The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Read online

  Burke stood abruptly and began to pace the room. The Reverend Edgar Creswick shook his head slowly.

  “This is too bad,” said the rector solemnly. “The way some people will abuse children is beyond comprehension. I have seen some children beaten without cause until their backs are raw. The little chimney sweeps are forced up the chimneys by having fires lighted at their feet. In my visit to a cloth factory I found small children as young as six with fingers bleeding —”

  “I pray you, Reverend Creswick!” cried Lesley, in agony. “Do not go on in this manner! I am but come from Sandy, my beloved nephew, and he ... he...” She bent her head and wept into her handkerchief, unable to stifle her sobs.

  Mr Creswick said, “I am so sorry, Miss Dalrymple. However, it is difficult for gentry to realize what happens to the children of the poor. Orphans running about the street, trained to steal. Their abuse is criminal! I myself was trained for a time in one poor parish —”

  “Enough, Edgar,” said Burke harshly. “You will distress us all unnecessarily. Our theme today is not that of all poor children, but of one poor child we love dearly. What of Viola? Has she been mistreated?”

  Mrs Meredith spoke for Lesley, who was unable to command her own voice. “We think not yet. Her nature is so gentle, so amiable, she has not tried to defy them. However, we know the Stukelys are looking about for a man that she shall marry, someone they can rule, in order to keep their hands on the Dalrymple money.”

  Lesley looked up, wiped her eyes firmly, and spoke again. “If it were but the money, I should turn it all over to them, and gladly. They would break Sandy’s spirit, turn him coward, keep him from his learning, keep him from those who love him. I must get him away from those — those horrible dastards!”

  Burke eyed her curiously, she did not care. She sat with tears streaming down her cheeks, mopping them up, her hands shaking, her voice quivering.

  “I will get him away, I will! If I had to steal him, I would do so!” she added passionately. “If Alexander could see his child so mistreated ... oh, the angels themselves must weep! And poor dear sweet Cecilia ... she must look down from heaven and mourn for her boy...”

  Burke moved abruptly and gazed out of the window, his back to them for a time.

  Mrs Meredith finally spoke in the silence. “Is there not some legal way to obtain custody of him, Mr Penhallow? We have gone to the Dalrymple solicitors, and they say not. Not until Frank marries, or Lesley — they are of age. Even so, it would be a battle. The Stukelys have control of the money and will not let up easily. And — we understand — Mrs Stukely is buying more and more jewellery. She wears rubies one night, a new set of diamonds another night,” she said, in a lower voice. “I cannot comprehend how she gets control of such moneys as they must cost.”

  Burke finally turned about, his face grim and thoughtful. He came to sit down again, his long legs stretched out. He gazed again at Lesley, who was gaining control of herself, taking deep breaths.

  “There must be something...” he murmured. “There must be … under heaven, there must be some justice, some manner of handling this...”

  Lesley glanced up, met his gaze. “Oh, Burke,” she said, in simple appeal, her hand stretched out towards him. “If you could but get Sandy away from them, into my care, I would be grateful all my life! It tears my very heart from me, to see him so. And dear sweet Viola ... it cannot be good for her to be in such company. One hears about — about Aunt Stukely — I do not know if the rumours could be true —” She broke off, flushing.

  He nodded. “I have heard something of what you hint,” he said, frowning. “I will have that checked out. It may be an answer as to the jewels — and where they go. You note she does not wear them long? She changes from one set to another. Last autumn she sported a rare set of emeralds, but she has not worn them since December.” He shook his head.

  Lesley’s bewildered face showed her puzzlement. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why should she buy jewels, then sell them again quickly?”

  Burke glanced again at her innocent face. His gaze met that of Mrs Meredith, who nodded slightly.

  “I shall see my solicitors as soon as possible,” said Burke finally. “They may have some fresh idea. If not... we may need to take matters into our own hands.”

  “How can we do that?” asked Lesley.

  “I have an idea,” he said, but frowned, as though the idea did not please him. “Pray, leave the situation to me, and I shall come back to you within — shall we say — two days from now?”

  “So soon?” Her face lit up, she clasped her hands together spontaneously. “Oh, dear Burke, I should be so very pleased — so happy — if I could but get Sandy into my custody!”

  “Do not count on anything,” he said brusquely, but smiled at her with more gentle kindness than he had shown her in years. “Be sure I shall do my best, however, and will come to you two days hence.”

  The ladies thanked him again and rose. The morning had fled. In spite of the cold, he saw them to their carriage, kissed their hands, and bade them farewell. Great clumps of snow were falling as the carriage rolled away. He stood with bare head, the white flakes falling on his dark brown curls.

  “What do you think he can do?” asked Lesley absently, as they rode back to the Meredith townhouse. Her thoughts were on Sandy again, his tremors, the way he had clung to her.

  “I do not know, but I think he is determined on some plan,” said Mrs Meredith positively. “It was a good move to go to him, Lesley. He is a gentleman, and he does love Sandy. We may depend on it, he will move into action. I do wish that action included breaking some horrible piece of porcelain such as a purple vase on Hubert Stukely’s head!”

  Lesley broke into soft laughter, and her friend was pleased to see the light returning to her face and her grey eyes.

  “Oh, would that not be a fine sight?” she asked.

  CHAPTER 3

  Burke Penhallow sent his footman with a note to make an appointment with his solicitors. The following morning, he turned up at their distinguished, gloomy offices promptly at ten o’clock in the morning.

  Mr Pride and Mr Andrews, elderly, stooped but keen, both met him and bowed him into Mr Pride’s large office. They were all seated, he was offered a cigar, and refused.

  “Well, gentlemen, I think you know why I have come yet again,” began Burke.

  Both grey heads nodded. “The sad Dalrymple case,” said Mr Pride. “I know you feel keenly that situation. Your dear cousin Cecilia involved, and now her son...”

  “Yes, that is it. I beg you to go over the matter yet once more and try to find some way to break the will. Alexander could not have surmised when he made his will that his Aunt Felicia Stukely and her vicious husband would have charge of his son.”

  “Probably not. A man does not usually imagine he will die so young,” said Mr Pride drily. He rubbed his hands together in a nervous crackling gesture. “Well, well, well, we can none of us imagine when Death will come to collect us.”

  Burke crossed his legs, neatly trousered in grey wool, and gazed absently at the snuff-brown wall where hung two portraits. From their resemblance to Mr Pride, and their old-fashioned neckwear and wigs, he surmised they were ancestors of Mr Pride, probably his father and grandfather, founder of the firm of Pride and Andrews.

  “Somehow when one goes into battle, it is not with the idea of dying,” he said absently, rubbing his injured thigh without realizing he did so. It still gave him heavy twinges at times, especially in damp weather. “It is always the other chap who will be hit, not one’s self.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said the slightly younger Mr Andrews, nodding his heavy head. His plump cheeks quivered as he considered what he would say. “However, the sad fact is that young Alexander Dalrymple made a will which in ordinary circumstances would have been a model of discretion. That he died so young, and a relative of such poor character now has charge of his son and his fortune, and also his young sister, is most unfort
unate, most unfortunate!”

  They talked of the will, the entailed estate, for a time. They both knew the circumstances, from discreet gossip about the Law Courts. And rumours in London abounded about Mrs Hubert Stukely.

  “I have heard ... guessed...” said Burke, attempting to find words that would not be too damning, “that she has a friend — a young French émigré — one Guy Janssen. He appeared on the scene approximately one year ago. Is that correct? That she sees him secretly, without her husband’s knowledge and consent?”

  Both lawyers coughed heavily, Mr Andrews flushing red in embarrassment. Mr Pride, thinner and older, said heavily, “They seem to be true, those rumours, Mr Penhallow. She has done what so many older women do, fall for a young handsome man. There is talk ... hmm... of some jewels given... he claims to have relatives in France in dire need of smuggled jewels to assist them in escaping from the France ruled by that monster Napoleon Buonaparte.”

  “Jewels would of course be easily smuggled into France, to be converted into money and bribes which might aid persons in escaping,” said Burke thoughtfully.

  “However,” said Mr Andrews, “one hears that the jewels do not go to France. They go into the pockets of the young Janssen, for his personal profit. He now has a townhouse, a phaeton, a pair of splendid horses, footmen...” He paused significantly.

  “Ah, so that is it, the old story,” said Burke, alertly. “I had not heard he had purchased a townhouse. Where is it?”

  “Not far from the Dalrymple townhouse.”

  The gentlemen sat and thought about that, shaking their heads over the folly of older women.

  “The Dalrymple fortunes are such that they can endure for some years even such follies,” said Mr Price, coughing again. “However ... should her husband discover this...”

  “Brutal, jealous, vindictive...” murmured Mr Andrews, tipping his long fingers together before his nose.

  “Can we use such a weapon?” asked Burke Penhallow. “He would half kill his wife.”

  He thought of fearful, foolish Aunt Felicia Stukely. In spite of his fury at her, he felt sorry for her. No, he could not use such a weapon. And what would it mean for them, after all? Hubert Stukely would merely tighten his grip on his wife, cut off her money supply, and spend for his own pleasures, his jewels, land, and the bits of fluff he preferred. And Sandy would not be let out of his grip, he was the key to most of the Dalrymple moneys.

  “Well, let us turn again to other possibilities. The only ones,” sighed Mr Pride. “The boy, Frank. He is of age, I believe?”

  “Yes, twenty-two years of age,” said Burke, recalling the lad. “Charm, high spirits, intelligent when he chooses to be. He rules his men in the navy by his high courage and willingness to chance anything. He will make a good officer, should he calm down to steadiness.”

  “But he is in the navy, for some years,” said Mr Pride.

  “Probably.”

  “And unwilling to leave it, to marry, to handle the family’s affairs.” Mr Pride summed it up neatly, as he liked to do.

  “As I recall Frank on his latest leave, he is still immature, given to pranks, thoughtless of all but himself. I fear he would be no match for his uncle, Mr Stukely.”

  They nodded at Burke’s sober judgment and sat in silence in the musty room. A large fly droned at the window.

  “Well, there is the older girl, Miss Lesley Dalrymple,” said Mr Pride, leaning back in his chair and gazing at the dim ceiling with a faded mural of Justice carrying the scales in one hand. “A fine girl, eh? About twenty-one?”

  “Twenty-four,” corrected Burke, with a grimace. “A bluestocking, educated by her scholar father. With more knowledge of Latin and Greek than is good for a girl. Stubborn, with a sharp, nasty wit at times, a temper to match her red hair, and an avowed hatred for men. Her one good point is her fondness for her nephew Sandy and her sister Viola.”

  “Hmm. If she would but marry some strong man, who could both control her and the Dalrymple fortunes — not just the money but their destiny,” mused Mr Andrews.

  “I cannot see her marrying, not without some guardian to force her into it. And at twenty-four, she has no guardian but her solicitors, who have no power over her person, only her money.” Burke grimaced again, thinking of the scathing way she had compared him with the father he detested. How her eyes had flashed, how the glib words had cut him! Gambler, chaser of bits of fluff, rake, Corinthian, dastard — she had flung it all at him. All because he had come to London for a piece of refreshment after the long months of work. And he had worked hard.

  He had been severely injured in battle three years ago. His right thigh had been shattered. Only a clever surgeon had saved his leg from amputation. Now he walked with a limp, but — thank God — he could walk and ride and dance again. He had found his estates in poor condition, after years of neglect by his father. All had been left to Burke, entailed so no other relative could get hold of it. He had built up the estates, restored Penhallow to its former beauties, and took pride in the growing confidence of his workers and the villagers who depended on Penhallow.

  Damn it all, he had worked hard for years on that. He owed himself a little holiday, and if he chose to run about wildly, that was his affair! He did gamble, but cautiously, he was not addicted to it. He spent much, but on horses which he could purchase and use on the estate. He had bought jewels for Mrs Huntington, but he admired and was amused by her. And if he drank a bit much of an evening — why, he had earned the right to his relaxations! By May or June, he would be back at Penhallow, working as hard as ever.

  He was frowning unconsciously, and the two solicitors watched him alertly. There was some small talk, then he finally thanked them and departed.

  He had meant to call upon a friend near the Law Courts, but changed his mind. He lunched quietly at his club, having dismissed his carriage. A walk in the fresh air that afternoon might clear his mind.

  The solicitors had offered no fresh solution, but one was coming to him. A strong man, to offset Hubert Stukely! That was what was needed. If only Burke himself was a closer relation — but it was his cousin who had married Alexander Dalrymple, and it was Alexander’s fortune that was at stake. Cecilia had brought little but her beauty and sweet nature to the marriage.

  How they had loved each other! Burke had rejoiced in seeing that love, had envied it also. It was like some divine love, some marriage made in heaven, to him watching. How they had gazed at each other on their wedding day! They had seemed to see nobody else in the world, their hands had caught and clasped fiercely at times, and when they had departed in their carriage, he had seen the love flaming in their faces. They could not wait to be alone together. They had gone together to Cornwall, there to remain two months. They had missed no one, they said smilingly on their return. No, they had not given dinners, not gone to balls. “We walked on the cliffs,” said Alexander. “We enjoyed the sea air. We bathed in the waters when they were not stormy. No, we did nothing...” But their looks at each other had said more.

  That marriage, and the one of Mrs Maude Meredith and her beloved Dr Theo — those were the only two good marriages Burke had witnessed. Maude and Theo Meredith had been so close, enjoyed the same jokes, the same books, the same amusements. Their house was open to their friends, and one entered to find serenity, happiness, joy, welcome, warmth. His death had not crushed her spirits, only something was gone, some feeling of happiness too delicate for this earth. She still entertained some of her bluestocking friends, some old friends of the doctor, but there was not that lightness of spirit any longer. Mrs Maude wore black for two years, then grey, and she had seemed to age swiftly, too quickly for a woman still in her late thirties.

  What must it be to love so deeply? He wondered about that, striding along the Strand, his cane swinging absently. He could not imagine such love, such deep devotion, such oneness with the beloved. His parents had been so opposite, his mother had died, early and probably of grief and disappointment. He remembered
her as a perfumed wraith, lying on a couch, to whom one spoke softly for fear of giving a headache.

  He came back to earth with a sigh and found himself near the lodgings of Mrs Denise Huntington. He grinned, it must have been longing which brought him here. He quickened his step, and soon was running up the stairs to the flat she occupied with her maid.

  They were just rising from the table, lovely Denise and her six guests. One other woman, five men, that was the way Denise liked it. They had been drinking, the wine glasses had spilt on the white tablecloth, the scent of the wine was strong in the stuffy air of the flat.

  Denise came over to him at once. “Dear Burke!” she murmured, giving him a kiss on the cheek, her violet eyes glowing. “Why did you give me no warning? I would not have invited all these...”

  A wave of her graceful hand indicated her guests, on whom she had turned her back.

  He told her he had dined, she ordered coffee and brandy. He took coffee only, looking at her keenly. What amazement she would feel if he told her he was considering marriage!

  He observed her with the other men. They fell over each other to kiss her hand, to lean towards her and whisper compliments, to tell her jokes that would make her rosy mouth laugh.

  She was beautiful, yes, only twenty-five. But a world of experience lay behind the languid airs. She had married, at sixteen, to Kenwick Huntington, who had been cuckolded for years by her antics. Finally tiring of her, forcing himself out of her web of intrigue and enticement, he had won free and was now married to a charming, plain girl, Jeanne, as different from Denise as a sparrow from a peacock. Yet Kenwick was very happy — his face glowed with it. They had retired to the country, to raise pigs and children, as Denise laughed about it.

  Burke leaned back in a comfortable chair and observed the company. Why so grave, he asked himself. Perhaps it was contemplating matrimony — that was enough to make any man grave.