“Very true!” she retorted. “He might be an admirable person! But unless I have been quite misinformed he was certainly not that! There is bad blood in the Steanes, Mr Nethercott, and although it hasn’t come out in Cherry, who knows but what it might show itself in her children?”

“If these are your sentiments, Miss Hetta, I must wonder at it that you dared to expose your brother to the risk of falling in love with her!” he said, in a quizzing tone, but with a grave look.

She responded lightly: “Yes, and I must own that I had the strongest misgivings! But Desford said that there was no need for me to tease myself over that, because it wouldn’t happen. He says that boys of Charlie’s age seldom fall in love with girls no older than they are themselves, but languish at the feet of dashing mantraps. And he was perfectly right, as he by far too often is!—Charlie thinks poor Cherry a very mean bit! Which is a good thing, of course, but I do trust that by the time he is old enough to think of settling down he will have outgrown his taste for dashing man-traps!”

“Is that Lord Desford’s opinion?” asked Mr Nethercott, unable to keep a sardonic note out of his voice.

It passed her by. She said, wrinkling her brow: “I don’t think I ever asked him, but I’m very sure it would be, because, now you put me in mind of it, I recall that the first females he ever dangled after were years older than he was himself, and not at all the sort of women anyone but a confirmed noddicock would have dreamt of asking to marry him. And that, you know, Desford never was, even in his most ramshackle days!”

Her eyes lit with reminiscent amusement as she spoke, but a glance at Mr Nethercott’s face informed her that he did not share her amusement, so she very wisely brought their tête-à-tête to an end, by getting up from her chair, and inviting him to go with her to the library, where Charlie, still confined largely to the sofa, would be delighted to enjoy a comfortable cose with him.

Chapter 8

In the meantime the Viscount was being afforded ample opportunity to regret his chivalry. He spent the day following his return to Arlington Street in a number of abortive attempts to discover Lord Nettlecombe’s whereabouts, even (though with extreme reluctance) going to the length of overcoming his strong dislike of Mr Jonas Steane, and calling at his house in Upper Grosvenor Street. But Mr Steane, like his father, had gone out of town; and although he had not left his house entirely empty the ancient caretaker who was at last induced to respond to the summons of a bell pulled with enough vigour to have broken the wires, and to a crescendo of knocks, was unable to give Desford any more precise information than that Mr Steane had taken his family to Scarborough. No, he disremembered that he had ever been told the exact direction of his lodgings: all he knew was that the servants had been given a fortnight’s holiday, but would be back again at the end of the following week, with orders to give the house a proper cleanup before the family returned to it. No, he hadn’t never heard that Lord Nettlecombe had gone off to Scarborough too, but if anyone was to ask him he’d be bound to say he didn’t think he had, being as he was at outs with Mr Steane. Finally, with the praiseworthy intention of assisting the Viscount, he said that he wouldn’t wonder at it if Mr Steane’s lawyer knew where he was to be found; but as he was unable to furnish Desford with the lawyer’s name, misdoubting that no one had ever told him what it was, being that it wasn’t no concern of his, the suggestion that Desford should seek him out was not as helpful as he plainly believed it to be.

It was at the end of a singularly unrewarding day, when the Viscount sat down to dine in solitary state in his own house, that his deeply sympathetic butler, distressed by his master’s sad lack of appetite, and extremely harassed expression, racked his own’ brains, and was suddenly inspired to present him with the most promising advice of any that had yet been proffered. He said, as he refilled the Viscount’s glass: “Has it occurred to your lordship that Lord Nettlecombe may have retired to his country seat for the summer months?”

The Viscount, who had been lost in gloomy consideration of the difficulties which confronted him, looked up quickly, and ejaculated: “Good God, what a fool I am! I’d forgotten he had one!”

“Yes, my lord,” said Aldham, placing a cheesecake before him. “I have only a few minutes ago remembered it myself. So while you were partaking of your first course I took the liberty of consulting the Index to the House of Lords, which I recalled having seen on your lordship’s bookshelves, and although this volume is ten years old I fancy the information it contains may still be relied upon. It states that Lord Nettlecombe’s country seat is situated in the County of Kent, not far from Staplehurst. One cannot suppose that it will be difficult to find, for it is known as Nettlecombe Manor.”

“Thank you!” said the Viscount warmly. “I am very much obliged to you! Indeed, I don’t know where I should be without you! I’ll post off to Staplehurst tomorrow morning!”

He did so, demanding his breakfast at an unfashionably early hour, so that his chaise had gone beyond the stones before such members of the ton who still remained in London had emerged from their bedchambers. His postilions had no difficulty at all in locating Nettlecombe Manor, for a few miles before Staplehurst was reached a signpost pointed the way to the house. It was approached by a narrow lane, bordered by high, straggling hedges, and with grass growing between the wheel-ruts. This did not hold out much promise that my Lord Nettlecombe’s house would justify the description of it as a “country seat”, but it was found to be, if not a mansion, quite a large house, set in a small park, and approached by a short carriage-drive, which led from a pretty little lodge, and showed signs of having undergone extensive weeding operations. When the chaise drew up before the main entrance, and the Viscount jumped lightly down from it, he saw that the house was being repaired, a circumstance which, as he later said acidly, should have been enough to inform him that whoever was residing in the house he was not Lord Nettlecombe.

This was soon proved to be the case. My lord had hired the house to a retired merchant, whose wife, he informed Desford, had been mad after what he called a grand Country Place for years. “Mind you, my lord,” he said, with a fat chuckle, “what she set her heart on was a swapping big house, like Chatsworth, or some such, but I told her to her head that ducal mansions was above my touch, even if his grace was wishful to hire it, which, so far as I am aware of, he ain’t. All to one, it took pretty nigh on two years before we found this place, and I was so sick and tired of jumbling and jolting all over the country to look at houses that wasn’t one of them what we wanted, nor what they was puffed off to be by the agents, that when I saw this place I’d have hired it, even if I hadn’t taken a fancy to it, which I own I did. Of course I saw in no more than a pig’s whisper that there was a lot wanted doing to it, but, lord, I said to myself, it’ll give me something to do when I retire from my business, and if I don’t have anything to do it’s likely I’ll get to be as blue as megrim. What’s more, I was able to drive a bargain with his lordship’s man of business, though not,” he added, with a darkling look, “as good a one as I’d have driven if I’d known what I know now about the house! Well, if you’re one of his lordship’s friends, sir, I wouldn’t wish to say anything unbecoming, but you wouldn’t credit the way everything’s been let go to rack and ruin!”

“I’m not one of his friends, and I do credit it!” Desford said promptly, before Mr Tugsley could continue his discourse. “I have a—a matter of business to discuss with him, and hoped I might find him here when I called at his London house, and discovered that he had gone out of town. If you know where he is to be found I should be very much obliged to you if you would furnish me with his direction.”

“Well, that I can’t do, but I can tell you his lawyer’s name, and his direction, so if you’ll do us the honour to step into the next room, which Mrs T. calls the Green Saloon, but which to my way of thinking is just a parlour, and partake of a morsel of refreshment, I’ll go and see if I can’t find it for you.”

The Viscount thanked him, but would have declined the offer of hospitality had he not perceived that Mr Tugsley’s feelings would be hurt by a refusal. He never willingly wounded the susceptibilities of his social inferiors, so he accompanied his host into the adjoining room, bowed to Mrs Tugsley just as though (as she later informed her husband) she had been a duchess, and even endured, with an air of courteous interest, twenty minutes of her somewhat overpowering conversation, during which time he drank a glass of wine, and ate a peach. The table was loaded with dishes, but he contrived to refuse them all without giving offence, saying (with perfect truth) that although he couldn’t resist the peach, he never ate a nuncheon.

It was plain that Mrs Tugsley had social ambitions, and her efforts to impress him led her to ape what she supposed to be the manners of the haut ton, and to interlard her conversation with the names of a number of titled persons, generally describing them as “such a sweet creature!” or “a perfect gentleman”, and trying to convey the impression that she was well-acquainted with them. The Viscount responded with easy civility, and allowed no trace either of disgust or boredom to appear in his demeanour, but he was thankful when Mr Tugsley returned, bearing a slip of paper on which he had transcribed the name and direction of Lord Nettlecombe’s lawyer. This he handed to Desford, recommending him not to let the old huckster burn him. Mrs Tugsley begged him not to talk in such a vulgar way, and wondered (with a minatory frown at him) whatever his lordship must be thinking of him. But Desford laughed, and said that he was much obliged to Mr Tugsley for the warning, adding that if Lord Nettlecombe’s man of business was as hardfisted as he was himself he must be a very neat article indeed.