Stranger within the Gates Page 2

  “And I daresay she hinted pretty broadly that my advancing years and fading charms were responsible for the infrequency of his visits,” retorted his sister tartly.

  He grinned. “That, of course. You’ve not forgot the way she has of cutting up a character in the meekest possible way! But I paid no heed. Why! Lord Finmore must have been eighty. However great a rake he may have been in his younger days, he must have been long past it when you met him.”

  Irrespressible amusement curved Francesca’s mouth. Brothers could be so amazingly tactful! “I would scarcely say that,” she said carefully. “He was by no means senile, you know, even at the end. You must blame my callowness rather than his decrepitude for the fact that our relationship was that of father and daughter. I was seventeen — by far too raw and ingenuous to appeal to such a noted connoisseur. Or so his lordship was kind enough to assure me at that momentous first meeting. And at that time he was but sixty five — and erect as a lance, with a vigour and gaiety that many a younger man might have envied.”

  The laughing eyes misted to the memory of the very great gentleman who had come to the aid of a desperate seventeen-year-old and had stood by her and sheltered her ever since. But he had straitly forbidden her to mourn, and he was a man whose commands must be obeyed, the more so, perhaps, that he was no longer there to enforce them.

  Resolutely she smiled at Geoffrey, and then suddenly gave vent to a genuine chuckle as she said, “I fear he was a sad example to youth! Despite the excesses and follies of his early years he enjoyed excellent health — almost to the end. We travelled extensively, you know — first to Italy, because of my singing lessons, and much more widely thereafter. He was never weary, rarely out of temper, and savoured every minute to the full. Danger he loved. He said it added zest to living. But he was always very careful of my safety. And wherever we went I was hedged about with propriety. He had no sooner brought me to Saxondene than he engaged the Hornbys, and they have been with me ever since.”

  “Then what was all the fuss about?” asked Geoffrey, reasonably enough. “The man was old enough to be your grandfather. You were strictly chaperoned. So why should Aunt Maud insist that you were ruined?”

  “Not because of my association with Lord Finmore,” returned his sister quietly. “Oh no! That was on quite another count. Though it is true that it was his lordship whom Aunt Maud tried to coerce into marrying me with threats of the scandal she would create. Such stuff! Who would have suffered from a scandal? Certainly not the Earl of Finmore, with just one more affair added to his long tally, but the hitherto respectable if undistinguished Thornishes, suddenly illumined by a glaring notoriety. But Aunt Maud saw a heaven-sent opportunity in the circumstances that had brought the earl into my life and she never forgave me for my refusal to make the most of it. She might in time have come to see that I was not to be blamed for my abduction and the loss of my good name, but my crass stupidity in refusing to make a push to secure so fantastic a match was quite beyond her comprehension. She washed her hands of me.”

  Geoffrey looked more and more bewildered. “But if he abducted you, how can you say that he was like a father to you?” he enquired dazedly.

  “Because it was not he who abducted me. I think I had better begin at the beginning. It is so long ago, I forgot that you were only a schoolboy and would scarcely have heard the true tale. I suppose you were fobbed off with a tissue of half truths?”

  “Aunt Emmy said I was not to mention your name in Aunt Maud’s presence. You had behaved very badly, running off to Ireland with your lover just when all was in train for your presentation. It wasn’t until Lord Finmore died that Aunt Maud let slip the fact that you were living here. I naturally supposed that it was Lord Finmore that you had run off with.”

  Francesca gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “No. In fact he is the only one who emerges from the episode with any credit. I was foolish and reckless, the aunts thought only of their position in society and Hugh O’Malley was an unprincipled adventurer.”

  “That the fellow that made off with you?”

  She nodded. Looking back twelve years it was possible to be quite dispassionate about it. “He was very handsome, in the dashing military style,” she said reflectively, “and very plausible. His manners were particularly charming. Aunt Maud was much taken with him. In fact he fooled us all completely. But though I enjoyed his company and liked having him gallant me to parties I was not in the least in love with him and he knew it. I suppose that was why he decided on abduction.”

  She fell silent a moment, thinking it over. Geoffrey shifted impatiently. His sister pulled a face at him. “I was quite a catch, you see,” she informed him with demure mischief. “Young, biddable — or so he thought — and wealthy. And I suppose he had hopes of turning the aunts up sweet so that they, too, would remember me generously in their wills. I played into his hands when I consented to go with him to a display of fireworks at Vauxhall. At his suggestion I even bribed my maid to hide the fact that I was out! A great adventure I thought it, romantic little fool that I was. So of course there was no enquiry after me until it was too late.”

  “And then?”

  “Oh — the coffee that he had given me was drugged. I woke up in a very shabby lodging in Liverpool to be informed that having passed two nights in his company there was nothing for it but marriage. He proposed to carry me to his home in Dublin and have the ceremony performed there. I am ashamed to confess that at first I could see no way of escape. You must forgive me for being so poor spirited. Remember that I was alone and penniless in a strange city with nothing but the clothes I wore — and sadly grubby and crumpled they were! Moreover I was feeling extremely unwell. It emerged that I had given my abductor a sad fright. The drug was stronger than he had thought and at one time he had entertained some doubts of my ever coming round. It was in this piteous condition that I allowed myself to be conveyed aboard the Irish packet. And then my luck turned. First the wind was foul and our sailing was delayed. The salt air did much to clear my numbed mind and I decided that anything would be preferable to such a marriage. So when my captor went off to play cards with some cronies he had met, thinking me safely laid upon my bed, I slipped out of the cabin intent on making my way ashore. That was when I met his lordship.”

  “He, too, was crossing by the packet?”

  She shook her head. “No. I do not think he ever did so. When he was not riding or driving his beautiful horses, I think he was happiest at the helm of his yacht. It was the merest chance that had brought him on board — some matter of a horse that he wished to buy whose owner was returning to Ireland. He was on the point of going ashore when I emerged from my cabin and my furtive manner and dishevelled appearance aroused his curiosity. When I stumbled on the gang plank his hand was ready to catch me. He helped me ashore and asked if he should summon a carriage for me or escort me to my lodging since it was unwise for a young female to walk unprotected in the dock area. I don’t know why I trusted him. Sheer desperation, perhaps, and his age and the air of calm dependability that informed his voice and bearing. I told him that I had neither money nor lodging, but that if he would help me I was well able to replay any expense that he incurred on my behalf.”

  “You took a grave risk,” said Geoffrey soberly.

  She smiled. “I know that — now. At the time it never entered my head that my benefactor might expect payment in a different coin. He accepted my appeal with perfect composure and suggested that we repair to his hotel to settle the details of the arrangement?”

  “And you went? Without hesitation?”

  “I did. And was handed into the care of a chamber maid who scolded and fussed as though she had been my nurse, tucked me into bed with a bowl of bread and milk for my supper, and presented me next morning with clean linen and a neat travelling dress and mantle that his lordship had sent her out to purchase for me. I was never so glad of anything in my life. You have no notion how horrid it is to be dirty and unkempt — let alone the impropriety of appearing at breakfast in my evening gown!”

  “His lordship appears to have behaved with kindness and consideration,” allowed her brother judicially.

  Remembering that breakfast table encounter, Francesca chuckled. His lordship had been in a mind to repent of his overnight chivalry. By daylight, washed and combed and neatly dressed, Francesca had looked what she was — a gently bred child, scarcely out of the schoolroom. His lordship, who found respectable young ladies a dead bore, decided that honour would be satisfied if he hired a maid and a courier and despatched her, thus escorted, to the home and the anxious parents that he imagined for her.

  She responded politely to his morning greeting, assured him that she had been perfectly comfortable and well attended, and then addressed herself to the consumption of a substantial breakfast without further remark. His lordship sipped hot coffee and regarded his waif with dawning amusement. Of all things he detested chattering females, especially at breakfast. But he was a man of considerable charm, and never before had he found himself of less account than a platter of grilled ham. A salutary experience, he decided.

  He had to wait some time before his charge had satisfied the appetite induced by her long fast. Unobtrusively he studied her. Not pretty. Her mouth was too wide, her nose too dominant. But the eyes — when they were not bent on her plate — were very fine — a clear golden hazel, dark lashed and dark browed, and the hands that plied knife and fork so industriously were slender and graceful, the long fingers well kept. No rings, he noted automatically, and poured himself more coffee.

  The silence between them was quite comfortable. The girl seemed relaxed and easy though she must be aware of his scrutiny. Yet there was nothing brash or offensive in her quiet composure. Quite an unusual young cre
ature decided Lord Finmore, his interest now fairly caught.

  He waited until she poured herself a second cup of coffee before he said gently, “And now, Miss Thornish, pray tell me how best I may be of service to you. If you care to explain how it came about that you were in so uncomfortable a predicament last night, I shall naturally respect your confidence. If you prefer to keep your own counsel, it remains only to arrange your journey home.”

  As he had confidently expected, the whole story came tumbling out. But there were no tears, no excuses, no appeal for sympathy. Rather there was indignation and a vengeful note in the warm young voice as she ended, “I suppose you will say that I was well served for my folly. I admit it. And I’ll take good care I am never so cozened and tricked again.”

  The Earl’s shoulders shook very slightly but he preserved an expression of grave interest. “Do you intend, then, to abjure society?” he enquired quizzically. “For I believe it is very difficult to detect the accomplished fortune hunter.”

  “As to that, it seems far more likely that society will abjure me,” said the girl candidly. “But I was not thinking of that. I was planning rather that as soon as I am back in Town I will engage a tutor to instruct me in the use of a pistol. If I can become a creditable shot — yes, and I would like to learn to handle a small sword as well — such gentry will think twice before they meddle with me.”

  For a moment she pondered this thought with obvious satisfaction, then turned to him with a smile of genuine sweetness, the golden eyes glowing with gratitude, and added, “I cannot expect a guardian angel to come to my rescue every time I behave foolishly.”

  The calm good sense of this practical appraisal of what was undoubtedly social disaster, coupled with the sudden vision of himself in the highly improbable role of guardian angel, overset the Earl entirely. A man who for years had prided himself on his complete imperturbability under all circumstances choked over his coffee and had to submit to being solicitously patted on the back. But having recovered from this minor mishap he established himself even more firmly in Miss Thornish’s good opinion by murmuring thoughtfully that he might be able to assist her in finding just the sort of tutor she had in mind, but that meanwhile they had better decide when and how they would journey back to London. Gone was all thought of permitting this refreshingly unusual child to make the journey in charge of maid and courier. His lordship, amused and entertained as he had not been in months, had no intention of relinquishing his new acquaintance so easily.

  By the time London was reached they were fast friends. They had travelled in leisurely comfort, taking four days over a journey that might well have been accomplished in half the time, since the Earl kept his own horses at each stage of a route that he used regularly in his comings and goings between London and his Irish estates. They had talked, intermittently but frankly, on whatever subject came into their heads. Miss Thornish, with a youthful resilience that compelled her companion’s respect, appeared to have put from her all thought of her recent unpleasant experience and of the stormy reception that undoubtedly awaited her in London. He found her a delightful travelling companion, receptive and appreciative. She bore minor discomforts without fuss and told him frankly that travelling in the style that he maintained was a treat that she had never expected to enjoy and that she meant to make the most of it. She accepted his escort with a pretty courtesy and plainly enjoyed his company, calling his attention to anything that pleased or puzzled her. Her behaviour was modest without being foolishly coy, and despite the awkwardness of her situation she betrayed no trace of embarrassment.

  Long before the Earl’s travelling coach drew up in Cavendish Square, its noble owner was pretty well acquainted with Francesca’s circumstances. He could have hazarded a shrewd guess as to how his presence would operate upon her aunts. And being a man of sensitive perceptions, he had come to recognise the bitter loneliness that lay behind the girl’s cool self-sufficiency. She had learned to depend upon herself because there was not one living soul who really cared for her happiness. Her young brother was away at school, nor was he really of an age to understand her difficulties. Aunt Maud, self-centred and overbearing, thought only of social consequence. Aunt Emily, gently vague, simply closed her ears and eyes to anything that threatened her comfort. A niece who had created a resounding scandal would get little sympathy from either lady. In fact he felt it was fortunate for the girl that she was financially independent of her aunts.

  Matters had fallen out much as he had anticipated. The shattering first encounter; the appearance of that meditative and calculating gleam in Aunt Maud’s eye upon learning his identity; the hints let fall that the sinner might yet be received again into the virtuous precints of Cavendish Square if her social credit could be re-established by the announcement of her betrothal. It was all of twelve years ago, but Francesca’s mouth still curved distastefully at the memory of Aunt Maud’s blatant opportunism.

  “I fear the aunts were less easily convinced of my innocence than was his lordship,” she said drily. “Having failed to ensnare an earl in her matrimonial net, Aunt Maud duly cast me out with every form of objurgation that she could lay her tongue to, short of actual anathema. Not even under such provocation could she bring herself to utter curses! His lordship then hurried me somewhat unceremoniously into Kent where he left me in his sister’s charge until he had engaged the Hornbys to be my dragons. I was happy with the Lady Mary as I had never been in Cavendish Square. We were off on our travels within the month, but whenever our homecomings brought her to Saxondene I was always aware of that same well-being. She was the most warmly generous creature that I every knew. One felt oneself liked, understood, accepted, faults and all. Yet she was never sentimental. Practical, comical, tender yet staunch. What a mother she must have been!”

  There was a brief silence, a silence taut with unspoken thoughts. Then she went on slowly. “It is a pity that I discern no trace of that welcoming warmth in her son.”

  “Oh come!” exhorted her brother. “One unfortunate encounter! And both of you taken at a disadvantage.” His glance flickered briefly, a little uneasily, over the male attire that this unconventional sister of his wore so casually. “You cannot so lightly condemn the poor fellow! Though as I said at the outset, I do not like it. Unlike his uncle, he, I take it, is to reside here permanently. To be living within a stone’s throw cannot be comfortable for you. Surely some better arrangement can be made? If it’s a question of the needful,” he added awkwardly, “I’m pretty well inlaid. A snug little house in Tunbridge Wells, now, with the Assemblies and shops and libraries. Wouldn’t that suit you better than this isolated spot? Comfortable as you have made it,” he threw in hastily, belatedly remembering his manners.

  “What! Permit myself to be turned out of my home? Just because my little brother has some absurd conventional notions carefully inculcated by Aunt Maud? No, my dear. You are very kind, but it would never do, you know. I wouldn’t be received. Even here, where I am pretty well-known, there is sometimes a little awkwardness, though I am fortunate enough to have a number of friends who are willing to take my morals on trust.”

  Geoffrey flushed up to the roots of his hair and looked so unhappy that she took pity on him.

  “Now don’t be thinking it distresses me. Only the stuffiest of the respectable matrons go so far as to give me the cut direct — and I promise you I am much better off without their acquaintance! As for my new landlord I daresay he will soon take himself off on his travels again. He is a devoted amateur of antiquities, you know. I daresay he has not spent as much as six months in this part of the world since his wife ran off with Mr. Ramsey.”

  “Ran off with — I thought he was a bachelor!”

  “Oh no! Divorced. There is a child — a little girl — scarce out of leading strings, poor little scrap, when her Mama eloped. Perhaps, now, Papa will devote some of his attention to her. He could not get out of the country fast enough when the scandal broke. Went off to Crete to dig up his precious relics and no doubt found comfort in moralising on the ephemeral nature of human achievement.”