The Convenient Marriage (17 page)

There were large puddles in the road, and heavy clouds threatening to obscure the moon, but for the moment it had stopped raining. The road was eerily quiet; blank, shuttered windows on either side, and a little draughty wind sneaking up to whip Horatia’s skirts about her ankles.

She set off, almost running in the direction of Curzon Street. She had never in her life been out alone on foot at this hour, and she prayed fervently that she would not meet anyone. She had nearly reached the corner of the street when, to her dismay, she heard voices. She checked, trying to see who these late wayfarers might be. There were two of them, and their progress seemed a little uncertain. Then one of them spoke in a quite unmistakable if slightly thick voice. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ it said. ‘I’ll lay you a pony you’re wrong!’

Horatia gave a tiny shriek of relief and hurled herself forward, straight into the arms of the astonished roysterer, who reeled under the impact. ‘P-Pel!’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, P-Pel, take me home!’

The Viscount steadied himself by grasping at the railings. He blinked at his sister in a bemused fashion, and suddenly made a discovery. ‘Burn it, it’s you, Horry!’ he said. ‘Well, well, well! Do you know my sister, Pom? This is my sister, Lady Rule. Sir Roland Pommeroy, Horry – friend o’ mine.’

Sir Roland achieved a beautiful leg. ‘Your la’ship’s most obedient!’ he said.

‘P-Pel, will you take me home?’ begged Horatia, clasping his wrist.

‘Permit me, ma’am!’ said Sir Roland, gallantly presenting his arm. ‘Should be honoured!’

‘Wait a minute,’ commanded the Viscount, who was frowning portentously. ‘What’s the time?’

‘I d-don’t know, but it m-must be dreadfully late!’ said Horatia.

‘Not a second after two!’ Sir Roland said. ‘Can’t be after two. We left Monty’s at half-past one, didn’t we? Very well, then, call it two o’clock.’

‘It’s more than that,’ pronounced the Viscount, ‘and if it’s more than that, what’s bothering me is, what the devil are you doing here, Horry?’

‘Pel, Pel!’ besought his friend. ‘Remember – ladies present!’

‘That’s what I say,’ nodded the Viscount. ‘Ladies don’t walk about at two in the morning. Where are we?’

Sir Roland thought. ‘Half-Moon Street,’ he said positively.

‘Very well, then,’ said the Viscount, ‘tell me this: what’s my sister doing in Half-Moon Street at two in the morning?’

Horatia, who had listened impatiently to this interchange, gave his wrist a shake. ‘Oh, don’t stand there talking, P-Pel. I couldn’t help it, indeed I couldn’t! And I’m dreadfully afraid I’ve killed Lord Lethbridge!’

‘What?’

‘K-killed Lord Lethbridge,’ shuddered Horatia.

‘Nonsense!’ said the Viscount.

‘It isn’t nonsense! I hit him with a p-poker as hard as I could, and he f-fell and lay quite still.’

‘Where did you hit him?’ demanded the Viscount.

‘On the head,’ said Horatia.

The Viscount looked at Sir Roland. ‘D’you suppose she killed him, Pom?’

‘Might have,’ said Sir Roland judicially.

‘Lay you five to one she didn’t,’ offered the Viscount.

‘Done!’ said Sir Roland.

‘Tell you what,’ said the Viscount suddenly. ‘I’m going to see.’

Horatia caught him by the skirts of his coat. ‘No, you sh-shan’t! You’ve got to take me home.’

‘Oh, very well,’ replied the Viscount, relinquishing his purpose. ‘But you’ve no business to go killing people with a poker at two in the morning. It ain’t genteel.’

Sir Roland came unexpectedly to Horatia’s support. ‘Don’t see that,’ he said. ‘Why shouldn’t she hit Lethbridge with a poker? You don’t like him. I don’t like him.’

‘No,’ said the Viscount, acknowledging the truth of this statement. ‘But I wouldn’t hit him with a poker. Never heard of such a thing.’

‘No more have I,’ admitted Sir Roland. ‘But I tell you what I think, Pel: it’s a good thing.’

‘You think that?’ said the Viscount.

‘I do,’ maintained Sir Roland doggedly.

‘Well, we’d better go home,’ said the Viscount, making another of his sudden decisions.

‘Th-thank goodness!’ said Horatia, quite exasperated. She took her brother’s arm, and turned him in the right direction. ‘This way, you stupid, horrid c-creature!’

But the Viscount at that moment caught sight of her elaborate coiffure, with its bunch of nodding plumes, and stopped short. ‘I knew there was something mighty queer about you, Horry,’ he said. ‘What have you done to your hair?’

‘N-nothing, it’s only a Quésaco. D-do hurry, Pel!’

Sir Roland, interested, bent his head. ‘I beg pardon, ma’am, what did you say it was?’

‘I s-said it was a Quésaco,’ replied Horatia, between tears and laughter. ‘And that’s Provençal signifying “What does it mean?”’

‘Well, what does it mean?’ asked the Viscount reasonably.

‘Oh, P-Pel, I don’t know! Do, do, take me home!’

The Viscount permitted himself to be drawn onward. They traversed Curzon Street without mishap, and Sir Roland remarked that it was a fine night. Neither the Viscount nor his sister paid any heed to this. The Viscount who had been thinking, said: ‘I don’t say it ain’t a good thing if you’ve killed Lethbridge, but what I can’t make out is what brought you here at this time of night?’

Horatia, feeling that in his present condition it was useless to attempt to explain to him, replied: ‘I went to the p-party at Richmond House.’

‘And was it agreeable, ma’am?’ inquired Sir Roland politely.

‘Yes, th-thank you.’

‘But Richmond House ain’t in Half-Moon Street,’ the Viscount pointed out.

‘She walked home,’ explained Sir Roland. ‘We were walking home, weren’t we? Very well, then. She walked home. Passed Lethbridge’s house. Went in. Hit him on the head with the poker. Came out. Met us in the street. There you are. Plain as a pikestaff.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said the Viscount. ‘Seems queer to me.’

Sir Roland drew nearer to Horatia. ‘Deeply regret!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Poor Pel not quite himself.’

‘For m-mercy’s sake, do hurry!’ replied Horatia crossly.

By this time they had reached Grosvenor Square, and it had begun to rain again. The Viscount said abruptly: ‘Did you say it was a fine night?’

‘I may have,’ said Sir Roland cautiously.

‘Well, I think it’s raining,’ announced the Viscount.

‘It is raining, and my f-feathers will be ruined!’ said Horatia. ‘Oh, now what is it Pel?’

The Viscount had stopped. ‘Forgotten something,’ he said. ‘Meant to go and see whether that fellow Lethbridge was dead.’

‘P-Pel, it doesn’t matter, really it d-doesn’t!’

‘Yes it does, I’ve got a bet on it,’ replied the Viscount, and plunged off in the direction of Half-Moon Street.

Sir Roland shook his head. ‘He shouldn’t have gone off like that,’ he said severely. ‘Lady on his arm – walks off, not a word of apology. Very cool, very cool indeed. Take my arm, ma’am!’

‘Thank g-goodness we’re there!’ said Horatia, hurrying him along.

At the foot of the steps of her own house, she stopped and looked Sir Roland over dubiously. ‘I shall have to explain it all to you, I suppose. C-come and see me to-morrow. I mean today. Please remember to c-come! And if I’ve really k-killed Lord Lethbridge, don’t, don’t say anything about it!’

‘Certainly not,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Not a word.’

Horatia prepared to ascend the steps. ‘And you will go after P-Pelham and take him home, won’t you?’

‘With the greatest pleasure on earth, ma’am,’ said Sir Roland, with a profound bow. ‘Happy to be of service!’

Well, at least he doesn’t seem to be as drunk as Pelham, thought Horatia, as the sleepy porter opened the door to her knock. And if only I can make him understand how it all happened, and Pelham doesn’t do anything foolish, perhaps Rule need never know anything about this.

Slightly cheered by this reflection, she went up the stairs to her bedroom, where a lamp was burning. Picking up a taper, she lit the candles on her dressing-table, and sat down before the mirror, quite worn out. The plumes in her hair were draggled and limp; her corsage was torn. She put her hand to it mechanically, and suddenly her eyes widened in horror. She had been wearing some of the Drelincourt jewels – a set of pearls and diamonds, ear-rings, brooch and bracelets. The ear-rings were there, the bracelets still on her wrists, but the brooch had gone.

Her mind flew back to her struggle in Lethbridge’s arms, when her lace had been torn. She stared at her own image in the glass. Under the Serkis rouge she had turned deathly pale. Her face puckered; she burst into tears.

Nothing intervening to cause the Viscount to swerve from his purpose, he pursued a somewhat erratic course back to Half-Moon Street. Finding the door of Lethbridge’s house open, as Horatia had left it, he walked in without ceremony. The door into the saloon was also ajar, and lights shone. The Viscount put his head into the room and looked round.

Lord Lethbridge was seated in a chair by the table, holding his head in his hands. An empty bottle of wine lay on the floor, and a Catogan wig, slightly dishevelled. Hearing a footfall his lordship looked up and stared blankly across at the Viscount.

The Viscount stepped into the room. ‘Came to see if you was dead,’ he said. ‘Laid Pom odds you weren’t.’

Lethbridge passed his hand across his eyes. ‘I’m not,’ he replied in a faint voice.

‘No. I’m sorry,’ said the Viscount simply. He wandered over to the table and sat down. ‘Horry said she killed you, Pom said So she might, I said No. Nonsense.’

Lethbridge, still holding a hand to his aching head, tried to pull himself together. ‘Did you?’ he said. His eyes ran over his self-invited guest. ‘I see. Let me assure you once more that I am very much alive.’

‘Well, I wish you’d put your wig on,’ complained the Viscount. ‘What I want to know is why did Horry hit you on the head with the poker?’

Lethbridge gingerly felt his bruised scalp. ‘With a poker was it? Pray ask her, though I doubt if she will tell you.’

‘You shouldn’t keep the front door open,’ said the Viscount. ‘What’s to stop people coming in and hitting you over the head? It’s preposterous.’

‘I wish you would go home,’ said Lethbridge wearily.

The Viscount surveyed the supper-table with a knowing eye. ‘Card-party?’ he inquired.

‘No.’

At that moment the voice of Sir Roland Pommeroy was heard, calling to his friend. He too put his head round the door, and, perceiving the Viscount, came in. ‘You’re to come home,’ he said briefly. ‘Gave my word to my lady I’d take you home.’

The Viscount pointed a finger at his unwilling host. ‘He ain’t dead, Pom. Told you he wouldn’t be.’

Sir Roland turned to look closely at Lethbridge. ‘No, he ain’t dead,’ he admitted with some reluctance. ‘Nothing for it but to go home.’

‘Blister it, that’s a tame way to end the night,’ protested the Viscount. ‘Play you a game of piquet.’

‘Not in this house,’ said Lethbridge, picking up his wig and putting it cautiously on his head again.

‘Why not in this house?’ demanded the Viscount.

The question was destined to remain unanswered. Yet a third visitor had arrived.

‘My dear Lethbridge, pray forgive me, but this odious rain! Not a chair to be had, positively not a chair nor a hackney! And your door standing wide I stepped in to shelter. I trust I don’t intrude?’ said Mr Drelincourt, peeping into the room.

‘Oh, not in the least!’ replied Lethbridge ironically. ‘By all means come in! I rather think that I have no need to introduce Lord Winwood and Sir Roland Pommeroy to you?’

Mr Drelincourt recoiled perceptibly, but tried to compose his sharp features into an expression of indifference. ‘Oh, in that case – I had no notion you was entertaining, my lord – you must forgive me!’

‘I had no notion of it either,’ said Lethbridge. ‘Perhaps you would care to play piquet with Winwood?’

‘Really, you must hold me excused!’ replied Mr Drelincourt, edging towards the door.

The Viscount, who had been regarding him fixedly, nudged Sir Roland. ‘There’s that fellow Drelincourt,’ he said.

Sir Roland nodded. ‘Yes, that’s Drelincourt,’ he corroborated. ‘I don’t know why, but I don’t like him, Pel. Never did. Let’s go.’

‘Not at all,’ said the Viscount with dignity. ‘Who asked him to come in? Tell me that! ’Pon my soul, it’s a nice thing, so it is, if a fellow can come poking his nose into a private card-party. I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll pull it for him.’

Mr Drelincourt, thoroughly alarmed, cast an imploring glance at Lethbridge, who merely looked saturnine. Sir Roland, however, restrained his friend. ‘You can’t do that, Pel. Just remembered you fought the fellow. Should have pulled his nose first. Can’t do it now.’ He looked round the room with a frown. ‘’Nother thing!’ he said. ‘It was Monty’s card-party, wasn’t it? Well, this ain’t Monty’s house. Knew there was something wrong!’

The Viscount sat up, and addressed himself to Lord Lethbridge with some severity. ‘Is this a card-party or is it not?’ he demanded.

‘It is not,’ replied Lethbridge.

The Viscount rose and groped for his hat. ‘You should have said so before,’ he said. ‘If it ain’t a card-party, what the devil is it?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Lethbridge. ‘It has been puzzling me for some time.’

‘If a man gives a party, he ought to know what kind of party it is,’ argued the Viscount. ‘If you don’t know, how are we to know? It might be a damned soirée, in which case we wouldn’t have come. Let’s go home, Pom.’

He took Sir Roland’s arm and walked with him to the door. There Sir Roland bethought himself of something, and turned back. ‘Very pleasant evening, my lord,’ he said formally, and bowed, and went out in the Viscount’s wake.

Mr Drelincourt waited until the two bottle-companions were well out of earshot, and gave a mirthless titter. ‘I did not know you was so friendly with Winwood,’ he said. ‘I do trust I have not broken up your party? But the rain, you know! Not a chair to be had.’

‘Rid yourself of the notion that any of you are here by my invitation,’ said Lethbridge unpleasantly, and moved across to the table.

Something had caught Mr Drelincourt’s eye. He bent, and picked up from under the corner of the Persian rug a ring-brooch of diamonds and pearls of antique design. His jaw dropped; he shot a quick, acute glance at Lethbridge, who was tossing off a glass of wine. The next moment the brooch was in his pocket, and as Lethbridge turned he said airily: ‘I beg a thousand pardons! I daresay the rain will have stopped. You must permit me to take my leave.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Lethbridge.

Mr Drelincourt’s eye ran over the supper-table laid for two; he wondered where Lethbridge had hidden his fair visitor. ‘Don’t, I implore you, put yourself to the trouble of coming to the door!’

‘I wish to assure myself that it is shut,’ said Lethbridge grimly, and ushered him out.

Some hours later the Viscount awoke to a new but considerably advanced day, with the most imperfect recollections of the night’s happenings. He remembered enough, however, to cause him, as soon as he had swallowed some strong coffee, to fling off the bedclothes and spring up, shouting for his valet.

He was sitting before the dressing-table in his shirt-sleeves, arranging his lace cravat, when word was brought to him that Sir Roland Pommeroy was below and desired a word with him.

‘Show him up,’ said the Viscount briefly, sticking a pin in the cravat. He picked up his solitaire, a narrow band of black ribbon, and was engaged in clipping this round his neck when Sir Roland walked in.

The Viscount looked up and met his friend’s eyes in the mirror. Sir Roland was looking very solemn; he shook his head slightly, and heaved a sigh.

‘Don’t need you any longer, Corney,’ said the Viscount, dismissing his valet.

The door closed discreetly behind the man. The Viscount swung round in his chair, and leaned his arms along the back of it. ‘How drunk was I last night?’ he demanded.

Sir Roland looked more lugubrious than ever. ‘Pretty drunk, Pel. You wanted to pull that fellow Drelincourt’s nose.’

‘That don’t prove I was drunk,’ said the Viscount impatiently. ‘But I can’t get it out of my head that my sister Rule had something to do with it. Did she or did she not say she hit Lethbridge over the head with a poker?’

‘A poker, was it?’ exclaimed Sir Roland. ‘Could not for the life of me remember what it was she said she hit him with! That was it! Then you went off to see if he was dead.’ The Viscount cursed softly. ‘And I took her la’ship home.’ He frowned. ‘And what’s more, she said I was to wait on her this morning!’

‘It’s the devil of a business,’ muttered the Viscount. ‘What in God’s name was she doing in the fellow’s house?’

Sir Roland coughed. ‘Naturally – needn’t tell you – can rely on me, Pel. Awkward affair – mum’s the word.’

The Viscount nodded. ‘Mighty good of you, Pom. I’ll have to see my sister first thing. You’d best come with me.’

He got up and reached for his waistcoat. Someone scratched on the door, and upon being told to come in, the valet entered with a sealed letter on a salver. The Viscount picked it up and broke the seal.

The note was from Horatia, and was evidently written in great agitation. ‘Dear Pel: The most Dredful thing has happened. Please come at once. I am quite Distracted. Horry.’

‘Waiting for an answer?’ the Viscount asked curtly.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then send a message to the stables, will you, and tell Jackson to bring the phaeton round.’

Sir Roland, who had watched with concern the reading of the note, thought he had rarely seen his friend turn so pale, and coughed a second time. ‘Pel, dear old boy – must remind you – she hit him with the poker. Laid him out, you know.’

‘Yes,’ said the Viscount, looking a trifle less grim. ‘So she did. Help me into my coat, Pom. We’ll drive round to Grosvenor Square now.’

When, twenty minutes later, the phaeton drew up outside Rule’s house, Sir Roland said that perhaps it would be better if he did not come in, so the Viscount entered the house alone, and was shown at once to one of the smaller saloons. Here he found his sister, looking the picture of despair.

She greeted him without recrimination. ‘Oh, P-Pel, I’m so glad you’ve come! I am quite undone, and you must help me!’

The Viscount laid down his hat and gloves, and said sternly: ‘Now, Horry, what happened last night? Don’t put yourself in a taking: just tell me!’

‘Of c-course I’m going to tell you!’ said Horatia. ‘I w-went to Richmond House to the b-ball and the fireworks.’

‘Never mind about the fireworks,’ interrupted the Viscount. ‘You weren’t at Richmond House, nor anywhere near it, when I met you.’

‘No, I was in Half-Moon Street,’ said Horatia innocently.

‘You went to Lethbridge’s house?’

At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. ‘Yes, I did, but if you think I w-went there of my own choice you are quite odious!’ Her lip trembled. ‘Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.’

‘Well, what is the tale?’ he asked, drawing up a chair.

She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. ‘You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman – indeed, why should I?’

‘What the devil has the footman to do with it?’ demanded the Viscount.

‘Everything,’ said Horatia. ‘He w-wasn’t the right one.’

‘I don’t see what odds that makes.’

‘I m-mean he wasn’t one of our servants at all. The c-coachman wasn’t either. They were L-Lord Lethbridge’s.’

‘What?’ ejaculated the Viscount, his brow growing black as thunder.

Horatia nodded. ‘Yes, and they drove me to his house. And I w-went in before I realized.’

The Viscount was moved to expostulate: ‘Lord, you must have known it wasn’t your house!’

‘I tell you I didn’t! I know it sounds stupid, but it was raining, and the f-footman held the umbrella so that I c-couldn’t see m-much and I was inside b-before I knew.’

‘Did Lethbridge open the door?’

‘N-no, the porter did.’

‘Then why the devil didn’t you walk out again?’

‘I know I should have,’ confessed Horatia, ‘but then Lord Lethbridge came out of the s-saloon, and asked me to step in. And, P-Pel, I didn’t understand; I thought it was a m-mistake, and I d-didn’t want to make a scene before the p-porter, so I went in. Only n-now I see how foolish it was of me, because if Rule comes to hear of it, and m-makes inquiries, the servants will say I went in w-willingly and so I did!’

‘Rule mustn’t hear of this,’ said the Viscount grimly.

‘No, of c-course he mustn’t, and that’s why I sent for you.’

‘Horry, what happened in the saloon? Come, let me hear the whole of it!’

‘It was d-dreadful! He said he w-was going to ravish me, and oh, Pel, it was just to revenge himself on R-Rule! So I p-pretended I might run away with him, and as soon as he turned his back, I hit him with the p-poker and escaped.’

The Viscount drew a sigh of relief. ‘That’s all, Horry?’

‘No, it isn’t all,’ said Horatia desperately. ‘My g-gown was torn when he k-kissed me, and though I d-didn’t know till I got home, my brooch fell out, and, P-Pel, he’s got it now!’

‘Make yourself easy,’ said the Viscount, getting up. ‘He won’t have it long.’

Catching sight of his face, which wore a starkly murderous expression, Horatia cried out: ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Do?’ said the Viscount, with a short, ugly laugh. ‘Cut the dog’s heart out!’

Horatia sprung up suddenly. ‘P-Pel, you can’t! For g-goodness’ sake don’t fight him! You know he’s m-much better than you are, and only think of the scandal! P-Pel, you’ll ruin me if you do! You can’t do it!’

The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!’

‘If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things – oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s b-bad enough with Sir Roland knowing –’

‘Pom!’ exclaimed the Viscount. ‘We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.’

‘Have him in? W-why, where is he?’

‘Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.’

‘W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,’ said Horatia dubiously. ‘But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.’

Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. ‘Never mind about that!’ he adjured him. ‘Can I call Lethbridge out?’