The Corinthian Read online

  Sir Richard sighed. ‘Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person,’ he said. ‘I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?’

  ‘I am turned seventeen.’

  ‘Well, I am nearly thirty,’ said Sir Richard.

  Miss Creed worked this out. ‘You couldn’t possibly be my father!’

  ‘I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.’

  ‘Well, then, I don’t mind accompanying you,’ said Miss Creed handsomely. ‘Are you really drunk?’

  ‘Vilely,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘No one would credit it, I assure you. You carry your wine very well.’

  ‘You speak as one with experience in these matters,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘My father was used to say that it was most important to see how a man behaved when in his cups. My cousin becomes excessively silly.’

  ‘You know,’ said Sir Richard, knitting his brows, ‘the more I hear of this cousin of yours the more I feel you should not be allowed to marry him. Where are we now?’

  ‘Piccadilly, I think,’ replied Miss Creed.

  ‘Good! I live in St James’s Square. Why do they want you to marry your cousin?’

  ‘Because,’ said Miss Creed mournfully, ‘I am cursed with a large fortune!’

  Sir Richard halted in the middle of the road. ‘Cursed with a large fortune?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, indeed. You see, my father had no other children, and I believe I am most fabulously wealthy, besides having a house in Somerset, which they won’t let me live in. When he died I had to live with Aunt Almeria. I was only twelve years old, you see. And now she is persecuting me to marry my cousin Frederick. So I ran away.’

  ‘The man with a face like a fish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did quite right,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Well, I think I did.’

  ‘Not a doubt of it. Why Holborn?’

  ‘I told you,’ replied Miss Creed patiently. ‘I am going to get on the Bristol coach.’

  ‘Oh! Why Bristol?’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to Bristol precisely, but my house is in Somerset, and I have a very great friend there. I haven’t seenhim for nearly five years, but we used to play together, andwe pricked our fingers – mixing the blood, you know–and we made a vow to marry one another when we were grown-up.’

  ‘This is all very romantic,’ commented Sir Richard.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Miss Creed enthusiastically. ‘You are not married, are you?’

  ‘No. Oh, my God!’

  ‘Why, what is the matter?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered that I am going to be.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But no one could force you to be married!’

  ‘My good girl, you do not know my relatives,’ said Sir Richard bitterly.

  ‘Did they talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you? And say it was your duty? And plague your life out? And cry at you?’ asked Miss Creed.

  ‘Something of the sort,’ admitted Sir Richard. ‘Is that what your relatives did to you?’

  ‘Yes. So I stole Geoffrey’s second-best suit, and climbed out of the window.’

  ‘Who is Geoffrey?’

  ‘Oh, he is my other cousin! He is at Harrow, and his clothes fit me perfectly. Is this your house?’

  ‘This is my house.’

  ‘But wait!’ said Miss Creed. ‘Will not the porter be sitting up to open the door to you?’

  ‘I don’t encourage people to sit up for me,’ said Sir Richard, producing from his pocket a key, and fitting it into the lock.

  ‘But I expect you have a valet,’ suggested Miss Creed, hanging back. ‘He will be waiting to help you to bed.’

  ‘True,’ said Sir Richard. ‘But he will not come to my room until I ring the bell. You need have no fear.’

  ‘Oh, in that case – !’ said Miss Creed, relieved, and followed him blithely into the house.

  A lamp was burning in the hall, and a candle was placed on a marble-topped table, in readiness for Sir Richard. He kindled it by thrusting it into the lamp, and led his guest into the library. Here there were more candles, in chandeliers fixed to the wall. Sir Richard lit as many of these as seemed good to him, and turned to inspect Miss Creed.

  She had taken off her hat, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking interestedly about her. Her hair, which clustered in feathery curls on the top of her head, and was somewhat raggedly cut at the back, was guinea-gold; her eyes were a deep blue, very large and trustful, and apt at any moment to twinkle with merriment. She had a short little nose, slightly freckled, a most decided chin, and a pair of dimples.

  Sir Richard, critically observing her, was unimpressed by these charms. He said: ‘You look the most complete urchin indeed!’

  She seemed to take this as a tribute. She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said: ‘Do I? Truly?’

  His gaze travelled slowly over her borrowed raiment. ‘Horrible!’ he said. ‘Are you under the impression that you have tied that – that travesty of a cravat in a Wyndham Fall?’

  ‘No, but the thing is I have never tied a cravat before,’ she explained.

  ‘That,’ said Sir Richard, ‘is obvious. Come here!’

  She approached obediently, and stood still while his expert fingers wrought with the crumpled folds round her neck.

  ‘No, it is beyond even my skill,’ he said at last. ‘I shall have to lend you one of mine. Never mind; sit down, and let us talk this matter over. My recollection is none of the clearest, but I fancy you said you were going into Somerset to marry a friend of your childhood.’

  ‘Yes, Piers Luttrell,’ nodded Miss Creed, seating herself in a large arm-chair.

  ‘Furthermore, you are just seventeen.’

  ‘Turned seventeen,’ she corrected.

  ‘Don’t quibble! And you propose to undertake this journey as a passenger on an Accommodation coach?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Creed.

  ‘And, as though this were not enough, you are going alone?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘My dear child,’ said Sir Richard, ‘drunk I may be, but not so drunk as to acquiesce in this fantastic scheme, believe me.’

  ‘I don’t think you are drunk,’ said Miss Creed. ‘Besides, it has nothing to do with you! You cannot interfere in my affairs merely because you helped me out of the window.’

  ‘I didn’t help you out of the window. Something tells me I ought to restore you to the bosom of your family.’

  Miss Creed turned rather white, and said in a small, but very clear voice: ‘If you did that it would be the most cruel – the most treacherous thing in the world!’

  ‘I suppose it would,’ he admitted.

  There was a pause. Sir Richard unfobbed his snuff-box with a flick of one practised finger, and took a pinch. Miss Creed swallowed, and said: ‘If you had ever seen my cousin, you would understand.’

  He glanced down at her, but said nothing.

  ‘He has a wet mouth,’ said Miss Creed despairingly.

  ‘That settles it,’ said Sir Richard, shutting his snuff-box. ‘I will escort you to your childhood’s friend.’

  Miss Creed blushed. ‘You? But you can’t!’

  ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘Because – because I don’t know you, and I can very well go by myself, and – well, it’s quite absurd! I see now that you are drunk.’

  ‘Let me inform you,’ said Sir Richard, ‘that missish airs don’t suit those clothes. Moreover, I don’t like them. Either you will travel to Somerset in my company