The Wildest Rake

‘I will never marry you, sir. Never. ‘

He walked to the door without reply. She pursued him, her skirts flouncing around her, and caught at his arm, furious that he should walk out of the room leaving her in such a turmoil.

He looked down at her, his mouth rigid.

She panted, ‘I mean what I say. You need expect no other answer, sir. I would die rather than marry you. ‘

He gently removed her hand from his arm and dropped it. ‘My dear,’ he said flatly, ‘events have moved too fast. You must marry me.’ '

Then, with a slight bow, he left her, and she stared in total bewilderment at the closed door. What did he mean? Must marry him?

After a moment, the door opened and her parents hurried in, their faces anxious as they stared at her.

‘Why has Sir Rendel gone? Why did he not stay to see us?’ The Alderman’s voice was sharp.

‘I have refused him,’ she said in a voice which, for all her determination, shook.

‘Refused him?’ He repeated the words as though he did not understand her. Her father stared at her blankly. Slowly the colour drained out of his face and he swayed on his feet. ‘My God, child,’ he said, his voice rising shrilly. ‘My God, you have ruined us all.’

He stepped towards her, his hands shaking. She thought for one terrible moment that he was going to strike her. Then he gave a choked cry and fell heavily, his hands scrabbling at his chest, making a horrid sound in his throat.

Mistress Brent screamed, her hand at her mouth. Then she knelt down beside him, sobbing. ‘Husband, what is it? God have mercy, husband. Speak to us!’

But he said nothing.

Cornelia watched in stupified horror. Her mother, loosening the Alderman’s cravat, looked up at her in bitterness. ‘You selfish, wicked girl. You have killed your father.’

Her outburst made Cornelia shrink back, white-faced and incredulous. Her mother had never spoken to her with such hostility before.

‘Fetch the doctor,’ Mistress Brent added, after a pause in which they stared at each other dumbly. Her tone had slackened, become weary, and she rubbed a hand over her eyes as she spoke. ‘Hurry!’

Cornelia found Thomas in the pantry, polishing the pewter, and sent him running for Andrew. She fetched some water, mixed it with wine and went back to her mother. Mistress Brent had placed a pillow beneath her husband’s head. One of the maids was standing, watching with bulging eyes, while Mistress Brent fanned a small bundle of burnt feathers under the Alderman’s nose.

‘Oh, Mistress Brent,’ the maid wailed. ‘Is the master dead?’

Mistress Brent gave her a sharp look, but before she could snap in reply the Alderman choked and stirred, and she returned her attention to him in relief. His eyes remained shut. There was no colour in his face at all.

Cornelia placed the cup of wine and water on the floor beside her mother. Mistress Brent looked at it dully.

‘He cannot drink while he is not conscious,’ she said.

‘It is for you,’ Cornelia said gently. She signed to the maid to leave them. The girl reluctantly slipped out, but listened at the door, sensing that something was afoot. The Alderman must have had some great shock to bring about this collapse —and the girl was determined to find out what had happened.

‘I hope you are pleased with your work,’ said Mistress Brent savagely, her hand clasping her husband’s limp fingers.

‘You are unjust, Mother,’ Cornelia whispered. ‘How could I know that to refuse Sir Rendel would bring on such an attack? You said nothing to me beforehand. The whole matter was suddenly sprung on me.’

Her mother sighed wearily and said in gentler tones, ‘No, you could not know, I suppose. We had not wished to worry you. Your father has, as you know, been rather extravagant lately. We hoped to recoup when the Eagle put into port. She was carrying a cargo of silk for your father. We heard today that she had gone down in a storm. All hope that we might come about has now gone.’

Cornelia listened, trying to understand. ‘You mean it’s true? My father really meant that we are ruined?’

Mistress Brent closed her eyes briefly, her face wrung by despair. ‘Ruined,’ she repeated.

Cornelia could not take it in, could not visualise the many consequences that must follow. She sat on the floor, staring at her father. Was he going to die?’

Andrew hurried in and knelt down beside the Alderman. He drew up the pale lids, opened his mouth and peered down his throat, listened to his heart.

Then he rose. ‘He must be carried to bed at once. Where is Thomas? We can manage it between us, I think.’