Heir to Rowanlea (18 page)

Harry stared at her, permitting himself to be convinced at last.

“But what can we do?” he asked after a moment. “If he is an imposter, who is he? And why should Aunt Claudine be involved in the deception?”

“He is like her, and so must be one of her family, but whoever he is she is better off with him the owner of Rowanlea than if she were merely your father’s pensioner. And they mean to transfer all they can to France, when they have sold what is not entailed. If war broke out again, we could do nothing even if we could prove him to be false!”

“Have you spoken to my father?” Harry asked at length.

“No, I have been so unsure, and I wanted to talk to you first. Shall we go and tell him what we think?”

Harry nodded, and they turned to the door, but at that moment it opened and Lady Weare, accompanied by Mr Penharrow, entered, accompanied by James with Wolf bouncing after him.

Charlotte looked from her mother, who was twisting the ribbons of her rather fetching bonnet into little more than rags, to Mr Penharrow, who appeared a trifle sheepish. The latter cleared his throat and spoke.

“Charlotte, James, your mother has consented to become my wife. I hope you will wish us both happy!”

After a startled moment, Charlotte flung herself on her mother, kissing her and demanding to be told all about it, while Harry, unable to reach his aunt, shook Mr Penharrow warmly by the hand.

“I’m delighted, sir!” he exclaimed, and Charlotte, releasing her mother from the ecstatic embrace, turned to shake his hand a little shyly.

“So that was why you were looking at a house in Hill Street,” she said accusingly to her mother. “You deceived us all.”

“I don’t have a town house, you see,” Mr Penharrow explained. “At least, I have one in Russell Square, but I would not wish to have your mother living there among the Cits.”

“They didn’t deceive me,” James remarked laconically. “I guessed how it would be when I saw them kissing last week. I went out again quietly, and shut the door,” he added quickly as his mother looked at him, startled, “for I thought you would not wish the servants to see.”

“Odious boy!” Lady Weare said, laughing and blushing.

“When is the wedding to be?” Charlotte demanded. “Will we live in Hill Street then?”

“We’ll marry as soon as possible after your ball, Charlotte,” Mr Penharrow declared. “It has taken me long enough to persuade your mother you would not resent me.”

“Of course not,” Charlotte reassured him.

“And I need James to come and help me care for this hell hound he wished on me.”

“So that was why you knew Mr Penharrow would not refuse to have Wolf!” Charlotte said in amusement. “You are an odious boy! He would not have dared say no.”

“Besides, I am afraid your mother might find some other excuse for delay unless I tie the knot quickly.”

“What other excuse?” Charlotte asked in puzzlement.

“Well, your own wedding, perhaps?” Mr Penharrow said, looking at her quizzically, and Charlotte blushed as furiously as her mother had done earlier.

“I have no plans for a wedding,” she said quickly, but Mr Penharrow merely laughed, and Charlotte hastily began to ask her mother questions about the arrangements to be made.

* * * *

In the excitement engendered by Lady Weare’s announcement, Harry and Charlotte were unable to speak with Mr Norville until late in the afternoon, but they eventually found him alone and persuaded him what they had to say was important. He listened with growing unease as they related their suspicions and the incidents that had given rise to them.

“It sounds bad, I’ll admit,” he said at last, “but how can we prove aught? Everything could be explained, and there’s no definite proof.”

“Then we must get it!” Harry exclaimed. “Sir, if he is an impostor you cannot permit him to sell off your land.”

“It will be said we resent his reappearance, if we make any accusations, and you in particular are jealous,” Mr Norville warned.

“We’ll make no accusations until we are in a position to prove them,” Harry asserted. “I’ve a mind to go to France myself and see what I can discover. Do you know where the rest of Aunt Claudine’s family live? I could start there.”

“Did Mr Glossop’s agent ever return?” Charlotte asked suddenly. Her uncle shook his head.

“We have heard nothing, but he’s been gone for just a few weeks, really a very short time.”

“Then we’ll have to devise ways of trapping Claude, it’s all that is left,” Charlotte said gloomily. “I mean, trick questions, talking about people who do not exist and persuading him to admit he knows them. Then one of us must be with him when he first visits Rowanlea, to see what he remembers or not, if he does know it.”

“Trick questions will prove naught except a poor memory,” Harry replied, “and you may be sure he will not venture near Rowanlea without Aunt Claudine to guide him.”

“Then what can we do?” Charlotte exclaimed.

“I’ll go to France,” Harry decided. “It is the only place where proof is available. Sir,” he went on, turning to his father, “will you arrange for me to have all the details Glossop’s man started with, and anything we know in addition?”

Mr Norville looked at him seriously, and then sighed.

“I don’t like it, my boy. If Claude is as we fear, he’s a damned unscrupulous fellow, and you’ll be in danger once he knows what you are about.”

Harry shrugged. “We must make some story up to account for my absence. I must do it, for it’s our only chance!”

“Aye, you are right. Very well, I’ll go to see Glossop in the morning, and arrange for him to meet you. Not at his office or here, I think, for someone will know and word might get back to Claude, which would alert him.”

With that Harry and Charlotte had to be content, but they discussed it at length until Charlotte, suddenly realizing the time, said she must change for dinner immediately.

She whisked out of the room and Harry followed her more slowly. He was taking his hat and cane from Rivers when Claude came slowly down the stairs, his right arm in a sling and the sleeve of his coat pinned romantically across his chest, and supported on either side by his valet and one of the footmen. He paused slightly when he saw Harry, who had turned and was surveying him sardonically, without making any move to greet him.

Claude recovered his aplomb and trod down the remaining stairs.

“Good evening, Harry,” he said smoothly. “I had not expected to see you in my house today. I must offer my sincere apologies for having missed our—appointment—this morning, but as you see, I was prevented.”

He waved his henchmen back and then indicated his bandaged arm.

“My uncle and I were returning home last night when we were set upon by some gang of ruffians,” he explained smoothly. “They stole my fob and some rings from my uncle.”

“I trust he is not also injured,” Harry returned.

“Only slight contusions, cousin.”

“How fortunate! Severe injuries are so restricting, are they not? Pray excuse me, or I will be late for a dinner engagement.”

So saying he departed abruptly, and went off to his rooms, there to ponder on what excuse could be offered to his friends which would be believed by Claude to account for a disappearance of several weeks. At the thought that, ironically, if he had fought Claude and killed him such a departure would have been inevitable, he grinned, at once in a better mood, and set off for his party confident that eventually he would unmask Claude.

* * * *

On the following morning Elizabeth made her promised call on Charlotte, and was, by means of subtle flattery, induced to accompany her to a new milliner Mrs Maine had discovered in South Street, and whose praises she had sung at the dinner party. Charlotte, blessing her good fortune that it was a delightfully sunny, mild day, persuaded Elizabeth to dispense with the company of a footman, saying that to be always spied upon by servants was detestable, and they had really only a very short way to go.

At Madame Renee’s Charlotte ordered the most ravishing chip straw hat, tied with ribbons she declared matched precisely one of her new gowns, and Elizabeth spent a considerable time debating the respective merits of a hat trimmed with dyed feathers of a blue which perfectly matched her eyes and one with cunningly contrived knots of ribbon of a delicate shade of pink.

Walking back along South Audley Street, Charlotte’s steps grew slower, and she ceased the spate of gay chatter that she had maintained since they had left the milliner’s.

“What ails you?” Elizabeth asked in concern.

Charlotte shook her head and halted.

“I know not. The oddest feeling, as if my head were floating above my shoulders. Oh, Elizabeth, I feel so peculiar.”

“You are not going to swoon, are you?” Elizabeth asked in horror, looking about her for help which failed to materialize.

“I—I don’t think so—but—oh—if only I could lie down!”

“Charlotte, take my arm. We are not so very far from Norville House, surely you can manage that distance!” Charlotte permitted herself to totter a few more steps along the street, then she sagged heavily against Elizabeth.

“I cannot go further!” she gasped, and clung onto the nearby railings.

“But what shall we do?” Elizabeth wailed.

Charlotte put her hand to her head, and through her fingers made sure there was no one about who could observe them.

“Harry,” she uttered in a faint voice. “He lives here, the next door but one. Fetch him, I beg of you!”

Elizabeth sighed in relief.

“Of course, he can help you home.”

“I don’t want—Oh, Elizabeth, please do hurry, I am sure I am going to swoon.”

Casting her a horrified glance, Elizabeth sped along to Harry’s door and hammered on it frantically, then distractedly came back to assist Charlotte, who was making a valiant attempt to walk the remaining few yards towards the door.

Mr Cooper opened his door and stepped back in astonishment when he was confronted by two modishly attired young ladies, one of them somewhat ineffectually supporting the other who staggered across the threshold and collapsed in a heap at his feet.

“Pray, help me! Is Mr Norville in? This is his cousin, and she is ill. Oh, do get Harry—Mr Norville!” Elizabeth pleaded, and Mr Cooper, recognizing Charlotte from her previous visit, and being reluctant to accommodate such an unconventional young lady for longer than absolutely essential in his front hall, went with considerable alacrity up the first pair of stairs, to reappear in a few moments with Harry, attired in a dressing-gown of a particularly vivid pattern in bright peacock colors, and with his hair in wild disarray.

“Elizabeth!” he ejaculated. “What the deuce is this?”

“Harry, Charlotte is ill, and I did not know what to do!”

Mr Cooper moved aside and Harry saw Charlotte’s inert form arranged in an artistic fashion on the checkered marble hallway, and sprang down the last few steps to kneel beside her. Her eyelids flickered as he raised her head.

“I feel so strange,” she murmured, and he pursed his lips and called to Willis who was following him down the stairs.

“I’ll carry her up to lie on my bed,” he said curtly, suiting his actions to the words, and within minutes Charlotte was becomingly disposed on his wide, comfortable bed, while Elizabeth waved a bottle of smelling-salts beneath her nose and Harry chafed her hands. Charlotte attempted a brave smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “May I rest by myself for a while? I shall be better presently. I cannot tell what came over me.”

Dubiously Harry suggested a doctor should be called, but Charlotte begged him not to cause so much commotion.

“I felt faint,” she insisted. “That is all. Perhaps when I have rested you could find me a hackney?”

“I’ll take you home,” Harry said firmly, and when Charlotte piteously begged to be permitted to sleep, he ushered Elizabeth through the communicating doors into his living-room and poured her some wine, saying she looked even paler than Charlotte.

Left alone, Charlotte cast off the counterpane which had been solicitously spread over her, and slid cautiously off the bed, careful not to rattle the curtain rings, then crept over to the door which gave on to the landing. The latch clicked slightly as she opened it, but she whisked through and was down the stairs in a few seconds. She had some difficulty with the fastenings on the front door, and had just begun to open it when a voice behind her caused her to spin round in dismay. Harry stood on the lowest step regarding her sardonically.

“I thought you were never prone to swooning,” he remarked, walking across the hall and closing the door again. “What’s your game, my girl?”

“Oh, confound you, Harry!” Charlotte exclaimed, eyeing him in disgust. She wondered for a moment whether it would answer if she were to dash from the door, but even if Harry, attired as he was, would be reluctant to follow her, the plot she had devised to have him found alone with Elizabeth would no longer serve.

“Hush, do you want Elizabeth to hear you?” he demanded in a fierce whisper, and grasped her wrists in his strong, hard hands. “What are you up to?”

Charlotte shrugged, and tried to wriggle free, but his hold on her tightened. She remained silent.

“Tell me, or shall I tell you, you little varmint!” he ordered.

“If you know, why ask?”

“Did you really think I could be forced into offering for Elizabeth after such an escapade?”

“You said the other day I’d be ruined just for coming to see you,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Why did you do it? Do you want—Elizabeth to be made unhappy if she is forced into a distasteful marriage?”

“Elizabeth? I do not care! You want to marry her, and this way you must have offered, and I thought she would have to accept,” Charlotte explained in a furious whisper.

“Did you indeed?” Harry asked scornfully. “You are an interfering busybody, and you don’t know what I want, and I’ll thank you not to attempt any more such monstrous, addle-brained plots!”

“But I thought—” Charlotte was beginning when a sound from the landing above caused them both to shrink back into the shelter of an alcove.

“Harry?” Elizabeth’s voice came clearly.