The Five-Minute Marriage (33 page)

“
Well met, cousin!
”

She whirled around—and discovered with a shock of tenor that Mordred had appeared—where
from?
He must have come out of a field gate—and had climbed onto the box of her carriage, where, possessed of the driver
’
s other pistol, he was now holding it in a negligent manner.

“
What a fortunate thing that you came along!
”
he remarked coolly.
“
I was expecting my cousin Elaine but not, I must confess, your estimable self. You have quite a genius for turning up in the nick of time, have you not? Having failed to recapture my other horse, which had bolted, I was resigning myself to a long walk.
”

“
What are you doing there—with that thing?
”
she cried indignantly.

“
Going to settle accounts with my cousin Gareth. He has stood in my way too long.
”

“
What can you mean?
”
she said, trembling.

“
Oh, I shall not murder him! I am not such a flat as that! His death will be the result of a misguided wager—dear Gareth never could resist a wager!
”

“
‘
Ere! What
’
s going on?
”
demanded the outraged driver, who, walking back from the wrecked carriage, only now observed that his place had been usurped.
“
You come down off of there!
”

But Mordred, pointing the pistol at Delphie, said,
“
Stand away from their heads, cousin, or I shall be obliged to wing you in the arm—and it will not be an easy shot, with the horses so restive; I might mistake!
”

He held the reins in his left hand, and now swung their ends sharply over the horses
’
backs, making them bound forward; Delphie was obliged to jump aside, or she would have been trampled.

The driver let out a stream of the most lurid language Delphie had ever heard, and started to run after the chaise—but it was hopeless to try and catch it; in a few moments he desisted and came back to Delphie, panting and furious.

“
Was that cove
known
to you, missus?
”
he asked Delphie.

“
Oh, yes! He is a very wicked man! I would give anything for this not to have happened,
”
she said wretchedly.

“
So would I! It
’
s barefaced highway robbery! Where
’
s he taking my rig?
”

“
Oh, to Chase, I am sure. You will probably find it in the stables when we get there.
”

“
I had better! We got a five-mile walk afore that,
”
he said grimly,
“
and we
’
re a-going to be soused, for any minute now it
’
s a-going to pelt!
”

He was right. Huge drops of rain as large as crown pieces were beginning to plop heavily onto the dusty road, and the great black cloud had crept right across the sky. Another clap of thunder, much louder this time, pealed in the heavens as they set off walking along the road.

All the driver
’
s good nature had vanished. He was hardly to be blamed, certainly, for his bad temper, but Delphie could have wished that he had a more stoic nature, for he grumbled incessantly all the way along the road to Chase, as the rain sluiced down on them and the thunder fulminated overhead. The storm, having apparently settled in the Chase valley, seemed to circle around and around without ever moving off; it was still thundering and lightning just as violently at the end of their walk, which took upward of an hour and a half, as it had been when they began.

By the time they reached Chase darkness had fallen, but they were able to pick their way well enough by the lightning flashes, which followed one another with startling rapidity. Delphie thought she had never been so wet in her life. The water ran out of the tops of her boots, her pelisse was sodden, and her soaked cambric dress clung to her like a flypaper.

“
One thing,
”
she thought, thumping with her clenched fist on the oak door, and remembering her previous unwelcomed reception,
“
nobody
could be turned away on a night like this!
”

“
Let me take a hand at that!
”
offered the driver, hammering lustily with the handle of his whip,
“
‘
Tis likely with all the ruckus overhead, those inside can
’
t hear us!
”
as another shattering peal of thunder seemed to explode on the very rooftop.

At last the door was pulled open and Delphie saw the amazed face of Fidd peering out at them.

“
Oh, Fidd, I am so glad to see you!
”
she exclaimed in relief.
“
You remember me—Miss Carteret? My—my carriage has had an accident—the driver and I have been obliged to walk the last five miles. We are excessively wet!
”

“
Lor bless my soul, yes, miss, I can see that. Come in, miss,
”
he said, pulling the door wider.
“
And we
’
ll see about getting you dried off!
”

“
Never mind me, for the moment! But perhaps you can take this poor fellow to a fire. Did—has Mr. Mordred arrived, in a post chaise? And Miss Elaine Carteret?
”

“
Mr. Mordred come, miss; best part of an hour agone
he
got here, afore the storm grew so swallocky, an
’
his cattle
’
s in the stable.
”

Delphie
’
s driver sighed with relief at this news.

“
But I dunno about no
other
Miss Carteret, miss; I never heard tell o
’
none; nor Mr. Fitz ever said
you
was expected.
”

“
Well, no matter! Where—where is Mr. Gareth?
”

“
He and Mr. Fitz is in the library, miss. Shan
’
t I tell
‘
em you
’
re here—or take you where you can change—
”

“
No, first lead this good man to a fire—I can announce myself! And then if you could have somebody fetch my bag, which
—
which is in Mr. Mordred
’
s carriage—
”

Looking somewhat bemused at these odd directions, Fidd hobbled off, followed by the driver.

Delphie walked without hesitation to the library door, and opened it.

She walked into what seemed like a scene of debauch. Gareth and Mordred were seated, facing one another, at the center table. Both looked decidedly the worse for drink. They were in shirt sleeves, and Gareth
’
s dark locks were much disarranged. Between them were upward of half a dozen bottles, mostly empty, some lying on their sides. More bottles lay on the floor. By the light of several guttering candles, Delphie could see that Gareth
’
s face was unusually flushed, his eyes bloodshot. Mordred, on the contrary, was very pale, and his eyes seemed to glitter unnaturally in the flickering light. He looked, thought Delphie, quite as evil as she had for some time believed him to be: evil and rapacious. He had been staring down at the great flashing ring on Gareth
’
s right hand. His expression did not change when Delphie opened the door, though he pressed his lips tight together. Then, ignoring Delphie completely, he said to Gareth,

“
Make haste! Finish that bottle! It
’
s time for our wager!
”

But Gareth had turned and was gazing at Delphie in bewilderment. It was plain that he was very drunk indeed.

“
My God!
”
he said, gripping Mordred
’
s arm across the table, and pointing with his other hand.
“
She
’
s come again! Or is it her ghost? She
’
s all wet and dripping—like last time—only then it was t
’
other one—fell—fell in moat—like Great-uncle Lancelot!
”

“
Stuff!
”
said Mordred briskly—it was apparent to Delphie that he was not nearly so drunk as Gareth, perhaps not drunk at all.
“
You are fancying things—seeing visions, my boy! Nothing is there. Come along—let
’
s go up!
”

“
Gareth!
”
said Delphie, but Gareth, looking at his cousin in a puzzled manner, inquired,

“
Up? Up where?
”

“
Do you not remember? Our wager?
”

“
Gareth!
”
exclaimed Delphie again, but Gareth, urged by Mordred, had risen shakily to his feet.

“
Wager—yes, wager,
”
he mumbled.
“
Never refuse—honorable wager. Can
’
t quite—quite remember—terms of it though—
”

“
Gareth!
”
cried Delphie, quite desperately now, for his cousin was guiding his rather staggering progress toward the far end of the library. She moved after them, and said,
“
Gareth, can you hear me? Can you understand me?
”

“
Did she not speak?
”
Gareth said in a troubled voice.
“
Are you certain you don
’
t see her, Fitz? She did look devilish like Cousin Delphie. Only wet—wet as a herring!
”

“
You
’
re a trifle foxed, old fellow, that
’
s all,
”
said Mordred.

“
Drunk—drunk as a wheelbarrow,
”
agreed Gareth, swaying.

“
You
did this to him!
”
said Delphie furiously to Mordred. And to Gareth she cried,

“
Don
’
t trust Mordred, Gareth! He means harm to you—I am sure of it! I am sure of it! Do not be taking part in his wager!
”

“
Can
’
t refuse honorable wager,
”
said Gareth stubbornly.

“
Of course you cannot,
”
said Mordred.
“
Come along, old fellow—up the stairs—when you start talking to your visions it means you
’
re a bit bosky and it
’
s time for bed.
”

Running forward, Delphie tried to reach for Gareth
’
s hand, but Mordred pushed a table in her way and then half pulled, half hoisted Gareth up a short flight of stairs that led to an upper gallery in the library. The stair had a gate at the foot, which he locked after passing through it, pocketing the key, so that Delphie was cut off from them.

“
Gareth! Don
’
t go with Mordred!
”
she called.
“
He means mischief.
”

But they had passed through a door above, and disappeared from view.

She was sure from the expression on Mordred
’
s face that he had no intention of seeing Gareth tamely to his bed. But where
were
they going? She shook the gate at the foot of the library stair. It rattled, but held against her. Foiled, Delphie ran out of the library and up the main stairs to the hall above. Turning right, in the same direction as that in which the library lay downstairs, she ran along a passage, groping her way in the meager light cast from behind her by a lamp on a table near the stair head. She opened a succession of doors, but all, from the darkness and enclosed smell within, seemed to lead into disused bedrooms. At last she achieved her object and found herself in the gallery, looking down at the dying candles and flickering fire of the library below. There was the stair with the locked gate. But this was where the two men had
been.
Where were they now?

Returning to the corridor, Delphie heard the great front door slam, and voices in the hall. Was that Elaine arriving? But she ignored the voices. This was no time to worry about Elaine.

She sniffed the air like a bloodhound, and then turned to her right, following the faint flavor of brandy which hung in the stuffy passage behind the departed pair. Listening intently she thought she could just distinguish the faint sound of a door slamming somewhere ahead. A lightning flash momentarily illuminated the whole length of the corridor ahead: it was empty, but the slam had been a long way off. Delphie picked up her sopping skirts and ran to the end. She opened a door, and, by another flash, discovered that it gave onto a flight of stairs, again leading up. Here, too, she thought, she could faintly discern the aroma of brandy.

Where could they be
going?
To the servants
’
quarters? The attics? At the top of the stairs she stopped, casting about. A passage ran both ways. And then, in the distance, glinting in the lightning flash, she saw something that lay on the floor. Through the velvet dark that followed the flash, blanketing her eyes, she made her way along until her foot struck the object. Stooping, she picked it up. Its outline was familiar; after a moment
’
s concentration she recognized it: a little curved, gold-inlaid tortoiseshell snuffbox belonging to Gareth. She had often seen him use it. So they
had
passed this way. Now where? She paused, uncertain, for there were several more doors here, and no whiff of brandy to guide her. Then a cold damp touch of air on her cheek gave her a lead; in the next flash of lightning she noticed a small door which stood a crack ajar as if, when recently closed, the latch had failed to hold. She opened it, and instantly smelt the wet air above, heavy with the rank, acid smell of rain-soaked leads and old roofing tiles. Another short flight of steps led up to a kind of parapet, where she stopped, nervously gripping the stone balustrade, afraid of where she might be, until the next flash of lightning should come to guide her.

When it came, she could see that the aged mansion
’
s roof was like a moonworld all around her. The slates flashed almost white in the electric glare from above—towers and battlements stood up like rocks, with their crenellations etching a jagged line across her eyeballs against the livid blue of the luminous sky beyond. When the dark fell again, the ridges of different roof sections lay across her remembered vision in a series of broken parallels. What a strange, huge region! How would she ever dare explore it, in this intermittent light? But the two men were out there somewhere. She knew it—had known it all along, she felt now; somehow she had understood in her bones that when Mordred referred to
the wager
, he had a scheme in his mind related to that other affair of long ago, the duel on the roof between Lancelot and Mark.