The Pretty Horse-Breakers Page 17

  Candida noticed nothing.

  She had backed away from Lord Manville almost as if he had struck her and she stood bemused and bewildered, hearing neither the clatter of voices nor the compliments that were being paid to her by the gentlemen who had now joined them.

  She was conscious only of a dark cloud that had descended upon her and a constriction within herself, for which she could not find an explanation.

  Then Adrian was beside her, talking to her eagerly, telling her how he had spent the afternoon alone and what poetry he had composed. She forced herself to listen to him and it seemed as though only he spoke in English while everyone else conversed in a foreign language she did not understand.

  “Tell me about it,” she heard herself say and thought her voice sounded strange, like the voice of someone lost in a fog.

  Thankfully she found Adrian beside her at dinner.

  “Are you ill?” he asked her once. “You look a bit strange and you are eating nothing.”

  “I am not hungry,” Candida answered. “Go on telling me about your poem.”

  “It suddenly came to me,” Adrian said, “and I knew I had to put it down on paper. That was why I sneaked away after lunch. You were all right, were you not?”

  “Yes, I was all right,” Candida replied.

  Was what had happened in the enchanted wood really true or had she dreamt it all? What was happening now? She wanted to cry out, to beg Lord Manville to come to her through the dark cloud that seemed almost to obscure him from her view.

  Yet she could see him sitting at the end of the table, a pretty woman on either side of him, laughing, talking, their voices getting louder and louder.

  The whole party seemed to make more and more noise. She did not realise that the men were drinking heavily, that the women were becoming more abandoned in their laughter, that the jokes were growing broader and more lewd. She could not hear most of what was said and when she did she did not understand it.

  Adrian was still talking and he was like a lifeline thrown to her when she was drowning. She could make herself hold on to what he was saying, try to make it seem sense and try to find an answer.

  She must have been reasonably successful and, as they rose from the table, she managed to say,

  “Do you think I can go to bed?”

  “Not yet,” he advised. “It would annoy my Guardian if you slipped away too soon. Wait and I will tell you when you can go.”

  “Please do that,” Candida begged.

  She thought the ladies would leave alone, as was usual, but she heard Lais cry,

  “You are not all going to stay here and get foxed. The band is already tuning up, I can hear it. There is money to be won on the tables. Come, Silvanus, we will not leave you to your port, bring it with you. I hope there is plenty of champagne for us poor frail women! I have a feeling we shall need it.”

  The men had laughed and followed the ladies into the drawing room. While they were at dinner part of the carpet had been turned back and there was a six-piece orchestra playing one of the latest and wildest polkas.

  “Do you want to dance?” Candida heard Adrian ask at her side.

  She could not help looking towards Lord Manville, but Lais had her hand on his shoulder and his arm was on her waist.

  “No,” she murmured.

  “Then let’s sit quietly on the sofa,” Adrian suggested. “I have no money for gaming and I dislike these noisy jumpy dances.”

  “So do I,” Candida answered, feeling a sudden revulsion against the swinging crinolines, the flushed faces and the noisy shouts of those taking the floor.

  It seemed as though Sir Tresham Foxleigh was avoiding her. He made no effort to speak to her before dinner and she had noticed that he deliberately walked round the other side of the table when they entered the dining room as though he did not even wish to be beside her.

  She was thankful because she felt she could not have endured the repulsiveness of him had he sought her company.

  She sat for a while on the sofa at Adrian’s side, seeing that after the first dance Lord Manville had moved from the dance floor towards one of the gaming tables where some of his guests were flinging down piles of golden guineas as though they were mere halfpennies.

  “Surely I can go now?” Candida asked.

  “You will annoy him,” Adrian said warningly.

  “It’s already quite late,” she said despairingly. “Dinner took hours.”

  “I know, it always does on these occasions,” Adrian replied. “They all wanted to eat and drink themselves stupid. I must say it is something that has never amused me.”

  “Do you realise it’s nearly one o’clock?” Candida asked, looking at the clock over the mantelpiece. “How long do parties of this sort last?”

  “Until three or four in the morning, I expect,” Adrian said mournfully.

  “I cannot bear it! I cannot!” Candida cried.

  As she spoke, she saw Lais come from the dance floor where she had been waltzing with Sir Tresham Foxleigh and walk across the room to Lord Manville.

  She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear and then drew him insistently towards one of the French windows which gave onto the garden. He seemed reluctant to go with her, but she was pulling him by the arm, persuading him.

  Candida rose to her feet.

  “I am going to bed!”

  She knew that she had reached breaking point.

  “I will do the same in a minute,” Adrian said. “It would not be wise for us to be seen leaving together. You know what these people are like.”

  Candida did not understand what he meant or care. She only had one desire and that was to get away to be by herself. She passed through the drawing room door and as she did so she heard a hated voice beside her.

  “Miss Candida, may I crave your indulgence?”

  “No,” she answered quickly, feeling that to talk to Sir Tresham at this moment would be the final blow in an evening of misery.

  “Please,” he pleaded, “I have a favour to ask you. I have just been told by my coachman that one of my horses is in considerable pain. He does not know if it’s a strained fetlock or what it might be. Would it be asking too much for you to look at the animal?”

  “No, no, I – cannot,” Candida answered, hardly realising what she was saying.

  “That is unlike you, Miss Candida,” Sir Treshman protested. “As I have said, the animal is in pain and, although the man is experienced, he does not know what to do. I would not wish to inconvenience his Lordship by asking for a replacement from his stable if it can possibly be avoided. Nevertheless it would be cruelty to drive the animal back to The Towers if it is not in a fit state to travel.”

  “No, that would be – wrong,” Candida agreed.

  “Then please help me,” Sir Tresham begged. “It will not take you a minute. The carriage is already waiting outside the front door as I intended to leave early.”

  “It’s outside?” Candida repeated almost stupidly, trying to understand what had been said, trying to concentrate, but longing only to get away.

  “The horse I’m talking about is in the courtyard,” Sir Tresham told her.

  His hand was on her arm, drawing her across the marble floor towards the front door.

  “I know you would not wish an animal to be in pain,” he went on, “not if it was easy to prevent. Say you will come and see this animal. I assure you it’s one of the best in my stable.”

  “Very well, I will come,” Candida consented.

  ‘It will only take a few seconds,’ she thought and wondered what could be wrong with a horse that its own coachman could not diagnose.

  The carriage was standing outside the front door. It was a closed barouche drawn by a pair with the coachman and footman on the box. Candida would have gone to the nearer horse, but Sir Treshman checked her.

  “It’s the animal on the offside,” he said.

  Candida, lifting her dress with both hands, walked round the back of the barouche o
ut of sight of the front door. The footman had dismounted from the box and was holding open the door of the carriage as if he expected his Master to be leaving.

  Candida would have passed him by, but, as she reached the open door, Sir Tresham suddenly lifted her in his arms and threw her inside.

  She gave a scream of horror and surprise, but even as she fell onto the cushioned seat, a hand came over her mouth, preventing her from screaming again. As she struggled fruitlessly, she heard the door slam and felt the carriage start up.

  They were driving away and, although she fought against him with all her strength, it was some minutes before Sir Tresham took his hand from her mouth.

  “What are you doing? How dare you!” she tried to say – and heard him laugh.

  “You will learn, my pretty lovebird,” he said, “that I always get what I want. I wanted you, my dear, from the first moment I saw you and now by God I’ve got you!”

  “You are mad,” Candida cried, and bent forward to rap on the window. “Stop! Stop! Help!”

  He laughed again.

  “My servants will not listen to you. Indeed they cannot believe that any woman would not be charmed to be in my company.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Candida asked. “You must be crazed to behave like this! I will have nothing to do with you, you know that.”

  “You have little choice, my dear,” he replied drily, “and now, let us cease this nonsense. I will be very generous to you, as I told you the first time we met. You attract me as I have seldom been attracted by a woman and what I want – I have!”

  “Lord Manville will not permit this to happen to me,” Candida retorted.

  “It is unlikely that he will know of your departure until tomorrow morning,” Sir Tresham said suavely, “and I have a feeling, my dear Candida, that his Lordship, having no partiality for me, will not be much interested in you when tomorrow comes.”

  There was a lantern in the carriage, which made it possible for Candida to look at Sir Tresham Foxleigh.

  With a pathetic little effort at dignity she said,

  “If you mean what I think you mean, I can only ask you as a gentleman to let me go. I dislike you – you repel me! Surely that is reason enough for you not to wish for my company.”

  “On the contrary,” Sir Tresham said, “I find a too complaisant woman a bore. It will amuse me to break you, my dear, even as you break those fine horses you ride so elegantly. I like my women high-spirited, they are all the sweeter to the touch when I have taught them who is master.”

  As he spoke, he put out his arm and drew Candida towards him. As he touched her, she lost control, fighting and screaming, but knew even as she did so it was hopeless and she was utterly in his power. Slowly and relentlessly he drew her to him and, turning up her face to his, sought her lips. She turned her head from side to side, scratching at him and hearing her dress tear beneath his hands.

  Then suddenly, as she realised how helpless she was, she thought she would lose consciousness. But like a ray of light a sudden thought came to her. She ceased to struggle, and, as she felt his hand fumbling roughly at her breast, she said weakly,

  “I – am about to – faint, could you – open the – window?”

  “Why not?” he asked. “It’s damn hot in here.”

  He loosened his hold on her for one second to bend towards the window at his side to lift the sash and let it down.

  As he did so Candida moved.

  She seized the handle of the door on her side of the barouche, opened it and flung herself out. She heard Sir Tresham ejaculate an oath, felt him clutch at her crinoline which was half stuck in the doorway and heard it tear as the chiffon came away in his hands.

  There was a sudden crash as she fell which knocked her almost senseless and then she found herself rolling down a steep incline, rolling over and over, saved from serious injury to her legs by the mere thickness of her skirts and hoop. Finally she was checked, caught in the branches of a rhododendron bush.

  For a moment Candida lay stunned, unable to move, until she heard Sir Tresham’s voice shouting at the coachmen and further on up the drive the horses being pulled to a standstill.

  She knew then that she must move, for if she stayed where she was he would find her. Staggering to her feet she started to run between the shrubs, banging into trees, falling down not once but a dozen times, still in a panic of fear, desperately running, running, running –

  Once she stopped and looked back. She saw lights and knew that Sir Tresham and his coachmen were searching for her.

  She heard his voice.

  “Candida! Candida! Don’t be a fool! Come back!”

  He waited a moment to see if she would reply and heard him snarl,

  “Find her, you nitwits. Damn it, the girl cannot be far. Spread out and search for her.”

  Candida waited no longer. She picked up the tattered remains of her skirts and ran as she had never run before. She was still among trees and shrubs and the branches whipped across her cheeks, hurting and marking her skin, tearing at her hair and tumbling it over her shoulders. But still she ran on.

  Suddenly the ground seemed to disappear beneath her feet and she fell headlong into a deep ditch.

  For a moment she must have been unconscious, until as she opened her eyes she could see the stars in the sky and hear the rustle of dead leaves. She knew then she could go no further. Her heart was beating suffocatingly in her breast, her breath was coming wheezily between her lips and her whole body was tense with fear.

  She lay there listening. If he found her now she knew she had no strength to resist him. But there was only silence and after a long while she scrambled to her feet and crawled out of the ditch.

  In the far distance she thought in the pale light of a half-moon she could see the drive. There were no lights on it, the horses and carriage had gone.

  She sat down on the ground and put her head down on her knees. She was past crying, past everything but a kind of animal instinct to find shelter. She must get back to Manville Park.

  Slowly, for her whole body was aching, she dragged herself from the bushes and then saw the lights of the house ahead of her. She had run, she thought, almost halfway across the Park in front of the house. It would be quicker to approach from the other drive rather than by the one on which Sir Tresham had abducted her.

  Even so it was quite a long way. But at least there, whatever else awaited her, she would be safe from Sir Tresham. The very thought of him gave some impetus to her feet, but she was too weak to move quickly.

  After walking only a very little way, she sat down and stared at the house.

  It was then that the thought of Lord Manville made her aware that the only thing that mattered was to find him again. Long ago – was it only this afternoon – he had held her in his arms.

  She thought of all he had said to her, of his lips on hers, and she knew that her happiness at dinner and during the evening had been absurd. Had he not waited for her in the library? Had he not said that every minute he waited had been like an eternity?

  ‘I must go to him,’ she told herself and yet she was tempted to sit and remember, to feel again that wild ecstasy that had been theirs in their enchanted wood.

  A chill wind blowing from the lake made her suddenly shiver. She knew it would be madness to stay where she was in case she fell asleep. She must get back.

  Slowly, wearily, conscious that every bruise and wound in her body was beginning to hurt, she struggled to her feet, only to find that one of her slippers was missing.

  Chapter Ten

  Lord Manville found himself being dragged by Lais toward the French window.

  “Do come and look,” she begged, “I am sure there is a robber trying to get into the house.”

  “Nonsense!” Lord Manville declared. “No burglar would attempt to enter a house as brilliantly lit and as full of people as this one.”

  “But I saw the man, I tell you,” Lais persisted. “He appeared very strange and
distinctly dangerous!”

  Good-humouredly Lord Manville allowed himself to be dragged towards the window.

  Outside the night was warm and the sky was brilliant with stars. It was, however, difficult to see much of the garden because of the lights shining onto the terrace from the uncurtained windows.

  “He was down there,” Lais said, running to the balustrade and pointing towards some large shrubs on the other side of the rose garden.

  “I cannot see anyone,” Lord Manville protested.

  “He is not likely to be waiting there for you to catch him,” Lais replied, moving down the stone steps. “Do come and search for him, Silvanus. I swear I’m afraid for your valuable silver.”

  “You are imagining things,” he replied, but he followed her down the stone steps until they reached the centre of the rose garden where there was a sundial. Lord Manville looked about him.

  “Now, where is your ferocious intruder?” he enquired.

  “He must have run away,” Lais suggested, “but it’s of no importance. Now at last I have you to myself.”

  “Is that your excuse for bringing me here?” Lord Manville enquired.

  “No, no, I really saw someone,” Lais answered. “But, Silvanus – it’s a wonderful night.”

  As she spoke, she raised her arms to place them round Lord Manville’s neck, but he did not draw her close to him.

  Instead he said quietly,

  “I also want to talk to you, Lais, although I would not have chosen this particular moment.”

  “Must we talk?” she murmured. “Kiss me, Silvanus, it’s a long time since I have felt your lips.”

  Lord Manville put up his hands as though he would remove Lais’s arms from his neck and as he did so a voice in the darkness cried,

  “It appears we are very much de trop!”

  Lais and Lord Manville turned their heads to see coming towards them Captain Willoughby with Dora on his arm. They both looked somewhat dishevelled. Dora’s chignon was untidy and her décolleté considerably disarranged. The erstwhile elegance of Captain Willoughby’s pointed collar and wide neckband was now a crumpled disaster.