The Ruby Pendant (11 page)

`No,' she
admitted. 'But Arthur can't be far ahead.'

A cat sniffed a
pile of garbage on the side of the road, a drunkard rolled homeward and stopped
to watch their passage. Juliette held her breath until they were safely past.
'How did you find out? Did Mr Boreton tell you, after all?'

`No. He spent
the evening playing cards with Papa and Lord Hart and I crept down to listen
outside the door, thinking he might mention it.'

`And he did?'

`Yes, it got
very late and they were still playing and then I heard Arthur say it wasn't
worth going home to bed, he might as well stay until it was time to go. They
asked him the time and place and he told them. I went upstairs and dressed and
then I heard him leave. It took me ages to saddle my horse and then I couldn't
find anything to mount from. But we shall catch him up soon, I am sure.'

They were
riding in open country now. The moon, which had been lighting their way ever
since they left the town behind, disappeared over the western horizon and a
faint grey and pink light was growing to the east. A carriage passed them. 'How
much further?'

`Half a mile or
so.'

And then they
were on the heath, making for a stand of spindly saplings where stood the coach
that had overtaken them. Three men stood beside it, two of whom were holding
the reins of riding horses. They looked up at the approach of the girls.

`Good God!'
Arthur exclaimed. 'Lucy, what are you doing here?'

`We came to put
a stop to this duel,' Juliette said, flinging herself off her horse and running
over to them. `It cannot take place.'

One of the
other men laughed, a young man whom Juliette did not know. 'We thought it was
the protagonists and it's nothing but a couple of petticoats. Have they sent
you in their place? What sport, eh?'

`They are not
here?' Juliette was so keyed up, she could not believe that frightening ride
through the night had been for nothing. The seconds were here, to be sure, but
the duellists were absent.

`No, but there
is time,' the third man said. Although older and plump, he was dressed as they
were in unrelieved black.

At that moment
the sound of a horse's hooves sounded loud on the still air. They turned to see
James Martindale riding into the clearing. Juliette's heart sank.

`Good God!' he
said, repeating Arthur's exclamation at the sight of the ladies. 'What are you
doing here?'

Juliette took a
deep breath. 'Mr Martindale, you must not fight. It is wrong. He may kill you.
You may kill him.'

`That is the
whole idea.'

`If you do, I
shall never speak to you again, do you hear me?'

He laughed.
'Very well, for your sake, I shall not kill him, I shall merely give him a
little sword prick he won't forget in a hurry.' He turned to the other men.
'Where is he?'

'Not arrived
yet,' Arthur said.

The sky grew
lighter as they stood about and waited, but no one else appeared.

`Well, well, it
seems he is not coming,' James said, hiding his relief in joviality. 'The coward
has failed to turn up. What are we to make of that, eh? What will they say in
town?'

`He has more
sense than you,' Juliette said, half-relieved and half-disappointed. She had
not wanted the men to fight, but she had never thought Philip Devonshire was a
coward. But it seemed he was. Why else would he fail to appear? Already she was
beginning to understand the implications. He would be ostracised. No one would
want to know him. He would be invited to no more social gatherings. It would be
the end of his career; he would not dare to show his face in society again.

Supposing
something had happened to him to prevent him coming, something dreadful, like
illness or death? Some would say that was the only acceptable excuse for an
honourable man. But if he had come, he might now be lying dead at her feet.
Which was worse? The thought that she might never see him again was too much to
bear and she suddenly burst into tears.

`Come, come, my
dear,' the older man said, taking her hand and patting it. 'It is all over and
no harm done, for which I am truly thankful. Doctoring duellists is not
something I do with any enjoyment.'

`We had better
get the ladies home,' Arthur said. `Though how to get them back in their beds
before they are missed, I do not know. The morning will be well advanced before
we arrive.'

The
impossibility of hiding the night's adventure from her parents struck Juliette
like a blow. Oh, there was going to be the most dreadful fuss and her
punishment would be dire. She rode home in a very subdued frame of mind, her
head tumbling with confused thoughts; what to say to her parents and wondering
why Mr Devonshire had not arrived.

Could he have
mistaken the time and place? Was he really a coward? Did she care what he was
when to be with him, to have him beside her, laughing with her, teasing her,
talking to her about all manner of things that interested them both, was all
she wanted? At this particular moment it was unimportant whether he loved her
or not.

And why was
James grinning like a cat that had stolen the cream?

Chapter Four

Anne, going to wake her mistress at nine, had discovered
the empty bed and the open window, and a search below it had revealed footmarks
in the flower bed. It had been assumed that Juliette had been abducted - for
what reason no one could tell. Servants were sent to scour the countryside in
search of her, while her parents paced the house imagining all sorts of
terrors.Their relief on discovering that she had been indulging in a little
adventure of her own and was unharmed, turned quickly to anger. Juliette wished
fervently that James had not insisted on coming in and delivering her to her
parents in person and thus witnessing her humiliation.

`Ungrateful
wretch!' her mother said, as soon as they were assembled in the withdrawing
room and Arthur Boreton had left to take Lucinda home. 'But then what more can
one expect from someone so thoroughly indulged all her life? Your father is to
blame, no doubt of it. I wish I had never...' Here she stopped because her
husband's thunderous look quelled her.

`Now, what are
we to do?' This to the Viscount. 'Her reputation will be quite in shreds and
ours too, for allowing it to happen...'

`Oh, come, my
dear,' his lordship said. 'You put too high an import upon the escapade. No one
need know. I doubt Carstairs will want his daughter's involvement noised abroad
and we can rely on James, I am sure.' He looked at his nephew, who nodded
acquiescence. `Besides, Juliette did not go alone and her intentions were good,
though I wished she had told me of the duel instead of trying to stop it
herself.'

`In the event
it was not the least necessary,' James drawled. 'The coward did not turn up.'

`No doubt he
had his reasons,' his lordship said. 'And I, for one, am glad of it.
 
Duelling is a barbaric custom that no
civilised society should condone.'

`So it may be,
sir, but the challenge was issued. Had he been the gentleman he purports to be,
he would have been honour-bound to afford me satisfaction.' He sighed heavily.
'But then, it is well known he is a nobody, dragged up from nowhere and used to
all kinds of trickery to make his way in the world.'

`That is
enough!' Lord Martindale snapped. 'I have always found Mr Devonshire totally
reliable.'

`What is that
to the point?' Lady Martindale cried. 'I do not care two pins who did or did
not turn up. What I want to know is what we are going to do about Juliette.
Lucinda Carstairs can be forgiven, she is already betrothed to Mr Boreton, but
Juliette is not even properly out...'

`Mama, I would
like to go home to Peterborough,' Juliette murmured. 'I would like to live
quietly in the country.'

`No! That would
instantly become a talking point for all the tattlemongers in town with your
own come-out ball only two days away and all the arrangements made. We must
divert the gossips with something else to occupy their tongues.' She turned to
her husband's nephew. `James, I know it is asking a great deal, considering
Juliette's behaviour, but do you think...'

`Certainly!' he
said, understanding immediately. Then to Lord Martindale. 'May I speak with you
in private, my lord?'

Reluctantly his
lordship agreed and the two men retired to the library.

`Mama, please!'
Juliette cried, her eyes full of tears. `I do not want to marry James
Martindale. I do not want to marry anyone. I am truly sorry I have displeased
you, but it is not fair to punish me for the rest of my life for one small
misdemeanour.'

`Now you are
making a Cheltenham tragedy out of something commonplace, Juliette. There are
half a dozen girls I can think of who would be ecstatic to marry Viscount
Martindale's heir. You must think yourself fortunate that he does not hold your
hoydenish behaviour against you and is still prepared to offer for you.'

`But I do not
love him!'

`Heavens! What
is that to the point? He is personable and charming and he is the Martindale
heir. If anything happens to your father, it is the only way we shall be
allowed to stay at Hartlea. You must see that.'

Juliette was
suddenly alarmed. 'There is nothing wrong with Papa, is there? Oh, tell me he
is not ill.'

`You know he
works too hard and the government will not let him rest. I have said, time and
again, that it will be the finish of him. It is not helped by behaviour from
you such as we have endured today. It is a wonder he did not have a seizure
when he learned you had disappeared.'

`I am sorry,
Mama. I did not think.'

`No, you never
do. Now we must do what we can to contain the damage. With you safely settled,
he might relax a little.'

It was
blackmail, even Juliette recognised it, but she could not withstand it. She
loved her father above all people. It was to his lordship she had gone as a
child with all her troubles, grazed knees, broken dolls, schoolwork that would
not come right. He seemed to have the cure for everything. It was her father
who had taught her to ride and drive the curricle, who encouraged her to read
and ask questions, who explained the war in terms she could understand. She
loved her mother, of course she did, but Lady Martindale was always a little
distant, holding her at arm's length, as if she were afraid to show her
feelings.

Papa had
explained that it was because she had lost three babies, one before it had even
been born, one at birth and the other who had lived three weeks before being
carried off, and all of them had been boys. He said she was afraid to become
too attached to anyone, because whomever she loved, she lost.

Mama herself
never mentioned the dead little ones. She went about her household duties with
a back that was ramrod straight and suffered no slackness, either in herself,
in Juliette or the servants. If they were to lose her father, how could they go
on?

`Very well. If
that is what Papa wishes, then I will consider a proposal from Mr Martindale,'
she said in a voice so low it was hardly audible.

The strange
thing was that James left the house immediately after his interview with his
lordship and did not return to the withdrawing room. Hearing him leave, Lady
Martindale hurried to the library to speak to her husband, leaving Juliette to
toil upstairs to her room, where she flung herself on her crumpled bed and
wept. Now, too late, she realised the consequences of her escapade. She had
wanted to make something happen, but not this. She had no love for James
Martindale, could not even like him, but he had to be her choice. She wished,
with all her heart, they had never come to London, then she would not now be
mourning a love that was lost. And all because of that portrait. It was nothing
more than paint on canvas and yet it had ruined her life.

No one came to
her, no one offered her any comfort, and eventually she fell into a troubled
sleep in which she dreamed the duel had taken place, but she could not tell who
had survived and who had not, but there was blood everywhere, even on her own
hands. She tried to wipe it off on her clothing, rubbing them this way and
that, but it would not go away.

She could hear
sounds, voices, laughter, a drum. The drum was insistent, thump, thump, thump,
filling her ears until she woke up screaming, to find herself kneeling up in
bed and all the covers on the floor.

The door was
flung open and Anne rushed in. 'Miss Juliette, whatever is the matter?'

`I had a bad
dream,' she said, unable to shake it off. `There was so much blood.'

`That comes of
rushing off to duels, miss. It would not surprise me if you have caught a
chill. I'll bring you a tisane and you had better remain in your room. I'll
tell her ladyship you are not well, shall I?'

`No, I am not
ill, Anne. I have been very foolish and must face the consequences. Keeping to
my room will not change anything. I will go down to dinner.'

So Anne helped
her to dress and arranged her hair and she took her place at the dining table
with as near a smile as she could manage.