The Corinthian (16 page)

'If he has run out to escape us, I shall await his return!' said Mrs Griffin. 'And so I warn you!'

'I admire your resolution, ma'am, but I must point out to you that your movements are of no possible interest to me,' said Sir Richard, stepping over to the bell, and jerking it.

'Frederick!' said Mrs Griffin. 'Will you stand by and hear your mother being insulted by one whom I strongly suspect of being a dandy?'

'But Mama, indeed, it is no concern of ours if he is!'

'Perhaps,' said Sir Richard, in arctic tones, 'it may be of service if I make myself known to you, ma'am. My name is Wyndham.'

Mrs Griffin received this information with every appearance of disdain, but its effect upon her son was staggering. His eyes seemed to be in danger of bursting out of their sockets; he started forward, and ejaculated in tones of deepest reverence: 'Sir! is this possible? Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Wyndham?'

Sir Richard bowed slightly.

'The celebrated Whip?' asked Mr Griffin.

Sir Richard bowed again.

'The creator of the Wyndham Fall?' pursued Mr Griffin, almost overcome.

Tired of bowing, Sir Richard said: 'Yes.'

'Sir,' said Mr Griffin, 'I am happy to make your acquaintance! My name is Griffin!'

'How do you do?' murmured Sir Richard, holding out his hand.

Mr Griffin clasped it. 'I wonder I should not have recognized you. Mama, we have been quite mistaken. This is none other than the famous Sir Richard Wyndham—the friend of Brummell, you know! You must have heard me—you must have heard him spoken of. It is quite impossible that he can know anything of my cousin's whereabouts.'

She seemed to accept this, though with obvious reluctance. She looked Sir Richard over with disfavour, and said paralysingly: 'I have the greatest dislike of all forms of dandyism, and I have ever deplored the influence exerted by the Bow-Window set upon young men of respectable upbringing. However, if you are indeed Sir Richard Wyndham, I dare say you would not object to showing my son how to arrange his cravat in what he calls the Wyndham Fall, so that he need no longer spoil every neckcloth in his drawer before achieving a result which I consider lamentable.'

'Mama!' whispered the unhappy Mr Griffin. 'I beg of you!'

The entrance of a servant, in answer to the bell's summons, came as a timely interruption. Upon being asked to discover whether Sir Richard's nephew were in the house, he was able to reply that the young gentleman had left the inn some time previously.

'Then I fear there is nothing for you to do but to await his return,' said Sir Richard, addressing himself to Mrs Griffin.

'We should not dream of—Mama, there can be no doubt that she—he—did not come here after all. Lady Luttrell disclaims all knowledge, remember, and
she
must certainly have known if my cousin had come into this neighbourhood.'

'If I could think that she had gone to cousin Jane, all would not yet be lost!' said Mrs Griffin. 'Yet it is possible? I fear the worst!'

'This is all very perplexing,' complained Sir Richard. 'I was under the impression that this mysterious truant was of the male sex.'

'Frederick, my nerves can stand no more!' said Mrs Griffin, surging to her feet. 'If you mean to drag me the length of England again, I must insist upon being permitted the indulgence of half an hour's solitude first!'

'But Mama, it was not I who would come here!' expostulated Mr Griffin.

Sir Richard again rang the bell, and this time desired that a chambermaid should be sent to him. Mrs Griffin was presently consigned to the care of an abigail, and left the room majestically, commanding hot water to wash with, tea, and a decent bedchamber.

Her son heaved a sigh of relief. 'I must beg pardon, Sir Richard! You must allow me to beg your pardon!'

'Not at all,' said Sir Richard.

'Yes, yes, I insist! Such an unfortunate misunderstanding! An explanation is due to you! A slip of the tongue, you know, but my mother is labouring under strong emotion, and does not quite heed what she says. You noticed it: indeed, no one could wonder at your surprise! The unhappy truth, sir, is that my cousin is not a boy, but—in a word, sir—a female!'

'This explanation, Mr Griffin, is quite unnecessary, believe me.'

'Sir,' said Mr Griffin earnestly, 'as a Man of the World, I should value your opinion! Concealment is useless: the truth must be discovered in the end. What, sir, would you think of a member of the Weaker Sex who assumed the disguise of a man, and left the home of her natural protector by way of the window?'

'I should assume,' replied Sir Richard, 'that she had strong reasons for acting with such resolution.'

'She did not wish to marry me,' said Mr Griffin gloomily.

'Oh!' said Sir Richard.

'Well, I'm sure I can't see why she should be so set against me, but that's not it, sir. The thing is that here's my mother determined to find her, and to make her marry me, and so hush up the scandal. But I don't like it above half. If she dislikes the notion so much, I don't think I ought to marry her, do you?'

'Emphatically not!'

'I must say I am very glad to hear you say that, Sir Richard!' said Mr Griffin, much cheered. 'For you must know that my mother has been telling me ever since yesterday that I must marry her now, to save her name. But I think she would very likely make me uncomfortable, and nothing could make up for that, in my opinion.'

'A lady capable of escaping out of a window in the guise of a man would quite certainly make you more than uncomfortable,' said Sir Richard.

'Yes, though she's only a chit of a girl, you know. In fact, she is not yet out. I am very happy to have had the benefit of the opinion of a Man of the World. I feel that I can rely on your judgment.'

'On my judgment you might, but in nothing else, I assure you,' said Sir Richard. 'You know nothing of me, after all. How do you know that I am not now concealing your cousin from you?'

'Ha-ha! Very good, upon my word! Very good, indeed!' said Mr Griffin, saluting a jest of the first water.

Chapter 8

T
he Griffins did not leave Queen Charlton until the cool of the afternoon, and by the time he saw their chaise off the premises of the George, Sir Richard was heartily sick of the company of surely one of his most devout worshippers. No sign was seen of Pen, who had no doubt fled the house upon the Griffins' arrival. What sustenance she had snatched up to bear her strength up through a long day, Sir Richard had no means of knowing.

Mrs Griffin, tottering downstairs to partake of light refreshment, found her son hanging upon Sir Richard's bored lips. Upon hearing that he had divulged the secret of Pen's identity, she first showed a dangerous tendency to swoon, but upon being supplied with a glass of ratafia by Sir Richard, revived sufficiently to pour out her wrongs into his ear.

'What, I ask myself,' she said dramatically, 'has become of that tiresome girl? Into what company may she have fallen? I see that you, Sir Richard, are a person of sensibility. Conceive of my feelings! What—I say,
what
if my unfortunate niece should have fallen into the hands of some
Man?
'

'What indeed!' said Sir Richard.

'She must marry him. When I think of the care, the hopes, the maternal fondness I have lavished—but it is ever so! There is no gratitude in the world to-day.'

Upon this gloomy reflection, she ordered her chaise to be got ready to bear her instantly to Chippenham. She would have remained at Queen Charlton for the night, she explained, only that she suspected the sheets.

Sir Richard, having seen her off, walked down the street, to cool his heated brow, and to consider the intricacies of his position.

It was while he was absent that Miss Creed and the Honourable Beverley Brandon, approaching the George from widely divergent angles, but with identical circumspection, came face to face in the entrance-parlour.

They eyed one another. A few moments' conversation with the tapster had put Beverley in possession of information which he found sufficiently intriguing to make him run the risk of perhaps encountering Captain Trimble in entering the inn, and prosecuting further enquiries about Sir Richard Wyndham. Sir Richard, the tapster had told him, was putting up at the George with his nephew.

Now, Sir Richard's nephew, as Beverley knew well, was a lusty young gentleman not yet breeched. He did not mention this circumstance in the tapster, but on hearing that the mysterious nephew in question was a youth in his teens, he pricked up his ears, and penetrated from the tap room into the main parlour of the inn.

Here Pen, entering the George cautiously from the stableyard, came plump upon him. Never having seen his face, she did not at once recognize him, but when, after an intent stare, he moved towards her, saying with a slight stammer: 'How d-do you do? I think you m-must be Wyndham's n-nephew?' she had no doubt of his identity.

She was no fool, and she realized at once that anyone well-acquainted with Sir Richard must be aware that she was not his nephew. She replied guardedly: 'Well, I call him my uncle, because he is so much older than I am, but in point of fact we are cousins only. Third cousins,' she added, making the relationship as remote as she could.

A smile which she did not quite like lingered on Beverley's rather slack mouth. Mentally, he was reviewing Sir Richard's family, but he said with great affability: 'Oh, indeed? Ch-charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr-er-er?'

'Brown,' supplied Pen, regretting that she had not thought to provide herself with a more unusual surname.

'Brown,' bowed Beverley, his smile widening. 'It is a great p-pleasure to me to m-meet any connection of W-Wyndham's. In such a remote spot, too! Now d-do tell me! What b-brings you here?'

'Family affairs,' answered Pen promptly. 'Uncle Richard—Cousin Richard, I mean, only I have always been in the way of calling him uncle, you understand—very kindly undertook to come with me.'

'So it was on y-your account that he came to Queen Ch-Charlton!' said Beverley. 'That is most interesting!' His eyes ran over her in a way that made her feel profoundly ill-at-ease.
'M-most
interesting!' he repeated. 'P-pray present my c-compliments to Wyndham, and tell him that I perfectly understand his reasons for choosing such a secluded locality!'

He bowed himself out with a flourish, leaving Pen in a state of considerable trepidation. In the tap room, he called for paper, ink, a pen, and some brandy, and sat down at a table in one corner to write a careful letter to Sir Richard. It took time, for he was not apt with a pen, and much brandy, but it was finished at last to his satisfaction. He looked round rather owlishly for wafers, but the tapster had brought him none, so he folded the note into a screw, wrote Sir Richard's name on it in a flourishing scrawl, and told the tapster to give it to Sir Richard upon his return to the inn. After that he went away, not quite steadily, but full of chuckling glee at his own ingenuity.

The tapster, who was busy serving drinks, left the twisted note on the bar while he hurried to the other end of the room with beer for a clamorous party of country-men. It was here that Captain Trimble, coming into the taproom from the stableyard, found it.

Captain Trimble, who had spent a fruitless day in attempting to discover some trace of Jimmy Yarde in Bristol, was hot, and tired, and in no very good temper. He sat down on a high stool at the bar, and began to wipe his face with a large handkerchief. It was as he was restoring the handkerchief to his pocket that the note, and its superscription, caught his eye. He was well-acquainted with Mr Brandon's handwriting, and he recognized it at once. It did not at first surprise him that Mr Brandon should have written to Sir Richard Wyndham; he supposed them to be of the same fashionable set. But as he looked idly down at the screw of paper thoughts of the wild-goose chase upon which Sir Richard had sent him took strong possession of his mind, and he wondered, not for the first time during that exasperating day, whether Sir Richard could have had a motive in dispatching him to Bristol. The note began to assume a sinister aspect; suspicion darkened the already warm colour in the Captain's cheeks; and after staring at the note for a minute, he cast a quick look round, saw that no one was watching him, and deftly palmed it.

The tapster came back to the bar, but by the time he had recollected the note, Captain Trimble had retired to a high-backed settle by the empty fireplace, and was calling for a can of ale. At a convenient moment, he unscrewed the twist of paper, and read its contents.

'My very dear Richard,'
had written Mr Brandon,
I am desolated to find that you have gone out. I should like to continue our conversation. When I tell you that I have been privileged to meet your nephew, my dear Richard, I feel that you will appreciate the wisdom of meeting me again. You would not wish me to talk, but a paltry twelve thousand is not enough to close my mouth, which, however, I am willing to do, tho' not for a less sum than I have it in my power to obtain by Other Means, Should you wish to discuss this delicate matter, I shall be in the spinney at ten o'clock this evening. If you do not come there, I shall understand that you have Withdrawn your Objection to my disposing of Certain Property as I choose, and I fancy that it would be Unwise of you to mention our dealings in this matter to anyone, either now or later.'