“It’s the devil of a business,” muttered the Viscount. “What in God’s name was she doing in the fellow’s house?”
Sir Roland coughed. “Naturally—needn’t tell you—can rely on me, Pel. Awkward affair—mum’s the word.”
The Viscount nodded. “Mighty good of you, Pom. I’ll have to see my sister first thing. You’d best come with me.”
He got up and reached for his waistcoat. Someone scratched on the door, and upon being told to come in, the valet entered with a sealed letter on a salver. The Viscount picked it up and broke the seal.
The note was from Horatia, and was evidently written in great agitation. “Dear Pel: The most Dredful thing has happened. Please come at once. I am quite Distracted. Horry.”
“Waiting for an answer?” the Viscount asked curtly.
“No, my lord.”
“Then send a message to the stables, will you, and tell Jackson to bring the phaeton round.”
Sir Roland, who had watched with concern the reading of the note, thought he had rarely seen his friend turn so pale, and coughed a second time. “Pel, dear old boy—must remind you—she hit him with the poker. Laid him out, you know.”
“Yes,” said the Viscount, looking a trifle less grim. “So she did. Help me into my coat, Pom. We’ll drive round to Grosvenor Square now.”
When, twenty minutes later, the phaeton drew up outside Rule’s house, Sir Roland said that perhaps it would be better if he did not come in, so the Viscount entered the house alone and was shown at once to one of the smaller saloons. Here he found his sister, looking the picture of despair.
She greeted him without recrimination. “Oh, P-Pel, I’m so glad you’ve come! I am quite undone, and you must help me!”
The Viscount laid down his hat and gloves, and said sternly: “Now, Horry, what happened last night? Don’t put yourself in a taking: just tell me!”
“Of course I’m going to tell you!” said Horatia. “I w-went to Richmond House to the b-ball and the fireworks.”
“Never mind about the fireworks,” interrupted the Viscount. “You weren’t at Richmond House, nor anywhere near it, when I met you.”
“No, I was in Half-Moon Street,” said Horatia innocently.
“You went to Lethbridge’s house?”
At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. “Yes I did, but if you think I w-went there of my own choice you are quite odious!” Her lip trembled. “Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.
“Well, what is the tale?” he asked, drawing up a chair.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman—indeed, why should I?”
“What the devil has the footman to do with it?” demanded the Viscount.
“Everything,” said Horatia. “He w-wasn’t the right one.”
“I don’t see what odds that makes.”
“ I m-mean he wasn’t one of our servants at all. The c-coach-man wasn’t either. They were L-Lord Lethbridge’s.”
“What?” ejaculated the Viscount, his brow growing black as thunder.
Horatia nodded. “Yes, and they drove me to his house. And I w-went in before I realized.”
The Viscount was moved to expostulate: “Lord, you must have known it wasn’t your house!”
“I tell you I didn’t! I know it sounds stupid, but it was raining, and the f-footman held the umbrella so that I c-couldn’t see m-much and I was inside b-before I knew.”
“Did Lethbridge open the door?”
“N-no, the porter did.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you walk out again?”
“I know I should have,” confessed Horatia, “but then Lord Lethbridge came out of the s-saloon, and asked me to step in. And, P-Pel, I didn’t understand; I thought it was a m-mistake, and I d-didn’t want to make a scene before the p-porter, so I went in. Only n-now I see how foolish it was of me, because if Rule comes to hear of it, and m-makes inquiries, the servants will say I went in w-willingly and so I did!”
“Rule mustn’t hear of this,” said the Viscount grimly.
“No, of c-course he mustn’t, and that’s why I sent for you.”
“Horry, what happened in the saloon? Come, let me hear the whole of it!”
“It was d-dreadful! He said he w-was going to ravish me, and oh, Pel, it was just to revenge himself on R-Rulel So I p-pretended I m-might run away with him, and as soon as he turned his back, I hit him with the p-poker and escaped.”
The Viscount drew a sigh of relief. “That’s all, Horry?”
“No, it isn’t all,” said Horatia desperately. “My g-gown was torn when he k-kissed me, and though I d-didn’t know till I got home, my brooch fell out, and, P-Pel, he’s got it now!”
“Make yourself easy,” said the Viscount, getting up. “He won’t have it long.”
Catching sight of his face, which wore a starkly murderous expression, Horatia cried out: “What are you going to do?”
“Do?” said the Viscount, with a short, ugly laugh. “Cut the dog’s heart out!”
Horatia sprung up suddenly. “P-Pel, you can’t! For g-good-ness’ sake don’t fight him! You know he’s m-much better than you are, and only think of the scandal! P-Pel, you’ll ruin me if you do! You can’t do it!”
The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!”
“If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things—oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s bad enough with Sir Roland knowing—”
“Pom!” exclaimed the Viscount. “We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.”
“Have him in? W-why, where is he?”
“Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.”
“W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,” said Horatia dubiously. “But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.”
Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. “Never mind about that!” he adjured him. “Can I call Lethbridge out?”
Sir Roland devoted deep thought to this, and after a long pause pronounced the verdict. “No,” he said.
“I m-must say, you’ve got m-much more sense than I thought,” said Horatia approvingly.
“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the Viscount, “that I’m to sit by while that dog kidnaps my sister, and do nothing? No, damme, I won’t!”
“Devilish hard on you, Pel,” agreed Sir Roland sympathetically. “But it won’t do, you know. Called Drelincourt out. Deal of talk over that. Call Lethbridge out—fatal!”
The Viscount smote the table with his fist. “Hang you, Pom, do you realize what the fellow did?” he cried.
“Very painful affair,” said Sir Roland. “Bad ton. Must hush it up.”
The Viscount seemed to be bereft of words.
“Hush it up now,” said Sir Roland. “Talk dies down—say three months. Pick a quarrel with him then.”
The Viscount brightened. “Ay, so I could. That solves it.”
“S-solves it? It doesn’t!” declared Horatia. “I m-must get my brooch back. If Rule m-misses it, it will all come out.”
“Nonsense!” said her brother. “Say you dropped it in the street.”
“It’s no good saying that! I tell you Lethbridge means m-mischief. He may wear it, just to m-make Rule suspicious.�
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Sir Roland was shocked. “Bad blood!” he said. “Never did like the fellow.”
“What sort of brooch is it?” asked the Viscount. “Would Rule be likely to recognize it?”
“Yes, of c-course he would! It’s part of a set, and it’s very old—fifteenth century, I think.”
“In that case,” decided his lordship, “we’ve got to get it back. I’d best go and see Lethbridge at once—though how I’ll keep my hands off him I don’t know. Burn it, a pretty fool I look, calling on him last night!”
Sir Roland was once more plunged in thought. “Won’t do,” he said at last. “If you go asking for a brooch, Lethbridge is bound to guess it’s my lady’s. I’ll go.”
Horatia looked at him with admiration. “Yes, that would be m-much better,” she said. “You are very helpful, I think.”
Sir Roland blushed, and prepared to set forth on his mission. “Beg you won’t give it a thought, ma’am. Affair of delicacy—tact required—a mere nothing!”
“Tact!” said the Viscount. “Tact for a hound like Lethbridge! My God, it makes me sick, so it does! You’d better take the phaeton; I’ll wait for you here.”
Sir Rolaind once more bowed over Horatia’s hand. “Shall hope to put the brooch in your hands within half an hour, ma’am,” he said, and departed.
Left alone with his sister, the Viscount began to pace about the room, growling something under his breath whenever he happened to think of Lethbridge’s iniquity. Presently he stopped short. “Horry, you’ll have to tell Rule. Damme, he’s a right to know!”
“I c-can’t tell him!” Horatia answered with suppressed passion. “Not again!”
“Again?” said his lordship. “What do you mean?”
Horatia hung her head, and recounted haltingly the story of the ridotto at Ranelagh. The Viscount was delighted with at least one part of the story, and slapped his leg with glee.
“Yes, b-but I didn’t know it was Rule, and so I had to confess it all to him the next d-day and I won’t—I won’t make another c-confession! I said I w-wouldn’t see anything of Lethbridge while he was away and I can’t, I c-can’t tell him about this!”
“I don’t see it,” said the Viscount. “Plenty to bear you out. Coachman—what happened to him, by the way?”
“D-drugged,” she replied.
“All the better,” said his lordship. “If the coach came back to the stables without him, obviously you’re telling the truth.”
“But it d-didn’t! He was too clever,” said Horatia bitterly.
“I had the c-coachman in this morning. He thinks it was the b-bad beer, and the coach was taken back to the tavern. So I said I had been forced to get a link-boy to summon me a hackney. And I d-didn’t think it was quite fair to send him off when I knew he and the footman had been d-drugged, so I said this time I wouldn’t tell Rule.”
“That’s bad,” said the Viscount, frowning. “Still, Pom and I know you hit Lethbridge on the head, and got away.”
“It’s no good,” she said mournfully. “Of c-course you would be bound to stand by me, and that’s what Rule would think.”
“But hang it, Horry, why should he?”
“Well, I—well, I w-wasn’t very nice to him b-before he went away, and he wanted me to g-go with him and I wouldn’t, and d-don’t you see, P-Pel, it looks as if I p-planned it all, and hadn’t really given up Lethbridge at all? And I l-left that horrid b-ball early, to make it worse!”
“It don’t look well, certainly,” admitted the Viscount. “Have you quarrelled with Rule?”
“No. N-not quarrelled. Only—No.”
“You’d best tell me, and be done with it,” said his lordship severely. “I suppose you’ve been up to your tricks again. I warned you he wouldn’t stand for ’em.”
“It isn’t that at all!” flamed Horatia. “Only I f-found out that he had planned the R-Ranelagh affair with that odious Lady M-Massey.”
The Viscount stared at her. “You’re raving!” he said calmly.
“I’m not. She was there, and she knew!”
“Who told you he planned it with her?”
“W-well, no one precisely, but Lethbridge thought so, and of course I realized—”
“Lethbridge!” interrupted the Viscount with scorn. “Upon my word, you’re a damned little fool, Horry! Lord, don’t be so simple! A man don’t plot with his mistress against his wife. Never heard such a pack of nonsense!”
Horatia sat up. “P-Pel, do you really think so?” she asked wistfully. “B-But I can’t help remembering that he said she d-did indeed know it was he all the t-time.”
The Viscount regarded her with frank contempt. “Well if he said that it proves she wasn’t in it—if it needs proof, which it don’t. Lord, Horry, I put it to you, would he be likely to say that if she’d had a finger in the pie? What’s more, it explains why the Massey’s gone off to Bath so suddenly, Depepend on it, if she found out it was he in the scarlet domino they had some sort of a scene, and Rule’s not the man to stand that. Wondered what happened to make her go off in such a devil of a hurry. Here, what the deuce—?” For Horatia, with a squeak of joy, had flung herself into his arms.
“Don’t do that,” said the Viscount testily, disengaging himself.
“Oh, P-Pel, I never thought of that!” sighed Horatia.
“You’re a little fool,” said the Viscount.
“Yes, I see I am,” she confessed. “B-but if he has b-broken with that woman, it makes me more than ever decided not to tell him aboutl-last night.”
The Viscount thought this over. “I must say it’s a devilish queer story,” he said. “Daresay you’re right. If we can get that brooch back you’re safe enough. If Pom don’t succeed—” His lip tightened, and he nodded darkly.
Sir Roland, meanwhile, had arrived in Half-Moon Street, and was fortunate enough to find Lord Lethbridge at home.
Lethbridge received him in a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown. He did not look to be much the worse for the blow he had received, and he greeted Sir Roland with suave amiability. “Pray sit down, Pommeroy,” he said. “To what do I owe this somewhat unexpected honour?”
Sir Roland accepted the chair, and proceeded to display his tact. “Most unfortunate thing,” he said. “Last night—not quite myself, you know—lost a brooch. Must have dropped out of my cravat.”
“Oh?” said Lethbridge, looking at him rather hard. “A pin, in fact?”
“Not a pin, no. A brooch. Family jewels—sometimes wear it—don’t care to lose it. So I came round to see if I dropped it here.”
“I see. And what is it like, this brooch?”
“Ring brooch; inner circle pearls and openwork bosses, outer row pearls and diamonds,” said Sir Roland glibly.
“Indeed? A lady’s ornament, one would almost infer.”
“Belonged to my great-aunt,” said Sir Roland, extricating himself from that predicament with masterly skill.
“Ah, no doubt you value it highly then,” remarked his lordship sympathetically.
“Just so,” said Sir Roland. “Sentiment, you know. Should be gla,d to put my hand on it again.”
“I regret infinitely that I am unable to help you. May I suggest that you look for it in Montacute’s house? I think you said you spent the evening there?”
“I didn’t lose it there,” replied Sir Roland firmly. “Naturally went there first.”
Lethbridge shrugged. “How very unfortunate! I fear you must have dropped it in the street.”
“Not in the street, no. Remember having it on just before I came here.”
“Dear me!” said Lethbridge. “What makes you remember so particularly?”
Sir Roland took a moment to think this out. “Remember it because Pel said: “That’s a queer tie-pin, Pom.” And I said: “Belonged to my great-aunt.” Then we came here. Must have had it on then.”
“It would certainly seem so. But perhaps you lost it after you left my house. Or do you remember that Winwood then said: “Where
’s your tie-pin?” “
“That’s it,” said Sir Roland, grateful for the assistance. “Pel said: “Why, what’s become of your tie-pin, Pom?” Didn’t come back—time getting on, you know. Knew it would be safe here!”
Lethbridge shook his head. “I fear your recollection is not very clear, Pommeroy. I have not got your brooch.”
There was nothing for Sir Roland to do after that but to take his leave. Lord Lethbridge escorted him out into the hall, and sweetly bade him farewell. “And do pray advise me if you succeed in finding the brooch,” he said with great civility. He watched his crestfallen visitor go off down the steps, and transferred his gaze to the porter’s face. “Send Moxton to me,” he said, and went back into the saloon.
In a few moments his butler appeared. “My lord?”
“When this room was swept this morning, was a brooch found?” asked Lethbridge.
The lids descended discreetly over the butler’s eyes. “I have not heard of it, my lord.”
“Make inquiries.”
“Yes, my lord.”
While the butler was out of the room, Lethbridge stood looking out of the window, slightly frowning. When Moxton came back he turned. “Well?”
“No, my lord.”
The frown lingered. “Very well,” Lethbridge said.
The butler bowed. “Yes, my lord. Your lordship’s luncheon is served.”
Lethbridge went into the dining-room, still attired in his dressing-gown, still wearing a thoughtful, puzzled look on his face.
He sat for some time over his meal, absently sipping his port. He was not, as he had told Caroline Massey, the man to gnash his teeth over his own discomfiture, but the miscarriage of last night’s plans had annoyed him. That little vixen wanted taming. The affair had become tinged, in his mind, with a spotting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which’s,he would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked—if he could only lay his hand on it.
His mind went back; his acute memory re-created for him the sound of ripping lace. He raised his glass to his lips, savouring the port. Ah, yes, undoubtedly the brooch had been lost then. No doubt a distinctive trinket, possibly part of the Drelincourt jewels. He smiled a little, picturing Horatia’s dismay. It could be turned into a shrewd weapon, that ring-brooch—wielded in the right hands.
The Convenient Marriage Page 19