‘Lady Luttrell refers, I apprehend, to Beverley’s death,’ said Sir Richard dryly.
‘Bev? Oh, of course, yes! Shocking affair! Never was more surprised in my life!’
‘It is a source of profound dismay to me that such a thing should have happened while your brother was a guest in my house,’ said Lady Luttrell.
‘Don’t give it a thought, ma’am!’ begged Cedric. ‘Not your fault – always thought he would come to a bad end – might have happened anywhere!’
‘Your callousness, sir, is disgusting!’ proclaimed the Major, picking up his hat. ‘I will not remain another instant to be revolted by such a display of heartless unconcern!’
‘Well, damme, who wants you to?’ demanded Cedric. ‘Haven’t I been trying to get you to go away this past half-hour? Never met such a thick-skinned fellow in my life!’
‘Escort Major Daubenay to the door, Ceddie,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I understand that Lady Luttrell wishes to see me upon a private matter.’
‘Private as you please, dear boy! Ma’am, your very obedient!Afteryou, Major!’ He bowed the Major out with a flourish, winked at Sir Richard, and went out himself.
‘What an engaging scapegrace!’ remarked Lady Luttrell, moving forward into the middle of the parlour. ‘I confess, I much disliked his brother.’
‘Your dislike was shared by most of his acquaintance, ma’am. Will you not be seated?’
She took the chair he offered, and looked him over rather penetratingly. ‘Well, Sir Richard,’ she said, perfectly mistress of the situation, ‘you are wondering, I dare say, why I have come to call upon you.’
‘I think I know,’ he replied.
‘Then I need not beat about the bush. You are travelling with a young gentleman who is said to be your cousin, I understand. A young gentleman who, if my maid is to be believed, answers to the somewhat unusual name of Pen.’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Richard. ‘We should have changed that.’
‘Pen Creed, Sir Richard?’
‘Yes, ma’am! Pen Creed.’
Her gaze did not waver from his impassive countenance. ‘A trifle odd, sir, is it not?’
‘The word, ma’am, should have been fantastic. May I know how you came by your information?’
‘Certainly you may. I have lately supported a visit from Mrs Griffin and her son, who seemed to expect to find Pen with me. They told me that she had left their roof in her cousin’s second-best suit of clothes, by way of the window. That sounded very like Pen Creed to me. But she was not with me, Sir Richard. It was not until this morning that my maid told me of a golden-haired boy who was putting up with his cousin – yourself, Sir Richard – at this inn. That is why I came. I am sure that you will appreciate that I felt a certain degree of anxiety.’
‘Perfectly,’ he said. ‘But Pen is no longer with me. She left for Bristol this morning, and is now, I must suppose, a passenger on the London stagecoach.’
She raised her brows. ‘Still more surprising! I hope that you mean to satisfy my curiosity, sir?’
‘Obviously I must do so,’ he said, and in a cool, expressionless voice, recounted to her all that had happened since Pen had dropped from her rope of sheets into his arms.
She heard him in attentive silence, and all the time watched him. When he had done, she did not say anything for a moment, but looked thoughtfully at him. After a pause, she said: ‘Was Pen very much distressed to find my son head over ears in love with Lydia Daubenay?’
‘I did not think so.’
‘Oh! And my son, I think you said, showed himself to be shocked at the seeming impropriety of her situation?’
‘Not unnaturally, though I could have wished that he had not shown his disapproval quite so plainly. She is very young, you see. It had not occurred to her that there was anything amiss.’
‘Piers had never the least tact,’ she said. ‘I expect he told her that you were in honour bound to marry her.’
‘He did, and he spoke no less than the truth.’
‘Forgive me, Sir Richard, but did you offer for Pen because you felt your honour to be involved?’
‘No, I asked her to marry me because I loved her, ma’am.’
