Twenty-one

As she dressed for the Duchess of Craigbourne’s ball the following evening, Gwendeline congratulated Ellen, and the girl looked very happy as she fluttered about putting the finishing touches on her hair. As Gwendeline stood to survey herself in the mirror, she almost envied her maid, who’d been able to refuse the suitor she didn’t want and accept the man she loved so openly.

Gwendeline wore the ball gown she’d purchased especially for this event; the tiny blue flowers sprinkling the white background and the pearls at their centers caught the light as she moved. She picked up her fan and reticule from the dressing table and went downstairs to meet Miss Brown, who had no doubt been ready for some time. There were no flowers tonight; no one had sent any. Gwendeline smiled a bit sadly as she thought of the two bouquets she’d received for her very first ball. It seemed so long ago now.

Miss Brown was in the drawing room, looking stately in a dress of dark blue crepe trimmed in Mechlin lace. They reached the duchess’s huge town house in good time, only to join a long line of vehicles waiting to set down passengers at her door. By the time they entered the ballroom, it was nearly filled with a glittering crowd; the ton had sought to outdo itself on this final night of the season. The dancing was about to begin, and Gwendeline was soon solicited for the first set. She’d seen none of her friends so far, and as she danced she looked for them. Finally, she spotted Lillian, dancing far across the room, but there was no sign of any of the St. Audleys, not even the countess. Nor did she see the Ameses, whose visit to London this ball was to crown and close. The crowd was so large, however, that she wasn’t surprised.

The first few sets passed in this manner; Gwendeline danced and chatted with her escorts, but had no conversation with anyone else. She longed to talk to Lillian, but she had no opportunity. During a pause, she went to look for Miss Brown. She’d just glimpsed her, sitting with some of the other chaperones across the ballroom, when a voice behind her said with great formality, “Good evening, Miss Gregory.”

Gwendeline turned to face an extraordinary figure. His knee breeches were of bright blue satin, and his coat was yellow with seal buttons the size of sovereigns. The latter garment was extravagantly padded at the shoulders, tapering to a wasp waist, and his shirt points were so high that he could not turn his head at all. But it was his waistcoat that transfixed Gwendeline. She’d never seen such an elaborate brocade or so many fobs and seals. It was with great difficulty that she tore her eyes from it and raised them to the man’s face, recognizing Mr. Horton. “How do you do,” she said to her former suitor.

“Very well,” he answered solemnly. He pulled an enameled snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket and delicately took a pinch of the mixture, dusting his face and coat with a scented handkerchief. He looked at her again with an expression he appeared to think was elegantly bored. “Quite a dreadful squeeze, is it not?” he drawled. “One can scarcely breathe.” He fanned himself languidly with the handkerchief. He seemed even more affected than when they had last talked.

“It is crowded,” Gwendeline agreed. There was a pause, and she began to feel uncomfortable. Why had the man approached her? “I hope you’ve been well,” she said finally. “It has been some time since last we met.”

“Oh, tolerable well. I’ve been frightfully busy, of course, with all the preparations.”

“Preparations?” asked Gwendeline politely, feeling it was expected of her.

“You can’t have missed the notice? In the Morning Post?” Mr. Horton looked shocked at the thought. “I should think you would have heard in any case.” He looked at Gwendeline suspiciously, as if he would accuse her of hiding her knowledge. She shook her head.

“My engagement, of course,” he continued then. He put a hand over his waistcoat front. “I have won the woman of my heart. Alicia and I are to be married next month.”

“Oh,” replied Gwendeline. “That is indeed good news. I wish you every happiness.”

Mr. Horton put on a superior smile. “That is very magnanimous. These things are inevitable, you know.”

This time Gwendeline’s smile escaped her. “They are indeed. I’m sure everything has worked out for the best.”

Mr. Horton agreed enthusiastically, and with this small encouragement, launched into a long and very boring account of his bride’s sterling qualities, their wedding plans, and his overwhelming felicity. The next set began, but he showed no sign of asking her to join it. She endured him for some time, feeling that she owed Mr. Horton some consideration, but finally she was looking desperately round for some escape.

None of her acquaintances was near, and since the dancing was in progress, none was likely to approach. She broke into Mr. Horton’s description of the splendid barouche Alicia’s father was having built for her, saying, “Isn’t that Alicia now? She’s looking for you, I believe.”

Mr. Horton turned quickly. “Where? No, no, that is someone else entirely. Alicia has gone to dance with her cousin. She will be occupied this half hour.” And he resumed his discourse.

After several more minutes, Gwendeline could bear it no longer. “You must excuse me,” she said. “Miss Brown is summoning me.” She turned quickly and walked down the room, leaving Mr. Horton openmouthed.

Near the corner of the ballroom, Gwendeline came to an archway, and feeling Mr. Horton’s eyes still on her, she ducked through it, crossed the hallway beyond, and went into the room across the corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found it deserted. She looked around the room curiously. It appeared to have been added to the ballroom wing of the house at some later date, for it jutted out at right angles to the bulk of the building. The space was large, and it was set up as a conservatory, with walls of frosted glass and large plants set in pots across the floor. Gwendeline strolled over to a group of small palms to the left of the door. Several of them in blue ceramic pots formed a kind of alcove screened from the rest of the dimly lit room. To her delight, she found a bench in this recess, and she sat down, pleased with the completeness of her escape. She breathed the scents of growing things and relaxed, leaning against the wall. It was very pleasant to rest for a moment in this place that seemed so far from the ballroom across the hall.

Gwendeline heard the music end; the sound of talking swelled as the dancers joined the rest of the crowd. She felt some reluctance to join them, but she was just about to rise and do so when two people entered the conservatory and stopped near her hidden seat.

“I must talk to you privately,” said the man to his companion.

“Oh, my lord,” she answered.

Gwendeline sat up sharply. She recognized them. It was the duke and Adele Greene! She started to rise to make them aware of her presence, but before she could do so, the duke spoke again.

“I have tried to hide my feelings,” he said. “But it’s no good. I must tell you. I cannot deny my regard for you any longer.”

Gwendeline hesitated, blushing. It would be terribly embarrassing for all of them if she walked out now.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Adele replied, in a soft, quiet voice Gwendeline had never heard her use. “I am overwhelmed.”

The duke shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “I know you must think me dishonorable. You’re promised to another, even though he, he… But I must say nothing of that. I vowed over and over that I would never speak of this, but tonight, as we danced, I could dissemble no longer. I have lowered myself irretrievably in your good opinion, I know.”

“Oh, no,” murmured Adele. “Nothing could do that. I have the highest regard for you. Indeed, lately, I have thought perhaps I’d made a mistake, settled my future with too little thought.” She trailed off with a girlish hesitation.

The duke took her hand. “Do you mean, can I hope that you mean there’s some chance for me? Adele! I ask nothing more from life than to make you my duchess. Can it be possible?”

Adele looked down shyly. “Indeed, my lord duke, that would make me very happy also.”

“And Lord Merryn?” he asked with some anxiety.

“Oh, it is very distressing to be sure. But our engagement was a mistake from the start, I see that now. I was dazzled by him. He never really cared for me, I fear.”

“That is what I’ve come to think,” replied the duke eagerly. “I wouldn’t say so before, but he has never treated you with the consideration you deserve. He is not a good match for someone so…so sensitive and delicate as you.”

Adele sighed and looked soulful. “Alas, I fear you’re right. I must tell him all is ended.”

“Poor man.” The duke patted her hand. “I’ll go with you. I’ll stand by you. And afterward we will go to tell my mother of our own engagement.”

“Oh, my lord,” breathed Adele. They left the room together.

Gwendeline stared across the room, stunned. She could hardly believe what she had heard, despite Adele’s revelations yesterday. She almost felt she should run after them and try to tell the duke that Adele was a scheming creature, but she wasn’t quite so idiotic. And in any case, he seemed to have fallen in love with Adele.

Gwendeline leaned back against the wall. Lord Merryn would now be free, she thought, filled with elation and hope and uncertainty. She sat for some minutes, her mind whirling, and was just ready to rise when another couple entered the room.

Gwendeline put a hand to her forehead. Was she to witness the trysts of every pair of lovers at the ball? Resolving to forestall such an event, she stepped forward and parted the palm fronds. The couple walked past her hiding place, farther into the room and away from the door. Seeing their backs, Gwendeline realized that it was Lillian and Major St. Audley. She struggled momentarily with her conscience, then allowed the palms to fall back into place and resumed her seat. It was wrong, she knew, but she couldn’t resist seeing the outcome of her plan.

Lillian and the major stood silently for a moment. Both appeared nervous. At last, Lillian spoke. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Yes.” He stopped. “The thing is, now that we’re here, I don’t know how to begin.”

“Do you find talking with me so difficult, then?”

“Usually no. But what I wish to tell you is so difficult to express.”

“Are you going away again, perhaps?” Lillian’s tone was unencouraging. “There’s certainly no need for you to inform me.”

“No, confound it. I’m not going away. You would remind me of that awful conversation just at this moment.”

“I beg your pardon. I’m not accustomed to being spoken to in such a tone.” Lillian moved as if to return to the ballroom.

“Please, Lillian. I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“Marry you?” whispered Lillian.

“You heard what I said. I’ve wanted to marry you almost from the moment we met, but I’ve only just found out that I have the income to support a wife.”

Lillian looked shaken. “But you… How can this be? Last year, yes, I would have believed you, indeed I almost expected…but now…”

Seemingly encouraged by these fragmentary sentences, the major began to explain the history of his attachment. He spoke of his hopes of marriage last year, her parents’ decision, the reason for his journey abroad.

“Then,” he finished, “just this week, my brother took it into his head to review my father’s will with me. I remembered nothing of it. It seems I am to be provided with a very good income when I marry. So, you see, your parents’ objections are removed.”

Lillian did not appear to take this all in. “Your father’s will?”

“Yes. I was very young when he died, didn’t really understand it at all. It was kind of Alex to go over it with me, though I must say he was uncommonly gruff about it. And why he suddenly chose to do so… But whatever the reason, it was just in time for me.”

By now, Lillian had recovered from her surprise. “You’ve spoken to my parents then?”

The major’s chin rose. “I haven’t. I couldn’t wait after all this time to ascertain your feelings. I love you, Lillian; will you be my wife?”

Lillian looked at him. “Yes,” she said at last.

Major St. Audley smiled broadly and took both her hands. “I swear we’ll be the happiest pair in England,” he laughed.

“Perhaps,” Lillian replied, “though you have a great many bad habits, I daresay, which I shall be forced to correct.”

“I’ll chuck them all.” He waved his arms exuberantly. “Come, let’s go speak to your parents.” They hurried out.

Gwendeline, in her hiding place, was beaming. It had all come out exactly as she planned. She felt immensely proud of herself and happy for Lillian.

“I’m sorry, Gwendeline,” said a deep voice in the palms beside her. “I wouldn’t have you hurt for worlds.”

Gwendeline jumped and moved quickly out into the room. She was surprised when Lord Merryn followed her. “Where did you come from?”

“I saw my brother come in here, and I followed to speak to him. He was just offering for Miss Everly, so I thought it best not to make my presence known, and I stepped into the palms.” He looked at her sadly.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Gwendeline excitedly. “It went just as I planned.”

“Planned?” replied the earl. “But…I thought you were in love with Andrew.”

“I?”

“Yes. When you spoke to me about his income, I assumed…”

“You thought that I did it so that I might marry him?” interrupted Gwendeline, aghast.

“It appears I was mistaken.”

“How could you think I would do such a thing? I knew he loved Lillian. I planned it all for them.”

The earl bowed his head. “I apologize. I’m very sorry I misjudged you.” But when he looked up again, he didn’t look at all sorry. On the contrary, he looked very happy indeed. “It appears that I’m the only one jilted tonight then.”

“Oh yes,” began Gwendeline, then she stopped in embarrassment.

The earl raised his eyebrows.

“Adele and the duke were in here earlier. I overheard them, too.” She gestured helplessly. “I didn’t mean to, but they were talking before I could get away.”

Lord Merryn laughed. “This room clearly has a strong influence on its occupants.” He moved toward Gwendeline. “Perhaps we too…”

With a sharp cracking sound, glass shattered somewhere nearby, and Gwendeline felt something buzz past her ear, so close that it lifted her curls. Before she could cry out, Lord Merryn had pulled her to the floor behind one of the pillars that supported the roof.

“Are you all right?” He gripped her shoulders painfully.

She nodded as the sound of more glass breaking filled the room. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Some fool is shooting. Stay here. Don’t move.” The look in his eyes made Gwendeline shrink back against the pillar, and in the next moment, he was gone.

Gwendeline waited in silence for what seemed like hours, peering around the pillar, trying in vain to see what was happening. The room looked oddly peaceful. The candle flames wavered a bit in the breeze coming from the broken window, but otherwise all looked as before. She was just about to rise and go looking for help when another shot rang out, this time outside the conservatory, and she crouched down once more. There was shouting now and the noise of heavy bodies crashing through the shrubbery. Gwendeline suddenly thought of the notes she’d received. Had that shot been aimed at her? She huddled closer to the pillar, wondering where the other guests had gone. She could hear no music or talking, and no one had appeared in the conservatory, though one would have expected the noise to bring them all.

Another silence, even longer than the last, again encouraged Gwendeline to start to rise. She clung to the pillar for support. As she turned and braced herself for a quick dart to the doorway, there was a blast, and glass shattered behind her. Whirling, she found herself face to face with Mortimer Blane.

He shook his head, dazed by his leap through the window, and then looked about him. When he took in the empty room and Gwendeline standing alone before him, he smiled. “How fortuitous,” he said. “I shall get something out of this, at least.” And he raised the gun he was holding to point it at Gwendeline.

Gwendeline’s eyes widened, and she put out a hand for support. “Mr. Blane!”

“Yes, the man you harried and ruined, the man your friends hunted across England for sport. You didn’t expect to see me again perhaps?”

Gwendeline was too frightened even to shake her head.

“No, I can see that you did not.” He sneered. “You thought me safely out of your way, frightened off like a whipped dog.” His lips tightened. “But it’s not so easy as that.” He moved the pistol slightly, directing her attention to it. “I can’t be put aside so painlessly. You have been somewhat annoyed by anonymous notes perhaps?” Gwendeline frowned, and he laughed again. “Yes, I sent them. Just as I engaged those bumbling highwaymen who muddled their task and let Merryn escape alive.”

“You!” said Gwendeline.

Mr. Blane scowled. “You actually thought I would slink away to the Continent and take no revenge on those who wrecked my life?” His scowl deepened. “You’re a little fool, as was your mother. Neither of you had any spirit when it came to the point.”

“Are you going to kill me?” asked Gwendeline. She found herself staring at the pistol Blane pointed at her. It was an old-fashioned dueling weapon, and the gleam of the wood mounted along the barrel held her eyes.

“I was,” he said. “Tonight was to have been the culmination of my plans. It would have been the perfect revenge. Merryn is obviously besotted with you; one clear shot and I would have had my revenge on both.” His grip on the pistol tightened, and he grimaced. “No man ever had worse luck. And now I’m trapped here when I thought to be away long ago.”

“You may as well give yourself up.”

Blane’s head jerked back toward her. “Oh no, I don’t think it’s come to that just yet. You will get me away from here.”

“I?”

He seemed to regain some of his old self-possession. “You,” he repeated. “We’ll be making another short journey together, my dear.” He looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps, yes, perhaps a long one.”

Gwendeline watched him, noticing how greatly changed he was from the Blane she’d met when she first came to London. His formerly immaculate dress was crumpled and dusty. His hair was roughly cut. But his eyes showed the most frightening change. They had always been cold, mocking, and supercilious, but they now glowed with a desperate light.

“Come along,” he continued. “We’d best be gone.” He approached her, and caught her wrist, then grasped her waist. Holding his pistol to her head, he said, “Go.”

He propelled Gwendeline out through the archway, across the corridor, and into the ballroom. People were standing about in small groups, silent and nervous, and a collective gasp went up when they saw Gwendeline. Blane pushed her farther into the room and spoke in a clear, carrying tone. “You will excuse us, ladies and gentlemen. We’re just leaving. If anyone should be foolish enough to try to stop us, I’m afraid I cannot answer for the safety of the young lady.” At this, he moved the pistol so that all could see it. There were murmurs from the crowd, but no one moved.

Blane forced Gwendeline across the ballroom, pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple. The expanse of floor seemed endless to her, and the faces of the guests went by in a blur. She saw Lillian standing with Lady Merryn; their faces were white and strained, and Lillian held out a helpless hand as she passed. They went on; face after face drifted by as in a nightmare. She saw Adele clinging to the duke’s arm and the Ameses standing near them. Mrs. Ames looked terribly distressed, but she held her husband’s arm, keeping him from leaping at Blane as they neared. Mr. Ames’s face was red with rage, and he shook his fist.

They reached the opposite doorway at last—the walk had seemed eternal to Gwendeline—and went down the hall to the outer door. There was no one in this part of the house, and Gwendeline began to wonder what had become of the earl. She was suddenly horribly afraid that he lay dead in the garden.

As they stopped and Blane released her for a moment to grasp the doorknob, the outside door was pushed open. Immediately, Blane regained his hold on Gwendeline, this time with a painful grip, and pulled her back, aiming his gun at the door. Miss Brown walked into the hall.

The older woman stepped forward, holding out her hands. “Gwendeline!” she cried. “Lord Merryn told everyone to stay in the ballroom, but I remembered those notes and I had to go out. I lost sight of the men in the shrubbery, but…” Suddenly, she seemed to take in the whole scene—the gun, Blane, and Gwendeline’s terrified eyes. Miss Brown put her hand to her mouth.

Blane gestured with the gun. “We haven’t met,” he said, “But I’ve seen you occasionally. As it appears that you will be joining our little party, I must introduce myself. Mortimer Blane.” His expression hardened. “And now we’d better go.” Pushing Gwendeline toward Miss Brown and the open door he retained an unbreakable grip around her waist, the pistol to her temple once more. Miss Brown lowered her hand and stood rigid. The color had drained from her face, but her expression was resolute.

“You will come with us peacefully and try no tricks or I’ll shoot your young friend.” Miss Brown flinched but said nothing. “Now shut the door,” Blane continued. Miss Brown did so. “Walk ahead of us.” She stepped in front of them. In this manner, they traversed the garden, went out through the gate, and walked a little way down the street beyond. There were surprisingly few people about. When they reached a narrow alley just past the house, Blane directed them into it and hurried them urgently along for some time. The way was very dark and twisting, and the air smelled of garbage or worse. Under any other circumstances, Gwendeline would have worried about rats.

Finally, they approached the back of a hackney-coach standing in the alley, and Blane ordered Miss Brown into it. He shoved Gwendeline after her, leaped up himself, and shouted “Drive!” to the cabbie as he slammed the door shut. The cab started with a violence that threw both women together in a heap on the floor, but Blane, hanging onto a roof strap, only laughed and kept the gun trained on them. And thus, Gwendeline found herself once again riding through the darkness in a closed carriage at the mercy of Mortimer Blane.