XVIII
The Indignation of Mr. Manvers
Madam Field was worried, for it was after six in the evening and neither Léonie nor Rupert had returned. Considerably flustered at length, Madam sent a messenger to Merivale to inquire whether the truants were there. Half an hour later the lackey returned, with Merivale riding beside him. Merivale went swiftly to the withdrawing-room, and as soon as he entered Madam Field sprang up.
“Oh, Lord Merivale! Oh, and have you brought the child home? I have been in such a taking, for I never saw her after eleven in the morning, or maybe ’twas later, or perhaps a little earlier—I cannot say for sure. And never a sign of Rupert, so I thought mayhap they were with you—”
Merivale broke into the flood of words.
“I’ve not seen either of them since this morning when Rupert set out to come here,” he said.
Madam’s jaw dropped. She let fall her fan, and began to cry.
“Oh dear, oh dear, and Justin telling me to have a care to her! But how could I tell, for sure ’twas his own brother! Oh, my lord, can they—can they have eloped?”
Merivale laid his hat and whip on the table.
“Eloped? Nonsense, madam! Impossible!”
“She was ever a wild piece,” wept Madam. “And Rupert so scatterbrained! Oh, what shall I do, my lord? What shall I do?”
“Pray, madam, dry your tears!” begged Merivale. “I am convinced there’s naught so serious in this as an elopement. For God’s sake, madam, calm yourself.”
But Madam, to his dismay, went into a fit of the vapours. My lord turned to the servant.
“Ride back to Merivale, my man, and request my lady to join me here,” he ordered, with an uneasy eye on the prostrate lady. “And—and send madam’s abigail here! Mayhap the children are playing some trick on us,” he muttered to himself. “Madam, I beg you will not alarm yourself unduly!”
Madam Field’s maid came running with salts and presently the lady recovered somewhat, and lay upon the couch calling on heaven to witness that she had done her best. To all Merivale’s questions she could only reply that she had had no notion of such wickedness, and what Justin would say she dared not think. Came my Lady Merivale, in her chaise, and was ushered into the withdrawing-room.
“Madam! Why, madam, what is this? Anthony, have they not returned? Fie, they are trying to frighten us! Depend upon it, that is it! Never fret, madam, they’ll return soon.” She went to the agitated chaperon, and began to chafe her hands. “Pray, madam, hush. It’s no such great matter, I am sure. Mayhap they have lost their way somewhere, for they are out riding, you may be sure.”
“My dear, Rupert knows every inch of the country,” Merivale said quietly. He turned again to the lackey. “Be good enough to send to the stables and see whether my lord and Mistress Léonie have taken the horses.”
Ten minutes later the man returned with the news that Lord Rupert’s horse was in a loose box, and had been there all day. Whereupon Madam had a fresh attack of the vapours, and Merivale frowned.
“I don’t understand this,” he said. “If they had eloped—”
“Oh, Anthony, can they have done that?” Jennifer cried aghast. “Oh no, surely! Why, the child can think of no one but the Duke, and as for Rupert—”
“Listen!” said my lord sharply, and raised his hand.
Outside they heard horses, and the scrunch of wheels on the gravel. Madam started up.
“Heaven be praised, they have come back!”
With one accord Anthony and Jennifer deserted the ailing lady, and hurried into the hall. The great front-door stood open, and into the house stepped his Grace of Avon, elegant in a coat of fine purple velvet, laced with gold, a many-caped greatcoat, over all, worn carelessly open, and polished top-boots on his feet. He paused on the threshold and raised his eyeglass to survey the Merivales.
“Dear me!” he said languidly. “An unexpected honour. Your ladyship’s devoted servant.”
“Oh lord!” said Merivale, for all the world like a rueful boy.
His Grace’s lips quivered, but Jennifer blushed fiery red. Merivale went forward.
“You must deem this an unwarranted intrusion, Duke,” he began stiffly.
“Not at all,” bowed his Grace. “I am charmed.”
Merivale returned the bow.
“I was summoned to Madam Field’s assistance,” he said. “Otherwise I should not be here, believe me.”
Leisurely the Duke divested himself of his greatcoat, and shook out his ruffles.
“But shall we not repair to the withdrawing-room?” he suggested. “You are saying, I think, that you came to my cousin’s assistance?” He led the way to the withdrawing-room, and bowed them in. Madam Field, seeing him, gave a shriek, and fell back upon her cushions.
“Oh, mercy, ’tis Justin!” she cried.
Jennifer went to her.
“Hush, madam! Calm yourself!”
“You appear to be strangely afflicted, cousin,” remarked his Grace.
“Oh Justin—oh cousin! I have no notion! So innocent they seemed! I can scarce believe—”
“Innocent! Of course they were!” snorted Merivale. “Have done with this elopement foolery! It’s mere child’s talk!”
“Oh Anthony, do you think so indeed?” said Jennifer thankfully.
“I do not wish to seem importunate,” said the Duke, “but I should like an explanation. Where, may I ask, is my ward?”
“That,” said Merivale, “is the very root of the matter.”
The Duke stood very still.
“Indeed!” he said softly. “Pray continue. Cousin, I must request you to cease your lamentations.”
Madam’s noisy sobs abated. She clutched Jennifer’s hand and sniffed dolefully.
“I know nothing more than this,” said Merivale. “She and Rupert have been absent since eleven of the clock this morning.”
“Rupert?” said his Grace.
“I should have told you that
