“No—oh, no!” Fanny said, blushing, and rising to her feet. “That is, yes! I wasn’t expecting to see you! Oh, pray don’t trouble about those stupid pieces!”

He dropped three of them on to the board, and shook hands. “I understand Serena is out,” he said, turning to offer his hand to the Major. “When does she return?”

The look Fanny cast at the Major was eloquent. I told you so! said her eyes. He came at once to the rescue. “It would be a bold man who would dare to prophesy!” he said smilingly. “She has gone off on an expedition, with a party of her friends, and there’s no saying when they will get back to Bath.”

“Where has she gone to?”

To Fanny’s deep admiration, the Major replied without hesitation: “I believe there was some notion of trying to get as far as to the Wookey Hole.”

“I wonder you let her.”

This remark, though it sounded more of a comment than a criticism, shook the Major slightly. Fanny sprang loyally into the breach. “She will be sorry to have missed you. What a pity you did not advise us of your coming to Bath!”

“Oh, she won’t miss me!” said Rotherham. “I’ll wait for her—if I shall not be in your way?”

“No, no, not at all!” said Fanny, in a hollow voice. “Pray, won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.” He chose a chair opposite to the sofa. “Don’t let me interrupt your game!”

“We had just finished. Do you—do you make a long stay in Bath?”

“I can’t tell. Has Miss Laleham also gone to the Wookey Hole?”

“I don’t know—that is, I forget whether—Oh, I expect she has!” said Fanny, feeling herself being driven into a corner. She knew that that unnerving gaze was fixed on her, and began with slightly trembling hands to put the backgammon-pieces into their box.

“By the by, has my eldest ward been seen in Bath?” asked Rotherham abruptly.

The Major was just in time to catch one of the pieces which, slipping from between Fanny’s fingers, rolled across the board to the edge. “Oh, thank you! So clumsy! G-Gerard, Lord Rotherham? I haven’t seen him. Did you expect to find him here?”

“I wasn’t sure. That’s why I asked you.”

Fanny found herself obliged to look up, and was lost. The compelling eyes held hers, but they were not frowning, she noticed. A rather mocking smile lurked in them. “I accept without question that you haven’t seen him, Lady Spenborough. Has anyone?”

“Are you talking of a boy called Monksleigh?” interposed the Major. “Yes, I’ve seen him. Serena introduced him to me. He said he was staying with friends outside the town.”

“He lied, then. Has he too gone to the Wookey Hole?”

“No, indeed he hasn’t!” Fanny said quickly. “He—he has left Bath, I believe!”

“Oh, my God, why did I never thrust some jumping-powder down his throat while there was still time to cure him of cow-heartedness?” exclaimed Rotherham, in accents of extreme exasperation. He got up abruptly. “He heard I was coming, and fled, did he? I wish you will stop fencing with me, Lady Spenborough! Sooner or later I am bound to discover what has been going on here, and I’d as lief it was sooner! I’ve already been refused admittance in Beaufort Square, where I learned that Miss Laleham will not be in until late this evening, that Mrs Floore is out, visiting friends, and that Lady Laleham is expected in Bath this afternoon. Now I find that Serena too is not expected back until late, and that that ward of mine has taken himself off in a hurry, which makes nonsense of the whole! Having had the spirit to come here, why the devil couldn’t he—” He stopped suddenly, his brows snapping together: “Good God, did she send him packing?”

Fanny cast another of her imploring looks at the Major, but he too had risen, and his eyes were on Rotherham’s face. “Am I to understand that you knew young Monksleigh to be in love with Miss Laleham?” he asked bluntly.

“Knew it?” Rotherham gave a short laugh, and strode over to the window. “What can one know of a bag of wind? He enacted me a ranting tragedy, but as to discovering whether there is one grain of sincerity among the fustian, you might as well try to milk a pigeon! Just playing off his tricks, was he?” he shrugged. “I should have guessed it!”

“No,” said the Major deliberately. “Far from it!”

“Hector!” The cry was startled our of Fanny.

Rotherham swung round. One swift glance at Fanny’s horrified face, and his eyes went to the Major’s, in a hard, questioning stare. “Well? Out with it!”

Fanny sprang up, with a rustle of silken skirts, and clasped her hands about the Major’s arm. “Hector, you must not! Oh, pray—!”

He laid his hand over her clutching fingers. “But I think I should,” he said gently. “Haven’t you said from the outset that nothing but misery could come of the marriage? Your ward, Marquis, according to our information, eloped this morning with your betrothed.”

“What?” Rotherham thundered, making Fanny wince. “Are you trying to hoax me?”

“On such a subject? Certainly not! They set out in a chaise-and-pair, and were bound, it is presumed, for Gretna Green.”

“By God, I’ve wronged that boy!” exclaimed Rotherham. “So that’s why I wasn’t permitted to enter Mrs Floore’s house! Gretna Green, indeed!” His brows drew together again. “Good God, they will never get there! I’ll swear all the money the young fool had was the fifty pounds I gave him! Why the devil couldn’t he have asked me for a hundred while he was about it? Of all the addle-brained cawkers—! Now he’ll find himself aground before he reaches Carlisle!”

Fanny’s hands fell from the Major’s arm. Fascinated, she stared at Rotherham.

“He appears only to have booked the chaise as far as to Wolverhampton,” said the Major, contriving by a superhuman effort to preserve his countenance. “Possibly—he has foreseen that he might find himself without a feather to fly with, and means to proceed thence by stagecoach.”

“God grant me patience!” ejaculated Rotherham wrathfully. “If ever I knew such a slow-top—! Does he know no better than to take a girl to Wolverhampton—Wolverhampton, my God!—and then to push her into a stagecoach? And I don’t doubt I shall be blamed for it, if all comes to ruin! How the devil could I guess he was such a cod’s head that he wouldn’t know better unless I told him?”

“Perhaps,” said the Major, who had sat down again, and was giving way to his emotion, “he f-felt there might be a little—awkwardness in applying to you for instruction!”

One of his sharp cracks of laughter broke from Rotherham. “He might, of course!” he acknowledged. Another thought brought back the frown to his brow. “What’s Serena doing in this?” he demanded. “You’re not going to tell me she has gone along to chaperon Emily?”

“No: to bring her back!” said the Major. “She has ridden in pursuit of them.”

“And you let her?”

“It was not in my power to attempt to stop her. I only learned of it this afternoon. It was far too late to try to catch her. I can only trust she’ll come to no harm.”

“Serena?” Rotherham’s lip curled. “You needn’t be anxious on her account! It isn’t she who will come to harm. So she means to bring Emily back, does she? I am obliged to her!”

He came slowly away from the window, a brooding look in his harsh face, his lips tightly gripped together. He saw that Fanny was watching him, and said curtly: “No doubt she will be home presently. I shouldn’t tease yourself about her, Lady Spenborough, if I were you: she’s very well able to take care of herself. I won’t wait to see her.”

He held out his hand, but before she could take it the Major had risen, and picked up from the table Serena’s letter. “You had better read what she wrote to Lady Spenborough,” he said. “I fancy it makes the matter tolerably plain.”

Rotherham took the paper from him, directing a searching glance at him from under his brows. Then he bent his gaze upon the letter, and began to read it, his face very grim. But he had not proceeded far before his expression changed. The set look disappeared, to be succeeded by one of mingled wrath and astonishment. He did not speak, until he came to the end, but he seemed to find it difficult to control himself. At last he looked up, and Fanny’s heart instantly jumped into her mouth, such a blaze of anger was there in his eyes. “I will wait to see Serena!” he said. “I must certainly thank her in person! So busy as she has been on my behalf!” He rounded suddenly on the Major: “And who the devil is this Goring she writes of?” he demanded.

“I have never met him, but Lady Spenborough tells me he is Mrs Floore’s godson, and a most—er—sober and respectable young man,” replied the Major. “We must depend on him to bring her safely back.”

“Oh, we must, must we?” said Rotherham savagely. “She is a great deal more likely to bring him back—on a hurdle! Any man who lets Serena lead him into one of her damned May Games can’t be other than a bottlehead!” He broke off, jerking up his head, his eyes going swiftly to the window. The clop of a horse’s hooves, which had been growing steadily louder, ceased suddenly. Two quick strides took Rotherham back to the window. He flung it up, and looked down at the vehicle drawn up outside the house. There was a tense pause; then Rotherham said, leaning his hands on the window-sill, Serena’s letter crashed in one of them: “Her ladyship—in a hired hack!”

He shut the window with a slam, and turned. Fanny sprang up. “Serena? Oh, thank God! Oh, what a relief!”

She then shrank instinctively towards the Major, for the look Rotherham turned on her was bright and menacing. “Don’t thank God too soon, Lady Spenborough! Serena is in a great deal more danger now than she has been all day, believe me!”