Angel's Touch (32 page)

The
old lady threw up her hands. ‘Well, I’ve done with you. I’ve no
patience. But when you have thrown away your chance beyond
recovery, I trust you will remember your family and the future you
have denied to them. When I think of all they might have enjoyed
under such patronage—your sisters, your little brother, and dear
Grace. Yes, and your father, for even he would scarcely applaud
such pig-headed stupidity. And if he cannot think of a suitable
penance, you may come to me, for I
can
.’

With
which valedictory utterance, her ladyship stalked from the parlour,
shutting the door behind her with unnecessary force. Verity was
left to the doubtful comfort of a hearty bout of tears, but still
holding tight to her convictions. For opposition had only
strengthened them. Had Lady Crossens had children of her own, she
might rather have seen more wisdom in painting the dismal picture
of Verity’s lonely future, at home with her broken heart—a picture
she was desperately keeping at bay for fear that it would break her
resolution. Just as she refused to think about Wystan and infant
Peggy, unable even to cherish the glad tidings in Henry’s last
words—that the wicked Shottle and his gang had been
captured—because they
were
Henry’s last words.

It
hardly seemed possible that only a few short weeks ago the sum of
her ambition had been to live in a cottage and indulge her taste
for the Gothic to her heart’s content. Now, with
only
that prospect
before her, she remembered old Mairenni’s prediction: ‘Looking for
yer heart’s desire, ye’ll find ye have it in yer hands.’ Only her
hands were empty now, and there was nothing she desired less than
to take up her pen and write.

More with a forlorn
hope of appeasing her patroness, than with any real wish to seek
company, Verity made an appearance in the Assembly Rooms the same
afternoon. She was glad to think there were only a few days
remaining to them before they must start for home, for her
situation was unenviable.

The
story of the kidnap was still talked of, and it had, by some means
unknown to her, become common knowledge that she was sought after
by the Marquis of Salmesbury. She was obliged to turn off several
prying questions with a light laugh, as if it was all a piece of
nonsense. But her patroness’s smouldering temper was enough to
inform everyone of the contrary. So it was that in Sir John Frinton
Verity found her only sympathiser.

‘
A
turn along the Pantiles, Miss Lambourn?’ he offered, crooking his
elbow invitingly, and with such a wealth of understanding in his
impish old eyes that Verity was hard put to it to keep from
bursting into tears.

‘
Th-thank you,’ she managed to say, and was grateful for the
tact that kept him silent until they were strolling along the paved
walkway.

‘
You
poor child,’ he said then, laying his hand on hers where it rested
on his own and squeezing her fingers.

‘
Oh,
don’t, please, Sir John,’ she begged. ‘It is difficult enough to
keep my countenance as it is.’

‘
I
see it is. Then I will refrain from such unhandsome comments, and
merely inform you that you have certainly made an enemy for
life.’

Her
startled eyes flew to his. ‘An enemy? Not you, I hope?’

‘
By
no means.’ He sighed in an exaggerated way. ‘But poor Cumberland.
You have offended beyond forgiveness, I’m afraid.’

‘
Oh,
dear, poor man,’ said Verity contritely. ‘I did leave him so
rudely, I know.’

‘
Now, Miss Lambourn, you are not going to tell me you were not
glad of the excuse? Mind you, he did not take kindly to your having
been seized by a fit of nausea in the middle of—’

‘
A
fit of nausea! Gracious heaven, is that what you told him?’
demanded Verity, aghast.

‘
I
had to think of some plausible reason,’ Sir John said
blandly.

‘
Plausible!’

‘
Well, you had not found his rhetoric soporific, unlike Emilia
and poor, dear Maria Polegate, so I assumed —’ Then he began to
laugh as Verity broke into voluble scolding.

‘
I
have never in my life heard such—’

‘
Ah,
but here is dear Maria herself,’ he interrupted smoothly,
successfully diverting his companion’s attention as he added, ‘and,
if I am not mistaken, she is big with news.’

Verity followed the direction of his gaze to find Mrs
Polegate hurrying towards them, her eyes signalling a frantic
message.

‘
Well, Maria?’ drawled Sir John as she came puffing up. ‘What
earth-shattering titbit have you got hold of this time?’

‘
So
dreadful!’ gasped the lady, one hand holding her expansive bosom,
which was rising and falling comically. ‘Horrible! Poor, poor
man!’

‘
Come, come, Maria,’ chided Sir John, gently mocking. ‘Get
your breath back, my dear, or we shall never comprehend a
word.’

‘
Oh—dear,’ she got out. ‘Yes—but it can’t
wait.’ She looked at Verity. ‘You will wish to know
at once,
I am
sure.’

Verity went still, her eyes fixed on the lady’s face in
painful enquiry. Her heart seemed to stop, and the world about her
coalesced and became a hazy cloud.

‘
Dreadful! History repeats itself, you see,’ said Mrs
Polegate, not without a certain relish. ‘A terrible accident, they
say. Took a fall from his phaeton and taken up for
dead!’

There was a buzzing in Verity’s ears, and she did not hear
her own voice croak out the question to which she already knew the
answer.

‘
Who?
Who
?’

‘
Why, the marquis, of course.’

Verity was unaware of the groan she gave as the world went
black. The next thing she knew was a spinning in her vision that
steadied into faces looking down at her. Voices made themselves
heard.

‘
Thank God, she is coming round!’

‘
Verity, child! Verity, can you hear me?’

‘
Give her room, there! Let her breathe!’

A deeper voice bade
her lie still, and she came fully to her senses to find herself
lying at full stretch on a sofa in the Assembly Rooms, an object of
a general curiosity, while beside her knelt an elderly man in whom
she recognised one of the resident physicians.

‘
Rest, please, Miss Lambourn,’ he said, one hand encircling
her wrist to feel her pulse.

For
a moment she was glad to do as he bid her, for she felt quite sick
and her head ached dully. She closed her eyes. There was a murmur
of voices about her, but she did not question what had happened
until she recognised her patroness’s testy muttering.

‘
I
don’t know how you came to be so foolish, Maria. Could you not have
come to me first?’

The
image of Mrs Polegate’s face sprang into Verity’s mind, and, with
it, the appalling news she had brought.

‘
Henry!’ she uttered distressfully, and struggled to sit
up.

‘
No,
no, Miss Lambourn,’ protested the physician, trying to push her
back. ‘Lie still, I beg of you.’

‘
I
can’t, I can’t,’ Verity cried, pushing away his restraining hand
and impelling herself up.

The
action caused her a sudden nausea and she was obliged to grip
tightly to the back of the sofa, forcing it down. The ladies’
voices were again heard, this time directed at her.

‘
No,
Verity, you will remain there.’

‘
Oh,
Miss Lambourn, you must forgive me! Do pray stay where you are a
little.’

‘
Be
quiet, Maria. She will certainly stay here.’

Unheeding, Verity
willed herself to overcome the waves of sickness and swung her feet
to the ground, fighting the many hands that sought to keep her
here.

‘
Henry
,’ she
uttered desperately. ‘I must go to him!’

‘
No,
no, Miss Lambourn!’

‘
Please stay, ma’am. You can do no good to
yourself.’

‘
What does that matter?’ Verity demanded,
her ravaged features going wildly from face to face. ‘I must go to
Henry! I
must
.
’

‘
Verity, listen to me—’ began Lady Crossens in a scolding
tone.

But Verity was on her
feet, swaying a little, but with a set determination in her face
that one at least of the surrounding well-wishers recognised.

‘
Let
her be, Emilia,’ said Sir John, laying a restraining hand on Lady
Crossens’ shoulder. ‘Can you not see? Nothing less will satisfy
her.’

He
pushed through and, with an air of authority that made all give way
before him, he took possession of Verity’s hand and drew her within
a protective arm.

‘
Come, child,’ he said gently. ‘I will take you to your
Henry.’

‘
Thank you,’ gasped Verity. ‘Oh, thank you!’

Sir
John turned to Lady Crossens. ‘I will bring her safely back,
Emilia, whatever the outcome.’

Her
ladyship nodded, but her eyes, suspiciously bright, were on
Verity’s pale cheeks. ‘You may as well sit down again, my dear,’
she said gruffly, ‘until the carriage is called for. I will send
someone to fetch you a wrapper.’

Verity only nodded, sinking obediently down on to the sofa
again, her mind rapidly numbing as it shied away from the dreadful
images conjured up by Mrs Polegate’s tale. She was well able to
fill in the gaps with her own vivid imagination, but for once the
ready visions were shut off, as being too painful to be
contemplated at all.

Even so, she hardly
heard the doctor, who still hovered over her, proffering a glass of
some mixture which she dutifully drank as he instructed. She
scarcely noticed how nearly the whole of the Wellsian visiting
population took an interest, and how many of them accompanied her
as Sir John Frinton led her out to the waiting carriage. Vaguely,
as from some distant place, she heard the messages of goodwill, and
felt the hands that pressed and the scented cheeks laid against her
own. Dimly she recognised that they wished her well and so she
smiled a little and whispered words of thanks.

But
all her thoughts were of Henry, and she could no more understand
now the confusion and fears of but a few hours before that had led
her to refuse his suit than had her patroness at the time. If only
he were alive and well, she would marry him in the teeth of twenty
such Lady Margaret ghosts. What had she been about, to send him
away so unhappy, so wretched that he let his ungovernable passion
ride him to some hideous doom? For she knew, just as surely as if
she had been there, that this was what had occurred. Must she now
take poor Henry’s burden of guilt upon her own shoulders? God could
not be so cruel!

She
was grateful for Sir John’s calm flow of trivial remarks that kept
such thoughts a little at bay. Whether he spoke of the weather or
the scenery she did not know, but his voice was soothing. Though
her nails dug into her own hands and the knot in her stomach
hardened with every turn of the carriage wheels, that calm voice
kept her from screaming aloud the fear that welled and welled
within her as the miles went by.

It
seemed to take forever, but at last the carriage turned into the
long drive that led to Braxted Place. Verity leaned forward in her
seat, staring intently out of the window, as if she might will the
marquis to appear there before her eyes.

As Cradoc opened the
vast double doors to an imperative knock, two small hands seized
him by the coat.

‘
Cradoc, where is he? Where have they taken him?’

‘
Miss?’ asked the man in a puzzled voice.

‘
Where is he?’

Then
the frantic hands released him, and Verity was speeding through the
hall, calling out, ‘Henry! Henry! Where are you?’

Cradoc made to follow her, but was halted by the man who had
accompanied the girl. ‘Let her be, man. She will find him for
herself.’

The butler stood
still, but stared after the girl as she flew up the grand marble
stairway, her feet making even lighter work of the journey back
over the way she had trodden only twenty-four hours ago, when she
had run from this house like one crazed.

‘
Henry! Henry!’ echoed her voice, carrying across the
hall.

She did not hear the
doors that opened, nor see the heads that popped out. Inskip came
quickly into the hall to join the butler and Sir John.

‘
What is it, Cradoc?’

‘
I
don’t know, Mr Inskip. It’s Miss Lambourn. Ripe for bedlam, I
reckon. This gentleman brought her.’

Inskip glanced at Sir John, who bowed slightly and gave his
name. ‘She heard of the accident. Nothing would do for her but to
come and see for herself how it was.’

‘
Good God!’ ejaculated the secretary, and started off after
her up the stairs. But by the time he reached the gallery, and
opened his mouth to call, Verity was already approaching its other
end. He stopped, watching her gravely, but there was the tiniest of
smiles at the back of his eyes.