The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [318]
‘A minuet,’ cried Mrs Grockleton. ‘Come, Fanny. Come Edward, lead us in the minuet.’
Fanny and Edward both danced well. The count and his wife fell in behind, the other French officers were not slow to take partners and the business got under way very nicely; although when Edward whispered to her that Mr Gilpin was at the piano because Mrs Grockleton had forgotten the band it was all Fanny could do not to collapse with laughter. The minuet was followed by several more dances. Mr Gilpin then indicated that he felt he should be relieved and rose from the piano. But the two fiddlers, having got quite into their stride, struck up a country dance on their own, and this brought most of the Lymington folk on to the floor; so that it was a very jolly, if not very elegant scene that greeted Mr Martell’s eyes as he quietly entered from the far end of the room just as refreshments were announced.
Fanny did not see him at first. With Edward’s help she had brought her aunt a little fruit pie and a glass of champagne, which was all she wanted; but old Francis Albion, who seemed to be enjoying himself enormously, demanded a plate of ham and some claret. Not only that, he gave his daughter quite a naughty look – which she had never seen before in her life – and suggested that she brought some of the young ladies to talk to him. She was quite astonished at this transformation in the old man and dutifully did as he asked.
A few minutes later, talking to one of the French officers, she suddenly became aware of a presence beside her and knew at once, with a little tremor, who it was.
‘I had been searching for you, Miss Albion,’ said Mr Martell and, almost unwillingly, she looked up at his face.
The tiny gasp she gave was quite involuntary, as was the expression of horror she must have shown, since the sight of it made him frown. Yet she really couldn’t help it. For at her side stood the man whose portrait she had seen the night before.
The thing was uncanny. This was no mere likeness – a similarity of hair, saturnine features or proud, handsome look. This was the man himself. Indeed, it seemed to her, she could only assume that up at Hale House at this moment the frame in the shadowy passage was empty, and that Colonel Penruddock himself had stepped out from it, changed his clothes, and was now standing beside her, tall, dark, very much alive and threatening. She took a step back.
‘Is something wrong?’ No wonder he was puzzled.
‘No, Mr Martell, nothing.’
‘You are not unwell?’ He looked concerned, but she shook her head. ‘I should have called upon you before this but Sir Harry has kept me rather busy.’
‘You would not have found me anyway, Mr Martell, these last two days. I have been away.’
‘Ah.’ He paused a moment.
‘In a house I recently visited, Mr Martell, I saw a picture that bears a striking resemblance to you.’
‘Indeed? Was it such a disagreeable face, Miss Albion?’
If this was intended to draw a smile from her, she remained serious. ‘A Colonel Thomas Penruddock, of Compton Chamberlayne. About the time of Charles II or a little after.’
‘Colonel Thomas?’ His face grew most interested. ‘Pray where did you see this?’
‘At Hale.’
‘I had no idea of its existence. What extraordinary good fortune, Miss Albion, that you should have discovered it. I must go and see it.’ He smiled. ‘Colonel Thomas Penruddock was my mother’s grandfather. My ancestor. We have no picture of him, though.’
‘You are a Penruddock?’
‘Certainly.