The Viscount's Revenge (The Royal Ambition Series Book 4) Page 12

  Then she remembered Richard and the jewels, and was all at once in a fever to be gone.

  The wait for the carriages seemed endless; then there was chitchat over the tea tray at Berkeley Square for what seemed hours, although it was only half an hour, and at last everyone, with the exception of that almost permanent houseguest, Lady Mary, left.

  Amanda sat on the edge of her bed, watching the little gilt clock on the mantel, her heart thudding so loudly that it seemed to drown out the chattering tick-tock of the clock.

  The time was one-thirty. How slowly the hands moved at first! And how fast they began to race as two o’clock neared!

  She crept very quietly down the stairs, still wearing the blue silk gown she had worn to the theater—a Christmas present from Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  The long train of the dress made a soft shur-shurring sound on the stairs and she impatiently caught it up and carried it over her arm.

  Very quietly she unbarred the door and then turned the great key in the lock.

  The grandfather clock behind her gave a loud whir preparatory to striking the hour and she nearly jumped out of her skin with fright.

  A fire was burning in the hall and the flames sent their shadows dancing up the walls. In every moving shadow she thought she saw the heavy, bulky figure of the thief-taker.

  And then the door began to open.

  “Richard,” hissed Amanda as he cautiously put his head around the door. “Oh, Richard! I thought you would never come!” And great tears of relief began to roll down her face.

  “Stop blubbing,” he said sharply, “and help me with the curst box.”

  It was a small square black iron box with a handle at either end. Amanda seized one handle and Richard took the other. They lowered the box gently to the floor.

  “I’ve got a note,” said Richard. “I scribbled it to make it look as if it had been written by a semiliterate person.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Only ‘Here’s the jewels. We’re sorry.’”

  “Can you stay?”

  “Of course I can’t, stoopid. How is Susan?”

  “Very well. She is quite the fashion.”

  “Susan!”

  “Yes, Susan. And she has become amazing vain.”

  “Now, Amanda, you’re jealous.”

  “I am not jealous!”

  “Who’s there!” cried a voice from upstairs.

  Amanda and Richard clutched each other in fright.

  “Quickly! Go!” said Amanda.

  “No. Whoever it is might give chase, and I’ll be caught by the watch,” hissed Richard. “Hide! Over here!”

  They crept quietly into a corner of the hall, far away from the dancing light of the fire, and hid behind the massive grandfather clock.

  They heard the soft swish of silk, and then a man’s voice calling again. “Who’s below?”

  Silence.

  Richard looked around the corner of the clock and gave a muttered exclamation of dismay. Amanda put her hand softly over his mouth and then asked softly, “Who is it?”

  “Hawksborough,” said Richard in a faint whisper.

  Steps could be heard descending the stairs. Holding a candle, Lord Hawksborough walked across the hall to the door. He was wearing a magnificent peacock-blue silk dressing gown with gold frogs.

  He almost stumbled over the box. He stopped and looked down. Slowly he stooped and picked up the letter which was lying on top of the box and quickly scanned the contents. His face looked hard and grim.

  He picked up the box and tucked it under one arm. Then he raised his candle high and his eyes raked around the hall.

  Then he crossed quickly to the wall opposite from where Richard and Amanda were standing and pulled savagely on the bell rope.

  Richard felt behind him with his hand and found the door to the Red Drawing Room. He opened the door and gently eased himself and Amanda inside and thankfully closed the door.

  They stayed close together, pressing their ears to the panels of the door, hearing the sleepy, protesting voice of the butler saying that the outside door had been barred because he had seen to it himself.

  More servants were called, and more questions.

  What if they search the house! thought Amanda wildly. How could she explain Richard’s presence?

  At last there was the sound of the door being barred and locked again.

  More voices, and then silence.

  Still they waited. “Half-past two and a starry night. All’s well!” called the gloomy voice of the watch from the square.

  Only half an hour, thought Amanda. I feel as if we have been waiting here a lifetime.

  They waited and waited until at last they heard the watch cry the three o’clock. Both of them were stiff with cold and tension.

  “Now!” said Richard.

  He gently eased open the door of the Red Drawing Room and they slipped into the hall.

  The fire had died down and the hall was shrouded in a welcome blackness.

  Taking infinite pains not to make the slightest noise, Richard unbarred the door. He gave Amanda a quick hug, and vanished as silently as a shadow out into the street.

  Forcing herself not to rush, Amanda lowered the bars over the door and softly turned the key again, and locked it.

  It took a tremendous effort not to make a blind headlong dash for the stairs.

  She moved slowly and carefully, putting one foot in front of the other, holding her train over her arm.

  She passed the oil lamp’s light of the first landing, and thankfully ascended up into the darkness of the second flight of stairs.

  A sound below made her swing around, and for one split second she saw Lord Hawksborough, and immediately turned fully around as if she were descending the stairs. And not a moment too soon. For he held up his candle so that the ring of light caught the hem of her dress.

  “It’s Amanda, isn’t it?” he said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Welcome home, my lord,” said Amanda, coming down the stairs, amazed to find her own voice sounding so calm. “I could not sleep and thought I heard a noise and came to investigate.”

  “It is obvious you could not sleep,” he said, looking her up and down. “You are still fully dressed. You may as well come and talk to me.” He turned and led the way to the library.

  Amanda knew that she should plead fatigue, in case something in her face gave her away. And she did not mean to betray her knowledge of the theft of the jewels. She was frightened he would read in her eyes her overwhelming happiness that he was home again. But he drew her like a magnet.

  He lit the candle in the library and turned and looked at her again. For a long moment they studied each other. He was wearing a thin cambric nightshirt under his dressing gown and his black hair was tousled as if he had run his fingers through it. His bare feet were thrust into red morocco slippers.

  Lord Hawksborough thought Amanda had changed. The blue gown was cut low to reveal the top halves of her two excellent white breasts. Her hair had been curled and arranged in a Grecian style for the play, but now it was reverting to its usual cloud of curls which framed her piquant face and elfin eyes.

  He felt something tug at his heart and quickly told her about finding the jewels.

  To his surprise, she did not exclaim or look startled, merely said in a matter-of-fact way, “Well, Mr. Townsend will be glad to stop his search.”

  “Why should he do that?” asked Lord Hawksborough. “Do not stand over by the door, Amanda. Come and sit by the fire. I have no intention of calling off Mr. Townsend. I want these thieves arrested.”

  “But why?” asked Amanda, moving quickly to the seat by the fire and averting her face from his so that he might not see her distress. “You have the jewels.”

  “My dear Amanda, I have the jewels, as you point out. I also have my pride. One of these ruffians had the temerity to rob me from the back of a donkey. A donkey! And the other deliberately set out to humiliate me by taking my r
ing. That ring, my dear Amanda, was a personal present from the Prince Regent when I was awarded my viscountcy.”

  “But—”

  “I weary of this perpetual topic of the highwaymen. Forget them. It is a job for the law. Now, tell me how you have been getting on.”

  He sat down opposite her, and the warmth in his eyes made Amanda want to cry.

  He had no right to walk back into her life and casually pick up her heart and wrench it like a spoiled child mangling a cast-off toy.

  “When did you get back?” she asked.

  “This evening. While you were at the play. I was tired and went straight to bed. Something awoke me. I thought I heard a faint sound from below. But that brings us back to the jewels.” He moved to pour her a glass of wine and the great ruby ring once more blazed on his hand. “Tell me how you go on,” he insisted. “Have you a beau?”

  “Not yet.” Amanda smiled. “It is Susan who is become the succès fou of society. She is become the fashion.”

  “I hope it does not go to her head. Eccentrics are often fêted out of Season and totally ignored in it. Or has her manner changed?”

  “I don’t know. Yes… it has changed…”

  “But not for the better?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “But your eyes did. Also that quick nervous turn of your head. You have changed. You are become a woman, Amanda.”

  His eyes rested fleetingly on her bosom and returned to her face.

  “And you,” said Amanda. “Was your business successful?”

  “I achieved what I set out to achieve, in one way. In the other, no, I think I have failed to convince my masters of the seriousness of the situation.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “Perhaps. A little. You must not tell anyone. Even Richard.”

  “I will not tell.”

  He studied her in silence and then settled back in his chair.

  “I shall tell you,” he said at last. “I went to meet a piece of history, but I fear that piece of history is shortly going to create future trouble.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “I shall begin at the beginning. I went to see Napoleon.”

  “That monster! But he is in prison, is he not?”

  “He rides about the island of Elba like a lord on his country estate. I set about getting an audience with him. This I did by positioning myself beside the road from Porto Ferrajo and waiting until he came riding past. I pulled off my hat and made him a low bow. Napoleon stopped with Drouot, who was riding with him, and asked, ‘Qui êtes-vous?’ I am sorry, Amanda. Do you understand French?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Very well. He said, ‘Who are you?’ and I replied, ‘An Englishman.’ He asked, ‘Are you a soldier?’ I shook my head. ‘Shopkeeper?’ I shook my head again. ‘Alors, you are a gentleman,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  “He said he was going to his country house in San Martino and we would talk there. Once we arrived at San Martino, Napoleon took me into a small room and shut the door.

  “He seemed used to being treated like a sort of curiosity and said I could ask him any questions I liked.

  “I asked him the first one that came to mind. I asked, ‘Why did you stay so long at Moscow? That was the beginning of your downfall.’

  “He replied, ‘I looked over the meteorological tables for the last thirty years, and never but once had the winter set in so early, by five weeks, as it did in 1812. I could not foresee that. I made mistakes, as every man does, in the many years that I have been in public life and a soldier—perhaps ten a day.’

  “Napoleon went on to say that he thought Wellington was a brave man. He said he would sooner trust him with one hundred thousand men than any of his generals, even Soult. He often laughed violently, great bursts of laughter, and he flew from one topic to the next. He asked me what I thought of the Princess Charlotte and whether she was not a person of spirit and character. The next minute he raged about reports that when he was at council he used to cut the chairs and even the throne with his penknife.

  “I asked him if he were afraid of assassination. ‘Not by the English,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps by the Corsicans. They do not love me.’

  “I perhaps should have assassinated him myself,” said Lord Hawksborough, pouring more wine for himself and Amanda.

  “But why?”

  “Listen! I asked the all-important question. I asked if he had any ambitions to return to French soil and be restored to his former glory. He shrugged and said, ‘Mon rôle est fini.’ He said he was writing his history. ‘Napoleon is always Napoleon,’ he said, ‘and always will know how to be content to bear any fortune.’

  “But as I took my leave of him, he said again, ‘Mon rôle est fini,’ my role is finished, but he followed it up with a great burst of laughter which had a mocking edge. The island was alive with rumours of his planned escape.

  “And so I returned to London and advised my masters that the Emperor should be moved forthwith to a more secure place of confinement. But they shrugged and thanked me for my services and said I would be suitably rewarded, but that there was no danger in the world of Napoleon ever escaping from Elba.”

  Lord Hawksborough stretched and yawned. “I am devilish tired, Amanda.”

  “Then come to bed!” laughed a voice from the doorway.

  Lady Mary stood watching them with a warm smile on her lips which did not meet her eyes. She was wearing a white peignoir of pink cashmere with a Persian border.

  “How long have you been there listening?” demanded Lord Hawksborough.

  “I did not listen at all,” protested Lady Mary. “My dear Charles, such a welcome!”

  He walked forward and raised her hand and kissed it. She wound her arms about him and leaned back and looked at him through half-closed lids. “Well, Charles, are you not glad to see me?”

  Lord Hawksborough put his arms about her, but he turned his head slightly towards where Amanda was now standing.

  “Miss Colby,” said Lady Mary in a caressing voice. “Do you not feel you are somewhat de trop?”

  “I was just going,” said Amanda, blushing to the roots of her hair. She ran from the room and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she hurled herself facedown on the bed and bit the counterpane in an access of pain and mortification. How could he embrace Lady Mary so? The library was where she, Amanda, talked to him.

  “But they were not talking when you left, nor interested in talking,” prompted her inner voice.

  Amanda had just made up her mind to have a really good sort of wallowing bout of tears when she became aware that someone was throwing pebbles at her window.

  She knew that sound of old, because Richard used to throw pebbles at her bedroom window at Fox End when he returned from one of his late-night fishing expeditions.

  She lifted the sash of the window and looked down into the square.

  It was indeed Richard standing under the parish lamp.

  “You’ll need to let me in,” he said in a faint whisper. “I haven’t enough money to pay my shot at an inn.”

  “Hammer on the knocker and tell them you are just arrived,” hissed Amanda.

  “Daren’t! Too risky. Might think it a coincidence. Oxford stage got in hours ago. Frightened they connect me with the jewels.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Amanda, although she thought he was being ridiculous. Any servant would assume he had been out drinking with friends. Then she thought crossly that they should both have thought of that in the first place instead of all this havey-cavey business. Richard should simply have arrived with the jewels hidden in his luggage.

  She ran downstairs again, this time unafraid she would be heard. She unbarred and unlocked the door.

  Richard followed her silently upstairs and Amanda held her tongue until they were both locked in her bedroom.

  “This secrecy is silly, Richard,” she said. “You could simply have walked through the front door.”

/>   “I suppose so,” said Richard. “But I am afraid that we will still be found out. Let us hope Townsend has been called off.”

  “He hasn’t,” replied Amanda. “My lord told me this evening that he still wants the highwaymen brought to justice.”

  “I can’t be found here,” said Richard, looking about wildly. “He’ll think it monstrous strange if I turn up the same night as the jewels.”