‘Of course,’ she said, in a soft low voice. ‘It is what I wish above all things in the world. It is just that I have not allowed myself to hope that you might ask me.’ Then she raised her beautiful tear-stained eyes towards me. ‘But surely, my love, we can do nothing until you have proved your claim to be Lord Tansor’s son?’
‘No,’ I acknowledged, ‘you are right. But when that day comes – as come it must – you will be beholden to his Lordship no more, for you will have become the wife of Edward Duport, the future 26th Baron Tansor.’
‘Oh, Edward,’ she cried, ‘let it come soon!’ And then she began to weep tender tears – of joy at the prospect that I had presented to her, though mixed no doubt with natural apprehension.
‘You understand, of course, my love,’ I said, as I held her in my arms, ‘how imperative it is that the secrets that we now share must be kept safe – not a word of what I have told you must be spoken of, or hinted at, to anyone. And, for the time being, it will be best to keep my visits to you confidential. For if Daunt should discover that Edward Glapthorn is Edward Duport, then my life – and perhaps yours – will certainly be in peril.’
‘Danger? From Mr Daunt?’
‘Oh my love, yes, from Daunt. He is a far worse villain than you think.’
‘In what way?’
‘Do not make me tell you.’
‘What are you saying? Why do you not speak? Tell me, tell me!’
Her eyes were wild, and she seemed once again in the grip of that strange agitation of spirit that I had witnessed in the Temple of the Winds, walking round and round distractedly in a little circle in the middle of the room. I brought her back to the window-seat and took her hand.
‘I believe Daunt was responsible for the attack on your father.’
I had expected some powerful uprush of emotion in reaction to my words; but instead she fell gently towards me in a swoon. I caught her, and laid her down on the seat. She was as pale as death, and her hands made strange fluttering movements, as if under the intermittent influence of some galvanic current. I was on the point of calling for help when she opened her eyes.
By and by, her colour began to return and she was able to take a sip or two of wine, which gradually effected a revival of her faculties, though she remained deeply distressed by what I had told her, and by what I now revealed concerning the documents that her father had been carrying with him when he had been attacked, as well as the reason that Daunt had gone to such lengths to obtain them.
‘I do not say that Daunt intended to murder your father,’ I said. ‘Indeed, I believe he did not. But I am certain that he ordered the attack by Pluckrose to gain possession of the documents proving the existence of a legitimate heir.’
Then she asked me how I knew what had been in her father’s bag, and so I told her of the Deposition, at which she became greatly agitated.
‘But what if Mr Daunt should also obtain this document? How will you then hope to prosecute your case successfully?’
‘He will not find it,’ I said, with a confident smile.
Before coming to Evenwood, I had realized that Mr Carteret’s Deposition, together with the little black volumes containing the daily record of my foster-mother’s life, must now be removed to a place of absolute safety. My rooms in Temple-street were always securely locked; but locks can be picked; and Mrs Grainger’s possession of the only other key had given me further concern: suppose she should be followed, or set upon? And then there was Jukes, whom I already suspected of snooping through my private papers. And so I had determined, once I had made my confession to her, and had been forgiven for keeping so much from her, to ask my dearest girl to become the custodian of these most precious items.
‘But how can you be so sure that he won’t find them?’ she asked, her anxiety still plainly apparent.
I told her that I had given a copy of the Deposition to Mr Tredgold, and that I intended to place the original, as well as my mother’s journals, beyond Daunt’s reach.
‘But where, dearest?’ she cried, looking most pathetically apprehensive.
‘Here,’ I replied. ‘Here, with you.’
And then relief seemed to flood over her dear sweet face. ‘Yes, yes,’ she sighed. ‘Of course, you are right! Here is the last place in the world that he will think of looking! He would never have a reason to come into these apartments, nor can he know that you have taken me into your confidence. But I am still fearful for you, my love, so very fearful, until you can bring the documents from London.’
I took her hand and kissed it, assuring her that I would waste no time but would return to London in the morning to collect the Deposition and the journals, and bring them back to Evenwood.
‘Where shall we put them?’ I asked.
She thought for a moment, and then an idea struck her. ‘Here,’ she said, running over to a small oval portrait of Anthony Duport,* younger brother of the 21st Baron, as a boy. Taking down the portrait she opened a small cupboard concealed in the panelling.
‘Will this do?’
I inspected the interior of the cupboard and pronounced it ideally suited.
‘Then that is settled,’ she said, closing the door and replacing the portrait.
We sat together in the window, holding hands, talking quietly, as close as two hearts can be. She called me her dearest love; I told her that she was my angel. Then we kissed our good-byes.
‘My sweet girl,’ I whispered. ‘Are you sure that you wish to become the custodian of these documents? Perhaps, after all, I should remove them to the bank. If Daunt should—’
She placed her forefinger against my lips to prevent me from saying any more.
