“No, I was in Half-Moon Street,” said Horatia innocently.
“You went to Lethbridge’s house?”
At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. “Yes I did, but if you think I w-went there of my own choice you are quite odious!” Her lip trembled. “Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.
“Well, what is the tale?” he asked, drawing up a chair.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman—indeed, why should I?”
“What the devil has the footman to do with it?” demanded the Viscount.
“Everything,” said Horatia. “He w-wasn’t the right one.”
“I don’t see what odds that makes.”
“ I m-mean he wasn’t one of our servants at all. The c-coach-man wasn’t either. They were L-Lord Lethbridge’s.”
“What?” ejaculated the Viscount, his brow growing black as thunder.
Horatia nodded. “Yes, and they drove me to his house. And I w-went in before I realized.”
The Viscount was moved to expostulate: “Lord, you must have known it wasn’t your house!”
“I tell you I didn’t! I know it sounds stupid, but it was raining, and the f-footman held the umbrella so that I c-couldn’t see m-much and I was inside b-before I knew.”
“Did Lethbridge open the door?”
“N-no, the porter did.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you walk out again?”
“I know I should have,” confessed Horatia, “but then Lord Lethbridge came out of the s-saloon, and asked me to step in. And, P-Pel, I didn’t understand; I thought it was a m-mistake, and I d-didn’t want to make a scene before the p-porter, so I went in. Only n-now I see how foolish it was of me, because if Rule comes to hear of it, and m-makes inquiries, the servants will say I went in w-willingly and so I did!”
“Rule mustn’t hear of this,” said the Viscount grimly.
“No, of c-course he mustn’t, and that’s why I sent for you.”
“Horry, what happened in the saloon? Come, let me hear the whole of it!”
“It was d-dreadful! He said he w-was going to ravish me, and oh, Pel, it was just to revenge himself on R-Rulel So I p-pretended I m-might run away with him, and as soon as he turned his back, I hit him with the p-poker and escaped.”
The Viscount drew a sigh of relief. “That’s all, Horry?”
“No, it isn’t all,” said Horatia desperately. “My g-gown was torn when he k-kissed me, and though I d-didn’t know till I got home, my brooch fell out, and, P-Pel, he’s got it now!”
“Make yourself easy,” said the Viscount, getting up. “He won’t have it long.”
Catching sight of his face, which wore a starkly murderous expression, Horatia cried out: “What are you going to do?”
“Do?” said the Viscount, with a short, ugly laugh. “Cut the dog’s heart out!”
Horatia sprung up suddenly. “P-Pel, you can’t! For g-good-ness’ sake don’t fight him! You know he’s m-much better than you are, and only think of the scandal! P-Pel, you’ll ruin me if you do! You can’t do it!”
The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!”
“If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things—oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s bad enough with Sir Roland knowing—”
“Pom!” exclaimed the Viscount. “We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.”
“Have him in? W-why, where is he?”
“Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.”
“W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,” said Horatia dubiously. “But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.”
Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. “Never mind about that!” he adjured him. “Can I call Lethbridge out?”
Sir Roland devoted deep thought to this, and after a long pause pronounced the verdict. “No,” he said.
“I m-must say, you’ve got m-much more sense than I thought,” said Horatia approvingly.
“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the Viscount, “that I’m to sit by while that dog kidnaps my sister, and do nothing? No, damme, I won’t!”
“Devilish hard on you, Pel,” agreed Sir Roland sympathetically. “But it won’t do, you know. Called Drelincourt out. Deal of talk over that. Call Lethbridge out—fatal!”
The Viscount smote the table with his fist. “Hang you, Pom, do you realize what the fellow did?” he cried.
“Very painful affair,” said Sir Roland. “Bad ton. Must hush it up.”
The Viscount seemed to be bereft of words.
“Hush it up now,” said Sir Roland. “Talk dies down—say three months. Pick a quarrel with him then.”
The Viscount brightened. “Ay, so I could. That solves it.”
“S-solves it? It doesn’t!” declared Horatia. “I m-must get my brooch back. If Rule m-misses it, it will all come out.”
“Nonsense!” said her brother. “Say you dropped it in the street.”
“It’s no good saying that! I tell you Lethbridge means m-mischief. He may wear it, just to m-make Rule suspicious.”
Sir Roland was shocked. “Bad blood!” he said. “Never did like the fellow.”
“What sort of brooch is it?” asked the Viscount. “Would Rule be likely to recognize it?”
“Yes, of c-course he would! It’s part of a set, and it’s very old—fifteenth century, I think.”
“In that case,” decided his lordship, “we’ve got to get it back. I’d best go and see Lethbridge at once—though how I’ll keep my hands off him I don’t know. Burn it, a pretty fool I look, calling on him last night!”
Sir Roland was once more plunged in thought. “Won’t do,” he said at last. “If you go asking for a brooch, Lethbridge is bound to guess it’s my lady’s. I’ll go.”
Horatia looked at him with admiration. “Yes, that would be m-much better,” she said. “You are very helpful, I think.”
Sir Roland blushed, and prepared to set forth on his mission. “Beg you won’t give it a thought, ma’am. Affair of delicacy—tact required—a mere nothing!”
“Tact!” said the Viscount. “Tact for a hound like Lethbridge! My God, it makes me sick, so it does! You’d better take the phaeton; I’ll wait for you here.”
Sir Rolaind once more bowed over Horatia’s hand. “Shall hope to put the brooch in your hands within half an hour, ma’am,” he said, and departed.
Left alone with his sister, the Viscount began to pace about the room, growling something under his breath whenever he happened to think of Lethbridge’s iniquity. Presently he stopped short. “Horry, you’ll have to tell Rule. Damme, he’s a right to know!”
“I c-can’t tell him!” Horatia answered with suppressed passion. “Not again!”
“Again?” said his lordship. “What do you mean?”
Horatia hung her head, and recounted haltingly the story of the ridotto at Ranelagh. The Viscount was delighted with at least one part of the story, and slapped his leg with glee.
“Yes, b-but I didn’t know it was Rule, and so I had to confess it all to him the next d-day and I won’t—I won’t make another c-confession! I said I w-wouldn’t see anything of Lethbridge while he was away and I can’t, I c-can’t tell him about this!”
“I don’t see it,” said the Viscount. “Plenty to bear you out. Coachman—what happened to him, by the way?”
“D-drugged,” she replied.
“All the better,” said his lordship. “If the coach came back to the stables without him, obviously you’re telling the truth.”