‘I think your lordship does not perfectly understand,’ replied Scriven. ‘His Grace cannot have meditated a journey, for he took no baggage with him, not so much as a valise! And Nettlebed will inform you that his Grace’s brushes, combs – every article appertaining to his toilet, in fact! – are still in his bedchamber here.’
His lordship appeared to be quite thunderstruck by this disclosure, but as soon as he had recovered the use of his tongue, he wheeled about to direct an accusing glare at Nettlebed, and to demand what the devil he meant by it. Nettlebed could only shake his head wretchedly. ‘Upon my word!’ said Lord Lionel terribly. ‘This is a pretty piece of work! A very ill-managed business I must deem it when with I know not how many of you to care for my nephew he can disappear, and not one of you able to tell me where he is gone!’
At this point it seemed good to Captain Belper to divulge his fear that the Duke had been engaged to fight a duel. Lord Lionel lost no time in demolishing this theory. There was never, he said, anyone less quarrelsome than the Duke; and how, he would thank the Captain to tell him, had he found the time to be picking a quarrel since he came to London? He brushed aside the question of the pistols: if the Duke had a hobby, it was for shooting, and if he might not purchase a pair of pistols without being suspected of having become embroiled in an affair of honour things had come to a pretty pass.
Chigwell ventured to say: ‘Yes, my lord, but – but his Grace took the pistols with him. The porter handed the package to him just before he left the house, and he took it into the library, and unwrapped it, for the wrappings were found upon the floor there. But not – not the pistols, my lord!’
‘My dread is that my Lord Duke has had the misfortune to wound his adversary fatally,’ said Captain Belper, ‘and has perhaps fled to France to escape the dreadful consequences.’
Lord Lionel seemed to have difficulty in controlling himself. An alarmingly high colour rose to his face, and after champing his jaws for a moment or two, he uttered in outraged accents: ‘This is beyond everything!’
‘I assure you, my lord, I feel this agitating reflection as deeply as your lordship must,’ Captain Belper said, with great earnestness.
‘Agitating reflection!’ exploded Lord Lionel.
‘I have been sick with apprehension from the moment it occurred to me. The thought that I might, perhaps, have prevented –’
‘Never,’ interrupted Lord Lionel, ‘have I listened to such fustian rubbish! I declare I am vexed to death! And if my nephew were fool enough to do any such thing, which I do not admit, mark you! pray, do you suppose that his seconds would have left us in ignorance of the event? Or do you imagine that he entered upon such an affair without friends to act for him? I do not scruple to tell you, sir, that your apprehensions are woodheaded beyond permission!’
The Captain was not unnaturally abashed by this forthright speech. Before he could come about again, Nettlebed said urgently: ‘No, my lord, no! Not a duel! His Grace has been foully done to death by footpads! I know it! We shall never see him more!’
‘He would go out at night unattended!’ mourned Chigwell, wringing his hands.
Lord Lionel stared at them fixedly, and for quite a minute said nothing. Captain Belper was ill-advised enough to interpolate: ‘It is a matter for the Runners.’
A choleric eye was rolled towards him. Mr Scriven said smoothly: ‘I could not feel that such a step should be taken without your lordship’s knowledge, however.’
‘I am very much obliged to you!’ said his lordship. ‘A fine dust you would have made, and all for nothing, I daresay! Where’s my son?’
‘My lord, I went to Master Gideon – to the Captain, I should say – this morning, but he has not seen his Grace, nor he knows nothing of where he may be!’ Nettlebed told him.
‘H’m!’ Lord Lionel brooded over this. ‘So he didn’t tell his cousin? I am of the opinion that he is up to some mischief, Scriven! When did he leave this house?’
‘It was in the morning, my lord, quite early, I believe. He set out on foot, though Borrowdale here would have sent for his horse.’
‘I begged his Grace to allow me to send a message to the stables,’ corroborated the butler. ‘For seeing that his Grace was wearing top-boots and breeches, I assumed –’
‘Wearing top-boots, was he?’ said Lord Lionel. ‘That settles it! He had some journey in mind, though why he must needs make a mystery – However, it doesn’t signify! I daresay he meant to have returned last night, but took some fancy into his head, or was in some way detained. I do not by any means despair of seeing him walk in at any moment. Captain Belper, I am keeping you from your bed! I am obliged to you for your solicitude, but I will not have you waiting here upon my nephew’s crotchets. That would never do! Good night, sir!’
Finding that his lordship’s hand was held out to him, Captain Belper had nothing to do but to take it, to reiterate his fervent desire to be of assistance, and to allow himself to be ushered out of the house by Borrowdale.
‘The man’s a fool!’ remarked his lordship, as soon as the door was shut. ‘So are you, Nettlebed! You may be off too!’
‘I blame myself, my lord. I should never –’
‘Pooh! nonsense!’ said Lord Lionel, cutting him short. ‘His Grace was never set upon in broad daylight, let me tell you!’
He waited until Nettlebed had withdrawn, and then said abruptly: ‘Was his Grace suffering from any irritation of nerves? Did he seem to you to be in his customary spirits?’
‘Perfectly, my lord,’ responded Scriven. ‘Indeed, his Grace had conveyed to me a very gratifying piece of intelligence, desiring me to send an advertisement to the papers of his forthcoming –’
‘Yes, yes, I saw the notice! I had looked for a word from his Grace, but I have had no letter from him.’ He paused, recalling his conversation with Gilly on the subject of his marriage. ‘H’m, yes! Well! Nothing had occurred to set up his back? some little nonsense, perhaps? He has sometimes some odd humours!’
‘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! To-morrow, 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.
Fifteen
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 clubs, 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, staring at him with narrowed eyes, ‘is held to have murdered his cousin upon learning that he is about to marry and beget heirs?’
Sir Timothy 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 you 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 shouldere
d 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 note-paper, 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.