A London Season (26 page)

After a little further consultation it was decided that, as the two mothers were reluctant to cut short the visit and spoil the pleasure of the four little boys, and Maria, though a little sleepy, seemed better now she was removed from the long grasses of the Park, Lady Darsham
’
s own chaise should be brought round, to take the child home with one companion. Elinor offered to go, and as she was a favourite with Maria, and Peggy was still in the Park keeping an eye on the twins, the offer was thankfully accepted. Maria dozed in her arms most of the way home to Upper Brook Street, where she was delivered over to the loving care of Nurse, and Elinor herself, with time on her hands, went to the Yellow Parlour to occupy herself by playing Persephone
’
s pianoforte.

No one with any understanding of music could have mistaken her strumming for Persephone
’
s very superior performance, but the parlourmaid
—
the same girl who had shown
Mr.
Royden into the Yellow Parlour a couple of days earlier
—
was not musical, and almost at once put her head round the door with a conspiratorial, “Oh, Miss Grafton!” Seeing her mistake, she broke off, covered with confusion, a circumstance which mildly puzzled Elinor.

“Yes, Molly; what is it?” she asked.

“Well
...”
said the parlourmaid, doubtfully, and then, seeing nothing for it, held out a sealed letter. “It
’
s for Miss Grafton, miss, and I
was
to be most particular to bring it up the back stairs and give it her as soon as ever she came in. But I s
’
pose I can give it to you just as well, miss?”

“Yes, to be sure,” said Elinor, and the girl
’
s brow cleared, as if she were glad to get the errand safely discharged. “Just put it down on the table there, Molly, will you?” And she went on playing until it suddenly occurred to her
—
as surely it had to Molly?
—
that there was something odd about a letter
’
s being delivered to Persephone in such a manner: up the back stairs and straight to her own private rooms, instead of being left in the hall to be brought up by the butler in the normal way. Word from Robert Walter at last? But the back stairs, Elinor thought, were not much in
Mr.
Walter
’
s style.

She rose from the piano, and idly scanned the direction on the letter; almost at once she stiffened, and stood there staring at it. She knew that hand. It was some years since she had last seen it, but she knew it only too well. Grenville Royden had not been a man who composed lengthy love-letters
—
though
she
, she remembered wryly, had been much given to heartfelt effusions on paper, such as she now blushed to recollect! But there had been occasional notes of assignation. Oh yes, she knew that hand!

What should she do? Wait, she decided: wait until Persephone came home, and then gently ask the reason for this clandestine correspondence. She could not like it, and something told her that it was not, as she would have
preferred to think, a harmless and insignificant matter.

As she stood there, a flurry of light footsteps came running up the stairs. Persephone, she thought; were they back already, then? Perhaps one of the other children had fallen a-sneezing too. But no. Next moment the door burst open, and in came Charlotte Royden, in a state of great agitation.

“Oh!” she cried, as much taken aback as Molly had been. “I thought Persephone would be here
—
but oh, Elinor, I am glad to find
you
, for I think it might be
better
to tell you, and I must
—
I
must
tell someone!” With which words she became incapable of telling anyone anything, and cast herself on Elinor
’
s breast in a flood of tears.

Perfectly bewildered, and thinking absently with one part of her mind that it would be very pleasant if
she
, for a change, were able to throw herself into somebody
’
s arms (preferably Sir Edmund
’
s) and sob her own heart out, Elinor patted Charlotte gently on the back, stroked her hair, uttered soothing remarks, and generally did her best to calm the half-hysterical girl. She at last succeeded in this endeavour, and said, guiding Miss Royden to a couch by the window, “There, Charlotte dear! Now, tell me, what has happened to upset you?”

“Oh
dear
!”
hiccuped poor Charlotte. “I am so sorry
—
I am not commonly so silly, only
—
only the thing is, I don
’
t know what to do! I thought at first I would go straight to Conington, but then I could see that it concerned Persephone, and so
—
”

“That
what
concerned Persephone?” asked Elinor patiently.

Still sniffing, Charlotte opened her reticule and handed Elinor a somewhat crumpled piece of paper.

“This,” she said.

It was in a hand that Elinor thought at first she did not know. A spiky, sloping, foreign hand. Then she recollected seeing certain songs written out by Robert Walter for Persephone; this note, too, was addressed to Miss Grafton.

Plainly set down in a hurry, it nevertheless assured the recipient that all was well, that the writer, alas, had no time to call now if he were to catch the packet from Dover, but she was to rejoice! He had heard from Germany: the wished-for position at Heldenburg was his! He must make haste to present himself to the Prince and accept the offer, to see his father and tell him of his intended marriage
—
“and then,
Liebchen
, I return to England to claim you, within these two weeks, God willing. I adore you! In great haste,” wrote
Mr.
Walter, though not in too much haste to rule out the stave and add a couple of lines of music, which Elinor, sight-reading them, identified after a moment as the happy conclusion of that notable work
Boadicea Queen of Britain
, wherein the Knights of the Round Table offered suitable praises to Hymen.

The note, she saw, was dated the very day that
Mr.
Walter had first failed to call in Upper Brook Street, occasioning Persephone such distress. “But Charlotte, how came you by this?” she asked, puzzled. “Yes, it is certainly for Persephone, but I would swear she has never had it!”

“I was afraid you would say that,” said Charlotte unhappily. “I
—I
didn
’
t precisely come by it. That is to say, I think
Grenville
did.”

“
What
!”
Elinor
’
s eyes flew to that other, sealed letter addressed in
Mr.
Royden
’
s hand.

“I had better tell you the whole,” said Charlotte, resolutely gulping back the tears that threatened her again. “You see, Conington gave me a little silver pencil, with a most ingenious mechanism, for writing in my
carnet de bal
and so forth
—
and of course I treasured it. Well, last night at the Winters
’
rout, I let Grenville have it when he wished to write something down, and looking for it about an hour ago I remembered lending it to him. So as he was not in, I went to look in the pockets of his coat
—
the one he was wearing at the rout. I did find my pencil, but-well, I found that too. And I know, for she has told me, how unhappy Persephone has been, believing
Mr.
Walter did not write her even a word of farewell
—
but he
did
, after all, didn
’
t he? And there it is!”

“Indeed he did,” said Elinor, thinking hard, and rapidly.

“And I cannot
—
well, I cannot think what Grenville should be doing with it, unless
...”
Her voice faltered.

“Unless he intercepted it,” said Elinor quietly. “Picked it up in passing through our hall, perhaps?” She was casting her mind back to the events of the day whose date stood at the head of
Mr.
Walter
’
s letter. “Was the coat in which you found it, I wonder, the one Grenville wore when you and he and Conington dined here, before we all went on to the play together?”

Charlotte too thought, and nodded.

“Then that is what he did! And he kept it from Persephone.”

“But
why
?” cried Charlotte, baffled and unhappy.

“That,” said Elinor, “I think we may now discover.” With no further hesitation, she picked up the letter Molly had left on the side table, and opened it.

Like
Mr.
Walter nearly two weeks earlier, the writer was in haste, or purported to be. “I have now heard from Robert,” he informed Persephone, “and alas, he is in sad straits! Those jackals, his creditors, are hard on his heels! But as I told you, he swears he will not leave this country without taking you with him as his bride. We have contrived to arrange a passage for you both from Dover, but you must leave this very night, for I fear they will not be long in discovering his hiding place! Once in France, your minds may be easy. I shall have a post-chaise and pair ready at any hour from five o
’
clock today, to take you up as soon as you can slip away and convey you to Robert in Dover. It will be standing round the corner from Upper Brook Street, in Park Lane. Believe me, dear Miss Grafton, when I say how happy I am that it has at least fallen to my lot to be of use to you in this sad tangle, and that I remain for ever your most devoted servant, G.R.”

“Good God!” said Elinor, staring at this remarkable epistle. “What a farrago of nonsense!”

“What?” inquired Charlotte anxiously.

Elinor hesitated, and then passed her the letter. “Don
’
t let it distress you too much, my dear Charlotte, but I think perhaps you
had
better see it,” she said gently.

It was a little while before Miss Royden could take in the sense of her brother
’
s note, and then she sat shaking her head in bewilderment, and saying, “But I don
’
t understand! What does Grenville mean? These letters
—
they cannot
both
be true!”

“They are not both true,” said Elinor, who was beginning to feel extremely angry, “and I am sorry to have to tell you, Charlotte, that I place a great deal more faith in
Mr.
Walter
’
s veracity than your brother
’
s. Naturally you are fond of Grenville, and he would not show his worse side to you, but
oh, I cannot go into detail now, but pray remember that I have known him for a good many years, and
—
well, he has not always behaved as he ought. However, never mind that now! So far as I can tell from all this, he has spun Persephone a tissue of lies about
Mr.
Walter, with the object of luring her away from this house with him, under the impression that she is to elope with her lover
—
something which I know very well
Mr.
Walter himself would not countenance! No, I don
’
t believe it for a moment,” she continued, taking back
Mr.
Royden
’
s note from Charlotte, and speaking half to herself. “Why, that landlady of his said that even in his haste, he stopped to pay what he owed her! How could Persephone credit such a ridiculous tale? If she had only thought how unlikely it was that he would not write to her himself
—
though I dare say Grenville told her it would place him in danger of discovery by these supposed creditors, or some such nonsense, and she believed him, for after all, one does
not
think very clearly when one is in love. Well! How very fortunate, Charlotte, that
Mr.
Walter
’
s own note has come into our hands, even if belatedly!”

“But why should Grenville do such a thing?” cried Charlotte.

“To be blunt with you,” said Elinor, her mind ranging back over her various mortifying conversations with
Mr.
Royden, “I fear he intended to compromise Persephone in such a way that her family would be glad to see her married to him! He
—
he has
h
inted at something of the kind
...
Charlotte, I am truly sorry that you should learn of your brother
’
s character in such a way, but no blame attaches to
you
, none at all! To me, if anyone, for I
did
have some idea of it! But now, what should we do
?
Five o
’
clock, did he say? It is just on five o
’
clock now!”