Friday's Child (46 page)

“Let him do so if he chooses!” George replied instantly. “I shall be ready for him, I promise you!”

“No, George, you shall not! I won’t have Sherry killed!” Hero said quickly.

“That’s right!” Ferdy approved. “Only set up the backs of people if you kill Sherry, George! Always get over heavy ground as light as one can! Besides, my cousin, you know! Fond of him!”

“Yes, that’s all very well, but if he challenges me to fight I’m dashed if I’ll refuse him satisfaction!”

“For my sake, George!” begged Hero, clasping his arm.

“Oh, very well!” he said. “Mind you, Kitten, I’d not do it for anyone else, and I shall find it mighty hard as it is! Did you come here to warn Lady Sherry, Ferdy?”

“Thought I should do so,” Ferdy explained. “Gil away: couldn’t prevail on Sherry not to go to Bath: didn’t know you was here. You come to warn her too?”

“You are so kind to me, both of you!” Hero said warmly. “I am sure no one ever had such good friends! Indeed, I thank you, and I do trust, Ferdy, that Sherry is not very angry with you?”

“Too much on the fidgets to think whether I had anything to do with your being here,” replied Ferdy. “Went into the house in the devil of a miff—Lady Sheringham lodging in the Royal Crescent, you know—don’t know why: dare say he wanted to tell the Incomparable. Seemed to me the moment to go away. It ain’t that I’m afraid of Sherry, but I don’t know what I’m to say to him, and once he guesses I knew you was here, Kitten, he’s bound to try to get the whole story out of me.”

“We are to tell him the truth,” George said.

Ferdy’s eyes started at him. “Dash it, George, he’ll tear us limb from limb! What I mean is, hiding his wife from him, bamming him we hadn’t a notion where she was! Making a cake of him! Won’t stand it: not my cousin Sherry! Couldn’t expect it of him!”

“He won’t tear
me
limb from limb!” replied George, his lip curling.

Ferdy failed to derive any consolation from this, and said, in an indignant voice: “What’s that to the purpose? Very likely to tear
me
limb from limb! Never was up to his weight, besides I’m not handy with my fives. Beginning to wish I hadn’t come to Bath. What’s more, Sherry knows I’m putting up at the York, and I’ll lay a monkey he’s there now, ready to pounce on me the instant I step inside the place!”

“Nonsense! If I know Sherry, he’s a deal more likely to try to run me to earth!” said George bracingly. “In fact, I think I’ll go back to the White Hart now, for the sooner I clear this fence the better it will be for us all.”

“George, you won’t forget that you have faithfully promised me not to call Sherry out, will you?” Hero asked anxiously. “Do you not think Ferdy should go with you, just to keep you in mind of it?”

“No, dash it, Kitten!” expostulated Ferdy, looking more like a hunted deer than ever. “Bad enough as it is! Besides it would take a couple of us to hold that pair off from one another’s throats. Not a bit of use in my going! Only get hurt!”

At this point, Lady Saltash gave it as her opinion that Lord Wrotham would do much better without Ferdy’s assistance. She earned Ferdy’s undying gratitude by telling him that he might stay to dine in Camden Place; and told George that if Sherry showed any desire to come in search of his wife he was to inform him that she had gone to a private party, and would certainly not return home before midnight.

Chapter 23

It was nine o'clock, and the abbey bells were just chiming the hour, when Sherry stalked into Lord Wrotham’s private parlour at the White Hart. George had dined, and the covers had been removed, and a bottle of Old Red Port, and two glasses, set upon the table.

Sherry waited only until the waiter who had shown him up to the parlour had withdrawn before greeting his friend in a manner that in some slight degree expressed his feelings. “You black-hearted scoundrel, George!” he said fiercely.

Lord Wrotham, suppressing a strong inclination to retort in kind, tried what a soft answer would achieve. “Hallo, Sherry! Thought you would be coming to see me. Glass of port with you!”

“The only use I have for a glass of port is to throw it in your damned face!” replied Sherry, not in the least mollified.

Lord Wrotham laid a firm hand on the bottle. “No, you don’t,” he said. “And it’s no use your trying to call me out, because I’m not going to meet you, and even if I did you couldn’t kill me! Probably wouldn’t hit me at all. I don’t blame you for wanting to try, mind you!”

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” Sherry exclaimed. “Very obliging of you, by God! What were you doing with my wife?”

“Escorting her home,” answered George calmly.

“The devil you were! Met her by chance, I take it?” said Sherry, with awful sarcasm.

“I did, but if you mean wasn’t I aware that she was in Bath, yes, I was.”

“You dare to stand there coolly telling me you knew where she was—”

“Yes, but I own it was a curst trick to play on a fellow,” admitted George. “I never have liked it above half, but I gave my word to Lady Sherry I’d not betray her, so there was nothing for it but to hold my peace.”

Sherry was looking as black as thunder. “She told
you
where she could be found? She took
you
into her confidence? Wrotham, answer me this, or I’ll choke the truth out of you!—Did she run away from me to
you
?”

“No, ran to Gil,” replied George. “Ferdy and I had been dining with him. To be frank with you, Sherry, she told us the whole, and begged us to help her to hide from you. She was in a sad taking. In fact, I was within an ace of setting off to find you there and then, to call you to account!”

“You had better have done so!” Sherry said swiftly, a white shade round his mouth. “A precious set of friends I have! All these weeks—Where is she?”

“She is residing in Camden Place, the guest of Lady Saltash,” George said.

Sherry stared at him. “Lady Saltash! Gil’s grandmother? Well, of all the—I little thought when I came here what I was to find! It passes everything, so it does! The guest of Lady Saltash! And tolerably well entertained, I collect? Not obliged to earn her bread! Not in any kind of straits!”

“Damn it, you should be glad of that!” retorted George.

“Glad of it! Of course I’m glad of it! But when I think—And you knew! You, and Gil, and Ferdy! Calling yourselves my friends and aiding and abetting my wife to conceal herself from me, while I hunted high and low for her, and was gudgeon enough to picture her in want and distress! By God, it beats everything so it does! I’d like to tear your guts out and throw ’em to the crows!”

“Oh, take a damper!” said George impatiently. “Or go back to London, and tear Gil’s guts out! It was his notion, not mine.”

Sherry, who was striding about the room, said over his shoulder: “Walking along as cheerfully as you please, with her hand in your arm! Never even waiting to let me come up with her! The guest of Lady Saltash! A pretty fool you have made me look, between the four of you!”

“No, we haven’t. No one knows the truth save ourselves. Lady Sheringham goes by the name of Miss Wantage here.”

This piece of intelligence seemed, oddly enough, to enrage the Viscount more than ever. He appeared to have difficulty in catching his breath. George judged the time ripe for a second offer of refreshment. He poured out two glasses of port, and handed one to his afflicted friend. Sherry took it absently, tossed off the wine, and regained his power of speech. Fixing George with a smouldering eye, he said: “I take it my wife ain’t wearing the willow for me?”

“No,” said George, following out his instructions. “She was devilish upset at the start of it all, but she seems to be in famous shape now. Likes Bath, you know. Likes the balls, and the concerts and has made friends here. Very taking little thing, Kitten: I fancy she is quite the rage in Bath.”

This information did not afford the Viscount any gratification. He ground his teeth. “She is, is she? And I thought—!” His feelings again overcame him, and he resumed his pacing about the room. He was about to speak again when a distant medley of sound which had been vaguely irritating him since his entrance into the room more forcibly intruded upon his ears. “What the devil is that infernal howling?” he demanded.

“Devilish, ain’t it?” agreed George. “It’s the Harmonic Society. They meet here every week. Wouldn’t have come if I’d known. They sing glees.”

“What!” Sherry exclaimed incredulously. “You mean to tell me they come here just to kick up that curst caterwauling din every week? Well, there’s a horrible thing! Bath! That’s Bath for you!”

“You’d think it was enough to put the shutters up at this place, wouldn’t you?” said George. “Gave me a nasty start when they first struck up, I can tell you.”

Both young gentlemen brooded silently for a moment or two over a state of society that could permit such atrocities. A pause in the musical activities in the distance recalled Sherry to more pressing matters. He cast George a measuring glance, and said: “How often have you been here since Kitten left me?”

“Dash it, Sherry, what kind of a fellow do you think I am?” said George indignantly. “I never came near the place till I heard you was on your way! Then I had to warn Lady Sherry. You’d have done the same in my shoes!”

“Had to warn her!” ejaculated Sherry. “As though I had been a regular Bluebeard! If that don’t beat all!”

“Well, you scared her into running away from you,” said George unkindly.

Sherry picked up his curly-brimmed beaver, which he had flung into a chair, and carefully smoothed its nap. “I’ve nothing more to say to you!” he announced. “I’m going to see my wife!”

“It’s no use your going there tonight,” said George. “She’s gone to some party or another. They don’t expect her back until after midnight.”

“Gone to a party!” repeated the Viscount, stupefied. “She must have known I should seek her out immediately, once I had seen her here!”

“Dare say she did,” responded George coolly. “I fancy she don’t want to see you, Sherry.”

The Viscount’s blue eyes stared into his dark ones for one dangerous minute. Then Sherry turned sharply on his heel, and strode out of the room.

He made no attempt to prove the truth of George’s statement but returned to the Royal Crescent, seething with so many conflicting emotions that he scarcely knew himself whether anger, relief, or anxiety was paramount. His temper was not improved by finding a party, consisting of two young ladies with their brother, sitting in his mother’s private parlour, chatting in the most animated style with Miss Milborne. His aspect was so forbidding as to daunt Mr Chalfont, but the ladies were not easily daunted, and merely thought him a remarkably fine-looking man, and would have done their best to have captivated him had he allowed them the least opportunity for the display of their charms. He excused himself almost at once, and went off to brood in the solitude of his own apartment.

The result of this period for reflection was that every other feeling gave place to the overmastering desire to see Hero at the earliest possible moment. He was knocking on the door of Lady Saltash’s house at an unconscionably early hour next morning, only to be denied admittance by a portly butler, who informed him that neither her ladyship nor Miss Wantage had as yet come downstairs. His look of austere surprise made Sherry flush and retreat in disorder. He had been on the point of announcing his intention to go up to Hero’s bedchamber, quite forgetting that no one in Bath knew her to be his wife, and the realization of the scandalous comment he would thus have occasioned in Lady Saltash’s household shook him temporarily off his balance, so that he went off without leaving his card.

By way of passing the time, and giving a little relief to his feelings, he called on his cousin, at the York Hotel, and favoured him with a pithily worded opinion of his morals and character. Ferdy, who was partaking of a continental breakfast in bed, made no attempt to defend himself, but uttered a few soothing noises, and said it had all been Gil’s fault.

“You may think yourself devilish lucky I don’t haul you out of that bed, and give you a leveller!” said the Viscount, eyeing him in a frustrated way. “Very lucky indeed, let me tell you!”

“Assure you, dear old boy, I do!” Ferdy said winningly. “Very glad you don’t mean to do it! Always bellows to mend with me if I have a set-to with you!”

“Chicken-hearted!” the Viscount taunted him.

“Anything you like, Sherry!” Ferdy said.