When the dowager had recovered her breath she attempted, though feebly, to expostulate. The Viscount cut her short. “My mind is made up, ma’am. It is time I was thinking of settling down. I should have done all this at the outset. It may be too late: I don’t know that. But if — when — my wife returns to me we will contrive better, I hope.”
“I am sure I am the last person alive to wish to keep you out of your house,” quavered Lady Sheringham. “But I do not know why you should suppose your wife will return to you, for ten to one she has run off with another man!”
“No,” said his lordship, turning his back upon her, and staring out of the window at the bleak gardens. “That is something else I desire you will not repeat, ma’am. It is untrue.”
“You cannot know that, Anthony, my poor boy! She never cared for you! It was all vanity, and the wish of becoming a person of consequence!”
He shook his head. “She never thought of that. I didn’t know it — never stopped to think, or — or consider it, but she did care for me. Much more than I cared for her — then. But if I could only find her — I’ve racked my brains, and I can’t think where she can have gone, or to whom! She must have sought shelter with someone! Good God, ma’am, it keeps me awake at night, the fear that she may be alone, without money, or friends, or — No, no, she must be with some friend I know nothing of!”
“Very likely she went to that vulgar cousin of hers,” said his mother waspishly.
He wheeled round, rather pale. “Mrs Hoby!” he ejaculated. “How did I come to forget her? Good God, what a fool I have been! I am obliged to you, ma’am!”
He set off for town again that very day, and repaired to the Hobys’ house. A rather slatternly servant opened the door to him, when he had knocked on it for the third time, and informed him that her master and mistress were away from London. A few inquiries elicited the further information that the Hobys had left for a visit to Ireland the day following Hero’s departure from Half Moon Street. With a darkening brow, the Viscount asked if this had been a long-standing engagement. The servant thought not; they had packed up and gone in a hurry; she thought a letter had arrived which made them take this course. But when he asked if they had gone alone, or had taken a friend with them, she shook her head and replied that she couldn’t say, not having witnessed the actual departure, but she believed they had been alone.
The Viscount went home to think this over. The more he thought, the more convinced he became that Hero had indeed flown to her cousin, and was now being concealed by this lady. He had never liked Theresa Hoby; her husband he barely knew, but had little hesitation in condemning as bad ton; and gradually there grew up in his breast a feeling of indignation that Hero should have fled to the very people above all others whom he most disliked. He remembered that he had forbidden her to hold any close intercourse with Mrs Hoby; remembered also that she had largely ignored this prohibition; and conveniently forgot that it had been uttered in the heat of the moment, and never seriously repeated. He began to be angry, and from picturing Hero in all manner of appalling plights passed to imagining herself amongst a set of people of whom her husband disapproved. A cynical remark let fall by his Uncle Prosper, that no doubt the minx was bent on giving him the fright of his life, took root in Sherry’s mind, and drove him to throw himself, without the slightest enjoyment, into much the same kind of excesses which were being indulged in by Lord Wrotham. There was a good deal of bravado about this, a suggestion of gritted teeth, and more than a suggestion of obstinacy; but it made Mr Ringwood pull down the corners of his mouth and shake a despondent head.
Six weeks after Hero’s disappearance, the Hobys came back to London. Sherry heard of their arrival, and grimly awaited the return of his wife. She did not come; but her cousin did — to call upon her. The Viscount received her, and ten minutes in her company were enough to convince him that she knew nothing of Hero’s whereabouts, had not the smallest notion of her being away from home, and had journeyed into Ireland for the purpose of attending her mother-in-law’s sickbed.
The Viscount’s brain reeled under the shock. Remorse, anxiety, and despair played havoc with him; and he seriously disquieted Bootle by spending the entire night in the back room, called his library, alternately striding up and down the floor and sitting with his head in his hands over the fire. He consumed a considerable quantity of liquor during this session, but he was not drunk when Bootle ventured to enter the room early the following morning; and this, the valet said darkly to Bradgate, was a very bad sign.
The Viscount looked at him unseeingly for a moment, and then passed a hand through his tumbled locks, and said curtly: “Send round to Stoke, and tell him I desire to see him immediately!”
Mr Stoke, when he arrived, was shocked by his patron’s haggard appearance. He listened in silence to the blunt story the Viscount related, and received, without visible discomposure, a command to set every possible means in motion to discover Lady Sheringham’s whereabouts. He asked the Viscount one or two searching questions, did his best to hide his own absence of hope, and went away promising to strain every nerve to find her ladyship.
The Viscount was still waiting for his man of business to justify his existence when the dowager arrived in London, and summoned him to visit her at Grillon’s Hotel, where she was putting up. He found her with Miss Milborne in her train, and learned from her that the unusually damp winter had so aggravated her numerous rheumatic disorders that nothing short of a visit to Bath was likely to be of benefit to her. Miss Milborne, too, she said, had been sickly for some weeks. So she had had the idea of inviting the sweet girl to accompany her to Bath, to try what the waters would do for her, and to fill the place of Mr Paulett, who was employed in making the Dower House habitable. She desired the Viscount to perform the filial duty of escorting them on their perilous journey.
The Viscount refused with wholly unfilial promptness. He said that nothing would prevail upon him to leave London; and that if his Mama thought herself in danger of being held up by highwaymen, she would find a couple of outriders of more practical use than himself. The dowager smiled wanly, rose up from her chair, saying that perhaps Someone Else would have the power to make him change his mind, and drifted out of the room, leaving him alone with Miss Milborne.
The Viscount stared at the shut door, and then at the Beauty, incredulity struggling with wrath in his countenance. “What the deuce — ?” he demanded explosively.
Miss Milborne got up and took his hand, saying with a good deal of feeling: “My poor Sherry, you look so wretchedly! Have you had no word from Hero?”
He shook his head. “Not one. I’ve set my man of business on to it. Told him to call in the Runners if need be, though God knows I don’t want — But what else can I do? And then my mother comes here teasing me to take her to Bath, of all places! And let me tell you, Bella, that while I have no wish to offend you, if her ladyship meant that you have the power to persuade me into going, she was never more mistaken in her life!”
She smiled. “Indeed, I know it! You never cared a button for me, Sherry. I believe it must always have been Hero, though perhaps you did not know it until you lost her.”
He stood looking down at her. “You said something of the sort the day I offered for you, and I told you Severn would never come up to scratch. We’re an unlucky pair, ain’t we?”
She withdrew her hand, flushing. “Sherry, you have known me since we were children, and if you are to believe that I am wearing the willow for Severn, I cannot bear it! Oh, I don’t deny I was flattered by his making me the object of his attention! and, yes, perhaps I did a little like the notion of being a duchess! But when I thought how it would be to be married to him, to be obliged to live with him for the rest of my life — oh, I could not!”
“What, you don’t mean that he really did come up to scratch, and you refused him?” he exclaimed.
She nodded. “Yes, I could not prevent him. My going to Severn Towers at Christmas was fatal! But do not sp
eak of this, Sherry, if you please! It would be so unbecoming in me to boast of having made such a conquest, and Severn would very much dislike to have it known!”
“Well, by God!” said Sherry, quite thunderstruck.
She tried to smile. “How odious you are! You may imagine how deeply I am in disgrace with Mama. The only person, except poor Papa, who has been kind is your mother, and that is in part why I am going with her to Bath. To be open with you, Sherry, I believe she has taken a foolish notion into her head that you may divorce poor little Hero, and end by marrying me after all.”
“Well, I shan’t,” said his lordship, with an entire absence of gallantry.
“Don’t flatter yourself I would accept you!” retorted Miss Milborne. “I care no more for you than I cared for Severn! Well, yes, perhaps a little more, but not very much!”
“I wish I knew who it is you do care for!” said Sherry.
She turned her face away. “I had thought you did know. If you do not, I am glad.”
“George?” Then, as she made no answer, he said: “Of all the stupid coils! George took such a pet over you that there’s no doing a thing with him these days. Riding as hard as he can to the devil. You’d best stay in London, Bella!”
“No,” she replied. “I should not dream of doing so. George may think me what he wills: I shall go to Bath with Lady Sheringham.”
“Don’t you! It’s a rubbishing place: can’t stand it myself!” He stopped abruptly, his brows snapping together, his eyes holding an arrested expression. “Bath! When was I talking of the place last? Said I should be obliged to go there if — Great God, why did I never think of that before? Bath — school — governess! That’s what she’s done, the little fool, the little wretch! My Kitten! Some damned Queen’s Square seminary, you may lay your life, and very likely turned into a drudge for a parcel of — Tell my mother I’ll escort her to Bath with the greatest pleasure on earth, but she must be ready to start tomorrow!”
“Sherry!” she gasped. “You think Hero may be there?”
“Think! I’m sure of it! If I weren’t a rattle-pated gudgeon I should have thought of it weeks ago! Tell you what, Bella, if we mean to keep my mother in a good humour, we’d best say nothing about this. Let her suppose you persuaded me: it don’t make a ha’porth of odds to me, but she can be deuced unpleasant if things don’t go the way she wants, and if you’re to be cooped up in a coach with her for two days — for she’ll never consent to do the journey in one! — you’ll get a trifle tired of the vapours!”
And with this piece of sound, if undutiful, advice, his lordship caught up his coat and hat and strode off to make his arrangements for an instant departure from town.
Chapter Twenty
WHILE THESE EVENTS WERE IN PROGRESS, Hero was residing in Upper Camden Place, Bath, the guest of Lady Saltash. At first a little frightened of an old lady who was generally held to be both formidable and sharp-tongued, she had soon settled down, and quite lost her shyness. The pug, not being as yet gathered to its fathers, was her particular charge; in addition to brushing this stertorous animal, and taking it for walks on the end of a leash, she played cribbage with her hostess, read to her from the newspapers, and accompanied her to the Grand Pump Room, or to the Assembly Rooms, where her ladyship was a subscriber to the Card and Reading Rooms. She had removed her wedding ring and reverted to the use of her maiden name, two proceedings which drew an approving nod from Lady Saltash. It was at first difficult to remember that she was again Miss Wantage, and when Lady Saltash took her to one of the Dress Balls at the New Assembly Rooms she drew shocked eyes upon herself by moving unconsciously towards the benches set aside for the use of peeresses. But this little slip was easily glossed over, and as soon as the Master of Ceremonies had been presented to her, and had signified his approval of Lady Saltash’s young protégée, her social comfort was assured. In the nature of things, she cared little for this, and would have been glad to have lived the life of a recluse would Lady Saltash but have permitted it. But Lady Saltash had no opinion of recluses, and she gave Hero some very good advice about never being led into the error of wearing one’s heart upon one’s sleeve.
“Depend upon it, my love, nothing is more tiresome than the person who is for ever bemoaning her fate. Recollect that no one has the smallest interest in the troubles of another! To be shutting yourself up because you fancy your heart is broken will not do at all. Do not wear a long face! As well heave sighs, than which nothing could be more vulgar!”
Hero promised to do her best to be cheerful, but said that it was sometimes hard to smile when she was so very miserable.
“Fiddle-de-dee!” replied Lady Saltash. “When you have had as much cause as I to talk of being made miserable you may do so, but believe me, my love, you know nothing of the matter as yet, and very likely never will. From what you have told me, you have not the least need to put yourself into a taking. I have known Anthony any time these twenty years, and you have gone the right way to work with him. I dare say he may be tearing out his hair by the roots by this time!”
“But I never, never meant him to be made unhappy or anxious!” Hero exclaimed, looking quite oppressed.
“Very like you did not. You are a silly little puss, my love. My grandson has more sense, it appears, for he certainly means Anthony to be excessively anxious.”
“Oh, he must not! That would be worse than all the rest!” Hero cried distressfully.
“Nonsense! It is high time that boy was made to think, which I’ll be bound he has never done in his life. I do not scruple to tell you, my love, that I have been agreeably surprised by what you have told me. It appears that Anthony has behaved towards you with more consideration that I should have expected in one reared to consider nothing but his own convenience. I dare swear he has been in love with you all this while without having the least notion of it. It will do him a great deal of good to miss you.”
Hero regarded her hopefully. “Do you think so indeed, dear ma’am? But perhaps you do not perfectly understand that he only married me because Isabella Milborne refused to accept his hand?”
“Do not talk to me about this Miss Milborne! She sounds to me just the insipid sort of girl who passes for a beauty in these days! Now, when I was young — However, that’s neither here nor there! I shall be surprised if we find that Anthony cares a fig for her. Soon or late, mark my words! we shall have him posting down here to find you, and I will tell you now, my child, that if you mean to let him discover you halfway to a decline, I shall wash my hands of you! That is no way to handle a man. A little jealousy will work wonders with that boy: he has been too sure of you! I must tell you, my love, that these Verelsts are all the same! Like Pug there! Let no one wish to touch his bone, and ten to one he will not look at it. Lay but a finger on it, and all at once he knows that there is nothing he wants more in the world, and he will snarl, and show his teeth, and stand guard over it with all his bristles on end! I am determined that if Anthony comes to look for you, he shall find you living in tolerable comfort without him.”
Hero looked doubtful, but the idea of Sherry’s coming to look for her was so precious to her that she raised no further demur at the programme outlined for her by her worldly-wise hostess.
Mr Ringwood, though not generally held to be a good correspondent, wrote with painstaking regularity, reporting on Sherry’s progress. Hero shed tears in secret over these letters, and had she not made up her mind to allow Sherry time to forget her, if he should wish to do so, she would have written to set his mind at rest at least a dozen times. When she heard that he had plunged into an orgy of gaiety, she really did feel as though her heart must break, and believed that he had ceased to grieve over her disappearance. When she could command her voice, she sought out Lady Saltash, and tried, for the third or fourth time, to broach the question of her applying for a post in a Young Ladies’ Seminary.
Her ladyship cut her short. “Don’t put on those missish airs with me, Hero! What has happened to make
you start on that nonsense again, pray?”
“Only that I have had a letter from Gil, ma’am, which — which — ’’
Her ladyship held out an imperative hand, a little twisted by gout. After a moment’s hesitation, Hero gave up the letter. Lady Saltash read it with an unmoved countenance. “Going to the devil, is he?” she commented. “Very likely. Just as I expected! Pray, what is there in this billet, beyond the lamentable spelling, to make you pull that long face?”
“Don’t you think Sherry is forgetting all about me, ma’am?” Hero asked wistfully.
“What, because he is behaving like a sulky boy? No such thing! He is determined no one, least of all yourself, my love, shall guess how much he cares. Really, I begin to have hopes of that tiresome boy! Put the letter up, my dear, and think no more of it! I apprehend we might find the piece they are playing at the Theatre Royal tolerably amusing. Have the goodness to sit down at my desk, and write two little notes, inviting Sir Carlton Frome and Mr Jasper Tarleton to do me the honour of accompanying me there tomorrow evening. We will send one of the servants round to procure a box for us.”
Hero obeyed her. She paused in the middle of her task to look up, and to say: “After all, if Sherry may amuse himself I do not know why I should not too!”
“Excellent!” said her ladyship, laughing. “Do you mean to break Mr Tarleton’s heart? I wish you may do it!”
Hero gave a chuckle. “Why, he is quite old, ma’am!”
“Quite old! If he is a day more than thirty-five I will never wear my new wig again!”
“Well, too old to break his heart,” amended Hero. “I like him extremely, for he is always so very kind and civil, and he makes me laugh.”
Friday’s Child Page 30