An Inescapable Match. Sylvia Andrew

they arrived at the Vicarage they found the gig with Deborah’s possessions waiting for them in the courtyard. Nanny Humble had already gone into the house.

      Hugo watched as the servants carried in a couple of old valises, one or two parcels tied with string, some boxes of books and music—all that was left of Deborah Staunton’s family home. It brought home to him how bereft she was, how slender her resources. One had to admire her courage, her gaiety, in the face of what must be a difficult future.

      ‘Stop! Oh, please handle that more carefully! Give it to me—I’ll carry it!’

      Deborah’s urgent cry roused Hugo’s curiosity. What was she so concerned about? He saw that she now had a rosewood box in her arms, about eighteen inches by twelve and six or seven inches deep. She hugged it close, though it was clearly awkward to carry.

      ‘Let me,’ he said, taking the box from her. He could now see that the top was beautifully worked marquetry of variously coloured woods surrounding a small silver oval with ‘Frances’ written on it. Deborah’s eyes followed the box anxiously as he carried it in for her.

      ‘I shan’t drop it, nor shall I run away with it,’ he said with amusement. ‘Where shall I put it down?’

      ‘It will go in my room. Thank you, Hugo—you could put it there until I take it upstairs.’

      ‘Nonsense, I shall carry it for you. What is it? It looks like a writing-box. Was it your mother’s?’

      ‘Yes. It’s almost the only possession of hers that I’ve managed to keep. But I refused to let it go…’

      ‘Why should you?’

      She looked at him sombrely. ‘You don’t understand.’

      They were interrupted by Lady Elizabeth. ‘What on earth are you doing on the stairs, Hugo? Surely the servants can carry Deborah’s things to her room? What have you there? Oh!’ There was unusual delight in Lady Elizabeth’s face. ‘It’s Frances’s writing-box! I have one just the same! Come and see!’ She took them into her little parlour at the back. On a table to one side of the window was a twin of the box in Hugo’s arms. It had the same marquetry top, but this one had ‘Elizabeth’ on the silver name plate. ‘My father had them made for us. He presented them to us as soon as we were able to write a full page of perfect copybook writing.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Frances had a hard time getting hers. She was always too hasty, and there was usually a blot before she had finished. But she managed in the end. What do you keep in it, Deborah? I keep recipes in mine!’

      ‘I… I have some letters. Letters from my mother, and correspondence between my mother and my…my father.’

      The pleasure faded from Lady Elizabeth’s face. ‘I see. Of course. Well, give it to one of the servants to take upstairs.’

      ‘I have it now, Aunt Elizabeth. I’ll take it,’ said Hugo. ‘Is Deborah using her old room?’

      ‘Of course. You’ll find Mrs Humble up there. Come down straight away again, Hugo. You’re no longer children, and it isn’t fitting for you to be in Deborah’s room.’

      Hugo burst out laughing. ‘Aunt Elizabeth! Set your mind at rest. Deborah would never be in the slightest danger from me!’

      ‘I know that, of course. But the rest of the world may not.’

      Somewhat depressed, Deborah followed Hugo up the wide oak staircase. The precious box was deposited on a chest of drawers in Deborah’s room. Aunt Elizabeth was very fond of her niece and had always done all she could to make her feel at home. The Vicarage was large, and Deborah’s room had been given to her when she had first come as a child to Abbot Quincey. It was the same size as those of her cousins, and furnished in the same simple, but pretty way, with plenty of room for small treasures.

      Just as Hugo was turning to go, Edwina came in with a vase of flowers in her hand.

      ‘We didn’t expect you for another two days, Deborah. Otherwise these roses would have been in your room when you arrived. Why did you come so unexpectedly?’

      Deborah hesitated and colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I… I was lonely. I couldn’t wait any longer to be with you. But I should have thought it out more carefully, I see that now. I’m sorry if I’ve put you all out.’

      While Edwina protested strongly at this and hugged her cousin to prove it, Hugo went slowly downstairs looking thoughtful. Deborah Staunton had always been a poor liar. There was more to her hasty disappearance from her former home than she had so far admitted. He must have the truth from her before very long, and see if she needed help.

      After Deborah came downstairs again he took her to see the stable where Autolycus had been housed. The dog was already asleep again.

      ‘I hope you haven’t been rash in recommending him as a guard dog,’ said Deborah, eyeing Autolycus doubtfully. ‘He’s not really very brave. But thank you for thinking of it. And…and for the rest of your help today.’

      ‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘It was quite like the old days. But some time soon I intend to hear the real reason for your sudden departure from Maids Moreton.’

      Deborah looked up at him, eyes wide in shock, then she looked away. ‘W-what do you mean?’

      ‘You mustn’t thank me one minute, then treat me like a simpleton the next, Deborah, my dear,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I am not as gullible as the twins. If you had waited another forty-eight hours you and Nanny Humble would have travelled at your ease in a carriage sent by Uncle William. As it was you came in a dogcart—not the most comfortable of vehicles. Moreover, the dogcart had been hired in Buckingham—two miles away from your old home. It’s natural to wonder why. Also, you hired it, even though you knew you didn’t have enough money to pay the full charge. Such desperation doesn’t arise from loneliness or a simple lack of patience, my friend.’ He looked at her gravely, but she remained silent. He went on, ‘And then there is the matter of your aunt’s equally hurried return to Ireland. Is it all connected?’

      She looked at him in dismay. ‘I… I can’t tell you, Hugo.’

      ‘Not now, I agree. But you’ll confide in me before long. Good night, Deborah. Try to keep out of trouble for the next week. We shall all be busy with preparations for the fête.’

      ‘The annual fête! I’d forgotten all about it. We used to have such fun at the fête… I’ll do my best to be good, Hugo.’ She made a face. ‘Though my best doesn’t always seem to work… I’ll certainly be extra careful, I promise—and the twins are very good to me—they’ll help.’ She sighed. ‘They don’t know how lucky they are—they seem to know how to behave without even trying!’

      Hugo nodded, smiling fondly. ‘They certainly do. As well as being pretty… Very pretty. The two of them together are indeed a striking sight. They would cast a number of accredited society beauties quite in the shade.’

      Deborah’s heart sank. Hugo really was becoming serious. She said hopefully, ‘Perhaps Robina will introduce them to the Ton after she is married? I’m sure they would be a success.’

      He frowned. ‘Perhaps… Though I’m not sure it’s at all necessary. They are so unspoilt, it would be a pity if… Well, we shall see, we shall see. They may well find suitable partners here in Northamptonshire.’

      When Hugo wasn’t being the kindest man she knew, thought Deborah in exasperation, he was far too lordly! It was obvious to her that he had now decided that one of his cousins would make a suitable wife and assumed that all he had to do was to decide which one. Such arrogance! It would serve him right if neither would accept him—but she couldn’t imagine that would happen. She suddenly felt weary beyond measure.

      ‘Good night, Hugo,’ she said and turned to go. Then, to her astonishment, Hugo put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her nearer. He kissed her on the cheek.

      ‘Don’t lose heart,’ he said. ‘Things will be better for you now. We are here to