The Convenient Marriage

Chapter Twenty-One

Not long after four o’clock a furious knocking was heard on the door of the Earl of Rule’s town house. Horatia, who was on her way upstairs to change her gown, stopped and turned pale. When the porter opened the door and she saw Sir Roland Pommeroy on the doorstep without his hat, she gave a shriek, and sped down the stairs again. “Good G-God, what has happened?” she cried.

Sir Roland, who seemed much out of breath, bowed punctiliously. “Apologize unseemly haste, ma’am! Must beg a word in private!”

“Yes, yes, of c-course!” said Horatia, and dragged him into the library. “Someone’s k-killed? Oh, n-not Pelham? Not P-Pelham?”

“No, ma’am, upon my honour! Nothing of that sort. Most unfortunate chance! Pel desired me to apprise you instantly. Rode home post-haste—left my horse nearest stables—ran round to wait on you. Not a moment to lose!”

“Well, w-what is it?” demanded Horatia. “You found L-Lethbridge?”

“Not Lethbridge, ma’am, Rule!” said Sir Roland, and flicking his handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed at his heated brow.

“Rule?” exclaimed Horatia in accents of the profoundest dismay.

“No less, ma’am. Very awkward situation.”

“You—you d-didn’t hold Rule up?” she gasped.

Sir Roland nodded. “Very, very awkward,” he said.

“Did he re-recognize you?”

“Deeply regret, ma’am—recognized Pel’s mare.”

Horatia wrung her hands. “Oh, was ever anything so unlucky? What d-did he say? What d-did he think? What in the world b-brings him home so soon?”

“Beg you won’t distress yourself, ma’am. Pel carried it off. Presence of mind, you know—mighty clever fellow, Pel!”

“B-but I don’t see how he could carry it off!” said Horatia.

“Assure your ladyship, nothing simpler. Told him it was a wager.”

“D-did he believe it?” asked Horatia, round-eyed.

“Certainly!” said Sir Roland. “Told him we mistook his chaise for another’s. Plausible story—why not? But Pel thought you should be warned he was on his way.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” she said. “But L-Lethbridge? My b-brooch?”

Sir Roland tucked his handkerchief away again. “Can’t make the fellow out,” he replied. “Ought to be home by now, instead of which—no sign of him. Pel and Heron are waiting on with Hawkins. Have to carry a message to Lady Winwood. Heron—very good sort of man indeed—can’t dine in South Street now. Must try to stop Lethbridge, you see. Beg you won’t let it distress you. Assure you—brooch shall be recovered. Rule suspects nothing—nothing at all, ma’am!”

Horatia trembled. “I d-don’t feel as though I can p-possibly face him!” she said.

Sir Roland, uneasily aware that she was on the brink of tears, retreated towards the door. “Not the slightest cause for alarm, ma’am. Think I should be going, however. Won’t do for him to find me here.”

“No,” agreed Horatia forlornly. “No, I s-suppose it won’t.”

When Sir Roland had bowed himself out she went slowly upstairs again, and to her bed-chamber, where her abigail was waiting to dress her. She had promised to join her sister-in-law at Drury Lane Theatre after dinner, and a grande toilette in satin of that extremely fashionable colour called Stifled Sigh was laid out over a chair. The abigail, pouncing on her to untie her laces, informed her that M. Fredin (pupil of that celebrated academician in coiffures, M. Leonard of Paris) had already arrived, and was in the powder-closet. Horatia said “Oh!” in a flat voice, and stepping out of her polonaise, listlessly permitted the satin underdress to be slipped over her head. She was put into her powdering-gown next, and then was delivered into the hands of M. Fredin.

This artist, failing to perceive his client’s low spirits, was full of enthusiastic suggestions for a coiffure that should ravish all who beheld it. My lady has not cared for the Quesaco? Ah, no, by example! a little too sophisticated! My lady would prefer her hair dressed in Foaming Torrents—a charming mode! Or—my lady being petite—perhaps the Butterfly would better please the eye.

“I d-don’t care,” said my lady.

M. Fredin, extracting pins with swift dexterity, shaking out rolled curls, combing away a tangle, was disappointed, but redoubled his efforts. My lady, without doubt, desired something new, something epatante. One could not consider the Hedgehog, therefore, but my lady would be transported by the Mad Dog. A mode of the most distinguished: he would not suggest the Sportsman in a Bush; that was for ladies past their first blush; but the Royal Bird was always a favourite; or, if my lady was in a pensive mood, the Milksop.

“Oh, d-dress it a l’urgence!” said Horatia impatiently. “I’m l-late!”

M. Fredin was chagrined, but he was too wise in the knowledge of ladies’ whims to expostulate. His deft fingers went busily to work, and in an astonishingly short space of time, Horatia emerged from the closet, her head a mass of artlessly tumbled curls, dashed over with powder a la Marechale, violet-scented.

She sat down at her dressing-table, and picked up the rouge-pot. It would never do for Rule to see her looking so pale. Oh, if it was not that odious Serkis rouge that made her look a hag! Take it away at once!

She had just laid down the haresfoot and taken the patch-box out of the abigail’s hand when someone scratched on the door. She started, and cast a scared look over her shoulder. The door opened and the Earl came in.

“Oh!” said Horatia faintly. She remembered that she must show surprise, and added: “G-good gracious, my l-lord, is—is it indeed you?”

The Earl had changed his travelling dress for an evening toilet of puce velvet, with a flowered waistcoat and satin small clothes. He came across the room to Horatia’s side, and bent to kiss her hand. “None other, my dear. Am I—now don’t spare me—am I perhaps de trop?”

“No, of c-course not,” replied Horatia uncertainly. She felt a trifle breathless. At sight of him her heart had given the oddest leap. If the abigail had not been there—if she had not lost her brooch—! But the abigail, tiresome creature, was there, bobbing a curtsy, and Lethbridge had her brooch, and of course she could not fling herself into Rule’s arms and burst into tears on his chest. She forced herself to smile. “No, of c-course not,” she repeated. “I am prodigiously g-glad to see you. But what brings you b-back so soon, sir?”

“You, Horry,” he answered, smiling down at her.

She blushed and opened the patch-box. Her thoughts jostled one another in her head. He must have broken with the Massey. He was beginning to love her at last. If he found out about Lethbridge and the brooch it would all be spoiled. She was the most deceitful wretch alive.

“Ah, but I beg you will let me show my skill,” said his lordship, removing the patch-box from her hand. He selected a tiny round of black taffeta, and gently turned Horatia’s head towards him. “Which shall it be?” he said. “The Equivocal? I think not. The Gallant? No, not that. It shall be—” He pressed the patch at the corner of her mouth. “The Kissing, Horry!” he said, and bent quickly and kissed her on the lips.

Her hand flew up, touched his cheek, and fell again. Deceitful, odious wretch that she was! She drew back, trying to laugh. “My l-lord, we are not alone! And I—I m-must dress, you know, for I p-promised to g-go with Louisa and Sir Humphrey to the p-play at Drury Lane.”

He straightened. “Shall I send a message to Louisa, or shall I go with you to this play?” he inquired.

“Oh—oh, I m-mustn’t disappoint her, sir!” said Horatia in a hurry. It would never do to be alone with him a whole evening. She might blurt out the whole story, and then—if he believed her—he must think her the most tiresome wife, for ever in a scrape.

“Then we will go together,” said his lordship. “I’ll await you downstairs, my love.”

Twenty minutes later they faced one another across the dining table. “I trust,” said his lordship, carving the duck, “that you were tolerably well amused while I was away, my dear?”

Tolerably well amused? Good heavens! “Oh, yes, sir—t-tolerably well,” replied Horatia politely.

“The Richmond House ball—were you not going to that?”

Horatia gave an involuntary shudder. “Yes, I—went to that.”

“Are you cold, Horry?”

“C-cold? No, sir, n-not at all.”

“I thought you shivered,” said his lordship.

“N-no,” said Horatia. “Oh, no! The—the Richmond House b-ball. It was vastly pretty, with fireworks, you know. Only my shoes p-pinched me, so I d-didn’t enjoy myself m-much. They were new ones, too, with diamonds sewn on them, and I was so c-cross I should have sent them back to the m-makers only they were ruined by the wet.”

“Ruined by the wet?” repeated the Earl.

Horatia’s fork clattered on her plate. That was what came of trying to make conversation! She had known how it would be; of course she would make a slip! “Oh, yes!” she said breathlessly. “I f-forgot to tell you! The b-ball was spoiled by rain. Wasn’t it a pity? I—I got my feet wet.”

“That was certainly a pity,” agreed Rule. “And what did you do yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” said Horatia. “Oh, I—I d-didn’t do anything yesterday.”

There was a laugh in his eyes. “My dear Horry, I never thought to hear such a confession from you,” he said.

“No, I—I did not feel very w-well, so I—I—so I stayed at home.”

“Then I suppose you haven’t yet seen Edward,” remarked the Earl.

Horatia, who was sipping her claret, choked. “Good gracious, yes! Now, however c-could I have come to forget that? Only f-fancy, Rule, Edward is in town!” She was aware that she was sinking deeper into the quagmire, and tried to recover her false step. “B-but how did you know he was here?” she asked.

The Earl waited while the footman removed his plate, and set another in its place. “I have seen him,” he replied.

“Oh—have you? W-where?”

“On Hounslow Heath,” replied the Earl, putting up his glass to survey a pupton of cherries which was being offered to him. “No, I think not... Yes, on Hounslow Heath, Horry. A most unexpected rencontre.”

“It m-must have been. I—I wonder w-what he was doing there?”

“He was holding me up,” said the Earl calmly.

“Oh, w-was he?” Horatia swallowed a cherry stone inadvertently and coughed. “How—how very odd of him!”

“Very imprudent of him,” said the Earl.

“Yes, v-very. P-perhaps he was doing it for a w-wager,” suggested Horatia, mindful of Sir Roland’s words.

“I believe he was.” Across the table the Earl’s eyes met hers. “Pelham and his friend Pommeroy were also of the party. I fear I was not the victim they expected.”

“W-weren’t you? No, of c-course you weren’t! I mean—d-don’t you think it is t-time we started for the p-play, sir?”

Rule got up. “Certainly, my dear.” He picked up her taffeta cloak and put it round her shoulders. “May I be permitted to venture a suggestion?” he said gently.

She glanced nervously at him. “Why, y-yes, sir! What is it?”

“You should not wear rubies with that particular shade of satin, my dear. The pearl set would better become it.”

There was an awful silence; Horatia’s throat felt parched suddenly; her heart was thumping violently. “It—it is too l-late to change them n-now!” she managed to say.

“Very well,” Rule said, and opened the door for her to pass out.

All the way to Drury Lane, Horatia kept up a flow of conversation. What she found to talk about she could never afterwards remember, but talk she did, until the coach drew up at the theatre, and she was safe from a tête-à-tête for three hours.

Coming home there was of course the play to be discussed, and the acting, and Lady Louisa’s new gown, and these topics left no room for more dangerous ones. Pleading fatigue, Horatia went early to bed, and lay for a long time wondering what Pelham had done, and what she should do if Pelham had failed.

She awoke next morning heavy-eyed and despondent. Her chocolate was brought in on a tray with her letters. She sipped it, and with her free hand turned over the billets in the hope of seeing the Viscount’s sprawling handwriting. But there was no letter from him, only a sheaf of invitations and bills.

Setting down her cup she began to open these missives. Yes, just as she had thought. A rout-party; a card-party; she did not care if she never touched a card again; a picnic to Boxhill: never! of course it would rain; a concert at Ranelagh: well, she only hoped she would never be obliged to go to that odious place any more!... Good God, could one have spent three hundred and seventy-five guineas at a mantua-maker’s? And what was this? Five plumes at fifty louis apiece! Well, that was really too provoking, when they had been bought for that abominable Quesaco coiffure which had not become her at all.

She broke the seal of another letter, and spread open the single sheet of plain, gilt-edged paper. The words, clearly written in a copper-plate hand, fairly jumped at her.

If the Lady who lost a ring-brooch of pearls and diamonds in Half-Moon Street on the night of the Richmond House Ball will come alone to the Grecian Temple at the end of the Long Walk at Vauxhall Gardens at Midnight precisely on the twenty-eighth day of September, the brooch shall be restored to her by the Person in whose possession it now is.

There was no direction, no signature; the handwriting was obviously disguised. Horatia stared at it for one incredulous minute and then, with a smothered shriek, thrust her chocolate tray into the abigail’s hands and cast off the bed-clothes. “Quick, I m-must get up at once!” she said. “Lay me out a w-walking dress, and a hat, and my g-gloves! Oh, and run d-downstairs and tell someone to order the l-landaulet—no, not the l-landaulet! my town-coach, to c-come round in half an hour. And take all these l-letters away, and oh, d-do please hurry!”

For once she wasted no time over her toilet, and half an hour later ran down the stairs, her sunshade caught under her arm, her gloves only half on. There was no sign of Rule, and after casting a wary glance in the direction of the library door, she sped past it and was out in the street before anyone could have time to observe her flight.

The coach was waiting, and directing the coachman to drive to Lord Winwood’s lodging in Pall Mall, Horatia climbed in and sank back against the cushions with a sigh of relief at having succeeded in leaving the house without encountering Rule.

The Viscount was at breakfast when his sister was announced, and looked up with a frown. “Lord, Horry, what the devil brings you at this hour? You shouldn’t have come; if Rule knows you’ve dashed off at daybreak it’s enough to make him suspect something’s amiss.”

Horatia thrust a trembling hand into her reticule and extracted a crumpled sheet of gilt-edged paper. “Th-that’s what brings me!” she said. “Read it!”

The Viscount took the letter and smoothed it out. “Well, sit down, there’s a good girl. Have some breakfast... Here, what’s this?”

“P-Pel, can it be L-Lethbridge?” she asked.

The Viscount turned the letter over, as though seeking enlightenment on the back of it. “Dashed if I know!” he said. “Looks to me like a trap.”

“B-but why should it be? Do you think p-perhaps he is sorry?”

“No, I don’t,” said his lordship frankly. “I’d say at a guess that the fellow’s trying to get his hands on you. End of the Long Walk? Ay, I know that Temple. Devilish draughty it is, too. And it’s near one of the gates. Tell you what, Horry: I’ll lay you a pony he means to abduct you.”

Horatia clasped her hands. “But, P-Pel, I must go! I must try and g-get the brooch b-back!”

“So you shall,” said the Viscount briskly. “We’ll see some sport now!” He gave back the letter and took a long drink of ale. “Now you listen to me, Horry. We’ll all go to Vauxhall tonight—you and I and Pom, and Edward too if he likes. At midnight you’ll go to that temple, and the rest of us will lie hid in the shrubbery there. We shall see who goes in, never fear. If it’s Lethbridge, we’ve got him. If it’s another—though, mind you, it looks to me like Lethbridge—you’ve only to give a squawk and we’ll hear you. We shall have that damned brooch by tomorrow, Horry!”

Horatia nodded. “Yes, that’s a very clever plan, P-Pel. And I’ll tell Rule that I am g-going with you, and he w-won’t mind that at all. D-didn’t Lethbridge c-come to town yesterday?”

The Viscount scowled. “Can’t have done. Edward and that fellow Hawkins and I stayed till past nine on that cursed Heath, and never saw a sign of him. You know we stopped Rule’s chaise?”

“Yes, of c-course. Sir Roland told me and Rule did too.”

“Gave me a devilish queer turn when I saw who it was,” confessed the Viscount. “He’s quick, is Rule. Must own he’s quick, Horry. Recognized my mare the instant he clapped eyes on her.”

“B-but he didn’t suspect, P-Pel? You’re sure he d-didn’t suspect?” she cried anxiously.

“Lord, no! How should he?” said the Viscount. He glanced at the clock. “I’d best get hold of Pom, and as for you, you go home, Horry.”

Arrived once more in Grosvenor Square, Horatia discarded her hat and her gloves and went in search of Rule. She found him in the library, reading the Morning Chronicle. He rose at her entrance and held out his hand. “Well, my love? You’re up betimes.”

Horatia put her hand in his. “It was such a f-fine morning,” she explained. “And I am to d-drive in the park with M-mama.”

“I see,” he said. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Is not today the twenty-eighth, Horry?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” she replied.

“Then will you come with me to the ball at Almack’s rooms?” suggested Rule.

Consternation spread over her face. “Oh—oh, how d-de-lightful that would be!” she said. “Only I c-can’t! I’ve promised to go to Vauxhall with P-Pel.”

“I have always found,” remarked his lordship pensively, “that most of one’s engagements were only made to be broken.”

“I can’t break this one,” Horatia said with real regret.

“Is it so important? You will make me jealous, Horry—of Pelham.”

“It’s very, very important!” she said earnestly. “That is to say, I m-mean—Well, P-Pel wants me to be there particularly, you see!”

The Earl was playing with her fingers. “Do you think Pel would permit me to make one of this expedition?” he said.

“Oh, no, I am quite sure he w-wouldn’t like that at all!” said Horatia, appalled. “At least—I d-don’t mean that, of course, but—but he is to present some people to me, and they are strangers, you see, and I daresay you would not c-care for them.”

“But I have a reputation for being the most friendly of mortals,” said the Earl plaintively. He let go her hand and turned to arrange his cravat in the mirror. “Don’t distress yourself on my account, my dear. If I don’t care for these strangers I promise I will dissemble.”

Horatia gazed at him in complete dismay. “I d-don’t think you would enjoy it, M-Marcus. Really, I do not.”

He bowed slightly. “At your side, Horry, I could enjoy anything,” he said. “And now, my dear, if you will excuse me, I will go and attend to all the affairs which my poor Arnold wants me to deal with.”

Horatia watched him go out of the room, and straightway sat herself down at the desk in the window and scribbled a frantic note to her brother.

This missive, brought by hand, reached the Viscount’s lodging just as he came back to it from his visit to Sir Roland. He read it, swore under his breath, and dashed off an answer.

The devil fly away with Rule, he wrote. I’ll set Pom on to draw him off.

When this brief note was delivered to her Horatia read it rather doubtfully. Her experience of Sir Roland’s tact was not such as to lead her to place very much reliance on his handling of an awkward situation. However, she herself had said all she dared to dissuade Rule from accompanying her to Vauxhall, and Sir Roland could hardly be less successful.

The Earl was still closeted with Mr Gisborne when a lackey came in to announce that Sir Roland Pommeroy desired to speak with him. He looked up from the paper he was about to sign, and Mr Gisborne, who happened to be watching him, was surprised to see a gleam of amusement in his eyes. The information that Sir Roland had called did not seem to warrant that particular gleam. “Very well,” said his lordship. “Tell Sir Roland that I will be with him immediately... Alas, Arnold, something always interrupts us, does it not? I am quite desolated, believe me, but I shall have to go—”

“Desolated, sir?” said Mr Gisborne, cocking an eyebrow. “If you will permit me to say so, I thought that you looked rather pleased.”

“But that was not because the interruption drags me from your side, my dear boy,” said his lordship, putting down his quill and rising. “I am enjoying myself this morning.”

Mr Gisborne wondered why.

Sir Roland Pommeroy had been shown into one of the saloons, and was standing by the window when the Earl came in. From the movement of his lips it might have been supposed that he was silently rehearsing a speech.

“Good morning, Pommeroy,” said the Earl, closing the door. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Sir Roland turned and came forward. “Morning, Rule. Beautiful day! Trust you reached home safely yesterday? Extremely distressed I should have mistaken your chaise for—er—for the other one.”

“Not at all,” replied his lordship with great civility. “There was not the slightest need for you to put yourself to the trouble of calling, my dear fellow.”

Sir Roland tugged at his cravat. “To tell you the truth—didn’t come on that score,” he confessed. “Felt sure you would understand how it was.”

“Quite right,” said the Earl, opening his snuff-box. “I did understand.”

Sir Roland helped himself to a pinch and sniffed it up one nostril. “Very good blend. I always have my own put up by my man in the Haymarket. Always use the same, you know. Plain Spanish.”

“Ah, indeed?” said the Earl. “This is blended for me by Jacobs, in the Strand.”

Sir Roland perceived that he was being led into a discussion that had nothing whatsoever to do with his mission, and firmly abandoned it. “Reason I called,” he said, “was quite different. Hoping very much you will join a little card-party—my house—this evening.”

“Why, this is very kind of you,” said Rule, with the faintest inflexion of surprise in his pleasant voice.

This was not lost on Sir Roland, who, thrust out by the Viscount to “draw off” his lordship, had protested feebly: “Deuce take it, Pel, I hardly know the man! Years older than I am! Can’t ask him to my house like that!” He sought once more to loosen his cravat, and said: “Aware—devilish short notice—trust you’ll forgive—very difficult to find a fourth. Last moment, you understand. Game of whisk.”

“Nothing,” said the Earl, “would please me more than to be able to oblige you, my dear Pommeroy. Unfortunately, however—”

Sir Roland threw up his hand. “Now don’t say you cannot come! Pray do not! Can’t play whisk with only three people, my lord. Most awkward situation!”

“I am sure it must be,” agreed his lordship sympathetically. “And I expect you have tried everyone else.”

“Oh, everyone!” said Sir Roland. “Can’t find a fourth at all. Do beg of your lordship not to fail me!”

“I am extremely sorry,” said the Earl, shaking his head. “But I fear I must decline your—er—very flattering invitation. You see, I have promised to join a party at Vauxhall Gardens with my wife.”

“Feel sure her ladyship would excuse you—almost bound to rain—very dull evening!” said Sir Roland feverishly. “Apprehend it is Pel’s party—not your taste at all, sir. Very queer people, Pel’s friends. Wouldn’t like them, I assure you.”

The Earl’s lips twitched. “You quite decide me, my dear Pommeroy. If they are like that I think I would rather be at her ladyship’s side.”

“Oh, they are not!” said Sir Roland hastily. “Oh, dear me, no, nothing of that sort! Very respectable people, but dull, you know—a set of company you would not like. Much better play whisk at my house.”

“Do you really think so?” The Earl appeared to meditate. “I am of course, very fond of whisk.”

Sir Roland breathed a sigh of relief. “Knew I could count on you! Beg you will dine first—five o’clock.”

“Who are your other guests?” inquired his lordship.

“Well, to tell you the truth—not quite sure yet,” said Sir Roland confidentially. “Bound to find someone glad of a game. Have it all fixed by five o’clock.”

“You tempt me very much,” said the Earl. “And yet—no I fear I must not yield. Some other evening, perhaps. You’ll take a glass of madeira with me before you go?”

The crestfallen Sir Roland shook his head. “Thank you, no—must get back to—that is to say, must get to Boodle’s. Might find a fourth there, you understand. No chance of persuading your lordship?”

“I regret infinitely, but none,” Rule answered. “I must—I positively must accompany my wife.”

Sir Roland went sadly back to Pall Mall, where he found the Viscount kicking his heels impatiently. “No good, Pel,” he said. “Did what I could—no moving him.”

“The devil fly away with the fellow!” said the Viscount wrathfully. “What in thunder ails him? Here we have the whole affair planned out as snug as you please, and he must needs ruin all by taking it into his head to join my party! Damme, I won’t have him in my party!”

Sir Roland rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the knob of his cane. “Trouble is, Pel, you haven’t got a party,” he said.

The Viscount, who had cast himself into a chair, said irritably: “What the hell does that matter?”

“Does matter,” insisted Sir Roland. “Here’s Rule joining you tonight, and I told him he wouldn’t like the party—said they were queer people—hoping to put him off, you know—and if you don’t arrange a party—well, you see what I mean, Pel?”

“Well, if that don’t beat all!” said the Viscount indignantly. “It ain’t enough for me to waste the whole day planning this damned affair, I have to get a party together as well just to fall in with your silly tale! Burn it we don’t want a party! Where am I to find a lot of queer people? Tell me that!”

“Meant it for the best, Pel,” said Sir Roland placatingly. “Meant it for the best! Must be any number of queer people in town—know there are—Club’s full of them.”

“But they ain’t friends of mine!” replied the Viscount. “You can’t go round the club asking a lot of queer-looking strangers to come to Vauxhall with you. Besides, what should we do with them when we got ’em there?”

“Give them supper,” said Sir Roland. “While they have supper we slip off—get the brooch—come back—ten to one no one notices.”

“Well, I won’t do it!” said the Viscount flatly. “We’ll have to think of some way to keep Rule off.”

Ten minutes later Captain Heron walked in to find both gentlemen plunged in profound thought, the Viscount propping his chin in his hands, Sir Roland sucking the head of his cane. Captain Heron looked from one to the other, and said: “I came to see what you mean to do next. You’ve heard nothing of Lethbridge, I suppose?”

The Viscount lifted his head. “By God, I have it!” he exclaimed. “You shall draw Rule off!”

“I shall do what?” asked Captain Heron, startled.

“I don’t see how,” objected Sir Roland.

“Lord, Pom, nothing easier! Private affairs to discuss. Rule can’t refuse.”

Captain Heron laid his hat and gloves down on the table. “Pelham, do you mind explaining? Why has Rule to be drawn off?”

“Why, because of—oh, you don’t know, do you? You see, Horry’s had a letter from someone offering to give her back the brooch if she’ll meet him in the temple at the end of the Long Walk at Vauxhall tonight. Looks like Lethbridge to me—must be Lethbridge. Well, I had it all fixed that she and I and Pom here and you should go to Vauxhall, and while she went to the temple we’d stand guard.”

“That seems a good idea,” nodded Captain Heron. “But it’s surely odd of—”

“Of course it’s a good plan! It’s a devilish good plan. But what must that plaguy fellow Rule do but take it into his head to come too! As soon as I heard that I sent Pom off to invite him to a card-party at his house.”

Sir Roland sighed. “Pressed him as much as I could. No use. Bent on going to Vauxhall.”

“But how the deuce am I to stop him?” asked Captain Heron.

“You’re the very man!” said the Viscount. “All you have to do is to go off to Grosvenor Square now and tell Rule you’ve matters of importance to discuss with him. If he asks you to discuss ’em at once, you say you can’t. Business to attend to. Only time you can spare is this evening. That’s reasonable enough: Rule knows you’re only in town for a day or two. Burn it, he can’t refuse!”

“Yes, but, Pelham, I haven’t anything of importance to discuss with him!” protested Captain Heron.

“Lord, you can think of something, can’t you?” said the Viscount. “It don’t signify what you talk about as long as you keep him away from Vauxhall. Family affairs—money—anything!”

“I’m damned if I will!” said Captain Heron. “After all Rule’s done for me I can’t and I won’t tell him that I want to talk about money!”

“Well, don’t tell him so. Just say you must have a private word with him tonight. He ain’t the man to ask you what it’s about, and dash it, Edward, you must be able to talk about something when it comes to the point!”

“Of course you must,” corroborated Sir Roland. “Nothing simpler. You’ve been at this War in America, haven’t you? Well, tell him about that. Tell him about that battle you was in—forgotten its name.”

“But I can’t beg Rule to give me an evening alone with him, and then sit telling him stories he don’t want to hear about the war!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” temporized Sir Roland. “You don’t know he doesn’t want to hear them. Any number of people take a deal of interest in this war. I don’t myself, but that ain’t to say Rule doesn’t.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” said Captain Heron wearily. “You expect me to make Rule believe I’ve urgent business to discuss with him—”

The Viscount interposed. “It’s you who don’t understand,” he said. “All we care about is keeping Rule away from Vauxhall tonight. If we don’t do it the game’s up. It don’t matter a ha’porth how you keep him away so long as you do keep him away.”

Captain Heron hesitated. “I know that. I’d do it if only I could think of anything reasonable to discuss with him.”

“You’ll think of it, never fear,” said the Viscount encouragingly. “Why, you’ve got the whole afternoon before you. Now you go round to Grosvenor Square at once, there’s a good fellow.”

“I wish to God I’d put off my visit to town till next week!” groaned Captain Heron, reluctantly picking up his hat again.

The Earl of Rule was just about to go in to luncheon when his second visitor was announced. “Captain Heron?” he said. “Oh, by all means show him in!” He waited, standing before the empty fireplace until the Captain came in. “Well, Heron?” he said, holding out his hand. “You come just in time to bear me company over luncheon.”

Captain Heron blushed in spite of himself. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, sir. I’m due in Whitehall almost immediately. I came—you know my time is limited—I came to ask you whether it would be convenient—in short, whether I might wait on you this evening for—for a talk of a confidential nature.”

The Earl’s amused glance rested on him thoughtfully. “I suppose it must be tonight?” he said.

“Well, sir—if you could arrange—I hardly know how I may manage tomorrow,” said Captain Heron, acutely uncomfortable.

There was a slight pause. “Then naturally I am quite at your service,” replied his lordship.