“No, my lord, unless it be that his Grace—as I thought—did not quite relish Captain Belper’s companionship,” said Scriven, with his eyes cast down.
“Upon my word I do not blame him!” said his lordship. “I had not thought him to have been such a jackass! I am sorry now that I advised him of his Grace’s coming. But he would not run out of town for such a reason as that!”
The steward gave a little cough. “I beg your lordship’s pardon, but it has seemed to me that his Grace was not quite himself. The very evening before he—before he left us, he would go out alone. He would not have his carriage, nor permit us to summon a chair, my lord. Indeed, when I begged him to let me at least call a linkboy he ran out of the house in quite a pet—if your lordship will excuse the word!”
“Well, I daresay that might put him in a fidget, but it is nothing to the purpose, after all! I own that it is a little disturbing that he should stay so long away, but young men are thoughtless, you know! Tomorrow, if there should be no word from him I will make some discreet enquiries. Captain Ware no doubt knows who are his intimates. We shall clear up this mystery speedily enough, I daresay.”
On this bracing note, he dismissed Scriven. But when he was alone he sat for quite an appreciable time, an untasted glass of wine in his hand, and his eyes fixed frowningly upon the glowing coals in the grate. He remembered that Gilly had been foolishly agitated when the question of his marriage had been broached. He hoped that the boy had not made his offer against his will, and fallen into a fit of dejection. He was so quiet there was never any knowing what was in his head. Suddenly his lordship remembered that Gilly had had some odd notion of going to London alone, and of staying in an hotel. It really began to look as though he had had some plan of escaping from his household from the start. But why he should wish to do so Lord Lionel could not imagine. Had he been a wild young blade, like Gaywood, one would have supposed that he was bent on kicking up a lark, but it was surely the height of absurdity to cherish such a suspicion of poor Gilly. Lord Lionel could only hope that his son would be able to throw some light on a problem which was beginning to make him feel extremely uneasy.
Chapter XV
Lord Lionel passed a disturbed night. He came down to breakfast in the expectation of finding a letter from his errant nephew awaiting him; but in despite of the fact that the sum of one pound was paid to the Post Office every year by Mr. Scriven, out of the Duke’s income, to ensure the early delivery of the mail, no such letter gladdened his lordship’s eyes. Matters did not, of course, appear to be quite so desperate as they had seemed during the chill small hours, but there was no denying that Lord Lionel had little appetite for his breakfast. He was curt with Borrowdale, and even brutal to Nettlebed; and when a message was brought to him that Captain Belper had called he instructed the footman to tell this unwelcome visitor that he had gone out.
In a very short time he did go out. He spent the better part of the morning at White’s and at Boodle’s, and, being no fool, was soon able to discern that Gilly’s disappearance was the main topic of conversation amongst the haut ton. Interesting discussions ended abruptly with his entrance into a room; and from several hints that were dropped he discovered, to his wrath, that speculation was rife on his son’s part in the mystery. He had almost gone to Albany when he bethought him of an old crony, and strode off instead to Mount Street. Whatever the on-dits of town might be, it was certain, he reflected grimly, that Timothy Wainfleet would know them all.
He found his friend at home, huddled over a fire in his book-room, and looking at once wizened and alarmingly alert. Sir Timothy welcomed him with exquisite courtesy, gave him a chair by the fire, and a glass of sherry, and murmured that he was enchanted to see him. But it did not seem to Lord Lionel that Sir Timothy was quite as enchanted as he averred, and, being a direct person, he said so, in express terms.
“Dear Lionel!” said Sir Timothy, faintly protesting. “Indeed, you wrong me! Always enchanted, I assure you! And how are the pheasants? You do shoot pheasants in October, do you not?”
“I have not come to talk to you of pheasants,” announced Lord Lionel. “What is more, you know as well as I do when pheasant-shooting begins!”
Sir Timothy’s shrewd grey eyes twinkled ruefully. “Yes, dear Lionel, but I apprehend that I would rather talk of pheasants than—er—than what you have come to talk about!”
“Then you have heard of my nephew’s disappearance?” demanded Lord Lionel.
“Everyone has heard of it,” smiled Sir Timothy. “Yes! Thanks to the folly of Gilly’s steward, who, I find, could think of nothing better to do than to spread the news at White’s! Now, we are old friends, Wainfleet, and I look to you to tell me what is being said in town! For what I hear I don’t like!”
“I wonder why I did not tell my man to deny me?” mused Sir Timothy. “I never listen to gossip, you know. Really, I do not think I can assist you!”
“You listen to nothing else!” retorted Lord Lionel.
Sir Timothy looked at him in melancholy wonder. “I suppose I must have liked you once,” he said plaintively. “I like very few people nowadays; in fact, the number of persons whom I cordially dislike increases almost hourly.”
“All that is nothing to the matter!” declared his lordship. “There is a deal of damned whispering going on in the dubs, and I look to you to tell me what it is I may have to fight. What are the fools saying about my nephew?”
Sir Timothy sighed. “The most received theory, as I apprehend, is that he has been murdered,” he replied calmly.
“Go on!” commanded Lord Lionel. “By my son?”
Sir Timothy winced. “My dear Lionel!” he protested. “Surely we need not waste our time in discussion of absurdities?”
“I am one who likes to see his way!” said his lordship. “If I have to remain here a week, you shall tell me the whole!”
“God forbid!” said his friend piously. “I find you very unrestful, you know: not at all the kind of guest I like to receive! Do pray understand that I do not set the least store by the whisperings of ill-informed persons! But you will agree that there is food and to spare for gossip. I am informed—of course I do not believe it!—that the last man to see your nephew was his cousin, with whom he is said to have dined. A circumstance—always remember, my dear Lionel, that I do but repeat what I hear!—which Captain Ware denies. One Aveley met Sale upon his way to your son’s chambers. No one has set eyes on him since, you know! Malicious persons—the town is full of them!—pretend to perceive a link between this fact, and the notice which lately appeared in the Society journals. So nonsensical! But you know what the world is, my dear friend!”
“My son, in a word,” said Lord Lionel, staling at him with narrowed eyes, “is held to have murdered his cousin upon learning that he is about to marry, and beget heirs?”
SirTimothy raised a deprecating hand. “Not by persons of discrimination, I assure you!” he said.
“It is a damned lie!” said Lord Lionel.
“Naturally, my dear Lionel, naturally! Yet—speaking as your friend, you know!—I do feel that a little openness in dear Gideon—a little less reserve—would be wise at this delicate moment! He has not been—how shall I put it?—precisely conciliating, one feels. In fact, he preserves a silence that is felt to be foolishly obstinate. Strive to consider the facts of this painful affair dispassionately, Lionel! Your nephew—quite one of our wealthiest peers, I am sure! so gratifying, and due in great part, I am persuaded, to your excellent management of his estates!—announces the tidings that he is about to be wed; and within twenty-four hours he visits your son, who afterwards denies all knowledge of his whereabouts. He is not seen again; his servants search for him all over town; you come post from Sale; and the only undisturbed member of his entourage appears to be Gideon, who pursues his usual avocations with unimpaired calm. Now, do understand that not one word of this would you have had from my lips had you not forced me to speak, almost, one might say, at the pistol
-mouth! The tale is as nonsensical as most rumours are. I advise you to ignore it. Let me give you some more sherry!”
“Thank you, no! I am going instantly to see my son!” said Lord Lionel harshly. “I collect that I have nursed my nephew’s fortune so that my son may ultimately benefit? Are you sure that I have had no hand in his disappearance?”
“That,” said Sir Timothy gently, “would be absurd, Lionel.”
Lord Lionel left him abruptly, and strode off down Piccadilly, his brow black, and his brain seething with rage. He had naturally no suspicion of his son, but the apparently well-attested information that he must have been the last man to have seen Gilly greatly disturbed him. If it were true, he was no doubt in Gilly’s confidence, but what could have possessed him to have aided and abetted Gilly in this foolish start? Gideon must surely know that his cousin could not be permitted to wander about the country like a nobody, a prey to chills, adventurers, highwaymen, and kidnappers! By the time his lordship had reached Albany, he had worked himself up into a state of anger against his son which demanded an instant outlet. This was denied him. Wragby, admitting him into Gideon’s chambers, said that the Captain had gone on parade, and was not expected to return for another half-hour at least. Lord Lionel glared at him in a way which reminded Wragby of his late Colonel, and said in one of his barks: “I will await the Captain!”
Wragby ushered him into the sitting-room, endured a pungent stricture on the disorder in which his master chose to live, and only just prevented himself from saluting. Lord Lionel, however, recollected without this reminder that he had served in the 1st Foot Guards, and added a few scathing remarks on the customs apparently prevailing in Infantry regiments. Wragby, who was nothing if not loyal, nobly shouldered the blame for the untidiness of the room, said, “Yes, my lord!” and “No, my lord!” at least half a dozen times, and retired in a shattered condition to the kitchen, where he lost no time in venting his feelings on Captain Ware’s hapless batman.
Lord Lionel occupied himself for several minutes in inspecting his son’s library, and uttering “Pish!” in tones of revulsion. Then he paced about the floor for a time, but finding his path impeded by chairs, tables, a paper-rack, and a wine-cooler, he gave this up, and cast himself down in the chair before Gideon’s desk. He had promised his wife that he would write to her as soon as he reached London, and as he had not yet done so he thought he might as well fill in his time in this way as in any other. Amongst the litter of bills and invitation-cards, he found some notepaper, and a bottle of ink. He drew the paper towards him, and then discovered that Gideon, as might, he supposed, have been expected, used a damnable pen that wanted mending. He began to hunt for a knife, and his exasperation mounted steadily. It seemed to him of a piece with all the rest, Gilly’s disappearance included, that Gideon should have no pen-knife. He pulled open one of the drawers in the desk, and turned over a heap of miscellaneous objects in the hope of discovering a knife. He did not find one. He found Gilly’s signet-ring instead.
Captain Ware returned from parade twenty minutes later, and learned from Wragby that his father was awaiting him. He grimaced, but said nothing. His batman made haste to unbuckle his brass cuirass, and his sword-belt; Captain Ware handed his great, crested helmet to Wragby, and lifted an enquiring eyebrow. Wragby cast up both his eyes in a very speaking way, at which the Captain nodded. He stripped off his white gauntlets, tossed them on to the table, flicked the dust from his black-jacked boots, and walked into his sitting-room.
An impartial observer might have thought him a vision to gladden any father’s heart, for his big frame and his dark good looks were admirably suited to the magnificent uniform he wore. But when Lord Lionel, who was standing staring out of the window at the opposite row of chambers, turned to confront him gladness was an emotion conspicuously lacking in his countenance. He was looking appallingly grim, and his eyes held an expression Gideon had never before seen in them.
“I am extremely happy to see you, father,” Gideon said, closing the door. “I hope you have not waited long for me? One of our curst parades! How do you do?”
Lord Lionel ignored both the speech and the outstretched hand. He said, as though the words were wrenched out of him: “For God’s sake, Gideon, where is Gilly?”
“I have not the remotest conjecture,” replied Gideon. “To own the truth, I am a trifle weary of being asked that question.”
“You have not the remotest conjecture?” repeated his father. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
Gideon’s face stiffened; the resemblance between them seemed to grow more marked. “I do, yes,” he said in a level tone.
Lord Lionel held out a hand that shook slightly, “What, Gideon, is this?” he demanded, his hard eyes never wavering from Gideon’s face.
Gideon glanced down at his hand, and saw what lay in the palm of it. “That,” he said, still in that level voice, “is Gilly’s ring, sir. You found it in my desk. I am surprised you do not recognize it.”
“Not recognize it!” exclaimed Lord Lionel. “Do you take me for a fool, Gideon?”
Gideon raised his eyes from the ring, and met his father’s, in a look quite as hard as the one that challenged him. “I did not—no,” he said deliberately. He took the ring out of Lord Lionel’s hand, and restored it to his desk. He turned the key in the lock of the drawer, and removed it. “A precaution I should have taken earlier,” he remarked.
“Gideon!” Lord Lionel’s voice held a note almost of entreaty. “Be open with me, I implore you! Where is Gilly?”
“Don’t you mean, sir, what have I done with Gilly?” suggested Gideon sweetly.
“No!” snapped his lordship. “Nothing would make me believe that you would harm a hair of his head! But when I came upon that ring in your desk—Gideon, do you know what is being said in the clubs?”
“Yes, I have not been so much amused this twelve-month,” replied Gideon. “I own, however, that it does not amuse me very much to discover that you, sir, apparently share the town’s suspicions.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy!” said his lordship, flushing angrily. “A pretty thing it would be if I were to suspect my own son!”
“Just so, sir.”
“I do not!—Understand, I do not! But how came you by that ring, Gideon?”
“Oh, I drew it from the corpse’s finger, of course, sir!” Gideon said sardonically.
“Stop trifling with me!” thundered his lordship. “I have told you I believe nothing against you! If I was shocked to come upon a ring in your desk which Gilly always wears you can scarcely wonder at it!”
“I beg pardon, sir. Gilly handed it to me to keep for him. I have neither the desire nor the expectation to wear it.”
Lord Lionel sat down rather limply on the sofa. “I knew something of the sort must have happened. Where has that tiresome boy gone?”
“I have already told you, sir, that I do not know.”
Lord Lionel regarded him frowningly. “Did he dine with you on the day he disappeared, or did he not?”
“He did.”
“Then, confound you, Gideon, what the devil do you mean by telling everyone you had not seen him?” demanded Lord Lionel.
Gideon shrugged, and put up a hand to unhook his tight collar-band. “Being unable to answer further questions, sir, it seemed to me wisest to deny all knowledge of Adolphus.”
“I wish you will not call him that!” said Lord Lionel peevishly. “Do you mean to tell me he did not tell you what his intentions were?”
“He told me merely that he was blue-devilled, sir: a thing I had perceived for myself,” replied Gideon, with a look under his black brows at his father.
“Blue-devilled!” ejaculated Lord Lionel. “I should like to know what cause he had to feel so!”
Gideon’s lips curled. “Would you, sir? Then, by God, I will tell you! My poor little cousin is beset by persons who wish him nothing but good and since he has by far too sweet a disposition to send you, and Scriven
, and Nettlebed, and Chigwell, and—but I forget the names of the rest of his retinue!—to the devil, he has been forced to fly from you all. I do not know where he has gone, or how long he means to stay away, or what purpose he has in mind!”
“Are you mad?” demanded his lordship, staring at him. “I have cared as much for Gilly as if he had been my own son !”
“More, sir, more!”
Lord Lionel gave a gasp. “Good God, boy, are you jealous of Gilly?”
Gideon laughed. “Devil a bit, sir! I thank God your affection for me never led you into shielding me from every wind that blew, or hedging me about with tutors, valets, stewards, and doctors, who would not let me set one foot in front of the other without begging me to take heed I did not step into a puddle!”
There was a moment’s silence. Lord Lionel said, almost pleadingly: “He was left to my care, and he was the sickliest child!”
“Oh, content you, sir, no one blames you for your anxiety when he was a child! But it is time to be done with dry-nursing him, and has been so several years! You will not let him be a man: you treat him still as though he were a schoolboy.”
“It is not true!” Lord Lionel said. “I have been for ever telling him it is time that he asserted himself!”
Gideon grinned. “Ay, so you have, and what have you said when he has made an attempt to do so? You desired him to learn to manage his estates, but when he tried so to do did not you and Scriven tell him that his notions were absurd, and that he must be guided by older and wiser heads?”
Lord Lionel swallowed, and said quite mildly: “Naturally Scriven and I—know better than he can—But this is nonsense, after all! You have said as much to me before, and I told you then—”
“Sir, I warned you not so long since that you would not long ride Adolphus on a curb-bit, and you would not attend to me. Well! You see what has come of it!”
Lord Lionel pulled himself together. “Be silent!” he commanded. “You will do well to remember to whom you speak, sir! Let me tell you this! You are answerable for much in having permitted Gilly to go off in this crazy way!”
The Foundling Page 22
