The House at Bell Orchard (14 page)

He did not reply at once, but put his horse at the steep slope leading to the ford. There was a set expression in his face.

“Has it not occurred to you,” he said grimly at length, “that the accusation may be justified?”

This was too much for Dorothy, who had so often been accused of exaggeration. As the horses splashed through the shallow water she said indignantly:

“No, it had not, but what occurs to me now is that you have taken leave of
your
senses! Mercy on us! why should anyone attempt such a thing, Miles wants to marry her, not murder her!”

“Perhaps he intends to do both!” Piers said in a low voice. “
You
did not hear what Charmian said to me when I first reached her, before Lavinia Fenshawe came on the scene. No,” he added as she turned eagerly towards him, “I shall not tell you what it was, for if it is true, then ’tis better that you know nothing of it. But this I will say—I believe that she is in deadly danger, and it is partly my fault. If I had paid heed to what she once tried to tell me, this whole damnable situation would never have come about!”

The fierce self-reproach in his voice kept Dorothy silent, preventing the questions which were hovering on her lips. As they began to climb the hill towards Wychwood Chase, however, the full import of what he had said dawned upon her. She reined in her horse and said urgently:

“Piers, if she
is
in danger, we must go back at once! Oh, how
could
you abandon her in that heartless fashion, when she cried so to you to help her?”

He halted also, and turned on her with a white-faced, savage fury which was totally foreign to his nature as she knew it. Never in all her life had she seen him so gripped by emotion.

“You little fool, what else could I do? Did you expect me to carry her off there and then? Force my way out of the house and ride off with her across my saddle? A fine to-do that would have caused!”

“What matter for that? At least Charmian would have been safe, for Mrs. Fenshawe could not have stopped you.”

“No, she could not have stopped me, but she would have had the whole parish in an uproar before we had crossed the river—and the law would be on her side, make no doubt of that! Charmian would have been back at Bell Orchard within the hour, and us likely facing a charge of abduction, and probably saddled with a challenge from Miles into the bargain. If I am to help her at all, I
had
to pretend to believe Mrs. Fenshawe’s story.”

Dorothy, considerably chastened by these facts which, undeniable though they were, would never have occurred to her, hurriedly asked his pardon, but added miserably: “You are right, of course, but Charmian is in no state to realize it. She will think we have completely abandoned her.”

“Do you imagine it was easy for me to do it?” Piers asked bitterly. “To pay no heed when she cried out to me for help, to walk out of the house as though I neither understood nor cared? It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and yet I had to do it. To betray any suspicion at all could only increase her danger, and if all that she said is true, then she is in mortal peril already.”

“Then what
are
we to do?” Dorothy was almost weeping with frustration and dismay. “How can we help her?”

“I can think of only one way, and I had determined to use it even before we saw Charmian today.” Piers urged his horse forward again along the winding path. “
I
have no right to interfere, and so I must find someone who has. I shall go at once to Richmond, to the old gentleman of whom Charmian has told us, who was her father’s close friend for many years. He will know if there is any truth in this tale concerning her mother, and if, as I firmly believe, it is all a pack of lies, there will be cause enough for him to intervene. I shall ask him to return with me immediately.”

“That will take so long,” Dorothy protested. “Is there no other way?”

“None that I can think of. There is not one scrap of proof to offer in support of Charmian’s accusation, and who, seeing her as she is today, would believe that it is justified? If we did not know her, and were not already suspicious, would we have done so?”

She sighed and shook her head. “I suppose not,” she agreed unhappily. “Oh, Piers, what can they be doing to her? She looked so ill!”

“That old beldam, Granny Godsall, could probably tell us that,” Piers said grimly, “for I’ll warrant the medicine Mrs. Fenshawe spoke of is one of her damned witch-brews! But there is no hope of proving it. Godsall has no liking for me, and none of them would betray the Fenshawes.” His hand tightened suddenly on the rein, so that his horse stamped and snorted protestingly, and when he spoke again his voice shook with pain and anger. “By God, I will make them pay for this, for all that they have made her suffer!”

He spurred forward again, and Dorothy followed him without further argument, but she could not help feeling vaguely dissatisfied with her brother’s intention to seek aid from Mr. Brownhill. To her it seemed a very tame and unadventurous way of dealing with the crisis, for her mind ran more to such measures as a secret, midnight entry into Bell Orchard and the spiriting away of the prisoner to a place of safety—measures in which she would have been more than willing to take an active part.

But even if all the difficulties could have been overcome, she knew that Piers would never agree to so reckless a scheme. Not even the undoubted depth of his feelings or his consuming anxiety would deflect him from the path of practical common sense.

Arriving at the Chase, Piers sent his sister to tell Lady Wychwood what had happened, while he made his preparations for the journey to Richmond. These were brief. He took no servant and only the merest necessities, but because any appearance of undue haste would cause comment which might drift as far as Bell Orchard and arouse suspicion there, he casually let it be known that he was riding to visit his friend, Tom Merrill. Then he went to take leave of his mother and Dorothy before setting out at a leisurely pace in the direction of Mr. Merrill’s home, which fortunately lay upon the road he must follow to reach his real destination.

Once away from the immediate vicinity of Wychwood, however, the casual pose was soon cast aside, and it was a very grim and purposeful young man who rode northwards at a pace which would greatly have gratified his sister had she been there to see it. Only Piers himself knew what it cost him thus to turn his back upon Bell Orchard and the frightened girl who lay imprisoned there, deliberately to ignore the frantic appeal for help which seemed to ring still in his ears. To do so did violence to his deepest feelings, while the thought of the despair into which his seeming indifference must have cast her wrung his heart, but he knew there was no other way. The Fenshawes were as clever as they were unscrupulous, and for Charmian’s sake he dare make no move against them until he was sure of success.

He rode hard, sparing neither himself nor his mount, hiring a fresh horse as soon as his present one showed signs of flagging, and reached Richmond in the early evening. He had little difficulty in finding his way to Mr. Brownhill’s house, but there a bitter disappointment awaited him. The old gentleman and his wife were away from home, and not expected back until late the next afternoon.

Piers was obliged to spend the night at an inn in the town, driven almost to distraction by the delay and by the thought of the ordeal which Charmian was undergoing so many miles away. Twice during the following day he went to the Brownhills’ house, hoping against hope that they had returned earlier than expected, and twice was disappointed. On his third visit, however, towards the end of the afternoon, he found a coach standing before the door, and was informed by the servant who answered his knock that Mr. and Mrs. Brownhill had that moment arrived home.

Convinced by the visitor’s persistence that his business was extremely urgent, the servant ushered him at once into the presence of his master and mistress, who had already been informed of his previous visits and were therefore somewhat curious. The name of Wychwood conveyed nothing to them, and both looked with some perplexity at this tall young man with the pleasant, serious face and air of quiet authority. He bowed punctiliously as Mr. Brownhill came forward to greet him, to present him to his wife, and then to inquire, in a faintly puzzled tone, how he could be of service to him.

“That, sir, is a trifle difficult to explain,” Piers replied frankly, “though it may perhaps simplify matters if I tell you first that I am a near neighbour of Colonel Fenshawe, of Bell Orchard in Sussex.”

These words produced a greater effect than he had looked for. Mrs. Brownhill uttered an exclamation, and her husband said quickly:

“Bell Orchard? Then, sir, perhaps you can give us news of a young friend of ours, Miss Tarrant, who we believe is at present a guest there.”

“You believe?” A quick frown accompanied the words. “Are you not certain of it?”

Mr. Brownhill moved his hands in an eloquent gesture. “We know that Colonel Fenshawe and his wife took Miss Tarrant to Sussex shortly after her father’s death, and we received a letter from her soon after her arrival there, but we have heard nothing since.”

“I have written to her several times, and received no reply,” Mrs. Brownhill put in anxiously. “It is not like Charmian to be so neglectful! Pray, sir, can you tell us if she is still there, and if all is well with her? We have been greatly concerned.”

“Miss Tarrant is certainly at Bell Orchard,” Piers replied, “for I saw her there only yesterday, but I fear, ma’am, that I can give you little reassurance as to her well-being. You are not her only friends to be concerned about her. That is why I am here.”

She broke into dismayed and anxious questioning, but was silenced by her husband’s uplifted hand. Mr. Brownhill, shrewdly regarding Piers, said quietly:

“I believe, my dear, that we shall sooner know what is amiss if we permit Sir Piers to tell us without interruption. Pray be seated, sir! We are all attention.”

Piers accepted the invitation with a word of thanks, and embarked at once upon his story. He told it in a deliberately calm and matter-of-fact way, but in spite of this they listened with deepening horror, and Mrs. Brownhill was soon openly weeping. When he related how Lavinia Fenshawe had told him that Charmian’s mother had died insane, she could contain herself no longer, but said with tearful indignation:

“That is a wicked, wicked lie! Mrs. Tarrant died in an accident, poor young creature, as a score of people hereabouts will tell you. A team of runaway horses in the town one day—she thrust Charmian out of danger but could not escape it herself. Oh, that evil woman! I did not trust her, and should never have allowed her to take the child away!”

“Do not blame yourself, ma’am,” Piers said grimly. “I have known the Fenshawes all my life, and until a few days ago I harboured no suspicions concerning them. Why, then, should you?”

“Such regret and self-reproach,” Mr. Brownhill put in, “is merely a waste of time which would be better spent in deciding upon a course of action. It is difficult to know how much of what Charmian told Sir Piers yesterday is true, and how much due to fright and disordered health, but it is plain that she is being kept at Bell Orchard against her will.”

“I will go farther, sir!” Piers replied curtly. “Until it is proved otherwise, I shall assume that everything she said is true, and judge the extent of her danger accordingly. You will agree, I think, that there is no doubt that Miles Fenshawe means to marry her in order to possess himself of her fortune, which, I believe, is still quite considerable.”

“Yes, her mother’s brother, who was a very wealthy man, made Charmian his sole heir,” Mr. Brownhill agreed, “but there are certain conditions attached to the inheritance which may make it difficult for the young man to carry out his intentions. By the terms of her uncle’s Will, Charmian forfeits all right to the fortune if she marries without the consent of the trustees before she reaches her twenty-first birthday.”

Piers frowned. “You may be sure that Miles is aware of that! What happens, sir, if she reaches that age while she is still unmarried?”

“Then she becomes sole mistress of her inheritance and may dispose of it as she pleases. Naturally, when the Will was drawn up, it was supposed that she would be married long before such a situation could arise.”

Mrs. Brownhill uttered a cry of dismay and clapped a hand to her mouth, looking from one man to the other with horrified eyes.

“But Charmian is twenty-one this year!” she said in a frightened voice. “Her birthday falls on the seventeenth day of this month!”

There was a little silence, and then Piers said in a low voice: “And today is the nineteenth!” He stood up abruptly. “I must go back to Bell Orchard!”

“Sir Piers!” Mr. Brownhill rose also, to lay a restraining hand on his arm. “What do you intend to do?”

Piers looked at him as though he did not really see him. He was very pale, and there was a grim expression about his mouth. “I do not know,” he said quietly, “but if the time has already come when Charmian may marry without seeking anybody’s consent, be sure that Miles will find a way to force her to it. If I am there, I may be able to prevent it.” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was unsteady. “By God! I
will
prevent it!”

Husband and wife exchanged comprehending glances, and Mr. Brownhill nodded.