For a moment it seemed to her that she could neither speak nor think. While her eyes remained riveted to the glass her brain whirled. Had not Sir Tristram taken charge of the glass? Could he have been guilty of the unpardonable carelessness of mislaying it? How did it come to be in the wood-basket? And what in heaven’s name was one to do?
She pulled herself together, met Eustacie’s eyes across the room, and saw them as startled as she felt sure her own must be. She became aware of the stranger’s voice, marvelling with amiable fatuity at the queer places thing would get to, to be sure, and suddenly realized why Nye had left a stranger alone in the coffee-room, and what his purpose must be. She shot a warning frown at Eustacie, still standing at the foot of the stairs, and said: ‘Why, there it is! Well, of all the fortunate happenings!’
The Beau held out his hand. It was shaking a little. He said: ‘Thank you. That is mine.’
The stranger looked rather doubtfully at him. ‘Yours, is it, sir? Well, if you say so, I’m sure it is so, but maybe I’d best give it to the landlord – not meaning any offence, your Honour, but seeing as it’s a valuable kind of a trinket, and me having found it.’
A fixed smile was on the Beau’s lips. He said: ‘Quite unnecessary, I assure you. You will perceive that it is of unusual design. I could not mistake it.’
The stranger turned it over in his hand. ‘Well, of course, sir, if you say so –’ he began undecidedly.
‘My good fellow,’ interrupted the Beau. ‘You must have seen me look for something upon the mantelshelf a minute ago. Your scruples are quite absurd, believe me. Anyone will tell you that that glass belongs to me. Be good enough to give it to me, if you please.’
‘Oh yes, certainly that is Mr Lavenham’s quizzing-glass!’ said Miss Thane. ‘There can be no doubt!’
The stranger advanced, holding the glass out to the Beau. He grasped it, and in that instant a suspicion of the trap into which he had walked seemed to flash into his brain, and he sprang back, glaring at the man before him.
‘Then, in the name of the Law I arrest you, Basil Lavenham, for the wilful murder of Matthew John Plunkett!’ said the stranger.
Before he had finished speaking the Beau had whipped a pistol from his pocket and levelled it. The smile on his lips had become a ghastly grimace, but it still lingered. He said, quick and low: ‘Stand where you are! If you move you are a dead man!’ and began to back towards the door.
The Bow Street Runner stood still perforce. Miss Thane, standing a little behind the Beau, perceived that the moment for a display of heroism had arrived, and in one swift movement got between the Beau and the door. In the same instant Eustacie shrieked: ‘Nye! A moi!’
The Beau, keeping his would-be captor covered, reached the door, and Miss Thane, behind him, caught his arm and bore it downwards with all her strength. He was taken unawares, gave a snarl of fury, and wrenching free from her clutch struck at her with his clenched fist. The blow landed on her temple, and Miss Thane subsided in an inanimate heap on the floor.
She became aware of a throbbing pain in her head, of the smell of Hungary Water, and of the feel of a wet cloth across her brow. ‘Oh dear!’ she said faintly. ‘The quizzing-glass! Did he get away?’
‘By no means,’ replied a calm voice. ‘There is nothing to worry you: we have him safely held.’
Miss Thane ventured to open her eyes. Sir Tristram was sitting on the edge of the couch in the parlour on which she had been laid, bathing her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ said Miss Thane.
‘Yes,’ said Sir Tristram.
‘I knew you must have returned,’ murmured Miss Thane.
He replied in his cool way: ‘If you knew that, what in the world possessed you to try and stop the Beau? He had no hope of escaping. I was outside with a Runner to take him if he broke from Townsend.’
‘Well, pray how was I to know that?’ demanded Miss Thane.
‘I imagine you might have guessed it.’
She closed her eyes again, saying with dignity: ‘I have the headache.’
He sounded amused. ‘That is not very surprising, since you were hit on the head.’
A rustle of skirts heralded Eustacie’s approach. Miss Thane opened her eyes again and smiled. ‘Oh, you are better!’ said Eustacie. ‘Ma pauvre, I thought he had killed you! And I must tell you that he wrenched open the door and stepped backwards right into Tristram’s arms! It was of all things the most exciting! And, do you know, he tried to throw the quizzing-glass into the fire, which was entirely stupid, because that made it quite certain that he knew where the ring was hid. I do think that this has been the most delightful adventure!’
‘So it has,’ agreed Miss Thane. ‘Positively épatant ! What have you done with the Beau, and where is Ludovic?’
‘Oh, the Runners took Basil away in a chaise, and as for Ludovic, Nye has gone to let him out of the cellar.’
Miss Thane sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it is all for the best, but you know I cannot help feeling disappointed. I had quite made up my mind to it that Sir Tristram had absconded with the talisman ring, and I had thought of several famous schemes for recovering it. I never knew anyone so provoking!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Eustacie. ‘I must say, that is true. He is very provoking, but one must be just, enfin, and own that he has been very clever and useful.’
Miss Thane turned her head to look up at Sir Tristram. ‘I wish you will tell me what you did,’ she said. ‘You were not on the Brighton mail, were you? Is it possible that you rode here ventre à terre ?’
‘No,’ replied Sir Tristram. ‘I came post.’
Miss Thane seemed to abandon interest in his proceedings.
‘Bringing with me,’ continued Sir Tristram, ‘a couple of Bow Street Runners. When we arrived here I learned from Nye that by some stroke of good fortune the Beau was actually in the house. I had been wondering how we were to prevail upon him to own the quizzing-glass, and the difficulties of luring him to this place without letting him get wind of a trap seemed to me to be quite considerable. When we heard that he was already here, it was easy to set our trap. The only thing I feared was that one or other of you might put him on his guard by showing surprise at seeing the quizzing-glass. You are to be congratulated on concealing your emotions so well.’
‘At first,’ confessed Eustacie, ‘I was entirely bouleversée, and quite unable to speak. Then Sarah frowned at me, and I thought it would be better to remain silent. I thought the Runner was one of Basil’s men, did not you, Sarah?’
‘Yes, I did at first,’ replied Miss Thane. ‘But when he picked up the glass I knew Sir Tristram must be at the back of it. Is Ludovic safe now? Will he be able to take his place in the world again?’
‘Yes, there can be no doubt of that. Basil lost his head, and his attempt to dispose of the ring was a complete betrayal. How do you feel, Miss Thane?’
‘Very uneasy,’ she replied. ‘I believe there is a lump on my forehead.’
‘It is already much less pronounced than it was,’ said Sir Tristram consolingly.
Miss Thane regarded him with misgiving. ‘Tell me at once, have I a black eye?’ she said.
‘No, not yet.’
She gave a shriek. ‘Not yet ? Do you mean that I shall have one?’
‘I should think it highly probable,’ he said, a laugh in his voice.
‘Bring me the hartshorn!’ begged Miss Thane in failing accents, and once more closing her eyes.
‘Certainly,’ said Sir Tristram. ‘Eustacie, fetch the hartshorn.’
‘She does not really want it, you know,’ explained Eustacie. ‘She is jesting.’
‘Nevertheless, fetch it,’ said Sir Tristram.
‘Eh bien!’ Eustacie shrugged, and went away to look for it.
Miss Thane opened her eyes again, and looked at Sir Tristram with e
ven more misgiving than before.
‘Sarah,’ said Sir Tristram, ‘I have a very important question to put to you. How many seasons have you spent at Almack’s?’
Miss Thane gazed at him with an expression of outrage in her face, and said: ‘Tristram, are you daring – actually daring – to choose this out of all other moments to make me an offer?’
‘Yes,’ replied Sir Tristram. ‘I am. Why not?’
Miss Thane sat up. ‘Have you no sense of romance?’ she demanded. ‘I won’t – no, I won’t be proposed to with my hair falling down my back, a bandage round my head, and very likely a black eye as well! It is quite monstrous of you!’
He smiled. ‘Indeed, you will. You look delightfully. Will you marry me?’
‘I have wronged you,’ said Miss Thane, much moved. ‘If you think I look delightfully at this present, you must be a great deal more romantic than I had supposed.’
‘It is a long time now since I have been able to look at you without thinking how very beautiful you are,’ said Sir Tristram simply.
‘Oh!’ said Miss Thane, blushing, ‘you forget yourself ! Do pray, recollect that you do not look for romance in marriage! Remember your previous disillusionment! This will never do!’
‘I see that I shall not easily be allowed to forget that nonsense,’ said Sir Tristram, taking her in his arms. ‘Now be serious for one moment, Sarah! Will you marry me?’
‘To be honest with you,’ said Miss Thane, with the utmost gravity, ‘I have been meaning to marry you these ten days and more!’
A moment later Eustacie came into the room with Sir Hugh at her heels. She checked on the threshold in round-eyed amazement, but Sir Hugh merely said: ‘Oh, so you’re back, are you?’
‘Yes,’ said Shield, releasing Miss Thane. ‘Have I your permission to pay my addresses to your sister?’
‘Oh certainly, my dear fellow, by all means! Not that it’s anything to do with me, you know. She’s her own mistress now. What have you done to your head, Sally?’
‘Ludovic’s wicked cousin knocked me down,’ explained Miss Thane. ‘I have had a very exciting afternoon, throwing myself into the breach, and being stunned, and then having an offer of marriage made to me.’
‘I thought there was a devilish amount of noise going on downstairs,’ remarked Sir Hugh. ‘It’s time we finished with this cousin of Ludovic’s. I’ll bring an action against him for assaulting you.’
‘An excellent notion, my dear, but the Crown is already bringing an action against him for murdering Sir Matthew Plunkett.’
‘Never heard of him,’ said Sir Hugh. ‘Not that I’m against it, mind you. A fellow who creeps about in a demmed loo-mask –’
‘Sir Matthew Plunkett,’ said Miss Thane patiently, ‘is the man Ludovic was accused of murdering two years ago. You must know that Ludovic will now be able to stop living in the cellar, and take up his rightful position at Lavenham Court.’
‘Well, I must say I’m glad to hear that,’ said Sir Hugh. ‘It never seemed to me healthy for him to be spending all his time in the cellar. I think if it’s true that he’s going to come into his inheritance, I’ll go and speak to him about that horse before it slips my memory.’
He left the room as he spoke. Eustacie, finding her tongue, blurted out: ‘But Sarah, do you want to marry Tristram?’
Miss Thane’s eyes twinkled. ‘My love, when a female reaches my advanced years, she cannot be picking and choosing, you know. She must be content with the first respectable offer she receives.’
‘Oh, now I know that you are laughing at me!’ Eustacie said. ‘But I do not understand it. I find it quite extraordinary!’
‘The truth is,’ said Miss Thane confidentially, ‘that I cannot any longer bear his odious way of calling me ma’am. There was no other means of putting an end to it.’
‘But, Sarah consider! You are romantic, and he is not romantic at all!’
‘I know,’ replied Miss Thane, ‘but I assure you I mean to come to an understanding with him before the knot is tied…Either I have his solemn promise to ride ventre à terre to my death-bed or there will be no marriage!’
‘It shall be included in the marriage vow,’ said Sir Tristram.
Eustacie looking from one to the other, made a discovery. ‘Mon Dieu, it is not a mariage de convenance at all! You are in love, enfin!’ she exclaimed.
About the Author
Author of over fifty books, Georgette Heyer is one of the best-known and best-loved of all historical novelists, making the Regency period her own. Her first novel, The Black Moth, published in 1921, was written at the age of fifteen to amuse her convalescent brother; her last was My Lord John. Although most famous for her historical novels, she also wrote twelve detective stories. Georgette Heyer died in 1974 at the age of seventy-one.
Georgette Heyer, The Talisman Ring
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