Джорджетт Хейер - Regency Buck

“Oh, I am afraid I am not enough in Worth’s confidence to be able to answer you. You may depend upon it, however, that he had a sufficient reason for going to London. My brother, Mr. Taverner, is by no means a fool.”

Mr. Taverner inclined his head. “You are not aware what plans Lord Worth has made for discovering what has become of my cousin?”

“No, he left in haste, and told me very little. I am sorry for it: you, I am persuaded, must be anxious to know.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Taverner quietly. “I am indeed anxious to know that proper measures have been taken.”

“You may be sure of it,” replied the Captain. “But we should not be discussing it in such a public place as this, you know. I was on my way to the Castle. Do you care to accompany me?”

Mr. Taverner assented, and walked with him in silence to the inn. They went into the tap-room. The Captain called for a bottle of wine, and led the way to one of the tables against the wall. “I can really tell you nothing that you do not already know,” he said. “It is a most unaccountable business, but if there has been foul play I will back Worth to bring it home to the proper quarter.”

“Lord Worth suspects there has been foul play, then?”

“Well, what can one think?” said Captain Audley. “Does it not bear all the appearance of it?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Taverner. “I think it does, Captain Audley.”

“Do not breathe as much to Miss Taverner, however. She is already suffering great anxiety, you know.”

“It is not to be wondered at. Her situation is wretched indeed!”

The Captain glanced at him under drooping eyelids. “You must not think that she is forgotten because Worth has left Brighton,” he said. “I have the intention of escorting her to London on Thursday if nothing should be heard of Peregrine in the meantime.”

“Escorting her to London! For what purpose? What good can she do there?” exclaimed Mr. Taverner.

“As to that, none, I suppose, but you will find that she wishes to go. It is very understandable, after all.”

“Understandable, yes, but I am surprised at Lord Worth’s allowing it.”

The Captain smiled and picked up the wine bottle. “Are you?” he said. “Perhaps my brother has a reason for that as well.”

He began to pour out the wine, but his left hand was still unused to doing the work of his right, and some of the liquid was spilled, and splashed on to his immaculate breeches. He said with a good deal of annoyance: “Can you perform the simplest office with your left hand? I cannot, as you see. Damnation!” He set the bottle down, and snatching his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed angrily at the stain on his knee. But in pulling out his handkerchief he caught up something else as well, which fluttered to the floor between his chair and Taverner’s. He looked down, and made a swift movement to retrieve it.

Mr. Taverner was before him, however. His fingers closed on the paper just as Captain Audley reached for it. He looked at it for one moment, and then raised his eyes to the Captain’s face. “Am I to wish you joy, Captain Audley?” he asked in a measured voice. “I had no idea that you were contemplating matrimony, but since you carry a special licence in your pocket, I must suppose the happy day to be imminent.”

The Captain took the paper from him rather quickly, and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Oh lord, no!” he said easily. “It is not for me, my dear fellow. A friend of mine is about to be married, and charged me with procuring the licence, that is all!”

“I see,” said Mr. Taverner politely.

Sunday dragged past without bringing any news of Peregrine to his sister. She went to church with Mrs. Scattergood in the morning, and on coming out after the service was hailed by her uncle, who came hobbling towards her, leaning upon his stick. She had not seen him since some days before Peregrine’s disappearance, and so strong was her mistrust of him that she found it hard to greet him with the distinction their relationship demanded. He did not look to be in health; his usually red cheeks had a sallow tinge, but he ascribed it all to his gout, which had kept him indoors for the past week. This, he told his niece, was his first day out. She experienced a strong feeling of suspicion upon his so pointedly telling her this, but forced herself, from a wish not to be backward in any attention that was due to him, to inquire whether he had tried the Warm Bath. He had done so, but without receiving much benefit from it. It was evident that he did not wish to make his own health the subject of his conversation; he begged his niece to give him her arm to his carriage, and was no sooner walking slowly away with her than he looked anxiously round into her face, and said in a low tone: “You know, I should have been with you two days ago, my dear, had I not been aground with this curst foot of mine. It is a dreadful business! I do not know what to say to you. I would not have had such a thing happen for the world! Ay, poor girl, I see how you feel it!”

His hand squeezed hers; meeting his eyes she saw so troubled an expression in them that she could almost have acquitted him. She thanked him, and said: “I do not let myself despair, sir. I believe Lord Worth will find Peregrine.”

“Ay, and so I hope he may do,” he answered. “It is a dreadful business, a dreadful business!”

“My cousin is not with you today, sir?” she observed, not wishing to discuss Peregrine’s fate with him.

“Eh?” he said, recalling himself with a start. “Oh no! Did you not know Bernard has gone off to do what he can for you? Ay, so it is. He set off last night; could not be kicking his heels in Brighton with his cousins under the hatches, as we say. Ah, my dear, if you knew the depth of my boy’s regard for you—but I do not mean to tease you, I am sure, and this is no time to be talking of bridals.”

They had reached the carriage by this time, and he climbed into it, groaning a little. Miss Taverner was resolute in declining his offer to convey her to her door, but she could not believe his sympathy to be quite hypocritical, and took leave of him with more kindness than she would have thought it possible to feel for him.

Monday brought her a letter from Sir Geoffrey Fairford. He wrote from Reddish’s hotel, in St. James’s Street. He had seen Worth, and although he was not able to give her any news of Peregrine, he was confident that a very few days must put them in possession of all the facts. He wrote in haste, and meant to carry his letter to the Post Office, that there might be no delay in its despatch. He could only counsel her not to lose hope, and assure her that her guardian was doing all that lay in his power to bring about a happy issue.

With this brief note she had to be satisfied. Her dependence was now on Captain Audley’s promise to escort her to London. Every day spent in wretched suspense at Brighton was harder to bear than the last. Mrs. Scattergood’s attempts to keep up her spirits, alternating as they did with fits of the gloomiest foreboding, could only make matters worse. She so obviously gave Peregrine up for lost, that Judith could not feel her company to be any support; and since at the end of three days she was unable to sleep without the assistance of drops of laudanum, and spent the greater part of her time on a couch, with a bottle of smelling salts in one hand, and a damp handkerchief in the other, the only advantage of her presence was that she gave Judith something to do in looking after her.

No tidings came from Worth. Judith believed him to be in London, but even Captain Audley could give her no certain intelligence on this point.

On Wednesday morning, more from an inability to be still than from any real expectation of finding a letter from her guardian, Miss Taverner put on a street dress, and a hat, and went out to call at the Post Office. But the night-mail had brought no letter for her, and it was with a heavy heart that she walked back to Marine Parade. She was within sight of her house when she suddenly heard her name called, and turned quickly round to see her cousin jumping down from a light travelling carriage which had drawn up behind her.

She hurried to meet him, her countenance expressing all the eagerness she felt on beholding him. “Cousin! Oh, have you discovered something? Tell me, tell me!”

He grasped the hands which she held out to him, and said in a repressed voice: “I was on my way to your house. But this is better still. I believe—I trust—that I have discovered something.”

His face, which was very pale, led her to suppose that his news must be bad. Her own cheeks grew white; she just found strength to utter: “What is it? Oh, do not keep me in suspense! I can bear anything but that!”

“I think I have found him,” he said with an effort.

Her eyes dilated. “Found him! O God, not dead?”

“No, no!” he replied quickly. “But in what case I dare not say!”

“Where?” she demanded. “Why do you not take me to him at once? Why do we stand here wasting time? Where is he?”

“I will take you to him,” he said. “It is some little distance, but I have brought a carriage for you. Will you come with me?”

“Good God, of course I will come!” she cried. “Let me but run home to leave a message for Mrs. Scattergood, and we may start immediately!”

His clasp on her hand tightened. “Judith, most solemnly I beg of you do not do that! A message to Mrs. Scattergood will ruin all. You do not know the whole.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” she said. “How could a message to Mrs. Scattergood ruin all?”

“Cousin, every suspicion has been confirmed. You are not meant to find Peregrine. The place where I shall take you is hidden away in the depths of the country. I believe him to be held there—you may guess by whom.”