06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) (21 page)

It was only a short distance from the chaise to the centre of the duelling ground, and her white satin slippers sped over the moss so that in the space of a few seconds, even as the Referee intoned the fourth numeral Hetty reached the very place where Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas had been standing back to back.

“Stop!” she cried, “stop!”

Her voice rang out and both the duellists turned round in astonishment.

Hetty was looking exceedingly beautiful, her fair hair vivid against the darkness of the trees, the diamonds round her neck sparkling in the first morning light, and Fenella realised that she must have come straight from a Ball because she was still in full evening dress.

Her tulle gown, flounced, frilled and bedecked with tiny bunches of rose-buds, was elaborate enough to grace any Assembly however distinguished.

“Stop!” Hetty cried again. “I will not have this! I will not allow you to fight over me!”

She flung out her arms dramatically.

“How can you be so selfish, so foolish,” she enquired, “as not to realise that such a scandalous episode will damage my reputation?”

Both Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas, having turned round on their tracks, were staring at her in stupefaction as she continued,

 “I cannot imagine how either of you can be so inconsiderate! I will not allow you to fight and you will both stop immediately! Do you understand?”

Lord Corbury found his voice first.

“As it happens, Hetty,” he said, “we are not fighting over you!”

For a moment it seemed as if Hetty did not understand him.

She was still standing with her arms out-stretched dramatically, but now her large blue eyes were on his face and she turned a little towards him.

“Not — fighting — over — me,” she repeated slowly as if the words could not penetrate her mind.

“No,” Lord Corbury replied, “it is in fact - someone else.”

“Another woman? I do not believe it!” Hetty ejaculated.

She turned towards Sir Nicolas.

“Is Periquine lying?” she asked him. “I cannot believe — I cannot credit for a moment — that either of — you would fight over — anyone else.”

Her surprise was almost comic.

“It is true,” Sir Nicolas said quietly. “You are not involved in any way in this disagreement between Corbury and myself.”

“You dare to tell me such a thing!” Hetty cried, and Fenella watching realised she had lost her temper.

She stamped her small foot on the mossy ground.

“You have the audacity to fight over someone else!” she exclaimed. “To make me a laughing-stock, when everyone knows that both of you have been dancing attendance on me for these past two months? I hate you, Periquine, do you hear, I hate you! And as for you, Sir Nicolas, I thought — I believed — you — cared for — me! “

She stamped her foot again, and then as if completely losing control she stood there twisting her fingers together, apparently finding it impossible to express the anger that surged within her.

Because Fenella was sorry for Hetty, she rose involuntarily and without thinking from her hiding place to push her way through the bushes.

Even as she did so, Hetty with a last exclamation of fury turned on her heels and ran back towards the chaise.

The Gentleman who had brought her had not alighted from the vehicle but had sat during the whole proceeding holding his horses in check and being merely a spectator of the drama that was being unfolded in front of him.

Now when Hetty rejoined him and remounted the chaise, he realised that she wished to leave immediately and drove his horses away through the trees following a track which would eventually lead them to the other side of the wood.

Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas, watching her go, stood as if frozen in their tracks, until as she disappeared they returned again towards each other.

It was Lord Corbury who first saw Fenella emerge from the bushes to stand there irresolute and uncertain.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here, Fenella?”

To Fenella’s consternation everyone turned their heads in her direction, and she knew by the expression in Sir Nicolas’s face that he very much disapproved of her presence.

“I had to — see what — happened,” she murmured in a low voice.

“What with Drury Lane Dramatics and a crowd of spectators we might as well be in Piccadilly,” Lord Corbury remarked in disgust.

And then suddenly his sense of humour asserted itself.

“Blast it! but this is the most ridiculous duel in which I have ever taken part,” he said and began to laugh.

Just for a moment it seemed as if Sir Nicolas’s stiff attitude would not allow him to relax. Then he smiled too and putting up his pistol discharged it into the air.

“Honour is satisfied!” he said and he looked at Fenella as he spoke, knowing she would approve of his action.

Not to be outdone, Lord Corbury lifted his pistol and fired at the sky. Then he walked towards Sir Nicolas and held out his hand.

“I apologise, Waringham,” he said. “I knew even as I said it that you would not allow any horse from your stable to be pulled.”

It was a generous gesture, and Fenella looked at him with an expression of happiness which released the tension from which she had been suffering all night.

“Well, I will tell you one thing, Corbury,” one of his seconds said, “this is the last time I creep out of bed with a splitting head to support you. There is not even a bleeding body to show for all my endeavours!”

“Nevertheless,” one of the other Gentlemen remarked, “I am now cursed hungry having got up so early. What do you say if we all go to the Club for breakfast?”

“That is a most sensible suggestion,” the Referee remarked.

“Good idea!” Lord Corbury agreed and looked at Sir Nicolas.

“I hope you will all honour me by being my guests,” he said as if he knew it was expected of him.

Lord Corbury handed his pistol to one of his friends who placed it in the duelling-box.

“I will take Miss Lambert home,” he said, “and join you within ten minutes.”

As he spoke he took Fenella by the arm.

“Come along,” he said. “I cannot think what the world is coming to when a man cannot enjoy the privacy of a duel without females poking their noses into it and making a thorough nuisance of themselves!”

He was however, Fenella knew, no longer angry and she detached herself for one moment from his side to give her hand to Sir Nicolas.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “You know I am grateful.”

He understood only too well what she meant. At the same time she saw the hurt in his eyes and knew he thought her gratitude was only because Periquine was saved from injury.

She wanted to reassure him by saying that she had worried about him too, but there was no time.

He raised her hand to his lips, and then Lord Corbury was taking her away through the trees to where his Phaeton was waiting.

A groom was holding his horses’ heads and after Periquine had helped Fenella up into the seat and taken up the reins, they drove away alone through the trees towards Lord Farquhar’s house.

“There is something I want to tell you, Fenella,” Lord Corbury said.

“What is it?” she asked apprehensively.

There was something in his voice which told her that what he had to impart was serious.

“I am going to India.”

“To India! “ Fenella ejaculated.

Whatever she had thought to hear this was totally unexpected.

“I am leaving almost immediately. I was told by a friend of mine last night there are enormous opportunities there for any young man who will spend a few years learning about and handling the merchandise which is being shipped from the East to Europe in large quantities.”

“How will you get — there? How can you — afford it?” Fenella gasped.

“I meant to borrow the money,” Lord Corbury said, “but last night when I returned home I had a talk with your uncle and he has been exceedingly helpful. He has promised to give me an introduction to a number of firms who are already established in India, and he has also offered to pay my fare and give me enough to live on until I can find my own feet.”

“But — Periquine, it is — so far — away,” Fenella said almost childishly.

She thought she could not bear him to go! It would mean he would be away for years and she would not see him. What was more, she was quite certain that once he had left England he would forget her very existence.

For one second she played wildly with the idea of asking him to take her with him - as his wife - as his mistress - she did not care in which capacity she travelled as long as she was with him.

And then she knew that he would not want her company. He would wish to be alone. He would not want the responsibility or the trouble of being hampered with a woman.

“It has great possibilities, I am sure of that,” Lord Corbury was saying. “I cannot understand why I did not think of it before.”

“How — long — do you think you will be — away?” Fenella asked.

“Your uncle suggests that in four, perhaps five, years if I use my intelligence, I should be able to return with a fortune.”

Four or five years! Fenella could not whisper the words even beneath her breath. Now before they could say more they had turned in at the drive of Lord Farquhar’s house and the big red brick mansion loomed ahead of them.

“Surely we must — talk about it — decide what   is — best . . .” she began wildly.

“I have made my decision,” Lord Corbury affirmed. “I shall leave as soon as possible.”

“But, Periquine  — ” Fenella began and then realised there was nothing she could say.

He drew up his horses outside the door, and feeling as if she had been given the death sentence, Fenella put out her hand to a footman who had hurried down the steps to assist her.

Then as she alighted the butler came to the side of the Phaeton.

“There is someone to see you, M’Lord,” he said to Lord Corbury.

“At this hour of the morning?” Lord Corbury asked raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, M’Lord. Apparently he has urgent business with Your Lordship which took him to the Priory. When he found your Lordship had left for the races, he travelled here and arrived about half an hour ago. He is at this moment in the Salon with the Master.”

Fenella had listened to this conversation with surprise.

 “Fancy Uncle Roderick being up so early,” she remarked to Lord Corbury.

He was climbing down from the Phaeton, and as he did not answer her the butler said with a touch of rebuke in his voice,

 “His Lordship is always up early, Miss. In fact His Lord ship attributes his good health to the fact that he usually - has a ride before breakfast.”

The word breakfast seemed to remind Lord Corbury that he had an appointment with his friends.

“Keep the horses,” he said to the butler. “I cannot believe this stranger’s business with me will take long.”

He followed Fenella up the steps and across the hall towards the Salon.

A footman opened the door for them and Fenella entered to see her uncle in riding-breeches standing by the fire-place and beside him a small grey-haired little man, wearing neat sombre black garments which seemed instantly to proclaim him as being a clerk of some sort or another.

“Good morning, Fenella,” Lord Farquhar said, “and good morning to you, Periquine. You appear to be in good shape.”

There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke and Lord Corbury answered briefly.

“The duel was concluded in a somewhat unexpected fashion.”

“You are Lord Corbury?” the little man asked.

 “I am.”

“Then may I, M’Lord, introduce myself? My name is Salter and I’m the Senior Clerk to Mayberry Letchington and Mayberry, Solicitors to your late Uncle - Colonel Alexander Massingburg-Corbury.”

There was a moment’s pregnant silence. Then Lord Corbury said slowly,

 “You said my late uncle?”

“It is with deep regret, M’Lord, that I have to inform you that the Colonel was mortally injured while out riding four days ago. His horse failed to clear a brick wall and in falling crushed your uncle beneath him so that he died almost immediately.”

Lord Corbury said nothing, it seemed as if he was turned to stone. Then as if he chose his words with care he said,

 “You came down from Yorkshire especially to find me?”

“Yes, M’Lord,” the Clerk replied. “Mr. Mayberry, the Senior Partner, asked me to inform Your Lordship not only of your Uncle’s sad demise, but also that it is imperative for you to journey to Yorkshire as soon as it is humanly possible.”

“You mean-” Lord Corbury began.

“I mean, M’Lord, you are the sole beneficiary under your Uncle’s Will. Mr. Mayberry requires your presence and your assistance, which is why he sent me South with instructions to find you.”

“I understand,” Lord Corbury said.

He had turned rather pale, Fenella thought, but otherwise his voice was quite expressionless as he said,

 “Perhaps you would be good enough, Mr. Salter, to give me some idea of what my Uncle’s estate comprises. I have not seen him for over five years.”

“But of course, M’Lord,” Mr Salter answered, “although it is difficult to be accurate until things are wound up. There are large properties in Yorkshire, a mansion with quite a sizeable estate in Leicestershire and Corbury House which, as Your Lordship well knows, the Colonel took over from your late father in Grosvenor Square as well as some other properties in London.”

“It sounds a considerable amount,” Lord Corbury said, still in a low calm voice which Fenella knew meant he had complete control of himself.

“It is very difficult,” the Clerk continued, “to give your Lordship more information until Mr. Mayberry has gone further into the details of your possessions. But he did mention to me just as I was leaving that, if Your Lordship should ask, he was certain that the money in the bank, and the shares owned by your Uncle in very reputable firms, would touch a figure of not less than half a million pounds!”

It was Fenella who gasped quite audibly. Lord Corbury said nothing, but he could not prevent a sudden light showing in his eyes as he said quietly,

 “Thank you for the information, Mr. Salter.”