“Not Lethbridge, ma’am, Rule!” said Sir Roland, and flicking his handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed at his heated brow.
“Rule?” exclaimed Horatia in accents of the profoundest dismay.
“No less, ma’am. Very awkward situation.”
“You—you d-didn’t hold Rule up?” she gasped.
Sir Roland nodded. “Very, very awkward,” he said.
“Did he re-recognize you?”
“Deeply regret, ma’am—recognized Pel’s mare.”
Horatia wrung her hands. “Oh, was ever anything so unlucky? What d-did he say? What d-did he think? What in the world b-brings him home so soon?”
“Beg you won’t distress yourself, ma’am. Pel carried it off. Presence of mind, you know—mighty clever fellow, Pel!”
“B-but I don’t see how he could carry it off!” said Horatia.
“Assure your ladyship, nothing simpler. Told him it was a wager.”
“D-did he believe it?” asked Horatia, round-eyed.
“Certainly!” said Sir Roland. “Told him we mistook his chaise for another’s. Plausible story—why not? But Pel thought you should be warned he was on his way.”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” she said. “But L-Lethbridge? My b-brooch?”
Sir Roland tucked his handkerchief away again. “Can’t make the fellow out,” he replied. “Ought to be home by now, instead of which—no sign of him. Pel and Heron are waiting on with Hawkins. Have to carry a message to Lady Winwood. Heron—very good sort of man indeed—can’t dine in South Street now. Must try to stop Lethbridge, you see. Beg you won’t let it distress you. Assure you—brooch shall be recovered. Rule suspects nothing—nothing at all, ma’am!”
Horatia trembled. “I d-don’t feel as though I can p-possibly face him!” she said.
Sir Roland, uneasily aware that she was on the brink of tears, retreated towards the door. “Not the slightest cause for alarm, ma’am. Think I should be going, however. Won’t do for him to find me here.”
“No,” agreed Horatia forlornly. “No, I s-suppose it won’t.”
When Sir Roland had bowed himself out she went slowly upstairs again, and to her bed-chamber, where her abigail was waiting to dress her. She had promised to join her sister-in-law at Drury Lane Theatre after dinner, and a grande toilette in satin of that extremely fashionable colour called Stifled Sigh was laid out over a chair. The abigail, pouncing on her to untie her laces, informed her that M. Fredin (pupil of that celebrated academician in coiffures, M. Leonard of Paris) had already arrived, and was in the powder-closet. Horatia said “Oh!” in a flat voice, and stepping out of her polonaise, listlessly permitted the satin underdress to be slipped over her head. She was put into her powdering-gown next, and then was delivered into the hands of M. Fredin.
This artist, failing to perceive his client’s low spirits, was full of enthusiastic suggestions for a coiffure that should ravish all who beheld it. My lady has not cared for the Quesaco? Ah, no, by example! a little too sophisticated! My lady would prefer her hair dressed in Foaming Torrents—a charming mode! Or—my lady being petite—perhaps the Butterfly would better please the eye.
“I d-don’t care,” said my lady.
M. Fredin, extracting pins with swift dexterity, shaking out rolled curls, combing away a tangle, was disappointed, but redoubled his efforts. My lady, without doubt, desired something new, something epatante. One could not consider the Hedgehog, therefore, but my lady would be transported by the Mad Dog. A mode of the most distinguished: he would not suggest the Sportsman in a Bush; that was for ladies past their first blush; but the Royal Bird was always a favourite; or, if my lady was in a pensive mood, the Milksop.
“Oh, d-dress it a l’urgence!” said Horatia impatiently. “I’m l-late!”
M. Fredin was chagrined, but he was too wise in the knowledge of ladies’ whims to expostulate. His deft fingers went busily to work, and in an astonishingly short space of time, Horatia emerged from the closet, her head a mass of artlessly tumbled curls, dashed over with powder a la Marechale, violet-scented.
She sat down at her dressing-table, and picked up the rouge-pot. It would never do for Rule to see her looking so pale. Oh, if it was not that odious Serkis rouge that made her look a hag! Take it away at once!
She had just laid down the haresfoot and taken the patch-box out of the abigail’s hand when someone scratched on the door. She started, and cast a scared look over her shoulder. The door opened and the Earl came in.
“Oh!” said Horatia faintly. She remembered that she must show surprise, and added: “G-good gracious, my l-lord, is—is it indeed you?”
The Earl had changed his travelling dress for an evening toilet of puce velvet, with a flowered waistcoat and satin small clothes. He came across the room to Horatia’s side, and bent to kiss her hand. “None other, my dear. Am I—now don’t spare me—am I perhaps de trop?”
“No, of c-course not,” replied Horatia uncertainly. She felt a trifle breathless. At sight of him her heart had given the oddest leap. If the abigail had not been there—if she had not lost her brooch—! But the abigail, tiresome creature, was there, bobbing a curtsy, and Lethbridge had her brooch, and of course she could not fling herself into Rule’s arms and burst into tears on his chest. She forced herself to smile. “No, of c-course not,” she repeated. “I am prodigiously g-glad to see you. But what brings you b-back so soon, sir?”
“You, Horry,” he answered, smiling down at her.
She blushed and opened the patch-box. Her thoughts jostled one another in her head. He must have broken with the Massey. He was beginning to love her at last. If he found out about Lethbridge and the brooch it would all be spoiled. She was the most deceitful wretch alive.
“Ah, but I beg you will let me show my skill,” said his lordship, removing the patch-box from her hand. He selected a tiny round of black taffeta, and gently turned Horatia’s head towards him. “Which shall it be?” he said. “The Equivocal? I think not. The Gallant? No, not that. It shall be—” He pressed the patch at the corner of her mouth. “The Kissing, Horry!” he said, and bent quickly and kissed her on the lips.
Her hand flew up, touched his cheek, and fell again. Deceitful, odious wretch that she was! She drew back, trying to laugh. “My l-lord, we are not alone! And I—I m-must dress, you know, for I p-promised to g-go with Louisa and Sir Humphrey to the p-play at Drury Lane.”
He straightened. “Shall I send a message to Louisa, or shall I go with you to this play?” he inquired.
“Oh—oh, I m-mustn’t disappoint her, sir!” said Horatia in a hurry. It would never do to be alone with him a whole evening. She might blurt out the whole story, and then—if he believed her—he must think her the most tiresome wife, for ever in a scrape.
“Then we will go together,” said his lordship. “I’ll await you downstairs, my love.”
Twenty minutes later they faced one another across the dining table. “I trust,” said his lordship, carving the duck, “that you were tolerably well amused while I was away, my dear?”
Tolerably well amused? Good heavens! “Oh, yes, sir—t-tolerably well,” replied Horatia politely.
“The Richmond House ball—were you not going to that?”
Horatia gave an involuntary shudder. “Yes, I—went to that.”
“Are you cold, Horry?”
“C-cold? No, sir, n-not at all.”
“I thought you shivered,” said his lordship.
“N-no,” said Horatia. “Oh, no! The—the Richmond House b-ball. It was vastly pretty, with fireworks, you know. Only my shoes p-pinched me, so I d-didn’t enjoy myself m-much. They were new ones, too, with diamonds sewn on them, and I was so c-cross I should have sent them back to the m-makers only they were ruined by the wet.”
“Ruined by the wet?” repeated the Earl.
Horatia’s fork clattered on her plate. That was what came of trying to make conversation! She had known how it would be; of course she would make a slip! “Oh, yes!” she
said breathlessly. “I f-forgot to tell you! The b-ball was spoiled by rain. Wasn’t it a pity? I—I got my feet wet.”
“That was certainly a pity,” agreed Rule. “And what did you do yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” said Horatia. “Oh, I—I d-didn’t do anything yesterday.”
There was a laugh in his eyes. “My dear Horry, I never thought to hear such a confession from you,” he said.
“No, I—I did not feel very w-well, so I—I—so I stayed at home.”
“Then I suppose you haven’t yet seen Edward,” remarked the Earl.
Horatia, who was sipping her claret, choked. “Good gracious, yes! Now, however c-could I have come to forget that? Only f-fancy, Rule, Edward is in town!” She was aware that she was sinking deeper into the quagmire, and tried to recover her false step. “B-but how did you know he was here?” she asked.
The Earl waited while the footman removed his plate, and set another in its place. “I have seen him,” he replied.
“Oh—have you? W-where?”
“On Hounslow Heath,” replied the Earl, putting up his glass to survey a pupton of cherries which was being offered to him. “No, I think not... Yes, on Hounslow Heath, Horry. A most unexpected rencontre.”
“It m-must have been. I—I wonder w-what he was doing there?”
“He was holding me up,” said the Earl calmly.
“Oh, w-was he?” Horatia swallowed a cherry stone inadvertently and coughed. “How—how very odd of him!”
“Very imprudent of him,” said the Earl.
“Yes, v-very. P-perhaps he was doing it for a w-wager,” suggested Horatia, mindful of Sir Roland’s words.
“I believe he was.” Across the table the Earl’s eyes met hers. “Pelham and his friend Pommeroy were also of the party. I fear I was not the victim they expected.”
“W-weren’t you? No, of c-course you weren’t! I mean—d-don’t you think it is t-time we started for the p-play, sir?”
Rule got up. “Certainly, my dear.” He picked up her taffeta cloak and put it round her shoulders. “May I be permitted to venture a suggestion?” he said gently.
She glanced nervously at him. “Why, y-yes, sir! What is it?”
“You should not wear rubies with that particular shade of satin, my dear. The pearl set would better become it.”
There was an awful silence; Horatia’s throat felt parched suddenly; her heart was thumping violently. “It—it is too l-late to change them n-now!” she managed to say.
“Very well,” Rule said, and opened the door for her to pass out.
All the way to Drury Lane, Horatia kept up a flow of conversation. What she found to talk about she could never afterwards remember, but talk she did, until the coach drew up at the theatre, and she was safe from a tête-à-tête for three hours.
Coming home there was of course the play to be discussed, and the acting, and Lady Louisa’s new gown, and these topics left no room for more dangerous ones. Pleading fatigue, Horatia went early to bed, and lay for a long time wondering what Pelham had done, and what she should do if Pelham had failed.
She awoke next morning heavy-eyed and despondent. Her chocolate was brought in on a tray with her letters. She sipped it, and with her free hand turned over the billets in the hope of seeing the Viscount’s sprawling handwriting. But there was no letter from him, only a sheaf of invitations and bills.
Setting down her cup she began to open these missives. Yes, just as she had thought. A rout-party; a card-party; she did not care if she never touched a card again; a picnic to Boxhill: never! of course it would rain; a concert at Ranelagh: well, she only hoped she would never be obliged to go to that odious place any more!... Good God, could one have spent three hundred and seventy-five guineas at a mantua-maker’s? And what was this? Five plumes at fifty louis apiece! Well, that was really too provoking, when they had been bought for that abominable Quesaco coiffure which had not become her at all.
She broke the seal of another letter, and spread open the single sheet of plain, gilt-edged paper. The words, clearly written in a copper-plate hand, fairly jumped at her.
If the Lady who lost a ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds in Half-Moon Street on the night of the Richmond House Ball will come alone to the Grecian Temple at the end of the Long Walk at Vauxhall Gardens at Midnight precisely on the twenty-eighth day of September, the brooch shall be restored to her by the Person in whose possession it now is.
There was no direction, no signature; the handwriting was obviously disguised. Horatia stared at it for one incredulous minute and then, with a smothered shriek, thrust her chocolate tray into the abigail’s hands and cast off the bed-clothes. “Quick, I m-must get up at once!” she said. “Lay me out a w-walking dress, and a hat, and my g-gloves! Oh, and run d-downstairs and tell someone to order the l-landaulet—no, not the l-landaulet! my town-coach, to c-come round in half an hour. And take all these l-letters away, and oh, d-do please hurry!”
For once she wasted no time over her toilet, and half an hour later ran down the stairs, her sunshade caught under her arm, her gloves only half on. There was no sign of Rule, and after casting a wary glance in the direction of the library door, she sped past it and was out in the street before anyone could have time to observe her flight.
The coach was waiting, and directing the coachman to drive to Lord Winwood’s lodging in Pall Mall, Horatia climbed in and sank back against the cushions with a sigh of relief at having succeeded in leaving the house without encountering Rule.
The Viscount was at breakfast when his sister was announced, and looked up with a frown. “Lord, Horry, what the devil brings you at this hour? You shouldn’t have come; if Rule knows you’ve dashed off at daybreak it’s enough to make him suspect something’s amiss.”
Horatia thrust a trembling hand into her reticule and extracted a crumpled sheet of gilt-edged paper. “Th-that’s what brings me!” she said. “Read it!”
The Viscount took the letter and smoothed it out. “Well, sit down, there’s a good girl. Have some breakfast... Here, what’s this?”
“P-Pel, can it be L-Lethbridge?” she asked.
The Viscount turned the letter over, as though seeking enlightenment on the back of it. “Dashed if I know!” he said. “Looks to me like a trap.”
“B-but why should it be? Do you think p-perhaps he is sorry?”
“No, I don’t,” said his lordship frankly. “I’d say at a guess that the fellow’s trying to get his hands on you. End of the Long Walk? Ay, I know that Temple. Devilish draughty it is, too. And it’s near one of the gates. Tell you what, Horry: I’ll lay you a pony he means to abduct you.”
Horatia clasped her hands. “But, P-Pel, I must go! I must try and g-get the brooch b-back!”
“So you shall,” said the Viscount briskly. “We’ll see some sport now!” He gave back the letter and took a long drink of ale. “Now you listen to me, Horry. We’ll all go to Vauxhall tonight—you and I and Pom, and Edward too if he likes. At midnight you’ll go to that temple, and the rest of us will lie hid in the shrubbery there. We shall see who goes in, never fear. If it’s Lethbridge, we’ve got him. If it’s another—though, mind you, it looks to me like Lethbridge—you’ve only to give a squawk and we’ll hear you. We shall have that damned brooch by tomorrow, Horry!”
Horatia nodded. “Yes, that’s a very clever plan, P-Pel. And I’ll tell Rule that I am g-going with you, and he w-won’t mind that at all. D-didn’t Lethbridge c-come to town yesterday?”
The Viscount scowled. “Can’t have done. Edward and that fellow Hawkins and I stayed till past nine on that cursed Heath, and never saw a sign of him. You know we stopped Rule’s chaise?”
“Yes, of c-course. Sir Roland told me and Rule did too.”
“Gave me a devilish queer turn when I saw who it was,” confessed the Viscount. “He’s quick, is Rule. Must own he’s quick, Horry. Recognized my mare the instant he clapped eyes on her.”
“B-but he didn’t suspect, P-Pel? You�
�re sure he d-didn’t suspect?” she cried anxiously.
“Lord, no! How should he?” said the Viscount. He glanced at the clock. “I’d best get hold of Pom, and as for you, you go home, Horry.”
Arrived once more in Grosvenor Square, Horatia discarded her hat and her gloves and went in search of Rule. She found him in the library, reading the Morning Chronicle. He rose at her entrance and held out his hand. “Well, my love? You’re up betimes.”
Horatia put her hand in his. “It was such a f-fine morning,” she explained. “And I am to d-drive in the park with M-mama.”
“I see,” he said. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Is not today the twenty-eighth, Horry?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” she replied.
“Then will you come with me to the ball at Almack’s rooms?” suggested Rule.
Consternation spread over her face. “Oh—oh, how d-de-lightful that would be!” she said. “Only I c-can’t! I’ve promised to go to Vauxhall with P-Pel.”
“I have always found,” remarked his lordship pensively, “that most of one’s engagements were only made to be broken.”
“I can’t break this one,” Horatia said with real regret.
“Is it so important? You will make me jealous, Horry—of Pelham.”
“It’s very, very important!” she said earnestly. “That is to say, I m-mean—Well, P-Pel wants me to be there particularly, you see!”
The Earl was playing with her fingers. “Do you think Pel would permit me to make one of this expedition?” he said.
“Oh, no, I am quite sure he w-wouldn’t like that at all!” said Horatia, appalled. “At least—I d-don’t mean that, of course, but—but he is to present some people to me, and they are strangers, you see, and I daresay you would not c-care for them.”
“But I have a reputation for being the most friendly of mortals,” said the Earl plaintively. He let go her hand and turned to arrange his cravat in the mirror. “Don’t distress yourself on my account, my dear. If I don’t care for these strangers I promise I will dissemble.”
Horatia gazed at him in complete dismay. “I d-don’t think you would enjoy it, M-Marcus. Really, I do not.”
The Convenient Marriage Page 26
