Lucasta (6 page)

Two days later a tired and bone-weary Lucasta arrived in London. She had found the journey from Coombe Chase far less enjoyable and put this down to the presence of the duchess’s formidable dresser. Calder took her duties as chaperone very seriously, sitting silently between her charge and the viscount and making all but the most necessary conversation impossible. At the inn where they were obliged to put up for the night she instructed Lucasta to wrap herself up in her cloak and she bundled her into her room with instructions for supper and breakfast to be sent up, and when Lucasta was escorted back to her seat in the curricle the following morning the viscount observed drily that a chance observer was more likely to suspect a kidnap than an elopement.

When they arrived in Sophia Street, Lucasta realized belatedly that she had no idea which of the houses had been hired by her mama, but here the duchess’s redoubtable dresser proved her worth: a few knocks, a few discreet enquiries and Mrs Symonds’ direction was discovered.

‘Would you like me to come in with you?’ asked the viscount, as Lucasta climbed down from the curricle.

‘Thank you, my lord, but that will not be necessary,’ put in Calder briskly. ‘Miss Symonds is safe enough in my care. Besides there’s no one to look after your horses.’

She stepped up to the door and banged the knocker loudly. Lucasta looked back at the viscount.

‘I really am very grateful to you, my lord.’

‘Think no more of it. I shall call upon you in a few days to see how you go on.’ He touched his hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Symonds.’

With a flourish of his whip he set off along the street. Lucasta watched him drive away and pulled her cloak more firmly around her, feeling suddenly bereft.

Moments later she was standing in an elegant
morning-room
while a lofty butler sent a note to Lady Symonds. She looked across at Calder, standing impassively in one corner, and gave her a nervous smile.

‘I am sure we will be able to find you a room for the night – it is too late now for you to set off for Coombe Chase.’

‘Thank you miss,’ came the civil reply. ‘I believe the mail coach leaves early each morning so a little supper and a comfortable bed would be most welcome. Also, I should like to know that you are settled before I take my leave of you. So that I may report back to my mistress,’ she added quickly, lest Lucasta should think her capable of any sort of kindness.

‘Lucasta – it is you! When I was told you had arrived I thought there must be some mistake!’ Mrs Symonds hurried into the room, Camilla close behind her. ‘Has there been some sort of accident? Is it your Papa?’

‘Papa was quite well when last I saw him,’ replied Lucasta. ‘It is quite complicated, however. Before I explain, will you give orders for rooms to be prepared? This is Calder, by the way, the Duchess of Filwood’s personal maid. She will
only be staying for one night, but I shall require a room for a much longer stay, if you will permit me.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Mrs Symonds nodded, looking very bewildered and Lucasta took it upon herself to instruct the butler, who was standing at the door with a look of the
liveliest
curiosity on his face. Once he and Calder had withdrawn, Lucasta tutted. ‘Oh dear – should I have told him to set another place for dinner? But he will know to do that, surely?’ She turned towards her mother and sister, who were still standing in the middle of the floor, staring at her. She quelled a sudden desire to laugh and said instead, ‘Shall we all sit down?’

As she sank into a chair her cloak fell open to display her raiment.

‘Lucasta,’ said her mother in a voice of precarious calm, ‘What are you doing in Town, dressed as a boy and, and accompanied by a – a duchess’s personal maid?’

‘Have you received no word from Papa? No? Well, that is very odd, for I left him a note explaining what I was going to do, but perhaps he did not think he could explain himself properly in a letter.’

‘Lucasta,’ burst in Camilla, ‘if you do not tell us exactly what is happening I shall fall into hysterics!’

‘I have run away,’ she said simply.

‘Oh good heavens!’ Mrs Symonds sank back into her chair and began to ply her fan vigorously.

‘I mean,’ continued Lucasta, considering her words, ‘I have run away from Papa, who was going to force me to marry Squire Woodcote.’

‘What?’ Mrs Symonds dropped her fan and sat bolt upright, her colour fluctuating alarmingly.

Lucasta nodded.

‘Squire Woodcote came to dinner and I overheard them
talking: the squire had procured a special licence and Papa planned to call in the parson the very next day to carry out the ceremony.’

She paused. So much had happened that much of the horror she had felt upon discovering her father’s plans had faded and she could discuss the matter quite calmly. Camilla, however, was regarding her in horror.

‘But Squire Woodcote is so
old
.’

‘That does not prevent him wanting a young bride,’ retorted Lucasta.

Camilla shuddered.

‘What a disgusting idea. Why, the last time he came to call he sat next to me on the sofa and tried to paw me. It was horrible and Mama told Papa he must either forbid him the house altogether, or insist that he leave me alone.’

‘Well I wish you had told him to leave
me
alone, too, Mama,’ retorted Lucasta.

‘But I did not know – that is, I did not think he had any interest in you,’ cried her mother.

‘I would not be surprised to learn that Papa had put the idea in his head.’

‘Lucasta!’ gasped Camilla. ‘You cannot say such things about Papa.’

‘And why not? We all know that Papa sees us only as
chattels
, goods to be turned into profit.’

‘It is true that we want you both to marry well,’ put in Mrs Symonds, her cheeks very red, ‘but I never wanted you to be unhappy. Oh drat the man, how dare he do this? He
deliberately
waited until I was out of the way. No wonder he has not written to tell me what has occurred, he would not dare! Only wait until I write to him, I shall give him a piece of my mind—’

‘Yes, yes, Mama, that is all very well, but we have not yet
heard how Lucasta comes to be here, and accompanied by a lady’s maid.’

‘Calder is personal dresser to the Duchess of Filwood,’ said Lucasta. ‘I was a guest of the duchess for a few days, after I had shot a footpad and—’ She broke off, biting her lip at her audience’s astonished looks. ‘I think I had best tell you the whole.’

‘… so here I am,’ said Lucasta when she had finished her story. ‘I must throw myself upon your mercy, Mama, although I think it only fair to tell you that if you insist I go back to Shropshire I shall run away again, to Kent this time, and live with Ned.’

No one attended to her. Camilla said wonderingly, ‘Lord Kennington brought her here, Mama. Do you think he did it for my sake?’

‘Oh undoubtedly,’ replied Mrs Symonds. ‘Lucasta says he has promised to call: when he does we must be ready, my love, and you must be suitably grateful for his rescuing your sister.’

‘Since I was the one who shot at the footpad you could say that
I
rescued
him
,’ argued Lucasta.

She was ignored. Her mother paced up and down the room, tapping her fan against her hand.

‘Well, now you are here, Lucasta, we must clothe you.’

‘I do have one gown in my portmanteau, Mama. I would have worn it, but Calder thought it safer for me to travel as a boy than to risk comment …’

‘Then that must suffice for tonight but tomorrow we shall take you shopping: it must be early, in case Lord Kennington should call. Of course, until you are fit to be seen you must keep to your room except for meals – and we must find you a maid. Anne is far too busy looking after
Camilla to bother with you.’

Lucasta let her run on, thankful that she was not to be turned out of the house. She went to her bed that night tired but happy, her only worry being that if the viscount called the next day, she might not be allowed to see him.

After driving away from Sophia Street, Lord Kennington made his way to the stables that enjoyed his patronage while he was in Town. Without Potts, he was obliged to give his own instructions to the stable lads and it took him some time to arrange for the housing of his curricle. The hour was therefore advanced by the time he reached his rooms in Wardour Street and he grinned at the look of shock upon his valet’s face as he ran up the stairs.

‘Well, Gretton, had you given me up for another day?’

‘No, my lord, that is—’

‘Do not stand there gawping at me, man. Go and lay out my black coat; I must change before I can go to my club to dine.’ He broke off when realized his valet was not alone on the landing. A tall gentleman in a dark coat and bagwig stood behind him and the viscount could see two more figures standing in the shadows.

‘Do we have visitors, Gretton?’

‘Not
visitors
, as such, sir …’ the valet tailed off unhappily, and the gentleman in the bagwig stepped forward.

‘Am I to understand that you are Lord Kennington, sir?’

‘I think you may understand that,’ replied the viscount. He had reached the landing by now and paused to strip off his gloves, a faint, questioning lift to his brows.

‘I also understand that you have returned from Shropshire, my lord, by way of Bromsgrove and Hansford. That was on Friday, was it not, my lord?’

‘Aye, that is so. May I ask where this is leading?’

‘Aye, sir. On Friday last, Sir Talbot Bradfield was shot on Hansford Common. We have a witness who says you murdered him.’

When Lord Kennington did not call in Sophia Street the following day Mrs Symonds was disappointed but not surprised.

‘Depend upon it, my loves,’ she said to her daughters, ‘he will not want to seem too eager in his suit.’

However, when another morning passed without a visit she was less sanguine and even inclined to be indignant.

‘We have stayed indoors particularly that we might not miss him,’ she grumbled, ‘and this is how he repays us.’

‘I thought we stayed in because I had nothing decent to wear,’ put in Lucasta.

‘That may have been another reason, but you know we decided my tawny silk would do very nicely for you now we have let down the hem. You shall wear it to Lady Redwater’s rout tonight. We have waited long enough for Lord Kennington, he must now take pot luck upon finding us at home, for we really have no interest in him.’

‘And as you said, Mama, we might hear news of him at Lady Redwater’s,’ said Camilla, ruining the effect of her mother’s studied indifference.

Lucasta was as eager as her mother to go out: she, too, had been expecting the viscount to call and was surprised at the depth of her disappointment. It was therefore with a feeling of pleasurable anticipation rather than her usual
trepidation
that she made her preparations and allowed her mother’s coiffeuse to arrange her hair, concealing its shorter length with artful curls. They arrived at Lady Redwater’s fine town house in good time and Mrs Symonds introduced her eldest daughter with a smooth explanation of her sudden appearance in Town. Then, flanked by Camilla and Lucasta, she launched herself into the company, alert for news of the viscount.

They had not been in the room five minutes before they heard his name. Mrs Symonds immediately turned to the speaker.

You were talking of Lord Kennington, I believe, sir: is he not here tonight? I made sure to see him …’

The gentleman looked at her in surprise.

‘My dear ma’am, you will look for him in vain, I fear.’

‘It is best is you do not look for him at all,’ tittered the lady on his arm. Observing Lucasta’s puzzled look she leaned closer and whispered, ‘He has been clapped up.’

‘Never was I so taken in,’ the gentleman shook his head. ‘Why, I was going to offer him my black mare, but not now, not now!’

‘Why, what has he done?’ asked Mrs Symonds, looking around in astonishment.

‘Why the fellow’s a murderer!’

‘No!’

The gentleman turned to Lucasta, shaking his head at her.

‘I know, Miss Symonds, it was a shock to us all, but it is beyond doubt. There are witnesses.’

Her mouth felt dry. She forced herself to speak calmly.

‘Does anyone know the detail?’

‘Aye, ’tis all over Town. He waylaid Sir Talbot Bradfield and shot him dead.’

Camilla gave a small shriek. Lucasta grew cold. She remembered the driver of the yellow curricle, recalled his loud bullying voice and the malevolent glare he had given Adam as they drove away from the inn at Bromsgrove. Surely Adam had not – she could not contemplate such a thing. Clutching her fan tightly to disguise her shaking fingers, she said in a whisper, ‘When – when was this?’

‘Friday last, in broad daylight as I understand it. Of course they have him safe in Newgate now.’

‘Last Friday, then it cannot be. I—’

‘My dear, there is a tear in your gown. Come now: we must see to it before it becomes too noticeable.’ Mrs Symonds caught Lucasta’s arm and bore her away, Camilla hurrying along behind her.

‘We must go to the magistrates,’ hissed Lucasta. ‘I must tell them I was with Lord Kennington last Friday. I can vouch for him.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ muttered her mother, drawing her rapidly through the crowded room.

‘But Mama!’

‘Hush, now, until we are alone.’ Mrs Symonds drew her daughters towards an empty sofa. ‘Let us sit for a moment and consider.’

‘There is nothing to consider,’ whispered Lucasta. ‘We must go, immediately.’

‘There is
everything
to consider!’ her mother contradicted her. ‘How would it look if we rushed away this very minute? No, Lucasta, we must stay and learn what more we can about this dreadful affair.’

Lucasta realized that a crowded assembly was not the best place to argue with her mother and held her peace, but the next few hours were unbearably difficult. Everyone was talking of Lord Kennington’s arrest and conjecture was rife about the reasons for the crime, from gambling debts to amorous intrigues. As the evening wore on Lucasta’s spirits sank even lower, for everyone seemed ready to believe the viscount was guilty, and when she tentatively suggested there could be some mistake heads were shaken, and the word ‘witnesses’ was thrown at her until she was ready to scream. By the time the carriage was ordered for their
journey
back to Sophia Street she had developed a sick headache, and sank back into her seat in the darkened carriage with a sigh of relief.

‘What a dreadful evening,’ exclaimed Camilla, squeezing in beside her. ‘So dull – all anyone wanted to talk of was the murder.’

‘But no one seems to know very much about it,’ sighed Lucasta. ‘There is a great deal of gossip and speculation, but very little real information. You must let me speak to the magistrate, Mama.’

‘That is out of the question.’

Lucasta peered through the darkness, trying to make out her mother’s face.

‘But I was with Lord Kennington on Friday, I can prove that he is innocent!’

‘Can you? Do you think the revelation that you were traipsing around the country with the viscount,
unchaperoned
, would do anything to help his case? Everyone would conclude that you were his mistress. Your reputation would be ruined and nothing you said in Lord Kennington’s defence would be believed – more likely you would be clapped in Newgate with him!’

The truth of her mother’s words dowsed Lucasta like cold water. Hot tears pricked her eyes.

‘But I must try,’ she whispered. ‘I must do
something
.’

‘You must do nothing,’ insisted Lady Symonds. ‘If Lord Kennington thought your evidence could help him I have no doubt the magistrate would have sought you out by now. Be thankful the viscount is too much of a gentleman to drag your name into this matter.’

‘But he is innocent, and I know it, so—’

‘Lucasta, if your father was an earl then we might be able to carry off such a scandal, but you
cannot
admit that you were with Lord Kennington without bringing the whole family into disrepute. You saw for yourself tonight how everyone has turned against him already: would you range yourself on his side?’

‘Yes I would, because he is not a murderer!’

‘If that is the case then justice will be done and he will be acquitted.’

‘But Mama—’

‘Enough!’ Mrs Symonds shrieked and put her hands up to cover her ears. ‘Lucasta, would you ruin Camilla’s chances of a good marriage as well as your own? There is nothing useful you can do in this, and I will
not
allow you to jeopardize Camilla’s season.’

‘No, I think you are being very selfish, Lucasta.’ Camilla added her voice to the argument. ‘If you admit the truth you will make our family a laughing stock.’

The carriage came to a halt outside their house and in the dim flare of the torches Lucasta could see the closed look on her mother’s face.

‘Camilla is right,’ said Mrs Symonds. ‘You would ruin us all to no purpose, and then I doubt even Squire Woodcote would marry you!’