The Convenient Marriage

by Georgette Heyer

‘I did, my lord. His lordship sent for me not more than a minute or so after the gentleman had left the house.’

  Captain Heron grasped the Viscount’s arm restrainingly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Come Pelham, there’s no more to be done here.’

  He drew the unwilling Viscount towards the door, which the porter opened with alacrity.

  The three conspirators descended the steps, and set off slowly towards Piccadilly.

  ‘Dropped in the street,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Said so all along.’

  ‘It begins to look like it,’ agreed Captain Heron. ‘Yet Horry is certain the brooch was lost in that house. I imagine the butler was speaking the truth. Could anyone else have found the brooch?’

  The Viscount stopped short. ‘Drelincourt!’ he said. ‘By the lord Harry, that little viper, that toad, that –’

  ‘Are you talking of that Macaroni cousin of Rule’s?’ asked Captain Heron. ‘What had he to do with it?’

  Sir Roland, who had been staring at the Viscount, suddenly shook him by the hand. ‘You’ve got it, Pel. You’ve got it,’ he said. ‘Lay you odds he took the brooch.’

  ‘Of course he took it! Didn’t we leave him with Lethbridge? By God, I’ll wring his damned scraggy neck!’ said the Viscount wrathfully, and plunged off at a great rate towards Piccadilly.

  The other two hurried after him.

  ‘Was Drelincourt there that night?’ asked Captain Heron of Sir Roland.

  ‘Came in because it was raining,’ explained Sir Roland. ‘Pel wanted to pull his nose. Daresay he will now.’

  Captain Heron caught up with the Viscount. ‘Pelham, go easy!’ he said. ‘If he hasn’t got it and you accuse him, you’ll only work a deal of harm. Why should he have taken the brooch?’

  ‘To make mischief! Don’t I know him!’ replied the Viscount. ‘If he’s gone off with it to Rule already, we’re finished.’

  ‘That’s so,’ nodded Sir Roland. ‘Yes, that’s so, Pel. No getting away from it. Better finish Drelincourt too. Nothing else to do.’

  ‘Pelham, you young madman, give me that pistol of yours!’ commanded Captain Heron.

  The Viscount shook him off, and strode on. Sir Roland plucked at the Captain’s sleeve. ‘Better let Pel deal with the fellow,’ he said confidentially. ‘Devilish fine shot, you know.’

  ‘Good God, you’re as mad as he is,’ groaned Captain Heron. ‘We mustn’t let this come to a fight, man!’

  Sir Roland pursed his lips. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said judicially. ‘Trifle irregular, but there’s two of us to see fair play. Do you know Drelincourt?’

  ‘No, but –’

  ‘Ah, that accounts for it!’ nodded Sir Roland. ‘If you knew him, you’d agree. Fellow ought to be killed. Thought so for a long time.’

  Captain Heron gave it up in despair.

  Nineteen

  Mr Crosby Drelincourt had been much too shaken by his experiences to think of dinner when he left Meering. All he desired was to reach his own lodgings. He drove from Meering to Twyford, where he changed horses, and went to the grievous expense of hiring an armed guard to protect him from highwaymen. The journey home seemed to him interminable, but the chaise set him down in Jermyn Street not long after ten o’clock, by which time he had recovered a little from his adventures, and had begun to feel the pangs of hunger. Unfortunately, since he had not been expected to return that night, no supper had been provided, and he was forced to go out to an ordinary, so that he might just as well, he reflected bitterly, have dined on the road after all.

  He slept late next morning, and was sitting down to breakfast in his dressing-gown when he heard a thundering on the front door, followed in a few moments by the sound of voices. He dropped his knife, listening. One voice was raised insistently, and Mr Drelincourt knew that voice. He turned quickly to his valet, who had just set the coffee-pot down before him: ‘I’m not at home!’ he said. ‘Quick, don’t let them come up!’

  The valet said obtusely: ‘Beg pardon, sir?’

  Mr Drelincourt thrust him towards the door. ‘Tell them I’m away, you fool! Stop them coming up! I’m not well; I can’t see any one!’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the valet, hiding a smile.

  Mr Drelincourt sank back into his chair, nervously wiping his face with his napkin. He heard the valet go downstairs to parley with the visitors. Then, to his horror, he heard someone come up, three steps at a time.

  The door was rudely burst open. Viscount Winwood stood on the threshold. ‘Away, are you?’ he said. ‘Now why are you so anxious not to see me, eh?’

  Mr Drelincourt rose, gripping the edge of the table. ‘Really, my lord, if – if a man may not be private when he chooses!’ He perceived the face of Sir Roland Pommeroy peering over the Viscount’s shoulder, and licked his lips. ‘Pray – pray what’s the meaning of this intrusion, sir?’ he demanded weakly.

  The Viscount advanced into the room, and sat down without ceremony on the corner of the table, one hand in his capacious coat-pocket. Behind him Sir Roland propped his shoulders against the wall, and began dispassionately to pick his teeth. Captain Heron ranged alongside the Viscount, ready to intervene at need.

  Mr Drelincourt looked from one to the other with the deepest misgiving. ‘I can’t conceive what – what should bring you here, gentlemen!’ he said.

  The Viscount’s angelic blue eyes were fixed on his face. ‘What took you out of town yesterday, Drelincourt?’ he inquired.

  ‘I – I –’

  ‘I have it from your man below that you went away in a chaise and four, and came home late – too late to be disturbed now. Where did you go?’

  ‘I fail – I fail entirely to see how my movements should concern you, my lord!’

  Sir Roland withdrew the toothpick from his mouth. ‘Don’t want to tell us,’ he remarked. ‘Black, very black!’

  ‘Well, he’s going to tell us,’ said the Viscount, and got up.

  Mr Drelincourt took a backward step. ‘My lord! I – I protest! I don’t understand you! I went into the country on private business – purely private business, I assure you!’

  ‘Private, was it?’ said the Viscount, advancing towards him. ‘It wasn’t on business connected with jewellery, I take it?’

  Mr Drelincourt turned ashen-pale. ‘No, no!’ he gasped.

  The Viscount whipped the pistol from his pocket, and levelled it. ‘You lie, you little viper!’ he said through his teeth. ‘Stand still!’

  Mr Drelincourt stood rooted to the floor, his fascinated gaze on the pistol. Sir Roland was moved to protest. ‘Not out of hand, Pel, not out of hand! Must do the thing decently!’

  The Viscount paid no heed. ‘You picked up a ring-brooch in Lethbridge’s house the other night, didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ chattered Mr Drelincourt. ‘A brooch? I know nothing about it, nothing!’

  The Viscount pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the pit of Mr Drelincourt’s stomach. ‘There’s a mighty light trigger on this pistol of mine,’ he said. ‘It only needs a touch to send it off. Don’t move. I know you took that brooch. What did you do with it?’

  Mr Drelincourt was silent, breathing rather fast. Sir Roland replaced his toothpick carefully in its gold case, and pocketed it. He strolled forward, and tucked his fingers into the back of Mr Drelincourt’s neck-cloth, and twisted it scientifically. ‘Take the pistol away, Pel. Going to choke it out of him.’

  Mr Drelincourt, his throat already bruised from his cousin’s crushing grip, gave a strangled shriek. ‘Yes, I took it! I didn’t know how it came to be there – indeed, I had no notion!’

  ‘You carried it to Rule? Answer!’ snarled the Viscount.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t!’

  Captain Heron, watching him closely, nodded. ‘Don’t choke him, Pommeroy, I think he’s speaking the truth
.’

  ‘If you didn’t take it to Rule, where is it?’

  ‘I haven’t got it!’ gasped Mr Drelincourt, his eyes on the Viscount’s pistol.

  ‘Can’t expect us to believe that,’ said Sir Roland, impersonally. ‘Went off to Meering with it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did, but I never gave it to Rule. Lord Lethbridge has it!’

  Sir Roland was so surprised that he released him. ‘Damned if I can make head or tail of this!’ he said. ‘How the deuce did he come by it?’

  ‘He – he overtook me, and wrested the brooch from me. I couldn’t stop him. I swear I’m telling the truth!’

  ‘There, that’s what all your talk of great-aunts brought about, Pom!’ said the Viscount bitterly.

  ‘It’s a good thing,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Now we know who has got the brooch. Makes it simple. Find Lethbridge – get the brooch – whole affair settled.’

  The Viscount turned to Mr Drelincourt. ‘Where is Lethbridge?’

  Mr Drelincourt said sullenly: ‘I don’t know. He said he should sleep the night in Maidenhead.’

  The Viscount was thinking fast. ‘Maidenhead? That’s a matter of twenty-six or seven miles. Call it a three-hour run. We’ll get him.’ He slipped the pistol back into his pocket. ‘Nothing more to be done here. As for you –’ he rounded on Mr Drelincourt, who shrank perceptibly, ‘– the next time you cross my path will be the last. Come on, Pom; come, Edward.’

  When they were once more in the street Captain Heron began to shake with silent laughter.

  ‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’ said the Viscount, pausing to frown at him.

  Captain Heron grasped the railing. ‘His face!’ he choked. ‘You breaking in in the middle of his breakfast – oh lord!’

  ‘Ha!’ said Sir Roland. ‘Middle of his breakfast, was he? Dashed amusing!’

  Suddenly the humour of the situation dawned upon the Viscount. He went off into a crack of laughter. Mr Drelincourt, peering from between the curtains of his room, was infuriated by the sight of his three visitors doubled up with mirth on the pavement.

  Captain Heron let go the railings at last. ‘Where now?’ he asked faintly.

  ‘White’s,’ decided the Viscount. ‘Won’t be anyone there at this hour. We must think this one out.’

  ‘I’m not a member, you know,’ said Captain Heron.

  ‘What’s that matter? Pom ain’t either. I am, though,’ replied the Viscount, and led the way up the street.

  They found the coffee-room in the club deserted, and took possession of it. The Viscount stretched himself in a chair, and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets.

  ‘Say Lethbridge started from Maidenhead at ten,’ he mused. ‘He’ll arrive about one. Maybe earlier. Drives fast horses.’

  Sir Roland was inclined to cavil at this. ‘Wouldn’t start at ten, Pel. Too early.’

  ‘What’s to keep him?’ asked the Viscount. ‘Nothing to do in Maidenhead that I ever heard of.’

  ‘There’s a bed, ain’t there? Do you ever get up before nine? Lay you odds he don’t either. Call it eleven.’

  ‘Does it signify?’ inquired Captain Heron, adjusting his sash.

  ‘Signify? Of course it signifies!’ replied the Viscount. ‘We’ve got to intercept the fellow. Does he take his luncheon on the road, Pom?’

  ‘Takes his lunch at Longford – King’s Head,’ said Sir Roland.

  ‘Or Colnbrook,’ said the Viscount. ‘They do you a very good dish of mutton and broiled mushrooms at the George.’

  ‘No, no, Pel,’ said Sir Roland gently. ‘You’re thinking of the Pigeons at Brentford.’

  The Viscount devoted some thought to this, and came to the conclusion that his friend was right. ‘Well, then, call it Longford. Lunches at noon. Won’t get to London before two.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, Pel,’ objected Sir Roland.

  ‘Damme, you must give the fellow time to sit a bit over his wine!’

  ‘Not at Longford,’ said Sir Roland simply. ‘He won’t sit over his wine at the King’s Head.’

  ‘Well, if it’s like that, he won’t take his luncheon there,’ said the Viscount. ‘That puts us out.’

  Captain Heron sat up. ‘Stop talking about his luncheon!’ he begged. ‘He’ll eat it somewhere, and that’s all that concerns us. How are you going to intercept him?’

  The Viscount let his chin sink into his cravat, and pondered deeply.

  ‘Short of holding him up, you can’t do it,’ said Captain Heron. ‘You can only wait for him at his house.’

  The Viscount jerked himself in his chair. ‘You’ve hit it, Edward! That’s a devilish good idea of yours! We’ll do it.’

  ‘What, wait for him in Half-Moon Street? I don’t say it’s a good idea, but –’

  ‘Lord no!’ interrupted the Viscount. ‘No sense in that. We’ll hold him up.’

  ‘Good God, that wasn’t my idea!’ said Captain Heron, alarmed.

  ‘Of course it was your idea; you thought of it, didn’t you? And one thing I will say, Edward, I never expected it of you. Always thought you too devilish respectable.’

  ‘You were right,’ said Captain Heron firmly. ‘I am as respectable as can be. I won’t be a party to any hold-up.’

  ‘Why not? No harm in it. Shan’t hurt the fellow – much.’

  ‘Pelham, will you have some sense? Consider my uniform!’

  Sir Roland, who had been pensively sucking the end of his cane, raised his head. ‘Got a notion,’ he said. ‘Go home and change it. Can’t hold a man up in regimentals. Wouldn’t be reasonable to expect it of him, Pel.’

  ‘Lord, you don’t suppose we’ll any of us do it dressed like this, do you? We want greatcoats and masks.’

  ‘I’ve got a roquelaure,’ said Sir Roland helpfully. ‘Had it made for me last month by Grogan. Meant to show it to you, Pel. Pretty shade of grey – silver buttons, but I don’t know about the lining. Grogan was all for a Carmelite silk, but I’m not sure I care for it, not at all sure.’

  ‘Well, you can’t hold up a chaise in a silk-lined roquelaure. We’ve got to have frieze coats and mufflers.’

  Sir Roland shook his head. ‘Can’t be done, Pel. You got a frieze coat, Heron?’

  ‘No, thank God, I haven’t!’ said Captain Heron.

  ‘Nor have I,’ said the Viscount, springing up. ‘And that’s why we must get hold of that fellow we left at Lethbridge’s. Come along! We’ve no time to waste.’

  Sir Roland rose, and said admiringly: ‘Dashed if I should ever have thought of that. It’s you who have the head, Pel, not a doubt of it.’

  ‘Pelham, do you realize that in all probability it was that ruffian that kidnapped your sister?’ demanded Captain Heron.

  ‘Do you think so? Yes, by God, I believe you’re right! Said he was waiting for twenty guineas, didn’t he? Well, if Lethbridge can hire him so can we,’ declared the Viscount, and strode out.

  Captain Heron caught him up in the street. ‘Pelham, it’s all very well, but we can’t do a hare-brained thing like that! If we’re caught I’m like to be broke.’

  ‘Well, it always beat me why you ever wanted to go into the Army,’ said the Viscount. ‘But if you want to rat, Pom and I can do it without you!’

  Sir Roland, shocked, said: ‘Pel, dear old boy, Pel! Think what you’re saying! Heron ain’t ratting. Only said he’d be broke if we was caught. Mustn’t jump down a man’s throat just because he makes a remark.’

  ‘If it were for anyone but Horry, I would rat,’ said Captain Heron. ‘Why in thunder don’t you wait for Lethbridge to come home, Pelham? If three of us can’t get the brooch away from him without masquerading as highwaymen –’

  ‘Because this is a better way!’ said the Viscount. ‘Great thing is to avoid scandal. If I put a pistol to the fellow’s head, and
he calls me out, where are we then? Worse off than ever! Affair’s bound to come to Rule’s ears, and if you think he won’t suspect Horry’s in it, you don’t know him. This way, we’ll have the brooch without a breath of scandal, and no one the wiser. Now, are you with me, or not, Edward?’

  ‘Yes, I’m with you,’ said Captain Heron. ‘There is something in what you say, if it doesn’t go awry!’

  ‘It can’t go awry, man – unless that rogue’s left Lethbridge’s house.’

  ‘Can’t have done that,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Said he was going to stay there till he had his twenty guineas. Lethbridge not back – can’t have had ’em. Must be there still.’

  Sir Roland proved to be right. When they arrived once more in Half-Moon Street, the burly man was still seated in the hall. The porter, as soon as he saw who it was on the doorstep, made a spirited attempt to slam the door. This was frustrated by Sir Roland, who hurled himself against it with great presence of mind, and nearly knocked the breath out of the porter by jamming him between the door and the wall. When he had extricated himself he found all three gentlemen inside the hall again, and groaned. However, as soon as it was explained to him that they only wanted to take away the burly man, he brightened considerably, and even permitted them to hail that worthy into the saloon for a little private conversation.

  The burly man, confronted by the Viscount’s pistol, flung up his hands. ‘Don’t you go for to let off that pop, your honour!’ he said huskily. ‘I ha’n’t done you a mite o’ harm!’

  ‘Not a mite,’ agreed the Viscount. ‘What’s more, I won’t do you any harm if you behave yourself. What’s your name? Come on, man, I’ve got to call you something, haven’t I?’

  ‘You call me Ned. Ned Hawkins,’ replied the burly man. ‘It ain’t the name, but it’s one I got a fancy for. Edward Hawkins, that’s me, at your service, gen’lemen.’

  ‘We don’t want another Edward,’ objected Sir Roland. ‘Heron’s name’s Edward, and we shall only get ’em mixed up.’

  ‘Well, I don’t mind being Frederick – to oblige the company,’ conceded Mr Hawkins.

  ‘Hawkins will do,’ replied the Viscount. ‘You’re on the High Toby, aren’t you?’