Читать книгу: «From London With Love», страница 4
Chapter Three
The following morning Jack took a cab into the City. His first meeting with his lawyer had convinced him that he was right to sell out and take charge of his inheritance, or what was left of it. Now he quickly scanned the papers that were put before him.
‘Once the property in Leicestershire is sold that will give me capital to invest in the Staffordshire estates,’ he decided.
His lawyer’s brows went up.
‘The Leicestershire estate was your father’s pride and joy: he always said the hunting there was second to none.’
‘I shall have precious little time for hunting for the next few years,’ muttered Jack, looking at the figures the lawyer had written out for him. He pushed the papers back across the desk. ‘You say you have a buyer?’
The lawyer steepled his fingers, trying to keep the note of excitement out of his voice. Years of dealing with old Mr Clifton had made him cautious.
‘The owner of the neighbouring property, a Mr Tomlinson, has indicated he is interested in purchasing the house and the land. He is eager to have the matter settled. He is a manufacturer, but a very gentlemanly man.’
‘As long as he can pay the price I don’t care who he is.’ Jack rose. ‘Very well. Have the papers drawn up for me to sign tomorrow, and I’ll leave the rest to you.’
Ten minutes later Jack walked out into the street, feeling that a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He had always preferred Henchard, the house in Staffordshire. It had been his mother’s favourite, but sadly neglected after her death, his father preferring to live in London or Leicestershire. He had died there following a short illness eighteen months ago, but with Bonaparte gathering his army and Wellington demanding that every able soldier join him in Brussels, Jack had not had time to do more than to send to Henchard any personal effects he wanted to keep before rejoining his regiment. Now he planned to settle down. He would be able to refurbish Henchard, and in time the land might even be profitable again. Settling his hat on his head, he decided to walk back to King Street. He had reached the Strand and was approaching Coutts’s bank when a heavily veiled woman stepped out of the door, escorted by a very attentive bank clerk. Despite the thick veil there was something familiar about the tall, fashionably dressed figure, her purposeful tread, the way her hands twisted together. As she pulled on her gloves he caught sight of the heavy gold ring on her right hand. Even from a distance he recognised Allyngham’s signet ring. Jack smiled to himself, wondering what the lady would say if he approached her. Would she give him a cold, frosty greeting, or perhaps she might simply refuse to acknowledge him? Even as he considered the matter she swept across to a waiting cab and climbed in. Instantly the door was closed and the carriage pulled away.
‘Well, Miss Elle? Is your business ended, can we go home now?’
Eloise put up her veil and gave her maid a strained smile.
‘Yes, Alice, we are going back to Dover Street now.’
The maid gave a little sniff. ‘I do not see why we couldn’t use your own carriage, if you was only coming to the bank. It may be unusual for ladies to visit their bankers, but if they are widows, like yourself, I don’t see what else is to be done.’
Eloise did not reply. Leaning back in one corner, she clutched her reticule nervously. It rested heavily on her knees but she would not put it away from her. She had never been inside a bank before, but the manager himself had taken charge once he realised her identity, and the whole process had been conducted with the utmost ease. When she had said she needed to draw a substantial amount to distribute to her staff he had given her a look which combined sympathy with mild disapproval: no doubt he thought that she really required the money for some much more trivial reason, such as to buy new gowns or to pay off her gambling debts.
She pulled a paper from her bag and unfolded it: the scrawling black letters might have been live serpents for the way they made her skin crawl. When the letter had arrived that morning and she had read it for the first time, she had felt very alone. Her first thought had been to send for Alex, but she had soon dismissed the idea. Alex was a dear friend, but he could be rash, and this matter required discretion. No, she must deal with this herself. She scanned the letter again, chewing at her lip. Her biggest problem now was how to get through the rest of the day?
Mrs Renwick was a little surprised when Eloise appeared at her card party that evening.
‘I know I had sent my apologies,’ said Eloise, giving her hostess a bright smile, ‘but I was not in humour for dancing tonight and thought you would not object…’
‘Not in the least, my dear, you are most welcome here. Come in, come in and join our little party.’ Mrs Renwick drew her towards a quiet room filled with small tables, where ladies and gentleman were gathered, staring at their cards in hushed concentration. Bathed in the glow of the candles, it looked like a room full of golden statues. ‘This is turning out to be an evening of pleasant surprises. Major Clifton, too, made an unexpected appearance. It seems his business in town will not now be concluded until tomorrow so we have the pleasure of his company, too—’
Eloise drew back quickly. She had spotted Jack Clifton on the far side of the room.
‘No! I—I was hoping for something a little…less serious, ma’am.’
Her hostess laughed softly. ‘Well if you would like to come into the morning room, some of our friends are playing looe for penny points: nothing too alarming in that, now is there?’
Resigning herself to an hour or so of tedious play, Eloise smiled and took her place between a bouncing, bubbly young lady fresh from the schoolroom and an emaciated dowager in heavy black bombazine. Concentrating on the cards proved a surprisingly effective distraction for Eloise and when the little group split up to go in search of refreshment she was relieved to note that her evening was nearly over.
She made her way downstairs to the dining room where a long table was loaded with a sumptuous array of food and drink. A little supper might help to settle the nervous anticipation that was beginning to build within her. A group of gentlemen were helping themselves to delicacies from an assortment of silver dishes. She noted that both Major Clifton and Sir Ronald Deforge were amongst their number so she avoided them and made her way to the far end of the table. She kept her eyes lowered, determined to concentrate on the food displayed before her but the gentlemen’s light-hearted banter intruded and she could not help but listen. The conversation turned to gambling and she found her attention caught when she heard the major’s voice.
‘You know I play the occasional game at White’s but the high stakes are not for me,’ he was saying. ‘You will think me very dull, I dare say, but I prefer my funds to be invested in my land, rather than lining some other fellow’s pockets.’
‘Very different from Sir Ronald, then,’ laughed Edward Graham. ‘You never refuse a game of chance, ain’t that right, sir?’
‘If it is cards, certainly,’ Sir Ronald replied cheerfully. ‘I have something of a passion for cards. I played young Franklyn ’til dawn last week.’
‘Then you have more energy for the pastime than I do,’ returned the major coolly, turning away.
‘I hear that playing ’til dawn is a common occurrence with you, Deforge,’ remarked Mr Renwick. ‘By Gad, sir, your servants must be falling asleep at their posts if they have to wait up for you every night.’
Sir Ronald laughed.
‘No, no, Renwick, I am not so cruel an employer. My household retires at a Christian hour. Only my valet waits up for me, and he snoozes in a chair in the hall until I give him the knock to let me in.’
‘The pleasures of being a bachelor,’ declared his host. ‘A wife would certainly curtail your nocturnal activities, Deforge!’
‘Oho, when have I ever prevented you doing exactly as you wish?’ demanded Mrs Renwick, walking by at that moment. ‘My husband would have you think his life very restricted.’ She tapped the straining front of Mr Renwick’s waistcoat with her fan. ‘Well, gentlemen? Does he look as if he is wasting away?’
Eloise gave a little chuckle as her hostess came towards her.
‘I am sure we will all find something to tempt our appetite here,’ she smiled. ‘A truly magnificent supper, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Lady Allyngham. Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Yes, thank you. It is a most delightful evening.’
‘But, my dear, you are very quiet this evening, and a trifle pale, I think.’ Mrs Renwick came closer. ‘I hope you are not ill?’
‘No, ma’am, a little tired, perhaps.’
Mrs Renwick gave her a warm, sympathetic smile.
‘Too many engagements, ma’am?’
‘I think perhaps I have had enough of town life.’
Overhearing, Mr Graham turned quickly towards her.
‘My dear Lady Allyngham, you will not desert us!’
‘Of course she will not,’ put in Lady Parham, coming up. ‘Not when there are so many diversions to be enjoyed.’
Eloise forced herself to smile. Suddenly she was tired of play-acting.
‘I think I may well go back to Allyngham.’
‘Ah,’ nodded Lady Parham. ‘Perhaps that is why you were in the Strand this morning, settling your affairs with your bankers.’
Eloise stiffened. ‘No, I had no business there today.’
‘Oh, I was so sure it was you!’ Lady Parham gave a tinkling little laugh, glancing around at her friends. ‘I had gone to Ackerman’s, to look at their new prints—so amusing!—and I saw a lady coming out of Coutts’s bank. But she was veiled, so perhaps I was mistaken.’
‘It must have been someone else,’ said Eloise firmly. ‘I was not in the Strand this morning.’
She selected a little pastry and turned away, only to find Jack Clifton regarding her with a little frown in his eyes.
Now what the devil is she about?
Jack had been watching Lady Allyngham for some time. He had noted that she was nervous, her eyes constantly straying to the clock, and her vehement denial of visiting the bank aroused his suspicions. She caught his eye and moved away so fast he abandoned any thought of speaking to her, but when, a short time later, Eloise made her excuses and left the party, he followed.
The press of traffic in the streets made it an easy task for Jack to follow her carriage on foot, and when they arrived at Dover Street he was close enough to hear the lady’s instructions to the coachman to come back in an hour.
Jack grinned. So she was up to something! He dashed back to King Street, quelling the little voice in his head that objected to the idea of spying on a lady. After all, Tony Allyngham had been a good friend and had asked him to look after his widow—well, perhaps not in so many words, but Jack was not going to admit, even to himself, that he had any personal interest in Eloise Allyngham.
Just over half an hour later he was back in Dover Street, his evening coat replaced by a dark riding jacket and with a muffler covering his snowy neckcloth. Hidden out of sight in Dover Yard, Bob was looking after his horse and in all probability, Jack thought, animadverting bitterly on the ways of the Quality. He positioned himself opposite Lady Allyngham’s door and settled down to wait. As with many of the streets in this area of London, Dover Street housed a variety of residents, from members of the ton to ladies who, while they would never receive an invitation from the great society hostesses, were very well known to their husbands. Courtesans such as Kitty Williams who, it was rumoured, could boast of having a royal duke amongst her many admirers. Jack was not one of their number, but Kitty’s residence had been pointed out to him by his friends, and he watched with interest as an elegant town carriage pulled up at the door. A portly gentleman climbed out and was immediately admitted, as if the doorman had been looking out for him. So Lord Berrow was one of Kitty’s customers. Jack grinned: the Earl professed himself to be one of Wilberforce’s saints—the old hypocrite!
The sounds of another coach clattering into Dover Street caused Jack to step back further into the shadows. He nodded with satisfaction as it drew up outside Lady Allyngham’s house. He saw Eloise come out, wrapped now in a dark cloak, and step up into the carriage. It drew away immediately and Jack turned and ran for his horse.
‘I still think I should come with you,’ grumbled Robert as Jack scrambled into the saddle.
‘No, you go back now and wait for me.’ Jack patted his pocket. He had a pistol, should he need it, and besides, he forced himself to face the thought, if this should prove nothing more than a sordid little assignation with a lover, the less people who knew of it the better.
Keeping a discreet distance, Jack followed the coach as it bowled through the darkened streets. They headed north through Tottenham Court Road and soon the town was left behind and they were bowling along between open fields. It was a clear night, the rising moon giving sufficient light for the carriage to set a swift pace. The coach slowed as it climbed through the village of Hampstead. When they reached the open heath Jack drew rein and as the carriage came to a halt he guided his horse off the road into the cover of the stunted trees. He watched Eloise climb out. Silently he dismounted, secured his horse to a branch and followed her.
Eloise hesitated, glancing back at the coach drawn up behind her. The carriage lamps twinkled encouragingly and the solid shape of her coachman sitting up on the box was reassuring. She had also taken the precaution of asking Perkins to come with her. He had been her groom since she was a child and she was confident of his loyalty and discretion. Turning again to face the dark open heath, she took a deep breath and stepped forwards. She suspected it was not the autumnal chill in the night air that made her shiver as she moved along the narrow path. She felt dreadfully alone and had to remind herself that Perkins was discreetly following her. For perhaps the twentieth time since setting out she went over in her mind the instructions she had received in the letter that morning. The carriage had stopped at the fork in the road, as directed, and the path to the right between a boulder and small pond was easily found. She counted silently, thankful that the letter had stated the number of steps she would need to take rather than asking her to judge a half a mile: in her present nervous state she felt as if she had walked at least three miles already. There was sufficient light to see the path, but the trees and bushes on either side were menacingly black, and she had to force herself not to think how many malevolent creatures might be watching her from the shadows.
At one point she saw a black square on her left; a shepherd’s hut, she guessed, although there were no sheep or cattle visible on the heath. Then, ahead of her, she could make out the path splitting on either side of a fallen tree. She stopped and glanced about her. Everything was silent. Shivering, she stepped up and placed a package under the exposed roots of the tree.
There, it was done. She was just heaving a sigh of relief when she heard a scuffle and crashing in the bushes behind her. She turned in time to see Perkins dragging something large and heavy out from the bushes.
‘I got ’im, m’lady,’ he wheezed, ‘I’ve got yer villain!’
Eloise ran back and gazed down at the unconscious figure lying at the groom’s feet.
It was Major Jack Clifton.
Chapter Four
Anger, revulsion and disappointment churned in her stomach. The major might be an odious man but she had not wanted him proved a scoundrel.
‘Check his pockets,’ she said crisply.
‘What exactly is you looking for, m’lady?’
‘A book—a small, leather-bound journal.’
‘Nope,’ muttered Perkins, ‘Nothin’ like that. But there is this!’
He pulled out a pistol and held it up so that the moonlight glinted wickedly on the barrel.
‘Heavens,’ exclaimed Eloise, eyeing the weapon nervously. She straightened her shoulders. ‘We must tie his hands,’ she declared. ‘I’ll not risk him getting away.’
Perkins nudged the still body with the toe of his boot.
‘He’s not going anywhere, m’lady.’
‘Well, we cannot remain out here all night,’ she retorted. ‘We must take him back to town with us.’
Perkins spat.
‘And just ’ow do you propose we do that? The carriage is a good half a mile hence.’
‘We will carry him,’ she announced. ‘And don’t you dare to argue with me, Perkins!’
Her groom scratched his head.
‘Well, I ain’t arguing, m’lady, but he’s no lightweight. I’d suggest you’d be best takin’ his legs but that ain’t seemly…’
‘Never mind seemly,’ she replied, gazing dubiously at the major’s unconscious form. Suddenly he seemed so much larger than she remembered. ‘You cannot carry him alone, so I must help you.’
Eloise had never carried a body before. She had never even considered how it should be done. When Perkins had lifted the shoulders she took a firm grip of Jack’s booted ankles and heaved. Half-carrying, half-dragging, they staggered back along the path with their burden, but they had not gone many yards before she was forced to call a halt.
‘We will never carry him all the way back to the carriage,’ she gasped.
‘Well, I could always run back and fetch Coachman Herries.’
A cold wind had sprung up and it tugged at her cloak.
‘I do not want to be standing out here any longer than necessary.’ She looked around. ‘There is a hut of some sort over there. Perhaps we could put him in there until he comes around.’ She sensed the groom’s hesitation and stamped her foot. ‘For heaven’s sake, Perkins, do you think we should let him perish out here?’
‘Aw, ’tedn’t that cold, madam, and besides I don’t see why you should worry, if he’s such a villain.’
‘He may be a villain but I am not,’ declared Eloise angrily. ‘Now take his shoulders again and help me get him into that shelter!’
It was a struggle but eventually they managed to get their unwieldy burden into the shepherd’s hut. Perkins spotted an oil lamp hanging from the roof and pulled out his tinder box to light it. Eloise, very warm after her exertions, threw off her cloak before picking up a piece of twine to bind the major’s hands behind his back. Not a moment too soon, for even as she finished tying the knot Jack groaned.
‘Quickly, now, help me to sit him up.’
‘If I was you I’d leave him on the floor, where ’e belongs,’ opined Perkins, but she overruled him: she did not like to think of any creature bound and helpless at her feet.
They propped him up against a pile of sacks in one corner and Eloise stood back, watching as the major slowly raised his head.
‘Where am I?’
‘There is no point in struggling,’ she said, trying to sound fierce. ‘You are my prisoner.’
‘The devil I am!’
‘You keep a civil tongue when speakin’ to my lady,’ growled the groom.
‘That is enough, Perkins.’ Eloise turned back to Jack. ‘Where is the journal?’
‘What journal?’
‘The diary. Where is it?’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘What were you doing on the heath?’
Jack looked up at her from under his black brows. The feeble lamplight threw dark shadows across his face and she could not see his eyes.
‘I was following you. What were you doing?’
‘That is nothing to do with you. I—’ She stopped, her eyes widening. She turned to her groom, saying urgently, ‘The package! Run back to the tree, quickly, and collect it.’
Perkins hesitated.
‘I don’t like to leave you alone with ’im, m’lady.’
‘His hands are bound, he cannot hurt me. But leave me the pistol, if you like, only go and collect that package!’
As the groom let himself out of the hut she weighed the pistol in her hand.
‘If that is mine I would advise you to keep your fingers away from the trigger, it is very light.’ She glanced up to find Jack watching her. ‘I would guess you had never used one of those.’
She shrugged.
‘It should not be difficult, at this range.’
‘Not at all, if you think you can kill a man.’
She glared at him.
‘I can and will, if you give me cause!’
A derisive smile curved his mouth and she looked away.
‘Who tied my hands?’
‘I did.’
‘And how did I get in here?’
‘We carried you.’
‘We?’
‘Yes.’ She flushed, saying angrily, ‘It is you who should be answering questions, not I.’
‘Then you had best ask me something.’
She was silent, and after a moment he said wearily, ‘I wish you would sit down. Since I cannot stand it is very impolite of you to put me at such a disadvantage.’
Eloise was suspicious, but she could read nothing from his countenance, save a certain irritation. She glanced around. There was a small stool in one corner and she pulled it forwards, dusted it off and sat down. He smiled.
‘Thank you. Now, what did you want to ask me?’
‘Why were you following me?’
He leaned back, wincing a little as his head touched the sacking piled behind him.
‘I saw you coming out of Coutts’s this morning. When you denied it so fiercely at the Renwicks’ party I became suspicious.’
‘Oh? And just what did you suspect?’
‘I don’t know: that you had run out of money, perhaps.’
‘I am not so irresponsible!’ she flashed, annoyed.
He ignored her interruption.
‘I followed you through Hampstead,’ he continued, watching her carefully. ‘It occurred to me that perhaps someone has a hold on you. This journal that you talked of: are you trying to buy it back?’
‘That is none of your business!’
‘I have a cracked skull that says it is my business,’ he retorted. ‘By the bye, is my head bleeding?’
She looked up, alarmed.
‘I don’t know—does it hurt you very much?’
‘Like the devil.’ He winced. ‘Perhaps you would take a look at it.’
Eloise slid off the stool to kneel beside him. Absently she brushed his hair out of his eyes before gently pulling his head towards her, eyes anxiously scanning the back of his head.
‘Oh heavens, yes, there is blood—oh!’
Even as she realised that he had somehow freed his hands he reached out and seized her. The next moment she was imprisoned in his powerful grasp and he had twisted her around so that it was she who was pinioned against the sacks, with Jack kneeling over her.
‘Some day I’ll teach you how to tie knots, my lady,’ he muttered, taking the pistol from her hand.
‘What are you going to do to me?’
She eyed him warily. Despite the shadows she felt his eyes burning into her.
‘What would you suggest? After all, you have done your best to murder me.’
‘That is quite your own fault!’ She struggled against him. ‘You had no right to be following me, dressed all in black like a common thief! Anyone might have mistaken you!’
She glared up at him, breathing heavily. She became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere. Everything was still, but the air was charged with energy, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Her breathing was still ragged, but not through anger. He was straddling her, kneeling on her skirts and effectively pinning her down while his hands held her wrists. She stopped struggling and lay passively beneath him, staring at his shadowed face. He released one hand and drew a finger gently along her cheek.
‘I think we may have mistaken each other, Lady Allyngham.’
His voice deepened, the words wrapped about her like velvet. She did not move as he turned his hand and ran the back of his fingers over her throat. Eloise closed her eyes. His body was very close to her own and her nerves tingled. Her senses were heightened, she was aware of every movement, every noise in the small dark hut. She could smell him, a mixture of leather and wool and spices, she could feel his warm breath on her face. Eloise lifted her chin, but whether it was in defiance or whether she was inviting his lips to join hers she could not be sure. Her breasts tensed, her wayward body yearned for his touch.
It never came.
The spell was broken as the door burst open and Perkins’s aggrieved voice preceded him into the hut.
‘Dang me but I couldn’t find it, m’lady. Looked everywhere for that danged package but it’d gone, and nothing in its place! I think it—what the devil!’
The groom pulled up in the doorway, his eyes popping. As he looked around for some sort of weapon Jack eased himself away from Eloise and waved the pistol.
‘Perkins, isn’t it? I beg you will not try to overpower me again,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You would not succeed, you know.’
Eloise struggled to her feet.
‘I did not untie him,’ she said, feeling the groom’s accusing eyes upon her. ‘But he is not our villain. The fact that the package is gone confirms it.’
‘He might have an accomplice,’ said Perkins, unconvinced.
‘Believe me, I mean your mistress no harm,’ said Jack, standing up and dropping the pistol back into his pocket. ‘I want to help, but to do that I need to know just what is going on.’
He drew out his handkerchief and pressed it cautiously to the back of his head. Eloise saw the dark stain as he took it away again. She said quickly, ‘Yes, but not now. First we must clean up that wound.’
‘My man will do that for me when I get back to town.’
‘Then let us waste no more time.’
She clutched at his sleeve and led him outside, leaving Perkins to put out the lamp and shut the door.
‘Can you walk?’ she asked. ‘Do you need my groom to support you?’
‘No, I will manage very well with you beside me.’ She felt his weight on her arm. ‘I am not too heavy for you?’
‘I helped carry you,’ she retorted. ‘You were much heavier then.’
She heard him laugh and looked away so he would not see her own smile. She was not yet ready to admit to a truce. They continued in silence and soon the carriage lights were visible in the distance.
‘Did you ride here?’ asked Eloise.
‘Yes. My horse is tethered to a bush, close to your carriage.’
‘Give Perkins your direction and he will ride it back to the stable.’
‘And just how is he to get back?’ demanded the groom.
‘He will travel back with me in the carriage.’ Eloise bit her lip. ‘I think I owe Major Clifton an explanation.’
Jack followed Eloise into the carriage and settled himself into the corner, resting the undamaged side of his head against the thickly padded squabs. The coachman had orders to go carefully, but the carriage still rocked and jolted alarmingly as they made their way back towards town. He peered through the darkness at his fellow passenger.
‘Are you going to tell me the truth now, madam?’
There was silence. He thought he detected a faint sigh.
‘This morning I received a letter,’ she said at last, ‘asking me to put one hundred guineas under the roots of a fallen tree on Hampstead Heath. The instructions were quite explicit.’
‘And what did you expect to get for your money?’
‘The—the return of a diary. When I went into the Clevedons’ garden last night it was because I had received a note, instructing me to do so. At the base of Apollo I found a piece of paper. It was a page torn from a…a very personal diary.’ There was a pause. ‘I discovered it was missing last year, but with all the grief and confusion over Allyngham’s death, I thought it had been destroyed.’
‘I see. I take it you do not wish the contents of this journal to become public?’
‘That is correct.’ The words were barely audible.
‘And what is it you wish to keep secret, madam?’
There was an infinitesimal pause before she said coldly, ‘That you do not need to know.’
‘I do if I am to help you to recover the book.’
‘If you had not interfered tonight I might already have it back! Who knows but your untimely appearance frightened off the wretch?’
‘He was not too frightened to take your money,’ Jack retorted.
‘Well…mayhap he will return the book to me tomorrow.’
‘You are air-dreaming, Lady Allyngham. In my experience this type of rogue will keep on demanding money until he has bled you dry.’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’ He leaned forwards, saying urgently, ‘The only way to stop this man is to catch him.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘There is no perhaps about it.’ The carriage slowed and began to turn.
‘King Street,’ she said, peering out of the window. ‘We have arrived at your rooms, Major. Would you like my footman to accompany you to the door?’
‘No, thank you, I can manage that short distance.’ He stepped carefully down on to the flagway.
‘Major Clifton!’
Jack turned back to the darkened carriage. Eloise was leaning forwards, her face pale and beautiful in the dim light.
‘I am sorry you were injured,’ she said. ‘And I thank you, truly, for your concern.’
He grasped her outstretched hands, felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his own before she gently pulled free, the carriage door was closed and the carriage rolled off into the night.
Eloise stirred restlessly. Such dreams had disturbed her sleep: menacing letters, walking alone across a lonely heath, bags of guineas. An encounter with Major Jack Clifton. She sat up. That was no dream. As the reality crowded in upon her she put her hands to her head. She had left a packet containing a hundred guineas on Hampstead Heath. The money had gone, and the diary had not been returned. She gave a little shiver as she thought of the damage that could be done if ever its contents were made known. On top of all that she had been obliged to explain something of her plight to Jack Clifton. For a moment she forgot her own worries to wonder if his head was hurting him this morning—perhaps he had forgotten the night’s events. The thought occurred only to be dismissed. Jack Clifton had not been that badly injured; witness the way he had overpowered her.
