The Pretty Horse-Breakers Page 18

  “Yes, you are interrupting us,” Lais answered coldly, “you should have more tact.”

  “Then we will withdraw immediately to the house,” Captain Willoughby said with a little bow. “We know when we are not wanted.”

  “We will come with you,” Lord Manville said firmly. “I have an overwhelming desire to match my skill at cards against yours, Willoughby.”

  “It is quite a time since we have played together and last time, if I remember rightly, you won,” Captain Willoughby replied. “So that does not make me particularly keen to encounter you once again.”

  “How do you know that this evening your luck has not changed?” Lord Manville enquired.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Captain Willoughby said with a glance at Dora, “although, of course, there is the old adage ‘lucky in love, unlucky at cards’.”

  Dora gave a shrill laugh that seemed to jar on Lord Manville, because he frowned and moved a little quickly towards the house.

  Lais’s hand was on his arm.

  “No, wait, Silvanus, I wish to talk to you.”

  “Not now,” he said sharply, “I have to play host to my guests. Surely even you can understand that.”

  There was a sharpness in his tone that made Lais’s eyes narrow for a moment and her mouth tighten ominously. She had a quick temper and Lord Manville was driving her hard. But she was too clever to show her annoyance and, when they went back into the salon, she held out her hand prettily saying,

  “Be my banker, please, you and Captain Willoughby are not the only people who wish to test their luck this evening.”

  Lord Manville gave her what guineas he carried in his vest pocket and turned away.

  Looking around the room he saw that Candida was no longer there and thought that she would have retired to bed. He had known she was unhappy at dinner and he was well aware that she had seemed bewildered amongst the noise and jokes of the raffish crowd.

  He wished now he had gone straight to her side, as he had desired to do, when they left the dining room, but he had been half afraid that if he singled her out too obviously Lais would make a scene.

  He knew that he had to dismiss his mistress, but it was never a pleasant task and he did not think that this was the right time or place to do it.

  “Come on, Manville, I’m waiting for you!” Captain Willoughby called from one of the gaming tables.

  It was with a sense of relief that he need no longer perplex his mind with the whims of females that Lord Manville picked up the cards.

  To his surprise after he had been playing a very short while, Lais came to tell him that the party was breaking up. Already several carriages had left carrying the Duke of Dorset, the Officers in the Household Cavalry, Nellie, Laurette, Phyllis, Fanny and Mary Ann.

  “They told me to say goodnight to you,” Lais said, “since they did not like to disturb your game in case it should ruin your luck.”

  “He certainly has the luck of the devil,” Captain Willoughby exclaimed ruefully. “That’s nearly a thousand guineas I owe you, Manville!”

  “Then it is certainly time for me to stop playing,” Lord Manville said with a smile. “But you shall have your revenge another time.”

  “I bear you no grudge, Manville. It has been an amusing day. Shall I see you in London this week?”

  “I am not yet certain of my plans,” Lord Manville answered vaguely.

  “Silvanus!” Lais expostulated.

  But already Lord Manville had left the salon, going out into the hall in time to hear a carriage roll away down the drive.

  “So, I am left to escort two charmers, am I?” Captain Willoughby enquired as a footman helped him into his coat and Lais and Dora arrayed themselves in capes trimmed with marabou. “You should accompany us, Manville.”

  “No thank you,” Lord Manville replied. “I have not entered The Towers since Foxleigh bought it eight years ago and I have no intention of doing so.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Captain Willoughby said with a twinkle in his eye. “Goodnight, and thank you once again.”

  “Goodnight,” Lord Manville replied.

  He held out his hand to Dora, but she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “It’s been a wonderful day,” she gushed, “I enjoyed every moment. But I wish I had won the contest. And poor Lais lost two hundred guineas!”

  “I will make it up to her,” Lord Manville said coldly. “Lais, I will send you the money tomorrow.”

  “I would rather you brought it yourself,” she whispered and now her arms were round his neck, her lips against his cheek.

  She sought his mouth, but in some way she could not explain he was free of her. Then they were outside and he was helping Dora and Lais into Captain Willoughby’s lightly sprung and very fast curricle.

  “That’s a good pair of horseflesh you have there,” Lord Manville remarked.

  “They ought to be,” Captain Willoughby replied. “I paid enough for them.”

  He flicked the leader with his whip as he spoke and the curricle moved off with cries of farewell and the waving of hands.

  Lord Manville, with a sigh of relief, walked back into the house.

  “You can shut up, John,” he called to the footman on the door.

  “Isn’t Miss Candida coming back, sir?”

  Lord Manville, who had already reached the bottom of the stairs, turned back,

  “Miss Candida?” he enquired. “Surely she retired some time ago.”

  “No, my Lord, she went out about one o’clock with Sir Tresham Foxleigh.”

  Lord Manville’s expression was incredulous.

  “You are speaking of Miss Walcott who is staying here?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “You are quite sure she has not returned?”

  “No, my Lord, I’ve been on duty ever since. I’ve not left the door.”

  “Miss Walcott went – quite – freely?” Lord Manville said, obviously choosing his words with care.

  “Oh, yes, my Lord,” the footman answered. “I heard her say to Sir Tresham, ‘very well, I will come’ and then they walked down the steps together.”

  “The carriage was outside?”

  “Yes, my Lord. I heard the door slam and they drove off.”

  There was an expression on Lord Manville’s face that made the footman suddenly feel afraid.

  “I hope I did right in telling you, my Lord.”

  “You can go to bed,” Lord Manville said harshly. “I will lock the door when the lady returns.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The footman scuttled away and Lord Manville stood where he had left him in the centre of the hall. After a while he started to walk up and down.

  The candles were guttering low and the shadows grew deeper. Still there was no sound of carriage wheels, only occasionally the noises of the night, the hooting of an owl, the barking of a fox very far away.

  Lord Manville looked at the clock not once but a dozen times. It seemed incredible that minutes could pass so slowly and then when it was nearly half past two he walked to the door.

  With the lights behind him he stood at the top of the stone steps staring out into the darkness, scanning the emptiness of the drive – the one going East, over which a carriage would travel to reach The Towers.

  It was then suddenly from the direction of the West drive that he heard a sound. He turned his head sharply and there below him on the gravel of the courtyard he saw a figure.

  She was in the shadow of the house but there was no need for him to ask who it was and he did not stop to wonder how she could have come so quietly that he had not heard her approach.

  “So you have returned!” he said.

  His voice, icy and contemptuous, seemed to cut through the darkness and he saw the figure who had been coming nearer to him stop uncertainly.

  “I hope you have enjoyed yourself,” he went on.

  There was an acid cynicism in his words, which sounded all th
e more bitter as he spoke in a low calculating tone.

  “Have you been hiding with your friend Sir Tresham in the bushes? Or did he take you further afield so that you could amuse yourselves out of sight of someone like myself who might be inclined to ask awkward questions?”

  Lord Manville paused and, as there was no answer, he continued,

  “I presume you intended to sneak into the house without my knowledge, to deceive me even as you did this afternoon when you tricked me into believing that you were different from the other women you pretended to dislike. Oh, you have been very clever, I grant you that. Your act has been almost perfect, a superb piece of play-acting which would have deceived almost anyone.”

  He paused again, but there was still no response from the slight figure below.

  “Now you have revealed the truth all too clearly,” he went on. “I confess I was almost beguiled into believing that you meant what you said. It was a very subtle bit of trickery! ‘Our enchanted wood’ – God! That I should have fallen for such childish twaddle! But you did it well, that I grant you. It only surprises me that you did not carry your plan through and get me, as you contrived to do, up the aisle at your side. That was what you wanted, was it not my ‘Pretty Little Horse-Breaker’. Marriage, a ring on your finger, a place at the head of my table!”

  Lord Manville drew in his breath.

  Then he continued, his voice altering to a tone of utter disgust,

  “Curse you, I nearly fell for it! I was very nearly caught by the oldest confidence trick in the world. Well, I have learnt my lesson, you can make sure of that. Now you can go. Get out and stay out! And tell your paramour that I want none of his leavings. I would not soil my hands by touching anything which he has already fouled beyond description. Go and God damn you! I hope that I never see you again.”

  For the first time Lord Manville raised his voice, shouting the last words.

  Then, wheeling round, he went into the house. He was shaking with anger and he intended to slam the door and bar it. But something compelled him to look back, perhaps to see if the silent figure, who had not moved or uttered a word the whole time he had been speaking, was still there.

  She was there, but no longer standing. She was lying in a crumpled heap on the gravel. He hesitated.

  Then, his voice still rough, he said,

  “Get up – pleading is going to get you nowhere.” As she did not move he added uncertainly, “It’s no use, Candida, the game is up, you must see that. If Foxleigh has gone home, I will send you over to him in a carriage.”

  Still there was no movement or sound from the crumpled figure and at last, as if compelled against his will, Lord Manville descended the steps.

  “Candida,” he said urgently.

  Reaching her he looked down and saw that her hair was streaming over her shoulders and there was something in the very limpness of her body that made him suddenly afraid.

  “Candida?” he cried again.

  He bent down and picked her up, realising as he did so that she was unconscious.

  Then, as he carried her up the steps and into the light he caught his breath and the exclamation he would have made died in his throat.

  It was her chest he saw first, scratched and bruised, marked and bleeding from the branches she had run through. The bodice of her dress was torn, the chiffon hanging in shreds, one white breast naked and bare.

  Her arms and her hands were bleeding and she was barely covered by the tattered and torn remnants of what had once been an expensive gown.

  There was mud and blood on her cheeks and her hair was full of dead leaves and twigs.

  “Oh, my God!” Lord Manville ejaculated and, carrying Candida quickly up the stairs and pushing open the door of her bedroom, he laid her down very gently on the bed.

  But, when he would have taken his arms from her, she seemed to come back to consciousness.

  Reaching out her hands, she clung to the lapel of his coat with an intensity born of panic.

  “Don’t let – h-him find – me – h-help me – help me – ” she murmured through dry lips.

  Very gently Lord Manville lowered her against the pillows and took her hands in his.

  “It’s all right, Candida,” he said. “You are safe. He will not touch you.”

  “He is – s-searching for – me,” she murmured brokenly and opened her eyes.

  For a moment she stared at Lord Manville in terror. Then in a less frantic tone she said,

  “I – am – safe?”

  “You are safe, I promise you. But, Candida, I must know what happened – tell me.”

  She closed her eyes again and for a moment he thought that she had not heard him, until in a voice hardly above a whisper, she stammered,

  “Sir Tresham – told me – one of his h-horses was hurt – I went to look – he thrust me in the carriage – he said – he had always – meant t-to – have me and – y-you would never speak – to me a-again.”

  Her voice died away, but making an obvious effort she continued,

  “I threw – myself out of the – carriage, but he – and his s-servants – searched for me. They had – l-lanterns.”

  Lord Manville reached out his hand and pulled imperiously half a dozen times at the bell-rope. Candida must have drifted away for a moment, for she gave a sudden little cry.

  “He – must not– find me – he must – not!”

  “He will not, I promise you he will not,” Lord Manville said gently.

  “It was – horrible – I am – f-frightened,” she murmured.

  “Forget it,” he said softly. “You will never see him again, I promise you that.”

  He felt her relax and, as she did so, the door opened and Mrs. Hewson, the housekeeper, came hurrying in.

  “The bell, my Lord!” she said breathlessly.

  “I rang it,” Lord Manville said. “There has been an accident, see to Miss Walcott, she has been injured.”

  As he spoke, he went from the room, hurrying down the staircase and waiting in the hall only to pick up his hat, his gloves and his riding whip.

  Then he went out of the front door and across the courtyard towards the stables.

  By riding across the fields in a direct line towards The Towers, Lord Manville arrived at Sir Tresham’s country home only a short time after the last of the party.

  There was still a footman on duty in the hall, and he stared in astonishment as Lord Manville walked straight past him and into the salon.

  As he had anticipated, the ladies had retired to bed, but the gentlemen were having a nightcap and, as he entered the room, they stood and stared. Sir Tresham was in the act of raising a glass of brandy to his lips.

  “Manville!” he exclaimed and put his glass down carefully on one of the side tables.

  Lord Manville walked across the intervening space towards him.

  “I and my friends have many vices,” Lord Manville said slowly, making every word an undisguised insult, “but one thing we do not do is to abduct a woman who is unwilling and assault her.”

  Sir Tresham gave an affected laugh.

  “You have got the story wrong, Manville! The girl was willing enough until she became hysterical.”

  “So willing that she threw herself out of the coach to escape your odious attentions,” Lord Manville said. “And for that I am going to teach you a lesson you are unlikely to forget. I am going to fight you, Foxleigh. Which do you prefer, fists or pistols? I am not particular.”

  Sir Tresham tried to look Lord Manville in the face, but his eyes shifted.

  “If you think I am going to fight you, Manville, over some foolish little soiled dove,” he sneered, “who quarrelled with the amount of money I offered her, you are very much mistaken!”

  Lord Manville drew his riding gloves from his hands, put them together and very deliberately slapped Sir Tresham in the face.

  “Now will you fight me?” he demanded.

  “No I will not,” Sir Tresham replied in a high voice,
“I will not put myself out for any cheap little prostitute.”

  He got no further, for Lord Manville with a quick movement of his right arm knocked him down. He sprawled on the floor, but instead of getting up covered his face with his hands.

  “Go away,” he cried in muffled tones. “Get out of my house!”

  Lord Manville looked down at him in disgust.

  “I always thought you were an outsider, Foxleigh,” he said, “but I did not know you were yellow-livered as well.”

  He stepped forward, transferring his riding whip from his left hand to his right, lifted up Sir Tresham by the collar of his coat and started to thrash him as a man might thrash a disobedient dog.

  Sir Tresham was a bigger man, but he made no movement to avoid the blows or indeed to do anything but groan, still covering his face with his hands. Lord Manville used his whip again and again. The satin of Sir Tresham’s evening coat was in ribbons, when finally Captain Willoughby said,

  “That is enough, Manville, he has learnt his lesson.”

  His words seemed to break the spell that had held all the gentlemen of the party silent and immobile since Lord Manville had entered the room. It was almost as though they had been hypnotised.

  Now they began to mutter among themselves like puppets come to life.

  “I, personally, am leaving immediately for London,” Captain Willoughby continued, looking at his watch.

  “And I will come with you,” the Duke of Dorset said hastily.

  “Let’s send for a servant to order all our carriages,” Lord Fenton suggested. “Like you, Willoughby, I have no desire to remain under the roof of a coward.”

  His words seemed to animate the figure of their host. Drawing himself up into a sitting position, he muttered,

  “I beg you, gentlemen, not to leave me.”

  But almost before he had finished speaking the room was empty.

  Lord Manville had already left. He had gone from the salon and up the stairs. On the landing he encountered a housemaid, who informed him where Lais was sleeping.

  He walked into her bedroom without knocking. She was seated at the dressing table wearing a diaphanous wrap and was in the process of removing from her ears the expensive diamond earrings he had given her.