Fated Folly (29 page)

She lost count of time and was surprised when Rupert came to find her, and told her it was after five.

‘
I have to go out, my love. Will all be well with you?'

That sense of impending danger to him rose in her again, and she searched his face anxiously. ‘With me, yes, but what of you? Where are you going?'

‘
Nowhere that need give you any cause for concern,' he said, but his smile was perfunctory, she thought, as he captured the hand she had not realised she was holding out to him.

His tone did not sit right, and Clare's anxiety increased.

‘
Where, Rupert?' She thought she read irritation in his frown and added quickly, ‘I don't distrust you. It is only—I have had such dreams!'

She was a little reassured when Rupert drew her into his arms and hugged her.

‘
I know, my darling. But you have had a disturbing time of it. It is no real surprise that your sleep is troubled.'

Releasing her, he brought her hand to his lips in farewell, and then left her. Clare watched him walk away, seized by a sudden, pulsing fear.

‘
Rupert!' she cried out after him.

He turned at the orchard gate, waved, and disappeared through it. Clare stood stock still, her breath catching as the sensation of terror intensified.

Into the frozen cavity of her brain, words floated. Christian's voice, clear and deadly.

‘
In the Dell...at six...
pistols
.'

Her heart seemed to stop. All the implications that earlier had eluded her tired mind, now coalesced into the all too real and terrible threat that Rupert was going to face. He was going to meet Christian. No cause for concern? Was he mad? Oh, Rupert, no.

She was running, her thoughts racing in tune with her feet. The Dell? In the forest! Where in the forest? But he should not have gone alone. Gentlemen did not meet alone. She knew that from Justin. They must have seconds to see fair play, and—yes, he could not meet Christian. Justin had been clear about that. There were unwritten rules, she remembered it now. They must be of an age, must they not? And—and surely a man could not meet his heir?

Reaching the terraces, she had begun to run down, automatically following the path she supposed Rupert must have taken. But she paused now, something floating at the back of her mind. Something Christian had said. Almost without conscious thought, she turned for the house, hurrying, holding her hand against the stitch that was attacking her side. Rupert would never contravene the rules, she knew that. But Christian had said—what? She must come away with him. He would take her home—
on his way
. He was leaving today. Then how could he—? How had he—?

Abruptly, all the unanswered questions came together in a logical sequence, making sense. Christian had come to tell her Rupert was gone to Biddy. Christian persuaded her to come with him to Kent on his way to Dover. But Christian had stopped the carriage after Wormenhall village, and Christian had kissed her, in full view of Rupert as his curricle came on the scene.

The whole, diabolical scheme burst upon her in all its ramifications, and she knew now—the knowledge causing rage to supersede even her fear for Rupert for a moment—whose was the shadowed face of her dreams.

‘
Ashendon
.'

She spat the name aloud as she crossed the threshold. A new thought, urgent and clear, came to her then. Rupert's pistols were on his desk in the library, so he had said.

Dashing through the morning-room and the hall, Clare fairly flung herself through the bookroom door. She found the long box on the desk, closed. With trembling fingers, she thrust it open. Two silver-mounted guns lay there intact. Two.

Clare stared at them, her heart pounding painfully. Rupert had gone, alone and unarmed, to meet that blackhearted villain, who would stop at nothing.

Fear lent her wings, and she was out of the library, screaming for the butler.

‘
Brookland, come quickly!' Seizing the bell-pull that hung by the front door, Clare tugged it frantically, crying out at the same time. ‘Brookland, to me! Brookland,
hurry
.'

In seconds there were sounds of running feet, and doors opening all over the Manor. Voices murmuring, rising to a crescendo of sound, as servants tumbled out from everywhere, piling down the stairs, almost falling over one another in their hurry to discover the cause of the commotion.

But Clare searched for only one face, pushing aside Berinthia and her anxious twittering lips as she caught sight of the butler's startled features behind her.

‘
Brookland! The landaulet, quickly!'

‘
My lady?' he said, bewildered.

‘
No, not the landaulet,' Clare said, correcting herself hurriedly. ‘Get me Sir Rupert's curricle.
At once
. His groom must drive it.'

‘
But—but—'

‘
Don't delay, Brookland. I must go to the Grange and get Lord St Merryn. There is no time to lose.'

‘
But, Clare, you cannot,' shrieked Berinthia, butting in. ‘What will Rupert say?'

‘
Nothing at all, if I don't go now,' Clare snapped frantically. She clenched her fist and hit Brookland in the shoulder. ‘Don't stand there, man! This is a matter of life and death.'

‘
But, b-but the master—' stuttered the butler, blinking at her in obvious perplexity.

‘
It is the master who is in danger!'

There was a startled hush, and Brookland's face paled. But one of the footmen called out, ‘I'll go, my lady,' and ran for the servants' quarters.

The butler visibly pulled himself together. ‘Someone had better go with you, my lady. Your ladyship must not go alone.'

Clare's mind was running at fever pitch and she accepted this only vaguely.

‘
Very well, but—' Her eyes went around the circle of frightened faces, and came back to the butler. ‘Brookland, how well do you know the forest? Where is the Dell?'

‘
The Dell, my lady?'

A murmur echoed about them as one servant turned to another.

‘
The Dell...the Dell.'

‘
Your pardon, ma'am,' chimed in a chambermaid, ‘but I knows it.' She blushed as she came under scrutiny from many pairs of eyes. ‘Leastways, my Jem does. He's one of the stable lads, ma'am.'

‘
Thank God!' Clare turned once again to the butler. ‘Brookland, you must tell this Jem to take some of the men and run to the Dell. Quickly, quickly! He must find the master and—and Lord Ashendon.'

‘
Lord Ashendon!' echoed Brookland, staring.

The name passed from lip to lip, and fear came into the many faces about them. Claire was unsurprised to find that Ashendon's name had this effect.

‘
Brookland, the man means mischief. Believe me, I know what I am saying. Lord Ashendon must be stopped, even if the men are obliged to lay violent hands upon him. Do you understand?'

Chattering broke out at once among the servants, but Clare barely heard it. She scarcely even heard Miss Flimwell's shrill demands as to the state of her sanity.

‘
I will do as you say, my lady,' Brookland said at last, catching some of her urgency.

He tottered a little as he went from the hall, clearly shaken, and several of the younger male staff followed him, volubly offering their services. In a moment the footman who had dashed off to fetch the curricle came racing in to tell the mistress that it would be ready in a few moments.

Thanking him, Clare turned for the front door, which the man moved to open for her, but Berinthia Flimwell stood in her way.

‘
Clare, I cannot allow this. You must not rush off like this, not alone.'

‘
Oh, very well,' Clare said impatiently. She looked at the footman, patiently holding the door. ‘What is your name?'

‘
Ferris, my lady,' he said with a bow.

‘
You had better come with me, Ferris. Will that satisfy you, Berinthia?'

‘
But why must you go to the Grange?' wailed the elder lady. ‘What will you do there?'

‘
I am going to Lord St Merryn, Berinthia,' Clare said flatly. ‘I know he is supposed to be left alone, but I don't care. This time Kitty will not prevent me from seeing him. Enough is enough.'

Ferris handed her up into the waiting curricle, with the groom at the ready, reins in his hand, and Clare called out anxiously to the watching, whispering faces, ‘Pray tell the men to hurry!'

But even as the team pulled out of the drive, some half dozen men, clad impartially in livery, shirtsleeves, aprons or rough working clothes, came charging from the rear of the Manor, streaming down the terraces towards the forest.

Every moment seemed an hour and Clare urged the groom to hurry, turning her attention to the task ahead. How to convince a man that his son was ripe for murder?

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Rupert took his time as he walked through the forest towards the Dell, a natural clearing that had probably been used for eons to settle disputes between gentlemen in these parts. Certainly some of the Wolverley ancestors were said to have done so.

It must, he decided, have been that which had caused Christian to name it when he blurted out that idiotic challenge. Of course he had never any intention of fighting the boy. Beyond knocking him down, which he had done in that black rage, there was no possible way he could justifiably punish him. Why in the world he had elected to run off with Clare, Rupert could not fathom. Especially as, according to Blanche, Clare had never the least intention of taking refuge with the boy. What he meant by it was a mystery. He would question Christian and then give him a trimming, and that would be the end of it. The boy would be gone soon, back to his diplomatic post, so there was no need to fear him playing off any more tricks.

His steps slowed still further the nearer he came to the Dell. He hated the place. It was a deceptive spot, for it looked so inviting, the high elms that surrounded it giving it an air of mystery that had been irresistible to him as a boy. But beyond the elms, on the river side, lurked danger. He never came here these days if he could help it.

The Dell was just ahead of him now, for he could see through the trunks of the heavy trees the clumps of bluebells decorating the open patch of uneven, grassy ground.

A flitter of apprehension attacked him. Absurd to be so sensitive to the place.

He came through the trees and halted at the edge of the clearing. It was eerily silent and there was no sign of Christian. Perhaps the boy had thought better of it. He took out his fob watch and checked the time. Close on six. Daylight filtered still through the trees, but the Dell was full of lengthening shadows.

Rupert's gaze travelled slowly around the perimeter, searching among the trees for any sign of life. With a flutter of wings, a bird took off suddenly, rattling the leaves. But other than that, and the usual slither or two as some small creature disturbed the undergrowth, there was peace.

Yet it was not peace, Rupert decided, as the quiet of the place closed in. There was something wrong here, something alien. His senses on the alert, he stepped back into the trees. What the devil was Christian playing at?

‘
Christian!' he called out.

No answer. The boy was not there. Damn! He must have been too frightened. He took a step forward again, and then stopped dead, as a voice came at him across the Dell.

‘
Don't be shy, cousin! Come on out.'

Rupert cursed under his breath, and went forward into the clearing. He looked at the trees across the other side, but could see no one.

‘
What is it this time, Ashendon?' he asked in a weary tone.

A figure stepped out from behind a tree, and Ashendon strolled into the clearing, the sneering smile curving his lips. ‘Christian had an urgent appointment elsewhere, Cousin Rupert.' His right hand came up. ‘You behold in me his deputy.'

Rupert's eyes went to the pistol in his hand, levelled straight at him, and back up to the young man's face.

‘
I see.'

‘
No cane today, cousin?' taunted Ashendon. ‘And no pistol either? A pity—for you.'

The man was insane. He could not hope to get away with this. Deliberately Rupert kept his tone cool.

‘
So you will shoot me in cold blood?'

‘
Hot, cousin, hot blood.' The boy's voice began to shake. ‘Did you think you could humiliate me so with impunity?'

Rupert did not answer this. He was looking across the ground between them, measuring the distance with his eyes. No more than fifteen yards. An easy mark, if Ashendon was a good enough shot. He took a step forward.

‘
How do you propose to account for my corpse, Ashendon?'

‘
Stand where you are!'

‘
Suppose I don't choose to?' Rupert said, moving a step closer.