A half hour of complete chaos followed. Margaret was carried inside to her bedroom and revived, though she remained groggy and confused by her mother’s noisy lamentations. The dinner guests, except Sir Justin, were sent home, the Twitchels nearly bursting with furtive excitement. Philip Manningham, still very pale, retreated to his own chamber soon after, leaving Ralph Mayfield alone in the library with Keighley.
Standing with his hands clasped behind him, his back to the empty fireplace, Mr. Mayfield looked distinctly nervous. But he summoned all his resolution and said, “Well, Sir Justin, what have you to say for yourself, eh?”
“Just this.” And Keighley told him the whole story of his stroll with Margaret, omitting nothing.
“Hah,” replied Mayfield when he had finished. He pondered a moment. “You expect me to believe that? That my daughter suddenly became hysterical for no reason and that the whole incident was her fault?”
Keighley shrugged. “I have told you what happened. I don’t blame the girl. Perhaps I inadvertently said something to upset her. But I assure you I did not—”
“You do not blame Margaret!” Mr. Mayfield’s uneasiness was forgotten in his anger. “Extraordinary! I find my daughter unconscious in the arms of a known rake, and he tells me he does not blame her. Well, sir, neither do I! I never dreamed of doing so. I hold you alone responsible, and I insist that you make amends for your scandalous attack on an innocent girl. I don’t know what you may be accustomed to, but Margaret is not an unprotected female.”
Keighley raised one black brow. “Amends?”
Mr. Mayfield glared at him.
“Can you possibly mean…”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. You must marry my daughter as soon as possible, to stop the talk that has no doubt already begun. Maria Twitchel will lose no time in spreading the story of what she saw tonight. But if we immediately announce an engagement and a wedding date, perhaps…”
Sir Justin’s face was stony. “Have I not seen a betrothal announcement for your daughter? Last month?”
Mr. Mayfield made a despairing gesture. “That is at an end now, of course. Philip will not care to be married to a girl who has been publicly compromised.”
“Will he not?” Keighley’s lip curled.
“We could not expect it.” sighed the other. “But as Margaret must marry you, it is of no—”
“Let me understand you. You consider me the sort of man who would violently assault a young gentlewoman, to the point of knocking her unconscious and tearing her clothes at an ordinary dinner party, and yet you insist that I marry your daughter?”
Mayfield’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Much against my principles and inclination, I think it unavoidable, yes.”
“You would sacrifice the girl without hesitation to some ridiculous notion of propriety?”
“I do not consider the rules of society ridiculous, sir,” replied Ralph Mayfield stiffly. “Our moral code requires that—”
“Your moral code,” echoed Sir Justin. “For my part, I flatly refuse.”
His host gaped at him. “What?”
“I refuse to go along with this ludicrous scheme. I haven’t the slightest desire to marry your daughter, nor she me if her behavior is any measure. I did not attack her, and I consider her honor unspotted as far as I am concerned. I won’t do it.” He rose, gazing down at the astounded Mayfield with a slight, ironic smile.
“You…you will leave my daughter to be disgraced?” gasped the older man. “You will abandon her, her reputation ruined, her name a byword among—”
“Oh, take a damper, Mayfield. If you and your wife had not made such a Cheltenham tragedy of this matter, we might have passed it off as the trifle it was. Did it occur to you to ask, ‘Did she fall?’ when you came upon us in your summerhouse? No, you immediately assumed the worst, as you supposedly ‘moral’ people always do, and cried, ‘Unhand my daughter.’ Well, your narrow-mindedness is simply not my responsibility. You will do as you please, of course, but if I were you, I would tell the gossips the truth. Miss Mayfield tripped and fell, and I was trying to help her.”
“Only an idiot would believe that,” sputtered Mayfield.
“Indeed?” Sir Justin eyed him with icy contempt. “From what I have seen of your friends, that should cause no difficulty. Good evening.” He turned on his heel and went out, leaving Ralph Mayfield speechless with shock and outrage.
In the meantime, upstairs, Mrs. Mayfield had been talking somewhat incoherently to her daughter. Margaret was not feeling well. Her head hurt abominably, it was very late, and she wanted to sleep. And she was still emotionally shaken by her supposed ordeal in the garden. These things, combined with Mrs. Mayfield’s rambling monologue, prevented her from understanding what her mother was talking about for quite a time. At last, however, when she lamented, “To have to marry such a man,” for the fourth time, Margaret’s eyes widened.
“What are you talking about, Mama?”
Mrs. Mayfield wrung her hands. “About Sir Justin, dear. It pains me terribly to give you to such a man. I thought your future, such a different future, so admirably settled, and now this.”
“I don’t understand.” Margaret tried to sit up straighter on her pillows but sank back with a moan, putting a hand to her injured head.
Her mother looked surprised. “But what else have we been talking of this half hour? You must marry Sir Justin now, of course, after what happened. It is dreadful, but—”
“M-marry,” Margaret gasped. She stared at her mother in horror.
“I know you cannot like it, dear, but—”
“Like it? I cannot do it. I never want to see him again as long as I live! He is horrible, despicable. I am afraid of him.”
“He is certainly not the sort of man we would have chosen for you. But after what happened tonight, we have no choice. You are compromised, Margaret. You must marry him.”
“Mama, I cannot. I…I hate him.”
“I understand your feelings. He has acted in a way even I would not have expected. When you are married, however, he must treat you with that…”
Despite the pain, Margaret struggled upright. “Mama, you cannot mean this. You are not serious. You could not make me marry that man, after what he did to me.”
Mrs. Mayfield shook her head mournfully. “I wish I need not, Margaret. But you must understand that this incident has destroyed your reputation. To be seen in such a compromising position by a number of people, practically strangers. The story will be common property in a week. The only way to scotch it is with a marriage. Your father’s political position…”
“His position? What about mine? How could I live as his wife?”
“You might have thought of that before you slipped away alone with him,” retorted her mother, who was becoming incensed with Margaret’s unusual resistance. Her daughter had never before opposed her will.
“Slipped away?” Margaret gazed at her in outrage.
“Well, dear, you know that such behavior only encourages the kind of insult you received tonight. Sir Justin was in the wrong, of course, but he could not have, er, interfered with you if you had not given him the opportunity.”
For an instant Margaret almost felt guilty for having dropped back from the group after dinner, then a quite unaccustomed rage rose in her docile breast. “That isn’t true!” she cried. “I did not give him any opportunities. I did nothing. And I will never marry him. I hate him.”
“Margaret, do not talk to me in that tone.” Mrs. Mayfield was more startled than alarmed at her daughter’s defiance.
“I won’t marry him. I won’t.” Margaret buried her head in her pillows.
Her mother started to speak, then paused. “You are exhausted,” she answered finally. “Try to sleep. We will talk in the morning.”
There was no reply. Margaret was fighting tears and a growing terror. Disobeying her parents’ wishes was nearly as frightening as what they wanted her to do. She was overcome by the strong emotions of this new dilemma.
Mrs. Mayfield gazed at her muffled form for a moment, a spark of something like sympathy in her rather hard eyes, then left the room and walked downstairs to the library. There she found her husband alone. “Has Sir Justin gone already?” she asked. “I supposed I would find him still with you. Ralph, I’m afraid we have a problem. Margaret is insisting that she will not marry Keighley. We can bring her round, of course, but it may take a little—”
“It doesn’t signify,” replied Mr. Mayfield wearily. “He categorically refuses to have her.”
His wife’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“He won’t offer for her. Told me some rigmarole about Margaret’s running from him and falling, for no reason. Patently false, of course, but he says he won’t marry. He walked out on me.”
“We must make him.”
“How do you propose to do that? We have no influence with such a man. He doesn’t even like us.”
Mrs. Mayfield drew herself up alarmingly. “I shall go and talk to him, first thing tomorrow. He can’t get away with this, not with my daughter.”
Her husband shrugged. “You may try, certainly. But he won’t listen to you.”
“He must.” The couple’s eyes met for a long moment. “What will we do if he does not, Ralph?”
He shrugged again. “I suppose young Philip…”
“Will withdraw, of course. What would you do?”
Mr. Mayfield seemed uneasy about this question. “Perhaps we could find someone else to take her.”
His wife laughed harshly. “A nobody? A tuft hunter satisfied with our consequence? No, it must be Keighley. It is his duty.”
“He does not think so.”
“I shall make him.”
Mr. Mayfield looked skeptical, but he said only, “I hope you may, my dear.”
Margaret did not fall asleep when her mother left her; she was far too upset. She tossed and turned in the bed like an animal caught in a trap and wondered what she could do. She knew she had not moved her mother. Tomorrow both her parents would exert their authority, and as she had never resisted it in her life before, she could not imagine doing so now. She would have to marry Sir Justin Keighley.
This thought drew a small moan. She could not! She really did hate and fear the man. Her feelings toward him were stronger than any she had ever experienced. Indeed, he seemed, in one short evening, to have turned her whole life upside down. What she was feeling now was immeasurably more intense than anything she had known. Her anger at her mother, her obstinate certainty about what she did not want, her fear for the future—all were dauntingly exaggerated. Her mind whirled with the violence of her own reactions. What was happening to her?
It was at this moment that she thought of Philip. For some reason he had been absent from her thoughts throughout this awful evening, but now he recurred, and Margaret at once felt a vast relief. Philip would save her. They were, after all, engaged. He had said he admired and respected her. Surely all would be well again if she married him, as she had meant to do, instead of… She shuddered; she could not even think his name.
Margaret breathed a great sigh. Why had her mother not thought of this solution? It was so easy and simple. But it didn’t matter. She had thought of it, and first thing tomorrow morning she would speak to Philip. Then everything would be just as it had been, and she could go back to living her quiet, tranquil life and not worry about these new, frightening feelings. They were all Sir Justin Keighley’s fault. Margaret could not understand what he had done to her, but she knew where the blame lay. If she could only thrust the man out of her life, everything would be peaceful again.
Margaret relaxed and wiggled into a comfortable position under the bedclothes. Now she could sleep, but she would be sure to wake early and catch Philip before the others came down. That way, it would all be settled before her parents could open the subject again.
* * *
All the members of the Mayfield household were up betimes the following day. Both Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield had slept badly and woke early and irascible. Their houseguest, Philip Manningham, rose to begin packing his things, for he foresaw that his visit would soon become awkward.
Margaret was out of bed as soon as it was light, and though her head still gave her some pain, she was washed and dressed by the time her maid brought early tea. She drank it with dogged determination, as if it were medicine, then went out into the corridor and approached Philip’s door. With the morning had come certain doubts about her plan, and great trepidation about this moment. Margaret would never before have imagined knocking at a man’s bedchamber. Only desperation made her do so now, and immediately she began conjuring up awful possibilities. What if Philip were asleep or not yet fully dressed?
These fears dissolved when he opened the door, completely clothed and obviously wide awake. But the shock and amazement on his face when he saw her were almost as bad. Margaret’s cheeks crimsoned. “Ph-Philip,” she stammered, “I must talk to you. Could you come to the, er, library?”
His face showed nothing. “I’m rather busy. Can’t it wait?”
His cold indifference nearly discouraged her, but the alternative was so terrible that Margaret managed to say, “It’s important.”
Philip looked annoyed. “Very well.” He came into the hall, carefully shutting the door behind him, and started toward the stairs. Margaret, after a moment’s hesitation, hurried after him. They did not speak until they reached the empty library. Then Philip said, “Well?”
Margaret’s plan was crumbling around her. She could see that Philip’s attitude toward her had changed. Though he had never been an ardent lover, he had treated her kindly and always had a ready smile. Now he did not seem to want to look at her. But once again the threat of the future forced her on. “You…you know what happened yesterday,” she began.
“I could hardly help it.”
“Yes. Well…well, Mama is saying that I must marry Sir Justin.” She gazed at him with huge, appealing eyes.
Philip nodded. “Very right. It is the only possible solution, though distasteful, of course.”
“B-but I am engaged to you,” wailed Margaret, all her careful arguments falling away in the face of his agreement.
He stiffened. “You must realize, Margaret, that after what occurred here last night I cannot be expected to continue that connection. I am very sorry, naturally, but…”
“You are breaking it off?” Margaret sounded dazed.
“I should think your parents would have told you how it would be,” he replied, almost angry. “It is not my fault. I did nothing.”
“I thought you wished to marry me.”
“So I did. It was a good match for us both. But you must see that it is impossible now. I am to have a seat in Parliament next election. I cannot have a wife who… Well, you understand.”
“I thought you would help me. I cannot marry that man. If we married instead, would it not…”
Philip looked horrified. He backed away a few steps. “You are not seriously suggesting… It would ruin my career. No one could expect me to… This is all Keighley’s fault. He is the one who must make amends. It is your duty to marry him, Margaret.” The look in her blue eyes was too piteous to be ignored. “I know you don’t like the idea now, but I daresay it won’t be so bad. Keighley is considered very attractive to women, you know. They flock around him in London. And he has a tidy fortune. You’ll be quite comfortable.”
“Comfortable.” She sounded revolted.
“You needn’t look at me that way. I’m not to blame for this. No one can say that—”
“Of course they cannot,” interrupted Margaret harshly. “Forgive me for expecting anything whatever. Good-bye, Philip.” She fled in a rustle of skirts, leaving her former fiancé gazing uneasily after her.
He waited a few minutes to be sure she was gone, then returned to his room and his packing. The sooner he got away, the better.
In her bedchamber Margaret sat numbly in the window seat and wondered what she was to do. Her mother would come up very soon and reopen the question of her marriage to Justin Keighley. She would not be able to resist her for long. Then they would bring him here again, and she would be expected to accept his offer. Margaret leaped to her feet. She couldn’t. She really couldn’t. Running to her wardrobe, she pulled out a bandbox and began to stuff a few necessities into it. Her only hope was to run away.
* * *
When she had packed what she thought she could carry, Margaret went to the door and softly opened it. There was no one in the corridor. Taking the bandbox and a cloak, she crept out and hurried to the head of the stairs, where she stood listening for a long moment before running down them. The front hall was also empty. She was at the front door when she thought of something that made her cheeks pale. She hesitated, then ran to the library just down the hall; she slipped in, took a certain object, and the next minute was outside and away. She would get one of the stableboys to saddle her horse. She could think of a story that would satisfy him. And before anyone noticed she had gone, she would be well away.
She was halfway to the stables when she realized that she had no idea where to go. Who would shelter her in this dreadful situation? Margaret quickly reviewed her various relations; there was not one who would not return her immediately to her parents. She thought of her London acquaintances. No help there, either. She put a hand to her breast as she realized that for the first time in her short life she was alone. She trembled, and almost turned back. She could not manage by herself. Then she stiffened a bit and tried to think. Was there nowhere she could go?
London was out of the question. Too many people would recognize her there; besides, she was frightened of the crowds. No, she would not go east. This decision led naturally to its opposite, and she suddenly recalled Penzance. She and her mother had visited that town several times when an old aunt was ill there. The woman had since died, but Margaret was familiar with the place and loved it. She would go west to Penzance, and once there… Well, she would worry over that when the time came. With a slight nod, she continued on her way to the stables.