The Viscount picked it up with a hand that was not entirely steady. It was addressed to himself. He broke the seal and spread open the sheet of paper.
‘Sherry, I have run away, because I will never go to your Mama, and I see now that it would be to no avail, even if I did, for you were right when you said you should not have married me, though I did not know it then, when I was so ignorant and stupid. It was all my fault, for I always knew that you did not love me, and you have been so patient with me, and so very kind, and I know I have been very troublesome, and quite spoilt your life, besides getting into debt, and obliging you to sell those horses, and not knowing how to contrive so that Mrs Bradgate should not order such expensive things, like that dreadful bill for candles, and a dozen others. So please, Sherry, will you divorce me, and forget all about me, and pray do not tease yourself with wondering what has become of me, because I shall do very well, and there is not the least occasion for you to do so. And also, Sherry, I hope you will not mindthat I have taken the drawing-room clock, and my canary, for they were truly mine, like the ear-rings you gave me on my wedding-day, and Ferdy’s bracelet. – Your loving Kitten.’
The Viscount’s lip quivered; he looked up from the letter, and stared about him at surroundings which seemed suddenly desolate. He found that he was not able to think very clearly, for when he tried to concentrate on the problem of Hero’s present whereabouts his brain seemed not to move at all, and the only thought which reiterated rather stupidly in his head was that she had gone.
He had left the door open when he had entered the room, and after a few minutes he became aware that someone was standing in the aperture. He looked round quickly, and saw his valet, gravely regarding him. They looked at one another in silence, the Viscount trying to think of something to say in explanation of his wife’s disappearance, and Bootle just waiting. Nothing occurred to the Viscount, and suddenly he knew that it would be useless to attempt any explanation. He said abruptly: ‘Bootle, when did her ladyship leave this house?’
The valet came in and closed the door. ‘I do not know, my lord, but I think last night.’ He stepped over to the window, and methodically straightened the curtains which his master had pulled back so hastily. In a colourless voice, he added: ‘I fancy her ladyship took her abigail with her, my lord, for the chambermaid reports that Maria’s bed has not been slept in.’
He noticed with satisfaction that there was a perceptible lightening of the expression on his master’s face. He said, even more disinterestedly than before: ‘I have taken the liberty of informing the staff, my lord, that her ladyship was called away hurriedly, one of her ladyship’s relatives having been taken ill.’
The Viscount flushed. ‘Yes, very well! Thank you.’ He folded the letter in his hand, and put it into his pocket. ‘They won’t believe it, I dare say.’
‘Oh, yes, my lord!’ replied Bootle tranquilly. ‘Your lordship may rely upon me. And, if I may be permitted to take the liberty, my lord, there is no occasion for your lordship to concern yourself over the Bradgates, them being related to me, and not ones to chatter about their betters.’
‘I’m obliged to you,’ the Viscount said, with an effort. ‘You do not know if her ladyship summoned a hackney, or – or a chair?’
‘No, my lord. But if your lordship desires me so to do I could make discreet enquiries.’
‘Do so, if you please.’
‘Very good, my lord. Will your lordship receive my Lord Wrotham, or shall I inform his lordship that you have stepped out?’
‘Lord Wrotham!’
‘Downstairs, in your lordship’s library,’ said Bootle.
‘I’ll see him,’ the Viscount said, and went swiftly out of the room.
Lord Wrotham, arrayed in the much-coveted insignia of that most exclusive of driving clubs, the F.H.C., with a drab greatcoat sporting no fewer than sixteen capes over all, was standing by the fireplace in the library, one top-booted foot resting on the fender. One glance at his host’s face, as he entered the room, his blue eyes bright and hard with something between hope and suspicion, made him speak before Sherry had had time to do more than utter his name. ‘Hallo, Sherry!’ he said. ‘When did you get back to town? Thought you was at Melton still.’
‘No,’ said Sherry. ‘No, George –’
Lord Wrotham adjusted the monstrous nosegay he wore as a buttonhole. ‘Lady Sherry ready to drive out with me?’ he asked. ‘Going to tool my curricle down to Richmond. Trying out my new pair. Prime bits of blood! Heard about Gil?’
‘Gil …’ said Sherry. ‘What about Gil?’
George laughed. ‘Why, only that that old uncle of his looks like obliging him at last! Seems to be in a pretty bad way. Gil’s posted down to Herefordshire to be in at the death. By God, I wish I had an uncle to leave me a handsome fortune!’
Sherry stared at him, a frown in his eyes. ‘George, are you sure of that?’ he demanded.
‘Saw him off not two hours ago. Why?’ responded George.
‘Nothing,’ Sherry said, passing a hand across his brow. ‘I only wondered – No reason at all.’
Lord Wrotham, who was finding it increasingly difficult to meet his friend’s gaze, fell to contemplating the polish on one top-boot. He had not expected to enjoy this interview, and he was not enjoying it. Sherry looked positively haggard, he thought; and if he had not promised Hero not to divulge her whereabouts to Sherry he would have felt extremely tempted to have told him the truth. But when he had seen the little party off from Stratton Street earlier in the morning he had given his word to Hero, and he was not the man to go back on that. He hoped that his confidence in Mr Ringwood’s judgment would not prove to have been misplaced, and said as casually as he could: ‘Does Kitten mean to come with me, Sherry?’
The Viscount pulled himself together. ‘No. The fact is, she’s not feeling quite the thing. Asked me to make her apologies.’
‘Good God, I trust nothing serious, Sherry?’
‘No, no! – At least, I can hardly say yet. Dare say she has been doing rather too much. Not accustomed to town life, you know. I am – I shall be taking her into the country in a day or so. Needs rest and a change of air.’
‘I am excessively sorry to hear it! You’ll be wishing me at the devil, no doubt: I’ll be off at once!’
Sherry, usually the most hospitable of hosts, made no effort to detain him, but accompanied him to the street door. AsGeorge descended the steps, he asked suddenly: ‘George, where’s my cousin Ferdy?’
‘Lord, how should I know?’ replied George, drawing on his gloves. ‘Said he was going to dine at Long’s last night, so he may be nursing his head in bed. You know what he is!’
