Read Online The Dorset House Affair by Norman Russell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Norman Russell
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your kind invitation to attend the birthday celebration, I allowed my eagerness to accept to overcome my prudence. Elizabeth, you see, had not been well in her mind for many months.’
‘You should have told, us, Alain,’ said the old field marshal. ‘We would have understood. Not well in her mind, you say? Dear me! Meanwhile, there’s no cause whatever to make an apology.’
‘Quite right,’ said Lady Claygate. ‘Poor girl! I expect the close atmosphere of the saloon, and the shattering noise of those fireworks contributed to the onset of that fit of hysterics.’
‘There’s rather more to it than that, Lady Claygate,’ De Bellefort continued. ‘Let me explain. When I was seventeen, and Elizabeth was twelve, a band of footpads waylaid me on the road as I was returning to the manor from the neighbouring town of Saint-Martin de Fontenay. I was carrying a bag containing the quarterly rent owed by tenants of ours. I took to my heels, and fled into a barn that lay just inside the demesne. The cutthroats –for that is what they were – ran after me, and just as they reached the barn, my sister appeared from the house. Knowing what danger I was in, she spread-eagled herself across the barn doors, crying, “No, villains, you shall not get to him!”’
‘What a very brave thing for a young girl to do!’ exclaimed the field marshal.
‘It was, sir,’ De Bellefort continued. ‘When I heard her voice, I seized a crowbar that lay on the floor, rushed out through the back door of the barn, and round to the front. Elizabeth still stood with her arms outstretched, crying, “No, no, you shall not get to him!”’
‘What did you do, Alain?’ asked Lady Claygate. She was evidently enthralled by De Bellefort’s story.
‘My blood was up, and when the footpads saw me bearing down upon them like an avenging fury, they fled to the road. Elizabeth stood as though in a trance, and it was then that I saw the blood coursing along her arms, and dripping from her fingers. Those abandoned men had slashed her with their knives, but she had remained constant in her desire to protect me.’
‘Noble girl!’ exclaimed the field marshal. ‘I always knew that she was a true aristocrat. And it is memory of that episode, I take it, that is plaguing her now?’
‘It is. This evening’s event was her third serious lapse into a kind of mesmeric trance in as many months. She thinks she’s back at the barn again, protecting me from harm.’
Alain de Bellefort stood up, and looked at his host and hostess. Had that fairy-tale satisfied them? Evidently so. They looked both sorry and concerned. Elizabeth’s peculiar behaviour that evening would not be mentioned in Dorset House again.
‘We had planned to return to Normandy on Saturday,’ said De Bellefort, ‘but I think it would be judicious for us to leave quietly tomorrow. Elizabeth will be acutely embarrassed, and any further agitation at this time should be avoided. Thank you both for inviting us. I gather that Maurice has gone off with his friends.When he returns tomorrow, please give him our kindest regards, and best wishes for his coming wedding.’
Elizabeth de Bellefort opened her eyes, and saw her brother standing motionless at the foot of the day couch where she lay. How long had she been there, in the quiet sitting-room of her suite? She remembered having been half-carried there by two gentlemen, after which Lady Claygate and some other ladies had gathered round her couch. She had fallen into a fitful sleep, awaking only to find a doctor present, a man who asked her no questions, and who did little more than feel her pulse. What time was it now?
‘Alain!’ she whispered. ‘What has happened?’
Her brother remained motionless, looking down at her. As always, his presence served to calm and reassure her.
‘Nothing has happened. You lost your courage, that’s all. Perhaps it is just as well.’
‘What do you mean? I shot him—’
‘Elizabeth!’ Alain’s
‘You should have told, us, Alain,’ said the old field marshal. ‘We would have understood. Not well in her mind, you say? Dear me! Meanwhile, there’s no cause whatever to make an apology.’
‘Quite right,’ said Lady Claygate. ‘Poor girl! I expect the close atmosphere of the saloon, and the shattering noise of those fireworks contributed to the onset of that fit of hysterics.’
‘There’s rather more to it than that, Lady Claygate,’ De Bellefort continued. ‘Let me explain. When I was seventeen, and Elizabeth was twelve, a band of footpads waylaid me on the road as I was returning to the manor from the neighbouring town of Saint-Martin de Fontenay. I was carrying a bag containing the quarterly rent owed by tenants of ours. I took to my heels, and fled into a barn that lay just inside the demesne. The cutthroats –for that is what they were – ran after me, and just as they reached the barn, my sister appeared from the house. Knowing what danger I was in, she spread-eagled herself across the barn doors, crying, “No, villains, you shall not get to him!”’
‘What a very brave thing for a young girl to do!’ exclaimed the field marshal.
‘It was, sir,’ De Bellefort continued. ‘When I heard her voice, I seized a crowbar that lay on the floor, rushed out through the back door of the barn, and round to the front. Elizabeth still stood with her arms outstretched, crying, “No, no, you shall not get to him!”’
‘What did you do, Alain?’ asked Lady Claygate. She was evidently enthralled by De Bellefort’s story.
‘My blood was up, and when the footpads saw me bearing down upon them like an avenging fury, they fled to the road. Elizabeth stood as though in a trance, and it was then that I saw the blood coursing along her arms, and dripping from her fingers. Those abandoned men had slashed her with their knives, but she had remained constant in her desire to protect me.’
‘Noble girl!’ exclaimed the field marshal. ‘I always knew that she was a true aristocrat. And it is memory of that episode, I take it, that is plaguing her now?’
‘It is. This evening’s event was her third serious lapse into a kind of mesmeric trance in as many months. She thinks she’s back at the barn again, protecting me from harm.’
Alain de Bellefort stood up, and looked at his host and hostess. Had that fairy-tale satisfied them? Evidently so. They looked both sorry and concerned. Elizabeth’s peculiar behaviour that evening would not be mentioned in Dorset House again.
‘We had planned to return to Normandy on Saturday,’ said De Bellefort, ‘but I think it would be judicious for us to leave quietly tomorrow. Elizabeth will be acutely embarrassed, and any further agitation at this time should be avoided. Thank you both for inviting us. I gather that Maurice has gone off with his friends.When he returns tomorrow, please give him our kindest regards, and best wishes for his coming wedding.’
Elizabeth de Bellefort opened her eyes, and saw her brother standing motionless at the foot of the day couch where she lay. How long had she been there, in the quiet sitting-room of her suite? She remembered having been half-carried there by two gentlemen, after which Lady Claygate and some other ladies had gathered round her couch. She had fallen into a fitful sleep, awaking only to find a doctor present, a man who asked her no questions, and who did little more than feel her pulse. What time was it now?
‘Alain!’ she whispered. ‘What has happened?’
Her brother remained motionless, looking down at her. As always, his presence served to calm and reassure her.
‘Nothing has happened. You lost your courage, that’s all. Perhaps it is just as well.’
‘What do you mean? I shot him—’
‘Elizabeth!’ Alain’s
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