The House at Bell Orchard by Sylvia Thorpe Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sylvia Thorpe
time was now ripe, he went forward again to stand beside her. She looked up with a start, as thought she had forgotten his presence.
“It is natural,” he said, “that you should be disturbed, perhaps even shocked, by what I have told you, but you will perceive, I am sure, that I cannot afford to have any inquiry made into your father’s private affairs.” He paused, and then added in a voice charged with meaning: “ Any inquiry!”
She stared at him in puzzlement which was only the beginning of alarm, and said in a faltering voice: “I do not understand.”
He smiled, but it was neither pleasant nor reassuring. “I think you do, my dear,” he said softly. “A little consideration will make plain to you, if it is not already obvious, that by telling you what I have, I place the lives and fortunes of numerous people in your hands. Now it may appear to you to be your duty to inform the authorities of these matters.” He paused to look inquiringly at her, but she made no reply, and only stared at him with frightened, fascinated eyes. He shook his head. “Do not attempt it, Miss Tarrant! We all regard you with affection, but nothing—nothing, you understand—must be permitted to endanger the Cause for which we work. Try to forget all that I have told you this evening. Believe me, it will be far better—for you—if you can!”
4
The Meeting
There was a storm blowing up from the north-west, and the day, which had been hot and bright, was becoming rapidly overcast. Sir Piers Wychwood, riding homewards to Wychwood Chase, cast a knowledgeable eye at the great bank of purple-black clouds sweeping across the sky, and urged his horse from a trot to a canter. The storm was likely to be violent when it broke, and he had no desire to be caught by it in the open.
He was returning from a visit to the house of General Sir Percival Grey, a few miles westward along the coast, during which he had tried to enlist the old gentleman’s support in his attempts to put an end to what Piers felt certain was a dangerous and treasonable traffic between the exiled Stuarts and their supporters in England. As before, he had met with no success. He had no proof to offer, and without it the General, like other local landowners, was not disposed to interfere in the smuggling which had been profitably carried on along the coast for generations. Everyone took advantage of it; many of the smugglers were respected members of the community, and if there was a rougher element among them which occasionally gave rise to crimes of quite appalling violence, that was all the more reason not to incur their ill-will. The local Excisemen seemed incredibly apathetic, and even fiery old General Grey, glaring at Piers from beneath bushy white brows, had hinted irritably that he was making a mountain out of a very small molehill.
Piers had an uneasy suspicion that the General had expected him to broach a very different subject—in short, to offer for the hand of his grand-daughter, Miss Selina. (Piers’ sister Dorothy maintained that Selina herself had been expecting it for years.) It would be an eminently suitable match, even though Miss Grey, a lady of high principles and a decided turn of mind, was twenty-five years old and of a disposition which was at times a little less than amiable. She was well-born and well-dowered, and as practical and level-headed as Piers himself. There were no frivolously romantic notions in Selina’s neat, dark head; if Piers offered for her she would accept him, since he was the most eligible bachelor in the neighbourhood, and she would be a dutiful wife and a capable mistress of his household.
It was all so very suitable that Piers himself did not know why he still held back from the final, irrevocable step. It was high time he married. Better, perhaps, to do so now, and forget the suspected Jacobite conspiracies in which no one but himself seemed particularly interested.
Forget, too, that memory which for weeks had
“It is natural,” he said, “that you should be disturbed, perhaps even shocked, by what I have told you, but you will perceive, I am sure, that I cannot afford to have any inquiry made into your father’s private affairs.” He paused, and then added in a voice charged with meaning: “ Any inquiry!”
She stared at him in puzzlement which was only the beginning of alarm, and said in a faltering voice: “I do not understand.”
He smiled, but it was neither pleasant nor reassuring. “I think you do, my dear,” he said softly. “A little consideration will make plain to you, if it is not already obvious, that by telling you what I have, I place the lives and fortunes of numerous people in your hands. Now it may appear to you to be your duty to inform the authorities of these matters.” He paused to look inquiringly at her, but she made no reply, and only stared at him with frightened, fascinated eyes. He shook his head. “Do not attempt it, Miss Tarrant! We all regard you with affection, but nothing—nothing, you understand—must be permitted to endanger the Cause for which we work. Try to forget all that I have told you this evening. Believe me, it will be far better—for you—if you can!”
4
The Meeting
There was a storm blowing up from the north-west, and the day, which had been hot and bright, was becoming rapidly overcast. Sir Piers Wychwood, riding homewards to Wychwood Chase, cast a knowledgeable eye at the great bank of purple-black clouds sweeping across the sky, and urged his horse from a trot to a canter. The storm was likely to be violent when it broke, and he had no desire to be caught by it in the open.
He was returning from a visit to the house of General Sir Percival Grey, a few miles westward along the coast, during which he had tried to enlist the old gentleman’s support in his attempts to put an end to what Piers felt certain was a dangerous and treasonable traffic between the exiled Stuarts and their supporters in England. As before, he had met with no success. He had no proof to offer, and without it the General, like other local landowners, was not disposed to interfere in the smuggling which had been profitably carried on along the coast for generations. Everyone took advantage of it; many of the smugglers were respected members of the community, and if there was a rougher element among them which occasionally gave rise to crimes of quite appalling violence, that was all the more reason not to incur their ill-will. The local Excisemen seemed incredibly apathetic, and even fiery old General Grey, glaring at Piers from beneath bushy white brows, had hinted irritably that he was making a mountain out of a very small molehill.
Piers had an uneasy suspicion that the General had expected him to broach a very different subject—in short, to offer for the hand of his grand-daughter, Miss Selina. (Piers’ sister Dorothy maintained that Selina herself had been expecting it for years.) It would be an eminently suitable match, even though Miss Grey, a lady of high principles and a decided turn of mind, was twenty-five years old and of a disposition which was at times a little less than amiable. She was well-born and well-dowered, and as practical and level-headed as Piers himself. There were no frivolously romantic notions in Selina’s neat, dark head; if Piers offered for her she would accept him, since he was the most eligible bachelor in the neighbourhood, and she would be a dutiful wife and a capable mistress of his household.
It was all so very suitable that Piers himself did not know why he still held back from the final, irrevocable step. It was high time he married. Better, perhaps, to do so now, and forget the suspected Jacobite conspiracies in which no one but himself seemed particularly interested.
Forget, too, that memory which for weeks had