Читать книгу An Inescapable Match - Sylvia Andrew - Страница 8

Deborah had the promised talk with her aunt the next morning, and was so shocked by what she heard that she collected Autolycus and set out to find solitude and peace in the woods surrounding the Hall. She walked along the familiar paths, lost in her own thoughts, until she was roused by excited barks and yelps from the dog. Hugo was walking towards her, Autolycus leaping up at his adopted new master.

‘That damned dog! Down, sir! Why the devil don’t you keep him on the leash until he knows how to behave?’ Hugo said testily. ‘Ill-disciplined dogs are a menace to all! I said down!’ Autolycus flattened himself in his usual posture of abject apology whenever Hugo addressed him thus, and lay quiet. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Edwina told me you had come this way.’ He took a look at her dazed expression. ‘You’ve been crying! What’s wrong?’

Deborah threw up her head and said angrily, ‘I haven’t been crying! I never cry. If my eyes are red it’s because…it’s because I had a fly in one of them.’

‘Let me see.’

‘It’s gone now.’

‘Deborah, tell me why you are upset.’

‘I’m not upset, I tell you! I’m very pleased!’ Deborah took a breath and said more calmly, ‘I’ve just learned that I’m not poor! Not at all! I have an income of a hundred pounds a year!’

‘My poor girl, that won’t go far!’

‘It’s riches, Hugo! I thought I had nothing.’

Hugo fell into step beside her and they walked along the shady path together. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Where has this wealth come from?’

‘Grandmother Inglesham.’

‘The Duchess? I thought that the Ingleshams had cut you all off?’

‘They had. But when she died my grandmother left some money with Aunt Elizabeth to provide an allowance for my mother. One hundred pounds a year. But not before my father was dead. The Duchess of Inglesham was determined not to let Edmund Staunton benefit in any possible way.’

‘So she still loved her daughter, though she couldn’t forgive Staunton!’

‘Loved!’ Her scorn was devastating. ‘It’s not my idea of love, Hugo.’

‘Oh come, Deborah! She did leave her the money…’

‘Money? It’s not the question of money! My mother didn’t care about the money! It was a word from her own mother that she wanted. What sort of love denies any contact with someone who loves you? Sends money through someone else, refuses to meet a daughter who is aching to see you, to have your forgiveness? My poor mother hoped for a reconciliation till the day the Duchess died!’

‘Perhaps your grandmother was afraid of what the old Duke would say?’

‘Pshaw! Real love doesn’t count that sort of cost, Hugo! If I loved someone I wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop me! I would fight to be with them, help them, show them how much I loved them. That’s what I would call love.’ Unaccustomed colour was in her cheeks and her indigo eyes were flashing blue fire. Hugo was fascinated. He could well believe what she said. Deborah Staunton would fling herself into the fray with passion, with no thought for her own good. He wondered what it would be like to love or be loved like that. For a fleeting moment the vision of such devotion was extraordinarily appealing. But then his customary dislike of excessive emotion reasserted itself. He nodded and said calmly, ‘All the same, a hundred pounds a year is not a fortune, Deborah.’

She looked at him with a strange smile in her eyes. Then she said wryly, ‘I know the Percevals do not consider themselves rich. Compared with what they were in the past they might even think they are poor. But you’ve never known what it is to be really poor, Hugo. I don’t suppose it occurred to you when you saw me in London four years ago that I was living on a shoestring.’

‘Then why on earth did your mother send you?’

‘She was worried about my future and hoped that I would find a husband. If I had been able to make a good match it would have solved the chief of her worries. When Mrs Young offered to have me with her for the Season, Mama was delighted. Poor Mama! She was so sure that some gentleman or other would be glad to marry the granddaughter of a Duke. So she sold everything she had left that was of any value and sent me off to London.’

‘It was mad to do such a thing!’

‘It wasn’t very sensible, I agree. It meant that later, when times were hard, she had nothing to fall back on. But Mama was like that. She took the risk because she loved me. She knew that the Inglesham family were to be in London that year for the season, so she wrote to them. I think she hoped that…that they would take an interest in me, once I was there in front of them, so to speak. But they refused even to acknowledge me. And the rest of the Ton followed suit.’ When Hugo gave a muffled exclamation Deborah said fiercely, ‘I didn’t mind! I could see as soon as I arrived that I wouldn’t “take”, as they say—even if I’d had twice as many dresses and jewels and introductions. And the Ingleshams were just the sort of people I disliked most. I disliked London, too. I sometimes thought that you were the only creature in the capital who cared anything at all about me.’

Hugo walked on in silence for a moment, frowning. Then he said brusquely, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? After you had tipped us both into the lake I was pardonable angry. It was the last in a whole series of mishaps and I had had enough. But you let me drag you back to Mrs Young’s, ranting all the while, swearing never to see you again and you didn’t say a word—not a word—of all these difficulties! Do you think I’d have rejected you quite so comprehensively if I’d known?’

‘I didn’t want your pity!’ flashed Deborah. Then she gave him a fleeting grin. ‘Besides, as I remember it, Hugo, you didn’t give me a chance to say anything at all! You’re very fluent when you’re in a rage. Anyway, there was little enough you could have done. I’m not sure whether you knew or not, but the morning after that awful episode news came that Papa was ill, and I left London for good.’

‘All the same…’ Hugo was seriously upset, and Deborah tried to comfort him.

‘I didn’t blame you, Hugo. Really, I didn’t. After all your kindness to me I’d disgraced you again. You called it the curse of the Stauntons, and you were right.’

There was silence for a moment, then Hugo said, ‘Are you going to tell me why Miss Staunton left for Ireland so unexpectedly—leaving you to fend for yourself?’

‘I can tell what you are thinking, and once again you’re right!’ Deborah’s tone was bitter. ‘The Stauntons are not at all good Ton. I’m surprised you even bother to talk to one.’

‘Don’t be so stupid, Deborah!’

‘It’s not stupidity,’ she cried. ‘It’s shame! The real reason my aunt left was because she had taken money that wasn’t hers.’

‘What? What money?’

‘Mine! As I learned this morning from Aunt Elizabeth. I thought that the Inglesham allowance had finished when my mother died, but it hadn’t. It was transferred to me—though no one told me at the time.’ Deborah’s voice trembled and she stopped for a moment. Then she went on, ‘For eight or nine months my aunt regularly collected my allowance from the lawyer in Buckingham and said nothing at all about it. I suppose she simply pocketed the money.’

‘So that is why she left so suddenly? You started to suspect her?’

‘Far from it! I might have been puzzled when she packed and left within twenty-four hours, but I kissed her fondly and wished her a safe journey. I was a gullible fool. But she was in some kind of trouble, and I think she was running away from something—or someone. There was a man who called the day before she left. They had a furious argument—I don’t know what it was about, but I heard money mentioned. He left in the end saying that he would be back. She packed her things and departed early the next morning.’

‘With no thought for you?’

‘Well, before she went she did advise me to leave Maids Moreton as soon as possible. And I did.’

‘Did you see this man again?’

‘No. And I didn’t want to. He was dressed like a gentleman, but he didn’t behave like one. He frightened me.’

‘Have you told Aunt Elizabeth about this man?’

‘No! And I’m not going to!’ She clutched his arm. ‘Hugo, you mustn’t mention it either. It’s not as if I’m not in any danger, and…and the whole shameful episode is better forgotten.’

‘There’s no need to ruffle your feathers and stare at me so fiercely. I think you’re right. There’s no reason to upset Aunt Elizabeth. This man, whoever he is, is unlikely to come here. And I don’t suppose your Aunt Staunton will want to show her face again, either.’ At the touch of contempt in Hugo’s tone Deborah turned her head away in shame. She gave a sob. He swore under his breath and pulled her into his arms.

‘Don’t let it hurt you so, Deborah. Your aunt’s deceit must have been a blow, but you must forget her now and be happy here.’

‘But we all tr-trusted her, Hugo! She…she was f-family—my father’s s-sister. My m-mother l-loved her.’

Hugo held her tight, her face against his chest, while she wept away a hopeless mixture of feelings—sorrow, outrage, shame, a bitter sense of betrayal and, perhaps more than anything, a sense of relief after months of tension and deprivation which had followed her mother’s death—deprivation which she would have been spared, if only her aunt had been honest. It was all perfectly understandable, but Hugo had never seen Deborah give way so completely, and it twisted his heart.

‘My poor girl! What a time you’ve had!’ He let her cry for a moment and when she grew calmer he said, ‘But think of your inheritance! I see I must be prepared to fight off the fortune-hunters, now that you’re a woman of substance.’ A watery chuckle told him that his nonsense had succeeded in diverting her. She pulled away and looked up at him, her face beginning to dissolve into laughter. Sunshine always followed swiftly after cloud with Deborah. He was filled with admiration at her courage, at her refusal to be daunted for long by the blows that life had dealt her. It seemed very natural that he should hold her like this, and his arms tightened round her. So often in the past he had held her so—after a fall from the apple tree, a slip on the stepping-stones over the stream, the death of some little animal she had befriended. Deborah had always come to him for comfort. And he had always found it surprisingly easy to talk to her.

After a short moment Deborah released herself. ‘Thank you, Hugo,’ she said, mopping her eyes. ‘You are very good to tolerate such a watering pot. I’m sorry I gave way quite so completely—it suddenly seemed just too much. I feel better now.’

They walked on in a companionable silence. Summer was at its height, and the oaks and elms, the ash trees and alders were in full foliage. Autolycus ran to and fro, rummaging in the undergrowth, leaping back with a startled yelp when a rabbit popped up out of its hole and as quickly disappeared again, chasing a squirrel with enthusiasm, only to bark with frustration when it sought refuge in a tall tree. Deborah occasionally made a short foray to gather some flowers, leaves and seed-heads, and when Hugo asked about them he was told of their properties.

‘I am surprised that you have to ask, Hugo! I suppose in London you merely called in the pharmacist when you had various aches and pains. Here in the country we make our own, and the woods and hedgerows are full of all kinds of remedies.’

‘I don’t remember that I ever had to call anyone in.’

‘Oh? So you’ve never had sprains and bruises during all those gentlemanly pursuits? You’ve been fortunate!’

He laughed. ‘Of course I have, you little shrew. What would you have done for me? Given me one of those?’

‘No, I’d use comfrey for any sprains and that doesn’t grow here. I’d have to go to the other side of the village for it. Agrimony is found there, too—that’s good for gout.’

‘Thank you, but I am not a victim yet. What do you have there to help me?’

‘This is burdock, which is good for burns, betony to help your digestion, bugle to cure dementia after drinking…’

‘How useful!’ Hugo interposed drily. ‘That yellow one is weaselsnout, isn’t it?’

Deborah pulled a face at him. ‘Hugo! Is that what you call it? It has a much prettier name—and a wonderful reputation.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s called yellow archangel, and the herbalists claim that it “makes the heart merry, drives away melancholy and quickens the spirits”. What else could one ask for?’

‘What indeed? Perhaps I should call you weaselsnout, Deborah. You often have the same effect.’

‘Hugo!’ Deborah protested laughing, not sure whether she was flattered at his compliment or not too pleased about the name.

‘Do you know all the plants?’

‘On the contrary. I am an ignoramus compared with Lavender Brabant!’

‘What? The Admiral’s daughter? Lives in Hewly Manor? I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two words with her in my life.’

‘Years ago, when I stayed with Aunt Elizabeth, I sometimes met Lavender in the woods. She taught me the little I know—I think she can recognise every plant that grows round here. I’m not surprised you haven’t spoken to her—she’s somewhat elusive. A recluse, like Hester.’

‘Ah yes. Hester…’ He walked on in silence for a moment.

‘You’re worried about her, aren’t you, Hugo? What do you think she will do? About Lord Dungarran, I mean.’

‘My sister is famous for her stubbornness, but I think… I hope she might eventually give in. Dungarran can be very persuasive. He was saying something last night about taking extreme measures. I don’t know what they can be, but I hope he doesn’t intend to carry her off. I don’t see him as a latterday Lochinvar, and only extreme youth could excuse such dramatic behaviour. Oh, it’s all rather ridiculous. What a pair of fools they are!’

‘No, Hugo. Love is never ridiculous. You watch—Hester will see reason in the end. I know she will.’

‘Reason? Reason has absolutely nothing to do with it. But Robert Dungarran would be a splendid match for her. He is extremely eligible, and an excellent fellow besides. I admit that I should like to see Hester settled, especially before…’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘Before I settle down with a wife myself. I’ve been talking to my father. As you know, he is anxious to see me married.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Deborah’s voice was muffled as she bent her head, ostensibly to avoid some overhanging branches. ‘And?’

‘I mentioned the twins to him. He would be well pleased if I offered for one of them and he believes that my Uncle William would be delighted to give his consent.’

‘Really?’

‘Finding husbands for four daughters is a heavy burden. It looks as if Robina’s future is now secure, but my poor uncle still has three more dowries to find. As you well know, sending a daughter to London for the Season is an expensive business—and for the twins he would have to find enough for two!’

‘But surely Robina would help!’

‘She isn’t married yet, Deborah. The twins are past their nineteenth birthday already.’

‘Oh come, Hugo! There’s still plenty of time! Robina will certainly be married before next year’s Season starts. She would be delighted to sponsor the twins in London. I am sure. Indeed, she will enjoy it. The twins are certain to be a huge success! Two of them, identically pretty, identically charming… Society will be hugely impressed. How can you have any doubts?’

Hugo went on almost as if he had not heard her. ‘And either of them would be perfect as the next chatelaine of Perceval Hall.’

There was a pause. Then Deborah said quietly, ‘What about you, Hugo? Which one would be perfect for you?’

He shook his head. ‘That’s the trouble! I would find it very difficult to make up my mind between them!’

She looked at him with astonished disapproval. ‘You mean you don’t know? Hugo, you can’t, you mustn’t contemplate marriage with either of my cousins until you know which one you love!’

‘How can I do that? They are both equally lovable!’

‘I agree. But they are not…not interchangeable. Frederica is a person in her own right, and so is Edwina. Each one of them has her own quite distinct personality.’

‘Aren’t you being a little absurd, Deborah? Of course I know they are different. Edwina is livelier, Frederica has more forethought. Edwina has the better seat on a horse, Frederica is the more graceful dancer. They both play the harp well, though you have always been the truly musical member of the family…’

‘Stop! Stop!’ cried Deborah. ‘I don’t wish to hear any more of this…this soulless catalogue of my cousins’ talents. How can you possibly choose a wife by such superficial criteria?’

Hugo was offended. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he said coldly. ‘What do you propose I should do? Disappoint both families by looking elsewhere?’

‘By no means. But I do think you ought to get to know both Edwina and Frederica a great deal better before you contemplate marrying either of them. I love them both dearly, and any man who won the affection of either of them would be very lucky. But without strong and lasting affection—equally strong on both sides—marriage is a dangerous enterprise.’

‘How you exaggerate, Deborah!’

‘Hugo, I know what I am talking about, believe me!’

‘I assure you that I haven’t the slightest intention of making my marriage a dangerous enterprise. I have always maintained that two reasonable people, with similar interests and good will on both sides, can make a success of any partnership—marriage included. Romantic extravagance poses the greatest danger to such a partnership, and neither of the twins would ever indulge in that!’

Deborah shook her head, but saw it was useless to argue. She changed her ground. ‘What about Edwina and Frederica? Do you know how they would regard an offer from you?’

‘Whichever one I approached would naturally consider it very seriously.’

Deborah gave a most unladylike snort. ‘Naturally!’

Hugo wasn’t offended by this. He said in quite a matter-of-fact way, ‘You mustn’t think me a cox-comb, Deborah. My cousins are reasonably sensible girls. They must know that marriage to me would enhance their position in the world. My wife would eventually be mistress of a very handsome estate, with an assured place in society. That must be worth something. And I am not, as far as I am aware, a monster.’

He looked at her with a touch of anxiety. ‘I think they like me enough. Don’t they? Don’t they, Deborah?’

‘They are certainly fond of you, Hugo—we all are. But…enough to marry? That’s something you would have to ask the lady of your choice yourself. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘May I say something? Something you might not like?’

‘Do,’ said Hugo. ‘You don’t usually hesitate.’

‘I… I think that, if you were to ask one of my cousins to marry you, she might accept you without questioning her own feelings in the matter. They both admire you so much. And, of course, they are both aware of how much it would please the family.’

‘Is that so very wrong? Admiration is not a bad basis for a loving relationship. And in the absence of any previous attachment, what is wrong with pleasing one’s family?’

‘But what if their affections are already engaged elsewhere, however tentatively? I suspect that they would still defer to their parents’ wishes.’

‘You might give me some credit for better feelings,’ said Hugo a touch impatiently. ‘If I knew that to be the case, I should not approach them, of course. I should look for someone else.’

Deborah commented somewhat acidly that she was pleased to see that Hugo could be so philosophical. That, whatever else, his heart did not seem to be very passionately involved in this choosing of a partner for life.

‘Deborah, I think you are in danger of falling into the same trap as poor Robert Dungarran. Passionate love is a hindrance to good understanding. It leads one into all sorts of foolishness, and I will have no part of it.’

Hugo was becoming exasperated. He decided to end the discussion. Deborah Staunton’s views were just as he would have expected—all feeling and no sense, and he would not heed them. Ignoring the slight doubt she had raised in his mind, he said, ‘Now, where is that wretched dog? He seems to have disappeared!’

They had been so absorbed in their discussion that they had forgotten the dog. When they looked round they saw that they had reached the edge of the wood, and were passing one of the estate cottages. There was no sign of Autolycus in any of the fields round about, and Deborah was just about to see if he had slipped into Mrs Bember’s cottage in his perennial search for food, when pandemonium broke out inside the large chicken-house at the end of the garden. There was a crash as the side of the building collapsed and Autolycus scrambled out, closely pursued by a furious cockerel and a stream of hens. He leapt over the hedge on which Mrs Bember had spread some clothes to dry, and raced away over the field, clearly in fear of his life, with his ears flapping and a large petticoat trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

It was such an absurdly comic sight that they both burst out laughing, but they soon stopped in dismay when old Mrs Bember came hurrying out shouting, ‘Come back! Come back here! Oh dearie me, what shall I do? Come back here, you dratted creatures!’ She stopped short when she saw Hugo. ‘Oh, whatever can I do, Mr Hugo? Some dog has broken down my hen-house and let out all the chickens. They’re such silly creatures, I’ll never get ’m back! What’ll happen to all my egg money? And my petticoat’s gone! My best one, too.’ She peered short-sightedly at Hugo’s companion. ‘Why, it’s Miss Deborah! Oh, excuse me, ma’am, I was just that upset I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you was back, y’see. But Miss Deborah, you’re here at a bad moment, I can tell you. I’m in such a pickle! That animal has chased away all the chickens. What am I to do, Miss Deborah? They’ll never come back—and I can’t go chasing about after ’m the way I used to. I’ve lost ’m! And my best flannel petticoat, too.’

Deborah went up to the old lady and led her gently back towards the cottage. ‘Mrs Bember, I’m so sorry! But you really needn’t be so worried. We’ll sort it out. Look, why don’t I make you something to drink, while Mr Hugo sees what he can do.’ As she said this, she threw an appealing glance at Hugo.

Hugo smiled at Mrs Bember. ‘Leave things to me. I’ll get some of the men to put things right for you, Mrs B. Your chickens will be in a new home by nightfall, I promise. I can’t answer for your…er…petticoat, though.’