“But it’s Dysart!” said Nell.
“Yes, I know it is, but we haven’t any time to stand talking to him!” said Mr. Hethersett.
“No, of course not, but he is trying to hire our hackney, and he must not!” said Nell, trying to push him out of the way.
“For the lord’s sake, cousin, go back into the house!” begged Mr. Hethersett. “He ain’t alone!”
“No, but the other is only Mr. Fancot, and I think” said Nell knowledgeably, “that they are both of them a trifle foxed. Dysart!”
The Viscount, upon hearing himself addressed, turned. The light from the near-by street-lamp enabled him quite plainly to recognize his sister, but he knew better than to trust his eyes when he was (in his own estimation) a little above par. He called upon his companion for assistance. “Corny, that ain’t my sister Cardross, is it?”
“No,” said Mr. Fancot obligingly.
“What a horrid creature you are, Dy!” remarked Nell, descending the steps. “You cannot drive off in that coach, because it was brought for me, and I must have it. I am in the greatest haste, so do, pray, stop disputing with that poor man, and go away!”
“By God, it is my sister Cardross!” exclaimed the Viscount, thunderstruck.
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Fancot, smiling vaguely but with immense affability at Nell.
“Well, there’s no need to shout it all down the street!” said Mr. Hethersett tartly.
The Viscount looked intently at him, while he wrestled silently with a problem. “It’s you, is it?” he said, a certain kindling in his eyes, and a brooding note in his voice. “You, and my sister!”
Mr. Hethersett, who had foreseen from the start that something like this would happen, said soothingly: “Escorting her ladyship home!”
“Oh, you were, were you?” said the Viscount, showing signs of rising choler. “We’ll see that! Because it seems to me—Corny! Where are we?”
“Watier’s,” said Mr. Fancot, after a moment’s thought.
“No, we ain’t!” said his lordship, irritated.
“Going to Watier’s,” amended Mr. Fancot.
“I’ll tell you where we are!” announced the Viscount, in menacing accents. “We’re in Ryder Street!”
“That’s right, sir: Ryder Street it is,” said the jarvey encouragingly. “You don’t want no ‘ack to take you to Watier’s!”
“Ryder Street,” said the Viscount. “Now I know whose house you were coming out of! Now I know what made you take such an uncommon interest in my sister’s affairs! By God, if I don’t cut your liver out for this! As for you, my girl—”
“That’ll do!” interrupted Mr. Hethersett. “You can cut my liver out in the morning, but for the lord’s sake stop making such a damned kick-up in the street!”
“Not liver,” said Mr. Fancot positively, his wandering attention recalled by this word. “Duck. That’s what we said, Dy. Got a way of cooking it at Watier’s I like.”
“Well, you take Dysart there!” recommended Mr. Hethersett.
‘E can take him, but ‘e won’t never get ‘im past the porter, guv’nor, not as lushy as what they both are!” observed the jarvey sapiently.
“Yes, I will,” said Mr. Fancot. “It’s my birthday.”
“Get into the hack!” Mr. Hethersett said to Nell. “No, not you!”
Mr. Fancot, hauled off the step of the coach by the jarvey, called upon the Viscount to come and give this individual one in the bread-basket, but the Viscount had more important matters to attend to. Addressing himself to Mr. Hethersett, he commanded that harassed exquisite to name his friends.
Alarmed by his evident intention to force a quarrel on to Mr. Hethersett, Nell laid a hand on his arm, and said: “Dy, pray don’t be so gooseish! You quite mistake the matter, you know! Indeed, it is abominable of you to think such horrid things, besides being excessively embarrassing!”
“Don’t you try to bamboozle me!” replied her brother, shaking off her hand. “Are you going to name your friends, sir, or are you not?”
“You wouldn’t remember ‘em if I did. What you need is a damper: you’re as drunk as a brewer’s horse!”
“Oh, no, I’m not! I’ll tell you what you are! A damned loose fish! A regular hedge-bird! A man-milliner, by God! Cowhearted!”
“If you ain’t stale-drunk in the morning, come round to my place, and I’ll dashed well show you how cowhearted I am!” promised Mr. Hethersett, stung by these opprobrious terms. “It’ll be bellows to mend with you, what’s more! I’ve seen you sport your canvas at Jackson’s, and when it comes to handy-blows you ain’t any better than a moulder!”
“Now, by God—I” ejaculated the Viscount, squaring up to him.
The jarvey called out approvingly: “A mill, a mill!” Nell flung herself between the two incensed gentlemen; and Mr. Fancot, who had been standing wrapped in thought, suddenly announced his intention of driving to Watier’s in the hack, and disappeared round the back of the coach.
“Dysart, how dare you be so uncivil!” Nell said hotly. Pray don’t heed him, Felix! I was never so mortified! Dysart, if you say another word to Felix—”
“It don’t signify!” interrupted Mr. Hethersett, who had had time to recollect the impropriety of engaging in fisticuffs in a lady’s presence. “Forgot myself!” He looked at the Viscount. “If you want to fight, you can tell me so tomorrow! I’m going to escort her ladyship home now.”
“Oh, no, you ain’t!” retorted the Viscount. “I am going to take her home! Yes, and I’m dashed well going to tell Cardross what sort of a May-game you’ve been playing, my buck!”
“Oh, dear, what are we to do?” said Nell distractedly. “Felix, there are a couple of men coming towards us!”
“Good God! There’s nothing for it: we shall have to take him along with us. Get into the hack, cousin!”
“Take him with us! But if Cardross sees him in this shocking state—!”
“Lord, Giles knows what he is!” said Mr. Hethersett impatiently.
“Good heavens!” said Nell rather faintly. “Then that must have been what he meant! How very dreadful!”
“Here, wait a bit!” suddenly said the Viscount. “Where’s Corny? Can’t leave Corny behind: it’s his birthday!”
“Well, thank goodness he has gone at least!” said Nell, as Mr. Hethersett handed her up into the coach. “If only we could persuade Dy—Oh!”
“Good God, what’s the matter?” demanded Mr. Hethersett, as she recoiled from the vehicle.
“He hasn’t gone!” said Nell despairingly. “He’s inside, and I think he’s fallen asleep!”
“Well, I’ll be gormed!” exclaimed the jarvey, peering into the coach. “‘E must have crope round when I wasn’t a-watching of ‘im, and got in by t’other door. Now we’ll ‘ave to ‘aul ‘im out again!”
“No, no, pray don’t!” begged Nell, hurriedly getting into the coach. “Only let us go away from here!”
“But I can’t let you drive about the town with a couple of ensign-bearers!” expostulated Mr. Hethersett. “Oh, my God, if it ain’t Bottisham bearing down on us! Well, that settles it: we can’t stay here another moment! Here, Dysart, stop looking for Fancot under the hack! He’s in it!” With this, he thrust the Viscount into the coach, gave a hurried direction to the jarvey, climbed into the coach himself, and slammed the door.
Chapter Fourteen
It seemed at first as though the drive to Grosvenor Square was to be enlivened by a brawl, for although the Viscount’s mind had been diverted by the loss of his friend, this aberration was but of short duration. No sooner had he satisfied himself that Mr. Fancot was still with them than he discovered that Mr. Hethersett was also with them, and took instant exception to his presence. However, before he could attempt to carry out his promise to throw him out Mr. Fancot, roused by the jolting of the wheels over the cobblestones, woke up, and demanded to know where he was.