Joan Smith (16 page)

“I cannot believe Alexander has behaved so badly, so foolishly.”

“Foolish, is it? He is clever as a serpent. No doubt he has wasted his own fortune on the London lightskirts and wants to get his hands on yours to continue his wanton ways. But we shall defeat him, my dear. The thing to do—you must marry William at once. In that manner, Raventhorpe cannot plunder your fortune.”

“Marry William? But—”

“You are engaged to him, after all,” Sir Giles said sharply. “You cannot mean to jilt him, to break his heart and make a laughingstock of him in the parish when he would not harm a hair of your head. To put the wedding forward a month can make no difference.”

Arabella was in such a state of confusion, she hardly knew what to think, much less what to do. She did not believe Raventhorpe was marrying her for her dowry; this was another of Sir Giles’s stunts. But she did not intend to let Raventhorpe kill her uncle either. And it was true William would look foolish when she left him. Oh, it was all such a muddle! She must consult with Alexander before taking any step. She would not make a scene until she had been in touch with him and heard his advice

“I am afraid I must insist on this, Arabella,” Sir Giles continued. “I fear you are not totally innocent in this affair. I know you met Raventhorpe last night after the ball. Don’t bother to deny it. I do not blame you; you are young, and no doubt he can turn a girl’s head without much trouble. He has had plenty of experience at that game, but it is my duty to protect you. The wedding will take place tomorrow morning, right here at Chêne Bay.”

“Tomorrow! No, that is too soon, Uncle. The preparations are not complete.”

“You and William can have a wedding party a little later. It is the only way I can be sure Raventhorpe does not run off with your money, for once he has killed me, you will have only William to protect you. He would make short shrift of William, who dislikes violence. You know his peaceful ways."

“Tomorrow,” she said pensively. That gave her a day to make other plans.

“Tomorrow morning,” Sir Giles added, and stared at her until she felt compelled to obey.

“Very well, Uncle,” she said meekly, for she knew she would not leave the room until she had agreed. To resist would only raise his suspicions, and perhaps see her locked in her room.

Belle left the study in a blind panic. She had to stop this duel. Much as she loved Raventhorpe, she sensed that recklessness in him. Had he not made some careless mention of putting a bullet through both Sir Giles and William? This was no way to repay her uncle for his years of selfless devotion. And William for being a harmless pawn. She could never be happy to take a bridegroom with blood on his hands.

She sat alone in her room, gazing with unseeing eyes at the park. She had to stop this duel, but she was unwilling to give up Raventhorpe. What she must do was run away with him before the duel. Yes, that was the best thing. The problem would be to convince Raventhorpe to go along with her. Men had such troublesome notions of honor. She must deliver an ultimatum; tell him she would not marry him if he fought the duel. Her uncle, she thought, would be vastly relieved and happy to accept an apology. And really he deserved one, for he had not forced her to marry William, and had been a conscientious guardian of her monies. Uncle would accept the apology, and the wedding to William need not be rushed forward. Before it took place, she and Alexander would be gone.

Her gowns were already packed. It remained only to get them out of the house to someplace convenient to the main road, where she could transfer them to Raventhorpe’s carriage. She thought of Chêne Mow, the little flint cottage at the bottom of the park. It had been standing empty for a month, since the death of the last occupant. It was being spruced up with the intention of hiring it to the local doctor. She would tell the servants she was taking some curtains and linens down to make it more comfortable. And in her note to Raventhorpe she would ask him to meet her there that night. The weir was no longer safe. Sir Giles had tumbled to it.

Timmie McGee, the groom’s helper, had delivered notes to Raventhorpe for her in the past. When he came to pick up her gowns, masquerading in hampers as the curtains and linens for Chêne Mow, she gave him the note, and a crown to insure his silence. In the note she told of her uncle’s plans for an early wedding, begged Raventhorpe to apologize to Sir Giles, and to meet her at Chêne Mow at midnight. They would go to Oldstead Abbey to be married at once.

She spent a fretful, restless day, hearing Raventhorpe castigated as a villain by Sir Giles and William. A troubled Sir Hubert Almquist came to call and stayed only a moment. Arabella could not discover whether there had been an apology. If so, it had not been accepted. She learned from William of the arrangement as to time and place of the duel. They were to meet in a certain clearing in the spinney at seven the next morning. She had thought William would be his father’s second in the duel but learned Mr. Withers, her uncle’s friend and solicitor from Lyndhurst, had accepted the office. While Sir Giles and Raventhorpe aimed their pistols at each other, she and William were to be married.

“At seven o’clock in the morning?” she exclaimed, when William brought her this detail.

“Papa is afraid Raventhorpe would get wind of it and make trouble if the vicar came today. He thought it best for the vicar to come while Raventhorpe is at the spinney, you see. Then if he kills Papa, well, at least your fortune is safe. We are already married.”

“Don’t you mean
I
am safe, William?” she asked coolly.

“Just so, my dear. I am only telling you what Papa said. I wish he had accepted the apology but really it was the outside of enough, to accuse him of forcing a match on you. It was all your own idea,” he added unhappily.

So Raventhorpe had apologized. “It was, and I am sorry I dragged you into it, William, for you don’t want me any more than I want you.”

“I daresay we shall suit well enough.”

The day seemed endless. Sir Giles requested that she not leave the house, no doubt for fear that Raventhorpe was skulking about, ready to steal her away. She went to her room, but even there she found no peace. Mrs. Meyers nearly caught her reading the book of poems Alexander had given her the night before. She quickly stuffed it into the back of the secret drawer in her toilet table. Dinner was a somber affair. Sir Giles attempted a few rallying remarks about this being Arabella’s last evening as a “spinster,” and she smiled weakly. William drank a good deal of wine, which was unlike him.

Chapter Seventeen

It
was just after dinner that Arabella had her reply from Raventhorpe. He wrote:

My own dear Belle:

This is intolerable! Your uncle would not accept an apology. It is clear he wants to kill me by fair means or foul. As to forcing you to marry William! I shall meet you at midnight tonight at Chêne Mow, as you suggest, and take you—and all your new finery—to Oldstead to stay for the nonce. But pray do not ask me to cry craven on the duel. I, and in some collateral way you, would carry the shame of cowardice with us until death. Neither pride nor common sense recommends that course to me. I shall not let Throckley make a William of me.

I shall meet your uncle, but I shall not kill him. A wound, high on the shoulder, will teach him a lesson without putting him in his grave. Almquist is awake on all suits. He will see there is no trickery in the affair. I would give a year of my life to avoid this duel. That is one disgrace I have managed to avoid, until now. Outside of war or some chance heroic deed, there is no honor in killing or being killed. We shall meet at Chêne Mow at midnight, and soon we shall be together for good. Don’t, I beg of you, do anything foolish, like confronting Sir Giles on your own. All our future happiness depends on your discretion. All my love, always.

Toujours,
Alexander.

She read it twice, with some satisfaction. Like Alexander, she dreaded the duel, but at least he had promised not to kill Sir Giles. Alexander was a famous shot; she had no doubts of his ability to place a bullet just where he intended. He would meet her at Chêne Mow tonight, and take her to his mama to await the wedding tomorrow. Sir Giles would have too much on his mind in the morning to check her bedroom and see she was not there. He would not learn of her departure until he returned from the duel.

There would be talk and ill feelings and unpleasantness between themselves and Sir Giles for some time to come, but in the end all would smooth itself out. She would make a generous settlement on Sir Giles for all his help over the years. Money was all he really cared about. The important thing was to prevent bloodshed.

She had a wistful memory of the young girl who had been shocked at the thought of a runaway match, but really it would have been less scandalous than a duel. Like father, like son, people would say of Alexander. It never entered her head that anything could go wrong when Raventhorpe was in charge of her rescue. In the noble strength of his gilded youth, he seemed invincible.

She went to her room early that evening, ostensibly to retire and be rested for her early morning wedding. Sir Giles suggested William do the same, and like a sheep, he did as he was told. At eleven-thirty she stole downstairs and listened for sounds of Sir Giles. His study door was open; the study was dark. He was not in the saloon either. She thought perhaps he had slipped away under cover of darkness to make plans with the vicar for the morning. She went into the library and out the French door.

Arabella wore a dark habit to conceal her movements lest anyone should be looking out the window. Fleeing through the shadows, she wondered when she would see her home again. She remembered then that she had left Alexander’s letters and her special copy of his poems hidden in her bedroom. With so much preying on her mind, she had forgotten them, but they would be safe there. With Alexander by her side, there was no hurry to regain those tokens.

As she approached Chêne Mow, she saw a light burning in the kitchen, and was surprised that Raventhorpe was there so early. She would scold him for lighting the lamp. It was not likely anyone would see it
in
this secluded place, but if Sir Giles happened to be returning from his visit to the vicar, he might go to investigate.

She stopped at the window and stood on tiptoe to look in, wanting a glimpse of Alexander, caught unawares. She gave a soft gasp of surprise. It was not Raventhorpe who was there but Sir Giles, and he was not alone. She recognized Bert Robinson, a disreputable poacher and ne’er-do-well from the neighborhood. His father had one of her tenant farms. What were they doing together in this hidden little cottage? She looked again and saw Sir Giles handing Robinson a pistol. Her blood turned to ice at the look of angry determination on her uncle’s face. He looked ready to commit murder.

She was consumed with eagerness to hear what they were saying, and crept to the back door. They had left it ajar. It led through a shed to the kitchen. She crept through the dark shed to the inside door, close enough to hear. Through a small opening, she could even see them. They sat at the deal table, with a bottle of gin between them. The flickering light of a rush lamp on the wall cast grotesque shadows on their faces as they leaned together in conspiracy, the very picture of evil incarnate.

“You’re to station yourself behind the big old oak tree in the clearing of the spinney. There at the east end. You know where I mean?” Sir Giles asked, and Robinson nodded. “We’ll each count out our twelve paces. You keep count with us. And the instant he turns, you fire. Aim for his heart, Bert. You’ll only get one shot, and you’ve got to do it before he shoots, or I’m a dead man. I can’t hope to outshoot a sportsman like Raventhorpe. I’ll discharge my pistol as well, to make it look as if it was my shot that got him, but I’ll aim above his shoulder. In the excitement and confusion, no one will notice. Can I count on you?”

“Ye’ve chosen your man well.” Bert grinned. “I can take the eye out of a pigeon in flight. A man’s chest will be like hitting a barn door. Ye can count on me, Sir Giles. But why did you accept a challenge from him, if you don’t mind my asking? You might have got out of it, eh?”

“Accept a challenge? I forced the duel on him, the young upstart. He thinks to walk away with her fortune, after I’ve spent the better part of my life building it up for my son. It’s mine as much as hers. She’s no right to squander it on him. She’s a foolish young thing. She doesn’t know what’s good for her. It’s my job to protect her.”

“It’s Raventhorpe that’s full of mischief, like his father before him,” Robinson said ingratiatingly.

She heard the tinkle of golden coins. “Here’s a hundred in advance,” Sir Giles said. “There’ll be another hundred after the deed is done. And if you ever whisper a word of this bargain to a soul, Bert Robinson, I’ll hunt you down and shoot you like a dog.”

“My word’s my bond, Sir Giles,” Bert said, and pocketed the money.

A cold sweat beaded Arabella’s brow, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. A wave of nausea seized her, but she willed it down. She had to warn Raventhorpe not to come to Chêne Mow. Even now he was on his way here. He might go charging in the front door at any moment, and Bert would murder him before the planned time. What Sir Giles was planning was nothing else but cold-blooded murder. And it was not her he was worried about, it was her money. His rationalizing didn’t fool her. She turned to flee, and her elbow bumped a stick of firewood that protruded from a shelf. It knocked a can of nails to the floor in a resounding clatter.

Before she could escape, the kitchen door was flung open and Bert Robinson grabbed her arm. “What’s this, then? An eavesdropper!”

She looked into the kitchen, where Sir Giles was staring at her with wary eyes. He didn’t bother to rise. “How much have you heard?” he asked.

“Nothing!” she said, much too quickly. She was as white as snow, and trembling from head to foot. “I didn’t hear anything, Uncle.”