Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (25 page)

A crash as of a fist smashing down made me jump. “Damn it, you have no right to criticize me. You know I’ve tried. I’d like to see you do any better, if it comes to that. You’re a fine man for talking, but when it comes to a crisis, you find it very convenient to let someone else take on the responsibility.”

The other did not seem to be offended by this; if anything, he sounded amused.

“Now you have it, old boy. That’s just the dash and mettle this enterprise wants. Approach the situation in that spirit, and the thing takes care of itself. Before you know it, the whole nasty mess is behind you.”

There was a groan from Lord Claude, and when he spoke again his voice was muffled, as if he had buried his head in his hands. “Damn you!”

The other clicked his tongue. “Temper, Reginald.” More smoke came drifting past my alcove. The tense nature of the conversation did not seem to be distracting this man from enjoyment of his cigar.

When Lord Claude’s voice came again it was bleak, all defiance gone.

“The boy suspects something, you know.”

“So you said,” was the idle reply. “I confess I am at a loss to see how that affects our plans.”

“You’re a coldhearted bounder! When I think of how you lured me into all this—when I think of how I let you persuade me, against all my better judgment—! Mephistopheles was nothing compared to you.”

“Come, come, you were fairly begging to be persuaded. Don’t try to shrug the burden of your guilty conscience onto my shoulders.” A low chuckle made me shiver. “And look at what you’ve gained. Why, you wouldn’t be able to offer me these fine cigars otherwise. Don’t work yourself into a fit of the vapors, Reginald. You may rely on me. Now that I’ll be staying here—”

I started, and the book slipped from my lap and fell to the floor with a bang that resounded through the room. There was an instant’s startled silence, and then “Who’s there?” cried Lord Claude, on a thin rising note of panic.

My mouth had gone dry, so that I could not answer even had I wished to. I stepped out from the alcove and looked out over the two men below.

At the sight of me, Lord Claude gasped out a great sigh of relief and collapsed into a chair. His face was a dreadful pasty white, and he refilled his glass with a hand that trembled.

Of the three of us, he was the only one who seemed truly surprised. His companion appeared slightly startled, but rose from his chair without haste and moved closer. Without removing his eyes from me he flicked cigar ash into the fire. From where he stood before the fireplace, the flames cast diabolic lights and shadows over his face, and his eyes seemed to glow red. Mephistopheles was right, I thought.

“Good evening, daughter,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

His grin widened, and the firelight gleamed redly on his teeth. “A cold greeting, my girl. Haven’t you more of a welcome for your loving father?”

This was the mood in which I feared him most, when he was so satisfied with himself that he indulged in a mordant levity. It was in this temper that he most enjoyed baiting me. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their shaking and took comfort from the fact that I stood out of his reach.

When I did not answer, his brows lowered and his voice lost some of its gaiety. “Come, girl, speak up. Or has this touching reunion robbed you of the power of speech?”

“Let her be, Pembroke.” Lord Claude spoke without moving from his chair, looking as if he had aged twenty years.

“No,” said my father sharply. “The girl heard every word we said, I’ll wager, and we must find out what her feeble little brain has made of her eavesdropping—if anything. Come down here, daughter.”

“I had rather not.”

He flung his cigar into the fire. “Would you prefer that I dragged you down?”

He was quite capable of doing it. I moved hastily to the ladder and descended to the library floor, hoping to salvage some of my dignity by complying under my own power. My father gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back to the desk, where he extracted a new cigar from the humidor. Even though I had come to understand something of the nature of their relationship, it still shocked me that my father did not so much as glance at his host before making himself free with Lord Claude’s cigars. As he addressed me, he was rolling it between his fingers and inhaling its fragrance.

“I’m certain you found my conversation with your host most interesting, if a bit obscure. Tell us, what do you think we were discussing?”

“It isn’t any of my affair.”

“Ah, but it is now, you know. More’s the pity. Had we known you were skulking up there… but then, you always have been an inconvenient child. I vow I used to feel I could not take a step without tripping over you. You have a positive genius for being where you aren’t wanted.”

Lord Claude, unused to my father’s manner of addressing me, shifted uncomfortably. “Pembroke, the girl can’t do us any harm. She just wants to get away.”

“Yes, she is probably champing at the bit to run to auntie and tell her all about it. I’m afraid we can’t allow that.” Before I could move, he had sprung across to me and seized my wrist, wrenching my arm up behind my back. The breath hissed through my teeth as I tried not to scream.

Lord Claude had risen to his feet and taken a half step forward as if to come to my aid, but the look my father cast at him halted him as effectively as a bullet. Unhappy but compliant, he retreated.

“Now, my girl. Tell us what you think you heard.”

A vicious twist of my arm encouraged my cooperation. I gritted my teeth. “It seems perfectly clear,” I said tightly. “You are exerting pressure on Lord Claude to procure money for you, probably from his wife or nephew. I expect you are blackmailing him. Otherwise I cannot imagine why he would endure your presence here.”

My answer must have surprised him, for the painful pressure on my wrist relaxed. “What a bitter little minx it is,” came the amused comment. “But there’s sense behind your venom. I must commend you, Reginald: a few weeks in your care, and the mouse has learned to think—and to bite as well. Yes, daughter, you are correct. Reginald here is my unwilling banker, and I find myself in urgent need of funds.”

He let me go, and I backed away, rubbing my wrist. His admission astonished me. But of course, he was too intelligent to expect that he could persuade me into thinking I had not heard what had been all too clear.

“If you have finished with the interrogation, I’d like to retire now,” I said.

His narrow smile showed what he thought of my attempt to sound composed. “Yes, it’s time all good little spies were in bed, isn’t it?” he mocked. “But you aren’t to go yet; not until you have heard the entire story. You are doubtless curious as to the nature of my hold over Reginald.”

“I am not.” I was already grieved and sickened to see Lord Claude in my father’s toils, reduced to this obsequious posture; I wanted to know no more.

“Oh, there’s no need to lie, my girl; curiosity, after all, is woman’s downfall. It’s an unsavory tale, to be sure, but not an unusual one, eh, Reginald? A nubile young dancer, fresh and tempting; a brief indiscretion, quickly regretted. Not a story that would shed any glory on the fine old name of Reginald.”

“You’ll not tell Gwendolyn?” This from Lord Claude, who gazed at me with haggard appeal.

“Of course not,” I exclaimed, revolted. “I’ve no wish to cause pain to her—or to you, sir.” In spite of my distaste I still felt pity for Lord Claude, and I had no wish to destroy his marriage to a woman he obviously loved. Too, the episode might have happened before his marriage. There could be little good in advertising the unsavory situation to the family.

“A touching display of loyalty,” observed my father. “Why do you not show such devotion to me, my dear?” He pinched my cheek, harder than affection called for, and I jerked my head away.

“You’ve done nothing to earn it.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Lord Claude winced at the sound. “What a brazen tongue you have, now that you’ve found other protectors! You must be very pleased with yourself. Indeed, I must admit I had not guessed you capable of such enterprise, or even such ambition. I almost like you better for it, daughter. You’ll make me proud of you yet.”

“Nothing I did was with the thought of pleasing you.”

“Perhaps not, but the result is the same. You leave my house an orphan and within weeks are as good as engaged to a duke. Do you gaze into your mirror at night and congratulate yourself, and picture that drab little face crowned with diamonds?”

I knew it was safer not to rise to his mockery, but I could not let this pass. “After marrying for money and rank yourself, you are probably incapable of conceiving that someone could wish to marry for love. You are so entrenched in wickedness that you cannot understand anything else.”

“Ah, so it’s true love that binds the two of you together, then? A noble stance, my girl.” His eyes narrowed on my face, then swept over my figure with contempt. “But young men are usually attracted to more, shall we say, tangible qualities. I am curious as to how you managed to ensnare your duke. It wasn’t with your ideals, I’m sure. Might it be that you have been engaging in a spot of blackmail yourself…?”

I pushed past him to the door, unable to bear his presence any longer. “I’ve only one thing more to say to you,” I told him. “Until you found that I had become attached to the Reginalds, you were content to deny me. Well, I say that once having done so you cannot undo it. I do not consider you to be my father, and I wish to see as little of you as possible while you are here. That is all.”

I wrenched open the door, but was halted by the sound of applause behind me. “Brava, daughter!” his voice rang out. “You have already mastered the haughtiness of a duchess. As for your dislike of my company, you may please yourself; but you will find little protection from your loving relatives should I wish to make any claim on you. Your precious Lord Claude is but a broken reed.”

Unwillingly I turned back. The brandy had finally done its work: Lord Claude had slumped over onto the desk in a stupor, the empty glass still clutched in his hand. My pity was tinged now with a kind of understanding. Little wonder that he sought solace in a bottle, if my father was holding the strings that made him dance.

Well, he would find that he no longer held my strings.

* * *

It was a shock to see my father at the breakfast table in the morning. The strange scene of the night before had seemed so unreal remembered in daylight that I half expected to find that I had imagined it. The sight of my father placidly spreading marmalade on a scone shattered any hope that his arrival had been a dream.

As soon as I set foot in the room he was on his feet, with a rather overdone courtesy.

“Ah, good morning, daughter,” he greeted me, beaming with every evidence of delight. From his manner no one would have guessed just how little interest in me he had shown throughout my life. “So nice to start the day with one’s nearest and dearest, is it not? Do have some of the marmalade; it’s exceptional.”

His geniality was even worse than his cruelty. I hesitated, on the point of leaving, but it would look strange to turn and walk out now; I contented myself with ignoring him and went to the sideboard to fill a plate. I would eat as quickly as possible, I decided, and escape. In future I must ask for breakfast in my room.

As I returned to my seat I noticed some of the ladies casting surreptitious looks at each other, marking my rudeness to my father. The gleam of amusement in his eye showed that he noticed them too. Leaning over to Lady Van Horne, he informed her in a stage whisper, “She’s angry at me for something I said about her new bonnet. She’s very sensitive; you know how girls are when they reach a certain age and haven’t married.”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Pembroke.” Lady Van Horne nodded sagely, understanding the foibles of girls approaching spinsterhood. I felt my face grow hot, and kept my eyes on my plate.

“Are you feeling well this morning, my dear?” came the diffident voice of Lord Claude. When I looked up, he was smiling anxiously, as if trying to convey an apology. For my father’s behavior? For his own failure to come to my aid? I could not tell how much he might remember of the previous evening, since he bore all the signs—unmistakable to someone who had seen Lionel after many a debauch—of too much liquor the night before.

I tried to smile in return. He may have lost a great part of my respect, but nevertheless I could not help liking and pitying him. And his query was kindly meant. “Perfectly well, thank you,” I said. “Although a bit weary.”

“You had difficulty sleeping?” he inquired quickly, perhaps to forestall anything my father might say.

“No more than usual,” I said thoughtlessly, but then I caught myself up. “I suppose I am overexcited, like all the other ladies, because of the coming ball.”

This was patently untrue, but I thought it a good enough excuse for my harrowing hours of wakefulness. My father was quick to seize on it.

“My dear girl, it isn’t healthy to spend so many sleepless nights,” he exclaimed, instantly assuming a solicitous manner. “I appeal to you, Lady Van Horne. She will put herself at risk of taking ill, will she not?”

Lady Van Horne agreed at once. “Nothing is more dangerous for the constitution, Mr. Pembroke, than sleeplessness,” she declared.

Clearly my father had already wooed her over to him. I wondered if she would have agreed with him had he maintained that insomnia led to lycanthropy.

“And it has a devastating effect on the complexion, especially when one is past one’s first youth.” My father’s voice was all tender concern. “My dear Miss Deveraux, is there nothing you can suggest for my daughter? I cannot bear to think of her spending every night in such discomfort.”

Miss Deveraux blushed prettily at his appeal, but confessed herself stymied. I wished I could pull the tablecloth over my head. The entire table was involved in the exchange now. I knew now what people meant when they called a situation nightmarish.

In the end it was Lord Pettifer who thought of the solution. “Laudanum, Mr. Pembroke,” he proclaimed. “That is the most effective thing for sleeplessness. A few drops every night will cure the most virulent case of insomnia.”