14
Mr Tarlington And Friends
Having made good time to London, Mr Tarlington had been able to snatch a few hours’ sleep before going round to Harpy’s house.
Lord Rupert was discovered in the breakfast room, alone with a pot of coffee and a large round of beef. "Hulloa, thought you was gone off to—uh—some place odd, Wilf was sayin’. Oxford, would it be?”
“As you see, I am here,” replied Mr Tarlington unpleasantly. “Where’s Harpy?”
“Uh—out ridin’, I think. Want him?”
“Yes. But in the meantime, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Heard you was lookin’ for me: aye,” he said airily.
“Do me the favour of getting up from that table,” suggested Mr Tarlington.
“No,” said his cousin simply.
“Coward.”
“I am, where your damned fists are concerned: yes,” he said frankly. “Poor old Wilf has a shiner nigh the size of his head. Tells me his ribs is so bruised he can hardly stand up straight, what’s more.”
“He is out of condition,” said Mr Tarlington in a hard voice.
“Aye, well, so’m I,” Lord Rupert admitted frankly. “They tell me you laid into not only him but young Shirley and another fellow at Jackson’s: what had they done?”
“The same as you,” he said grimly.
“Never said a word!” said Lord Rupert hurriedly. “Um—well, Mamma got it out of me,” he added on a plaintive note, “only you can’t count that! Besides,” he said quickly as a thunderstruck look came over his cousin’s face: “she had heard it all already.”
“You had better clarify that statement, I think, Rupert,” he said grimly.
“Er—yes. Um, Wilf and Noël and me was—um—just lookin’ at the twin stars—um, no, only Miss Henrietta, I think ’twas, and she was sittin’ with her brother—this was at the Gratton-Gordon ball, old f—”
“I am aware of the circumstances, thank you. Wilfred was so kind as to explain them to me,” he said sweetly.
Lord Rupert winced. “Oh. Um—well, thing is, Lady Hubbel was in one of those little alcove places just behind us and heard the lot. Told Mamma immediate.”
“God!” said Mr Tarlington, closing his eyes.
“Well, absolutely, dear boy! What I thought! Too late, by then, y’know. Think she went round advising the cats immediately.”
“I think there can be no doubt of it,” he recognized, casting his mind back to that evening.
“There you are, then!” said Lord Rupert in great relief.
Mr Tarlington went up very close and grasped him by the neck of his lurid dressing-gown. “Get up.”
“Aden, I only dropped a hint to a couple of the most decent—”
“Get UP!” he shouted, pulling him up bodily.
“But I don’t wish to fight you, Aden!”
“I, however, wish to knock your teeth down your throat for you! And you’re damned lucky I don’t call you out!” he retorted fiercely. “Get over there!”
Lord Rupert moved away from the table.
Mr Tarlington removed his coat. “You could take that thing off.”
“I ain’t got nothing, only my night-shirt, under it!”
“I shan’t blush, Rupert.”
Scowling, the gallant Captain removed his dressing-gown.
Mr Tarlington eyed him drily. “Yes, you are out of condition, aren’t you?”
“It’s all this stupid desk duty! A fellow don’t hardly get a chance to get out in the air, even!”
“Mm. What with that and parties and gambling all night.”
“A fellow must do something, dammit, Aden!”
“The sooner Harpy gets you off to the country the better. Running the place for him may get rid of that flab,” he noted with distaste. “Put your mitts up, if you can manage that much effort.”
Lord Rupert put his mitts up. “If I was to apologi— No. Oh, well, I’m ready.”
Mr Tarlington bored in. Lord Rupert swung, and missed entirely. Mr Tarlington landed a good one in his ribs. Gasping, Lord Rupert staggered out of range. Mr Tarlington bored in again. Lord Rupert swung again and was immediately blocked. Cunningly he jabbed with his left but that was blocked, too. Then Mr Tarlington delivered a terrific right to the diaphragm and he went over like a nine-pin, and lay there, wheezing.
“Get up and have some more, instead of lying there like a stranded cod!” his cousin invited him.
“No!”—Rupert panted.—”Don’t want me face—knocked about: Colonel Bright comes down—like ton of bricks: appearances!” he gasped.
“Hyde Park soldier,” said Mr Tarlington rudely.
“It ain’t my—fault! Didn’t ask for the duty! Ask me—m’father had—a hand in it! Phew!” he puffed.
Mr Tarlington might have expressed agreement with this, only at this moment Harpy’s butler and a footman burst into the room.
“Lord Rupert!” gasped the butler.
“Lawks,” said the footman, more simply.
“’S all right, Chalmers,” said Rupert, puffing slightly and feeling his middle. “Ow. Me cousin hit me for—um—spreadin’ stories about a lady. –Sorry, Aden. Didn’t think.”
“You appear incapable of it,” noted Mr Tarlington, holding out his hand to him.
“Frederick, you might get me—ow! Glass o’ brandy!” gasped Lord Rupert as he was hauled to his feet. “Dash it, I wouldn’t be surprized if half a dozen ribs is broke, here!”
“I would,” said his hard-hearted cousin. “And don’t get the fool brandy, Frederick. It’s living on brandy and damned parties that has got him in the state he’s in now. Puffing like an old man! Pour him a cup of coffee, instead.”
Frederick dithered.
“Coffee, please, Frederick.” said Chalmers, frowning at him.
“Yes, Mr Chalmers!” he gasped, scurrying to obey.
“Mr Tarlington,” said the butler majestically: “far be it from me to reprove you for protecting a lady’s name, but could you perhaps do it elsewhere than in his Lordship’s breakfast parlour, if the occasion should occur again?”
“I’ll try,” said Mr Tarlington, grinning all over his dark face, and righting a fallen chair.
“Won’t need to,” said Lord Rupert, poking at approximately the place where his floating ribs might have been. “Ow! Learned me lesson.”
“I’m glad to hear it, my Lord. I dare say your man might strap those ribs up for you.”
“Ribs? There’s three inches of flab there, Chalmers! I didn’t get near any ribs!” said Mr Tarlington in surprize.
Lord Rupert breathed in and out experimentally. “Think it’s just bruisin’. Um—no need to mention it, there’s a good man.”
The butler, with a distinct twinkle in his eye, bowed, inquired if the gentlemen needed anything, accepted Mr Tarlington’s order for fresh rolls and another pot of coffee, and removed himself and his subordinate.
“He will tell him, out of course: whole household will be laughing their heads off,” the bruised one noted.
“Good. –For God’s sake stop poking at that flab and put your dressing-gown on!”
“Eh? Oh.” Groaning, Lord Rupert resumed his dressing-gown. He sat down heavily and took up his attack upon the beef.
When Lord Harpingdon came in a little later they were both sipping coffee in perfect harmony.
“Chalmers tells me you have turned my breakfast-room into a boxing salon,” he said mildly.
“On’y mom’ntar’ly,” said Lord Rupert with his mouth full of beef. “Damn’ good beef, this! Have some, Harpy?”
“If you have left me any, yes.”
“Ring the bell for more coffee, Rupert,” suggested Mr Tarlington.
“No, it’s all right: Chalmers is fetching me a pot of tea,” said Lord Harpingdon mildly. “Was it the sight of that dressing-gown set you off, Aden? If so, I can only say that it was entirely understandable and you are not the only one: I have had to put poor Flossie in the kitchen, the sight of it drives her mad, poor old bitch.”
“You want a pup?” said Lord Rupert to his cousin, apropos.
“N— Uh—I may do,” he said cautiously. “How old were you when you had your first pup, Christian?”
“Oh—Lor’! Well, sixish, I suppose; but why?”
“I think you is old enough, Aden,” said Lord Rupert solemnly. “And havin’ a dog teaches responsibility, y’know.”
“Are you telling me?” he said in amazement. “Um—well, I was thinking of little Daniel, actually, Christian.”
“Who?” said Lord Rupert simply.
“The youngest Parker child. I think he’s four or five.”
“Bit young,” said Lord Rupert, rubbing his chin dubiously. “Not if there is other responsible persons in the family, of course.”
“Flossie’s pups are usually as good and gentle-natured as she is,” said Lord Harpingdon, smiling. “Except when maddened by that, of course,” he added, looking at it with dislike.
“This dressing-gown set me back—”
“Yes. Shut it,” said his cousin brutally.
“You had best ask Mrs Parker, dear fellow!” said Harpingdon, smiling.
Mr Tarlington swallowed. “Um—mm.”
“Can’t,” said Lord Rupert, shaking his head. “More beef, Harpy?” He carved busily. “Not unless he writes, of course. –Write her, then, will you, Aden”
Aden looked at him in despair.
“Write?” said Lord Harpingdon with a puzzled smile. “Why, Mrs Parker has not left town, has she?”
Lord Rupert paused, carving knife suspended. “So Wilf was claimin’, last night. He would have it they all has. Yes, and he said you was chasin’ off to Oxford on the strength of it, Aden!” he remembered.
“Oxford? They have all gone to Oxford?” said Lord Harpingdon.
“No. Look, clear out. Rupert: l want to speak to Christian alone. Leave the damned beef, you must have put away three pounds of it if an ounce: no wonder you’re fat as a flawn!”
“I ain’t fini—”
Mr Tarlington rose. “Get—out.”
Looking resentful, Lord Rupert went as far as the door. “They say spaniels may become erratic in their old age, but with Flossie, it’ll only be—”
“What? GET OUT!” he shouted.
“—that she is a nursing mother! And I was not to know, when l blew all that gelt on this dressing-gown—”
Mr Tarlington turned an amazed and wrathful face in his direction, and Captain Lord Rupert disappeared hurriedly.
“By God: he’s getting worse!”
Lord Harpingdon nodded. “Yes; he’s very unhappy. poor old fellow. I think I will advise him to sell out, whatever Papa may wish. This town life is doing him no good at all.”
Mr Tarlington sniffed faintly. “No. Well, from what I hear, he ain’t doin’ the Horse Guards much good.”
“No, quite. Aden, what is all this about the Parkers leaving town?”
Mr Tarlington sat down slowly. “I thought you might have heard. Look, I don’t know the ins and outs of it, Christian. My Aunt Parker has been very upset by the way half of town is cutting the girls and—er—has taken all three girls home.”
“I see.”
He swallowed. “Look, Christian—”
“Yes?”
“I think I had best apprise you of the sequence of events, dear old fellow. Though I should warn you that I myself have no knowledge of—of the precise connections involved. Um...”
“Go on, Aden,” said his cousin grimly.
“Very well, then. The story about Cousin Henrietta masquerading in breeches has been all over town for some weeks, as you know.”
“Spread by Rupert, Wilf and their cohorts: yes,” he noted.
“Not only that. Rupert has just apprised me that when he and Wilf were talking about it with Noël— Damn: I don’t think I’m making sense. It was at the Gratton-Gordon ball that it occurred to the brilliant brains of Rupert and Wilfred that Miss Henrietta was the girl involved in that episode. It happened on the way to Noël’s, so—um—I must suppose they thought he would take an interest.”
“Go on.”
Mr Tarlington looked at him apologetically. “The three imbeciles were discussing it in terms which no doubt you can imagine, and Lady Hubbel overheard the lot. Well, if you will recall the geography of the Gratton-Gordon ballroom, it wasn’t hard. They were standing near one of those damned curtained alcoves.”
“Wait: Lady Hubbel told Mamma?”
“That very evening, according to Rupert.”
Harpy’s neat nostrils flared. “I see.”
“Mm. Um—well, as I don’t live with Mamma, I’m not quite sure of what happened next, Harpy, but it was, I think, two days before they left town, Mamma went to see my Aunt Blefford. I don’t honestly know why, but I think it cannot have been unconnected with the ostracism of the Parkers.”
“Go on.”
“Fliss tells me that Mamma returned home in a dreadful temper and closeted herself with Aunt Parker. They could hear—er—loud lamentations on Mamma’s part, and—er—she chucked a few ornaments about. And the upshot was, my Aunt Parker came out and told Alfreda they would go home immediately. And the next morning she decided to take the younger girls as well.”
After a moment his cousin said tightly: “You are quite sure of that last sequence. are you?”
“Yes. Fliss was very explicit, for she at first comforted herself with the thought that the younger girls at least would remain. –Though she has become very fond of Cousin Alfreda,” he said awkwardly.
“Yes,” said Harpingdon, clenching his fists.
“Christian,” said Mr Tarlington baldly, “have you told my aunt you will offer for Lady Jane Claveringham after all?”
“What? No!” he said in amazement. “I have an appointment to see Lady Hubbel this very day, and I intend to tell her that whatever Mamma and Papa may have led her to suppose, I myself never agreed to the scheme and, in fact, have never given Papa any reason to suppose that I would.”
“Thank God!” he said, sagging limply in his chair.
Harpingdon bit his lip. “Aden, were you thinking my mother might have suggested to Aunt Lettice that I was about to offer for Lady Jane?”
Mr Tarlington shrugged. “It was one of the possibilities that crossed my mind. Well, up until the day of Mamma’s meeting with Aunt Blefford, she and the Parkers all seemed determined to face it out. They were planning to be at old Dewesbury’s third musical soirée and I know not what!”
Harpingdon smiled palely. “Yes.”
Mr Tarlington rubbed his straight nose. “Aye…”
“What are you thinking?” said his cousin on a fearful note.
“I’m thinking,” he said apologetically, “that, though I’m not denying she’s ambitious for her girls, Aunt Parker is not the sort to countenance for a moment an engagement which has not the consent of the man’s family. Nor, from what I’ve heard of him, is the Reverend Simeon.”
“You think... Oh, yes,” said Harpingdon tightly. He got up and began to stride about the room. “I think it is all fairly clear! Whether or no my mother indicated to yours that she expected a match between myself and Lady Jane, there seems very little doubt that she gave her to understand she would never approve of my marrying Miss Parker!”
Mr Tarlington swallowed. “I think so. I shall go round and get the truth out of Mamma directly, if you wish.”
“No! Dear fellow, of course you mustn’t! I shall speak to Mamma,” he said grimly.
Mr Tarlington got up. “Christian, it won’t do any good.”
Lord Harpingdon gave a hard laugh. “I am in no expectation of her changing her mind, certainly! But I shall make damned sure she knows my mind!”
His cousin came and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, it can’t make matters worse: I don’t think anything could. But dear boy, I don’t like to dampen your hopes. but I think you may encounter trouble should you speak to Mr and Mrs Parker.”
Christian frowned. “In theory, I do not approve of young persons marrying to disoblige their parents, either. But for God’s sake, Aden: I’m a grown man and have been my own master for many years, now! And—well, if Mr Parker sees that I do not intend to go into this lightly, then surely he will see that to—to refuse his permission would be—would be quite unreasonable?”
Mr Tarlington gripped his shoulder very hard indeed. “Aye. Only that ain’t the point, entirely, dear fellow. From what Henry has said of her papa, I think he would say it is up to Alfreda’s own sense of right and wrong. And—well—she is a woman with a conscience, Christian.”
“I see,” he said in a voice that shook. “Yes, you are very right. But I am prepared to remain constant and to—to wait, if need be.”
Mr Tarlington nodded grimly. “Think you may have to. Well, the best of luck, Christian.”
“Thank you. And—thank you for coming to me, Aden.”
Mr Tarlington shook his head. “Think nothing of it. Wish to God there was something I could do to help.”
“Thank you, but there is nothing,” said Harpy tightly. He squeezed his cousin’s hand fleetingly, and walked out.
Mr Tarlington sat down limply and stared at the remains of the beef. “God,” he said.
Lady Hubbel’s butler looked down his nose at Mr Tarlington—perhaps he took his tone from his mistress—and suggested he leave his card.
Mr Tarlington had been prepared for something like this, and handed him a note. “I’m not going away,” he said mildly. “Give your mistress this: I think she’ll see me.”
Grudgingly the butler invited him to wait in the hall.
It was not long before he was being bowed into a morning-room. It was unoccupied but the butler assured him that Lady Hubbel would be with him in an instant.
Several instants passed and nothing happened. He strolled over to the window and looked out into the street.
“Good morning,” said a high little voice.
Mr Tarlington jumped and swung round. “Oh—good morning, Lady May,” he said weakly.
Lady May Claveringham was very red-eyed but she came forward and looked at him with bright interest. “It’s rather early for a morning call, isn’t it?”
“Rather, yes. Why aren’t you out riding or some such?”
“Mamma has ordered me to cut Gwennie Dewesbury,” replied Lady May cheerfully, “and there is no-one else I care to ride with. I have heard your cousins have gone home: is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. I fear you and Miss Henrietta will never succeed in pinning a notice saving ‘TEA’ to Mr Tobias Vane’s coat, after all,” he said politely.
She gave a delighted giggle, but explained: “That was not I, it was Gwennie! She is full of such schemes!”
“I’m sure,” he said drily.
“Is it true that Henry and her brother held up your carriage, she in breeches, and you spanked her?”
“Yes,” he said baldly.
Lady May swallowed.
“Though they did not deliberately hold the coach up. The shooting of my horse was an accident, but nonetheless Henrietta’s fault. She and the brother, since you do not ask, ma’am, were quarrelling over the possession of a shot-gun. Which did not belong to either of ’em.”
She swallowed again.
Mr Tarlington eyed her sardonically.
After a moment she said: “Why are you here so early?”
Mr Tarlington did not reply.
“Help, you’re not going to offer for Jane, too, are you?” she gasped.
“No.”
“Um—Sarah?” she croaked.
“No.”
Suddenly she grasped his sleeve. “It isn’t me, is it? You couldn’t be that silly! Oh. please don’t, Mr Tarlington, for I don’t like you enough, and she would make me!”
“So I apprehend. Well, it is not that. You may be easy.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Thank you. I—I do like you, only—”
“Not enough. Well, that’s all right, for I feel the same about you, Lady May,” he said with a sudden grin.
“Yes,” she said in relief, smiling at him. “It’s—it’s strange, is it not? The affections, I mean.”
“Mm. It seems arbitrary, I quite agree.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding her curly head. “That’s it.”
He looked at her with some sympathy, but did not mention Theo Parker’s name, for he was under no illusion her mother would ever agree to that. Instead he said: “You must be having a very boring time of it, if you’re forbidden even to see Miss Dewesbury.”
“Yes,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Not that it signifies, in any case, because—” She broke off, gulping.
Mr Tarlington hesitated. Then he said: “I see. You’ve been getting the blame for your sisters’ flight, have you?”
“How did you know?” she gasped. “No-one knows but us!”
“I—er—saw your sisters just yesterday, Lady May. They are quite safe.”
Lady May gaped at him.
“Were you aware where they were headed?”
“No,” she said. shaking her head. “I didn’t know anything about it at all. But Mamma won’t believe me.”
He was not surprized. But all he said was: “Well, you may be sure they are quite safe.”
Suddenly she went very white. “You’re here to tell Mamma of them! No, you can’t be so cruel!”
“I intend telling her only that no harm has come to them.”
“She’ll make you tell her where they are,” she said fearfully.
“No, she will not. Er—perhaps I should say that I am aware why they fled, and have every sympathy with them.” Lady May just gulped. “I think you’d better run along,” he said kindly. “In the circumstances, it might not do for you to be seen talking with me.”
“Where are they?” she demanded urgently.
He shook his head. “If I don’t tell you, you can truthfully say you don’t know, can’t you?”
“Ye-es... I suppose that’s right.”
“Mm. Don’t worry any more, will you?”
“No,” she said, the great hazel eyes suddenly sparkling with tears. She smiled dizzily at him, and ran away.
Lady Hubbel appeared a few minutes later. Unlike her daughter’s, her eyes were not noticeably red. She was holding Mr Tarlington’s note with the tips of her fingers, rather as if it was something unpleasant. “Good morning, Mr Tarlington. I apprehend you have something to say to me? Pray be seated,”
“No, thank you, I prefer to stand,” he said in a hard voice.
Lady Hubbel did not sit down either. “As you wish,” she said colourlessly.
Mr Tarlington perceived that, although his note had said “With reference to Lady J. and Lady S.” she did not intend to help him out. So he said: “As you will have gathered from my note, I have come in reference to Lady Jane and Lady Sarah.”
“Yes?”
“I saw them yesterday, Lady Hubbel, and you may be reassured that they are both well and safe.”
“I see.” She drew a deep breath. “Where was this?”
“I have no intention of saying, ma’am. Your daughters did not wish their parents to be apprised of their whereabouts. That is all I had to say,” he said, eyeing her with dislike, “so I will take my leave.” He bowed briefly and went over to the door.
“Wait.”
Mr Tarlington waited. He perceived that a flush had mounted to Lady Hubbel’s large cheeks: he did not think it could be embarrassment, so it was undoubtedly annoyance.
“I apprehend that your Parker relatives have left town. Rest assured, Mr Tarlington, that if they are harbouring Jane and Sarah, Hubbel will see to it that they are pursued with the full vengeance of the law. Kidnapping, I believe, is not a light offence.”
“That’s not a bad guess,” he said, eyeing her in some appreciation. “I wish I had thought of it, for Lady Jane and Lady Sarah would certainly receive the kindness and understanding from my Aunt and Uncle Parker that they have never had in their own home. But they have not gone to the Parkers, madam.”
“You are impertinent, sir!” she snapped.
“In that case I shall add to my impertinence by assuring you that no court in the land would listen for an instant to a charge of kidnapping when it is known that Lady Jane fled her home because she believed herself about to be forced into a distasteful marriage. And while Hubbel’s busy bringing down the full vengeance of the law, he might like to remember that I am not precisely nobody, either. I am perfectly willing to extend my protection to those unfortunate young women if need be. And perhaps I need not point out,” he added with some pleasure as the comparison occurred to him: “that if Society could hold up its hands in horror at my innocent young cousin merely because I spanked her for shooting my horse, it will probably not be particularly generous towards Lady Jane and Lady Sarah if they are forced to accept my protection.”
“How dare you!” she spluttered.
Mr Tarlington shrugged. “I suppose I dare because I don’t give a damn what Society thinks of me. Can you say the same? At the moment, however, although I am aware of your daughters’ whereabouts, they are not under my protection. I would advise you to tell Hubbel not to pursue them further, or I will offer them my protection, and see that it is known. Good-day.”
He went out rapidly, not pausing to see what her reaction might be. And rather hoping that the insistence on the idea of taking the girls under his protection had, if not convinced her to stop her husband from pursuing them, at least thrown her off the scent somewhat. So much the better if Hubbel went looking for them at old Cousin Jeremiah Aden’s house over near Chipping Ditter: it would be a splendid false trail, for it was miles away from both Oxford and Guillyford Bay.
Lord Harpingdon was due to see Lady Hubbel about an hour later that morning. Lady May was lurking fearfully on the landing: once he had been shown into the morning-room, she ran lightly down and applied her ear to the door but, alas, could hear nothing. Optimistically she went into the next room and applied her ear to the panelling there.
Lady Hubbel was very gracious to Lord Harpingdon. He accepted a chair but once seated said: “Lady Hubbel, I shall not beat about the bush. I have come to offer you an apology.”
Lady Hubbel had, of course, expected a very different offer, and for a moment was silent. Then she managed to say: “For what, Lord Harpingdon?”
“For having allowed you to gain the wrong impression about my intentions towards Lady Jane. I can only say that anything my parents may have given you to suppose about the matter was without my knowledge or consent. And as my father has always been quite aware of my wishes in the matter, I can only repeat, ma’am, that I apologize most sincerely for it.”
“It has long been an understood thing between our two families!” she spluttered.
“I think not,” said Christian, quietly but firmly.
Lady Hubbel was now too angry to consider her words. “You have ruined my daughter, sir! We were in the expectation of receiving your offer, any day!”
“I have certainly never given either yourself or Lady Jane any reason to suppose so.” He got up. “But should expectations inadvertently have been aroused, I beg you will convey my apologies to Lady Jane, also.”
In her agitation Lady Hubbel had momentarily overlooked the fact that Jane had disappeared. She gulped, and was silent.
“I shall take my leave. I can only repeat, Lady Hubbel, that if expectations have been aroused, it was without either my knowledge or consent.” He hesitated, but as she merely sat there, looking blank, said: “Good-day,” and went out.
In the hall he was startled by a small, excited figure’s suddenly erupting from a passage.
“Oh, thank you!” gasped Lady May, grasping his arm excitedly.
“Er—Lady May—” he said uncertainly.
“Now Jane can come home!” she said, beaming at him.
Harpingdon thought he saw what it was: he suppressed a grimace. “My dear, I fear you are labouring a misapprehension,” he said gently. “I am not come, as I think you must suppose, to offer for your sister.”
“No! I overheard it all!” she said, eyes shining. “It is of all things most miraculous! We were sure your mamma and papa would make you offer! And now Jane does not have to be in disgrace at all, and may safely come home!”
“She may come home?” he said cautiously.
“Yes,” said Lady May, nodding and beaming. “And if it is not too much trouble, Lord Harpingdon, please could you tell your cousin, Mr Tarlington, that it is all right now and that she may return?”
“Tell Aden?” he said dazedly.
She nodded her curly head emphatically. “Yes! –I must go,” she added with a nervous glance at the butler, who had entered the hall and was looking at them expressionlessly. “Only—thank you!” She beamed at him, and dashed away.
“Thank you,” he said dazedly as the butler offered him his hat. “Er... I wonder: you have not seen Mr Tarlington today, have you?”
The man replied impassively enough: “Yes, my Lord, Mr Tarlington was here earlier this morning.” But Harpingdon fancied he saw an odd look in his eye.
“I see. Good-day,” he said as the man bowed him out.
“Good-day, my Lord,” the butler returned impassively.
On the pavement Lord Harpingdon hesitated. He had walked to the Claveringhams’ house, as it was not far from his own. Then he turned, not in the direction of his home or his parents’, but of Aden’s house.
Mr Tarlington, meanwhile, feeling it rather too early to drop in on his mamma, though he had decided he would get the full story of her meeting with Aunt Blefford out of her, had called in at the bachelor chambers which had the privilege of sheltering the elegant person of Bobby Amory. Mr Amory was discovered contemplating some coffee, rolls and butter with a damp cloth round his head.
“Hard night, Bobby?” his visitor greeted him.
“Faro,” replied Mr Amory tersely.
Mr Tarlington looked at him without sympathy. “Noël up, yet?”
“Hours ago, according to Battersby. Gone out.”
“Might one ask, where?”
“Well—depends. Was you intendin’ to knock him for six, too, like you done poor old Wilf Rowbotham?” returned Noël’s uncle.
“What? No!”
“Pity. Would have come along to watch, if you was,” said Noël’s uncle.
“Well, where has he gone?” demanded Mr Tarlington impatiently.
“Eh? Oh—no idea.” Mr Amory pushed the butter aside, wincing, and gingerly nibbled a roll.
Mr Tarlington flung him an impatient look, strode over to the door, opened it. and bellowed: “BATTERSBY!”
After a moment a neat-looking elderly man appeared. “Yes, sir?” he said to his master.
“Mr Tarlington bellowed, Battersby. Do your best to assist him,” said Mr Amory faintly, feeling his forehead.
Mr Tarlington asked after Sir Noël’s whereabouts and was informed that Battersby believed he had gone to White’s.
“You had best chase off to White’s,” noted Mr Amory heavily.
“In a moment.” Mr Tarlington waited until the door had closed behind the manservant and said: “Bobby, do you have any notion why Noël went haring off to Guillyford Place last month without notice?”
“So it was Guillyford? We did think it must be somethin’ in the direction of Brighton. –Ever noticed how greasy butter is? Repulsive.”
“Well?”
“Don’t be so damned urgent, Aden,” he groaned: “too early in the mornin’. Er—well, he ain’t confided in me, y’know. Could ask Kettle, his man—don’t think he knows, either, though.”
“Ask him, then.”
“Ask him yourself,” he sighed. There was a pile of correspondence at his elbow: he picked up a sheet which appeared to contain a row of figures, winced, and laid it down again.
Mr Tarlington strode over to the door, opened it, and bellowed: “KETTLE!” His host gasped, and held his head.
In a few moments Sir Noël’s valet, a thin, nervous-looking man, presented himself.
Mr Amory took a deep breath. “Mr Tarlington bellowed, Kettle. Answer anythin’ he may ask you.”
“Yes, sir. How can I can help you, Mr Tarlington?”
“Er—yes. I was wondering whether you knew the purpose of Sir Noël’s visit to Guillyford Place, last month?”
“Regretfully, no, sir. Er—when Sir Noël returned—”
“He was in a frightful mood,” said his uncle faintly.
“The whole of damned London knows that!” retorted Mr Tarlington irritably.
“Indeed, sir,” said the valet meekly, bowing. “However, I was going to say, when Sir Noël returned, he—er—disposed of some souvenirs.”
“Love-letters, were they?” said Mr Amory, evincing a slight interest for the first time.
“Oh, no, sir! Nothing like that, sir!”
“Wouldn’t be the first Noël had received, if they was,” noted Noël’s uncle, losing interest.
“Go on, then, Kettle: what were they?” asked Mr Tarlington.
“Some small shells, sir,” he said on an apologetic note.
“Eh?”
“Seashells, sir.”
“Not the ordnance kind,” he noted. “Did these shells date back to the time he was hauled from the briny down at Guillyford Bay?”
“Precisely, Mr Tarlington.”
“Sparklin’ clear,” muttered Mr Amory, sotto voce.
“We thought,” said Kettle with an apologetic cough, “that it must have been the young lady, did we not, sir?”
“Eh? Oh, so we did,” sighed Mr Amory.
“Well?” said Mr Tarlington, rather loudly.
“Don’t shout. None of us was there, y’know, only we decided the girl who fished him from the briny must be it. She’ll have given him the heave-ho: sticks out a mile. Well, the seashells must confirm it. Don’t think Noël ever mentioned her name. Or if he did, I was not listenin’.” Bobby sipped some coffee, and shuddered.
Mr Tarlington took a deep breath and said with tremendous restraint: “Thank you so much, Kettle; that will be all.”
Kettle bowed and withdrew.
“Hang on,” said Mr Amory, as his caller went over to the door.
“What?” replied Mr Tarlington discouragingly.
“Heard the Parkers had left town.”
“Yes,” replied Mr Tarlington discouragingly.
“Don’t take it out on me! Um—well, um, they’ll be at Guillyford Place for the summer, though, eh?”
“No,” replied Mr Tarlington discouragingly, going out.
Mr Amory sighed deeply, and held his head.
Sir Noël was not at White’s, but at White’s they thought he had intended to get in some fencing practice, and, sure enough, he was discovered being chased all over the large, bare room that was Signor Giacomo Fioravanti’s fencing salon by the wiry signore himself.
“Ah! Mr Tarlington! You have come to learn my passa straordinaria?”
“No, I thank you, Fioravanti.”
The panting Sir Noël wiped his brow. “Come to see me, Aden?”
“Yes.”
“Then get yourself a foil: I would not half like the opportunity of teachin’ you Fioravanti’s passa straordinaria by example,” he noted nastily.
Mr Tarlington perceived that Noël was still in that extremely bad mood. He was not in a very good mood himself, as a matter of fact, and in particular after very little sleep, so he divested himself of his coat immediately.
As the two friends had long since been aware, they were very evenly matched. The fight went on for some time, with Signor Fioravanti closely monitoring it and informing both gentlemen impartially where they had gone wrong. At last Sir Noël’s point landed approximately above Mr Tarlington’s heart and the victor panted: “Give in, Aden! You’re dead as mutton!”
“Yes: dead as mutton!” panted Mr Tarlington. “Added to which—had somethin’ like—three hours’ sleep—last night!”
“Poor you,” he noted. “Well, Fioravanti?”
“No science, Sir Noël, no science-a!” he moaned.
“He always says that,” noted Sir Noël. “I beat Tarlington, though, did I not?”
“Si, si, but he has-a no science, neither!”
“Fencing’s a dyin’ art,” noted Sir Noël. “Amazing the number of young fellows that don’t know what to do with a sword. Take that limp young brother of Wilf’s, for example.”
“Is he limp?” said Mr Tarlington mildly, accepting a rough towel from one of Signor Fioravanti’s aides and mopping his neck with it. “Well, he can’t box, I’ll give you that much.”
“Exactly. I said to him—and that brainless friend of his, too, forget his name—that I would give ’em an introduction to Fioravanti, here, if they wished for it,”—the fencing master beamed and bowed—“only damned Shirley ups and says he never had any ambition to wield a sword!”
“It’s as well Sir Ceddie didn’t buy him a commission, then.”
“Would have done him all the good in the world if he had! I said to him, what the Devil do you imagine you’ll turn into, if all you do in town is go on the strut down Bond Street and purchase posies for young women?”
“And?”
Sir Noël shrugged. “The cheeky young devil said he imagined he would turn into a Pink, and to aid him in that direction, he would not half mind if I gave him an introduction to me tailor.”
Swallowing a grin, Mr Tarlington said: “It’s the younger generation, old man!”
“By God, is it not! If I could but have had him under me in the regiment for a month—!”
Mr Tarlington eyed him with some sympathy but said only: “And did you introduce him to Weston, Noël?”
“No. Told him a man ain’t made by his tailor,” he said, grinning.
“The most unkindest cut of all!” he choked.
“That’s what I thought!”
The two friends went off to get dressed, chuckling.
“What did you want me for?” asked the baronet when they were on the pavement.
“Uh—oh.”
“There’s a coffee-house just along here: come along, you may tell me there.”
The coffee-house was not precisely elegant: full of cits smoking pipes and legal-looking persons in crumpled gowns and grimy wigs, who did not neglect to stare at Sir Noël’s elegant tailoring. The friends ignored them, and sat down at a table in the window. Having refused various offers of journals and pipes, and accepted the offer of a pot of coffee, Sir Noël said: “Go on.”
“Mm? Oh. Um... Is the coffee decent here, then, Noël?”
“No idea. What is it?”
Mr Tarlington sighed. “Look, don’t get your dander up, only, uh—well, the Miss Ogilvies were in town t’other day on their way to Oxford.”
After a moment Sir Noël said: “I see.”
“It was Miss Pansy you went to see about a month since, was it?”
“How in God’s name— Oh, never mind. Yes,” he said heavily.
“Mm. Um—look, old chap, I’m not sure if you’re aware that she is in fact the younger sister? It appears she is but seventeen.”
“Yes,” he said grimly.
“Oh.”
The coffee came, and Mr Tarlington testily refused the five more pipes that were urged on them.
“Were they in town long, Aden?”
“Barely an afternoon. They went straight on to Oxford. Er—Fliss and I felt we had best escort them. They—well, they are in some sort connections, of course. And they had come up to London on the stage: I could scarcely let them continue that way. So Fliss and I and—uh—Harley Quayle-Sturt went along with them.”
“He being also a connection?” said Sir Noël in a nasty voice.
“Er—well, no: he had called, y’see, and—uh—found himself at a loose end—”
Sir Noël stood up abruptly and leaned right over the table. “Did she appear to encourage him?” he demanded fiercely.
“Not that, no. She appeared to enjoy his company, but no more than any young woman of a certain intelligence might—he’s not stupid himself, y’know.”
“Quite,” he said grimly.
“Look, sit down, for God’s sake,” said Mr Tarlington with a sigh. “For what my opinion’s worth, I’d say she was too immature to think of beaux, as yet.”
Sir Noël sat down. He made a ferocious face and passed his hand over his hair. “I had come to a rather similar conclusion, myself.”
“Mm.” Mr Tarlington looked at him with considerable fellow-feeling.
“Don’t tell me she is not my type,” he said with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Sir Noël gave a shaky laugh. “I’m sure! –So why were they headed for Oxford?”
“Their old great-uncle sent for ’em. Reputed to be dyin’ or changin’ his will, or some such. Miss Pansy would not have gone, if it was up to her, but her sister insisted,” he said with a little smile.
“I can imagine.”
Mr Tarlington sipped coffee and looked at him uncertainly. “Er—actually I didn’t get as far as Oxford with them. Had to dash back to town on urgent business. Um—I’m going back later today, if you—er—well!” He laughed awkwardly.
Sir Noël frowned. “There would seem to be little point in it. She made it clear— Well, never mind. You are certainly right, Aden: she is as yet far too immature to think of marriage.”
“Yes. Well, the old uncle’s sent for my Aunt Parker. Dare say she may take both of the girls under her wing; my Cousin Alfreda did say something about them both possibly coming up to town next year.”
“Can I wait that long?” returned the baronet in an unpleasant voice.
“Doesn’t that depend on how seriously engaged your feelings in fact are?”‘ replied his friend coolly.
Sir Noël drained his coffee. “Do you know, dear fellow, grateful though I am for this conversation, shall we forget it ever took place?”
“Look, Noël: don’t be a damned idiot!”
Sir Noël extracted a snuff-box from his pocket and very slowly took a pinch. “Oh, I shan’t be that,” he drawled. He shut the box with a snap. “Coming back to White’s with me?”
“No. I have to see my mother.”
“Ah. Then perhaps I shall look for a chair.”
“Don’t play the damned Pink with me; you have just made me aware of muscles I’d forgotten I had!” replied Mr Tarlington with some feeling, rubbing his sword arm.
Sir Noël stood up and bowed gracefully. “Delighted to be of service.” With this he ran out to grab a chair which had just deposited a fat man in a green frieze coat.
“Imbecile,” said Mr Tarlington with a sigh, tossing some coins onto the table and ambling in his wake.
The fat man in the frieze coat came in shaking his head. “What were they, in God’s name, Fred?” he said to the waiter.
“Gentry, Mr ’Iggs. We gets a few. They’ll ’ave been to that Fanny-vanty’s fencing rooms, I dessay.”
Mr ’Iggs shook his head again, sighed gustily, accepted a newspaper, and decided he would smoke a bowlful of his usual.
“That would be one of them coats what their gennelman’s gennelman ’as to h’ease ’em into,” ventured Fred as he presented the usual.
“Eh? Oh. Hm,” grunted Mr ’Iggs.
“See ’im take ’is snuff, Mr ’Iggs? Now that was a h’air!” said Fred admiringly.
Mr ’Iggs shook his head and recommended that Fred pay no mind to gentry.
“T’other left a whole five shillin’s h’extra, though, Mr ’Iggs!”
“Lavish enough over small matters, I dare say, Fred: but do he pay his tailor’s bill? Now!”
“Then I’ll go up to her room,” said Mr Tarlington with a groan on being informed his Mamma was still in her bed.
“One moment, sir: Lord Harpingdon was here asking after you.”
“Oh. Thank you, Taunton. Um—dammit.” He looked at the clock. “Look, send to my house and tell them to pole up the curricle. The chestnuts, not the greys. They may meet me here, and I shall go on to Lord Harpingdon’s house and thence to Oxford.”
“Yes, sir. Er—how is Miss Felicity, sir?”
“Blooming,” he said blankly.
“Very good, sir.”
“Is it?” replied Mr Tarlington with a grin. He ran up the stairs leaving Taunton smothering a smile.
“Go away,” said Lady Tarlington with her eyes closed as he opened her door.
“Mamma, it’s I,” he said, coming in.
“Go— Oh.” She sat up, wincing.
“Basset?” said Mr Tarlington, brutally going over to draw the curtains back.
“No: faro. And before you say a word, Aden, I took five hundred guineas off the Brinsley-Pugh woman!”
“Well done!” he said with a laugh, bending to kiss her cheek.
After that it was difficult for Lady Tarlington to scream at him, as had been her intention. “Where is your sister?” she said on a sulky note.
“Er—probably in Oxford, by now.”
“Probably?” she gasped.
“She’s in my travelling-coach with the Miss Ogilvies and my own men, Mamma; no harm can possibly come to her,” he said, omitting the Quayle-Sturt and Claveringham detail entirely.
“But why have you deserted her?”
“I haven’t: I’m returning immediately. Mamma, just what passed between you and Aunt Celia before the Parkers left?”
“What?” she said dazedly.
Mr Tarlington repeated his enquiry.
“Why do you want to know?” she quavered.
Her son scowled. “Because I have just been speaking to Christian, Mamma. And—well, there appears to have been some attempt to jockey him into offering for Lady Jane Claveringham.”
“Oh, is that all?” she said, sagging. “Aden, my dear, that light is so harsh: draw the curtains a little.”
Mr Tarlington groaned, but went to shade the room. “You should know better than to drink anything offered by Brinsley-Pugh,” he noted.
“It was not at the Brinsley-Pughs’, it was at Lady Hethersett’s,” she said faintly, her hand to her head.
“What?” he gasped.
“There is nothing wrong with her company manners. And I did not have Fliss with me. And may I point out, that Lady Hethersett, at the least, is not cutting me!”
Mr Tarlington sighed. “No. Er—Mrs B.-P. held the bank, then, did she?”
“She and Curwellion between them. I think he was franking her.”
Mr Tarlington gave a short laugh. “That is not unlikely! Well, go on: what passed between you and Aunt Blefford?”
“She said she would never permit Christian to marry a girl out of an obscure country parsonage.”
“Ah.”
“Actually I was so angry that I can’t recall whether or no she said she intended he should offer for Lady Jane.”
“I see,” he said, smiling a little. “Well, I can assure you that he won’t.”
“Good!” she said viciously.
“Don’t tell me you’re on his side?”
“There is nothing wrong with your Cousin Alfreda: I am sure she is the best-humoured young woman alive! And Celia would not lift one finger to help us, and said it was not a rumour and she had it from Lady Hubbel! And all I can say is, Aden, that if you were so indelicate as to beat little Henry on a public road, then it is no wonder that Society is cutting me!”
“I see: Christian’s offering for Alfreda would be a pretty revenge for you, wouldn’t it?”
His mother gave a resentful sniff. “Well, what if it would? –You may pass me that wrapper, Aden, for now I am so thoroughly awake I shall never get to sleep again!”
He handed her the wrapper but said: “You told Aunt Parker all this, did you?”
“Of course: she was nearly concerned. But there was no point, for all she would say was that Simeon would never hear of it, if the man’s parents were not willing, and she would take Alfreda home.”
“I see,” he said with a sigh.
Lady Tarlington draped her shoulders in the wrapper. “I must say, it is too bad of you, Aden, deserting the girl like that!”
“What?” he said in astonishment.
“She is your own sister, after all, and we do not even know these Ogilvies!”
“Oh,” he said limply. “Fliss does, Mamma: they were at Miss Blake’s. But I’m not deserting her, I’m off back to Oxford immediately.”
“And how long do you intend to stay, pray?”
“I’m not sure. Depends whether the old uncle dies or not. And whether my Aunt Parker takes the Ogilvie girls under her wing.” He went over to the door. “Try not to lose a fortune while I’m out of town.”
“You might at least kiss me goodbye, Aden! I shall be quite alone, with you gone!”
He looked mildly surprized, but came to peck her cheek.
“Aden,” she said, clutching his arm: “have you thought any more about hiring a house in Brighton?”
“No. But I’m thoroughly sick of the subject: you may have it. Just don’t expect me to occupy it: I’ll be at the Place, and then I’ll have to get on over to Chipping Abbas.”
“We cannot spend a summer in Brighton with no gentleman to escort us!”
“That’s your problem,” he said, going out.
“I see,” said Lady Blefford grimly at the end of her son’s short speech.
Christian sighed. “If you recall, I did assure both you and Papa that I did not wish for the match.”
“Have you told him of this?” she said, frowning.
“He is aware of my wishes in the matter,” replied Harpy, also frowning.
“Do not be impertinent, Harpingdon,” she said majestically. “I meant of your decision to speak to Lady Hubbel.”
“Not specifically, no. I shall notify him that I have done so, of course.”
“Do not be surprized if the news should kill him,” she warned.
He swallowed a sigh. “I don’t think it will, for my feelings in the matter cannot be news to him. As I mentioned to you on my return to London from Blefford Park, his own obstinacy in the matter of riding out in inclement weather when he is not well is far more like to kill him. Could you not represent the inadvisability of it to him, ma’am?”
“I have no notion of removing to Blefford Park at this point,” replied Lady Blefford coolly.
He got up. “Then I think I shall apprise Papa in person of my having spoken to Lady Hubbel.”
“Very well,” she said colourlessly. “But be warned, Harpingdon: neither your father nor I will ever consent to your offering for a penniless little nobody of a country vicar’s daughter.”
Christian took a deep breath. “I have every intention of offering for Miss Parker as soon as may be. Once I have seen Papa I shall go on down to her home to speak to her father. I should like to think that you will receive my intended wife with complaisance, Mamma. As I said, my mind is made up in this matter. And I can assure you that you will find Miss Parker everything that is virtuous and caring.”
“She is a nobody,” she said grimly. “I dare say she has never so much as set foot in a place half the size of Blefford Park in her life!”
“I believe she has been to Guillyford Place, though I agree it is but scarce half the size of Blefford Park. But as I dislike Blefford Park exceedingly, I shall not require her to set foot there very often. And may I remind you that my daughters are still not received there, ma’am?”
She shrugged. “That decision was nothing to do with me.”
His mouth tightened. “I see. Well, I shall wish you good-day, Mamma.” He hesitated, then went over to the door. Lady Blefford did not speak.
“Good-bye, Mamma.”
She still did not speak: Christian swallowed a sigh, and went out.
After some time spent in thought Lady Blefford drew a deep breath. “Well,” she said grimly: “he is his own master, and I suppose we cannot prevent him. But I will not have Society licking its lips over any more scandal in our family! Blefford may bite on the bullet.”
She rang the bell. The butler himself answered it, whether because he was interested to discover her Ladyship’s state of mind after Lord Harpingdon’s visit was not clear from his demeanour.
“Bring me pen and paper. And I shall require the barouche in about half an hour.”
When the writing materials had been brought she hesitated, but then did not pen a quick note asking if she might see her cousin. No—a frontal assault would be best. Lettice must tell her everything she knew of these Parkers immediately. And whatever it was, it must be made the best of. And as for these scandalous rumours about the younger girl that Lady Hubbel had been spreading... Lady Blefford hesitated, drumming her fingers on the top of her pretty little escritoire. There was now, to put it mildly, no hope that Lady Hubbel would wish to scotch the story. Could Lettice be persuaded to see that Aden’s offering for the girl was the only hope of its dying down within a reasonable space of time? Lady Blefford drew another deep breath. Very probably not, but she would make the effort.
She took up the pen and wrote swiftly. That letter was quickly sanded and folded, then another begun. For a moment she stared blankly at the paper. Then she shrugged a little. Whatever she said to Lady Hubbel, it could not but enrage her, presumably. She wrote a brief formal apology for having let her labour under a misapprehension, and sealed it up quickly. Then she rang the bell again.
“This is to go to his Lordship at Blefford Park immediately. I want it there by dinner-time tonight: the courier may change horses as many times as he needs to, but see that it gets there.”
“Certainly, my Lady.”
“And send this note to Lady Hubbel. –Stay: is Lord Hubbel in town?”
“I believe he is, my Lady.”
It had suddenly struck Lady Blefford as odd that it should have been only Lady Hubbel who had received Christian. Still: the daughters were her concern, probably there was nothing in it. She merely inclined her head slightly and went upstairs to change her dress, unaware that for an instant she had had at her fingertips the clue which would have enabled her to enlist Lady Hubbel in an effort to rehabilitate the Parkers into polite society.
Lord Hubbel had not been home when Lord Harpingdon called—or earlier, when Mr Tarlington called—because he had been at Bow Street. He returned home in a very bad mood indeed, and this was not improved when his wife informed him of Mr Tarlington’s visit, adding to this information the fact that he need not hasten to find his daughters, for Harpingdon did not want Jane after all.
Lord Hubbel’s was nigh as cold a personality as hers, but at this his jaw sagged.
“They will have gone to old Cousin Miranda Ottaway!” she said impatiently.
“I have already sent to Tall Oaks.”
“Good. And if they are not there, they will be with Lucas and Dorothea at Henry Kenworthy’s.”
“I have sent a rider there, also. But May assures me they did not have enough money in their purses to get them half the distance.”
“They seem to have pulled the wool over her eyes in every other matter to do with this flight: I dare say she has no notion how much they had or did not have.”
As they had had this conversation before, Lord Hubbel merely breathed deeply.
“Have the Runners discovered anything?” she asked.
“Not as yet: no. I shall call on Tarlington immediately.”
“Very well. Oh: this came from your mamma.”
Lord Hubbel broke the huge seal impatiently and glanced through the letter eagerly. “Oh,” he said in dashed tones.
“Well?”
“Mamma is merely apprising us that she intends to remove to Brighton for the summer months.”
The lady who styled herself “Lady Georgina Claveringham” still had in her possession several exquisite items which by rights formed part of the Claveringham family jewels. Most notably a tiara of fine diamonds. Lady Hubbel’s bosom swelled. “I trust she does not intend removing to our house!”
“No. Read it for yourself.” He went over to the door but paused with his hand on the handle. “And you had best do something about cancelling the invitations for the damned ball.”
“What? No! The ball is for May!”
“I will not have a ball in my house while two of my daughters are MISSING!” he shouted.
“Do not be absurd. Hubbel: they are not missing; Tarlington knows where they are. I have no intention of cancelling the ball.”
He took a deep breath and went out. Not neglecting to slam the sitting-room door after him.
Two minutes later Lady May emerged cautiously from the next-door salon with a smile on her pixie-like face which had very little to do with the news that her ball was not to be cancelled.
Lord Hubbel went round to Mr Tarlington’s house quite determined to call the damned fellow out if need be. But was met by the news that Mr Tarlington had left town.
“What?” he said.
“In ’is curricle, sir,” quavered the footman who had opened the front door.
There was a soft tread behind him. “I will deal with this, John. Good afternoon, my Lord. Mr Tarlington left for Oxford about an hour since.”
“Oxford?”
“So I apprehend, my Lord,” replied Mr Tarlington’s butler.
“Wait: not Reading?” he said tensely.
“Mr Tarlington did not mention Reading to me, my Lord.”
Lord Hubbel frowned at him unseeingly for a moment. Then he said: “Where was your master yesterday?”
“He also set off for Oxford yesterday, sir, but had to return on urgent business.”
“Set off—That’s it!” he said.
The butler watched with interest as his Lordship’s burly form ran down Mr Tarlington’s steps, shouted at his coachman, got into his town carriage and was driven away at a very smart pace indeed.
“’E won’t never catch the master’s ’orses in that there thing, not with h’only a pair!” said John, chuckling.
“I doubt that is his design, John,” replied Mr Tarlington’s butler with immense geniality. “That is the direction of Lord Hubbel’s house, not that of the Oxford road. I should imagine he will be heading home to get his travelling coach.”
John nodded pleasedly. But then asked in puzzlement: “What’s the master done, then, Mr Courtenay, to set a grand lord at ’is ’eels?”
Mr Courtenay’s name was in reality Mr Cook, but he had long since decided—though he was still quite a young man—that that would not do for a person who desired to become butler in a gentleman’s household. So he had quietly changed it. He returned majestically, in a manner worthy of a butler twice his age and three times his girth: “It will not do to stand chattering on Mr Tarlington’s doorstep in this manner, my lad. Come along inside.”
Once inside, however, he unbent sufficiently to say: “I confess I cannot imagine why his Lordship is in such a hurry to find the master.”
“No, indeed, Mr Courtenay!” said John eagerly.
Thomas was also in the hall, though with their master absent there was no reason he should have been; he came forward eagerly, saying: “Ask me, there be more to it than meets the eye! Why would the master go off to Oxford, h’anyway?”
Mr Courtenay’s own eye fell on him awfully: he gulped, and was silent. “None of your business, my lad. And I have a job for you.”
The shrinking Thomas was hailed off, swathed in a large baize apron, and put to polishing the silver with Mr Courtenay’s own special mixture.
“Not them crooty things, Mr Courtenay! They be all liddle curls and I dunno what!”
“Cruets, my lad. You will never get on in a gentleman’s household if you do not learn to call things by their right names. And do not say ‘they be’: you are not in Guillyford Bay now, you know.”
“No, Mr Courtenay,” said Tom Bellinger glumly, wishing he was.
Mr Courtenay eyed him severely, and went away. But inwardly he himself was wondering very much what the master could be up to. Rushing about all over! Could it be he was sweet on one of the Ogilvie ladies what him and Miss Fliss had gone off with yesterday? Well, ’t’would be a pity, if so, for Tomkins had assured him that Miss Henrietta Parker was as pretty and nice a young lady as you would meet in a twelvemonth. And if she were not sweet on Mr Tarlington yet, well, give her time, she was naught but a lass, as yet.
Added to which he had a substantial bet on her with Mr Tarlington’s cook.
Mr Tarlington drove at a spanking pace down the Oxford road.
Harpingdon had been very pleased to get a ride with him, for Blefford Park was quite near to Oxford. He did not wish to dawdle, and he was well enough acquainted with his cousin’s driving style to know that Aden’s journeys were never precisely leisurely. Nevertheless he said in some surprize: “Why such a hurry, Aden?”
His cousin made a face. “Well... Oh, dammit! Look, Christian, don’t take this personally, but—” He told him of Lady Jane’s and her sister’s flight.
After a moment Harpingdon said in a stifled voice: “At least I have not disappointed her hopes.”
“No.”
“The poor young woman! If only I had had the decision to have it out with Papa and to speak to her parents earlier!”
“Mm.”
“Hell,” he muttered, chewing his lip. “Um—well, what will they do now, Aden?”
“Stay with the old cousin, one must suppose. Er—the house is not that far off the Oxford road, dear chap: should you mind if we was to call in?”
“Not at all: in fact I should be very pleased to know they are safe!” he said, smiling at him.
“Good.” Mr Tarlington drove on for a while in silence, and then said: “Look, I’d better put you in the picture. It seems that we may expect at the least to see my Aunt Parker, and very probably the girls as well, in Oxford before long.”
“What?” he said faintly.
Briefly Mr Tarlington explained.
“I see.”
“Might be best not to approach ’em before you speak to Uncle Parker.”
“Yes,” he said, gripping his hands tightly together. “I shall think it over.”
They drove on. In spite of the spanking pace, they had just reached Tall Oaks when Lady Blefford’s courier passed the turnoff, headed for Blefford Park.
By the time Lord Hubbel had Mr Ottaway by the throat and was shaking him violently—Cousin Miranda’s heir having incautiously expressed his opinion as to why Lady Sarah and her sister had called at Tall Oaks—Mr Tarlington and Lord Harpingdon, having continued on down the back road, and having cast a shoe on its rough surface, were but limping into the first posting-house back on the main road.
Lord Hubbel knew that back road and so did not make the mistake of continuing along it. Having ascertained from Mr Ottaway, now wheezing more than ever, that his daughters had gone on in the direction of Oxford, he retraced his steps to the main road, changed horses at the next inn and, the new team being in excellent condition, flew past the posting-house where Mr Tarlington and Lord Harpingdon were pausing to refresh themselves without realizing that the curricle was parked in the yard at that very moment. He had no idea whereabouts in Oxford his daughters could have been heading, but he had every intention of enquiring at every inn and posting-house the place had until he found their trail. And whoever the “demned rude fellow” might be who was apparently escorting them, if Mr Ottaway’s word were to be trusted, he had every intention of strangling the life out of him. Either before or after he’d strangled Tarlington: he did not, frankly, care which.
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