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“My dear boy, why in the world do you suppose she ran off with Lugton? Because she believed you to be indifferent.”
“Indifferent! Good God, I was never that! Only I did not realise—” He broke off, suddenly regarding the letter again. “This Adela would have us believe Maidie has run off again to Gretna. Only Lady Shurland cannot know an attempt has already been frustrated. Not even Maidie would be so idiotic twice in the same week.”
“Then Ida’s fears have not been groundless. Eustace Silsoe has indeed kidnapped her, aided and abetted by Adela.”
“Yes, for she would never have gone with him willingly,” said Miss Wormley, anxiety spreading across her features. “Pray, my lord, go after them!”
“You may be sure I will,” said Delagarde, all the heat of his emotions coiling into rage. “But I am not going north this time. A little too clever, these pretty schemers.”
“You think they are laying a false scent?”
“I am sure of it, Aunt Hes.”
“But you will not go to Greenwich?” objected Miss Wormley.
“I must begin on that route. The coach must have gone some way towards Greenwich or Maidie would suspect the cheat,” Delagarde said, crossing to the bell-pull and tugging it with vigour.
“Gracious, yes, Laurie! Besides, what need of his taking Maidie north? They are both of age. As long as he has a licence, he may wed her at any time.”
“But she is not willing, dear Lady Hester! How could he persuade her to marry him?”
Delagarde’s eyes burned, and his voice was roughened at the edges. “Very easily. If he succeeded in holding her somewhere for a day or two, she would have no choice but to wed him, for she would have not a shred of reputation left.”
Both ladies gazed at him in horror. Aunt Hes sank on to the sofa, a stricken look in her eyes. Delagarde strode to the door, and turned.
“You need have no fear, either of you. If Eustace Silsoe marries Maidie, it will be over my dead body!”
Maidie trudged wearily into the yard of the Cross Keys inn in the village of Charlton Wood. The farm hand who had allowed her to ride in his cart had assured her she was now but four or five miles from Greenwich. Mr Tupham of the Cross Keys would, the lad was sure, help her to reach her goal, and at Greenwich she was certain to be able to hire a conveyance to take her back to London.
She was chilled, hungry and dishevelled, but the welcoming lights of the Cross Keys put heart into her as she walked past the single vehicle standing in the yard. The glance she gave it was cursory. But that single look swept light into her heart. A phaeton and four! Surely she knew those horses? An ostler was at their heads, talking to a groom in livery, who turned upon the instant.
“Sampton!”
“Lordy, miss, is it you? If that don’t beat all! We’ve been searching for you all over.”
“Where is Lord Delagarde?” she asked eagerly, hardly aware of the instant tattoo flittering through her pulse.
“Inside, m’lady. Asking after you. Shall I fetch him?”
But Maidie was already halfway to the door of the inn, calling out, breathless with need, “Delagarde! Delagarde!”
An exclamation sounded from within. Then came hasty footsteps, and the Viscount erupted from the doorway just as Maidie reached it. He paused on the threshold, stared for several seconds in a suspension of belief, and then swept her up into a smothering embrace.
It was as if the shattering events of the day had blasted the barriers apart. Maidie’s despair of last night, and Delagarde’s wicked scheme were alike forgotten, dispelled by the balm of the passionate murmur in her ear. “Maidie…Maidie…I thought you were lost to me!”
For some moments the violence of Delagarde’s feelings made it impossible for him to release her. But at length he became aware of the sob in her throat, and his arms loosened enough to be able to look into her face.
“You are safe! Good God, what you have put me through!” He saw her tears, and instantly reached up to brush them away. “Don’t weep, my dearest love.”
The endearment only caused Maidie’s tears to flow the faster. “Oh, don’t call me so! You cannot mean it.”
“Can I not? We’ll see that!” He put an arm about her, and threw a command over his shoulder to his groom. “Stable them, Sampton! We will be dining here.”
The next moments passed for Maidie like a dream. Delagarde issued instructions left and right as he drew her into the inn. But in a very short space of time she found herself alone with him in a little parlour, with the door closed, and his dark eyes burning down into her own as he held her by the shoulders, much too close for comfort.
“Of all the occasions on which I have wanted to strangle you, Maidie, I believe this to be the worst!”
“Why should you wish to strangle me? If you strangle anyone, let it be Eustace.”
