A Hazard of Hearts Read online

  “So that is why you became a highwayman?”

  “Aye, there’s the reason sure enough. But if Nellie hadn’t left me, that squint-eyed cull would still be walking this earth and Rufus and I wouldn’t have a price on our heads. Fifty guineas they offer for me, lady! What say you?”

  The highwayman suddenly laughed as if it was a good joke.

  “Methinks you are exceeding brave to laugh,” Serena told him, “for I swear your tale makes me want to cry.”

  “Nay, ’tis not bravery, lady, but the fact that I was born with a jest on my lips. Do you know what they calls me on the road?”

  “No. Tell me!”

  “The Joker! That’s my name and that’s my nature. If I forks your pockets, ’tis with a laugh.”

  “I shall always remember you, sir, as a man who could laugh at himself,” Serena said softly. “It takes a brave man and great courage to be able to do that.”

  “Pray Heaven then, when you do pray,” the highwayman replied, “that when the time comes for them to put a rope round my neck, I may die with a laugh in my throat. I’m told ’tis bone-eating cold on a gibbet.”

  Serena gave a little cry.

  “Oh, give it up, sir! Give up this life! There are places where you could settle and no one would know who you are or from where you have come. The risk is too great – the penalty of failure too horrible to contemplate.”

  The Joker laughed again.

  “Lady, I’ve made your flesh creep. Don’t trouble your pretty head about the Joker. They’ve got to catch me first and Rufus and I have a cunning beyond belief. Nay, I shall live many a year as yet and I’ve grown to like the game I play. There’s a spice to be found in bleeding the swells of their gold and plucking the fancy morts of their gems. Waste no sympathy on the Joker, Lady, but wish him luck.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  “And now we must lope off post haste,” the highwayman said.

  Without another word he pulled his hat a little further over his eyes and sprang into the saddle in front of Serena.

  “Gee up, Rufus boy,” he commanded, and they set off at quite a sharp pace in the direction of Mandrake.

  Now they were over the brow of the hill there was no protection from the sea wind. It was not strong, but it blew in their faces, lifting the curls around Serena’s forehead and blowing the ends of her gauzy scarf behind her so that she thought whimsically that their silhouette against the sky must look as if Rufus sprouted wings.

  The swift movement caught her breath and she felt the chill of it strike her. She knew that if it had not been for the spirit she had drunk her teeth would have been chattering. Even so, the tip of her nose and her fingers were numb with cold, but at length they came into the shadow of the trees around Mandrake itself. They crossed the road and before them Serena saw the Park gates and the lights of the lodge-keeper’s house.

  “Would you leave me here?” she asked.

  “Nay, I can take you nearer,” the highwayman replied. “’Tis safe enough in the Park of Mandrake. Rufus and I have lain there before now.”

  “Oh, be careful,” Serena said. “I would not have you run any risks for my sake.”

  “’Tis a better reason than I usually have for trespassing,” the highwayman answered.

  They passed by the gates and finding a gap in the hedge he guided Rufus in through the trees. The branches were low and Serena was forced to keep her head down to avoid being entangled.

  When she raised it again they were through the wood, and Mandrake itself lay before them in the moonlight. She caught her breath at the sight of the house. It was lovely at any time, but now, bathed in silver and silhouetted against the sky and the gleaming horizon, it looked like some Fairy Palace.

  Its windows were bright with golden light, but there was mystery as well as beauty in the darkened turrets, in the great sweep of the roofs and chimneys and in the stone terraces encircling it like a necklace.

  The highwayman drew in his horse in the shade of one of the great oak trees about two hundred yards from the house.

  “Can you find your way from here?” he asked.

  In answer Serena slipped down from the back of the horse to the ground.

  There she straightened her gown, wrapped her scarf more closely around her and held out her hand.

  “Thank you with all my heart,” she said. “I wish that there was something I could offer you to show my gratitude, but alas, I have nothing with me.”

  “The service I have been able to give you, such as it is, was yours very willingly,” the highwayman replied.

  “Then thank you, sir, for being a true gentleman of the road.”

  He chuckled at her jest and bending, raised her hand to his lips.

  “Take care of yourself, lady. Another time such a journey may not end so pleasantly.”

  “I will indeed be careful,” Serena said, “and if it is not presumptuous, may I say the same to you – take care of yourself, Mr. Joker and God speed you.”

  She turned as she spoke and started to hurry towards the house.

  She was well aware that the highwayman ran a risk in coming so near to Mandrake and she had no desire to endanger him by keeping him longer in conversation than was necessary.

  She had gone a little way when she turned round. He was still watching her go, almost indistinguishable in the shadows of the trees, but she could just see him there, his face white against the darkness.

  She waved to him and hurried on.

  As she reached the gravel of the drive, she went more slowly. Now she was suddenly conscious of a deep fatigue. She was cold too. The highwayman’s spirit had revived her momentarily, but now its effects had gone and she felt not only cold, but stiff and bruised.

  Her arms hurt her and glancing down she could see dark marks where Lord Wrotham’s fingers had pressed and on her chest there were dried drops of blood from the scratch his button had made.

  She came into the courtyard of Mandrake and made straight for the main door. Vaguely she thought that it would be wiser to go round the house and find some less important entrance, but she was so tired that she felt it was impossible for her to drag herself any further. Besides, there was every possibility that the doors into the garden would be locked at this time of night.

  As she approached the main door, she saw that there was a carriage waiting outside and guests were descending the steps. Two people stepped into the carriage, a footman hurried forward with fur rugs and then, as the carriage door was slammed and the horses started forward, Serena stepped into the house.

  If the footmen stared at her, she took no notice.

  The Great Hall was mercifully empty at the moment. She hurried to the staircase, holding onto the balustrade and ascending it as swiftly as her fatigue would let her. In the light of the chandeliers she was well aware how strange she must look.

  Now she could see that her new white gown was crumpled and dirty, and that the lace at the neck of her dress was in tangled tatters. But for the moment she did not care.

  She had one idea and one idea only and that was to reach her own room, to find sanctuary and rest and the soothing consolation of Eudora’s presence.

  Later, she thought wearily, she would have to face the Marchioness. Later, there must be scenes and recriminations, but for the moment all that could wait and could stay in abeyance until her body was rested and she could find some warmth to dispel the coldness that seemed almost to paralyse her.

  The door of the drawing room opened. There was a sudden burst of laughter and voices and the sound of music coming from the Long Gallery. Serena moved a little faster, but it seemed to her that the stairs were endless. It was an effort to climb each one of them.

  Only the fear that she might encounter someone kept her going. She had no wish to meet Isabel, who would undoubtedly ask embarrassing questions, or Nicholas, who might feel that as a relative he could demand an explanation.

  Lord Wrotham had failed in his nefarious plan to abduct her. That
was all that mattered and even the thought of facing the Marchioness paled into insignificance beside the utter relief of knowing that she was back here at Mandrake.

  She reached the top landing and turned along it towards the smaller staircase, which would lead her to the second floor.

  Then, as she moved, dragging her feet in her utter weariness, she was aware that someone was coming in the opposite direction. She dropped her head, turning it aside in an instinctive action that hoped to escape recognition.

  But a few steps further on something compelled her to see who approached.

  She was aware who it was almost before her eyes moved, for something within her had already told her the truth.

  The light from the candles set in the gilt wall brackets revealed the expression on Lord Vulcan’s face. Serena thought that she had never seen him look so severe, so stern and somehow it seemed to her as well that he had grown immeasurably bigger.

  He towered above her and she felt very small and utterly helpless. She had thought of the other people as she ascended the stairs, but she knew now with a sudden innermost conviction that it was Justin she wished to avoid more than anyone else.

  Deep down within her a question had been asking itself insistently during the ride home, a question she could not permit herself to formulate even in her own mind. Now she could not deny it had been there. It leapt out of her, written as clearly as if it was inscribed on the very walls.

  Had the Marquis contrived at her abduction by Lord Wrotham? Had he wished to be rid of her? Had he been glad that the problem of her future should be solved without discomfort to himself?

  Even as the questions asked themselves, even as they rose tumultuously within Serena’s breast, she knew that they were utterly false and without foundation.

  In reality they did not even exist because, whatever else she felt about him, she knew that Lord Vulcan was honourable and that he would not lower his pride or his self-respect to pursue such methods, however much they might benefit him personally.

  And now they were face to face.

  He was staring down at her, taking in, Serena felt, every detail of her windswept hair and of her torn gown. Instinctively her hands flew to her breast, raising the satin a little higher, pulling her scarf with trembling fingers around her naked shoulder.

  “Where have you been?”

  The Marquis’s voice was harsh, so harsh that she started, for she had never heard him speak like that before. She looked at him dumbly. She wished to speak, but somehow the words would not come to her lips.

  “I looked for you,” he said when she did not answer. “My mother told me that you had retired for the night. Why are you here? Why are you so dishevelled?”

  Still she could not answer him. She could not imagine what had come over her, she only knew that the harshness in his tone seemed to take all initiative from her, to leave her weak and suddenly near to tears.

  “So you will not answer me.”

  His voice vibrated with anger and suddenly he stepped forward and gripped her shoulders with both hands.

  “Who have you been with?” he asked. “Who has had the privilege of disarranging your hair? It is the lure of the moonlight, I suppose, and you could not keep within doors. You are like all the others, lustful for excitement, and yet I would have staked my life that you were different. But you are silent, let’s learn what gallant has had the honour of escorting you.”

  The grip of his hands was hard and Serena, looking up at his face, was afraid of his fury. There was a light behind his eyes and his mouth curled contemptuously.

  “Well, answer me,” Lord Vulcan continued. “Or are you so ashamed that you cannot speak? Is it your cousin, Nicholas, that you crept out to meet secretly in some hidden arbour? Or was it my Lord Gillingham? Faugh, so you will not tell me. Perhaps such affairs are best kept locked in a maiden’s heart.”

  He spoke furiously and then, as suddenly as he had taken hold of her, he released her shoulders.

  “I bid you good night, Miss Staverley,” he said and there was so much scorn in his voice that Serena felt as if a whip had been laid across her body.

  As he left hold of her, she staggered. For a moment she almost lost her balance and then she fell against the wall, putting out her hands to save herself from stumbling. As she did so the scarf slipped from her shoulders, the torn laces of her dress dropped lower over her white breasts, revealing the great red scratch which Lord Wrotham’s button had made.

  Even as he turned on his heel the Marquis saw it and stood transfixed.

  “You are hurt? Who has dared to do that?”

  His voice was different now. The bitter cynicism had given way to a note half of alarm, half of concern.

  For a moment Serena stood there, her arms against the wall, her shoulders drooping, careless for the moment of how she appeared or what she looked like.

  She was fighting a sudden faintness that threatened to overpower her, and then valiantly, with a courage that seemed to come to her from nowhere, she forced herself to raise her head again.

  “I would – retire, my Lord,” she said, her voice very low.

  But he barred her way.

  “Not until you have told me what has occurred?” he said. “I have no wish to plague you, but I must know, Serena.”

  He spoke urgently and now that his anger had gone there was a sudden gentleness in the way he spoke her name.

  “It is of – no significance,” she answered.

  “It is to me,” he said. “You are hurt and – ”

  He gave an exclamation, for he had seen the bruises on her arms.

  “Serena, tell me the truth,” he cried. “Someone has dared to harm you. You cannot hide it from me.”

  “I have nothing to say, my Lord, not at the moment, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps never – I don’t wish to speak of what has just taken place – I only want – to go to bed.”

  Lord Vulcan’s mouth tightened ominously,

  “You prefer that I believe that you have enjoyed your struggle, for struggle it has been if one can judge by the mark on your breast and the condition of your gown.”

  “Enjoy – it?”

  Serena was stung at last. If Justin could be angry, she could be angry too.

  “As I have said before, the moonlight was obviously a sufficient inducement to entice you into the garden.”

  “Entice me! These are indeed the right words,” Serena cried. “And how was I enticed, my Lord? By a trick! A trick played on me – in your mother’s name and by your mother’s servants. I was told that my dog had had an accident and, when I rushed from the house, I found – ”

  Her voice faltered and suddenly her anger was all gone and was supplanted by a tempest of tears that swept over her.

  “Oh, but why should I speak of it?” she said, her voice breaking. “Is it not enough that I have had to suffer the indignity of being abducted? Of being touched and – kissed by a man I loathe more utterly than anyone else in the world? Is it not enough that I reach home bruised and exhausted only to be bullied by you and insulted by infamous suggestions that I have been enjoying myself? I hate you! Go away and leave me alone. Leave me– I tell you!”

  She stamped her foot and then inexplicably in that second lost all control. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with her sobs.

  Then suddenly she felt herself caught up in Lord Vulcan’s arms. He lifted her as if she had been a child and she was too bemused to do anything but submit.

  She laid her face against his shoulder and continued to cry.

  He carried her along the passage, up the staircase, and towards her own room. Miserable and broken though she was, Serena was well aware of his great strength, of a soothing sense of security that came from feeling herself held so closely.

  But she could no more have stopped her tears than she could have prevented the tide from encroaching upon the shore. For too long had her feelings been subdued and repressed.

  All the misery and
loneliness and apprehension she had felt ever since she had come to Mandrake was released now in a storm of unhappiness.

  The terror and horror that had beset her when she had seen the smuggler die and the horror of Lord Wrotham’s advances were all mingled and mixed into an agony that could find its relief only in the collapse of self-control.

  In some curious way she was almost thankful to be able to cry, to hide her face against Justin’s shoulder, and to know no dismay in feeling the rich cloth of his coat grow wet with her tears.

  The door of her bedchamber stood open. He carried her in and laid her down very gently on the bed. As she felt him relinquish her, she gave a little cry as if in regret.

  Then as he stood looking down at her, she turned her head away from him, her eyes hidden by her fingers.

  “It was Wrotham, wasn’t it?” he said.

  His voice was quiet and very grim.

  She made no reply and after a moment he said,

  “You must answer me, Serena.”

  “Yes, it was,” she said, as obedient as a child, “but I escaped from him with – a highwayman who brought me back here – on his horse. It is a huge jest – only I-I cannot laugh.”

  Her tears flowed again, but she was conscious that Justin stood looking down at her.

  Then abruptly he turned his head and Eudora was standing in the doorway.

  “Take care of your Mistress,” he said authoritatively and was gone.

  Serena heard his footsteps going swiftly down the passage and she listened until she heard them no more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Marchioness opened her eyes, groaned and closed them again.

  She felt exceedingly ill, so ill that for the moment she craved oblivion more than anything else in the world.

  But sleep had deserted her and instead consciousness swept over her insistently so that she was unpleasantly aware of her throbbing head and dry mouth.

  She had taken laudanum last night when she went to bed, for she knew that otherwise she would lie awake the whole night, tense and sleepless, haunted by her own thoughts.

  Now, although she regretted the impetuosity that had made her double her usual dose of the drug, she still felt that it had been worth any after-effects to obtain forgetfulness.