The Convenient Marriage (18 page)

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.’

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 Roland 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 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 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. Depend 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 sudden 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 about l-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 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 glad 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 sporting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which she would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked – if only he could 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 brooch was not in his house, unless his servants were lying. He did not, for more than a fleeting moment, suspect any of them of theft. They had been with him some years; probably knew that he was an ill master to cheat.

The image of Mr Drelincourt’s face flashed across his mind. He set down his glass. Crosby. Such a sharp-eyed fellow, Crosby. But had he had the opportunity to pick up a brooch from the floor unseen? He went over his movements during that brief visit. Crosby’s arrival: no chance then. The departure of Winwood and Pommeroy. Had he taken them to the door? No. Still no chance for Crosby. Some talk he had had with him, not very much, for his head had been aching furiously, and then what? His fingers closed again around the stem of his glass, and instantly he remembered drinking a glass of wine to steady himself. Yes, certainly a chance for Crosby then. He had tossed off the wine, and turned. Now, had Crosby had one hand in his pocket? The picture lived again; he could see Crosby standing behind a chair, looking at him, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.

Really, it was quite amusing. There was no proof, of course, not a shadow of proof, but perhaps a visit to Crosby might be not unfruitful. Yes, one might hazard a guess that the brooch was an heirloom. Crosby – an astute fellow: quite needle-sharp – would recognize a Drelincourt heirloom. Decidedly a visit to Crosby was likely to repay one for one’s trouble. Crosby, no doubt, was hatching a little plan to make mischief between Rule and his bride. Well, he would spare Crosby the pains. There should be mischief enough, but more mischief than the mere displaying of a brooch.

He got up from the table, and went in a leisurely fashion up the stairs, still revolving these delectable thoughts in his head. What a surprise for dear Crosby to receive a call from my Lord Lethbridge! He rang his hand-bell for his valet, and discarding his dressing-gown, sat down before the mirror to complete his elaborate toilet.

On his way, an hour later, to Mr Drelincourt’s lodging, he looked in at White’s but was told upon inquiry that Mr Drelincourt had not been into the Club that day. He went on towards Jermyn Street, twirling his ebony cane.

Mr Drelincourt lived in a house owned by a retired gentleman’s gentleman, who himself opened the door to his lordship. He said that Mr Drelincourt was gone out.

‘Perhaps,’ said his lordship, ‘you can give me his direction.’

Oh, yes, that could easily be done. Mr Drelincourt was gone out of town, and had taken a small cloak-bag with him.

‘Out of town, eh?’ said his lordship, his eyes narrowing. He drew a guinea from his pocket, and began to juggle gently with it. ‘I wonder, can you tell me where, out of town?’

‘Yes, my lord. To Meering,’ replied Mr Bridges. ‘Mr Drelincourt desired me to hire a post-chaise for him, and set off at two o’clock. If your lordship had come twenty minutes ago, you’d have caught him.’

Lethbridge dropped the guinea into his hand. ‘I may still catch him,’ he said, and ran lightly down the steps of the house.