The Foundling

Chapter VI

For some few minutes after he and Gilly had left Albany, Matthew kept up a flow of alarmingly light-hearted conversation. It did not deceive his cousin, and at the first opportunity he broke in on the chatter, and said: “Are you troubled about anything, Matt?”

The flow ceased abruptly. After a moment, Matthew said: “Troubled? Why should I be?”

“Well, I don’t know, but if you are I think you might tell me.”

“Oh! Now you are back at that Head-of-the-House stuff!” replied Matthew, with an unconvincing laugh.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but now you put me in mind of it I might as well justify my position. Are you under a cloud, Matt?”

“Oh, lord, yes, but that ain’t it! At least, in a way it is, but not as you think. My snyder is one of the faithful, thank God!”

Correctly interpreting this mystic phrase to mean that Mr. Ware’s tailor gave him long credit, the Duke said, “What’s the figure?”

There was a long silence. Mr. Ware broke it. “If you want to know, I need five thousand pounds!”

“Oh!” said the Duke. “I haven’t such a sum on me at the moment, but I daresay I could find it.”

Matthew began to laugh. “Gilly, you fool! As though my uncle would let you!”

“He has never kept me short of money. In any event, since I was twenty-one I have been at liberty to draw what I please. It is only my principal I may not tamper with.”

“Well, if he would let you I would not! I am not such a sponge! I was only bamming!”

“Matt, what is it?”

Another long silence followed this question, but the sympathy in his cousin’s voice won Matthew’s confidence. “Gilly, I am run off my legs—all to pieces!” he said, sounding very much more like a scared schoolboy than a young gentleman about to enter on his third year at the University.

The Duke tucked a hand in his arm. “We’ll raise the wind, Matt, never fear! But what is it? You are not scorched to that figure!”

“Oh, no, it’s not debt! But I don’t know what to do! It’s breach of promise!”

The Duke was somewhat staggered by this revelation.

“Breach of promise! Matt, I don’t know what you have been doing, but who the devil could be suing you for such a sum as that?”

“Not me! Suing you! Through my father, I daresay. To keep our name out of court! Everyone knows how rich you are!”

“What a fool I am!” said Gilly slowly. “Of course! But did you make an offer of marriage to this female?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I did,” said Matthew wretchedly. “You know how it is when one writes a letter!”

“Did you write her letters?”

“Yes, I did, but I never thought—And she did not answer one of them!” said Matthew, on a note of ill-usage.

“Matt, has she many of your letters?”

“It isn’t she: it’s a fellow who says he is her guardian. He says he has half a dozen of my letters. I do not know how I came to write so many, for in general, you know, I am not much of a dab in that line! But she was so excessively beautiful—! You can have no notion, Gilly!”

“Where did you meet her? Not in London?”

“Oh, no! In the High! She was looking in at a shop-window, and there was a lady with her—well, I thought she was a lady, but when I came to know her better of course I saw that she was not quite the thing, but that didn’t signify, and she said she was her aunt, and her name was Mrs. Dovercourt, but I daresay it was not. Anyway, Belinda dropped her reticule, and of course I picked it up, and—and that is how it all began!”

The Duke, feeling a trifle bewildered by this not very clear account of his cousin’s entanglement, suggested that they should thrash the matter out in the privacy of his library at Sale House. Matthew agreed to this, but said with a heavy sigh that he did not see what could be done about it. “I won’t let you pay, Gilly, and that’s an end to it! It’s all very well to say you may draw what money you please, but what a flutter there would be if you drew such a sum as that! It would be bound to come to my uncle’s ears, and he would tell my father, and then I should have nothing to do but to jump into the river, and that would not answer, because I am a pretty strong swimmer, and I daresay I shouldn’t drown at all! Of course, if I were like you, and could afford to keep my own phaeton, or curricle, or some such thing, I could drive to the devil, and break my neck, but I should like to see anyone driving a job-horse and gig to the devil! Why, you couldn’t do it! Job-horses are all slugs! I suppose I could blow my brains out, but it would mean purchasing a good pistol, and I’m not too well-blunted at this present, and to tell you the truth, Gilly, I don’t above half fancy the idea.”

The Duke, realizing that Captain Ware’s punch had something to do with this despairing utterance, replied in soothing terms, agreeing that among his own many advantages must be ranked the means of putting a period to his life in an expensive way, and drew his young relative on towards Curzon Street. The walk did much to clear Mr. Ware’s clouded intellect, but nothing to lift his depression. When he entered Sale House in Gilly’s wake, he made ah effort to appear sprightly and at his ease, but achieved such ah alarming result that had the Duke’s upper servants had eyes to spare for anyone but their master they must have noticed it, and have wondered what could be in the wind. But in the event Borrowdale, Chigwell, and Nettlebed were far too much taken-up with conveying to his Grace by innuendo a sense of anxiety he had caused them to labour under all the evening to have any attention to spare for Mr. Matthew.

The Duke bore all the solicitude that met him with his usual patience, disclaiming any feeling of chill or of fatigue, and desired Borrowdale to bring wine and biscuits into the library. “And you need none of you wait up for me!” he added. “Leave a candle on the table, and I shall do very well.”

The steward bowed, and said that it should be as his Grace wished, but Borrowdale and Nettlebed were instantly drawn into a temporary alliance, and exchanged speaking glances, expressive of their mutual determination to sit up all night, if need be.

The Duke led Matthew into the library, and installed him in a chair by the fire; one of the footmen came in with a taper, with the zealous intention of lighting all the candles in the wall-sconces and chandeliers with which the room was generously provided; and Borrowdale soon followed him with a silver tray of refreshments. Having restrained the footman, and assured Borrowdale that he should want nothing more that night, the Duke got rid of them both, and took a seat opposite his cousin’s. “Well, now, Matt, tell me the whole!” he invited.

“You won’t blab to my father if I do, will you?” said Matthew suspiciously.

“What a fellow you must think me! Of course I will not!”

His mind relieved on this score, Matthew embarked on a long and somewhat obscure story. It came haltingly at first, and with a good many rambling excuses, but when he found that his cousin had apparently no intention either of exclaiming at his folly, or of blaming him for it, he abandoned” his slightly pugnacious and extremely self-exculpatory manner, and became very much more natural, unburdening his troubled soul to the Duke, and feeling considerably the better for it.

The tale was not always easy to follow, and in spite of its length, and wealth of detail, there were several gaps in it, but the salient points were not difficult to grasp. The Duke gathered that his impulsive cousin had fallen in love at sight with a female of surpassing beauty, who was visiting Oxford with a lady who might, or might not, be her aunt. This lady, so far from discouraging the advances of a strange gentleman, had most obligingly given him her direction, and had assured him that she would be happy to see him if he should chance at any time to be passing her lodging. And of course Matthew had passed her lodging, and had received a flattering welcome there; and, finding that the lovely Belinda was even lovelier than his memory had painted her, lost no time in plunging neck and crop into an affaire which seemed to have run the gamut of stolen meetings, passionate love-letters, and wild plans of a flight to Gretna Green. Yes, he admitted, he rather thought he had mentioned Gretna Green.

The Duke knit his brows a little at this. “But, Matt, I do not perfectly understand!” he said apologetically. “You say she is threatening to sue you for breach of promise, but if you were willing to marry her I do not see how this comes about! Why would she not go with you?”

“Well, I daresay she would have,” said Matthew. “She—she is a very persuadable girl, you know. But the thing is that it costs the devil of a sum to hire a chaise to go all that way, and what with having sustained some losses, and its being pretty near the end of the term, I was not at all beforehand with the world, and I didn’t know how to raise the wind. You know what my father is! He would have lacked up the devil of a dust if I had written to ask him for some more blunt, and ten to one would have asked me what I wanted it for, because he always does, just as though I were a child, and not able to take care of my affairs! And I never thought of writing to you, Gilly—not that I would have done so if I had, for it might have come to my uncle’s ears then, and that would have been worse than anything! So what with one thing and another, it came to nothing, and, to own the truth, I was afterwards very glad of it, because I don’t think Belinda would do for me at all—in fact, I know she would not!”

“Did she seem much distressed at your plan’s coming I to nothing?” asked the Duke curiously.

“Oh, no, she did not care! It is all this Liversedge, who writes that he is her guardian. Stay, I will show you his letters—he has written to me twice, you know. I did not answer the first letter, and now he has written again, threatening to bring an action against me, and—oh, Gilly, what the devil am I to do?”

He ended on a decided note of panic, and, thrusting a hand into his pocket, produced two rather crumpled letters, written by someone who signed himself, with a flourish, Swithin Liversedge .....

The Duke, perusing these, found Mr. Liversedge’s epistolary style slightly turgid, and not always quite grammatical. Some of his periods were much involved, but there could be no mistaking his object: he wanted five thousand pounds for his ward, to compensate her for the slight she had endured, for the loss of an eligible husband, and for a wounded heart. Mr. Liversedge ended his first letter by expressing in high-flown terms his belief that neither Mr. Ware nor his noble relatives would hesitate to recognize, and meet, the claims of one whose blighted hopes seemed likely to drive into a decline.

His second letter was not so polite.

The Duke laid them both down. “Matt, who is this Liversedge?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. He says he is Belinda’s guardian.”

“But what sort of a fellow is he?”

“I tell you I don’t know! I’ve never clapped eyes on him. I didn’t know Belinda had a guardian until I received that letter.”

“Was he not with her at Oxford?”

“No, and neither Belinda nor Mrs. Dovercourt ever mentioned him that I can remember. It came as the greatest surprise to me!”

“Matt, it all sounds to me excessively like a fudge! I don’t believe he is her guardian!”

“I daresay he might not be, but what’s the odds?”

“Well, I am not very sure, but I think he can’t bring an action against you. Unless, of course, it is she who brings it, and he merely writes for her.”

Matthew considered this. “I must say I should not have thought it of Belinda,” he said, “But there is no knowing, after all! I daresay she was hoaxing me all the time, and was no more innocent than a piece of Haymarket-ware.”

The Duke glanced at the letters again, and got up, and walked over to the table, to pour out two glasses of wine.

Matthew watched him, saying after a minute: “And whatever he is, you can see one thing: he means to make himself curst unpleasant, and there’s no getting away from it that he has those damned letters of mine!”

“No,” agreed Gilly. “It’s a devil of a tangle.”

“Gilly,” said his cousin, in a hollow voice, “even if it did not come to an action, it will reach my father, and my uncle too, and that would be just as bad!”

He did not address himself to deaf ears. The Duke almost shuddered, “Good God, it must not be allowed to reach them!”

Matthew dropped his chin in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. “If only I could think of what I had best do!” he groaned.

Gilly held out one of the glasses to him, “Here, take some wine! Does Gideon know anything of this?”

Matthew accepted the wine, and drank some. “No. I did mean—that is to say, I half thought that I might, if all else failed—But you know what Gideon is!” He saw a surprised look on the Duke’s face, and added: “Oh, well, I daresay you don’t, for he likes you! But he has a damned cutting tongue! What’s more, he is for ever roasting me about something or other, and I’d as lief—However, if you think I ought to tell him—”

“No, I don’t,” said Gilly, with sudden decision. “It has nothing whatsoever to do with Gideon!” His eyes began to dance. “I must learn to manage for myself: my uncle said so!”

“Oh, Gilly, don’t start funning!” begged Matthew. “It ain’t your affair any more than it is Gideon’s!”

“But it is my affair! You said as much yourself!” Gilly pointed out. “Liversedge knows well you could not afford to pay him half of such a sum, or my Uncle Henry either! You may depend upon it he has acquainted himself very perfectly with the circumstances. It’s my belief the whole thing was a deep-laid plot, down to the girl’s dropping her reticule when you were passing! I am the pigeon he means to pluck! Very well, then! I’ll attend to the matter myself, and I think I must be a great fool if I allow myself to be plucked by a person who cannot write the King’s English!”

“But, good God, Gilly, what are you meaning to do?” demanded Matthew.

“I am not very sure yet,” confessed the Duke, “but don’t worry. Matt! Whatever happens I won’t let it come to your father’s ears, or my Uncle Lionel’s either! Where does this fellow write from?” He picked up one of the letters as he spoke. “The Bird in Hand—yes, but I am not a bird in hand, Mr. Liversedge! Address to the receiving-office at Baldock. I suppose he fetches his letters. But why Baldock? I should have thought he would have lurked in London! Perhaps he has his reasons for not coming within reach of Bow Street. Very likely that is so, for if ever I smelled a Greek—!”

“Did you?” asked Matthew sceptically.

“Oh, lord, yes, very adroit ones too! A young man with my fortune draws ’em like a magnet. They clustered round me when I was upon my travels—until they had taken Belper’s measure! Poor Belper! he had his uses!”

Matthew sat up. “Gilly, do you think perhaps Belper would—?”

“No, certainly not! We shall keep this strictly within the family. Besides, it is the only time I have ever had the chance of doing anything for myself!”

“I do wish you will tell me what you have in your head!” Matthew said.

“I am going to pay a call on Mr. Swithin Liversedge—if I can find him!”

“Gilly, for God’s sake—!” exclaimed Matthew, now seriously disturbed.

“I must know what sort of a fellow it is we have to deal with.”

“But you must he mad! If yougo to see him, he will know you mean to buy him off, and he will very likely double his price!”

“But he won’t know I’m Sale!” replied the Duke, his face alive with mischief. “I shall be the Honourable Matthew Ware! You said you had never clapped eyes on him, so he won’t know it’s a hoax!”

“Gilly, you are mad! Even if he don’t know, what I look like, he must know I don’t drive about the country in a chaise with crests on the panels, and half a dozen servants, and—Oh, I wish you will be serious!”

“I am serious. Of course, I don’t mean to travel like that! I shall go by the mail, or the stage, or some such thing. It’s famous! I have never driven in anything but my own carriage in all my life!”

“Well, you need not think there is anything so vastly agreeable in going by stage-coach!” said Matthew, with some asperity. “If you had done it as many times as I have—”

“But I have not, and I should like to find out for myself what it is like to rub shoulders with the world!”

“Nettlebed would send off an express to my uncle on the instant!”

“I make no doubt he would, and so he may, but he won’t know where I have gone to, so much good may it do him!”

“You would not go without your valet!”

“Without anyone! Plain Mr. Dash, of Nowhere in Particular! Gideon told me to try it, and, by God, I will!”

“No, Gilly, you must not! I wish I had not said a word to you about it!”

The Duke laughed at him. “Matt, you fool! I am not going into a lion’s den! Besides, it will only be for a day or two. I don’t mean to be lost for ever, you know!”

“No, but—What if Liversedge recognizes you? He might well!”

The Duke frowned, over this for a moment or two. “But I don’t think he will,” he said at last. “If he was prowling round Oxford when I was up, he may have seen me, but I have altered considerably since then, you know. And I only came back to England last year, and have been at Sale for the better part of my life since then.”

“You were in London in the spring!”

“To be sure I was, but not in any company that Liversedge keeps, I’ll swear! If you saw me once in the street, would you know me again, beyond question? Now, if I were a big, handsome fellow like Gideon—! But I am not, Matt! You must own I am not! Has not your father said times out of mind that it is a sad pity I am such an insignificant figure of a man?”

“Yes, but—I mean, no!” Matthew corrected himself hastily. “And in any event—”

“In any event, I mean to go! When do you go up to Oxford?”

“I did mean to go tomorrow, but term hasn’t begun, and now that you have taken this crazy notion into your head I think I had best stay in town. Gilly, Uncle Lionel would tear me limb from limb if he knew of this!”

“Well, he shan’t know, and you had best go to Oxford, so that nobody may suspect you of having anything to do with my having slipped my leash!” recommended the Duke. “I’ll write to you there, to let you know how I’ve fared. But don’t get in a pucker, either on my behalf or your own! If I have to buy Liversedge off, I’ll do it, and as for the rest—what in the name of all that is wonderful do you imagine can befall me?”

“I don’t know,” said Matthew uneasily, “but I have the horridest feeling something will befall you!”