A Virtuous Lady (29 page)

As it happened, however, his lordship did not deign to put in an appearance until well on in the evening, by which time Briony had gained the comparative security of her bedchamber. Nor was she sorry that her carefully rehearsed speech would be delayed until morning when Caldwell should be safely out of Ravensworth's long reach. Furthermore, she was grateful for the extra hours at her disposal which Ravensworth's absence (however much she might deplore the reason for it) had offered in which to make her preparations for the coming ordeal. Once Caldwell was' gone, she promised herself, she would be as honest as the day, but tonight she needed all her wits about her if she was to successfully pull the wool over Ravensworth's sharp eyes.

It was a glorious night. The moon bathed every hill and hollow, every tree and rock in its luminous halo and the stars glittered like diamonds in the velvet black vault of the heavens. The night was alive with sounds. Briony cocked her head to listen and the warm breath of the rising breeze, like some invisible lover, caressed her cheek, and long forgotten childish fancies of naiads and sprites came rushing back to haunt her mind.

It was a night for enchantment, a night for fairies to dance in their magic rings and for nymphs to emerge from the watery depths of stream and lake to bewitch unwary mortals. It was a night for romance.

The mare whinnied softly beneath her and Briony stroked it with a reassuring hand. "Hush, Bessie. No demon stallion will practice his sorcery on you." She sat motionless, alert and wary, drinking in every sight and sound of the world about her made unfamiliar in its strange and awesome moonlit splendor. Bessie's ears twitched restively and Briony crouched in the saddle to murmur, "
Tis
not fairy folk we need fear, Bessie. They are but a figment of our imagination though Nanny would cross her superstitious fingers to hear me say so. But Ravensworth! He is a flesh-and-blood creature and more to be feared than any warlock who
stalks
 
abroad
at the witching hour."

She flicked the ribbons and the mare set off at a sedate trot along the gravel drive. Twenty minutes later saw Briony dismount and tether the nervous beast outside what looked to be a deserted cottage.

"John? Vernon? Where are you?" she called softly.

The door opened and a shaft of light fell on the ground at her feet. With a sense of overwhelming relief, Briony pushed open the door and entered. Caldwell, holding a lantern aloft in his hands, was the only occupant of the room. "Where's Vernon?" she asked at once.

"He's gone ahead to prepare my friends for my advent." Caldwell set the lantern on the stone floor. "I don't want him found with me. Nor do I want you to remain here longer than necessary. If anyone were to find us together . . ." He let his voice trail off and Briony shivered at the implication in his words.

"No one will. I've been careful," she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. Then, recollecting the purpose of her visit, she added, "Here, you must be hungry. I've brought you something to eat."

The window was covered with an old blanket to conceal the faint light of the lantern. Caldwell had found a ramshackle table and a couple of serviceable chairs and had set them in the middle of the room. He held one out indicating that she was to be seated. Briony deposited her bundle on the table. She undid a table cloth and produced a bottle of wine, some thick slices of gammon, half a chicken, a loaf of bread, and a generous slice of pork pie.

"No crockery or cutlery, I'm afraid," she said with a thin smile.

"Don't give it a thought," replied Caldwell, pulling the cork from the opened bottle of wine, which Briony had stolen from the kitchen. "I am not above eating picnic style."

He ate with gusto, and Briony watched him in silence as the mountain of food gradually disappeared. When they
spoke, it was in commonplaces. The night had lost its magic. It all seemed so mundane, so anticlimactic, and Briony began to wonder if she had been carried along on a vulgar proclivity for the melodramatic. She sighed and caught the glint of amusement in Caldwell's dark eyes. She looked at him questioningly.

"Not very romantic, I'm afraid," he observed astutely, then fell upon the chicken as if he had not eaten for a week.

Briony's
self-mocking laugh acknowledged a hit. "What are your immediate plans?" she asked at last.

"Everything is taken care of, as I explained to you," he said patiently. "I take passage tomorrow. For your own protection, it is better if you know as little as possible."

He finished the last morsel of food and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. "A feast fit for a king. I'm much obliged to you." He drank the wine straight from the bottle and offered some to Briony.

She held it gingerly.
"Why not?" she asked rhetorically.
"I don't see any harm in it." Then she tipped back her head and drank deeply. The next instant, she was seized with a fit of coughing and the wine dribbled down the front of her habit. She dabbed at it abstractedly with the edge of the tablecloth. Caldwell watched her for a moment or two then seemed to come to a decision.

"Briony, you won't take it amiss, I hope, if I speak to you plainly?"

Briony's
eyebrows went up at the serious tone of his voice. "A Quaker scold, Mr. Caldwell?" she asked archly.

"Hardly that!
Merely a few words of counsel from a departing friend whom you will most likely never see again."

Briony was discouragingly silent!

"No matter!"
He stood as if to go and Briony rose to follow. He gave her a long, searching look. "Be kind to Ravensworth," he said simply.

They heard the faint sounds of a horse's whinnying. "Bessie was never a patient beast. I should go," Briony observed. "I brought some of your things. They're in my saddlebags."

He drew her hands into his. "Don't fret about me. I shall send word to you somehow when I reach Canada. Thank you for all that you have done for me." He raised her hands to his lips in an uncharacteristic gesture of gallantry and Briony smiled at his awkwardness.

It was at that moment that the door burst open and a dark and menacing figure stood filling the small doorway. A
thonged
riding crop beat a tattoo against the leather of his mired boots and an aura of bridled energy hung on every coiled muscle.

"Ravensworth!"
The word, barely audible, escaped
Briony's
lips on a moan.

The silence, to
Briony's
taut nerves, seemed to stretch unbearably, and into her numbed mind came the thought, quite inconsequentially, that Denby would be outraged to see his master's
neckcloth
in such disarray.

"Ravensworth—at your service," he replied ironically in a voice carefully devoid of expression and altogether at odds with the cold glint of steel in his eyes. He took a quick stride toward them and Briony reacted without thinking. She snatched her hands from Caldwell's frozen clasp and threw herself between the two men, her arms held before her as if to ward off a blow. The gesture snapped the last shreds of Ravensworth's self-control. With a
bloodcurling
oath, he seized one outstretched wrist and flung her out of his path then fell with demonic fury upon Caldwell.

Briony stumbled against the table and sprawled on the floor in a heap. When she raised her head, she saw Caldwell on his knees. Ravensworth had him by the throat in a choking grip and was beating him savagely about the head and back with his crop. Briony cried out in protest, but he was deaf to her pleas. She staggered to her feet and flung herself across Caldwell, taking the lash of the whip against her shoulders.

"You dare to protect him?" Ravensworth raged, and he grasped her by the arms and sent her reeling.

"He won't fight you!" she screamed. "He won't defend himself. Don't you understand? He is a Quaker. He'll let you kill him before he'll strike back."

The words seemed to check Ravensworth momentarily. Then the full force of his anger turned against Briony. His fingers fastened upon her arms, digging into the soft flesh and she flinched with the pain of it. He looked at her with loathing.

"Slut," he hissed at her, and he shook her as if she had been a rag doll.

"It's not what it seems," she gasped through chattering teeth, then in sudden outrage when the import of his words had penetrated her intellect. "How could you even
think
it? Let go of me, you foul-minded, unholy fiend! How dare you imply such a thing, you
brute!
"

Ravensworth administered one last, rough shake but it was evident that her outburst had dulled the edge of his anger. She made no move to escape his punishing grip, but inclined her head slightly toward Caldwell.

"John, go! I beg of you! He won't hurt me. I promise."

Caldwell, at Ravensworth's back, was still on his knees, clutching his bruised throat. He swayed to his feet and put a shaking hand to his head.

"No . .
.
no
."

Ravensworth half turned as if to renew his assault and Briony grabbed for his sleeve. "Hugh, listen to me! He is a Quaker! A Quaker! You cannot strike a man who won't defend himself! For God's sake, listen to reason! Let him go!"

His lip curled in derision and he bent a look of smoldering fury upon his adversary. "You, sir, are a contemptible specimen, the sorriest excuse for a man that it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. Coward! Don't think to hide behind my wife's petticoats. Nothing can save you from my wrath now."

To this impassioned speech Caldwell responded by shaking his head in denial, too shaken by the thrashing he had received at Ravensworth's hands to attempt a rejoinder.

"Have you no pride?" Ravensworth demanded hotly. "Why don't you fight me like a man?"

"Quakers are different," said Briony, trying desperately to make him understand. "We abhor violence of any description. Let him go, Hugh. I can explain everything to your satisfaction."

Briony
had
little hope that these propitiating words would mollify Ravensworth's exacerbated temper, nor did they. Her use of the word "we," if anything, incited him to a renewed fury.

"A pacifist?" he expostulated as though the word stuck in his gullet.
"A pacifist!
Do you stand there and tell me that I cannot defend my honor—that I'm to be denied the pleasure of calling him out and putting
a bullet in his detestable hide
?"

"Not if you wish to be acknowledged as the man of honor you esteem," replied Briony, conscious of the first faint glimmerings of hope.

Ravensworth thrust Briony from him and began to pace the floor like a caged tiger. "A Quaker, a pacifist, and I daresay, appearances to the contrary, a man of conscience to boot." He laughed mirthlessly. "By God, it had better be so, Caldwell, for you have fallen into the hands of a man of honor. I don't scruple to tell you that if you have not played the gentleman with my wife, I shall put a period to your miserable existence."

Caldwell manfully struggled to gain command of his voice. "Do with me as you see fit," he said in a strained tone, striving to speak levelly. "But I pray
you,
do not vent your anger on Briony. You must believe that no harm would come to her through me. I regard her as a dear sister. It was wrong in me to let her help me, but you must believe that we are innocent of any impropriety."

"Innocent? Innocent?' roared Ravensworth. "Is that what you call it? What
should
I believe when I find you alone, in the middle of the night, snug in this
cosy
love nest?"

"Hardly that, sir," said Caldwell, looking around the disordered interior with a deprecating half smile. Briony quaked at his temerity and hastened to draw off Ravensworth's wrath to herself.

"John is not to blame. This was my doing. How did you find out?"

Ravensworth riveted her with a fierce glare, ignoring the question. "I might have known that your deplorable scruples would be behind this outrageous folly. Briony, will you never learn to curb your desire to do good whatever the consequences?"

"I should like to make a clean breast of
this . . .
misadventure," began Caldwell, shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

"Later," said Ravensworth curtly. "Go back to the house. I shall deal with you at my leisure."

Caldwell made as if to say something but Ravensworth was in no mood to listen.

"Good God, man, tomorrow is time enough to put your affairs in order."

"You do not understand, sir—"

"Leave us, I said," thundered Ravensworth.

Caldwell hesitated, then seeing the appeal in
Briony's
eyes, bowed stiffly in her direction and took his leave of them, walking unsteadily through the open door. In a moment, the muffled drum of
hoofbeats
could be heard retreating. Ravensworth advanced on Briony and encircled her throat with his hands. She stilled in his grasp, scarcely daring to breathe or look up at him.