The Convenient Marriage Read online

  ‘It isn’t that at all!’ flamed Horatia. ‘Only I f-found out that he had planned the R-Ranelagh affair with that odious Lady M-Massey.’

  The Viscount stared at her. ‘You’re raving!’ he said calmly.

  ‘I’m not. She was there, and she knew!’

  ‘Who told you he planned it with her?’

  ‘W-well, no one precisely, but Lethbridge thought so, and of course I realized –’

  ‘Lethbridge!’ interrupted the Viscount with scorn. ‘Upon my word, you’re a damned little fool, Horry! Lord don’t be so simple! A man don’t plot with his mistress against his wife. Never heard such a pack of nonsense!’

  Horatia sat up. ‘P-Pel, do you really think so?’ she asked wistfully. ‘B-but I can’t help remembering that he said she d-did indeed know it was he all the t-time.’

  The Viscount regarded her with frank contempt. ‘Well if he said that it proves she wasn’t in it – if it needs proof, which it don’t. Lord, Horry, I put it to you, would he be likely to say that if she’d had a finger in the pie? What’s more, it explains why the Massey’s gone off to Bath so suddenly. Depend on it, if she found out it was he in the scarlet domino they had some sort of a scene, and Rule’s not the man to stand that. Wondered what happened to make her go off in such a devil of a hurry. Here, what the deuce – ?’ For Horatia, with a sudden squeak of joy, had flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said the Viscount testily, disengaging himself.

  ‘Oh, P-Pel, I never thought of that!’ sighed Horatia.

  ‘You’re a little fool,’ said the Viscount.

  ‘Yes, I see I am,’ she confessed. ‘B-but if he has b-broken with that woman, it makes me more than ever decided not to tell him about l-last night.’

  The Viscount thought this over. ‘I must say it’s a devilish queer story,’ he said. ‘Daresay you’re right. If we can get that brooch back you’re safe enough. If Pom don’t succeed –’ His lip tightened, and he nodded darkly.

  Sir Roland, meanwhile, had arrived in Half-Moon Street, and was fortunate enough to find Lord Lethbridge at home.

  Lethbridge received him in a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown. He did not look to be much the worse for the blow he had received, and he greeted Sir Roland with suave amiability. ‘Pray sit down, Pommeroy,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected honour?’

  Sir Roland accepted the chair, and proceeded to display his tact. ‘Most unfortunate thing,’ he said. ‘Last night – not quite myself, you know – lost a brooch. Must have dropped out of my cravat.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Lethbridge, looking at him rather hard. ‘A pin, in fact?’

  ‘Not a pin, no. A brooch. Family jewels – sometimes wear it – don’t care to lose it. So I came round to see if I dropped it here.’

  ‘I see. And what is it like, this brooch?’

  ‘Ring-brooch; inner circle pearls and openwork bosses, outer row pearls and diamonds,’ said Sir Roland glibly.

  ‘Indeed? A lady’s ornament, one would almost infer.’

  ‘Belonged to my great-aunt,’ said Sir Roland, extricating himself from that predicament with masterly skill.

  ‘Ah, no doubt you value it highly then,’ remarked his lordship sympathetically.

  ‘Just so,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Sentiment, you know. Should be glad to put my hand on it again.’

  ‘I regret infinitely that I am unable to help you. May I suggest that you look for it in Montacute’s house? I think you said you spent the evening there?’

  ‘I didn’t lose it there,’ replied Sir Roland firmly. ‘Naturally went there first.’

  Lethbridge shrugged. ‘How very unfortunate! I fear you must have dropped it in the street.’

  ‘Not in the street, no. Remember having it on just before I came here.’

  ‘Dear me!’ said Lethbridge. ‘What makes you remember so particularly?’

  Sir Roland took a moment to think this out. ‘Remember it because Pel said: “That’s a queer tie-pin, Pom.” And I said: “Belonged to my great-aunt.” Then we came here. Must have had it on then.’

  ‘It would certainly seem so. But perhaps you lost it after you left my house. Or do you remember that Winwood then said: “Where’s your tie-pin?”’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Sir Roland, grateful for the assistance. ‘Pel said: “Why, what’s become of your tie-pin, Pom?” Didn’t come back – time getting on, you know. Knew it would be safe here!’

  Lethbridge shook his head. ‘I fear your recollection is not very clear, Pommeroy. I have not got your brooch.’

  There was nothing for Sir Roland to do after that but to take his leave. Lord Lethbridge escorted him out into the hall, and sweetly bade him farewell. ‘And do pray advise me if you succeed in finding the brooch,’ he said with great civility. He watched his crestfallen visitor go off down the steps, and transferred his gaze to the porter’s face. ‘Send Moxton to me,’ he said, and went back into the saloon.

  In a few moments his butler appeared. ‘My lord?’

  ‘When this room was swept this morning, was a brooch found?’ asked Lethbridge.

  The lids descended discreetly over the butler’s eyes. ‘I have not heard of it, my lord.’

  ‘Make inquiries.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  While the butler was out of the room, Lethbridge stood looking out of the window, slightly frowning. When Moxton came back he turned. ‘Well?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  The frown lingered. ‘Very well,’ Lethbridge said.

  The butler bowed. ‘Yes, my lord. Your lordship’s luncheon is served.’

  Lethbridge went into the dining-room, still attired in his dressing-gown, still wearing a thoughtful, puzzled look on his face.

  He sat for some time over his meal, absently sipping his port. He was not, as he had told Caroline Massey, the man to gnash his teeth over his own discomfiture, but the miscarriage of last night’s plans had annoyed him. That little vixen wanted taming. The affair had become tinged, in his mind, with a sporting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which she would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked – if only he could lay his hand on it.

  His mind went back; his acute memory re-created for him the sound of ripping lace. He raised his glass to his lips, savouring the port. Ah, yes, undoubtedly the brooch had been lost then. No doubt a distinctive trinket, possibly part of the Drelincourt jewels. He smiled a little, picturing Horatia’s dismay. It could be turned into a shrewd weapon, that ring-brooch – wielded in the right hands.

  The brooch was not in his house, unless his servants were lying. He did not, for more than a fleeting moment, suspect any of them of theft. They had been with him some years; probably knew that he was an ill master to cheat.

  The image of Mr Drelincourt’s face flashed across his mind. He set down his glass. Crosby. Such a sharp-eyed fellow, Crosby. But had he had the opportunity to pick up a brooch from the floor unseen? He went over his movements during that brief visit. Crosby’s arrival: no chance then. The departure of Winwood and Pommeroy. Had he taken them to the door? No. Still no chance for Crosby. Some talk he had had with him, not very much, for his head had been aching furiously, and then what? His fingers closed again around the stem of his glass, and instantly he remembered drinking a glass of wine to steady himself. Yes, certainly a chance for Crosby then. He had tossed off the wine, and turned. Now, had Crosby had one hand in his pocket? The picture lived again; he could see Crosby standing behind a chair, looking at him, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.

  Really, it was quite amusing. There was no proof, of course, not a shadow of proof, but perhaps a visit to Crosby might be not unfruitful. Yes, one might hazard a guess that the brooch was an heirloom. Crosby – an astute fellow: quite needle-sharp