Regency Buck (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 3)

‘Money can drive a man to measures more desperate than you have any notion of,’ he said, a hard note in his voice. ‘Worth has made attempt after attempt on Perry’s life. You know it to be true!’

‘No,’ she said faintly. ‘I do not know it to be true. I cannot think – my head feels empty! I must wait until I have seen Perry. How far do we have to travel?’

‘You would not know the place. It is some miles west of Henfield. I was led to it by a series of circumstances – but I will not weary you with all the miserable details.’

She did not speak; her senses were almost overpowered; she could only lean back in her corner, trying to conjure up every recollection that should prove or disprove his accusations. He looked at her compassionately, but seemed to understand her need of silence. Once he said, as though impelled: ‘If I could have spared you! But I could not!’

She tried to answer him, but her voice failed. She turned her head away to stare blindly out of the window.

The carriage was bowling along at a brisk pace, only checking at the turnpikes. For many miles Judith was scarcely aware of the distance they were covering, but when they left the pike-road and branched off on to a rough lane she roused herself, and looking at her cousin in a blank way, said: ‘Have we to go much farther? We must have come a long way. Should we not change horses?’

‘It will not be necessary,’ he replied. ‘This pair can accomplish the journey, for the carriage is a light one. We have only another ten miles to go. An hour should see us safely arrived.’

‘If I find Perry – alive, all the rest can – must – be borne!’ she said. ‘Forgive me for being so silent a companion! I cannot talk of it.’

He pressed her hand. ‘I understand. When we arrive will be time enough for all that must be said.’

‘Is – is Lord Worth at this place?’ she asked.

‘No, he is in London.You need not fear having to meet him.’

‘But why has he – why is Perry kept in this place you are taking me to? If all you have said is true, how comes he to be alive? Surely –’

‘You will know presently,’ he said.

She said no more. The carriage was jolting along a twisting lane between high, tangled hedgerows; a scent of hay was wafted in on the warm air; occasionally she caught a glimpse of a vista of rolling fields, with a blue background of hills in the distance. As they plunged deeper into the country, and she felt herself to be within reach of Peregrine, the numbness that had been clogging her brain gave way to an impatience to arrive. She turned to her cousin and demanded: ‘Are we never to reach this place? Why did you not have the horses changed half-way?’

‘We are nearly there now,’ he answered.

In another five minutes the weary horses had turned in through a gateway, and were going at a jog-trot up the rough cart-track that led between rank fields to a fair-sized cottage, nestling in a hollow of the ground. It was surrounded by a fenced garden, and a huddle of outhouses. A few hens were to be seen, and a pig was rootling amongst some cabbages at the back of the cottage. Judith, leaning forward to see more plainly, turned with an expression of surprise on her face. ‘But this is nothing but a villager’s cottage!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is Perry kept here?’

He opened the door and sprang out, letting down the steps for her. She could scarcely wait, but almost jumped down on to the ground, and pushing open the low gate, walked quickly up the path to the cottage.

The door was opened before she had time to knock on it by an old woman with wispy grey hair, and the rather vacant look in her eyes which belongs to the very deaf. She dropped a curtsy to Judith, and in the same breath begged her to step in, and to excuse her not hearing very plain.

Judith swung round to face her cousin, her brows drawing close over the bridge of her nose. ‘Peregrine?’ she said sharply.

He laid a hand that shook on her arm. ‘Go in, cousin, I cannot explain it to you on the doorstep.’

She saw his coachman leading the horses round to one of the barns at the back of the house. Her eyes darkened with suspicion. ‘Where is Peregrine?’

‘For God’s sake, Judith, let us go in! I will tell you everything, but not before this woman!’

She looked down at the deaf woman, who was still holding the door, and nodding and smiling at her, and then stepped over the threshold into a narrow passage with some stairs at the end of it. Bernard Taverner threw open a door and disclosed a low-pitched but roomy apartment with windows at each end, which was evidently the parlour. Judith went in without hesitation, and waited for him to close the door again. ‘Peregrine is not here?’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘No. I could think of no other way to bring you. Do not judge me too harshly! To deceive you with such seeming heartlessness has been the most painful thing of all! But you would

never have come with me. You would have gone to town with Audley, and been tricked into marrying him. You must – you shall forgive me!’

‘Where is Peregrine?’ she interrupted.

‘I believe him to be dead. I do not know. Do you think if I did I would not have led you to him? Worth made away with him –’

‘Worth!’ she said. ‘No, not Worth! I am asking you! What have you done to Perry? Answer me!’

‘Judith, I swear to you I know no more than you do what has become of him! I had no hand in that. What do I care for Peregrine, or his fortune? Have I proved myself so false that you can believe that of me? It is you I want, have wanted from the day I first saw you! I never meant it to be like this, but what could I do, what other course was open to me? Nothing I could have said would have prevented you from going to London with Audley, and once you were in his and Worth’s hands, what hope had I of saving you from that iniquitous marriage? Again and again I have warned you not to trust Worth, but you have not heeded me! Then came Peregrine’s disappearance, and once more you would not listen to me. Even so, I should have shrunk from taking this step had I not seen the marriage-licence in Audley’s possession. But I knew then that if I was to save you from being the victim of Worth’s fiendish schemes I must act drastically – treacherously, if you will! – but yet because I love you!’

She sank down on a chair beside the table, and buried her face in her hands. ‘What does that matter?’ she asked. ‘I do not know whether you are speaking the truth or not; I do not care. Perry is all that signifies.’ Her hands fell; she stretched them out to him. ‘Cousin, whatever you have done I can forgive, if you will only tell me Perry is not dead!’