The Foundling Read online

  ‘It is not nothing to me, sir,’ Nettlebed said. ‘I am sure I ask your pardon for having disturbed you, but it did seem to me that his Grace would have told you – or come to you – but if he did not, then I am wasting my time, and I will go, Captain Ware, sir!’

  ‘Good!’ said Gideon heartlessly. ‘And strive to bear in mind that his Grace is more than twenty-four years old!’

  Nettlebed cast him a look of reproach, and left him. Wragby, returning with a jug of hot water, said: ‘He’ll set ’em all by the ears, he will, sir, you mark my words! If he don’t have the Runners called out it’ll be a wonder!’

  ‘He won’t do that.’

  Wragby shook his head. ‘Fair set-about he is! I couldn’t help compassionating him.’

  ‘He wants a lesson,’ replied Gideon. ‘This should do them all good!’

  Nettlebed, speeding back to Sale House, found that Mr Scriven had arrived there, and, upon learning that nothing had been heard of the Duke since the previous morning, looked very grave, and said that Lord Lionel should instantly be informed. Chigwell then had the happy notion of running round to White’s, to enquire of the porter if his Grace had been seen in the club. The porter said that he had not set eyes on the Duke since he had dined at the club with Lord Gaywood, and, perceiving Chigwell seemed strangely chagrined, asked what had happened to put him so much out of countenance. At any ordinary time, Chigwell would have treated this curiosity in a dignified and quelling way, but his anxiety, coupled with a sleepless night, had robbed him of his poise. He told the porter that he feared his Grace had met with an accident, or fallen a victim to footpads. The porter was suitably shocked and sympathetic, and was soon in possession of all the facts of the story. Chigwell, recollecting himself, said that he was so much worried he hardly knew what he was about, but felt sure that he could trust the porter not to mention the matter. The porter assured him that he was not one to blab; and upon Chigwell’s departure, told one of the waiters that it looked like the young Duke of Sale had been murdered. He then asked every member who entered the club if he had heard the news of his Grace of Sale’s disappearance, so that in a remarkably short space of time a formidable number of persons were discussing the strange story, some taking the view that there was nothing in it, some postulating theories to account for the Duke’s disappearance, and others offering odds on the nature of his fate.

  Chigwell, returning to Sale House, found that Captain Belper had called there in the hope of finding the Duke at home, and had of course been regaled by the porter with the story of his strange disappearance. He listened to it, at first with incredulity, and then with a look of dismay. In an agitated voice, he requested the agent-in-chief’s presence. When Scriven joined him in one of the smaller saloons on the ground floor of the mansion, he found him pacing the floor in great perturbation of spirit. Upon the agent’s entrance, he wheeled about, and said without preamble: ‘Scriven, this news has disturbed me prodigiously! I believe I may hold the answer to the enigma!’

  ‘Then I beg, sir,’ said the agent calmly, ‘that you will tell me what it may be, for I must consider myself to be in some measure responsible for his Grace’s well-being, and – I must add – safety.’

  ‘Scriven,’ said Captain Belper impressively, ‘I was with the Duke when he purchased, at Manton’s, a pair of duelling pistols!’

  They stared at one another, incredulity in Scriven’s face, a certain dramatic satisfaction in the Captain’s.

  ‘I cannot believe that his Grace had become embroiled in any quarrel,’ at last pronounced Scriven. ‘Much less in a quarrel of such a nature as you suggest, sir.’

  ‘Were those pistols delivered at this house?’ demanded the Captain. ‘And if they were so delivered, where are they, Scriven?’

  There was a pause, while the agent appeared to consider the matter. Then he bowed slightly, and said: ‘Give me leave, sir, and I will investigate this matter.’

  ‘Do so!’ begged the Captain. ‘For my heart much misgives me! I remember that I cracked some idle jest to the Duke, when he bought the pair! God forgive me, I had no suspicion, not an inkling, that my words might be striking home!’

  Mr Scriven, who had no taste for the dramatic, refrained from comment, and left the room. He returned a few minutes later, and said gravely: ‘I cannot admit that the very serious suggestion you have made, sir, may be correct, but I am obliged to own to you that a package was indeed delivered at this house yesterday, and that his Grace –’ he paused, and regarded his finger-nails. ‘And that his Grace,’ he resumed, in an expressionless tone, ‘appears to have taken its contents with him.’

  Captain Belper clapped a hand to his brow, ejaculating: ‘Good God!’ He took a pace or two about the room. ‘He did not confide his purpose to me!’ he said. ‘Had he done so – Yet it struck me that he was not himself! There was something of constraint in his manner. And then his avoidance of a further meeting with me! Ah, I see it now, too late! He feared that I, knowing him as well as I flatter myself I do, must have divined his terrible purpose. Scriven, if any mischance has befallen the Duke I dare not hold myself guiltless!’

  ‘I do not anticipate, sir, that his Grace left his house with any such purpose in mind,’ said Mr Scriven precisely. ‘And if it were so, I would suggest that his skill with all manner of firearms would make it more likely that a mischance should have befallen his adversary.’

  ‘Very true!’ the Captain said, much struck. ‘It was, after all, I who taught him that skill! And yet how daunting is the thought that you now present to me! Can it be that the Duke has killed his man, and fled the country to escape arrest?’

  Mr Scriven, who, in common with most of the Duke’s dependants, cordially disliked Captain Belper, was extremely loth to admit the possibility of any of his theories being correct, but it was evident from his sudden look of consternation that this suggestion carried weight with him. After a moment, he said: ‘I prefer not to consider such a shocking event, sir!’

  ‘Lord Lionel should be instantly apprised!’ declared the Captain, smiting his fist into the palm of his other hand.

  Mr Scriven bowed. ‘I have already sent one of my clerks with a letter for his lordship, sir.’

  ‘Post, I do trust!’ the Captain said swiftly.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘Then there is little one can do until his lordship comes to town, as I make no doubt he will do. Yet some enquiries might be made with advantage. I shall at once repair to Captain Ware’s chambers.’

  Mr Scriven was then able to inform him, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that Nettlebed had already called in Albany, and that Captain Ware disclaimed all knowledge of the Duke’s whereabouts. When Chigwell came in, to report that his visit to White’s Club had been equally abortive, there seemed to be nothing left for the Captain to do. He did indeed mention the propriety of summoning the Bow Street Runners to their aid, but was speedily snubbed by Mr Scriven, who took it upon himself to answer for his lordship’s disliking such an extreme action excessively.

  By the time Captain Ware strolled into White’s Club that afternoon, the story of his cousin’s disappearance was forming one of the main topics of conversation there. He was at once pounced upon by Lord Gaywood, who had not yet left London for Bath, whither he was eventually bound. Lord Gaywood who was inclined to make light of the affair, called across the room: ‘Hey, Ware, what’s this cock-and-bull story about Sale? Here’s Cliveden saying he ain’t been seen since yesterday morning! Is it a bubble?’

  Gideon shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Gone out of town, I daresay. Why should he not?’

  ‘A trifle smokey, isn’t it?’ said Mr Cliveden, raising one eyebrow. ‘A man don’t commonly leave town without his valet! By what I hear, none of Sale’s servants knows what has become of him.’

  ‘I see there is a notice of his betrothal to your sister in the papers to-day,