The Convenient Marriage

Chapter Sixteen

Mr Drelincourt, as it happened, had no idea that Lord Lethbridge could be on his heels.

Not dreaming that anybody, least of all my Lord Lethbridge, had discovered his theft of the brooch, he saw no need to make haste down to Meering, and put off starting on his journey until after luncheon. Mr Drelincourt, though lavish in dress and some other matters, was very careful how he spent money on small items. The hiring of a chaise to carry him thirty-three miles into the country cost him a pang, and to pay, on top of that, possibly as much as four or five shillings for lunch at an inn would have seemed to him a gross extravagance. By lunching at his lodgings he would not be put to the necessity of baiting on the road at all, for he thought he would arrive at Meering in time to dine with his cousin. He would put up for the night there, and if Rule did not offer him one of his own carriages for his return it would be a shabby piece of behaviour, and one which he did not at all anticipate, for Rule, to do him justice, was not mean, and must be well aware that the charges for a post-chaise would be lightened if it made the return journey empty.

It was in a pleasurable frame of mind that Mr Drelincourt set forward upon his journey. The day was fine, quite ideal for a drive into the country, and after he had let down the window in the door in front of him to order the postilions not to ride at such a rattling pace, he had nothing to do but to lean back and admire the scenery or indulge his imagination in agreeable reflection.

It was not to be supposed that there was any portion of the Drelincourt inheritance unknown to Mr Drelincourt. He had recognized the brooch in a flash, and could have recited unerringly the different pieces which comprised that particular set of jewels. When he had stooped so quickly to pick it up he had had no very clear idea in his head of what he meant to do with it, but a night’s repose had brought him excellent counsel. He had no doubt at all that Horatia had been concealed somewhere in Lethbridge’s house; the brooch proved that to his satisfaction, and ought to prove it to Rule’s satisfaction also. He had always thought Horatia a jade; for his part he was not in the least surprised (though shocked) to discover that she had taken advantage of Rule’s absence to spend the night in her lover’s arms. Rule, who was always too stupidly sleepy to see what was going on under his nose, would probably be greatly surprised, and even more shocked than his cousin, whose obvious and not too painful duty it was to appraise him of his wife’s loose conduct at once. There could be only one course open to his lordship then, and Mr Drelincourt was inclined to think that after so disastrous a venture into matrimony, he would hardly risk another.

Altogether the world seemed a better place to Mr Drelincourt this mild September day than it had seemed for several months.

Not in the general way a keen student of Nature, he was moved today to admire the russet tints in the trees, and to approve from the well-sprung chaise the bursts of fine country through which he passed.

Meering being situated near Twyford, in the County of Berkshire, the road to it led out of town by way of Knights-bridge and Hammersmith to Turnham Green and Hounslow, where at the George Inn the chaise stopped to change horses. The two postilions, who had formed the poorest opinion of Mr Drelincourt from the moment of his commanding them not to drive too fast, were disgusted by his conduct at the George, for instead of getting down to drink a glass of Nantes brandy, and allowing them time also to refresh themselves, he sat tight in the chaise, and never gave the ostlers so much as a groat.

The second stage was Slough, ten miles farther on. The chaise set forward again, drawing out of Hounslow on to the heath, a tract of wild land so ill-famed that for several unpleasant minutes Mr Drelincourt sat wishing that he had gone to the expense of hiring a guard to accompany the chaise. Nothing untoward happened, however, and he was soon being driven over Cranford Bridge in the direction of Longford.

At Slough Mr Drelincourt got down to stretch his legs, while the horses were changed. The landlord, who had come bustling out of the Crown Inn as a good landlord should on the approach of a gentleman’s chaise, allowed the jolly smile to fade from his face at the sight of Mr Drelincourt, and abated a little of his welcoming civility. Mr Drelincourt was well known upon this road, and no favourite with honest landlords! Since he was my Lord of Rule’s relative, Mr Copper went through the form of suggesting refreshment, but upon this being refused, he went back into his inn, remarking to his wife that the one thing in life that beat him was how a genial, open-handed gentleman like his lordship came to have such a mean worm as Mr Drelincourt for his cousin.

After Slough, the road ran on by way of Salt Hill to Maidenhead. A mile further on, at Maidenhead Thicket, it branched off from the Worcester way, and took the Bath Road to Hare Hatch and Twyford.

The chaise had passed through Maidenhead, and was bowling along at a respectable pace towards the Thicket, when one of the postilions became aware of a second chaise some way behind. A bend in the road enabled him to get a glimpse of it. He said over his shoulder to the other postilion: “Lordy, that’ll be the Quality, sure enough! Springing his horses, he is. No good racing him with our precious Missy squawking at the back of us.”

The lad riding one of the wheelers understood him to refer to Mr Drelincourt, and agreed, though regretfully, that they had better draw into the side and let the Quality go by.

The thunder of hooves galloping in the rear soon penetrated to Mr Drelincourt’s ears and caused him to rap with his cane on the window, and upon the postilion’s looking over his shoulder, to signal to him to draw in to one side of the road. Mr Drelincourt had had experience of good-for-nothing lads who raced their horses against other chaises, and he disapproved strongly of this pastime.

The second chaise rapidly overhauled the first and swung past in a little cloud of dust struck up by the galloping hooves. Mr Drelincourt had the briefest view of it, but caught sight of the flash of a crest on one of the panels. He felt much annoyed with the unknown traveller for driving at such a pace, and was uneasily hoping that his postilions were able to control their own horses (which showed signs of wishing to dash off after the other chaise) when he saw that the second chaise was pulling up ahead of them. That seemed very strange to him, for there was no apparent reason to account for it. It seemed stranger still when the horses wheeled and backed, and wheeled again, till the chaise lay right across the road, effectively barring the way.

Mr Drelincourt’s postilions, also observing this manoeuvre, supposed the other chaise to have overshot its objective, and to be about to turn round again. They reined their horses to a walk. But the crested chaise remained across the road, and they were forced to come to a standstill.

Mr Drelincourt, considerably astonished, sat forward to see more closely, and called to his postilions: “What is it? Why don’t they go on? Is it an accident?”

Then he saw Lord Lethbridge spring down from the other chaise, and he shrank back in his seat, his heart jumping with fright.

Lethbridge walked up to Mr Drelincourt’s equipage, and that shivering gentleman pulled himself together with an effort. It would not do for him to cower in the corner, so he leaned forward and let down the window. “Is it you, indeed, my lord?” he said in a high voice. “I could scarce believe my eyes! What can have brought you out of town?”

“Why, you, Crosby, you!” said his lordship mockingly. “Pray step down out of that chaise. I should like to have a little talk with you.”

Mr Drelincourt clung to the window frame and gave an unnatural laugh. “Oh, your pleasantries, my lord! I am on my way to Meering, you know, to my cousin’s. I—I think it is already on five o’clock, and he dines at five.”

“Crosby, come down!” said Lethbridge, with such an alarm-^;ng glitter in his eyes that Mr Drelincourt was quite cowed, and began to fumble with the catch of the door. He climbed down carefully, under the grinning stare of his postilions. “I vow I can’t imagine what you was wanting to say to me,” he said. “And I am late, you know. I ought to be on my way.”

His arm was taken in an ungentle grip. “Walk with me a little way, Crosby,” said his lordship. “Do you not find these country roads quite charming? I am sure you do. And so you are bound for Meering? Was not that a rather sudden decision, Crosby?”

“Sudden?” stammered Mr Drelincourt, wincing at the pressure of his lordship’s fingers above his elbow. “Oh, not at all, my lord, not in the least! I told Rule I might come down. I have had it in mind some days, I assure you.”

“It has nothing to do, of course, with a certain brooch?” purred Lethbridge.

“A b-brooch? I don’t understand you, my lord!”

“A ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds, picked up in my house last night,” said his lordship.

Mr Drelincourt’s knees shook. “I protest, sir, I—I am at a loss! I—”

“Crosby, give me that brooch,” said Lethbridge menacingly.

Mr Drelincourt made an attempt to pull his arm away. “My lord, I don’t understand your tone! I tell you frankly, I don’t like it. I don’t take your meaning.”

“Crosby,” said his lordship, “you will give me that brooch, or I will take you by the scruff of your neck and shake you like the rat you are!”

“Sir!” said Mr Drelincourt, his teeth chattering together, “this is monstrous! Monstrous!”

“It is indeed monstrous,” agreed his lordship. “You are a thief, Mr Crosby Drelincourt.”

Mr Drelincourt flushed scarlet. “It was not your brooch, sir!”

“Or yours!” swiftly replied Lethbridge. “Hand it over!”

“I—I have called a man out for less!” blustered Crosby.

“That’s your humour, is it?” said Lethbridge. “It’s not my practice to fight with thieves; I use a cane instead. But I might make an exception in your case.”

To Mr Drelincourt’s horror, he thrust forward his sword hilt and patted it. That unfortunate gentleman licked his lips and said quaveringly: “I shall not fight you, sir. The brooch is more mine than yours!”

“Hand it over!” said Lethbridge.

Mr Drelincourt hesitated, read a look in his lordship’s face there was no mistaking, and slowly inserted his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. The next moment the brooch lay in Lethbridge’s hand.

“Thank you, Crosby,” he said, in a way that made Mr Drelincourt long for the courage to hit him. “I thought I should be able to persuade you. You may now resume your journey to Meering—if you think it still worth while. If you don’t—you may join me at the Sun in Maidenhead, where I propose to dine and sleep. I almost feel I owe you a dinner for spoiling your game so unkindly.” He turned, leaving Mr Drelincourt speechless with indignation, and walked back to his chaise, which had by this time drawn up to the side of the road, facing towards London again. He climbed lightly into it and drove off, airily waving his hand to Mr Drelincourt, still standing in the dusty road.

Mr Drelincourt gazed after him, rage seething up in him. Spoiled his game, had he? There might be two words to that! He hurried back to his own chaise, saw the looks of rich enjoyment on the postilions’ faces, and swore at them to drive on.

It was only six miles to Meering from the Thicket, but by the time the chaise turned in at the Lodge gates it was close on six o’clock. The house was situated a mile from the gates, in the middle of a very pretty park, but Mr Drelincourt was in no mood to admire the fine oaks, and rolling stretches of turf, and sat in a fret of impatience while his tired horses drew him up the long avenue to the house.

He found his cousin and Mr Gisborne lingering over their port in the dining-room, which apartment was lit by candles. It might be broad daylight outside, but my lord had a constitutional dislike of dining by day, and excluded it by having the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Both he and Mr Gisborne were in riding-dress. My lord was lounging in a high-backed chair at the head of the table, one leg, encased in a dusty top-boot, thrown negligently over the arm. He looked up as the footman opened the door to admit Mr Drelincourt, and for a moment sat perfectly still, the look of good humour fading from his face. Then he picked up his quizzing-glass with some deliberation, and surveyed his cousin through it. “Dear me!” he said. “Now why?”

This was not a very promising start, but his anger had chased from Mr Drelincourt’s mind all memory of his last meeting with the Earl, and he was undaunted. “Cousin,” he said, his words tripping over one another. “I am here on a matter of grave moment. I must beg a word with you alone!”

“I imagine it must indeed be of grave moment to induce you to come over thirty miles in pursuit of me,” said his lordship.

Mr Gisborne got up. “I will leave you, sir.” He bowed slightly to Mr Drelincourt, who paid not the slightest heed to him, and went out.

Mr Drelincourt pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “I regret extremely, Rule, but you must prepare yourself for the most unpleasant tidings. If I did not consider it my duty to appraise you of what I have discovered, I should shrink from the task!”

The Earl did not seem to be alarmed. He still sat at his ease, one hand lying on the table, the fingers crooked round the stem of his wine-glass, his calm gaze resting on Mr Drelincourt’s face. “This self-immolation on the altar of duty is something new to me,” he remarked. “I daresay my nerves will prove strong enough to enable me to hear your tidings with—I trust—tolerable equanimity.”

“I trust so, Rule, I do indeed trust so!” said Mr Drelincourt, his eyes snapping. “You are pleased to sneer at my notion of duty—”

“I hesitate to interrupt you, Crosby, but you may have noticed that I never sneer.”

“Very well, cousin, very well! Be that as it may, you will allow that I have my share of family pride.”

“Certainly, if you tell me so,” replied the Earl gently.

Mr Drelincourt flushed. “I do tell you so! Our name—our honour, mean as much to me as to you, I believe! It is on that score that I am here now.”

“If you have come all this way to inform me that the catchpolls are after you, Crosby, it is only fair to tell you that you are wasting your time.”

“Very humorous, my lord!” cried Mr Drelincourt. “My errand, however, concerns you more nearly than that! Last night—I should rather say this morning, for it was long past two by my watch—I had occasion to visit my Lord Lethbridge.”

“That is, of course, interesting,” said the Earl. “It seems an odd hour for visiting, but I have sometimes thought, Crosby, that you are an odd creature.”

Mr Drelincourt’s bosom swelled. “There is nothing very odd, I think, in sheltering from the rain!” he said. “I was upon my way to my lodging from South Audley Street, and chanced to turn down Half-Moon Street. I was caught in a shower of rain, but observing the door of my Lord Lethbridge’s house to stand—inadvertently, I am persuaded—ajar, I stepped in. I found his lordship in a dishevelled condition in the front saloon, where a vastly elegant supper was spread, covers, my lord, being laid for two.”

“You shock me infinitely,” said the Earl, and leaning a little forward, picked up the decanter and refilled his glass.

Mr Drelincourt uttered a shrill laugh. “You may well say so! His lordship seemed put out at seeing me, remarkably put out!”

“That,” said the Earl, “I can easily understand. But pray continue, Crosby.”

“Cousin,” said Mr Drelincourt earnestly, “I desire you to believe that it is with the most profound reluctance that I do so. While I was with Lord Lethbridge, my attention was attracted to something that lay upon the floor, partly concealed by a rug. Something, Rule, that sparkled. Something—”

“Crosby,” said his lordship wearily, “your eloquence is no doubt very fine, but I must ask you to bear in mind that I have been in the saddle most of the day, and spare me any more of it. I am not really very curious to know, but you seem to be anxious to tell me: what was it that attracted your attention?”

Mr Drelincourt swallowed his annoyance. “A brooch, my lord! A lady’s corsage brooch!”

“No wonder that Lord Lethbridge was not pleased to see you,” remarked Rule.

“No wonder, indeed!” said Mr Drelincourt. “Somewhere in the house a lady was concealed at that very moment. Unseen, cousin, I picked up the brooch and slipped it into my pocket.”

The Earl raised his brows. “I think I said that you were an odd creature, Crosby.”

“It may appear so, but I had a good reason for my action. Had it not been for the fact that Lord Lethbridge pursued me on my journey here, and by force wrested the brooch from me, I should lay it before you now. For that brooch is very well known both to you and me. A ring-brooch, cousin, composed of pearls and diamonds in two circles!”

The Earl never took his eyes from Mr Drelincourt’s; it may have been a trick of the shadows thrown by the candles on the tables, but his face looked unusually grim. He swung his leg down from the arm of the chair leisurely, but still leaned back at his ease. “Yes, Crosby, a ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds?”

“Precisely, cousin! A brooch I recognized at once. A brooch that belongs to the fifteenth-century set which you gave to your—”

He got no further. In one swift movement the Earl was up, and had seized Mr Drelincourt by the throat, dragging him out of his chair, and half across the corner of the table that separated them. Mr Drelincourt’s terrified eyes goggled up into blazing grey ones. He clawed ineffectively at my lord’s hands. Speech was choked out of him. He was shaken to and fro till the teeth rattled in his head. There was a roaring in his ears, but he heard my lord’s voice quite distinctly. “You lying, mischief-making little cur!” it said. “I have been too easy with you. You dare to bring me your foul lies about my wife, and you think that I may believe them! By God, I am of a mind to kill you now!”

A moment more the crushing grip held, then my lord flung his cousin away from him, and brushed his hands together in a gesture infinitely contemptuous.

Mr Drelincourt reeled back, grasping and clutching at the air, and fell with a crash on to the floor, and stayed there, cowering away like a whipped mongrel.

The Earl looked down at him for a moment, a smile quite unlike any Mr Drelincourt had ever seen curling his fine mouth. Then he leaned back against the table, half sitting on it, supported by his hands, and said: “Get up, my friend. You are not yet dead.”

Mr Drelincourt picked himself up and tried mechanically to straighten his wig. His throat felt mangled, and his legs were shaking so that he could hardly stand. He staggered to a chair and sank into it.

“You said, I think, that Lord Lethbridge took this famous brooch from you? Where?”

Mr Drelincourt managed to say, though hoarsely: “Maidenhead.”

“I trust he will return it to its rightful owner. You realize, do you, Crosby, that your genius for recognizing my property is sometimes at fault?”

Mr Drelincourt muttered: “I thought it was—I—I may have been mistaken.”

“You were mistaken,” said his lordship.

“Yes, I—yes, I was mistaken. I beg pardon, I am sure. I am very sorry, cousin.”

“You will be still more sorry, Crosby, if one word of this passes your lips again. Do I make myself plain?”

“Yes, yes, indeed, I—I thought it my duty, no more, to—to tell you.”

“Since the day I married Horatia Winwood,” said his lordship levelly, “you have tried to make mischief between us. Failing, you were fool enough to trump up this extremely stupid story. You bring me no proof—ah, I am forgetting! Lord Lethbridge took your proof forcibly from you, did he not? That was most convenient of him.”

“But I—but he did!” said Mr Drelincourt desperately.

“I am sorry to hurt your feelings,” said the Earl, “but I do not believe you. It may console you to know that had you been able to lay that brooch before me I still should not have believed ill of my wife. I am no Othello, Crosby, I think you should have known that.” He stretched out his hand for the bell, and rang it. Upon the entrance of a footman, he said briefly: “Mr Drelincourt’s chaise.”

Mr Drelincourt heard this order with dismay. He said miserably. “But, my lord, I have not dined, and the horses are spent. I—I did not dream you would serve me so!”

“No?” said the Earl. “The Red Lion at Twyford will no doubt supply you with supper and a change of horses. Be thankful that you are leaving my house with a whole skin.”

Mr Drelincourt shrank, and said no more. In a short time the footman came back to say that the chaise was at the door. Mr Drelincourt stole a furtive glance at the Earl’s unrelenting face, and got up. “I’ll—I’ll bid you good night, Rule,” he said, trying to collect the fragments of his dignity.

The Earl nodded, and in silence watched him go out in the wake of the footman. He heard the chaise drive past the curtained windows presently, and once more rang the bell.

When the footman came back he said, absently studying his finger-nails: “I want my racing curricle, please.”

“Yes, my lord!” said the footman, startled. “Er—now, my lord?”

“At once,” replied the Earl with the greatest placidity. He got up from the table and walked unhurriedly out of the room.

Ten minutes later the curricle was at the door, and Mr Gisborne, descending the stairs, was astonished to see his lordship on the point of leaving the house, his hat on his head, and his small sword at his side. “You’re going out, sir?” he asked.

“As you see, Arnold,” replied the Earl.

“I hope, sir—nothing amiss?”

“Nothing at all, dear boy,” said his lordship.

Outside a groom was clinging to the heads of two magnificent greys, and endeavouring to control their capricious movements.

The Earl’s eye ran over them, “Fresh, eh?”

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, I’d say they were a couple of devils.”

The Earl laughed, and climbed into the curricle and gathered up the reins in one gloved hand. “Let them go.”

The groom sprang to one side, and the greys plunged forward.

The groom watched the curricle flash round a bend in the avenue and sighed. “If I could handle them like that—!” he said, and wandered back to the stables, sadly shaking his head.