An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (108 page)

The groom ran to the horses’ heads while Caroline descended.

“Was there ever such ill-fortune?” she asked Sir Montagu angrily. “Here we are well up to time and only a few miles to go when this occurs.”

“Mayhap it will only take a few minutes,” he suggested consolingly. “Come inside, Caroline. It is not too ill a place. I have rested here before and a glass of wine will serve us well. My throat is dry with dust.”

“Very well, if it please you,” Caroline said. “But instruct them to attend to the wheel with all possible haste.”

Sir Montagu turned to the groom.

“Now hurry, lad, find the ostler and bring me tidings as to what can be done.”

“Aye, sir,” the boy replied, as Sir Montagu, sweeping off his hat with a gesture, opened the door of the inn to allow Caroline to enter.

It was a small place low-ceilinged and oak-beamed, with an atmosphere of cleanliness and cheer and the parlour had a log-fire burning brightly in the big fireplace. There was only one occupant sitting before it, his feet outstretched to the flames, a glass of wine at his elbow. He glanced up casually as the door opened. When he saw who stood in the doorway he sat up abruptly, his eyebrows raised in astonishment.

He was a young man, Caroline noted, dressed in the height of fashion, his well padded olive-green coat trimmed with sparkling buttons. His dark hair was arranged in the latest windswept style and he would have been good-looking save that his thick eyebrows nearly met across the bridge of his nose in what appeared to be a perpetual frown, and his full mouth turned down at the corners as, if he viewed life with a constant sneer.

“If you will seat yourself by the fire,” Sir Montagu was saying to Caroline as they entered the room, “I will order a bottle of wine” He raised his voice, “Hi, landlord.”

The young man in. the green coat sprang to his feet.

“Reversby!” he exclaimed “What are you doing here?”

It was obvious both by the tone of his voice and by the expression on his face that he was none too pleased to see Sir Montagu. The latter turned slowly and paused before he replied in his most suave tones,

“I collect no reason why I should answer that question? You have not bought the place have you?”

Caroline felt uncomfortable, for it was obvious that the two men had no liking for one another, then she suddenly remembered her own position and that she did not wish to be recognised. She turned her head away, hoping that the size of her fashionable bonnet would cast a shadow over her face and she was thankful to hear a woman’s voice ask,

“Would her ladyship like to step upstairs?”

“Indeed I would,” Caroline answered and she moved quickly from the parlour into the outer hall where a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman curtsied to her and, lifting high the candle she held in her hand, led the way upstairs.

“This, way, your ladyship. Mind the top step if you please. Tis not the same height as the others and is often a trap for the unwary.”

They reached the landing in safety and the woman opened a door.

“I hope your ladyship will find this room comfortable. It is our best and seldom in use but when we received Sir Montagu’s message this morning, we set to and gave it a right good clean. The bed has been aired too, your ladyship, and hot bricks have been in it the whole day. You will find it comfortable enough, I swear to that for, only last Michaelmas I filled it afresh with the finest goose feathers.”

The landlady pulled back the covers ready to display to Caroline the comforts of the big feather bed which bulged high under the oak four-poster, but Caroline was standing very still, her eyes wide and dark

“Did I hear you say you had a message from Sir Montagu this morning?” she asked.

“Indeed I did, m’lady. A groom arrived just before noon. He told us that Sir Montagu would be staying the night here, and very honoured we were to hear of it for Sir Montagu is an old and valued customer, to be sure. And when the groom added that Sir Montagu would be accompanied by his lady, we were fair excited, for though Sir Montagu has been coming here at various times the past two years and more, 'twas the first we had heard that he was wed. Oh, he’s a fine gentleman, m’lady, and though maybe ‘tis a little late, may I offer your ladyship our most humble felicitations.”

“Thank you – thank you,” Caroline said slowly, and in such a strange tone that the landlady glanced at her sharply.

“But ‘tis tired you are, m’lady and here I am chattering away when I should be getting your supper ready. It’s hoping I am that it will gain your ladyship’s approval, though maybe ‘tis not so fine as what you are used to, but there, we can but do our best, and if your ladyship will ring when you’re ready, I will come back and, escort you downstairs.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said again.

The door shut behind the landlady and Caroline was alone. She stood very still for several seconds and then gave a sudden shiver before she raised both her hands to her cheeks.

Now she was in a mess, in a tangle such as she had never dreamed or imagined. As the full significance of the landlady’s words crept over her, she felt herself shiver again. So Sir Montagu had meant to stay here, had arranged it all, and the trouble over the wheel was but a bit of play-acting between him and his groom. Fool that she had been to be tricked so easily. And yet had she not been more of a fool to be inveigled in the first place into taking part in this wild race, if indeed it had been a race?

Bewildered and frightened Caroline began to think back over all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours and to blame not only Sir Montagu but herself too. Yes, she was at fault from the very beginning.

She had known Sir Montagu Reversby was an outsider. She had been warned about him often enough, and yet it was those very warnings which had obstinately made her accept his company. How crazy, she had been! How wilful, how perverse! And it had brought her to this.

The Countess of Bullingham, Caroline’s godmother, was presenting her this season because her mother was not well enough to leave the country and endure the exhausting formalities of launching a debutante. There was not, however, room in Lady Bullingham’s town residence for Caroline to stay with all her retinue of attendants so her father’s magnificent mansion, Vulcan House, in Grosvenor Square, had been opened, and Caroline resided there with a cousin, the Honourable Mrs Edgmont, as chaperon.

But this did not prevent Lady Bullingham from keeping a strict surveillance over her charge, and little escaped her ladyship’s eagle eye.

“I detest that man Reversby, Caroline,” she had said as they drove home from a ball at Devonshire House. “I should give him the cold shoulder if I were you.”

Caroline laughed.

“He is very persistent, Ma’am. He offered for me for the third time this evening.”

“Offered for you?” Lady Bullingham’s voice was shrill. “How dare he? What impertinence! As if you, the toast of the season and the greatest heiress of the year, would look at him.”

“His very impertinence amuses me,” Caroline answered. “He is not easily cast away.”

“He will never enter the portals of my house,” her ladyship replied. “Offered for you indeed! I cannot imagine what your father would say.”

Caroline laughed. She could well imagine the chilly indifference with which her father would sweep Sir Montagu from his path, but at the same time it was an undeniable fact that she met him everywhere. He seemed in some way or another to obtain the entree to most houses, and the way he asserted impertinently that he intended to marry her made her laugh even while she did not take him seriously.

She might have heeded her godmother’s warning more readily had not Lady Bullingham with a singular lack of tact incited Lord Glosford also to warn Caroline against Sir Montagu. Caroline considered the Earl of Glosford a bore. She was well aware that her godmother wished her to marry him for, as the future Duke of Melchester, he was a notable catch from the matrimonial point of view.

Caroline, however, cordially disliked Lord Glosford’s la-di-da and effeminate ways, and as she had no more intention of taking his offer seriously than she had Sir Montagu’s, it was irritating to be lectured by him.

“The fellow’s a trifle smoky, you know,” he said languidly, ‘in fact, he’s not up to scratch Caroline. I should give him the go-by.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Caroline remarked “but I consider myself a better judge of human nature than your lordship is of horseflesh.”

This was a palpable thrust because Society had been chuckling for weeks over the tale of how Lord Glosford had paid five hundred guineas for a horse which had been found after a few days to have been doped for the sale.

It was perhaps Lord Glosford’s ill-advised words and her godmother’s continual nagging which had made Caroline accept so readily Sir Montagu’s suggestion of a secret race. He had spoken about it to her at a ball and then made an assignation for them to meet the following day in the park.

Mrs. Edgmont could do nothing when, during a stroll in Rotten Row, Sir Montagu walked beside Caroline and spoke in such a low voice that she was unable to overhear the conversation.

“Rohan has vowed that his wife is the best whip in the country, and that he will match his greys against my chestnuts driven by any female I like to suggest,” Sir Montagu said. “The race is to my sister’s house near Sevenoaks, and the wager is one thousand guineas.”

“And you propose that I drive your chestnuts?” Caroline asked.

Her eyes were sparkling. She knew Sir Montagu’s chestnuts. They were incomparable, and it was difficult too, not to wish to beat Lady Rohan who was often insufferable when she boasted of her feats with the ribbons

“I know of no one else who could defeat her ladyship,” Sir Montagu said softly.

Caroline hesitated. She knew she ought to refuse, she knew that a race on which large sums were wagered was not the sort of sport in which any well-bred girl should indulge, let alone Lady Caroline Faye, only daughter of the Marquis and Marchioness of Vulcan ... and yet the temptation was so great.

“I suggest,” Sir Montagu went on in his soft silky voice, “that no one shall know whom I nominate as my whip until the race is run. One phaeton shall start of Hyde Park Corner and the other from Whites Club. There will be starters at both places and only when the race is won shall we reveal the identity of the winner.”

“But how shall we keep it a secret?” Caroline asked. ‘Mrs. Edgmont will question me if I wish to leave the house after we have dined.”

“You can leave a note saying that you have made arrangements to meet some friends and will be in the company of Lady Rohan. You will be home earlier than if you had been to a ball, and if your chaperon learns the truth she will be too proud of you to chatter overmuch.”

Mrs. Edgmont would be too horrified not to wish to keep it quiet, Caroline thought, but she felt the excitement was worth any, risk even her godmother’s anger. It would be a thrill such as she had never known before to race against the tried and famous Lady Rohan, who was spoken of always as a nonpareil with a whip.

There might be trouble later, but Caroline had never lacked courage. She raised her firm little chin.

“I will do it,” she told the gratified Sir Montagu, “but it must be a dead secret until the race is over.”

“I swear it,” he replied.

She could be sure now that he had kept his word. Of course there had been no race, no bet, no competing phaeton driven by Lady Rohan. It had just been a trick to get her into his power and for all she knew, he might not even have a sister living near Sevenoaks. All she could be certain of was that it seemed inevitable that she must stay here tonight as Sir Montagu’s wife, and the price of his silence would be the announcement of their engagement.

Caroline shivered again as she thought of it. There was something oily and unpleasant about Sir Montagu. She had always known him for a commoner, even though it had amused her to flaunt him in the face of her other admirers who were all much younger, and who often found it difficult to compete with his wit and insolent effrontery.

Caroline looked around the bedroom, at the big four-poster bed, at the fire burning in the small fireplace, at the vase of flowers standing on the dressing-table with its frilled muslin petticoat.

Sir Montagu had chosen a pretty setting for his treachery. The mere thought of his thick, smiling lips, his dark eyes and his rather large hands filled her with a terrified repulsion. She had got to escape, she had got to get away from here. But how? How?

If she made a scene, if she called for the landlady and insisted on being sent back to London in a post-chaise, it would still cause a scandal. Besides, there was always the chance that they would not heed her, they might even think that it was just the shyness and the fright of a bride. It would be easy for Sir Montagu to over-rule her protests, to constitute himself her jailer as well as the legal lord and master they believed him to be.

Caroline looked wildly round her once again and then she crossed to the window. She threw wide the diamond-paned casement. The moon was giving more light than when she had entered the inn. It flooded the small garden which lay behind the house and beyond it she saw the darkness of trees. A wood! Caroline stared towards it and then looked down. Below the window was a drop of perhaps five or six feet on to a flat piece of roof which might cover a small larder or scullery. At the side of this, dimly outlined in the shadows, Caroline could see a water butt.

She stood staring down at it and made up her mind. She crossed the bedroom to the door and bolted it then, hurrying to the casement, she- swung herself on to the window-sill. Her dress of French velvet, with its rucked hem and full sleeves gathered and slashed with satin, was somewhat difficult to manipulate, but Caroline was used to climbing.

Indeed this was by no means the first occasion on which she had climbed out of a bedroom window. Time and time again as a child she had been punished by her governesses and by her parents for climbing out of her bedroom at home, and playing truant in the park or going down to the beach when she should have been asleep