Take, Burn or Destroy, page 31
Elizabeth turned towards Mr Beacher, who stood looking on helplessly, his mouth slightly open, and she thought for a mad instant that his soul had slipped out of that opening and left him—a husk awaiting a bitter wind.
Seventeen
There was only the feel of her pressed softly against him, the scent of her hair, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath or not to sob, or both.
“My letter found you . . . ?” he whispered.
She nodded.
Thank God, Hayden thought, all will be well. Now, if he could only find a few moments alone with—
“Henrietta . . .” an older male voice intruded. “My dear, think of your husband . . .”
Opening his eyes, Hayden saw a gentleman approaching—almost certainly Henrietta’s father.
“Henrietta?” the man coaxed a bit more firmly.
Hayden pried Henrietta far enough away that he could see her face.
“Husband? Whatever does he mean?”
“I-I believed you had betrayed me . . . And Frank—Mr Beacher—asked for my hand . . . It was only after I had been informed of your death that I received your letter . . .”
“My poor Henri,” Hayden whispered. “What have you been through?”
“Henrietta, really,” Mr Carthew insisted. “We are happy to see Captain Hayden alive, but you have engaged your affections elsewhere . . .” Mr Carthew came forward, his gaze now on Hayden. “Captain, my daughter has been through a great deal. I believe she needs rest and some time to think . . . Come, Henrietta.” He glanced over at Robert. “Captain Hertle . . . ?”
But Robert, who was never indecisive, hesitated.
“Can you speak with your friend, Captain?” Mr Carthew prompted him. “Privately . . .”
Reluctantly, Robert turned to Hayden. “Let us walk out into the garden, Charles . . .”
Henrietta was disentangled from his grasp, though gently, by both Mr and Mrs Carthew. Robert stepped between Hayden and the gathered Carthews, though Hayden suspected it was one of the young men whom Robert intended to separate him from.
Henrietta was led away, though she glanced back twice, so disconcerted that speech appeared to have abandoned her.
Robert gently took Hayden’s arm and ushered him towards the door.
“What in the world has transpired in my absence?” Hayden demanded as they passed out into the night.
“Let me call for my carriage, Charles. There is an inn not too distant . . .”
Robert stood by a small and slightly unbalanced table in Hayden’s newly procured lodgings. As he poured wine into their glasses, the table tilted noticeably to his left, the leg “clicking” as it contacted the floor.
“Elizabeth would be the one to explain all that has occurred in your absence,” Robert began, setting the bottle down so that the table then tilted back again. “I have it all at second hand from her. It began with these French émigrées—the mother who claimed you had married her comely daughter. Had you really assisted them to come to England?” He passed a glass to Hayden.
“At the request of as eminent a personage as Sir Gilbert Elliot . . .” When Hayden had been led aboard the transport in Brest to be carried home to England, he thought the nightmare he had been living had come to an end. Spring had spread its warmth over that small quarter of the world and all would be renewed. But instead he felt like he had been returned to another part of the nightmare—from which he could not wake.
“I was at sea at the time, as were you, Charles, but I am told these women went about London with such confidence, flashing a marriage certificate, spreading charm everywhere—”
“Running up debts in establishments that would never have extended credit to me, blackening my name . . .”
“Exactly so. News of the claims of these women found its way to Henrietta—and Mrs Hertle as well—accompanied by reports of the alleged Mrs Hayden’s astonishing beauty . . .” Robert stopped and looked at his friend expectantly.
“That part, at least, was true—I have seldom seen a more handsome woman—nor had Sir Gilbert, I expect, which led him to make such a request of me. Never have I regretted any favour so much as that one!”
“Henrietta retreated here, to Box Hill and her family. Frank Beacher, who has been a friend to all the Carthews for most of his life, and an ardent admirer of Henrietta almost that entire time, took that opportunity to confess his feelings to poor Henri.”
“Taking advantage of my absence, the blackguard!”
“I will tell you, Charles, he is very far from being a blackguard. He is as amiable a young man as you shall ever hope to meet and entirely devoted to Henri, who at the moment he spoke believed you had betrayed her and married another. What happened next, I must confess, Charles, was my fault. I had reports of the loss of the Themis and then the wreck of Les Droits de l’Homme. It appeared certain that you had not survived. Immediately, I wrote Mrs Hertle and she conveyed the news to Henrietta and her family. I was not present, but Elizabeth assures me Henri was more distraught than can be imagined. Frank Beacher is very dear to her—like a brother—and no doubt, feeling betrayed and wanting to feel safe and protected, she accepted Beacher’s offer, though not before she had learned—falsely, it turned out—that you were dead.” He looked at Hayden again. “And here you are—alive if somewhat reduced.”
Hayden could not sit still but rose and paced across the room. “Do you think Henrietta’s feelings could have altered so entirely in my absence? Will she go through with her marriage to this man Beacher?”
“Personally, I believe Henri’s feelings more constant than that . . . Certainly, she will not wish to injure Frank Beacher, who is not only a family friend but whose suit is looked upon with great favour by all of the Carthews—though not my good wife, who has strong reservations.”
“Then I have one person on my side.”
“I am always on your side, Charles. I hope you know that. Had I been in London when these French women appeared, I would not have accepted their claim without hearing it from you.”
Hayden felt a tide of gratitude flood through him. “Thank you, Robert. It is a comfort to know that someone did not lose faith in me.”
“I will certainly speak on your behalf. There is one matter I must broach with you, Charles. I know it must seem to you that Beacher has taken advantage of your absence in a most dishonourable manner, but it must be remembered that everyone believed you had married and then that you had died. Were you to demand he walk out with you, I do not think you would endear yourself to any member of the Carthew family, including Henrietta. Frank Beacher, as I have said, is like a son and a brother to them.”
Hayden did resent the actions of this young man—but he was not unaware that Robert very likely understood the way of things in the Carthew house far better than he. “I take your point, Robert . . . as tempted as I might be. I will tell you, though, I am in such a reduced state I doubt I could hold a duelling pistol steady enough to hit a mail coach. It should be me in fear of him.”
“I doubt Beacher will challenge you. Not that I think him to be shy . . . but he has never had reason in his life to discover if he is brave or no. He also knows that Henri is deeply attached to you and that were he to harm you she would not forgive him.”
“Then if I could induce him to shoot me I might have Henri turn against him?”
“It does seem a bit rash, however.”
“Yes, I have never enjoyed being shot, and I have not got my surgeon here to patch me up again.” Hayden stopped, looking out of the window in what he believed was the direction of Box Hill. “Poor Henrietta . . . What has she been through these past weeks? I cannot imagine.”
Seldom in his life had Hayden felt like a hypocrite—he was ever scrupulous in his dealings so that he might avoid guilt, which he found a very unpleasant emotion. But now he did feel guilt, if not remorse. He had betrayed Henrietta, and with a French woman too, though not the one everybody had supposed—not with the exquisite Héloïse, but with a desperate woman who was both married and a mother. The fact that everyone seemed to feel great remorse at believing the worst of Hayden was not lost upon him. But they had been wrong only in the particulars.
That night, in Brittany, he had never imagined how he would perceive his actions only a short time later. What he felt now was unworthy. A liar. An adulterer. And the fact that he was not actually engaged to Henrietta at the time did not make it right. He could not hide behind some legal detail. He had betrayed Henrietta and with a French woman, too.
“Charles . . . ?”
Hayden looked over to find Robert gazing at him with poorly concealed distress.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“Do I look so poorly?”
“I have no doubt you have been through a great deal.”
Hayden dropped back into his seat and began to tell his friend of the events that had unfolded since last he departed England, leaving out only one incident, upon which he had been sworn to absolute secrecy.
“She has accepted your offer, and so have her family,” Wilder found himself expounding to his friend. “Your own father and mother have not yet arranged the details of property and so forth, but that is a mere formality—”
“That does not mean it cannot be broken off,” Beacher almost moaned.
“No, but you shall have the right to seek civil action if so.”
“Against Henrietta and her family? They have treated me like a son and brother these twenty years. I would not even contemplate it.”
“I shall not dispute it with you, but certainly a barrister would argue that you are fully entitled to a settlement.”
Beacher waved a hand in dismissal. “I do not care a fig for a settlement. It is Henrietta’s hand or nothing.” They were in the room where Mr Carthew’s collection was slowly being brought to order. Over a half-made primate skeleton laid out upon a table, Beacher turned towards his friend. “Do you or do you not think she will honour her decision?”
Wilder considered this for a moment “She is . . . most fond of you—”
“I am not a complete fool, Wilder! I do realise that her feelings for him are stronger than her feelings for me. Over time I am quite certain that will change, but for now I must sit by like a cuckold fool waiting upon the will of others. I do wish this Navy man would leave. Does he not understand that she is my fiancée? He treats me with utter disrespect, contempt even. I have half a mind to go to his inn and demand he quit Kent immediately.”
“And if he says ‘no’? What will you do then?”
“I am not afraid of him, Wilder, no matter what you think. And what would it matter anyway? If I lose Henrietta, I lose everything. I should not care to live.”
“I am of the firm belief that we should reserve melodrama for the theatre, where all of those who have died in the name of love are reborn at the curtain call. We are talking about your actual life, Beacher, not a fictional one. The man might well shoot you . . . dead. After all, it is you who stands in his way. I do not think you should offer him the opportunity.”
“You do think I am afraid of him, do you not?”
“I wish I did. Then I could trust you to do nothing foolish. Do bear in mind, Beacher, that though your courage might well equal his own, your experience does not. Faced with shooting another, his hand will not shake nor will his resolve waver. I beg you, Beacher, as a friend, do not walk out with this man or give him cause to demand satisfaction. There is also this other small matter of the law. After all, he is an officer and may fight a duel, but you are not, and, even should you survive, charges could be brought against you.”
“I should not let that stop me, as it is unlikely that any charges should ever be brought where an officer is involved.”
“Do not be certain . . .”
Beacher picked up a bone from the table and turned it in his hand. “You are the disinterested party, Wilder—more so than I—you must give me the benefit of your counsel. I do not wish Henrietta to see this man. As her husband-to-be, I feel I am within my right to demand that she does not. Do you not agree?”
It was Wilder’s turn to take up a small bone from the table and give it his attention. “It is my distinct impression, from my conversations with Miss Cassandra, that the sisters Carthew are united in their desire never to marry a tyrant.”
“But, Wilder, I am convinced that if she speaks with this man . . . I am lost.”
“I do not think that forbidding such a meeting will aid your suit. Rather, I think if she speaks with the captain and chooses you, then you may rest assured for the rest of your days that Henrietta Carthew desired you instead of merely settling upon you when the real object of her affection was thought lost.”
“Very easily said, but if she does choose the Navy man . . . ?”
“Then it will be time for you to quit this house and make a life that does not include Miss Henrietta Carthew.”
“Above all things, she should not be allowed to see this Navy man,” Cassandra declared, looking around at her father and gathered sisters. “Above all things.”
Mr Carthew nodded his agreement, but Penelope merely pulled at an errant thread in her skirt.
“I believe she should speak with him,” she offered. “Indeed she must, else she will never know her own heart in this matter.” She glanced up at a circle of disapproving faces. “You all know that she accepted Frank’s offer only because she was heartbroken. She wanted a man who would never betray her. You know it to be true. However much you might wish Henri to marry Mr Beacher, she only agreed to because she was in such a state. Had she been in her senses, she would never have said ‘yes.’”
“Perhaps it is you, Penelope, who wishes that were true,” Cassandra said.
“My own feelings are of no consequence in this matter—as has been made perfectly clear to me by everyone from the very beginning.”
Anne cleared her throat. “I am of the opinion that this is Henrietta’s choice, not ours. I would also like to remind all present that, before the false reports that Captain Hayden had married, Elizabeth, Captain Hertle, and our own Henrietta held Captain Hayden in the highest possible regard. As much as we all esteem Frank Beacher, there is no reason to believe that Henrietta would not be happy with Captain Hayden. I say, do not interfere. It is neither our hearts nor our futures that hang in the balance.”
“But there is a matter of propriety,” Mr Carthew insisted. “Henrietta has accepted Frank Beacher’s offer and should act accordingly. Most certainly, she should not be in contact with her former suitor—it is highly improper.”
“Then she should make a clean break with Frank,” Penelope informed the others, “so that there are no encumbrances upon her actions.”
Mr Carthew seemed most distressed by his daughter’s assertion. “I do not believe Henrietta’s happiness will be best served by a union with Captain Hayden.”
“Perhaps happiness is not Henrietta’s sole reason for being,” Anne interrupted. “She might tell you that other things are more important to her.”
“I cannot think what they would be,” Mr Carthew replied.
“Such as making a life with the man she loves,” Anne said, “whatever the future might bring.”
“That sounds very romantic,” Mr Carthew answered, making no effort to hide his disapproval. “All well and good before the age of twenty, but a terrible hindrance thereafter.”
“It were as though he had returned from the dead.” Henrietta lay upon the divan, her mother and Elizabeth in attendance. “What does one say to a man who has returned from the underworld by some unknown path? I knew not what to say nor how to act . . . so I both acted and spoke poorly.”
“You should write him a letter, Henrietta,” Mrs Carthew said, “and inform him of what has occurred and tell him most directly that another has asked for your hand and that you have accepted.”
“If the solution to this matter were only so easily found!” Henrietta responded, glancing at her cousin to gauge Elizabeth’s reaction to Mrs Carthew’s dictum.
“And why is it not?” Mrs Carthew demanded. “Mr Beacher asked for your hand and you agreed to become his wife. I shall bring you paper and ink.”
“You shall not!” Henrietta responded, sitting up and lowering her feet to the floor.
“You do not intend to go back on your promise to Frank Beacher . . . do you?” Mrs Carthew enquired.
“But what of my promise to Charles Hayden?”
“I did not know he ever asked for your hand, my dear. Certainly, this is the first I have heard of it. Did he?”
“No, but we had come to an understanding . . . through our letters . . . that upon his return he would ask and that I should say ‘yes.’ Most definitely, ‘yes.’”
“He wrote that—most clearly—that he would ask for your hand?”
“Not in those exact words, but we both understood that he would. There was no lack of clarity upon this point.”
“If a disinterested party were to read these letters, would they feel the same? Could it not be interpreted as wishing on your part?”
“Mother! Are you a barrister now? Captain Hayden and I had an understanding, whether it was clearly stated or no. We were not in doubt. Had it not been for the lies and duplicity of those French women, we would be happily united and I would be the future Mrs Hayden.”
Mrs Carthew looked very grim and disapproving. “So you will break your promise to Mr Beacher?”
Henrietta felt a wave of wretchedness break over her. “I do not know what I will do. I must have a moment to think. That is not an unreasonable desire, given what has occurred . . . would you not agree?”
“Most certainly you must have time to think, my dear.” Elizabeth patted her hand. “Through no fault of your own, you have come to an understanding with two different gentlemen. There is no book of etiquette that will offer proper instruction on such a situation.”
