An Impossible Confession (14 page)

Gregory breathed out with relief, and then went to hug her fondly. ‘That’s my girl, but it won’t come to that, you know. I’ll be back before you know it, with instructions in my capacity as
Colonel of the Berkshire Militia.’ He put his hand to her chin,
raising
her face toward his. ‘Now then, can we drop the whole subject?’

‘I suppose so,’ she whispered, closing her eyes as his lips brushed hers.

‘Good, so let’s to breakfast, mm?’ He smiled, and then turned to Helen, holding out his hand. ‘It’s my privilege to escort two ladies to breakfast in their undress.’

Helen smiled too, accepting his hand, but as his fingers closed warmly around hers, she felt wretchedly guilty. No matter how she chose to view her actions since meeting Adam Drummond, both Margaret and Gregory were bound to regard them as the actions of a snake in the grass if they ever found out. Unless she could prove Adam’s innocence. She lowered her glance to the floor as they proceeded from the drawing room to the breakfast room. She wanted so much to clear his name, and yet she didn’t even know if he would ever wish to speak to her again after Peter delivered her letter.

T
he week passed, May gave way to June, and Peter didn’t have his afternoon off until the day before the ball. When at last he set off on his cob to visit his mother, the letter to Adam was safely in his pocket.

Once he’d gone, Helen simply couldn’t relax. Mentally she
traveled
with him all the way to Windsor, and then to the door in King Henry Crescent. Would Adam’s eyes soften and clear when he read what she’d written? Or would they darken with anger at the way he’d been deceived? She wondered if Peter would simply deliver the letter, or if he’d be there when it was opened. She wished he’d return quickly so that she could quiz him, but the hours passed, the afternoon became evening, and then darkness fell with still no sign of him.

At the dinner table her ill-concealed restlessness went
unnoticed
, for Margaret and Gregory were too taken up with his imminent departure for London. He was set to leave first thing the following morning, and Margaret was still convinced that the War Office letter was pure malice on the part of Adam’s vengeful
great-uncle
. More than once she reiterated quite firmly that far from an intention to discuss militia matters, Lord Llancwm’s real purpose was to pack Gregory off to the war, as punishment for the besmirching of Adam Drummond’s honor. Helen wisely refrained from participating in the conversation, especially as she was uncomfortably aware that Adam had recently attended a War Office meeting where his great-uncle had also been present, so that at the very least he probably knew of the letter to Gregory. Margaret was upset by the whole business, and the situation wasn’t helped by the thought of attending the costume ball without the
husband who was the racing world’s leading light, and the further prospect of Royal Ascot’s opening day without him as well was so awful that her enthusiasm was quite dampened. It took all the ingenuity of both Helen and Gregory to arouse her usual interest in the clothes she planned to wear, so that by the end of the meal she could almost have been described as cheerful, smiling a little as she discussed which of her lovely new outfits she would wear for her first sallying forth to the races.

It had been decided that a reasonably early night was in order, both because of the ball the following night, which would go on until dawn, and because Gregory had to set off very promptly for his War Office appointment. As Helen went to her room, there had still been no sign of Peter, and then there was no sign of Mary either. Half an hour passed, and still there was no tap at the door, and at last Helen became a little concerned. Taking up her shawl, she slipped down through the silent house, and as she reached the entrance hall she encountered a rather anxious footman, who was on his way to see her.

‘Miss Fairmead? It’s Mary, she’s very distressed.’

Helen’s eyes widened anxiously. ‘Distressed? What’s happened?’

‘Peter was set upon by the highwayman on his way to Windsor this afternoon. A shot was fired at him, grazing his head, and he lay unconscious in a ditch until a wagoner found him and brought him back here a short while ago. He’s conscious now, but Mary’s in a terrible state.’

‘Take me to her.’

‘Yes, miss. This way.’

He led her toward the door opening from the entrance hall into the kitchens, where a number of servants were seated quietly around a wellscrubbed table, evidently discussing what had befallen poor Peter. They rose hastily to their feet, their chairs scraping, but Helen waved them to sit down again, hurrying on after the footman through another door and into the servants’ wing extending from the rear of the house.

Mary was in Peter’s room, together with Morris and the cook, and her stifled sobs could be heard long before Helen entered. The room was small, but adequate, its walls crisply whitewashed, its
chintz-curtained window facing toward the stableblock. There was a small wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a chair, and a narrow bed, upon which Peter lay now, his face wan and his head bandaged. Morris was standing at the bedside, and Mary was weeping on the chair, the plump cook doing her best to offer comfort.

Morris turned the moment Helen appeared. ‘I trust it was in order to send for you, miss?’

‘Yes, of course. How is Peter?’ Helen went to the bed and looked down at the injured coachman.

‘The head groom, who has experience of such things, having been a surgeon’s man in the same regiment as Colonel Bourne, says that he’s only slightly hurt, Miss Fairmead. He says Peter was lucky, the highwayman’s shot only scraped him, and apart from a headache tomorrow, he’ll be none the worse. I wouldn’t have
bothered
you, miss, but Mary seemed to think you’d be particularly concerned.’ The butler couldn’t hide his curiosity, for why on earth should a lady be interested in a mishap to an under-coachman?

Concerned? Yes, thought Helen, for if the waylaying took place before Peter had reached Windsor, then the letter hadn’t been delivered, and she was no nearer explaining everything to Adam than she had been before putting pen to paper. She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt, Peter.’

‘Thank you, miss,’ he replied.

‘Was it Lord Swag?’

‘I – I think so, miss, but I couldn’t really say. I thought Lord Swag only came out at night, but this was broad daylight, right in the middle of the great park. He was bold as brass, miss, robbing me of the money I was taking to my mother. She’s a widow, miss, she lives alone and needs what help I can give.’

‘I’ll replace what was stolen, Peter,’ Helen reassured him, seeing how anxious he was.

‘Oh, no, miss. I couldn’t ask that of you.’

‘You didn’t ask, I offered. Besides, one good turn deserves another, and I can quite well-afford to dip into my purse, so let’s not hear any more protests.’

‘But, miss, I didn’t get to do the good turn.…’

‘I realize that, but you still meant to help me, and I’m grateful to you.’

‘I – I don’t know what to say, miss.’

‘Then say nothing, just try to sleep; you’ll need it if you’re going to be nursing a sore head tomorrow.’

‘Yes, miss. Miss…?’

‘Yes?’

‘Please persuade Mary I’ll be all right, she’s crying fit to burst, and nothing we say will make any difference. I’ve had a knock, but that’s all. Please tell her.’

‘I will.’ Helen rose to her feet, going around the bed to the chair where poor Mary was in such a flood of sobs that she was hardly aware of her mistress’s presence.

‘Mary?’ Helen put a gentle hand on the maid’s shaking
shoulder
.

The tear-stained eyes were raised immediately, and Mary’s breath caught as she found herself looking at Helen. ‘Oh, miss, fforgive me. I – I didn’t know y-you were here.’ More tears welled from her eyes. ‘I should have attended you….’

‘I’m not angry with you, Mary, for the circumstances are rather pressing.’

‘But your letter, miss.…’

‘I know.’ Helen glanced uncertainly at Morris and the cook, who had been listening to everything. ‘Now then, Mary, you’re to come with me, and leave poor Peter to try to sleep. He’s going to be all right, so you don’t need to cry any more. I’m sure the cook will see that some hot drinks are sent up to my room. Then you and I can sit together like we used to at Cheltenham.’

The maid’s eyes were grateful. ‘Oh, yes, miss. I’d like that.’

‘Come on, then.’ Helen held out her hand, glancing at the cook. ‘Will you do that for me?’

‘Oh, yes, Miss Fairmead, I’ll attend to it straightaway.’ The woman hurried out, her starched brown cotton skirts rustling and the huge mob cap on her graying hair wobbling a little on its pins.

Morris inclined his head to Helen. ‘I will remain with Peter until he’s asleep, miss. Then I’ll see that someone looks in on him through the night.’

‘Yes, Morris, that will be excellent. I don’t think we need wake the colonel or Mrs Bourne.’

‘No, miss.’

‘But when the colonel leaves in the morning, I wish you to tell him what’s happened, for he shouldn’t travel unarmed if Lord Swag has taken to daytime activities.’

‘Yes, Miss Fairmead.’ The butler bowed gravely.

Helen took Mary’s hand and led her up through the quiet house. A few minutes later the cook personally brought a tray on which stood two porcelain cups and a jug.

‘I’ve made bold with a bottle of the colonel’s best claret, miss, for I thought you’d like some good cardinal.’

‘Cardinal?’

‘Yes, miss. Cinnamon, cloves, orange and lemon, sugar, and good hot claret. It’s called cardinal, and is just the thing for times like this.’

Helen smiled. ‘Thank you, it smells excellent.’

The woman carefully put the tray on the dressing table.

‘It’ll warm young Mary up a treat, miss, and she’ll sleep like a top in spite of her nasty shock.’

‘I’m sure it will. I’ll dispatch her to her room directly, and no doubt you’re eager to retire to yours, so I won’t keep you any longer. Oh, and don’t concern yourself about having purloined a bottle of the colonel’s claret, for I distinctly remember instructing you to make some cardinal.’

The cook smiled. ‘Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.’ Bobbing a curtsy, she withdrew.

Helen went to pour the spicy drink, pressing a cup into Mary’s trembling hands. ‘Drink up, it’ll do you good.’

‘It’ll make me tipsy, miss.’

‘Then you’ll fall asleep immediately when you go to bed, which is what you need tonight.’

‘When I saw poor Peter like that, all pale and weak, I just went to pieces. I didn’t know I cared so much about him, I didn’t think it was possible after knowing him for such a short time.’

Helen smiled wryly. ‘Oh, it’s possible, Mary. I should know that, should I not?’

‘Yes, miss.’ The maid looked at her and then put down her cup in order to take a crumpled, mud-stained letter from the pocket of her apron; it was the one Helen had written to Adam. ‘It’s all spoiled, miss, for Peter fell in a ditch when he was shot, and the
water and mud …’ She held it out. ‘The address can still be read, so I suppose the rest can too.’

With a sigh, Helen took it.

‘What will you do now, miss? Write it again?’

Helen was silent for a moment. ‘No, I think I’ll try and screw up the courage to tell him to his face tomorrow night at the ball.’

‘Do you think you’ll be able to, miss?’

‘I really don’t know.’

Mary was sipping her cardinal again. ‘You could always give him the letter as it is, miss, and explain why it never reached him. If you said all you wanted to say in the letter … you did, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, then, maybe it will still do.’

Helen smiled. ‘I’m supposed to be comforting you at the moment, Mary Caldwell, not the other way around.’

‘But you are comforting me, miss, for I feel a lot better now I’ve been sitting here for a while, just like we did at Cheltenham. You’ve always been more than just my mistress, Miss Fairmead, you’ve been my friend, too, and there’s not many maids can say that of their ladies. Tonight you’ve been a friend first and foremost, and I know that Peter will think the world of you from now on. If there’s ever anything we can do for you, you know you just have to say.’

‘Thank you, Mary. You’re a friend to me, too; indeed, you’re the only person I’ve been able to confide in since.…’

‘Since Lord Drummond?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll come all right in the end, miss, I’m sure it will.’

‘I hope you’re right, but when I think of all the obstacles, difficulties, and downright bad luck that seems to be besetting my every move, I’m afraid I’m not very optimistic.’

‘You mustn’t lose heart, miss, not if you love him.’

Mary fell silent then, for her mistress’s apprehension was well founded. A gulf of mistrust and misunderstanding separated Lord Drummond from his former friends at Bourne End, and it was Helen Fairmead’s extreme ill fortune to be caught in the middle.

T
he following night seemed to come only too quickly, and as it was also the eve of Royal Ascot, Windsor and its environs were filled to overflowing not only with London’s
beau monde
, but also the entire world of racing. Constables were out in force on the roads, for it was feared that Lord Swag wouldn’t be able to resist so many rich pickings. In the town there wasn’t a room to be had anywhere, and every available horse had been hired, as devotees of the turf prepared for one of the highlights of the racing as well as the social calendar; but first there was the costume ball to enjoy, and enjoy it they intended to do, to the best of their considerable ability.

As twilight fell, the great house was ablaze with lights, and a jam of carriages blocked the drive. Farrish House was a formal
seventeenth
-century mansion with a hipped roof and dormer windows, and had been designed by Robert Hooke for one of Charles II’s favorite courtiers. It had large ugly chimneys, but the rooftop was also graced by a balustraded promenade, where an elegant cupola afforded fine views over the town and the Thames. The rectangular windows of the house itself were set out in perfect symmetry on three floors, and the pedimented main entrance was approached up a flight of shallow steps that were strewn with flowers and sweet-smelling herbs for the great occasion.

Music drifted from the glittering ballroom out onto the wide terrace above the water gardens. The strains of a stately minuet soon became lost amid the jingle of harness and rattle of wheels, as the endless procession of carriages made its way toward the house. A thousand lanterns shone in the grounds, bright torches flickered on the tiny island in the center of the ornamental lake,
and all was set for a dazzling night of music, laughter, and
dancing
.

In the Bourne End landau, the three occupants had very little to say. Margaret was brought very low again by Gregory’s absence, Helen was nervous about her tryst with Adam, and Ralph seemed to have something important on his mind.

He was inappropriately attired as Richard Lionheart, for he wasn’t kingly or lion-hearted, and Helen certainly couldn’t
envisage
him embarking upon anything as noble and creditable as a crusade, he was too contemptible and poisonous for that. Tonight was the first time she’d seen him since their unpleasant
confrontation
on the veranda, but the moment they’d come face to face she’d known how smugly confident he was that he had her exactly where he wanted her.

She surveyed him secretly. He looked splendid enough, wearing mock chainmail beneath a long white tunic that sported a crimson cross. There was a splendid golden crown on his head, and his brown hair looked almost reddish enough to be Plantagenet, but behind his black velvet mask his eyes were sly, clever, and cold, if somewhat preoccupied for the moment.

Margaret was a porcelain figurine come to life in a pale-pink satin shepherdess dress that was all flounces and petticoats.
Tight-waisted,
with a very full skirt, the dress came audaciously to just below her knees, thus revealing her white-stockinged legs and
high-heeled
satin shoes. Her honey-colored hair, so like Helen’s, was curled in ringlets to her shoulders, and she wore a wide-brimmed gypsy hat tied on with wired pink ribbons. A slender little satin mask hid her eyes but very little else of her face, so that she was instantly recognizable as Mrs Gregory Bourne, and anyway she wore around her neck a golden locket on which was engraved the Bourne family coat-of-arms and the initials G and M, which meant that it was virtually impossible not to know exactly who she was. A crook adorned with pink ribbons and a garland of flowers rested against the seat next to her. On her lap there was a basket
containing
a very unconvincing lamb that had a peculiar squint, and it was this lamb that had prompted Ralph to make his only amusing remark of the evening, when he’d observed rather dryly that the lamb might benefit more from a mask than the shepherdess.

Helen gazed through the lanternlit night toward the house. Had Adam arrived already? Margaret’s lack of real disguise had dismayed her a little, for it could be that Adam would see the goddess of the rainbow in company with Mrs Gregory Bourne; it might be enough for him to decline to keep his assignation at midnight. She glanced in her reticule at her gold fob watch. It was ten o’clock, and she had two more hours to wait; it seemed like a lifetime.

Her hair was dressed up in a classical Grecian style, and the jewels in her stephane headdress flashed, as did those on the mask of her domino. A light night breeze fluttered through the rainbow ribbons adorning her ice-blue gown, touching her bare arms and making her shiver a little. The letter to Adam was in her reticule, to be used as a Iast resort. So very much depended on tonight, but she knew that her courage was as weak as ever, and having to reveal her wretched secrets was going to be so difficult it was almost impossible. Above all else she was afraid of alienating him, and it was this that colored her entire approach; fear of losing him was so strong it was in danger of once again allowing her heart to overrule her head, and if that happened, she’d leave the ball tonight without a word of confession having passed her foolish lips. How her life had changed since she’d left Cheltenham; then, she hadn’t had a care in the world, now, she was beset by
problems
.

At last the landau reached the flower-strewn steps, and two Farrish House footmen in green and silver livery hastened to open the carriage door and lower the rungs. Ralph alighted, pausing to adjust his crown, then he turned to assist first Margaret, complete with basket, lamb, and crook, and then Helen, who snatched her fingers away from his at the earliest opportunity, recoiling from any physical contact.

There was such a queue of guests waiting to enter the house that for a minute or so it was impossible to move. Helen glanced around at the variety and ingenuity of the costumes, and she immediately perceived another goddess Iris, whose gown may not have been as exquisite, being merely paneled in rainbow colors, but whose hair was a very similar shade of blond to Helen’s own.

There was a preponderance of Stuart ladies and gentlemen,
especially Old Rowleys, Prince Ruperts, Duchesses of Cleveland, and Nell Gwynns, for far too many guests had been seized with the inspiration of dressing to suit the period of Farrish House. Apart from them, she saw several Britannias, three Queen Elizabeths, some Indian rajahs, and a sprinkling of pharaohs. Among the more original were a Madame de Pompadour, a Nero complete with fiddle, a Cyrano de Bergerac with the most ridiculously long nose imaginable, and a lady so swathed in flowing sea-green muslin that she could have been just about anything, but was, so Helen was to learn later, the spirit of the ocean.

Another carriage had drawn up behind the landau, and a Russian cossack alighted, turning to assist down a high-ranking naval officer whose hand he tenderly kissed! Helen was taken aback to say the least, but just as she was beginning to think the worst, she realized that the naval officer was a very bold lady.

Margaret perceived the duo as well. ‘Good heavens,’ she murmured, ‘do you see what I see? I vow she’ll shock every matron in the house. Look how she swaggers, swinging her hips from side to side like a tar! No wonder she hides her face so well behind that mask, for she’d have no reputation left if her identity were known.’

‘Her identity
is
known,’ said Ralph. ‘It’s Caro Lamb, and she has no reputation anyway.’

‘That’s very true,’ agreed Margaret. ‘What William Lamb ever saw in her I’ll never know.’

‘Whatever it is, he still sees it, for if I’m not mistaken he’s the cossack. Yes, I’d know that laugh anywhere,’ said Ralph as a lazy and very familiar guffaw carried to them.

‘I despair of him,’ sighed Margaret. ‘She’s behaved abominably, betraying their marriage vows and making a fool of herself and of him, and yet he still seems to dote on her. Mind you, he isn’t a great judge – he remains Adam Drummond’s crony. Still, that’s his problem, I have enough of my own to worry about, not least of which is having to deal with the endless inquiries I’m going to face concerning Gregory’s absence tonight. Everyone will be most put out, for it’s quite unheard of for Gregory Bourne to be absent from this occasion. I shall lay the blame for it fairly and squarely at the odious feet of Lord Llancwm.’ Adjusting the lamb in its basket, and
brandishing her crook, she swept up the steps.

Helen made to follow, but Ralph detained her for a moment. ‘Remember what’s expected of you tonight, my dear.’

‘How could I forget?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you would if you felt you could. Just behave like my prospective bride, and blush prettily when mention is made of an imminent betrothal, for that is the way to see that Drummond still looks kindly upon you.’

‘I despise you,’ she breathed. ‘How you’ve managed to fool not only my sister and brother-in-law but a great deal of society as well, I really don’t know.’

‘It’s my irresistible charm,’ he replied smoothly, offering her his arm. ‘Shall we proceed?’

Reluctantly, she rested her hand on the cool chainmail of his sleeve, but as they ascended toward the brightly lit doorway, she was determined to strike free of him at the first possible
opportunity
. She had to be completely at liberty when midnight struck.

The crush in the hall was tremendous, a squash to end all squashes, and the babble of voices was amplified so much inside the house that the music from the ballroom was inaudible. Chandeliers of particular brilliance shimmered in the warm air above the distinguished gathering of lavishly costumed guests, and the smoke from the gentlemen’s cigars vied with the perfume from the countless flowers brought in for the occasion. From the painted walls, stern-faced figures gazed down a little
disapprovingly
from between the columns of a classical temple, as if taking exception to such frivolity, which well they might considering the dire situation across the Channel in Europe.

There was an Ionic colonnade at the far end of the hall
guarding
the entrance to the magnificently gilded ballroom, and to the right swept up a black marble staircase with a golden handrail. Against the wall at the foot of this staircase, passed constantly by a stream of guests, stood the large long-case clock by which she was to meet Adam in two hours’ time.

Margaret was standing just inside the entrance, talking with a Boadicea, an exceedingly tall Louis XIV, and an armored knight who was already looking very hot and uncomfortable, for his visor was raised and he constantly mopped his perspiring face with a
large handkerchief. Helen soon realized that the Louis XIV and Boadicea were the Earl and Countess of Cardusay, who’d been married so romantically on the lake at Hagman’s the year before, for Margaret was exclaiming that she was astonished it was really one whole year since that glorious and memorable day.

‘A year? Is it that long already? I can scarce credit it.’

‘Well, we felt we should mark the occasion in suitable style,’ replied Boadicea, ‘and when Henry suggested a water party, well, what could I say but yes? It’s a marvelous notion, don’t you think? We’ve invited everyone who came last year, but then were
horrified
to find that a whole bundle of invitations had been mislaid, so half our friends know nothing of it. You and Gregory will come, won’t you? It’s to be straight after racing ends tomorrow. We expect everyone to rush from the racecourse straight to Hagman’s, where a veritable feast will await.’

‘If Gregory’s back from London, then we’ll be delighted to come, Ann.’

Helen was only half listening, for she was too busy glancing around for Adam. There was one sultan dressed in voluminous cloth-of-gold, but although he was facing directly toward her, he paid scant attention. It couldn’t be Adam, for he’d show some reaction at seeing a goddess of the rainbow standing with a
shepherdess
who was so obviously Mrs Gregory Bourne.

Her attention was drawn back to her immediate circle, for Louis XIV turned as she and Ralph joined the small group. ‘St John, is that you?’

‘It is. Good evening, Henry.’

The other nodded, raising his mask for a moment to look more closely at Helen. ‘
Enchanté
, my dear, you must be the delectable Helen.’

‘Sir.’

‘Fie, madam, your fame preceded you, for even with that wretched domino I’d know you for a beauty. St John’s a fortunate fellow, eh?’

She smiled, but didn’t respond.

Boadicea chided her husband. ‘Henry, you mustn’t embarrass her, she’s fresh from schooL’ She put an understanding hand on Helen’s arm. ‘Take no notice of him, he’s being familiar because he
has his mask to hide behind, he’s a model of civility really. Now then, you do know you’re included among the guests for our water party, don’t you? We didn’t realize you’d be at Bourne End when we originally compiled our list, but if we had, you’d have been on it as a matter of course. By the way, you might care to know that Lady Cowper spoke very highly of you yesterday.’

‘She did?’ Helen recalled a brief conversation with the prettiest of the lady patronesses of Almack’s before the Prince Regent had arrived for dinner.

‘Oh, yes, my dear. She said Prinny was very taken with you.’

The subject was suddenly changed, for Louis XIV gave a dismayed groan. ‘Don’t look now, everyone, but Huff-and-Puff ’s on his way over. He may be got up like a stag lost in a forest, but I’d know that paunch anywhere.’

Helen glanced in the direction he was looking, and saw an extremely portly Herne the Hunter bearing down on them. He was dressed in green, with a bow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder and the most enormous set of antlers protruding
precariously
from his hooded head.

She soon understood why he was called Huff-and-Puff, for he spoke as if he was quite out of breath. ‘What’s all this, huh? Where’s Gregory, huh? No, don’t tell me, huh, for I’ve heard. Damned shame, huh? Still, the old wheels keep turnin’, huh? Who’s the mysterious divine, huh? Your sister? ’Pon me soul, a fair goddess indeed, eh, huh?’ Before Helen knew it, he’d seized her hand and was drawing it to his lips. ‘This dance, m’dear, huh? Of course you will, no question, huh.’ Still holding her hand, he almost dragged her away from the others.