Deborah Goes to Dover (12 page)

Deborah gulped. ‘I d-don’t want to break h-hearts.’

He put his candle down on a table and put a long finger under her chin and tilted it up. ‘I should write to your father,’ he said softly, ‘and warn him of the enchantress his daughter has become.’ He stooped and kissed her gently on the mouth, startled to receive the same dizzying shock he had experienced when he kissed her before. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeper.

William, above them on the landing, looked down in horror at the couple in each other’s arms, standing in the pool of light shed by the candle. He had gone in search of Deborah to tell her about his prime joke on the earl, confident that such a mild practical joke would not prompt the earl to damn him with Clarissa.

He now forgot about Clarissa. Deborah was leaving him for that adult world of conventions and marriage. Gone were all the easy days of companionship, of hunting and fishing.

Whatever it was between Ashton and his sister must be stopped. He crept away. If he interrupted them, demanded that Ashton state his intentions, then he was dismally sure that Puritan Ashton would
promptly
point out that his intentions were honourable. He must think up some way to stop him.

The earl released Deborah and said, ‘You are trembling.’

‘So are you,’ said Deborah shakily.

‘It is cold and we are behaving quite disgracefully. What would Miss Pym say?’ He dropped a light kiss on her nose and picked up the candle. ‘I shall see you tomorrow,’ he said huskily. ‘There is much we have to discuss.’

Deborah felt dizzy and light-headed. She was sure he loved her. He would not have kissed her otherwise, not Puritan Ashton.

Outside her door, she gave him a shy good night.

William was lying in bed, pretending to be asleep as he heard the door of his room open. No doubt Ashton had arrived to read the riot act. The earl went quietly over to the toilet-table and picked up a full jug of water. He walked over to the bed and tipped the contents over William’s head. William sat up spluttering. From the darkness came the earl’s mocking voice, ‘Do not ever play tricks onme again, young William, or itwill be the worse for you.’ Then William heard the door close.

He sat up in bed, cursing, and fumbled with his tinder-box until he was able to light the bed-candle. He got up and dried himself and put on his clothes and sat sulkily in a chair by the fire. Damn Ashton. There must be some way to pay him out and keep Deb free of him.

And then he remembered Ashton had said
something
about writing to Clarissa and her brother. A great idea struck him. If he could find that letter …

He went downstairs and made his way to the earl’s study. There were various bills and estate books on the desk, but there on top was a half-finished letter. He drew his candle close and began to read. The earl had given the Carruthers an account of Miss Pym’s further adventures and the haunting of Lady Carsey.

He put down the letter which fortunately, he noticed, although unfinished, stopped at the end of a page. The earl obviously meant to write more before he sent it off. William took a fresh piece of paper. The earl wrote in a clear italic script, easy to copy. ‘As far as Lady Deborah is concerned,’ William wrote, ‘she has proved quite charming out of her men’s clothes and will provide me with an interesting bit of dalliance before I decide to settle on the business of finding me a wife. Perhaps you know of some suitable lady?’

William then took the two pages of the earl’s letter and the page on which he had written the forgery and darted quickly up the stairs again and found his way to his sister’s bedchamber.

She was lying asleep and he shook her roughly by the shoulder. ‘Who is it?’ demanded Deborah crossly.

‘It is I, William. Wake up. You should read this.’

‘Read
what
? Oh, William, I had just got to sleep. And I am so very angry with you. Whatever possessed you to play such a childish trick on Ashton?’

Her brother lit a branch of candles and carried it over to the bed. ‘I was ferreting around downstairs looking for something to read and I came across this half-written letter. It’s from Ashton to that Carruthers chap; you remember he said he was writing to Clarissa and her brother?’

Deborah struggled up, aghast. ‘William, you have no right to read anyone else’s correspondence.’

‘And nor would I have,’ said William righteously, ‘if I had not just glanced down at it and seen your name. You need not read all, just the last page. There’s only one paragraph, the letter is not finished, but it is just as well. You will find what he has written about you is bad enough.’

As Deborah read it and turned white, William felt a stab of conscience but persuaded himself fiercely he was doing it all for his sister’s own good. Ashton was too old for her, and she should not be thinking of marriage yet.

‘Take it away,’ said Deborah, holding it out with the tips of her fingers after she had read it. She lay down and turned her face into the pillow.

‘You had to know,’ said William gruffly.

‘Go away.’

‘Don’t take it so hard, Deb. Let’s get out of here. I can rouse the groom and get the carriage brought round. You’ll feel better at home.’

There was a long silence. He was almost on the point of saying he had forged that part of the letter when she suddenly sat up, two spots of anger burning on her white cheeks.

‘Yes, William,’ she said fiercely. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘Good girl. Get ready and meet me outside. Don’t bother to pack anything. We can send the servants for it later.’

He ran downstairs and put the earl’s part of the letter back where he had found it. Then he went back to his room. The fire was nearly out, but he thrust his forgery through the bars of the grate and then went back down again, unbolted the heavy front door and ran to the mews to rouse their groom.

Twice on the road home, he nearly told his sister the truth, she was so quiet and sad. But tomorrow would surely see her restored to her old self and her old clothes and her old way of speech. In the short space of time since the earl had kissed her, she had not sworn or spoken like a groom.

Deborah felt quite cold and empty. She would never marry now. She would hunt and fish with William and they would grow old together, two eccentrics, two Originals, while the earl went to London and found himself a lady who would faint at the very sight of a female in men’s clothes.

The earl did not discover the absence of the twins until late in the afternoon. He had had an early breakfast with Miss Pym, who, he was amused to see, seemed to have taken over the running of his
household, giving orders to the butler about the proper cleaning of the rooms. Then he had ridden out to visit his tenant farmers. He was looking forward to getting the work of the day over quickly so that he could tell Lady Deborah all about it. He was conscious of a happiness he had never known before.

Hannah had successfully borne Mrs Conningham off, with Benjamin driving them in a gig, which left Abigail alone with the captain, or so Hannah thought. But the captain had, just before she had left, promptly taken a horse from the stables and had ridden over to Travers’s place for a further look. He did not know Hannah’s plans and was glad to escape from the gushing Mrs Conningham, so Abigail was left alone with the servants to pass the time in gloomy thoughts.

The earl returned at the same time as Hannah and Mrs Conningham. Hannah noticed he looked
carefree
and happy. He told her to tell Lady Deborah that he would be in the drawing-room as soon as he had changed out of his muddy clothes.

It was in the drawing-room that Hannah learned of the ruin of the romances. There was Abigail, sad and downcast, to say she had not seen the captain all day, and there was Judd, the butler, to tell her that Lord William and Lady Deborah had gone home in the middle of the night and had sent servants over in the afternoon to collect their clothes.

And then the earl came in, cheerfully demanding to know where Lady Deborah was and Hannah told him the news and watched in dismay as the happiness died out of his face.

It was a grim dinner. Hannah was glad they were to leave in the morning for Dover. Something awful must have happened between the earl and Lady Deborah, and as for Captain Beltravers, well, Hannah felt like shaking
him
.

Abigail asked Hannah shyly what she should do with Lady Deborah’s gown and jewellery and
Hannah
told her to keep the lot until she heard from Lady Deborah.

The earl was glad to go to bed and get away from them all. His heart felt heavy and he felt like a fool. He must have frightened Deborah. She must have thought him a lecherous old satyr. He was too old for her. But she might at least have said goodbye. He damned the Earl of Staye. He would not go near Downs Abbey again. Let the earl look after his own children!

Deborah and William spent a quiet day fishing without catching anything. Deborah was muddy and cold and depressed when they returned home. For the the first time, she felt the loss of her mother acutely. And then she thought of Hannah Pym. Miss Pym would give her bracing advice. Miss Pym would know what to do.

‘William,’ she said casually. ‘I feel blue-devilled. I would like to know the end of the story, that is, if Miss Pym succeeds in getting Abigail and the captain together. Let’s go to Dover tomorrow and surprise them. I don’t want to travel in another stage-coach. We could take our own travelling-carriage.’

‘Don’t know that I care much what happens to them,’ said William gloomily, for his conscience was beginning to torment him badly. Deb had changed now for good and would not change back, whatever he did. Even going fishing, she had worn an old woollen gown and cloak, something she had never done before, always saying men’s clothes were more practical. She spoke softly and sadly and had not sworn once all day, not even when the fish did not bite.

‘Besides, if we wait here, Ashton will come calling, perhaps …’

William sat up. What if the earl did call and Deborah told him about that letter! William began to sweat at the very idea.

‘Perhaps you have the right of it,’ he said with false heartiness. ‘But no need for an early start. We can leave at noon and still be in Dover at the same time as the coach.’

‘That’s the last of the packing,’ said Hannah,
slamming
down the lid of her trunk, ‘except for my night-rail and a few other things which I can put in in the morning. You know, Benjamin, something awful must have happened between Lord Ashton and the twins. The earl was so elated, so happy at breakfast. Quite a different man. Then when he heard they had left, he became silent and moody.’

‘Mayhap Lord William talked Lady Deborah into going,’ said Benjamin.

‘Why would he do that?’

‘When I was on duty in the drawing-room last night,’ said Benjamin, ‘I couldn’t help noticing how Lord William was sort o’ glowering at his sister when she was talking to the earl. Didn’t like it a bit.’

‘We should have driven over and asked them,’ said Hannah impatiently. ‘Look in their rooms, Benjamin, before we leave in the morning. Despite my efforts, the old servants here are very lazy and I am convinced they will do nothing to clean out the guest bedchambers until other guests are expected.’

‘Very good,’ said Benjamin. He cocked his head to one side and surveyed her. ‘Strikes me you would be better thinking about making a match for yourself than bothering about all these other people.’

‘Benjamin!’

‘Garn! I got eyes in me ’ead. It’s Sir George, ain’t it?’

‘Get out of here, you impertinent jackanapes, before I throw something at your head!’

Benjamin went out grinning. Hannah sat down on the trunk. Now that she was far away from him, the very idea of a romance between such as herself and Sir George seemed totally ridiculous. Better to forget about him. Well, maybe she would see him just once more and then forget about him. Just one other outing. Just one more opportunity to see those blue eyes.

At five in the morning, the stage-coach passengers were roused and told to make ready for their journey to the Crown at Rochester to meet the coach. Benjamin suddenly remembered he had not searched the rooms. As Hannah had guessed, they had not
been touched. There was no clue to anything in Lady Deborah’s room. In William’s, however, he looked thoughtfully down at the bed, which was still wet. That was odd. The very pillow was soaking. He looked about him. The grate was still full of cold ashes. And then Benjamin saw a spool of blackened paper sticking out between the bars in the grate.

He pulled it out and put it in his pocket just as he heard Hannah calling for him.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the earl was there to see them all off. He still looked sad and grim, thought Hannah.

In fact, what a sad lot they all were, she reflected wearily as they all climbed aboard the stage. Abigail’s eyes were red and puffed again, the captain was withdrawn and silent, and Mrs Conningham, who had finally been snubbed by the captain, was looking very down indeed.

They breakfasted at Sittingbourne, and Hannah asked if a Mr Fotheringay was still resident but was told that they did not know anyone of that name. She described Mr Fotheringay as an effeminate-looking man who had been taken ill and was told that was a Mr Crank who had departed the day before. So Hannah was left to enjoy what she could of a quite dreadful breakfast.

As she rose to leave, Benjamin remembered the spill of paper. ‘I searched those bedchambers,’ he said, ‘but couldn’t find nuffink except it looked as if someone had poured a jug o’ water over Lord William and this was stuck in the fire.’

Hannah unrolled the paper and read it, her eyebrows shooting up to her sandy hair. Deaf to the cries of ‘Coach! Coach!’ she sat down abruptly and smoothed out the paper and read it again.

Had this been written by the earl to someone? And had William found it and shown it to his sister? That would explain their middle-of-the-night leave-taking. But surely Ashton would never write this. Might think it, for all Hannah knew. But he would never put such words about the daughter of one of his friends and neighbours to paper.