Beyond The Blue Mountains - Plaidy Jean (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений .txt) 📗

“You are an observant man,” Kitty told him.” Tis my belief our friend Marcus comes from some great family and likes to haunt our poor neighbourhood for the amusement it gives him!”

Jonathan talked on, asking questions about Marcus, but he did not seem to care very much whether or not he received answers. Kitty had never noticed before what long arms he had, what strong-looking, ugly hands.

Carolan sat by the table, not attending; now and then she touched the letter in the bodice of her dress.

Kitty turned the conversation back to Vauxhall. She was sure Jonathan would come upon them, supposedly, by accident. When a hot-blooded man is roused to passion, that is natural enough, but when it happens to a cold man, why then it can be catastrophic and most entertaining.

Kitty patted her hair and smiled slyly across the table at Carolan. Odd that he should prefer her, surely; but then perhaps it was not so odd!

At the end of that day when they visited Vauxhall Gardens, Carolan sat at her window, looking down on the moonlit street. It was just on midnight; her mother had gone to bed worn out with the day’s excitement, but Carolan could not sleep. She was too disturbed. Her eyes felt hot and weary, as though they had stared too long at some over-bright light, and her emotions were mixed ones.

The illuminations, like constellations, had been wonderful. They had enchanted her; and indeed there had been much in the sylvan scene to enchant her; the delightful paths, the hedges, the trees; and in addition the picturesque pavilions and colonnades; the porticos, the statues, the paintings, the ornate pillars. There had been so much on which to feast the eyes that they grew weary. And the people … a never-ending stream of them, loud-voiced ladies and their gallants, merchants, apprentices; everyone there had been bent on pleasure.

And then that ugly little incident to spoil it all! Who else had seen? Had Kitty? No, definitely not. She had been too enthralled by the glamorous scenes about her. Darrell? She did not think so. But she, Carolan, had seen … and so had Jonathan Crew.

Now she must go over it all again leaving the shop in the hired cabriolet, laughing a good deal at nothing in particular, because the excursion put them all in such high spirits. Darrell included; and so to Vauxhall.

It had been late afternoon when they arrived.

“Wait,” Darrell had said, ‘until the lamps are lighted; it is then that Vauxhall can enchant the eye.”

It had enchanted Carolan right from the beginning; also Kitty. Dear Mamma, in her hat with the big plumes which she imagined made her look very much as Mrs. Fitzherbert had looked in her heyday.

“They say, my dear, that I am the dead spit of what she was! And in this hat … and in this gown … Look! Are not people glancing this way?”

“We must see everything,” said Darrell.

“We must miss nothing!” countered Carolan.

Delightful it was to sit in carved wooden seats under gracious trees, eating sliced ham and sipping syllabub. She had told herself then that she would enjoy telling Everard all about this when she was with him in the country. The day we went to Vauxhall!” It would stand out in her memory as a golden day, and she would remember Darrell faintly flushed with the pleasure he was giving his family, and Mamma, proud in her plumed hat and the knowledge that her resemblance to Mrs. Fitzherbert was indeed remarkable; and herself from the country, drinking in all the excitements of the place.

Such a lot of people seemed to know Darrell. There were nods from some; others exchanged a few words with him; and not one of them did he introduce to his wife and daughter.

“Business acquaintances, my dead’ he whispered.

“Not the kind for you to meet.”

“Ah!” Carolan laughed.

“Big ideas you have of your family since bringing them by cabriolet to Vauxhall Gardens!”

They were sitting at a table under the trees when they saw Jonathan Crew coming towards them. Even he, thought Carolan, was affected by the scene. The faintest colour showed beneath his tight skin; excited, he seemed, and his eyes glittered more brightly than usual, or perhaps that was the light, for the lights had been lit at that time.

He was almost shy with Darrell, half apologetic. Kitty had watched them from under her long lashes. Piquant scene I she was thinking, Carolan knew. Poor darling Mamma, who had been so very beautiful and sought after in her youth that her confidence in her charms was as sturdy a growth as that of the young oak tree behind them!

“Unusual to meet you here!” said Jonathan.

“Do you often pass an hour or two in the gardens?”

Darrell said it was a treat for the little girl, who would so soon be returning to the country.

Kitty was demure, eyes cast down. She did not say that she had told Jonathan they would be here. This was intrigue such as Kitty loved. Carolan did not greatly care for it, but it seemed harmless enough.

“May I join in your feast of ham and syllabub?” Jonathan asked humbly, and Kitty looked modestly askance at Darrell as though, without his consent, she would not dare to ask the newcomer to sup with them.

They talked lightly of the weather, of the gardens, of the poor quality of the champagne which was served here, of the elegance of the grottoes and rotundas, of the charm of the music to be heard from not far off.

Perhaps, but for her sharp eyes, Carolan would not have seen what she did see. It had seemed a trivial incident. Kitty did not notice it; she was too busy noting the dresses of the women, the glances of the men; Darrell’s eyes were short-sighted, so he contented himself with admiring his Kitty in her Fitzherbert hat.

On the other side of the portico sat a lady, her face half covered by a mask. Now Carolan knew she was a lady of fashion in spite of the long, dark, concealing cloak she wore. Carolan had had a glimpse of a fine leather slipper and a rich gown. She was talking to a man who sat beside her, leaning towards her as though to catch every word she uttered. Carolan guessed that the lady was here clandestinely meeting her lover, and the concealing cloak and the mask pointed to the fact that she did not wish to be recognized. That would account for her choosing Vauxhall Gardens as a rendezvous, for so few of her own class would come there on a Saturday evening. She was wondering about them when the man came by. He was a thick-set man wearing the most elegant of coats, and his breeches were so tight that they seemed like a dark skin about his legs. So deep in thought he appeared, that he walked straight into the table where the lady and gentleman sat. The lady gave a little cry, while the man in the elegant coat gripped the table as though to steady himself. For half a second Carolan saw his hands, and then looked up at his face. She was about to speak, but he had apologized and moved on. Then she was aware of Jonathan’s watching her. Not a word did she say of this. If she told Kitty, Kitty would say: “In an elegant coat, did you say? Ah! I knew it! Then Marcus Markham is a gentleman of fashion who amuses himself by taking a cup of tea with us now and then.” And she would weave fresh dreams about the man.

There the incident would have ended, had they left the table and gone on their way as they might so easily have done, having finished their repast. But they sat on until that moment when the lady started up from her seat and cried: “My purse! I swear it was here a moment ago. Where can it be?”

Then Carolan went cold with fear, for she had seen those long, tapering fingers resting on the table, and she remembered that occasion when she had first seen Marcus and he had pointed the way while he so deftly extracted her handkerchief. There was now no doubt in her mind; Marcus was a practised thief!

She wished they had gone before the lady had cried out that she had lost her purse; she wished she need not know. That was foolish and illogical; Everard had once said she was illogical. But I liked him, she thought, I liked him! I did not want to know that he was a thief. She seemed to heat the cool voice of Everard saying: “But if he was, it was better to know it.”