‘Good gracious, sir, such an odd creature has arrived! I wish you could have seen him!’ Pen exclaimed. ‘Only fancy! He has a blue-and-yellow striped waistcoat, and a spotted tie!’
‘I wear them myself sometimes,’ murmured Sir Richard apologetically.
She turned, determined to keep the conversation to such unexceptionable subjects. ‘You, sir? I cannot believe such a thing to be possible!’
‘It sounds remarkably like the insignia of the Four-Horse Club,’ he said. ‘But what in the name of all that’s wonderful should one of our members be doing in Queen Charlton?’
A confused sound of conversation reached them from the entrance-parlour. Above it the landlord’s voice, which was rather high-pitched, said clearly: ‘My best parlour is bespoke by Sir Richard Wyndham, sir, but if your honour would condescend –’
‘What? ’
There was no difficulty at all in hearing the monosyllable, for it was positively shouted.
‘Oh, my God!’ said Sir Richard, and turned to run a quick eye over Miss Creed. ‘Careful now, brat! I fancy I know this traveller. What in the world have you done to that cravat? Come here!’
He had barely time to straighten Miss Creed’s crumpled tie when the same penetrating voice uttered: ‘Where? In there? Don’t be a fool, man! I know him well!’ and hasty footsteps were heard crossing the entrance-parlour.
The door was flung open; the gentleman in the fifteen-caped driving-coat strode in, and, upon setting eyes on Sir Richard, cast his hat and gloves from him, and started forward, exclaiming: ‘Ricky! Ricky, you dog, what are you doing here?’
Pen, effacing herself by the window, watched the tall young man wring Sir Richard’s hand, and wondered where she could have seen him before. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, and the very timbre of his reckless voice touched a cord of memory.
‘Well, upon my soul!’ he said. ‘If this don’t beat all! I don’t know what the deuce you’re doing here, but you’re the very man I want to see. Ricky, does that offer of yours hold good? Damme, if it does, I’m off to the Peninsula by the first boat! There’s the devil and all to pay in the family this time!’
‘I know it,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I take it you have heard the news about Beverley?’
‘My God, don’t tell me you’ve heard it?’
‘I found him,’ Sir Richard said.
The Honourable Cedric clapped a hand to his head. ‘Found him? What, you weren’t looking for him, Ricky, were you? How many more people know about it? Where’s that damned necklace?’
‘Unless the law-officers have now got it, I fancy it is in one Captain Trimble’s pocket. It was once in my possession, but I handed it over to Beverley, to – er – restore to your father. When he was murdered –’
Cedric recoiled, his jaw dropping. ‘What’s that? Murdered? Ricky, not Bev?’
‘Ah!’ said Sir Richard, ‘so you didn’t know?’
‘Good God!’ Cedric said. His roving eye alighted on the decanter and the glasses which the waiter had left upon the table. He poured himself out a glass, and tossed it off. ‘That’s better. So Bev’s been murdered, has he? Well, I came here with a little notion of murdering him myself. Who did it?’
‘Trimble, I imagine,’ Sir Richard replied.
Cedric paused in the act of refilling his glass, and looked up quickly. ‘For the sake of the necklace?’
‘Presumably.’
To Pen’s astonishment, Cedric broke into a shout of laughter. ‘Oh, by God, but that’s rich!’ he gasped. ‘Oh, blister me, Ricky, that’s hell’s own jest!’
Sir Richard put up his eyeglass, surveying his young friend through it with faint surprise. ‘I did not, of course, expect the news to prostrate you with grief, but I confess I was hardly prepared –’
‘Paste, dear old boy! nothing but paste!’ said Cedric, doubled up over a chair-back.
The eyeglass dropped. ‘Dear me!’ said Sir Richard. ‘Yes, I ought to have thought of that. Saar?’
‘Years ago!’ Cedric said, wiping his streaming eyes with the Belcher handkerchief. ‘Only came out when I – I, mark you, Ricky! – set the Bow Street Runners on to it! I thought m’father was devilish lukewarm over the affair. Never guessed, however! There was m’mother sending messenger upon messenger up to Brook Street, and the girls nagging at me, so off I went to Bow Street. Fact is, my head’s never at its best in the morning. No sooner had I set the bloodhounds on to the damned necklace than I began to think the thing over. I told you Bev was a bad man, Ricky. I’ll lay you a monkey he stole the necklace.’
Sir Richard nodded. ‘Quite true.’
‘Damme, I call that going too far! M’mother had a secret hiding-place made for it in her chaise. M’father knew. I knew. Bev knew. Dare say the girls knew. But no one else, d’ye mark me? Thought it all out at White’s. Nothing like brandy for clearing the head! Then I remembered that Bev took himself off to Bath last week. Never could imagine why! Thought I’d better look into things m’self. Just made up my mind to take a little journey to Bath, when in walked m’father in a deuce of a pucker. He’d heard from Melissa that I’d been to Bow Street. Pounced on me, looking as queer as Dick’s hatband, and wanting to know what the devil I meant by setting the Runners on to it. Now, Ricky, dear boy, would you say I was a green ’un? Give you my word I never guessed what was coming! Always thought m’father meant to stick to the diamonds! He sold ’em three years ago when he had that run of bad luck! Had ’em copied, so that no one was the wiser, not even my mother! He was as mad as Bedlam with me, and damme, I don’t blame him, for if my Runner ran the necklace to earth there’d be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot! So that’s why I’m here. But what beats me is, what in thunder brought you here?’
‘You told me to run,’ murmured Sir Richard.
‘So I did, but to tell you the truth I never thought you would, dear boy. But why here? Out with it, Ricky! You never came here in search of Bev!’
‘No, I didn’t. I came upon purely – er – family affairs. I fancy you have never met my young cousin, Pen Brown?’
‘Never knew you had a cousin of that name. Who is he?’ said Cedric cheerfully.
Sir Richard made a slight movement, indicating Pen’s presence. The room was deeply shadowed, for the waiter had not yet brought in the candles, and the twilight was fading. Cedric turned his head, and stared with narrowed eyes towards the window-seat, where Pen had been sitting, half hidden by the curtains. ‘Damme, I never saw you!’ he exclaimed. ‘How d’ye do?’
‘Mr Brandon, Pen,’ Sir Richard explained.
She came forward to shake hands, just as the waiter entered with a couple of chandeliers. He set them down upon the table, and moved across the room to draw the curtains. The sudden glow of candlelight for a moment dazzled Cedric, but as he released Pen’s hand his vision cleared, and became riveted on her guinea-gold curls. A portentous frown gathered on his brow, as he struggled with an erratic memory. ‘Hey, wait a minute!’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Pen in a small voice.
‘That’s what I thought. But there’s something about you – did you say he was a cousin of yours, Ricky?’
‘A distant cousin,’ amended Sir Richard.
‘Name of Brown?’
Sir Richard sighed. ‘Is it so marvellous?’
‘Damme, dear boy, I’ve known you from m’cradle, but I never heard of any relative of yours called Brown! What’s the game?’
‘If I had guessed that you were so interested in the ramifications of my family, Cedric, I would have informed you of Pen’s existence.’
The waiter, interested, but unable to prolong his labours in the parlour, slowly and sadly withdrew.
‘Something devilish queer about this!’ pronounced Cedric, with a shake of his head
. ‘Something at the back of my mind, too. Where’s that burgundy?’
‘Well, I thought at first that I had met you before,’ offered Pen. ‘But that was because of your likeness to the stam – to the other Mr Brandon.’
‘Don’t tell me you knew him!’ exclaimed Cedric.
‘Not very well. We happened to meet him here.’
‘I’ll tell you what, my lad: he was no fit company for a suckling like you,’ said Cedric severely. He frowned upon her again, but apparently abandoned the effort to recall the errant memory, and turned back to Sir Richard. ‘But your cousin don’t explain your being here, Ricky. Damme, what did bring you to this place?’
‘Chance,’ replied Sir Richard. ‘I was – er – constrained to escort my cousin to this neighbourhood, upon urgent family affairs. Upon the way, we encountered an individual who was being pursued by a Bow Street Runner – your Runner, Ceddie – and who slipped a certain necklace into my cousin’s pocket.’
‘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.
Thirteen
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 seventeen, 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.’
The Corinthian Page 21
