The House at Bell Orchard Read online

  Charmian nodded, and looked with a shy smile at Lady Wychwood. “He was very kind,” she agreed. “I am exceedingly grateful to him.”

  Her ladyship regarded her kindly, for her first impression of Charmian Tarrant was a favourable one. “I am happy to think that my son was at hand to offer his assistance,” she replied. “Is this your first visit to Sussex, Miss Tarrant?”

  Charmian’s eyes clouded. “Yes, it is,” she said in a low voice. “I lived in Richmond until—until my father died.”

  Lady Wychwood uttered a civil expression of sympathy and tactfully turned the conversation to other topics, and Mrs. Fenshawe responded eagerly. She seemed unwilling for them to speak of personal matters, and though this might have been prompted by a desire to spare Miss Tarrant’s feelings, Dorothy did not feel that this was the case.

  She remembered Piers saying the previous day that he felt the circumstances of Miss Tarrant’s presence at Bell Orchard were not altogether ordinary, and, for Dorothy, this was more than enough. She had a vivid imagination and a tendency to let it get the better of her, so that she was for ever dramatizing the most commonplace incidents, and seeing mystery and drama where neither existed. Having already cast Charmian Tarrant in a romantic role, it was not difficult to picture her as the victim of some sinister plot, from which it would, of course, be necessary for Piers to rescue her. The fact it might be exceedingly difficult to persuade her practical and levelheaded brother to enter into the adventurous spirit of such an undertaking was something which, for the present, Miss Wychwood was disposed to ignore.

  It was obvious, however, that she would be carrying out his wishes by establishing a cordial relationship with Miss Tarrant, so she made every effort to be pleasant to her, and followed this up, as she and her mother were leaving, with an ingenuous suggestion that perhaps Mrs. Fenshawe and her guest would care to visit them at Wychwood Chase in the near future. Lady Wychwood, who had found Miss Tarrant sufficiently to her liking to wonder secretly whether there was any foundation for Dorothy’s outrageous suggestion the previous day, at once confirmed the invitation, but Mrs. Fenshawe, giving Charmian no chance to speak, said quickly:

  “It is most kind of your ladyship, but since Miss Tarrant is in mourning, it cannot be thought proper for her to go into company.”

  “My dear Mrs. Fenshawe, I would not dream of suggesting that she should,” her ladyship replied in shocked tones. “There can be nothing amiss, though, in you and her spending an hour or so with us one day, if you would care to do so.”

  “Oh, Lavinia, may we not go?” Charmian said eagerly. “I do not wish to seem lacking in respect for Papa’s memory, but I would so much like to accept Lady Wychwood’s invitation.”

  Mrs. Fenshawe realized that she was fairly trapped. To persist in a refusal would seem churlish, and might even arouse unwelcome suspicion if Lady Wychwood mentioned the matter to her son. With a smile which successfully masked seething anger, she said lightly:

  “Of course, my love, if you feel yourself equal to paying calls we can most certainly go. You know that I am willing to do anything that will give you pleasure.”

  It was arranged that the visit should take place three days later, and as the time approached, Charmian realized that she was looking forward to it with an eagerness out of all proportion to so small a diversion. This was not merely because she had taken an instant liking to the Wychwoods, or even because she was lonely and unhappy at Bell Orchard. At the back of her mind, like a threatening shadow darkening all her days, was the thought of the disclosures which Colonel Fenshawe had made to her before returning to London. These had profoundly shocked and frightened her, and raised in her mind numerous unanswerable questions. Was there any real danger to the peace and security of England in the activities of which he had spoken, or were he and his associates deluding themselves into believing that they could further a cause already lost? Was it her duty, in spite of the Colonel’s veiled threats, to inform the authorities of what she had been told? Would they believe her, and what punishment would she suffer at Fenshawe’s hands?

  It seemed to Charmian that every attempt she made to solve her problems merely created others, more formidable than those which had gone before. The things which Fenshawe had told her cast a new and sinister light upon his desire to see her married to his son. Her father’s fortune had been swallowed by the insatiable demands of the Stuart cause; was her own destined to go the same way? Harry might be firm in his refusal to marry her, but she could not forget that he had a brother, who had already proved to be her most persistent suitor. If the Colonel failed to browbeat his elder son into marriage, he might well do all in his power to make her the wife of the younger.

  It was in vain that she reminded herself that the ultimate decision, now that her father was dead, rested with her alone. Her present situation offered no encouragement to such thoughts, and she began to sense a devious purpose behind the suggestion that she should visit Bell Orchard. She felt herself isolated there, cut off from the few friends she had. She had written to Mrs. Brownhill soon after her arrival in Sussex, but had received no reply; now it was plain that Lavinia was averse to her striking up a friendship with the Wychwoods, and that knowledge fostered in Charmian a desperate determination to pursue the acquaintance at all costs. She was growing increasingly certain that danger of some kind lurked at Bell Orchard, and she must have friends to turn to in case of need.

  The day chosen for their visit to Wychwood Chase was warm and bright, thus depriving Lavinia of any excuse not to go, and this put her into an ill-humour at the outset. She complained incessantly as they drove along the dusty road, past farm and cottage and into Wychwood End. Crossing the old stone bridge that here spanned the sleepy river, they left the village behind them and presently passed into the shade of the woods. Here the road began its gradual ascent of the hill, and soon they were passing the scene of the accident and entering the avenue of chestnut trees. Charmian’s thoughts went back to the last time she had seen this place, and she found herself wondering whether Sir Piers would be at home that day. Apparently Lavinia’s thoughts had been led along similar lines, for she remarked peevishly:

  “Heaven grant we are spared young Wychwood’s company this afternoon, for though I can occasionally tolerate his mother and sister, him I find unendurable at any time! I do not know why I allowed myself to be persuaded into this visit at all!”

  “Why do you dislike him so?” Charmian asked curiously. “I thought he was most kind.”

  “Kind?” Lavinia gave a short, angry laugh. “What kindness is to be found in that sort of patronizing civility? The trouble with Sir Piers, my dear Charmian, is that he can never forget for an instant that he is Wychwood of Wychwood, the great man of these parts. He fancies that gives him the right to ride rough-shod over everyone, and has the impertinence to look down upon any who do not conform to his narrow, countrified standards of behaviour. Oh, I detest the man, and there’s an end to it!”

  Charmian said no more, but she thought she now had the answer to the puzzle of Mrs. Fenshawe’s dislike of Sir Piers. It had its roots in jealousy and resentment. The Wychwoods were undoubtedly the most important local family, and that was galling to anyone who, like Lavinia, must always hold the centre of the stage. Even more galling must be Sir Piers’ very evident lack of interest in her as a woman. In London she was always surrounded by admirers; she thrived on masculine admiration, and it must be infuriating that the only personable young man within reach, outside her own family, should remain unmoved by her charms.

  When they reached the house and were conducted to the drawing-room, they found only Lady Wychwood and her daughter awaiting them. Mrs. Fenshawe was clearly relieved, but Charmian, responding to her ladyship’s warm welcome and Dorothy’s eager greeting, was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. She overcame it, and forced herself to take part in the somewhat stilted flow of conversation, but Dorothy soon began to show signs of restlessness. Presently, when Charmian commented pol
itely upon the exceptionally fine views afforded by the elevated position of the house, she jumped to her feet and said impetuously:

  “Yes, but they are much finer from the terraces! Come outside with me, Miss Tarrant, and I will show you.” Charmian accepted this invitation eagerly, paying no heed to Lavinia’s look of disapproval, and followed Dorothy out into the sunshine. There were three terraces upon either side of the house, and Dorothy, choosing those which looked towards the coast, led the way to the balustrade bordering the highest level.

  “Bell Orchard lies yonder,” she remarked, “though we cannot see the house itself, even from here, because it stands in a hollow.”

  Charmian followed the direction of her pointing hand, and frowned. “There?” she repeated in astonishment. “I supposed it to lie much farther to the left.”

  Dorothy laughed. “That is because the road curves inland to cross the river at Wychwood End.” she explained. “You had to travel nearly four miles to get here, but in reality the two houses are little more than a mile and a half apart. There is a shorter way between them, a bridle-path which leads down through the woods to a ford, and then continues across Colonel Fenshawe’s land. The river marks the boundary between the two estates from a point half a mile above the ford to the sea.”

  “I see,” Charmian said slowly. “Yet at Bell Orchard we are much closer to the sea.”

  “Yes, that is because of the line of the coast Sometimes in winter, when the weather is stormy and the wind blowing from the sea. it seems almost as though the house .were on the shore itself. I do not think I would care to live there.”

  They were walking along the terrace cow. Charmian said casually: “You have known Colonel Fenshawe and his family for a long time?”

  “Yes, all my life, though not as well, of course, as my brother knows them. He and Harry Fenshawe were close friends as boys. They are the same age, you know, and they went to the University at the same time and then made the Grand Tour together.”

  “Oh?” Charmian could not conceal her surprise, for she would not have supposed that a serious young man like Sir Piers had much in common with Harry Fenshawe. “I did not realize that there was such a degree of intimacy between them.”

  “Well, there is not, nowadays,” Dorothy replied frankly. “The Fenshawes are in London a great deal, and we have not lived there since my father died, so naturally we all meet less often. Mrs. Fenshawe does not care for Bell Orchard, or for our quiet country ways, but, of course, you are aware of that.”

  “Yes,” Charmian agreed in a low voice, “I am aware of it.” She paused, considering her next words. “Forgive me, Miss Wychwood, but I have the impression—a mistaken one, perhaps—that there is an awkwardness, almost an antagonism between the two families. Pray do not think that I am prying into matters which do not concern me, but I am in constant dread of doing or saying something which may give offence in one quarter or another.”

  There was a pause, and then Dorothy said slowly: “Yes, I can understand that you should feel it to be so, for there is a coolness between us. My brother holds strong views upon the duties of a landowner towards his estates and his tenants, and he is occasionally very outspoken. He and the Colonel have disagreed more than once on that score.”

  They had reached the steps of the terrace and descended to the lower level before she spoke again. Then she said abruptly, as though having had some difficulty in reaching the decision to speak at all:

  “I had better be completely frank with you, Miss Tarrant. A little while ago Piers quarrelled very violently with Harry Fenshawe, and I was the cause of it. I suppose I did behave thoughtlessly, but there was no harm in it—after all, I have known Harry since I was a baby. But Piers can be prodigiously strict at times, and when he found us alone together, he said that Harry was not a fit person for me to associate with and I was to have no more to do with him. I had never seen him so angry, for in the ordinary way he is the most even-tempered man alive. Harry, of course, has a quite dreadful temper, and I thought that they were going to come to blows there and then. However, they did not, but that was the end of any semblance of friendship between them. I must say it seems foolish to end it so, for such a paltry reason.”

  Charmian, listening to this artless recital, found that it did not pain her as it would have done only a short time before, though it puzzled her a good deal. If there was this coolness between the two families, why were the Wychwoods exerting themselves to offer friendship to her? Was Sir Piers’ absence today an indication that, in doing so, his mother and sister were going against his wishes? The thought caused her to feel a totally illogical pang of dismay.

  “I trust,” she said carefully after a moment, “that your brother does not, for that reason, look with disfavour upon this visit to his house by Mrs. Fenshawe and myself. I would not wish to be the cause of any further differences between you.”

  Dorothy gave her irrepressible chuckle. “My dear, there is not the least likelihood of that! It was Piers himself who suggested that Mama and I should call upon you the other day. He hopes, I think, that you and I may soon become friends, and, for my part, I should like to believe that he is right.”

  “I hope so, indeed!” Charmian replied earnestly. She did not pause to question Sir Piers’ motive for desiring such a friendship. It could not be the same as Colonel Fenshawe’s, since he could know nothing whatsoever of her circumstances. “The truth is, Miss Wychwood, that my friends are very few.”

  She tried to speak lightly, but the effort was not altogether successful, and on a sudden impulse Dorothy caught the other girl’s hand in her own.

  “I am sorry,” she exclaimed, “but you must not feel that now, you know! I am sure that we are all going to be the best of friends.”

  “Are we?” Charmian halted and turned to face her, speaking with an intensity which startled her companion. “You do not know what it would mean to me to believe that!”

  “Of course you may believe it,” Dorothy replied reassuringly. She could see that Charmian was deeply agitated, and felt somewhat at a loss, for the conversation had taken a turn she had not expected. So it was with a relief that she saw her brother coming down the steps from the upper terrace, and beckoned imperiously to him to join them.

  He came up, doffing his hat and bowing in response to Charmian’s somewhat flustered curtsy, and expressed his regret that he had not been at home to greet the visitors when they arrived. Dorothy, ignoring this, said with forced gaiety:

  “I have been trying to convince Miss Tarrant, Piers, that we are all going to become very good friends, but I am not sure that she believes me. Come, add your assurances to mine!”

  Charmian flushed scarlet with embarrassment, and Piers directed a quelling glance at Dorothy which did not appear to leave her unduly chastened.

  “That, surely, is for Miss Tarrant to decide,” he said calmly, and turned to Charmian, adding with a smile: “My sister, ma’am, expresses a hope which I share, but she does so, it seems, with more goodwill than delicacy. You must not feel that you are under any obligation to regard us as your friends.”

  “The obligation, sir, is wholly mine,” she replied in a low voice. “I am already indebted to you for your kindness at our first meeting, for which I fear I did not properly thank you.”

  She looked up. at him as she spoke, and he was struck once again by the sadness in her face. This time, however, he thought to read something else in her eyes—a shadow of fear, a tentative appeal for help? He could not be sure, for their glances met for a moment only, and then her eyes were demurely lowered once more and he could no longer see their expression.

  “There is no need to thank me, Miss Tarrant,” he said quietly. “It was a privilege to be of service to you, and pray believe that you may command my help at any time, should the need arise.”

  The words were commonplace enough, yet Charmian felt instinctively that this man said nothing unless he sincerely meant it, and the conviction brought with it a tiny shred of com
fort. Dorothy, looking from one to the other, thought the situation decidedly promising, and hastened to take advantage of it.

  “I have been thinking, Piers,” she informed her brother, “that as this is Miss Tarrant’s first visit to Sussex, and I believe Mrs. Fenshawe does not care to ride, it would be a good notion for us to show her something of the countryside.”

  “That would certainly give me great pleasure,” he assented at once, “but it must be as Miss Tarrant wishes.” He turned to Charmian, adding seriously: “What do you say, ma’am? We know that you are not here on a visit of pleasure, but if it would divert you to explore the countryside hereabouts, I assure you that Dorothy and I will be most happy to be your guides.”

  “You are very kind, sir, and I would like it exceedingly,” Charmian replied eagerly. “I was used to ride a great deal, for I have lived in the country all my life. But I do not know whether it would be considered seemly for me to do so at present.”

  “We will ask Mama,” Dorothy said firmly, “for if she says it will be quite proper, Miss Tarrant, you may depend upon it that it is so.”

  “That is quite true,” Piers agreed with a smile. “Will you permit my mother to advise you in this, ma’am? I believe you may do so with complete confidence.”

  Charmian smiled shyly back at him. She was quite willing to be guided by Lady Wychwood’s opinion, for she knew without any doubt at all that if the decision were left to Mrs. Fenshawe, the project would be instantly forbidden.

  “I am sure I may, Sir Piers,” she replied, “and if her ladyship thinks it proper, it will make me very happy to accept so kind an invitation.”

  “Then let us seek her opinion without delay,” he suggested, and offered her his arm. She laid her hand upon it and allowed him to lead her back towards the house, while Dorothy, following them, silently congratulated herself upon the initial success of her first attempt at matchmaking. She had no hesitation in taking upon herself full credit for this very promising beginning.