A Duel of Hearts

2-1

2They had travelled some distance and the wood was almost out of sight before Caroline breathless from the speed at which they were moving and the difficulty of keeping her balance, gasped out,

“Where are we going, sir?”

Her companion reined in his horse until it settled down to a walk and replied,

“I live near here at Brecon Castle, and, by the way, my name is Brecon.”

“I seem to have heard of the Castle,” Caroline said reflectively.

“Oh, I dare say you have. It is a curst beauty spot and the people came in crowds to gape at its Norman towers. Perhaps you have viewed it from the roadway.”

Caroline stiffened, and was just about to reply haughtily that she was not in the habit of viewing castles from the roadway or as one of a crowd when she remembered her torn dress and dirty hands and realised that the stranger had no idea of her station in life. With an effort she kept back the words which trembled on her lips and said meekly,

“‘I am sure I would recall your fine Castle, had I seen it. Am I to understand that you, Sir, are Lord Brecon?”

“You are,” was the answer. “And now I will give myself the pleasure of showing you my Castle.”

“You intend to ride back to your own home, my lord?” Caroline questioned.

“Yes! Why not?”

“But surely that would be a very unwise thing to do? You told me but a few minutes back that the poor man in the wood was murdered by someone who wished to fasten the crime on you. If they suspect you, will they not repair at once to Brecon Castle in search of your lordship and enquire where you have been this evening, especially during the hour in which the man received the blow which killed him?”

“By Jove!” Lord Brecon exclaimed, “you are either as quick as any lawyer, Madam, or else an ardent reader of novels from the Circulating Library.”

Caroline laughed. It was only too true that her parents had reproached her not once but a dozen times, because she enjoyed the more lurid type of romance.

“Nevertheless,” his lordship continued, “there is something in what you say. What, then, do you suggest that we do?”

“Have you no trusty friends?” Caroline asked. “I remember once that a farmer of good standing was brought for questioning to the magistrates because he was suspected of being involved with a smugglers’ gang. A great many people thought him guilty, but he had three friends who swore he had spent the night in question playing cards with them. My father said later, “It is difficult enough to detect one man in a lie, but four avowing the same falsehood would be too much even for a judge and jury”.’

“Your father spoke truly,” Lord Brecon said, and he turned the horse’s head in another direction. “I will be as wise as he and seek if not three loyal friends at least two.”

Again, Caroline realised that he had misunderstood her, and it was with difficulty that she prevented herself from saying that her father was on the Bench when the farmer was questioned and not in the dock.

But perhaps such misunderstanding was all for the best, she told herself for now that she knew the identity of Lord Brecon it was of the utmost importance that he should not know hers.

“I have remembered two friends who will be of service to me, but we have two miles to go in order to find them,” Lord Brecon said. “Can you bear to continue our journey as we are or is the discomfort too great?”

“I shall be all right, thank you, my lord,” Caroline answered.

“Zounds, but my manners are most remiss, Madam,” Lord Brecon ejaculated suddenly, “for I have not enquired as to your wishes. You must forgive me, but the events of the last half-hour have left me somewhat bemused.”

“I understand, my lord”

“We ride now towards Sevenoaks. Is that direction to your liking?”

“I am pleased to say that it will suit me well,” Caroline said with dignity, thinking that when she got to Sevenoaks she would hire a post-chaise to take her back to London.

“Would it be an indiscreet question,” Lord Brecon asked, “now that we are so well acquainted, to enquire your name?”

“Caroline – ” Caroline began, and then stopped quickly.

Her thoughts had been engaged with the idea of returning to London and absentmindedly she had almost answered his question truthfully.

“Yes,” he prompted.

“ – er – Fry,” Caroline finished, adding the first name which came to her mind.

“Your servant, Miss Fry, and now perhaps you will relieve my curiosity and tell me why you were walking through the woods at the very moment when Isaac Rosenberg was struck down by some treacherous hand.”

Caroline thought quickly. She had been concentrating so much on Lord Brecon’s troubles that she had not had time to prepare a story for herself, but luckily once more the novels from the Circulating Library stood her in good stead, and slowly she began to propound a story which she hoped sounded plausible.

“I have had the most dastardly ill luck, my lord. I have been acting as companion to a lady of quality. I have not been in her service long, in fact only a few weeks, but long enough to be horrified and even disgusted by the lady’s character and behaviour. She was extremely eccentric and much of this was due to her partiality for the brandy bottle. However this evening instead of her feeling sleepy, as so often happens after she had dined, she insisted that we take a drive. She thought the night air would clear her head, so her coach was fetched and we drove for some miles during which she spent the entire time berating me for faults I have never had and for mistakes I have never made.

“I was patient with her, for indeed it was my duty to be humble but after a time she grew bored even with the sound of her own voice, and asked me to pass her a hand-mirror, which I carried for her in my reticule. I passed it to her as she requested, but unfortunately the coach lurched just as the mirror was exchanged between us and maybe, too, her hand was unsteady, from the amount of brandy she had drunk anyway, the mirror fell to the ground and was smashed.

“In a fury of anger she accused me of bringing her bad luck and vowed that from that very moment she could not bear to look upon my face again. She called the coach to a halt and set me down on the road. I pleaded with her, asking that at least she should take me back to her house where I might collect my clothes and leave on the morrow but she would not listen. Flinging the wages she owed me in the dust at my feet, she commanded the coachman to drive on.”

“Monstrous!” Lord-Brecon exclaimed. “Entirely monstrous! Such women should not be allowed to exist.”

“I found myself on a narrow, unfrequented road,” Caroline went on, “but had the idea that, if I went through the wood and struck across the field, I should reach the main highway to Sevenoaks.”

“So you would,” Lord Brecon answered, “but it is a mile or so and you would have found it tiring walking.”

“And that, my lord, is how I came to be in the wood,” Caroline finished, delighted with her tale which she felt confident his lordship believed without question.

“So now, if I convey you, to Sevenoaks, you think you can find a post-chaise or a stage-coach to carry you back to London?” Lord Brecon asked.

“That was my idea,” Caroline replied.

“Your home then is in London?”

His words awakened a sudden nausea in Caroline for her home. In that moment she had an overwhelming desire to be at Mandrake, to see her father and mother, to know herself safe and secure and under their protection again.

She wondered what stories Sir Montagu might tell when he returned to town. She foresaw explanations and excuses which would have to be made both to her godmother and to her chaperon, Mrs. Edgmont. It was all rather frightening and swiftly Caroline, impetuous as ever, made up her mind. She would not go back to London, she would not risk encountering Sir Montagu, at least until she had had time to consider how to treat him. She would go to Mandrake and what was more, she would tell her mother the truth of what had happened and beg her forgiveness. It was typical of Caroline that, when she had done wrong, she invariably owned up and now it was with a deep, sigh of relief that she visualised the end of her journey and her mother’s unfailing understanding and sympathy.

“No, my lord,” she said aloud, “my home is near Dover and it is there I would fain go until I find another position.”

“Then we must contrive to get you to Dover,” Lord Brecon replied, “and it seems to me that the sooner, the better. Are you game to go a little-faster, for if we amble on at this rate, it will take us half the night to reach my friends?”

“Go as fast as you like, my lord,” Caroline said and tightened her hold around his waist.

Lord Brecon urged the horse into a gallop, after which Caroline had thoughts for nothing but keeping her seat and holding her head low to prevent her bonnet from blowing away. It seemed to her that they travelled for quite a long time before Lord Brecon reined in his horse and exclaimed in tones of considerable satisfaction,

“There! This is where I thought they would be!”

Caroline looked up and saw in the field ahead of them flickering lights and the outline of low, curved roofs and tiny, thin chimneys which she could not for the moment recollect as belonging to any type of house she had ever seen before. Then, as she stared, understanding came to her. The field was filled with round-topped caravans and set amongst them a number of large wagons.

“Gipsies !” she exclaimed in surprise.

“No, not gipsies,” Lord Brecon contradicted her “a menagerie, and the owner of it is the loyal friend you would have me seek.”

“A menagerie!” Caroline exclaimed. “How exciting! I have seen one at St. Bartholomew’s Fair.”

“And that is where I imagine Grimbaldi will eventually end his tour,” his lordship replied.

By this time they had reached a gate into the field but when they would have passed through it, a boy came out of the shadows and barred their way. Dark-skinned, with long lank hair hanging around his face he looked suspiciously like a gipsy, and behind him appeared a woman with an equally dark countenance who held one child in her arms and had another holding on to her skirts.

“Hi ye,” the boy shouted, ‘th’ show’s over for tonight. Ye can’t come in here at this hour.”

“Our business is with Mr. Grimbaldi, boy,” Lord Brecon answered. “Lead me to his caravan ”

“With the boss?” the boy questioned doubtfully, a trifle awed by the rider’s air of authority. “Ye are sure on it? He didn’t say he were expecting visitors.”

“These are th’ quality, son,” the woman said in a low voice, “do as the gentleman bids.”

Lord Brecon threw a silver piece in the air. The boy caught it deftly.

“This way, sir,” he said, with a change of tone, and ran in front of the horse until he came to a big caravan set a little apart from the others, and painted crimson with silver carvings.

There was light from the uncurtained windows and a light too, streaming from the open door above a flight of steps.

“Hi, boss,” the boy called. “Here’s a swell cove as says he ‘as business with ye.’

Caroline, looking over the field, saw that there were over a dozen lighted caravans, the large wagons she had perceived were arranged in a circle and in front of many of them candles still flickered gutteringly. Childishly she wished she could have seen the animals, but most of the wagons were by now closed or covered for the night and in the far corner of the field a fire had been lit round which there were grouped a number of people obviously the attendants or keepers.

As she stared around her, a man came out on to the top steps of the caravan. He was a big man with broad shoulders and great muscled arms bulging under his crimson coat, and so tall that he had to bow his head to pass through the low doorway. He straightened himself and saw Lord Brecon.