The Foundling Read online

  ‘I think your lordship does not perfectly understand,’ replied Scriven. ‘His Grace cannot have meditated a journey, for he took no baggage with him, not so much as a valise! And Nettlebed will inform you that his Grace’s brushes, combs – every article appertaining to his toilet, in fact! – are still in his bedchamber here.’

  His lordship appeared to be quite thunderstruck by this disclosure, but as soon as he had recovered the use of his tongue, he wheeled about to direct an accusing glare at Nettlebed, and to demand what the devil he meant by it. Nettlebed could only shake his head wretchedly. ‘Upon my word!’ said Lord Lionel terribly. ‘This is a pretty piece of work! A very ill-managed business I must deem it when with I know not how many of you to care for my nephew he can disappear, and not one of you able to tell me where he is gone!’

  At this point it seemed good to Captain Belper to divulge his fear that the Duke had been engaged to fight a duel. Lord Lionel lost no time in demolishing this theory. There was never, he said, anyone less quarrelsome than the Duke; and how, he would thank the Captain to tell him, had he found the time to be picking a quarrel since he came to London? He brushed aside the question of the pistols: if the Duke had a hobby, it was for shooting, and if he might not purchase a pair of pistols without being suspected of having become embroiled in an affair of honour things had come to a pretty pass.

  Chigwell ventured to say: ‘Yes, my lord, but – but his Grace took the pistols with him. The porter handed the package to him just before he left the house, and he took it into the library, and unwrapped it, for the wrappings were found upon the floor there. But not – not the pistols, my lord!’

  ‘My dread is that my Lord Duke has had the misfortune to wound his adversary fatally,’ said Captain Belper, ‘and has perhaps fled to France to escape the dreadful consequences.’

  Lord Lionel seemed to have difficulty in controlling himself. An alarmingly high colour rose to his face, and after champing his jaws for a moment or two, he uttered in outraged accents: ‘This is beyond everything!’

  ‘I assure you, my lord, I feel this agitating reflection as deeply as your lordship must,’ Captain Belper said, with great earnestness.

  ‘Agitating reflection!’ exploded Lord Lionel.

  ‘I have been sick with apprehension from the moment it occurred to me. The thought that I might, perhaps, have prevented –’

  ‘Never,’ interrupted Lord Lionel, ‘have I listened to such fustian rubbish! I declare I am vexed to death! And if my nephew were fool enough to do any such thing, which I do not admit, mark you! pray, do you suppose that his seconds would have left us in ignorance of the event? Or do you imagine that he entered upon such an affair without friends to act for him? I do not scruple to tell you, sir, that your apprehensions are woodheaded beyond permission!’

  The Captain was not unnaturally abashed by this forthright speech. Before he could come about again, Nettlebed said urgently: ‘No, my lord, no! Not a duel! His Grace has been foully done to death by footpads! I know it! We shall never see him more!’

  ‘He would go out at night unattended!’ mourned Chigwell, wringing his hands.

  Lord Lionel stared at them fixedly, and for quite a minute said nothing. Captain Belper was ill-advised enough to interpolate: ‘It is a matter for the Runners.’

  A choleric eye was rolled towards him. Mr Scriven said smoothly: ‘I could not feel that such a step should be taken without your lordship’s knowledge, however.’

  ‘I am very much obliged to you!’ said his lordship. ‘A fine dust you would have made, and all for nothing, I daresay! Where’s my son?’

  ‘My lord, I went to Master Gideon – to the Captain, I should say – this morning, but he has not seen his Grace, nor he knows nothing of where he may be!’ Nettlebed told him.

  ‘H’m!’ Lord Lionel brooded over this. ‘So he didn’t tell his cousin? I am of the opinion that he is up to some mischief, Scriven! When did he leave this house?’

  ‘It was in the morning, my lord, quite early, I believe. He set out on foot, though Borrowdale here would have sent for his horse.’

  ‘I begged his Grace to allow me to send a message to the stables,’ corroborated the butler. ‘For seeing that his Grace was wearing top-boots and breeches, I assumed –’

  ‘Wearing top-boots, was he?’ said Lord Lionel. ‘That settles it! He had some journey in mind, though why he must needs make a mystery – However, it doesn’t signify! I daresay he meant to have returned last night, but took some fancy into his head, or was in some way detained. I do not by any means despair of seeing him walk in at any moment. Captain Belper, I am keeping you from your bed! I am obliged to you for your solicitude, but I will not have you waiting here upon my nephew’s crotchets. That would never do! Good night, sir!’

  Finding that his lordship’s hand was held out to him, Captain Belper had nothing to do but to take it, to reiterate his fervent desire to be of assistance, and to allow himself to be ushered out of the house by Borrowdale.

  ‘The man’s a fool!’ remarked his lordship, as soon as the door was shut. ‘So are you, Nettlebed! You may be off too!’

  ‘I blame myself, my lord. I should never –’

  ‘Pooh! nonsense!’ said Lord Lionel, cutting him short. ‘His Grace was never set upon in broad daylight, let me tell you!’

  He waited until Nettlebed had withdrawn, and then said abruptly: ‘Was his Grace suffering from any irritation of nerves? Did he seem to you to be in his customary spirits?’

  ‘Perfectly, my lord,’ responded Scriven. ‘Indeed, his Grace had conveyed to me a very gratifying piece of intelligence, desiring me to send an advertisement to the papers of his forthcoming –’

  ‘Yes, yes, I saw the notice! I had looked for a word from his Grace, but I have had no letter from him.’ He paused, recalling his conversation with Gilly on the subject of his marriage. ‘H’m, yes! Well! Nothing had occurred to set up his back? some little nonsense, perhaps? He has sometimes some odd humours!’

  ‘No, my lord, unless it be that his Grace – as I thought – did not quite relish Captain Belper’s companionship,’ said Scriven, with his eyes cast down.

  ‘Upon my word I do not blame him!’ said his lordship. ‘I had not thought him to have been such a jackass! I am sorry now that I advised him of his Grace’s coming. But he would not run out of town for such a reason as that!’

  The steward gave a little cough. ‘I beg your lordship’s pardon, but it has seemed to me that his Grace was not quite himself. The very evening before he – before he left us, he would go out alone. He would not have his carriage, nor permit us to summon a chair, my lord. Indeed, when I begged him to let me at least call a linkboy he ran out of the house in quite a pet – if your lordship will excuse the word!’

  ‘Well, I daresay that might put him in a fidget, but it is nothing to the purpose, after all! I own that it is a little disturbing that he should stay so long away, but young men are thoughtless, you know! To-morrow, if there should be no word from him I will make some discreet enquiries. Captain Ware no doubt knows who are his intimates. We shall clear up this mystery speedily enough, I daresay.’

  On this bracing note, he dismissed Scriven. But when he was alone he sat for quite an appreciable time, an untasted glass of wine in his hand, and his eyes fixed frowningly upon the glowing coals in the grate. He remembered that Gilly had been foolishly agitated when the question of his marriage had been broached. He hoped that the boy had not made his offer against his will, and fallen into a fit of dejection. He was so quiet there was never any knowing what was in his head. Suddenly his lordship remembered that Gilly had had some odd notion of going to London alone, and of staying in an hotel. It really began to look as though he had had some plan of escaping from his household from the start. But why he should wish to do so Lord Lionel could not imagine. Had he been a wild young blade, like