The Foundling

by Джорджетт Хейер

  After a moment, he said: “I prefer not to consider such a shocking event, sir!”

  “Lord Lionel should be instantly apprised!” declared the Captain, smiting his fist into the palm of his other hand.

  Mr. Scriven bowed. “I have already sent one of my clerks with a letter for his lordship, sir.”

  “Post, I do trust!” the Captain said swiftly.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Then there is little one can do until his lordship comes to town, as I make no doubt he will do. Yet some enquiries might be made with advantage. I shall at once repair to Captain Ware’s chambers.”

  Mr. Scriven was then able to inform him, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that Nettlebed had already called in Albany, and that Captain Ware disclaimed all knowledge of the Duke’s whereabouts. When Chigwell came in, to report that his visit to White’s Club had been equally abortive, there seemed to be nothing left for the Captain to do. He did indeed mention the propriety of summoning the Bow Street Runners to their aid, but was speedily snubbed by Mr. Scriven, who took it upon himself to answer for his lordship’s disliking such an extreme action excessively.

  By the time Captain Ware strolled into White’s Club that afternoon, the story of his cousin’s disappearance was forming one of the main topics of conversation there. He was at once pounced upon by Lord Gaywood, who had not yet left London for Bath, whither he was eventually bound. Lord Gaywood, who was inclined to make light of the affair, called across the room: “Hey, Ware, what’s this cock-and-bull story about Sale? Here’s Cliveden saying he ain’t been seen since yesterday morning! Is it a bubble?”

  Gideon shrugged his big shoulders. “Gone out of town, I daresay. Why should he not?”

  “A trifle smokey, isn’t it?” said Mr. Cliveden, raising one eyebrow. “A man don’t commonly leave town without his valet! By what I hear, none of Sale’s servants knows what has become of him.”

  “I see there is a notice of his betrothal to your sister in the papers today, too, Gaywood,” remarked a thin little man by the fire. “Very strange!”

  “What’s that got to say to anything?” demanded Gaywood, bristling.

  The thin man, knowing that his lordship’s temper was erratic, made haste to assure him that he had spoken quite idly. Lord Gaywood eyed him bodingly for a moment, and then transferred his attention to Captain Ware. “Out with it!” he recommended. “I’ll lay a monkey you’re in the secret, Gideon!”

  “Not I!” Gideon said lightly. “I’m not Sale’s bear-leader.”

  “Well!” exclaimed Mr. Cliveden, disappointed. “We were looking for you to settle all bets, Ware! We made sure you would be bound to know the truth. Do you tell me you haven’t seen your cousin?”

  “No,” Gideon said, yawning. “I’ve not seen him, and I don’t understand what all the pother is about. Perhaps Sale has gone off to Bath.”

  “Not without his valet, or any baggage!” expostulated Mr. Cliveden, shocked.

  “Oh, lord, what does it matter?” Gideon said.

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Gaywood. “It’s a queer rig, ain’t it? The porter was telling me that Sale’s steward was here this morning, in the deuce of a pucker, asking if he had been in the club.”

  “Very likely!” said Gideon, with his most sardonic smile. “Sale’s servants would run all over town seeking for him if he were half an hour late in returning to his house.”

  A mild-looking man in the window here ventured to suggest that the Duke might have fallen a victim to footpads, or even to kidnappers, and would have embarked on a bitter dissertation of the shocking state of the London streets and the ineptitude of the Watch, had not Gideon interrupted him with a crack of scornful laughter. “Oh, a revival of Mohocks, no doubt!” he said. “My cousin’s body will in due course be recovered from the river. Or he may return from a day at the races, which would be sadly flat, but rather more probable.”

  “What races?” demanded Gaywood.

  “Good God, I don’t know!” Gideon replied impatiently?

  “No, nor anyone else!” retorted his lordship. “There ain’t any, as you’d know if you kept your eye on Cocker. Of course, he might have gone off to see a mill, but it ain’t much in his line, is it?”

  “The thing remains a mystery!” Mr. Cliveden pronounced. “I wonder that you should take it so easily, Ware, for upon my soul I don’t care for the sound of it! I do trust poor Sale may not have met with foul play!”

  Two more members came into the room at this moment, and were at once asked if they had heard the news. Foreseeing that the topicwould not lightly be abandoned, Gideon lounged out of the room. The thin man said: “Queer, that! He seemed to set no store by it, did he? Yet one would have thought he must have been the first to have known of his cousin’s intentions. And if he did not I own I should have expected him to show some degree of anxiety. For it can’t be denied that this strange disappearance is of a nature to cause the Duke’s relatives grave disquiet.”

  One of the new comers said: “Oh, depend upon it, he knows where Sale is! Sale dined with him last night.”

  Everyone’s attention became riveted on the speaker’s face. “Dined with him last night?” echoed Gaywood. “You’re bamming! Ware had not seen Sale: he has just told us so!”

  Sir John Aveley opened his eyes at this. “Has he, by Jupiter! Doing it rather too brown, surely! I met Sale on his way to his cousin’s chambers last night.”

  There was a sudden silence. The thin man pursed up his mouth, and looked unutterably wise. Gaywood was frowning. After a moment, he said: “Well, if that is so, I daresay Ware had his reasons for keeping mum! Dash it, he and Sale are the best of friends! I should know! Been acquainted with ’em both since my cradle!”

  The thin man coughed. “Just so, my dear Gaywood! No doubt he had excellent reasons.”

  The man who had come in with Sir John, and who had been wrapped in thought, looked up, exclaiming: “Good God, you don’t suppose—?”

  “Certainly not!” said the thin man. “Dear me, no! One only felt that Ware’s reserve was a trifle marked.”

  “Fustian!” said Gaywood angrily. “Ten to one, Sale told him the whole, and pledged him to secrecy!”

  “Which,” said Cliveden dryly, “brings us back to the riddle of what is the whole? You will own, Gaywood, that for a man of Sale’s position—indeed, for any man!—suddenly to disappear, leaving behind him no message, and no clue to his whereabouts, is something a little out of the ordinary. If rumour is to be believed, he has gone without his valet, or his baggage, or any of his horses. That may do very well for some nameless vagrant, but will hardly do for Sale! No! I must continue to hold by the opinion that there is something excessively smokey about the whole affair. And without wishing to say one word to Ware’s detriment, I feel that considering the peculiar position in which he stands he would do well to be frank.” He spread out his hands, and smiled deprecatingly at Lord Gaywood. “One cannot but feel it to be a singular circumstance that Aveley here should have met Sale actually on his way to dine with his cousin, do not you agree?”

  “No, I do not!” snapped Lord Gaywood, and flung out of the room.

  He did not find Captain Ware in the club, and learned upon enquiry that he had strolled across the street to the Guard’s Club not ten minutes earlier. Lord Gaywood followed him there, and sent up his name. In due course, Gideon came downstairs. Some imp of malice was grinning in his eyes, and it struck Lord Gaywood, watching him descend the staircase, that he looked rather saturnine. But he was so dark that it was, after all, easy for him to look saturnine. A smile flickered on his mouth; he said in innocent surprise: “Now what, Charlie?”

  Lord Gaywood had come in search of him in the spirit of impetuosity which had more than once precipitated him into awkward situations, and he suddenly found it hard to say what was in his mind. However, it was clearly impossible to withdraw leaving it unsaid, so he drew a breath, and said abruptly: “I want a word with you, Gideon!”
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  Captain Ware looked more than ever amused. “By all means!” he said, and led the way to a small room, which at this hour of the day was deserted. As he closed the door, he said gently: “I murdered him, you know, and buried his body under the fifth stair.”

  Lord Gaywood jumped, and coloured hotly. “Damn you, Gideon, I never had such a thought in my head! Stop bamboozling! But where is Gilly?”

  “I have not the most distant guess,” replied Gideon.

  “Well, if you say so, of course I believe you! But the thing is people have begun to talk, and it ain’t pleasant! I thought I would warn you. Cliveden’s been saying that you’re mighty cool over the business, and there’s no denying that it’s queer, whichever way one looks at it! Naturally, if Gilly took you into his confidence there’s no reason why you should be worrying. But if he did not—” He paused, but Gideon only shook his head. “Well, if he did not, don’t you think he may have met with foul play?”

  “No. I have a better opinion of Gilly’s ability to take care of himself.”

  “But, Gideon, what should take him to go off like that?” objected Gaywood.

  “Perhaps he found life a dead bore,” suggested Gideon.

  “That’s a loud one!” remarked Gaywood scornfully. “Why the devil should a man with Sale’s fortune find life, a dead bore?”

  “I think it conceivable that he might.”

  “I know there never was such a fellow for being hipped,” agreed Gaywood, “but, dash it all, he is but this instant become engaged to my sister, and if you mean to tell me that that has cast him into despondency—”

  “Oh, take a damper, Charlie!” recommended Gideon. “Gilly was never a gabster, and no doubt but that he has some very good reason for leaving town which he has not seen fit to divulge to any of us. For anything I know, he has gone to Bath, in a spirit of knight-errantry!”

  “Well, I shall soon discover that,” said Gaywood. “I’m going there myself.” He hesitated, casting Gideon a sidelong look.

  “Let me know the worst!” said Gideon.

  His lordship took the plunge. “Gideon, Aveley is saying that he met Gilly last night, on his way to dine with you!”

  “Is he, indeed?” said Gideon.

  “It seemed to me that I could do no less than tell you of it,” explained Gaywood, defensively.

  “I thank you, Charlie. But I have nothing to add, you know.”

  “Oh, very well!” said Gaywood. “But I’ll tell you this! The town will be in an uproar soon!”

  Gideon laughed, and his lordship, nettled, picked up his hat, and took his leave of him. Gideon went on laughing.

  By nightfall, Lord Lionel had reached London, and was at Sale House, demanding an explanation of Mr. Scriven’s letter to him, which he had no hesitation in calling a nonsensical piece of balderdash. “Where,” barked his lordship, “is his Grace?”

  Captain Belper, who, in expectation of Lord Lionel’s arrival, had presented himself at Sale House some time earlier, replied earnestly: “My lord, would to God I knew!”

  Lord Lionel had as little liking for the dramatic as Mr. Scriven, and he snorted. “No need to be acting any Cheltenham tragedies, sir!” he said dampingly. “I make no doubt this is a piece of work about nothing! In fact, I was of two minds whether I should come to town, for I depended upon your having comfortable tidings by this time, and to be running about the country after my nephew is the outside of enough!”

  Everyone wilted a little at this testy speech. It was left to Mr. Scriven to say: “Only we have no comfortable tidings, my lord.”

  “Well, well!” said his lordship, in a tone of displeasure, “I don’t know why you should find it so wonderful that a young man should choose to go off on some business of his own without admitting all of you into his confidence! It vexes me that he should not have taken Nettlebed, for he should not be travelling about without his valet, and so I shall tell him. But there is nothing in that to put you all in a fidget!”

  “I think your lordship does not perfectly understand,” replied Scriven. “His Grace cannot have meditated a journey, forhe took no baggage with him, not so much as a valise! And Nettlebed will inform you that his Grace’s brushes, combs—every article appertaining to his toilet, in fact!—are still in his bedchamber here.”

  His lordship appeared to be quite thunderstruck by this disclosure, but as soon as he had recovered the use of his tongue, he wheeled about to direct an accusing glare at Nettlebed, and to demand what the devil he meant by it. Nettlebed could only shake his head wretchedly. “Upon my word!” said Lord Lionel terribly. “This is a pretty piece of work! A very ill-managed business I must deem it when with I know not how many of you to care for my nephew he can disappear, and not one of you able to tell me where be is gone!”

  At this point it seemed good to Captain Belper to divulge his fear that the Duke had been engaged to fight a duel. Lord Lionel lost no time in demolishing this theory. There was never, he said, anyone less quarrelsome than the Duke; and how, he would thank the Captain to tell him, had he found the time to be picking a quarrel since he came to London? He brushed aside the question of the pistols: if the Duke had a hobby, it was for shooting, and if he might not purchase a pair of pistols without being suspected of having become embroiled in an affair of honour things had come to a pretty pass.

  Chigwell ventured to say:—“Yes, my lord, but—but his Grace took the pistols with him. The porter handed the package to him just before he left the house, and he took it into the library, and unwrapped it, for the wrappings were found upon the floor there. But not—not the pistols, my lord!”

  “My dread is that my Lord Duke has had the misfortune to wound his adversary fatally,” said Captain Belper, “and has perhaps fled to France to escape the dreadful consequences.”

  Lord Lionel seemed to have difficulty in controlling himself. An alarmingly high colour rose to his face, and after champing his jaws for a moment or two, he uttered in outraged accents: “This is beyond everything!”

  “I assure you, my lord, I feel this agitating reflection as deeply as your lordship must,” Captain Belper said, with great earnestness.

  “Agitating reflection!” exploded Lord Lionel.

  “I have been sick with apprehension from the moment it occurred to me. The thought that I might, perhaps, have prevented—”

  “Never,” interrupted Lord Lionel, “have I listened to such fustian rubbish! I declare I am vexed to death! And if my nephew were fool enough to do any such thing, which I do not admit, mark you! pray, do you suppose that his seconds would have left us in ignorance of the event? Or do you imagine that he entered upon such an affair without friends to act for him? I do not scruple to tell you, sir, that your apprehensions are woodheaded beyond permission!”

  The Captain was not unnaturally abashed by this forthright speech. Before he could come about again, Nettlebed said urgently: “No, my lord, no! Not a duel! His Grace has been foully done to death by footpads! I know it! We shall never see him more!”

  “He would go out at night unattended!” mourned Chigwell, wringing his hands.

  Lord Lionel stared at them fixedly, and for quite a minute said nothing. Captain Belper was ill-advised enough to interpolate: “It is a matter for the Runners.”

  A choleric eye was rolled towards him. Mr. Scriven said smoothly: “I could not feel that such a step should be taken without your lordship’s knowledge, however.”

  “I am very much obliged to you!” said his lordship. “A fine dust you would have made, and all for nothing, I daresay! Where’s my son?”

  “My lord, I went to Master Gideon—to the Captain, I should say—this morning, but he has not seen his Grace, nor he knows nothing of where he may be!” Nettlebed told him.

  “H’m!” Lord Lionel brooded over this. “So he didn’t tell his cousin? I am of the opinion that he is up to some mischief, Scriven! When did he leave this house?”

  “It was in the morning, my lord, quite early, I believe. H
e set out on foot, though Borrowdale here would have sent for his horse.”

  “I begged his Grace to allow me to send a message to the stables,” corroborated the butler. “For seeing that his Grace was wearing top-boots and breeches, I assumed—”

  “Wearing top-boots, was he?” said Lord Lionel. “That settles it! He had some journey in mind, though why he must needs make a mystery—However, it doesn’t signify! I daresay he meant to have returned last night, but took some fancy into his head, or was in some way detained. I do not by any means despair of seeing him walk in at any moment. Captain Belper, I am keeping you from your bed! I am obliged to you for your solicitude, but I will not have you waiting here upon my nephew’s crotchets. That would never do! Good-night, sir!”

  Finding that his lordship’s hand was held out to him, Captain Belper had nothing to do but to take it, to reiterate his fervent desire to be of assistance, and to allow himself to be ushered out of the house by Borrowdale.

  “The man’s a fool!” remarked his lordship, as soon as the door was shut. “So are you, Nettlebed! You may be off too!”

  “I blame myself, my lord. I should never—”

  “Pooh! nonsense!” said Lord Lionel, cutting him short. “His Grace was never set upon in broad daylight, let me tell you!”

  He waited until Nettlebed had withdrawn, and then said abruptly: “Was his Grace suffering from any irritation of nerves? Did he seem to you to be in his customary spirits?”

  “Perfectly, my lord,” responded Scriven. “Indeed, his Grace had conveyed to me a very gratifying piece of intelligence, desiring me to send an advertisement to the papers of his forthcoming—”

  “Yes, yes, I saw the notice! I had looked for a word from his Grace, but I have had no letter from him.” He paused, recalling his conversation with Gilly on the subject of his marriage. “H’m, yes! Well! Nothing had occurred to set up his back? some little nonsense, perhaps? He has sometimes some odd humours!”