The Runaway Bride, page 8
Chapter Seven
Downstairs all was still. Consuelo found her way to the side door without difficulty and slipped out. Light still blazed from the ballroom windows and she saw faint shapes moving about as the servants began to extinguish the candles one by one.
‘Are you there, Enrique?’ she called very softly. There was a footfall behind her and she swung round with a soundless gasp. ‘Oh, it is you, querido! Just for one moment I thought ‒’
‘Quiet!’ Henry commanded edgily. He took her bag and put a hand under her arm. ‘If we follow along this path in the shadow of the yew hedge, it will take us on to the main drive. Green is waiting with the curricle just beyond that clump of trees.’
The night was soft, the sky clear, black as velvet and glittering with stars. Somewhere close by the gardeners had been scything the grass and an earthy, pungent sweetness still lingered on the air. Up towards the terrace someone called a name and there was laughter, fading away.
Henry felt her stiffen and said, low-voiced, ‘It’s all right ‒ still one or two people about, but it don’t signify. If we should be seen, we’ll be taken for guests making a belated departure.’
Beyond the bend of the drive as he had promised was the curricle with Green striving to contain the restless horses.
‘They don’t take kindly to being kept standing, guv,’ he grumbled. ‘Not when they’re as fresh as these beauties!’ He peered, frowning, at Consuelo, not by any means approving of this latest quirk of his master’s. Women were usually trouble in his book, notwithstanding that this Spanish señorita was a taking little piece ‒ light as a bird, too, judging by the ease with which his lordship lifted her into the curricle.
‘Oh, but you should have let me climb up for myself, mi Enrique,’ she protested with a giggle. ‘No one will take me for your groom if you have such a care of me!’
‘Time enough for that later,’ he said, leaping up beside her and taking up the reins. ‘Right ‒ let ’em go, Green.’ But this proved too much for the hard-done-by groom. It was all very well her looking the part, which she did right enough, but ‒ ‘It ain’t sense, guv, not taking me along! The young lady won’t be a bit of use to you when it comes to blowing up for the toll gates or seeing the horses right, beggin’ your pardon, miss ‒’
‘Stop complaining, lad, and do as you’re told!’
‘But …’
Consuelo leaned down confidingly to him, her smile bewitching. ‘I know how you must feel, Green, but you see, it is essential that we go alone, for it will look most remarkable if Lord Linton has two grooms! Oh, and I must thank you for lending me your best suit. I will take the greatest care of it, I promise you!’
‘Consuelo ‒ for pity’s sake!’ snapped the much-tried Henry. ‘Green ‒ no more arguments an’ you value your job. Let ’em go!’
Acknowledging defeat, Green complied with a suddenness that took everyone by surprise, including the horses. But after a momentary indecision they took the bit and the carriage flashed past him to be swallowed up in the darkness.
Consuelo maintained a discreet silence for some time, sensing that Enrique would have his hands full while the horses were so fresh. Now that they were actually on their way she felt a kind of exhilaration. She had never before travelled at such a pace in the darkness, but when she ventured to say so, Henry laughed and told her that this was not fast. As her eyes adjusted she became aware of just how many things she could distinguish ‒ trees from hedges, walls that ended in high white gateposts, and, as they passed through Brighton, the dark mass of houses.
Then they were out in the country once more and going at a steady pace.
‘Dawn will be breaking before long,’ Henry said. ‘I want to put as many miles between us and Covington Manor as I can before daylight. There’s a turnpike coming up ‒ hand me the yard of tin, will you?’
‘Oh, may I do it, Enrique?’
Before he could dissuade her she had the horn to her mouth and blew a mighty blast. Henry laughed.
‘We’ll make a tiger of you yet!’ he said as they left the toll-gate behind and the horses were let out once more. ‘I shan’t stop at Cuckfield ‒ this team should be good as far as Hand Cross, I reckon.’
‘But surely there will be nothing to fear for some time?’
‘All the more reason to press on as fast as we can,’ said Henry grimly. ‘Bannion’s no flat and he’s going to be as mad as fire when he discovers that you’ve given him the slip. I don’t care to meet up with him if I can avoid it!’
Consuelo felt the faint stirrings of unease. ‘Then we must hope that Lady Covington’s ruse is successful.’ She told him what her ladyship had intended. To her surprise Henry laughed in a rather strange way. ‘I thought it quite clever of her,’ she insisted.
‘If it works,’ said Henry derisively. ‘Which I doubt. Verena has been trying to fix her interest with the good captain these two days past to very little purpose! And even if she does succeed now, I can’t see Bannion oversleeping when he has an important commission to fulfil, can you?’ His voice sharpened. ‘Another turnpike ahead.’
Consuelo blew up with less enthusiasm this time, her mind being occupied with something rather unpleasant which she did not wish to have clarified, but which would not be wholly dismissed.
Finally she asked in a very casual way: ‘You said that Lady Covington wished to “fix her interest” with Captain Bannion ‒ what does this mean?’
Henry shot a quick look at her. The road along which they were travelling ran at present through a dense hollow between high hedges, but away to the left the first light of morning was paling the sky; it illumined a profile both youthful and proud. ‘My dearest Consuelo ‒ can you really be such an innocent babe?’ Her chin rose a fraction. ‘Why, yes ‒ I believe you really are!’ He shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps it is better that you remain so.’
She turned dark eyes to him. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘I am not so innocent. It is simply that I … I did not wish to think of Lady Covington in that way …’
His laugh held genuine amusement. ‘That’s rich, by George, it is! My dear, you must have been going around with your eyes shut if you didn’t twig it!’
A great feeling of pain was reflected in her eyes ‒ the distress of having one’s idol torn down. ‘Yes, I must.’
‘Oh, look, Consuelo, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. That kind of intrigue is the breath of life to Verena, and Bannion presented more of a challenge than most since, though he looked, he didn’t fall like a ripe plum the way most men do.’ Her sharp little intake of breath made him say crossly, ‘Well, why else do you suppose we have been kicking our heels for the past two days?’
‘It was because of the ball.’ But she said it without conviction.
‘It was because Verena needed time to bring the captain to heel.’
‘And you think that she might have succeeded last night?’ asked Consuelo in a small voice.
Henry shrugged. ‘I have never known her to fail with any man she really wanted.’
There was a bleak little silence as Consuelo digested this. She wished very much that she had not succumbed to curiosity, for a train of thought once started was not so easy to stop. She wanted very much to ask if he had been one of her ladyship’s conquests, but feared that he would put into words the suspicion that now plagued her, for had he not been one of Lady Covington’s most assiduous escorts when they had first met?
She said instead: ‘Does Lord Covington know, do you suppose?’
‘Look, Consuelo ‒ do we have to talk about Verena’s affairs?’ Henry said, guilt sharpening his voice.
‘No, of course not.’ She sighed and pulled herself together. It was of no use to repine over something that was past; after all, if her Enrique had once cherished a tendresse for Lady Covington ‒ and it would not be remarkable if he had, for she was very beautiful ‒ at least it was herself that he now loved and wished to marry. She said, much more cheerfully, ‘You are right, querido, I would much rather talk about us!’
This she proceeded to do quite happily and without any need for participation on his part for some considerable time. By the time they had passed through Cuckfield the sun was up and shedding a thin golden radiance across the misty undulating countryside. Soon they were crossing Staplefield Common and climbing the hill towards Hand Cross.
Consuelo, looking about her, was much struck by the beauty of the vale through which they had just passed and which now lay spread out behind them; little roads wound through copses, and here and there amongst the trees she glimpsed a snug red rooftop. England was such a lovely green country, she decided ‒ something that even a scorching summer could not destroy.
When Henry saw what the Red Lion in Hand Cross had to offer, he wished that he had changed horses in Cuckfield, but it was clear that his own team could go no further, so he made the best of what was available and arranged for the safe return to Covington Manor of his own horses.
‘Do you want breakfast?’ he asked Consuelo in tones that made it clear that he would very much begrudge the delay, so that she obligingly stifled a yawn, and her growing hunger pangs, and assured him that she had not the least desire to eat.
They had not covered many miles before Henry’s worst fears were realized and he was cursing his luck in being landed with as poor a team of jobbers as it had ever been his misfortune to have in hand.
‘Not an ounce of go in them,’ he fumed. ‘It is to be hoped we fare better next time!’
Consuelo sighed. This elopement was not at all how she had imagined it would be. Those first few miles in the darkness had been the very stuff of romance, but more and more now Enrique was becoming obsessed with his tiresome horses.
‘How far did you say it was to this Gretna Green?’
‘Some three hundred and sixty miles,’ said Henry without taking his eyes or his mind far from the road.
‘And how far have we travelled?’ Consuelo persisted.
He made a small irritable sound. ‘Oh, I don’t know ‒ about twenty miles, I suppose.’
‘Madre de Dios! But it will take us days!’
‘Three days, perhaps. We haven’t made bad time at all so far,’ said Henry huffily, defending the implied slur upon his driving. ‘And you knew from the start that it was a long way.’
‘Yes, but I had not then considered ‒’
‘Well, if you don’t want to go through with it, now is the time to say so,’ he snapped.
‘When have I said that I did not wish it?’ Consuelo cried, equally incensed. ‘You are putting into my mouth words that I have not said.’
‘Perhaps. But I have no wish to go tearing about the country on a wild goose chase! I was under the impression that you were in love with me ‒ but perhaps I was mistaken!’ The whip whistled expertly out to point the leaders, urging them to greater effort.
Consuelo glanced at the grim, handsome profile and was horrified. In one more moment they would be quarrelling in earnest and the fault was hers. ‘Ah, querido, forgive me! Of course I love you ‒ con toda mi alma. You must not heed my silliness … it is only that I am impatient to arrive!’
If Henry accepted her apology with a poor grace, she did not notice. She was resolved to think before she spoke in the future and was several times obliged to bite on her tongue to curtail its propensity for inconsequential chatter.
At last the stoutly maintained silence penetrated Henry’s guard; he glanced her way and the sight of that grimly concentrating figure made him aware of his selfish preoccupation as harsh words would never have done.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘It was unfair to take out my aggravation on you. Look, we should be in Horley soon. We’ll take breakfast there and then we shall both feel much more the thing. What do you say?’
Her generous acceptance of this olive branch went a long way towards mending his ruffled feelings.
When they reached Horley they found the yard of the Chequers Inn well astir despite the earliness of the hour. A Brighton-bound coach stood ready for the off, its new team with post boys already mounted, fretting to be away as the hurrying figure of a recalcitrant passenger was seen emerging from the inn doorway.
‘Try if you can to remember that you are my tiger and not my prospective bride,’ Henry adjured her as he secured the reins and leaped down, leaving her to dismount alone and kick her heels as he summoned a passing ostler, to whom he gave very definite instructions.
To while away the time Consuelo stepped inside, where she found a public room with a large table laid with a white cloth upon which a motley array of used dishes, cups and saucers, tankards and the like, lay scattered and for the most part abandoned. Only two gentlemen still sat over their tankards indulging in a desultory conversation. At the end of the table nearest to her was a plate of bread and butter, so enticing a sight that, with the pink tip of her tongue already flicking speculatively at the corner of her mouth, she wondered if she might take just one piece without being noticed.
At that very moment, however, one of the gentlemen looked up and glared at her in such a way that she retreated hastily, and met Henry coming in. Enthusiastically she told him about the breakfast room. Henry viewed it with distaste and turned away to summon the landlord and demand a private room.
‘I should not mind that other,’ Consuelo confided in a whisper. ‘Only consider what an adventure it would be!’
Henry quelled her with a look. ‘A fine spectacle I should make an’ I were to be discovered taking breakfast in a communal room with my tiger for companion!’ he murmured as the landlord came to bow them into a small room pleasant with dark furnishings and chintz. ‘Do try to mind your behaviour until we are alone! We want no suspicions roused lest Bannion comes asking questions later.’
In consequence, Consuelo stood subserviently near the doorway as a nubile young maidservant scurried back and forth with delicious-smelling dishes of eggs and ham, fresh bread and butter, and a jug of ale. Growing bold upon her last journey with a pot of fragrant steaming coffee, the maidservant treated the young tiger to a pert, inviting smile from under long lashes and Consuelo, entering into the spirit of the masquerade, winked at her.
When the door had closed behind the maidservant, she giggled.
‘Did you see that? I did very well, I think!’
‘A veritable boy,’ Henry agreed with a reluctant grin. ‘Now you may come to the table.’
Without conscious thought Consuelo removed her hat and tossed it on to a chair, thus affording Henry his first real glimpse of her shorn locks. His grin faded to a frown of dismay.
‘Good God!’ he ejaculated faintly. ‘You crazy girl ‒ what have you done?’
Nick Bannion was up early, dousing his head with cold water to relieve the faint throbbing at his temples. His bag was packed ready for a prompt start.
He would not, he decided, be sorry to leave. The sheer triviality of this kind of life, cocooned as it was by pleasure and wealth from the least hint of reality, held no lure for him. And though Verena Covington’s charms were undeniable, there was something altogether too calculating, too predatory about her.
He preferred women of a more generous disposition ‒ delightful, warm-hearted creatures who gave as freely as they took and asked nothing of him that he was not prepared to give. Verena Covington would never be satisfied until she had a man at her feet and he knew that his unwillingness to play her little game only served to fan the flames of her desire. The sooner he was away, the better.
The whole of the west wing of the house lay under a blanket of silence as Nick left his room to make his way downstairs. He hoped that Consuelo’s maid would rouse her in good time and that the unzealous Señora Diaz would for once bestir herself.
Nick was almost down the first pair of stairs when a scream penetrated the silence above. Instinctively he turned, taking the stairs two at a time. Doors were beginning to open all along the landing as he ran past, whilst the scream, being sustained with surprising vigour and with only the briefest of pauses for breath, made its source comparatively easy to locate.
He arrived on the scene to find the door of a bedchamber flung wide and Señora Diaz, a pale, voluminous wrap clutched to her person and a bed-cap of awesome ugliness framing her distorted features, half-standing, half-swooning against its solid frame. Out of sheer exhaustion her screams were rapidly being reduced to a series of hysterical, incoherent emissions as she stared wild-eyed into the room.
It required no great straining of intellect to deduce that the bedchamber was Consuelo’s or that he would find it empty; nevertheless, he pushed past the duenna to discover for himself what was the reason for so violent an outburst. He found Consuelo’s maid, Maria, also in tears as she crouched on the floor in front of the dressing table over something which at first he took to be a discarded garment of black silk.
Only when he stooped to touch it did he discover it to be hair ‒ great raggedly cut swathes of Consuelo’s beautiful hair. He gathered up a handful and found himself shaken by a wave of anger ‒ and illogically, it was not so much engendered by the way she had deceived him as by her ruthless desecration of something so exquisite.
He stood up to find that a small crowd had gathered in the doorway in a motley array of night attire ranging from the exotic frogged dressing gown of Lord Cowley, to the snowy white folds of Madame Garrishe’s robe. All were agog to know the cause of the fuss.
Before he could speak, however, the crowd parted to admit Lady Covington wearing a floating peignoir of palest pink. She appeared, as ever, unruffled.
‘Why, Señora Diaz, whatever is wrong?’ She stepped past her without waiting for answer. ‘Captain Bannion ‒ where is Consuelo?’
‘Where indeed, ma’am?’ Apart from a harsh little laugh, his voice was carefully expressionless, though his eyes blazed with a queer intensity. He was, in fact, cursing himself for not foreseeing this turn of events. ‘I very much fear the bird has flown the coop.’
‘Flown?’ She was admirably composed. ‘Why, whatever can you mean ‒ flown?’
