Prelude to Love (6 page)

“Sickness is always an excuse for doing the inexcusable.''

"That is true, and it would give me an
excellent
excuse not to have to sit down and talk to them. I shall say we were going to Cambridge, but developed a sick stomach from Gretch's cow-handling of the ribbons. Excellent! There will be no need for you to stay chatting more than half an hour. Claim fatigue and join me. Now all we require is an excuse for going to Cambridge. Jane's son is no longer there."

"It doesn't have to be Cambridge. We'll say London was our goal."

"But we would not have gone to London via Tilbury, my dear. They are foolish, but not at all stupid. They know their map as well as anyone."

This reminded Vanessa that Landon had certainly followed them by sight, for had he been told London was their destination, he would not have been on the right road. It was odd he had made such an obvious blunder, when she considered it a moment longer.

They took up their cases, slipped silently along the corridor to the stairs and made it to the clerk's desk without seeing their spy. While Vanessa looked out for the carriage, Elleri went to the desk to settle their reckoning and try her hand at getting a lower rate owing to their early departure. She thought it grossly unfair to pay a whole night's lodging when they had not even mussed the bed, but was too anxious to spend long arguing.

"Would you happen to know how to get to John Rafferty's place?" she asked, as an afterthought. "It is called Oakdene—an old stone place three or so miles away."

The clerk was familiar with it, and gave her exact instructions to reach it. She was able to tell Gretch how to get there, which surprised Vanessa, pleasantly so. She did not question it, however. It did not so much as cross her mind her aunt had left word behind where they were headed.

"I think Papa would be proud of how well we are managing matters," she said with satisfaction, "I had not realized I had a flare for deception, till I tried it."

"Women are born with a knack for deception," she was told. "How else should they ever get husbands to marry them? There is a deal of deception in nabbing a parti. Take Miss Fischer, now, letting on her hair is naturally curly, and her sly mama, inviting Forrester to dinner."

Vanessa hardly listened to this topic that would normally engage her full attention. She felt through her skirt to see the letter was still resting in the top of her stocking, then sat back to devise excuses for landing in on the Raffertys so late at night.

Chapter Six

It was not at all a long drive to Raffertys. Though the road was dark and lonesome, causing much concern for highwaymen or spies who acted as such, they arrived in safety at the front door of a moldering stone mansion that looked large enough to house them without inconvenience. They were greeted by a disapproving butler, much put out to have to announce callers at nine-thirty in the evening. The lady of the house was equally displeased to have to make them welcome.

It was hard to credit this lean-cheeked woman with thin gray hair pulled severely back from her forehead was of an equal age with Aunt Elleri. Her gaunt frame was covered in a very plain gray gown, unadorned by so much as a collar, or inch of lace. Her spouse was equally austere. They had been sitting in state, the two of them, in a pair of wing chairs before a cold grate, with no cards, no books or magazines and no conversation.

The feeble excuse for stopping was put forth, causing some confusion when Elleri mentioned Cambridge as their destination and Vanessa simultaneously said Colchester. A sort of tepid welcome was preferred, soon followed by equally tepid tea. After one small cup, Miss Simons sighed and explained her head would split wide open if she did not place it on a pillow at once. Vanessa was left alone with two aging strangers, who were not adept at small talk.

There was really only one subject of conversation in any house at this time. The name of Napoleon soon arose, allowing a brief respite from the silence while Miss Bradford related what facts she remembered having heard her father mention. "Who is in charge there, anyway?" Mr. Rafferty demanded.

"Colonel Forrester," she answered, with a wrench to consider that now the ball would be getting into full swing. The orange trees would be giving off their perfume, the silk sheets making an intimate roof over the heads of Miss Fischer and Miss Condie and all the fortunate ladies who were standing up with the commandant, but of course the heinous word "ball" did not intrude into this Methodist sanctuary.

Mrs. Rafferty said she disapproved of all Frenchmen on principle, and Mr. Rafferty pronounced that Napoleon ought to be drawn and quartered if he dared to set a toe on England, and so he would be, by Jehosephat. Miss Bradford taxed her ingenuity to think of another subject to pass the next half hour, at which time she felt she could decently retire. She jumped six inches from her chair when the front-door knocker pounded.

"Who the deuce can be calling at such an hour?" Mr. Rafferty snorted with an accusing look at his wife. "Bad enough people we scarcely know ..." His eyes just peeled off the top of Vanessa's head, to intercept a repressive stare from his wife, who was not quite such a savage as her husband.

"Why don't you go and see?" she asked pretty sharply. He arose, but before he reached the doorway, there was the sound of a young gentleman's voice asking for Mr. Edward Rafferty. The lady of the house addressed her husband as John, so Vanessa assumed there was a son on the premises, one with the wits to have removed himself from the saloon.

"Edward is not at home," Mrs. Rafferty said. "Who can be calling on him?"

The butler marched to the archway to announce in injured accents, "Mr. Carlisle."

A well-formed young man entered, elegantly got up in dark clothing. He smiled politely. He was not exactly handsome, but he had a winning smile and rather happy eyes—blue eyes. Had he been only a quarter as presentable, he would have been a welcome addition to the party, in the lady's view. He bowed politely to the ladies before giving Mr. Rafferty's hand a shake.

"I understand your son is away?" he asked, looking surprised to hear it.

"He is gone off to some races," the mother told him, with deep disapproval.

"He must have gone to the Doncaster meet. Odd he did not mention it," Carlisle replied, apparently not realizing that racing, tinged as it was with gambling, was a taboo in this household.

"Very likely," the dame agreed. "Did you wish to see Edward?"

"We had an appointment," Mr. Carlise said. "He invited me to visit him two weeks ago, to come on this date. We were to go to London together. Odd he did not let me know he was leaving."

"Well, he is not here," Mrs. Rafferty repeated, just casting her eyes about the room as though to hint he could see for himself.

Miss Bradford was made acquainted with him, which brought him to a chair beside her. "Visiting, are you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Miss Bradford is staying overnight with us," the hostess explained. "Would you care for a cup of tea before you leave, Mr. Carlisle?"

"Leave?" he asked, his brows rising. "But surely Edward will be here tomorrow morning. We had a definite appointment."

"Oh, you want to stay overnight," Rafferty said in an accusing way.

"I would not want to put you to any trouble," he said quickly, even apologetically. "I can go to an inn, if there is one nearby."

An inn was likely to serve him strong drink, a thing to be avoided at whatever personal inconvenience to the Raffertys, as the man was a friend of their son. "It will be no trouble," the woman said, her thin voice belying the generous words.

"You are very kind," he said, accepting a cup of tea.

The parents' hostility thawed somewhat over the tea. "So you are a friend of Edward's, are you?" Mr. Rafferty confirmed. "A friend from his university days, I daresay. He met all manner of riffraff there."

"Just so," Mr. Carlisle replied gravely, but with some laughter lurking in those blue eyes.

"Are you the fellow who lives at Birmingham?" Rafferty continued, in an accusing way, his brows gathering in dismay. Miss Bradford thought that if she were the visitor, she would not admit to ever having been near Birmingham. "Edward went to a ball in Birmingham."

"Oh, really?" Carlisle asked, quite obviously nonplussed by this piece of information. "No, I am from the Cotswold Hills."

"Yes, I think I have you placed now," Rafferty said wisely. "Edward goes there every year for the hunting. I daresay it is
you
he visits."

"He has visited me at home twice," Carlisle admitted.

Nessa could see plainly he was uneasy with this pair of tartars. She took the idea he would be much more amusing on his own than in this company. He turned to her and made a few polite enquiries as to her place of origin, then expressed some familiarity with the area.

Again the subject of Napoleon's possible invasion came up, to occupy a few minutes. When it got at last to be ten o'clock, Nessa glanced at the long-case clock standing against the wall, wondering if she could politely express her fatigue.

"Time for your medicine, John," Mrs. Rafferty said, rising up like a puppet at the first gong from the clock.

One had the idea their whole life was similarly regulated by clocks. A servant appeared promptly at the doorway, without having to be summoned. He bore a tray of bottles and droppers, giving the impression Rafferty was a professional invalid. "Will you excuse us?" Mrs. Rafferty said. "I have to measure John's medications." She went nearer the lamp to do so.

Carlisle once again turned to Miss Bradford. "Lively evening," he said with a playful smile. The married couple spoke between themselves, allowing some privacy to the others.

"Livelier than they are accustomed to or can quite like, I think," Vanessa answered with a deprecating smile of her own. "My arrival too was unexpected."

"You escape tomorrow morning, if I understood correctly?" he asked.

"As soon as the cock crows, I promise you."

"I shall do likewise if Edward does not come. He's a devilish-odd chap, Edward. Do you know him?"

"No, I am a stranger here, which makes my welcome not entirely enthusiastic. It is my aunt who is a friend, but she has gone to bed with a headache."

"She is wise. It would be her previous acquaintance that accounts for the headache. I wonder what can account for her stopping at all?"

His whole tone was facetious. As there was no fear he was after her letter, she answered, "It was a dire emergency, sir."

"On your way home, are you?"

"No, I have just come from home. We are going to visit friends at Ipswich."

"Ipswich? I don't believe I know anyone there."

"Family friends," she said, seeing no reason to mention a name.

"Edward and I have planned a week of partying in the city. He often speaks of his parents as being strict, but I had no idea they were so gothic, till I stumbled in tonight. I shall leave at the crack of dawn if he is not here tonight.''

"Don't you think you should give him till mid-morning?" she asked.

"I imagine he has forgotten all about my visit. Actually, I was supposed to arrive at noon today myself, but got held up. If he is
still
not here, you know, it is unlikely he is coming at all. But I do not give up hope of him yet. He may arrive before we are sent off to bed. Do you suppose that battalion of bottles is to prepare Mr. Rafferty for a peaceful night? I doubt we'll be allowed to remain in the saloon without his chaperonage."

"I was just calculating what hour would be not
too
uncivil to retire," she answered.

"I begin to wonder if I would not be wiser to go to an inn. Do you happen to know if there is one close by?"

"There is an inn at Tilbury—the White Swan. I noticed it as we came by," she told him.

"Probably full at this hour."

She did not contradict him, though she doubted her own lately abandoned room was taken yet.

There was a positive snort from the corner when the door knocker was sounded for a
third
time. "Bad news always comes in threes," Mr. Rafferty said fatalistically, while Nessa held back a smile by biting her lip, and Carlisle laughed softly. "I own
I
am little enough addition to the party, but I think he is hard to call
you
bad news, ma'am," he consoled her.

Really he had the nicest smile, so open and confiding, yet with some intimacy too. It was the way he worked his eyes that did it, looking deeply into hers. Even Forrester had not such a winning smile.

Another masculine voice sounded in the hallway, the tones of it familiar to Vanessa, who inhaled sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of shocked dismay.

"What is it?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward quickly to look at her more closely.

"It's Colonel Landon! Oh, dear—I ..." She looked about the room, seeking, in her befuddled state, a place to hide.

Within seconds. Colonel Landon stood framed in the doorway, while the butler announced, "Mr. Kiley," in a state of exasperation which he made no effort to conceal.

"I
do
beg your pardon, sir," Landon said, walking forward, toward Rafferty. "I have had the worst piece of luck. I broke an axle, just on the road outside of your place, and have come to ask directions to the nearest stable." Even as he spoke, his eyes flickered to Vanessa, leveling an accusing glare on her.

She looked back as though she had seen a ghost. "Who is he? Is something the matter, Miss Bradford?" Carlisle asked her.

"I don't know who he is. Oh, dear, what am I to do?"

"Has he been bothering you? Is he following you?"

She was unsure how much she should tell him, but began to look at Carlisle with a new interest. If Edward did not come, Mr. Carlisle was at loose ends and might help her out of her difficulty.

"Come, now, tell me the truth," Carlisle urged with an encouraging look.

"I can't tell you. Not now—not here."

The conversation at the medications table was meanwhile going forth apace. Mr. Rafferty took delight in the broken axle, and the reason for it was not long kept to himself. "I've told them a dozen times that road wants fixing. Holes so big you could get lost in them. I broke an axle two weeks ago. I only save my carriage by driving along the edge, with one wheel half in the ditch. A stranger at night—it was bound to happen. Maybe
now
they'll tend to it. You want to report it in town, sir."