane and Sir Richard Carisbrooke have entered into a secret engagement!”

This announcement was not without effect upon her hearers. The Earl raised his brows, and smiled. Jane started, and turned pale. Sir Richard took a hasty step forward.

“Hell and the devil, Celia! —”

“You make very free with my wife’s name, sir,” said the Earl, drily.

“I beg your pardon — this is not a time when I can choose my words — I —”

“Sir Richard,” cut in Celia, glibly, “has been through a trying time, you must admit, Francis. To be enamoured of a lady, and forced to abjure her company — oh, my lord, you must see the tragedy of it!”

Amusement deepened in the Earl’s eyes.

“Must I?” he murmured.

He moved to a chair.

“I beg you will all be seated. I am curious to know more of this — er — touching romance.”

For a moment, Sir Richard’s eyes, dark with annoyance and concern, met Jane’s across the room. He frowned, puzzled; surely the girl’s held pain in their grey depths? He silently heaped curses upon Celia’s head. How like her to ease herself out of a scrape by putting others into one! What did it matter to her that this gentle creature who was, in a sense, in her power, might be turned out of doors without a character? He watched Jane while she made her way to the nearest chair in a daze.

“Well?” queried the Earl, after a pause. “You are all of you extremely reticent. Who is to begin the sad tale?”

“I think,” began Sir Richard, grimly, “that my lady Bordesley would best do justice to it.”

“I am perfectly of your opinion, my dear fellow,” answered my lord, with a flash in his green eyes. “Celia, my love, I am waiting.”

My lady made an endeavour to play for time.

“How is it that you are home tonight?” she parried. “I feared you would be obliged to be much longer absent.”

“That is apparent. My affairs detained me less time than I had thought, and did not, in the event, take me so far from home. But do not let us postpone your interesting recital for such commonplaces. I am all attention.”

Celia saw that there was no way out; the Earl meant to hear this story, denying her the opportunity of time to improve upon it. She must simply do her best.

“Well, you see, Francis, it was this way. You may remember I told you that dearest Jane and I were at school together?”

The Earl nodded, for the first time fixing his eyes upon his wife’s companion. A faint frown creased his brows.

“Sir Richard’s sister was also a pupil in Miss Leasowe’s establishment: she and Jane were the greatest of friends. That is how Jane first met Sir Richard.”

“What is?” asked the Earl.

Celia stared at him for a moment, trying to pierce his mask. Was he really deceived by this farrago of hers, she wondered? Surely he must be, or else why did he appear to be so much amused? He had never before smiled when he had suspected her of a clandestine meeting with another man; and this meeting in her own room was so very much more damning than the encounter with Julian at the theatre, which had led to such a violently jealous scene afterwards. There was no help for it, she must plunge onwards with her story, and hope for the best.

“Why, I mean of course, that Sir Richard and Jane constantly encountered each other, as she and Letty were such friends.”

“I take it, then, that Miss Tarrant visited at her friend’s home?” asked the Earl.

“Oh, naturally!” replied Celia, hurriedly.

“I thought we had better make that clear,” drawled my lord. “Otherwise it is difficult to imagine that there could have been many meetings between a young lady at a Seminary in Kensington, and a man up at Oxford. Continue, my love.”

Sir Richard choked, and hastily covered the sound with a cough. The Earl was a cool hand, and no mistake! He began to feel that the fellow was wasted on Celia.

“Well, that is almost all there is to tell,” went on Celia, a little annoyed by her husband’s attitude. “They fell in love, and R — I mean, Sir Richard — begged Jane to marry him. But her father had been killed in action, she was in reduced circumstances, and felt that it was unfair to him to agree.”

“That is just what I should suppose of her,” said the Earl; and for once his tone was completely serious.

Sir Richard frowned. There was a hint of warmth in the Earl’s manner; for some obscure reason, he found himself resenting it. Celia, too, noticed the change. Well, if Francis had any fancy towards Jane, as she had often suspected, this story must put an end to his hopes. She smiled, triumphant in the knowledge that she was killing two birds with one stone.

“Sir Richard was not so easily put off,” she continued. “At last he succeeded in prevailing upon her to enter into a secret engagement.”

“And the date of this engagement, my life?” purred the Earl.

Celia paused.

“Oh, I am not perfectly certain — is it two or three years since, Jane?”

Jane looked up, alarmed at being applied to, and murmured something unintelligible. She felt utterly wretched. It was the cruellest irony that Celia, in her desire to extricate herself from a tight corner, should have chanced upon this particular subterfuge. Was it indeed chance, or did she suspect the truth? Certainly she had guessed that Jane cherished a secret love, but was she yet aware of the object of that passion?

It made no difference, thought Jane despairingly. The harm was done, and, for the life of her, Jane could see no way out of it. She could not give the lie to Celia without betraying not only her but Sir Richard. Her mind flinched from such an act, from its probable consequences — a scandal, a duel, someone killed; perhaps the man she loved.

A slight smile curved my lady’s lips as her eyes rested on Jane. It was as though she could read the other’s thoughts. Jane Tarrant would not betray her; such a course was utterly foreign to the girl’s nature. And there was nothing to be feared from Richard …

The Earl, too, was remembering what his wife had said concerning Miss Tarrant’s talent for helping others out of scrapes. His expression remained as inscrutable as ever.

“Then I am to infer, my love, that these two star-crossed lovers, knowing your tender heart, confided in you? And that you promoted their meeting secretly in your room?”

Once again, Celia was at a loss. She had quite decided that Francis could not possibly suspect the truth, or else his behaviour would have been very different. But how else to account for his strange manner?

“Yes, that was the way of it,” she answered reluctantly.

“But it is charming, my dear!”

The Earl spread his arms in an expansive gesture.

“And so like you!”

Now Celia was really alarmed: Francis was acting most oddly. Sir Richard, too, watched the Earl curiously. Only Jane seemed too deep in her own thoughts to notice anything amiss.

“I congratulate you, Carisbrooke,” said the Earl suddenly. “You have gained more than you deserve.”

“Why, so I think!” answered Sir Richard, spontaneously.

“You must beware, my dear fellow,” drawled the Earl, with the first hint of steel in his voice. “The luck cannot favour you all the time.”

Sir Richard bowed, and Celia glanced sharply at her husband. But the Earl was watching Jane with compassion in his eyes.

“We must talk of this again,” he said, with a delicately smothered yawn. “I have found it utterly fascinating. However, the hour is well advanced, and I see that Miss Tarrant is weary. You will not think us inhospitable, I trust, Carisbrooke, if we defer our raptures to another time? I have had a long journey, and had thought to spend a quiet evening at home. You will allow me to escort you downstairs.”

Sir Richard could not but feel thankful to have the scene thus brought to a close. He bowed distantly to my lady, hesitated a second, then took a step forward in the direction of Jane’s chair. She looked up at his approach; he winced at the pain in her eyes.

“Miss Tarrant!” he said, impetuously. “I ask your pardon — indeed, I am sorry —”

She gave no sign, but remained staring vacantly before her, as though there had been no one else in the room.

“I await your pleasure, my dear Carisbrooke,” drawled the Earl, ever watchful.

Sir Richard started, sketched a hasty bow, and turned on his heel to follow the other man from the room.

Chapter XVI. A Fugitive

SIR RICHARD slowly descended the steps leading into the Square, confused thoughts chasing round his mind. He tried to put them straight: Bordesley, for instance, what exactly was he up to? Only a fool could have believed him to be deceived by Celia’s tale; and yet, if he was not, why had he appeared to be so amused? His reputation as a jealous husband was notorious, and the secretive way in which Celia had conducted this whole affair bore out the rumours. Yet undoubtedly he had been amused by Celia’s recital. Was it because be believed Sir Richard to have been playing a double game with my lady? That argued that he credited the engagement.

Sir Richard grimaced; he did not care to appear in the light of a gay deceiver to anyone. It was possible, however, that Bordesley had made a show of accepting the story for the benefit of the ladies. Later, the inevitable challenge would follow. Well, that did not worry him, though he would have preferred his opponent to be five and twenty years younger. He had no taste for meeting a man old enough to be his father. Bordesley was a rattling good shot, however; in that sense, they would be evenly matched.
That young woman, Celia’s companion — what the devil was to be done about her? Even if Bordesley did find the whole business amusing, he might well take a very strong line about harbouring a female who indulged in secret meetings with men in his house. He would very likely turn her off without a character, and then —
He had lingered at the foot of the steps, and now turned to quit the Square, impatiently thrusting away his thoughts. As he did so, he all but cannoned into a flying, dark-cloaked figure which suddenly ran up the area steps and into the street. Instinctively he made a grab for the fugutive.

“Here, hold on!” He tightened his grasp. “Where are you off to in such a devil of a hurry — who are you, anyway?”

The figure let out a sob.

“Let me go, please, Sir Richard! Let me go!”

He looked down quickly at the sound of the voice, and thrust back the hood of the cloak.

“Why, ’pon rep, it’s Betty!”

“Yes, y’r honour — let go of me — please do — I’ve got to get away!”

The abigail struggled violently, but could not shake off the man’s firm clasp.

“No, be damned if you do!” he said, quickly. “You’re going to tell me all about Perkins first!”

“I daresn’t — oh, please do let me go, you — you’re hurting me!”

“It won’t hurt if you don’t struggle,” said Sir Richard, practically. “But you’re quite wrong about Perkins, my girl; what you don’t seem to realise is that you daren’t keep silent. For if you don’t tell me the whole instantly, I mean to call up the Watch, and give you in charge for conniving at theft and assault.”

The abigail stopped struggling, and looked up at him. By the pale light of the moon, the man saw the horror in her face.

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes!” mocked Sir Richard, grimly. “I am determined to get to the bottom of this affair.”

“Then let’s get away from here first, y’r honour, if you please! I’ve no wish to be discovered — for go back I never will, and so I swear! I can’t put up with my lady’s ways any longer — I hope she —”

“That will do!” interrupted Sir Richard, although he could not help feeling a certain sympathy for the girl. She had caused him trouble enough, but he felt that Celia’s attack on her had done much to cancel out the debt he owed her for that.

“I have no interest in hearing your views on your mistress; what concerns me is this other matter. We will walk on a little, and you can tell me all you know.”

He released her arm cautiously, prepared to make another grab at her if she should try to escape him. But she evidently realised the uselessness of such a course, for she fell into step beside him, clutching more firmly the bundle which she carried. She turned a pleading face towards him.

“If I can get back the things you’ve lost, y’r honour, will you let me go, and promise not to set the law on Perkins?” she begged breathlessly.

He looked at her sternly.

“You’re in no position for bargaining. Come, I want to hear how all this started. Were you listening at the keyhole when first I visited your mistress?”

“Such as me have to make their way as best they can,” whined Betty.

“So you did listen? What did you hear?”

She shot him a crafty glance, and did not answer. He seized her ungently by the arm.

“Out with it! I’m determined to know; so be quick about it. If you take too long, we’ll see if a Bow Street Runner can loosen your tongue for you.”

It would be difficult to say whether the threat of the Law, or the pressure of the strong hand on her arm worked more powerfully on Betty. However it was, she abandoned all attempt at bargaining or evasion: bit by bit, Sir Richard extracted the story from her.

It seemed that when Betty heard of the existence of an indiscreet letter of my lady’s, which was to be found in the possession of Mr. Summers, she had immediately sent a note to Perkins by way of a cousin of hers who was a carrier. She had instructed Perkins to try and find the letter before Sir Richard should arrive in Kent with the money that had been asked as its price. Perkins had dutifully hunted amongst his master’s effects, but the most painstaking search had failed to bring the document to hand before Sir Richard’s arrival at Farrowdene. Desperate, and unable to consult with Betty, who was the brains of the partnership, the valet had formulated a plan on the spur of the moment.

This was to ride ahead a mile or so on the road which he knew Sir Richard would follow back to London. Betty glossed over the next part of the plan, which had been to waylay Sir Richard and force him to hand over the letter at the point of a pistol. She laid great stress on the fact that Perkins had not expected Sir Richard to put up any resistance, and that the blow on the head which had followed had been entirely fortuitous.

“He told me he was fair demented when he saw you lying senseless there on the ground, not knowing for sure how badly you was hurt,” continued Betty. “He started to turn everything out of your pockets to look for the letter; but he was so on edge, what with you looking like one dead, and him fearing that at any minute someone might pass that way, that he didn’t make no great headway with the search. In the end, he decided to take all the things along with him, and look through them properly later, when he’d got away from that place.”

“So he went, leaving me to my fate,” said Sir Richard, grimly. “An attractive character, your Perkins! He richly deserves the hanging I feel sure will one day overtake him. And what did he do with my poor mare, pray? She must have been frightened out of her wits.”

“He left her at a nearby inn,” answered the girl, “saying that his master would call for her in a day to two. Your honour needn’t worry over the horse — she’ll be there safe enough yet.”

“Where is this place?”

She hesitated.

“I don’t rightly know, y’r honour.”

“Then lead me to this fellow Perkins.” ordered Sir Richard, peremptorily. “I mean to clear up this affair, once for all.”

The abigail clutched at his arm.

“Oh, no, indeed I can’t, Sir Richard — I promised not to tell anyone where he is —”

“Honour among thieves, eh?”

He reflected rapidly for a moment. No doubt he was a fool, but he did not care to bully the abigail into betraying her man. Who knows, perhaps the girl was genuinely in love with him: she seemed to be a mean, crafty piece of goods, but appearances could be deceptive.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said abruptly. “If I can recover my property and my horse, I’m prepared to forget about the assault on my person. You take me to this fellow, and I’ll guarantee that if he hands the things over intact, I’ll leave it at that.”

It was some time before he could persuade Betty that he meant what he said. At last, however, he did succeed in convincing her, and she confided to him that Perkins had taken refuge with a relative of his who owned a small tavern in the City. Sir Richard was determined to set off there at once, but, after some argument, the abigail managed to dissuade him from this course. She said that Perkins would be abed long since, and the place shut up for the night. Sir Richard’s arrival in the small hours would create the kind of stir that might well bring the Watch down upon them.

This suggestion gave him pause: he felt that he had enjoyed more than enough excitement for one evening.

“You can come there tomorrow, y’r honour, and talk to him as private as may be in a room at the back of the tap. I’ll go there first thing in the morning, and prepare him for your coming. My cousin the carrier’s wife’ll give me a bed for the night, I hope — what’s left of it.”

“An excellent arrangement,” approved Sir Richard. “And now you may give me the bundle you’re carrying.”

She looked startled, and asked why.

“You cannot suppose that I am such a mutton-head as to trust you without any surety for your good behaviour?” he asked scornfully. “I dare say there are things in this bundle you would not lose for any money, otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed to put them together in a moment of such urgency. I will be at this place tomorrow at —”

He paused, considering. “At mid-day,” he resumed. “If I don’t find your friend there, I go at once to Bow St., and acquaint them with the whole. If he should be there, however, and should answer my questions satisfactorily, I will leave your bundle with him — unless you mean to be present yourself.”

Betty was obliged to concur in this plan, and to hand over her bundle; which she did very reluctantly, for, as he had guessed, it contained more than one valuable trinket given her by my lady, and some few which she had quietly abstracted from the jewel case, secure in the knowledge that they would never be missed, as they were pieces of which her mistress had grown tired. What Betty could manage to raise on these would prove the basis of her future existence, for she would find it difficult to obtain another post as lady’s maid, having quitted her present one without the benefit of a character.

Indeed, although she would not positively starve, her prospects did not look nearly so rosy as on that night when she had listened at the door of my lady Bordesley’s boudoir, and thought gleefully that at last she had found the way to easy riches.

She parted from Sir Richard almost persuaded that honesty was the best policy, a maxim which she had been made to write out many times at the little Dame school which she had attended in her childhood, but which had somehow until now never held for her the ring of truth.

Sir Richard took his way homewards, bundle under his arm, deep in thought. His reflections, however, were centered not on the interview which he had arranged for twelve o’clock the next day, but upon one which he planned to attend at an earlier hour in the morning.