The Corinthian (15 page)

Beverley's hand shot out. 'I d-don't care what you think of m-me! Only hand the n-necklace over!'

'Certainly,' Sir Richard said, taking the leather purse out of his pocket. 'But you, Beverley, will give them back to your mother.'

Beverley stared at him. 'I'll be d-damned if I will! You fool, how could I?'

'You may concoct what plausible tale you please: I will even engage myself to lend it my support. But you will give back the necklace.'

A slight sneer disfigured Beverley's face. 'Oh, j-just as you l-like! Hand it over!'

Sir Richard tossed the purse over to him. 'Ah, Beverley! Perhaps I should make it clear to you that if, when I return to town, it has not been restored to Lady Saar I shall be compelled to—er—split on you.'

'You won't!' Beverley said, stowing the purrse away in an inner pocket. 'M-mighty pretty behaviour for a b-brother-in-law!'

'But I am not your brother-in-law,' said Sir Richard gently.

'Oh, you n-needn't think I don't know you're g-going to m-marry Melissa! Our scandals will become yours too. I think you'll keep your m-mouth shut.'

'I am always sorry to disappoint expectations, but I have not the smallest intention of marrying your sister,' said Sir Richard, taking another pinch of snuff.

Beverley's jaw dropped. 'You d-don't mean she w-wouldn't have you?'

'No, I don't mean that.'

'B-but it's as g-good as settled!'

'Not, believe me, by me.'

'The d-devil!' Beverley said blankly.

'So you see,' pursued Sir Richard, 'I should have no compunction whatsoever in informing Saar of this episode.'

'You w-wouldn't split on me to my f-father!' Beverley cried, jumping up from the tree-stump.

'That, my dear Beverley, rests entirely with you.'

'But, d-damn it, m-man, I
can't
give the d-diamonds back! I tell you I'm d-done—up, fast aground!'

'I fancy that to have married into your family would have cost me considerably more than twelve thousand pounds. I am prepared to settle your debts—ah, for-the last time, Beverley!'

'D-devilish good of you,' muttered Beverley. 'G-give me the money, and I'll settle 'em myself.'

'I fear that your intercourse with Captain Trimble has led you to credit others with his trusting disposition. I, alas, repose not the slightest reliance on your word. You may send a statement of your debts to my town house. I think that is all—except that you will be recalled to London suddenly, and you will leave Crome Hall, if you are wise, not later than to-morrow morning.'

'Blister it, I w-won't be ordered about by y-you! I'll leave w-when I choose!'

'If you don't choose to do so in the morning, you will leave in the custody of a Bow Street Runner.'

Beverley coloured hotly. 'By G-God, I'll p-pay you for this, Richard!'

'But not, if I know you, until I have settled your debts,' said Sir Richard, turning on his heel.

Beverley stood still, watching him walk away down the path, until the undergrowth hid him from sight. It was several minutes before it occurred to him that although Sir Richard had been unpleasantly frank on some subjects, he had not divulged how or why he came to be in Queen Charlton.

Beverley frowned over this. Sir Richard might, of course, be visiting friends in the neighbourhood, but apart from a house belonging to some heiress or other, Crome Hall was the only country seat of any size for several miles. The more Beverley considered the matter, the more inexplicable became Sir Richard's presence. From a sort of sullen curiosity, he passed easily to a mood of suspicion, and began to think that there was something very odd about the whole affair, and to wonder whether any profit could be made out of it.

He was not in the least grateful to Sir Richard for promising to pay his debts. He certainly wished to silence his more rapacious creditors, but he would have considered it a stupid waste of money to settle any bill which could possibly be held over to some later date. Moreover, the mere payment of his debts would not line his pockets, and it was hard to see how he was to continue to support life in the manner to which he was accustomed.

He took the necklace out, and looked at it. It was a singularly fine specimen of the jeweller's art, and several of the stones in it were of a truly formidable size. It was worth perhaps twice twelve thousand pounds. One did not, of course, find it easy to obtain the real value of stolen goods, but even if he had been forced to sell it for as little as twenty thousand pounds he would still have been eight thousand pounds in pocket, since there was no longer the least necessity to share the proceeds with Horace Trimble. Trimble, Beverley thought, has bungled the affair, and deserved nothing. If only Richard could be silenced, Trimble need never know that the necklace had been recovered from Jimmy Yarde, and it could be sold to the sole advantage of the only one of the three persons implicated in its theft who had a real right to it.

The more he reflected on these lines, and the longer he gazed at the diamonds, the more fixed became Beverley's conviction that Sir Richard, instead of assisting him in his financial difficulties, had actually robbed him of eight thousand pounds, if not more. A burning sense of injury possessed him, and if he could at that moment have done Sir Richard an injury, without incurring any himself, he would certainly have jumped at the chance.

But short of lying in wait for him, and shooting him, there did not seem to be anything he could do to Richard, with advantage; and although he would have been very glad to have heard of Richard's sudden death, and would have thought it, quite sincerely, a judgment on him, his murderous inclination was limited, to do him justice, to a strong wish that Richard would fall out of a window, and break his neck, or be set upon by armed highwaymen, and summarily slain. At the same time, there was undoubtedly something queer about Richard's being in this remote village, and it might be worth while to discover what had brought him to Queen Charlton.

Sir Richard, meanwhile, walked back to the village, arriving at the George in time to see a couple of sweating horses being led into the stable, and a postchaise being pushed into one corner of the roomy yard. He was therefore fully prepared to encounter strangers in the inn, and any doubts of their identity were set at rest upon his stepping into the entrance-parlour, and perceiving a matron with an imposing front seated upon one of the oaken settles, and vigorously fanning her heated countenance. At her elbow stood a stockily built young gentleman with his hair brushed into a Brutus, mopping his brow. He had somewhat globular eyes of no particular colour, and when seen in profile bore a distinct likeness to a hake.

The same unfortunate resemblance was to be observed, though in a less pronounced degree, in Mrs Griffin. The lady was built on massive lines, and appeared to be feeling the heat. Possibly a travelling costume of purple satin trimmed with a quantity of sarsenet, and worn under a spencer, and a voluminous cloak of drab merino cloth, might have contributed to her discomfort. Her locks were confined in a round cap, and over this she wore a beehive bonnet of moss-straw, trimmed with enough plumes to remind Sir Richard forcibly of a hearse. The landlord was standing in front of her in an attitude of concern, and as Sir Richard stepped into the entrance-parlour, she said in tones of strong resolution: 'You are deceiving me! I demand to have this—this youth brought before me!'

'But, Mama!' said the stocky young man unhappily.

'Silence, Frederick!' pronounced the matron.

'But consider, Mama! If the—the young man the landlord speaks of is travelling with his uncle, he could not possibly be—be my cousin, could he?'

'I do not believe a word of what this man says!' declared Mrs Griffin. 'I should not wonder if he had been bribed.'

The landlord regretfully said that no one had tried to bribe him.

'Pshaw!' said Mrs Griffin.

Sir Richard judged it to be time to call attention to his own presence. He walked forward in the direction of the staircase.

'Here is the gentleman!' said the landlord, with a good deal of relief. 'He will tell for himself that what I've said is the truth, ma'am.'

Sir Richard paused, and glanced with raised eyebrows from Mrs Griffin to her son, and from Mr Frederick Griffin to the landlord. 'I beg your pardon?' he drawled.

The attention of the Griffins instantly became focused upon him. The gentleman's eyes were riveted to his cravat; the lady, taking in his air of elegance, was plainly shaken.

'If your honour pleases!' said the landlord. 'The lady, sir, is come in search of a young gentleman, which has run away from school, the same being her ward. I've told her that I have but one young gentleman staying in the house, and him your honour's nephew, and I'd be glad if you'd bear me out, sir.'

'Really,' said Sir Richard, bored, 'I don't know whom you have staying in the house besides myself and my nephew.'

'The question is,
have
you a nephew?' demanded Mrs Griffin.

Sir Richard raised his quizzing-glass, surveyed her through it, and bowed slightly. 'I was certainly under the impression that I had a nephew, ma'am. May I ask in what way he interests you?'

'If he
is
your nephew, I have no interest in him whatsoever,' declared the matron handsomely.

'Mama!' whispered her son, anguished. 'Recollect, I beg of you! A stranger! No proof! The greatest discretion!'

'I am quite distracted!' said Mrs Griffin, shedding tears.

This had the effect of driving the landlord from the room, and of flustering Mr Griffin. Between trying to pacify his parent, and excusing such odd behaviour to the elegant stranger, he became hotter than ever, and floundered in a morass of broken phrases. The look of astonishment on Sir Richard's face, the pained lift of his brows, quite discomposed him, and he ended by saying: 'The truth is my mother is sadly overwrought!'

'My confidence has been betrayed!' interpolated Mrs Griffin, raising her face from her damp handkerchief.

'Yes, Mama: precisely so! Her confidence has been betrayed, sir, by—by the shocking conduct of my cousin, who has—'

'I have nourished a viper in my bosom!' said Mrs Griffin.

'Just so, Mama. She has nourished—at least, not quite that, perhaps, but it is very bad, very upsetting to a lady of delicate sensibility!'

'All my life,' declaimed Mrs Griffin, 'I have been surrounded by ingratitude!'

'Mama, you cannot be surrounded by—and in any case, you know it is not so! Do, pray, calm yourself! I shall claim your indulgence, sir. The circumstances are so peculiar, and my cousin's behaviour has exerted so strong an effect upon my poor mother that—in short—'

'It is the impropriety of it which is worse than anything!' said Mrs Griffin.

'Exactly so, Mama. You see, it is the impropriety, sir—I mean, my mother is not quite herself.'

'I shall never,' announced the matron, 'hold up my head again! It is my belief that this person is in league with her!'

'Mama, most earnestly I implore you—!'

'Her?' repeated Sir Richard, apparently bewildered.

'Him!' corrected Mr Griffin.

'You must forgive me if I do not perfectly understand you,' said Sir Richard. 'I apprehend that you have— er—mislaid a youth, and have come—'

'Precisely so, sir! We mis—at least, no, no, we did not mislay him, of course!'

'Ran away!' uttered Mrs Griffin, emerging from the handkerchief for a brief instant.

'Ran away,' corroborated her son.

'But in what way,' enquired Sir Richard, 'does this concern me, sir?'

'Not at all, sir, I assure you! No such suspicion is cherished by me, upon my word!'

'What suspicion?' asked Sir Richard, still more bewildered.

'None sir, none in the world! That is just what I was saying. I have no suspicion—'

'But I have!' said Mrs Griffin, in much more robust tones. 'I accuse you of concealing the truth from me!'

'Mama, do but consider! You cannot—you know you cannot insult this gentleman by insinuating—'

'In the execution of my duty there is nothing I cannot do!' responded his mother nobly. 'Besides, I do not know him. I mistrust him.'

Mr Griffin turned wretchedly to Sir Richard: 'You see, sir, my mother—'

'Mistrusts me,' supplied Sir Richard.

'No, no, I assure you! My mother is sadly put out, and scarcely knows what she is saying.'

'I am in the fullest possession of my faculties, I thank you, Frederick!' said Mrs Griffin, gathering strength.

'Of course, of course, Mama! But the agitation—the natural agitation—'

'If he is speaking the truth,' interrupted Mrs Griffin, 'let him summon his nephew to stand before me!'

'Ah, I begin to understand you!' said Sir Richard. 'Is it possible, ma'am, that you suspect my nephew of being your errant ward?'

'No, no!' said Griffin feebly.

'Yes!' declared his mother.

'But Mama, only consider what such a thought must imply!' said Mr Griffin in a frenzied aside.

'I can believe anything of that unnatural creature!'

'I should doubt very much whether my nephew is upon the premises,' said Sir Richard coldly. 'He was engaged to spend the day with friends, upon an expedition of pleasure. However, if he should not yet have left the house, I will engage to—er—allay all these heart burnings.'