The Foundling

Chapter XXI

When the news was broken to Belinda that she was to go to stay with a kind lady in Laura Place, she looked very doleful, and said that she would prefer to stay with Mr. Rufford, because ladies were always cross, and she did not like them.

“You will like this lady,” said the Duke firmly. “She is quite a young lady, and she is never cross.”

Belinda looked beseechingly at him. “Please, I would like to find Mr. Mudgley!” she said.

“And so you shall. At least, you shall if I can discover where he lives.”

Belinda sighed. “Mr. Mudgley would not let Mrs. Pilling put me in prison,” she said. “He would marry me instead, and then I should be safe.”

“I shall do my best to find him for you,” promised the Duke;

“Yes, but if you don’t find him I shall not know what to do,” said Belinda sadly.

“Nonsense! We will think of something for you,”

“Oh!” said Belinda. “Will you marry me, sir?”

“No, that he will not!” declared Tom, revolted.

“Why not?” asked Belinda, opening her eyes at him.

“He is not such a gudgeon as to be thinking of marrying, like a stupid girl!” Tom said contemptuously.

The Duke intervened rather hastily. “Now, Belinda, you know you don’t want to marry me!” he said. “You want to marry Mr. Mudgley!”

“Yes, I do,” agreed Belinda, her eyes filling. “But Uncle Swithin took me away from him, and Mr. Ware did not marry me either, so what is to become of me?”

“You will go with Lady Harriet, and be a good girl, while I try to find Mr. Mudgley.”

Belinda’s tears ceased to flow. She looked very much awed, and asked “Is she a lady, sir?”

“Of course she is a— Oh, I see! Yes, she is Lady Harriet Presteigne, and she will be very kind to you, and if you do as she bids you she will not let Mrs. Pilling send you to prison. And what is more,” he added, perceiving that she still seemed unconvinced, “she is going to fetch you in a very genteel carriage! In fact, a lozenge-carriage!”

“What is that?” asked Belinda.

“The crest on the panel—a widow’s crest.”

“I shall drive in a carriage with a crest on the panel?” Belinda said, gazing at him incredulously.

“Yes, indeed you will,” he assured her.

Tom gave a guffaw. “Stupid thing! He’s bamming you!”

Her face fell. The Duke said: “No, I am not. Tom, if you cannot be quiet, go away!”

“Well, I shall. I shall go out to see the sights. Oh, Mr. Rufford, there are some famous shops here! The waiter told me! Would you be so very obliging as to lend me some money—only a very little!—and I swear I will not get into a scrape, or do the least thing you would not like!”

The Duke opened his sadly depleted purse. “It will be no more than a guinea, Tom, for buy some cravats I must, and I am pretty well run off my legs.”

“What a lark!” exclaimed Tom. “Won’t you be able to pay our shot, sir? But Pa will do so, you know!”

The Duke handed him a gold coin. “I trust it will not come to that. There! Be off, and pray do not purchase anything dreadful!”

Tom promised readily not to do so, thanked him, and lost no time in sallying forth. The Duke then persuaded Belinda to pack her bandboxes, and went out to send his express to Mr. Mamble. By the time he had accomplished this, and returned to the Pelican, Belinda had finished her task, and was indulging in a bout of tears. He strove to reassure her, but it transpired that she was not weeping over their approaching separation, but because she had been gazing out of the window, and Walcot Street, which she knew well, put her so forcibly in mind of Mr. Mudgley that she now wished very much that she had never left Bath.

“Well, never mind!” said the Duke encouragingly. “You have come back, after all!”

“Yes, but I am afraid that perhaps Mr. Mudgley will be cross with me for having gone away with Uncle Swithin,” said Belinda, her lip trembling.

The Duke had for some time thought this more than possible, and could only hope that the injured swain would be melted by the sight of Belinda’s beauty. He did not say so to Belinda, naturally, but applied himself to the task of giving her thoughts a more cheerful direction. In this he was so successful that by the time Lady Ampleforth’s barouche set Harriet down at the inn, the tears were dried, and she was once more wreathed in smiles.

Having seen the carriage from the window, the Duke left Belinda to put on her bonnet, and ran down to meet his betrothed. She was looking much prettier, he thought, than on the previous evening. There was quite a colour in her cheeks, and she was wearing a very becoming hat of chip-straw, trimmed with lace and rosebuds. She gave him her hand, encased in a glove of lavender kid, and said with a mischievous smile: “Grandmama was excessively diverted. She would have come with me, I do believe, if she could have done so. But she does not go out very much now, and never before noon. And I must tell you, Gilly, that I thought it best not to tell Charlie that you had come to Bath, for I am sure he would roast you dreadfully if he knew the whole! Then, too, although he is the dearest of brothers, he could never keep a secret, you know.”

“You are very right!” he said, “I had not thought of it, but I foresee that I must spend my time dodging any acquaintances whom I may see until Nettlebed makes me respectable again. Will you come upstairs? Belinda is waiting for you in the parlour. I must warn you that she is a little afraid of you, and fears you may be cross!”

“Afraid of me?” Harriet said, surprised. “Oh, I am sure no one ever was!”

“I am sure she will not be when she has seen you,” he returned, handing her up the stairs.

He ushered her into the parlour, saying: “Here is Lady Harriet come to fetch you, Belinda!”

The two ladies stood for a moment, staring at one another, Belinda in childlike curiosity, Harriet blinking as though she had been dazzled. She had expected to be confronted by a beauty, but she had formed no very definite picture of Belinda from the descriptions afforded her, and was unprepared for such a radiant vision. She knew a pang, for It seemed to her incredible that the Duke should not have fallen a victim to Belinda’s charms. She could not forbear stealing a wondering glance at him. She found that he was looking at her, and not at Belinda, an enquiring lift to his brows. She blushed, and stepped forward, saying in her soft voice: “How do you do? I am so glad I am to have the pleasure of your company for a while! I hope you will be comfortable with me.”

“Oh, yes, thank you!” said Belinda dutifully, curtsying. “But I do not like hemming handkerchiefs, if you please.”

“No, indeed! It is the most tedious thing,” agreed Harriet, her eyes twinkling.

Belinda began to look more cheerful, but it was plain that she was not entirely reconciled to the prospect of staying in Laura Place, for she asked: “Shall you keep me for a very long time, ma’am?”

“Oh, no, only until the Duke has found Mr. Mudgley!” said Harriet, guessing that this was the assurance most likely to be welcome.

Belinda looked bewildered. “But I don’t know any Dukes!” she objected.”! thought Mr. Rufford would find Mr. Mudgley for me. You said you would, sir!”

“Oh, dear, I beg your pardon, Gilly!” Harriet said, in a good deal of confusion. “I thought—I meant to say Mr. Rufford, Belinda!”

“But he is not a Duke!” exclaimed Belinda, quick shocked.

Looking quite as guilty as Harriet, Gilly said: “Well, yes, Belinda, as it chances I am a Duke! I had meant to have told you, but it went out of my head. It doesn’t signify, you know.”

Belinda gazed at him, an expression in her face of mingled incredulity and disappointment. “Oh, no, I am sure it is a hum!” she exclaimed. “You are teasing me, sir! As though I did not know a Duke would be a much grander person!”

Harriet said in a stifled voice: “He is very grand when he wears his robes, I assure you!”

“Well!” Belinda said, quite disillusioned. “I thought a Duke would be very tall, and handsome, and stately! I was never so taken-in!”

The Duke bowed his head in his hands. “Oh, Belinda, Belinda!” he said. “Indeed, I am very sorry. I only wish I may not have destroyed your faith in Dukes!”

“But do you wear a coronet, and purple robe?” asked Belinda.

“No, no, only one of scarlet cloth!”

“Cloth! The shabbiest thing!” she cried. “I thought you would have worn a velvet one!”

“Ah, but it was lined with white taffeta, and doubled with four guards of ermine!” he said gravely.

“Gilly, don’t be so provoking to the poor child!” said Harriet, controlling a quivering lip. “You know that was only your parliamentary dress! I am sure you have a crimson velvet mantle for state occasions, for I know Papa does. Don’t look so sad, Belinda! Indeed, it is a very grand dress, and I will show you a picture of it presently, in a book belonging to my grandmama.”

“I should like to see it,” said Belinda wistfully. “And of course, if you are truly a Duke, sir, no wonder you do not wish to marry me, if you cannot find Mr. Mudgley! It would not do at all, for whoever heard of a Duke marrying a foundling? It would be the most shocking thing!”

He said gently “I am sure it would be a very lucky Duke who did so, Belinda, but, you see, I am already betrothed to Lady Harriet.”

She was quite diverted by this, and after exclaiming at it, and looking speculatively from him to Harriet, politely wished them both very happy. The information seemed in some way to reconcile her to her immediate fate, and she went away presently with Harriet perfectly complacently. She much enjoyed the experience of driving in a barouche, and a tactful suggestion from her hostess that they might go shopping together in the afternoon made her clasp her hands tightly together, and utter in palpitating accents: “Oh, ma’am, do you mean it? In the modish shops on Milsom Street? I should like it above anything great!”

“Then of course we will go,” Harriet said, her kind heart touched.

This promise had the effect of casting Belinda into a beatific dream. Visions of silken raiment floated before her eyes, and brought into her flower-like countenance so angelic an expression that several passers-by stared at her in patent admiration, and Lord Gaywood, sauntering down the steps of Lady Ampleforth’s house just as the barouche drew up there, stood rooted to the spot, his jaw dropping, and his eyes fairly starting from his head.

In her desire to be of assistance to the Duke, Harriet had not paused to consider what would be the effect upon her susceptible brother of Belinda’s charms, but when she saw him apparently stunned by them she felt a little dismay stir in her breast. She said, as she alighted from the carriage: “Charlie, this is a friend of mine, who is coming to stay with me for a few days. My dear, it is my brother, Lord Gaywood.”

Lord Gaywood recovered himself sufficiently to make his bow. Belinda said, with a happy smile: “Only fancy! Now I have met a Duke and a lord! I daresay they would never believe it at the Foundling Hospital, for I am sure such a thing never happened to any of the others!”

His lordship was considerably taken aback by this artless speech, but he was not one to worry over trifles, and he responded gallantly: “I am excessively glad to make your acquaintance, Miss—er—Miss—?” He rolled a fiercely enquiring eye at his sister, and was astonished to perceive that her face had become suffused with blushes.

“Oh, I am not Miss anything!” said Belinda, not in the least discomposed. “I am Belinda. I haven’t any parents, you know, so I have no name.”

Lord Gaywood swallowed once or twice, but soon pulled himself together. “Belinda is the prettiest name I ever heard!” he declared. “Allow me to offer you my arm up the steps!” He added out of one corner of his mouth: “Does the old lady know of this?”

“Yes, of course! Pray hush!” whispered Harriet, red to the roots of her hair.

“Well, if it don’t beat all!” he ejaculated.

“What does?” enquired Belinda, looking up at him innocently.

“Why, you, of course!” he responded, without hesitation. “Dash it, you beat ’em all to flinders! Why haven’t I seen you before? You can’t have been in Bath for long, I’ll swear!”

“Oh, no! Mr. Rufford brought me here yesterday!” she told him.

“Mr. Rufford? Who’s he?” demanded his lordship.

“Charlie, pray do not!” Harriet begged, in a good deal of distress. “You should not ask such impertinent questions! You know you should not!”

“I was forgetting,” explained Belinda. “He said he was Mr. Rufford, but all the time he was a Duke. And now I don’t know what his name is, for I was so surprised I never asked him! Oh, ma’am, do please tell me!”

“What?” gasped Lord Gaywood, stopping dead upon the top step. “Harriet, what in thunder—?”

“Gaywood, I beg you will be quiet!” Harriet said. “I will explain it presently! Belinda, I will take you up to the bed-chamber that has been made ready for you, and you will like to take your bonnet off, I daresay, and your pelisse. And then you must make your curtsy to my grandmama.”

“Harriet!” said his lordship, in martial accents, “I order you to come downstairs again, and talk to me!”

“Yes, yes, I will do so directly!” promised his harassed sister, propelling Belinda towards the stairs.

When she came down again some few minutes later, she found Lord Gaywood awaiting her in the doorway of the book-room. He promptly seized her by the hand, and led her in, saying: “Harriet, tell me this! Is that out-and-out beauty the game-pullet Sale had with him at Hitchin, or is she not?”

Harriet replied with a good deal of dignity: “Pray do not pull me about so, Gaywood! I don’t know what a game-pullet is, and I am sure I don’t want to, for it sounds to me a horribly vulgar expression!”

“It’s precisely what you think it is, so don’t be missish!” retorted his lordship.

“Well, you should not say such things to me. And she is not!”

“Then who is this Duke who calls himself Rufford?” demanded Gaywood. “Now I come to think of it, Rufford’s that place of Gilly’s in Yorkshire! Well, by God, this is a new come-out for him! And all the time bamboozling everyone—”

“He did not!” she said hotly. “You are quite, quite mistaken! He has behaved in the noblest way!”

“Harry!” he exploded. “How can you be such a fool as to let him pitch his gammon to you! Didn’t that old cat tell us how she saw him with a girl hanging on his arm, in the most—”

“Yes! And it was you who said, Charlie, that you did not believe a word of it, because she was for ever cutting up characters!”

“Well, I didn’t believe it,” he admitted. “But if that’s the little ladybird, I do now!”

“It is untrue!” Harriet said. “He rescued her from a very awkward situation, and because she is an orphan, and has nowhere to go, he brought her to me!”

“Well, of all the brass-faced things to do!” exclaimed Gaywood. “When I see Sale—Where is he?”

“He is in Bath, but—but he is very much occupied at the present. You will see him presently, I daresay, but if you mean to insult him, Charlie, I shall never, never forgive you!”

These terrible words from his gentle sister quite astonished the Viscount. He looked at her in some concern, and said that he did not know what had come over her. “Of course, you’re such a silly little creature, Harry, that you will believe any bubble,” he said kindly. “Mind you, there’s no harm in Sale’s having a mistress in keeping, but to be flaunting her about Bath, and having the dashed impudence to cajole you into giving her countenance is coming it rather too strong, and so I shall tell him!”

“Very well, Gaywood!” said Harriet, with determined calm. “If you are set on making a great goose of yourself, you must do so! Perhaps you will tell him as well that you do not like his flaunting a schoolboy about Bath either!”

“What schoolboy?” demanded Gaywood.

She was obliged to divulge some part of the Duke’s adventures. Fortunately, Gaywood was so much entertained by a description of Tom’s behaviour that she was able to gloss over Belinda’s part in the story. She was grieved to think that she had exposed the Duke to her brother’s ridicule, but she knew the erratic Viscount well enough to feel tolerably sure that amusement would effectually banish righteous indignation from his mind.

The Duke, meanwhile, had sallied forth to buy himself some neckcloths and handkerchiefs. He was careful to avoid the fashionable quarter of the town, and had therefore the greatest difficulty in finding any neckcloths which Nettlebed would not instantly have given away to an under-footman. On his return to the Pelican he ran into Tom, who said that he had spent all his money, and was hungry. The Duke took him off to a pastry-cook’s shop, where, as it was a good three hours since he had partaken of a breakfast consisting of ham, eggs, about half a sirloin of cold beef, and a loaf of bread, he was able to do justice to a meat-pie, several jam-puffs, and a syllabub. Tom was inclined to think poorly of Bath, which city offered few attractions to a young gentleman of his tastes. He said, with a wistful gleam in his eye, that it would enliven the town to put aniseed on the hooves of some of the fat carriage-horses he had seen in Milsom Street, but added virtuously that he had refrained from purchasing any of this useful commodity, his intuition having warned him that putting aniseed on horses’ hooves was a pastime of which his protector would not approve. The Duke assured him that his instinct had not misled him, and rewarded him for his saintly conduct by giving him sixpence, and sending him off to the Sydney Gardens, with a promise that he would find there bowling-greens, grottoes, labyrinths, and Merlin swings. He set him on his way, accompanying him as far as to Argyle Buildings, and watching him traverse Laura Place towards Great Pulteney Street; and then turned with the intention of walking down Bridge Street. But just as he had crossed the river again, he caught sight of a lady who looked alarmingly like one of his aunt’s friends, and he promptly dived down a side-street. A very large gentleman who, with two companions, had been observing him narrowly, ejaculated: “That’s the scoundrel, you mark my words! A little dab of a man in an olive-green coat! After him, now!” The Duke, having removed himself from the vicinity of his aunt’s acquaintance, saw no need for haste, and was walking sedately along the narrow street. The sound of heavy-footed and somewhat hard-breathing pursuit made him turn his head, but as he did not recognize any of the three persons thudding behind him he did not connect the chase with himself, but merely looked rather surprised, and stepped aside to allow them to pass him. The foremost of them, whom he perceived to be a constable, reached him first, and shot out a hand, ejaculating: “Halt! Name of Rufford?”

“Yes,” said the Duke blankly. “What—”

The large man, who was puffing alarmingly, exclaimed: “Ha! He owns it! Impudent rogue! Officer, arrest him! You villain, where is my son?”

“Good God!” said the Duke. “Are you Mr. Mamble?”

“Ay, my lad, I am Mr. Mamble, as you’ll find to your cost!” said the large gentleman grimly. “Snape, is this the fellow who gave you a ding on the head?”

The third gentleman, who was nearly as brawny as his employer, said hastily: “I never saw the man, sir! You know I told you I was taken unawares!”

“Well, it don’t make any odds!” said Mr. Mamble. “He admits he’s this Rufford. Ay, and I’ll soon Rufford you, my lad! Why don’t you arrest him, you fool?”

“On what charge?” asked the Duke calmly.

“Charge of kidnapping!” the constable informed him. “You come along quiet, now, and no argy-bargy!”

“Nonsense!” said the Duke. “I haven’t kidnapped your son, Mr. Mamble. In fact, I have just sent you an express concerning him.”

Mr. Mamble’s countenance slowly assumed a purple hue. “You heard that, Snape?” he said. “He’s sent me an express! By God, if ever I met such a brazen rogue! So you want a ransom, do you, my cully? Well, you ain’t going to get one! The man hasn’t been foaled as can diddle Sam Mamble, and when he is he won’t be a snirp the like of you, that I can tell you!”

“I don’t want a ransom, I did not knock Mr. Snape on the head, or kidnap your son, and my name is not Rufford!” said the Duke.

“Now, that won’t do!” the constable said severely. “I axed you, and you admitted it! You’ll come along to the Roundhouse, that’s what you’ll do!”

“I wish you will not be so hasty!” the Duke said, addressing himself to Mr. Mamble. “If you will accompany me to the Pelican Inn, I will engage to satisfy you on all counts, but I really cannot do so in the open street!”

“You perceive, sir, what an artful rogue he is!” Mr. Snape said, plucking at Mr. Mamble’s sleeve. “Do not trust him!”

“Sam Mamble never trusted no one!” announced Mr. Mamble comprehensively. “Where’s my son, villain?”

The Duke opened his mouth, and shut it again. He had taken an instant dislike to the unctuous Mr. Snape, and felt that to betray Tom’s whereabouts at this stage would be a dastardly act.

“Ha! So you think you won’t say, do you? We’ll see to that!” said Mr. Mamble.

“On the contrary, I am perfectly willing to restore your son to you,” replied the Duke. “But I have a few things to say to you first!”

“If I have to listen to any more of this fellow’s impudence, I’ll bust!” said Mr. Mamble. “What the devil makes you stand there like a fool, Snape? Go and call up a hack!”

Mr. Snape said obsequiously that he had only been awaiting a command to do so, and hurried off. The Duke tried to remove the constable’s hand from his shoulder, failed, and said wearily: “You are making a mistake, you know. If you must have it, I’m the Duke of Sale!”

This disclosure produced anything rather than the desired effect. Both his auditors were for the moment struck dumb by such effrontery, and then combined to revile him. Upon reflection, he was obliged to own that their disbelief was not surprising. Several passers-by had by this time gathered round, and rather than run the risk of creating a scene in the street the Duke abandoned the attempt to argue with his captors. When Mr. Snape presently reappeared in a hackney, he got into it without protest, and allowed himself to be driven to the Roundhouse. Mr. Mamble was urgent with the constable to seek out a magistrate directly, but the constable seemed to think that the matter first called for closer investigation. So the whole party trooped into the Roundhouse, where the Duke speedily learned that he was being accused of having (with or without accomplices) laid a cunning plot to kidnap Tom, felled Mr. Snape to the earth, and made off with his charge with intent to hold him to ransom. He glanced contemptuously at the tutor, and said: “Yes, I had thought from what Tom told me that you were a shabby, mean sort of a fellow, and I suppose it might be expected that you would concoct some such tale to protect yourself! It was Tom who hit you on the head, and I think you know that, and are hoping that he will be too much frightened to tell the truth.”

“Sir, I am persuaded I have no need to deny such a wicked charge!” said Mr. Snape, looking appealingly at his employer.

“The truth,” said the Duke, ignoring him, “is that I came upon your son, sir, near Baldock. He informed me that he had escaped from his tutor, and was desirous of going either to London, or to the sea-coast, where he had some notion of shipping on a barque as cabin-boy. He had had the misfortune to fall in with a couple of foot-scamperers, who had manhandled, and robbed him. He was in a sad case, and I took him back to the inn where I was putting-up.” He smiled. “Perhaps I should have insisted on his returning to you then and there, but I had a great deal of sympathy with him, for I was much beset by tutors myself.” He added reflectively: “And I don’t know that I could have made him do it, for he would undoubtedly have run away had I suggested any such thing. Altogether it seemed to me that he would be safer in my company than wandering alone about the country. I had intended to have taken him to London, but various unforeseen circumstances arose which made it imperative for me to come instead to Bath. That is the whole matter in a nutshell.”

Mr. Mamble, who had listened in fulminating wrath, expressed the opinion that he was a practised rogue, and besought the constable to do his duty. The constable, who had been slightly impressed by the Duke’s manner, said in an aloof way that he knew his duty without being told it, and asked the Duke for his full name.

“Adolphus Gillespie Vernon Ware,” responded the Duke coolly. “Would you wish me also to recite my titles to you?”

Mr. Mamble roared out: “Stow that foolery, will you? Your name’s Rufford!”

“No, that is merely one of my minor titles,” said the Duke.

The constable laid down his pen. “Now, look’ee here!” he said mildly. “If so be you’re his Grace of Sale, you’ll have to prove it, because it don’t seem a likely tale, and you don’t look like no Duke, nor you wouldn’t be staying at the Pelican!”

Mr. Snape smiled with malign satisfaction. “No doubt you have your visiting-card upon you, sir?” he said.

“Ay, that’s the dandy!” agreed the constable, brightening, and looking hopefully at the Duke.

The Duke, now quite confirmed in his dislike of Mr. Snape, said, flushing slightly: “No. I have not. I—I am travelling strictly incognito.”

Mr. Mamble gave a crack of sardonic mirth. “Ay, I’ll be bound you are! How much more time am I to waste kicking my heels here?”

“But I have got my watch!” suddenly remembered the Duke, drawing it from his pocket, and laying it upon the table. “You will perceive that it is engraved with my arms on one side, and with the letter S on the other.”

All three men closely inspected the timepiece, and the constable began to look uneasy. However, Mr. Snape pointed out that such a daring rogue would make nothing of picking pockets, and was felt to have scored a point. The constable then had a happy thought, and said with some relief: “It’s easy settled, and it won’t do for me to go making no mistakes. I’ll have a man go out to Cheyney, which is his Grace of Sale’s place, and if this gentleman is the Duke he can easy be identified by them as knows him!”

Mr. Mamble, who had watching the Duke, said shrewdly: “Don’t like the sound of that, eh, my fine fellow?”

The Duke did not like the sound of it at all. It seemed to him more than probable that those in charge of Cheyney would spurn with contumely the suggestion that he might be in the Roundhouse at Bath; while if it was disclosed to them that he had come to Bath with one coat and no attendants they would quite certainly refuse to believe it. He was not really at all anxious that they should believe it, either, for they would be very much shocked, and he would find himself obliged to enter into long and fatiguing explanations.

“No, I do not like it,” he said. “I’ve no desire to sit here for the rest of the day, while someone goes to Cheyney and back. I have a better notion than that.” He turned to the constable. “Are you familiar with Lord Gaywood?” he asked.

The constable said bitterly that he was very familiar with Lord Gaywood, and added some pungent criticisms on high-spirited young gentlemen’s notions of amusement.

“Does he box the watch?” asked the Duke sympathetically. “I don’t do it myself, but I feel sure Gaywood does, when he isin his cups. Let me have a pen and some paper, if you please.”

Mr. Mamble at once protested against this further waste of time, but the constable, on whom (for all his dislike of that young gentleman) Lord Gaywood’s name was working powerfully, fetched some writing materials, and told Mr. Mamble it would be as well not to act hasty.

The Duke drew up his chair to the table, and began to write a note to his betrothed.

“My dear Harriet,” he scrawled rapidly, “J fear you will utterly cast me off, for I am now under arrest for being a dangerous rogue. Unless I can convince Mr. Mamble that I am indeed myself, nothing short of my instant incarceration in a dungeon will satisfy him. I beg your pardon for putting you to so much trouble, but pray tell Gaywood the whole, and desire him, with my compliments, to come to the Roundhouse and identify me. Ever yours, Sale.”

He folded this missive, wrote Harriet’s name and direction upon it, and handed it to the constable with instructions to have it conveyed immediately to Laura Place. The constable said he would do this, and added apologetically that duty was duty, and he hoped, if he should have made a mistake, that it would not be held against him.

The Duke reassured him on this head, but Mr. Mamble exploded with wrath, and said that all this tomfoolery was not helping him to find his boy.

“Well, I will help you to find you, provided you go to look for him yourself, and do not send this objectionable fellow to bully him into saying what he wants him to,” said the Duke. “You may then ask him if I kidnapped him, and I hope you will be satisfied that I did not.”

“Where is he?” demanded Mr. Mamble.

“Are you going to go yourself?”

“Damn your impudence, yes, I am!”

“He is in Sydney Gardens, probably lost in one of the labyrinths. And don’t storm and roar at him, for it doesn’t answer at all!”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to treat my own son!” said Mr. Mamble angrily.

“That is precisely what you do need,” replied the Duke, his serene tones in striking contrast to Mr. Mamble’s explosive method of speech. “Presently I shall have a good deal to say to you on that score, but you had best find Tom first. I don’t know where you are putting up in Bath, but you may send this fellow to await you there. I’ve no wish for his company.”

Mr. Mamble glared at him, but he was a fair-minded man, and, having endured Mr. Snape’s unadulterated society for several days, he could not but admit the reasonableness of the Duke’s request. He told Mr. Snape to go back to the White Horse, since he was of no use to anyone, being a muttonheaded fool, no more fit to be in charge of a guinea-pig than of a growing lad. He then said that if the Duke was trying to fob him off while his accomplices spirited Tom away he would rend him limb from limb, and departed, calling loudly for a hack.

The Duke resigned himself to await Lord Gaywood’s arrival. As the minutes crawled by, it began to be borne in upon him that the messenger had not found Lady Harriet at home. He hoped very much that her return to Laura Place would not be long delayed, for not only did he find the chair on which he was sitting excessively uncomfortable, but he fancied that the constable was regarding him with increasing suspicion.

After about three quarters of an hour a diversion took place. Tom, looking heated and pugnacious, bounced into the room, and launched himself upon the Duke, grasping him by the arm with painful violence, and crying: “They shan’t arrest you! They shan’t! I’ll fight them all! Oh, sir, don’t let Pa take me away, for I won’t go with him, I won’t!”

Mr. Mamble, who had followed his son into the room, said: “You young rascal, that’s a pretty way to talk! And me your Pa! Ay, and as for you, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, if you didn’t kidnap my boy—which, mind you, I’m not by any means sure you didn’t—you’ve properly cozened him out of his senses with your smooth talk! And what’s more, he says you’re no more the Duke of Sale than what I am!”

“No, he doesn’t know I am,” said the Duke.

“Sir, you’re not!” said Tom, apparently feeling that it must be to his discredit.

“Well, yes, Tom, I’m afraid I am,” said the Duke apologetically.

“You’re Mr. Rufford! Oh, do say you are, sir! I know you are only bamming! Dukes are grand, stuffy people, and you aren’t!”

“No, of course I am not,” said the Duke soothingly. “I cannot help being a Duke, you know. You need not let it distress you! I am still your Mr. Rufford, after all!”

The sullen look, which indicated that he was very much upset, descended upon Tom’s face. He said gruffly: “Well, I don’t care! I won’t go home with Pa, at all events! I hate Pa! He has spoiled everything!”

“That is not a proper way to speak of your Papa, Tom, and it is moreover quite untrue,” replied the Duke, removing the clutch from his arm.

“What you need,” Mr. Mamble informed his son bodingly, “is to have your jacket well dusted, my lad! Ay, and it’s what you’ll get before you’re much older!”

“And that,” said the Duke, “is hardly a felicitous way of recommending yourself to your son, sir.”

What Mr. Mamble might have replied to this was never known, for at that moment the constable who had been sent to Laura Place ushered Lady Harriet into the room.

The Duke leaped to his feet, exclaiming: “Harriet!”

She put back her veil, blushing, and saying in her soft shy voice: “I thought I should come myself. Gaywood is gone out, and you know how he would roast you! I am so very sorry you have been kept in this horrid place for so long! I had gone out with Belinda, and this poor man was obliged to stay till I returned.

The Duke took her hand, and kissed it. “I would not have had you come for the world!” he said. “Indeed, I don’t know what I deserve for dragging you into such a coil! You did not come alone!”

“No, indeed, the constable brought me,” she assured him. “I beg your pardon if you do not like it, Gilly, but I did not wish to bring my maid, or James, for they would have been bound to gave gossiped about it, you know. What is it I must do to have you set at liberty?”

She looked enquiringly towards the senior constable as she spoke, who bowed very low, and said that if it was not troubling her ladyship too much he would be obliged to her for stating whether or not the gentleman was the Duke of Sale.

“Oh, yes, certainly he is!” she said. She blushed more than ever, and added: “I am engaged to be married to him, so, you see, I must know.”

Mr. Mamble drew a large handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped his face with it. “I don’t know what to say!” he announced. “To think of my Tom going about with a Duke, and me being so taken-in—Well, your Grace will have to pardon me if I might perhaps have said anything not quite becoming!”

“Yes, of course I pardon you, but do pray withdraw the charge against me, so that I may escort Lady Harriet home!” said the Duke.

Mr. Mamble hastened to do this, and would have embarked on an elaborate apology had not the Duke cut him short. “My dear sir, pray say no more! I wish you will go with Tom to the Pelican, and await me there. I hope you will give me your company at dinner, for there are several things I wish to talk to you about.”

“Your Grace,” said Mr. Mamble, bowing deeply, “I shall be highly honoured!”

“But it isn’t dinner-time yet!” objected Tom. “I don’t want to go back to the Pelican! Pa took me away from those jolly gardens before I had even seen the grotto! And I had paid my sixpence, too!”

“Well, ask your Papa for another sixpence, and go back to the gardens—that is, if he will permit you to.”

“You do just what his Grace tells you, and keep a civil tongue in your head!” Mr. Mamble admonished his son. “Here’s a crown for you: you can take a hack, and see you ain’t late for dinner!”

Tom, his spirits quite restored by this generosity, thanked him hurriedly, and dashed off. The rest of the party then dispersed, the Duke handing Harriet up into a hackney, and Mr. Mamble setting out in a chastened and bemused frame of mind to walk to the Pelican.

Having given the direction to the coachman, the Duke got into the hackney beside Harriet, and took her in his arms, and kissed her. “Harry, I don’t know how you found the courage to do it, for you must have hated it excessively, my poor love, but I am very sure I am the most fortunate, undeserving dog alive!” he declared.

She gave a gasp, and trembled. “Oh, Gilly!” she said faintly, timidly clasping the lapel of his coat. “Are you indeed sure?”

“I am indeed sure,” he said steadily.

Her eyes searched his face. “When you offered for me, I did not think—” Her voice failed. She recovered it. “I know, of course, that persons of our rank do not look for—for the tenderer passions in marriage, but—”

“Did your mother tell you so, my love?” he interrupted.

“Oh, yes, and indeed I do not mean to embarrass you with—with—”

“Infamous! It is precisely what my uncle said to me! Was that what made you so shy, that dreadful day? I know I was ready to sink! My uncle told me I must not look for love in my wife, but only complaisance!”

“Oh, Gilly, how could he say so? Mama said it would give you a disgust of me if I seemed—if I seemed to care for you very much!”

“What very odd creatures they are! They should deal extremely together. As extremely as we shall!”

She sighed, and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “How comfortable this is!” she said. “And so delightfully vulgar! Does plain Mr. Dash put his arm round ladies in hackney coaches?”

“When not in gaol he does,” the Duke responded.