For several days after his encounter with the Viscount Mr Drelincourt kept his bed, a pale and interesting invalid. Having conceived a dislike of Dr Parvey, he rejected all that Member of the Faculty’s offers to attend to him to his lodging, and drove home with only the faithful but shaken Mr Puckleton to support him. They shared the vinaigrette, and upon arrival in Jermyn Street Mr Drelincourt was supported upstairs to his bedchamber, while Mr Puckleton sent the valet running to fetch the fashionable Dr Hawkins. Dr Hawkins took a suitably grave view of the wound, and not only blooded Mr Drelincourt, but bade him lie up for a day or two, and sent off the valet once more to Graham’s, the apothecary’s for some of the famous Dr James’s powders.
Mr Puckleton had been so much upset by the fury of the Viscount’s sword-play, so thankful that he had not stood in his friend’s shoes, that he was inclined to look upon Mr Drelincourt as something of a hero, and said so often that he wondered how Crosby should have challenged Winwood so coolly, that Mr Drelincourt began to feel that he had indeed behaved with great intrepidity. He no less than Mr Puckleton had been impressed by the skill the Viscount displayed, and by dint of dwelling on his lordship’s two previous encounters he soon talked himself into believing that he had been pinked by a hardened and expert duellist.
These agreeable reflections were put to flight by the appearance of the Earl of Rule, who came to visit his afflicted relative on the following morning.
Mr Drelincourt had not the smallest desire to meet Rule at the moment, and he sent a hasty message downstairs that he was unable to receive anyone. Congratulating himself on having acted with considerable presence of mind, he composed himself against a bank of pillows, and resumed his study of the Morning Chronicle.
He was interrupted by his cousin’s pleasant voice. “I am sorry you are too ill to receive me, Crosby,” said the Earl, walking into the room.
Mr Drelincourt gave prodigious start, and let the Morning Chronicle fall. His eyes goggled at Rule, and he said between alarm and indignation: “I told my man I could not see visitors!”
“I know you did,” replied the Earl, laying his hat and cane on a chair. “He delivered your message quite properly. Short of laying hands on me there was no stopping me, no stopping me at all, my dear Crosby.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why you was so anxious to see me,” said Mr Drelincourt, wondering how much his lordship had heard.
The Earl looked rather surprised. “But how would it be otherwise, Crosby? My heir desperately wounded, and I not at his side?. Come, come, my dear fellow, you must not believe me so heartless!”
“You are very obliging, Marcus, but I find myself still too weak to converse,” said Mr Drelincourt.
“It must have been a deadly wound, Crosby,” said his lordship sympathetically.
“Oh, as to that, Dr Hawkins does not consider my case desperate. A deep thrust, and I have lost a monstrous amount of blood, and had a deal of fever, but the lung is unharmed.”
“You relieve me, Crosby. I feared that I might be called upon to arrange your obsequies. A melancholy thought!”
“Vastly!” said Mr Drelincourt, eyeing him with resentment.
The Earl pulled a chair forward and sat down. “You see, I had the felicity of meeting your friend Puckleton,” he explained. “His account of your condition quite alarmed me. My stupid gullibility, of course. Upon reflection I perceive that I should have guessed from his description of Pelham’s swordplay that he was prone to exaggerate.”
“Oh,” said Mr Drelincourt, with a self-conscious laugh, “I don’t profess to be Winwood’s match with swords!”
“My dear Crosby, I did not suppose you a master, but this is surely over-modesty?”
Mr Drelincourt said stiffly: “My Lord Winwood is known to be no mean exponent of the art, I believe.”
“Well, no,” replied the Earl, considering the point. “I don’t think I should call him mean. That is being too severe, perhaps. Let us say a moderate swordsman.”
Mr Drelincourt gathered the scattered sheets of the Morning Chronicle together with one shaking hand. “Very well, my lord, very well, and is that all you have to say? I am ordered to rest, you know.”
“Now you put me in mind of it,” said the Earl, “I remember there was something else. Ah yes, I have it! Do tell me Crosby—if you are not too exhausted by this tiresome visit of mine, of course—why did you call Pelham out? I am quite consumed by curiosity.”
Mr Drelincourt shot a quick look at him. “Oh, you might well ask! Indeed, I believe I should have made allowance for his lordship’s condition. Drunk, you know, amazingly drunk!”
“You distress me. But continue, dear cousin, pray continue!”
“It was absurd—a drunken fit of spleen, I am persuaded. His lordship took exception to the hat I wear at cards. His behaviour was most violent. In short, before I could know what he would be at he had torn the hat from my head. I could do no less than demand satisfaction, you’ll agree.”
“Certainly,” agreed Rule. “Er—I trust you are satisfied, Crosby?” Mr Drelincourt glared at him. His lordship crossed one leg over the other. “Strange how misinformed one may be!” he mused. “I was told—on what I thought credible authority—that Pelham threw a glass of wine in your face.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. “Well, as to that—his lordship was quite out of his senses, not accountable, you know.”
“So he did throw his wine in your face, Crosby?”
“Yes, oh yes! I have said, he was most violent, quite out of his senses.”
“One might almost suppose him to have been forcing a quarrel on you, might not one?” suggested Rule.
“I daresay, cousin. He was bent on picking a quarrel,” muttered Mr Drelincourt, fidgeting with his sling. “Had you been present you would know there was no doing anything with him.”
“My very dear Crosby, had I been present,” said Rule softly, “my well-meaning but misguided young relative would not have committed any of these assaults upon your person.”
“N-no, c-cousin?” stammered Mr Drelincourt.
“No,” said Rule, rising, and picking up his hat and stick. “He would have left the matter in my hands. And I, Crosby, should have used a cane, not a small-sword.”
Mr Drelincourt seemed to shrink into his pillows. “I—I am at a loss to understand you, Marcus!”
“Would you like me to make my meaning even clearer?” inquired his lordship.
“Really, I—really, Marcus, this tone—! My wound—I must beg of you to leave me! I am in no fit state to pursue this conversation, which I protest I do not understand. My doctor is expected, moreover!”
“Don’t be alarmed, cousin,” said the Earl. “I shan’t try to improve this time on Pelham’s handiwork. But you should remember to render up thanks in your prayers for that wound, you know.” With which sweetly-spoken valediction he went out of the room, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Mr Drelincourt might have been slightly consoled had he known that his late opponent had come off very little better at the Earl’s hands.
Rule, visiting him earlier, had not much difficulty in getting the full story from Pelham, though the Viscount had tried at first to adhere to precisely the tale Mr Drelincourt told later. However, with those steady grey eyes looking into his, and that lazy voice requesting him to speak the truth, he had faltered, and ended by telling Rule just what happened. Rule listened in patently unadmiring silence, and at the end said: “Ah—am I expected to thank you for this heroic deed, Pelham?”
The Viscount, who was in the middle of his breakfast, fortified himself with a long draught of ale, and replied airily: “Well, I won’t deny I acted rashly, but I was a trifle in my cups, you know.”
“The thought of what you might have felt yourself compelled to do had you been more than a trifle in your cups I find singularly unnerving,” remarked the Earl.
“Damn it, Marcus, do you tell me you’d have had me pass it by?” demanded Pelham.
“Oh, hardly that!” said Rule. “But had you refrained from taking it up in public I should have been greatly in your debt.”
The Viscount carved himself a slice of beef. “Never fear,” he said. “I’ve seen to it no one will talk. I told Pom to set it about I was drunk.”
“That was indeed thoughtful of you,” said Rule dryly. “Do you know, Pelham, I am almost annoyed with you?”
The Viscount laid down his knife and fork and said resignedly : “Burn it if I see why you should be!”
“I have a constitutional dislike of having my hand forced,” said Rule. “I thought we were agreed that I should be allowed to—er—manage my affairs alone, and in my own way.”
“Well, so you can,” said the Viscount. “I ain’t stopping you.”
“My dear Pelham, you have—I trust—already done your worst. Until this lamentable occurrence your sister’s partiality for Lethbridge was not such as to attract any—er—undue attention.”
“It attracted that little worm’s attention,” objected the Viscount.
“Do, Pelham, I beg of you, allow your brain the indulgence of a little thought,” sighed his lordship. “You forget that Crosby is my heir. The only sustained emotion I have ever seen him display is his violent dislike of my marriage. He has made the whole world privy to it. In fact, I understand he causes considerable amusement in Polite Circles. Without your ill-timed interference, my dear boy, I venture to think that his remark would have been considered mere spite.”
“Oh!” said the Viscount, rather dashed. “I see.”
“I had hoped that you might,” said Rule.
“Well, but Marcus, so it was spite! Damned spite!”
“Certainly,” agreed Rule. “But when the lady’s brother springs up in a noble fury—you must not think I do not sympathize with you, my dear Pelham: I do, from the bottom of my heart—and takes the thing in so much earnest that he forces a quarrel on willy-nilly; and further issues a veiled challenge to the world at large—you did, did you not, Pel? Ah, yes, I was sure of it!—in case any should dare to repeat the scandal—why, then, there is food enough for speculation! By this time I imagine that there is scarcely a pair of eyes in town not fixed on Horry and Lethbridge. For which, Pelham, I have undoubtedly you to thank.”
The Viscount shook his head despondently. “As bad as that, is it? I’m a fool, Marcus, that’s what it is. Always was, you know. To tell you the truth, I was devilish set on fighting the fellow. Ought to have let him eat his words. Believe he would have.”
“I am quite sure he would,” agreed Rule. “However, it is too late now. Don’t distress yourself, Pelham: at least you have the distinction of being the only man in England to have succeeded in provoking Crosby to fight. Where did you wound him?”
“Shoulder,” said the Viscount, his mouth full of beef. “Could have killed him half a dozen times.”
“Could you?” said Rule. “He must be a very bad swordsman.”
“He is,” replied the Viscount with a grin.
Having visited both the principals in the late affair, the Earl dropped into White’s to look at the journals. His entry into one of the rooms seemed to interrupt a low-voiced conversation which was engaging the attention of several people gathered together in one corner. The talk ceased like a snapped thread, to be resumed again almost immediately, very audibly this time. But the Earl of Rule, giving no sign, did not really suppose that horse-flesh was the subject of the first debate.
He lunched at the club, and shortly afterwards strolled home to Grosvenor Square. My lady, he was informed upon inquiry, was in her boudoir.
This apartment, which had been decorated for Horatia in tints of blue, lay at the back of the house, up one pair of stairs. The Earl went up to it, the faintest of creases between his brows. He was checked half-way by Mr Gisborne’s voice hailing him from the hall below.
“My lord,” said Mr Gisborne. “I have been hoping you might come in.”
The Earl paused, and looked down the stairway, one hand resting on the baluster rail. “But how charming of you, Arnold!”
Mr Gisborne, who knew his lordship, heaved a despairing sigh. “My lord, if you would spare only a few moments to glance over some accounts I have here!”
The Earl smiled disarmingly. “Dear Arnold, go to the devil!” he said, and went on up the stairs.
“But, sir, indeed I can’t act without your authority! A bill for a perch-phaeton, from a coach-maker’s! Is it to be paid?”
“My dear boy, of course pay it. Why ask me?”
“It is not one of your bills, sir,” said Mr Gisborne, a stern look about his mouth.
“I am aware,” said his lordship, slightly amused. “One of Lord Winwood’s, I believe. Settle it, my dear fellow.”
“Very well, sir. And Mr Drelincourt’s little affair?”
At that the Earl, who had been absorbed in smoothing a crease from his sleeve, looked up. “Are you inquiring after the state of my cousin’s health, or what?” he asked.
Mr Gisborne looked rather puzzled. “No, sir, I was speaking of his monetary affairs. Mr Drelincourt wrote about a week ago, stating his embarrassments, but you would not attend.”
“Do you find me a sore trial, Arnold? I am sure you must. It is time I made amends.”
“Does that mean you will look over the accounts, sir?” asked Mr Gisborne hopefully.
“No, my dear boy, it does not. But you may—ah—use your own discretion in the matter of Mr Drelincourt’s embarrassments.”
Mr Gisborne gave a short laugh. “If I were to use my own discretion, sir, Mr Drelincourt’s ceaseless demands on your generosity would find their way into the fire!” he said roundly.
“Precisely,” nodded the Earl, and went on up the stairs.
The boudoir smelt of roses. There were great bowls of them in the room, red and pink and white. In the middle of this bower, curled upon a couch with her cheek on her hand, Horatia was lying, fast asleep.
The Earl shut the door soundlessly, and trod across the thick Aubusson carpet to the couch, and stood for a moment, looking down at his wife.
She made a sufficiently pretty picture, her curls, free of powder, dressed loosely in the style the French called Greque a boucles badines, and one white shoulder just peeping from the lace of her negligee. A beam of sunlight, stealing through one of the windows, lay across her cheek; and seeing it, the Earl went over to the window, and drew the curtain a little way to shut it out. As he turned Horatia stirred and opened drowsy eyes. They fell on him, and widened. Horatia sat up. “Is it you, my l-lord? I’ve been asleep. Did you w-want me?”
“I did,” said Rule. “But I did not mean to wake you, Horry.”
“Oh, that d-doesn’t signify!” She looked up at him rather anxiously. “Have you come to scold me for p-playing loo last night? I w-won, you know.”
“My dear Horry, what a very unpleasant husband I must be!” said the Earl. “Do I only seek you out to scold you?”
“N-no, of course not, but I thought it m-might be that. Is it n-nothing disagreeable?”
“I should hardly call it disagreeable,” Rule said. “Something a little tiresome.”
“Oh, d-dear!” sighed Horatia. She shot a mischievous look at him. “You are g-going to be an unpleasant husband, sir. I know you are.”
“No,” said Rule, “but I am afraid I am going to annoy you, Horry. My lamentable cousin has been coupling your name with Lethbridge’s.”
“C-coupling my name!” echoed Horatia. “W-well, I do think Crosby is the m-most odious little toad alive! What did he say?”
“Something very rude,” replied the Earl. “I won’t distress you by repeating it.”
“I suppose he thinks I’m in l-love with Robert,” said Horatia bluntly. “But I’m n-not, and I don’t c-care what he says!”
“Certainly.not: no one cares what Crosby says. Unfortunately, however, he said it in Pelham’s hearing, and Pelham most unwisely called him out.”
Horatia clapped her hands together. “A d-duel? Oh, how f-famous!” A thought occurred to her. “M-Marcus, Pelham isn’t hurt?”
“Not in the least; it is Crosby who is hurt.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Horatia. “He d-deserves to be hurt. Surely you d-did not think that would annoy me?”
He smiled. “No. It is the sequel that I fear may annoy you. It becomes necessary for you to hold Lethbridge at arm’s length. Do you understand at all, Horry?”
“No,” said Horatia flatly. “I d-don’t!”
“Then I will try to explain. You have made Lethbridge your friend—or shall I say that you have chosen to become his friend?”
“It’s all the same, sir.”
“On the contrary, my dear, there is a vast difference. But however it is, you are, I believe, often in his company.”
“There is n-nothing in that, sir,” Horatia said, her brows beginning to lower.
“Nothing at all,” replied his lordship placidly. “But—you will have to forgive me for speaking plain, Horry—since Pelham has apparently considered the matter to be of enough moment to fight a duel over, there are a very few people who will believe that there is nothing in it.”
Horatia flushed, but answered roundly: “I d-don’t care what people believe! You’ve said yourself you kn-know there’s n-nothing in it, so if you don’t mind I am sure no one else n-need!”
He raised his brows slightly. “My dear Horry, I thought I had made it abundantly clear to you at the outset that I do mind.”
Horatia sniffed, and looked more mutinous than ever. He watched her for a moment, then bent, and taking her hands drew her to her feet. “Don’t frown at me, Horry,” he said whimsically. “Will you, to oblige me, give up this friendship with Lethbridge?”
She stared up at him, hovering between two feelings. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. He was smiling, half in amusement, half in tenderness. “My sweet, I know that I am quite old, and only your husband, but you and I could deal better together than this.”
The image of Caroline Massey rose up clear before her. She whisked herself away, and said, a sob in her throat: “My l-lord, it was agreed we should not interfere with each other. You’ll allow I d-don’t interfere with you. Indeed, I’ve n-no desire to, I assure you. I won’t cast R-Robert off just b-because you are afraid of what vulgar people may say.”
The smile had left his eyes. “I see. Ah—Horry, has a husband any right to command, since he may not request?”
“If p-people talk it is all your fault!” Horatia said, disregarding this. “If only you would be civil to R-Robert too, and—and f-friendly, no one would say a word!”
“That, I am afraid, is quite impossible,” replied the Earl dryly.
“Why?” demanded Horatia.
He seemed to deliberate. “For a reason that has become—er—ancient history, my dear.”
“Very well, sir, and what is this reason? Do you m-mean to tell me?”
His mouth quivered responsively. “I admit you have me there, Horry. I don’t mean to tell you.”
She said stormily: “Indeed, my lord? You won’t tell me w-why, and yet you expect me to cast off R-Robert!”
“I confess it does sound a trifle arbitrary,” admitted his lordship ruefully. “The story, you see, is not entirely mine. But even though I am unable to divulge it the reason is a sufficient one.”
“V-vastly interesting,” said Horatia. “It is a p-pity I can’t judge for myself, for I must tell you, sir, that I have no n-no-tion of deserting my friends only b-because a creature like your horrid c-cousin says odious things about me!”
“Then I very much fear that I shall have to take steps to enforce this particular command,” said the Earl imperturbably.
She rejoined hotly: “You c-can’t c-coerce me into obeying you, my lord!”
“What a very ugly word, my dear!” remarked the Earl. “I am sure I have never coerced anyone.”
She felt a little baffled. “Pray, what do you m-mean to do, sir?”
“Dear Horry, surely I told you? I mean to put an end to the intimacy between you and Robert Lethbridge.”
“W-well, you c-can’t!” declared Horatia.
The Earl opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch in a leisurely fashion. “No?” he said, politely interested.
“No!”
The Earl shut the snuff-box, and dusted his sleeve with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“W-well, have you n-nothing else to say?” demanded Horatia, goaded.
“Nothing at all, my dear,” said his lordship with unruffled good-humour.
Horatia made a sound rather like that of an infuriated kitten, and flounced out of the room.