Джорджетт Хейер - April Lady

He had sprung up from the sofa, and was striding about the room, in a black rage that made her quake. She dared not approach him, but she said imploringly: “It was very bad of me, and indeed, I beg your pardon, but if you knew how it was—oh, Dysart, don’t be so angry with me! Everything has been so dreadful, and I fear my mind is less strong than I had believed it! I knew how much I had teased you, and when I read your letter my first thought was that you had backed yourself to win some reckless wager. I didn’t entertain the least suspicion then! It was when I knew the necklace had gone—and you had written the letter in the very room where it was hidden, and I remembered that I had shown you once—Oh, it was unpardonable of me, but—”

He had stopped his pacing, and was standing staring down at her, an arrested expression in his eyes. “Just a moment!” he interrupted sharply. “You don’t mean that, do you? That the necklace has gone?”

“Yes, I do mean it. That was what overthrew my mind, Dy!”

“My God!” he ejaculated, turning a little pale. “When did you discover this?”

“The next day—on Tuesday. It wasn’t I, but my dresser who discovered it. She told me immediately, and that was when it flashed into my mind that—If I had had time to think, perhaps I should not—But I hadn’t, I hadn’t!”

“Never mind that!” What did you say to your woman?”

“That I had taken the necklace to Jeffreys to have the clasp mended. She assured me she hadn’t spoken of the loss to a soul, and I told her not to do so, and I am persuaded she has not.”

“Cardross doesn’t know?”

“No, no! How could you think I would tell him when I thought it was you who had taken the necklace?”

He drew an audible breath. “That’s the dandy, isn’t it?” he said with blighting sarcasm. “It’s been missing for three days, and your damned dresser knows it, and you haven’t seen fit to tell Cardross or to make the least push to recover it! Famous! And now what do you mean to do, my girl?”

For perhaps half a minute Nell sat staring up at the Viscount, the colour slowly draining from her face. In the flood of relief that had swept over her her only thoughts had been of thankfulness that Dysart had not taken the necklace, and of remorse for having so misjudged him. But his words brought her back to earth with a jarring thud. She lifted a hand to her brow. “Oh, heavens!” she said, in the thread of a voice. “I hadn’t considered—Dysart, what must I do?”

“I don’t know!” he replied unhelpfully.

“Someone did indeed steal it. But who? This is dreadful! It must have been one of the servants. Someone who knew where it was hidden, and how can I tell who may have known of it? The chambermaid whom Mrs. Clopton turned off a month ago? I cannot think it!”

“Oh, can’t you?” said his lordship acidly. “Much obliged to you, my lady!”

“Don’t Dy!” she begged. “If you had taken it I knew you had done it only for my sake! But now—! It might have been any one of them, at any time! It was not necessary to know where it was kept: it must be known to them all that I have it, and never wear it, and only think how many opportunities there must be for persons living in this house to search for the hiding-place! And when they had found it they would guess that I should not discover the loss for months, perhaps. Had it not been for Sutton’s care, in taking out my winter clothes to brush them, I might have known nothing!”

“It ain’t a bit of use talking about what might have happened,” said Dysart. “It’s what did happen that has put you in the basket. Unless you can stop your dresser’s mouth, it’s bound to come out that you knew the necklace had been stolen three days before you said a word about it to Car-dross. Well, you know the woman better than I do! Can you bribe her to tell the same story you mean to tell?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It’s of no consequence, however: I will not do it!”

“I daresay you’re right,” he agreed. “Too damned risky! She’d be bound to guess there was something havey-cavey afoot, and once she knew you was scared of Cardross’s getting wind of it she’d very likely bleed you white! Lord, there’d be no end to it!”

“I don’t think it. It is not for that reason! Dysart, all this trouble has come upon me because I set out to deceive Cardross, and it has grown and grown until—” She broke off with a shudder. “I must tell him the truth. I must tell him immediately!”

She got up as she spoke, but the Viscount said dampingly: “Well, you won’t do that, because he ain’t in. Told Farley he wouldn’t be back till five or thereabouts.”

“Not till five! Oh, if my courage does not fail!”

“Do you want me to see him with you?” he demanded.

“You? Oh, no! I must see him alone.”

“Well, it’s my belief the thing will come off a dashed sight better if you do,” he said frankly. “It ain’t that I mind seeing him, because now the dibs are in tune again there’s no reason why I should, but for one thing I’m pledged to Corny, and for another Cardross won’t like it if you take me along, like a dashed bodyguard! That’s the way to get his back up at the very start. Besides, you don’t need a bodyguard. I don’t say he isn’t going to be devilish angry, because it stands to reason he’s bound to be, but you needn’t be afraid he won’t come round. He will—and all the quicker if I’m not there! He don’t love me, but he loves you all right and tight!”

She said nothing; and after a moment he held out the bank-notes to her again. “Take ‘em! No need to mention the mantua-maker’s bill to him, unless you choose. You may put the whole on to me: I had three centuries from you, and I’ve now paid ‘em back. I daresay that will surprise him more than if you told him I’d prigged his damned heirloom!”

At these biting words, she flung her arms round his neck, vehemently asserting that no one could ever believe such a thing of him, and again begging him to forgive her.

“Yes, very well, but you needn’t think I’m pleased with you, for I’m not!” responded Dysart, disengaging himself from her embrace. “It’s not a bit of use hanging round my neck, and playing off your cajolery: I’m not Cardross! And mind this! the next time you run” into trouble, don’t you come to me to drag you out of it!”

“No,” Nell said meekly.

“I’ll be off now,” he announced. “No getting into high fidgets, Nell!”

She shook her head.

“And no turning short about either!” he warned her.

“No, I promise you I mean to tell Cardross as soon as he returns.”

“Well, see you do!” he said, relenting sufficiently to bestow a brief hug upon her. “I suppose I ought to stay to bring you up to scratch, but I haven’t seen Corny yet, and I must. Besides, it’s his birthday, and we mean to make a batch of it.”

With that he went off, leaving her to solitude and her melancholy thoughts. She roused herself presently from these to send Sutton to pay Madame Lavalle’s bill, and thought, as she gave the bank-notes into her dresser’s hand, how happy it would have made her, only four days earlier, to have been able to do this. She could still be thankful that she would not now be obliged to lay the debt before Cardross, but that seemed a very small alleviation of the ills that beset her. The sight of her dresser brought one of these most forcibly to her mind. It would be necessary to tell Sutton that the necklace was not in the hands of Cardross’s jeweller, but indeed lost; and how to account for her own prevarication was a problem to which she could discover no answer. Letty might pour out her troubles to her maid; to Nell it was unthinkable that she should admit Sutton into her confidence.

The thought of Letty made her ask Sutton suddenly where she was. The dresser replied that she believed her to have gone with Martha to Owen’s in Bond Street, to purchase fresh ribbons for the gown she meant to wear at Almack’s that evening. She availed herself of the opportunity to enquire of Nell which gown she herself wished laid out in readiness; but Nell, who had forgotten the engagement, exclaimed: “Almack’s! Oh, no! I cannot go there tonight!”

Sutton merely said: “Very well, my lady,” and went away. Letty (if she had indeed arranged to meet her lover at the Assembly Rooms) would scarcely be so acquiescent.

As the day drew towards five o’clock Nell began to feel a little sick. Her spirits had been getting steadily lower for some time, and were not improved by the prospect beyond the window. The day had been dull, and the sky had now become so overcast that the drawing-room, which should have been full of sunshine, had put on a mournful twilight air. It even seemed to be a little chilly, but perhaps that was only her fancy.

Cardross came in shortly after five, but when Nell, bracing herself to face the ordeal in store, went downstairs, it was only to learn from the porter that his lordship was engaged with someone who had called to see him on a matter of business. Knowing that Cardross was dining out that evening, and feeling that her courage would be entirely dissipated if she were forced to remain on the rack for many more hours, she said: “It is very vexatious, for I particularly wish to speak with his lordship before he goes out again. Who is it who must come to see him on business at such an hour? Not Mr. Kent, surely?”

“No, my lady. It’s a Mr. Catworth. He called this morning, and seeing as he said his business was private, which he wouldn’t disclose to Mr. Kent, nor anyone, I told him it was no manner of use for him to wait, because his lordship wasn’t expected till five. And back he came, my lady, but I would have put him in the office if I’d known your ladyship was wishful to see my lord. Because my lord give his orders when he come in just now that when Sir John Somerby calls he’s to be taken to the library straight, my lady.”