Charity Girl

Chapter 8

In the meantime the Viscount was being afforded ample opportunity to regret his chivalry. He spent the day following his return to Arlington Street in a number of abortive attempts to discover Lord Nettlecombe’s whereabouts, even (though with extreme reluctance) going to the length of overcoming his strong dislike of Mr Jonas Steane, and calling at his house in Upper Grosvenor Street. But Mr Steane, like his father, had gone out of town; and although he had not left his house entirely empty the ancient caretaker who was at last induced to respond to the summons of a bell pulled with enough vigour to have broken the wires, and to a crescendo of knocks, was unable to give Desford any more precise information than that Mr Steane had taken his family to Scarborough. No, he disremembered that he had ever been told the exact direction of his lodgings: all he knew was that the servants had been given a fortnight’s holiday, but would be back again at the end of the following week, with orders to give the house a proper cleanup before the family returned to it. No, he hadn’t never heard that Lord Nettlecombe had gone off to Scarborough too, but if anyone was to ask him he’d be bound to say he didn’t think he had, being as he was at outs with Mr Steane. Finally, with the praiseworthy intention of assisting the Viscount, he said that he wouldn’t wonder at it if Mr Steane’s lawyer knew where he was to be found; but as he was unable to furnish Desford with the lawyer’s name, misdoubting that no one had ever told him what it was, being that it wasn’t no concern of his, the suggestion that Desford should seek him out was not as helpful as he plainly believed it to be.

It was at the end of a singularly unrewarding day, when the Viscount sat down to dine in solitary state in his own house, that his deeply sympathetic butler, distressed by his master’s sad lack of appetite, and extremely harassed expression, racked his own’ brains, and was suddenly inspired to present him with the most promising advice of any that had yet been proffered. He said, as he refilled the Viscount’s glass: “Has it occurred to your lordship that Lord Nettlecombe may have retired to his country seat for the summer months?”

The Viscount, who had been lost in gloomy consideration of the difficulties which confronted him, looked up quickly, and ejaculated: “Good God, what a fool I am! I’d forgotten he had one!”

“Yes, my lord,” said Aldham, placing a cheesecake before him. “I have only a few minutes ago remembered it myself. So while you were partaking of your first course I took the liberty of consulting the Index to the House of Lords, which I recalled having seen on your lordship’s bookshelves, and although this volume is ten years old I fancy the information it contains may still be relied upon. It states that Lord Nettlecombe’s country seat is situated in the County of Kent, not far from Staplehurst. One cannot suppose that it will be difficult to find, for it is known as Nettlecombe Manor.”

“Thank you!” said the Viscount warmly. “I am very much obliged to you! Indeed, I don’t know where I should be without you! I’ll post off to Staplehurst tomorrow morning!”

He did so, demanding his breakfast at an unfashionably early hour, so that his chaise had gone beyond the stones before such members of the ton who still remained in London had emerged from their bedchambers. His postilions had no difficulty at all in locating Nettlecombe Manor, for a few miles before Staplehurst was reached a signpost pointed the way to the house. It was approached by a narrow lane, bordered by high, straggling hedges, and with grass growing between the wheel-ruts. This did not hold out much promise that my Lord Nettlecombe’s house would justify the description of it as a “country seat”, but it was found to be, if not a mansion, quite a large house, set in a small park, and approached by a short carriage-drive, which led from a pretty little lodge, and showed signs of having undergone extensive weeding operations. When the chaise drew up before the main entrance, and the Viscount jumped lightly down from it, he saw that the house was being repaired, a circumstance which, as he later said acidly, should have been enough to inform him that whoever was residing in the house he was not Lord Nettlecombe.

This was soon proved to be the case. My lord had hired the house to a retired merchant, whose wife, he informed Desford, had been mad after what he called a grand Country Place for years. “Mind you, my lord,” he said, with a fat chuckle, “what she set her heart on was a swapping big house, like Chatsworth, or some such, but I told her to her head that ducal mansions was above my touch, even if his grace was wishful to hire it, which, so far as I am aware of, he ain’t. All to one, it took pretty nigh on two years before we found this place, and I was so sick and tired of jumbling and jolting all over the country to look at houses that wasn’t one of them what we wanted, nor what they was puffed off to be by the agents, that when I saw this place I’d have hired it, even if I hadn’t taken a fancy to it, which I own I did. Of course I saw in no more than a pig’s whisper that there was a lot wanted doing to it, but, lord, I said to myself, it’ll give me something to do when I retire from my business, and if I don’t have anything to do it’s likely I’ll get to be as blue as megrim. What’s more, I was able to drive a bargain with his lordship’s man of business, though not,” he added, with a darkling look, “as good a one as I’d have driven if I’d known what I know now about the house! Well, if you’re one of his lordship’s friends, sir, I wouldn’t wish to say anything unbecoming, but you wouldn’t credit the way everything’s been let go to rack and ruin!”

“I’m not one of his friends, and I do credit it!” Desford said promptly, before Mr Tugsley could continue his discourse. “I have a—a matter of business to discuss with him, and hoped I might find him here when I called at his London house, and discovered that he had gone out of town. If you know where he is to be found I should be very much obliged to you if you would furnish me with his direction.”

“Well, that I can’t do, but I can tell you his lawyer’s name, and his direction, so if you’ll do us the honour to step into the next room, which Mrs T. calls the Green Saloon, but which to my way of thinking is just a parlour, and partake of a morsel of refreshment, I’ll go and see if I can’t find it for you.”

The Viscount thanked him, but would have declined the offer of hospitality had he not perceived that Mr Tugsley’s feelings would be hurt by a refusal. He never willingly wounded the susceptibilities of his social inferiors, so he accompanied his host into the adjoining room, bowed to Mrs Tugsley just as though (as she later informed her husband) she had been a duchess, and even endured, with an air of courteous interest, twenty minutes of her somewhat overpowering conversation, during which time he drank a glass of wine, and ate a peach. The table was loaded with dishes, but he contrived to refuse them all without giving offence, saying (with perfect truth) that although he couldn’t resist the peach, he never ate a nuncheon.

It was plain that Mrs Tugsley had social ambitions, and her efforts to impress him led her to ape what she supposed to be the manners of the haut ton, and to interlard her conversation with the names of a number of titled persons, generally describing them as “such a sweet creature!” or “a perfect gentleman”, and trying to convey the impression that she was well-acquainted with them. The Viscount responded with easy civility, and allowed no trace either of disgust or boredom to appear in his demeanour, but he was thankful when Mr Tugsley returned, bearing a slip of paper on which he had transcribed the name and direction of Lord Nettlecombe’s lawyer. This he handed to Desford, recommending him not to let the old huckster burn him. Mrs Tugsley begged him not to talk in such a vulgar way, and wondered (with a minatory frown at him) whatever his lordship must be thinking of him. But Desford laughed, and said that he was much obliged to Mr Tugsley for the warning, adding that if Lord Nettlecombe’s man of business was as hardfisted as he was himself he must be a very neat article indeed.

He parted from the Tugsleys at long last on the best of good terms, and neither of them suspected that he had been chafing to get away from Nettlecombe Manor for the greater part of an hour. There could be little hope of his reaching London before Mr Crick had shut up his office, and, since the following day would be Sunday, none at all of his being able to consult Mr Crick until Monday.

In the event it was not until Monday afternoon that he interviewed Mr Crick, for when he drove to that practitioner’s office early in the morning it was to be met by the intelligence that Mr Crick had been summoned to attend another of his clients. The apologetic clerk who informed Desford of this circumstance was unable to say when he would return to his office, but he did not think it would be before noon. He asked, with another of his deprecatory bows, if my lord would wish him to desire Mr Crick to call in Arlington Street, to learn his pleasure; but the Viscount, to whom it would not have occurred to visit his own, and his father’s, man of business, unhesitatingly refused this offer, saying that the matter on which he wished to see Mr Crick was merely to discover from him the present whereabouts of Lord Nettlecombe. “And that,” he added, with his pleasant smile, “I daresay you may be able to tell me!”

But it was immediately apparent that this information the clerk was either unable or unwilling to disclose, so there was nothing for it but to withdraw, leaving his card, and saying that he would return later in the day.

“Which,” said Stebbing, as he resumed his place beside the Viscount in the tilbury, “will give this Crick plenty of time to play least-in-sight.”

“I wish to God you’d come out of the sullens!” retorted Desford, in some exasperation. “You’ve been glumping ever since we left Hazelfield, and I’m sick of it! Why the devil-should he want to play least-in-sight?”

“That’s more than I can tell, my lord, but what the both of us knows is that he’s my Lord Nettlecombe’s man of business, and if my lord ain’t cut his stick I’m a bag-pudding! Which I ain’t!”

“You may not be a bag-pudding, but you’re one of the worst surly-boots it has ever been my ill-fortune to encounter!” said Desford roundly. “I know very well what made you turn knaggy, but what I do not know is what business it is of yours if I choose to lend my aid to Miss Steane, or to any one else!”

Chastened by the Viscount’s most unusual severity, Stebbing muttered an apology, but since the Viscount cut short his subsequent stumbling attempt to excuse himself by saying curtly: “Very well, but don’t let it happen again!” he did not venture to speak again until Arlington Street was reached, when, as he received the reins from his master, he asked with unprecedented humility at what hour my lord wished his tilbury to be brought to the door for his second visit to the City.

“I shan’t need it again: I’ll take a hack,” replied Desford.

“Very good, my lord,” said Stebbing woodenly. “It is just as your lordship pleases, of course. Though if you prefer to drive yourself, you could take young Upton with you, in my place.”

Neither this speech, nor his expression, could have led any uninitiated person to suppose that he passionately desired to be reconciled with his master, but the Viscount was not uninitiated, and he relented, well-aware that Stebbing’s gruffness and frequent attempts to scold and bully him sprang from a very real regard for him; and that to take the under-groom in his place would be to wound him to the heart. So, after eyeing him sternly for a moment, he laughed, and said: “Don’t try to play off your tricks on me, you old humbugger! Think I don’t know you? Bring it round at two o’clock!”

Stebbing was so much relieved by this sure sign that the Viscount was no longer angry with him that when he again took his place beside him in the tilbury he comported himself with such anxious civility that the Viscount, if he had not known that such unnatural subservience was unlikely to last for long, would have adjured him to abandon it. In fact, it showed signs of deserting him when the Viscount handed the reins to him outside the grimy building in which Mr Crick had his office, saying that he expected to be with him again in a very few minutes. He then said that he was sure he hoped his lordship would find Mr Crick, and demanded to know what his lordship was meaning to do if he didn’t find him. But the Viscount only laughed, and walked into the building.

The clerk bowed him into Mr Crick’s room, where he was received by that practitioner with the greatest civility. Mr Crick begged him to be seated; he apologized for having been absent from his office that morning; but he did not furnish him with Lord Nettlecombe’s direction. He said that he was fully conversant with my lord’s affairs, and did not doubt that if my Lord Desford would condescend to divulge the nature of the business he wished to discuss with my lord he would be able to deal with it.

“What I wish to discuss with him is not a business matter,” said the Viscount. “It is private, and personal, and can only be answered by himself.”

He spoke perfectly pleasantly, but there was an underlying note of determination in his voice which did not escape Mr Crick, and appeared to discompose him. He coughed genteelly, and murmured: “Quite! Exactly so! Naturally I understand. . . . But I assure your lordship that you need have no hesitation in disclosing it to me. A delicate matter, I apprehend? You might not be aware.—perhaps I should tell you that my client honours me with his entire confidence.”

“Yes?” said the Viscount politely.

Mr Crick fidgeted with the pounce-box, straightened a sheet of paper, and finally said: “He is—er—quite a character, my lord, if I may so put it!”

“I’m not—yet!—acquainted with him, but I have always understood him to be a deuced odd fish,” agreed the Viscount.

Mr Crick uttered a little titter, but said it wouldn’t become him to agree, though he was bound to own that Lord Nettlecombe had some rather odd ways. “He has become quite a recluse, you know, and almost never receives anyone, except Mr Jonas Steane—and not even him at present.” He sighed, and shook his head. “I regret to say that he and Mr Steane had a difference of opinion a few weeks ago, which resulted in his lordship’s going off to Harrowgate, and leaving me with instructions to deal with any matters that might arise during his absence. He stated in—in what I may call unequivocal terms that he did not wish to see Mr Steane, or, in fact, anyone, or to receive any communications whatsoever—even from me!”

“Good God, he must be short of a sheet!” exclaimed the Viscount.

“No, no, my lord!” Mr Crick said hastily. “That is, not if you mean to say that he’s deranged, which, I collect, is your meaning! He has a—a somewhat untoward disposition, and has what I venture to say are some rather odd humours, but he is very shrewd—oh, very shrewd indeed!—in all worldly matters! Extremely long-headed, or, as he would say himself, up to all the rigs!”He tittered again, but, as the Viscount remained unresponsive to this evidence of Lord Nettlecombe’s humour, changed the titter into a cough, and said, with a confidential drop of his voice: “His—his eccentricities derive, I believe, from the unfortunate circumstances of his private life, which has not, alas, been a happy one! It would be improper in me to expatiate on this subject, but I need not scruple to tell your lordship (for it is common knowledge) that his marriage was not attended by that degree of connubial bliss which one has so frequently known to soften a somewhat harsh disposition. And the very unsteady character of his younger son was a source of great pain to him—oh, very great pain! One had hoped that he would find consolation in Mr Jonas Steane, but, unfortunately, he did not care for Mr Jonas’s wife, so that his relationship with Mr Jonas has sometimes been a trifle strained, though there has never been any serious quarrel between them, until—But more I must not say on that head!”

“My dear sir,” interrupted the Viscount, who had been growing perceptibly impatient during this monologue, “do, pray, let me make it plain to you that I am not concerned with Lord Nettlecombe’s marital troubles, or with his quarrels with his sons! All I wish to know is where, in Harrowgate, he is to be found!”

“Oh dear, oh dear, did I say that he was in Harrowgate?” asked Mr Crick, looking dismayed.

“You did, so you may just as well give me his exact direction,” said the Viscount. “That will save me the trouble of enquiring for him at every hotel, inn, or lodging-house in the place, which, I promise you, I shall do, if you persist in withholding his direction!”

“My lord, I don’t know his direction!”

The Viscount’s brows drew together. He said incredulously: “You don’t know it? How is this possible? You have told me that you are wholly in his confidence!”

“Yes, yes, I am!” averred Mr Crick, apparently on the verge of bursting into tears. “That is to say, I know why he has chosen to go away, but he would not tell me where he meant to stay, because he said he didn’t wish to be troubled with any business while he was away. He did me the honour to say that he was confident I could settle any matter that might come up without referring it to him. May I venture to suggest to your lordship that you should wait until he returns to London—which, according to my information, he will do next month—”

“Why, certainly!” said the Viscount affably, rising from his chair, and picking up his hat and gloves. “You may suggest anything you please, Mr Crick! I am sorry you are unable to furnish me with Lord Nettlecombe’s direction, and I won’t waste any more of your time. Oh, no! pray don’t trouble to escort me to the door! I can very well find the way out!”

But this Mr Crick would by no means permit him to do. He darted across the room to hold open the door for his distinguished visitor, bowing even more deeply than his clerk had done, and followed him down the dusty stairs, begging first his pardon and then his understanding of the delicacy of his own position as the trusted confidant of a noble client. The Viscount reassured him on both heads, but left him looking more harassed than ever. His last words, as Desford was about to mount into his tilbury, were that he hoped nothing he had said had given a wrong impression! Lord Nettlecombe had gone to try what the Harrowgate Chalybeate would do for his gout.

“Don’t tease yourself!” Desford said, over his shoulder. “I won’t disclose to his lordship that it was you who let slip the information that he had gone to Harrowgate!”

He then took his seat in the tilbury, recovered the reins from Stebbing, and drove off at a brisk trot, saying abruptly: “Didn’t my father go to Harrowgate once—oh, years ago, when he was first troubled by the gout! I was still up at Oxford, I think.”

Stebbing took a minute or two to answer this, frowning in an effort of memory. Finally he said: “Yes, my lord, he did. But, according to what I remember, he came home within a sennight, not liking the place. Unless it was Leamington he took against.” His frown deepened, but cleared after another few moments, and he said: “No, it wasn’t Leamington, my lord—though the waters never did him any good. It was Harrowgate right enough. And those waters didn’t do him any good neither—not but what there’s no saying that they wouldn’t have done him good if he’d drunk more than one glass, which tasted so bad it made him sick.”

The Viscount grinned appreciatively. “Poor Papa! Who shall blame him for going home? Did he take you there?”

“Me, my lord?” said Stebbing, shocked. “Lor’, no! In them days I was only one of the under-grooms!”

“I suppose you must have been. What a pity! I hoped you might know the place, for I don’t. Oh, well, we’d best stop at Hatchards, and I’ll see if I can come by a guide-book there!”

“My lord, you’re never going to go all that way just to find Miss’s grandpa?” exclaimed Stebbing. “Which—if you’ll pardon the liberty!—don’t seem to be a grandpa as anyone would be wishful to find!”

“Very likely not—indeed, almost certainly not!—but I’ve pledged my word to Miss Steane that I will find him, and—damn it, my blood’s up, and I will not be beaten!”

“But, my lord,” expostulated Stebbing, “it’ll take you four or five days to get there! It’s above two hundred miles away: that I do know, for when my lord and her ladyship went there, they were five days on the road, and Mr Rudford, which was his lordship’s valet at that time, always held to it that it was that which set up his lordship’s back so that he wouldn’t have liked the place no matter what!”

“Good God, you don’t imagine, do you, that I mean to go in the family travelling-carriage? What with four people in the carriage, the coachman, and I’ll go bail a couple of footmen outside, and a coach following, chuck-full of baggage, besides the rest of my father’s retinue, I’m astonished they weren’t a sennight on the road! I shall travel in my chaise, of course, taking Tain, and one portmanteau only, and changing horses as often as need be, and I promise you I shan’t be more than three days on the road. No, don’t pull that long face! If I can post to Doncaster in two days, which you know well I have frequently done, I can certainly reach Harrowgate in three days—possibly less!”

“Yes, my lord, and possibly more, if you was to have an accident,” said Stebbing. “Or find yourself with a stumbler in the team, or maybe a limper!”

“Or founder in a snowdrift,” agreed the Viscount.

“That,” said Stebbing coldly, “I didn’t say, nor wouldn’t, not being such a cabbage-head as to look for snowdrifts at this time o’year. But if you was to drop the high toby, who’s to say you won’t find yourself foundering in a regular hasty-pudding?”

“Who indeed? I’ll bear it in mind, and take care to stick to the post-road,” promised his lordship.

Stebbing sniffed, but refrained from further speech.

Desford was unable to find a guide-book of Harrowgate at Hatchard’s shop, but he was offered a fat little volume, which announced itself to be a Guide to All the Watering and Seabathing Places, and contained, besides some tasteful views, numerous maps, town-plans, and itineraries. He bore this off for perusal that evening, hoping to discover in the chapter devoted to the amenities of Harrowgate a list of the hotels and lodgings there. But although almost a dozen inns received favourable notice neither High nor Low Harrowgate appeared to boast of any establishment comparable to the hotels to be found at more fashionable watering-places; nor was any lodging-house mentioned. As he read what the unknown author had to say about the place, and pictured his father there, he was torn between appreciative amusement, and a strong wish that he himself were not obliged to go there. The very first paragraph was daunting, for it stated that because Harrowgate possessed “in a superior degree” neither the attraction of being fashionable, nor beauty of scenery, it was chiefly resorted to by valetudinarians. No doubt feeling that he had been rather too severe, the author bestowed some temperate praise on the situation of High Harrowgate, which he described as exceedingly pleasant, and commanding an extensive prospect of the distant country. But as, in the very next paragraph, he referred to the “dreary common” on which both High and Low Harrowgate were built, and to “the barren wolds of Yorkshire”, it seemed safe to assume that the place had not taken his fancy. Which, thought Desford, flicking over the pages which dealt with the qualities and virtues of the wells, and reading the passage headed Customs and Accommodations, was not to be wondered at. He could almost feel the hairs rising on his scalp when he read that one of the advantages enjoyed by visitors to Harrowgate was that the narrow circle of their amusements drew them into “something like family parties”; but when he read that the presence of the ladies sitting at the same board as the gentlemen excluded any rudeness or indelicacy, he began to chuckle; and when, on the next page, he learned that one of the advantages of mixing freely with the ladies was the sobriety it ensured—to which the author acidly added that to this the waters contributed “not a little”, he laughed so much that it was several moments before his vision was sufficiently clear to enable him to read any more. However, he did read more, and although he found no mention of a pump room, he did learn that there was an Assembly Room, and a Master of Ceremonies, who presided over the public balls; a theatre; two libraries; a billiard-room; and a morning lounge in one of the new buildings, called the Promenade; which made it seem probable that he would experience no very great difficulty in discovering where he could find Lord Nettlecombe.

But what he found very difficult to understand was why Lord Nettlecombe, who, so far from enjoying the company of his fellow men and women, had for years spurned even his oldest acquaintances, should have elected suddenly to spend the summer months where, according to the author of the Guide, repasts (served in the long rooms of the various inns) were “seasoned by social conversation”; and where “both sexes vied with each other in the art of being mutually agreeable”. It was possible, of course, that the circumstance of the expenses of living and lodging being moderate might have attracted his cheese-paring lordship; but this advantage must surely have been off-set by the cost of so long a journey. The Viscount, as he took his candle up to bed, wondered if Nettlecombe had travelled north on the common stage, but abandoned this notion, feeling that the old screw could not be such a shocking lick-penny as that. He might, with perfect propriety, have travelled on the Mail coach, but although this was much cheaper than hiring a private chaise it was by no means-dog-cheap, particularly when two places would have to be booked. Lord Nettlecombe might not travel in the rather outmoded state favoured by Lord Wroxton, but it was inconceivable to Desford that he could have gone away on a protracted visit without taking his valet with him. The thought of his high and imposing father’s regal process to Harrowgate, and his very brief stay there, made Desford begin to chuckle again. He must remember, he told himself, to ask Poor Dear Papa, at a suitable moment, for his opinion of Harrowgate.

Tain, his own extremely accomplished valet, had received without a blink the news that his lively young master meant to leave almost at crack of dawn for an unfashionable resort in Yorkshire; and when further told that he must pack whatever was strictly necessary into one portmanteau, he merely said: “Certainly, my lord. For how many days does your lordship mean to stay in Harrowgate?”

“Oh, not above two or three!” replied Desford. “I shan’t be attending any evening-parties, so don’t pack any ball-toggery.”

“Then one portmanteau will be quite sufficient for your lordship’s needs,” said Tain calmly. “Your dressing-case may go inside the chaise, and I shall not pack your Hessians, or any of your town-coats. I fancy they would be quite ineligible for wear in Those Parts.”

That was all he had to say about the projected expedition, either then or later; and Desford, who had had several years’ experience of his competence, never so much as thought of asking him whether he had packed enough shirts and neckcloths, and had found room for a change of outer raiment.

For his part, Tain showed not the smallest surprise at what he might have thought to be a very queer start, or betrayed by look or word that he was well aware of the Viscount’s purpose in going post-haste to Harrowgate, when his intention had been to attend the races at Newmarket. He had not yet seen Miss Steane, but he knew all about her meeting with the Viscount, for he stood on very friendly terms with both the Aldhams, and had contrived, without showing a vulgar curiosity unbecoming to a man of his consequence, to discover from them quite as much as they knew, and many of Mrs Aldham’s conjectures on the probable outcome of the adventure. On these he withheld judgment, feeling that he knew my lord far more intimately than they did, and having yet to see in him any of the signs of a gentleman who had fallen head over ears in love. He did not discuss the matter with Stebbing, not so much because it would have been beneath a gentleman’s gentleman to hobnob with a groom, but because he was as jealous of Stebbing as Stebbing was of him.

Before he went to bed, the Viscount wrote a brief letter to Miss Silverdale, informing her that he was off to Harrowgate, where he was reliably informed Nettlecombe was to be found, but hoped to be back again in not much more than a sennight’s time, when he would come to Inglehurst immediately, to tell her how his mission had prospered, or, he added, if it has not prospered, to discuss with you what were best to do next for that unfortunate child. I should think myself the biggest rascal unhung to have foisted her on to you, my best of friends, if I were not persuaded that she must have made you like her.

This missive he gave to Aldham on the following morning, telling him to send it by express post to Inglehurst. He then climbed into his chaise, and set forward on the long journey into Yorkshire.