It was on an afternoon in mid-December that, while riding in Richmond Park, he witnessed an accident from a distance. A closed carriage and pair was coming in one direction and, from the other, a cabriolet driven at great speed. The lighter vehicle took a corner too sharply and collided with the carriage, taking off one of the wheels; it then overturned in a ditch.
Setting spurs to his mare, Roger galloped over. A young buck was climbing out of the wreckage of the cabriolet, and Roger shouted at him:
'You young fool! You deserve to be horsewhipped for your carelessness.'
The youth, who was unhurt, went red in the face and shouted back, 'Dam'me, Sir. Mind your own business. I've a mind to call you out for that.'
'By God, you'd better not!' Roger roared. 'I can pip an ace at thirty feet. And I eat striplings like you for breakfast. Look to your horse, and make yourself scarce before I trounce you.'
Dismounting, with his arm through the mare's bridle he ran to the carriage. It had heeled over on one side and one window was smashed. The coachman had succeeded in clinging to his box, so was unhurt and was now endeavoring to open the carriage door, which had jammed. With Roger's help he got it open, On the floor inside lay a young woman. Her forehead was bleeding where, when pitched forward, she had cut it on the glass of the shattered window, and she had fainted. As they lifted her out, Roger gave an exclamation of surprise. It was Mary.
Roger told the coachman that he lived nearby, so he would send someone to put the wheel back on the carriage; meanwhile he had better unharness his horse and follow him. He then hoisted the unconscious Mary on to his saddle bow and rode off with her to his house.
On arriving there, she came to when he lifted her down and, with equal surprise, recognised him. Quickly assuring her that the cut on her forehead was only skin deep, and that after an hour or two of rest she would be able to proceed on her way, he carried her inside. There, as Mrs. Marsham and Susan were out visiting friends, he bellowed for his housekeeper, Mrs. Muff et.
Together they got Mary upstairs to a bedroom and laid her on the bed. Leaving Mrs. Muffet to bathe Mary's cut and make her comfortable, Roger went downstairs and sent his gardener, his groom and Dan to get the wheel back on the carriage. Soon afterwards, Mrs. Muffet came down to report that the young lady's condition gave no cause for alarm; upon which Roger told her to bring tea for two in an hour and a half's time, then go up and find out if their guest felt sufficiently recovered to join him, or would prefer to have tea taken up to her.
While the time passed, Roger revived his memories of Lisbon and wondered how Mary had fared since that most distressing night when he had ravished her.
At half past four, Mrs. Muffet came in with a hearty tea; sandwiches, scones, crumpets and cake, and said that the young lady was now feeling quite herself and would shortly come downstairs. A few minutes later Mary came in, looking as pretty as ever, except that her ringlets were partly hidden by a bandage round her forehead.
Roger was far too experienced a man to show any awkwardness, and so embarrass her. Smiling, he advanced to meet her, with both hands outstretched, and said:
'My dear, I'm so glad you sustained no serious injury from your accident, and how glad I am that I was on hand to look after you.'
Returning his smile, she replied, 'It was a horrid moment when I was thrown against the window of the carriage; but I was most fortunate in your coming to my assistance.'
They sat down before the roaring fire and she poured tea for them. Then, glancing round the drawing room, with its rich carpet, graceful Adam furniture and fine china, which Roger had collected through the years, she remarked:
'What a lovely home you have here, Roger.'
Into his mind there flashed the empty months ahead, and Georgina's advice on how best to fill the long intervals when they could not be together. Leaning forward, he said impulsively:
'You like it, Mary? Then why not share it with me? I would love to have you as my wife.
Her mouth fell open. Then she sadly shook her head. 'Oh, Roger, had you only asked me when we were in Lisbon. I have been married these past three months.'
17
A Call of Conscience
Roger suddenly gave a hoarse, unnatural cackle of laughter. Mary stared at him in puzzled dismay, wondering from his totally unexpected proposal followed by this weird reaction if he had gone out of his mind. But recovering quickly, he said:
'I'm sorry, Mary; but I really am beginning to believe that my late wife cursed me before she died. I have since been accused of two murders, and you are the second woman whom I should have liked to marry and who would have liked to marry me, yet could not do so because she had married someone else.'
'Then you have indeed been unfortunate,' Mary commiserated with him. 'And atop of that you were grievous wounded by that brigand. I was told, too, that your wound reopened the night that… that night.'
'Yes. But, as it turned out, that was a fortunate coincidence.'
'Was it?' she questioned. 'Secretly, I formed the belief that you deliberately opened your wound in order to be taken quickly from the house and so spare my feelings.'
He smiled. I’ll admit now that it was so. I had done you a great wrong; and it was the only way I could think of to accede to your wish that you should never set eyes on me again.'
'You are a very gallant gentleman, Roger. I did not deserve such consideration, for I realise now that I brought what happened upon myself.'
'It would not have happened had it not been for your cousin, George Gunston. Out of hatred for me, he led me to believe that you had already had several lovers, and himself among them one afternoon in a punt up the Thames. Believing that, and attracted to you as I was, I'd have been a poor sort of man had I not sought to have you pleasure me too.'
Her smooth forehead creased into a frown. 'So that is what led you to it. You were, then, right about George. What a blackguard he must be. I will admit, though, that there was a basis for his story of the punt. He is a handsome, dashing fellow and I was attracted to him; so, one afternoon, I did allow him some liberties and repulsed him only when he attempted to go too far. I fear I have been given an over passionate nature.'
'Nay, Mary, I'd not subscribe to that. There is a big difference between passion and lust, and you are no victim of the latter. A natural warmth in a woman is a gift of the gods, enabling her to make happy the men she cares for, and in doing so derive much happiness herself. Do you know what has happened to Gunston?'
'As far as I am aware, he is still in Portugal.'
'In that case, as the war there shows no sign of ending, it may be several years before I run across him again. When I do, he'll find himself faced with a heavy bill to pay for what he did to us.'
'No, Roger, please. No good could come of your calling him out, and you might be injured yourself did fortune not favour you. Let bygones be bygones. Instead, let us rejoice that, owing to this chance meeting, we are again friends.'
While they were talking, they had begun their tea. Roger buttered a crumpet for her, put it on her plate and said, 'Tell me now about your husband. What manner of man is he?'