Mr. Liversedge interposed rather hastily, patting one dimpled hand. “To be sure, yes, and other things too! And now you have none of them!”
“No,” agreed Belinda dolefully. “But I shall be paid a vast sum of money for being so taken-in, and then I may have a—”
“Yes, my love, yes!” interrupted Mr. Liversedge. “You are upset, and no wonder! I would not have brought you face to face with Mr. Ware, who has so grossly deceived you, but that he doubted the depth of the wound he had dealt yon. I will not compel you to remain another instant in the same room with him, for I know it to be painful to you. Go, my love, and trust your uncle to care for your interests!”
He opened the door for her, and after another of her wide, innocent looks at the Duke, she dropped a curtsy, and withdrew.
Mr. Liversedge shut the door upon her, and turned to find the Duke standing still rooted to the spot, and lost in astonishment. He said: “Ah, Mr. Ware, I perceive that you are confounded!”
“Yes,” said Gilly faintly. That is—Good God, sir, what are you about to keep such a lovely creature in this noisome alehouse?”
“No one,” said Mr. Liversedge, “could regret the unhappy necessity more than I do! Alas, sir, when the pockets are to let, one has little choice of domicile! But I feel it! I assure you that I feel it profoundly. Your solicitude does you honour, Mr. Ware, and I trust it will be unnecessary for me to say more in prosecution of—”
“Mr. Liversedge,” interrupted the Duke, “you ask me to believe that you hold some two or three letters I was mad enough to write to your niece, and for these you are demanding the preposterous sum of five thousand pounds! I may deplore your choice of domicile, but this cannot affect the point of issue between us!”
“Five letters, Mr. Ware,” sighed Mr. Liversedge deprecatingly. “And each of them worth the very moderate price I have set upon them! I daresay your memory may not be not quite perfect. And so prettily expressed as your billets are! I will refresh your memory, if you will permit me! Pray be seated, sir! I should not wish you to feel that there was the least deception: five letters, and you recalled but three! Now, if I were not a man of honour, Mr. Ware, I might have allowed that to pass! You would have bought them from me, and thought yourself rid of the whole business! And I might then have driven a bargain with you for the remaining two! I know of those who would have done so. Yes, indeed, sir, I assure you there are many such shabby tricksters in the world. But Swithin Liversedge is not to be counted amongst them! Do but take your seat, and you shall see the letters with your own eyes! You may have them for a paltry sum. I will engage myself to give them up to you on receipt of bills for five thousand pounds.”
The Duke sat down again at the table, opposite to his host, in a drooping posture that, while it might deceive Liversedge into believing him to be overcome by consternation, enabled him to get his hands under the table-edge undetected. “You have the letters!” he uttered.
“Yes, Mr. Ware, yes!” beamed Liversedge. “You shall count them!”
He put his hand into the breast of his coat as he spoke, and as he glanced down, the Duke gripped the ledge of the table, and drove it violently forward. It caught Mr. Liversedge all unawares, and full in the midriff. He uttered a sound between a grunt and a shout, tried to save himself and failed. His chair tipped backwards, and he fell, snatching fruitlessly at the red table-cloth. In the same instant, the Duke, releasing the table, whipped the pistol from his pocket, and thumbed back the hammer. “Now, Mr. Liversedge!” he said, panting a little, for the table was a heavy one, and had taken all his strength, to thrust forward. “Don’t move! I am held to be a very fair shot.”
But the command was unnecessary. As he looked down at the portly frame at his feet, he saw that Mr. Liversedge was incapable of moving. His head had struck against the iron fender, and not only was a sluggish trickle of blood oozing from his scalp, but he was insensible. Mechanically, the Duke’s left hand went to his pistol, and grasped the hammer. He pressed the trigger, as Captain Belper had taught him to do, and gently released the hammer, easing it down. Still holding the pistol in his hand, he dropped on his knee beside Liversedge, and slipped his left hand into the breast of his coat. A slim package had been already half drawn from an inner pocket. He pulled it out, and swiftly assured himself that it did indeed contain some half a dozen letters directed in Matthew’s hand. It was characteristic of him that before he rose to his feet he slid a hand over Mr. Liversedge’s heart. It was beating rather faintly, but there was no doubt that its owner still lived. The Duke hauled his inanimate body, not without difficulty, clear of the grate, and rose to his feet. As he did so, the door opened, and he turned swiftly, his pistol at the ready, his thumb on the hammer. But he did not pull it back a second time. Belinda stood on the threshold, looking in wide-eyed surprise at her uncle’s prostrate form.
“Oh!” she said. “Is he dead?”
“No,” the Duke replied. He crossed the floor to her side, and shut the door. “He will recover: this is only a swoon! What made you hold your peace just now? You know I am not Matthew Ware!”
“Oh, yes!” she replied, smiling at him happily. “You are not at all like Mr. Ware! He is much bigger than you, and more handsome, too. I liked Mr. Ware. He said he would give me—”
“Why did you not inform your uncle of his mistake? What made you accept me as you did?”
“Uncle Swithin doesn’t like it when I dispute with him,” she explained. “He said I was to say just what he told me, and I should have a purple silk gown.”
“Oh!” said the Duke, a good deal taken aback. “I am excessively obliged to you, and if a purple silk gown is what you desire I would I could give you one! How old are you?”
“I think I shall soon be seventeen,” she answered.
“You think! But you know when you have a birthday, surely?”
“No,” said Belinda regretfully. “Uncle Swithin’s head is cut open.”
This remark seemed to be more in the nature of a statement than a reproach, but the Duke, glancing down at Mr. Liversedge’s form, saw that his pallid countenance was ghastly in hue, and felt a certain measure of compunction. He did not think that Mr. Liversedge was in much danger of bleeding to death, but he did not desire his death, and thought, moreover, that his own position might be awkward if this should happen. He bent over him again, and bound his own handkerchief round his head, saying: “When I am gone, you may summon help, but pray do not do so until then!”
“No,” said Belinda obediently. “I wish you was not going! Where did you come from?”
Her unconcern with her uncle’s plight made the Duke laugh in spite of himself. “I did not drop from a balloon, I assure you! I came from Baldock, and I think it is time that I returned there. Your uncle will be recovering in a moment, and since I do not care for the look of his friends belowstairs, I think I had best depart before he can summon them to his aid.”
“Mr. Mimms is very disagreeable,” she observed. She raised her lovely eyes to his face, and said simply: “I wish you would take me with you, sir!”
“Indeed, I wish I might!” he said. “I am very sorry to leave you in such a place. Were you fond of my—of Mr. Ware?”
“Oh, yes!” she replied, a soft glow in her eyes. “He was a very pretty-behaved gentleman, and when we were married he said I should have jewels, and a purple silk gown.”
The thought that his young cousin had wounded anyone so young and so beautiful had been troubling the Duke, but this artless speech considerably allayed his qualms. He smiled, and, colouring a little, said: “Forgive me—I have very little money in my pocket, but if your heart is set upon a silk gown—I do not know about such matters, but will you take this bill and buy yourself what you like?”