Gamble With Hearts (13 page)

Charlotte
was not disposed to dwell on Miss Milverly's possible downfall, and with a token word of assent she sank back against the cushions and gave herself up to thoughts of Carlington and of what their future might have been together.

Mrs Wrexham was not the only person to be concerned about Miss Milverly that night. The Marquis had roused himself from his abstraction for long enough to remark her obvious pleasure in the company of Sir Robert. The man's reputation was unsavoury enough, and even his friendship with the Prince had not been enough to win him acceptance in the first circles, nor to get him within the portals of that holy of holies, Almacks. Therefore, when the coach deposited the Marquis and his sleepy daughter outside the family mansion in
Grosvenor Square
, it seemed to the Marquis an excellent opportunity to speak to his daughter alone.

‘My dear, I should like a word with you before you retire. Would you step into the library for a moment?’

‘Of course, Papa,’ she replied docilely, and with pretty demureness she seated herself upon a low stool, her hands clasped in her lap like a schoolgirl. She raised enquiring eyes to her father's stern face and quaked inwardly.

Ruthin had, however, no intention of berating his young daughter. He was unaware of how grim his expression was as he looked down at her. The last two weeks of personal misery, combined with the strain of trying to discover what had happened to his old friend's son, were responsible rather than anger with Amelia; and had he been aware how frightened she was by him he would have been very much shocked. As it was, he had no notion of how his daughter regarded him, and there was no softening in his tone as he addressed her.

‘Amelia, I want to talk to you a little about your future,’ he began. ‘It is late, I know, but we seem to have so little time together, you and I, that I have not been able to tell you what is in my mind.’ After this promising beginning he seemed to have a little difficulty in continuing. ‘What I want to say— Well, it concerns the matter of—your eventual—er— marriage. You will be a very great heiress, you know, Amelia. All your mother's fortune will be yours upon your twenty-first birthday and it is a considerable sum.’ He cleared his throat and, glancing down at the flowerlike countenance of his daughter, he was caught suddenly by the memory of his dead wife. He had never realised before how closely the child resembled her. He was tempted to put his arms around his daughter, but he did not know how she would react to so unlooked-for a demonstration of affection from her remote Papa.

‘As I was saying, you will be a considerable heiress. Now you are a taking little thing, Amelia, and I am sure there will be many honest men who will offer for you quite disinterestedly. Young Edridge, for example, is precisely the kind of young man I should be happy to welcome into the family in a few years. But there is another kind of man, Amelia. You may, unfortunately, meet them anywhere. Men who would not scruple to take advantage of the innocence of a girl like you. Do you understand me, Amelia?’

‘Oh yes, Papa,’ she answered, in blissful ignorance of his real meaning.

Ruthin heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I am glad to find you so sensible, my dear. I would you had a mother to speak of these things to you. You must forgive your blundering father.’

‘But I shall soon have a mama, shall I not, Papa?’ Amelia reminded him.

‘What? Oh— Oh, yes—of course,’ he answered, having temporarily forgotten all about his supposed engagement.

Fortunately for the deception, Amelia noticed nothing amiss and went off to bed delighted to have escaped the expected scold. The Marquis retired under the happy misapprehension that he had given his daughter some valuable worldly advice, and had secured her from the attentions of a fortune-hunter.

Later that same night, in quite another part of town, two figures might have been observed pursuing rather an erratic course down Piccadilly. A hard night's drinking had engendered in these cronies a fondness for each other's company and so great was the affection that Lord Fitzroy felt for his friend, Captain Osborne, that he had announced his intention of accompanying him to his lodgings, there to partake of some particularly fine brandy the Captain had recently acquired. Osborne made no objection. He was glad of the company. Unlike his friend, he was not quite drunk enough to forget the horror of the situation and was loath to be alone.

It had gone hard with Carlington's seconds in the weeks since Farnley's death. More than one old acquaintance had cut Lord Fitzroy in the street, and Osborne had fared little better in the mess. All the anger and disgust felt by honourable men at the cowardly murder of even a man as unpopular as Farnley was, for want of a better object, directed against the two men who refused to join in the hue and cry against their friend. Indeed, they protested loudly that Charles could not be guilty. The rest of society, however, felt that Charles' disappearance confirmed his guilt. There were even those who whispered of a conspiracy and, although this was not generally believed, the two friends were made uncomfortable enough.

They had taken to spending their evenings in low taverns where they were quite unknown and there they would continually rehearse the circumstances of the murder until they were too drunk or too tired to reach any conclusion.

They reached Captain Osborne's lodging in
Albany
just as the watchman announced to the world that it was two of the clock and, in his opinion at least, all was well. Lord Fitzroy might have taken issue with him on that score but the man had prudently beaten a retreat at the sight of them; for, as he remarked to his cronies later that night: ‘Ye never knows. Them flash culls might take it into their heads to h'assault an h'officer of the law, an' discretion being the better part of valour, I loped off sharpish!’ A course of action with which the rest of the watch heartily concurred.

To do them justice, Charles and his cronies had never been the kind of young bloods to find enjoyment in attacking elderly law officers. They were, as they would have said themselves, ripe for any spree, but they were essentially gentlemen and would, in due course, settle down to run their estates and even eventually take their seats in the House. Or rather, that would have been their future. The events of the past few weeks, however, had cast such a shadow over their young lives that they could see nothing before them now but a share in the disgrace for a crime in which they had had no part.

They made their way up the darkened stairway, staggering a little as they held each other for support. Lord Fitzroy giggled and was sternly hushed by his comrade. As they reached the Captain's door a figure slipped suddenly out of the shadows and spoke in a piercing whisper, ‘Fitz, Ricky, it's me!’ Even as he spoke, the intruder reeled and fell in a heap upon the landing, revealing in the guttering candlelight, the features of Charles Carlington to his astonished friends.

‘It's Charles,’ Fitzroy, rather unnecessarily, informed the Captain.

‘Quiet, you fool. Do you want the whole of London to hear you?’ replied Osborne in an exasperated undertone. ‘Here, help me to get him inside. No, wait. Go in and see if my man's waiting up for me. If he is, tell him—oh I don't know—tell him anything, but get rid of him!’

Fortunately, for Lord Fitzroy's powers of improvisation were not high, the batman was found to be snoring in another room with an empty bottle of gin beside him. Carlington was carried tenderly into Osborne's sitting-room and laid upon a sofa. He was alarmingly pale and had quite a healthy growth of beard, a fact that Fitz took in with a slight shudder.

‘You know, I d-don't like that,’ he told Osborne, indicating Carlington's whiskers. ‘D-Don't know what Charles c-can have b-been thinking of. Not himself at all.’

‘Of course he isn't, you idiot! How do we know what he may have been through? Fitz, this proves Charles didn't kill Farnley. It stands to reason he wouldn't have come back to
London
if he had.’

‘That's t-true,’ answered Fitz sagely. ‘Mind, I wouldn't want to have to c-convince a jury of that!’

‘Never mind talking of juries. Get some of that brandy; I think he's coming round!’

Half an hour later the bottle was empty and Charles, having finished off the best part of a
York
ham and a large loaf of bread, was looking very much more like his old self. Osborne had insisted that Charles should be fed before attempting any explanations and now, having seen his friend supplied, he invited him to tell his story.

‘Before you begin, Charles, there is one thing I have to ask. Did you have anything to do with Farnley's death?’

Charles stared at the Captain blankly. ‘His death? I don't know what you're talking about, Ricky. How did he die?’

‘Shot in the b-back,’ Lord Fitzroy informed him helpfully.

‘And you have the cursed impudence to ask if I had anything to do with it? I ought to call you out, damme, I ought!’

‘No harm meant, old b-boy. No harm at all. Ricky just thought he'd ask, that's all,’ Fitz assured his wrathful friend, kindly.

‘Oh, do be quiet, Fitz,’ begged Captain Osborne, exasperated. ''I'm sorry if you don't like it, Charles, but I had to ask. If it's any comfort to you, neither of us really thought you did it. I take it you haven't heard anything at all about the murder then?’

‘Not yet,’ replied Carlington grimly. ‘But I want to hear about it now. All about it!’

The story, related with brutal frankness by Osborne with occasional interpolations from Lord Fitzroy, left Charles pale and shaken. That the whole of London believed him to be a murderer, that his life was even now in danger, these were by far the greatest blows he had yet received. It was instinct alone that had led him to seek out his friend immediately upon his arrival in London; now he shuddered to think how easily he might have returned home to his own lodging which was, no doubt, being watched night and day. ‘Well, that's our tale, Charles,’ said the Captain, regarding his friend with concern. ‘Now, if you feel up to it, tell us what's happened to you. Why have you been gone so long? We thought you had escaped from town and were hiding from the Runners.’

Charles gave a wry laugh. ‘If I had been hiding it would not have been from the Runners; in fact I would have been very happy to see them. Someone in London wants me dead, and it isn't just Bow Street!’

The tale Charles had to tell could not but excite the imagination of two young men. When Lord Fitzroy heard how the slavers had been routed he could not contain his excitement and uttered a piercing hunting cry that brought forth grumbling protests from nearby sleepers. Even Osborne was impressed by such acumen shown by one without the benefit of military training. Charles laughed, admitting that it had been something of a lark. ‘The rest of the adventure was cursed unpleasant though. I landed in Ireland without a penny and there I was, Viscount Carlington for the Lord's sake, begging and stealing my way across the damned country. I hope I may never have to go through that again!’

‘How did you get the money for the crossing, Charles?’ asked Osborne. ‘I should have thought it cost a pretty fair sum these days.’

‘Oh, I didn't pay, Ricky. What are you thinking of? I worked my passage, and I've the hands to prove it!’ So saying, he held out his calloused hands to his horrified friends.

‘Oh, I say!’ exclaimed Fitzroy, averting his gaze. ‘Why, it's worse than that damned b-beard, and I thought nothing could be!’

Charles stroked his chin ruefully. ‘Yes, I had better get rid of this before I see Charlotte, or she may cry off from our engagement!’

The two friends exchanged looks. They had been very careful not to mention Miss Wrexham in their story, and neither quite knew how to break the news of her defection. Charles, however, had seen the exchange of glances and was immediately suspicious.

‘What is it? What's going on, you fellows?’ he demanded.

Osborne gave a little shrug. ‘I didn't want to have to tell you this Charles but Miss Wrexham doesn't seem to have taken your engagement as seriously as you did. The fact is she got engaged to Ruthin the day after you disappeared.’

‘I don't believe it! It’s a damned lie!’ shouted Charles.

‘I say Charles! No need to call Ricky a liar,’ expostulated Fitzroy. ‘It’s t-true enough.’

‘Well now we know who it was that wanted me out of the way, and why,’ said Charles bitterly.

‘Good God you are not suggesting that Ruthin—why that's preposterous!’ exclaimed Osborne. ‘The girl had simply set her sights on a fortune, that's all.’

‘I do not believe it, I tell you! Someone arranged all this to give me the appearance of guilt. Who else had sufficient reason to want me out of the way? What have I ever done to merit such treatment from any other man? I tell you, I have racked my brains and I can think of no one else. It must be Ruthin!’

Although unconvinced, neither Osborne nor Fitz had any theories to advance, and as the hour was now very late, Captain Osborne suggested that they had better all get some sleep and continue the discussion upon the morrow.

It is probable that none of the young gentlemen would have slept at all soundly had they been aware of the two burly figures who were, even now, outside the street door, blowing upon their numbed fingers to keep out the cold, but jubilant nevertheless.