‘Should his lordship prefer it, I fancy, sir, that any bishop will answer his purpose as well,’ said Chilham. ‘Will there be anything further, sir?’
Mr Ringwood waved him away, just as a violent knocking sounded on the street-door. ‘No, nothing! If that’s anyone wanting to see me, I’m not at home!’
‘Very good, sir. I will endeavour to intercept the gentleman,’ said Chilham, and withdrew.
His efforts at interception were not crowned with success. Sounds of an altercation penetrated to the parlour, to be followed an instant later by the eruption into the room of a startlingly handsome young man, dressing in riding-breeches and top-boots, and a long-tailed blue coat, with a Belcher handkerchief carelessly knotted round his throat, and his luxuriant black locks in a state of disorder which allowed one ringlet to tumble across his brow. His fiery dark eyes swept the room, and singled out the Viscount. ‘I knew it!’ he said, in a throbbing voice. ‘I saw your phaeton!’
‘Did you?’ said Sherry indifferently. ‘If Jason’s forked your purse again, there’s no need to get in such a taking. I’ll tell him to hand it over.’
‘Don’t try to trifle with me, Sherry!’ the newcomer said warningly. ‘Don’t try it, I say! I know where you have been! You have taken a damned advantage of me, by God!’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ said Mr Ringwood. ‘Now, sit down, George, for God’s sake, and don’t put yourself in a pucker over nothing! I never saw such a fellow!’
‘Nothing to be in a pucker about,’ said Mr Fakenham, adding his helpful mite. ‘Sherry’s going to be married.’
‘What?’ gasped Lord Wrotham, turning a ghastly colour, and rolling his eyes towards the Viscount.
‘No, no, not to Isabella!’ Mr Ringwood assured him, touched by the sight of such agony. ‘Really, Ferdy, how can you? Sherry’s going to marry another female.’
Lord Wrotham staggered to a chair, and sank into it. Anxious to make amends, Mr Fakenham poured out some ale, and pushed the tankard towards him. He took a pull, and sighed deeply. ‘My God, I thought – Sherry, I have wronged you!’
‘Well, I don’t mind,’ said the Viscount handsomely. ‘Got too much else to think about. Besides, you’re always doing it.’
‘Sherry,’ said Wrotham, fixing him with a hungry gaze, ‘I insulted you! If you want satisfaction, I will give it to you.’
‘If you think it would afford me satisfaction to stand up for you to blow a hole through my chest, you’re mightily mistaken, George!’ said Sherry frankly. ‘I’ll tell you what: if you don’t stop trying to pick quarrels with your best friends, you won’t have any left to you!’
‘I think I am going mad!’ said Wrotham, with a groan, and dropping his head in his hands. ‘I thought you was gone into Kent to steal a march on me with the Incomparable!’ He raised his head again, and directed one of his fiery stares at Mr Fakenham. ‘It was you who told me so!’ he cried accusingly. ‘Now, upon my soul, Ferdy –’
‘All a mistake!’ said Ferdy feebly. ‘Never at my best before noon!’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, that’s what I did do,’ said Sherry, with a candour bordering, in the opinion of his friends, on the foolhardy. ‘Only she wouldn’t have me.’
‘She refused you!’ Wrotham cried, his haggard countenance suddenly radiant.
‘That’s what I’m telling you. It’s my belief she’s got better game in view than either of us, George. If she can bring him up to scratch, she’ll have Severn, you mark my words!’
‘Sherry!’ thundered the distraught lover, springing to his feet and clenching his fists, ‘one word of disparagement of the loveliest, the most divine, the most perfect of women, and I call you out to answer for it!’
‘Well, you won’t get me out,’ responded the Viscount.
‘Am I to call you a coward?’ demanded Wrotham.
‘No, no, George, don’t do that!’ begged Ferdy, much alarmed. ‘Can’t call poor Sherry a coward because he don’t want to go out with you! Be reasonable, old fellow!’
‘Oh, lord, let him call me what he likes!’ said the Viscount, quite disgusted. ‘If I weren’t going to be married today, damned if I wouldn’t draw your claret, George! It’s time someone let a little of that hot blood of yours!’
‘What’s more,’ said Mr Ringwood severely, ‘Sherry never said a word you could take amiss. Suppose she does mean to marry Severn? What of it? No harm in that, is there? Dare say she’s taken a fancy to be a duchess. Anyone might!’
‘I will not believe that she could be so worldly!’ Wrotham said, striding over to the window, and staring out into the street.
His long-suffering friends, relieved to see that his rage had, for the moment, abated, returned to the consideration of the problem confronting Sherry. Their discussion presently attracted Lord Wrotham’s attention, and he came away from the window, and quite mildly asked the Viscount to explain how he came to be marrying a totally unknown damsel. Sherry very obligingly favoured him with a brief résumé of his elopement; and Lord Wrotham, convinced at last that he had relinquished all pretensions to the hand of the Incomparable Isabella, warmly shook him by the hand, and offered him his felicitations.
‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said Mr Ringwood, ‘but it don’t help us to find a likely bishop for this special licence.’
‘It’ll have to be a Fleet marriage, Sherry,’ said Mr Fakenham mournfully.
‘No,’ said Mr Ringwood. ‘Won’t do at all. Not legal.’
