“Mr. Warburton, sir.”
Carstares turned and came eagerly forward to greet the newcomer.
“Well? Well?”
Mr. Warburton spread out deprecating hands.
“Alas! Mr. Carstares.”
Richard caught his arm.
“What mean you? He is not—dead?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“You could not find him? Quick! Tell me?”
“Alas! no, sir.”
“But the Chequers—he said—Surely they knew something?”
“Nought, Mr. Carstares.” Out came Mr. Warburton’s snuffbox. Very deliberately he took a pinch, shaking the remains from his fingertips. “The host, Chadber—an honest man, though lacking in humour—has not set eyes on my lord for well-nigh six months. Not since I went to advise my lord of the Earl’s death.”
“But Warburton, he cannot be far? He is not dead! Oh, surely not that?”
“No, no, Master Dick,” soothed the lawyer. “We should have heard of it had he been killed. I fear he has gone abroad once more. It seems he often spoke of travelling again.”
“Abroad? God! don’t let me lose him again!” He sank into a chair, his head in his arms.
“Tut! I implore you, Mr. Carstares! Do not despair yet. We have no proof that he has left the country. I daresay we shall find him almost at once. Chadber thinks it likely he will visit the inn again ere long. Calm yourself, Master Dick!” He walked up to the man and laid a hand on one heaving shoulder. “We shall find him, never fear! But do not—I know ’twould grieve him to see you so upset, Master Dick—pray, do not—!”
“If I could only make amends!” groaned Richard.
“Well, sir, are you not about to? He would not wish you to distress yourself like this! He was so fond of you! Pray, pray do not!”
Carstares rose unsteadily and walked to the window. “I crave your pardon, Mr. Warburton—you must excuse me—I have been—living in hell—this last week.”
Warburton came over to his side.
“Master Dick—I—you know I have never cared for you-as—well—as—”
“You cared for him.”
“Er—yes, sir, exactly!—and of late years I may, perhaps, have been hard. I would desire to—er—apologise for any unjust—er—thoughts I may have harboured against you. I—I—possibly, I never quite understood. That is all, sir.”
He blew his nose rather violently, and then his hand found Richard’s.
Richard Carstares had plenty to occupy him for the rest of the week. Arrangements had to be made, a house acquired for Lavinia, Wyncham House to be thoroughly cleaned and put in order, awaiting its rightful owner. Once she had made up her mind to face the inevitable, Lavinia quite enjoyed all the preparations. The new house in Great Jermyn Street she voted charming, and she straightway set to work to buy very expensive furniture for it, and to superintend all the alterations. In her present penitent mood she would even have accompanied her husband to Wyncham on Monday, to stand by him on the fateful Friday; but this he would not allow, insisting that she remain in town until his return. So she fluttered contentedly from Grosvenor Square to Jermyn Street, very busy and quite happy.
Carstares was to travel to Wyncham on Monday, arriving there the following evening in company with Andrew, whom he was taking as far as Andover. His lordship had lately embroiled himself in a quarrel over a lady when deep in his cups, and owing to the subsequent duel at Barn Elms and the almost overpowering nature of his debts, he deemed it prudent to go into seclusion for a spell. Tracy disappeared from town in the middle of the week, whither no one knew, but it was universally believed that he had gone to Scotland on a visit.
Monday at length dawned fair and promising. After bidding his wife a very tender farewell, and gently drying her wet eyelashes with his own handkerchief, Richard set out with his brother-in-law in the big travelling chaise soon after noon. Andrew had quite recovered his hitherto rather dampened spirits, and produced a dice-box from one pocket and a pack of cards from the other wherewith to beguile the tedium of the journey.
XXV
His Grace of Andover Captures the Queen
Diana stood in the old oak porch, riding-whip in hand, and the folds of her voluminous gown over her arm. Miss Betty stood beside her, surveying her with secret pride.
Diana’s eyes seemed darker than ever, she thought, and the mouth more tragic. She knew that the girl was, to use her own expression, “moping quite prodigiously for that Mr. Carr.” Not all that she could do to entertain Diana entirely chased away the haunting sadness in her face; for a time she would be gay, but afterwards the laughter died away and she was silent. Many times had Miss Betty shaken her fist at the absent John.
Presently Diana gave a tiny sigh, and looked down at her aunt, smiling.
“You would be surprised how excellently well Harper manages the horses,” she said. “He is quite a godsend. So much nicer than that stupid William.”
“Indeed, yes,” agreed Miss Betty. “Only think, my dear, he was groom to Sir Hugh Grandison—I saw the letter Sir Hugh writ your Papa—a remarkable elegant epistle, I assure you, my love.”
Diana nodded and watched the new groom ride up, leading her mount. He jumped down, and, touching his hat, stood awaiting his mistress’s pleasure.
Diana went up to the cob, patting his glossy neck.
“We are going towards Ashley today, aunt,” she said. “I am so anxious to find some berries, and Harper tells me they grow in profusion not far from here.”
“Now, my dear, pray do not tire yourself by going too far—I doubt it will rain before long and you will catch your death of cold!”
Diana laughed at her.
“Oh, no, aunt! Why, the sky is almost cloudless! But we shall not be long, I promise you. Only as far as Crossdown Woods and back again.”
She gave her foot to the groom just as Mr. Beauleigh came out to watch her start.
“Really, my dear,
