Hero tumbled without ceremony on to the padded seat, picked herself up as the chaise moved forward, and found that she was laughing and crying together. The sight of the indignant Pug, panting on the floor of the chaise, effectually dried up her tears.
“Oh!” she gurgled. “Oh, you horrid little dog, how like Sherry to have thrown you in on top of me!”
Mr Tarleton, meanwhile, riding behind the chaise, was congratulating himself on the success of his outrageous plan to abduct the lady he desired to make his wife; and Sherry, already dressed for dinner with his wife, was seated at his dressing-table, impatiently assuring Lord Wrotham that no foreigner, Greek or otherwise, had had any finger in his having come to Bath.
“Well, I can’t make it out!” George said. “No making head or tail of what Ferdy says! Seems this fellow was at Eton with him. Never knew there was any Greeks there, did you? Sounds to me like a devilish rum customer, too. Always creeping up behind a man, and giving him a start. He says Duke knows him.”
“He may do so, but I don’t!” replied the Viscount. “I wish you will stop teasing me about it, and go away! Go and do the civil in the parlour! Dare say Isabella may be there by now. You’ll find Gil, too. Came to pay his respects to my mother, poor devil, and she’s had him buttonholed this past hour, listening to what some curst doctor has told her about Russian Vapour Baths.”
“I own, it was in the hope of seeing Miss Milborne that I called,” said George ingeniously. “The thing is, though, that your mother don’t like me above half, and I’d as lief you came in with me to make all smooth.”
The Viscount, who was putting the finishing touches to his cravat, said that he was a cowardly fellow after all, but if he would wait a moment, and not prate of mysterious Greeks, he would do his best for him. But even as he spoke, a knock fell on the door, and, when he called Come in! the dowager entered, clasping, ominously, her vinaigrette. She acknowledged Lord Wrotham’s presence by a slight inclination of her turbaned head, but addressed herself to her son.
“Oh, Anthony, I am so thankful you are not yet gone out! I am in such anxiety over dearest Isabella, and fear that some mishap may have occurred! She assured me she should be home by five o’clock at the latest, and here it is, half past six already, and no sign of her! And, as though that were not bad enough, I am quite overset by having this instant received Mr and Miss Chalfont, who called here to set down Isabella’s scarf, which she was so careless as to drop in the inn at Wells. My dear Anthony, it appears that she and Sir Montagu set out to drive back to Bath by a different road quite half an hour ahead of the others in the party! What can have become of them? When the news was broken to me, I had such an attack of palpitations that Mr Ringwood — so very obliging of him! such a gentlemanly man! Oh, there you are, dear Mr Ringwood! Well, I am sure — ! As I was saying, he was obliged to summon my abigail, with some hartshorn and water to revive me! For, you know, I am responsible for dear Isabella, and how I should ever be able to face her Mama if any accident were to befall her — There is nothing for it, Anthony, but for you to set out instantly in search of her in your curricle!”
“Oh, isn’t there, by Jove!” said the Viscount. “No, I thank you, ma’am! I warned Bella not to go jauntering about the country with that fellow, and if she would not heed me she may take the consequences! I am dining with my wife in Camden Place at seven o’clock, and you may judge how likely I am to break that engagement for any start of Bella’s!”
George, whose expressive eyes had been fixed on the dowager’s face throughout her speech, stepped forward at this point, saying in a low, vibrant voice: “You may leave the matter in my hands, Lady Sheringham! This concerns me more nearly than Sherry! I shall set forth on the instant, and you need have no fear that I shall not only restore Miss Milborne to you, but I shall certainly call Revesby to answer for whatever carelessness or — or villainy he has committed!”
He bowed briefly and strode towards the door, such a look of ferocity on his face that Mr Ringwood protested. “No, really, George! Really, I say! Ten to one it is due to some trifling accident, and they will arrive here at any moment! Dash it, Monty would not — George!”
Lord Wrotham, casting him no more than a contemptuous glance, vanished from the room. Mr Ringwood turned to Sherry. “Think I’d better go after him, dear old boy!” he said. “You know what he is! Don’t like Monty, but can’t let George murder him — for that’s what it would be: sheer murder! Very obedient servant, Lady Sheringham! Wish you good fortune, Sherry, dear old boy!”
The dowager sank down upon a chair, quite overcome by the sudden twist of events. She raised her handkerchief to her eyes and was just about to bemoan her son’s approaching reconciliation with his wife when a servant came to the door to announce the arrival of the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham, who had been invited to dine in the Royal Crescent. The Viscount, glad to escape a more than ordinarily foolish jeremiad from his parent, bade the man invite Ferdy to step into his room, and turned his attention to the far more pressing problem of the choice of a fob to finish off his toilet.
Ferdy, upon his entering the room, was at once regaled by his aunt with a tearful account of the disasters which, she was convinced, had overtaken them all. He shook his head and said that Monty was a Bad Man, and there was no saying where the havoc created by that old Greek fellow would end. This attracted the Viscount’s interest, and he was just going to demand an explanation of his cousin when Bootle entered the room, looking offended, and informing him that Jason, whom he freely designated a Varmint, insisted on having instant speech with him.
“What the deuce can he want?” said his lordship. “Where is he?”
“Here I be, guvnor!” responded the Tiger, diving under Bootle’s arm. “Out of breath I be, what’s more, loping after a rattler fit to bust meself!”
“You’re boozy!” said his lordship severely.
“I ain’t! You send that fat chub off, and I’ll tell you something as you had ought to know! Yes, and don’t you go putting your listeners forward t’other side of the door!” he added.
Bootle was so much affronted by this admonition that he stalked from the room without another word, shutting the door with meticulous care behind him. The Tiger looked at his master, real trouble in his sharp eyes. “It’s the missus!” he blurted out.
The Viscount dropped the fob he had selected. “What?” he said quickly. “What has happened?”
The Tiger shook his head sadly. “Piked on the bean, guv’nor!” he said simply.
“What?”
“So help me bob, guv’nor, it’s Gawd’s truth! Loped off with that well-breeched swell I seed her with t’other day!”