The Convenient Marriage Read online

‘I did, my lord. His lordship sent for me not more than a minute or so after the gentleman had left the house.’

  Captain Heron grasped the Viscount’s arm restrainingly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Come Pelham, there’s no more to be done here.’

  He drew the unwilling Viscount towards the door, which the porter opened with alacrity.

  The three conspirators descended the steps, and set off slowly towards Piccadilly.

  ‘Dropped in the street,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Said so all along.’

  ‘It begins to look like it,’ agreed Captain Heron. ‘Yet Horry is certain the brooch was lost in that house. I imagine the butler was speaking the truth. Could anyone else have found the brooch?’

  The Viscount stopped short. ‘Drelincourt!’ he said. ‘By the lord Harry, that little viper, that toad, that –’

  ‘Are you talking of that Macaroni cousin of Rule’s?’ asked Captain Heron. ‘What had he to do with it?’

  Sir Roland, who had been staring at the Viscount, suddenly shook him by the hand. ‘You’ve got it, Pel. You’ve got it,’ he said. ‘Lay you odds he took the brooch.’

  ‘Of course he took it! Didn’t we leave him with Lethbridge? By God, I’ll wring his damned scraggy neck!’ said the Viscount wrathfully, and plunged off at a great rate towards Piccadilly.

  The other two hurried after him.

  ‘Was Drelincourt there that night?’ asked Captain Heron of Sir Roland.

  ‘Came in because it was raining,’ explained Sir Roland. ‘Pel wanted to pull his nose. Daresay he will now.’

  Captain Heron caught up with the Viscount. ‘Pelham, go easy!’ he said. ‘If he hasn’t got it and you accuse him, you’ll only work a deal of harm. Why should he have taken the brooch?’

  ‘To make mischief! Don’t I know him!’ replied the Viscount. ‘If he’s gone off with it to Rule already, we’re finished.’

  ‘That’s so,’ nodded Sir Roland. ‘Yes, that’s so, Pel. No getting away from it. Better finish Drelincourt too. Nothing else to do.’

  ‘Pelham, you young madman, give me that pistol of yours!’ commanded Captain Heron.

  The Viscount shook him off, and strode on. Sir Roland plucked at the Captain’s sleeve. ‘Better let Pel deal with the fellow,’ he said confidentially. ‘Devilish fine shot, you know.’

  ‘Good God, you’re as mad as he is,’ groaned Captain Heron. ‘We mustn’t let this come to a fight, man!’

  Sir Roland pursed his lips. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he said judicially. ‘Trifle irregular, but there’s two of us to see fair play. Do you know Drelincourt?’

  ‘No, but –’

  ‘Ah, that accounts for it!’ nodded Sir Roland. ‘If you knew him, you’d agree. Fellow ought to be killed. Thought so for a long time.’

  Captain Heron gave it up in despair.

  Nineteen

  Mr Crosby Drelincourt had been much too shaken by his experiences to think of dinner when he left Meering. All he desired was to reach his own lodgings. He drove from Meering to Twyford, where he changed horses, and went to the grievous expense of hiring an armed guard to protect him from highwaymen. The journey home seemed to him interminable, but the chaise set him down in Jermyn Street not long after ten o’clock, by which time he had recovered a little from his adventures, and had begun to feel the pangs of hunger. Unfortunately, since he had not been expected to return that night, no supper had been provided, and he was forced to go out to an ordinary, so that he might just as well, he reflected bitterly, have dined on the road after all.

  He slept late next morning, and was sitting down to breakfast in his dressing-gown when he heard a thundering on the front door, followed in a few moments by the sound of voices. He dropped his knife, listening. One voice was raised insistently, and Mr Drelincourt knew that voice. He turned quickly to his valet, who had just set the coffee-pot down before him: ‘I’m not at home!’ he said. ‘Quick, don’t let them come up!’

  The valet said obtusely: ‘Beg pardon, sir?’

  Mr Drelincourt thrust him towards the door. ‘Tell them I’m away, you fool! Stop them coming up! I’m not well; I can’t see any one!’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the valet, hiding a smile.

  Mr Drelincourt sank back into his chair, nervously wiping his face with his napkin. He heard the valet go downstairs to parley with the visitors. Then, to his horror, he heard someone come up, three steps at a time.

  The door was rudely burst open. Viscount Winwood stood on the threshold. ‘Away, are you?’ he said. ‘Now why are you so anxious not to see me, eh?’

  Mr Drelincourt rose, gripping the edge of the table. ‘Really, my lord, if – if a man may not be private when he chooses!’ He perceived the face of Sir Roland Pommeroy peering over the Viscount’s shoulder, and licked his lips. ‘Pray – pray what’s the meaning of this intrusion, sir?’ he demanded weakly.

  The Viscount advanced into the room, and sat down without ceremony on the corner of the table, one hand in his capacious coat-pocket. Behind him Sir Roland propped his shoulders against the wall, and began dispassionately to pick his teeth. Captain Heron ranged alongside the Viscount, ready to intervene at need.

  Mr Drelincourt looked from one to the other with the deepest misgiving. ‘I can’t conceive what – what should bring you here, gentlemen!’ he said.

  The Viscount’s angelic blue eyes were fixed on his face. ‘What took you out of town yesterday, Drelincourt?’ he inquired.

  ‘I – I –’

  ‘I have it from your man below that you went away in a chaise and four, and came home late – too late to be disturbed now. Where did you go?’

  ‘I fail – I fail entirely to see how my movements should concern you, my lord!’

  Sir Roland withdrew the toothpick from his mouth. ‘Don’t want to tell us,’ he remarked. ‘Black, very black!’

  ‘Well, he’s going to tell us,’ said the Viscount, and got up.

  Mr Drelincourt took a backward step. ‘My lord! I – I protest! I don’t understand you! I went into the country on private business – purely private business, I assure you!’

  ‘Private, was it?’ said the Viscount, advancing towards him. ‘It wasn’t on business connected with jewellery, I take it?’

  Mr Drelincourt turned ashen-pale. ‘No, no!’ he gasped.

  The Viscount whipped the pistol from his pocket, and levelled it. ‘You lie, you little viper!’ he said through his teeth. ‘Stand still!’

  Mr Drelincourt stood rooted to the floor, his fascinated gaze on the pistol. Sir Roland was moved to protest. ‘Not out of hand, Pel, not out of hand! Must do the thing decently!’

  The Viscount paid no heed. ‘You picked up a ring-brooch in Lethbridge’s house the other night, didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ chattered Mr Drelincourt. ‘A brooch? I know nothing about it, nothing!’

  The Viscount pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the pit of Mr Drelincourt’s stomach. ‘There’s a mighty light trigger on this pistol of mine,’ he said. ‘It only needs a touch to send it off. Don’t move. I know you took that brooch. What did you do with it?’

  Mr Drelincourt was silent, breathing rather fast. Sir Roland replaced his toothpick carefully in its gold case, and pocketed it. He strolled forward, and tucked his fingers into the back of Mr Drelincourt’s neck-cloth, and twisted it scientifically. ‘Take the pistol away, Pel. Going to choke it out of him.’

  Mr Drelincourt, his throat already bruised from his cousin’s crushing grip, gave a strangled shriek. ‘Yes, I took it! I didn’t know how it came to be there – indeed, I had no notion!’

  ‘You carried it to Rule? Answer!’ snarled the Viscount.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t!’

  Captain Heron, watching him closely, nodded. ‘Don’t choke him, Pommeroy, I think he’s speaking the truth