It was fortunate for Miss Taverner that, by reason of Christmas being at hand, she must soon be removed from the Duke of Clarence’s neighbourhood. He by no means despaired of winning her, and though momentarily cast-down, and inclined to be indignant at Worth’s refusing his consent, he was very soon consoling himself with the reflection that Miss Taverner would be free in less than a year from the Earl’s guardianship. He was sanguine, and, calling in Brook Street again, assured Judith that when she came to know him better she would perceive all the advantages of the match as clearly as he did himself.
Peregrine’s feelings upon being informed that he was to go to Worth were not at all complacent. He asserted that he should not go, thought it a great imposition, suspected the Earl of trying to fix his interest with Judith, and had a very good mind to write a curt refusal. However, the intelligence that Miss Fairford had received a most distinguishing invitation from Lady Albinia Forrest, the Earl’s maternal aunt, to make one of the party, quite put an end to his ill-humour. The Earl became immediately a very good sort of a fellow, and from having been disconsolately expecting a party insipid beyond everything, he was brought to look forward to it with no common degree of pleasure.
Judith also looked forward to it in the expectation of considerable enjoyment. She had an ambition to see Worth, which Mrs. Scattergood had described to her in the most eulogistic terms; the party was to be select, comprised for the most part of her most particular friends; and her only regret was that the greatest of her friends, Mr. Bernard Taverner, was not to be present. When she told him of the invitation and saw him look sadly out of countenance, she said impulsively that she wished he might be going with them. He smiled, but shook his head. “The Earl of Worth would never invite me to join any party of which you were a member,” he said. “There is no love lost between us.”
“No love lost!” she exclaimed. “I had thought you barely acquainted with him. How is this?”
“The Earl of Worth,” he said deliberately, “has been good enough to warn me against making your well-being my concern. He does me the honour of thinking me to stand in his way. What will be the issue I do not know. If he is to be believed, I stand in some danger of being put out of his way.” He gave a little laugh. “The Earl of Worth does not like to have his path crossed.”
She was staring at him in great astonishment. “This is beyond everything, upon my word! You cannot, I am persuaded, have properly understood him! Why should he threaten you? When have you met? Where did this conversation take place?”
“It took place,” said Mr. Taverner, “in a certain tavern known as Cribb’s Parlour, upon the day that Perry went out to fight Farnaby. I found his lordship there in close conversation with Farnaby himself.”
“With Farnaby! Good God! what can you mean?”
He took a short turn about the room. “I do not know. I wish that I did. It was not my intention to speak of this to you, but lately I have thought that his lordship has been making headway with you. However little I may relish the office of informer, it is only right that you should be put upon your guard. What Worth’s business with Farnaby may have been I have no means of knowing. It must be all conjecture. To see them with their heads together was to me something of a shock, I own. I impute nothing; I merely tell you what I saw. The Earl, perceiving me, came across the room to my side; what passed between us I shall not repeat. It was enough to assure me that Worth regards me as a menace to whatever scheme he may have in mind. I was warned not to meddle in your concerns. Whether I am very likely to be intimidated by such a threat I leave it to yourself to decide.”
She was silent for a moment, frowning over it. She could not but perceive that there might be some jealousy at work here, on both sides perhaps. She said presently in a tone of calm good sense: “It is very odd, indeed, but I must believe you to be mistaken, in part at least. Lord Worth, being Perry’s guardian, may easily have conceived it to be his duty to inquire more fully into the cause of that projected meeting.”
He looked at her intently. “It may have been so, yet I shall not conceal from you, Judith, that I neither like nor trust that man.” She made a gesture as though to silence him. “You do not wish me to speak. Perhaps I should not; perhaps I am wrong. I will only beg of you to take care how you put yourself in his power.”
She returned his look a little sternly, but as though pulling over what he had said. “Lord Worth told me to trust him,” she said slowly.
“That is easily said. I do not tell you to trust me. Mistrust me, if you please: I shall continue to do what I can to serve you.”
His frank, manly way of speaking induced her to stretch out her hand to him. “Why, of course I trust you, cousin,” she said, “even though I think you are mistaken.”
He kissed her hand, and said no more, but left her very soon to ponder over it, to recall incidents, words, that might guide her understanding. Lately, it had seemed to her as though Worth too might become a suitor to her hand, yet no man had it in his power to compel her into marriage, and she could see no reason for fearing him. Her cousin she believed to be strongly attached to her, and allowance must be made for the very natural jealousy of a man deeply in love. Neither man could like the other: it had been apparent from the first. She supposed each must find it easy to mistrust the other. She put the matter out of mind, yet was still worried by it.
A few days would now bring Christmas upon them; the Taverners, accompanied by Mrs. Scattergood and Miss Fairford, were to travel into Hampshire, to Worth, upon the twenty-third of December, and every moment before their departure seemed to Miss Taverner to be occupied in writing graceful notes of acknowledgment for the shower of gifts that descended upon her. The most elegant trifles were sent for her acceptance: she was in despair, half-inclined to return them all, but dissuaded from it by her chaperon, who inspected each offering with the strictest regard for propriety, and pronounced all to be in the best of taste, quite unexceptionable, impossible to decline!
Amongst the collection of snuff-boxes, etuis, china figures, and fans that arrived for his sister, the tokens Peregrine had received made, he complained, a meagre show. Some handkerchiefs, hemmed for him by Lady Fairford, a brace of partridges from Sussex, where Mr. Fitzjohn had retired for the month, a locket with his Harriet’s eye painted on ivory, a small jar of snuff from which the sender’s card was missing, and a fob from his cousin made up the sum of his presents. However, he was in raptures over the locket, and very well satisfied with the rest. The handkerchiefs must always be useful; the birds could be roasted for dinner; the fob was added to his already large collection; and the snuff was no doubt a capital mixture. Like a great many other young gentlemen, Peregrine never stirred out without his box, and inhaled a vast quantity of snuff without having very much taste for it, or discrimination in the sorts he chose. Brown rappee was the same to him as Spanish bran; he could detect very little difference. As for this elegant, glazed jar which had been sent him he liked it excessively, and only wished he might know the donor. A prolonged search amongst the litter of cards, notes, and silver-paper wrappings which surrounded his sister failed to discover the missing card; he had to resign himself to its being lost.
Judith took a pinch of his snuff, and wrinkled her nose at it. “My dear Perry, it reeks of Otto of Roses! It is detestable!”
“Pho, nonsense, you are a great deal too nice! Since you took to using snuff you think you know everything about it.”
“I know this mixture would never be tolerated by Lord Petersham, or Worth,” she retorted. “It is not at all unlike the sort Worth has made up for the Regent, only more scented. Do not be offering it to him, I beg of you! Who can have sent it to you? How awkward it is that you have lost the card!”
“I believe there never was a card. I believe it must have been forgotten. If you do not like the mixture I am glad, for you won’t be wanting to fill your box from my jar.”
“No, indeed! I imagine no one would suspect me of taking scented snuff,” retorted Judith.
The day of setting forward on the journey arrived at last. The trunks and the bandboxes were safely strapped to the chaise: Mrs. Scattergood predicted a fall of snow; Peregrine mounted his horse; Miss Fairford was picked up in Arlington Street; and the whole party started on the journey not more than an hour later than had originally been intended.
No fall of snow occurred to render the roads impassable; the weather, though wintry, was not cold enough to make travelling insupportable; and with only one halt of any length upon the way they arrived at Worth by four in the afternoon, to be welcomed with all the comfort of large fires, hot soup, and cheerful company.
It was dusk when they turned in at the iron gates of Worth, and no impression of the park, or the exterior of the house could be had; but the interior struck Miss Taverner at once with a sense of its elegance, noble apartments, and handsome furnishings. It was just what a gentleman’s residence should be; everything spoke its owner’s taste. Judith could not but be pleased with all that she saw, and wish to explore further, at a more convenient time, into the older part of the house, which she understood to date back as much as two centuries.
Lady Albinia was there to receive the travellers. She was a short-sighted, vague woman of no particular beauty, and a total disregard for the prevailing fashion. A Paisley shawl, which she wore to protect her from the draughts, was continually slipping from her shoulders and becoming entangled in the furniture. When this happened she immediately summoned up any gentleman who chanced to be near, and commanded him to disengage her tiresome fringe. She seemed incapable of helping herself, and when she dropped her fan or her handkerchief, as she frequently did, merely waited for someone to pick it up for her, breaking off in the middle of whatever she was saying, and resuming again the instant her property was restored to her. She had a habit of uttering her thoughts aloud, which was disconcerting to those not much acquainted with her, but which no one who knew her paid the least attention to. She greeted the Taverners kindly, and having led the ladies to the fire, and begged them to sit down by it and warm their chilled hands, looked Judith over with an expression of mild approval, and said in her inconsequent way: “Such bad weather for travelling, though to be sure it does not snow, and the roads nowadays are so good that one is hardly ever in danger of being held up. Eighty thousand pounds, and quite a beauty besides! Worth is fortunate indeed, if only he may have the sense to realize it.”
Miss Taverner, who had been warned by Mrs. Scattergood what to expect, tried to look unconscious, but could not prevent a blush creeping into her cheeks. Mrs. Scattergood said severely: “Albinia, where is Julian?”
It appeared that the gentlemen had gone out for a day’s shooting, and were not yet returned. The travellers were escorted upstairs to their bedchambers, and left to recover from the fatigues of the journey before dressing for dinner.
By dinner-time the rest of the party had arrived, and the sporting gentlemen returned from their expedition. The remaining guests comprised Lords Petersham and Alvanley, Mr. Brummell, and Mr. Forrest, Lady Albinia’s taciturn spouse, and Mrs. and Miss Marley, particular friends of Miss Taverner. Everyone was acquainted; nothing, Mrs. Scattergood declared, could have been more charming. Lord Alvanley, except for his habit of putting out his bedroom candle by stuffing it under his pillow, must always be an acceptable guest; Lord Petersham, the most finished gentleman alive, was courteous and amiable; the Earl was a calm but attentive host; Mr. Brummell was in a conversable mood, and a pleasant evening was spent in one of the saloons, playing cards, drinking tea, and chatting over a noble fire. The only discomfort Judith had to endure was the sight of her brother begging Lord Petersham to give an opinion on his new snuff, the whole history of which he had been recounting a moment previous. Lord Petersham was obliging enough to help himself to a pinch, and to say courteously that he had no doubt of its being a superior mixture. Lord Worth, less polite, put up his glass when the box was offered to him, and upon hearing that it was highly scented waved it away. “No, thank you, Peregrine. I will believe it to be all you say. I hope you are not using it, Miss Taverner?”
“No, no, I keep my own sort,” Judith assured him. “When I want scent I do not go to my snuff-box for it, but to Mr. Brummell, who is going to make me a stick of perfume.”
“A stick of Mr. Brummell’s perfume, my love!” exclaimed Mrs. Marley. “Do you want to make us all envious? Do you not know that every lady among us wants one of those sticks?”
The Beau shook his head. “Very true, but you know I cannot be giving them to everyone, ma’am. That would be to have them held very cheap. The Regent, now, is dying to get hold of one, but one has to draw the line somewhere.”
“George is feeling peevish because he has caught a cold,” remarked Alvanley. “How did you come by it in this mild weather, George?”
“Why, do you know, I left my carriage this afternoon on my way from town, and the infidel of a landlord put me into a room with a damp stranger!” replied Brummell instantly.
It seemed the next day as though Peregrine had caught the Beau’s cold. He complained of the sore throat, and coughed a little, but trusted that a day’s sport (which he had been promised) would soon set matters to rights. Judith could place no such dependence on the effect of a raw December day, but it was useless to expect Peregrine to remain indoors for no more serious reason than a slight chill. He went off with Petersham, Alvanley, and Mr. Forrest to shoot over some preserves a few miles distant from Worth.
Mr. Brummell put in no appearance until midday. The exigencies of his toilet occupied several hours; he had been known to spend as many as two on the nice arrangement of his clothes, to which, however, he gave not another thought once he had left his dressing-room. Unlike most of the dandies he was never seen to cast an anxious glance at a mirror, to adjust his cravat, nor to smooth wrinkles from his coat. When he left his room he was, and knew himself to be, a finished work of art, perfect in every detail from his beautifully laundered linen to his highly polished boots.
Mrs. Marley also kept her room until a late hour, but the three young ladies were up in good time, and spent the morning in exploring the house under the guidance of the housekeeper, and in strolling about the gardens and shrubbery until they were called in to partake of scalloped oysters, cold meats, and fruit in one of the dining-parlours.
The sportsmen were expected to be back by three o’clock, so that it was not surprising that Miss Fairford should blushingly decline the offer of being driven out for an airing after luncheon. The Earl made the suggestion: it was met by a dismayed look and a stammered excuse, Miss Fairford hardly knowing what to say, from the fear, on the one hand, of offending her host, and, on the other, of not being present when Peregrine returned to the house. The Earl looked amused at her confusion, but forbore to tease, as Judith was half afraid he would, and said with only the faintest suggestion of a laugh in his well-bred voice: “You had rather be writing a letter to your mama, I daresay.”
“Oh yes!” said Miss Fairford thankfully. “I think I ought certainly to do that!”
He turned away to address Judith. “Does Miss Taverner care to drive out with me?”
She assented to it gladly; as they left the room together the Earl looked back, and said with the hint of a smile: “Let me have your letter when it is finished, Miss Fairford, and I will frank it for you.”
An hour spent in being driven about the country brought Miss Taverner back with glowing cheeks and in happy spirits. The Earl had been in his most pleasant mood, a sensible companion, entertaining her with easy talk, and teaching her how to loop a rein and let it run free again in his own deft fashion.
They returned quite in charity with each other to find Lady Albinia, Mrs. Marley, and Mr. Brummell seated in one of the drawing-rooms with a lady and two gentlemen who had driven over from a neighbouring estate to pay a call at Worth.
Upon the entrance of the Earl and his ward a greater animation seemed to enter into these visitors. Compliments were exchanged, and the lady lost no time in presenting her son to Miss Taverner. The elder of the two gentlemen, who had been talking to Mr. Brummell, had less interest in the heiress, and very soon returned to Brummell. The Beau was sitting with a look of pained resignation on his face, which was accounted for by Lady Albinia, who in making the necessary introductions turned to the Earl and said: “You see the Fox-Matthewses are come to call on us, my dear Worth. So obliging of them! They have been sitting with us more than half an hour. I do not believe they will ever go.”
Mr. Fox-Matthews was talking in a consequential way of the beauties of the Hampshire scenery. He would scarcely allow it to have its equal, unless perhaps one took the Lake District into account. It was soon seen that having been travelling there in the summer he now desired nothing better than to be allowed to describe the Lakes to everyone, and to tell those who had not had the good fortune to journey so far that they had missed something very fine. He did not know whether Mr. Brummell had visited the Lakes; if he had not he should certainly make the effort.
Mr. Brummell looked him over with that lift of the eyebrow which could always depress pretension. “Yes, sir, I have visited the Lakes,” he said.
“Ah then, in that case—And which of them do you most admire, sir?”
Mr. Brummell drew in his breath. “I will tell you, sir, if you will accord me a few moments.” Then, turning to address a footman who had come in to make up the fire, he quietly desired the man to send his valet to him. Mr. Fox-Matthews stared, but the Beau remained quite imperturbable, and maintained a thoughtful silence until the entrance of a neat man in a black coat, who came anxiously up to him, and bowed.
“Robinson,” said Mr. Brummell, “which of the Lakes do I admire?”
“Windermere, sir,” replied the valet respectfully.
“Ah, Windermere, is it? Thank you, Robinson. Yes, I like Windermere best,” he said, turning politely back to Mr. Fox-Matthews.
Mrs. Fox-Matthews, swelling with indignation, rose, and declared it to be time they were taking their leave.
Peregrine’s cough, when his sister next saw him, did not appear to have benefited much from a morning spent in the fresh air. It still troubled him, and during the days that followed grew perceptibly worse. His throat was slightly inflamed, and although he would not hear of consulting a doctor, or admit that he felt in the least sickly, it was evident that he was far from being in perfect health. There was a languor, a heavy look about the eyes which worried his sister, but he ascribed it all to having caught a chill, and believed that the air at Worth might not quite suit him.
“The air at Worth,” Judith repeated. “The air—” She broke off. “What am I thinking? I deserve to be beaten for indulging such a wild fancy! Impossible! Oh, impossible!”
“Well, what are you thinking?” inquired Peregrine, with a yawn, “What is impossible? Why do you look so oddly?”
She knelt down beside his chair and clasped his hands. “Perry, how do you feel?” she asked earnestly. “Are you sure that it is no more than a chill?”
“Why, what else should it be? What’s in your mind?”
“I hardly know, hardly dare to wonder. Perry, when that man picked a quarrel with you—I am speaking of Farnaby—were you not surprised? Did it seem to you reasonable?”
“What has that to do with it?” he asked, opening his eyes at her. “Ay, I daresay I was a trifle surprised, but if Farnaby was foxed, you know—”
“But was he? You did not say so.”
“Lord, how should I know? I did not think so, but he may have been.”
She continued to clasp his hands, looking anxiously up into his face. “You were fired on the day you came over Finchley Common, a shot you believed might have killed you, had it not been for Hinkson. Twice you have been in danger of your life! And now you are ill, mysteriously so, for you have no chill, Perry, and you know it, but only this dry cough, which is growing worse, and the sore throat!”
He stared, sat up with a jerk, and then burst into a laugh that brought on a fit of coughing. “Lord, Ju, you’ll be the death of me! Do you think I am being poisoned? Why, who in the world should want to put me away? Of all the nonsensical notions!”
“Yes, yes, it is nonsensical, it must be!” she said. “I tell myself so, and yet am unconvinced. Perry, have you not considered that if anything should happen to you the greater part of your fortune would be mine?”
This set him off into another fit of laughing. “What! are you trying to make away with me?” he asked. “Be serious, Perry, I beg of you!”
“Lord, how can I be? I never heard such a pack of nonsense in my life. This is what comes of reading Mrs. Radclyffe’s novels! It is a famous joke, I declare!”
“What is a famous joke? May I share it?”
Judith looked quickly round. The Earl had come into the room, and was standing by the table, inscrutably regarding them. How much he had heard of their conversation she could not guess, but she coloured deeply, and sprang up, turning her head away.
“Oh, it is the best thing I have heard these ten years!” said Peregrine. “Judith thinks I am being poisoned!”
“Indeed!” said the Earl, glancing in Judith’s direction. “May I know who it is Miss Taverner suspects of poisoning you?”
She threw her brother an angry, reproachful look, and went past the Earl to the door. “Peregrine is jesting. I believe him to have taken something that has not agreed with him, that is all.”
She went out, and the Earl, looking after her in silence for a moment, presently turned back to Peregrine, and, laying a silver snuff-box on the table, said: “This is yours, I fancy. It was found in the Blue Saloon.”
“Oh, thank you! Yes, it is mine,” said Peregrine, picking it up and idly flicking it open. “I did not know I had so much snuff in it, however; I thought it had been no more than half full. You know, Petersham found it to be a very good mixture. You heard him say so. I wish you would try it!”
“Very well,” said the Earl, dipping his finger and thumb in the box.
Peregrine, much gratified, also took a pinch, and inhaled it carelessly. “I like it as well as most,” he said. “I do not see what there is to object to in it.”
The Earl’s eyes, which had been fixed watchfully on his face, fell. “Petersham’s praise should be enough to satisfy you,” he said. “I know of no better judge.”
“Judith says it is a sort no gentleman of taste could use,” complained Peregrine. “If you think that I suppose I had better throw it all away, for I daresay Petersham was only wishing to be civil.”
“Miss Taverner is prejudiced against scented snuffs,” replied the Earl. “You need not be afraid of using this sort.”
“Well, I am glad of that,” said Peregrine. “You know, I have a whole jar of it at home, and it would be a pity to waste it.”
“Certainly. But I hope you keep your jar in a warm room?”
“Oh, it is in my dressing-room! I do not keep a great deal of snuff, you know. I do not have a room for it, as you do. In general, I buy it as I need it, and keep it where it may be handy.”
The Earl returned some indifferent answer, and soon left the room in search of Judith. He found her presently in the library, choosing a volume from the shelves. She looked over her shoulder when he came in, coloured faintly, but said in a calm voice: “You have such an excellent library: I daresay many thousands of volumes. At Beverly we are sadly lacking in that respect. It is a great luxury to find oneself in a library as well stocked as this.”
“My library is honoured, Miss Taverner,” he answered briefly.
She could not but be aware of the gravity in both face and voice. He was looking stern; there was something of reserve in his tone, quite different from the easy, open manner she was growing used to in him. She hesitated, and then turned more completely towards him, and said with an air of frank resolution: “I am afraid there may be some misconstruction. I have been indulging an absurd flight of fancy, as I believe you may have heard when you came into the saloon just now.”
He did not answer immediately, and when he did at last speak it was with considerable dryness. “I think, Miss Taverner, you will be well advised not to repeat to anyone that you believe Peregrine’s indisposition to be due to the effect of poison.”
Her colour mounted; she hung down her head. “I have been very foolish. Indeed, I do not know what possessed me to blurt out so stupid a suggestion! I have been worried about him. That duel, which, thank God! was stopped, took such strong possession of my mind that I have not been easy ever since. It seemed so wanton, so senseless! Then you must know that he was attacked upon his way home from St. Albans, and escaped by the veriest miracle. I cannot rid myself of the fear that some danger threatens him. This indisposition seemed, in the agitation of the moment, to bear out my suspicion, and without pausing to consider I spoke the thought that darted through my head. I was wrong, extremely foolish, and I acknowledge it.”
He came towards her. “Are you worried about Peregrine? You need not be.”
“I cannot help myself. If I thought that my suspicions had in them the least vestige of truth I think I should be quite out of my mind with terror.”
“In that case.” said his lordship deliberately, “it is as well that there can be no truth in them. I have no doubt of Peregrine’s being speedily restored to health. As for his rather absurd duel, and his encounter on Finchley Common, such things may befall anyone. I counsel you to put them out of your mind.”
“My cousin did not take so light a view,” she said in a low voice.
She saw his face harden. “Have you discussed this matter with Mr. Bernard Taverner?” he asked sharply.
“Yes, certainly I have. Why should I not?”
“I could tell you several good reasons. I shall be obliged to you, Miss Taverner, if you will remember that whatever your relationship with that gentleman may be, it is I who am your guardian, and not he.”
“I do not forget it.”
“Excuse me. Miss Taverner, you forget it every time you bestow on him confidences which he has done nothing to deserve.”
She faced him with a dawning anger in her eyes. “Is not this a little petty, Lord Worth?”
A sardonic smile curled his lips. “I see. I am jealous, I suppose? My good girl, your conquests have mounted to your head. You are not the only pretty female I have kissed.”
Her breasts rose and fell quickly. “You are insufferable!” she said. “I have done nothing to deserve such an insult from you!”
“If we are to talk of insults,” said the Earl grimly, “you will come off very much the worst from that encounter. The insult of informing you that I am not a suitor to your hand is hardly comparable to the insult of ascribing to me jealousy of such a person as Mr. Bernard Taverner.”
“I am very happy to think that you are not my suitor!” flashed Judith. “I can conceive of nothing more odious!”
“There are times,” said the Earl, “when, if I were in the habit of uttering exaggerated statements, I could almost echo that sentiment. Do not look daggers at me: I am wholly impervious to displays of that kind. Your tantrums may do very well at home, but they arouse in me nothing more than a desire to beat you soundly. And that, Miss Taverner, if ever I do marry you, is precisely what I shall do.”
Miss Taverner fought for breath. “If ever you—Oh, if I were but a man!”
“A more stupid remark I have yet to hear you make,” commented his lordship. “If you were a man this conversation would not be taking place.”
Miss Taverner, failing to find words with which to answer him, swung round on her heel, and began to pace about the room in a hasty manner that spoke more clearly than any words the agitation of her spirits.
The Earl leaned his shoulders against the bookshelves, and stood with folded arms, observing her perambulations. As he watched her the anger died out of his eyes; his mouth which had been set in a straight line relaxed; and he began to look merely amused. After a few minutes he spoke, saying in his usual calm way: “Do not be striding about the room any longer, Miss Taverner. You look magnificent, but it is a waste of energy. I will apologize for the whole.”
She came to a halt beside a chair, and grasped the back of it with both hands. “Your behaviour, your manner—”
“Both abominable,” he said. “I beg pardon, insufferable was the word. I offer you my apologies.”
“Your way of speaking of a gentleman who is my cousin—”
“Whom, if you please, we will leave out of this discussion.”
She gripped the chair-back more tightly still. “Your indelicacy, the total want of proper feeling that could prompt you to taunt me with an episode in the past which covered me, and still covers me, with shame—”
He held out his hand to her. “That was ill-done of me indeed,” he said gently. “Forgive me!”
She was silenced, and stood looking across at him in a frowning way for several minutes. At last she said in a more mollified voice: “I daresay I may seem to be conceited. If you say so no doubt it is so: you should be a judge. But I can assure you, Lord Worth, that my conquests, as you are good enough to call them, have not led me to suppose that every gentleman of my acquaintance, including yourself, is desirous of marrying me.”
“Of course not,” he agreed.
She said uncertainly: “I am sorry to have lost my temper in what you may have thought to have been an unladylike manner, but you will allow the provocation to have been great.”
“I will allow it to have been impossible to withstand,” said his lordship. “Come, shall we shake hands on it?”
Miss Taverner walked slowly across the room and put her hand reluctantly into his. He bent, and somewhat to her surprise lightly kissed it. Releasing it again he said: “I have one more thing to say to you before we forget this conversation. It is my wish that you will not mention, either to Mr. Taverner or to anyone else, this suspicion you have had of Perry’s having been poisoned.” She looked questioningly at him, half-frowning. “You can do no good by giving voice to such a suspicion; you may do harm.”
“Harm! Do you think—is it possible that I may have been right?” she asked in quick alarm.
“Extremely unlikely,” he replied. “But since this indisposition of his has overtaken him under my roof I prefer not to be suspected of making away with him.”
“I shall not speak of it,” she said in a troubled way. “I should not spread such a rumour without positive proof of its truth.”
He bowed, and moved away from her towards the door. Before he had reached it he looked back, and said casually: “By the by, Miss Taverner, can you lay your hand on the lease of your house? I believe I gave it into your charge.”
“It is in my desk at home,” she said. “Do you wish for it?”
“Blackader writes of some point to be argued. It will be necessary for me to glance at the lease. If a servant were sent to London, could your housekeeper, or some such person, find it, and give it to him to bring to me?”
“Certainly,” she said. “Hinkson, Perry’s new groom, can be sent for it.”
“Thank you, that will be best, no doubt,” he said.
A hasty step sounded at this moment outside the room, and a gay voice called: “In the library, is he? I will find him: do not give yourself the trouble of coming with me, my dear ma’am! I have not forgot my way about.”
The Earl raised his brows in quick surprise. “This is something quite unexpected,” he remarked, and opened the door, and held out both his hands. “Charles! What the devil?”
A tall young man in Hussar uniform, with a handsome, laughing countenance, and his right arm in a sling, gripped one of the Earl’s hands in his own left one. “My dear fellow! How do you do? By Gad, it’s famous to see you again! You observe I have got my furlough, thanks to this!” He indicated his useless arm.
“How is it?” Worth asked. “Do you feel it as much as ever? When did you come out of hospital? There does not look to be a great deal amiss with you from what I can see!”
“Lord, no! nothing in the world! I’m come home to try my luck with the heiress. Where is she? Does she squint like a bag of nails? Is she hideous? They always are!”
The Earl stood back. “You may judge for yourself,” he said dryly. “Miss Taverner, little though he may have recommended himself to you, I must beg leave to present my brother, Captain Audley.”
Captain the Honourable Charles Audley started, and gazed at Miss Taverner with an expression of mingled dismay, admiration, and incredulity in his bright eyes. He said: “Good God! is it possible?” and strode forward. “Madam, your most obedient! What can I say?”
“You have said too much already,” remarked the Earl in a tone of amusement.
“True, very true! There is no getting away from it, indeed; Miss Taverner, you did not hear me; you were not attending!”
“On the contrary, I heard you very plainly,” said Judith, unable to withstand his smile. She held out her hand. “How do you do? I am sorry to see your arm in a sling. I hope no lasting injury?”
“Not to my arm, ma’am; none incurred in the Peninsula,” he said promptly, taking her hand and kissing it.
She could not help laughing. His eyes began to dance; he said outrageously: “You must let me tell you that in all my experience of heiresses I have never till to-day encountered one who did not give me a nightmare. You have restored my faith in miracles, Miss Taverner!”
“If you expose yourself any further, Miss Taverner will ask to have her carriage spoken for immediately,” observed the Earl.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I am happy to think I do not give Captain Audley nightmares.” She moved towards the door. “You will have so much to say to each other! I will leave you.”
She was gone on the words. Captain Audley closed the door behind her and turned to look at the Earl. “Julian, you dog! you’ve kept her mighty dark! Are you engaged to her?”
“No,” said Worth. “I am not.”
“You must be mad!” declared the Captain. “Don’t tell me you mean to let all that wealth and beauty slip through your fingers! I have a very good mind to try for her myself.”
“Do so, by all means. You won’t succeed, but it may keep you out of mischief.”
“Ah, don’t be too sure!” grinned the Captain. “You know nothing about it, my boy.”
“I know a great deal about it,” retorted Worth. “I am her guardian.”
“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Captain Audley. “Am I to understand you would forbid the banns?”
“You are,” said Worth.
The Captain perched himself on the edge of the table. “Very well, Gretna Green let it be! My dear fellow, you’re in love with her yourself! Shall I go away again?”
Worth smiled. “Your vulgarity is only equalled by your conceit, Charles. Tell me now, how have things been with you?”
“All in good time,” said the Captain. “First you shall tell me whether I am to hold off from the heiress.”
“Not at all; why should you? I think you may be quite useful to me. The heiress has a brother.”
“I am not in the least interested in her brother,” objected the Captain.
“Possibly not, but I have a considerable interest in him,” said Worth. He looked the Captain over meditatively. “I think, Charles—I am nearly sure—that you are going to become very friendly with young Peregrine, if he will let you. Unfortunately, he does not like me, and his prejudice may extend to you as well.”
“Alas, alas! Why do you want him to like me?”
“Because,” said the Earl slowly, “I need someone to be in his confidence whom I can trust.”
“Good God! why?” demanded the Captain in lively astonishment.
“Peregrine Taverner,” said Worth, with a certain deliberation, “is an extremely wealthy young man, and if anything were to happen to him his sister would inherit the greater part of his fortune,”
“Very well, let us by all means drown him in the lake,” said the Captain gaily. “Plainly, he must be disposed of.”
“He is being disposed of,” said the Earl, without the least trace of emotion in his level voice. “For the past five days he has been inhaling poisoned snuff.”