Edwardian Candlelight Omnibus (53 page)

Both servants and masters alike had joined together to persuade the police that Barbara’s death had been an unfortunate accident. At all costs, scandal must be kept from Courtney.

The day of the picnic Lord Gerald had recovered consciousness and had ridden hard to Courtney to inquire if the picnic party had returned. They had, and an anxious Barbara had informed him that Ginny was lying down in her room, as she had taken ill at the picnic.

Lord Gerald had taken his leave but had felt unaccountably restless. He had decided to walk over to the rotunda and see if the workmen had finished. The pillars were standing, tall, straight, and elegant in the twilight and he had stood, admiring the view. That was when he had seen a figure that looked like Ginny riding hell for leather from Courtney.

He had listened in dismay to Harvey’s explanation. The figure on the horse had been wearing Ginny’s clothes but had been riding like the very devil and Ginny, as he knew, would not ride faster than a gentle canter and would certainly not have gone out with the light falling to search the caves by herself.

He had rounded up the servants and ridden hard to the caves.

He would never forget his fear, never forget the awful sight of Ginny’s white, tear-stained face as she had stumbled toward him.

He could hardly believe even now that fussy little Barbara Briggs had stage-managed such a murder attempt. His own servants had been holding a poacher, who they had accused of tying the wire across the drive. The man was released when Gerald returned, his pockets still full of rabbits.

The effect of the whole thing on Jeffrey, Cyril, and Tansy had been strange. They had all seemed to be more shocked than Ginny. Cyril had surprisingly accepted a very minor position in the Bengal and British Bank and had set sail for India, leaving a short and callous note for Annabelle to say that the engagement was at an end. Jeffrey had taken his leave of Courtney for good and had returned to town and no one had heard of him since, and Tansy had moved her belongings back to her mother’s estate.

That had left Ginny virtually alone at Courtney for the first time since her arrival. She had seen Gerald on several occasions, when she had been more empty-eyed than he had ever known and had deftly turned the conversation away from any discussion about the wedding.

Gerald, who had at first been puzzled and saddened by the change in her, ended up by forgetting the Ginny he had loved so much and, not realizing he was suffering from a bad fit of premarital nerves, heartily began to wish the engagement was at an end. After all, if she did not want to spend any time with him, then the least she could do was to release him from the engagement. It was with this bitter thought in mind that he rode over one day to find Miss Bloggs had left for town. “Going to see a show,” said Harvey. He added that he thought Madam had mentioned something about seeing the new musical,
The Roving Prince
, at the Empress.

Lord Gerald shuddered. Then he thought nastily to himself that anyone with Ginny’s common background would naturally have a common taste in theater.

Now, just perhaps—
just
perhaps—Ginny had a male escort.
That
would give him a chance to make a jealous scene and force Ginny to give him up.

Some little sensible part of his brain told him he was behaving badly but the main part raged for revenge on her for her cold treatment and assured him that freedom would be the only way to be comfortable with himself again.

The musical was very successful and he found he had to buy a whole box to himself in order to get a seat.
Now
, he thought grimly, looking around the house as the orchestra hammered out the tinny overture,
where is Miss Ginny?

But it was only when the curtain had risen to show the cast roistering in front of a cardboard inn in Tyrolean dress and quaffing air out of gold cardboard cups that his eye was caught by the movement in the box opposite.

Ginny Bloggs had arrived!

Not only had she arrived but she was being escorted by an even greater matrimonial catch than Lord Gerald de Fremney. Her escort was none other than the young and very wealthy Scottish Earl of Mark, Lord Ian Struthers. Lord Ian was as dark as Gerald was fair. He had the reputation of being the wildest young man-about-town and Lord Gerald detested every bit of him from his smart military mustache to his patent-leather pumps.

The dreary first act wailed on, where some damned mountebank in tights roared across the footlights that he was the lost Prince of Slobonia while some silly blonde, who looked remarkably like Ginny, sighed and simpered her love for him in twenty different attitudes.

Ginny and her earl seemed to be enjoying the show immensely. The curtain closed on the first act and still Lord Gerald did not move. He sat well back in the shadows of his box and nursed his fury. He would wait till the next interval. But the next interval found him reluctant to move. He spent the last act rehearsing in his mind what he would say and what Ginny would say and what the earl would say when the show finished. It was with blank fury that he realized as soon as the house lights went up that Ginny and the earl had gone.

There was nothing for it but to return home. He did not feel like staying in town to sulk in his club. He knew Ginny’s town house was closed. Then he would drive to Courtney and wait for her return.

And if she did not return… ?

Did it not seem feasible that a girl who had lain so readily in his arms and had lately shown so little interest in him would look for another man to seduce? He remembered that she did not wish to marry him after the nights in the inn. He forgot she had told him that it was because he had not said he loved her. He forgot everything pleasant and appealing about her. He became convinced that Ginny was an empty-headed slut and he had been about to bestow his ancient name on a heartless baggage.

The rain was falling with increasing ferocity as he ploughed along the Maidstone road and, as a last straw, his headlamps flickered and went out, leaving him moving slowly along through a black wall of water.

The lights of The Eagle, a large coaching inn, now catering mainly to motorists and situated on the outskirts of Maidstone, twinkled in the river of water running down his windscreen and with a sigh of relief he crawled carefully into the courtyard. He would stay the night. Perhaps he would not even call on Ginny Bloggs in the morning. Leave her a note and leave the country, that was the answer.
Just like that weakling, Cyril
, said the nasty voice of conscience in his brain, but he fought it down as he made a dive through the deluge to the entrance of The Eagle.

The Eagle was warm and comfortable and redolent of all the welcoming smells of good food and good wine.

It also boasted a reception desk with an efficient young gentleman in tails in charge.

The receptionist bowed low before the magnificence of his lordship’s evening dress and opera cloak lined with scarlet silk. Of course The Eagle would be honored to find him accommodation for the night. If he would just sign the register?

Lord Gerald looked down at the page and dipped the steel pen in the inkwell and prepared to sign his name. Then he stared at the book as if he could not believe his eyes. For there in neat copperplate was the previous entry—“Lady Gerald de Fremney.”

“What is this?” he demanded, his face very white and set.

The puzzled receptionist looked from his lordship’s strained face to the entry. “Oh, her ladyship arrived about half an hour ago,” he said.

“And his lordship?” demanded Gerald in a voice that did not sound at all like his own.

“Her ladyship said that his lordship would be joining her presently. Now, about your own rooms, sir—”

“I,” grated Gerald, “am Lord Gerald de Fremney.”

“In that case,” said the receptionist, polite but puzzled, “I will show you to her ladyship’s room.”

“Do,” said Gerald grimly. “Just you do that very thing. And could you give me the passkey? I do not wish to disturb my wife. She has had a long day and is probably asleep.”

What an unconscionable length of time it seemed to take to negotiate the winding corridors of the old inn, now carpeted in flowery Wilton.

He stood outside the door, his heart beating hard. Ginny had probably made arrangements for the earl to join her later. But to use his name!

He turned the large key in the old lock and swung open the door. Ginny was sitting beside the fire reading a book, those ridiculous steel spectacles of hers held together with ginger-beer wire perched on the end of her nose.

She stared at Lord Gerald’s furious face for a long moment with eyes remarkably bright and shrewd and then, remembering her glasses, took them off.

“Good evening, Gerald,” she said mildly, “I wondered when you would get here.”

“You wondered! You
wondered
!” he said wrathfully. “You had not the least idea I was going to be here. You are quite obviously waiting for Lord Ian.”

A smile lurked in Ginny’s blue eyes and she said, “Were you at the musical then? I would have thought Wagner was more your style.”

“Yes, I
was
at that stupid musical,” he said, slamming the door behind him and marching to the fire. “But I am going to call your bluff, my girl. I am going to stay here until the so-called Lord Gerald arrives.” He plumped himself down in an overstuffed armchair on the other side of the hearth. “And while we’re at it,” he went on, “I wish to inform you our engagement is at an end.”

Ginny gave a little sigh and slowly drew off the heavy diamond-and-sapphire engagement ring on her finger and wordlessly handed it to him.

He put it in the pocket of his waistcoat, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms. Well, that was that! Why should he sit here waiting for the earl? There was no longer any need.

“You couldn’t possibly have known I would be staying here,” he snapped. “No, look at me! Don’t pick up that book again. What is it by the way? Some trash of Ouida’s?”

“No,” said Ginny mildly. “
Anderson on Pig Farming
.”

“Pigs!”

“Yes, pigs,” said Ginny dreamily. “I am thinking of keeping pigs. So nice and amiable and one can stand there and scratch their backs. There is something very soothing about a pig. And, yes, I knew you were bound to stop here, because I passed you on the Maidstone Road. Your lights were out and you were crawling along. I knew you couldn’t travel much further in this weather, so I decided it would be fun to motor ahead and surprise you.”

“Rubbish!” snapped Gerald. “
You
motor ahead. In whose motor?”

“Mine,” said Ginny simply. “You did not know of my change of heart, did you? I bought the motor a few weeks ago.”

“You should
not
be driving a motor yourself,” raged Gerald, “and without your maid or groom. It’s
indecent
!”

“I was right about you, you know,” said Ginny quietly. “You rave on about the modern woman but you’re really very old-fashioned. You’re a stuffed shirt, Gerald. You never, ever really forgave me for that time at the inn. Oh, you enjoyed it of course but afterward, every time you thought of it, you were shocked. Deeply shocked. I had no doubt in my mind that we truly loved each other and therefore there was nothing wrong with it, but now you have made me feel very dirty and soiled.”

She got to her feet and he automatically stood up as well. She was looking at him, kindly and sadly. She was wearing a theater dress of gray silk, with a little stand-up collar of black lace outlining the creaminess of her throat. Long earrings of sapphires and diamonds sparkled in the mellow lamplight of the low-beamed room. With a soft rustle of silken petticoats, she moved to the door and held it open. “Please leave,” she said.

Gerald’s thoughts were in a turmoil. He was suddenly convinced she was speaking the truth. That she had indeed been waiting for him. He would have given anything for the earl to have arrived at that moment so that he should not feel like such a fool. Every word she had said was true.

All he had to do was walk away and not look back and all his troubles would be over.

“Ginny…” he began, turning around. “Go,” she said quietly.

And he did.

He leaned against the pillared entrance to the inn and stared gloomily at the rain thundering outside. He had been a snob and a fool. Ginny had given him a taste of what marriage to a very real, very warm woman could be like and he had thrown it all away because he was ashamed of her lower-middle-class background and because in his heart of hearts he was ashamed of the violence of his feelings for her and because he considered her a tramp.

It dawned on him that again she had risked her reputation. She was rich and attractive. There would be plenty of men like the earl to fill his shoes. And she would soon get over him if she had not done so already. But would he ever get over her?

He turned very slowly and began to mount the stairs. He still had the passkey in his hand. Not knowing quite what he was going to do or say, he gently opened the door.

The room was in darkness except for the red glow of the dying fire. Ginny was lying in the middle of an old-fashioned four-poster bed.

He lit a candle and carried it over to the bed and held it up.

Ginny was lying flat on her back, fully dressed, staring up at the canopy. Large tears were slowly rolling unheeded down her cheeks.

He suddenly knew what he must do and say.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at her and, drawing a large white handkerchief from his pocket, proceeded to dry her tears.

Then he took the ring from his waistcoat pocket and, lifting her limp hand, placed it on her finger.

“We are going to go away tomorrow, Ginny,” he said slowly, “together. We will simply take off. We will go to Paris or somewhere and be married by the consul as soon as possible. I love you so much, Ginny, I’m frightened of my emotions. We will go away and we will not come back until Barbara’s ghost has gone from Courtney, and there will only be the pair of us, very much married, ready to start our life together.”

The eyes looking up into his grew wider with surprise and then came alive with a mixture of love and relief. And then she stretched up her arms.