She looked up enquiringly. ‘Have I?’ she said doubtfully.
‘That, or Disaster,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I shall know which when I am sober. But, to tell you the truth, I don’t care a jot!En avant, mon cousin!’
It was past midday when Lady Trevor, accompanied by her reluctant husband, called at her brother’s house in St James’s Square. She was admitted by the porter, obviously big with news, and handed on by him to the butler. ‘Tell Sir Richard that I am here,’ she commanded, stepping into the Yellow Saloon.
‘Sir Richard, my lady, is not at home,’ said the butler, in a voice pregnant with mystery.
Louisa, who had extracted from her lord a description of Sir Richard’s proceedings at Almack’s on the preceding night, snorted. ‘You will tell him that his sister desires to see him,’ she said.
‘Sir Richard, my lady, is not upon the premises,’ said the butler, working up to his climax.
‘Sir Richard has trained you well,’ said Louisa dryly. ‘But I am not to be put off so! Go and tell him that I wish to see him!’
‘Sir Richard, my lady, did not sleep in his bed last night!’ announced the butler.
George was surprised into indiscreet comment. ‘What’s that? Nonsense! He wasn’t as foxed as that whenIsaw him!’
‘As to that, my lord,’ said the butler, with dignity, ‘I have no information. In a word, my lord, Sir Richard has vanished.’
‘Good Gad!’ ejaculated George.
‘Fiddle-de-dee!’ said Louisa tartly. ‘Sir Richard, as I suppose, is in his bed!’
‘No, my lady. As I informed your ladyship, Sir Richard’s bed has not been slept in.’ He paused, but Louisa only stared at him. Satisfied with the impression he had made, he continued: ‘The evening attire which Sir Richard was wearing yesterday was found by his man, Biddle, upon the floor of his bedroom. Sir Richard’s second-best top-boots, a pair of buckskins, a blue riding-coat, his drab overcoat, and a fawn coloured beaver, have all disappeared. One is forced to the conclusion, my lady, that Sir Richard was called away unexpectedly.’
‘Gone off without his valet?’ George demanded in a stupefied tone.
The butler bowed. ‘Precisely so, my lord.’
‘Impossible!’ George said, from the heart.
Louisa, who had been frowning over these tidings, said in a brisk voice: ‘It is certainly very odd, but there is no doubt some perfectly reasonable explanation. Pray, are you certain that my brother left no word withanymember of his household?’
‘None whatsoever, my lady.’
George heaved a deep sigh, and shook his head. ‘I warned you, Louisa! Isaidyou were driving him too hard!’
‘You said nothing of the sort!’ snapped Louisa, annoyed with him for talking so indiscreetly before a palpably interested servant. ‘To be sure, he may well have mentioned to us that hewas going out of town, and we have forgotten the circumstance.’
‘How can you say so?’ asked George, honestly puzzled. ‘Why, didn’t you have it from Melissa Brandon herself that he was to call –’
‘That will do, George!’ said Louisa, quelling him with a look so terrible that he quailed under it. ‘Tell me, Porson,’ she resumed, turning again to the butler, ‘has my brother gone in his post-chaise, or is he driving himself?’
‘None of Sir Richard’s vehicles, my lady, sporting or otherwise, is missing from the stables,’ said Porson, relishing the cumulative effect of his disclosures.
‘He is riding, then!’
‘I have ascertained from the head groom, my lady, that none of Sir Richard’s horses has been abstracted. The head groom has not seen Sir Richard since yesterday morning.’
‘Good Gad!’ muttered George, his eyes starting with dismay at the hideous thought which presented itself to him. ‘No, no, he would not do that!’
‘Be quiet, George! For heaven’s sake, be quiet!’ Louisa cried sharply. ‘Why, what nonsensical notion have you taken into your head? I am sure it is most provoking of Richard to slip off like this, but as for – I won’t have you say such things! Ten to one, he has gone off to watch some odious sporting event: prize-fighting, I dare say! He will be home presently.’
‘But he didn’t sleep at home!’ George reminded her. ‘And I’m bound to say he wasn’t cold stone sober when he left Almack’s last night. I don’t mean he was badly foxed, but you know what he’s like when he’s –’
‘I am thankful to say that I know nothing of the kind!’ retorted Louisa. ‘If he was not sober, it would account for his erratic behaviour.’
‘Erratic behaviour! I must say, Louisa, that is a fine way to talk when poor Ricky may be at the bottom of the river,’ exclaimed George, roused to noble courage.
