The Corinthian (32 page)

'What an engaging scapegrace!' remarked Lady Luttrell, moving forward into the middle of the parlour. 'I confess, I much disliked his brother.'

'Your dislike was shared by most of his acquaintance, ma'am. Will you not be seated?'

She took the chair he offered, and looked him over rather penetratingly. 'Well, Sir Richard,' she said, perfectly mistress of the situation, 'you are wondering, I dare say, why I have come to call upon you.'

'I think I know,' he replied.

'Then I need not beat about the bush. You are travelling with a young gentleman who is said to be your cousin, I understand. A young gentleman who, if my maid is to be believed, answers to the somewhat unusual name of Pen.'

'Yes,' said Sir Richard. 'We should have changed that.'

'Pen Creed, Sir Richard?'

'Yes, ma'am! Pen Creed.'

Her gaze did not waver from his impassive countenance. 'A trifle odd, sir, is it not?'

'The word, ma'am, should have been fantastic. May I know how you came by your information?'

'Certainly you may. I have lately supported a visit from Mrs Griffin and her son, who seemed to expect to find Pen with me. They told me that she had left their roof in her cousin's second-best suit of clothes, by way of the window. That sounded very like Pen Creed to me. But she was not with me, Sir Richard. It was not until this morning that my maid told me of a golden-haired boy who was putting up with his cousin—yourself, Sir Richard—at this inn. That is why I came. I am sure that you will appreciate that I felt a certain degree of anxiety.'

'Perfectly,' he said. 'But Pen is no longer with me. She left for Bristol this morning, and is now, I must suppose, a passenger on the London stage-coach.'

She raised her brows. 'Still more surprising! I hope that you mean to satisfy my curiosity, sir?'

'Obviously I must do so,' he said, and in a cool, expressionless voice, recounted to her all that had happened since Pen had dropped from her rope of sheets into his arms.

She heard him in attentive silence, and all the time watched him. When he had done, she did not say anything for a moment, but looked thoughtfully at him. After a pause, she said: 'Was Pen very much distressed to find my son head over ears in love with Lydia Daubenay?'

'I did not think so.'

'Oh! And my son, I think you said, showed himself to be shocked at die seeming impropriety of her situation?'

'Not unnaturally, though I could have wished that he had not shown his disapproval quite so plainly. She is very young, you see. It had not occurred to her that there was anything amiss.'

'Piers had never the least tact,' she said. 'I expect he told her that you were in honour bound to marry her.'

'He did, and he spoke no less than the truth.'

'Forgive me, Sir Richard, but did you offer for Pen because you felt your honour to be involved?'

'No, I asked her to marry me because I loved her, ma'am.'

'Did you tell her so, Sir Richard?'

'Yes. But she did not believe me.'

'Perhaps,' suggested Lady Luttrell, 'you had not previously given her reason to suppose that you had fallen in love with her?'

'Madam,' said Sir Richard, with a touch of impatience, 'she was in my care, in a situation of the utmost delicacy! Would you have expected me to abuse her confidence by making love to her?'

'No,' she said, smiling. 'From the little I have seen of you, I should have expected you to have treated her just as I imagine you did: as though you were indeed her uncle.'

'With the result,' he said bitterly, 'that that is how she regards me.'

'Is it indeed?' she said tartly. 'Let me tell you, Sir Richard, that men of twenty-nine, with your air, countenance, and address, are not commonly regarded by young females in the light of uncles!'

He flushed, and smiled a little wryly. 'Thank you! But Pen is not like other young females.'

'Pen,' said Lady Luttrell, 'must be a very odd sort of a female if she spent all this while in your company and not succumbed to a charm of manner which you must be so well aware that you possess that I do not scruple to mention it. I consider that your conduct in aiding the chit to escape was disgraceful, but since you were drunk at the time I suppose one must overlook that. I do not blame you for anything you have done since you found yourself in the stage-coach: indeed, you have behaved in a manner that would, if I were twenty-years younger, make me envy Pen exceedingly. Finally, if she did not spend the better part of last night crying her eyes out, I know nothing about my own sex! Where is the letter she left for you? May I see it?'

He drew it from his pocket. 'Pray read it, if you wish. It contains nothing, alas, that may not be read by other eyes than mine.'

She took it from him, read it, and handed it back. 'Just as I thought! Breaking her heart, and determined you shall not know it! Sir Richard, for a man of experience, which I judge you to be, you are a great fool! You never kissed her!'

An unwilling laugh was dragged out of him at this unexpected accusation. 'How could I, situated as we were? She recoiled from the very thought of marriage!'

'Because she thought you had asked her to marry you out of pity! Of course she recoiled!'

'Lady Luttrell, are you serious? Do you indeed think—'

'Think! I know!' said her ladyship. 'Your scruples were very fine, I make no doubt, but how should a chit of Pen's age understand what you were about? She would not care a fig for your precious honour, and I dare say—indeed, I am sure!—that she thought your forbearance mere indifference. And the long and the short of it is that she has gone back to her aunt, and will very likely be bullied into marrying her cousin!'

'Oh no, she will not!' said Sir Richard, with a glance at the clock on the mantelshelf. 'I am desolated to be obliged to leave you, ma'am, but if I am to overtake that stagecoach this side of Chippenham, I must go.'

'Excellent!' she said, laughing. 'Do not waste a thought on me! But having caught the stage, what do you propose to do with Pen?'

'Marry her, ma'am! What else?'

'Dear me, I hope you do not mean to join my foolish son at Gretna Green! I think you had better bring Pen to Crome Hall.'

'Thank you, I will!' he said, with the smile which she privately thought irresistible. 'I am very much in your debt, ma'am.'

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it, and left the room, calling for Cedric.

Cedric, who had been partaking of breakfast in the coffee-room, lounged out into the entrance-parlour. 'The devil take you, Ricky, you're as restless as that plaguey friend of yours! What's the matter now?'

'Ceddie, were you driving your own horses yesterday?'

'Dear old boy, of course I was, but what has that to say to anything?'

'I want 'em,' said Sir Richard.

'But, Ricky, I've got to go back to Bath to get hold of that necklace before it's discovered to be made of paste!'

'Take the landlord's gig. I must have a fast pair immediately.'

'The landlord's gig!' gasped Cedric, reeling under the shock. 'Ricky, you
must
be mad!'

'I am not in the least mad. I am going after the London stage, to recover that brat of mine. Be a good fellow, now, and tell them to harness the horses at once!'

'Oh, very well!' Cedric said. 'If that's the way it is! But I'll be satisfied with nothing less than a cavalry regiment, mind!'

'You shall have anything you like!' promised Sir Richard, already half-way up the stairs.

'Mad, quite mad!' said Cedric despairingly, and set up a shout for an ostler.

Ten minutes later, the bays were harnessed to the curricle, and Sir Richard had stepped out into the yard, pulling on his gloves. 'Famous!' he said. 'I hoped you were driving your bays.'

'If you lame 'em—'

'Ceddie, are you—is it possible that you are going to tell me how to drive?' asked Sir Richard.

Cedric, who was still clad in his exotic dressing-gown, leaned against the door-post, and grinned. 'You'll spring 'em.
I
know you!'

'If I lame them, I will make you a present of my own greys!' said Sir Richard, gathering up the reins.

'Part with your greys?' exclaimed Cedric. 'No, no, you'd never bring yourself to do that, Ricky!'

'Don't disturb yourself: I shan't have to.'

Cedric made a derisive sound, and lingered to watch him mount on to the box-seat. A commotion behind him distracted his attention, and he turned in time to see Mrs Hopkins enter the inn through the front-door, closely followed by a thick-set man in a frieze coat, and a broad-brimmed hat. Mrs Hopkins was labouring under great agitation, and sank immediately into a chair, volubly explaining to the bewildered landlord that she had never had such a turn in her life, and did not expect to recover from her palpitations for a twelvemonth. Took up by a Bow Street Runner, Tom!' she panted. 'And him so innocent-seeming as never was!'

'Who?' demanded her spouse.

'That poor young gentleman which is Sir Richard's cousin! Under my very eyes, Tom, and me not dreaming of such a thing! And then if he didn't break away, the which I can't but be glad of, whatever any one may say, Mr Gudgeon not excepted, for a nicer-spoken young gentleman I never did see, and I'm a mother myself, and I have a heart, though others may not, naming no names, and meaning no offence!'

'My God, here's a pretty coil!' exclaimed Cedric, grasping with remarkable swiftness the gist of her remarks. 'Hi, Ricky, wait!'

The bays were dancing with impatience. 'Stand away from their heads!' commanded Sir Richard.

'And here's Mr Gudgeon himself, wishful to see Sir Richard and Mr Brandon very particular, which I was obliged to take him up in the trap, though little I want Bow Street Runners, or the like, in my house, as you well know, Tom!'

'Ricky!'
shouted Cedric, striding out into the yard. 'Wait, man! That bloodhound of mine is here, and there's the devil to pay!'

'Fob him off, Ceddie, fob him off!' called Sir Richard over his shoulder, and swept out of the yard into the street.

'Ricky, you madman, hold a minute!' roared Cedric.

But the curricle had bowled out of sight The ostler enquired whether he should run after it.

'Run after my bays?' said Cedric scornfully. 'You'd need wings, not legs, to catch them, my good fool!'

He turned back to the inn, encountering in the doorway Lady Luttrell, who had come out to see what all the shouting was about.

'What is the matter, Mr Brandon?' she asked. 'You seem very much put out.'

'Matter, ma'am! Why, here's Richard gone off after the London Stage, and that crazy girl of his taken up by the Bow Street Runner in Bristol!'

'Good God, this is horrible!' she exclaimed. 'Sir Richard must be recalled at all costs! The child must be rescued!'

'Well, by all accounts she seems to have rescued herself,' said Cedric. 'But where she may be now, the Lord only knows! However, I'm glad that Runner has arrived: I was getting deuced tired of hunting for him.'

'But is it impossible to stop Sir Richard?' she asked urgently.

'Lord, ma'am, he's half-way to the London road by now!' said Cedric.

This pronouncement was not strictly accurate. Sir Richard, driving out of Queen Charlton at very much the same time as Miss Creed was boarding the Accommodation coach at Kingswood, chose to take the road to Bath rather than that which led to Keynsham, and thence, due north, through Oldland to join the Bristol road at Warmley. His experience of Accommodation coaches was not such as to induce him to place much confidence in their being likely to cover more than eight miles an hour, and he calculated that if the stage had left Bristol at nine o'clock, which seemed probable, it would not reach the junction of the Bath and Bristol roads until noon at the earliest. The Honourable Cedric's bays, drawing a light curricle, might be depended upon to arrive at Chippenham considerably in advance of that hour, and the Bath road had the advantage of being well known to Sir Richard.

The bays, which seemed to have been fed exclusively on oats, were in fine fettle, and the miles flashed by. They were not, perhaps, an easy pair to handle, but Sir Richard, a notable whip, had little trouble with them, and was so well satisfied with their pace and stamina that he began to toy seriously with the idea of making the Honourable Cedric a handsome offer for them. He was obliged to rein them in to a sedate pace whilst threading his way through the crowded streets of Bath, but once clear of the town he was able to give them their heads on the long stretch to Corsham, and arrived finally in Chippenham to learn that the Accommodation coach from Bristol was not due there for nearly another hour. Sir Richard repaired to the best posting-inn, superintended the disposal of the sweating bays, and ordered breakfast. When he had consumed a dish of ham-and-eggs, and drunk two cups of coffee, he had the bays put-to again, and drove westward along the Bristol road, at a leisurely pace, until he came to a fork, where a weather-beaten signpost pointed northward to Nettleton and Acton Turville, and westward to Wroxhall, Marshfield, and Bristol. Here he reined in, to await the approach of the stage.