Chapter 32

32

The next few days were a curious time, a sort of limbo. Sophie was free now to go where she pleased about the house, but she had no desire to spend any time in Lord or Lady Wyverne’s company, and carefully avoided places they might be. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t invited to dine with them or otherwise forced into their society, and was glad of it.

She’d been, despite her careless words to Rafe, a little nervous of the Dowager’s reaction to recent events. It had already been obvious to her that Marchand knew everything that happened in the house, so she could hardly expect Delphine to remain ignorant of what had passed upstairs and the change in her own status that it had brought about. She was still aware of an odd, irrational little fear that the old lady would be disappointed in her, would judge her and find her wanting, but if this was indeed so she displayed no outward sign of it.

‘I am glad to see you once more, my dear child, and to know that you are no longer under suspicion,’ was all the Dowager said when Sophie next presented herself in her chamber. Sophie looked at her tranquil face and understood that that was all she intended to say upon the subject at present. Since she had no real desire to engage in any sort of more detailed discussion with her lover’s grandmother, and even less did she desire to reveal the sad confusion of her own feelings, she was quite happy to comply.

They resumed their novel-reading and their afternoons of conversation, and this, Sophie knew, was the only time Rafe felt able to leave the house and ride off to his home to perform his duties there. It was strange to think that he had another life that she could never be a part of – he had his friends Simon and Elizabeth at the rectory, his wards, his house and lands and servants, and she would never set eyes on any of them. If this seemed to her a melancholy notion, she refused to consider the implications of it. She was here for a purpose, after all, and was no green girl to moon after a man and wonder how he spent his time when he could not be with her, and whether he thought of her when they were separated, as – she was obliged to admit – she thought of him. That would be perfectly ridiculous. It was the sort of thing silly little Clemence de Montfaucon would have done, not Sophie Delavallois.

They otherwise spent a great deal of time together, at night and in the daytime. Rafe felt protective of her, she knew, and though she did not in the least need his solicitude she welcomed it. She was no longer accustomed to anyone showing themselves concerned for her safety with no thought of advantage for themselves. She experienced this unfamiliar sensation of being cared for with him, and with his grandmother, and though she was too strong to need it, and would soon be gone from their lives forever and out of reach of their concern, she couldn’t deny that it gave her a warm feeling, as if something that had been frozen inside her was beginning slowly to thaw out. She did not ask herself whether it was safe to let it thaw – she knew the answer to that already. When one was frozen, one could not feel pain.

She spent each night in Rafe’s bed, and in his arms, and in the day they sat and read and ate together, always alone, or he showed her the wonders of the house. They also began to take casual strolls about the estate, close to the mansion at first and then further afield. Sophie, on high alert, spotted the watchers Lord Wyverne had set almost as soon as she and her escort had left the building, and was aware that Rafe had noticed them too; the pair exchanged significant glances though they said nothing. But the men who observed them from the woods did not presume to challenge the Marquess’s heir or his companion, and as she and Rafe began to venture further in their promenades she began to entertain the hope that the surveillance might be evaded.

She wrote again to her fictitious correspondent Mrs Fanny Olivier, saying that she was worried that she had had no response to her last letter and hoping that the baby’s croup was no worse. This code was the only means at her disposal to convey to Nate the fact that she remained at Wyverne Hall and that the grounds were still patrolled so that the jewels could not be retrieved. She added, in a natural sort of way, that she was very much enjoying the many healthful spring walks that the estate provided. After some further thought she appended coyly the interesting fact that Lord Drake, a most gracious gentleman, was often good enough to accompany her and offer her his arm. They were spending a great deal of time together, she added, unchaperoned . It would present an odd appearance, she thought, not to mention Rafe at all, presuming that Lord Wyverne was still opening her letters.

She hadn’t so far pictured her imaginary correspondent as to be able to say whether she would approve or disapprove of Sophie’s throwing caution to the wind and becoming the Viscount’s acknowledged mistress. Her surrender to his improper advances was all very shocking, no doubt – but on the other hand, he was a viscount, heir to a marquessate, and Sophie could scarcely expect any more respectable sort of offer in her supposed station in life.

Rafe, when applied to in the matter, sketched in the imaginary lady’s character in such an effective manner that he soon had his audience of one crying with laughter. Mrs Olivier, he decided, had had her own adventures before her marriage, and was disposed to give Sophie all sorts of frank advice along with rather startling reminiscences of her hitherto unsuspected past life.

It was all the more amusing, then, when a letter of reply did appear, bearing the superscription of Mrs Olivier’s respectable address in Bloomsbury. ‘It must be from Nate!’ Sophie exclaimed when they were alone, tearing it open.

It was, in his own neat hand, and it contained a thundering scold, a positive homily, in which Nate’s version of Fanny proved to be a stern moralist who hoped that her young relative would not be led astray, as so many foolish girls had before, by the honeyed words and practised seductions of a member of the dissolute nobility. ‘It’s very funny,’ Sophie said at last when she had finished reading it aloud, ‘and he obviously enjoyed writing it, but I have no idea what it means. Apart from the fact that she – he – says in a postscript that I’m not to worry about the baby’s croup, which I assume signifies that Nate is aware of the men watching us, and has a solution to the problem in mind.’

‘What could that be?’ Rafe asked doubtfully.

‘He might bribe some of them, or threaten them, or otherwise arrange for them to disappear.’

‘Surely he won’t want his name appearing in the matter?’

‘He’s a very powerful man. People are frightened of him, Rafe, and his reach extends very far. He’s certainly not afraid of being blackmailed – a person would have to be out of their wits to try it. So there is no knowing what he might do. We must be prepared.’

It was not, then, as much of a surprise as it might have been to encounter a solitary walker when next they set out on one of their expeditions. They’d already come some distance, having passed through the triumphal arch to make their way down one side of the tree-lined avenue that led in the direction of the village. About halfway down the long, straight road, an individual stepped suddenly out from where he had been concealed in the shadow of the branches and said in level tones, ‘Miss Delavallois, Lord Drake. Good day to you.’

It was Nate Smith himself. He was as usual dressed as a slightly old-fashioned but respectable person of the middling rank, and had removed his Joliffe shallow and made a neat bow to do obeisance to the Viscount and his companion. Rafe nodded warily, since he could not yet be sure of the man’s identity and plainly did not wish to compromise himself or Sophie by any more positive gesture or speech.

Sophie said urgently, ‘Nate, I am glad to see you, of course, but is it not terribly dangerous for you to appear here in person?’

‘If we are to talk of danger, my dear, what of your behaviour?’ Mr Smith said drily. ‘I confess that I was surprised to receive your letter and learn of the company you have been keeping, and now here you are, confirming my worst fears. You can’t be astonished that I have a great desire to know what in the seven hells is going on.’

There was an edge to his urbane voice on his final words, and Rafe stepped forward when he heard it, his tall frame tense, but Sophie put her hand on his arm soothingly, holding him back. ‘It’s a reasonable question – yes, it is, Rafe. There’s no need to worry, Nate, I haven’t gone over to the enemy. Lord Drake knows that I have taken the jewels. In fact, he knew before I did it, and had no notion of stopping me. When I fell under suspicion, he rescued me, and he is very well aware that I mean to smuggle them out of the house just as soon as I am able. He will help me, if he can.’

‘Will he now? That’s one of the unlikeliest tales I ever heard in my life.’

The two men regarded each other measuringly, distrust and suspicion plain on both their faces, lending them an odd and surely illusory moment of resemblance. Rafe broke the silence. ‘Miss Delavallois tells me that you are somehow acquainted with Lord Wyverne, Smith, and dislike him greatly,’ he said.

‘That’s true, if something of an understatement,’ Nate replied shortly.

‘Nevertheless, if that is so, you will perhaps be able to comprehend why my sentiments towards him fall far short of filial devotion.’

‘I can well believe it, but I have never met a man before who’d willingly deprive himself of thousands and thousands of pounds of property. Perhaps Sophie has enchanted you, which is perfectly understandable, but even so, you’ll forgive me for displaying a certain healthy scepticism.’

Sophie looked anxiously up at Rafe, but he merely said levelly, ‘I don’t want any part of his ill-gotten gains. I hadn’t realised, in fact, just how ill-gotten they were until very recently. Wyverne will be mine one day, and I will defend it and its people with all my might, but I desire no such tainted inheritance. I’d prefer that everything he’s stolen and tricked away from its rightful owners went back to them, but I realise that is scarcely possible, and I presume I’m not addressing some modern incarnation of Robin Hood. Take it all, with my blessing, Smith. All I care about – and I really do mean this, so mark it well – is ensuring that Miss Delavallois is not harmed in the process.’

‘By God,’ Nate breathed, more affected by some powerful emotion than Sophie had ever seen him, ‘now that I look at you, you have such a look of the old Marquess, your grandfather, about you, that I could almost bring myself to believe you don’t give a damn for the jewels, and I’m not by any means a credulous man.’

‘Believe me or not, as you choose,’ said Rafe. ‘Why should I care? As long as you understand that I am deadly serious in my concern for Sophie’s safety.’

‘If that is true, you really are nothing like your father.’

‘I devoutly hope not.’

A fourth person suddenly joined the conversation, making Rafe and Sophie start at the unexpected interruption. ‘Time to go, Nate,’ said a deep, calm voice from close by. ‘Don’t want to be hanging around here too long today. Might be seen by someone as shouldn’t.’

‘I know, Fred,’ Mr Smith responded. ‘Just a moment longer. Fetch me the jewels, Sophie. Let me worry about whether you’re watched or not. Bring them tomorrow – not here, but to the Gothic Tower. It is such a striking landmark, up there on its hill in all its peculiar glory, that we cannot possibly miss each other. You can be sure I’ll be waiting.’

‘ We’ll be waiting,’ Fred amended. He stepped out of the shadows of the overhanging trees, and Sophie smiled at him. She’d always liked the ex-prizefighter, who was a much gentler man (except when violence was most definitely required) than his menacing appearance and huge stature would lead one to imagine. She should have realised that where Nate was, he wouldn’t be far away.

Nate smiled, the first sign of amusement he’d shown throughout this tense interview. ‘Of course. We will be waiting.’

‘I don’t like any part of it,’ Rafe said. ‘If Sophie and I walk out of the house carrying a heavy bag, you can’t possibly guarantee that we won’t be stopped. The watchers can’t be utter fools. They’ll see us and drag us to Lord Wyverne before we get fifty paces from the door.’

‘We? You mean to go so far as actually to assist in this?’ asked Nate incredulously.

‘Of course,’ Rafe replied. ‘You don’t suppose, after all I’ve said, that I will allow Sophie to put herself at such risk alone? You show a touching confidence that we will achieve the thing unmolested, Mr Smith, but then, you won’t be the one risking your neck. I doubt we’ll get anywhere near the Gothic Tower to meet you.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ rumbled Fred. ‘If it came to a mill, I’d wager you could give a decent account of yourself. Well known at Jackson’s Saloon, you are, my lord. Seen you there on more than once occasion myself, and I must say you do peel to remarkable advantage. Wouldn’t mind at all seeing how you display in a proper bust-up.’

‘I dare say,’ Lord Drake said with a touch of impatience. ‘I believe I saw you fight Jem Belcher in ’03, which would be a fine subject for cosy reminiscences in other circumstances, but we’re not in the prize ring now. Those men of Wyverne’s may have pistols, and if they don’t I can assure you that he does. Sophie, I know I’ve said that I admire the fact that you’re not frightened of him, but on this occasion I assure you, you should be. He’d put a bullet in you without blinking, or order it done without so much as breaking sweat.’

‘Leave that to me,’ said Nate with superb assurance. ‘Nobody will be shot. Nobody will punch anybody, unless you really feel you must, Fred. Do you trust me, Sophie?’

‘I do,’ she said steadily. ‘Having come so far and done so much, I must. I’ll bring the jewels out to you – reserving only the Stella Rosa for myself, of course, as we agreed. What time would suit you best, Nate?’

‘Dammit, Sophie, we’re not arranging to take tea here!’ Drake objected. ‘This is a life and death matter!’

‘If Nate says all will go smoothly, I believe it will,’ she said serenely. And nothing he could say would weaken her resolve, so that at length, much against his will, he was obliged to agree to all that was proposed. They parted from their companions then, after having arranged to meet them by the Gothic Tower at eleven in the forenoon of the next day. The die was cast.

Sophie and Rafe thought it wise to continue with their walk, as if nothing of any particular significance had happened, rather than turning back immediately and lending importance to the meeting to anyone who might be watching. ‘We must suppose that Nate has somehow suborned some of Lord Wyverne’s men,’ Sophie mused as they strolled up the avenue of trees, ‘but we can’t assume it’s all of them.’

Lord Drake seemed lost in a brown study. At length he said tersely, ‘And what of you, Sophie? Once your purpose is achieved tomorrow, if indeed it is, will you go?’

‘I hadn’t thought past smuggling out the jewels,’ she confessed with studied lightness. ‘If we manage that without attracting any attention, it will be a great weight off my mind. I’ll be safe then – Lord Wyverne will have no reason to suspect me, and no reason to think that anything has changed. Indeed, he may never know what’s happened to his jewels, and always live in doubt and uncertainty for the rest of his life. I like that thought.’

Rafe did not seem to share her apparent optimism. ‘You’ll still have the Stella. If he found that, you’d be very far from safe.’

‘That’s easy enough to hide,’ she dismissed. ‘I can sew it in my bonnet, or conceal it in any of a dozen places.’

‘Very well. What then? I know you haven’t thought about it, and I understand why, but think about it now, if you please. What will you do?’

She was silent for a moment in turn. Then she said with a little effort, ‘I can’t stay here. You must know that. These past few days have been… magical. A moment out of time, for both of us. But we don’t inhabit a world where magic can last, Rafe. You have your life, and I have mine, and they’re very far apart.’ She saw that he was about to speak, and shook her head. ‘Perhaps you’re going to suggest that you carry out the plan you mentioned a few days ago and set me up in a house somewhere as your mistress. As you did before. But I don’t want to exist like that, as a dirty secret, a kept woman, always waiting for someone who can’t truly share himself with me. I need a life of my own, whatever it may turn out to be. And I don’t think you want that sort of clandestine existence either. Not really. You deserve better, even if I don’t any more.’

‘You’re so far right,’ he said heavily, ‘that I don’t have the slightest desire to live in that manner. And as to what you deserve, my God… You are fair and far off in your supposition, Sophie.’

She swung round and looked at him incredulously. What she saw in his face made tears spring to her eyes, but she dashed them away angrily. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘No! Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,’ he said rather unsteadily. ‘And I haven’t even said what I meant to say. Will you not hear me out, my love?’

‘I won’t!’ she said fiercely, tears streaming down her cheeks unregarded now. ‘You’re deluding yourself. And don’t call me that. I can’t bear it. What you think you want is impossible. It’s nothing but a fantasy. It’s cruel! I know how hard you have struggled all your life to be different from your father – to prove it to yourself as much as to others. I know what the future of your family means to you. So how could you and I ever have any kind of life together? You must know in your heart that we cannot!’

And, picking up her skirts, she ran from him, back towards the house, and though he could easily have overtaken her, could have forced a further scene, Lord Drake did not do so, but followed her more slowly, his face sombre, his manner dejected.