The Foundling

by Georgette Heyer

  Captain Ware, whose autocratic temperament did not make it easy for him to swallow impertinence with a good grace, took instant exception to this form of address, and was on the point of adding to a pithy summary of the landlord’s failings and probable end his own name and style when Mr Liversedge, with his deprecating cough, laid a hand on his sleeve, and said: ‘Ahem! Allow me, sir! Now, my good man, attend to me, if you please! You will not deny that Mr Rufford has lately been staying in this inn, with – I fancy – a young companion.’

  ‘If you mean as how he had Miss Belinda and that young brother of hers with him, which he said as he was his tutor, I won’t,’ replied the landlord. ‘Not but what I never saw a tutor behave like he did, nor wear a coat like his. Too smokey by half, that’s what he is, and the more fool me to let him into my house! The trouble I’ve had! Let alone Master Tom bringing me into disgrace through getting taken up for a common felon, the way he was, I’ve had Mr Clitheroe threatening me with hell-fires for letting rakes seduce innocent females under my roof, which I never did, not wittingly, that is! And no sooner does he take himself off than there’s Mr Mamble on the doorstep, ay, and brought along by the constable, what’s more, which is a thing I never had happen to me, not in all my days!’

  ‘Who the devil is Mr Mamble?’ demanded Gideon.

  ‘Ah, you may well ask, sir! Master Tom’s father, that’s who he is!’

  Matthew, who had been wholly bewildered by the landlord’s speech, said: ‘But who is Master Tom? Gideon, it can’t be Gilly! Liversedge! who is this Master Tom?’

  ‘There, sir, I must own that you find me at a loss,’ confessed Mr Liversedge. ‘I can, however, state that Belinda is without known relatives. Master Tom, in fact, is a mystery.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Gideon. ‘Damme, why didn’t I think to bring my cousin’s letter with me? I fancy he spoke of bear-leading some boy or another. This would appear to be the boy.’

  ‘I don’t know about bear-leading him, sir,’ struck in the landlord. ‘By what Mr Mamble said, him and that Mr Snape, which is Master Tom’s real tutor, Mr Rufford kidnapped Master Tom. Mr Mamble was talking of going to London to set the Runners on to his heels, but myself I’d say it was more like Master Tom kidnapped him, for a more daring boy I hope I may never clap my eyes on! Nice goings on when the gentry take to highroad robbery, and has to be bailed out of prison! Mr Mamble has it fixed in his head his son has got into the hands of a rogue which is using him for his wicked ends, and nothing the constable said could make him change his mind! Mind you, I never thought such of Mr Rufford myself, and no more didn’t the constable, or Mr Oare, which is the magistrate here.’

  ‘Highroad robbery!’ gasped Matthew incredulously. ‘Gilly? Fellow, do you say that Mr Rufford was arrested?’

  ‘No, not him, sir. He wasn’t here when that happened. Dear knows where he was, and I’m sure I never thought to see him again! It was Master Tom that set out to win a purse, and got himself locked up in the Round-house. And then what must happen but Miss went off with old Mr Clitheroe, which is a highly respected Quaker gentleman living in the town!’

  ‘That,’ said Mr Liversedge, shaking his head, ‘was a mistake. It would not answer at all.’

  ‘No, sir, and nor it did, for back she came again that very evening. But Mr Rufford was here by that time, and it wasn’t any business of mine, whatever Mr Clitheroe may choose to say! But it was on account of Mr Clitheroe that Mr Rufford up and left with the pair of them last night, instead of spending it here, like he meant to. One of the waiters, which chanced to be outside the door of the private parlour, heard him say he could deal with constables and magistrates, but not with Mr Clitheroe. And just as well he did go, for Mr Clitheroe, he came round in such a taking as I never saw not half an hour after, and for all Mr Rufford has a high-up way with him when he chooses, I doubt Mr Clitheroe wouldn’t have taken no account of that, him being moved by the spirit the way he was.’

  ‘Gideon,’ said Matthew, in an awed voice, ‘do you think that Gilly has run mad?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir!’ said the landlord. ‘Not if you was meaning Mr Rufford! A very quiet gentleman he is, and knows his way about the world. I never had nothing against him.’

  ‘Do you know where he went to?’ Gideon asked. ‘Was he bound for London?’

  ‘No, sir, he was not. He hired a chaise and pair to take the whole party to Aylesbury, that I can tell you, which is the same as I told Mr Mamble first thing this morning.’

  ‘To Aylesbury!’ The cousins exchanged glances of startled enquiry.

  ‘Now, what the deuce should take him to Aylesbury?’ Gideon wondered.

  ‘There’s no understanding any of it!’ Matthew declared. ‘Of course, I see why he should take Belinda with him, but what can he want with this Mamble boy? Who is he? I never met any Mamble! Host, who is Mamble? Do you know him?’

  ‘No, sir, I never see him before. He ain’t a native of these parts, nor he ain’t what I would call true Quality.’ He coughed. ‘A great bacon-faced man, he is, as would make no more than a mouthful of Mr Rufford – and very willing he is to do it, by what he said! He told the constable as he was an ironmaster from Kettering, and Master Tom his only son. He has it fixed in his head Mr Rufford means to hold the lad to ransom, for he’s mighty plump in the pockets, which he makes no secret of. And it seems as how Mr Rufford, or maybe some rogue with him (not but what I never saw no rogues in his company), gave Mr Snape, the tutor, a wisty leveller, and made off with Master Tom while he was stretched out senseless on the ground. Leastways, that’s his story, and not for me to deny it.’

  There seemed to be no way of arriving at an explanation of Tom’s entry into the Duke’s life, but the landlord’s frequent references to his activities led Captain Ware to demand a more exact account of them. The whole story of the attempted robbery on the Stevenage road was then poured into his ears. By the time the Duke’s masterly share in the business had been described to him, his crooked smile had dawned, but Matthew appeared to be stunned. He did not recover his power of speech until they had left the inn, and then he said feebly: ‘He must be mad!’

  ‘Not he!’ said Gideon, grinning.

  ‘But, Gideon, whoever heard of Gilly’s behaving in such a fashion?’ He sighed despairingly. ‘I do wish to God I knew what he is doing!’

  ‘You had best accompany me to Aylesbury, then.’

  ‘Yes, by Jove, I will!’ Matthew declared, brightening. ‘For it is on my way, after all! And there is one thing, Gideon! it is of no use your saying that it is my fault that Gilly has run mad, for I never had anything to do with foisting the Mamble-boy on to him, and if he had gone back to town as soon as he had recovered those curst letters of mine he would never have been kidnapped!’

  Gideon only grunted, but Mr Liversedge said kindly: ‘Very true, Mr Ware, very true, but it cannot be denied that your reprehensible conduct towards my unfortunate niece lies at the bottom of all. One must hope that it may be a lesson to you, and when one considers the dangers into which his Grace has been led –’

  ‘Well, if that don’t beat all hollow!’ exclaimed Matthew indignantly. ‘It was you who put my cousin in danger!’

  ‘Precisely so,’ agreed Mr Liversedge. ‘And who but yourself, sir, was it who introduced me into his Grace’s life?’

  ‘Gideon!’ said Matthew, very red in the face, ‘if you do not have this impudent dog clapped up, I’ll – I’ll –’

  ‘Tell Gilly what you’ll do when you see him at Aylesbury!’ recommended his cousin.

  But when they reached Aylesbury they failed to discover the Duke at either of the chief hostelries in that town. The landlord of the White Hart informed them that Mr Rufford, with his young cousins, had left for Reading on the stage-coach as soon as they had swallowed their breakfasts that morning. He added that they were not the first persons to enquire after Mr Rufford, and expre
ssed the hope that he had not been housing a fugitive from justice.

  ‘But what in the devil’s name is he doing, jauntering about the country in stage-coaches?’ almost wailed Matthew, once out of the landlord’s hearing.

  ‘Fleeing from Mr Mamble, I should think,’ replied Gideon flippantly.

  ‘Well, it’s no jesting matter if he did kidnap that boy!’ Matthew pointed out. ‘What do you mean to do now?’

  ‘My blood is up, and I shall follow him. Besides, he may yet need me to protect him from this infuriated parent. You will go back to Oxford.’

  ‘I suppose I must,’ sighed Matthew. ‘But what shall you do with that fellow, Liversedge?’

  ‘Oh, take him along with me! Wragby can look after him.’

  ‘Master Gideon,’ said Nettlebed, with a set look on his face, ‘if you mean to continue searching for his Grace, I am coming with you!’

  ‘By all means!’ responded Gideon. ‘You will be very crowded in the boot, but you may assist Wragby to guard the prisoner. Mr Liversedge! I fear you may not quite like it, but you are accompanying me to Reading.’

  ‘On the contrary, sir,’ replied Mr Liversedge affably, ‘I should be sorry to leave you. Owing to the disaster which has befallen the Bird in Hand I find myself temporarily bereft of the means of subsistence. To be abandoned in this town, where I own no acquaintance, would put me to serious inconvenience. I shall be happy to go with you. Let us hope that we may be more fortunate in Reading than we have been in Hitchin or in Aylesbury!’

  But when, at the end of a forty-mile drive over an indifferent road, the curricle reached Reading, Fortune (said Mr Liversedge) seemed disinclined to smile upon its occupants. The Duke’s erratic trail was lost from the moment of his alighting, with his young companions, from the stage, and an exhausting search of all the inns in the town failed to pick up the scent again. Gideon, who had been driving all day, was tired, and consequently exasperated; and after drawing blank at the fifth inn said that he was determined to find the Duke, if only for the pleasure of wringing his neck. ‘What the devil has become of him, and what am I to do now?’ he demanded.

  Mr Liversedge, who had been awaiting his moment, said with admirable common-sense: ‘If, sir, I may venture to make a suggestion, we should now repair to the Crown, which appeared to be a very tolerable house, and bespeak dinner in a private parlour, and beds for the night. I shall give myself the pleasure of mixing for you a Potation of which I alone know the secret. It was divulged to me by one of my late employers since deceased, alas! – a gentleman often in need of revivifying cordials. I fancy you will be pleased with it.’

  ‘We must find his Grace!’ declared Nettlebed obstinately.

  ‘It will be dark in another hour,’ said Gideon. ‘Damn it, the fellow’s right! We’ll rack up for the night!’ He yawned suddenly. ‘God, I am tired!’

  ‘Leave everything to me, sir!’ said Mr Liversedge graciously. ‘That man of yours – a worthy enough fellow, I daresay – is quite unfit to arrange all those little genteel details so necessary to a gentleman’s comfort. In me you may have every confidence!’

  ‘I have no confidence in you at all,’ replied Gideon frankly. ‘I foresee, however, that we shall end by becoming boon-companions! Lead on, you unmitigated scoundrel!’

  Twenty

  Serenely unaware that he was being pursued by two sets of persons in varying degrees of wrath or exasperation, the Duke conveyed his charges to Bath on the stage-coach, without incident. He made no stay in Reading, arriving there with only just enough time to catch the London to Bath coach. He experienced a little difficulty in procuring places at such short notice, but by dint of bribing several interested persons, he secured one inside seat for Belinda, and two outside ones for himself and Tom. Belinda was inclined to cry when she found that she could not sit on the roof, but by a fortunate chance a delicate-looking young gentleman boarded the coach, and took his place inside. He stared at Belinda in such blatant admiration that she at once became cheerful, and spent a very happy journey encouraging his respectful advances. He did not look to be the sort of dashing blade who would endeavour to seduce her with promises of rings and silken gowns, so the Duke, thankful to be spared the embarrassment of her easy tears, handed her in with no more than a mild request that she would refrain from informing her fellow-passengers that she was travelling to Bath under the escort of a very kind gentleman. He then climbed on to the roof to take his seat beside Tom, and resigned himself to a long and uncomfortable journey. Tom, having begged in vain to be allowed to tool the coach, sulked for some few miles, but revived upon recollecting that he had in his pocket a catapult which he had found time to buy in Aylesbury. His skilful handling of this weapon led to a little unpleasantness with an old lady by the roadside, whose fat pug dog was startled into unwonted activity by a pellet in the ribs, but as no one but the Duke had seen Tom aim the catapult, and he seized and pocketed it the instant he realised what Tom was so surreptitiously engaged upon, no one was able to bring the crime home to the culprit.

  ‘Tom, you are the most shocking boy!’ said the Duke severely. ‘If you have any other devilish engine in your pocket, give it to me at once!’

  ‘No, upon my honour, I have not, sir!’ Tom assured him. ‘But wasn’t it famous when the pug jumped, and ran off yelping?’

  ‘Yes, a splendid shot. If only you will behave with propriety I will take you to Cheyney one day, and give you a day’s real shooting.’

  A glowing face was turned towards him. ‘Oh, sir, will you indeed? I think you are the most bang-up, out-and-out person in the world! Where is Cheyney? What sort of a place is it?’

  ‘Cheyney?’ said the Duke absently. ‘Oh, it’s one of my – It is a house which belongs to me, near a village called Upton Cheyney, some seven miles from Bath, towards Bristol.’

  ‘Is that where we are going?’ asked Tom, surprised. ‘You never said so, sir!’

  ‘No,’ said the Duke. ‘No, we are not going there.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Tom. ‘If there is shooting to be had, it would be much jollier than a stuffy inn in Bath! Do let us, sir!’

  The Duke shook his head. He had a very lively idea of what would be the feelings of the devoted retainers in charge of Cheyney were he to arrive there in disgracefully travel-stained clothes, unheralded, unescorted, carrying a cheap valise, and leading Belinda by the hand. He supposed he would shortly be obliged to disclose his identity to Tom, but since he had no desire to be known at the quiet inn he had mentally selected in Bath, and placed little dependence on Tom’s discretion, he decided to postpone the inevitable confession. He said instead that his house was too far removed from Bath for convenience.

  His knowledge of Bath’s hotels was naturally confined to such fashionable establishments as York House and the Christopher, in neither of which did he propose to set foot, but he remembered being led, as a boy, by the conscientious Mr Romsey to gaze reverently upon the façade of the Pelican in Walcot Street, which had once housed the great Dr. Johnson. This respectable inn was no longer patronised by modish people, and had the added advantage of being situated not far from Laura Place, where the Dowager Lady Ampleforth resided.

  It was not to be expected that a quiet and unpretentious hotel would meet with the approval of the Duke’s charges. Tom said that if they must put up at an inn he would like to choose the busy posting-house on the Market-place; and Belinda told the Duke reproachfully that she had once conveyed a bonnet to a lady staying at the Christopher, and had formed the opinion that it was a very genteel, elegant hotel, in every way superior to the Pelican. The Duke agreed to it, but gently shepherded his protégés into the Pelican. In the middle of protesting that it was a shabby place Tom was suddenly overcome by a suspicion that Mr Rufford might not be able to afford to put up at the more fashionable houses, flushed scarlet, and loudly asserted his conviction that they would do very well
at the Pelican after all. He then took the Duke aside to remind him that Pa would reimburse him for any monies expended on his behalf, and begged permission to sally forth to see the sights. As it was already time for dinner, this was refused him, but the blow was softened by the Duke’s promise to let him go to the theatre that very evening. Belinda at once said that she would like to go too, and upon being told that it would be quite ineligible, was only induced to stop crying by a timely reminder of the awful fate in store for her if, by some malign chance, her late employer should be in the audience, and perceive her. She stood in such awe of Mrs Pilling that she trembled, and turned quite pale, and had to be reassured before she could be brought to eat her dinner.

  While the covers were being set upon the table, the Duke called for paper and ink, and dashed off an urgent letter to his agent-in-chief.

  ‘My dear Scriven,’ he wrote, ‘Upon receipt of this, be so good as to despatch Nettlebed to me with such clothing as I may require, and two or three hundred pounds in bills. He may travel in my private chaise, and bring my footman with him. It will be convenient for me to have also my curricle, and the match bays, and these may be brought by easy stages, together with my Purdeys, also at Sale, and the grey mare. I shall send this to you express, and beg you will not delay to follow out its instructions. Yours, etc., Sale.’

  He was shaking the sand from this missive when it occurred to him that a little information about himself might be welcome to his well-wishers. He added a postscript: ‘Pray inform Lord Lionel that I am in excellent health.’

  Having, in this masterly fashion, allayed any anxiety or curiosity which his household might cherish, he sealed his letter, directed it, and arranged for its express carriage to London. After that, he joined his young friends at the dinner-table, partook of a neat, plain meal, sped Tom on his way to the theatre, persuaded Belinda to go to bed, and took rueful stock of his appearance.