Sally James (17 page)

It was Miranda’s turn to be silent when he ceased speaking. She stared at him intently, trying to determine whether he spoke the truth. She had at first believed her mother’s story, and it was only when she had come to consider the strangeness of it that she had first had doubts. Now here was a completely different explanation that fitted the facts almost as well.

“My mother is not mad now!” she exclaimed suddenly.

“How often have you seen her?” he demanded.

“But once,” she had to admit.

“And I told you her illness was intermittent. We cannot tell what causes the attacks.”

“She has worked for Therese for many years though!” Miranda protested, unwilling to accept that her mother was deranged.

He shrugged. “Possibly she has been well for years. I have not seen her, and cannot explain that. But these illnesses of the mind are unpredictable. You are certain you yourself have never suffered such an attack?”

“No! I had no idea what normal behaviour was until Denzil came to the island. He convinced me I was not mad, and said he would prove it to the world. Which he has done! I am so eternally grateful to him.”

“And I too have him to thank.”

They were silent for a while, then Sir Henry roused himself from his abstraction.

“Tell me what you had intended.”

“I have no plans. I had hoped to find my family. Beyond that I had not thought.”

“Not of marriage? Is Sir Denzil in love with you?” he asked bluntly.

“Oh no!” she replied hastily. “It is expected he will marry Araminta Floode.”

“I can advise nothing as yet. Since I once made myself responsible for your welfare, I will continue to do what I can for you. I wish, having met you, and now the torment of my love for Marie has become less acute, that you were my daughter, but I fear it is not so. However, Lady Carstairs would be most distressed if we told her this tale. We – of late my wife and I have not always been on the best of terms, my dear. She would be only too ready to believe ill of me. Will you help me by remaining silent about this for a while? Just until I have thought of a plan to help you. But it is a rare tangle. I will do my best to think of a solution within the next few days, for I appreciate what an anxious time this must be for you. Now, will you take my advice meanwhile?”

Miranda looked at him steadily, and he took this for assent.

“Say nothing to anyone of your discoveries, about your mother or myself. And I will send word to you soon and arrange a meeting when I have thought of some way out of the tangle. No one does know, I assume?”

Miranda shook her head, and rose to take her leave.

“I thank you for what you have told me,” she said quietly, and he came quickly across the room to hold her hands in his for a moment.

“Be careful,” he said quietly as he went with her to see her out of the house.

* * * *

Miranda walked towards Green Street as if in a dream, and did not see the Earl of Devoran until he spoke to her, having come to a halt beside her. He leaned down from the perch of the phaeton he was driving.

“Well met, Miranda. I have just called in Green Street and been informed you were out visiting. Have you time to take a turn round the Park with me?”

Smiling abstractedly she agreed, and he held out his hand to assist her to clamber up beside him.

“The Earl will bring me home, Betty,” Miranda told her maid, and the girl nodded contentedly as she watched them drive away, for the Earl was a favourite in Green Street for the lavishness of his tips.

Miranda was unusually silent, and after receiving very brief responses to his first remarks, Tom looked more closely at her.

“What is it? Why are you so lost in your thoughts?”

She turned apologetically towards him.

“Oh, Tom, I am sorry! It is just, well, I am rather puzzled and cannot solve the riddle!”

“Can I be of any help?”

She shook her head. “No, I think not – except, Tom, yes, you must know him. What sort of man is Sir Henry Carstairs?”

“Who? Why the devil should you want to know of him?” he asked in surprise.

Miranda laughed uncertainly. “Oh, it is just that I have heard so much about his Bill to abolish the climbing boys, and yet I had heard he and Denzil had long ago quarrelled. I understand they never meet.”

“Well, as to that, Carstairs is a pompous ass, and I would not blame Denzil for avoiding him. But I had not heard of any quarrel. How did you come to hear of it?”

“Lady Carstairs mentioned it once when we met, to explain why she could not call on Judith.”

“Has he not an estate in Cornwall?”

“Yes, and I thought it must be to do with that. But I would like to know more. Tom, could you discover it for me? Is there anyone you could ask, without it being remarked on?”

He thought it odd, but she smiled at him in a way that made him willing to undertake the most arduous tasks for her sake, and promised to do his best. In the event it was a simple matter, for he approached an older cousin who had been on the town many years earlier and recalled the story, which had been one of the celebrated scandals of the time. A few days later Tom again drove Miranda out, and informed her of his success.

“I have it on good authority that Sir Henry killed Denzil’s older brother in a duel,” he said.

“What? Oh, how dreadful! Poor Denzil! And poor Judith! I did not realise they had had an older brother.”

“I had forgot myself, though I was scarce out of petticoats at the time. It is so long ago that most people will have forgotten, and the Trewyns never mention him.”

“Do you know what it was about?”

“Alec, that’s my cousin who told me, says that it was thought at the time that Sir Henry forced the quarrel because Geoffrey, Denzil’s brother, had won a large sum from him at cards. It seems he insulted him so outrageously that there was no way for Geoffrey to avoid the encounter.”

“Yet Sir Henry does not appear to be that sort of man!”

“He was very wild in his youth, I am told. His father had to pay his debts more than once, and extricate him from trouble with women. Also there were ugly rumours he had been cheating at cards. Then came this duel, and he was very nearly ruined, but his father was a friend of Prinny’s and managed to have the matter hushed up. Denzil’s father died soon afterwards. It is said the news of the duel and Geoffrey’s death hastened his own. If he had lived there would have been more noise made about it. Sir Henry had to disappear for a while until it was forgotten. But these scandals soon pass, when another one comes along to replace the old and people soon forget. Though Denzil can never have forgotten. I am not surprised he will not meet Sir Henry.”

“How long ago was all this?”

“About twenty years,” she was told.

* * * *

The story she had heard left Miranda even more confused. She had not wanted to believe Sir Henry’s story because of the way he had described her mother’s actions, but his manner in telling it had been so confident she had been afraid it must be true. She had no one to ask. Now this story, and the light it shed on Sir Henry’s character at the time of her own birth, made it more probable he was telling lies. But why? Was it solely to repudiate his marriage with her mother, and retain his present respectability? Or had he some other plan in mind?

She determined to visit her mother and ask for some more details, and tell her what Sir Henry had claimed. It was difficult to arrange to see her mother alone, but she contrived to pay a visit to Therese’s, and under the pretence of asking whether Mademoiselle le Brun was recovered from her indisposition, whispered she would visit her mother’s lodging on the following Sunday, which was the only day Mademoiselle had free.

For a time she was worried about how she would arrange this, but she had any number of swains ready to oblige her, and she chose Richard, who was probably the most discreet. Telling him she had recently met an acquaintance of her father’s, an impoverished French woman, she explained she wished to visit the lady. Would he escort her, and call for her an hour later to bring her back to Green Street? She explained that Judith would be occupied entertaining an elderly aunt, and Sunday was the only possible day for her hostess. Richard was incurious, and readily agreed to take her.

Mademoiselle le Brun heard her out in silence.

“You believe him, my love?” she asked despondently at the end.

“He seemed plausible enough, but I prefer to believe you. Can you explain why he wished to say all this?”

“To escape responsibility. It is typical of him. And he could not allow his reputation to be smirched now!”

“Can you not prove the marriage?”

“I have no proof, no documents. I was young and foolish, and did not realise the importance of these. It was a very quiet wedding, with just old Sir Henry and Miss Brockton present.”

“She might speak!” Miranda said excitedly.

“She could indeed if she so wished, but how could she be persuaded?”

“Denzil might know how. But what of the parson? Who was he?”

“He was old then, the incumbent of the parish in the village nearby. I doubt if he is still alive.”

“Denzil will discover it,” Miranda said confidently.

Her mother smiled at her fondly, but shook her head.

“I think he will be too busy.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, fear clutching at her heart.

“Miss Floode was in the shop yesterday, and she hinted that she would soon be buying bride clothes. She was very particular in procuring precisely the shade of blue which she said was Sir Denzil’s favourite.”

“Oh, did she?” Miranda said faintly. “Then of course he will be too preoccupied.”

“I have been thinking this week past At first I was so determined to secure your rights as Henry’s true born daughter, but see what has come of that! I did not care for myself, and when they told me you had died, I did not care any more, and made some sort of new life for myself. Do you wish to claim him as your father?”

Miranda considered this, and eventually shook her head. “I had not thought so far. But he is detestable! You are right, I would not wish to claim him! And I have no wish for his money, apart from being so beholden to Lady Beverley!”

“Have you told them about me?”

“No. Nor that I have seen Sir Henry. I wished to straighten it out in my own mind first”

“Lady Beverley sounds kind, from all you have told me. Confide in her, my love. I ought to see her. Could it be arranged?”

“I will ask her to come here.”

“No, there is no need to ask that of her. If she would receive me, I could come to bring some of the bonnets she ordered. I do this sometimes and it would occasion no comments.”

Miranda agreed to do this, and then the hour was up and Richard was waiting to take her home. Mademoiselle came to the door to see her depart, and watched him as he leaped down to assist Miranda into his curricle, and then solicitously tucked the rug about her knees. She realised that if Miranda found the right man who would take her in spite of her unhappy background, there would be no need for her to worry more about her daughter’s future.

* * * *

Sir Henry had not been idle. He had remained in his study after Miranda had departed, considering his next move. He had almost immediately rejected the idea of returning the girl to her captivity on the island, if only because it was now no longer a secret. But how could he turn the events to his own advantage, and prevent Sir Denzil from revealing to the world the story he had stumbled across? Sir Henry knew he could place no reliance on Sir Denzil’s friendship. Their enmity was deep and unrelenting, even so long after the fatal duel, and Sir Henry was well aware Sir Denzil had sworn vengeance.

Slowly his ideas took shape, and a few days later his plans were formed. He sent a message to Sir Denzil requesting him to call in Curzon Street as soon as was convenient.

Denzil received the note when he returned from a visit to his tailor, and he smiled grimly. Evidently Miss Brockton had told her tale, and Sir Henry meant to approach him directly. He set off immediately for Curzon Street, and found Sir Henry awaiting him.

“I think you are aware of the reason behind my request,” Sir Henry began.

“I would nevertheless prefer to hear it from you, Sir Henry.”

“As you wish. You recently suffered the misfortune of being shipwrecked off the coast of Cornwall, I understand.”

“Your information is correct.”

“And very opportunely were swept ashore on a small island.”

“Again, correct.”

“From where, some days later, you abducted my ward, an unhappy girl who suffers from a deranged mind.”

“There, Sir Henry, you are ill informed. The girl is saner than many people I know who are accounted perfectly normal! Saner by far than those who were responsible for her imprisonment!”

“I think you yourself have been swayed by her manner, which can be deceptive, and tempted by her extreme beauty.”

Denzil did not reply, but eyed Sir Henry sardonically.

“Can you deny her attractiveness?”

“Why should I wish to?”

“And so, for purposes of your own, you abducted her. We know what the world will say when they hear of that.”

“Also what they will say when they hear of the conditions under which she was living, at your behest.”

“I think not. They would rather pity me, for having accepted the responsibility of this child, knowing she came from tainted stock, and then having been misinformed as to her condition. Either way, Sir Denzil, whether she be judged sane or not, I shall come well out of the story, while you remain an abductor. And either way, the girl’s reputation will be tarnished.”

He proceeded to regale Denzil with the story he had unfolded for Miranda, while Denzil listened in sceptical silence.

“I know not the truth of it,” Denzil said at the end of the recital. “If you are not her father, then she is to be congratulated! You have left it too late to claim she is mad, however, for the world now knows Miranda, and will judge her from their own knowledge, not your fantasies.”

“But they will not relish your foisting a bastard on the
ton
. She will find many doors closed to her. Then what will become of her? I have a suggestion, if we can for the moment forget past animosities. I will keep silent about your part in the affair if you will make reparation by marrying her.”