“You don’t mean it! But did you know Bev was here?”
“By no means. That fact was only revealed to me when I overheard him exchanging somewhat unguarded recriminations with the man whom I suppose to have murdered him. To be brief with you, there were three of them mixed up in this lamentable affair, and one of the three had bubbled the other two. I restored the necklace to Beverley, on the understanding that it should go back to Saar.”
Cedric cocked an eyebrow. “Steady now, Ricky, steady! I’m not cork-brained, dear old boy! Bev never consented to give the diamonds back—unless he was afraid you were going to mill his canister. Devilish lily-livered, Bev! Was that the way of it?”
“No,” said Sir Richard. “That was not the way of it.”
“Ricky, you fool, don’t tell me you bought him off!”
“I didn’t.”
“Promised to, eh? I warned you! I warned you to have nothing to do with Bev! However, if he’s dead there’s no harm done! Go on!”
“There is really very little more to tell you. Beverley was found—by me—dead, in a spinney not far from here, last night. The necklace had vanished.”
“The devil it had! Y’know, Ricky, this is a damned ugly business! And, the more I think of it the less I understand why you left town in such a hurry, and without a word to anyone. Now, don’t tell me you came on urgent family affairs, dear boy! You were disguised that night! Never seen you so foxed in my life! You said you were going to walk home, and by what the porter told George you had it fixed in your head your house was somewhere in the direction of Brook Street. Well, I’ll lay anyone what odds they like you did not go to serenade Melissa! Damme, what did happen to you?”
“Oh, I went home!” said Sir Richard placidly.
“Yes, but where did this young sprig come into it?” demanded Cedric, casting a puzzled glance at Pen.
“On my doorstep. He had come to find me, you see.”
“No, damn it, Ricky, that won’t do!” protested Cedric. “Not at three in the morning, dear boy!”
“Of course not!” interposed Pen. “I had been awaiting him—oh, for hours!”
“On the doorstep?” said Cedric incredulously.
“There were reasons why I did not wish the servants to know that I was in town,” explained Pen, with a false air of candour.
“Well, I never heard such a tale in my life!” said Cedric. “It ain’t like you, Ricky, it ain’t like you! I called to see you myself next morning, and I found Louisa and George there, and the whole house in a pucker, with not a man-jack knowing where the devil you’d got to. Oh, by Jupiter, and George would have it you had drowned yourself!”
“Drowned myself! Good God, why?”
“Melissa, dear boy, Melissa!” chuckled Cedric. “Bed not slept in—crumpled cravat in the grate—lock of—” He broke off, and jerked his head round to stare at Pen. “By God, I have it! Now I know what was puzzling me! That hair! It was yours!”
“Oh, the devil!” said Sir Richard. “So that was found, was it?”
“One golden curl under a shawl. George would have it it was a relic of your past. But hell and the devil confound it, it don’t make sense! You never went to call on Ricky in the small hours to get your hair cut, boy!”
“No, but he said I wore my hair too long, and that he would not go about with me looking so,” said Pen desperately. “And he didn’t like my cravat either. He was drunk, you know.”
“He wasn’t as drunk as that,” said Cedric. “I don’t know who you are, but you ain’t Ricky’s cousin. In fact, it’s my belief you ain’t even a boy! Damme, you’re Ricky’s past, that’s what you are!”
“I am not!” said Pen indignantly. “It is quite true that I’m not a boy, but I never saw Richard in my life until that night!”
“Never saw him until that night?” repeated Cedric, dazed.
“No! It was all chance, wasn’t it, Richard?”
“It was,” agreed Sir Richard, who seemed to be amused. “She dropped out of a window into my arms, Ceddie.”
“She dropped out of—give me some more burgundy!” said Cedric.
Chapter 13
Having fortified himself from the decanter, Cedric sighed, and shook his head. “No use, it still seems devilish odd to me. Females don’t drop out of windows.”
“Well, I didn’t drop out precisely. I climbed out, because I was escaping from my relations.”
“I’ve often wanted to escape from mine, but I never thought of climbing out of a window.”
“Of course not!” said Pen scornfully. “You are a man!”
Cedric seemed dissatisfied. “Only females escape out of windows? Something wrong there.”
“I think you are excessively stupid. I escaped out of the window because it was dangerous to go by the door. And Richard happened to be passing at the time, which was a very fortunate circumstance because the sheets were not long enough, and I had to jump.”
“Do you mean to tell me you climbed down the sheets?” demanded Cedric.
“Yes, of course. How else could I have got out, pray?”
“Well, if that don’t beat all!” he exclaimed admiringly.
“Oh, that was nothing! Only when Sir Richard guessed that I was not a boy he thought it would not be proper for me to journey to this place alone, so he took me to his house, and cut my hair more neatly at the back, and tied my cravat for me, and—and that is why you found those things in his library!”
Cedric cocked an eye at Sir Richard. “Damme, I knew you’d shot the cat, Ricky, but I never guessed you were as bosky as that!”
“Yes,” said Sir Richard reflectively, “I fancy I must have been rather more up in the world than I suspected.”
“Up in the world! Dear old boy, you must have been clean raddled! And how the deuce did you get here? For I remember now that George said your horses were all in the stables. You never travelled in a hired chaise, Ricky!”
“Certainly not,” said Sir Richard. “We travelled on the stage.”
“On the—on the—” Words failed Cedric.
“That was Pen’s notion,” Sir Richard explained kindly. “I must confess I was not much in favour of it, and I still consider the stage an abominable vehicle, but there is no denying we had a very adventurous journey. Really, to have gone post would have been sadly flat. We were over-turned in a ditch; we became—er—intimately acquainted with a thief; we found ourselves in possession of stolen goods; assisted in an elopement; and discovered a murder. I had not dreamt life could hold so much excitement.”
Cedric, who had been gazing at him open-mouthed, began to laugh. “Lord, I shall never get over this! You, Ricky! Oh Lord, and there was Louisa ready to swear you would never do anything unbefitting a man of fashion, and George thinking you at the bottom of the river, and Melissa standing to it that you had gone off to watch a mill! Gad, she’ll be as mad as fire! Out-jockeyed, by Jupiter! Piqued, repiqued, slammed, and capotted!” He once more mopped his eyes with the Belcher handkerchief. “You’ll have to buy me that pair of colours, Ricky: damme, you owe it to me, for I told you to run, now, didn’t I?”
“But he did not run!” Pen said anxiously. “It was I who ran. Richard didn’t.”
“Oh yes, I did!” said Sir Richard taking snuff.
“No, no, you know you only came to take care of me; you said I could not go alone!”
Cedric looked at her in a puzzled way. “Y’know, I can’t make this out at all! If you only met three nights ago, you can’t be eloping!”
“Of course we’re not eloping! I came here on—on a private matter, and Richard pretended to be my tutor. There is not a question of eloping!”
“Tutor? Lord! I thought you said he was your cousin?”
“My dear Cedric, do try not to be so hidebound!” begged Sir Richard. “I have figured as a tutor, an uncle, a trustee, and a cousin.”
“You seem to me to be a sad romp!” Cedric told Pen severely. “How old are you?”
“I am s
eventeen, but I do not see that it is any concern of yours.”
“Seventeen!” Cedric cast a dismayed glance at Sir Richard. “Ricky, you madman! You’re in the basket now, the pair of you! And what your mother and Louisa will say, let alone that sour-faced sister of mine—! When is the wedding?”
“That,” said Sir Richard, “is the point we were discussing when you walked in on us.”
“Better get married quietly somewhere where you ain’t known. You know what people are!” Cedric said, wagging his head. “Damme, if I won’t be best man!”
“Well, you won’t,” said Pen, flushing. “We are not going to be married. It is quite absurd to think of such a thing.”
“I know it’s absurd,” replied Cedric frankly. “But you should have thought of that before you started jauntering about the country in this crazy fashion. There’s nothing for it now: you’ll have to be married!”
“I won’t!” Pen declared. “No one need ever know that I am not a boy, except you, and one other, who doesn’t signify.”
“But my dear girl, it won’t do! Take it from me, it won’t do! If you don’t know that, I’ll be bound Ricky does. I daresay you don’t fancy the notion, but he’s a devilish fine catch, you know. Blister it, we were looking to him to bring our family fortunes about, so we were!” he added, with an irrepressible chuckle.
“I think you are vulgar and detestable!” said Pen. “I have got a great deal of money of my own; in fact, I’m an heiress, and I have a very good mind not to marry anyone!”
“But only think what a waste!” protested Cedric. “If you are an heiress, and you can’t stomach the notion of marrying Ricky, for which I won’t blame you, for the Lord knows he’s no lady’s man!—a hardened case, m’dear: never looked seriously at a female in his life!—I suppose you wouldn’t make shift with your humble servant?”
“Your conversation, my dear Cedric, is always edifying,” said Sir Richard icily.
But Pen, instead of being offended, giggled. “No, thank you. I shouldn’t like to marry you at all.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t. You’ll have to take Ricky, then: nothing else for it! But you’re too young for him: no getting away from that! Damme, if I know what maggot got into your heads to set you off on this crazy adventure!”
“You are labouring under a misapprehension, Cedric,” said Sir Richard. “There is nothing I desire more than to marry Pen.”
“Well, of all things!” gasped Cedric. “And here was I thinking you a hopeless case!”
“I am going to bed,” stated Pen.
Sir Richard moved across the door to open it for her. “Yes my child: go to bed. But pray do not let Cedric’s artless chatter prejudice you! For addle-pated folly I have never met his equal.” He possessed himself of her hand, as he spoke, and lifted it to his lips. “Pleasant dreams, brat,” he said softly.
She felt a lump rise in her throat, achieved a tremulous smile, and fled, but not before she had heard Cedric exclaim in tones of the liveliest surprise: “Ricky, you ain’t really in love with that chit, are you?”
“I think,” said Sir Richard, closing the door, “that we shall be more usefully employed in discussing the circumstances which brought you here, Cedric.”
“Oh, by all means!” Cedric said hastily. “Beg pardon! No intention of prying into your affairs, dear boy; not the least in the world! Now, don’t get into a miff! You know how it is with me! Never could keep a discreet tongue in my head!”
“That is what I am afraid of,” Sir Richard said dryly.
“Mum as an oyster!” Cedric assured him. “But that you of all men, Ricky—! That’s what beats me! However, no concern of mine! What’s all this you were telling me about Bev?”
“He’s dead. That seems to be the most important thing.”
“Well, it’s no good expecting me to pull a long face over it. He was a bad man, take my word for it! What was he doing in this spinney you talk of?”
“As a matter of fact, he went there to meet me,” said Sir Richard.
Cedric frowned at him. “More in this than meets the eye. Why, Ricky?”
“To be plain with you, he had hit upon the notion of extorting money from me by threatening to make known the fact that my supposed cousin was a girl in disguise.”
“Yes, that’s Bev all over,” nodded Cedric, quite unsurprised. “Offered to pay his debts, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I had offered that earlier in the day! Unfortunately Captain Trimble learned of my appointment with Beverley in the spinney, and went there before me. I fancy he had nothing more than robbery in mind. There was a witness to the meeting, who described how a quarrel sprang up, and how Trimble struck Beverley down, searched his pockets, and made off. Possibly he thought he had merely stunned him. When I found him his neck was broken.”
“Jupiter!” said Cedric, giving a whistle of consternation. “It’s worse than I thought, then! The devil! There will be no hushing this up. They don’t suspect you of having a hand in it, do they, Ricky?”
“I am fast acquiring a most unsavoury reputation in this neighbourhood, but so far I have not been arrested for murder. What precise object had you in coming here?”
“Why, to choke the truth out of Bev, of course! Couldn’t get it out of my head he was at the bottom of that robbery. He was badly dipped, y’know. M’ father wants my bloodhound called off, too, but I’m damned if I can come up with any trace of him. If you met the fellow on the Bristol road, that would account for my missing him. I went to Bath. Last I heard of Bev was that he was there, with Freddie Fotheringham. Freddie told me Bev had gone off to stay with some people called Luttrell, living at a place near here. So I saw m’ mother, got the full story of the robbery out of her, and came on here. Now what’s to do?”
“You had better make the acquaintance of the local magistrate. A man who might well be Trimble was taken up in Bath to-day, but whether the necklace was on him I know not.”
“Must lay my hands on that plaguey necklace!” frowned Cedric. “Won’t do if the truth about that were to come out. But what are you going to do, Ricky? It seems to me you’re in the deuce of a coil too.”
“I shall no doubt be able to answer that question when I have talked the matter over with Pen to-morrow,” Sir Richard replied.
But Sir Richard was not destined to have the opportunity of talking over any matter with Miss Creed upon the morrow. Miss Creed, going dejectedly up to bed, sat for a long time at the open window of her room, and gazed blindly out upon the moonlit scene. She had spent, she decided, quite the most miserable day of her life, and the sudden incursion of Cedric Brandon had done nothing to alleviate her heaviness of heart. It was apparent that Cedric considered her adventure only one degree less fantastic than the notion that she was to marry Sir Richard. According to his own words, he had known Sir Richard from the cradle, so that it was fair to assume that he was very well acquainted with him. He gave it as his opinion that she must marry Sir Richard, which was tantamount to saying, she reflected, that she had put Sir Richard into the uncomfortable position of being obliged to offer for her. It was most unjust, Pen thought, for Sir Richard had not been sober when he had insisted on accompanying her into Somerset, and he had, moreover, done it out of sheer solicitude for her safety. It had not occurred to her that a gentleman so many years her senior could be supposed to compromise her, or to engage his own honour so disastrously. She had liked him from the moment of setting eyes on him; she had plunged into terms of intimacy with him in the shortest possible time; and had, indeed, felt as though she had known him all her life. She thought herself more stupid even than Lydia Daubenay not to have realized before ever they had reached Queen Charlton, that she had tumbled headlong in love with him. She had refused to look beyond her meeting with Piers, yet she could not but admit to herself now that she had been by no means anxious to summon Piers to her side when she had arrived at the George. By the time she did come face to face with him, he would have had to have been a paragon inde
ed to have won her from Sir Richard.
His conduct had been anything rather than that of a paragon. He had spoiled everything, Pen thought. He had accused her of impropriety, and had forced Sir Richard into making a declaration he had surely not wanted to make.
“Because I don’t suppose he loves me at all,” Pen argued to herself. “He never said so until Piers was so odious: in fact, he treated me just as if he really was a trustee, or an uncle, or somebody years and years older than I am, which I dare say was what made it all seem quite proper to me, and not in the least scandalous. Only then we fell into so many adventures, and he was obliged to fob off Aunt Almeria, and then the stammering-man guessed I was a girl, and Piers was disagreeable, and I got into a scrape through Lydia’s folly, and the Major came, and now this other Mr Brandon knows about me, and the end of it is I have placed poor Richard in the horridest situation imaginable! There is only one thing for it: I shall have to run away.”
This decision, however, made her feel so melancholy that several large tears brimmed over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, telling herself it was stupid to cry. “Because if he doesn’t want to marry me, I don’t want to marry him—much; and if he does, I dare say he will come to visit me at Aunt’s house. No, he won’t. He’ll forget all about me, or very likely be glad that he is rid of a badly behaved, tiresome ch-charge! Oh dear!”
So sunk in these dismal reflections did she become that it was a long time before she could rouse herself sufficiently to prepare for bed. She even forgot the elopement she had helped to arrange, and heard the church-clock strike midnight without so much as recalling that Lydia should now be stepping up into the hired post-chaise, with or without a cage of love-birds.
She spent a miserable night, disturbed by unquiet dreams, and tossing from side to side in a way that soon untucked all the sheets and blankets, and made the bed so uncomfortable that by six in the morning, when she finally awoke to find the room full of sunlight, she was very glad to leave it.
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