Mr Drelincourt clung to the window frame and gave an unnatural laugh. ‘Oh, your pleasantries, my lord! I am on my way to Meering, you know, to my cousin’s. I – I think it is already five o’clock, and he dines at five.’
‘Crosby, come down!’ said Lethbridge, with such an alarming glitter in his eyes that Mr Drelincourt was quite cowed, and began to fumble with the catch of the door. He climbed down carefully, under the grinning stare of his postilions. ‘I vow I can’t imagine what you was wanting to say to me,’ he said. ‘And I am late, you know. I ought to be on my way.’
His arm was taken in an ungentle grip. ‘Walk with me a little way, Crosby,’ said his lordship. ‘Do you not find these country roads quite charming? I am sure you do. And so you are bound for Meering? Was not that a rather sudden decision, Crosby?’
‘Sudden?’ stammered Mr Drelincourt, wincing at the pressure of his lordship’s fingers above his elbow. ‘Oh, not at all, my lord, not in the least! I told Rule I might come down. I have had it in mind some days, I assure you.’
‘It has nothing to do, of course, with a certain brooch?’ purred Lethbridge.
‘A b-brooch? I don’t understand you, my lord!’
‘A ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds, picked up in my house last night,’ said his lordship.
Mr Drelincourt’s knees shook. ‘I protest, sir, I – I am at a loss! I –’
‘Crosby, give me that brooch,’ said Lethbridge menacingly.
Mr Drelincourt made an attempt to pull his arm away. ‘My lord, I don’t understand your tone! I tell you frankly, I don’t like it. I don’t take your meaning.’
‘Crosby,’ said his lordship, ‘you will give me that brooch, or I will take you by the scruff of your neck and shake you like the rat you are!’
‘Sir!’ said Mr Drelincourt, his teeth chattering together, ‘this is monstrous! Monstrous!’
‘It is indeed monstrous,’ agreed his lordship. ‘You are a thief, Mr Crosby Drelincourt.’
Mr Drelincourt flushed scarlet. ‘It was not your brooch, sir!’
‘Or yours!’ swiftly replied Lethbridge. ‘Hand it over!’
‘I – I have called a man out for less!’ blustered Crosby.
‘That’s your humour, is it?’ said Lethbridge. ‘It’s not my practice to fight with thieves; I use a cane instead. But I might make an exception in your case.’
To Mr Drelincourt’s horror, he thrust forward his sword hilt and patted it. That unfortunate gentleman licked his lips and said quaveringly: ‘I shall not fight you, sir. The brooch is more mine than yours!’
‘Hand it over!’ said Lethbridge.
Mr Drelincourt hesitated, read a look in his lordship’s face there was no mistaking, and slowly inserted his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. The next moment the brooch lay in Lethbridge’s hand.
‘Thank you, Crosby,’ he said, in a way that made Mr Drelincourt long for the courage to hit him. ‘I thought I should be able to persuade you. You may now resume your journey to Meering – if you think it still worthwhile. If you don’t – you may join me at the Sun in Maidenhead, where I propose to dine and sleep. I almost feel I owe you a dinner for spoiling your game so unkindly.’ He turned, leaving Mr Drelincourt speechless with indignation, and walked back to his chaise, which had by this time drawn up to the side of the road, facing towards London again. He climbed lightly into it and drove off, airily waving his hand to Mr Drelincourt, still standing in the dusty road.
Mr Drelincourt gazed after him, rage seething up in him. Spoiled his game, had he? There might be two words to that! He hurried back to his own chaise, saw the looks of rich enjoyment on the postilions’ faces, and swore at them to drive on.
It was only six miles to Meering from the Thicket, but by the time the chaise turned in at the Lodge gates it was close on six o’clock. The house was situated a mile from the gates, in the middle of a very pretty park, but Mr Drelincourt was in no mood to admire the fine oaks, and rolling stretches of turf, and sat in a fret of impatience while his tired horses drew him up the long avenue to the house.
He found his cousin and Mr Gisborne lingering over their port in the dining-room, which apartment was lit by candles. It might be broad daylight outside, but my lord had a constitutional dislike of dining by day, and excluded it by having the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.
Both he and Mr Gisborne were in riding-dress. My lord was lounging in a high-backed chair at the head of the table, one leg, encased in a dusty top-boot, thrown negligently over the arm. He looked up as the footman opened the door to admit Mr Drelincourt, and for a moment sat perfectly still, the look of good humour fading from his face. Then he picked up his quizzing-glass with some deliberation, and surveyed his cousin through it. ‘Dear me!’ he said. ‘Now why?’
This was not a very promising start, but his anger had chased from Mr Drelincourt’s mind all memory of his last meeting with the Earl, and he was undaunted. ‘Cousin,’ he said, his words tripping over one another. ‘I am here on a matter of grave moment. I must beg a word with you alone!’
‘I imagine it must indeed be of grave moment to induce you to come over thirty miles in pursuit of me,’ said his lordship.
Mr Gisborne got up. ‘I will leave you, sir.’ He bowed slightly to Mr Drelincourt, who paid not the slightest heed to him, and went out.
Mr Drelincourt pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down. ‘I regret extremely, Rule, but you must prepare yourself for most unpleasant tidings. If I did not consider it my duty to apprise you of what I have discovered, I should shrink from the task!’
The Earl did not seem to be alarmed. He still sat at his ease, one hand lying on the table, the fingers crooked round the stem of his wine-glass, his calm gaze resting on Mr Drelincourt’s face. ‘This self-immolation on the altar of duty is something new to me,’ he remarked. ‘I daresay my nerves will prove strong enough to enable me to hear your tidings with – I trust – tolerable equanimity.’
‘I trust so, Rule, I do indeed trust so!’ said Mr Drelincourt, his eyes snapping. ‘You are pleased to sneer at my notion of duty –’
‘I hesitate to interrupt you, Crosby, but you may have noticed that I never sneer.’
‘Very well, cousin, very well! Be that as it may, you will allow that I have my share of family pride.’
‘Certainly, if you tell me so,’ replied the Earl gently.
Mr Drelincourt flushed. ‘I do tell you so! Our name – our honour, mean as much to me as to you, I believe! It is on that score that I am here now.’
‘If you have come all this way to inform me that the catch-polls are after you, Crosby, it is only fair to tell you that you are wasting your time.’
‘Very humorous, my lord!’ cried Mr Drelincourt. ‘My errand, however, concerns you more nearly than that! Last night – I should rather say this morning, for it was long past two by my watch – I had occasion to visit my Lord Lethbridge.’
‘That is, of course, interesting,’ said the Earl. ‘It seems an odd hour for visiting, but I have sometimes thought, Crosby, that you are an odd creature.’
Mr Drelincourt’s bosom swelled. ‘There is nothing very odd, I think, in sheltering from the rain!’ he said. ‘I was upon my way to my lodging from South Audley Street, and chanced to turn down Half-Moon Street. I was caught in a shower of rain, but observing the door of my Lord Lethbridge’s house to stand – inadvertently, I am persuaded – ajar, I stepped in. I found his lordship in a dishevelled condition in the front saloon, where a vastly elegant supper was spread, covers, my lord, being laid for two.’
‘You shock me infinitely,’ said the Earl, and leaning a little forward, picked up the decanter and refilled his glass.
Mr Drelincourt uttered a shrill laugh. ‘You may well say so! His lordship seemed put out at seeing me, remarkably put out!’
‘That,’ said the Earl, ??
?I can easily understand. But pray continue, Crosby.’
‘Cousin,’ said Mr Drelincourt earnestly, ‘I desire you to believe that it is with the most profound reluctance that I do so. While I was with Lord Lethbridge, my attention was attracted by something that lay upon the floor, partly concealed by a rug. Something, Rule, that sparkled. Something –’
‘Crosby,’ said his lordship wearily, ‘your eloquence is no doubt very fine, but I must ask you to bear in mind that I have been in the saddle most of the day, and spare me any more of it. I am not really very curious to know, but you seem anxious to tell me: what was it that attracted your attention?’
Mr Drelincourt swallowed his annoyance. ‘A brooch, my lord! A lady’s corsage brooch!’
‘No wonder that Lord Lethbridge was not pleased to see you,’ remarked Rule.
‘No wonder, indeed!’ said Mr Drelincourt. ‘Somewhere in the house a lady was concealed at that very moment. Unseen, cousin, I picked up the brooch and slipped it into my pocket.’
The Earl raised his brows. ‘I think I said that you were an odd creature, Crosby.’
‘It may appear so, but I had a good reason for my action. Had it not been for the fact that Lord Lethbridge pursued me on my journey here, and by force wrested the brooch from me, I should lay it before you now. For that brooch is very well known both to you and me. A ring-brooch, cousin, composed of pearls and diamonds in two circles!’
The Earl never took his eyes from Mr Drelincourt’s; it may have been a trick of the shadows thrown by the candles on the tables, but his face looked unusually grim. He swung his leg down from the arm of the chair leisurely, but still leaned back at his ease. ‘Yes, Crosby, a ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds?’
‘Precisely, cousin! A brooch I recognized at once. A brooch that belongs to the fifteenth-century set which you gave to your –’
He got no further. In one swift movement the Earl was up, and had seized Mr Drelincourt by the throat, dragging him out of his chair, and half across the corner of the table that separated them. Mr Drelincourt’s terrified eyes goggled up into blazing grey ones. He clawed ineffectively at my lord’s hands. Speech was choked out of him. He was shaken to and fro till the teeth rattled in his head. There was a roaring in his ears, but he heard my lord’s voice quite distinctly. ‘You lying, mischief-making little cur!’ it said. ‘I have been too easy with you. You dare to bring me your foul lies about my wife, and you think that I may believe them! By God, I am of a mind to kill you now!’
A moment more the crushing grip held, then my lord flung his cousin away from him, and brushed his hands together in a gesture infinitely contemptuous.
Mr Drelincourt reeled back, grasping and clutching at the air, and fell with a crash on to the floor, and stayed there, cowering away like a whipped mongrel.
The Earl looked down at him for a moment, a smile quite unlike any Mr Drelincourt had ever seen curling his fine mouth. Then he leaned back against the table, half sitting on it, supported by his hands, and said: ‘Get up, my friend. You are not yet dead.’
Mr Drelincourt picked himself up and tried mechanically to straighten his wig. His throat felt mangled, and his legs were shaking so that he could hardly stand. He staggered to a chair and sank into it.
‘You said, I think, that Lord Lethbridge took this famous brooch from you? Where?’
Mr Drelincourt managed to say, though hoarsely: ‘Maidenhead.’
‘I trust he will return it to its rightful owner. You realize, do you, Crosby, that your genius for recognizing my property is sometimes at fault?’
Mr Drelincourt muttered: ‘I thought it was – I – I may have been mistaken.’
‘You were mistaken,’ said his lordship.
‘Yes, I – yes, I was mistaken. I beg pardon, I am sure. I am very sorry, cousin.’
‘You will be still more sorry, Crosby, if one word of this passes your lips again. Do I make myself plain?’
‘Yes, yes, indeed, I – I thought it my duty, no more, to – to tell you.’
‘Since the day I married Horatia Winwood,’ said his lordship levelly, ‘you have tried to make mischief between us. Failing, you were fool enough to trump up this extremely stupid story. You bring me no proof – ah, I am forgetting! Lord Lethbridge took your proof forcibly from you, did he not? That was most convenient of him.’
‘But I – but he did!’ said Mr Drelincourt desperately.
‘I am sorry to hurt your feelings,’ said the Earl, ‘but I do not believe you. It may console you to know that had you been able to lay that brooch before me I still should not have believed ill of my wife. I am no Othello, Crosby. I think you should have known that.’ He stretched out his hand for the bell, and rang it. Upon the entrance of a footman, he said briefly: ‘Mr Drelincourt’s chaise.’
Mr Drelincourt heard this order with dismay. He said miserably: ‘But, my lord, I have not dined, and the horses are spent. I – I did not dream you would serve me so!’
‘No?’ said the Earl. ‘The Red Lion at Twyford will no doubt supply you with supper and a change of horses. Be thankful that you are leaving my house with a whole skin.’
Mr Drelincourt shrank, and said no more. In a short time the footman came back to say that the chaise was at the door. Mr Drelincourt stole a furtive glance at the Earl’s unrelenting face, and got up. ‘I’ll – I’ll bid you good night, Rule,’ he said, trying to collect the fragments of his dignity.
The Earl nodded, and in silence watched him go out in the wake of the footman. He heard the chaise drive past the curtained windows presently, and once more rang the bell. When the footman came back he said, absently studying his finger-nails: ‘I want my racing curricle, please.’
‘Yes, my lord!’ said the footman, startled. ‘Er – now, my lord?’
‘At once,’ replied the Earl with the greatest placidity. He got up from the table and walked unhurriedly out of the room.
Ten minutes later the curricle was at the door, and Mr Gisborne, descending the stairs, was astonished to see his lordship on the point of leaving the house, his hat on his head, and his small sword at his side. ‘You’re going out, sir?’ he asked.
‘As you see, Arnold,’ replied the Earl.
‘I hope, sir – nothing amiss?’
‘Nothing at all, dear boy,’ said his lordship.
Outside a groom was clinging to the heads of two magnificent greys, and endeavouring to control their capricious movements.
The Earl’s eye ran over them. ‘Fresh, eh?’
‘Begging your lordship’s pardon, I’d say they were a couple of devils.’
The Earl laughed, and climbed into the curricle, and gathered up the reins in one gloved hand. ‘Let them go.’
The groom sprang to one side, and the greys plunged forward.
The groom watched the curricle flash round a bend in the avenue and sighed. ‘If I could handle them like that –’ he said, and wandered back to the stables, sadly shaking his head.
Seventeen
The Sun at Maidenhead was a very popular posting inn, its appointments and kitchens being alike excellent.
Lord Lethbridge sat down to dinner in one of the private rooms, a pleasant apartment, panelled with old oak, and was served with a duck, a quarter of mutton with pickled mushrooms, a crayfish, and a quince jelly. The landlord, who knew him, found him to be in an unusually mellow mood, and wondered what devilry he had been engaged on. The reflective smile that hovered over his lordship’s thin lips meant devilry of some sort, of that he was quite certain. For once in his life the noble guest found no fault with the food set before him, and was even moved to bestow a word of praise on the burgundy.
My Lord Lethbridge was feeling almost benign. To have outwitted Mr Drelincourt so neatly pleased him more than the recovery of the brooch. He smiled to think of Crosby travelling disconsolately back to London. The notion that Crosb
y could be fool enough to carry an empty tale to his cousin never occurred to him; he himself was not one to lose his head, and although he had a poor opinion of Mr Drelincourt’s intelligence, such heights of folly were quite beyond his comprehension.
There was plenty of company at the Sun that evening, but whoever else was kept waiting for his dinner, the landlord saw to it that Lethbridge was served instantly. When the covers were withdrawn, and only the wine left on the table, he came himself to ask whether my lord required anything else, and closed the shutters with his own hand. He set more candles on the table, assured his lordship the he would find his sheets well aired, and bowed himself out. He had just told one of the abigails to be sure not to forget to take a warming-pan up presently, when his wife called to him from the doorway: ‘Cattermole, here’s my lord driven up!’
‘My lord,’ in Maidenhead, could mean only one person, and Mr Cattermole sped forth at once to welcome this honoured guest. He opened his eyes rather at the sight the racing curricle, but shouted to an ostler to come to the horses’ heads, and himself hurried up all bows and smiles.
The Earl leaned over to speak to him. ‘Good evening, Cattermole. Can you tell me if Lord Lethbridge’s chaise changed horses here rather more than an hour ago?’
‘Lord Lethbridge, my lord? Why, his lordship is putting up here for the night!’ said Cattermole.
‘How very fortunate!’ said the Earl, and climbed down from the curricle, flexing the fingers of his left hand. ‘And where shall I find his lordship?’
‘In the oak parlour, my lord, just finished his dinner. I will escort your lordship.’
‘No, you need not do that,’ replied the Earl, walking in the inn. ‘I know my way.’ At the foot of the shallow stairs he paused, and said softly over his shoulder: ‘By the way Cattermole, my business with his lordship is private. I feel sure I can rely on you to see that we are not disturbed.’
Mr Cattermole shot him a quick, shrewd glance. There was going to be trouble, was there? Not good for the house, no, not good for the house, but still worse for it to offend my Lord Rule. He bowed, his face a plump, discreet mask. ‘Certainly, my lord,’ he said, and drew back.