“Do you know,” interposed his lordship mildly, “if you didn’t look as if you’d been spat out by a warthog, I should punch your head for you.” He passed the flask again. “Have another pull at this. I’ve no desire to be arrested for corpse stealing. I have enough trouble.”
Grateful, Rossiter complied, and asked, blinking, “Trouble?”
“I suppose you’d not be aware, but I am suspected of having been—er, embroiled in the late Rebellion. On the wrong side,” he added with a wry grin.
“I see.” Rossiter looked at him steadily. “Kindred spirits, is that what you mean?”
It was the viscount’s turn to be discomfitted. “I do not scruple to remark that you’ve dashed unpleasant eyes. Are you saying there is more to your father’s unhappy predicament than is generally believed?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what is my father’s ‘unhappy predicament.’”
“Good God!” Glendenning looked aghast. “I thought that was why you had come home.”
“So do others, I gather. No, do not tell me of it, Tio. I had prefer to hear the whole story from Sir Mark. An I can find him.”
His lordship pulled on the checkstring again, and when the coachman peered down from the trap, “Snow Hill,” he said. The coachman uttered an audible and shocked exclamation. With a sly grin Lord Horatio added, “It really don’t seem fair to you, Gideon. But since you have more or less survived shells and bricks, you might live through the ride.”
Half an hour later, white and shaken, Rossiter descended the steps and clung to the open door. “Damn you, Tio,” he croaked. “How can you be so heartless as to sit there and—and laugh?”
His insensate friend’s mirth rising to a howl, Rossiter started towards the back of the coach, clinging to the wheel as he went.
Glendenning leapt from the carriage and offered his arm. “Just—just do not look down, my heroic friend,” he chortled.
Rossiter, who was petrified by heights, took one glance at the sheer hill they had climbed, and moaned. “Why in the name of Beelzebub must my father elect to remove to the side of a mountain? No, really, Tio. However will your poor cattle get down?”
“The same way they got up, I fear.” They came around to the back of the vehicle, and Glendenning went on, “Here is your hack, safe and sound.”
“Aye. And only look—he has turned white, poor fellow!”
Laughing, Glendenning said, “What—had he not a blaze when you hired him?”
“I cannot—” Rossiter interrupted himself wrathfully, “I’ll tell you something hedidhave. My saddlebags! Where the devil are they? Did your coachman throw them in the boot?”
Sobering, Glendenning questioned his servants, but neither coachman nor footman had removed the saddlebags. The footman searched about, but it was soon determined that the missing articles were neither on, in, nor under the coach, and he was sent back down the hill to see if they had fallen en route. Watching his mincing and reluctant progress, Glendenning said, “I’d think we could see them from here, wouldn’t you, Ross?”
“I would. But I do not.”
“Small doubt then. They must have been stolen. Gad! Whatever is old London Town coming to? Nothing of great value, I hope?”
“My dressing case. Some small gifts for my family. Nothing to warrant taking such a risk, and in broad daylight.”
The footman waved from the bottom of the hill, his gestures clearly indicating failure.
Rossiter swore, and turned back to the tall and rather shabby house that stood silent and unwelcoming among its more prosperous-looking neighbours.
Of a somewhat superstitious nature, Glendenning caught his arm. “If ever I heard of so wretched a homecoming! Your stars must harbour a grudge against you today. Indeed, I shudder to think what tidbit Fate prepares to hurl at you next! You will do much better to come home with me and hide in bed. In the morning you can start afresh.”
Rossiter clapped him on the back. “You really are a good fellow, and I thank you, Tio. But I’d not wish to be held responsible should your rooms catch fire!”
They shook hands, Rossiter promised to attend the Glendenning Ball on the seventeenth, which was invariably one of the first highlights of the Season, and they parted.
Rossiter mounted the two front steps and gave the door knocker a vigorous exercise. He heard measured footsteps, then the door swung open and a haughty countenance was scanning him. He was hatless, and undoubtedly looked dishevelled, and that he was judged and found wanting was immediately apparent. He said curtly, “I am Captain Gideon Rossiter. Conduct me to Sir Mark, if you please.”
The butler stared, admitted him with obvious trepidation, and sketched a bow. “If you will wait here, sir, I will apprise Sir Mark of your arrival.” He started for the stairs. In two swift strides Gideon reached the flight. The butler checked and drew back. “Sir Mark does not care to be disturbed without—” he began.
“Idiot,” said Rossiter pithily, and passed him.
The upper hall was long and narrow and rather gloomy. He heard voices from a room on the right. Pausing, he nerved himself, and entered a formal withdrawing room.
